Everyone else is doing it, so...
Pretty much my favorite meme ever, swiped from all over my friends list:
When you see this, post a little weensy excerpt from as many random works-in-progress as you can find lying around. Who knows? Maybe inspiration will burst forth and do something, um, inspiration-y.
I have four things that I am currently considering works in progress, which doesn't seem like very many at all even if, combined, they total a quarter of a million words. *g*
Fall Out Boy story set in November 2001 (which everyone I talk to on AIM has heard alllllllll about)
Patrick struggled pretty uselessly when Pete tickled him--like he never got tickled enough as a kid to learn to really fight back, or like he didn't really mind. He laughed in a stupid way, all giggles and snorts and the occasional writhing howl when Pete hit a sweet spot. It was kind of addictive. It made Pete want to figure out every stupid noise he could get Patrick to make.
My Chemical Romance story set in mid-August 2004 (what's that you say? Gerard? sobriety? slash?)
"Okay," Frank said, eyeing the clock and doing the depressing math one more time. They had maybe three hours left until Brian would be knocking on the door and collecting them to go film their first honest to God serious fly-out-LA-for-two-days-of-filming music video. At this point Gerard could possibly catch a nap, and Frank really just wasn't going to get to sleep at all.
"Seriously, Gerard, you have to at least lie down." It was jet lag, mostly; they'd been in Japan three days ago, New Jersey this morning. Jet lag and the fact that for the first time since Frank had known him, Gerard wasn't swallowing anything that would help him sleep. He was out of practice doing it on his own.
"Sorry," Gerard said. He stopped pacing, as abruptly as if he'd hit a wall, and came over to the bed where Frank was sitting. "Sorry, I--"
"I know," Frank muttered, ignoring the apologies. Sorry was one of Gerard's new reflexes. It was painfully sincere and completely meaningless at the same time.
That little Numb3rs story that I have in fact been working on since the last time I did this meme. In July 2005.
"He called last night at midnight and told me he was going to stop by his office for a few minutes before he came home," his dad said, waving a hand. "I locked the doors and went to bed. Charlie probably fell asleep at his desk. He does that sometimes when he's got a big project."
He gave Don a little look, like he was scrupulously not saying A big project involving math, not that you pay any attention to Charlie's work when it doesn't involve your work, which was a lot to not say in a split-second glance. Don heard it loud and clear anyway, including his dad's merciful decision not to get into it right then. "He'll come home when he gets hungry."
Don grinned. "He's not a cat, Dad."
His dad smiled back and said, "No, he's a grown man, and he'll be here when he gets here. Now grab a couple of plates, dinner's almost ready."
Bones het/slash thing with Booth/Sully and Sully/Brennan and eventually Booth/Sully/Brennan, but not, actually, Booth/Brennan.
Sully said, "I thought--" when Booth let him up for air, and Booth knew he didn't want to hear whatever Sully thought.
He shoved Sully harder against the wall, full-body press, and covered his mouth with another rough kiss, teeth and lips mashing, his tongue sliding deep into Sully's open mouth.
But sooner or later Booth had to breathe himself, and he was distracted, trying to get Sully's shirt open. Sully whispered in his ear, "I thought you didn't cheat, Booth."
Booth's hands were already against Sully's chest, and Sully was already pressed to the wall, but Booth shoved him anyway and felt a little of Sully's breath run out against his cheek.
"I don't," he muttered, his mouth brushing the skin just above Sully's collar. "I'm not. I'm not dating anyone."
"But I'm d--" Sully said, and Booth bit down on the soft skin of Sully's throat just for a second, not long enough to leave much of a mark. Sully gasped and writhed against him and then said, "Brennan."
"Your conscience is not my problem," Booth mumbled, finally getting Sully's shirt open only to find a t-shirt beneath. His hands skimmed down to Sully's belt buckle. "And Bones doesn't even believe in monogamy."
"Uh-huh," Sully said.
Booth lifted his head far enough to see that smirk, then leaned in to wipe it away with another hard kiss. This wasn't about Bones. Bones wasn't here.
Okay, and one other My Chem thing that may or may not be a story but is definitely a work and is definitely in progress...
It starts with two boys, brothers, peculiar even in the peculiar place where they grew up. Gerard loved to read books, and to play elaborate adventurous games, and his brother Michael always played along, no matter how outlandish--even when Gerard decided that they would do amateur theatricals and he, Gerard, would in a noble spirit of self-sacrifice play the lady's part; even when Gerard decided they would be pirates and they commandeered a ship they didn't know how to sail, capsized and nearly drowned in a stiff breeze, half a mile from shore. They were rescued by fishermen, and it's the only time Michael remembers Gerard being whipped for anything; ever after that, though Michael loves the island, he fears the sea.
Their father was English (their mother and her mother were Jersey, and taught the boys to speak the language of the island, as well as French) and insisted that his sons have proper educations, sending them away to the foreign land of Essex for boarding school beginning at the age of eleven (Gerard left, in fact, not long after the incident of the boat; Michael refused to come even onto the dock to say farewell to his brother, but stood safely on the shore and held his grandmother's hand and pretended he was not crying). Gerard had always been odd in Jersey, but he was odder in England - they called him French, and he was beaten three times in one week for lapsing into Jersey in school, twice by the teachers and once by other boys, and while he learnt to avoid the teachers hitting him, the boys were not as easy to evade. His misery was only compounded three years later when Michael (he had always been Michel when they were little boys, as Gerard's name had always been pronounced in the French style, but no more, after the age of eleven; they were Englishmen thereafter as their father wished) joined him, for Michael's misery only compounded Gerard's own. For every mistake Gerard had explained to Michael how not to make, there was another Michael invented on his own, and he could not escape the stigma of being Way Minor, no matter how he might try.
