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I have a sinus infection, so... Here, have a meme. (Yoinked from about half my flist, but specifically [livejournal.com profile] artemisrae)

When you see this, post an excerpt from as many random works-in-progress as you can find lying around. Who knows? Maybe inspiration will burst forth and do something, um, inspiration-y.

Here's my five most recent fandoms and I'll make note of the total number of unfinished fic (though I'll only post excerpts from 3, otherwise we'll be here all night).

Avatar: The Last Airbender. 21 unfinished fics.

1. Something sweet with Aang and Katara. This was gonna be porn, I think...

Aang was sitting on the edge of the bed, the latest news from the Fire Nation – a letter from Zuko, along with a few news bulletins – spread across his lap when a sweet, clean scent washed over him. That was the only warning he had before a pair of damp arms encircled his neck. A mass of dark, wet hair fell over his shoulder as Katara pressed a kiss to his temple and laid her cheek alongside his to read the letter.

"Good news?" she asked, eyes scanning the page as her hair dripped and the ink began to run. Aang could feel her smiling against his cheek when she mumbled, "Sorry," and used her left hand to sweep all of her hair back over her shoulder before bending the water off the parchment with a flick of her wrist.

"More or less," he replied absently, turning to gaze at her. She met his eyes steadily for a few moments, smiling as she searched his face for some trace of the thought behind it, but his stare was that special brand of blissful blankness that only Aang could perfect, and completely against her will, Katara began to blush.

2. Sukka second-gen stuff. I've since forgotten the point.

Sokka was in that delicious place between waking and sleeping where everything was warm and soft, and the knowledge of the coming day, filled with his favorite things – fishing with the kids, a quiet evening with his lovely little wife (and then a not so quiet night) – only helped to insulate the tiny bubble of perfection in which he was enclosed. The one other with him in the bubble was a little spot of soft light and gentle heat, pressed against his back, more buried in the bed’s blankets than he could ever hope to be. The sun was up, but had not been so for very long, and though the room around them was slightly too chilly to be comfortable, the temperature inside the bubble, with the blankets and the small, precious body, was absolutely perfect.

Until, of course, it burst, and the pinprick that did it was the realization that his wife – of five years, last spring – was standing over him. She had their youngest son balanced on her hip, still in his carrying sling, and was so concentrated on scowling down at her husband that she hadn’t even noticed Souya had stuck a fistful of her hair into the mouth.

“Hey. Come back to bed,” Sokka managed though a yawn, smacking sleepily. “Both of you.” Then, after twisting around to check that the child in bed with him was indeed the child he’d thought, he asked, “Where’s Taro?”

“Your son’s outside,” was Suki’s terse reply as she gave the low bed another once-over. “The two of you will have lots of fun cleaning up the mess he made of the porch.”

“Is he preparing for an invasion again?

3. Aaand here's some post-apocalyptic AU thing. I don't even know.

“I didn’t think it was possible to be this cold without the wind chill,” Bastian groused, his voice unnaturally loud in the quiet darkness that surrounded them in the hallway. Rubbing one gloved hand on the opposite arm, trying to work some feeling back into his fingers, he glanced at the readout on his outdated tech-pad. “It’s almost negative ten degrees down here.”

Katie, who was too busy rubbing the dirty frost off the sole window panel in the nearest door, did not reply. Her brown mittens were almost black with the grime.

“It couldn’t have been more than five below freezing on the surface,” her brother continued, eyes still glued to the antique contraption in his hand, “and the wind was blowing pretty hard. Gran Gran thought there was a storm coming.”

“Maybe the refrigeration systems are still working,” Katie finally responded, her voice a low mumble. She was standing on tiptoe to glance through the glass pane she had just wiped clean, holding up the electric torch in her left hand so that the light shone through. The room beyond was exactly like all the rest she had seen that day: small, dingy, and completely empty. “Still nothing.”


Fullmetal Alchemist. 29 unfinished fics.

