cog_nomen: (I am Tony Stark's Vanity)
Okay I have about a billion shortforms that I've done too, but I'm going to go ahead and hold those for a rainy day.  Two new fics, and an update, but first:

PODFIC OF SCIENTISTS. I cannot contain my high-pitched noises of appreciation. Seriously I want to crawl under my desk with my headphones on and just make pleased noises. 

Seriously if you enjoyed 'How many Scientists Does it Take to Screw in Stark Tower', go ahead over to Liannabob's entry and revisit with it. She reads it fantastically, and I know I got a little knee-wibbly in various parts throughout. I won't spoil it, but if you haven't read it, and you like Avengers, especially of the Bruce/Tony or Pepper/Bruce/Tony variety, go on and check it out. And let her know how awesome she is because seriously it's hard work making podfics! 

Onto what I have accomplished: 

Title:  I <3 New York
Fandom: erson of Interest
Pairing: en, Reese-centric
Rating T for swearing
Word Count: ,148
Status: omplete
Summary eese rides the subway with his eyes cast downward, toward the ground, rocking and swaying automatically with every tricky lurch and bump. He knows every one by now, like old friends. He knows the subway because it's the only friend he has, it's always moving, always rushing in the underground like the arterial blood of the city only it's somehow more vital than that.

(Here @ AO3)

Title:  This Weary Ritual
Fandom: nception
Pairing: avid Serkey/Constantine Fitzweiss
Rating T for swearing
Word Count: ,149
Status: omplete
Author's Note Set in the Four of Clubs universe, though it's a short aside
Summary:So Constantine thought that he couldn't hate this week any more. Thanksgiving had been a slog, it always was. He had eaten his Ma's food - which was good at least, far and away better than TV dinners - and he had listened to his Ma's prattle. She knew - she always did - that the women she asked about were years in the past now. She seemed utterly unable to accept that at thirty five years old it was possible that Constantine could look after his own romantic life without advice.

(Here @ AO3.)

And lastly an update to Sine Labore Nihil:

Title: Sine Labore Nihil, Chapter 8
Fandom: Person of Interest
Pairing Jack (Scarface/ Anthony Marconi) /Reese
Rating: C-17
Word Count: , 301 (chapter) / 14,136 (total)
Status: In Progress
Summary: The information flows more slowly and gets more indecipherable as it becomes harder to find save channels. Jack gets more and more frustrated with this game of penitentiary telephone, forced to take his own initiative more and more often. He wonders if it was ever any easier to get information to and from maximum security prison. Not for someone like Elias. They don't give his boss a television in his cell, even. Jack knows this because he ran an ad on the local public television channel for two weeks in code so simple a child could figure it out, his own decision, and not even a rebuke had come his way. He's flying solo, operating under a bond of trust only.

(HERE @ AO3)
cog_nomen: (Default)
Title: Four of Clubs
Fandom: Inception
Pairing: OMC/OMC (David Serkey/Constantine Fitzweiss)
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 33,424
Status: Complete!
Summary: CIA Agents David and Constantine are partners in the Agency's Mindcrime division, working on a new project to combat the illegal usage of PASIV devices for extraction. There is also a secret, a lot of damage, and a slow train-ride into hell.
WARNINGS: Violence, some graphic imagery, and slash of course. David is not a healthy guy.

Part One
Part Two
Part Three
Part Four
Part Five
Part Six
Part Seven
Part Eight, Final

Author's Notes: )
cog_nomen: (think think think)
Today's Word Count:

Yet again, I wrote all out of order and mostly wrote stuff from the end today. Hopefully more in sequence tomorrow.
cog_nomen: (Default)
Word Count: 41,024

The novel is complete. This is a major problem. I have a couple of beta readers looking it over for possible parts that need expanding upon, but even then I doubt I can wrangle more than 2-3,000 more words into it without seriously destroying my pacing.

What this may call for is a second short story to be written that fills the remaining word count. I'm not sure exactly what I would want to do yet, but I'm considering something in the same universe to keep with the spirit of the Nanowrimo project.

This is the first time I've ever run into this problem! My previous two nano's just petered out around 30,000 or so words with a whole ton of stuff left to write. Hmm. Dillemas.
cog_nomen: (eegh!)
Word Count: 40,003

Dillema! The story is more or less complete, and I am 10,000 words shy of my goal! There are a few scenes to be written here or there, but certainly not that many words worth! This may be tricky to overcome.
cog_nomen: (Default)
Final Wordcount:38,006
Writing Excerpt:
Ahead of them, light began to filter through the trees in brilliant sheets. The soft snowfall had coated the ground here much more thickly, creeping past the loosely tangled branches above to crunch beneath their feet. For the first time in what seemed like an age, Althea saw an end to the trees.

