Mostly, people talk about family politics, which they note but doesn’t help Thrawn in any way. Military gossip, on the other hand, is a different story.
The military gossip, outside of the usual who’s (not so) secretly sleeping with who and what promotion this one did or didn’t get and why, is split between two ships:
VanguardandPariah.
The former is the elite of the elite. The latter is the dregs and dirges, the Ascendancy’s most incompetent and dishonorable.
Bonus: This is the story of a ship with two names.
“I saw my father’s lamp lit that night, well past three—I barely slept and I don’t think he did at all, and yet he still insisted on taking me to the fête because he saw that I was sad. He is so good and gentle—I cannot bear to remind him again. But you—you have seen it, too, Monsieur?”
“I have,” he said. “I have, and I did not sleep either; not for many nights.”
“Whowerethose men—the convicts? What happened to them—how did they come to be on those horrible carts?”
There’s a party of Municipal Guard in the rear of the barroom. This must be the usual haunt of the regiment barracked on the site of the old convent of Sisters of Mercy. They are at their ease here—stocks unfastened, blue sleeves rolled up, the white tunic fronts that tomorrow will be crimson with blood standing half-open. Officers all, heedless of their curfew, they dice lazily over the dregs of their wine.
Grantaire calls for a bottle, grabs a chair in his other hand, sets it down and straddles it at the end of the officers’ table. The one with the dice in his hand looks up, shrugs, throws a pair of sixes.
“Gentlemen!” Grantaire says. “A toast to tomorrow!”
Here is six sentences from Part 6 of my fic Shout Out To My Ex!
(Although this is technically more than 6 sentences, of course!)
“That’s perfect,” Nick said, “the exact right amount of playful hatred I’d like to hear from you.” He rubbed his hands together, removing his headphones and grinning wide. “It’s good to be back in the studio with the two of you. I appreciate that you needed a break, but it seriously cramped my style. You don’t want to know how many women want to get a taste of this,” he gestured to his own body here, which was – admittedly – pretty decent, “when I reveal to be the producer of Shout Out To My Ex.”
James laughed, shaking his head. His curls bounced with the movement, making her stomach swoop. She wondered if that would ever stop, the constant swooping, fluttering and thrumming. She really didn’t want it to.
So bloody good, I’m mad about that fic!! Thanks to you and to @pottinglilies (OMG I love that snippet so much!!) for the tag. This is from the next chapter of A Little Riskwhich is taking far too long to write as I am at unheard of run off our feet levels at work, but hope to finish this week. Finally, we will get to the Nazi- punching part, but first…
“I shall extract the information from Dr. Potter, wait and see, der Leiter (Leader)!” Lily said, standing to attention as Riddle strolled past her.
“A good start,” Riddle said, looking at Lily and Snape approvingly. “Carry on. If Herr Doktor is not forthcoming, kill the duke.”
“Heil Hitler!” Lily Evans said.
“Heil Hitler!” Riddle and the other men said.
Lord Regulus looked at his brother, face devoid of expression.
“Goodbye,” Lord Regulus said.
Sirius Black spat out some blood.
“Rot in hell,” he replied.
Tagging @therealrjlupin @mollymarymarie @signifiquint @stonecoldhedwig @nymphadoratonqs @jamesandthedog @midnightelite @startanewdream @inthe-afterglows @alittlebitofeverything23 (I tagged 10, but anyone who wants to!!)
This is from my fem!jily February week 1 fic I’m working on! ❤️ Thanks for the tag love, sorry Tumblr struck again….❤️❤️
So here’s six sentence Monday
The question caught Jamie off guard. She slipped a finger between the pages of the book she was reading, and looked up to examine the inquirer.
Jamie could feel heat rush to her cheeks and hoped her honeyed complexion hid the unexpected flush. This girl was quite possibly the fittest bird she’d ever seen. Deep red hair fell past her shoulders in loose waves. Green eyes so bright it was like a light being shone through a crystal clear emerald, they glinted under the humming fluorescents with a distinctive look of mischief. The determined slant of her lips drew Jamie in like a sailor to a siren.
