nianeyna: Morgana from BBC's Merlin (Default)
Nia ([personal profile] nianeyna) wrote2010-11-03 12:39 am

WIP Amnesty!

meme, ganked from [livejournal.com profile] lemniciate!

When you see this, post an excerpt from as many random works-in-progress as you can find lying around. Who knows? Maybe inspiration will burst forth and do something, um, inspiration-y. Or maybe someone could kick my arse into gear because at least one of these has to be finished by the end of the year. :/


In my case I have set a personal goal, this auspicious NaNoWriMo, to finish or at the very least make significant progress on at least one of my wips - since, as you'll soon see, starting new things is really not a problem for me. Finishing them, on the other hand... well, that would be why there's not much fic posted to this journal.

If you guys could like, tell me which of these if any is not a total disaster and would be worth continuing on with, that would be lovely. ♥



Merlin space au (I originally had some idea that they would go through the wormhole and meet their alternate selves in BBC!verse (~SCIENCE!~), possibly bringing EPIC SPACE ENEMIES with them, and then... shenanigans. Yeah, there's a reason this is only two pages, and that reason is I HAVE NO PLOT.)

Another energy beam streaked by, its outer edge not 20 meters from the viewport.

“Sir, should we return fire?” Lt. LeFay asked tightly, looking about ready to tear her hair out in frustration. Arthur sympathized – she was the gunnery officer, she must feel utterly useless in a situation like this – but,

“No point,” he growled. “It’ll only slow us down. Our best chance of surviving this is to just get to that wormhole before they do.”

“Sir,” she agreed, unhappily.

Arthur tapped the radio in his ear. “Merlin. Are we going to be able to make the jump?”

There was a loud clank and some ominous hissing from the other end, before his chief engineer’s voice came, “Well, maybe if you’d stop asking every five minutes – agh, no, there, put it there – oh, ow, fuck!”

Merlin.

There was a pause. “I don’t know,” Merlin said finally, defeatedly. “We’re working as fast as we can down here, but – I don’t know. If that first shot hadn’t damaged our hyperdrives – but it did, and if it hadn’t we would have gone into hyperspace an hour ago and avoided this whole mess anyway, so no point dwelling on that I guess. You do realize how new a technology wormhole navigation is? It’s, we barely know anything about it, and you know what, I don’t think this thing was even meant to be used, it’s, it’s practically window dressing, it’s fucking cheap.”

Merlin’s voice had been getting higher and more desperate sounding with every word of this encouraging speech, so Arthur cut him off with, “Well, it had better be ready in twenty minutes, because we’re making the jump as soon as we get to that wormhole.”

Merlin sounded nervous. “I don’t think that’s such a –”

“We don’t have a choice,” Arthur said, and cut the connection.


Merlin bigbang (as many of you know, a couple of years ago I, er, attempted to participate in the Merlin bigbang, because bigbangs are awesome. Unfortunately, and in a turn of events I really should have seen coming given my NaNo history, I... didn't finish. Not even close. I still pull the thing out and stare at it every once in a while though. This will probably not make sense if you don't know it's a Beauty and the Beast fusion.)

Merlin left in the hushed blue light before dawn, taking with him nothing but a small bag of provisions and the feeling of his mother’s lips on his cheek. He hadn’t slept well, mind whirling through the night until the soft arrhythmic chirping of early morning songbirds told him it was time to get up, yet he felt more awake than he could ever remember being, like something in him that had been just slightly out of focus all his life had finally snapped into place. It didn’t make sense. He ought to feel like the world was ending – he’d been banished, exiled. His magic had been found out, after he’d spent a lifetime hiding it in fear.

The air was cool and soft on his face, and as he walked the clean scent of fresh air and growing things replaced the thick miasma of tightly packed humanity. At the rise of the hill beyond the village he looked back at the cluster of sleepy houses, crisp and clear in the predawn light. There was a wisp of smoke rising from one of the chimneys into the summer air.

Then he turned and kept walking towards Camelot, the map from the guidebook a clear picture in his mind. He didn’t know what made him so sure that this was the right thing to do, but he was sure, more than he’d ever been of anything. Each of his footsteps on the road seemed to beat out a rhythm, yes, yes, yes, yes.

At the end of the first day he came to a forest. He stood at the edge of it and frowned into the gloom, adjusting the straps of his pack on his shoulders. There was something – something – insubstantial, almost, about the trees, like they weren’t really quite there. Their branches whispered unease, stirring in a wind that Merlin didn’t feel himself.

Merlin reached out hesitantly to touch the nearest tree. He watched his fingers moving closer to the aged bark with a kind of fascination. He had half convinced himself that when they reached it, they would pass through with no resistance. Perhaps then the entire forest would flicker out of existence, nothing but a mirage.

He touched crumbly roughness with just the tips of his fingers, and as quickly as that the spell was broken. Merlin snorted a laugh at himself. His imagination could really get out of hand sometimes. Obviously it was a real forest. The trees were ancient, rooted firmly in the soil. Some were so large that two men would not be able to clasp hands around them. Ridiculous.

