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I do have words...
I love being a fan on a good day but sometimes I just love being a fan. And recently, being in bandom feels really good. New Panic! song! Which I absolutely love! News about Jon and Ryan's band, with a bonus new song too! I'm really curious about that one because, as much as I like Ryan, I just can't imagine him singing a whole album... so I'm curious about that first song of theirs. New MCR soon! Damn, so many goodies these days :-)
Also! The WIP meme has been resurrected and the timing is impeccable because I asked![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
starwatcher307 to polish an unfinished fic of mine just two days ago, in case the WIP meme popped again and I wanted to participate. Guess it was fate :-) And to prove that, even though I haven't finished anything in months and months, I do sometimes open a file and start writing down some stuff, I'll share some of my WIPs. Which, well, I don't know if I'm cheating because technically 99% of those fics aren't WIP so much as WTWNBF aka Work That Will Never Be Finished but, whatever... My words, let me show you them, it might be their only chance to see the light of day.
The following are unbetaed - except for the TS fic behind the cut. And they're in their first, rough draft stage, meaning that, sometimes, they're dialogues only [/warnings]
1. He has no idea he's started walking till he finds himself looming over Brendon, who's still sitting, cross-legged, and staring up with a look on his face that is difficult to translate. Spencer thinks it's a mix between scared and hopeful and just plain curious. It's not an easy look to pull off but the guy does it wonderfully.
2. Truth was, Merlin used to be scared all the time.
3. "If you have a nightmare, I'll wake you up."
"No, the nightmares are the easy part."
"The easy part? What's the hard part, then?"
"Well, if I close my eyes, then the world disappears and how I am to know it's still there? But when I open them to check, I'll make the whole thing up again and I'll never know whether it really wasn't there before."
"Damn, that is confusing, yeah."
"Told you so."
4. So Brendon always looked happy, is the damn thing. He always smiled and laughed and clapped his hands in delight and he would climb all over you or demand hugs and cuddles with that dorky little smile of his and he would sigh happily when he got what he wanted. Oh and when he didn't talk he would sing. Or hum.
A lot of noise, that was Brendon.
So it wasn't Ryan's fault if he missed some of the clues. One could argue that when someone is always happy, it's pretty obvious when they're not. Well. What's obvious is that those people had never met anyone like Brendon.
5. There're a lot of things Sam could reply to that, but he doesn't really feel like joking; besides 'sinful' could be a pretty apt description of his brother. In many ways.
6. "Damn you and you poker face."
"What poker face? I wouldn't have a problem with sucking someone else, Jim. Really. And just the thought of some stranger's big dick in my ass makes me hard."
"If you know what's good for you, Chief," Jim said, all suave, "you'll want to shut your mouth now."
"Make me".
7. TS - Jim/Blair :
They saw the man and his son on an afternoon when the wind wasn't as cutting as usual, and the air felt a little lighter around them.
Jim had been listening to them since the early hours of the morning. As soon as he determined the pair would be of no threat to them, he made camp with Blair while relaying the father-son talks to him, word for word. He watched as Blair's eyes lit up with almost feverish interest.
How long had it been since they'd met anyone remotely 'human'? How long would it be before they could eventually consider the thought of maybe talking to someone, instead of hiding; hiding like animals, when the real beasts were the so-called 'people' who still walked freely through the land?
If Jim had been on his own, he wouldn't have gone near them. He would have ignored them, never stopping, never talking to them.
* * *
Jim has felt detached from the world, ever since it changed. His senses don't recognize this new world around him; it doesn't look the same, doesn't taste the same, doesn't feel the same.
The sounds are distorted, the colors bleak and grey, without substance. The air itself is oppressive. Jim feels it like a weight on his skin; it doesn't hurt, precisely, but it's always there. It's a burden he has to carry with him, always heavy on his shoulders, always weighing him down.
And he no longer recognizes his tribe; no other people fall under his care and protection. His instincts recognize only Blair, focus only on him. His senses are anchored in Blair, and Blair alone. The change in him doesn't matter; despite the heavy smell of dirty hair, of a skin always covered with ash and sweat, beneath the unwashed clothes, there's still the scent that always meant home to Jim, a scent that was always Blair... and always Jim's.
Even though Blair is thinner now, and his eyes are harder, even though weariness seems to be a constant condition, there's still a radiance about him that has never failed to attract Jim. The world might be bleak and try to surround Blair with darkness, but it has never controlled him. Not really. Not where it counts.
Sometimes Jim feels he isn't even living for himself anymore; his life is only for Blair. It concerns him a little... but he's not sure he can do anything to reverse his thinking. And really, if he has to be honest with himself, he doesn't much care.
