sirona's fics (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
sirona_fics) wrote2012-01-18 01:49 pm
sirona_fics) wrote2012-01-18 01:49 pm
WIP meme and some recs
Listening to ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
somehowunbroken's Clint mix, I'm in a New York state of mind, and I want to write that singer!Clint thing I got going so fucking bad I'm aching with it. :((( Happily, today is supposed to be my last shift for a few days (we'll see what happens), so I ought to have the rest of the week off. Once I've slept properly, and not so fucking stressed out I'm practically vibrating, I might be able to get somewhere at last. All the stories I got going are clamouring right now -- that one, X-Pride II, the Love Actually AU. PLEASE, BRAIN, GIVE ME A BREAK ALREADY. :(
Since my brain is torturing me, I'm going to torture you some. Because I'm all about sharing. XP The WIP meme: here's a snippet each from the two fics on my mind right now.
Clint/Phil
He is so engrossed in the Nikkei closing time figures that the jangle of the bell at the front door startles him, sets his heart beating faster. The two writers don't react -- they have headphones stuffed in their ears, oblivious to the world around them and the guy that makes his way through the front door slowly, like it costs him something to keep moving. The suit he's wearing is really very nice -- would be nicer if it wasn't for the creases along the sides of his jacket, like it has spent the night carelessly thrown over the back of a chair, and the wrinkles in his pants that hint of long hours spent sitting down. The man trudges to the counter, rubbing wearily at his eyes, throws his messenger bag down by the stool and climbs on top of it with some effort.
"Morning," Phil says, eyeing the bags under the man's startlingly blue eyes that feel like they're boring all the way through him. "What can I get you?"
The smile the man gives him is no more than the lift of a corner of his mouth -- an effort to seem amiable. "A bucket of your strongest coffee," he says hoarsely, Midwestern accent adding a hint of a drawl to the words.
Phil leaves him rubbing a thumb over the middle of his forehead, where small creases have formed. Exhaustion emanates from the man in waves, obvious when one looks. Phil wonders how many people will bother to see, would care if they did. There's something about the guy that makes Phil want to slip him something warm from the oven, watch him as he eats it. It's not a foreign urge -- Phil is a baker by choice, not necessity, it's his vocation, and he has long come to terms with the fact that nothing gives him more satisfaction than feeding people, making their day that much sweeter. He usually gives in to it, because not doing so is simply too much bother. The muffins are cool enough to eat without burning your tongue by now, and while he waits for the machine to spit out the coffee into the largest mug in the place he pulls one out of the pan, slides it onto a plate and sets it next to the man's elbow. The guy gives it such a suspicious look that Phil has to roll his eyes at him, lips twitching as he wrestles the mug away from under the machine's nozzle and plops it on top of its designated plate, slides in front of the man. The look that receives is much less suspicious -- in fact, it verges on worshipful. Phil fights the urge to smile.
---
Charles/Erik
Mr Xavier observed his son with marked approval in his eyes, a fond smile lifting his mouth at the corners.
"Well, Charles, and what a to-do! I should not believe that you imagined your wedding day quite like this, but I dare say you are not too disappointed not to be the centre of all attention, hmm?"
Charles smiled at the twinkle in his father's eyes that invited him to join in his amusement. "Indeed not, Father. I would much rather--" he stopped, feeling uncomfortably ungrateful for the effort his family was going to.
But Mr Xavier knew his son well. "Indeed you would, my boy. And I wager your Mr Lehnsherr knows this quite well."
With this, he produced a package from behind his back and handed it to Charles, who took it with a bemused frown. He soon brightened, recognising the writing on the front as belonging to Erik, the familiar angular cursive designating Charles' name--but not as he knew it.
Charles Xavier-Lehnsherr, read the address, and for a long moment Charles could not draw breath in his lungs for the longing that overwhelmed him, the need to find Erik and draw him in for a long, needful kiss, and then drag him to the minister and demand they be wed this very second. His shaking fingers traced the letters; he barely heard his father clear his throat and tactfully retreat from the room, so preoccupied was he with his gift. His necktie lay forgotten on the bed as Charles wormed his fingers underneath the sealed edges and carefully tore them open. He realised he should not at all have been surprised when a book landed gently in his hand, freshly printed, covers pristine, gilt undisturbed at the spine. He opened it reverently, hearing the pages crackle in invitation. Unable to resist, he lifted the volume to his face, inhaled the smell of ink and paper that filled him with pleasure to his very soul. He turned the pages to the front.
