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sjazdoeswriting · 8 years ago

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Writer meme! WIP edition!

Yay! I got tagged by the ever so lovely @amethystinawrites, and I’ve been trying to mull this over since! I have so many projects and WIPs, omggggggg...! I’m getting better at finishing things but I’m still better at starting them.

Anyway! Have a couple of WIPs from my current active projects! There’ll be both fanfics and some “original” works (aka works featuring RP-characters between me and friends), and I’m gonna start with the original ones. Gonna be a long one, tho, foiks, because apparently I can’t keep things short. So hold onto your seatbelts, and look under the cut ;)

I tag: @alkizen, @sassynightcat, @totallyfrandom, @katastrophy, @oneamongathousand

Shift My Heart — Urban fantasy-ish/post-semiapocalypse Characters owned by @enlitenvarulv and myself

Caught in the moment as he was, Darien flinched when there was a loud yelp on the other side of him, and another beast like the one Alae had just felled tumbled down close enough to almost have its head on top of Darien’s lap. He stared at the beast, its teeth gleaming in what little light they had, and stumbled to his feet. Alae grabbed his arm firmly just as Darien was about to topple over anew from the force and the pain in his legs, snarling something inaudible — probably offending — before speaking up anew.

“Y’alright? Oliva’s gonna have me head if yer no’, so wo’k wit’ me, alrite?”

“Y-yeah, yeah alright.” Darien drew a few breaths and cleared his throat, glancing to Alae while trying to get his legs to stand firm. “What was that?”

“Changelin’,” Alae said as if it would explain everything. “Listen, we don’ ‘ave time tah explain bettah’ than tha’, alrite? Changelin’s a’ a pest and they be havin’ companiuns beasts, which will be furious when we kill the’ changelin’s an’ attack acco’dingleh. Yeah?

Darien exhaled, biting back the exhaustion, and gave Alae a wry, if a bit forced, smile.

“Damn it, Collins, you need to work on your English — soon I’ll be needing translating.”

“Fock o’, James,” Alae replied, but snorted on a laugh and let go of his arm. “Don’ go faintin’ on me, yeah?”

“Got it.”

Alae winked and returned to the battle. Remaining in place for another few seconds, Darien tried his hardest not to let his gaze stray to either beast on each side of him — the “companions” as Alae called them — or the changeling, instead only gathering enough strength to head back into the fight.

The fact that the changeling still sported hazy hints of red hair and freckles was something Darien furiously denied himself to even think about. Slowly but surely the lake returned to some kind of stillness, except for the indication of something moving just underneath its surface.

Darien refused to think of that, too.

Drive — Dystopian modern day Characters owned by @lienwyn and myself

Gideon had to give the guy a lot of credit. Despite Gideon's knowledge of runners and their way of thinking, he hadn't actually noticed when the other entered his office.

Of course, turning around and finding a young man he hadn’t expected leaning against his desk wasn't the best way to keep said young man alive. The other got to know that first-hand when he, a split second after Gideon first noticed him, had to stare down the barrel of a gun.

"Whoa, easy there, big guy!"

The guy's hands shot into the air, palms facing Gideon in a display of being unarmed and non-threatening. Gideon didn't fail to notice the panic flashing by in the other's eyes, and ultimately that was why he lowered the gun again, eyes still on the other.

"You're a runner," Gideon stated coolly, holding back on information — like asking if the other was the runner — as a mean to force the guy to give his.

With the gun out of the way, the other tentatively lowered his hands, and the panic in his eyes gave way for wariness. His face, however, changed into that of a rather impressive condescendence.

"Damn, you saw right through me," he drawled. "What on Earth gave me away? My super awesome office infiltration skills, or the fact that you asked for one?"

"And a mouthy one at that, just my luck."

Gideon rolled his eyes, putting the gun away where it would yet again be unseen, then crossed his arms over his chest, and eyed the other more closely. The guy looked quite the part of a runner, with comfortable, practical clothes, good running shoes — worn, but that hardly came as a surprise — and agile body language. The multiple necklaces were a surprise though — Gideon had thought them quite impractical on a runner — but the wind tousled hair wasn't.