Everything I’ve been working on this week is NSFT (Not Safe For Tumblr), so have a slightly older snippet from Kate and Caius’s second date.
With her fingertips curled over the edge of his cowl, she tugged him down to her level. Stretching up on the tips of her toes, she pressed her lips to his mouth plates, right above the edge of his mandible. Caius blinked at her in surprise as she pulled back, a pretty blush colouring her cheeks. He hadn’t expected her to make the first move, but now she was staring up at him with those big green eyes, watching to see how he’d react.
There was only one thing to do. Very carefully, Caius brushed her loose hair away from her cheek and tucked it gently behind her ear.
“I’ve wanted to do that all evening,” he confessed.
Kate didn’t move. Her eyes remained fixed on his, waiting. Her lips trembled as Caius tilted her chin up with his fingers and leaned down, stopping when their faces were only inches apart. They were so close that he could feel her breath on his mouth plates. Her eyes half-closed in anticipation and she swayed towards him. He closed the distance, pressing his mouth to her parted lips. When his tongue touched hers, she sighed. It was all the encouragement he needed. One hand cupped the back of her neck while the other slipped around her waist, pulling her body firmly against him. Her soft curves fit perfectly in his arms, like he’d know they would.
been a while since I translated my texts, so I’m a bit rusty, but have this piece of “fragile” anyway
“You can die,” she repeats, quieter this time. “Don’t you know it?”
This is a really, really stupid question.
But the very idea that Goro could die, here, now, after all the danger was left behind, is so unjust V starts trembling. She never thought about it, and now it feels like there are three of them in this room: she, he, and his death. Inevitable and inescapable, because even if not an Animal’s fist or a stray bullet, the time itself will take Goro sooner or later, while V with her mechanical body, with her three-years-out-of-tank brain, will live for a long time.
Rarely. Perhaps that was the key, the exception that proved the rule.
“Considering the circumstances… yeah, I think I should,” Viktor replied, pushing all those intrusive thoughts aside. The last thing he wanted was to ruin the mood since, despite the unusualness of the situation, he liked—maybe too much—having her around. He mimicked her posture and added, “I’ve got a question, though.”
“Are you sure it’s okay for us to be doing this?” Olivia questioned nervously as Hackett took the lead.
“I’m the best man and you’re the maid of honor,” he easily reasoned, “it would be more suspicious if I didn’t ask you to dance at least once.”
“Well, much as I love it when you do, could you at least stop looking at me like you’re about to tear my clothes off?”
Hackett slowly shook his head. “Can’t help it.”
Olivia rolled her eyes, unimpressed with his risky shenanigans.
“You look beautiful in that dress,” he continued to tease, “can’t wait to see it on my floor later.”
“Steven,” she hissed through her teeth in playful chastisement, cautiously surveying their surroundings to ensure there were no unwitting eavesdroppers.
It is still Sunday here, so I thought I might try this out now that I’m done writing Wake Up.
Today, I wrote about 800 words for the second chapter of Dancing After Death which I posted last August hoping I was close to done Wake Up. I wasn’t expecting it to take six months to finish.
Here are six sentences (approximately) from the beginning of that chapter.
Monty couldn’t remember why he had put Foley in a chokehold on the way into math class. They were always fooling around like that, much to their teachers’ dismay.
He couldn’t remember much of anything before the blinding nausea hit.
He remembered how the kid's icy blue eyes seemed to see into his soul, and he almost felt naked when he looked at him. He recalled how, for the briefest moment, Monty’s main concern was the fact he didn’t recognize the boy. White hot searing pain in his vaccine scar, interrupted this thoughts.
Fuck.
I’m not going to tag anyone today but if you see this post and want to participate tag me or reblog this so I can see what you want.
Omgogmkfndodjdidbixjdux!!!! BABEEE!!! THANKS FOR THIS LITTLE SNEAK PEEK! and sharing this 6 sentence Sunday and choosing this fic!
Here is how Six Sentence Sunday works:
Writers: post (approximately) six sentences from something you’re working on. If you aren’t ready to do that, add six sentences to your WIP.