Pride and Prejudice, the fine print announced, and underneath by the Author of 'Sense and Sensibility'. Charles closed his eyes, unable to help the joyful smile that crept over his face. "Oh, Erik," he whispered to himself fondly. Curious, he opened the book to the very first page, and his breath caught at the sight of more of Erik's writing. His eyes ran over it eagerly.
---
Aaaanyway. Now that we have all (mostly) recovered from TRF, and undoubtedly want ALLLLL THE SHERLOCK/JOHN REUNION FICS, might I recommend one for your attention?
Stand alone among the wreck bygiddygeek
--The carnival ends, eventually.
Ugh, this fic took my heart and ripped it apart and remade it all the better. Highly recommended.
Also, on a related note, in case some of you still haven't read the masterpiece that is this fic, I heartily encourage you to hightail it over there immediately--
Jack-in-the-Box by esteefee
--After Holmes returns there are recriminations. And then changes, subtle and insidious. There may even be a plot afoot. If only Holmes were more of a detective. Richie!Holmes universe.
One of the most astoundingly scorching things I have ever read, that somehow manages to also be one of the sweetest, kindest fics out there, too. Forever adored. <33333
This... was supposed to be a Day Fifteen of the Snowflake Challenge entry. Oh, well. Distraction is the name of the game today. I'm weary enough to have made myself a playlist named 'tired' full of achy, melantcholic songs, because that's the kind of mood I'm in. :( In fact, this matches my mood exactly (on the Clint mix I mentioned at the start).
somehowunbroken's Clint mix, I'm in a New York state of mind, and I want to write that singer!Clint thing I got going so fucking bad I'm aching with it. :((( Happily, today is supposed to be my last shift for a few days (we'll see what happens), so I ought to have the rest of the week off. Once I've slept properly, and not so fucking stressed out I'm practically vibrating, I might be able to get somewhere at last. All the stories I got going are clamouring right now -- that one, X-Pride II, the Love Actually AU. PLEASE, BRAIN, GIVE ME A BREAK ALREADY. :(Since my brain is torturing me, I'm going to torture you some. Because I'm all about sharing. XP The WIP meme: here's a snippet each from the two fics on my mind right now.
Clint/Phil
He is so engrossed in the Nikkei closing time figures that the jangle of the bell at the front door startles him, sets his heart beating faster. The two writers don't react -- they have headphones stuffed in their ears, oblivious to the world around them and the guy that makes his way through the front door slowly, like it costs him something to keep moving. The suit he's wearing is really very nice -- would be nicer if it wasn't for the creases along the sides of his jacket, like it has spent the night carelessly thrown over the back of a chair, and the wrinkles in his pants that hint of long hours spent sitting down. The man trudges to the counter, rubbing wearily at his eyes, throws his messenger bag down by the stool and climbs on top of it with some effort.
"Morning," Phil says, eyeing the bags under the man's startlingly blue eyes that feel like they're boring all the way through him. "What can I get you?"
The smile the man gives him is no more than the lift of a corner of his mouth -- an effort to seem amiable. "A bucket of your strongest coffee," he says hoarsely, Midwestern accent adding a hint of a drawl to the words.
Phil leaves him rubbing a thumb over the middle of his forehead, where small creases have formed. Exhaustion emanates from the man in waves, obvious when one looks. Phil wonders how many people will bother to see, would care if they did. There's something about the guy that makes Phil want to slip him something warm from the oven, watch him as he eats it. It's not a foreign urge -- Phil is a baker by choice, not necessity, it's his vocation, and he has long come to terms with the fact that nothing gives him more satisfaction than feeding people, making their day that much sweeter. He usually gives in to it, because not doing so is simply too much bother. The muffins are cool enough to eat without burning your tongue by now, and while he waits for the machine to spit out the coffee into the largest mug in the place he pulls one out of the pan, slides it onto a plate and sets it next to the man's elbow. The guy gives it such a suspicious look that Phil has to roll his eyes at him, lips twitching as he wrestles the mug away from under the machine's nozzle and plops it on top of its designated plate, slides in front of the man. The look that receives is much less suspicious -- in fact, it verges on worshipful. Phil fights the urge to smile.
---
Charles/Erik
Mr Xavier observed his son with marked approval in his eyes, a fond smile lifting his mouth at the corners.