1. Post-first anime fic about Christmas. I don't even know guys!

More and more often, Edward remembers. He tries not to, because he knows no good can come of thinking on what is hopelessly lost, but he can no more help it than the seasons can stop their turning. He remembers Winry’s hands, calloused and deft, strong and sure even in their youth. He remembers that Izumi always smelled of cinnamon and peppermint, and realizes belatedly that he is more comforted by these scents than by the sharp, flowery tang of lilies (which his own mother had always loved, because they reminded her of Hoenheim). He remembers the livelihood in Major Hughes’ eyes, and the haunted look of Colonel Mustang’s. He remembers Maria Ross’ determination to help him reach his goal, and Marcoh’s determination to help his fellow man. He remembers Tucker’s twisted devotion to the daughter he destroyed, and he remembers General Grand’s devotion to his own ends. He remembers Greed’s defeat, Sloth’s second death, and Scar’s final act.

Now, on a small side street in London, looking into a shop window at the meager Christmas decorations, a welcome distraction from the war that waged on even as Christmas Eve carried on into Christmas Morning, Ed remembers Yule.

2. The first of five ways Roy never said "I love you". I'm not sure why I didn't finish this one...

Roy hit the pavement an instant after the first gunshot rang through the streets, borne to the ground by Havoc's superior body mass and his own driving instinct to stay alive. Another two gunshots followed in quick succession, and then after a brief pause, a third. Then silence. Someone started shouting, and Havoc was up off the ground just as quickly as he'd gotten there.

When Roy finally got back on his feet – cautiously, and not until he'd pulled on his gloves and taken careful stock of his surroundings – his first assessment was that something was not quite right. It took him a few painful moments to process what he was seeing, to realize what was so wrong with the situation. He watched, struggling to comprehend, as his newest officer, a painfully eager young man named Cain Fury, attempted to steady Riza, who looked like she was about to swoon. The left sleeve of her uniform was the wrong color.

Her name began to slip past his lips, and he was gripped with a sudden, relentless fear: fear for her, and of how the others would hear her name if he let it escape - as a high-pitched, breathless, desperate murmur, like a child, and not like a veteran soldier less than a year returned from the war in the east.

3. What was to be the fifth installment (skipping over Hoenheim and Destruction) of In My Gallery, the FMA/Sandman crossover I started but never finished. Drunk!Roy, who eventually would have met (and probably fucked) Desire.

Roy doesn’t drink much anymore, but when he does he drinks heavy – and usually by himself, now that Maes has passed. He used to invite Havoc, but it isn’t the same (he drinks differently, talks differently, laughs differently), and Hawkeye never finishes her first glass. He thinks them poor drinking companions, even if they’re just doing their jobs – distracting him, watching him – and he never asks them anymore anyways. All he really needs is the stool and his little corner of the bar counter. The bartender is a comfort, not a necessity. He can poor his own drinks.

Roy doesn’t drink much anymore, but when he does he thinks about everything that’s gone wrong. There’s a list in his head that gets longer every year, of all the names of all the ones he’s lost. There’s a list of all the names of all the ones he’s determined not to lose. When he compares the two, he is always startled to find that the former has grown and the latter has shrunk. He goes over and over each name; he sees each face in his mind’s eye, and hears every voice in his ear as though he weren’t alone. He asks himself, over and over, what did I do wrong? Sometimes an answer comes to him, and sometimes he is left wondering, and sometimes he is clearheaded enough to admit that there was nothing he could have done. The conclusion never makes him feel any better.


How To Train Your Dragon. Only two unfinished fics (yippee!).

1. Something about the hilarity of gender roles and how nicely Hiccup and Astrid's marriage would work if they reversed them.

When Hiccup got home, the house was on fire. He couldn’t see any flames, but the front door had been thrown open and smoke was pouring over the threshold, rising in a thick gray cloud to blacken the verge before dissipating into an equally gray mid-morning sky. His father was standing a little ways down the path, looking back toward the house with both hands on his hips, surveying the whole thing with an air that clearly said, “Yes, my home is indeed aflame,” but carefully refrained from saying anything more. It didn’t look like he was particularly worried about the matter, or in very much of a hurry to do anything about it. Distantly, Hiccup thought he could hear Astrid’s swearing coming from inside the house.

Well. That was a fine end to a morning that had had an equally fine beginning. Hiccup sighed, and continued his slow plod up the hill.

