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minisinoo:
My challenge to you is: Assemble a superteam from your various fandoms.
Your team must consist of the following:
(1) Team Leader (could be anyone, but must have good leadership skills!)
(1) Warrior (Ronon, Faith, Hercules)
(1) Smartypants (House, Giles, Hermione)
(1) Hottie (Brian Kinney, John Sheppard, Amanda)
(1) Comic Relief (Frannie Vecchio, Wash, Xander)
All your superteam members must be from DIFFERENT fandoms. I will count SG1/SGA and Buffy/Angel as different fandoms, as well as Marvel and DC, but I'm not going to split Marvel and DC into all *their* different fandoms; this meme would be way too easy if you could just fill all the slots with different superpowered people.
Whether your team has a 'theme' (all girls! all Brits! etc.) and their scope-- whether they fight vampires, serial killers, invading aliens or work to prevent littering-- is up to you. *G*
Team Leader: Jack O'Neill (SG-1)
Warrior: Max (Dark Angel)
Smartypants: Rodney McKay (SGA)
Hottie: Dean Winchester (SPN)
Comic Relief: Buffy Summers (BtVS)
There! A superteam that can totally kick ass. *beams* And I even have chicks on it.
And fromauburnnothenna:
If you happen to be working on some creative writing project, fanfiction or NaNoWriMo or what have you, post exactly one sentence (or more) from each of your current work(s) in progress. It should probably be your favourite or most intriguing sentence so far, but what you choose is entirely your discretion. Mention the title (and genre) if you like, but don't mention anything else -- this is merely to whet the general appetite for your forthcoming work(s).
Dark Angel, untitled:
The third thug hit the pool talbe and sent the balls spinning in all directions, bouncing out across the floor. Some part of Krit's brain estimated mass, velocity, and angle and spit out the likely pahts of trajectory. The rest of him was watching the man left standing, who ignored the groaning bodies he'd left behind and went back to his seat at the bar, to the slaps and congratulations of his friends. The back of his neck, just visible beneath overlong blond hair, was bare except for a faint tracery of thin black lines. A barcode just beginning to return after a laser removal.
Krit dug his cell phone out of his jacket pocket and speed-dialed two, listened to it ring three times before someone picked up. "I found him," he said.
CSI:NY, Winter City:
"Tell me somethin', Detective, if you're so smart, how come you ain't called on right horse in three months'a Saturdays?"
"Plenty'a guys go years without callin' a right horse," Danny says blandly.
"Not you. You ain't never called one wrong, not in thirty years, not until the PD gave you your job back." He pushes Danny's ticket toward him.
Danny shrugs and takes the ticket. "Guess I lost my touch."
CSI:NY, Schrodinger's Nightmare:
There was a woman in Air Force blues fussing over his coffeemaker and a man in a Marine uniform at his table. He stood up as Danny approached.
"Dr. Messer, I presume," he said, holding out his hand. "I'm Colonel Mac Taylor, U.S. Marine Corps; this is Major –”
The woman turned around. “Oh,” Danny said, backing up a pace. “It’s you.” He looked at Taylor. “Why’s she here? You do know she tried to kill me once, right?”
Dr. Bonasera looked disdainful. “As if I’d ever do something as plebeian as putting a bomb under the hood.”
Taylor blinked. “I see you two have met before.”
Original fic, Dangerous Heroes:
Sirius Carrington sneered, the expression entirely natural and somehow predatory on his narrow face. “White’s been telling tales out of school again,” he said. “You’ve heard about my seven-times-great-grandnephew already. Or was it your mother’s guardian angel that dropped that tidbit on you? Dodson never could tell fact from fiction.”
“A little bit of both,” Alan said. “If you’re not a White ghost, why are you here?”
“To get a look at you,” Sirius said frankly. He tossed his white-blond hair out of his face. “See what kind of lies they’re saying about Antares. See what they’re saying about my Family. To get the fuck away from that Blackwood they’ve got tramped up like a Carrington, like one of mine.” This last was spat out like a curse and he fell silent, regarding Alan with cool gray eyes.
“So,” he said finally, “what are you? Flatline, spike, pureblood, bastard, heir, betrayer, killer, murderer, outcast, son, magician, liar, seer? Which one? All of them? None of them? You live on a node; I can smell it on you like blood. And you have a gift; but it’s not your Family’s.”
“You are really fucking freaky,” Alan told him.
