wip meme

anonymous asked:

You should definitely write the Narry post surgery fic where they're fucking secretly on tour because I would read the heck out of that. I'm so torn over reading the 3k charity match fic. It was amazing! I would like more, please and thank you! You're so great!!!

First of all, thank YOU, this ask totally made my day!  And let me tell you, sweet Anon, if you saw my gdoc wip wasteland, you’d know just how much I want that fic too, apparently.  The reason I even found that one in the first place was because I was going to do that “post three lines from one of your wips” meme that was going around, and I realized that of my rando wips three of them were somewhat related to this:

1) A Narry, Naylor, Haylor (Naylorry?) fic I started over a year ago that has, within the doc, the following notes: “incorporates hazzy visiting niall after surgery obviously”, “narry surgery garbage here (????SPONGE BATH JOKES)”, and, my personal favorite, “DO THEY PLAY GUITAR TOGETHER WHILE NIALL IS RECOVERING?  KNEE SURGERY ANGST?”

2) A bunch of yelling in a gdoc that I honestly, at a best guess, think might be some sort of OT5 thing that has no actual writing but mentions, very specifically, “and Niall is grateful Harry showed up to see him in the hospital when he was laid up”  I DON’T KNOW EITHER.

3) The fic that I ended up posting today - tbh, when I wrote that irishmizzy and I were just finishing up Emotional Knapsack and that’s why it’s never really come to fruition?  But just imagine - Harry visiting Niall in the hospital because he’s close enough, it’s Niall, why not, and it sort of kicks up this weird thing in both of them but in that way where it’s not noticeably different, and South Am happens and they’re on the pull together and then the ficlet happens and then it’s secret fucking time, which is messy and they can barely keep their cool on stage (or backstage) and throw in some hard reality and angst, shake until well combined.  It would be horrifically long and miz would probably want to kill me.  So….we shall see.  (There is another Narry fic we’ve been talking about for a while, but that’s an AU and would not include anything where like, Harry traces Niall’s scar tenderly or whatever wretched stuff I always manage to shove into a canon fic where Niall’s involved.)

SO.  Maybe you want to take back your lovely compliment about how great I am now. :)  However, LOOKING AT THE EVIDENCE, the possibility of me writing something along these lines eventually is pretty high.  That’s right, I just CSI: Fandom’d myself.  

when you see this, post three random lines from three wips.

1. At nineteen, he sawed off his other horn in an impulsive fit of anger. When Drake looked at him in confused horror, Keiri tried to play it off with a shrug. “If they’re going to keep calling me Saarebas, I might as well look the part.”

2.  Dorian’s breath caught in his throat. They’d been right behind him, hadn’t they? He remembered looking behind him, shortly before reaching the rift, and Engel had been only a few paces away, with Hawke and Stroud not far behind him. They should be out by now. He should be out by now.

3.  If he had to be completely honest, Julien would have openly admitted that he wasn’t one for drinking and the supposed camaraderie that came with it. In fact, he wouldn’t have been gathered at the hearth with the other Wardens at all if Nicolas hadn’t been there.

justjasper asked:

<3

Dorian glanced around the bar nervouslybefore burying his face in his drink. Visiting Skyhold, the new gay bar downthe street from Campus, had seemed like a good idea in theory. Except that when he and Felix had discussed it, Felix was supposed to come with him as a show of support, not be stuck in his dorm with the flu.

Dorian sighed. He’d thought he’d be fine to come on his own. He’d been out to his friends for months, surely visiting a gay bar for the first time shouldn’t have seemed like such a big step.

Except that it was, and he really could have used a friend next to him to help calm his nerves. The loud music and strobe lighting certainly weren’t doing the job.

He tipped his glass up to take another drink, and found it regrettably empty.

