rheasilvia: (ZYL strength)
We won a Hugo, you guys! The AO3 was awarded the 2019 Hugo Award in the category Best Related Work - and to me that really does mean that we all won a Hugo. It's our archive, our community and our fanworks.

I am so thrilled that fanworks are gaining more and more mainstream attention and acceptance. And you've all had a hand in that development. Congratulations to you! :-)


In other news, I wrote something! Have an excerpt from my current WiP. (Errrrm. One of them.)

~~~

Da Qing materialized from the shadows around the HQ’s entrance as Yunlan swung off the motorcycle. He sauntered over with a deceptively casual air to brush lightly past his legs, tail waving in studied indifference. “Lin Jing just arrived. He’s upset. You’ll have to threaten him again, I think.”

Yunlan hmmed thoughtfully. “We’ll see.” Da Qing followed him as he pushed the bike through the SID’s doors, parking it in the lobby in blatant violation of bureau rules. The cat was still lingering when Yunlan had kicked down the bike stand and hung his helmet from the handle, so he picked him up and carried him through into the main office. Da Qing allowed it, even snuggling into him a bit when Yunlan held him close. It said a lot about how rough Yunlan must be looking, to be honest. Usually Da Qing didn’t like being carried. Yunlan was glad he was making an exception; the warm weight of his best and oldest friend was grounding, even if his cat’s affection couldn’t touch the cold, hollow loneliness he hadn’t been able to shake.

~~~

I've been waffling about posting this because I'm not terribly satisfied with it, but then I reminded myself that the Sunday Six are about celebrating having written something. And I did write something this week! That's definitely progress. :-)
rheasilvia: (Guardian life ruiners)
Yay, for once I have Sunday Sixes to post! I wrote something today - not for one of the four WIPs I already have, of course, but for something entirely new. At least this story should be fairly short, and I already have a title idea. What could go wrong?? (insert maniacal giggle here)

 
He woke with a full-body jerk, soaked in cold sweat and the taste of blood in his mouth. His hand tried to close around the hilt of a sword that wasn’t there; he groped across unexpected softness, tangled himself in a blanket and fell heavily to the floor.

What the - damn it. Damn it, how could he have been so careless - he froze, but if an enemy was in the vicinity it was far too late, and - where was his sword? How -

He put a hand to his stomach, but the skin was whole and unbroken, and nothing hurt. It was dark, he was unarmed, and he had no idea where he was, but there was a solid surface at his back, and he was not injured. If there was anyone here who would harm him, he hoped for their sake they had brought reinforcements.
 

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