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Weensy Excerpts
I just KNOW I’m going to regret this....

gakked from Ducks, aka theantijoss

When you see this, post a little weensy 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.

The sad thing? The six BtVS/Ats fics and the nine HP fics behind the cut are not the only fanfic WIPS I have going on, just the ones I can access from this computer, and which I am reasonably certain will be finished and posted within the next two years.
Altogether, I have about thirty-five or forty fanfics well begun, most in the Buffyverse. Let’s not even talk about the plot bunnies I’m deliberately ignoring. Plus my original novels and short stories. And you wonder why I don’t have any free time...or a life...

I should note for the fans of my Buffyverse work, who are probably feeling a bit neglected as I haven’t posted anything new for them in over a year, that my BtVS/Ats WIPS are, by and large, much longer and more complex than all but one or two of my Harry Potter fics.

Enough about that. On to the fics. Adult content. Click if you dare.

BtVS/Ats fics first, in alpha order by title, then HP fics, also in alpha order by title.

BtVS/Ats WIPS

From Compulsion which is AU after Chosen, an excerpt from a phone conversation between Buffy, in Europe, and Angel, in L.A.

“Whose diary is it?” he asked, his voice tight.

“It belonged to an eighteenth century Watcher, Percival Blake,” she said. Silence. She waited but she couldn’t even hear Angel draw a breath. “I take it that you remember him,” she said dryly, trying to keep the worry out of her tone. She needed Angel to be okay with this.

“Which diary?” he said, finally.

“Which…? There’s more than one? Because I kinda thought from the way this one ended, that you-- well, that he didn’t do much writing after he met you.” She was surprised when a short bark of laughter came across the line. There was, however, no humor in the sound.

“Blake kept a number of journals after that one, Buffy.”

“Oh,” Buffy said not sure whether that was a good thing or not.

“And, as far as I know, he’s still keeping them,” Angel continued evenly.

“Oh,” she said again, more quietly. Not a good thing, then.

From Darkness, Darkness which title should tell you everything you need to know about the fic.

The dungeon in which he’d spent the night torturing her reeked of heated copper. Not surprising, she realized as her surroundings came into focus. Angelus had quite literally painted the room with the fruits of his labor, the red bounty he’d whipped from her brutalized flesh.

Ever the artist, Angelus had not wasted a drop on simple spatter patterns. No, he had, instead, covered the walls in red, flowing script. Buffy's gaze dully traced over the words, shivering as she took in the meaning of the poem he had written for her, in her own blood.

From Dragon Heart, a non-post-NFA, non-AU fic that takes place post-NFA in an AU Think Medieval Europe.

The good: One dead dragon, two distracted dragons, and only one casualty. The bad; Lord Lindsey was no longer distracted by a dragon, and was stalking toward her in full game face with blood in his blazing yellow eyes and murder in his heart.

“Lady Buffy,” he growled. “If you ever cause a man to disobey a direct order from me again when I am trying to see to your safety, I will have you bound and gagged and brought before my liege lord like a common criminal, rather than as a cherished gift. And what do you think King Heinrich will have to say to that?”

Nothing good, because if Lindsey actually did what he threatened, treating the Master’s gift to Emperor Varrick with such disdain, it would probably start the very war everyone was trying to avoid. Still, Buffy had gotten what she wanted, so she was willing to meekly accept some scolding from Lindsey as the price of keeping the peace.

But not too meekly.

“Oh, c’mon Linds. It was only a little dragon.”

From In the Dreaming - Mine The “In the Dreaming” fics were meant to be totally unrelated stories that shared a kind of fairy-tale, dream-like quality in the telling. But, most of them were AU enough, and original enough, that it was easy to change the lead characters and work on them as legit fics I intend, eventually, to publish. This one, too, would probably make a decent fantasy romance novel if I wanted to invest the time to pull it off. But I don’t. Think Roman Empire under Caligula

“Very clever, Marcus Angelus" Emperor Rayne said approvingly. "You bring our captive before us as the law demands, naked and in chains, that the world might see our might and tremble at our majesty."

