There’s a box of Frosties on the kitchen table with a bottle of chocolate milk. Over by the oven, Connor seems to have found a waffle iron from somewhere – where, James has no idea. He’s pretty sure he’s never owned a waffle iron in his entire life.
You can’t have that for breakfast!
If you like this, you could try
Kirk’s been called a lot of things by a lot of people.
Stupid. Worthless. Unwanted. Bastard. Jackass. Whore.
Half-breed’s whore. Only bedded because no Vulcan will have him. Only wanted for his services and nothing else. Only there for one reason and one reason alone.
The last stings the most. But it isn’t the accuser who makes it so. It isn’t the Vulcans of the colony and their detached but cruel words who make the jabs cut so very deeply.
Instead, it’s his fellow recipient.
If you like this, you could try
“The way I see it, you’ve got two options.” Travis grins smugly. “Option A, you come down here and I show you exactly how grateful I am for the rescue.”
Beck swallows, needing to clear his throat but not wanting to give Travis that much satisfaction. “And Option B?”
Travis’s grin fades away. His gaze goes intense, like he’s trying to pull off a sultry movie-siren smolder. “Option B? I make you come down here.”
If you like this, you could try
“Archie?” David Cook said blearily. “What’re you doing in my room?”
“Oh, no,” Archie said, and fell out of bed.
He landed mostly on his side, with one foot and arm still tangled in the covers. He fought his way out of them.
Cook’s head appeared over the side of the bed. “Archie?”
“Still here.” Still naked. Oh, he was in so much trouble.
[ Author on Archive of our Own ]
If you like this, you could try
Merlin had spent a week trying to think of a good way to phrase this, and failing, so he didn’t try. “What is the rule of succession in Camelot?”
Arthur gave him a narrow look, and bit off the rear half of a marzipan unicorn with perhaps excessive zeal. “Why do you ask?” His voice was ominous, and Merlin sighed.
“Oh, no reason,” Merlin tried without much conviction, and Arthur predictably rolled his eyes and gave him a shrewd a look, like he was trying to read Merlin’s mind. Merlin tried to look harmlessly curious, but was pretty sure that Arthur was not convinced. He was also sure Arthur knew exactly why he was asking, and he waited with resignation for Arthur to order him off to the stocks again.
“Why don’t you ask Geoffrey,” Arthur said after a minute, and Merlin let out his breath in a whuff of surprise that he wasn’t being told off outright.
“Er, well,” he said, not quite sure how Arthur was going to react to this part.
Arthur put the unicorn down, fully focused on him now.
“You already asked Geoffrey,” he said, without any surprise.
“He told me to go away,” Merlin admitted, warily, and Arthur smiled, what looked like in spite of himself.
Fascinating political intrigue, charming Arthur & Merlin interaction.
If you like this, you could try
Sometimes, control is not possible. It is a bitter lesson, but all lessons must be learned, regardless of personal inclination. Spock raises a resigned eyebrow, turns, and looks McCoy full in the face. “Really, doctor?” he challenges. He can hear his feeling in his voice, sense it in his expression.
McCoy is startled. His eyes search Spock’s face. Spock waits as one second passes, then several more. McCoy looks down, then up again at Spock with a soft, knowing smile. He is so close, so close, his hand still lingering on Spock’s shoulder–
“I know,” McCoy says gently. Control is a memory. “I’m worried about Jim too.”
Saved. McCoy has always combined unexpected insight with unexpected obtuseness. Spock turns away, not sure what his reaction is but wishing nevertheless to hide it. Of course he is worried about Jim. He’s always worried about Jim, but he’s used to that. Jim, at least, is capable of the most basic self-defense; he rarely comes to serious harm. The odds are excellent that he is seducing a 892-IV native by now.
[ Author's Site ]
If you like this, you could try
Mr. Crawford had determined to be exactly what his habits were not: steadfast and purposeful. The decision had been made swiftly, as he did everything. Fanny expected him to go to Everingham – therefore he would go. It became apparent that charm alone would not win her; so he would be responsible and honorable and eager to do his duty: whatever would make her think well of him, that he would become. There was a kind of challenge in it that he accepted with enthusiasm, and which mostly compensated for the loss of the other challenge he had been pursuing. He had fully intended to make Mrs. Rushworth in love with him again, just to serve her right for being so cold. And he couldn’t help but regret that her pride would remain victorious. There was an injustice in it that irked him. At the thought of Fanny’s eyes, though – he could see those eyes before him, gentle and trusting, and then hurt and disappointed. No, it was too great a risk. Her strict propriety must govern his actions, at least for a while. The conquering of Maria Rushworth must take second place to that.
Everingham (Part 2) (Part 3)
[ Archived at The Derbyshire Writers' Guild ]
If you like this, you could try
Author’s summary: The Ancients’ genes didn’t just confer the power to activate their technology. For ten percent of Earth’s population, like John Sheppard, the ATA gene also gave them Gifts: special abilities that made them admired, envied, and feared.
Sheppard was a Charmer, one of the feared ones, whose particular Gift let him create faith whenever he needed to be trusted or believed. But Sheppard didn’t trust himself not to destroy what he loved most. And somewhere along the line, amid the terror and chaos of the Expedition’s first year in the Pegasus Galaxy, what Sheppard loved most had become Rodney McKay.
McKay didn’t trust anyone. As soon as you started trusting people, you started counting on them, depending on them, and that was when you became vulnerable. And vulnerable things didn’t survive. So just when, exactly, had he started trusting Sheppard?
And what was going to happen, now that he did?
If you like this, you could try
“My neck is not a grab handle, and for that matter neither is any other part of me, and on the whole I’d appreciate less dragging in general.”
“This is important,” Casey says flatly.
“So are the customers,” Chuck points out.
“No they’re not.”
Casey makes arguing very, very hard…and also sometimes painful.
If you like this, you could try
“It’s nothing. It’s just… I have a hard time talking to you.”
That came as a huge surprise. Matthew had always seemed very easy-going, particularly so, in light of his recent circumstances. My confusion must have been apparent, because he continued ahead of me.
“I mean, because you’re… You’re a freaking scientist. You have a doctorate and an English accent. You’re from halfway around the world. Which is cool and all, but it’s not like we have a lot we can discuss together.”
“That’s not true,” I reacted immediately. “Those things don’t mean we have things in common. And who says we need to have a similar frame of reference in order to get along?”
Matthew cocked an eyebrow inquisitively. “You just said ‘frame of reference’ and you totally find me annoying.”
“That’s not true.”
“Doc, I can read minds.”
I turned away from him, idly preparing food. “I just don’t know you very well. That’s all.”
“You’re right. And for Molly’s sake we should probably get to know each other better.”
I nodded. But I was suddenly nervous. He may have been right about us being far too different in order to get along. It didn’t seem very likely a bisexual Indian man with a passion for theoretical genetic research would mesh very well in close living quarters with a fairly straightforward American male. Then again, most straightforward American males couldn’t read minds.
Matt is, Mohinder isn’t [tagged entries]