As he turned to order another drink, a large figure settled on the bar stool next to him. He glanced over and up (and up), taking in the broad shoulders and muscular arms before his eyes reached the man’s face. He was a Qunari (unsurprising, considering the rest of him), with large horns that stuck out the sides, and an eye patch (an actual eye patch) over his left eye. His other eye…

Oh Maker, his other eye was looking at him.

“Hey.”

Dorian was fairly certain he didn’t blush at getting caught staring – and in the dark, who could say otherwise?

“Hey,” he replied, his mouth suddenly dry as all of his usual wit flew out the door. He wasn’t even sure if he could be heard over the loud music.

“Saw you standing alone, and thought you looked a bit rattled. Did you want some company?”

Dorian considered saying no; He’d had no intentions of trying to pick up anyone tonight, after all. But something in the Qunari’s expression told him that it wasn’t necessarily sex that was being offered.

“I don’t know, to be honest,” he admitted with a light chuckle.

“Well, if you decide you do, my buddies and I are sitting over there.” He nudged his head in the direction of a small group of people gathered around a pool table. “And I wouldn’t say no to a dance.”

Without another word, and with a surprisingly genuine looking smile, the Qunari got up and walked away.

Dorian wasn’t sure how long he stared after him, but it was apparently long enough for the bartender to notice. “You should go for it.”

He turned, startled, and the Elven woman behind the counter giggled, “C'mon, yer not gonna get laid by just starin’ at ‘im.”

Dorian ran a hand across his face – Okay, he was definitely blushing now. “Maker I need a drink.”

“Well, that I can help you with. How drunk d'you wanna get?”

“Just enough for courage,” he replied.

“Here, try this.” She filled a shot glass with something red. “Sourpuss. ‘Cause you’ve been a sour puss all night, get it?” She snorted at her own joke, and Dorian rolled his eyes. “Alright, but serious, that’ll top off your buzz without getting you completely hammered.”

Dorian reached for his wallet, but the elf waved her hand. “Nah, it’s on me so long as you go talk to ‘im.”

Well, who could say no to that?

He downed the shot – Maker, sour indeed – then gave his head a shake. “Alright. I’ll just ask him to dance. That’s simple, right? It could lead somewhere, but it doesn’t have to, right?”

“Right! Now go!” She made a shooing motion with her hand, giggling.

-

(There’s a bit more that I have written, but this was a good spot to end it. And yes, the bartender is Sera.)

When you see this, share 3 random lines from WIPs

1. 

“All Skyhold knows who you are, Lady Morrigan.”


“Mm,” she said. “You are the apostate, yes? The one who discovered how to close the Breach? ‘Twas well done.”


“Thank you,” he said. “I am pleased to assist the Inquisitor.”


“Where did you learn?” she asked, golden eyes wide and sharp now, like a bird of prey’s.


“Here and there and everywhere,” Solas said, with a slight wave of his hand. “I am sure the others have told you by now, I have something of an affinity for the Fade. Much that I know, I learned there.”


“’Tis most curious,” she said. “A peculiar affinity indeed. Did you learn aught of Eluvians there?”


Interesting; she was not above seeking out knowledge wherever she could find it, then. “I am afraid I know little of Eluvians,” he lied.

2. 

In the morning, Donnie tastes like coffee.

Well, of course he does. April’s coffee maker is automated to make coffee before she heads out to early-morning training, and last night she had the presence of mind to set it for triple the usual amount of coffee. She even waited until Donnie, eyes half-open, had gulped down his first mug before she went for the kiss. The coffee left its flavor and heat in his mouth, and hers, and April luxuriates in the taste and the lingering warmth of it. She smiles as she pulls away just far enough to look up at him through her eyelashes, at how he’s wide-eyed but still drowsy-looking. “Good morning,” she says.

He blinks, and his face settles into a soft, blissful smile. “G’morning.”

“You want anything for breakfast?” She pulls away reluctantly, but she hasn’t finished her own coffee, and she needs at least a couple mouthfuls of yogurt before she can face training.

“I’ll eat after.” He pours himself another cup of coffee. This one, at least, he drinks a little more slowly.

