#six sentences

[tathrin]

Last Six Sentences:

Thank you so much for the tag, @chthonion! Very flattered to be thought of. I shall offer the latest bit of the Celebrimbor Fellowship AU story I'm working on, although I'm cheating a little bit because dialogue = things that hardly deserve to count as sentences, sometimes!

Or maybe just because nine feels like a more thematically appropriate number when you're involved shhhh.

"We are certain," Tulinwen answered. She slanted a wry glance at the shorter elf beside her, and added, "Had Tarroscdil been near, he would have come to speak with us, if only to tell us to begone and to leave his things alone!"

"Ah," said Thranduil, and for a moment something very like a smile softened the tight worry of his eyes. "Of course."

Merilgais twitched her shoulders in an unrepentant shrug. "I damaged nothing," she said. "Merely caused some disorder among his shelves and cases. It seemed the most expedient way to lure him out, if he indeed was lurking near! Alas, he did not come."

I'm not sure who all has or hasn't been tagged recently, so if you don't have six new sentences you feel like sharing, please ignore this...or use it as an excuse to write more! I won't stop you!

@roselightfairy @sallysavestheday @thescrapwitch @babybat98

[mister-eames]

Six Sentence Saturday/Sunday

Thank you to those that tagged me!!! This one comes from that damn IKEA fic that I will finish this year if my life depends on it!!

---

The alcohol has him maudlin, and he surveys his empty room with its generic furniture and its generic artwork, somehow mystified with the utter soullessness of every hotel room he’s ever had to live and work out of. How can a room that must have seen every sordid and tragic act still remain so lifeless, he wonders.  Before he can think better of it, he already has his phone out and has Arthur on dial. He winces when he sees the time and moves to hang up, but finds the call is already answered. “Eames?” Arthur's voice comes from the speaker, croaky with sleep. “Sorry, love," he slips a hand over his eyes, "didn’t mean to wake you. Didn’t realise the time.”

-----

[heavenssexiestangel]

Six Sentence Sunday - 09/04/2023

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.

So, it's Sunday again! This means I'm going to share a snippet from one of my WIPs. I asked around what they wanted to see, and, in the end, I'm going with Michael/Lucifer/Dean.

This snippet is from a story for last year's Kinktober but the part I chose is completely SFW.

Enjoy

Michael smiled fondly at Dean as he cupped his face with his hand.

The human leaned into the touch, closing his eyes. He was sitting on the bed, hands in his lap, and was waiting for orders from Michael and Lucifer.

Dean craved touch and reassurance more than anything else, and it had been a rough path before Michael or his brother understood that.

Michael didn’t think their arrangement would work at first, but thanks to Dean Winchester he had his brother back and two people to love. He kissed the top of his human’s head. He would be eternally grateful to Dean for this. And he would be eternally grateful for his love, too, for Dean’s trust and care were a gift he had never dreamed of receiving.

Tagging: @nickelkeep @rubifer @ladyknightskye @synesindri and anyone else who wants to do it!!!

[mintawasalreadytaken]

six sentence someday | wip snip

thank you for the tags @maesterchill and @wolfpants! here's a snippet from my currently posting WIP! i'd love to see what @academicdisasterfic @lqtraintracks @tackytigerfic have going on.

--- 🏷 light nsfw, flirting through shower glass ---

"Did Muggles try to invent soap this useless?" He sighed. It sounded put on. "It's tiny, tasteless, and I'm certain it's giving me a rash."

"You know what gives me a rash?" Harry removed his glasses and placed them on the countertop. Without them, Draco was a blurred ghost. 

"Do tell." Low. Playful.

He turned, squeezing water from his hair with a tight pull of his hands over his skull. He was separated from Harry only by steam and the plate-glass door. The heavy slap of water at his feet was the only sound competing with Harry's heartbeat thudding in his ears. 

Harry swallowed hard. It was like they were following a script.

"The amount you complain. It's incessant. Don't you ever stop?"

Draco turned to face the wall again and ducked his head, treating Harry to a vision of his long, pale back. The pose felt gifted. 

It allowed Harry to look at him without being distracted by his eyes. No defiant stare. No sneer, or confusingly soft look of hurt.

"Next you're going to tell me my voice gives you hives," he said conversationally. Harry tugged off his socks and threw them with Draco's pile of clothes. His jumper and t-shirt joined them. Unbuttoning his trousers relieved the strain in his pants. He brought them down together, and he was half hard by then. 