Readers: challenge yourselves to leave a six sentence comment or give a writer a six sentence prompt. (or a total of six sentences for the day)
Fans and creators alike: reblog a fandom post and add some love in the tags. Aim for 6 posts - or 6 tags. Whatever you can manage!
It is still Sunday here, so I thought I might try this out now that I’m done writing Wake Up.
Today, I wrote about 800 words for the second chapter of Dancing After Death which I posted last August hoping I was close to done Wake Up. I wasn’t expecting it to take six months to finish.
Here are six sentences (approximately) from the beginning of that chapter.
Monty couldn’t remember why he had put Foley in a chokehold on the way into math class. They were always fooling around like that, much to their teachers’ dismay.
He couldn’t remember much of anything before the blinding nausea hit.
He remembered how the kid's icy blue eyes seemed to see into his soul, and he almost felt naked when he looked at him. He recalled how, for the briefest moment, Monty’s main concern was the fact he didn’t recognize the boy. White hot searing pain in his vaccine scar, interrupted this thoughts.
Fuck.
I’m not going to tag anyone today but if you see this post and want to participate tag me or reblog this so I can see what you want.
In some, this mixes with privilege to lead him into the lap of luxury. And that eventually channels itself into a self-destructive ego, which then generally ends at the bottom of a cave on some world or another, jumping too close to what would likely be a sun if he had the capability to fly without a ship, and falling regardless of that lack.
But not in this one. In this timeline, there are no perks associated with being a Cardassian loyalist, not when being a collaborator would be so much easier—when it would mean food in his stomach and the stomachs of his children and no reason to fear the Confederation occupiers storming his home in the middle of the night to drag him away to one of their barbaric extermination shows.
It’s captivating, the way the hair frames Tenten’s face and reaches down to her waist and it’s ridiculous, its just — hair, Sakura thinks, a little desperately, but it’s the most hottest thing she has ever seen. She wants to bite her teeth in the pale neck peeking out of the mass of hair, wants to push Tenten right against the wall and kiss her senseless. The want is so dizzyingly strong, Sakura goes weak in her knees.
“…Sakura?” Tenten tentatively says, and Sakura realises that she hasn’t moved since and is standing wide-eyed like a idiot still in the front of Tenten’s house. Oh gods, Tenten’s house. This was a very bad idea. A very bad — Sakura’s mind is already thinking of houseandtogetherandalone and going down highly inappropriate places. Very down, tongue on Tenten’s bare stomach, tasting tantalizing skin, fingers hooked on the waistband of —
idea:ino recruits a very reluctant tenten in her endeavour of seducing sakura (inosaku/inosakuten)
“OH MY GOD, Why the hell is there a kunaion the bed?! I nearly sat on it!” Ino rightfully screetches. “I could have died.” She continues, as she places the kunai far away from her before sitting down.
“Oh sorry,” Tenten says, sheepishly, giving her an apologetic glance.“I was organising things.” Ino is noticing how haphazard Tenten’s room, now — well, more than usual.
“Right. I can see that, now.” Ino says, dryly. “Still, you could have warned me beforehand.”
Tenten adopts a wry expression, muttering something that could have been well I didn’t expect you to suddenly barge into my house you didn’t give me any chance to and Ino pretends she doesn’t hear it, making herself comfortable on the bed, leaning against the wall and trying very hard to not think of a certain pink haired girl, which doesn’t go very well at all.
Han Sooyoung reaches over for Joonghyuk and grabs his face roughly. “You idiot —” She starts, before she pauses. “Huh.” She mutters, experimentally patting his cheek. “Your face is really soft. Surprising. I thought it would be all rough, considering your personality. You’re still ugly, though.” She laughs at her own joke, grinning silly up at Joonghyuk, who looks like he’s physically sick. Ha, did her burn hit him too hard?
