WIP Meme
Stolen from leopion.
Post the first sentence (or three) from every WIP you're currently working on, even if it's very short. Then invite people to ask questions about your WIPs. With any luck, the motivation to take that WIP one step closer to completion will appear as if by magic!
So I went rummaging, and found more than I expected.
I've cheated a bit... Some of them aren't the first sentence(s), some are longer than three sentences; 1 is actually the end of the story so far -- I don't know where to go next with it -- and so is 3, more or less; 4 began life as a Yuletide fic and is in a fandom I've never written before; 7 and 7a are both attempts at starting the same story...
Any comments/questions/inspiration would be greatly appreciated!
1.
“Do not be afraid, Eowyn, daughter of Eomund,” said a deep, feminine voice that seemed to float upon the air. “You have good reason to be proud of your husband-to-be. But his achievement hangs upon a thread, and its future rests upon a choice that you will make. You are soon to be tested.”
“Lady... Galadriel?” whispered Eowyn.
“Think carefully upon what I have said.”
“I…”
The reflection rippled, and Eowyn saw herself in it-half-naked, dirty, and tousled-before the world turned white, and the floor spun away from her.
2.
He was a small, thin, scarecrow of a man, with long, bony limbs, wispy grey hair, and deep-set, piercing eyes. And he was standing directly beneath a life-sized manikin, made from bundles of twigs tied together, and splashed with red dye.
3.
Eowyn grabbed his arm and squeezed it, urgently.
He turned, and gasped.
Carafin was crouching beside them, holding out Melannen’s cloth mouse.
“Thank you,” said Eowyn, taking it, and pressing it to her bosom.
Carafin settled down next to her. “Orcs,” she said, bitterly. “Orcs came. Night-night,”-in a sing-song voice-“night-night, sleep tight, Melannen-night-night, Nana.”
Suddenly, she sprang forward on all fours, roaring, tearing up handfuls of snow and throwing them into the fire: “Orcs came,” she screamed. “ORCS CAME!”
4.
She kissed him, and her lips were cold.
“You’re not really here, are you?” he said, softly. “I’m dreaming.” She cradled his head upon her breast, and it was as though the breeze embraced him. “Do you need to tell me something, Yrsa?”
5.
“Well,” said Aragorn, riding beside Legolas, “are you going to tell me why Arwen and I have been seeing so little of you recently?”
The trees were bare but, everywhere, fat buds were opening to reveal green and yellow, white and pink: each tiny touch of colour promising the leaves and blossoms of spring. Legolas breathed in the scent of life renewed. “The colony is a big undertaking,” he said. “I am required to make decisions that... I am responsible for everything, Aragorn, and I am a warrior, not a ruler.”
6.
“But can’t you see?” bellowed Draco, clenching his fists. “We’re at war with each other! How could I possibly be in love with her? This is ridiculous!” He headed for the door. “I'm out of here!”
“Draco...” The razor-sharp edge of his father’s most supercilious voice-which should never, ever, in Draco’s opinion, have been used against a son-hit him like a Body-Bind Curse. He froze, one hand upon the door knob.
“You will do this,” said Lucius, quietly. “You will court the Mudblood, you will win her trust, and you will convince her that you can help her friend. Then you will deliver Harry Potter to the Dark Lord, and everything will be as it was.”
Oh yes, thought Draco, murderously. And then, if we’re really lucky, old Voldy will let us lick his arse for him!
But, as angry as he was, he kept that insight to himself.
7.
“If you could take your eyes off my breasts for a moment, you’d realise I’m the same Mudblood you hated at school.”
“If you don’t want men to look at them, you should keep them covered. And I didn’t hate you at school. I baited you. Because I fancied you.” He stretches out a hand and-pushing his luck-cups one of her gorgeous tits, and-Merlin-it feels good-all soft but firm, and surprisingly heavy.