There was something familiar about him, however, although Gideon couldn't quite put his finger on what or why. Not yet, anyway.

"If you dislike my mouth, you—“ Something flashed by in the other’s eyes, and he smoothly changed track, giving a deadpan: ”I suppose you're lucky that my main job puts focus on my feet.”

Gideon would probably have smiled if it weren't for their situation. But because of the situation, he wasn't as inclined to be amused.

"Indeed I am," he said, voice drawing towards a growl, then moved over to get around his desk.

Stones — Urban fantasy, 1920-ish Characters owned by @lienwyn and myself

”Tsk tsk... Going at it again, Zayed?”

Sophie froze at the foreign voice, coming from outside her field of attention, and turned around to spot whoever had spoken.

It was with shock, and dread, that she realised there were not one but two more creatures coming up a nearby trail: one with green skin and purple hair, the other with blue skin – darker than Abeo's – and black hair with blue ends. She could not make out which one of them that had talked, since both had their eyes on Abeo, but her gaze was inevitably drawn to the blackhaired one, currently scratching his neck with a look of utter dismissal on his face.

Sophie wished that she would wake up from the crazy nightmare, wondering if this was all a dream and whether she was truly asleep somewhere – the bunkbed back at the excavation camp, perhaps.

”Zayed!”

The green skinned creature suddenly took a number of rushed steps over to Abeo, raising his hands as if to touch the other's arms and shoulders, yet flinched and lowered them again before he actually did, as if catching himself doing something he should not be doing. With surprise Sophie realised that the emotion displayed in his green eyes was concern.

”You stupid idiot!” he barked, making Sophie inch back, not wanting to gain the attention of yet another upset creature. ”You got yourself hurt! Severely too, or you would've healed already!”

”Do not concern yourself with my well-fare, Dex,” Abeo brushed him off coldly – using a tone of voice that had Sophie shiver – and looked between the newcomers.

To Sophie it seemed as if she and Isaia could just as well have been nothing but smoke.

”What are the two of you doing here?” Abeo demanded. The green skinned creature took a step back and gingerly scratched his nose with a faint grimace, while the black-haired one merely rested one hand in the pockets of worn pants and shrugged.

”A gate keeper unleashed its power. As Generals present at such a time we're obliged to go see what's going on, which you know very well. Plus—” he added, a lopsided smile curling his lips and his eyes flashing with something Sophie did not have time to identify, ”—the stench of blood can hardly be ignored.”

”Generals,” the woman held her arms out and bowed with grace and respect. ”These humans—”

”Yes, yes.” The black-haired creature waved dismissively with one hand, efficiently silencing the woman. ”Don't bother.”

”Stripe...” the green skinned one scolded with a sigh of resignation, as if having admitted defeat long ago but remaining unwilling to entirely let go of his principles.

The impression was strengthened further as the black-haired one paid no mind to the scolding, instead merely continuing as if he had not heard anything to begin with.

”Let me guess: these humans stumbled out of the gate, caked in blood and mud, terrified — or well, she was terrified, he was... feverishly obsessed? — and after but a moment's contemplation you, Beithari, took offence and attacked? Of course it didn't actually work due to the Viael, but it was a good try. Then Mr. Grumpypants over there—” he made a casual, sloppy gesture towards Zayed, ”—showed up, using his smarts and now we're all a happy family, wondering what to do with the naughty children tripping over our doorstep, yes?”

Guess Mama’s Night — Urban fantasy Characters owned by @katastrophy and myself

My fingers itch to get inside the building.

After the many times I've visited, I know the flaws in security. Most of them, at least. Enough to know that I'm able to get in and out without being seen. But the risk of being found trespassing on Vincetti grounds has so far kept me from attempting anything.

Today, my veins burn with yearning to see it. To the point where I've almost convinced myself that a quick peek cannot be too bad. That getting into the garden, to begin with, cannot be that much of a risk.

I don't even know why I want it anymore. If it's because I want to know if we do have ties to the family, or if it's because it's a challenge. That in itself should have been a warning sign grand as the mansion before me, but I completely blank it out.

One visit. One quick trespass.

That can't be too bad, right?

