Post a sentence (or two or a paragraph) from as many of your WIPs as you want, with no explanation attached
(We won't talk about how many of these have deadlines and how soon most of those deadlines are, okay?)
There's a Gunnery Sergeant Gibbs at the door. Gunnery Sergent Gibbs is telling Tim and Sarah and their mom that their dad is MIA. He's saying things like 'fine officer' and 'extraction team' and 'doing all we can' and Tim can't do anything but hold tight to Sarah's hand and grit his teeth so he doesn't embarrass his mom by crying.
When a hand grabs her wrist, Gwen screams as loudly and as shrilly as she can, just as her mother taught her, but there’s no one near enough to hear her. When a second hand flattens over her mouth, she is two seconds away from biting into it firmly when a familiar - a very familiar - voice whispers “Hush. Gwen, hush,” in her ear.
Gwen goes still, letting her shoulders relax, showing in all the ways she can without words that she isn’t going to scream again and she isn’t going to run. As soon as the hands drop away, she’s spinning around, throwing her arms around a heavy brown cloak and the beloved woman underneath.
“My lady-,” she starts but no, that isn’t right. “Morgana,” she whispers and isn’t ashamed to admit that she clings as hard as she can.
“Shh,” Morgana croons, stroking Gwen’s back and her fingers through Gwen’s hair. “It’s all right.”
“Look, I’m sorry if you didn’t want to come-,” Colin started to say but Bradley cut him off.
“Of course I wanted to come,” he said – lied. “A chance to ply Katie with mulled wine and see if we can get her to sing Britney; who’d miss that?”
Colin ducked his head, hiding his smirk in his scarf. He pulled his gloves off and rubbed his hands together. They were red and made a harsh chafing sound against each other.
“Don’t do that,” Bradley told him, rolling his eyes. He grabbed Colin’s hands and pulled them away from each other. Colin’s fingers were damp and chilled in Bradley’s fists and if they’d been at home he would have kept hold of them. They weren’t at home though, they were on a train with people the right age to know who they were so he dropped Colin’s hands with a little bit of exaggerated force and flicked him under the chin instead, hoping it would make him smile.
"Here," Bob said, shoving Frank forward so he could pull off his own hoodie before he'd really thought about what he was doing. "Take this."
Brian's eyes widened. "Oh, dude, no, I cannot take your sweater."
Bob had no fucking clue what he'd been thinking, but he was committed now. “No seriously, I don’t need it. I’m plenty hot. Warm.” Bob grimaced and waited for the ground to swallow him. “I’m warm enough.”
“Okay,” Brian said, taking Bob’s hoodie. He tipped his head and smiled. “As long as you’re plenty hot.”
"Hello," said Merlin's Prince Arthur hallucination, "I didn't realise anyone would be in here."
Merlin continued to stare, possibly open-mouthed, at the Prince Arthur hallucination, which he was beginning to suspect might not be an hallucination at all.
The Prince Arthur hallu- oh, who was he kidding? Prince Arthur (Prince fucking Arthur) frowned at him. "Can you speak?"
"Um," Merlin squeaked. "Yes?"
"Your Royal Highness," Prince Arthur said.
"Uh, what?" Had he mistaken Merlin for someone else? That would be embarrassing.
"You address me as Your Royal Highness the first time you answer me and as 'sir' from then on."
"Oh, okay, right." Merlin shifted, feeling kind of stupid but really, it wasn't like anyone had taught him that at school or anything. Prince Arthur raised his eyebrows and great, now Merlin was blushing. "Your Royal Highness," he added quickly.
Mary's first clue that something was about to disturb her lassitude came when Gladstone suddenly awoke, lifting his head with a confused little whine of the type that she only heard when Sherlock Holmes was approaching. Like Mary herself, Gladstone appeared torn between excitement at the possibility of adventure that Holmes carried around him like a cloak and apprehension that whatever was occurring this time might finally go too far.
Irene Adler turned around. The charcoal grey suit she was wearing was too large for her, the jacket stiff and swallowing her curves, the cuffs of the trousers covering her bare feet until only her toes were visible. It was also very familiar.
“That’s John’s suit,” Mary told her, frowning slightly, not sure if she should be amused or annoyed.
Irene smiled, doing a little twirl. “Indeed it is,” she agreed. She ducked her head and looked up at Mary from under her dark eyelashes. “Don’t you think it looks better on me?”
“You want to talk about it?” Lee asked doubtfully.
“I don’t even want to think about it,” Tony told him, too honest but too tired to care. “Can we talk about something else?”
“Sure.” Lee’s voice was warm and affectionate and Tony liked to hear it. He’d been working so damn hard at not missing Lee and this clearly wasn’t going to help but it was hard to mind right now.
Peter did hear the doorbell ring but he was in the middle of shaving so he ignored it.
This turned out to be a mistake.
“How was your vacation?” Neal’s voice asked from much closer than Peter was comfortable with Neal’s voice being before Peter was wearing pants.
"Arthur," Merlin whispered, "Your dad's not home."
Arthur shrugged. "He has a bed in his office," he said like it didn't bother him to wake up alone in their giant house.
"At school?" Merlin asked, looking scandalised. "That's really creepy."
Arthur waggled his eyebrows. "Uther is always watching you," he intoned solemnly.
"He's a real dangerous one, Sire," the bounty hunter is saying.
Arthur only just suppresses a cough. Really, Arthur thinks, the man is laying it on a bit thick; the skinny boy pressed against the back bars of the cage doesn't look like much of a threat to anyone. His shirt is torn, his britches are caked in mud and other things Arthur doesn't want to consider (or smell) and he's watching the court from under his eyelashes. He looks defeated.