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I have way too many active WIPs
I have too many active WIPs, in various stages of completion. These are my top five:
Untitled: Avengers, humor, Clint/Bobbi, Steve/Tony
When dinosaurs roamed the earth, Cap showed up in LA to help. That was Tuesday. On Wednesday, some joker with a freeze-ray crashed the set of Tom Cruise's latest. On Thursday the fridge broke down, and while that shouldn't rank with the antics of costumed jackasses, it absolutely did. Friday started out quiet, with him and Bobbi heading to the park for a picnic, but took a sudden turn to awesome, when a hot chick set herself on fire and challenged Bobbi to throw down. The following week there were lizard people, a time traveller, and dimension-hopping mice to deal with.
It was two weeks before Clint found out that Steve had never left LA, and that he'd been sleeping on Tony's couch the whole time.
Untitled: Supernatural, horror, Ruby, Meg
(I should note that even the snippet contains ~horror~ that some might find disturbing)
She looked, and immediately found the circle's weakness. The witch was sloppy. So many of them were. Before the witch could finish the invocation - binding the demon to her will - Ruby struck. She narrowed herself into a fine curl of smoke, and pushed forward, through the gap in the salt and painted blood. Toward her host. It was nothing like learning to walk. It was more like feeding. She pushed the witch's mouth, already open in a scream, even wider, then she pushed herself in and down, and everywhere. She crushed the witch's consciousness, wherever she went, driving it into the darkest corners of her mind.
There was a way - she could push further, press down with her being, until the whore's being was snuffed out, and the body with it. Ruby didn't need her alive.
The witch screamed and screamed and screamed. It was a small sound. There was no place for it to go. No place that wasn't already Ruby. The witch screamed, cried, begged, and then finally broke. Went silent. Mutely watched while Ruby learned how to use her body.
Word Container: Harry Potter, drama, Lily/James, baby!Harry, Sirius, Peter
It wasn't miserable. It was just... boring. Which sounded, when you laid it out like that, incredibly petty. Twenty-five days of safety and boredom (and Harry, god, never forget that), while outside, things got steadily worse.
Whispers, in what passed for news reports. A certain edge now, in the voices of European Quidditch announcers. Fewer adverts, more repeat broadcasts. More and more old music.
Inside, all they could do was tend to Harry, the house and each other. They had a certain routine, because they needed it. It wasn't miserable, and it wasn't hopeless.
Sweetwater: Supernatural, drama (future AU), Dean/Castiel, Sam, Bobby
Some months after the apocalypse was averted (or diverted, Dean wasn’t sure), Castiel woke up in an impact crater, naked, and covered in mud. There was a stretch of nothing, just dirt and gravel past the crater, then a ring of felled trees, and beyond that, forest.
He’d spat out a mouthful of muddy water, and crawled out of the crater. Once he hauled himself out, and found his footing, he started walking, the rain washing him clean as he went. He walked for hours, making a beeline to Bobby’s house. Right out of the Black Hills Forest, to Lawrence, South Dakota, with a short stop at a Ranger’s cabin, for clothing. He’d stolen jeans, two shirts, socks, a jacket, boots and a knife. The boots were the wrong size, and rubbed the backs of his ankles raw, but he kept walking, stopping rarely to rest.
The knife he strapped to his forearm, beneath the jacket. He understood the physics that made firearms work, but he’d never used one - bladed weapons though, he knew how to use those.
It took him a day and a night, walking, and he almost collapsed onto Bobby’s front porch. But if there was one thing you could say about Castiel, any version of him, it was that he was pig-stubborn when he’d decided on something. Castiel had decided that he needed to make it to Bobby, and that was what he was going to do, whether the flesh was willing or not.
Lucas: Supernatural, horror/drama (past AU) John, Dean, Sam, Bobby, guess who
John was about to die. A very angry pair of child ghosts was squeezing the air out of his lungs - sloppy, he'd been sloppy that time, trusting to luck more than planning - their tiny fingers crushing his windpipe. Their eyes were oil-slick, blue-black and empty of anything but hate. They did it slowly, so they could watch him die by degrees. John scrabbled for his gun, nails scraping blindly across the floorboards. His fingertips brushed against cold metal. He threw his weight to the side, as best as he could with the ghosts holding him down, grabbing - flailing more like - for the gun, but the moment he touched his hand to it, it flew out of his grasp.
He ran through possibilities, strategies, and thought death was likely. Likely, but nothing he was going to invite, or roll over for. Sam, he thought, and Dean. The thoughts were rich with everything precious and terrible that made up his sons. He wasn't going to die - he just needed to find out how to cheat it again And just as his vision was going, and all he could see were the black-edged ghosts smiling down at him, they blew apart.
Before he'd even finished taking his first free breath, he was replaying the last few seconds - two gunshots; two scattered ghosts - and looking for the shooter.
