(no subject)
Today was a day where my shoes did not match.
In my defense, I woke up 5 minutes before I had to leave for work, but yeah. I didn't even notice until the end of my lunch. *facepalm*
*****
Time for the WIP meme! (gacked from![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
philomytha)
Post a random sentence (or three whole paragraphs) from every WIP you're currently working on, even if it's very short. Then invite people to ask questions about your WIP. With any luck, you'll get talking about writing, and the motivation to take that WIP one step closer to completion will appear as if by magic!
I picked the five I've actually worked on in the past two weeks, since the full list is a bit longer.
“Ethan. Ethan, stop. What are you doing?”
Ethan looked down at his hands. “Helping,” he said, seriously.
Brandt stared at the braid in Ethan's hands in horror. The strands were too loose and had stray bits sticking out, and he could see it from ten feet away. “Okay, no,” he said, crossing the room and pushing Ethan back with a hand on his chest. He didn't let it linger. “I'm ready enough, you just go over there and do something you're actually good at.” He swiftly unwove the braid – it looked like Ethan had only had time to do a couple, thank god – and restarted it, tight and neat against Jane's scalp. Jane's shoulders were shaking as she laughed silently.
“May I?” he murmured, his breath stirring the fine hair behind the man's ear, and plucked the cigarette out of his unresisting fingers. Charles wasn't a smoker, but he licked his lips and watched the man watch him, warmth settling low in his belly in anticipation. He curled his lips around the cigarette and breathed in, dragged the butt along his bottom lip and blew the smoke to the side, his eyes locked with the stranger.
Even in the low light, he could see the man's pupils dilate.
Charles didn't really like these parties, if he was honest with himself, but he'd found that being lonely with laughter and booze was preferable to being lonely all by himself. Moments like this, though, where men found him who wanted the same thing, wanted him even if they never wanted to stay – this was just for him.
Death was the only way anyone left the Narada – or it had been, until Nero captured Spock's ship. When Jim was dragged down to the landing pad to see an elderly Vulcan kneeling at Nero's feet, adrenaline drove away his exhaustion and the weight of his chains. Nero called the man Spock, and he'd been so ready to hate him, ready to spit in his face and scream for all the pain he'd caused Jim.
But when Nero introduced him in return, the look on Spock's face.... He remembered the Andorian captain who had been gutted – in shock, without hope, helpless to watch as his insides spilled to the floor.
Spock just said, “Jim,” like his heart was beating to a stop in his hands, “Jim, I'm so sorry.”
She glared right back at him, unafraid of his anger, and continued, her British accent smooth as silk: “You're the one who can manipulate metal, correct? Can you bring that ship down without killing anyone in it?”
“Why should I do anything for you?” he shot back, ignoring the fact that he had been planning to do something very similar.
“I could care less about the political implications, but those things took my daughter, and you seem to be my best hope for fighting them.” She tilted her gun at him, cocked open to show six empty chambers, and gave him a sharp smile. “I'm all out of bullets, you see.”
In my defense, I woke up 5 minutes before I had to leave for work, but yeah. I didn't even notice until the end of my lunch. *facepalm*
*****
Time for the WIP meme! (gacked from
philomytha)Post a random sentence (or three whole paragraphs) from every WIP you're currently working on, even if it's very short. Then invite people to ask questions about your WIP. With any luck, you'll get talking about writing, and the motivation to take that WIP one step closer to completion will appear as if by magic!
I picked the five I've actually worked on in the past two weeks, since the full list is a bit longer.
“Ethan. Ethan, stop. What are you doing?”
Ethan looked down at his hands. “Helping,” he said, seriously.
Brandt stared at the braid in Ethan's hands in horror. The strands were too loose and had stray bits sticking out, and he could see it from ten feet away. “Okay, no,” he said, crossing the room and pushing Ethan back with a hand on his chest. He didn't let it linger. “I'm ready enough, you just go over there and do something you're actually good at.” He swiftly unwove the braid – it looked like Ethan had only had time to do a couple, thank god – and restarted it, tight and neat against Jane's scalp. Jane's shoulders were shaking as she laughed silently.
“May I?” he murmured, his breath stirring the fine hair behind the man's ear, and plucked the cigarette out of his unresisting fingers. Charles wasn't a smoker, but he licked his lips and watched the man watch him, warmth settling low in his belly in anticipation. He curled his lips around the cigarette and breathed in, dragged the butt along his bottom lip and blew the smoke to the side, his eyes locked with the stranger.
Even in the low light, he could see the man's pupils dilate.
Charles didn't really like these parties, if he was honest with himself, but he'd found that being lonely with laughter and booze was preferable to being lonely all by himself. Moments like this, though, where men found him who wanted the same thing, wanted him even if they never wanted to stay – this was just for him.
Death was the only way anyone left the Narada – or it had been, until Nero captured Spock's ship. When Jim was dragged down to the landing pad to see an elderly Vulcan kneeling at Nero's feet, adrenaline drove away his exhaustion and the weight of his chains. Nero called the man Spock, and he'd been so ready to hate him, ready to spit in his face and scream for all the pain he'd caused Jim.
But when Nero introduced him in return, the look on Spock's face.... He remembered the Andorian captain who had been gutted – in shock, without hope, helpless to watch as his insides spilled to the floor.
Spock just said, “Jim,” like his heart was beating to a stop in his hands, “Jim, I'm so sorry.”
She glared right back at him, unafraid of his anger, and continued, her British accent smooth as silk: “You're the one who can manipulate metal, correct? Can you bring that ship down without killing anyone in it?”
“Why should I do anything for you?” he shot back, ignoring the fact that he had been planning to do something very similar.
“I could care less about the political implications, but those things took my daughter, and you seem to be my best hope for fighting them.” She tilted her gun at him, cocked open to show six empty chambers, and gave him a sharp smile. “I'm all out of bullets, you see.”
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