Toothless wiggled and danced beside him, dragging what remained of the only thing they’d managed to catch: one half of the mangled, masticated carcass of a roe deer – a buck, to be exact. At least, Hiccup was pretty sure it had been a buck at one point. Now it was just a cooling, bloody mess of hide, muscle and bone. Hiccup had wanted to leave it out in the woods (because there was very little usable meat left), but Toothless had been so proud of himself for running it down that he’d flat out refused to drop the thing, even when his rider had attempted, with absolutely no success, to force his jaws open. Hiccup had only wound up covered in bloody dragon drool up to both elbows for his troubles.

His leg ached something fierce.

2. A prompt from the kink meme that was basically Astrid distracting Hiccup from his phantom pains with sexytiems

Still feeling uneasy, he rolled over to go back to sleep, and just like that his leg was on fire. Pain, sharp and searing, raced through every nerve in his body, spiraling out from the place where his left foot should have been. He could feel his toes curling, his ankle flexing, even the imagined sensation of the furs on which he was laying. His bones ached, every tendon and ligament like a vein of white-hot metal burning beneath his skin.

Hiccup turned his face into the pillow, biting back a groan as he curled around the limb. He scrabbled at the rough, woolen blankets, fingers spasming, before gripping his knee in both hands and squeezing. The pressure helped, but only a little, and it was all he could do to keep his grip.

When a second pair of hands joined his it was enough to clear away some of his pain-induced stupor. Astrid’s body was warm against his back and side as she leaned over him, her hair falling free over her shoulder so that the ends just brushed his arm. He didn’t need to see her face to know the look that was there.

“Let me,” she said gently, pushing his hands aside. There was more strength in her grip, and a surety in her touch that was enough to sooth away another layer of the pain. He let her work and focused on breathing, using the feel of her hands to keep himself grounded.


Percy Jackson. 5 unfinished fics.

1. Pre-series. Annabeth gets sick, Luke and Thalia clash over how best to take care of her. Everyone has a really shitty night.

This particular monster did not want to die. Its massive, lumbering body still rocked, poised to strike, head canting from side to side for any sign of its prey, any scent or sound. It had already been blinded in both eyes, the right by a spear, and the left by a quick, desperate jab from a knife. A thick, greenish substance oozed from beneath its eyelids, trickled from the wounds in its blue-black skin. It keened once, snuffled at the air, rocked backwards again, and lunged.

Annabeth, who was its intended target – natural, even to her seven-year old mind - fell back so fast she nearly tripped on her own feet, knife held high before her. If the angle was just right, it would catch somewhere around the thing’s belly button when it dragged her down. Maybe she’d kill it before it killed her – but it turned aside as Luke leapt in front of her, the point of his sword cutting a broad slash high across its chest. It took a faltering step toward them, then paused, suddenly puzzled. In the next instant it crumbled into dust.

Thalia stood behind it, the point of her spear poised in the air where the monster’s back had been, but then she was turning to gaze at the forest around them, and Luke was doing the same. They’d learned the hard way not to drop their guard just because they’d taken care of the monster they could see; they both had scars as testament.

Annabeth broke the tension by bending over and throwing up.

2. Clarisse sucks it up and asks Selena for some advice regarding boys.

It took Clarisse almost a week to work up the nerve to approach Silena. It felt stupid – and worse, cowardly – to be so anxious (really, why did boys have to make things so complicated?) but it was her experience that people were more likely to jump on a weakness than leave it alone. Her half-siblings could be brutal, and she’d been kicking them around long enough to know that a choice few would latch onto her uncertainty about this whole Chris thing and use the leverage to attempt to drag her down. She couldn’t even blame them: she would have done the exact same thing in their place.

When she’d finally chewed all of her nails down to the quick, she decided she might as well just get it over with.

3. The immediate aftermath of The Sea of Monsters, from Annabeth's POV.

Annabeth was in shock. The early morning air was cool around her, calm and still, but her heart was thundering against her ribcage as though she were fighting for her life. The tears still rolling down her face were hot, and they made her vision swim. Someone jostled her from behind, and a low murmur went up in the small but quickly growing crowd of campers, satyrs, and nymphs.