He looks up at Granger. The way her expression’s changing, and she’s actually leaning into his hand... She’s obviously gagging for it. “D’you fancy a shag?” he murmurs.
7a
“It was all your fault,” he says, though he has to hand it to Granger-she certainly knows how to take a man’s mind off nicotine...
He turns onto his side and, leaning on his elbow, looks down at her. She’s still flushed from their love-making; her hair’s spread across the pillow, all Pre-Raphaelite heroine; there’s a love-bite on her neck, just where it meets the gorgeous curve of her shoulder; and her robes are open, revealing the masterpiece of black underwired lace responsible for that cock-baiting cleavage.
8.
He waits for her round the corner. “Why?” he demands.
“Why what?”
“Why’d you let me kiss you like that?”
She shrugs. “Girls have hormones too, Malfoy. I thought you’d know that.”
“Well, yes, but...” He’d always assumed that nice girls were different. He sighs. “Why’d you come looking for me in the first place?”
“Harry thinks you’re a Death Eater,” she says, “but I... I don’t.”
That makes him want to bare his arm and show her his dark mark. And he doesn’t know whether it’s to contradict her, or frighten her, or impress her, or even to confide in her.
But he does know that, if he shows her, he’ll have to Obliviate her...
Or maybe he could just shag her stupid till she agrees to join him.
Whatever. He knows he daren’t risk it.
“Get back to Griffyndor Tower, Granger,” he growls. “Get into bed, get under the covers, and bloody-well stay there.”
9.
Malfoy closes her office door behind him. “What are you playing at, Granger?”
“I’m not playing, Draco. I want to-”
“Talk. Yes, I read your note. So?”
“I’m sorry.” She moves closer.
Malfoy steps back, warding her off with his hands. “This time sorry’s not enough,” he says. “This time I’ve learnt my lesson.” He turns away.
“Draco,” she whispers.
“No.”
“But, Draco, I will.”
He stops and, for several unbearable moments, he thinks about a life without her.
Then he swears and, turning back to her, holds out his arms.
Post the first sentence (or three) from every WIP you're currently working on, even if it's very short. Then invite people to ask questions about your WIPs. With any luck, the motivation to take that WIP one step closer to completion will appear as if by magic!
So I went rummaging, and found more than I expected.
I've cheated a bit... Some of them aren't the first sentence(s), some are longer than three sentences; 1 is actually the end of the story so far -- I don't know where to go next with it -- and so is 3, more or less; 4 began life as a Yuletide fic and is in a fandom I've never written before; 7 and 7a are both attempts at starting the same story...
Any comments/questions/inspiration would be greatly appreciated!
1.
“Do not be afraid, Eowyn, daughter of Eomund,” said a deep, feminine voice that seemed to float upon the air. “You have good reason to be proud of your husband-to-be. But his achievement hangs upon a thread, and its future rests upon a choice that you will make. You are soon to be tested.”
“Lady... Galadriel?” whispered Eowyn.
“Think carefully upon what I have said.”
“I…”
The reflection rippled, and Eowyn saw herself in it-half-naked, dirty, and tousled-before the world turned white, and the floor spun away from her.
2.
He was a small, thin, scarecrow of a man, with long, bony limbs, wispy grey hair, and deep-set, piercing eyes. And he was standing directly beneath a life-sized manikin, made from bundles of twigs tied together, and splashed with red dye.
3.
Eowyn grabbed his arm and squeezed it, urgently.
He turned, and gasped.
Carafin was crouching beside them, holding out Melannen’s cloth mouse.
“Thank you,” said Eowyn, taking it, and pressing it to her bosom.
Carafin settled down next to her. “Orcs,” she said, bitterly. “Orcs came. Night-night,”-in a sing-song voice-“night-night, sleep tight, Melannen-night-night, Nana.”
Suddenly, she sprang forward on all fours, roaring, tearing up handfuls of snow and throwing them into the fire: “Orcs came,” she screamed. “ORCS CAME!”
