![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
(no subject)
I've been quiet the past couple of weeks - but everyone has.
Anyway, part of the tragedy of writing fanfiction is that I often go out and read great volumes of it to see that the idea that I want to do hasn't been done previously. Mostly, I discover all these tragedies of mischaracterization that I really want to fix with a piece that nails the misrepresented character dead on.
Anyway, this is what I'm working on. Arranged from most to least probable that I'll finish.
1.
From Seven, Three.
His chest was a wreck of scars. Kirara pulled back, her fingers hesitant over the corded flesh. "What happened?" She whispered, this wound unfamiliar to her.
"A castle fell on Shikiroji." Kanbei said. "Only, it hit me first."
Shikiroji had lost his hand - this wound on the samurai's chest was large enough for his heart to have been torn right out. But it was probably only the last in a long string of wounds that had destroyed him. He'd believed Shikiroji dead for a long time, he'd said once. He was the one who had died.
2.
You could have it all.
"I came to see if you wanted to get out of this dump." Tseng allowed his voice to go slowly, casual. "Maybe find another one. You know, for a change of scenery."
"Only if we're going to a dump that has alcohol." Figures and signatures danced in Rufus' head, like long-lost sugarplums. "If I have to sign another release for you screwups, I'll go insane."
"Go?"
"More insane."
"A bar, then." A baring of teeth - smile or snarl. With Tseng, you could always take your pick. His mouth worked like an animal's, showing teeth in pleasure, pain, or anger.
3.
PDA
Partner was always a carefully said word around Cloud 7's star team. Mister was careful to use their names, Claire tried to hide her interest in Rowe, even Dez occasionally cast his eyes upwards in embarassment as he said it. Somehow along the way, they'd all come to know.
Partner conjured up images of bathrobes and breakfast. Boxers and sheets tangled without a care, and laundry that had become almost inseperable except for minor differences in size. Well, that and style. Jack wore white, Rowe dressed darkly. But it all went into the laundromat together, came back folded and unseperated.
Rowe made a show of grumbling about it. Occasionally he'd claim a set of Jack's boxers as one of his own right in front of Claire - Jack would glare, but never said anything. That was Jack's way. Partners in the business sense. If there was more then it was better left unsaid. It wasn't that he was cold, just a deeply private person.
I've got to finish my Van Helsing story, and I'd like to eventually rework or create a sequel to Turkeys Drown in the Rain so that it's actually a romance rather than some sort of wierd genfic. Anyway, now you all know what I'm doing with my time.
Anyway, part of the tragedy of writing fanfiction is that I often go out and read great volumes of it to see that the idea that I want to do hasn't been done previously. Mostly, I discover all these tragedies of mischaracterization that I really want to fix with a piece that nails the misrepresented character dead on.
Anyway, this is what I'm working on. Arranged from most to least probable that I'll finish.
1.
From Seven, Three.
His chest was a wreck of scars. Kirara pulled back, her fingers hesitant over the corded flesh. "What happened?" She whispered, this wound unfamiliar to her.
"A castle fell on Shikiroji." Kanbei said. "Only, it hit me first."
Shikiroji had lost his hand - this wound on the samurai's chest was large enough for his heart to have been torn right out. But it was probably only the last in a long string of wounds that had destroyed him. He'd believed Shikiroji dead for a long time, he'd said once. He was the one who had died.
2.
You could have it all.
"I came to see if you wanted to get out of this dump." Tseng allowed his voice to go slowly, casual. "Maybe find another one. You know, for a change of scenery."
"Only if we're going to a dump that has alcohol." Figures and signatures danced in Rufus' head, like long-lost sugarplums. "If I have to sign another release for you screwups, I'll go insane."
"Go?"
"More insane."
"A bar, then." A baring of teeth - smile or snarl. With Tseng, you could always take your pick. His mouth worked like an animal's, showing teeth in pleasure, pain, or anger.
3.
PDA
Partner was always a carefully said word around Cloud 7's star team. Mister was careful to use their names, Claire tried to hide her interest in Rowe, even Dez occasionally cast his eyes upwards in embarassment as he said it. Somehow along the way, they'd all come to know.
Partner conjured up images of bathrobes and breakfast. Boxers and sheets tangled without a care, and laundry that had become almost inseperable except for minor differences in size. Well, that and style. Jack wore white, Rowe dressed darkly. But it all went into the laundromat together, came back folded and unseperated.
Rowe made a show of grumbling about it. Occasionally he'd claim a set of Jack's boxers as one of his own right in front of Claire - Jack would glare, but never said anything. That was Jack's way. Partners in the business sense. If there was more then it was better left unsaid. It wasn't that he was cold, just a deeply private person.
I've got to finish my Van Helsing story, and I'd like to eventually rework or create a sequel to Turkeys Drown in the Rain so that it's actually a romance rather than some sort of wierd genfic. Anyway, now you all know what I'm doing with my time.