Writing meme yoinked from thistlerose
Post a paragraph from every WIP you can find. No explanations allowed, just the excerpt.
She was not used to this. She was ever so very not used to this, Lessa reflected one night when sleep was slow in coming. A few months of growing more comfortable with his presence, a few days of intimacy, did not easily counteract years of avoiding human contact. Even when she’d been forced to accept his presence in her bed, until recently she’d stayed as far away as possible. (Come morning he was usually sprawled across half her space anyway, but that was another issue entirely.) And though by now she trusted him rationally, defensive reflexes remained. Small wonder that sometimes his arms felt like a cage. Sometimes panic flared up and she had to struggle to still it, struggle to make her mind calm and her body relax. If the feeling grew too strong, Ramoth would rouse with concern for her, but that was not as much a comfort as it might have been; while the soothing was appreciated, she did not like to disturb her Weyrmate over something so silly and trivial as her own irrational nerves.
The young girl stood on the flagstone terrace, hands on her hips, mouth stubbornly set, grey eyes flashing. Ranged in opposition to her were two boys a few years older than her, but she faced them unflinchingly. “I can so!”
The older of the two boys just laughed at her, while the other retorted angrily, “No way! Don’t make up stories.”
“I’m not!” she protested. “It’s true!”
“What’s all this fuss about?” a new voice asked as a tall figure emerged from the Hold and strode toward them.
The three children turned guiltily towards their oldest brother. “She’s making things up again, Ledessan. Says she can hear the old watch-wher.”
Ledessan ruffled his little sister’s long, dark hair fondly. “Ah, Lessa, you have the most incredible imagination.” He turned to the boys, “Kessan, Adessan, don’t taunt your sister. And try to be quieter, you’re being a disturbance.”
“I’m not making it up!” Lessa protested. “And don’t you dare pe- pat- talk down to me, Ledessan!”
“Whatever you say,” he said indulgently. He turned and disappeared back into the Hold.
Chapter VIV
F’nor: I can go between! Just a little…
Canth: Oh no you don’t.
F’nor: *Pout*
Brekke: *Worried*
F’nor: I’m fine!
Brekke: Everything’s askew
F’nor: No rly?
F’nor: *Advice*
Brekke: *Tetchy*
F’nor: You’re being exploited
Brekke: I know
F’nor: You deserve better
Brekke: I know
F’nor: Huh?
F’nor: *Kiss*
Brekke: <3!
F’nor: OMG you’re a virgin!
Brekke: Yeah, so?
F’nor: Why?
Brekke: Well, I’ve kinda been secretly in love with you since forever…
F’nor: Oh. Cool.
F’nor: But why the drama?
Brekke: I’M INHIBITED!
F’nor: Huh?
Brekke: *Hysterical*
F’nor: Drat
F’nor: <3!
Brekke: *Freaked*
Brekke: <3!
Brekke: OMG what now?
F’nor: Whoops
F’nor: Houston, we have a problem
Canth: I can outfly bronzes
F’nor: O rly?
Canth: Ya rly
F’nor: *Explain*
Brekke: O rly?
F’nor: Ya rly
Brekke: *Worried*
F’nor: <3!
Really, it was all her brothers' fault. (That was pretty much the rule of being the youngest and only girl: everything was her brothers' fault.)
Honestly, she was 16; she could handle a Gather perfectly well by herself. But no, they had to monopolize every moment of her day, to conspire so one of them was on hand to claim her every dance. If they hadn't been so sharding overprotective, things might have turned out differently. But as it was, well, what was a girl to do?
She finally managed to slip away into the crowds, and was just congratulating herself on her escape when she heard the Harpers strike up the chords for a new set, and recognized the tune for the Toss Dance. No way was she going to miss her favorite dance (one advantage to her often frustrating size was being perfectly suited to the aerial acrobatics of the dance), so she needed to find a partner, and fast.
"Oh, excuse me. I didn't see you there." She looked up to glare at the man who'd run into her, took a second look, and reconsidered. He was tall, fit, undeniably handsome. But what really caught her eye was the shoulder knot affixed to his Gather tunic - woven in cords of bronze and Benden Weyr’s red. A dragonrider. Dragonriders had a reputation. If she was going to rebel, she might as well go for impact.
She fixed the dragonrider with the demure smile that her brothers would have instantly recognized as Trouble. “Oh, it’s nothing,” she assured sweetly.
He brushed a lock of black hair out of his eyes, grinned engagingly, and extended a hand to her. “As recompense, may I at least have this dance?”
“I’d be delighted.” Oh yes, her brothers were going to be furious. “I’m Lessa of Ruatha.”
