Post a single sentence from each WIP you have going (or as many as you feel like). No context, no explanations. No more than one sentence! I’m going to make the executive decision, “WIP’s that I haven’t started posting yet” in addition to that “as many as you feel like.”

Ambling slowly away from the spot and back onto a busier street, he tried very hard not to hear his partner’s voice in his head describing the instrument as ‘some gay-ass flute,’ but obviously failing.

Gojyo was overreacting, as he often did.

At the same time, there was something about him, something underneath that softness, that intrigued Akabane.

And it was only a matter of time, sleeping together, before they’d started sleeping together.

It was true, of course, but as a martial artist — as an actor — he should have better timing than that; you didn’t tell a girl you loved her in response to her apology for killing and enslaving you!

The pavement within the little clearing he’d entered was stained with blood in varying shades, from the glaring crimson of freshly-spilt to the decaying near-black of long-dried, and in the midst of this mess lay a half-clothed, headless corpse.

There were some people she could think of — mostly male — who would prefer complete docility in the woman who was considered their property, especially when it came to sex.

While Crawford was not about to let Schuldig’s behavior dictate his own, he also was not about to hurry back to be annoyed by him when he didn’t have to.

Finally Yohji’s face slipped back into its customary nonchalant, flirtatious smile, whether in a badly-conceived attempt at being placating or to try to brave his way through the situation with normalcy, Aya did not know.

In Kenshin’s case, ‘good friends’ meant he was kind and solicitous and pleasant to them; in Aoshi’s, that he nodded at them if they managed somehow to seize his attention in passing.

And he would notice abstractly how Soujirou hummed absently when he wasn’t concentrating on anything; or how the slight widening of Soujirou’s smile on meeting his eyes was perfectly unconcerned, unabashed.

He had to look; it was almost a masochistic urge, to turn and see the condemnation and hatred in their eyes… perhaps that would seal his heart up more effectively than ignoring them.

It was long and had a tendency to jump around, and levels of detail varied from the description of one event to the next — but Katsu was used to Sano’s style and followed with little trouble.

Too overcome even to give him a parting kick, Enishi turned and walked away, but he was not above a parting verbal blow: “You never deserved her anyway.”

Fujita-san had a secret admirer.

There was an edge to Tokio’s voice that might have been uncompromisingly hard if she hadn’t sounded so weak and tired.

For a man who could predict his enemy’s movements and who could get to the heart of emotional matters and say just the right words at the right moment, Kenshin was surprisingly obtuse about some things.

“Do you think I haven’t noticed the way you’ve been staring at me?” Saitou demanded, “or that you’ve gotten yourself arrested more and more, and for stupider things, lately?”

“Still,” she said, “if the Oniwabanshuu are here to deal with enemies, I don’t think Aoshi-san will be much interested in being set up with whichever of your freeloaders you want to set him up with.”

“You say that as if you dumped him,” Saitou smirked.

“I mean that your purposeless life might well have driven home the fact that you’re nothing special.”

“From what I understand, you spend enough time at the police station yourself that it couldn’t have been very long before you ran into me.”

Saitou seized both edges of his gi and yanked him forward violently, pulling him so close their faces were nearly touching.

“I’ve been sleeping with you for six months and you never bothered to tell me that my hair looks like crap in the morning!?”

“If I were to run off after the ‘bad guys,’ it would rather defeat the point of being undercover, wouldn’t it?”

Sano was a little surprised when he woke up — not because of the strong arms encircling him or the calm breath against his face, but because he hadn’t thought he would be able to fall asleep in the first place.

Glancing over Sano’s shoulder and noting the direction he’d come Saitou added, “And how is Battousai’s harem doing today?”

What he really wanted to say was, “God damn this fucking little thing,” but what came out was, “Gotta get this fun little thing,” consequent upon his remembering his promise not to swear in front of the kids.

“I don’t care that you came to Kyoto and I don’t care that you’re Himura’s friend; it’s not my job to clean up after you, so next time you can just get yourself hanged so we can all be free of your idiocy.”

He doubted Sano’s friends would be terribly pleased by the awareness of just how familiar Saitou was with all of them.

Saitou hated anyone to know his human weaknesses, and as such became even grouchier when they manifested.

Unless Saitou’s memory was faulty on several points, the apparition before him resembled the real Okita as much as anyone or anything could hope to years after Okita’s death.

It was their standing, silent arrangement that whenever business was bad or Sano was behind on the rent or just needed some extra spending money, he could come to Saitou and Saitou would pay whatever he asked for his services.

Interestingly enough, the guy was curled up not on the couch, as Sean was fairly sure had been the plan, but on the coffee table.