4.
She kissed him, and her lips were cold.
“You’re not really here, are you?” he said, softly. “I’m dreaming.” She cradled his head upon her breast, and it was as though the breeze embraced him. “Do you need to tell me something, Yrsa?”
5.
“Well,” said Aragorn, riding beside Legolas, “are you going to tell me why Arwen and I have been seeing so little of you recently?”
The trees were bare but, everywhere, fat buds were opening to reveal green and yellow, white and pink: each tiny touch of colour promising the leaves and blossoms of spring. Legolas breathed in the scent of life renewed. “The colony is a big undertaking,” he said. “I am required to make decisions that... I am responsible for everything, Aragorn, and I am a warrior, not a ruler.”
6.
“But can’t you see?” bellowed Draco, clenching his fists. “We’re at war with each other! How could I possibly be in love with her? This is ridiculous!” He headed for the door. “I'm out of here!”
“Draco...” The razor-sharp edge of his father’s most supercilious voice-which should never, ever, in Draco’s opinion, have been used against a son-hit him like a Body-Bind Curse. He froze, one hand upon the door knob.
“You will do this,” said Lucius, quietly. “You will court the Mudblood, you will win her trust, and you will convince her that you can help her friend. Then you will deliver Harry Potter to the Dark Lord, and everything will be as it was.”
Oh yes, thought Draco, murderously. And then, if we’re really lucky, old Voldy will let us lick his arse for him!
But, as angry as he was, he kept that insight to himself.
7.
“If you could take your eyes off my breasts for a moment, you’d realise I’m the same Mudblood you hated at school.”
“If you don’t want men to look at them, you should keep them covered. And I didn’t hate you at school. I baited you. Because I fancied you.” He stretches out a hand and-pushing his luck-cups one of her gorgeous tits, and-Merlin-it feels good-all soft but firm, and surprisingly heavy.
He looks up at Granger. The way her expression’s changing, and she’s actually leaning into his hand... She’s obviously gagging for it. “D’you fancy a shag?” he murmurs.
7a
“It was all your fault,” he says, though he has to hand it to Granger-she certainly knows how to take a man’s mind off nicotine...
He turns onto his side and, leaning on his elbow, looks down at her. She’s still flushed from their love-making; her hair’s spread across the pillow, all Pre-Raphaelite heroine; there’s a love-bite on her neck, just where it meets the gorgeous curve of her shoulder; and her robes are open, revealing the masterpiece of black underwired lace responsible for that cock-baiting cleavage.
8.
He waits for her round the corner. “Why?” he demands.
“Why what?”
“Why’d you let me kiss you like that?”
She shrugs. “Girls have hormones too, Malfoy. I thought you’d know that.”
“Well, yes, but...” He’d always assumed that nice girls were different. He sighs. “Why’d you come looking for me in the first place?”
“Harry thinks you’re a Death Eater,” she says, “but I... I don’t.”
That makes him want to bare his arm and show her his dark mark. And he doesn’t know whether it’s to contradict her, or frighten her, or impress her, or even to confide in her.
But he does know that, if he shows her, he’ll have to Obliviate her...
Or maybe he could just shag her stupid till she agrees to join him.
Whatever. He knows he daren’t risk it.
“Get back to Griffyndor Tower, Granger,” he growls. “Get into bed, get under the covers, and bloody-well stay there.”
9.
Malfoy closes her office door behind him. “What are you playing at, Granger?”
“I’m not playing, Draco. I want to-”
“Talk. Yes, I read your note. So?”
“I’m sorry.” She moves closer.
Malfoy steps back, warding her off with his hands. “This time sorry’s not enough,” he says. “This time I’ve learnt my lesson.” He turns away.
“Draco,” she whispers.
“No.”
“But, Draco, I will.”
He stops and, for several unbearable moments, he thinks about a life without her.
Then he swears and, turning back to her, holds out his arms.