Stolen from [ profile] ahpookishere , this seems like an excellent way to shame myself into finishing something, or send the stories to the graveyard.  We'll see.

Post a sentence from as many as your WIPs as you want, with no explanation attached.

1.“You’ll go back there” – the spirit gestured vaguely with his chin to a place behind his shoulder – “and you’ll pass another life feeling as if there is something you should be doing, something that you’ve misplaced – and you’ll trudge through your days plagued by this constant sense of forgetfulness until someone decides to murder you again, a mercy killing, really, like the others.”

2. Firat worked in a bank; Firat made deposits and opened savings accounts; Firat was painfully shy and had difficulty meeting women and Jutta secretly preferred having Firat to herself, any Keeper lied if they denied being a little in love with their charges; a desperate attachment between artists and their muses created the best work, take Dante for example.

3.”I have a file thicker than your feigned sweetness showing two centuries of murder, phantom sightings and other uncanny and very concentrated events.”

4. Schuldig made one last coherent check of the nearby occupants of the train and he found the priest awake, mostly, as he thought a glass clear stream of numbers in series of sevens blocked together, a varying landscape, some low, some high, a dipping mountain range of numbers.

5. “It makes no fucking sense, it’s like there’s a deficit in spiritual currency . . .they’ve put us on a budget haven’t they?” Edda said as he gripped the key and imagined the things he would have to do without or make for himself: iron-gall ink, foolscap paper, fragrant oils, dai ginjo sake.

6. He presented himself as someone who had had sex often and in a variety of ways; what Crawford didn’t figure was that Schuldig might have had sex in every way possible, but only in his head -- Schuldig was a visual learner.

7. I understand your concern, but I must reiterate the normalcy of your dilemma – if you spent any time in the lab, or had been less concerned with your status as manager, neglecting, as it was, your studies in practical applications, much to your detriment; you would see that it is absolutely normal for accomplished telepaths to lapse into periods of silence.

8. Semen dripped down his stomach, his mouth felt as if it had been cured with salt, and when Schuldig felt Crawford move close behind him, breath like a premonition prickling the back of Schuldig’s neck, he lay quietly and waited for the feeling to pass.

9. “Reincarnation is not the sort of thing one subscribes to in degrees” –  Crawford paused, and his next words were quiet, conspiratory – “but I do have this really strange, recurring dream about an icon and  Soviet Russia.”

10. It was like the strange satisfaction he felt when he sat in a car with zero kilometers, an uncategorized sense of ownership knowing that every click on the odometer was his doing, scratches and crashes, all his.

11. I did want it, knew that if it came from his hands it would be the best thing I’d ever drank, but more than my desire to know what strange dreams moved through Olin’s heavy mind, was the desire to watch him, to make sure he didn’t kill himself with whatever he placed in the glass – so I sat down beside him and we listened to the rain and he drank the wine in careful sips and I caught the empty glass before it tumbled toward the floor.

12. He took it with his head dropped off the side of the bed and Crawford’s mouth on his neck, and just before Schuldig closed his eyes to come, he looked straight at Nagi and winked.

13. So began the strangest time of Erestor’s long life, and that was saying much for one who had spent years roaming the land with Maedhros and Maglor.

14. “But he has everything: a wife and houses and cars and money and he’s thinking, what should I do next? and his mind is pickled but functional, he always has a plan, but he’s miserable and when he’s driving through the city he’s looking at the people he passes on the street and he’s looking for a face, the one face that he thinks might fill this big, black hole that sucks up all the things he has, and he might shoot himself before we’re through with him because he can’t find it, and he can’t buy it, but the want of it might eat him up” – Schuldig paused – “I’d really like to suck your cock right now.”



*glances back over list*
What this tells me is that I have at least 14 things that need to be finished.  . .fuck. This list isn’t the half of it.



From: [identity profile]



From: [identity profile]

I think I did some giving. Correct? And you didn't even have time to read my very interesting post. Or you read fast. I have nothing more to give!