"It could be no other way," Angelus said.

"And yet, such lovely chains, such modest nudity,” the emperor mused. “You have outdone yourself, my boy, and presented our prisoner almost as a work of art. Bring her to us."

From Journey which, believe it or not, I am still writing.

Angelus lost no time in carrying her over to the bed, setting her down on it so she faced the mirror, her back braced against the mound of pillows. He crawled onto the bed, settled between her thighs, pushed her skirts out of the way, and smirked up at her. She was panting, her lips parted, her cheeks flushed.

“My, what lovely wrapping on my favorite present,” he said, his gaze flicking to the harness holding the vibrator inside her. The straps were black leather. In the cock ring, he could see the blunt end of a vibrator composed of deep, lucius red gel buried in his lover’s snatch. Her clit was as flushed and rosy as her cheeks, standing at attention in her nest of curls. Angelus decided it looked lonely.


From Storming Heaven which I am also still writing.

“Your hair is dark.” Angel observed.

“I’ve been in the underworld,” Buffy told him. “Ereshkagil has marked me.”

“They resurrected you, but they haven’t completely freed you,” he said, understanding. She smiled, but not one of the radiant smiles he so treasured. This was something more tender and more sad.

“It’s for you to reclaim me,” she said softly.

Unfinished Draco/Hermione bits

From A Hero of the Wizarding World - Epilogue 3: Scene in a Mirror

“Why, I could stand here starkers, and it wouldn’t matter, because it isn’t me that you want,” she said before, suiting word to deed, she used a whispered evanesco to vanish every stitch of clothing she’d been wearing.

It was a dirty trick to play on a man just out of hospital after surviving a debilitating curse. Hitting below the belt, as it were. Hermione’s conscience was clear however. Drastic times clearly called for drastic measures. And from the look of absolute, ravening hunger with which Draco was favoring her, her measures appeared to be succeeding quite nicely.


From Compelled Veela!Draco fic number nine million and thirteen.

For whatever reason, she was restless that night, reliving the moment when her palm had struck across Draco’s skin, remembering the tingle in her palm...and somehow, as well, the cool, not unpleasant, feel of his flesh against her fingers. She dismissed her reaction as an aberration. The pleasure, she assured herself, had been in having asserted herself, having stood up to his bullying, forcing him to back down, not in the simple tactile contact.

And yet, there was something about what had happened that pricked at her awareness, kept her restless and on edge, sleepless until nearly dawn.

From Dark Bonding Veela!Draco fic number nine million and twelve.

Hermione attended to the usual morning business of waking up, relieving herself, washing her face, cleaning her teeth with a simple spell, and using the lovely silverbacked brush with boar bristles she found on the vanity to try to put her hair into a semblance of order. As she coaxed the tangles out of it, she caught a glimpse of silver on her neck. Holding her hair away from the area, she leaned forward to the mirror, inspecting the reflected image carefully. An exquisite crescent of silver was now embedded in her flesh, exactly where Draco’s fangs had pierced her the night before, marking her as a Veela’s mate. She shivered, letting her hair fall back over the mark, then resolutely went about finishing her toilette.

From Gather, Darkness my reinterpretation of the entire damned series. This bit from the first book, Draco coming to the compartment on the train where Harry and Ron are becoming friends.

“Weasley?” Draco said with a faint curl of his lip and slight cooling of his manner.

“Not once I come of age,” Ron returned as coolly. “My mum’s Aunt Philomena married one of the last of the Gaunts, but they never had children, and I’m expecting she’ll adopt me.”

Draco’s manner defrosted slightly.

“The Gaunts were a fine old family,” he said politely. “Didn’t know the Weasley’s had a connection.” Ron arched a brow.

“Really, Malfoy, there are so few pureblood Wizards left, we’re all related somehow or another.”

“There is that,” Draco said as he sat down next to Ron, just before the lunch cart came. Ron flushed, but was clearly too proud to admit he had no funds for any of the treats. Draco and Harry exchanged a silent look of understanding, and bought out the cart, sharing the largess with Ron.