“Okay.” April cracks open a container of raspberry yogurt and swirls it around with a spoon. “You said last night you wanted to keep… this… between us for a while. How do you want to play this?”

“That’s a question that requires more coffee.”

3.

“And this is our youngest, Simon,” Mother said.

Simon tried not to fidget in his new clothes. Court clothes, Mother had said, not for every day, because it wasn’t every day that the Teyrn came to dinner. The last time, Simon and Rory had been too little to go, and they’d had to hear all about it from Alroy the next day.

So it was exciting to go, even if he was supposed to use his best manners (Mother had been very stern on that point) and wear clothes so new they felt stiff. But this part wasn’t right. Simon wasn’t the youngest.

“And how do you do, young Simon?” the Teyrn said, bending over. He was a big man with a round face and a smile. “What a fine lad.”

“Thank you, sir,” Simon said, and corrected himself: “m’lord.” He hoped he’d gotten it right that time. 

wip meme

I was tagged by: maladyofthequotidian

I tag: amiphobicsinand-misery, 4guiltypleasure

Five Four WIP excerpts:

Beca/Chloe - It’s Just the World (Apocalypse AU)

They draw straws to see who will go outside first. Not during the daytime, or anything, but during the middle of the night. It’s a risk they’re going to have to take because the vending machines have been emptied, and Jesse needs to check on the Trebles, like he promised them he would.

Besides, Jesse himself still seems to be perfectly healthy, and he’s been running around at night for days. So whoever goes will probably be fine. Almost certainly.  

That doesn’t stop Aubrey’s heart from nearly stuttering to a stop when Chloe picks the shortest coffee stir stick.

Chloe doesn’t cry or even frown; she merely shrugs as she shows it to the group, a half smile in place. And Aubrey tries to find her voice.  

“No.”

She’s surprised to find that the word does not come from her lips.  

“No,” Beca says again, stepping towards Chloe, looking almost angry.

Aubrey’s eyes flicker between the two women, but Chloe speaks before she can say anything. “Beca…” 

“You’re not—I’ll go.”

Keep reading

daveeagle asked:

<3

This is from a probably will never get finished Percy and Annabeth in Tartarus fic where Annabeth gets attacked by some poisonous monster who’s venom makes her fall into a coma and have Inception-like dreams of a totally normal life. Eventually, there’s a “Choose your choice!” scene where Annabeth would decide if she’d stay in dreamland (aka die) or go back to Tartarus.

-

“You look exhausted. Stay up late studying for this test, Wise Girl?”

Annabeth glanced up from her book, glaring over the top as a certain black haired boy slid into the seat next to her. He smiled at her, the teasing sort of grin her reserved for her and her alone, and Annabeth felt her glare weaken just a bit as her chest flared with warmth. Percy Jackson was hard person to stay mad at, although his pestering during Geometry almost always drove her to her wits’ end.

“I thought I told you to stop calling me that, Jackson,” she replied, snapping her book closed and stuffing it in her bag. It would be of no use trying to read with Percy present and there were only a few minutes left before the bell rang anyway. “Or has your memory been compromised by one too many basketballs to the head?”

“Way harsh, Annabeth,” he said, playfully putting his hand over his heart as if she’d stabbed him. She noticed he was wearing the Goode High basketball team’s warm-up sweat suits — a standard practice for the team on game days — and decided he looked rather good in it. “Maybe I <i>do</i> remember and I just like riling you up, huh? You get all flustered and cute when you’re angry.”

Percy’s obvious flirtation startled her. Usually, she made most of the subtle passes that tended to go right over his head. He wasn’t a very good flirt yet; it just wasn’t something he’d gotten the time to practice before they — they —

Her temples started to ache again. Before they what?

“Oh, whatever, Seaweed Brain,” she sneered, the silly nickname slipping out before she can stop herself.

One of Percy’s thick, dark eyebrows arched with curiosity. “Seaweed Brain? Where did that come from?”