He followed the path for a while into the cool green dimness under the trees, looking for somewhere to camp for the night. After a while he managed to find a relatively clear bit of ground a little ways off the path, enough for him to spread out a blanket. He thought about making a fire, but the nights were warm enough that he didn’t need it and he was tired from a full day of walking. There was a bit of smoked pork in his pack, and he munched on that for a while before curling up on top of his blanket and going to sleep.

He dreamed of running through the woods. There was something he had to do, somewhere he desperately needed to be, someone he desperately needed to find. But he kept tripping over curling roots and bits of forest debris, and he couldn’t seem to find his way. There was a wind that stung his eyes and howled like grief. The trees seemed to reach out cruel branches to him, tearing at his clothes and his hair and tangling with his legs so that he fell again, and staggered to his feet and kept running. What little he could see of the sky through the thrashing canopy above him was gray and heavy with threatening rain. His lungs burned and there was a stitch in his side, and he knew he was running out of time.

Merlin gasped awake into a peaceful, sunny morning. He blinked up at the dappled leaves above his head, trying to marshal his groggy thoughts into some kind of coherent order. Oh, right. Exile, Camelot – breakfast?

(PS oh, wow, looking at my notes, this was originally going to be a lot crackier. Original first line? "It all started when Merlin, while feeding his mother's chickens, felt the inexplicable need to burst into song." AHAHAHA I had completely forgotten about that.)


Last Herald Mage Trilogy giant au epic (look I like aus okay. and parentheses.) So it's one of those fics, right, where you change one thing about the canon and then extrapolate out from there, and lol, this is kind of... embarassing... but I had this idea that if Vanyel's dad had found out about his ~sparkly gayness~ and dragged him home in disgrace, Vanyel wouldn't have been around to help with Tylendel's stupid-ass revenge plan, so... everybody lives! Except 'Lendel's twin brother, whose name I forget right now. :/ Bonus, you still get a bunch of self-indulgent angst, only without the OMG DEATH. DEATH EVERYWHERE. ohgod, this fic is so ridic. SORRY.

“Get. Out,” Withen said to Tylendel.

Tylendel didn’t move, and for a moment Vanyel was afraid that he was going to point out that actually, this was his home and Withen didn’t have any right to order him out of it. Vanyel was pretty sure that wouldn’t go down too well. But no – after a long, considering moment Tylendel turned slowly to face Vanyel, took a step or two towards him. “I’ll just – ” he gestured towards the garden door.

Vanyel felt frozen, but he knew he couldn’t just stand here and watch Tylendel leave. “Lendel,” he managed, and was distantly surprised that his voice was so steady. This might be the last time I see you, he thought. He didn’t feel steady, he felt shaky and ill.

Tylendel regarded him solemnly for a moment. He hesitated, half turned to look at Withen standing impatiently in the doorway behind him. Then he extended a slim hand for Vanyel to shake.

No, Vanyel thought. He took Tylendel’s offered hand and tugged on it gently, gathered him in until he had Tylendel warm and steady against him. Tylendel was smiling at him by now, fond and helpless. Are you really going to do this? Vanyel raised an eyebrow at him. Yes, I am. Then he lifted his other hand to cup Tylendel’s cheek and kissed him, careful. Chaste.

Somewhere in the distance, Withen made a noise rather like a dying cow. Vanyel paid it little attention.

The boys pulled apart reluctantly. Vanyel let his hand slide almost absently over Tylendel’s shoulder, down his arm to catch his hand and let their fingers tangle together. “Goodbye, Tylendel,” he said roughly. Tylendel squeezed his hand, and then let go. Vanyel felt the absence of the connection as an almost physical pain.

“Goodbye, ashke,” he murmured in Vanyel’s ear, voice shaking, and then he was gone.


Elderlings series by Robin Hobb - The Rarest Thing In The World, aka I Am Going To Finish This Fic If It Goddamn Kills Me I wrote the first draft of this fic in a month. That was three years ago. TT__TT

My heart nearly stopped as I heard an achingly familiar voice say quietly, “Come in, Eylas.” My new acquaintace pushed the door open silently.

Sunlight poured into the room from the north facing windows that dominated the far wall, collecting in vibrant pools on the fine hardwood floor. There was a large worktable pushed up under the windows, laden with a few neat stacks of books, some carving tools, and a half finished wooden marionette.

The Fool stood with his back to us, looking out at a sweeping view of trees resplendent with the new green of spring. His rich brown hair was confined to a single tail at the back of his neck. The soft, dense waves of it looked well against his simple cream colored garment, a tailored robe all of the one color, with a high collar. It hugged his torso but fell into generous folds of fabric at his feet, and the sleeves belled out over his slim dark hands where they rested on the worktable. His right hand was encased in a glove.

He was breathtaking, and he had not even turned to face me.


