Work In Progress Wednesday

[tjs_whatnot]

Snow Day Edition!

I am home trying to get SHIT DONE, so of course, that means lets share our miseries--or triumphs if that's your jam. ;)

Give us a piece of what you're working on, let us cheerlead you closer to the finish line. Writing, art, craft, meta, podfic, what-have-you is all welcome, as is non-fandom related stuff.

Comments

[elrhiarhodan]

I am working on my fic for the Age Gap Exchange. This seems to be the year I'm signing up for ALL the exchanges. It's another Kingsman and another Hartwin fic, and while I'm having a blast writing it (older/younger is such catnip for me), I am hoping this doesn't go to 32K like my last exchange fic, but it's already almost 7k (I started it on Sunday).

Here's a snippet of the story:

Eggsy gets a big cup of tea from the Cafe Nero on the corner and goes back to Jamal's car. He's got another hour before he has to be in Kensington to drop off the books and get the dosh from Harry Hart.

Now there's something worth thinking about. A posh fucker, but nice. He hadn't talked down to Eggsy because of his accent or because he dresses like the chavs who like to make trouble for anyone who don't look like them or act like them. Harry had seemed genuinely appalled that Eggsy's working three jobs and isn't going to uni, and had been impressed that the money for the books would be saved for Daisy's future.

It doesn't hurt that Mister Hart, Doctor of Philosophy and Director of Acquisitions for the Lepidopteral Catalog at the British Museum - according to Harry's business card - is fit as fuck and utterly gorgeous. And while Eggsy's never actually pulled an older guy like Harry, Harry's just the kind of man he'd want if he could have him.

The truth is, Eggsy's not really in or out of the closet. His close mates know that he's gay, but he'll pull the birds when he's out with friends that aren't that close. Which means that Eggsy's got a rep as something of a gentleman around the ladies, because he doesn't pressure 'em for sex all of the time. Eggsy wonders that if the girls ever got together and talked about him they'd realize that he never asks any of 'em to put out and they'd figure it out.

Harry Hart's another story. Eggsy likes smart and Harry's smart as well as gorgeous and Eggsy things he'd just nut in his short if Harry just talked to him, or maybe read from the books to him. In German. He bets Harry speaks German fluently because so much of the early research in the butterfly field is in German.

Eggsy sips his tea and sighs and dreams. Maybe if his da hadn't gotten himself killed in Iraq, his life would have been different. He might have had a stable childhood and seen some of his dreams come true. Competed in the Olympics and gone to Uni. Studied zoology. Or something else completely different. Eggsy remembers loving school and learning. He'd done well in maths and languages and science and history and literature. He has seven A*'s out of the nine GSCEs he'd sat for, and his counsellors had thought he'd do well at Oxford or Cambridge, but he didn't have the dosh and at the time, he'd cringed at the thought of going to some posh school at getting mocked for his estuary accent.

Also, working on my H2H gift, and that's about 3/4's done, so YAY!

And I spent way too many hours signing up for Smut Swap (like I said, ALL THE EXCHANGES).

Also, I have to write my Personal Challenge fic - it's a good prompt and I can keep it under 5k (that's the challenge).

[cookiegirl]

I am trying to finally write the tiny Falsettos fic that I drafted in...November?! And have been intending to actually write every day since /o\

---

"What did you make?” Marvin says by way of greeting as he moves into the kitchen, coming up behind Whizzer and pulling him roughly back against him. He presses a hot, dry kiss to Whizzer’s neck but Whizzer wriggles away, reaching for the pan on the stove and busying himself stirring.

“Linguine with salmon and lemon,” Whizzer says. It’s a recipe he’s made alongside Trina several times, but it doesn’t look quite the same tonight. The salmon’s too limp, the sauce too thin. And he didn’t remember that they didn’t have any dill until it was too late to make it to the store and back in time, so it won’t taste quite the same either.

“Doesn’t smell right,” Marvin says.

“It smells perfect,” Whizzer lies, and hopes Jason won’t notice it isn’t like his mom’s version.