"Well, Charles, and what a to-do! I should not believe that you imagined your wedding day quite like this, but I dare say you are not too disappointed not to be the centre of all attention, hmm?"
Charles smiled at the twinkle in his father's eyes that invited him to join in his amusement. "Indeed not, Father. I would much rather--" he stopped, feeling uncomfortably ungrateful for the effort his family was going to.
But Mr Xavier knew his son well. "Indeed you would, my boy. And I wager your Mr Lehnsherr knows this quite well."
With this, he produced a package from behind his back and handed it to Charles, who took it with a bemused frown. He soon brightened, recognising the writing on the front as belonging to Erik, the familiar angular cursive designating Charles' name--but not as he knew it.
Charles Xavier-Lehnsherr, read the address, and for a long moment Charles could not draw breath in his lungs for the longing that overwhelmed him, the need to find Erik and draw him in for a long, needful kiss, and then drag him to the minister and demand they be wed this very second. His shaking fingers traced the letters; he barely heard his father clear his throat and tactfully retreat from the room, so preoccupied was he with his gift. His necktie lay forgotten on the bed as Charles wormed his fingers underneath the sealed edges and carefully tore them open. He realised he should not at all have been surprised when a book landed gently in his hand, freshly printed, covers pristine, gilt undisturbed at the spine. He opened it reverently, hearing the pages crackle in invitation. Unable to resist, he lifted the volume to his face, inhaled the smell of ink and paper that filled him with pleasure to his very soul. He turned the pages to the front.
Pride and Prejudice, the fine print announced, and underneath by the Author of 'Sense and Sensibility'. Charles closed his eyes, unable to help the joyful smile that crept over his face. "Oh, Erik," he whispered to himself fondly. Curious, he opened the book to the very first page, and his breath caught at the sight of more of Erik's writing. His eyes ran over it eagerly.
My dearest Charles,
Forgive the presumption of my address. I had meant to wait to give you this as your first wedding present, but I find myself, quite for the first time in my life, disinclined to exercise restraint. I have waited for this day for longer than you can imagine, the day that I make you mine, that you acknowledge me as yours, the day you take my name and the world will know at last that we belong to each other.
This is the very first volume of Miss Austen's latest novel, printed and bound particularly for you. I do not know to what extent Miss Austen could have known of the circumstances of our journey to each other, but reading this will, I believe, entertain you greatly. And please know that as Darcy loves Elizabeth with all his heart, so do I love you, more than I can ever say.
I will wait for you at the altar. I hope that you will not change your mind about joining me there, although God above knows you ought to. I am not above bribing you to gain your affections, however, as you will by now know. Consider this the first of many.
Yours, etc.
Erik Lehnsherr
---
Aaaanyway. Now that we have all (mostly) recovered from TRF, and undoubtedly want ALLLLL THE SHERLOCK/JOHN REUNION FICS, might I recommend one for your attention?
Stand alone among the wreck by
giddygeek--The carnival ends, eventually.
Ugh, this fic took my heart and ripped it apart and remade it all the better. Highly recommended.
Also, on a related note, in case some of you still haven't read the masterpiece that is this fic, I heartily encourage you to hightail it over there immediately--
Jack-in-the-Box by esteefee
--After Holmes returns there are recriminations. And then changes, subtle and insidious. There may even be a plot afoot. If only Holmes were more of a detective. Richie!Holmes universe.
One of the most astoundingly scorching things I have ever read, that somehow manages to also be one of the sweetest, kindest fics out there, too. Forever adored. <33333
This... was supposed to be a Day Fifteen of the Snowflake Challenge entry. Oh, well. Distraction is the name of the game today. I'm weary enough to have made myself a playlist named 'tired' full of achy, melantcholic songs, because that's the kind of mood I'm in. :( In fact, this matches my mood exactly (on the Clint mix I mentioned at the start).
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:((( It's so hard to know which vids work in which countries! It's Comptine D'un Autre Ete -- if you copy that into YouTube, it ought to pull out one you can listen to!
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As the plot stands right now, Charles has just found a puppy during a sudden downpour, and is heading back to Pemberley with him cradled in his hands. Where he will find a furious(ly worried) Erik pacing the study and fretfully gnashing his teeth. :DD And there will be drenched Charles with a similarly drenched puppy staring up appealingly at Erik, wordlessly begging to be allowed to keep him/stay. /tease
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