“You’re drunk, Han Sooyoung.” Joonghyuk says. She ignores him. What does he know, she isn’t drunk. She has a higher alcohol tolerance than him. It’s just. His face is really soft… she can’t stop touching it, sliding her fingers over the edge his stupidly thick brows and down his cheek, slow, to savour the feeling.
idea:athy takes advantage of ijekiel’s feelings for her, and doesn’t account for falling for him
Ijekiel is supposed to be in love with Jeanette, is it really okay to change the storyline like this? No, that was a useless thought. Changing the storyline is what she wants—to not meet the original Athanasia’s horrible ending. Athy… could use this. Her Débutante is nearing and she’s still feeling anxious, getting nightmares almost every day, because despite how she knows she’s secured Claude’s love — anything could wrong. Ijekiel is Duke Roger’s son and like a brother to Jeanette, it’d be good to have him on her side.
She’s getting a headache. “Lucas,” Athy says, breathing in and out to calm herself. “You can’t just killpeople.”
“Why not?”
Oh god, she can’t do this. This isn’t what she signed up for this. She didn’t sign up for anything. What did she do to deserve this. “This isn’t like our world,” Athy explains, patiently. “You will be punished for it. You could go to jail.”
idea:adrien sends a selfie and mari panicks over how to respond
Marinette was a second from typing you’re so cute when she froze, realising what she was just about to do. She couldn’t send that, oh my god, even if he was really cute and beautiful, the lightening making him look an utter angel—no, Adrien was already an angel, the lighting just accentuated those features and made him look utterly ethereal, more beautiful and sexier but she couldn’t just say that, it was be too much and embarrassing.
What was the courtesy for this, anyways? What should one reply when your crush, who doesn’t know you like him, sends you a selfie? What was Adrien expecting from her? Maybe, she should just go with cute,leaving out the ‘so’ and keep it simple but what if that was still too much? She couldn’t say nothing, either, because what if Adrien was waiting for some response and she left him with a no-reply, like that?! That’d be so awful of her!
This isn’t her room. It isn’t a room she recognises, either. What the fuck? Where the hell is she? If this is some prank pulled by Yuuji, she’s going to kill him and then, grudgingly applaud him for being able to pull this off and completely re-locate her while she was asleep — because she definitely wasn’t drinking yesterday and she is a light sleeper when she doesn’t drink (despite whatever Yuuji and Junpei like to protest).
With a groan, urgh, she really isn’t built for mornings, Nobara gets up and notices there’s also something else that is very, very wrong.
It’s absolutely fantastic to know she’s caught up in some cursed technique and absolutely fantastic to learn that she’s stuck here with Kugisaki. If you didn’t already realise from her tone, Mai is being sarcastic. Everything sucks. She had just to land this mission with Kugisaki and now, there’s this situation on their hands — at first glance, looking like they’ve dropped in another world, very similar to theirs, just without cursed energy, but it’s not. Mai is sure that they’re trapped in the cursed spirit’s technique but not sure on whatkind of cursed technique this is. The point is. They aren’t getting out of here any soon.
“This is all your fault.” Kugisaki shouts at her, again, for the hundredth time, immediately pointing fingers as soon as they hit another dead end. Could she be any more boring?
Loki laughs. Red blotches his cheeks. He has faint freckles smattered across the bridge of his nose and his cheekbones. They’re the sort of thing you don’t notice unless you’re…well, close enough that kissing someone wouldn’t take much.
Licking his lips nervously, Loki rests his hand palm up on his leg. “I guess we should start by practicing holding hands? We don’t want to look like middle-schoolers doing that, either.”
One of my favorite parts of fake dating stories is the part where they “have to practice” kissing.
But I’m not here to make myself a culture about contemporary Italian music anyway. The only reason why I’m subjecting myself to five hours of foreign television was one of the first artists to perform, flawless in his midnight blue suit and shiny sheer shirt, his voice dancing without effort from one note to the other to show off its infuriating range. As if I needed to be reminded of it.
(As if I didn’t spend the great part of my 2020 committing every detail of his voice to memory, constantly regretting that I only had access to the parts of it that had been recorded and handed over to the Internet. Missing that little, private laugh of his that I got to know for a couple of hours three years ago and still can’t get out of my head. Missing the way my name rolled on his tongue, followed by a spark in his eyes and the subtle movement of his fingertips along my arm.)
Some banners and tags under the cut <3
My banner for this fic is stolen from the actual Eurovision. I just Googled and added my name and the artist’s, because why waste my energy when there are already perfectly good banners on the Internet?
