(no subject)

I've been thinking of writing a book. More on that later in the entry.

Apparently, it's WIP Amnesty Day again. This is oddly coincidental, as just last night I discovered several stories stuffed into a subfolder in my writing folder.

This isn't including "Higher Ground" (ie, the X-Men monster fic I started two years ago and really want to finish at some point but don't know if any of the comics people are still alive to read), or "Via Dolorosa," the RK/RV, RK/F, RV/S story that is driving me out of my mind by not letting me write it.

I don't always write too linearly, so any thing with:
*
*
means scene skip. I've deleted most of the trailing random images, though.



Life, In Living Colour
(Harry Potter/Sandman R/S, for lisew. Sorry, hon.)

Sirius at the end, and one last chance to change it all.

Sirius never thought dying would be much like this.

'Not that he'd ever thought about it much,' is what's supposed to follow, but the truth is he has. He spent thirteen years in Azkaban; with rapists and murderers and a cacophony of silence; watching the moon wax and wane as the colour slowly faded from everything he'd ever known.
( Life, In Living Colour )

Bullet With Butterfly Wings
(DCU/Marvel, Dick Grayson/Cecelia Reyes. Because it works scarily well and someone should do it. Just, if I did it, no one would read it.)

She’s good, but Dick’s been fighting and fucking and loving it his entire life, and she moves like someone beat ever counterblow, every stance, into her.

( Bludhaven is a city of lines. )

Then there are the ones that are only a few paragraphs on paper, like the Hermione/Fred ("Loki, Raven, and the Last of the Trickster Gods) because even if everyone assumes you're going to end up with one of your childhood friends, it doesn't always happen, and because you can't be stupid and invent charms and potions -- even if they are used for mischief.

(This is how it is: mid summer, sticky and still. The Burrow shimmers in the heat and Hermione molds her back to the cool stone of the garden wall. The barest of shadows keeps it from being sun-baked and warm, and the sun is almost directly overhead.

The windows to the Burrow are open, inviting some sort of, any sort of breeze; but the winds can’t be tempted, and the sounds of Molly moving about in the kitchen drop to the wilted grass below.

Hermione is sitting at the edge of the garden, far enough away that the garden gnomes will leave her alone. Even on the still air the scent of begonias and roses still reaches her, and she can hear the steady, lazy drone of bumble bees. There’s a heavy tome perched on her crossed legs and sweat prickles on the back of her neck.)

I think that was for elvenjen4. Somewhere, there is also a few paragraph of "Danny met Rusty at the New York State Fair. Danny was counting cards and taking tourists, and Rusty had cotton candy on his fingers and lips."

Some of these may eventually be finished. I'm thinking of trying to devote a chunk of my writing this summer to finishing "Higher Ground," if there's anyone still interested. Gen-X, X-Men, sneaky!time travel, explosions... Of course, if even the people who were beta'ing weren't interesting.


-- Okay, so, otherwise, I've been thinking of working on a novel. Aphelion. Some of the characters are just crystalizing in my mind, and I know the middle and the end, but I have no idea if I'll be able to fill in the middle with enough interesting things.