These are the rules…
If you happen to be working on some creative writing project, fanfiction or NaNoWriMo or what have you, post one sentence (or more) from each of your current work(s) in progress in your journal. It should probably be your favorite 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).
J/K/S captivity fic (yeah, like the world needs more of those!)
Last updated: June 30, 2006
Sawyer’s heart is racing, like in his dream. He thinks of firing squads, of tumbling into some pit, of dirt raining down on them both. He breaks his stride, fighting to get his arm free. The butt of the rifle strikes him hard in the side and he stumbles, but keeps going. He’s sweating under the damn bag. Without a gag, the cloth sucks against his mouth with each breath, almost like a living thing. Easy now. He wonders if this too, is a dream, or just another lovely leftover from those damned tranquilizers.
(This really isn't indicative of where I was ultimately going to go with this one. That's the trouble with captivity fics. They all start off in the same place don't they? *is discouraged*)
J/S post-captivity fic
Last updated: June 15, 2006
His hand scraped metal and knew he’d found it. The last hatch. He tore away at the mass of tangled vines until he’d uncovered the doors that were seemingly carved from the earth. He held his breath as he tried the latch, almost laughing with relief when it gave.
The door was impossibly heavy. He stuck the gun in his waistband to use both hands on it. The air that hit him was musty, like no one had been here for months. Just like all the other hatches. He hesitated on the threshold for a second, and then, gun drawn, stepped inside.
Sawyer amnesia fic
Last updated: Mar 10, 2006
He stands up, takes a look around. There’s suitcases in his tent, odd piles of crap. None of it makes any sense. None of it belongs. Panic starts to build in his stomach as he tears through the contents of the suitcases -- shaving kits, outdated fashion magazines, little bottles of booze like they sell on airplanes -- not anything he would pack. These things aren’t his.
A small girl with long blond hair holding a baby -- who’s still kicking up an unholy fuss -- is walking towards him. Right fucking towards him. She’s got enormous, worried blue eyes and she’s not smiling.
His kid? Whatever ideas he’d formed about himself in the last 10 minutes or so didn’t involve any damn babies. He doesn’t smile back either.
Jack gets sick and feels unwanted fic
Last updated: Jan. 9, 2006
Fucking hell. Sawyer was up. He was on his feet again, that cocksure grin back in place like he’d never been sick a day in his life, even if he had to lean on Kate to stay upright. Jack stepped towards them, a stiff smile in place, and then his legs gave out under him.
Sawyer was up and he was falling. With a gasp of alarm, Kate’s arm came out from around Sawyer’s waist and went around his.
“You don’t look so good, doc.” Sawyer’s voice swam in his ears, oddly far away though the man was gripping him hard with his one good arm.
The two of them awkwardly dragged him to the now-empty bunk bed and he kept trying to tell them this was wrong, he was the doctor, Sawyer shouldn’t even be up, but his tongue felt thick in his mouth.
”He’s burning up,” Kate said, not to him, but to Sawyer. Her hand was unnaturally cool on his forehead. He fought to tell her that he didn’t need her help but it was hard with the room tilting sideways like that.
His last thought was that the pillow still smelled like Sawyer.
Last updated: January 3, 2006
Jack freezes when he hears the groan, just off to his left. It sounds like a cry of pain, low and sustained. He’s alone in the jungle and a million scenarios flash through his mind as he forces himself to pause and zero in on the source of the sound.
He resists his natural instinct to run to help, forces himself to move slowly. He’s learned caution the hard way, learned it going headfirst over a cliff.
He circles closer towards the almost animal-like groans. He parts the branches and his feet are still firmly on the ground, but he feels like he’s falling over the cliff again.
Sawyer is lying on his back, hands digging into the dirt, head thrown back and mouth open. The groans are coming from him, although he’s biting his lip, trying to stifle them. It takes Jack a while to recognize the dark, bobbing head between Sawyer’s legs as Boone.