Nobody has seen this yet

[lightbird]

and I don't know that it's ever going anywhere, but here is a prologue and first 'chapter' for a QL story I started like, five years ago. Unlike my other QL fics,this was actually going to be a real leap fic/case fic. Like most of my other fics this one is super cheery (not).

Title [for now]: Early Winter
Summary: A difficult leap lands Sam in the shoes of a homeless veteran.
Prologue
Part of Chapter One

I'm also trying to fill the last square in a line on my genprompt_bingo card. I will likely not be filling it with this WIP.

[lilly_c]

Just now I want this week to be over. Bad news from home and feeling utterly useless from a few hundred miles away :(

I started a couple of fills for Brokenwood fic week which was last week but those aren't quite finished as yet, so late to the party as always and all that. My unposted fic backlog went down a little bit so that's a good thing, think there's like two fics still to post. I posted Under Wraps (L&O gen drabble) and from December and backdated Impossible to ignore you (Taggart shippy snippet), both are also up on AO3. I also posted a new batch of 69 Brokenwood icons all from DVD behind the scenes galleries.

[tielan]

Just finished a pivotal point in the story.

“Do I want to know what this is about?”

“You give a guess, and it will be as good as any of mine,” Wanda said. “I had no say in coming here.”

“Yes, that was me.” Strange spoke a little faster than usual, as though he was distracted or concerned. “I’ve brought us out of time because I remember the outcome of this scenario. It comprised, oh, about a quarter of a million possibilities. None of them ended well.”

“You’re saying we’re in the middle of a battle that we’re going to lose? And you couldn’t remember this half an hour ago?”

“Half an hour ago, time had no meaning for us - or, at least, not the same meaning it does now.” Strange was snippy. “You accused me of not knowing anything more than the signpost, but I remembered this signpost and the ending was not good.”

“You’ll have to be more specific than ‘not good’,” Maria began.

A whirling jumble of images, sounds, and feelings slammed into her, the forces of time splitting and separating out into different strands - choices upon choices upon choices. She reeled with shock as Barnes slammed the glove into the ground and burned Thanos’ armies from sky and land alike. She shivered with disquiet as he forced open a blue-rimmed portal to Earth and went home. And she shuddered with fear as the power of the glove corrupted a good man, act by needful act, piece by fragmented piece, until what was left held nothing dear - not even the life of his truest friend.

Perhaps there is a personal reason the White Wolf will not take up arms until battle is required of him, Okoye had said during a meeting with Maria and Pepper shortly after Barnes’ rehabilitation. I trust the work of the Princess Shuri, yet I find myself...comforted in the knowledge that the White Wolf has bound himself to limits of his own choosing.

But there were no limits to the glove - none that mattered - and something in the mission had pushed Barnes past his self-imposed boundaries.

The torrent of foreknowledge ceased, and she grabbed for the table edge beside her, uncertain of her balance, but certain of where the mission was headed.

We get the glove, whatever the cost.

It seemed that this was the cost.

I've written this section in about a week, it's been kind of crazy. And I am really hoping that there is screaming in the comments at the end of this chapter.

But now I have to pick everyone back up again, dust them off and gently nudge them towards the finale.

A writer's work is never done.

[minoanmiss]

Most of my roommates are away for School Vacation Week so I'm trying to get a lot of work done. I made candy -- the rainbow fudge came out too soft but the fruit jellies are nice -- and am planning to draw and then start writing my challenge story. Let's see if I can do all of this before they return!

Also, should I re-make the rainbow fudge?

Also, you are awesome. :)

[sixbeforelunch]

The Riker fic is not cooperating. It's also keeps getting more and more angsty, to the point where, if I finish it, I think the summary is going to be:

The saying, “Life is just one damn thing after another,” is a gross understatement. The damn things overlap.

Ar|si is pronounced with a click consonant similar to a "tsk". My puny human brain can't quite manage to come up with non-human phonemes for alien names, but I'm trying to get out of using only English phonemes.

Content note for a discussion of sexual assault. (Everything happens off screen and the discussion isn't graphic.)