“We must not leave its sight.” Althea said, suddenly. At the last tree she stared out at the open land before her, white with thinly spread snow and shining in the unfiltered sunlight. It hurt her eyes, the brightness after all the time spent in the soft muted light of the wood.
cog_nomen: (valentino)
Not really a night, but a successful day, I'd say.
Word Count: 36,126

The ending is completely written, all the way to 'the end'. I now have roughly 10,000 words with which to craft a whole lot of the middle into a story that leads from here to there. I may be able to do it, but I suspect this story will need to surpass 50,000 words when I go back an edit it into a final form sometime later.

All in all, I am in love with it, and I still don't feel sick of writing as I often did at this point in each previous year. I will probably work some more on it today, because now it's all the downhill slide.

If you're Nano-ing too this year, keep it up. If I can make it, you can. Just keep writing, just keep pressing on. The finish line is more fun when lots of people make it there!
cog_nomen: (suave)
Word Count: 34,046

Tonight I can't offer a writing sample, as I devoted most of my time to writing the ending. :) Sorry! I only made 1,000 words yesterday, so I didn't post the wordcount update here, but tonight I made up for the missed words from yesterday and achieved today's wordcount as well, so I am back on track.
cog_nomen: (Default)
It's getting harder and harder to have samples that aren't full of spoilers!

Word Count: 30,008
Writing Sample:
Albreicht’s style was unique – he employed the full length of his sword and kept it close to his body, using moves that caught the other’s blade on the flat of his sword, then spun to deflect the momentum of his attacker for longer than they had originally dedicated. He used the proximity of his body to the other’s to keep track of where exactly his strikes would land, free hand seizing the other’s sword wrist if it could be had.

It was a risky style – a misplaced deflection or a devilishly employed offhand weapon would have ruined it, but he seemed to judge perfectly where each strike from Mosni would land. Albreicht’s strikes were mostly reactive, using momentum already expended to carry himself out of the way of a committed attack. Mosni learned to attack with reserve, and then they finally began to have more even matches.
cog_nomen: (aren't going to kill him yah)
Word Count: 28,013
Writing sample:

Albreicht and Mosni circled, smiling, each ready for the other. Mosni’s hand rested on his hilt, Albreicht’s simply pushed his cloak back so that he could draw unhindered. First, they measured each other with their eyes – as much a part of their game now as the actual swordplay. They waited, sought weakness in the other’s attention or gait.

Neither were ever distracted, neither ever faltered. Albreicht was patient, skilled. He could wait forever for the strike, ever alert. Mosni had the advantage of size and strength, and dedicated himself when he decided to move at last, tenaciously pushing until he found or made an opening. So far, Albreicht had not been bested.
cog_nomen: (aren't going to kill him yah)
Word Count: 26,231
Writing Sample:

Without thinking, she stooped to get on her boots. As she sat down, her contact with the forest floor increased, and she remembered why she had come down, sleep hazed and tired. Forgetting her shoes, she closed her eyes and focused – and when that brought little more than the usual rustlings she felt, she let go of focus. Allowed herself to drowse a little, her thoughts on the cool grass below her, the firm tree trunk behind her, her companions’ soft breaths as they slept uninterrupted above.

There was a rhythm here, in all of the forest. Each being left a ripple of motion where it touched, distinct from the stirrings of tree limbs in the wind. She let her breath slow, felt her own ripples in the flow of the place around her, and then felt where they crossed with the tides of others. She realized that distantly, she could feel the faintest touches of those besides hers and her companions.
cog_nomen: (Default)
Wordcount: 24,010
Writing Sample:

“The only thing that can kill her is something of her world.” The queen said, turning the weapon this way and that to inspect it. It was a thin blade, tipped for piercing, and the pommel was shaped as a rose, it’s petals only beginning to open. The blade shone dulled silver, as if it were of great age, and under the queen’s gaze, it met approval. “This will do.”
cog_nomen: (Default)
Word Count: 22,041
Sample Writing:

“I once tracked a hind as white as the snow,” Albreicht began, making a little gesture with his hands that Althea had only recently learned the meaning of – it was an oath, a swear, a signal of telling the truth. “And as silent.”