Thalia was speaking. Thalia, who was supposed to be gone, who had died where the tree had grown; Annabeth’s lost companion, her guardian, her almost-sister (and, in the end, one more person who’d let her down) – Thalia was speaking, but the dull roar of her blood in her ears was all Annabeth could hear. Thalia’s eyes were bright but unfocused, gazing unseeingly at her surroundings from the circle of Percy’s arms; she didn’t even seem to see him.

Suddenly, Annabeth couldn’t breathe. She tore the helmet off her head, and she didn’t mean to drop it in the dirt but the weight was just too much for her fingers, which felt clumsy and numb. The dull thunk it made as it sank into the soft ground seemed to echo across the entire camp. Annabeth glanced down at it, wondering how she’d managed to drop it, and when she looked up again Thalia was staring at her, and under the weight of that gaze Annabeth had to bite back a sob. There was no recognition.


Star Wars: EU. 14 unfinished fics.

1. Anakin accidentally gets married. To someone other than Tahiri. Hilarious fallout.

Anakin sat down heavily across the fire from Jaina and Zekk, giving the caf kettle a brief, wistful look before focusing on something nonexistent just above his sister’s head. Tahiri took a seat in the empty space between Jaina and Tenel Ka, as far away from Anakin as possible.

“Good morning,” Jacen said conversationally. It seemed no one else was feeling talkative.

Anakin blinked at him a few times, peered cautiously at the point where the girl had disappeared between the buildings, then replied calmly, “I think I got married last night.”

Jaina and Zekk both yelped and jumped when she spilled hot caf on them in surprise, but the stunned silence that ensued could have been cut with a vibroblade.

“Congratulations,” Tenel Ka finally offered, glancing first at Tahiri and then at Anakin.

“Yeah,” Jacen echoed, staring at his little brother and Tahiri in turn. “Congratulations. Right?”

“Don’t look at me,” Tahiri said, still staring at Anakin, voice acid. “I didn’t get married.”

This time around the silence was even more palpable. Tahiri kicked at a rock lying on the ground at her feet. “Well,” Jacen said carefully. “I guess we’re not taking off today after all.”

Anakin dropped his head into his hands with a groan.

2. Four times Jacen asks Tenel Ka to elope, and one time she takes him up on it.

Jacen was seventeen (and Tenel Ka was only weeks away from turning eighteen) the first time he asked her to marry him. It wasn’t a proposal in the usual sense of the word, and had Tenel Ka been the kind of girl who imagined such things, it certainly wasn’t what she would have imagined – though, to be fair to Jacen, she didn’t even know where to begin imagining.

“It looks like we’re going to have to elope if we ever want any privacy,” he’d said easily, jokingly, smiling down at her. Their shoulders had been touching, and she knew he’d wanted to put an arm around her.

She’d nodded in agreement, almost but not quite smiling back at him, and his sister and all their friends had laughed because Jacen was joking. Only Tenel Ka had sensed the intent behind his words – the seriousness, the desire. It wasn’t until much later, when she was alone in her bed, and the night had closed in but sleep hadn’t come, that she realized the reason his words hadn’t bothered her, or even surprised her.

He hadn’t been asking, because he knew they were too young. She hadn’t been surprised because she knew, just as he did, that they were a foregone conclusion and that the only thing still standing between them was time.

3. Jacen asks Han about marriage, Han counsels his son about marrying a woman who will always be putting the Greater Good before her own family.

Han heard Jacen long before he saw him. The familiar rattle-clink of the Falcon’s deckplates under his first son’s measured, purposeful stride carried clearly through the still air to Han’s precarious position lodged underneath the hyperdrive. Like all parents, Han could easily recognize his children by the differences in the ways their steps echoed through his ship, and he wasn’t at all surprised when a pair of familiar boots, worn but well-cared for, came into view.

“Hey,” Jacen said easily, squatting down to peer around the casing at his father. “You got a few minutes?”

Pausing in his work, Han craned his neck to get a better look at his son’s face. Jacen’s features were carefully schooled into a semblance of calm, which in itself was enough to make Han pause. Jacen had never been shy about showing emotion, and the fact that he was now keeping his feelings so close was like a blaring sign to Han of his boy’s unvocalized distress.

“You can keep working,” Jacen offered when Han began to crawl out of the space, and after a brief pause Han wriggled back into place and went back to work.

