cruiscin_lan (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
cruiscin_lan) wrote2009-01-18 08:08 pm
cruiscin_lan) wrote2009-01-18 08:08 pm
Entry tags:
A post far too long.
I hosted writing group last night, which served to remind me why I do not have a lot of people over all that often. Although I love everyone in group dearly, it occurred to me that they all drive me a little bit crazy.
I'll admit right off the bat that I'm kind of a nervous host; I can barely sit still when I have people over. I zealously cook and clean for everyone when I have company, and I make sure everyone's tummies and glasses were full at all times. This isn't all that conducive to participating in writing group activities, but it's my fault.
It's nice to have people over instead of heading somewhere else, because then you don't have to drive or take the subway or whatever in the cold weather to make it home. The problem is, of course, getting people to leave. I don't think the night ended until two a.m. Even then, two friends (who, granted, travelled an hour to get here) stayed overnight, but they didn't leave until after noon. I was exhausted, between hosting last night and cleaning and then making breakfast for them. All I wanted them to do was leave so I could just take a nap or zone out in front of the television or something without worrying about whether they were cold or hungry or thirsty.
Besides that, now I have a ton of snacky food and soda that people brought to share. I offered to make doggy bags for everyone as they left, but everyone declined. What irks me most (and this is, admittedly, ridiculously irrational of me) is that I now have two open bags of Tostitos and no dip or salsa. Seriously, guys, did you have to open both bags? Really? Now I'm afraid they'll all go stale before they're eaten!
Right now I'm trying to finish off the Sprite that wasn't recapped last night, so now it's flat. It's gross, but I hate seeing things go to waste. (That reminds me,![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
dragynflies, I'm pretty sure I owe you an apology for being ridiculous while chatting last night? I don't even know).
So basically after cooking and cleaning all day yesterday to prepare for company, I'm cleaning up after them all day today. I hope no one asks me to host again next month. We did have good prompts this time, though; perhaps I'll post some of the stuff I came up with when I feel like transcribing my horribly tiny handwriting.
Okay, ranting done. Time for a fic meme I saw going around my flist awhile ago.
Post a few lines from every fic you're working on.
I'm attempting to continue Annapolis, 1989. It's very disjointed right now, but here's a little bit of what I've got so far:
But Nathan Petrelli wasn't afraid to play with fire, and he simply wrapped his arm around her and gently squeezed her shoulder. "I'm sure he'll be fine on his own. You're his sister, not his mother. It's not up to you to protect him all the time."
A Sylar/Claire fic forwily_one24:
His breath was warm and moist in her ear, his voice a low growling rumble. It sent the hair on the back of her neck standing on end. The tingling sensation was electric; her heart fluttered, her knees shuddered, and she bit her lip fiercely just to be distracted by the pain. It was intoxicating - all the more reason she needed to steel her defenses against him. She needed to act before it was too late. Swiftly she kneed him in the crotch, and as he crouched from the sudden blow, she shoved him away and dashed to the window. It was locked, and a three-story fall, but details like that didn't concern Claire.
Some Matt/Daphne smut-fluff:
"Mmm-hmmm," Matt growled, tracing the line of Daphne's neck and shoulder as he stooped to pick up his keys before he forgot them on the floor in the hallway. As he shut and locked the door behind him, Daphne strode over to the couch, her heels click-clicking against the hardwood floor. She lay belly-down on the cushions, stretching her arms in front of her like a cat as she glanced back over her shoulder at her husband.
He took his coat off as he followed her to the couch, throwing it carelessly aside as he lowered himself onto Daphne. He covered her back and shoulders with kisses as he ran his hands along her sides, following the seams of her lingerie. He kicked off his shoes as Daphne pushed up his slacks around his knees, pressing the patent leather pumps against his calves.
Chapter Three of Lyle Bennet: Transdimensional Traveler!:
For the first time he could remember, he was relieved to see Claire already seated at the table, helping herself to the waffles in front of her.
"What's the matter, Lyle?"
"I just had a very strange dream. That's all. Is Dad around? Where's Mom?"
"Dad left early for week. As usual. Mom took Mr. Muggles out for a walk."
"Okay," Lyle said, rubbing his temple as he took a seat. He poured himself some juice but let the waffles be - he didn't quite feel up to eating just then. He was still trying to figure out what had been real and what had... not been real. "Can I ask you a weird question, Claire?"
"Do you ask any other kind?"
"I didn't... or someone that looked like me... I didn't try to hit on you last night or anything, did I?"
Claire's lips curled downwards in an expression of disgust. "Excuse me, I've got to go vomit now," she muttered as she pushed herself away from the table and hurried to the bathroom.
"Oh. Good, I guess," Lyle called after her. "Just making sure."
And of course, part of Chapter 10 of Angel with a Broken Watch:
"It'll be easier to pretend none of this ever happened. I'll chalk this one up as a rookie mistake and trust that nothing like this happens again. You can have the procedure done downstairs in the hospital wing. I've already taken steps to ensure the utmost discretion. After a few days of recuperation you can go out on missions again - a new partner, new opportunities -"
And finally, a little Knox/Claire, for people who like their violence mixed with sex (or vice versa?):
"Break my neck," Claire ordered. "Smash my face."
Obediently he grabbed her by the back of the neck and propelled her into the conference table. The pressboard tabletop shattered on impact, and Claire lay sprawled across the larger pieces, her head at an odd angle with the rest of her body. Knox held his breath for a moment until he saw her chest rise and fall again with the effort of breathing. Slowly she raised herself up, the wounds on her face healing as she turned around to face him again.
"Did that hurt?"
"You killed me a little bit that time," she replied. "But I still didn't feel it."
