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Okay first, note to self: Bailing out from what looks to be a truly spectacular horsey meltdown induced by rapidly approaching snowmobiles is a protocol best enacted when one does not have the combo of muddy, slick ground and a trick knee going for one. Just so you know. Ow.

Second: The WIP Meme! Which is to say, I've got kind of a lot of them, at the moment. Also, I'm bad at keeping it to just a sentence.
 
1. The one for [livejournal.com profile] the_moonmoth, which may actually appear rather soon in finished form:

To that end, he begins to catalogue what he can of Merlin’s illegal activities. Aside from the apparent sideline into monster trouncing, the results are remarkably uninspiring. It takes him days to spot anything at all unusual, and when he does, the list is full of such small things that he finds himself with a grudging sense of disappointment; the last sentiment he ever expected to feel upon discovering a sorcerer in his household was boredom.


2. The one for [livejournal.com profile] shetiger :

When he was a child, Arthur was allergic to strawberries. This was discovered by chance one summer afternoon when a visiting noble courting his father’s favor made a gift of a basket of fruit to the young heir apparent. Luckily, Gaius convinced his father both that the strawberries were not ensorcelled and that the reaction was a temporary inconvenience only.

A minor case of hives would have been a silly thing to go to war over, in retrospect.
 

3. The one that is all about shamelessly indulging my own favorite kink:

He jerks back faster than he should, and the wrapping stays in Arthur’s fingers. He covers the back of his right hand with the left, but it’s not nearly fast enough, judging by the frown on Arthur’s face.

“Nice try. Now let me see.” And damned if he doesn’t stand there with his hand out like he has every expectation of being obeyed.

And damned if Merlin doesn’t obey.


4. The one that is flirting with a weird, upside-down and inside out non-con aspect from both sides, and yet persists in being sweet:

The first time happens because she has his eyes.

She’s just a serving girl, not especially pretty or extraordinary, and certainly he’s never noticed her before. She brings his evening meal once, though, and in the middle of an awkward, unnecessary curtsey, she looks straight at him with blue eyes and the same lack of deference he’s only ever known from one other.


5. The one for [livejournal.com profile] hebrew_hernia:

 


Arthur is tragically bad with children.

Unfortunately, people persist in having the little monsters anyway. Worse, they persist in having them in his presence. Not “having” in the sense of birthing, of course, because that would just be crass. No, they simply fling their pre-birthed spawn at him at any given opportunity, like his awkward patting of little Eustace or Bertha will somehow convey greatness on a toddler.

 

He’s fairly certain it’s not contagious.


6. The other one for [livejournal.com profile] hebrew_hernia :

 


“The terms here are very clear. The last time we did this, we agreed you should handle all matters involving loud noise and I would handle anything involving noxious odors.”

 

“When did we…? Shawn, we have never done this.”

“Aha! That’s where you’re wrong. As per your written statement.”

“Shawn, this is from seventh grade home ec.”

"It's still binding."

"We were babysitting an egg. That is not an egg."


7. The one for [livejournal.com profile] laceymcbain, which may actually be pretty much done, if I can stop poking it:

 


 

Then there’s Eliot. Eliot’s different. Nate and Sophie are simple enough to figure out, Parker’s complicated in ways Alec doesn’t want to mess with, but Eliot he can twist around like a rubix cube in his head, something to puzzle over without getting too invested in.

It makes him an okay thing to be thinking about tonight.


8. The one that I talked to [livejournal.com profile] 20thcenturyvole a long time ago about, in which Gwen and Arthur have tea:

 


This is their time. Late afternoons and quiet evenings, a morning now and then, but always theirs alone.

 

This space that was once Gaius’ has become theirs, too, now. It’s the one place that they’ve learned from long experience is the last one anyone will look for secrets.

It’s funny, their own little joke on the world, that they squirrel away to be with one another. They could do this in perfect innocence in front of everyone – not a head would turn, even – except that it wouldn’t be this. It would be a performance, theater in the round for a kingdom that needs them to be exactly what they aren’t, always.


9. The one that will eventually get written, but at the moment is just a terrifyingly long outline that sits there making me nervous:

Merlin shakes his head, the thought getting clearer as he follows it. “No, you don’t understand. Lancelot is a commoner. We’ve been thinking about this all wrong. We can’t fight this as Camelot.”

