A meme some people might get behind...

[logansrogue]

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.


Harriet:Harry Potter.

He was shaken awake. It was darkness, and sweat was thick on his skin. He took huge breaths, gulping deeply, putting a hand over his heart and jumping a little when he felt the breast there. Next to his bed was Hermione's silhouetted form. Her hand was on his arm.

"Harry, are you all right?"

He gulped again, sitting up slowly. "Bad dream."

There was a worried silence.

"You get a lot of those, don't you?"

"Sometimes," he said.

Another pause. "Does Ron calm you down afterwards?"

"No," said Harry. "He doesn't really know about it, other than what I tell you guys."

"Do you want to talk about it?"

He shook his head. "Not really."

The awful sensation of seeing Hermione's blood in Voldemort's hands, and it being all his fault, swamped him. She wasn't hurt though, and she was sitting next to him, her arm winding about him.

"Do you want to come sleep in my bed?"

She had said it so softly, tenderly. He looked to her, and nodded.

"Just for a while, if that's okay."

"Of course it is," she said, and pulled his covers back.

He climbed into the bed after Hermione, and once there, he felt a rush of relief. He hadn't had the chance to roll over away from her in their usual position, as Hermione's arm wrapped had around him, and she snuggled to him.

"There," she said. "That's better."

Yes, yes it was. It was infinitely better. Her head was rested on his shoulder, her arm about his waist, her legs against his. Her breasts were also pressed against his upper arm, and he felt warm all over. He closed his eyes, sinking deep into the covers, sliding his arms about Hermione and losing himself in the sensation. She probably didn't mean anything by this embrace, but he really didn't care.

She'd offered him comfort, and he needed it, so he took it.

~~*~~

What Is A Hero? - Xena:WP

The first thing Gabrielle did after they set up camp by the lake was pull out her scrolls, quill and ink. Her stomach was a knot of emotions, of anger, confusion, worry and other feelings uncountable. She unrolled a parchment, barely listening to Joxer and Xena chat to each other. It was a surprisingly calm atmosphere in the camp, considering what the days held ahead of them.

As Gabrielle's eyes roved over the empty scroll in her lap, Joxer ambled over, dropping onto his bottom on the pelt next to her.

"Hey. Whatcha writing?"

She gave a tense smile, clutching her quill. "Uhm. Nothing yet. I'm waiting for something to hit me."

Joxer nodded, and proceeded to pull off his armour. "You'll think of something."

"Joxer, what are you doing?" asked Gabrielle, looking him up and down as he struggled to pull off his chest plate.

"Xena's gonna teach me some stuff before she goes on reconnaissance," he said eagerly. "She told me to take my armour off for some reason."

"Maybe it has something to do with the fact that it's more a hindrance than a help?" she suggested, smirking a little.

"Poke fun all you like," said Joxer. "It's saved my life more than once."

"I'm sure it has."

Joxer sighed, rolling his eyes. "I know I look ridiculous," he said, uncharacteristically serious for a moment. "I had no money when I left home, so I couldn't afford great armour like Xena's. And I'm not a good fighter - I know that. I have to wear something, or I'd be dead that much faster."

Gabrielle lifted her brows. "Did it ever cross your mind to *not* try to be a hero? I mean, you're not exactly suited-"

"Were you, when you started out? Suited, I mean?" Joxer asked, eyes gleaming.

"No," Gabrielle said, shaking her head at herself.

"My Dad and my brother... they got along really well. They used to do things together, you know. Abuse the village idiot, raid small towns near ours - you name it." He frowned, suddenly, looking down at his helmet in his lap. He tapped it nervously. "They'd come back and tease me... for not joining in. Thing is - I did try to, once." He sighed. "I remember the people being so frightened. I just couldn't get any joy out of it, you know? That's the day when I stopped wanting to be a warlord like my Dad. S-" He rubbed his face, looking guilty somehow. "It's also the day Dad decided he needed to be 'cruel to be kind'. He-" Joxer shook his head. "Doesn't matter."

Her heart dropped like a lead weight in her chest as she realised what Joxer meant. She instinctively wrapped one of her hands around his.

"Anyway. I soon realised that there were people out there, helpless like I was, and people out there, sadistic and cruel as my Pa ever was. So as soon as I was able, I left home and..." He nodded, looking across the lake. "I just wanted to help. Help people. I mean, sure, it all started out, me runnin' away from who I was. I know I can be an idiot."

"Joxer..."

