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rules: share the first line of your last ten published works or as many as you are able and see if there are any patterns!
Tagged by @bone-evidence tagging @chessna2 @lithugraph @proosh
There are more than 90 here even with a few redactions because some were multi-fic posts, oops. And even still! I have more than the listed 90 due to anonymous posts, deleted fics, and side acc fics. So this is even worse actually.
"Come on man, you need to let this go it's been three years now."
The way she says your name, her strange tongue smoothing out the edges into something soft and pliant, just like it does to the rest of you when she's found an activity more rewarding than pseudoscientific diatribes.
[redacted]
It's been nearly six sweeps since your lusus… died.
The days have oozed past like a mold claiming a damp wall, the problem at hand growing worse, almost unnoticeable until it was already out of hand.
After several hours of tests designed to be failed by most trolls who weren't him, a few interviews that were so beyond uncomfortably scrutinizing of various private aspects of his life he wasn't even sure they mattered or if the interviewer was just a gossip hound, and a whole lot of waiting alone in a bright, pristinely clean room, Kankri Vantas had by now gotten his fill of the so called Fair Cull Association and wanted nothing more than to peel the skin free of his own face.
Warm, soapy water itches at your hands as you clean off the dishes from dinner, breathing slow even though you feel like someone sandpapered the back of your skull and keeps shoving you off tiny ledges one at a time.
Whoever said the beach was a tranquil place to live was probably deaf as well as damaged in the thinkpan.
Charles looked up from the paperwork littering his desk as he noticed the presence of someone who had seemed to be resolutely avoiding him for a few days now.
The body in the sand looked, and smelled, like something she had seen one the few times she'd skittishly entered The Tilting Worm, something cut up in pieces and skewered on a plastic rod.
"Definitely absolutely just a casual inspection that I do in every new lab, just been soooo busy, couldn't get to this y’know what with the uh, yeah, the stuff with the kaiju and all.
Newt yanked at the cuffs of his new shirt with the patience of an enraged child, I.E. None, I.E. Fuck Hermann and his sensibilities.
"To the ocean?"
It wasn't that he wanted to die, exactly.
“You’ve been having bad dreams lately.”
Hermann ignored the sight of Newt standing before him, ignored the words he said, ignored the ache in his chest and the way his lungs felt like they would never expand fully again.
When he got like this, he could wake up.
The locals say there’s monsters taking the form of humans these days, now that they can’t get away with being big as skyscrapers, big as death.
Normally the gears were well greased, allowing the machine that was Dr. Geiszler's mind to run smooth as it could at such a high speed.
Not all stories have a definitive beginning or end, sometimes they just take place.
They burst out of the casino doors at top speed, Leorio ahead of Kurapika as they jumped in through the passenger side door.
The room was dark, like ink filled it up and bled out around the edges, lit sharply in flashes of white from the only television in the pile of junk that could possibly still play VHS tapes.
The evening was still warm but the breeze was cool as Hisoka walked in the road in a neighborhood that seemed more run down than some of the places The Phantom Troupe had called home.
It took Kurapika more than half his life to run himself well and truly into the ground.
"About… Face!"
The silence of the room rang out like a siren, the light dimming as Kurapika drew the shadows tighter around himself.
He wanted to kill him.
The subway train was empty except for the two of them, rushing down the track despite the faltering light, casting them into shadow more often than illuminating the car.
Kurapika didn't drink, as a general rule.
He showed up on Mito's doorstep with a baby in his arms.
The hotel room wasn't especially nice, and the carpet smelled vaguely like mold, but he wasn't able to focus on how annoyed he was about that because Chrollo was currently kneeling on his arms, successfully pinning Kurapika to the floor.
Time crawled and lurched, dragging him along despite the way his body ached and his skin felt fit to burn right off, or freeze off, it didn't want to make a decision on that.
From the moment they'd met, Leorio knew Kurapika was a monster.
It began with a start; Kurapika opened his eyes and looked around, not having realized he'd fallen asleep in the first place.
"Where are you going?"
It had been a month since Leorio "agreed" to not being murdered viciously and today the group was attending a small concert; a local choir in a small venue, something that didn't seem to fit Chrollo, who looked like he'd be more comfortable thrashing around in a mosh pit, or Phinks, who looked like he should be pouring beer on his head at some illicit EDM hideout.
The Queen's Own Herald, Kurapika, was a master of his Gift.
The sheets were chill and soft against Kurapika's skin as he leaned forward across them, thighs tensing as the lube warmed only as it was rubbed into the flesh.
News reel.
The force was not light or dark, it was just the force.
As it turned out, women's clothing was much more arbitrary than it had any right being.
The image of Death in the mind of the human race was, rather unanimously, related to the image of the dead.
On his hands and knees, Kurapika was a target much harder to miss than usual.
[redacted]
“So blast a hole in their starboard, just because they wasted a shot over our deck doesn't mean we have to give the same courtesy!”
[redacted]
The letters were from a secret admirer, always.
The heat was the more oppressive aspect of Kurapika’s return home, he thought, rather than the snapshot polaroids of the crime scene it used to be.