Gonna reheat some leftovers. I need snackages.
I'll admit right off the bat that I'm kind of a nervous host; I can barely sit still when I have people over. I zealously cook and clean for everyone when I have company, and I make sure everyone's tummies and glasses were full at all times. This isn't all that conducive to participating in writing group activities, but it's my fault.
It's nice to have people over instead of heading somewhere else, because then you don't have to drive or take the subway or whatever in the cold weather to make it home. The problem is, of course, getting people to leave. I don't think the night ended until two a.m. Even then, two friends (who, granted, travelled an hour to get here) stayed overnight, but they didn't leave until after noon. I was exhausted, between hosting last night and cleaning and then making breakfast for them. All I wanted them to do was leave so I could just take a nap or zone out in front of the television or something without worrying about whether they were cold or hungry or thirsty.
Besides that, now I have a ton of snacky food and soda that people brought to share. I offered to make doggy bags for everyone as they left, but everyone declined. What irks me most (and this is, admittedly, ridiculously irrational of me) is that I now have two open bags of Tostitos and no dip or salsa. Seriously, guys, did you have to open both bags? Really? Now I'm afraid they'll all go stale before they're eaten!
Right now I'm trying to finish off the Sprite that wasn't recapped last night, so now it's flat. It's gross, but I hate seeing things go to waste. (That reminds me,
dragynflies, I'm pretty sure I owe you an apology for being ridiculous while chatting last night? I don't even know).So basically after cooking and cleaning all day yesterday to prepare for company, I'm cleaning up after them all day today. I hope no one asks me to host again next month. We did have good prompts this time, though; perhaps I'll post some of the stuff I came up with when I feel like transcribing my horribly tiny handwriting.
Okay, ranting done. Time for a fic meme I saw going around my flist awhile ago.
Post a few lines from every fic you're working on.
I'm attempting to continue Annapolis, 1989. It's very disjointed right now, but here's a little bit of what I've got so far:
But Nathan Petrelli wasn't afraid to play with fire, and he simply wrapped his arm around her and gently squeezed her shoulder. "I'm sure he'll be fine on his own. You're his sister, not his mother. It's not up to you to protect him all the time."
A Sylar/Claire fic for
wily_one24:His breath was warm and moist in her ear, his voice a low growling rumble. It sent the hair on the back of her neck standing on end. The tingling sensation was electric; her heart fluttered, her knees shuddered, and she bit her lip fiercely just to be distracted by the pain. It was intoxicating - all the more reason she needed to steel her defenses against him. She needed to act before it was too late. Swiftly she kneed him in the crotch, and as he crouched from the sudden blow, she shoved him away and dashed to the window. It was locked, and a three-story fall, but details like that didn't concern Claire.
Some Matt/Daphne smut-fluff:
"Mmm-hmmm," Matt growled, tracing the line of Daphne's neck and shoulder as he stooped to pick up his keys before he forgot them on the floor in the hallway. As he shut and locked the door behind him, Daphne strode over to the couch, her heels click-clicking against the hardwood floor. She lay belly-down on the cushions, stretching her arms in front of her like a cat as she glanced back over her shoulder at her husband.
He took his coat off as he followed her to the couch, throwing it carelessly aside as he lowered himself onto Daphne. He covered her back and shoulders with kisses as he ran his hands along her sides, following the seams of her lingerie. He kicked off his shoes as Daphne pushed up his slacks around his knees, pressing the patent leather pumps against his calves.
Chapter Three of Lyle Bennet: Transdimensional Traveler!:
For the first time he could remember, he was relieved to see Claire already seated at the table, helping herself to the waffles in front of her.
"What's the matter, Lyle?"
"I just had a very strange dream. That's all. Is Dad around? Where's Mom?"
"Dad left early for week. As usual. Mom took Mr. Muggles out for a walk."
"Okay," Lyle said, rubbing his temple as he took a seat. He poured himself some juice but let the waffles be - he didn't quite feel up to eating just then. He was still trying to figure out what had been real and what had... not been real. "Can I ask you a weird question, Claire?"
"Do you ask any other kind?"
"I didn't... or someone that looked like me... I didn't try to hit on you last night or anything, did I?"
Claire's lips curled downwards in an expression of disgust. "Excuse me, I've got to go vomit now," she muttered as she pushed herself away from the table and hurried to the bathroom.
"Oh. Good, I guess," Lyle called after her. "Just making sure."
And of course, part of Chapter 10 of Angel with a Broken Watch:
"It'll be easier to pretend none of this ever happened. I'll chalk this one up as a rookie mistake and trust that nothing like this happens again. You can have the procedure done downstairs in the hospital wing. I've already taken steps to ensure the utmost discretion. After a few days of recuperation you can go out on missions again - a new partner, new opportunities -"
And finally, a little Knox/Claire, for people who like their violence mixed with sex (or vice versa?):
"Break my neck," Claire ordered. "Smash my face."
Obediently he grabbed her by the back of the neck and propelled her into the conference table. The pressboard tabletop shattered on impact, and Claire lay sprawled across the larger pieces, her head at an odd angle with the rest of her body. Knox held his breath for a moment until he saw her chest rise and fall again with the effort of breathing. Slowly she raised herself up, the wounds on her face healing as she turned around to face him again.
"Did that hurt?"
"You killed me a little bit that time," she replied. "But I still didn't feel it."
Gonna reheat some leftovers. I need snackages.
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You were not too ridiculous last night on AIM, LOL. I was loopy myself, though less drunk.
Please fix your AIM now, it makes me sad.
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AND ICON. MUST HAVE. Can I please steal it?
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and that reminds me: please also take this icon if you can stand to look at my craptastic photoshoppery.
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