It never seemed to Gerard that Michael tried very hard.
When you see this, post a little weensy excerpt from as many random works-in-progress as you can find lying around. Who knows? Maybe inspiration will burst forth and do something, um, inspiration-y.
I have four things that I am currently considering works in progress, which doesn't seem like very many at all even if, combined, they total a quarter of a million words. *g*
Fall Out Boy story set in November 2001 (which everyone I talk to on AIM has heard alllllllll about)
Patrick struggled pretty uselessly when Pete tickled him--like he never got tickled enough as a kid to learn to really fight back, or like he didn't really mind. He laughed in a stupid way, all giggles and snorts and the occasional writhing howl when Pete hit a sweet spot. It was kind of addictive. It made Pete want to figure out every stupid noise he could get Patrick to make.
My Chemical Romance story set in mid-August 2004 (what's that you say? Gerard? sobriety? slash?)
"Okay," Frank said, eyeing the clock and doing the depressing math one more time. They had maybe three hours left until Brian would be knocking on the door and collecting them to go film their first honest to God serious fly-out-LA-for-two-days-of-filming music video. At this point Gerard could possibly catch a nap, and Frank really just wasn't going to get to sleep at all.
"Seriously, Gerard, you have to at least lie down." It was jet lag, mostly; they'd been in Japan three days ago, New Jersey this morning. Jet lag and the fact that for the first time since Frank had known him, Gerard wasn't swallowing anything that would help him sleep. He was out of practice doing it on his own.
"Sorry," Gerard said. He stopped pacing, as abruptly as if he'd hit a wall, and came over to the bed where Frank was sitting. "Sorry, I--"
"I know," Frank muttered, ignoring the apologies. Sorry was one of Gerard's new reflexes. It was painfully sincere and completely meaningless at the same time.
That little Numb3rs story that I have in fact been working on since the last time I did this meme. In July 2005.
"He called last night at midnight and told me he was going to stop by his office for a few minutes before he came home," his dad said, waving a hand. "I locked the doors and went to bed. Charlie probably fell asleep at his desk. He does that sometimes when he's got a big project."
He gave Don a little look, like he was scrupulously not saying A big project involving math, not that you pay any attention to Charlie's work when it doesn't involve your work, which was a lot to not say in a split-second glance. Don heard it loud and clear anyway, including his dad's merciful decision not to get into it right then. "He'll come home when he gets hungry."
Don grinned. "He's not a cat, Dad."
His dad smiled back and said, "No, he's a grown man, and he'll be here when he gets here. Now grab a couple of plates, dinner's almost ready."
Bones het/slash thing with Booth/Sully and Sully/Brennan and eventually Booth/Sully/Brennan, but not, actually, Booth/Brennan.
Sully said, "I thought--" when Booth let him up for air, and Booth knew he didn't want to hear whatever Sully thought.
He shoved Sully harder against the wall, full-body press, and covered his mouth with another rough kiss, teeth and lips mashing, his tongue sliding deep into Sully's open mouth.
But sooner or later Booth had to breathe himself, and he was distracted, trying to get Sully's shirt open. Sully whispered in his ear, "I thought you didn't cheat, Booth."
Booth's hands were already against Sully's chest, and Sully was already pressed to the wall, but Booth shoved him anyway and felt a little of Sully's breath run out against his cheek.
"I don't," he muttered, his mouth brushing the skin just above Sully's collar. "I'm not. I'm not dating anyone."
"But I'm d--" Sully said, and Booth bit down on the soft skin of Sully's throat just for a second, not long enough to leave much of a mark. Sully gasped and writhed against him and then said, "Brennan."
"Your conscience is not my problem," Booth mumbled, finally getting Sully's shirt open only to find a t-shirt beneath. His hands skimmed down to Sully's belt buckle. "And Bones doesn't even believe in monogamy."
"Uh-huh," Sully said.
Booth lifted his head far enough to see that smirk, then leaned in to wipe it away with another hard kiss. This wasn't about Bones. Bones wasn't here.
Okay, and one other My Chem thing that may or may not be a story but is definitely a work and is definitely in progress...
It starts with two boys, brothers, peculiar even in the peculiar place where they grew up. Gerard loved to read books, and to play elaborate adventurous games, and his brother Michael always played along, no matter how outlandish--even when Gerard decided that they would do amateur theatricals and he, Gerard, would in a noble spirit of self-sacrifice play the lady's part; even when Gerard decided they would be pirates and they commandeered a ship they didn't know how to sail, capsized and nearly drowned in a stiff breeze, half a mile from shore. They were rescued by fishermen, and it's the only time Michael remembers Gerard being whipped for anything; ever after that, though Michael loves the island, he fears the sea.
Their father was English (their mother and her mother were Jersey, and taught the boys to speak the language of the island, as well as French) and insisted that his sons have proper educations, sending them away to the foreign land of Essex for boarding school beginning at the age of eleven (Gerard left, in fact, not long after the incident of the boat; Michael refused to come even onto the dock to say farewell to his brother, but stood safely on the shore and held his grandmother's hand and pretended he was not crying). Gerard had always been odd in Jersey, but he was odder in England - they called him French, and he was beaten three times in one week for lapsing into Jersey in school, twice by the teachers and once by other boys, and while he learnt to avoid the teachers hitting him, the boys were not as easy to evade. His misery was only compounded three years later when Michael (he had always been Michel when they were little boys, as Gerard's name had always been pronounced in the French style, but no more, after the age of eleven; they were Englishmen thereafter as their father wished) joined him, for Michael's misery only compounded Gerard's own. For every mistake Gerard had explained to Michael how not to make, there was another Michael invented on his own, and he could not escape the stigma of being Way Minor, no matter how he might try.
It never seemed to Gerard that Michael tried very hard.