[misiwrites]

Six Sentence Sunday

Shut up, Mike. Just stop talking. Emily rubbed a temple and trained her eyes on candle flicker, she wished for it to burn a hole through her retinas while she had to sit through the heated exchange happening across her; a pair of scorching green-eyed stares darted above and beyond her as the twins craned their necks this and that way, a hydra trying to see the man spouting mad shit from her right-hand side.

“Excuse me? And who do you think you are?” said the female twin.

“Michael Summers, the MBL player, isn’t it?” said the male twin. “Never heard a single good thing about him, by the way.”

“It’s MLB,” Michael scoffed, arms crossed. “Good or not, at least you’ve heard something. Can’t say the same about y’all.”

“What’s what? Sorry, I don’t speak American.”

[a-world-of-whimsy-5]

Six Sentences

Thank you @ruiniel for the tag! Here is a six sentence WIP from a story I'm currently working on for my "Spooktober" series, featuring Medieval! Varda, Yavanna, Arien, Urwendi and Vána.

Yavanna listened to a bell chiming in the distance as she followed the others down a path gnarled oak trees and towering sentinels. “A quarter to the hour,” she said. “Then the witch’s hour itself will be at hand.” “And on the day when the veil between this world and the next will be at its thinnest,” Varda supplied. She held an unlit white candle in one hand, and a heavy velvet parcel in the other. A sheathed dagger adorned her silver girdle. It was fresh from the forge, but it would see much use later.

No tags, but all are free to join in!

[lumosatnight]

Six Sentence Saturday

Thanks for the tag @danpuff-ao3 (x)!

I've got a lil' Sirius/Harry fic in the works for @hprarepairfest which I am racing to finish by the deadline. Here's a little snippet!

The war was over, the big baddie defeated. It had been months since You Know Poo had shown his snakey face.

Sirius was supposed to be getting on with his life. And he was. He was. But there was something that just kept nagging him, tickling him in the middle of the night, hovering by his shoulder when he was having a drink by the fireplace after a long day of yelling at Kreacher again.

Sirius called it his little devil spawn. Remus called it his godson.

Harry James Potter, Order of Merlin First Class and Miraculously Not Dead was refusing to move out of Grimmauld Place — not that Sirius had tried that hard to kick him out, mind you. (“You have nowhere to go? Oh, such a pity. I suppose you’ll have to stay a while longer.”) The boy, who was not so much a boy anymore but a young man, went in and out of the house at all hours, refused to comb his hair before noon, and wore the shortest shorts Sirius had ever had the (mis)fortune of laying eyes upon.

But it was all fine. Everything was fine.

Is this six sentences? Nope, not by a long shot. Oops 🤷🏻‍♀️

Tagging: @schmem14 @siriusly-sapphic @givereadersahug @nv-md @mundrakan @nanneramma

[bequia3]

Six Sentences

Our Oro Valley Writers’ Forum recently challenged the members to write a story in six sentences. I took up the challenge. It is fun to practice writing in a variety of ways. There were no restrictions as to genre or topic. Below is my story. In the darkness of the midnight hour, the lines clang against the main mast as the little sloop, Step Two, is released from anchor and begins to float out…

[tathrin]

Last Six Sentences:

Thank you very much for the tag, @aroace-moron! These are the latest six sentences in the last scene I've re-written for that Writing Project I mentioned a while back

The [BAKERY NAME] would be among the busiest spots in the market, of course, but if Taulinnis had come for spice-twists or other sweets, he should have been and gone by now. Drōvin would have to look elsewhere if he sought to find the elf.

He still wasn't sure if he wanted to or not.

Pushing that uncertainty aside, Drōvin politely elbowed his way through the crowds and took a spot in line outside the bakery. As he made his way towards the door, he took care to rise up onto his toes and peer in the windows, looking past the baskets full of loaves and muffins for a glimpse of impossible gold-and-crimson hair; but he saw nothing.

As he had thought, there was no elf inside the bakery when Drōvin stepped through the door.

I'm not sure who all has or hasn't been tagged recently, so if you don't have six new sentences you feel like sharing, please ignore this...or use it as an excuse to write more! I won't stop you!

@bifuriouswaterbender @estel-of-the-eyrie @rosalui

[creativepromptsforwriting]

Six Word Sentences

"Do what you have to do."

"Not what I came here for."

"What do you want from me?"

"Don't talk to me ever again."

"I will see you later, ok?"

"What a silly question to ask."

"I can't stop thinking of you."

"What do you mean by that?"

"Feel free to never come back."

"You are always on my mind."

"That was such a dumb idea."

"Do you have a better plan?"