Summer was always toughest on the tents’ vibrant colors.
“Do you think he’s cold in that?”
The hand around his mouth pressed tight to the flesh, but the knife at his throat was what kept him docile.
Chrollo had always seemed to run a bit cooler than average, tapping out around 96 degrees Fahrenheit, while Kurapika always seemed to be running a low grade fever.
The office was dark.
Cheadle Yorkshire did not do anything halfway, and it showed in the grandness of the hospital she managed.
“Don’t listen to them, they’re just being mean because you get so angry.
The city is sinking into the waves.
The grain in the fields has gone yellow-grey with desire for harvest, the wind coming in puffs, waiting for its chance to unleash the coming winter.
The city aboveground glittered and heaved with the life it contained.
"You would defend Mercutio's death in the name of literary communication.
Kuroro’s knife sank into his gut with viper-precision and similarly backwards-bent hooks.
Kuroro sat nestled in the crook of Leorio’s arm, summer air breathing down both of their necks like the hovering specter of Kuroro’s ex-lover; hot, humid, invasive.
Air rushed into Leorio’s lungs as he clawed his way free of the blankets.
Lights stabbed at his brain, sound turned his stomach, and Kuroro stumbled into the office in true living-dead fashion.
The wake had been a nightmare.
"-son of a bitch, why don't you-"
"Because its an incredibly stupid request," Tolys crossed his arms and kept a firm set to the mouth.
The world didn't stop when Feliks left home at fifteen to live in America, nor would he have expected it to.
Tolys had wedged himself into the place where one chunk of rubble intersected with the remnants of a wall.
When he’d gone to sleep, Tolys had been the only person in his room.
It so happened that Gilbert landed a cushy desk job right around the time he was being threatened by his last job for sabotaging someone’s breaks.
They ate cherries together in the window.
Gilbert found him at the edge of the property.
Well, he was sure that he wasn’t in Tsaritsyn.
Tolys stared up into a dizzyingly white sky.
Confectioner sugar across the white tablecloth, filling the curve of a painted plate.
Giselbehrt had outgrown his Christian name.
The uniform was bulky, moreso than Tolys really wanted to wear while getting intimate, but when he remembered Gilbert's shrill whistle of approval he found it difficult to keep a straight face.
"All day?"
Ivan was not a stalker.
Tolys jolted from the strike, wrists bound but not lashed to anything, bent over the edge of the large bed in Ivan's room.
All week Gilbert had been a mopey piece of shit on Feliks' basement couch, face down in a ripped up cushion chain smoking like god put him on earth to take the bullet.
If the drive to the airport took an hour, waiting that same hour to board the plane felt like ten times as long.
Gilbert had his feet up on the radio tower railing, lying flat on his back with a smoke in his mouth.
Snow blanketed the ground and dusted Ivan's shoulders as he waited.
Giselbehrt was tied up with his back ramrod against a sapling.
The paper crowed about the victories against the little uprisings, stated a few numbers, interviewed one of the officers in charge who stamped out the worst of things.
The bed was strewn with the signs of both a struggle and the planning that went into play like this; toys, tools, leather and rope.
More than hunger gaunted Constantin's face as he stood in the road beside a seated Dragomir.
"Yeah bro, I wanna believe you," Alfred's tone was disarmingly light.
He’d always hated scribe work.
Vanya: i dun think thas necessary
There was an odd stillness about the house when Tolys vanished.
Ivan ran his hand up Gilbert’s back until he could thread blunt fingertips through ashen hair.
The two of them had been at it for hours.
The farmhouse is large.
It was a scandal even amongst their kind; a marriage in place of simple guardianship with someone still fat in the cheeks.
That was the end of it.
The palace grounds glittered with frost, and indoors from candle light bouncing of gilded furniture and cloth of gold embroidery.
Since returning to Lithuania, Tolys had taken to solving his non-existent sleep schedule and inability to sit alone in his house by setting up shop in the back booth of some hipster cafe.
Character Name: Anna Valerious
PB Kate Beckinsale
Fandom/Verse: Van Helsing
About: Gypsy Princess and last daughter of the Valerious family, Anna is courageous, beautiful, and intelligent. She's also the companion to Gabriel Van Helsing....though Count Dracula has his eye on her too.
We've got Gabe and Vlad onsite, and we'd love to see Anna as well. Please note - Gabriel's player is not comfortable with writing relationships with people he's not familiar with so things between Van Helsing and Anna will either be strained [due to his distance] or just friends.
Character Name: Gandalf
PB: Ian McKellen
Fandom/Verse: LotR/The Hobbit/Middle Earth
About: Wise, sometimes snappish, but loyal and protective, Gandalf is one of five wizards who watch over Middle Earth. Some consider his enthusiasm for helping others meddling, but those he helps are almost always thankful.
This character can be taken from anywhere in his storyline, though we'd prefer it to be AFTER the Hobbit at minimum. We've already got several characters onsite [Thorin, Bilbo, Bofur] and feel Gandalf would be great to have onsite.