I manage two steps before I feel a pinch of dread, just between my shoulderblades, as if being watched. Stopping immediately, the feeling disappears, but I remain frozen where I stand, staring at the mansion before me, knowing what a stupid idea it is but still feeling the burning desire to go on. To go further.

Drawing a deep breath, I slowly turn away, taking a slow step back towards the square to leave. The whole thing is a stupid idea. I know that. I know it's bad on so many levels.

And yet...

Motionless once again, blood rushes through my ears, making all other sounds dull and distant. The streets are more or less empty, and I see no one. Hear no one. There's not a trace of anyone in the vicinity of the estate.

Which is why I turn back to it.

Staring at the gates surrounding the garden I grit my teeth, I draw a breath, and then I burst into running. It's no more than maybe twenty-five or thirty feet before I reach the gates, but the adrenaline's pumping in my ears so loudly that all other sounds are drenched. Using the low stone railing as a spring board and my momentum as a driving force, I manage to jump high enough to hold onto the top of the fence and swing my legs over the top. Pushing myself from the fence while still in the air is harder, and the gap between me and the pointy bits meant to scare intruders — like myself — away is uncomfortably small, but I make it.

I land unceremoniously on the grass, stumbling and toppling over to fall on my side. Even more so, I remain in that position, trying to catch my breath and calm my racing heart.

The whole ordeal of crossing the street and breaching the fence has taken no more than maybe four seconds, but my body rages as if I have run a marathon. Heart racing, lungs burning, muscles trembling — even my hands and feet are pounding.

Panting, I force myself to my feet, drawing further into the garden and out of sight from the street on reflex. There's no one out there, but I cannot stay in the illusion that no one would come by, and remember that anyone can come by, or look through a window, at any time. Despite the few steps it means my whole body's shaking from the effort.

Realising just what a toll it's been on me merely to get into the garden, I reluctantly start contemplating if going through with the rest of the plan will actually be worth it. I will have to cross the garden, scale one of the walls and climb the bannister of the third floor balcony, then get inside and look around. And then I'll have to have enough strength to get back out.

It just doesn't seem worth it.

But I can't deny that I'm as curious as ever. That the adrenaline from succeeding to even get into the garden is fuelling the sense of triumph. The feeling of invincibility.

I take a step forward, just about to make up my mind about whether to go ahead or go back, when the choice is taken from me.

The hand that lands on my shoulder leaves no room for arguments.

Put A Stake Through My Heart — Vampire the Masquerade inspired LARP Characters owned by @sassynightcat, @oneamongathousand and myself

For a painstaking second Jewel had to hold back another sob, her grip around the handle shivering while she tried to keep herself together. Easier said than done.

Accepting that the situation was as good as it was going to get, Jewel bit back the last of the feelings wanting to drown her, and stepped inside the room. She didn't feel like smiling. Didn't feel like gloating.

We have to become what we were meant to be.

”You know,” she said out into the room, voice flat, while she slowly moved over towards the coffin. ”You think you know someone, and then you learn that all you thought was wrong.”

She stopped by the glass box, resting one hand on its edge. No change in Beatrice face, no wavering eyes, or shaking lips. No changes. None what so ever.

”I really wanted to be of use to her,” she said lowly, closing her eyes halfway. ”I thought I would be her Childe, and hated my Sire for taking that from me. But now, she—”

Drawing a deep breath, feeling her lungs ache in protest when muscles no longer needed was forced to work more than ever, the cold knot inside her chest tightened even further.

”I hated you for taking my place.” She glanced down to Beatrice, reaching down and brushing over the other's cheek. ”I hated you for having her love, when she gave me nothing but false pretences. I knew, Beatrice, that she didn't want me. I always knew... I just didn't want to realise, didn't want to believe.”

Pulling her hand back, Jewel smiled, faint and mirthless. She still felt drained and confused from her experiences at the Elysium, and she wasn't sure what she was doing, telling Beatrice all these things. It wouldn't change anything, but risk everything if Beatrice ever got out of her situation. But she needed it. Jewel needed to talk to someone, so badly.

”Djinn says I need her and I suppose he's right... he was always more clear-sighted than me. Even Hopesworth treats me with more respect and appreciation than the Madame, and yet she's the one I've sworn my loyalty to.”