At first I wanted to use this. I even downloaded the Eurovision font to add the title of the fic in the corner. But then @johnwgrey said it would be too much, and I agree. But it’s a pretty picture, so here it is.
So I went with something simpler. The title of the fic is this year’s Eurovision’s slogan, so I just Googled and found this pretty graphic:
The actual banner will have our usernames and the Eurovision logo, too, but you’ll see when I make my official post for the fic.
Thank you so much for tagging me @theartofblossoming! I know that today isn’t Sunday but Wednesday… uh– the intention counts, right?
I’ve been working for a while now in Love Gun’s eighth chapter bit by bit since I’ve been busy with senior year, but it’s better than nothing!
Bluebird’s cheeks burned in deep red. She tugged MacCready’s hat with both her hands and smiled to him. What a beautiful view, he thought.
The streets were lonely, with no souls at sight; only the lights that illuminated the streets and the stars above them. The wind blew quickly in a humid and cold way, carrying the singing from the trees. It was only them.
“The minutemen are wasting their time trying to save the world,” he says nonchalantly.
For this challenge, I’d like to tag @ryu-no-joou@theyoftenwhisperand@southernlynxx!!! It’s okay if you don’t want to do it, feel free to ignore or answer. It’s up to you guys (～￣▽￣)～
Here are six sentences, in no particular order, from chapter 2 of Behind the Magic, my CORBB fic with @ic3-que3n, which I hope to post in the next few days–once my draft of chapter 3 is more under control.
1. We just strapped a tiny Snow to her neck.
2. It would flash green, and then he’d turn around and his eyes would be solid blue—no pupil at all.
But I’m not here to make myself a culture about contemporary Italian music anyway. The only reason why I’m subjecting myself to five hours of foreign television was one of the first artists to perform, flawless in his midnight blue suit and shiny sheer shirt, his voice dancing without effort from one note to the other to show off its infuriating range. As if I needed to be reminded of it.
(As if I didn’t spend the great part of my 2020 committing every detail of his voice to memory, constantly regretting that I only had access to the parts of it that had been recorded and handed over to the Internet. Missing that little, private laugh of his that I got to know for a couple of hours three years ago and still can’t get out of my head. Missing the way my name rolled on his tongue, followed by a spark in his eyes and the subtle movement of his fingertips along my arm.)
Here’s a little bitty from The Smokescreen, which I posted yesterday for CORB. Lots of antagonistic flirting to be found, if that’s your jam.
Baz Pitch was leaning on the boot of Simon’s car.
Three weeks, a narcotics case swapped for a kidnapping swapped for an arsonist, no new leads, no word from Baz. But there he was, shadow and shade in the falling night, watching the progress of his own hand as he delicately traced a finger over the curve of the car’s roof.
A nightmare at the end of a sleep-deprived tunnel.
“What are you doing?” Simon said, and Baz looked up. His face was the kiss of the streetlamp on his cheek, the touch of twilight at his mouth.
“I’m admiring your car,” he said, slowly leaning back on his hands and kicking one heel in front of the other.
If nothing else, you should open it for the portrait of Baz. I would commit crimes for him <3
I have a little bit from Chapter 8 of What’s Left to share, which I will put under the cut since it’s long and basically everything is a spoiler from here on out.
Hey, did you know moving 3,600 feet of stuff into 2,200 feet of house is like a game of Tetris From Hell? Move one thing to slide in a box in it’s place and wedge the dresser just behind that and… oh! Your contractor is apparently bipolar so that remodeling is going to take a LOT longer because he’s out by your husband’s truck putting firewood in a little circle around it as a “safety spell.”
I always hate it when writers give a laundry list of excuses about why they’re not updating their stuff and here I am, doing… uh… that.
Anyway! Here’s six sentences from the next chapter of Blood and Music with our delicious and deadly Bodyguard!James Conrad.
Chapter 7: Lips Like Sugar
Amsterdam.
You were busy watching the people navigating the narrow streets behind the darkened windows of the SUV while Nigel and Billy prattled on about their favorite cannabis bakeries and their plans to immediately visit De Wallen after checking in to the hotel.
