A VERY LATE Snippet Post!

[alexcat.livejournal.com]

If you wish to share a bit of your Big Bang, this is the place. I was supposed to do this on the 15th but life has kicked my butt all over the place lately and I'm just now getting used to it! Try to keep it 500 words or under and post away!

alex

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[chaotic-binky.livejournal.com]

This is from a first draft, so it needs editing. No title as yet.

Erestor stood on the dirt track road, wild and beautiful, the wind flipping the ends of his thick black braid, woven through with ribbons of red and gold. He was a dashing sight. Through one ear hung a gold earring studded with diamonds, fashioned from the stolen wedding band commissioned for the Spanish Infanta, or so Erestor bragged to Henry Morgan as they made plans to sack Maracaibo. A white silk shirt, trimmed with gold lace, hung loosely over his black leather breeches. The outline of two daggers and a pistol could just be seen as the sea breeze blew across the thin material. Warm blue eyes fringed with thick black lashes gazed lazily at Maglor, who wondered at the paradox of how his lover could appear so beautiful when his heart and actions were as black as sin.

Erestor was dangerous and unpredictable, just as Maglor had been so many thousands of years ago, yet he possessed restraint where others might not. Sirion came to mind; Erestor had killed without mercy, but unlike some in the army he drew a distinction between the innocents, as he called them, and those who could fight for themselves. Alongside Maglor, he was one of the few who argued against killing Elrond and Elros, two children caught up in the adult schemes of war. As a buccaneer, Erestor had been a loyal member of the Brethren of the Coast, as had Maglor. Life had not been kind to Maglor, beating him into submission, his guilt and fear shaped his thinking and the way he lived his life. Erestor was intolerant, but he had not endured the hardships that shaped Maglor and never would he.

“Macalaurë.” Erestor winked and licked his lips. “The Flying Squirrel is coming into dock. Look, there she is.” He pointed to a ship far off. “Here, use this.”

Maglor took the spyglass and saw the sloop approaching. A fast and light ship, it could hold seventy-five men, and was used in the past for raiding small settlements. “Do you miss the old days?” Maglor asked, knowing that Erestor would know exactly what he meant.

[zhie.livejournal.com]

Working Title: When Stars Align
Draft copy, so none of the Quenya names look pretty yet, and spelling and grammar is questionable. Valinor, Y.T., young Feanor and Erestor having a conversation (so the Rumil referenced is Rumil the Loremaster in Tirion)
---


“You confuse me, Tatannin.”

“Call me that again and I will punch you, friend or not, Curufinwe.”

“Alright, alright, fair is fair.” Feanaro sat up, drawing his legs up so that he was cross-legged on the sofa. “Why do you not want to tell me what is going on? I thought we could tell each other anything. You just want it to eat at you all night?”

Eresse cleared his throat and looked around, even though he was fairly certain they were alone. He had every right to think they were being listened to, because they were. Regardless, he tried his best to explain. “I really like the librarian,” he said.

“Oh, of course. Everyone likes Alyon. He knows where everything is, and he is so patient. I mean, he even puts up with me with a smile.” Feanaro grinned, but that soon faltered when he noticed that Eresse was not smiling.

“I mean, I really like him.”

“Sure, I understand.” Feanaro nodded.

Eresse stared at the curtains, and then whispered, “I think I was falling in love with him,” before burrowing back into the blanket.

“…wha—no, no, get back up here,” demanded Feanaro, peeling the blanket back down. Eresse grunted his dissatisfaction, but was unable to squirm down much lower. “Explain.”

Eresse blushed and shook his head.

“Another man? Like..” Feanaro scratched his head. “Like, a brother loving him, or like, having a lover?”

Eresse nodded to the second one.

“That is… really interesting.” Feanaro looked Eresse over curiously. “Is he the first person?”

“I think so. I mean, I guess I thought sometimes maybe Amarie was really pretty and she would make a good wife for someone, but I do not think that someone is me.” Eresse dared to look up at Feanaro. “See what I mean about not having words?”

“Maybe you just feel like this because you spend so much time in the library,” reasoned Feanaro.

Eresse’s shoulders slumped again. “I.. doubt that,” he said. “I mean, maybe, but.. I was thinking of him even when I was not at the library. I am still thinking about him. It hurts, but I am still.. still thinking about.. stuff,” he finished with.

“Hmm. We could ask Rumil about it,” suggested Feanaro.

“NO!” shouted Eresse, mortified. “Rumil is the last person I want knowing about this! Well, the last person is my mother, then my father, and then Rumil. Wait, no, maybe your father before Rumil, and your step-mother before all of them, and I do not think I want to tell Amarie, either, come to think of it.”

“Why not? She would probably think it was interesting and ask a lot of questions, but I do not think she would be mean to you,” Feanaro said.

Eresse shook his head. “I think she likes me,” he answered. “And this feeling I have right now about Alyon, knowing he is with someone else, feels terrible. I would not want her feeling that way.”

“She likes Ore-Huoro,” said Feanaro.

“Really?”

“Really. She gushes about him every chance she gets.”

“Oh.” Eresse looked a little hurt. “Why did she tell you that and not me?”

“She thought you liked her,” Feanaro answered slyly. “She did not want to hurt your feelings.”

excerpt from 'Losing Gin' - Thorin/OFC

[zeedrippyvessel.livejournal.com]

Completely unedited...


Thráin stood up and tucking Thorin in a bit tighter, he sat on the edge of the furs. "Thorin. What... did you ask your mother earlier?"

"You mean the question she said I should ask you?" Damn, if the dwarfling's eyes weren't starting to get heavy.