But Blair isn't worried. He says it'll pass. He's sure that Jim will find a connexion with the world again, with the few innocents that are left.
Blair remains the one thing Jim believes in. And Blair never insists, never pushes him. 'Things come in their own time', he always says. It doesn't matter; time is pretty much all they have now.
That, and each other.
So Jim wouldn't have given the man and his son a second thought, but he's with Blair. Blair feels the lack of human contact keenly; if the world is hurting Jim, its inhabitants are making Blair's life a burden. Because the earth is now overrun by savage creatures, humans turned beasts.
The world hadn't needed supernatural intervention to turn humans into monsters. In their former lives, a million years ago, they'd both seen the horror a human is capable of perpetrating. Jim keeps telling Blair he shouldn't be surprised at how things turned out. But the recognition of that truth doesn't prevent Blair from hurting when he sees people turning against each other instead of coming together.
They've watched the unspeakable caravans, driving lines of women and men in clothes unfit for the changed weather patterns, chained to one another, looking older than their ages, fear and despair clinging to them. 'No light in them anymore', Blair says, and he's right. They're not 'people' anymore, just bodies to be used, meant to satisfy the demands and lusts of those who decided that human laws had once and for all died with the rest of the world.
For Jim, all the men wear Blair's face.
Hidden away, as safe as he can make them, Jim always holds the other man close to him, arms around Blair's waist, right hand over his heart. Jim is aware that his grip is always tight - too tight, enough to hurt - but Blair never protests, knowing instinctively what Jim needs and giving it to him without a word, easily, as if it's the most natural thing in the world.
It's the same every time. Pressed against Blair's back, hand on his heart, Jim feels it run madly, tattooing a punishing rhythm within the thin chest. He's unnerved and unsettled when Blair is upset, but forever relieved to be able to feel the heart beat under his fingers and palm; he's unfailingly soothed by the loud drumming in his ears.
But at the same time, every time, Jim can feel Blair's pain. It's sharp and cutting, because Blair still has the ability to feel for people, even those he's never met, won't ever meet.
But the caravans aren't even the worst. Watching those soulless people isn't what gives them both nightmares. It isn't the reason why, in addition to their other weapons, they each have a backup gun with just one bullet. It isn't a waste of good weaponry; it's a guarantee. They know, without a doubt, that if the time comes, they each one have bullet to end it.
Because in a world where food had rapidly become first a luxury, then a scarcity, then a rarity to be fought for, there are worse things than being kept enslaved and repeatedly gang-raped, without any hope of freedom. For that reason, they've decided to save that bullet as a last resort.
And if, for whatever reason, they lose that last guarantee, Jim has promised himself that he will kill Blair with his own hands, his last gift to his lover.
* * *
"A penny for your thoughts?"
Jim blinked and looked down at Blair, who was crouching on the concrete. He snorted. "Money isn't worth anything, Sandburg, or have you forgotten?"
Blair just smiled softly. "Fine, don't tell me." He stood up and squinted in the direction he knew the father and the boy were. "Are they still within range?"
Jim cocked his head slightly to the side. "They're coming closer, actually." He motioned to a point ahead of them. "Can't you see them?"
Blair squinted again, trying to see past the fog, so constant that they barely noticed it anymore. His eyes widened a fraction before he composed his expression. "I can."
He turned eager eyes to Jim. "What are they saying?"
"Talking about the south," Jim replied easily. "What they'll find there."
Blair nodded.
They did mention in the rules I saw that one could post whatever they wanted from the WIP, so there... Also, somehow, posting WIPs is quite freeing. You don't have to wonder about what people will think of the story because, technically, there is no story yet. Nice :-)
Also! The WIP meme has been resurrected and the timing is impeccable because I asked
starwatcher307 to polish an unfinished fic of mine just two days ago, in case the WIP meme popped again and I wanted to participate. Guess it was fate :-) And to prove that, even though I haven't finished anything in months and months, I do sometimes open a file and start writing down some stuff, I'll share some of my WIPs. Which, well, I don't know if I'm cheating because technically 99% of those fics aren't WIP so much as WTWNBF aka Work That Will Never Be Finished but, whatever... My words, let me show you them, it might be their only chance to see the light of day.The following are unbetaed - except for the TS fic behind the cut. And they're in their first, rough draft stage, meaning that, sometimes, they're dialogues only [/warnings]
1. He has no idea he's started walking till he finds himself looming over Brendon, who's still sitting, cross-legged, and staring up with a look on his face that is difficult to translate. Spencer thinks it's a mix between scared and hopeful and just plain curious. It's not an easy look to pull off but the guy does it wonderfully.