Original fic, untitled:
Alec shrugged, a fluid, feline movement. "Not my concern. What is my concern is what's got you all worked up all of a sudden. You're not exactly Miss Excitement."
"Well, I'm sorry my attempt-to-be-normal lifestyle isn't interesting enough for you," Ceejay snapped. She dug the heels of her hands into her eyes, raising her face to the sky and letting the cool New York air wash over her. It was always too hot inside Club Angel, and the buildling being packed full of people just looking to get laid didn't help.
"But we're not normal, little sister," Alec said. "We'll never be normal. Not out here."
Original fic, untitled:
For a moment it's like they're in high school again, and then the moment passes. They're on the wrong side of twenty-five and the world's turned on its axis; everything changes.
Even dreams.
But since it is just a dream and Fury's the only telepath in the house (and Kyle's really three thousand miles away), Fury steps up to Kyle so that their knees are touching and presses her fingers against his cheek. She can feel thick ridges of scar tissue there. Kyle's hands come up slowly to cup her waist.
"Fury," he breathes, and the warmth of the word flutters against her chest. He maps the contours of her body with his hands, feeling out the changes; when he runs his fingers over her left hand Fury almost forgets to breathe, then she realizes there's no wedding ring. For a moment she feels like a traitor -- to Jeff, to Libby and Pru, to everything she's spent the last ten years of her life trying to become.
But it's just a dream, and everything is possible in dreams.
Original fic, untitled:
The migraine starts quickly and without warning. Kyle drops to his knees, hands to head, vision blurring. He can see --
Fire reflected in the windows of Hancock Tower, even as the building falls, panes of glass sliding out of their holdings and going down, down, down...
Blood on the steps of City Hall, a woman's body splayed out awkwardly in the lap of a winged man -- he knows her, sweet God, it's Lilith --
A shimmering curtain of fire descends, a liquid waterfall of transcendent flame that destroys everything in its path. The Welcome to Massachusetts sign dissipates into ash.
"Kyle!" Jason says, low and urgent; he wraps an arm around Kyle's shoulders, supporting him, and Kyle's head lolls back against his collarbone.
His head throbs in time with his heart and his bones have turned to jelly, but the visions have finished for the moment, leaving his eyeballs threatening to explode. "Hey," he whispers, looking up at Jason's worried face. "You're supposed to be dead."
minisinoo:My challenge to you is: Assemble a superteam from your various fandoms.
Your team must consist of the following:
(1) Team Leader (could be anyone, but must have good leadership skills!)
(1) Warrior (Ronon, Faith, Hercules)
(1) Smartypants (House, Giles, Hermione)
(1) Hottie (Brian Kinney, John Sheppard, Amanda)
(1) Comic Relief (Frannie Vecchio, Wash, Xander)
All your superteam members must be from DIFFERENT fandoms. I will count SG1/SGA and Buffy/Angel as different fandoms, as well as Marvel and DC, but I'm not going to split Marvel and DC into all *their* different fandoms; this meme would be way too easy if you could just fill all the slots with different superpowered people.
Whether your team has a 'theme' (all girls! all Brits! etc.) and their scope-- whether they fight vampires, serial killers, invading aliens or work to prevent littering-- is up to you. *G*
Team Leader: Jack O'Neill (SG-1)
Warrior: Max (Dark Angel)
Smartypants: Rodney McKay (SGA)
Hottie: Dean Winchester (SPN)
Comic Relief: Buffy Summers (BtVS)
There! A superteam that can totally kick ass. *beams* And I even have chicks on it.
And from
auburnnothenna:If you happen to be working on some creative writing project, fanfiction or NaNoWriMo or what have you, post exactly one sentence (or more) from each of your current work(s) in progress. It should probably be your favourite or most intriguing sentence so far, but what you choose is entirely your discretion. Mention the title (and genre) if you like, but don't mention anything else -- this is merely to whet the general appetite for your forthcoming work(s).
Dark Angel, untitled:
The third thug hit the pool talbe and sent the balls spinning in all directions, bouncing out across the floor. Some part of Krit's brain estimated mass, velocity, and angle and spit out the likely pahts of trajectory. The rest of him was watching the man left standing, who ignored the groaning bodies he'd left behind and went back to his seat at the bar, to the slaps and congratulations of his friends. The back of his neck, just visible beneath overlong blond hair, was bare except for a faint tracery of thin black lines. A barcode just beginning to return after a laser removal.
Krit dug his cell phone out of his jacket pocket and speed-dialed two, listened to it ring three times before someone picked up. "I found him," he said.