"I don't feel like doing that."

"What more is there to lose?"

"Don't you see that I'm hurting?"

"I love you, but not enough."

"A little help would be great."

"You can't handle a little pressure."

"I know what I am doing."

"My life is empty without you."

"How am I supposed to know?"

"I don't want to hear it."

"This was a spectacularly bad plan."

"It's good to know you're safe."

"Don't come near me ever again!"

"What a silly thing to say."

"I couldn't care less about you."

"This is not what I expected."

"Where are my manners, my dear."

"I can't risk losing you again."

[kaleidoscopiccc]

oh you hate musicals? oh so youre allergic to all fun and whimsy then? youre against all joy and giddiness brought in front of you huh? you just hate any and all happiness and silly times dont you?

[witchcraftandgeekness]

No but Matthias being tempted to "drag Smeet back and make Kaz perform the trick again" is so deeply funny to me

[jeremysknoxes]

bro how smart is wylan-

[misiwrites]

Six Sentence Sunday

i recently learned that this is a fandom activity thing, just posting six (or seven. or eight) sentences of any writing. in my case for no other reason than to make myself write or edit at least those six sentences a week and to hold myself like semi accountable by posting them here because wow this blog is dead

Of course it was Takao Kinomiya who opened his mouth first. Michael Summers was surprised that fool had managed to keep it shut for several consecutive minutes; must have been a record-breaking silence for him.

Michael leaned back in his chair and flicked the tuft of red hair off his other eye, observed how the rest of the somber bunch chose to react. It all had to be for show, right? The mysterious invitations and alleged dinner party, he’s convinced it was all some spectacle schemed by Ralf Jürgens, the guy had a real knack for theatrics. This whole place was such a joke: a conveniently gothic medieval castle in the darkest heart of the Schwarzwald woodlands; the imposing blood red walls of the dining room; the chandeliers and candles and that god-awful grandfather clock that stood at the end of the comically long table like a ticking demon butler from Hell. Bravo, Jürgens, Michael thought and wanted to applaud the German, bravo; the stage you’ve set is a fucking cliché but an entertaining one.

[fuckyeahchinesefashion]

OP: Check out. The fully-sexual charged cinematic movement design.

Cnetizens: How did the director come up with the idea to have him kneel on a playing card, adding so much aesthetic energy, is that some kind of genius?

[buddie-buddie]

Bucktommy + “Go back to sleep.”

“Go back to sleep,” Tommy mumbles, his voice thick with sleep.

Buck finishes tugging Tommy’s duvet up, tucking it beneath his chin and curling in on himself in an attempt to warm up. He doesn’t care if it makes him a blanket thief; he’s cold. Plus, Tommy is practically a human space heater. He’s laying beside Buck in nothing but his boxer briefs and looks perfectly content. Meanwhile, Buck’s in sweatpants and a hoodie and can’t seem to shake the chill that’s climbing up his spine and taking up residence deep in his bones.

He mumbles a sleepy apology, but if the way Tommy’s breathing has already evened out again is any indication, he doesn’t hear it.

Waking up next to Tommy is all of Buck’s wildest dreams come true. He loves waking up with the familiar, grounding weight of Tommy’s arm draped over him, loves the way Tommy tightens his grip as he feels Buck stir beneath him, how he mumbles a sleepy “Morning, baby,” into his hair as Buck slowly blinks his eyes awake.

Every day he wakes up next to Tommy is a dream, but days off are the best.

Days off are when Buck wakes up warm and cozy in a sun-drenched room, tucked against Tommy, their bodies curled around each other like a pair of parentheses. The warm, familiar rumble of Tommy’s early morning voice low in his ear, the brush of his lips against the shell of his ear, chased away by the slight burn from Tommy’s day-old stubble against his skin as he trails kisses down his cheek, across his jaw. For a few quiet moments, it’s just them. There are no alarms ringing, no fires to put out, no helicopters to fly, no nothing. There’s nothing but them. Nothing to do except just be.

The thought of this particular day off– this particular morning– was the thing Buck was most looking forward to all week. And it had been an epically awful week. It had been six days since the last time their days off had last lined up, and he’d been all but crawling out of his skin with his need to see his boyfriend outside of a quick FaceTime call between claxons ringing.

On top of that, the station’s A/C had been on the fritz and Chimney had been out sick with a flu he still insisted he didn’t have, both of which made shifts considerably less enjoyable. They’d had a few really tough calls, including an especially hard loss in the middle of the week that was still living behind Buck’s ribs and needling at his heart each time the air fell silent and his mind began to wander.