Horatio Hornblower (TV series) - the one that's basically all about my giant girly crush on Archie Because you know he spent a ton of time being fucking badass before we found him in the sorry state he was in in The Duchess and the Devil. Archie/Horatio, because ♥ them, but really mostly about Archie kicking ass and taking names while being fucking adorable.

It was the sun that woke him.

Archie groaned, and opened his eyes reluctantly. Why wasn't he on the Indefatigable? All he could see from where he was were the gunwales of a longboat and an arch of bright blue sky. That couldn't be right. For one thing, it was dead silent except for the lap of the waves against the hull. There was no one else in the boat with him, or, as far as he could tell, anywhere near him. He was used to the creak of rigging, the murmur of voices, even in the middle of the night. The silence was eerie. This was bizarre, Archie thought, muddled. What was the last thing he remembered?

But he didn't get very far with that, because right about then he became aware that he was really, supremely uncomfortable. His legs were propped up at an awkward angle on one of the benches, and his left shoulder was lying in a pool of bilgewater. "Ugh," he said, and sat up.

His head immediately exploded in a sunburst of pain. "Ow, ow, ow," he said faintly, scootching so he was leaning against the side of the boat, keeping well clear of the bilgewater and ignoring how the boat tipped with his weight. He cradled his head in his hands, wondering if he was hungover and if so how he had gotten that way. Then his fingers encountered a very painful bump on the back of his head. He winced and muttered, "That explains the headache." It didn't explain where the hell he was, though. Or how he had gotten there.

Archie looked around without much hope. Nothing. Nothing but water and sky all the way to the horizon. The boat, too, was distressingly empty. Archie had no food, no water, and no idea where he was.

"Oh, shit," he said feelingly. "I'm going to die."

(the main stumbling block on this one is that Everything I Know About the Age of Sail I Learned From [livejournal.com profile] astolat's Fanfiction, which is a problem if I want Archie to be wandering around period Spain. I suppose I could always be vague on the details... or do some actual research, but who wants to do that?)


Merlin loses his magic (edit: temporarily. I guess that piece of information kind of changes the idea a bit. XD)

The thing that scared Merlin the most was that he couldn't even pinpoint exactly when it had happened.

True, when he'd woken up that morning he'd felt a bit out of sorts, but that might just as well have been the late night he'd had. He hadn't thought anything of it, just rolled out of bed with a groan and a muttered complaint to the empty air about certain spoiled princes who couldn't be bothered to wake themselves up at the crack of dawn.

True, he'd tripped over his own feet twice on the way to the kitchens for Arthur's breakfast and knocked over a bowl of bread dough set to rise when he got there, but Merlin had always been clumsy and the cook did little more than glare halfheartedly and hand Merlin a tray.

As Arthur ate his breakfast, Merlin wondered if he was getting sick. Maybe not, he wasn't sniffling or feverish or anything, but he did feel ill in an indefinable way that faded whenever he tried to chase it down to any particular part of his body. An uneasiness in his stomach, perhaps - a slight trembling in his fingertips.

"Merlin. Have you even heard a word I've been saying?"

Merlin started, realizing that Arthur had been talking to him. He wracked his brain, and came up with... nothing. So he put on his most wide-eyed ingenuous idiot look and opened his mouth, fully prepared to invent something ludicrous that would make Arthur laugh.

"Uh..." Merlin winced internally. What was wrong with him today?


Supernatural timetravel fic... thing

Someone was following her.

Jess would be a lot more creeped out about this if it wasn't the middle of the day and you couldn't gesture expansively without hitting campus security. As it was, she was just kind of pissed off.

"Look, buster," she snapped, spinning around, "either stop following me or give me one good reason why I shouldn't punch you in the nose right now."

The guy raised his hands in a placating gesture and gave her a disarming smile that looked extremely well practiced - but no less effective for that, Jess thought crossly, feeling herself weakening. It didn't help that the guy was hot.

"Sorry," he said. "Jess, right?"

Jess stared at him suspiciously, feeling a chill for no good reason - the guy was probably in one of her classes, or something, although he looked a little old for college and she was pretty sure she'd remember a face like that. Still, some of her classes were pretty big, and not everybody went to college right out of high school.

"How do you know my name?" she demanded anyway. "Have we met?"

The guy hesitated. "Not yet," he said.

Jess stared at him. "Not yet?" she echoed incredulously. "What does that even mean?"

The guy looked kind of embarassed. "It's springtime, right?"

"Uh, yeah," Jess said, raising an eyebrow at the apparent non sequitur.

"What year?"

Jess glared. "Okay, either you're crazy or you're making fun of me."

"No - just -" he huffed, frustrated. "Just answer the question. Please."

"Fine, geez. It's 2004."

If Jess hadn't been watching the guy carefully for signs of crazy, she would have missed that he looked abruptly devastated. The expression lasted only a moment.

"Of course it is," he grinned at her. "So six months, then."



That's not actually all of them (and ohgod, let's not even get into the topic of my original fic wips, because they are many and full of failure), but it's almost all of them and I'm tired and have work in the morning. So, thoughts? tl;dr?

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