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hsavinienSince I um, organize my fic once they're typed up, even the WIPs, this isn't too hard. Omitted (most) things less than three sentences long.
Rowling-verse
The One Where The Marauders Are Twelve:
Anyway, Remus was dead useful. They needed a “trustworthy one.” Pete wasn’t bad at that and was excellent at being overlooked (a useful talent in a prankster,) but Remus was the one that adults trusted. He wrapped the professors around his fingers just by taking notes and listening quietly in class! Sirius shook his head in mild amazement. A good trick, but distracting from interesting projects like the Marauders’ “359 Uses for Dungbombs.” Sirius smirked to himself proudly. Now that was a noble undertaking, fully worthy of the attention of four brave Gryffindor second-years. If he could find the fourth, that is.
The One With An Actual Title:
The Complete Illustrated Book of Garden Magic by Roderick Boils
For Molly Weasley, Mother’s Day meant that her children and husband bestowed a home-made dinner only slightly charred (Bill), a box of suspiciously squashed-looking sweets (Charlie), a wand-polishing kit (Percy), a tinsely necklace and bracelet (Fred and George), a dangerously-leaning cake that appeared to have been frosted with marshmallow (Ron, with help from Bill), a sloppily-embroidered apron (Ginny), and a book called The Complete Illustrated Book of Garden Magic (Arthur).
The One That Was Comment-fic For
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agenttrojie , But Might Be Expanded If I Ever Get Round To It:Lucy smiled fondly and leaned back in the carved seat, looking up at the statue.
It was a perfectly innocent one, of course, not one of the Witch's poor victims, a tall, slim naiad, pouring water out of a jug, from which she then rose in turn. The carver had been a master, that much was obvious, and the eyes were neither the blank ovals she expected, nor the too-real, horrid fear of the cursed beings the Witch had trapped. Instead they looked merry and lively, nearly following Lucy as she turned to get a better look.
Lucy gave the statue's hand a friendly pat. "I wonder, can you hear me?" she asked. "After all, if I can talk to trees and rivers, why not stone?"
Good Omens
little_loki 's Duckling Fic:He woke to an insistent prodding somewhere in the vicinity of his kidneys (which he’d thought necessary at some point and manifested in the usual location). “B’g’r ‘ff, ‘ziraphale. ‘m not laying on y’r blasseded b’ks,” he growled muzzily, half-conscious of the sensation. The sunlight prickling at his eyelids, a faint cheeping noise mixed with the sound of traffic and the continued assault on his side slowly trickled a realization past his protective morning ire. Not the bookshop. Damnit. Outside? Bloody Aziraphale driving me out into the bloody cold to discorporate from neglect and hardship. Bloody ow already! He forced one eyelid open to glare down the side of his jacket at the offending prodding.
Bright black eyes looked back at him and the little rounded beak emitted an imperative “Peep!(1)”
Crowley’s mouth fell open in a most undignified fashion, in pure, utter outrage at the sheer nerve of the universe. He let out a string of blistering oaths in more languages than most linguistics experts would admit existed, all aimed at whatever Force of Ineffability (naming no names) had decided to have a laugh at his expense this morning.
(1) Trans. from Duck = “Mama!”
Original
Capes stories
“Shoot.” Anita whistled. “I guess ‘speed-reader’ is pretty accurate, then?”
“I’ll say. He reread all of Lord of the Rings in a day and a half last month.”
“I agree with him about the covers, though. I swear that chick doesn’t even read more than twenty pages in to get hair and eye color, then draws a picture of somebody she thinks looks like a ‘Hawke-fall’ or ‘Morgwyn’.” The scar that crossed the bridge of her nose stretched white as she grinned lazily. “Anyway, I came in to ask if you two wanted to hang out with V and Max for the afternoon. They’re going to the Natural History Museum again and Max told me to extend his invitation. Jon and I’ve got plans to meet my mom and step-dad so we can’t go.”
Jamie perked up, automatically flattening the hair she’d mussed. “Yeah! Does this mean Keri’s gizmo actually worked?”
Anita grinned. “Yep. She can store one of her holos on a little chip so it’ll project around V. He looks a hoot—sort of like a cross between...I don’t know...Zorro and John Wayne, maybe. If you can imagine that. Rugged.”
“But less conspicuous than a walking pile of electrically-charged rock,” Jamie agreed.
The One Where Haven Is Badass And...uh...Plot Happens, Probably?:
Haven swore, turning a flip as she dodged away from her attacker. As she landed, she pulled a physical force shield out of the air; the torn sleeve on her other arm flapping as she went into stance. Civvies meant no blade and no Kevlar vest. Shit! And whoever it was had just seen her manifest a shield, but—she deflected the second knife, this time thrown—was still attacking. Not a badly-chosen mugging, then. Either powerful enough not to worry about going after a Cape, or Anita “Haven” Madison had been the target to begin with.