“F’lar, bronze Mnementh’s rider, of Benden.”
She was not used to this. She was ever so very not used to this, Lessa reflected one night when sleep was slow in coming. A few months of growing more comfortable with his presence, a few days of intimacy, did not easily counteract years of avoiding human contact. Even when she’d been forced to accept his presence in her bed, until recently she’d stayed as far away as possible. (Come morning he was usually sprawled across half her space anyway, but that was another issue entirely.) And though by now she trusted him rationally, defensive reflexes remained. Small wonder that sometimes his arms felt like a cage. Sometimes panic flared up and she had to struggle to still it, struggle to make her mind calm and her body relax. If the feeling grew too strong, Ramoth would rouse with concern for her, but that was not as much a comfort as it might have been; while the soothing was appreciated, she did not like to disturb her Weyrmate over something so silly and trivial as her own irrational nerves.
The young girl stood on the flagstone terrace, hands on her hips, mouth stubbornly set, grey eyes flashing. Ranged in opposition to her were two boys a few years older than her, but she faced them unflinchingly. “I can so!”
The older of the two boys just laughed at her, while the other retorted angrily, “No way! Don’t make up stories.”
“I’m not!” she protested. “It’s true!”
“What’s all this fuss about?” a new voice asked as a tall figure emerged from the Hold and strode toward them.
The three children turned guiltily towards their oldest brother. “She’s making things up again, Ledessan. Says she can hear the old watch-wher.”
Ledessan ruffled his little sister’s long, dark hair fondly. “Ah, Lessa, you have the most incredible imagination.” He turned to the boys, “Kessan, Adessan, don’t taunt your sister. And try to be quieter, you’re being a disturbance.”
“I’m not making it up!” Lessa protested. “And don’t you dare pe- pat- talk down to me, Ledessan!”
“Whatever you say,” he said indulgently. He turned and disappeared back into the Hold.
Chapter VIV
F’nor: I can go between! Just a little…
Canth: Oh no you don’t.
F’nor: *Pout*
Brekke: *Worried*
F’nor: I’m fine!
Brekke: Everything’s askew
F’nor: No rly?
F’nor: *Advice*
Brekke: *Tetchy*
F’nor: You’re being exploited
Brekke: I know
F’nor: You deserve better
Brekke: I know
F’nor: Huh?
F’nor: *Kiss*
Brekke: <3!
F’nor: OMG you’re a virgin!
Brekke: Yeah, so?
F’nor: Why?
Brekke: Well, I’ve kinda been secretly in love with you since forever…
F’nor: Oh. Cool.
F’nor: But why the drama?
Brekke: I’M INHIBITED!
F’nor: Huh?
Brekke: *Hysterical*
F’nor: Drat
F’nor: <3!
Brekke: *Freaked*
Brekke: <3!
Brekke: OMG what now?
F’nor: Whoops
F’nor: Houston, we have a problem
Canth: I can outfly bronzes
F’nor: O rly?
Canth: Ya rly
F’nor: *Explain*
Brekke: O rly?
F’nor: Ya rly
Brekke: *Worried*
F’nor: <3!
Really, it was all her brothers' fault. (That was pretty much the rule of being the youngest and only girl: everything was her brothers' fault.)
Honestly, she was 16; she could handle a Gather perfectly well by herself. But no, they had to monopolize every moment of her day, to conspire so one of them was on hand to claim her every dance. If they hadn't been so sharding overprotective, things might have turned out differently. But as it was, well, what was a girl to do?
She finally managed to slip away into the crowds, and was just congratulating herself on her escape when she heard the Harpers strike up the chords for a new set, and recognized the tune for the Toss Dance. No way was she going to miss her favorite dance (one advantage to her often frustrating size was being perfectly suited to the aerial acrobatics of the dance), so she needed to find a partner, and fast.
"Oh, excuse me. I didn't see you there." She looked up to glare at the man who'd run into her, took a second look, and reconsidered. He was tall, fit, undeniably handsome. But what really caught her eye was the shoulder knot affixed to his Gather tunic - woven in cords of bronze and Benden Weyr’s red. A dragonrider. Dragonriders had a reputation. If she was going to rebel, she might as well go for impact.
She fixed the dragonrider with the demure smile that her brothers would have instantly recognized as Trouble. “Oh, it’s nothing,” she assured sweetly.
He brushed a lock of black hair out of his eyes, grinned engagingly, and extended a hand to her. “As recompense, may I at least have this dance?”
“I’d be delighted.” Oh yes, her brothers were going to be furious. “I’m Lessa of Ruatha.”
“F’lar, bronze Mnementh’s rider, of Benden.”