From: [identity profile]



From: [identity profile]

Which cock? If it's the last cock, that's the airport story and it's still in the notebook. It will be typed when the last scene is finished tomorrow. You can't hurry these things.

From: [identity profile]

ALSO #6.



From: [identity profile]

That one is also a surprise fic! It's still notebook bound, and very, very cold. Crawford hasn't heated it up properly. If you would be so kind as to share you story tonight -- I can share my stories when they're thawed!

From: [identity profile]

And I'm horribly sick and my brain is all fuzzy and I need to READ tonight instead of finishing things, so therefore you must give me your story. If I give you unfinished things now, I will never finish them.

From: [identity profile]

A Short Story for Voksen
by twopoint

Crawford realized that all the things he’d done before were wrong. All of them: the murder, the manipulation, the constant sex with strangers. What he realized, deep down inside, was that he really loved Schuldig.

When he told Schuldig this, Schuldig decided to quit his day job and his night job so that Crawford could support him. He started wearing dresses!

Crawford was happier than he’d ever been in his life.

The End.

From: [identity profile]

Sort of. The words are there, but they need fixing.

From: [identity profile]

You're of the devil!

And I am seriously sick -- so I'm going to sleep. And tomorrow, you will have a finished story for me, correct?

From: [identity profile]

Laughing is painful.

Did you seriously finish the enema story? Like, finish it, finish it?

I have difficulty typing that word.

From: [identity profile]

Yes, I did.
However, I cheated, and it's not Weiss.

From: [identity profile]

OMG! These are great. I have to admit I have a soft spot for the one that ends: Schuldig paused – “I’d really like to suck your cock right now.”

I wish I had written one of my elves saying that! Probably would have been Fingon. Oh, well.

I think I have to do this meme, although I don't have that many WIPs and I am sure my sentences won't be anywhere near as interesting.

From: [identity profile]

I can honestly say that while this character might say anything at any given moment, I had no idea he was going to say that. But I'm certainly glad that he did. Now I just need to make him live up to his promises.

I can't wait to click over and see what you came up with! There would be a good reason you don't have too many WIP's to draw from. You actually finish things.

From: [identity profile]

I love you, and I expect these all in my inbox immediately. IMMEDIATELY.

One day, Miss Voksen will learn that the words are fickle and shameful, and they do not always want to be shared. In fact, they are rather socially-crippled, and will shuffle around, staring at their shoes, and making awkward sounds, when presented to strangers before their time.

I love Olin, even though I don't really know him. Tell me more.


Ps -- Did I get you sick through the internet? :( I is sorry.

From: [identity profile]

I'm doing some tinkering and after this tinkering is finished, stories and Olin and all sorts of things will be forced upon you so that you can push me along as your time allows. You were right -- doing this meme forced me go back to and fall in love with things again.

If I show someone a WIP, I become very self-conscious and nervous. Usually it means the death of a fic. I'm trying to get over this. I think my words might be a little more socially inept than most. They hide in cupboards and crisper drawers and mutter beneath their breath.

PS: Yes. You did. This is the respiratory/fever/freakishness from hell. The fever! What's up with that? I should have used hand sanitizer before I opened google docs.

Now for Russia . . .

From: [identity profile]

Also: we should really check in, shouldn't we? Would you like me to write a short note saying that we both almost expired from various animal flus, but we're finally able to type again? Also, do we have a personal deadline? Would you like me to make a whole lot of stuff up? I'm very good at that.

From: [identity profile]

By all means, make things up. Lie, two_point, just lie.

I had bird flu, if that will make the story more believable.

Also, I swear.. I will finish this scene... let's say.. this week...

It's the Nov deadline. I'm blaming that. It's making me lazy.

From: [identity profile]

Thank you! And oh, 14 . . . that was one of those moments that made me realize why I truly love Schuldig. He leads, I follow. I'm given no choice.

Does he do this to you?


twopoint: (Default)

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