She examined her opponent as best she could in the twilight of the park and mentally swore some more. Everyfuckingone with some karate moves thought he was a ninja these days, but it was still annoying when they dressed like it. He obviously wasn’t a real one or she’d probably be dead by now. Haven kept her eyes and ears straining for an indication that Mr. Alleged Ninja in front of her had back up.
“So, will there be witty banter now?” Haven asked conversationally.
Other
The One Wherein A Middle-Aged Midwife Goes To War:
“Out! I’ll not have you hanging around now. Men know nothing about birthing, barely anything about babes, and, for that matter, very little about women. OUT!”
“Aye, mistress! Of course, mistress!” The two men, the girl’s husband and her brother, scrambled out of the door like lanky rabbits at a hound’s cry.
“Hmph. Weaklings too. Can’t even stand up to a proper scolding. A’, there now, dearling.” The girl was gasping and sweating profusely as the midwife helped her settle onto the woven straw mat, propping her up on a wedge shaped bolster.
The One About Ancient Israel Which Would Require Me To Do Research And Thus Hasn't Got Done:
Forgive me, Adonai, Jehovah who is God of my people, the one God... I dare not even make that prayer. The book of laws holds no record of the sacrifice needed to atone for my deed. I have sinned in lust. I am a sinner. I sin. Even now, even in the Temple of Solomon the Wise, King favored in God’s eyes, I cannot hold back the thoughts that torment my mind. I have looked with lust upon one of God’s messengers, those that the Greeks call angelos.
Ballad, Or, The One In Which Sav Made Up A Horrendously Complicated Rhyme And Meter Scheme:
From half an inch to eternity
Set forth the heroine brave.
She had a sorcerer there to fight,
A distresséd lass to save.
And how shall the lady knight set forth?
On horse, with people cheering.
To sail to the dread isle, she’ll need a ship
And a constant star for steering.
She sailed away to eternity
With horse and shield and sword steel-bright,
She braved the squalls that quaked
The boat, but foundered in the night.
Too perilous far to fight the shoals—
From the ship alone she saved
Grey horse, green shield, and sword steel-bright,
That the isle might yet be braved.
The One With The Technopunk Future High School:
The Superthins, the Cultgeeks, and the Cutters don't usually mingle. Don't speak the same language, don't subscribe to the same feeds, don't use the same tech. Nowhere but a high school, a holdover from the grandmothered-in education nostalgia track, do they even inhabit the same spheres and that only physically. Ms. Pol changes that because if you spend four hours on a rented bus with no wireless every weekend with people, you have to mix at least a little or else risk your entire group tearing itself apart from sheer boredom. The Superthins are mostly there to build poise, the Cutters alternate politics and poetry, and the Cultgeeks fill in the gaps with history, literature, drama, and science. I might be a little biased, since I'm a Cultgeek myself (Firefly, pre-13th century Irish and DC's Oracle).
God Loves the Red Carnation Boys, Or, Gay Boys Go To Prom:
“Jake-jake? Do you need some help up there?” Mom called up the stairs as Jacob surveyed himself in the bathroom mirror.
“Nah. I’m just finishing,” he yelled back, brushing damp hair out of his eyes and shaking it into place. He heard light footsteps on the stairs and poked his head out to show off.
Mom studied him appreciatively, wiping her hands absently on the hem of her shirt. “Oh, that looks nice. You’d better get dressed, though. Your ride should be here in about fifteen minutes.”
The One Set In Glacier National Park:
Jem watched surreptitiously over his glasses from the refuge of the screen tent. Jack, tan, lean muscles flexing pleasantly, was chopping wood, shirtless.
“I don’t fancy blonds,” Jem muttered under his breath. “I don’t fancy blonds.”
Jack paused to wipe his sweaty hair out of his eyes and roll his shoulders back, loosening them for another go. Jem’s libido went ‘Glurb.’ He told it sternly to shut up. Resolutely, he turned his eyes back to the tatty paperback, but the Doctor and the Brigadier weren’t holding his attention as well as usual.
The One Based One A Dream, Or, Total Avatar Character Goes To A Club And There Is Gender Confusion:
She sighed, running her hands absentmindedly through her short brown hair. Lights on the highway branched away as the car turned onto the exit ramp. Twenty more minutes and a series of labyrinthine turns later, the car dropped them in front of “Silver Gael.”
Bustled inside by the others, Jamie stared up at the trinity knot hanging from the ceiling—suspended by fishing line or thin wires, the old cds forming the design twisted and turned, label-sides glued together so that the rainbowy silver surfaces glinted and cast reflections everywhere. Probably ten years worth of AOL giveaways, Jamie thought. “That’s neat,” she remarked, though not loud enough to be heard over the music. It was indeed Celtic, a rampaging violin track vibrating the walls and dance floor to a pulsing beat. “Ashley MacIsaac’s stuff even!” Jamie mumbled to herself. “I can live with this.”