“’Tis a tall tale,” Mosni turned to explain to Althea, rolling his eyes a little at the brag. Over his shoulder, Albreicht caught her gaze and winked. “White harts, white hinds – they are not of this world. ‘Tis said they can pass beyond this plane, but hunters desire them more than aught other. Unluck falls upon those who chase them, doomed to chase forever but never catch – though tales promise untold riches if you can.”
cog_nomen: (Default)
I did write yesterday, but not enough to make my 2,000 word quota. I made up for it tonight, writing about 3,000 words total today. It was hard, but it's good to be back on track.

Word Count: 20,014
Writing Sample:

She rose to her hands and knees, pushing aside the tanned leather flaps that covered the opening to peer out, worried. She almost came nose to nose with Mosni, who blinked in surprise. She backed up quickly, and then the small space was invaded by not one body, but two. Behind Mosni came Albreicht, arms hugged tight to his chest and teeth chattering.

It was impossible to lay without touching, but Mosni’s close presence did not bother her, and though Albreicht slept in his armor, the space in the trees was warmer with three bodies to share it and three cloaks over all. Comfortable, her back pressed against Mosni’s side and Albreicht curled catlike on her other side, Althea slept deeply and warmly the night through.
cog_nomen: (DO NOT WANT)
Got super distracted by the internet and all things intarweb this evening, I guess. That and the wordcounter on my laptop doesn't really work. (It kept telling me the same total even after I'd typed several hundred more words! >:[)

Word Count: 16,083
Writing Sample:
Again they pulled apart, and again they met. Althea covered her eyes at last, kept them locked tight under her fingers until a pained gasp touched her ears, and the sound of a sword thumping to the forest floor made her heart stand still. She tore her hands away from her face, and saw that Mosni had lost his sword, was holding his wrist in surprise – but the young man did not stand victorious.

Instead he again kneeled, in supplication. He had surrendered the fight at the last minute, his chest heaving and with the advantage clearly in his favor. He leaned heavily on his sword with his forearms, eyes downturned as he huffed his breath forcefully at the forest floor.
cog_nomen: (Default)
Word Count: 14,105
Writing Sample:

“Sorry does not slow my heart, nor mend my cloak.” The boy growled, his voice gruff beyond his age. He crossed his arms firmly over his chest. Then, as if suddenly he noticed her companion for the first time, his eyes grew wide. The arrow, her trespass, was suddenly quite forgotten. The boy had eyes for Mosni, only, his fingers sliding bonelessly from their roosts in the crooks of his elbows.
cog_nomen: (Default)
Word Count: 12,122
Sample Writing:
The queen was beautiful, ageless. Her sable hair caught the moonlight and trapped it, reflecting it slickly back over it’s arrow straight length. She looked out at the night with concern, watching the sky for the distant light that dropped from the moon’s bright outline. It soared over the courtyard soundlessly, and alighted on her window sill, an ebony raven who’s form wavered indecisively. Here it seemed the perfect outline of a bird, feathered wings tucked against inklike flanks and bright black coals of eyes above. There, the form wavered, suddenly seeming to have too many legs, fangs, eyes.
cog_nomen: (Default)
I'm considering posting the completed chapters I have so far, if anyone's interested in reading them. They would be friends-locked to a specific group, so comment here if you'd like to be included. The reason for the lock is that I'd like to have the option to publish this someday should I actually complete it.

Word Count: 10,227
Time spent writing: A lot. I found it really hard to get myself to focus tonight.
Sample Writing:

“Highness?” His voice came out in disbelief, and he stared at her hard. Suddenly his expression was wary, the set of his shoulders grew tense. His wound forgotten, his fingers crept for his sword, which still lay unsheathed, dirtied by cockatrice blood.

“You are a king, are you not?” She felt suddenly foolish. Her hands twisted the remaining half of her blanket-cloak, worrying it’s torn edges until they frayed. “I’m sorry, I-“

"King?" He said, fiercely - though his eyes were not angry. "Only of the wood and field. King of the empty sky before me and the endless road behind." Then, gently - for his ferocity had made meek of her. "King of Freedom only, my lady."
cog_nomen: (bravery)
This story takes inspiration heavily from Hans Christian Anderson's The Little Match Girl, Which, as I am not Hans Christian Anderson, I can take no credit for writing. I'm not sure why this particular idea came to me in the way that it did, but I wanted to write a melancholy Christmas piece, and when I think 'sad' and 'christmas', I think of this story.

This is also an original work, so if there's a story that no one reads, I suppose this one is it.

Fandom: Original
Theme: Cold
Rating: PG
Incendiary )

September 2017

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