2. Truth was, Merlin used to be scared all the time.
3. "If you have a nightmare, I'll wake you up."
"No, the nightmares are the easy part."
"The easy part? What's the hard part, then?"
"Well, if I close my eyes, then the world disappears and how I am to know it's still there? But when I open them to check, I'll make the whole thing up again and I'll never know whether it really wasn't there before."
"Damn, that is confusing, yeah."
"Told you so."
4. So Brendon always looked happy, is the damn thing. He always smiled and laughed and clapped his hands in delight and he would climb all over you or demand hugs and cuddles with that dorky little smile of his and he would sigh happily when he got what he wanted. Oh and when he didn't talk he would sing. Or hum.
A lot of noise, that was Brendon.
So it wasn't Ryan's fault if he missed some of the clues. One could argue that when someone is always happy, it's pretty obvious when they're not. Well. What's obvious is that those people had never met anyone like Brendon.
5. There're a lot of things Sam could reply to that, but he doesn't really feel like joking; besides 'sinful' could be a pretty apt description of his brother. In many ways.
6. "Damn you and you poker face."
"What poker face? I wouldn't have a problem with sucking someone else, Jim. Really. And just the thought of some stranger's big dick in my ass makes me hard."
"If you know what's good for you, Chief," Jim said, all suave, "you'll want to shut your mouth now."
"Make me".
7. TS - Jim/Blair :
They saw the man and his son on an afternoon when the wind wasn't as cutting as usual, and the air felt a little lighter around them.
Jim had been listening to them since the early hours of the morning. As soon as he determined the pair would be of no threat to them, he made camp with Blair while relaying the father-son talks to him, word for word. He watched as Blair's eyes lit up with almost feverish interest.
How long had it been since they'd met anyone remotely 'human'? How long would it be before they could eventually consider the thought of maybe talking to someone, instead of hiding; hiding like animals, when the real beasts were the so-called 'people' who still walked freely through the land?
If Jim had been on his own, he wouldn't have gone near them. He would have ignored them, never stopping, never talking to them.
* * *
Jim has felt detached from the world, ever since it changed. His senses don't recognize this new world around him; it doesn't look the same, doesn't taste the same, doesn't feel the same.
The sounds are distorted, the colors bleak and grey, without substance. The air itself is oppressive. Jim feels it like a weight on his skin; it doesn't hurt, precisely, but it's always there. It's a burden he has to carry with him, always heavy on his shoulders, always weighing him down.
And he no longer recognizes his tribe; no other people fall under his care and protection. His instincts recognize only Blair, focus only on him. His senses are anchored in Blair, and Blair alone. The change in him doesn't matter; despite the heavy smell of dirty hair, of a skin always covered with ash and sweat, beneath the unwashed clothes, there's still the scent that always meant home to Jim, a scent that was always Blair... and always Jim's.
Even though Blair is thinner now, and his eyes are harder, even though weariness seems to be a constant condition, there's still a radiance about him that has never failed to attract Jim. The world might be bleak and try to surround Blair with darkness, but it has never controlled him. Not really. Not where it counts.
Sometimes Jim feels he isn't even living for himself anymore; his life is only for Blair. It concerns him a little... but he's not sure he can do anything to reverse his thinking. And really, if he has to be honest with himself, he doesn't much care.
But Blair isn't worried. He says it'll pass. He's sure that Jim will find a connexion with the world again, with the few innocents that are left.
Blair remains the one thing Jim believes in. And Blair never insists, never pushes him. 'Things come in their own time', he always says. It doesn't matter; time is pretty much all they have now.
That, and each other.
So Jim wouldn't have given the man and his son a second thought, but he's with Blair. Blair feels the lack of human contact keenly; if the world is hurting Jim, its inhabitants are making Blair's life a burden. Because the earth is now overrun by savage creatures, humans turned beasts.
The world hadn't needed supernatural intervention to turn humans into monsters. In their former lives, a million years ago, they'd both seen the horror a human is capable of perpetrating. Jim keeps telling Blair he shouldn't be surprised at how things turned out. But the recognition of that truth doesn't prevent Blair from hurting when he sees people turning against each other instead of coming together.
They've watched the unspeakable caravans, driving lines of women and men in clothes unfit for the changed weather patterns, chained to one another, looking older than their ages, fear and despair clinging to them. 'No light in them anymore', Blair says, and he's right. They're not 'people' anymore, just bodies to be used, meant to satisfy the demands and lusts of those who decided that human laws had once and for all died with the rest of the world.
For Jim, all the men wear Blair's face.