CSI:NY, Winter City:
"Tell me somethin', Detective, if you're so smart, how come you ain't called on right horse in three months'a Saturdays?"
"Plenty'a guys go years without callin' a right horse," Danny says blandly.
"Not you. You ain't never called one wrong, not in thirty years, not until the PD gave you your job back." He pushes Danny's ticket toward him.
Danny shrugs and takes the ticket. "Guess I lost my touch."
CSI:NY, Schrodinger's Nightmare:
There was a woman in Air Force blues fussing over his coffeemaker and a man in a Marine uniform at his table. He stood up as Danny approached.
"Dr. Messer, I presume," he said, holding out his hand. "I'm Colonel Mac Taylor, U.S. Marine Corps; this is Major –”
The woman turned around. “Oh,” Danny said, backing up a pace. “It’s you.” He looked at Taylor. “Why’s she here? You do know she tried to kill me once, right?”
Dr. Bonasera looked disdainful. “As if I’d ever do something as plebeian as putting a bomb under the hood.”
Taylor blinked. “I see you two have met before.”
Original fic, Dangerous Heroes:
Sirius Carrington sneered, the expression entirely natural and somehow predatory on his narrow face. “White’s been telling tales out of school again,” he said. “You’ve heard about my seven-times-great-grandnephew already. Or was it your mother’s guardian angel that dropped that tidbit on you? Dodson never could tell fact from fiction.”
“A little bit of both,” Alan said. “If you’re not a White ghost, why are you here?”
“To get a look at you,” Sirius said frankly. He tossed his white-blond hair out of his face. “See what kind of lies they’re saying about Antares. See what they’re saying about my Family. To get the fuck away from that Blackwood they’ve got tramped up like a Carrington, like one of mine.” This last was spat out like a curse and he fell silent, regarding Alan with cool gray eyes.
“So,” he said finally, “what are you? Flatline, spike, pureblood, bastard, heir, betrayer, killer, murderer, outcast, son, magician, liar, seer? Which one? All of them? None of them? You live on a node; I can smell it on you like blood. And you have a gift; but it’s not your Family’s.”
“You are really fucking freaky,” Alan told him.
Original fic, untitled:
Alec shrugged, a fluid, feline movement. "Not my concern. What is my concern is what's got you all worked up all of a sudden. You're not exactly Miss Excitement."
"Well, I'm sorry my attempt-to-be-normal lifestyle isn't interesting enough for you," Ceejay snapped. She dug the heels of her hands into her eyes, raising her face to the sky and letting the cool New York air wash over her. It was always too hot inside Club Angel, and the buildling being packed full of people just looking to get laid didn't help.
"But we're not normal, little sister," Alec said. "We'll never be normal. Not out here."
Original fic, untitled:
For a moment it's like they're in high school again, and then the moment passes. They're on the wrong side of twenty-five and the world's turned on its axis; everything changes.
Even dreams.
But since it is just a dream and Fury's the only telepath in the house (and Kyle's really three thousand miles away), Fury steps up to Kyle so that their knees are touching and presses her fingers against his cheek. She can feel thick ridges of scar tissue there. Kyle's hands come up slowly to cup her waist.
"Fury," he breathes, and the warmth of the word flutters against her chest. He maps the contours of her body with his hands, feeling out the changes; when he runs his fingers over her left hand Fury almost forgets to breathe, then she realizes there's no wedding ring. For a moment she feels like a traitor -- to Jeff, to Libby and Pru, to everything she's spent the last ten years of her life trying to become.
But it's just a dream, and everything is possible in dreams.
Original fic, untitled:
The migraine starts quickly and without warning. Kyle drops to his knees, hands to head, vision blurring. He can see --
Fire reflected in the windows of Hancock Tower, even as the building falls, panes of glass sliding out of their holdings and going down, down, down...
Blood on the steps of City Hall, a woman's body splayed out awkwardly in the lap of a winged man -- he knows her, sweet God, it's Lilith --
A shimmering curtain of fire descends, a liquid waterfall of transcendent flame that destroys everything in its path. The Welcome to Massachusetts sign dissipates into ash.
"Kyle!" Jason says, low and urgent; he wraps an arm around Kyle's shoulders, supporting him, and Kyle's head lolls back against his collarbone.
His head throbs in time with his heart and his bones have turned to jelly, but the visions have finished for the moment, leaving his eyeballs threatening to explode. "Hey," he whispers, looking up at Jason's worried face. "You're supposed to be dead."