“I — ” Annabeth stuttered, her vision dimming as the pain in her forehead grew. No, this wasn’t going to happen again! She focused on Percy’s face, willing herself to stay in the moment, to not see that horrible bloody man again. “I don’t know. It just… popped out.”

“Seaweed Brain,” Percy muttered to himself, grinning like he’d just won a battle. The bell rang and he swiveled to face the front of the room. “I’ll have to remember that one.”

She nodded and, slowly, the pressure in her head began to lessen and her vision returned to normal. She sighed, tension leaking out of her shoulders. What was wrong with her? Maybe she should go see the nurse. There was a strand of the flu going around that was particularly rough and…

Her thoughts trailed off as she glanced down at her notebook. A paralyzing cold settled in her veins as she read the message scrawled in shiny red ink across the pages.

SNAP OUT OF IT, ANNABETH!

pullingawaythespooks asked:

Tell me all about Starfish!

Okay, so! This one’s an interactive (soft) science fiction novel in which the reader/protagonist goes on the run from their cushy life on a space station (because of reasons, and also a MacGuffin) and ends up working for a gang of alien thieves (they prefer to think of themselves as “resource management" - namely, they are managing other people’s resources into their own pockets). You can run jobs, work your way up the leadership ladder, make friends or enemies amongst the crew, play cat-and-mouse games with the private detective the Company’s hired to track the MacGuffin down; you can terrorize the galaxy, or guide your gang into being relatively benevolent lawbreakers; and you can smooch pretty much everyone if you want, because I am deeply invested in my protagonists being able to smooch without limits

(basically, it’s Mass Effect meets Saints Row meets, idk, the Lies of Locke Lamora, and it has a terrible fucking title at the moment because I am VERY BAD AT TITLES)

Anyway, this one is slow-going because I’ve never tried to do an interactive fiction novel before and don’t really know what the fuck I’m doing, and the only thing that’s keeping me from scrapping the interactive part and just turning it into a plain ol’ novel is that it would require me to set the protagonist and their narrative path in stone

Like, what if the reader wants to romance the spaceship? I WANT PEOPLE TO HAVE THAT OPTION, THAT’S ALL I’M SAYING

Post the names of all the files in your WIP folder, regardless of how non-descriptive or ridiculous.

Pick out the title that most intrigues you, appeals to you, or whatever, and I’ll post a snippet or tell you something about it! (from thievinghippo, who encouraged me to do the meme thing)

  • postgame story
  • Scenes from a Resistance
  • dinner thing
  • The New Normal
  • The Three-Headed Dog
  • The Other Commander Shepard
  • Priority: New York
  • Tuchanka
  • pre-Elysium
  • accidental pregnancy
  • First Contact

spookyboypussy-deactivated20131 asked:

✪ (any chance of some RT verse?)

(No smut, sorry :C)

Eames loves animals. He especially loves dogs with smushed-in faces, so of course when they walk past a bulldog, Eames has to drop to all fours and make friends. This is how Arthur ends up a block ahead of him. They’re almost home, after all; Arthur has no desire to see—or be seen with—his boyfriend (and that still feels weird to think, even after a year) tongue kissing a dog. There are more and more things Arthur will do for Eames, but he refuses to associate with that.

He’s feeling a little harried, wondering now if Eames will be annoyed that Arthur left him there, then wondering if he can make Eames wash his mouth out before he touches Arthur, by the time he reaches the wrought-iron gates outside his building, and then something happens that distracts him from Eames altogether. A stranger standing patiently outside the gates looks over at him and says, “You must be Arthur.”

“What?” Arthur’s so startled, he stops punching in the key code. “How do you—?”

The man gives a low, pleasant chuckle. Then he says, “You are just Eames’ type.”

Arthur’s stomach pitches. For a second he panics. This cannot be happening, this total stranger cannot just walk up and know about Arthur and Eames…

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he says sharply, feeling his face get hot. He turns back to the gates, punches the code in wrong and tries again, desperately willing himself to be far away or at least on the other side of these gates.