Jack having nightmares about Sawyer fic
Last updated: Sep. 15, 2005
He heard a low, agonized animal-like moan and when his eyes focused he saw that Sawyer had stumbled into his cave, his hands clasped over his stomach, eyes dull and glazed in shock. Before Jack could get to him, he fell to his knees and pitched forward. When Jack righted him, he saw with horror the blood seeping through his shirt. He pulled it aside and there was just raw meat under the shirt -- something or someone had clawed his insides so badly that it was a wonder he was still alive at all.
He fell back then, limp in Jack’s arms, eyes wide open in surprise and his face so much like a hurt little boy’s that Jack wanted to tell him everything would be alright. And then the eyelids fluttered and he felt him grow cold under his hands and then Jack woke up, bathed in sweat.
Adrenaline was pumping through him and he felt the same paralyzing sense of disorientation he’d had on waking after the crash.
He blinked hard, trying to clear his vision and then performed his nightly ritual; he held out his hand and flexed the fingers until it seemed like they belonged to him and he accepted it as proof he was still alive. He tasted blood and wondered how it had spilled over from his dream and then he realized he’d bitten his own cheek.
Fully awake now, he threw on his clothes and ran outside, gasping in the cool night air. What the fuck was that about?
Sequel to Aftermath
Last updated: August 12, 2005
She gets the oddest feeling that he’s about to cry -- from pain or frustration -- and that’s why he’s hiding behind his arm.
She doesn’t want to be here anymore for that than he does, but she can’t leave him.
He sits up again, that angry scowl back on his face. “You don’t know shit from shinola, do ya, princess? Just need a new hobby since soldier boy dumped you?”
She knows he’s only trying to get her to leave but she still feels that sharp stab at the mention of Sayid. “He didn’t dump me,” she says, her chin going up, before realizing that she really doesn’t want to be talking about this with Sawyer.
“That idiot brother of yours, he had to put up with you, but I sure as hell don’t.”
She can’t help gasping at his words. No one, no one has dared to say anything bad about Boone. Not even Locke. Least of all Locke.
He sees his words hit home, a satisfied smirk twisting his mouth.
She slaps his face, hard, and his head jerks to the side.
He puts a hand up his cheek and when he takes it down, he’s laughing, but it’s a choking kind of laugh.
She stands there, fists at her side, wanting to hit him again.
“I’m going to get Jack,” she announces icily, her voice shaking. “I’m through taking care of you, you sorry piece of shit.”
“No one ever asked you to,” he calls after her as she storms out of the cave.
“I hope you do die,” she mutters under her breath, rubbing at her eyes.
Sequel to "Show of Strength"
Last updated: July 24, 2005
“Well, look who decided to show up finally.” Sawyer hated the petulant edge in his voice.
But Jack wasn’t offering any explanations. He just dropped to his knees and put his hand over Sawyer’s, his other hand pulling his head towards his and then they were off to the races again with Sawyer panting and sweating and moaning and nearly forgetting how long he’d been waiting. Sawyer bit into Jack’s lip, a tiny rebuke, and Jack responded by pressing his knee into his balls, just hard enough to let him know that if Sawyer wanted to play rough, so could he.
And then he came in a rush, his hand clutching at the base of Jack’s neck and not letting go even as his body went limp. He drew Jack into a kiss, moving his tongue so slow he was aching for him again almost immediately. Here. I’m here.
But Jack was already drawing back, settling on his haunches, ready to spring up and run, run back to camp.
Last updated: June 25, 2006
Dean was in the fucking ground and Sam had called and called Dad’s number and all he got was the same recorded message. “Call my son, Dean.”
Well, now Dean was dead and a fat lot of good that was going to do
DH: Andrew/Peter fic
Last updated: May 9, 2006
“I slept with a lot of people.” People. Not “a lot of women.” And in that instant, you know he’s yours for the taking. You smile and step forward and when he doesn’t move away immediately, you put your hand on his arm. You lean in and you can hear his quick intake of breath before you