Sidekick And The Quest For The...Ooh, Porn:
Sander grabbed a bite of the bread (still-steaming from the bake ovens) and turned to face the speaker. He chewed carefully, then licked warm butter from his fingertips. “Glorious.” Sander looked up at the man, letting his smile twitch the corners of his lips. “Much like its creator.” The cook was a fine, tall young fellow, broad of shoulder with sandy hair slipping out of its tie and falling over his forehead, dark eyes, a sweetly curving mouth, and a streak of flour on his brow.
He laughed and wiped his hand on a stained apron before holding it out. “Thom.”
“Sander.” He shook hands, enjoying the friendly warmth. “And the bath has suddenly been replaced as my favorite part of Estwych.”
“Is that so?” Thom raised an eyebrow and grinned, eying him back. “I’ll have to buy you a drink after you finish your supper, so you can tell me what wondrous thing has relegated our lovely bath house to secondary standing.”
“I’d find that most agreeable, Master Cook.”
“Just Thom.” He winked and turned to make his way back to the kitchen, dodging nimbly around the servers. Sander watched him go, smirking appreciatively.
PPC Projects
Skulduggery Pleasant fandom
An Unpleasant World, sporking A pleasant world it is:
Finally, the Words gave the world a place to work with and plopped the two girls in front of a junior high school building. It was Generically blocky and bland. Tath rolled her eyes, then took her pen in the sock-puppet’s mouth to add ‘Being blatantly American’ to her charge-list. “Lovely. Now I’m the kind of person who skulks around schools waiting to stalk children. I think there was a word for that in my training.”
Valure and stephanie, still uncapitalized, started walking. Stephanie’s hair turned sandy blonde and she developed a sickeningly fake smile, while valure just looked dejected.
“Yes! Ditch the bint!” the sock-puppet crowed, as skulduggery pulled up in his...bently.
“Oh. Oh dear,” Tath murmured. “I fear that there will be objections to the careless use of such a fine automobile.” Lacking one of its vowels, the car in question was not its usual sleek self. The rear of the chassis looked crunched together and the tyres scraped the wheel-wells as the vehicle juked and twisted across the road, moving ‘bently’. She winced sympathetically.
Lord of the Rings fandom
The One With Oh Gods What IS This I Don't Even, sporking Kate and Haldir:
‘Sue herself wandered into sight, searching aimlessly for something. Exactly what, neither agent was certain, but, “Do you think she’s looking for her brain?” Nova whispered. She began humming softly to herself.
“Shh,” Tath breathed, mouth quirking. “We don’t want to bring the Wizard of Oz into this, Trainee. Watch her coalesce as the writer describes her.” The nondescript female figure slowly focused as the world of words unrolled around them.
Her torn green dress was hiked above her knees in order for her to walk. She was covered in dirt as rain splattered gently upon her now tangled rich auburn hair. It was dark and too dark to see her beautiful eyes of a deep turquoise, which glittered like emeralds in the sunlight. If her odd exquisite color of her eyes weren't enough, there was also added a surrounding ring of pure endless dark violet light. Anyone looking upon her would not forget her or her radiant beauty.
Both of the agents gagged as the aroma of crushed violets and roses stewed in sugar water washed over them. The sweetness was nauseating. “Oh, Greylady, her eyes...” Tath choked out.
“Definitely radioactive,” Nova whispered, horrified. “Holy hells, that’s unnatural.”
Pirates of the Caribbean fandom
The One With The Fried Chicken, sporking Whatever The Heck This Was Named:
They were interrupted as Toni fled the room in distress and they had to dive for cover. When she had gone upstairs to angst some more, Glass crawled out from under a table and Lena emerged from behind a potted fern. For some reason, the pot had a jolly picture of a white duck on the side.
Glass looked at it suspiciously. “It’s a duck.”
Lena glanced back. “Yes...”
“Why is it a duck?”
“Maybe the continuum’s aesthetic and material conventions are such that, wearied of being turned into grey mist or vague nothingness, it has decided to substitute amusing or interesting designs in their place,” Lena suggested philosophically. “Or maybe I was thinking about ducks.”
“Oh. I see.” The assassin-turned-manservant spun around and headed up the stairs. “Come along.” There followed a packing scene, with more insipid and pointless dialogue between Toni and Jane.
”Be careful miss. I can help you escape. I’ll call you later when everyone is asleep.”
“So here we have the bit character commonly known as the Friend,” Glass lectured. “Despite her occupation, situation, or proper loyalties resulting therefrom, she will do everything short of walk through fire for her ‘Sueish mistress. Any good servant would tell Toni’s parents that their girly was about to run away and throw herself into danger.”
“And if she ‘calls’ Toni, wouldn’t she wake everyone up again? That would rather defeat the purpose,” Lena mused. “Does Toni have a cell phone set on ‘vibrate,’ perhaps?”