Jewel pulled up a knife from inside her bag, folding away the arms of her clothes and made a deep cut in her arm, letting the blood disappear down Beatrice's throat. She should've been extatic, she knew that. A month ago, she would've been, but now she wasn't. There was nothing she wanted to say, to gloat about . Beatrice was in a glass coffin in the dark, kept company only by blackness and rats, but Jewel half envied her nevertheless. At least Beatrice couldn't hold herself responsible for what happened to her.

”If I let you loose, would you forgive me?” she asked. ”Would I even want you to? I doubt it. What I did to you, you should never forgive. Never forget. I cannot forget the kindness of the Madame, but neither can I forget or forgive the contempt I saw on her face when first I saw her after my Embrace.”

She averted her eyes somewhat, pulling her arm back once Beatrice had been given enough.

”Djinn says I need the Madame. That I have her. That he wish he could return to Germany. I don't have the Madame — I never will. I understand that now. The Madame will never accept what I am, never love me like she did when I was human. I was never going to be hers — she would never have let me be anything to her more than a project. Next to Elias, next to you, I was nothing but a moment of interest.”

Bitterness crawled up her throat and spread through her veins like poison.

NOW, FANWORKS!

Jackknife — AC:Liberation, modern AU Aveline/Gérald

“JACK KNIFE”

Aveline studied the name of the hair salon, displayed in big, bold letters on top of a red brick building. The general appearance of the building had her hesitate, its splendour gravely diminished by a construction scaffolding on one side, and a rugged-looking coffee shop on the other. A green sign hanging on three quarters outside the coffee shop had probably once stated its name, but years of exposure to the elements had left only a hazy "L" and "Z" clear enough to be read.

Nothing in the sorry sight before her made Aveline inclined to step inside the salon, and she had doubtlessly left if she hadn't been personally recommended to visit the place in wait for her regular salon to open up after renovations. Connor had apologised for not being able to give a personal review of the place, but he assured her that at least half a dozen of his afro-amerikan classmates had recommended it as a must go-to.

Aveline was beginning to think that these women were either blind, enjoying something completely different than her, or simply wanted to give bad advice. Seeing as Connor couldn't lie to save his life, Aveline couldn't blame him for the possible disasters that was to come.

Despite her suspicions and doubts, Aveline eventually sighed heavily and moved forward, decidedly stepping over the threshold to the salon without giving herself chance to leave.

She really needed to have her hair tended to, and she didn't really have much trust in the average, American-oriented hair salons — good reputation or not, she had found through personal experience that few had adequate knowledge about african-american hair texture and style.

What did she have to lose on trying this one, too? If it turned out a bad experience she could simply not return.

The inside of the salon gave a marginally better impression than the outside. Things were clean, for a start, and a soft, soothing melody played over the loud speakers. Two other patrons were already there — one waiting calmly in a dressing chair, a fashion magazine spread over her lap, the other tended to by a hair dresser, currently getting their hair dyed from the looks of it. Aveline believed the waiting patron to be latina, but the one being dyed did seem to be african-american.

Aveline was suitably calmed by this reassurance.

Simbots — The Avengers Steve/Tony

If Tony hadn't known better he would have thought that Steve Rogers was deliberately ignoring him. The ever so stoic man with the ridiculously blue eyes had been nowhere to be seen the past week and the only time Tony had seen him – standing in the kitchen, talking to Clint about whatever they talked about when they were alone – the other had not even graced him with more than a brief glance before decisively leaving the room.

That had been four days ago.

Tony crossed the space between two workbenches in his lab as if he owned the place — oh wait, he did — and picked up a pair of red gloves: repaired and modified after the last pair had been blown to bits by, well, Tony himself.

”JARVIS, enemies”, he commanded the AI, putting on the gloves just to feel a spark of almost childish delight as the circle in each palm started glowing.

”I wouldn't recommend it, Sir. The tests are yet to be completed: the last reading suggested that the synchronisation link is still unstable.”

”Don't worry so much JARVIS, it's bad for your circuits. I'll be fine”, he replied and loosened up some tense muscles. ”Deploy the simbots.”