“You won’t be doing that,” Conrad said, eyes scanning the streets.
“I will certainly-” Billy huffed, ready to begin a diatribe about Continuing His Legacy as a Rogue when he was cut off.
“You will not-” Conrad was eyeing the manager of the Conservatorium Hotel already stepping up to the SUV to greet them, “-expose yourself to danger via countless windows and a street I cannot secure. I am sure we can find you alternate entertainment.”
Your brow rose as he opened the door and greeted the manager briskly, ushering Billy swiftly inside as Tommy followed closely, giving you a wink. Really? Alternate entertainment? How full service does this close protection agent stuff get?
@caffiend-queen bold of you to assume I’ve written anything at all…
Ok, I might have something for your Six Paragraph Weekend thingy.
From Love is Hel, chapter 11:
“The Norns’ throne room was a big, echoing chamber with an amber crystal floor that looked down on the Tapestry of Life, and the only seats were three what looked like easy chairs where the Norns sat, one with a massive basket filled with every kind of string or thread or yarn, in enough colors to give anyone looking too closely a headache, a second chair where different sizes and types of needles were stuck through it, and a third that had a side pocket holding one plain, utilitarian pair of metal kitchen shears and another holding a golden knife.
Woven across them was a thick cable of everything in the form of strands and strings. On its own it snaked out of the basket, plunging down through the crystal floor as if it were not there, where Nora could see it weaving its way through the Tapestry. Here and there strands of every type surged upwards again towards the second chair where many of those needles, without hands guiding them, interwoven some of them, picked some that were already connected apart, and in other cases did nothing at all.
After that they again spilled downwards, through the floor, rejoining the rest of all living things while others rose for a third and final time where the shears or the knife did what shears and knives did. Once cut, the threads faded and thinned and fell, disappearing entirely before they reached the floor again.
“I thought the Norns had more to do with the, you know, process.”
Before Loki could answer, Verdandi spoke from the doorway, “If all we did was sit here and spin and weave and cut all day we’d most surely go mad.”
Nora, after a few days in Nornheim, had thoughts about that which she knew were smart to keep to herself. Hours of Urd and Skuld talking about everything in the past or future tense, hearing them reminisce or anticipate terrible events because at least they were different, at least they were something to see, had left her no less disturbed than when she first saw the Tapestry and more than a little disgusted by the whole set up.”
Open tags for anyone who has something to share with the class.
Thea jerked awake, heart pounding. Without thinking she reached for the drawer of the bedside table before stopping herself.
“It was just a dream,” she said aloud, voice still hoarse from sleep, or the closest thing to sleep. Loki was gone. The dreams had ceased and she had recovered from her ordeal. Dwelling on things would just cause her pain. She’d made a choice in her first session with a shrink that she would do everything she could to move on, put the whole strange thing behind her.
A strange and wonderful thing.
Spoiler alert: Loki is not gone and there is way more pain ahead for both him and Thea.
Happy Sunday! Thanks to everyone who tagged me today, I’ll hopefully catch up with Wednesday’s and today’s tags soon <3 so excited to see what you all are working on.
I haven’t had much time to write lately, but I’m slowly starting to “work” on my fic for @carryon-reverse-bang (really slowly, the four sentences I’m sharing are about half of everything I have rn), so here you go:
“We are not lost,” Baz says for the third time, and he looks like he wants to believe himself so bad that I almost let it go.
But we are definitely lost, this bloody city doesn’t have a single tourist sign, and the so called Mole isn’t tall enough to be seen from here.
I unlock my phone and start typing, but he swats it away from my face. “You are not using Google maps.”
Baz is me when I want to pretend I know a city to show off, but it turns out I do not know that city at all. (I never get lost though.)
I’m in the mood for bonus content, so under the cut you can find:
Pictures of the building mentioned above (the Mole Antonelliana in Turin).
6 sentences of a fic I started this morning and will probably never finish. I’m not spoiling the concept because I don’t want to get anyone’s hopes up, but I’ll spoil the POV which already says a lot.
I was going to let you guess “what are they looking at?” But I think the answer is obvious. So, a better question would be “what the heck is Simon Snow doing?”