“Arthur.” The man’s voice is gentle. It’s low-pitched and, Arthur is just realizing, heavily French-accented. “My name is Henri.”

If he expects this to mean something to Arthur, it doesn’t. He offers a hand, smiling pleasantly, and Arthur wars with himself, almost trembling, before he takes it. As he does, a rush of understanding hits him. The stranger stands a couple inches taller than Arthur, and he’s—Arthur is no real judge of these things, but he’s—devastatingly handsome, really. He’s wearing sunglasses, so Arthur can’t see his eyes, but his smile is earnest and his teeth are white and straight, and his wavy, sandy-brown hair is parted on one side.

And he’s gay. Arthur knows it. He takes his hand back. He feels ambushed now.

“It’s good to meet you,” Henri says politely, when Arthur fails to say anything at all.

“I don’t know who you are,” Arthur says bluntly.

For the first time, Henri’s gentle smile falters. “Oh,” he says. “I … I thought Eames might have …”

Arthur just shrugs stiffly. “You’re his friend?” he says, intending to tell the guy just to wait for Eames to finish making out with that dog so Arthur can escape inside. But Henri answers:

“I’m his ex-boyfriend.”

Arthur wants to be anywhere but on this sidewalk, having this conversation. Inexplicable embarrassment floods him. Nobody ever warned him of this. Nobody had told him, upon agreeing to be Eames’ boyfriend, that he might one day have to meet Eames’ ex.

Behind him, Eames says, “That dog’s name was Porkchop, isn’t that cute? Something wrong with the gates, love—?” and then he stops dead at Arthur’s side, because Henri has taken off his sunglasses and fixed Eames in his bright blue eyes. Eames makes a choked sound.

“Hi,” Henri says, kind of shyly.

“Henri.” Numbly, Eames takes a step toward him.

Arthur watches, helpless, as they reach for each other and then are hugging, holding each other far too tightly, in Arthur’s opinion. He and Eames don’t hug like that. And then Henri clasps Eames’ face and kisses him. Suddenly Arthur knows, just like he knew Henri was gay, the knowledge settling in his gut like a block of freezing ice to paralyze him: he is going to lose Eames to this guy.

anonymous asked:

 ♥♥

Blaine’s five seconds away from borrowing the latest novel in the Southern Vampire Series when he sees him. The new librarian. He’s sitting behind the front counter with glossy sculpted brown hair and glasses sliding low on his nose. His thumb is wedged between his teeth and he’s rocking gently back and forth on his swivel chair as he flips through the pages of a book, mug at his elbow.

He’s the sexiest librarian in the world. He has to be. And by merit of being a librarian who also happens to be sexy, he’s at least three times sexier than if he were, for example, a sexy lawyer or a sexy cowboy.

Blaine’s the first person to admit he gets a bit of a boner for books, but oh god, his local library has hired the sexiest librarian in existence.

Keep reading

prideling asked:

How about "The other Commander Shepard"?

This is the other Val Shepard post-ME3 story.

Except, in this story, Val Shepard wakes up in a different reality together. In that reality, she’s not the Commander Shepard; simply another Alliance officer who happens to have the same surname. And the more she sees of this Shepard’s choices, the less she likes them.

There are compensations, though:

She stared at the apparition in front of her, blinking, but it never resolved into anyone she expected to see.

Her mother was dead. She knew this, with a cold, bone-deep certainty. Her mother had been dying, riddled with half a dozen shots, by the time Val had sprinted back to the smoking house, gasping for air, her legs burning. (The slavers preferred their captives younger. More trainable. More compliant.) Her mother had been choking on her own blood when she’d told her daughter to run, find her father, hide, anything. Shepard had spent a long time trying to forget the sound and the sight of blood spilled across their tidy kitchen floor.

This mother didn’t seem to know that. She was already striding into the room with arms outspread.