"I met you and Xena, though, and you guys really showed me, you know? That there's more to all 'a' this than looking good, being famous, all that stuff. It's more than what people think of you. It's," he shrugged, "-it's giving of yourself, so others can be happy." He ducked his head down, slapping his helmet tiredly. "Well. I better get to it." He stood up.

"Joxer." He looked down to her. "You're right. I guess I worry that one day, you... you won't just give something of yourself. You'll give all you have to give."

He shrugged. "As long as I help someone."

With that, he trudged over to Xena. Gabrielle watched him a long moment, as Xena began to explain something to him by the lake. She'd never heard Joxer talk like that before. She knew it was no show of bravado, and it took trust for him to confide in her about his childhood. She winced, pity and sadness welling in her chest for him. The strength of it surprised her, and she felt immediately guilty for all the teasing slaps and smacks she'd given him over the years. She watched him as he listened to Xena intently. She was so very afraid for him. He was walking headlong into challenges she knew he might not walk out of. Why did the good men always do that? Why did they have to have such precarious existences? As much as Joxer also feared these things, (and she knew he did, for she'd seen him tremble in the face of danger more than once), he was still ready to lay everything down for the good of others. A dawning feeling spread through her as she finally realised the heroic side of someone she had known for years, finally looked at it for what it was, without any doubt or possibility of dismissing it as something else.

Pulling her scroll close to her, she smiled to herself, hands shaking as she tapped the tip of her quill to her tongue.
~~*~~


A Man Needs A Maid (It's a tricky fic, it takes place in Logan's past, with a woman that may or may not be a past-life of Rogue (she looks just like her)).

"Dear me," Meg said, shaking her head. "You're a sweet girl, Genny. God was looking out for me when he sent you my way."

"He was looking out for me when you let me stay," Genevieve smiled. "I was homeless yesterday morning, you know."

"Yes, so Mr. Logan told me."

Genny felt herself flinch at the name. Meg was an observant woman, and not one to miss such a thing. She tilted her head as she scrubbed a sheet over the board in front of her.

"Did he have words with you, my dear?"

Genevieve pouted, feeling embarrassed again. "I talk too much," she said. "Well... too much to him anyway."

Meg clucked, nodding slowly. "Aaah, yes."

"I guess I said too much, and he's obviously a man that doesn't like to hide his irritation."

"He's not," said Meg.

Genny frowned. "How is it you met Mr. Logan?"

"He went to War with my husband Jeff," Meg said, the dewiness of reminiscence in her large blue eyes. "He was one of the more experienced boys there, being with the army before conscription and all..." Meg sighed. "My Jeff looked so handsome in his uniform. He wrote me letters, and he said he told Mr. Logan about me and the children.

"Anyway... one day they were on the front line. They got their charging orders, and out on the field someone was aiming for my husband. Mr. Logan threw him out of the way - took the bullet for him."

"And he lived?" gasped Genny.

"Yes," Meg nodded. "Jeff was sure Mr. Logan was a goner... he had a stomach wound. Long, terrible deaths stomach wounds are. Organs ruptured - it's terrible. They transferred Mr. Logan, got him some proper medical attention. Of course, Mr. Logan was a heavy man, so the dead weight of him toppling on top of Jeff broke a couple of bones. Jeff had to stay in the hospital too and.. well they became very close friends after that." Meg wrung the sheet in her hands. "You know, the saddest thing was, when Jeff went to talk to Mr. Logan for the first time after the battle, he asked him why he did it. You've got a family, Mr. Logan had said to him. And then he said, 'I have nobody'. Mr. Logan has no family you know, all long gone." Meg closed her eyes and shook her head. "So sad."

All his family gone? Genny's heart sank a little in her chest. No wonder he's so lonely.

The thought of Mr. Logan lying wounded in a military hospital, thinking he had no one haunted Genevieve. She pressed her lips together, tilting her head to Meg.

"Forgive my presumptuousnes, Meg, but um..." She cleared her throat, blushing a little. "Why didn't you and Mr. Logan ever ... erm..."

Meg's brows lifted, and meeting Genny's eyes she laughed warmly. "Oh... dear girl." Her expression sobered, sadness seeping into the kind blue eyes. "When you love a man like I loved my Jeff..." She sighed, shaking her head. "Once they're gone, there's no one." Her fingers hung in the soapy water, still. "You only love someone like that the once."

Meg smiled a small brave smile, and sloshed the water. "Come on now dear, let's get back to work."

