egotistical meme thing lifted from ![[profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
_ming
i like this meme, despite how self-focused it is. it's been so long since i've been actually writing (instead of just squeezing out words painfully), and i'm enjoying it so much that i'm making the most of it.
essentially this meme-thing is a exercise in self-recs. so, behind the cut you'll find stories of mine that i like the most. covering 21JS, the faculty, lotrips and lotr.
besides, i've finished all my work, it's friday afternoon, and it's time for some serious slacking off.
Mean Streets (21 jump street)
Still in love with this fandom enough that I don't hate these stories yet. this one is over 8000 words long. omg! wtf! i didn't think it was humanly possible for me to write stories that long anymore. this one is full of cheesy angst, but the show (and episode) is pretty cheesy and angsty in itself anyway.
Tom looks up at him, expression inscrutable, and Doug doesn’t realise he’s stopped breathing until Tom breaks their gaze again, like a line of thickening glass snapping when the glass-blower’s flame focuses too hard on the clear liquid. “Hey. Just… wear it, okay? Take it, at least.” Tom’s head is bent down, and he rubs the dime-sized medallion, silver worn smooth on the edges, between the pad of his thumb and the knuckle of his forefinger. “No class ring crap. Just…” Doug remembers what his mom told him, remembers the moment she slipped it over his head and the way it looked so strange against the dark blue and gold-stitching of his stiff-starched uniform. To rescue the souls of the faithful from the power of the enemy, especially at the hour of death. “I think it suits you more than it does me. Like the earring, eh?” he flicks his finger against the fine silver cross dangling from Tom’s left ear, skull and crossbones on the lobe fat and gleaming.
Wake Up (21 jump street)
heee. funfun. have i mentioned that i fucking love this show? and the fandom. there is nothing True and Pure about it. it's all full of big yellow cardigans and shoulder pads.
"You guys are dating?” the kid remarks, his tone incredulous. “And you're cousins? Eww."
Doug closes his mouth, jerks the kid’s arms a little higher, fumbling for the cuffs. "We're not dating," he spits, at the same instant as Hanson says in a similar tone; "We're not cousins." --Oh.
...poke-poke, I owe you a coke, Doug thinks, only not, and concentrates on clipping the cuffs on the kid as fast as he can, something somewhat aided by the fact that the kid is too preoccupied with laughter to bother struggling any further.
five things that never happened to casey connor (faculty)
Ah, the faculty. I heart this fandom a considerable amount, but kinda know the canon too well to be able to feel confident in writing it, if that makes any sense. I do love this story though - i love the 5 things fic meme a great deal, when it's done well. works well for people like me, who have a bunch of quirky ideas that don't really fit anywhere otherwise.
pacey figures that if he ever ends up in front of the camera, it will signify the end of his existence. he finds himself dreading the looming promise of college and its anonymity, its utter impersonality that will no doubt leave him unknown and untouched. he welcomes each connection of fist and foot with his flesh because the bruises create a skin that signify a barrier between what's inside him and the rest of the world, that set him as whole and different.
he never wants it to change.
once upon a five times (lotrips au)
see above for my gushing on the 5 things format. this was written at a point where i was well and truly in lust with the AU concept. and the meta concept. and the whole idea of story telling, and celebrity, and and... yeah. this story reflects all that.
he brings her flowers, wine, gifts; her eyes glitter behind cigarette smoke as if they can see more than she's letting on, she shows her teeth and makes him shiver. her skin is rich brown, her body svelte in the shadow of night and the dark corners of her body smell like forest and earth and fur when elijah buries his face in them.
it takes a moment for her face to drop its masking sneer when the call to cut! rings out, and elijah's heart pounds upwards like she's never done that to him before. eat me his mind babbles later, as her teeth tear at the delicate, cold-stung skin of his throat. eat me all up.
beauty sleep (lotrips au)
this is one that kinda just popped out fully-formed. i'm not sure if i've ever had this much feedback on a story before. it seemed to have a pretty strong effect on most people that read it, whether they liked it or not :D
in february two thousand and nine debbie realises that elijah is a saint. there is no other explanation. the house sustains serious fire damage when she falls asleep after fasting for six days in two thousand eleven, letting the candles that overwhelm elijah's bedroom burn too low, wax softening and collapsing the fragile columns holding the flames aloft; they catch onto the masses of dried and rotting flowers around the room.
hannah hires the lawyers and signs the papers, sets up a gradual distribution of funds to ensure elijah is cared for in an elite nursing home. his room number is eightninefive, and he shares it with two other motionless bodies, their skin loose as if they are shrinking within it. he looks as if he's going to wake at any moment.