They were laughing over a game of exploding snaps when the final person who would be added to the friendship intruded. But they had no idea, then, that she would ever be anything remotely like a friend. Or that she would, ultimately, be so very much more.

From Nine Tenths of the Law Veela!Draco fic number nine million and fourteen.

“Some things are worth the risk,” Draco informed her, circling around her like a wolf stalking his prey. “But as it happens, there’s no risk at all. The only thing the Ministry will give me for raping you is it’s blessing to rape you every night for the rest of our lives.”

Hermione let out a gasp, and couldn’t seem to catch her breath afterward, her lovely breasts rising and falling in a most delightful manner. Impossibly, his arousal grew. He really was going to have to bring matters to their conclusion, and soon.

“What are you on about?” she demanded, a hint of desperation in her voice.

“Veela,” he said succinctly, dropping the bombshell, smiling triumphantly as a look of horrified comprehension came into her eyes.

From Marriage Most Malefic my take on the Marriage Law concept.

“Do you think we might see about getting Weasley to St. Mungo’s, now the legalities are sorted?” Draco asked dryly. “I rather imagine he might like having his head reattached.”

Ron’s head, which appeared to be in the process of turning into a bag-pudding with raisins for eyes and a bit of strawberry jam for a mouth, seemed to agree. At least, the jam mouth looked to be opening in a shape that indicated he was trying to say Yes! Sadly, the fact that his head was not attached to his body meant he could not fuel speech with air from his lungs, and as strawberry jam isn’t particularly conducive to emulating the movements of human lips, it was impossible to say precisely what idea the bag-pudding head was trying to convey. Assuming, of course, that Ron’s brains were still brains and not suet, at the moment, and that his bag-pudding head was capable of having any thoughts at all.

From The Persistence of Desire

Pansy continues to seem to pay no more than polite attention as the knife twists slowly in her heart. Is that what it would have taken for her to keep Draco? Should she have said nothing about the growing distance between them at the end of fifth year, held her tongue as he began to shut her out of his life entirely in sixth year? And, when he came back to her after the war, should she have kept silent about the endless parade of witches he was taking into his bed when he was supposed to be dating her? If she had turned a blind eye to his flagrant infidelity, limited her conversation to praise of his heroism and his standing with Voldemort, if she had followed his favorite Quidditch teams, and spoken of nothing but them--if she had accepted that he was not going to marry her for another ten years, and simply asked him to make their engagement official, rather than pressing him to set a date for their wedding--if she had been willing to sleep with him even without the Malfoy engagement ring, at the least, gracing her finger--would she still be the witch everyone, including his parents, expected him to make his bride?

From Tender Vengeance

“Are you telling me that your father engaged a mistress for you?” Hermione said, scandalized. “But you’ve only just turned seventeen! He engaged a mistress for you when you were still underage?”

“Of course he did,” Draco said, amused. “At the traditional age of fourteen.”

“Traditional?” she squeaked. “Fourteen? But you were just a child! That’s...that’s...”

“Indecent? Scandalous?” he supplied helpfully as she spluttered to a stop.

“At the very least,” she informed him primly. He laughed outright at that.

“I can’t understand how anyone could think so. The entire purpose was to provide me with a salutary education on the art of physical intimacy.” He smiled wickedly. “I’d thought you rather enjoyed benefitting from my tuition.”


From War Bride

“If you want me to stop,” he breathed into her ear before nipping at the lobe, making her shudder, “all you have to do is tell me you don’t want what I want, that you never gave me a second thought, that you haven’t spent night after night dreaming, wishing, hoping to be in my arms again.” He pressed a kiss to her temple, trailed more kisses along her jaw, stopped, his lips a breath above her own. “Tell me to stop, Hermione, and I will.”

She couldn’t, of course.



So, that’s it. A bunch of more or less weensy excerpts from some of the WIPs I’ve got going on. I hope you enjoyed, but please don’t expect them all to be posted right away. It’s going to take time to polish most of these babies into postable shape.

Now that I’ve shown you mine, will you show me yours?