Snagged from B

"If you happen to be working on some creative writing project, fanfiction or NaNoWriMo or what have you, post exactly one sentence/paragraph/whatever a small excerpt 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)."

Aye, "whetting the general appetite." *snork* In my case, this is indulging in general wankery, but that's what this place is for, no? I just realized that I have about seventy thousand works-in-progress, because I never frelling finish anything. These would be the things I'm actively thinking about right now.

So! Non-fannish things:

Stella Matin (working title); standard and urban fantasy with zombies and dystopian societies. Excerpt from the end of the second partita: Bren's Story.

"I can have it finished in a few days," he said in a voiceless whisper. He knew enough about healing to know that his voice was never going to work properly again; his mother would be disappointed. "If nothing else, you can sell it. Radrezhaean crafts are worth a lot beyond the borders."

If Theron had even heard him, he gave no indication. He was too busy tracing the woven outline of flames and eyes. A pair of dragons sprawled across the surface, jaws locked around each other's throats; faces looked out from beneath the shadows of their wings.

"Why did you make this?"

There were a thousand different answers to that question; it was because Theron was leaving, and Bren had seen it, and because Rhapsody had haunted him since the night of the Festival. Bren settled on shrugging and giving Theron a half smile. His own face peered out from the tapestry, eyes accusing.

There were other faces; Shanreth and Mih, a woman with blind eyes, a man with no eyes at all.
--


Fannish things (all Naruto):

Blindsided (because I don't post enough bits of this as it is!); alternate timeline AU, Narutuo, Sasuke, and Gaara-centric, yaoi. Excerpt from chapter 4, damn its eyes.

"Ch'. Put your frickin' teeth away, I just wanna talk."

"And I just want to bite your spiky little head off and devour your soul, but we can't always get what we want, can we?" The demon's eyes glowed like hot coals, but they did nothing to illuminate the darkness of the cage. All Naruto could see were those two lamp-like eyes, and the teeth.

"Somebody's in a bad mood today. What's the matter, fleas?"
--

What Remains; alternate timeline AU, Kakashi and Obito-centric, mostly gen but with bits of boylove, because sex always makes Kakashi angst. Excerpt from a few (read: a dozen) scenes in the future; Kakashi is 18, Obito is 19.

Kakashi usually stopped by his place after missions; Obito wasn't sure why, since they saw enough of each other every day when Kakashi wasn't on assignment. He got used to his friend showing up on his doorstep at odd hours, sometimes grinning with one eye, sometimes half dead from exhaustion and bleeding.

So it didn't come as a surprise when he heard the door open at two in the morning; he wasn't a ninja anymore, but he kept in condition as best he could, and he knew Kakashi was due back. His friend had a spare key, but Obito met him at the door anyway.

"You look like shit," he said bluntly. "How badly are you bleeding?"

Kakashi's Anbu mask hung by its strings from lax fingers; his cloth facemask was stained with blood. "Internally or externally?"

"Your sense of humor still needs work. C'mon, lean on me." They hobbled into the bathroom, where Obito helped Kakashi out of his clthoes. He hissed in sympathy at the bands of bruises that wrapped around Kakashi's chest and abdomen. "What happened?"

"Anbu stuff. Classified." Kakashi leaned against the countertop and let Obito clean him off and bandage him up. His expression was neutral, but his hands were shaking ever so slightly with the effort required to keep up the facade.
---

Wind, Sand, and Bone; sandcestuous introspective-y whatsit. Excerpt from Temari's part. (Why. Can't. I. Finish. This. Fucking. Thing.)

Kankurou stares pointedly at the marks on her neck and slams doors hard enough to rattle the windows.

(Later, she apologizes to him without words, because he is her brother and she knows he will forgive her no matter what. He places his hands on her hips, lining his fingers up with the marks left by other men. His hands fit well over her skin, even if they never match the bruises- but afterwards, he cannot meet her eyes, and sometimes her apologies cut deeper than her transgressions.)

She is beyond feeling shame. She imagines her mother's shocked disapproval, her father's disgust, and wonders what freedom feels like.
----

I'm currently at the point where I don't really enjoy writing anything; I never really enjoyed writing Stella Matin, and I still don't. I don't actually like most of my original stories, because I'm always too aware of the shortcomings of the plot and characters as a result of my own obsession with setting. It's frustrating. As for the fanfic, I'm just feeling blocked because of stress and the lack of inspiration from my source material; the latest manga chapters have been craptastic.

*gnaws on things* I'm running on nervous energy because of my paper right now; it's not particularly conducive to clear thought, no matter how much I want to rant about fanfic versus original fiction. I'll save it for later, I guess. *can't wait for friday*