Their shared 48 off had been the light at the end of the tunnel. A very dark tunnel that was starting to feel less like a tunnel and more like an inescapable hole towards the end, but a tunnel nonetheless.

“Hot date?” Hen had teased him as he all but ran for the locker room the moment B shift started filtering in through the bay doors.

Buck thought about what was waiting for him. His sweet, beautiful boyfriend. His favorite pad thai takeout from the mom and pop place around the corner from Harbor. Sheets that smell like Tommy and a pair of reading glasses on the nightstand and two toothbrushes next to each other in the cup beside the sink.

“Yeah,” Buck grinned, dipping his chin as his cheeks flushed. “You could say that.”

The feeling of waking up beside Tommy is everything Buck always wanted and never let himself believe he could actually have. It’s better than anything he ever could’ve dreamed up. Even now, when he wakes up and it’s still pitch black outside, the only light in the room coming from the glow of Buck’s phone on the nightstand as he taps it awake to check the time. It’s not even four o’clock.

No wonder Tommy told him to go back to sleep.

They’ve barely been asleep for five hours, and after the week he’s had, Buck would like at least twice that before even considering getting out of bed. But he’s up now and he’s freezing. He flips over beneath Tommy’s arm, turning to face him and curling himself into Tommy’s side with a small, content sigh. He tucks his head beneath Tommy’s chin in a shameless attempt to leech his body heat.

Tommy murmurs something indecipherable in his sleep, one of his big, warm hands coming up to rest between Buck’s shoulder blades. His welcome touch is warm and familiar, instantly soothing. And yet, it does nothing to stop another shiver from running through Buck.

He closes his eyes, starting to drift back to sleep just as Tommy shifts beneath him.

“Evan,” Tommy says quietly, concern clinging to the word. “Baby, wake up.”

Buck blinks slowly, confused. “Y’just told me to go back to sleep.”

“You’re burning up,” Tommy says, his other hand coming up to feel Buck’s forehead. He makes a tsk sound under his breath. He tries to sit up, but Buck protests by way of a sleepy whine, holding onto Tommy even tighter.

“M’cold,” Buck mumbles against Tommy’s chest.

“C’mon,” Tommy says gently. “Let me up. I’ll be right back. I promise.”

Buck is too tired to argue. Tommy extricates himself, and Buck can tell he tries his best not to disturb him too much as he does. True to his word, Tommy returns a moment later. He runs the thermometer over Buck’s forehead, and its rapid warning beeps are followed by a small displeased sigh.

“Fever?” Buck asks. Another shiver wracks through him, and he knows the answer.

Tommy’s hand is warm and solid as it rests on his cheek, his thumb stroking over Buck’s cheekbone in a soothing back and forth. “Yeah,” Tommy says. Buck can hear his frown. “Gonna give you some Tylenol.”

Buck lets Tommy help him sit up enough to bring the pills and a glass of water to his lips. He’s a little more awake now, enough to register the way that his head feels heavy and his eyes feel hot behind their lids. His arms and legs ache as he settles against the pillows, and he has a fleeting memory of Maddie saying that Chim’s flu started out with a high fever and body aches.

“Be right back,” Tommy promises.

And he is. He returns a moment later with another blanket, a heavy one. He covers Buck with it, tucking it beneath his chin and running a hand through his hair fondly before climbing back into bed beside him.

“No,” Buck protests. “I’ll get you sick.”

Tommy’s arms encircle him, pulling him in until they’re pressed up against each other. “Don’t care,” he says simply. “We’ve already been pretty close.”

Buck sighs against Tommy’s neck, a grin tugging at the corner of his mouth as he remembers the very enthusiastic reacquainting that happened against the back of Tommy’s front door no more than a minute after Buck had come through it. Not to mention the hours they spent on the couch watching a movie after dinner, with Tommy’s arm around him and Buck’s head on Tommy’s shoulder. All of which was before they fell asleep practically plastered to one another.

Tommy does have a point.

But Buck felt fine going to bed, which means the fever must have spiked pretty recently, which means it could be early enough that Tommy could still save himself and—

“I can hear you overthinking.”

Buck frowns. “Am not.” And then a moment later, “I’ll go to the guest room.”

“No you won’t,” Tommy says simply. “There’s no blanket on the bed.”

“But you—”

Tommy silences him with a kiss to his forehead. “I am exactly where I want to be.”

Buck’s heart squeezes. A tiny, happy sigh falls from his lips. And for the first time since waking up, he feels warm all over.

prompt game