”Yes, Sir.”

Six blips were heard from a wall, from which six spherical robots about the size of baseballs came to life, hoovered momentarily in the air and then started spreading out in the room. A moment passed while the bots lit up a circle of blue light in their midst, then JARVIS' voice echoed in the room anew.

”Simbots ready, Sir. Shall I give the command?”

Tony jumped twice where he was, drew a deep breath, and nodded firmly.

”Yes.”

At once the six bots shivered in unison, the light circles flashed and suddenly a sharp and scaringly vivid giant spider crawled over the cars and benches in the lab while a snarling, two-headed man-dog came at him from the other side. Both sported a glowing blue circle, indicating their weakest spot.

Tony's fingers danced as he cocked his head to one side.

”That's it, come and get me,” he mumbled under his breath, feeling the familiar tingling of adrenaline under his skin.

King of Hearts — The Losers Jensen/Cougar

"Seven of Hearts."

Pooch groaned and relucantly put the card down. Jensen grinned and winked at him.

"Queen of Clubs"

Cougar silently put a card down without moving a muscle.

"Oh yeah, I'm on a roll!" Jensen looked at his cards and grinned. "Alright! King of Hearts."

No one moved, and Jensen moaned in disappointment — and indignation.

"Come on! One of you has it, because I sure don't."

"Hey, Losers," Clay shouted in the background, making them all look towards him in a hearbeat. "We're heading out."

Without a word they all moved to follow order, but when Pooch gathered the deck Jensen couldn't deny himself the sneakpeek — only just catching the king of hearts disappear from the hand Pooch had had.

Snorting, Jensen elbowed the other man in the side and raised an eyebrow:

"What was that you said once, Pooch? 'The Pooch may lie, the Pooch may steal, but the Pooch never cheats'?"

The other man gave him an unimpressed glare and snorted.

"Those were Cougar's cards."

"Yeah right." Jensen grinned.

The fact that Cougar only gave them a long, level glance at their exchange of words didn't exactly point in his favour, but Jensen was willing to give him the benefit of the doubt.

Kittens — The Losers Jensen/Cougar

Jacob Jensen never had, and never would, deny that he was a major Cougar fan. Cougar was amazing in every sense of the word. Sometimes, Jensen would even think that Cougar was perfect, before he remembered that perfection was, in truth, boring, and Cougar was everything but boring. So perfectly imperfect it was.

Some would say that there were no imperfections about Cougar, of course. Jensen scoffed at their ignorance. Sure, he himself hadn’t found many either, but Jensen blamed that on the fact that he clearly looked at the guy with rose-tinted glasses.

Jensen had once contemplated custom ordering rose-tinted glasses, just so that he could walk around making that kind of commentary and still be taken as the major goof everyone thought he was. Perhaps it would’ve felt better to be able to say things out loud, even if no one would believe him.

Then he remembered whom he’d make the comments about, and abandoned the idea. While Cougar didn’t seem to catch onto things that Jensen left unsaid, he had a frighteningly astute ability to tell when Jensen lied and when he told the truth the moment the words had left his mouth.

Sometimes, the sheer implications of that made Jensen light-headed.

Like that time in Canada, when Jensen lied about having no problems with his assigned room. It had just been an over-night stay planned anyway, and he was well versed in how to stay up around the clock and still be efficient. Not only had Cougar caught the lie: two minutes and eight seconds later, Cougar, gear hoisted casually over his shoulder, stepped into Jensen’s room, and simply stated “My room’s too big. Switch?”. While confused out of his wits, the words instantly made the knot in Jensen’s stomach loosen. At the time he could’ve kissed Cougar out of relief, preventing himself from doing so by throwing out a “Sure, Cougs,” and hurriedly gathering his gear and technics. He left the room as quick as he dared without making it seem as though he fled from it, reminding himself to actually order that perhaps-not-entirely-legal sniper rifle ammo he’d read about the other day for Cougar.

Fini!

#I've got so many projects going on #Too many I suppose #But I like all of them #Most of the time at least #So much fun <3 #Sjaz does writing #Sjaz does WIPS #Sjaz does memes

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