“Ah, well then. We’ll just change the name and I’m sure all the amassing forces of evil will lose interest.”

Merlin is on his feet now. “No, you’re not listening. We can’t be Camelot for this.”

And despite himself, Arthur can’t look away from the dawning excitement in those blue eyes. “Who should we be, then?” he asks cautiously.

Ealdor,” Merlin whispers with stunned triumph.


10. The one that is going somewhere. Really. Probably.

Sarah’s… not “real”, that’s not the right word. Tangible, maybe. Sarah’s touchable in ways that Chuck will never, ever be. Sarah fits into this world of his with no distortion or ripples, with nothing needing to change about it or him to make her right.

It’s not that Sarah and he aren’t good for each other, they are. They’ll just never be enough for each other, whether either of them likes to admit it or not. Together, they’re big and flashy and dramatic, but then, their whole lives are big and flashy and dramatic. Sarah is a frittata served in bed next to an oceanfront sunrise, fresh squeezed mango juice on the side.

Chuck is toast. He’s reliable, basic, able to be dressed up to fit the occasion and still the same underneath it all.

Some days, Bryce really, really misses toast.


11. And finally, the one that is currently kicking my ass sideways. It is tentatively pre-titled "King Arthur in a Kansas Cornfield," if that helps.

“I am... not his favorite person.”

“What did you do, piss in his cheerios?”

“Hardly.” Castiel watches Arthur some more, and his voice is quiet. “I resurrect him.”

“You resurrect him? You’re the guy they call to haul his ass out of the Great Beyond?”

“Yes.”

“That’s it?” Castiel nods. “Huh. So he’s just an ungrateful prick.”

Dean turns back and catches Castiel’s bland, meaningful look. “Hey, I’m not that bad. At least I never stabbed you with anything that actually worked.”

“I’m very thankful,” Castiel says flatly. 




I think that's most of them. The ones that are vaguely coherent, anyway, and not just scraps here and there. I'm not counting the one with the goats, because it's actually done, with the exception of a little editing. Provided finals season stops thumping me into the ground, it will even see the light of day soon. \o/

And now I have to go write about osteoarthritis while wondering vaguely what the cartilage in my knee looks like these days. Life isn't fair. *sigh*

 

Date: 2009-03-01 09:45 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile] aesc.livejournal.com
I will do all things, legal and illegal, for more of "King Arthur in a Kansas Cornfield." And I do mean all things. I will even have Misha assassinate someone for you.

Date: 2009-03-01 11:07 pm (UTC)
ext_1740: (Default)
From: [identity profile] stillane.livejournal.com
I'm, um, rather shamelessly attached to that one. Like, it is blatantly self serving - chocolate! peanutbutter! mush them together! - and yet I so do not care. Arthur is pretty much busy being cranky and deadly all over the place, Dean kind of hates the guy, the Sam in Dean's head is in a permanent state of embarrassment, and the Sam elsewhere is... well, elsewhere. Doing things. Dean is not pleased about this, either.

Castiel knows stuff. And is possibly a sneaky bastard.

Merlin... We'll get to that. Eventually. It's complicated.

All of which is to say: I'm pretty sure Misha doesn't have to bust a cap in anyone's ass, although if he was available to write a few papers in the next week or so (or possibly just stand around being attractive), I wouldn't complain. *g*

Date: 2009-03-11 01:58 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile] raucousraven.livejournal.com
Arthur! Cornfield! Castiel! Snark! I approve.

The one with Gwen and the tea, though. That's lurvely.

Date: 2009-03-25 03:11 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile] popcorn-orgasms.livejournal.com
Dude, I will offer a week in my home in Barbados (where I'm actually from, and the house is technically my mother's since I just graduated in 08, but you could crash there) if you write the Field in Kansas one. Seriously. Not even joking. The ocean is beautiful at sunset--golden and warm. Like Merlin's eyes (wow, I just took it too far but I so badly want this fic).

By the way, I love you and your writing style. It's made of awesome.

Date: 2009-04-11 12:32 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile] united-killjoys.livejournal.com
Sorry, I was lurking and SPN/MERLIN?!?! YES PLEASE! I tell you, the thrill of seeing someone who isn't me writing Castiel and Arthur in the same sentence is nigh overwhelming.
And all of these are very good, also. =]

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