~~*~~


White Wedding

Audrey St. James was a vision of refined yet sporty English beauty. Her auburn hair bounced about her jaw as she walked. It was curled and bobbed, a sparkling clip keeping it out of her eyes. She wore a smart white shirt of the current style with dashing slacks, tan heels peeking out from the bottom of them. Swiftly she made her way down the corridor of the manor, a cigarette wafting in her fingers and leaving curls of blue smoke in her wake.

She fixed her gaze on who she was after, neat red lips pursing with intrigue.

"Connie, ducks!" she sighed dramatically, striding into the landing where Connie stood, apparently counting her suitcases. "I just heard you returned! I had to come right away and see if you'd brought anything smashing back from Egypt!"

There was a thump behind Audrey as a case was set down and turning about, she saw Ardeth, in all his darkly robed splendour, in the doorway. She blinked, looking him up and down quickly.

"Oh."

Ardeth looked to Connie in askance.

"Audrey," said Connie, stepping around her suitcases and taking her arm warmly. "This is Ardeth Bay, he's my fiance."

Audrey's thinly pencilled eyebrows lifted and she stepped back a touch. "Really? Well!" She eyed Connie. "I didn't think you moved that quickly, my darling, but under the circumstances, I really don't blame you!" She looked Ardeth up and down again and gave the slightest hint of a smirk.

Connie blushed fiercely, looking to Ardeth who was entirely bemused by now.

"Darling, this is Audrey St. James. She's my neighbour."

"Charmed, absolutely charmed," said Audrey boldly, extending an elegant hand with darkly painted nails. Ardeth took it and lowered his forehead to her hand. This seemed to take Audrey by surprise and she glanced to Connie briefly before watching Ardeth finish greeting her in the traditional Medjai fashion.

"Rather!" she murmured, taking back her hand and caressing it.

With an apologetic tilt of his head, Ardeth spoke to Connie.

"These are all the bags that the driver brought from the station."

Audrey gasped and looked to Connie. "Oh! He speaks English!"

Connie frowned, utterly thrown for a loop. "What? Of course he speaks English! He's the leader of his community! Stop looking at him like a zoo exhibit, for God's sakes, Audrey!"

"Obviously I've got you at a bad time!" said Audrey, waving a hand and drifting smoke through the air. "When you're settled in, my dear, DO pop in for a brandy, won't you? Your affianced is more than welcome to come too!" Leaning to Connie, she kissed the air before sweeping out of the room as quickly as she'd entered.

Connie sighed, putting her face in her hand, utterly embarrassed.

"Is she always like that?" Ardeth asked her, a look of discomfort on his face.

"Unfortunately yes," said Connie. "It's something you're going to have to get used to while you're here, I'm afraid. Most of the people in my social set are like that."

"How can one live, moving and talking so fast? She is even more of a whirlwind than you, hayati."

"Why thank you," she said, narrowing her eyes at him witheringly, a smile on her lips.

~~*~~


Harvest of the Mem Sahib.

If Dickon was off having his lunch, she knew where he'd be. She went down the Long Walk that was past the orchard, and she slipped into the door to the Secret Garden, the long dangling ivy now shorter for all the passing through it. Relief flooded her as she stepped inside and saw Dickon sitting under the dead tree overrun by crawling rose vines, comfortable in the long lush grass, the spring fine and bright about them. The garden was a flush of different colours, sweet scents wrapping about her the moment she entered it. Dickon's cap was in the grass next to him, and his lovely curls were well tousled as he took a bite of his home-baked bread. He glanced up, eyes twinkling as he saw Mary enter the garden.

"Tha'rt not eating in the parlour today?"

She took a shuddering breath in, and tried to walk over to him as gently as possible so as not to disturb any animals that may have been hiding about him. His brows dipped down as she sat down next to him, as he could still somehow sense the anger in her movements.

"I absolutely hate Mrs. Waidsley!" she said, voice trembling. "She is a vile woman!"

"Ehhh," said Dickon softly, putting a hand on her shoulder. "That's a strong word tha uses there, be careful when thee says it."

"Oh!" Mary winced, looking away because she knew she couldn't look into Dickon's eyes without bursting into tears. "She said I was nearing the age when I should begin courting!" She shuddered, wriggling uncomfortably. "The very thought!"

Dickon grew a little quiet at this, and he moved his hand to her farther shoulder, putting his arm about her. "Don't you think on it, Mary Lennox. Mr. Craven is as good a man as there ever was, an' he wouldn't 'ave you courtin' no fellow you didn't want to, hear?"

She nodded, comfort flooding her as Dickon spoke to her as softly as he would to a moorland thrush.