Concrit welcome.

Ar|si walked in a few minutes later, and ordered hot water with vanilla extract and a splash of pickle juice. The woman at the counter was clearly not used to aliens, because she made him repeat the order twice before going to make his drink. Riker watched, ready to intervene if she became rude, but she was cordial throughout, just confused.

When Ar|si finally had his drink, he sat down across from Riker, and immediately lapsed into silence while slowly drinking his concoction. Riker waited what seemed like a reasonable amount of time for the other man to open up before saying, "It's not unusual for people to need support after an encounter with the Borg, especially their first encounter."

"This isn't about the Borg," Ar|si said, his voice tight.

"Oh."

"I like Earth," Ar|si said. "You don't have to waste time arguing about every little thing. I never cared for that. I know it's polite, but sometimes you just want to skip the argument and move on. Maybe that makes me a bad person, I don't know."

"I don't think that makes you a bad person," Riker said.

"A bad Tellarite, I mean."

"In my opinion, for whatever it's worth, it doesn't make you that either."

Ar|si opened his mouth and drew a breath as if he was about to speak, and then he seemed to deflate. He made a growling noise that Riker knew was just the Tellarite equivalent of a cleared throat, but a few people glanced over at them with concern on their faces. Anchorage wasn't the most cosmopolitan city on the planet.

"I messed up and I need help." The words came out fast, like they were being forced out before he could change his mind.

"Okay," said Riker, ignoring his own dismay at the realization that this was not going to be a simple ten minute conversation after all. "Tell me what happened."

Ar|si sucked air in through his teeth. "I was playing dabo on Inferna, and I was doing well, and then I wasn't doing so well."

Riker nodded. That was usually how playing dabo went, especially if the table wasn't fair, and most weren't.

"I figured I would go triple down, try to get it all back, but...they said I didn't have enough. There was a woman there, and she said I could bet, um..." He took a drink. "She said I could bet myself."

"Yourself?" Riker rubbed at his beard with the back of his hand. "What did she mean by that?"

"To be honest, I didn't ask. I figured...I was sure my luck was about to turn."

Riker managed not to roll his eyes. He prided himself on being a gambler who never gave in to superstition. Luck wasn't a real thing that ebbed and flowed. It was all statistics, and in Dabo, the statistics were against you.

Of course, he had managed to win a triple down in Quark's once, but that was mainly because Riker had been shamelessly flirting with the Dabo girl all night, and toward the end of the evening, she'd turned to him and whispered, "I have another job lined up, and you're cute. Put it all on a triple down." Not that Riker was ever going to tell anyone that. He had a reputation to maintain.

"So you bet...yourself?"

Ar|si tapped the back of his hand with two fingers, a Tellarite nod.

"And I'm assuming you lost?"

Another tap.

"So what did she want?"

Ar|si was staring at the table. "Pictures," he said, so softly that Riker almost didn't hear him.

"Pictures," Riker repeated. He leaned close. "What sort of pictures?"

"Naked pictures."

Riker let out a slow breath, and bit back a curse.

"They, the woman and her, I guess they were her friends, wouldn't let me leave until I took my clothes off and let them take the pictures."

He didn't bother to bite back the curse that time, and said something about said woman and her friends, and their presumed habit of copulating with their maternal parents. Ar|si's lips pulled back and he bared his teeth. A smile, of a sort.

[cornerofmadness]

Here's a bit of a story I'm trying to recreate after it died in a flash drive crash. (BtVS/AtS)

Buffy slipped inside her suite, surprised to be greeted by the scent of chocolate and the lights down low. If she didn't know better, she'd swear Angel had a night of seduction planned but that didn't really fit in with a day of strangers parading around the Hyperion and his son having a bad mental health day.

[magnetic_pole]

Hope you had an amazing snow day! (I slept in, which is, by definition, super amazing. :) M.

[silveradept]

I finally managed to finish another post in the series of meta regarding the Dragonriders of Pern, but I had to get through children challenging each other to duels and the adults in their lives just letting it happen as if it weren't the most terrible thing that could happen.