Untitled: Avengers, humor, Clint/Bobbi, Steve/Tony
When dinosaurs roamed the earth, Cap showed up in LA to help. That was Tuesday. On Wednesday, some joker with a freeze-ray crashed the set of Tom Cruise's latest. On Thursday the fridge broke down, and while that shouldn't rank with the antics of costumed jackasses, it absolutely did. Friday started out quiet, with him and Bobbi heading to the park for a picnic, but took a sudden turn to awesome, when a hot chick set herself on fire and challenged Bobbi to throw down. The following week there were lizard people, a time traveller, and dimension-hopping mice to deal with.
It was two weeks before Clint found out that Steve had never left LA, and that he'd been sleeping on Tony's couch the whole time.
Untitled: Supernatural, horror, Ruby, Meg
(I should note that even the snippet contains ~horror~ that some might find disturbing)
She looked, and immediately found the circle's weakness. The witch was sloppy. So many of them were. Before the witch could finish the invocation - binding the demon to her will - Ruby struck. She narrowed herself into a fine curl of smoke, and pushed forward, through the gap in the salt and painted blood. Toward her host. It was nothing like learning to walk. It was more like feeding. She pushed the witch's mouth, already open in a scream, even wider, then she pushed herself in and down, and everywhere. She crushed the witch's consciousness, wherever she went, driving it into the darkest corners of her mind.
There was a way - she could push further, press down with her being, until the whore's being was snuffed out, and the body with it. Ruby didn't need her alive.
The witch screamed and screamed and screamed. It was a small sound. There was no place for it to go. No place that wasn't already Ruby. The witch screamed, cried, begged, and then finally broke. Went silent. Mutely watched while Ruby learned how to use her body.
Word Container: Harry Potter, drama, Lily/James, baby!Harry, Sirius, Peter
It wasn't miserable. It was just... boring. Which sounded, when you laid it out like that, incredibly petty. Twenty-five days of safety and boredom (and Harry, god, never forget that), while outside, things got steadily worse.
Whispers, in what passed for news reports. A certain edge now, in the voices of European Quidditch announcers. Fewer adverts, more repeat broadcasts. More and more old music.
Inside, all they could do was tend to Harry, the house and each other. They had a certain routine, because they needed it. It wasn't miserable, and it wasn't hopeless.
Sweetwater: Supernatural, drama (future AU), Dean/Castiel, Sam, Bobby
Some months after the apocalypse was averted (or diverted, Dean wasn’t sure), Castiel woke up in an impact crater, naked, and covered in mud. There was a stretch of nothing, just dirt and gravel past the crater, then a ring of felled trees, and beyond that, forest.
He’d spat out a mouthful of muddy water, and crawled out of the crater. Once he hauled himself out, and found his footing, he started walking, the rain washing him clean as he went. He walked for hours, making a beeline to Bobby’s house. Right out of the Black Hills Forest, to Lawrence, South Dakota, with a short stop at a Ranger’s cabin, for clothing. He’d stolen jeans, two shirts, socks, a jacket, boots and a knife. The boots were the wrong size, and rubbed the backs of his ankles raw, but he kept walking, stopping rarely to rest.
The knife he strapped to his forearm, beneath the jacket. He understood the physics that made firearms work, but he’d never used one - bladed weapons though, he knew how to use those.
It took him a day and a night, walking, and he almost collapsed onto Bobby’s front porch. But if there was one thing you could say about Castiel, any version of him, it was that he was pig-stubborn when he’d decided on something. Castiel had decided that he needed to make it to Bobby, and that was what he was going to do, whether the flesh was willing or not.
Lucas: Supernatural, horror/drama (past AU) John, Dean, Sam, Bobby, guess who
John was about to die. A very angry pair of child ghosts was squeezing the air out of his lungs - sloppy, he'd been sloppy that time, trusting to luck more than planning - their tiny fingers crushing his windpipe. Their eyes were oil-slick, blue-black and empty of anything but hate. They did it slowly, so they could watch him die by degrees. John scrabbled for his gun, nails scraping blindly across the floorboards. His fingertips brushed against cold metal. He threw his weight to the side, as best as he could with the ghosts holding him down, grabbing - flailing more like - for the gun, but the moment he touched his hand to it, it flew out of his grasp.
He ran through possibilities, strategies, and thought death was likely. Likely, but nothing he was going to invite, or roll over for. Sam, he thought, and Dean. The thoughts were rich with everything precious and terrible that made up his sons. He wasn't going to die - he just needed to find out how to cheat it again And just as his vision was going, and all he could see were the black-edged ghosts smiling down at him, they blew apart.
Before he'd even finished taking his first free breath, he was replaying the last few seconds - two gunshots; two scattered ghosts - and looking for the shooter.