Hidden away, as safe as he can make them, Jim always holds the other man close to him, arms around Blair's waist, right hand over his heart. Jim is aware that his grip is always tight - too tight, enough to hurt - but Blair never protests, knowing instinctively what Jim needs and giving it to him without a word, easily, as if it's the most natural thing in the world.
It's the same every time. Pressed against Blair's back, hand on his heart, Jim feels it run madly, tattooing a punishing rhythm within the thin chest. He's unnerved and unsettled when Blair is upset, but forever relieved to be able to feel the heart beat under his fingers and palm; he's unfailingly soothed by the loud drumming in his ears.
But at the same time, every time, Jim can feel Blair's pain. It's sharp and cutting, because Blair still has the ability to feel for people, even those he's never met, won't ever meet.
But the caravans aren't even the worst. Watching those soulless people isn't what gives them both nightmares. It isn't the reason why, in addition to their other weapons, they each have a backup gun with just one bullet. It isn't a waste of good weaponry; it's a guarantee. They know, without a doubt, that if the time comes, they each one have bullet to end it.
Because in a world where food had rapidly become first a luxury, then a scarcity, then a rarity to be fought for, there are worse things than being kept enslaved and repeatedly gang-raped, without any hope of freedom. For that reason, they've decided to save that bullet as a last resort.
And if, for whatever reason, they lose that last guarantee, Jim has promised himself that he will kill Blair with his own hands, his last gift to his lover.
* * *
"A penny for your thoughts?"
Jim blinked and looked down at Blair, who was crouching on the concrete. He snorted. "Money isn't worth anything, Sandburg, or have you forgotten?"
Blair just smiled softly. "Fine, don't tell me." He stood up and squinted in the direction he knew the father and the boy were. "Are they still within range?"
Jim cocked his head slightly to the side. "They're coming closer, actually." He motioned to a point ahead of them. "Can't you see them?"
Blair squinted again, trying to see past the fog, so constant that they barely noticed it anymore. His eyes widened a fraction before he composed his expression. "I can."
He turned eager eyes to Jim. "What are they saying?"
"Talking about the south," Jim replied easily. "What they'll find there."
Blair nodded.
They did mention in the rules I saw that one could post whatever they wanted from the WIP, so there... Also, somehow, posting WIPs is quite freeing. You don't have to wonder about what people will think of the story because, technically, there is no story yet. Nice :-)
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And! holy shit...I completely missed this:
6. "Damn you and you poker face."
"What poker face? I wouldn't have a problem with sucking someone else, Jim. Really. And just the thought of some stranger's big dick in my ass makes me hard."
"If you know what's good for you, Chief," Jim said, all suave, "you'll want to shut your mouth now."
"Make me."
::fans self:: What's that from? Or is it just a random little 'ole kinky-thought?
...and! *smooch*...just 'cuz I haven't smooched you for a while.
no subject
As for the little dialogue thing, I don't even remember which challenge it was written for! All I have is this skeleton thing (dialogues, no real setting yet) :
"So, what you're saying is that you have no problem with me seeing other guys?"
"Yes, Sandburg, that's what I'm saying."
"Because if you and I fucked, it would get too... 'complicated', is the word you used, I believe?"
"You damn well know what I said."
"Yeah. Just wanted to make sure, man. You know, so that there's no misunderstanding between us. I mean, it would suck if there were, right." A pause. "Right, Jim?"
"Right."
"Right," Blair said, nodding. "So just so that we're really clear. You're not really interested. In me. Or fucking my ass."
Jim ignored him this time. Which didn't deter Blair in the slightest.
"Hey, I totally get it. I mean, our lives are so 'complicated' already," he emphasized the 'complicated', almost making it sound like an insult. "I wouldn't want to make it harder for you."
"No pun intended, I'm sure, Chief?"
"Definitely not."
...
"I think I'll go out tonight. No need to wait for me. I plan on having some fun. If you know what I mean. Uncomplicated fun with strangers, a cock is a cock, right?"
Jim couldn't help it, he turned toward Blair. "That's what you want?"
"What I want is unavailable, Ellison." A shrug. "A guy's gotta do what a guy's gotta do right? But, hey, don't worry about me," he added with a reassuring smile, "Naomi taught me that you rarely got what you wanted. Sometimes you just have to make do. Which is my plan for tonight."
...
The "poker face" thing was the ending of the story.
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I have to admit, I'm intrigued by #4 the most.
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Yeah, come to think of it, I do. Mind you, I wouldn't say no less variety of WIP and more actual fics. But, well...
I have to admit, I'm intrigued by #4 the most.
It was supposed to be the fic with Brendon missing his family and the whole Famile Home Evening, remember? I might write it one day. I'm in such a Panic mood atm :-)
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I hope you do get it written one day.
no subject
*fingers crossed*