Shepard cleared her throat. “M- mama?” she said, tentatively. “I don’t… I don’t understand.” Her thoughts spun in turmoil. This made no sense. Was she hallucinating? It couldn’t be the painkillers, could it?

Her mother—or whoever she was—checked herself and regarded Shepard with a stern look, her brows drawn down in a way that was so familiar Shepard’s shoulders tensed instinctively. The ghosts of shame and adolescent resentment seemed to gather around her. How many times had she been on the receiving end of that look?

“Valenka.” She shook her head. “Forgive me. Val. I know we haven’t always seen eye to eye, but how could you think I wouldn’t come find you?”

She had to fight the urge to squirm under the maternal glare. “It’s not that… I just… I thought you were dead, Mama.” She couldn’t believe the words were coming out of her mouth. She couldn’t believe this was happening. Was it some kind of plot? Cerberus, maybe? But how… why… have someone pose as her mother?

WHEN YOU SEE THIS, SHARE 3 LINES/SNIPPETS FROM 3 RANDOM WIPS

Snippets from stories for Peter Appreciation Week/Steter Week depending on when I can wrap them up, plus a bit of Glitter Glue.   

It got long, so it’s stuck under the cut, but here’s what you’ll find:

  1. AU steter meeting, no Hale fire, orphan!Stiles, some threatening badtouch: AKA the time I decided to give Peter all the nice things, but made him get hit by a car first.  Like you do.   
  2. Established steter, Peter may have accidentally sort of adopted five cats. 
  3. Dialogue for a future chapter of Write Me Love Notes In Glitter Glue, AU steter, Teacher!Peter, SingleDad!Stiles 

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thievinghippo asked:

postgame story, please! :D

Oh hey, it looks like actually have two files with this title! So I’ll tell you a little something about both.

One is Branwen Lavellan’s story, picking up where DAI left off. With the crisis past and people dispersing–and with having been dumped–Branwen is now trying to understand what’s happened to her, so she’s trying to research what’s up with the Orb, and the Well of Sorrows, and all that. Or… actually, Dorian is doing most of the research, and Dagna, and eventually Merrill and possibly some other characters will show up to put their two cents in.

There’s also a story for Val Shepard, set after ME3. It’s more a collection of scenes, really; in it, Val tries to cope with the consequences of the Destroy choice and the fact that the Normandy is missing. Looking at it again makes me want to think about going back to it, but at any rate, here’s a snippet:

Hackett leaned forward, both palms on the table. “This is just an informal inquiry, Shepard. But you’re the only one who can tell us what we’re hoping to know. Just what happened up there?”

Shepard took a deep breath, glancing down. She’d known the question was coming, and she’d had time to think about her answer.

For the first few days, she’d been asking herself if it had really happened. Everything after she’d reached the beam was a blur of pain and confusion. Had she really argued with the Illusive Man? Had she really watched David Anderson die? Had she really argued with a ghostly child and been forced to make a decision?

The last was the part that was hardest to believe. But then she’d heard about the geth ships, drifting silently, inactive; quarian teams had boarded the ships in search of answers and found no explanations. She’d heard it in passing, while trying to catch up on the state of the galaxy, and a chill had gone down her spine.

If the geth were gone, maybe her mind hadn’t been making things up after all. And that meant she’d killed them, after working so hard to save them.

She’d spent half the night after that fidgeting in bed, unable to sleep, remembering that the thing that called itself the Catalyst had said that if the Reapers died, the geth and EDI would die, too. She’d fired anyway. Ruthless calculus. She’d come there to see the Reapers gone, not to transform them all, organic and synthetic alike, into something else that she couldn’t even begin to understand.

That meant that, with EDI, there was a good chance she’d killed her entire crew, too.

She’d sobbed, then, muffling her tears with her pillow, uncontrollable sobs that made her healing ribs ache, until she fell into an uneasy sleep, and woke with her eyes red and her pillow still damp.