"I just hate the idea of having to go to this ball she keeps bringing up," she said miserably. "Wearing a terribly uncomfortable dress and having to talk to all these stupid boys that think themselves as impressive as rajahs!"

"Come now, lass," Dickon said gently. "Tha'll have a graidely time, tha' will. Jus' imagine it, eh?" He squeezed her shoulder, his voice coaxing and low. "Tha'll be dressed in a glimmering gown of jewels an' beads, like all th' proper ladies wear, with tha' hair all wrapped up atop your head lookin' like cornsilk, and tha' cheeks as red as poppies." His eyes moved from her hair to her face, and Mary couldn't help but tremble. "An' thy lips will be as soft and pert as a wild rose bud." He smiled broadly then, cheeks deeply red. "Aye, tha' shalt be th' prettiest lass, even th' boys who seen as pretty a lass many a time will stop an' look at thee like they did never see one before."

Mary sighed, gazing at Dickon with sad eyes close to tears, her voice rasping. "I wish tha' could take me to th' ball," she said, carefully, with as good a Yorkshire accent as she could. "Tha' would be th' handsomest fellow there, I know it, I do!"

A flicker of grief passed through Dickon's round blue eyes before he gave a little chuckle.

"Tha' can do better than a common Yorkshire lad," he said, taking his arm away. "Tha'rt a lady, now."

Mary moaned, curling into Dickon's shoulder and whimpering. "Oh I wish I wasn't! I hate being a lady! I hate it!"

Dickon had always seemed to have something to say to every little problem that Mary had. This time, however, all he could do was to put his arms about her, and she could feel guilt coming from him, in the very weight of his movements. She tried not to think on it. She concentrated on his beautiful smell, of heather and gorse and the fresh moorland air, of the spicy smell of his skin that had grown so wonderful over the years, mingling with the flower scent as naturally as he did with the world. The smell had always brought her comfort, but this time it brought her an unexpected pain deep in her heart. All she could think of was that she would have to one day cease in breathing in this gorgeous scent, and instead stand stiffly beside a tall self-centred Lord who smelt not of the moors but of tweed and wool, of brandy, cigars and hair wax. Stiff smells, unnatural smells. He would not be the kind of fellow a lass could happily wrap her arms about and feel safe for always. His hair would not be the kind she could ruffle with her fingers, for it would be as stiff as his posture. He would forever be travelling, and not at her side. Not like Dickon was always there.

When she looked up at him, his brows tilted up. She frowned, wondering what was wrong until a breeze skipped past and a chill took her face and she realised she'd been crying.

"Oh dear," she sighed, flustered. "Oh I'm sorry, Dickon!"

He shook his head. "Tha'st nothin' to be sorry for."

He brought up a hand, and for the first time she could remember she saw uncertainty in his eyes. The hand positively shook as he brought it to her cheek, wiping away the tears. Mary sighed, closing her eyes and leaning into the touch. It was the most delightful thing she had ever felt. Though he gardened every day and had worked for his comfort all his life, his hands weren't quite as rough as she thought they'd be, and the nature of his caress brought a tingling alive deep inside her belly. She almost felt like breathing his name.

His hand was suddenly gone, and Dickon frowned, mostly at himself it seemed, and he shook his head, muttering to himself under his breath. Mary felt such a disappointment as she'd never felt before.

"Tha' best be gettin' back to thy lessons," he said, pulling himself up to his feet. "And me back to my work."

"Oh," she moaned sadly, "I wish I could spend just one afternoon with you, helping you with your work!"

Despite his firmness, Dickon found it in himself to be amused. "Tha've tea to sip an' graidley parties to prepare for. Aren't thee more amused by that?"

Mary stood up, lifting her nose indignantly. "Most certainly not! You know I prefer to work in the garden."

Dickon's round eyes grew sad again, and he nodded at her, if not a little reverently. "Aye. Little surprise I'm goodly fond of thee."

Mary felt herself gasping with glee, clutching his rough homespun cotton shirt in trembling fingers. "Tha'rt fond of me? Really?"

He nudged her chin with his knuckle very tenderly, his wide smile tinged with sadness. "Aye. Now get thee back to tha' tea, Mistress Mary."

At that he walked off in his slow easy gait that seemed to get him everywhere as fast as he needed to be. Dickon never rushed and he rarely needed to.


~~*~~

Piggy In the Middle - Doctor Who

AN: This one isn't finished, it's based on a silly dream I had and so isn't a serious effort by me to write Doctor Who fic. It's basically me having fun. The essence of fic, I suppose. It doesn't even work chronologically cause this never was a Team TARDIS. But if it WAS, this is how I imagined it would be.

