#7 meme

Rules: Go to a current WIP, to the 7th page, 7th line, and share the next 7 sentences.

I haven’t written a huge amount of Thedas go Brách, so I counted my pages from the first one. This pops up not far into Chapter One.

Hands scrabbling for purchase on rocky ground that scratched and tore at her skin, she scrambled to her feet with a shriek, some part of her hoping that if she made enough noise, these, these ... whatever they were ... would back away, would somehow become afraid of her.

No such luck. The metallic tang of her own copper-rich blood was in the air, seeping into the ragged remains of the clothing that covered her back, slick over her skin, every motion of her body agony as the wounds rippled with each muscle flex and contraction. Tears stung her eyes, streaming down her cheeks, blurring her already blurred vision until she could barely see anything at all. She threw her hands out, flinching back when she met the sickening slime of unformed flesh, the bony hardness of the clawing limbs that reached out to rake at her vulnerable form.

Panic flared - not the anxious worry that walked with her every day of her life, but real, instinctive panic, the kind of panic that makes survivors survive and death a true horror. Which would she be?

Amazingly, I actually got this tag through my notifications, from the lovely @angels767. Thank you, darlin’!

The rules are as follows. Go to page 7 (paragraph 7, if not that long) of your WIP then go to the 7th line, share 7 lines and tag 7 more writers to continue the challenge.

This is from my background WIP, Thedas go Brách, which stunningly has finally made it into the third chapter!

As she stood there, debating with herself what she should or should not do, the wisp seemed to lose patience. It swept about to her back, and with a painful rush against her exposed wounds, the little scrap of mist barged her bodily forward. Erin cried out as agony erupted from the injuries that littered her body, staggering to stay upright. Her hands automatically reached out to steady herself, grasping fingers wrapping tight about the cone-like spikes of glowing blue that thrust up from the ground beside her.

The moment her skin touched the crystal, something happened. So fast she could barely follow it, and yet so intense that every millisecond was engraved on her memory.

The rules are as follows. Go to page 7 (paragraph 7, if not that long) of your WIP then go to the 7th line, share 7 lines and tag 7 more writers to continue the challenge.

Hmm. I haven’t been talking about my writing of late because it isn’t going as smoothly as I’d like, but it is progressing. Here’s some lines from my Inquisitor Dorian WIP, from one of the earlier chapters I’ve been working on for Act III.

"Following typical Imperium convention, they will 'freshen up'--which usually means they'll plot and bicker while deciding how to present a united front--and then request a private audience."

Josephine nodded. "I will send for you at that time, Inquisitor. Do you have any special instructions for me in the meantime?"

Well, that's about the most diplomatic way to ask 'Do you expect any problems?', Dorian thought wryly. "I expect a few more surprises from them," Dorian cautioned her. "Nothing dangerous, per se, but they wouldn't be Vints if they weren't always looking for an advantage.”

I was tagged by @pennypaperbrain to post 7 sentences from the 7th page, 7 lines down, in my current WIP. As I’m currently renovating Floodgates, you’ll get (a little bit more than) seven sentences from the chapter I got stuck on, and is yet to finish, in Chaos and Codependency, the sequel to Floodgates. (There’s a reason this was never published...)

“John breathes against his scapula. His breaths are even and surprisingly pleasant against Sherlock’s skin. It ought to tickle, but it doesn’t. It might be the heat or the humidity that does it. Either way, the feeling of breath against skin is the only thing that feels alright at this very moment. The only thing that isn’t poking at him and willing him to stir.

It ought to be simple; Sherlock should either leave as soon as possible (hesitance will only generate mixed messages) or decide to stay where he is and adjust himself comfortably in order to make that possible. The problem is that both options require him to act rather soon in order not to seem indecisive. 

Leaving would be a relief - he needs to think, he needs to wash himself, he needs to move around, he needs not to be in the presence of John when the low-grade panic he senses as a distant rumble gradually evolves into something much more deafening and explosive. 

He should want to stay - he does want the proximity (that he doesn’t want to want), he does really want to know how it feels to lie here sated, fucked, filthy and with John’s arm still around his waist (the pressure from the arm is soon going to force him to adjust himself) and he does want to want to sleep here besides John, because doing so would somehow lessen the feeling of this - of them - being something temporary.”

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