Picking up a discarded torque wrench, he said, “What’s on your mind, junior?”

There was a long pause during which Han could almost feel Jacen gathering his thoughts, before his son finally asked, voice carefully controlled, “How did you know Mom was the one?”

***


Not Excerpted from: Big O (1 fic), Buffy (1 fic), DBZ (1 fic), X-Men: Evolution (2 fics), Fruits Basket (1 fic), Gundam Wing (3 fic), Harry Potter (15 fics [though most for RP so I dunno if they really count...]), Inu Yasha (3 fics), Le Chevalier d'Eon (1 fic), Lord of the Rings (2 fics), Merlin (2 fics), Magic Knight Rayearth (3 fics), Pirates of the Caribbean (1 fic), PPG (4 fics), Ranma 1/2 (1 fic), Reboot (1 fic), Repo! The Genetic Opera (1 fic), The Old Kingdom Trilogy (1 fic), Wheel Of Time (1 fic), X/1999 (1 fic), Yuu Yuu Hakusho (8 fics)

So, uh, that's 125 unfinished fics... I think I have a problem?

EDIT: By special request...

Powerpuff Girls. Here's an exceprt from the one fic I can stand to look at. I'm still ridiculously proud of this, even if I'll never finish it because its more involved than I have the ability to be in any fic ever (see every multichaptered fic I've ever tried to write). It was going to be a little on the epic side, futuristic, vaguely dystopic (yeah, its not a word, whatever!) and all kinds of shippy. It was going to involve Brick selling out making an executive decision about... things, and then realizing he's made a grievous mistake and having to beg ask Blossom for help. Ummm.... yeah. Here's a few different bits.

Brick snorted. “Don’t get excited. We’re done.” He stood and turned to walk back through the living room, not waiting for a reply, but he’d barely taken a step before he turned back. “Oh. Here. New issue. Once you put them on the old ones should deactivate.” Reaching into his jacket pocket, he pulled out two identical black bands – bracelets, each about the width of his thumb, one slightly smaller than the other – and laid them on the countertop. Boomer didn’t even glance at them.

Again Brick turned, and had to stop himself from starting. Bubbles was standing in the wide doorway, leaning against the frame in an old pair of paint spattered jeans, her eyes fixed firmly on him.

“You weren’t even going to say hi,” she reprimanded gently, her voice small and petulant in the blaring silence. Brick couldn’t tell if she was hurt or if she was teasing him.

“Well, you know how worked up Blondie here gets if I overstay my welcome,” Brick replied, hooking a thumb over his shoulder at Boomer.

She smiled, though it didn’t quite reach her eyes. “It’s fine. You were just leaving.”

“Yeah,” he agreed, and stalked to the door without so much as a goodbye.

***


“I wish you’d let go of this grudge,” he said lowly, ignoring the hurt that rolled off of her in waves.

“It’s not a grudge,” she defended quietly, coming to stand behind him. “And I never asked you to do anything about it.”

He turned the heat off on the burner and glanced back at her. “Maybe not out loud.” Then, sighing loudly, he turned and drew her into his arms. “Look, it’s not doing anyone any good, especially you. It just makes you miserable. And anyways, you know he’s telling the truth. He couldn’t lie to you, even if he wanted to!”

“Yeah,” she mumbled against his shoulder, suddenly feeling tired, “but if anyone could, don’t you think it would be him?”

***



The old fashioned lamp post on the corner flickered into life, splashing a small circle of soft, white light down onto the sidewalk and street. His phone beeped, and when he fished it out of his pocket there wasn’t a single part of him that was surprised by the number he saw.

“Yeah?” he answered tersely, eager to have the useless phone call over and done with.

“They’re in again,” the familiar, noncommittal voice on the other end replied.

He sighed. “Which one?”

“Buttercup.”

“Is it bad?”

There was a chuckle. “Not very. She was bleeding all over the floor for a bit, scared some of the other patients, but we’re getting a patch on it now. It should be healed in a few hours.”

“So?” Brick asked. There had to be a point to this.

She chuckled dryly. “So your brother wants to see you. Come by.”

After a few silent moments, he said, “Fine,” and hung up before she could make a reply.

***


So... yeah.
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