Martha sat down on a ledge by the wall of the control room, drying her hair with a towel and glancing to the Doctor irritably. She'd had grime and grit in every crevice imaginable and it was entirely his fault. They'd had a rough time of it on a mining vessel situated in an asteroid belt around a system in deep space. This visit wasn't scheduled; the TARDIS had had one of its little unpredictable episodes and decided to stop somewhere entirely different than programmed. The Doctor ended up getting himself in the middle of a repair effort for one of the rather big and technologically sophisticated drills. Captain Jack Harkness was otherwise occupied for most of the stay, and poor Martha kept herself amused by helping in the kitchens. Of course to get to the kitchens she had to traipse through miles of tunnel and rattley old ship corridors.

It had taken her some time to get the dust and dirt out of her hair. Her displeasure was obvious, and yet the Doctor seemed to take no notice of it. This put her in even worse spirits. Jack Harkness was leaning against the curved pilot's chair in a white t-shirt and jeans, looking utterly pleased with himself. Even though the Doctor had told him to behave, he hadn't. Martha couldn't really blame him. The place was crawling with muscular, rough miner types. Lucky bastard.

The Doctor tweaked the controls of the TARDIS, flipping switches and twisting knobs.

"Where do you want to go?" he asked, tipping his head back and peering down his nose at her playfully.

"You're asking me?" she said.

He nodded, widening his eyes. "Well?"

Jack smirked, looking over his shoulder at Martha. She stepped over, throwing her towel aside. She looked sweet in the jeans and little dark red top she was wearing. Her bottom lip was pushed out thoughtfully.

"Somewhere sunny," she said. "You know… with a beach."

"Oh, the seaside!" exclaimed the Doctor. "Yes, that'd be-"

"No, not the seaside, not in England anyway," said Martha. "Something balmy and tropical."

The Doctor snapped his fingers. "I've got it! You'll love it. Salivinia VII, it's amazing! You won't believe it! Colourful seashells as big as your face!"

"Oh, that's a nice place," agreed Jack. "Are we going to go swimming?"

"We have to!" said Martha, her mood improving significantly with the Doctor's enthusiasm. "You can't go to the beach and not swim!"

"What do you mean?" said the Doctor. "There's shells! Big ones! I love collecting shells."

"Shells?" said Martha. "Just shells? What, can't you swim?"

"I can swim," said the Doctor, frowning down at the controls as he dropped in the coordinates. "I just don't like to."

"All that uncontrollable current, messing up his hair?" said Jack. "Plus I'd hardly see him sliding into a pair of little Speedos." He chuckled cheekily.

"Definitely not!" snapped the Doctor.

"You never know, you might look good," said Martha, lifting a brow.

"Not happening!"

She sighed and looked to Jack. "Looks like it's just you and me then, Captain."

"Fine with me," grinned Jack, winking at her.

Martha laughed, soaking in Jack's appreciation. She pushed herself away from the control panels.

"All right. I'm getting my bathers!"

"Bathers?" said Jack. "We're not swimming naked?"

"No!" said the Doctor and Martha at the same time.

"Should have known."

~~*~~

AAaaand that's it! I have more than one fic going per fandom but this post is ridiculously huge as it is.

Comments

[ausizoro.livejournal.com]

wow tis long, i will have to reserve a bit o time for this :)

[annearchy.livejournal.com]

Harriet!!

Secret Garden!!!

You really need to finish Harriet, love *begs*

[logansrogue.livejournal.com]

I promise you I will. I really will. For a long time I felt like I'd gotten Harry wrong, that he'd never do the things that I was writing and that I was 'deluded' as it were.

Then JKR said yesterday the words I was aching to hear: "It *could* have happened. There were moments." And I feel like I'm in this fandom again.

So yes, Harriet will be finished. And I feel good about writing HP fic again. :D

[asweetdownfall.livejournal.com]

I adore the snippets. Especially the ones from your HP and TSG fics. :D You're a fabulous writer.

[logansrogue.livejournal.com]

Awww, thanks, darl! :D

[xedra.livejournal.com]

HP - hmmm, in-ter-esting.
Xena - *sigh* Oh Joxer, my Joxer... XD
TSG - I so insanely and totally love this!

*glomps you*

[logansrogue.livejournal.com]

I have the biggest hard-on for Dickon, seriously. The song "Nature Boy" reminds me of him, so hard! Don't worry, these stories WILL be finished, I just need to get that damned laptop! LOL!