"Aye."

He blinked rapidly several times, the irises changing to a steel gray. ""Tis nothing."

"Thorin."

He thought for a moment. "Well, I asked her..." his voice wandered off.

"Aye?"

Even tucked in, Thráin could see his son steeling himself. He had a look in his eye. "I want to know why my dangly stands straight up when I think about Gin. Or when I see her."

Thráin gasped for breath. Oh, this was much too soon to be discussing this... "Well... your... dangly is just happy to see her."

Thorin's brow furrowed. "Happy? But it hurts!"

Thráin's hand was up. "Yes, I know, but trust me. It's just part of... you being happy to see her."

Thorin's brow creased further, anger now on the child's face. "Happy? Then I should cut it off as I don't like her a bit!"

Thráin winced. "Oh, I think you do like her a little bit." He leaned forward, his thumb and forefinger a hair apart. "Perhaps just a wee bit."

His son sank down in to the furs, his fingers peaking over the edge as he pulled them up to his chin. "Maybe a little," he agreed reluctantly. Thráin pressed the issue, his fingers pushed a bit closer to his son. "A little," the child finally agreed. "So, should I tell her my dangly is happy to see her, even though I am not?" One side of his mouth lifted in a snarl. "She doesn't like me, maybe she'll like my dangly."

"Noooo." Thráin shook his head. "Say nothing. Just keep this a secret between you and your dangly." Thorin began to yawn and nodded. He rolled over to his side as his father yet again tucked the furs around him closer. "Close your eyes, Thorin, burr innan minn hugr. Mahal is sending his sandr-dwarf to make your eyes heavy." He blew the child's light-globe out and stood in front of the door as his child began to nod off. He slid the door open, ready to ease out.

"Papa?"

"Yes, Thorin?"

"Does your dangly get happy when you are with Mama?"

Thráin swallowed hard. "Go to sleep, Thorin."

[larienelengasse.livejournal.com]

A wee bit from the first draft. Current word count sits at 13,269 and I'm only 1/2 way through. It's a beast, ya'll.


Kirk didn’t sleep that night. He could be wrong, so very wrong about all of this. Khan could kill him in an instant. Khan’s defective DNA, as Bones had called it, could override everything else and he could end up with a crushed skull for his trouble. If he was lucky, the augment would just disarm him and shoot him.

Khan could take back his crew now, then finish off the Federation and God knows what else and the deaths of all of those people would rest on Jim Kirk’s head.

Or, Khan could prove him right. Khan could prove that he was more than his DNA. That he truly was better at everything, even being human.

Kirk sat in an old overstuffed chair, sipping coffee and watching the sunrise over the mountains. He heard the floorboards creak upstairs, then heard the stairs groaning in like complaint as Khan descended. ‘Well, Jim,’ he thought. ‘This might be your last sunrise.’

“Mornin’,” he said as Khan entered the room. “There’s breakfast on the stove, and fresh coffee, if you drink it.”

Khan stared at Kirk in disbelief. The man did at least have the sense to keep the phaser on his lap.

“Planning to put me down, Captain?” He asked, moving to stand in front of Kirk with his back turned, stretching his arms over his head and bending from side to side, stretching out his wearied muscles. He caught the Captain’s reflection in the mirror, and saw how Kirk’s eyes flicked to where his shirt rode up exposing part of his midsection. He could feel the confusion and indecision in Kirk’s mind like it radiated off him.

“Hoping I don’t have to,” Kirk answered, licking his lips. Why was his mouth dry all of the sudden?

“I am still unclear as to why you are doing this,” Khan said as he walked to the screen door and looked outside, placing his hands on the doorframe and leaning into it, stretching his chest and shoulders and enjoying the fresh spark of confusion it caused in Kirk. He knew what the man felt, even if Kirk didn’t know it himself.

“Because I don’t believe that human beings, augmented or not, should be used as pawns or lab rats. You cannot help the way you were born, Khan.” God his mouth was dry.

Khan turned and looked at Kirk. “Meaning?”

“You were designed to be perfect, but your designers were themselves imperfect. They made you stronger, faster, and more intelligent, with bodies that healed at five times the normal rate. Your designers built you this way, but did nothing to repair what kept you from being truly human. The records said that they didn’t know how to. But at the core of your DNA, underneath all of that genetic engineering you are in fact, human.”

“You have clearly spent some time thinking about this,” Khan said.

“Yeah, I have,” Kirk answered.

“What if you are wrong, Captain? What then?”

“Then, we have a problem,” Kirk said flatly. “But I don’t think we do.”

Khan eyed the Captain suspiciously. “I have lied to you before.”

“Yep, you have.”

“You have no reason to trust me.”

“Not one.”

“Yet you are alone with me with a phaser set to stun. You’ve used that on me before. Have you forgotten how it turned out?”

“It would be hard to forget.” Kirk said as he looked up at Khan. “I am alone with you because I know I am right . . . about this, anyway.”

“You defy explanation, James Kirk.”

Kirk laughed at that. “Spock would agree.”

“You truly intend to reunite me with my crew.”

“I will try my dammdest.” Kirk rose from his chair, tucking the phaser in his belt. “I would like to believe that it is what you would do for me if our positions were reversed.” He paused on his way to the kitchen. “Actually, you did return me to my crew.”

“With the intent of killing all of you,” Khan reminded him.

“Well, there is that.” Kirk walked into the kitchen. “Hungry?” he called.

Khan was, in fact, starving. He followed Kirk into the kitchen then joined him at the table for breakfast.