Dira Sudis (dsudis) wrote,
Dira Sudis

"So, what are you writing?"

...[personal profile] trinity_clare asked me this past weekend. And I just sort of laughed and covered my face, because, oh my god. What am I writing. In descending order of length.

1. Teen Wolf Derek/Stiles underage hookerfic, currently almost 45,000 words of... probably 85-100,000. With Laura, because verity and starbolin wanted Laura:
"Okay," Laura said. "Last question. Who's your phone call if something goes wrong? If you get arrested, if you get hurt, if a test comes up positive, if somebody's threatening you or scaring you--who do you call?"

Stiles opened his mouth and then shut it hard. All his life he'd known the answer to that question as sure as he'd known his own name, and now he had no clue.

He looked down. He'd be tempted to call Derek if he was in trouble, but that would be stupid--especially if it was the arrested kind of trouble; no way could he ask a twenty-something guy who'd fucked him for money to walk into a police station for him, and a hospital wouldn't be any better. The only other phone number he had was Frank's, but calling his pimp for any of that stuff would be even worse than calling Derek, and then.... Phone numbers flashed through his mind: his own home phone number, Scott's, the direct line to his dad's office, the nurse's station at the hospital. No, no, no, no. None of those were his options anymore.

He made himself shrug, and a business card appeared, held out just above his hand. He took it.

It was white with stark black lettering: LAURA HALE and then a phone number.

"You call me," Laura said. "I live right upstairs from here if you ever need to find me. You get in trouble, you call. And if my idiot brother hurts you or scares you or shorts what he owes you, if he's even rude, you just say the word. I will take it out of his hide and make it up to you however I can. I promise you that, Stiles."

2. Teen Wolf Derek/Stiles for HC Bingo involuntary soulbond square, currently just over 18,000 words of about 21,000. Sadly there is no Laura in this one.
"That," Stiles said breathlessly, "was awesome."

Derek could feel Stiles's excited delight through their brand new bond. He could feel his own impulse to smile back, to agree, to make Stiles happier--to touch him, to strip him bare and...

Derek made himself scowl. He pushed out anger to counter Stiles's happiness, scrambling backward as he got to his feet. He didn't offer a hand. He left Stiles lying on the floor with his joy crumpling into shocked hurt.

"Why the hell did you do that?" Derek demanded. "Why would you bond with me? You were going to leave me for dead an hour ago."

"Okay first of all that was like two hours ago and I've grown a lot as a person since then," Stiles said, pushing up to his feet, his wounded look hardening into stubbornness. "And second, I was trying to save your life, which I did."

3. For tliss for fandomaid, the Vorkosigan Saga AU where Aral and Gregor are refugees, currently 8500 words of... 12,000? ish? maybe?
Aral had idly sketched the outline a woman in a dress like the one Kareen had been wearing that night. As Aral spoke, Gregor was tapping at the corners of the tablet's screen, investigating the device's built-in options. He gave the woman dark hair, a shade lighter than his own, and he made her dress black.

Kareen's dress had been a warm saffron color, in fact. The spray of Serg's blood could have been an abstract floral pattern. But Gregor was quite right. Black was for mourning.

Gregor found other menus with stock imagery and began to construct a background for the black-gowned woman. He surrounded her with flowers and candles and, oddly, a small dinosaur. Gregor scrolled through another menu of options, and his hand hovered for a second over an array of swords and daggers, and then he abruptly swiped his hand across the screen, making the image disappear before he turned and flung both arms around Aral's neck, hiding his face against Aral's shoulder.

4. Generation Kill coda fic for Don't You Shake Alone, Nate/Brad kidfic, currently 7,000 words out of an eventual... 20,000? maybe?
"I'm not touching you," Brad announced with a fond smile. "You're running a fever of a hundred and one, but your mom tells me Linus already had this and got over it two days ago."

Nate looked down at himself, reconsidering the way the sheets felt scratchy and too-hot against his skin, the way his burgeoning headache was echoed down the bones of his body.

"Oh," he croaked. "Fuck."

"Not without hosing you down in disinfectant first," Brad replied cheerfully. "You're allowed to come down for breakfast if you want, because everyone else in the house is already exposed, but your parents have already banned you from going to your aunt's for dinner."

Nate tried to weigh the merits of breakfast with Brad and Linus and the rest of his family versus the Herculean task of getting out of bed.

"Yeah," Brad said, jerking Nate back to full consciousness. "Come on, germ factory, give Daddy a kiss for me before we go downstairs."

Linus smacked a kiss against Nate's cheek, and then giggled as Brad lifted him up a few inches and then dropped him down for another kiss and another before Brad finally hoisted him up to his shoulder.

"Wake me up for presents," Nate mumbled, because he couldn't miss Linus's first Christmas morning, but if Brad said anything in reply Nate was out before he heard it.

5.The next Aral/Jole story, with Ma Jole! 4,700 words of an eventual 12,000ish.
She added flour to the batter without bothering to measure--she'd been making one egg's worth of oladyi since Arkady was old enough to eat them--and said, "So?"

"So, I came to ask what sort of present I should bring you back from Pol," Arkady said.

He would be trying to bring her back an Emperor, but if all went well she would never notice he'd done it.

"Quel genre de cadeau?" she repeated back to him, stressing the words so that he would hear that he'd said it in French. "I want a safe and healthy Kado back from Pol when he's finished his duties there, of course."

"Sans doute," Arkady echoed back softly, his eyes falling again to the drop of his mother's nail polish on the old table. Of course. Because that was what he hadn't brought her--or not very promptly, at least--the last time he returned from offworld.

6th and lastly.The next Laura/Derek fic, currently 800 words of an eventual, uh, who knows. 10,000ish maybe?
Laura turned a page and dropped her hand down to run through his hair, and Derek cracked. He turned under her hand, twisting his whole body toward the back of the couch so that he was facing into her body with his cheek on her thigh. "Laura?"

"Yeah, bunny?" Laura managed to keep the amusement out of her voice and didn't bother sounding fake-disinterested.

"I wanna," Derek said, and she heard him swallow, steeling himself. "I wanna go down on you. Please. Can I? I bet you'll like it."

Laura grinned, pleasantly unsurprised, and actually looked down at him. She kept silent long enough to watch the flush rise on his cheek--she wasn't a saint, and Derek was so easy sometimes--and then said as evenly as she could, "I bet I will."

Derek smiled back at her, and for just a second he was the cocky, happy kid he'd been a year ago--not just before the fire but before the whole disaster that had turned his eyes blue.

This entry was originally posted at http://dira.dreamwidth.org/690858.html. There are currently comment count unavailable comments there.
Tags: bujold, generation kill, teen wolf, writing
  • Post a new comment


    default userpic

    Your reply will be screened

    When you submit the form an invisible reCAPTCHA check will be performed.
    You must follow the Privacy Policy and Google Terms of use.