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[turps]

My mini nano pledge was 300 words. It's now 7 and I've yet to look at a file. However, I have had a productive day which included getting new books at the library and going for a lovely walk at the park. Now I've just had a shower which means I smell of Snow Fairy and have a hot cup of coffee and will get to those words.

My plan for this month is to finish my Help Pakistan story, in which stupid but brave decisions are made and people put in cages and cuddles given to the bruised and broken and branded. Also, start and work on a Killjoys story where Bob is a mechanic who has a workshop with Patrick and brave but stupid decisions are made and cuddles given to the bruised and broken. However, there'll be no cages, or branding. At least not that I've planned yet. I've also just seen there's only two months to write the h/c bingo stories, which is scary as I'm a moron who keeps forgetting to link my posted stories to the squares, simply because in my head each prompt should result in a fic specifically written for that prompt and those posted stories weren't.

Good luck to all you Nano people, and those waiting for your MtyG assignments.

And jumping topic completely. I wasn't impressed at all at the Strictly result this week >:(

Right. Words now. Then I can read some of the fic I have tabbed.

Comments

[turps33.livejournal.com]

\o/

I've started to write it and Bob has taken over a little bit in the first scenes. Not surprising as Mikey is unconscious after crashing his bike. But yeah, I'm indulging in shameless h/c right now.

[hammerhead22.livejournal.com]

Oh please, oh please to be sharing with the class. WANTSES.

[turps33.livejournal.com]

This may be mean as I'm nowhere near done, but.

Bob slams his hand on the dash, the muscles in his arm bunched. “I didn’t save your ass so you could go off and commit suicide.”

“I didn’t ask you to save it,” Mikey says, almost snarling.

“Maybe you didn’t, but I did anyway, so suck it up already and let me help you.” At the last Bob stops talking, and the sudden silence is ringing. Then he goes on, quieter. “Look, I know you want to get back. I want you to get back, I want you out of my fucking hair. But you can’t do it alone.”

More than anything Mikey wants to disagree. But with ill grace, he admits to himself that Bob’s got a point. “Fine. I’ll tell you, but if you give away the location you’re dead.”

Gears grind as Bob starts to drive. “Who the hell would I tell? It may have escaped your notice but I’m not exactly friends with S/C/A/R/E/C/R/O/W.”

Bracing himself against the bumping of the Jeep, Mikey rubs at one of his knees, feeling the bandage that conceals the stitches. His skin feels itchy, sore when he presses his fingers over the raised lines.

“Stop that.”

Mikey looks up and sees that Bob’s using the mirror to watch him. Deliberately rubbing again, Mikey says, “Or what?”

“Or I’ll put mittens on you,” Bob snaps back. “And tape them on.”

Mikey tries not to laugh, but Bob sounds serious and all Mikey can think about is what he’d look like with mittens on his own hands. For the first time in days he smiles, mouth curling up at the corner. “Can you even get mittens any more?”

“I’ll make some,” Bob says, and he’s still watching Mikey in the mirror. “Jesus, you’re hard work.”

“Not the first time I’ve been told that,” Mikey says, trying to get comfortable. Outside, they’ve moved from driving on sand to one of the dirt tracks that criss cross the zones, and Mikey stares into the darkness, trying to get his bearings. Head aching, he knows they’re still nearly an hour from home, and he seeks a distraction. “Why did you take me back any way?”

“You’re seriously asking that now?” Bob asks, sounding bemused.

“Never had the opportunity before.” Mikey slumps back, head tilted as he stares up where the stars should be. “And I was unconscious a lot.”

“I liked those times,” Bob says, without a hint of a smile. Then stops speaking and Mikey’s half asleep when Bob finally answers the question. “I’d never leave any human in the desert. Even if they are hostile fuckers with a paranoia complex.”

Mikey’s eyes are heavy and he’s staring blankly at the back of Bob’s neck, thinking of his reason for taking Mikey in. In a way it’s not that different to what the Killjoys believe, saving people but on a much more individual scale. Mikey rests his hand on his knee, palm flat and hoping the scant heat will ease the ache. “I’m not really that hostile.”

“I’ve lost count of how many times you’ve threatened to kill me,” Bob says. “That’s hostile.”

“That’s survival,” Mikey says, and then. “Keep following this track, I’ll tell you when to branch off.”

Bob nods and keeps driving.