(lotrips au)
ah, my pet project. longest story, first completed WIP. this was so satisfying to write (and get away with), and i loved the attention of having fans for it :D writing hasn't been the same since.
Dominic stands still long enough for the twin gleams to manifest in the darkness ahead of him - close to the ground but not close enough to be a cat - until he steps almost involuntarily forward, refuse squelching underfoot and the stench of rot rising, unnoticed. The closer he gets the more seems to be revealed - there is white, though the thing seems to be chiefly black - though 'black' in itself seems an inadequate way to describe it - and something flutters up as he comes close enough to discern it - hands.
Large, unblinking eyes gaze up at him from amidst a white face, glowing in the dank alley through a sheen of grime. Hands pressed to breast - fingers the colour of bone, long and sculpted, tendons corded delicately.
"Hello," Dominic murmurs a little hoarsely, seeing with some degree of surprise his own hand reaching out in front of him, trembling slightly. "Are you all right?"
Autumn (lotr)
most of my lotr stories i can't even click on the link to. i can't stand the early stuff i wrote. this is one of the last lotr stories i wrote. gen. i don't dare look at the slash ones.
Red leather under his fingers; an automatic caress as he slides it into his pack, which is less worn now than it was once; coloured scraps of fabric patching old rents and new. He's able to fasten the brooch at his throat without even looking at it, and he doesn't think he'd like to live forever and forget the slick ridges of its surface, or forget the first time he felt them. He doesn't think he'd like to forget the moment when his fingers fumbled with the catch because he was pinning it on someone else, he doesn't want to forget the taste of ashes on his dry tongue or the way it hurt to swallow when Frodo's eyes seemed to stare right through him.
Primary Colours (lotr)
though this one is kinda slashy, i guess. another that came out fully-formed. at this point i was writing things that were longer, so it was strange to have such a short story so successful. i still like it, though. if only in concept.
Red. The crisp crunch of harvest apples, skin burnished on a worn velvet coat sleeve, juice dripping down chins, sticky with laughter. Sliding down out of the tree and into the dusk, walking home arm-in-arm with full bellies.
OKAY NOW YOUR TURN.
essentially this meme-thing is a exercise in self-recs. so, behind the cut you'll find stories of mine that i like the most. covering 21JS, the faculty, lotrips and lotr.
besides, i've finished all my work, it's friday afternoon, and it's time for some serious slacking off.
Mean Streets (21 jump street)
Still in love with this fandom enough that I don't hate these stories yet. this one is over 8000 words long. omg! wtf! i didn't think it was humanly possible for me to write stories that long anymore. this one is full of cheesy angst, but the show (and episode) is pretty cheesy and angsty in itself anyway.
Tom looks up at him, expression inscrutable, and Doug doesn’t realise he’s stopped breathing until Tom breaks their gaze again, like a line of thickening glass snapping when the glass-blower’s flame focuses too hard on the clear liquid. “Hey. Just… wear it, okay? Take it, at least.” Tom’s head is bent down, and he rubs the dime-sized medallion, silver worn smooth on the edges, between the pad of his thumb and the knuckle of his forefinger. “No class ring crap. Just…” Doug remembers what his mom told him, remembers the moment she slipped it over his head and the way it looked so strange against the dark blue and gold-stitching of his stiff-starched uniform. To rescue the souls of the faithful from the power of the enemy, especially at the hour of death. “I think it suits you more than it does me. Like the earring, eh?” he flicks his finger against the fine silver cross dangling from Tom’s left ear, skull and crossbones on the lobe fat and gleaming.
Wake Up (21 jump street)
heee. funfun. have i mentioned that i fucking love this show? and the fandom. there is nothing True and Pure about it. it's all full of big yellow cardigans and shoulder pads.
"You guys are dating?” the kid remarks, his tone incredulous. “And you're cousins? Eww."
Doug closes his mouth, jerks the kid’s arms a little higher, fumbling for the cuffs. "We're not dating," he spits, at the same instant as Hanson says in a similar tone; "We're not cousins." --Oh.