She hadn’t said a word to anyone, even Miranda, about any of it. That made it easier to do what she now intended to do.

Shepard raised her head, looking at each admiral in turn and ending with Hackett, and lied. “I wish I could tell you, sir. I just don’t remember.”

anonymous asked:

♥ :D

i think i’ve run out of klaine wips that aren’t too embarrassingly shabby to post, so… this is going to be a kurt/adam/blaine threesome with established kadam and platonic klaine, but it’s not up to the blaine yet. or the threesome. uh.

“Do we have wine?” Kurt calls, buttoning his cuff and twisting his torso from side to side, eyeing his reflection in the full length mirror.

He hears a cupboard door bang in the kitchen. “Yes.”

He smooths the fabric at his sides and cocks his head a little, contemplating adding a scarf to his ensemble. “Do we have enough wine?”

For a moment there’s nothing but the soft, unmistakable padding of Adam’s bare feet on the floorboards, his head poking in around the doorframe and catching the eye of Kurt’s reflection.

“Enough wine for three relatively sensible adults to share over dinner, or enough wine for things to get a little bit messy?”

Keep reading

“Okay then.” She smiles, then kneels, the covers falling down and revealing her body. She reaches behind herself to unhook her bra, and waits until the Doctor’s gaze has found her eyes again. “Lie on your stomach.”

“What? Why?”

“Because I say so. Come on, lie on your stomach.”

He hesitates, then reluctantly complies. “Christina, this really isn’t the first time I've—”

“I know, I know. You’ve done this before. Point it out one more time, and I’m going to stop believing you.”

This is a fic about my Christina role play muse and Jasper’s AU Ten role play muse having sex. Yep, shameless porn. Pretty much. I just need to actually write the porn part. This Ten is even more stuck up about sex than canon!Tens tend to be, so getting him to the point where he will let Christina do anything to him is a challenge.

demonoflight asked:

<3!!!

What had Shepard just said?

Garrus stared at her. She’d planted herself between him and his console. Even though he had the door behind him, he felt trapped by the intensity of her gaze, her eyes shining below her lashes. Her mouth was curved into a kind of half smile he didn’t think he’d seen before. Not directed at him, anyway. She leaned back against the workstation, her hip cocked slightly to the side.

Had she really said that? He wasn’t—no. He’d never in a million years have imagined Shepard coming into his workspace and saying that. And she wasn’t laughing, she didn’t have the particular crinkling around her eyes that said she was joking with him, which meant… she was sincere, she was really suggesting that they—

He’d seen her move, of course; he’d had plenty of opportunity to admire her speed and grace and strength—and, yes, flexibility—on the battlefield, but that hadn’t translated into admiring her—

Except maybe it had, because even though it felt like there was a faltering gear in his head, clanking away, his eyes were drawn to the lines of her body in her black Cerberus jacket and trousers, to the tantalizing hint of curve at her waist. What was she like under that stiff jacket, out of armor…? He registered, dimly, that his visor was telling him her pulse and body temperature were up, and he could see that her hands were tight against the console. She was— Shepard was nervous, and maybe a touch excited, and his own heartbeat answered, thundering against his ribs.

He barely even remembered the rest of the conversation. He got out something about scars, not quite sure she was serious. She shook her head again and gave him a reply which should have settled him, maybe, but instead made his heart pound even faster. He knew he said yes in the end, because if Shepard was offering—no, asking—then hell if he was going to say no. And she smiled, her face relaxing into a look of relief, and left the battery, her shoulder bumping against his arm as she passed, and something in her eyes he couldn’t read after all.

When the door closed, he took two steps over to the crate and sat before his knees gave out.

Had that just happened?

Writing meme

I’ll post the names of all the files in my WIP folder, regardless of how non-descriptive or ridiculous.

Pick out the title that most intrigues you, appeals to you, or whatever, and I’ll post a snippet or tell you something about it!

See under cut:

Keep reading