Yeah, that's certainly not the most riveting bit of trivia ever, but I've had to wrap my finger for two days now. The bandaid came off at work, requiring the use of clear tape, because, man, stings. A lot. Very Big Cut.
I'm bored. I am beyond bored. I am--doing a really, really useless, very old meme from last year, because I need to entertain myself and also, jumpstart the stupid non-speaking muse who is pretty much not doing much. Except wanting weird music to listen to. I mean, not even music that's writable, because let's face it, it's just not healthy to write to an Eminem/Tori Amos double punch, whatever the hell those songs are called, and man, the person that sent me that CD mix? Do you *want* me to write serial killer fic?
Brian and Justin, on the road, ritualistically kiling people between long nights of clubbing. Then Justin finds out he's an elf. And I don't care what you say, josselin, the angst potential of a mixed-species relationship combined with serious sociopathic tendencies is just a recipe for fun any way you look at it. So there.
Meme--first and last lines of the last five fics you wrote. Or in my case, finished, because, well. I have scary numbers of WiPs wandering around.
With commentary, because I am *that* bored.
Firsts and Lasts
Fluorescents make me look green, the penalty of being so fucking pale, and out here, it's this or pitch black, so I just wait, trying not to stare at my hands like they belong to someone else, and that someone not really human.
"I've always said a thorough education is key to a successful life."
Out in the Middle of Nowhere
I really, really love that first line. Unreasonably. And it does not belong in this story, because man, the creep potential is astronomical were that to be combined, with, say, Justin randomly picking up a rag to wipe blood off his hands. I hate fluorescents myself--being somewhat pale, I get under those and there's a general sense that jaundice could be in my future, or that I have been on a three day drinking binge and just coming out of the party cellar. Justin's all golden and pretty, but I suspect that maybe five people on earth look good under flat fluorescents, and they are in a museum somewhere, being carefully preserved so we can look at them and marvel at the amazingness.
The last line is-last. Yeah. That's kind of all I have to say about that one.
"It's not even high test."
"It's a good night," Lex says airily, skipping back another step. Regressing happily into a misspent juvenile age where toilet papering your dad's Japanese garden is the most fun thing ever. Some things never change. Clark hopes they never will. "I think we'll just walk."
Stuck in the Middle (With You)
This is the one thousand words that almost killed me. I mean, every time I nailed down a single scene, it wanted to grow and get context, and you know, my idea of context is like, ten thousand words. I suck with the shortness. But okay. So I thought, what popular and fun bit of semi-fanon would make this entire car-in-the-gas-station thing work? High test gas!
I go for the easy. In my head, there's an entire plot wrapped around this story. Well, most of a plot. It involved lots of toilet papering of Lionel's Japanese garden and hot sex, which is, to me, a great plot. Sadly, this could not be fit into one thousand words. Oh well.
Also, the title did not grow from the story, so much as I tried to think of titles and that *song* appeared in my head and pretty much plays non-stop whenever I remember writing this. Complete with the guy dancing around cutting off ears and spilling gasoline a la Resevoir Dogs. It's--really disturbing, actually.
I really enjoyed that movie.
Last line is just happy Clex, a beast I miss so desperately. Just so much.
Once upon a time...and isn't that how the best stories start?
It's going to hit like a freight train, he can feel it, any minute now, and it's never going to stop.
Stories Out of Childhood
I have a thing for the twist on the fairy tale, though I think, at least as far as theme is concerned, the story didn't succeed in living up to it, since this isn't any kind of fairy tale I know of. At least, I hope not.
I think it set the tone okay, though, with jaded Justin as opposed to idealistic younger, believes-in-happy-ever-after Justin, who is, you know, fairly high functioningly miserable and all.
I went through about three different odd metaphors--the vague allusions to fairy tales and the entire bat to the head thing, and the train, which is way too many for one story and I think that shows. On the other hand, I also get really, really annoyed when an author overkills on a theme, so maybe I overcompensated highly, but I do love that last line. I mean, I do.
And now, I kind of wish, in a vague way, that I'd written the entire thing in second person pov. I still might try it for my own amusement, because saying it in my head, it sounds better and seems to seam together more, bring more immediancy to the situation. Not only that, reflects how Justin lives now minute-to-minute, ignoring the past and not caring about the future. Just *now*.
It'd be interesting to try, anyway.
Note: this isn't the first of my stories to have this title. An unfinished Lex-in-prison snippet I posted in my diary moons ago also bears it. Which is just sad, but this title was *so* appropriate for this story I couldnt' help it. It, however, was borrowed from Amiroz AKA Gypsy's Kim/Torres Voyager story, which can, I think, be found at the ASC archive.
I sometimes wonder where I was going with this snippet. I know I had a point, but hell if I can figure out what it was.
This, Clark thinks, has to be a dream. Not the ones where he's naked in class and supposed to be able to solve quadratic equations.
"Yeah," Clark says, distracted. "We're coming home."
This, Too (cowrite with rageprufrock
First line is Pru's. I think.
We had issues later separating out who wrote what. To this day, there are only a few places we can point and say "I wrote that", because of particular phrases. We sort of--well, forgot. Looking at the chat log, I'm still surprised what ends up being me and ends up being her sometimes. It is very, very surreal.
The original intent, as you can tell by the first line, is humor. We were going for smutty humor. Oddly, this changed quickly into strangeness at the club, culminating in the first of many bizarre sexual antics. After that, we realized, this is not humor. But the first line stayed. Because it is tricky. Yes. Really. That's the reason.
The last line is mine, and for the life of us, we could not figure out how else to end it, because by the time we were tired of it, we'd outlined and written well beyond this point. Finally, we settled here, so you know, accidental last line. But brilliant! Really!
Okay, no. But you know, fun. Fun fun fun.
Brian watches the block drop from Lindsay's fingers, hitting the rug soundlessly. Gus hand shoots out, groping across the floor, and Brian obligingly shifts it closer, tiny fingers closing tight and pulling it close.
Maybe he'll let Lindsay persuade him to go shopping with them tomorrow.
Don't Blink (Or You'll Miss It)
The first line, and in fact the entire first section, is me playing with symbolism. Badly. Blocks! That won't stack right! They fall apart! Like relationships! They need help to stand! Careless actions (fucking ex boyfriend's best friend) cause collapse! Oh woe!
Yeah, see, aren't you all lucky you don't have to live in my brain? This is the weird stuff I come up with and think is profound.
Anyway, yeah. That's why that's the first line.
The entire story kind of is a prologue to that last line. I tend to think I have very little decent grasp of Brian psychology, but on the other hand, I've read stuff that makes me wonder if people have ever seen the show, so, my interpretation I'm happy with. All accepting responsibility for his actions, and beyond that, wanting this child after all. And stuff. And being aware that this is something he wants, no matter the circumstances.
I like that last line. I really do.