...poke-poke, I owe you a coke, Doug thinks, only not, and concentrates on clipping the cuffs on the kid as fast as he can, something somewhat aided by the fact that the kid is too preoccupied with laughter to bother struggling any further.
five things that never happened to casey connor (faculty)
Ah, the faculty. I heart this fandom a considerable amount, but kinda know the canon too well to be able to feel confident in writing it, if that makes any sense. I do love this story though - i love the 5 things fic meme a great deal, when it's done well. works well for people like me, who have a bunch of quirky ideas that don't really fit anywhere otherwise.
pacey figures that if he ever ends up in front of the camera, it will signify the end of his existence. he finds himself dreading the looming promise of college and its anonymity, its utter impersonality that will no doubt leave him unknown and untouched. he welcomes each connection of fist and foot with his flesh because the bruises create a skin that signify a barrier between what's inside him and the rest of the world, that set him as whole and different.
he never wants it to change.
once upon a five times (lotrips au)
see above for my gushing on the 5 things format. this was written at a point where i was well and truly in lust with the AU concept. and the meta concept. and the whole idea of story telling, and celebrity, and and... yeah. this story reflects all that.
he brings her flowers, wine, gifts; her eyes glitter behind cigarette smoke as if they can see more than she's letting on, she shows her teeth and makes him shiver. her skin is rich brown, her body svelte in the shadow of night and the dark corners of her body smell like forest and earth and fur when elijah buries his face in them.
it takes a moment for her face to drop its masking sneer when the call to cut! rings out, and elijah's heart pounds upwards like she's never done that to him before. eat me his mind babbles later, as her teeth tear at the delicate, cold-stung skin of his throat. eat me all up.
beauty sleep (lotrips au)
this is one that kinda just popped out fully-formed. i'm not sure if i've ever had this much feedback on a story before. it seemed to have a pretty strong effect on most people that read it, whether they liked it or not :D
in february two thousand and nine debbie realises that elijah is a saint. there is no other explanation. the house sustains serious fire damage when she falls asleep after fasting for six days in two thousand eleven, letting the candles that overwhelm elijah's bedroom burn too low, wax softening and collapsing the fragile columns holding the flames aloft; they catch onto the masses of dried and rotting flowers around the room.
hannah hires the lawyers and signs the papers, sets up a gradual distribution of funds to ensure elijah is cared for in an elite nursing home. his room number is eightninefive, and he shares it with two other motionless bodies, their skin loose as if they are shrinking within it. he looks as if he's going to wake at any moment.
(lotrips au)ah, my pet project. longest story, first completed WIP. this was so satisfying to write (and get away with), and i loved the attention of having fans for it :D writing hasn't been the same since.
Dominic stands still long enough for the twin gleams to manifest in the darkness ahead of him - close to the ground but not close enough to be a cat - until he steps almost involuntarily forward, refuse squelching underfoot and the stench of rot rising, unnoticed. The closer he gets the more seems to be revealed - there is white, though the thing seems to be chiefly black - though 'black' in itself seems an inadequate way to describe it - and something flutters up as he comes close enough to discern it - hands.
Large, unblinking eyes gaze up at him from amidst a white face, glowing in the dank alley through a sheen of grime. Hands pressed to breast - fingers the colour of bone, long and sculpted, tendons corded delicately.
"Hello," Dominic murmurs a little hoarsely, seeing with some degree of surprise his own hand reaching out in front of him, trembling slightly. "Are you all right?"
Autumn (lotr)
most of my lotr stories i can't even click on the link to. i can't stand the early stuff i wrote. this is one of the last lotr stories i wrote. gen. i don't dare look at the slash ones.
Red leather under his fingers; an automatic caress as he slides it into his pack, which is less worn now than it was once; coloured scraps of fabric patching old rents and new. He's able to fasten the brooch at his throat without even looking at it, and he doesn't think he'd like to live forever and forget the slick ridges of its surface, or forget the first time he felt them. He doesn't think he'd like to forget the moment when his fingers fumbled with the catch because he was pinning it on someone else, he doesn't want to forget the taste of ashes on his dry tongue or the way it hurt to swallow when Frodo's eyes seemed to stare right through him.
Primary Colours (lotr)
though this one is kinda slashy, i guess. another that came out fully-formed. at this point i was writing things that were longer, so it was strange to have such a short story so successful. i still like it, though. if only in concept.
Red. The crisp crunch of harvest apples, skin burnished on a worn velvet coat sleeve, juice dripping down chins, sticky with laughter. Sliding down out of the tree and into the dusk, walking home arm-in-arm with full bellies.
OKAY NOW YOUR TURN.
no subject
AND YOUR FIC IS SO AMAZING. *memories post*
Bow was one of the first Lotrips I ever read, back when I was first getting into them. SCHWEE! The fic that made me make up my mind that I loved that fandom. I STILL DO BECAUSE IT'S SO SEXY. Seriously.