WIP meme
When you see this, post a snippet from your works-in-progress. Stolen from 
hungerpunch
Man, I really want to start really delving into some of these again, but most are lower on my priority list after IBB and finishing some long WIPs (not featured). Some of these were started all the way back in ae_match and then I have one random Muppets WIP. What even?
Ink (a.k.a. the failed IBB fic)
Arthur has had his fake I.D. for a year now. It’s not all that surprising that someone his age has one. That’s not it at all; many of his classmates do. It’s not even surprising that the only time he uses his I.D. is to buy alcohol. What is surprising is who that alcohol is for. He makes sure to go to several stores, regularly enough that they they know him and believe he’s of age, but spreading out the trips so it doesn’t look like he’s singularly supplying the Friday night high school parties.
He’s not though. He doesn’t usually go to those parties. He’s only ever there when Ariadne wants to get drunk and drags him along as her designated driver, wing-man, or pretend boyfriend if the night is going poorly. Arthur doesn’t drink. It’s not some goody two-shoes stance on being sober and clearheaded. He’s not straightedge and doesn’t subscribe to the idea that if he’s in control of his substance intake, he’s ultimately in control of his life. Simply put, he doesn’t drink because he doesn’t want to become his father.
Laugh (a.k.a. someone hits their breaking point)
A wild sense of hysteria swells from within him, coming straight from his stomach and threatening to burst forth from his throat in panicked laughter. He chokes it back down, tears springing from his eyes when the pain he’s been forcefully ignoring courses like a lit fuse across his body. The whiplash reversal of emotion is how he knows he can’t hold on much longer.
There’s only so much a man can take.
Take a Look at Your Face (a.k.a that story I was writing with knowmydark in mind & never got around to finishing)
Arthur hates situations like this. He tries to prevent them as much as possible by vetting anyone he works with, but even he can’t predict when a formerly reliable coworker will decide money is worth the risk of pissing off the best point-man in the business. He’s not being arrogant when he thinks of himself this way; it’s the truth. In the six years he’s spent in the dream sharing underworld, he has risen to the top. He’s worked damn hard for it as well. Over those years he’s found a few truly reliable people, often in the least likely of candidates.
He had thought Cobb was one of the trustworthy ones, at one point, but the Inception job had proven him wrong on that. He does still have a few people he would trust his life with: Yin, Marcel, Whitney, Gracen and Quinne. There are more that he’ll work with consistently, whom he has never had a professional problem with, though there are plenty of personal problems to go around. He’s practical though, and leaves those issues at the door. Arthur, when pressed, can work with anyone. His current colleagues had been in the never given him reason to doubt category until just an hour ago.
And then there’s Eames. Eames is in a category all his own.
He doesn’t know exactly when it happened, but sometime over the ten years they’ve known each other, Eames became the only person that Arthur will willingly allow kill him in dreams. Anyone else and he’d rather shoot himself. Any one else and he’d better be subdued or already dying, because he’ll take out whoever points a gun at him first.
We All Go Down In Flames (a.k.a. all the cries deathfic, that plane crash prompt everyone and their dog filled)
"... I just, I didn't think it would be like this. I'm not unrealistic. I know our job has risks. But I thought I had more time, you know? That I would see it coming.
Fuck.
Eames?
I’m so sorry. I should have come to Morocco with you. If I had... If I’d just said yes, this wouldn’t. I just wish I could tell... I want to tell you. I just need to say it. Okay?
It’s just....
Oh fuck. Oh fuck!
I love...”
(*beep* you have no more unheard messages)
The worst idea for a fic ever (a.k.a. sadistically torturing herinfiniteeyes by ruining her childhood)
“Oh Kermie, you look beautiful like this. Almost as beautiful as moi. Do you love me? I know you do.”
Kermit strains against the black leather cuffs that are securely wrapped around the delicate bones of his thin wrists. He would never be able to slip his big hands through. He’s trapped. The nasal whine of his voice is muffled behind the spit-slick, red ball that is shoved into his mouth. It’s secured with a silver buckle behind his head and the straps lay uncomfortably against the skin of his bony cheeks.
Miss Piggy approaches the bed, swaying her hips in a forced show of seduction. She’s wearing her favorite pink lingerie, the ones covered in beading that catches the dim lighting, glinting it off the crystal edges, and a feather boa draped across her shoulders.The voluptuous swell of her breasts strain against the thin lace of the top. Kermit can see the hint of nipple hidden beneath, rosy pink and stiff with arousal. The elastic of her panties presses into her peach skin, pillowing the flesh above the band. Kermit’s cock jumps in appreciation at the sight.
You can read this entry at dreamwidth where it has
comments.
hungerpunch
Man, I really want to start really delving into some of these again, but most are lower on my priority list after IBB and finishing some long WIPs (not featured). Some of these were started all the way back in ae_match and then I have one random Muppets WIP. What even?
Ink (a.k.a. the failed IBB fic)
Arthur has had his fake I.D. for a year now. It’s not all that surprising that someone his age has one. That’s not it at all; many of his classmates do. It’s not even surprising that the only time he uses his I.D. is to buy alcohol. What is surprising is who that alcohol is for. He makes sure to go to several stores, regularly enough that they they know him and believe he’s of age, but spreading out the trips so it doesn’t look like he’s singularly supplying the Friday night high school parties.
He’s not though. He doesn’t usually go to those parties. He’s only ever there when Ariadne wants to get drunk and drags him along as her designated driver, wing-man, or pretend boyfriend if the night is going poorly. Arthur doesn’t drink. It’s not some goody two-shoes stance on being sober and clearheaded. He’s not straightedge and doesn’t subscribe to the idea that if he’s in control of his substance intake, he’s ultimately in control of his life. Simply put, he doesn’t drink because he doesn’t want to become his father.
Laugh (a.k.a. someone hits their breaking point)
A wild sense of hysteria swells from within him, coming straight from his stomach and threatening to burst forth from his throat in panicked laughter. He chokes it back down, tears springing from his eyes when the pain he’s been forcefully ignoring courses like a lit fuse across his body. The whiplash reversal of emotion is how he knows he can’t hold on much longer.
There’s only so much a man can take.
Take a Look at Your Face (a.k.a that story I was writing with knowmydark in mind & never got around to finishing)
Arthur hates situations like this. He tries to prevent them as much as possible by vetting anyone he works with, but even he can’t predict when a formerly reliable coworker will decide money is worth the risk of pissing off the best point-man in the business. He’s not being arrogant when he thinks of himself this way; it’s the truth. In the six years he’s spent in the dream sharing underworld, he has risen to the top. He’s worked damn hard for it as well. Over those years he’s found a few truly reliable people, often in the least likely of candidates.
He had thought Cobb was one of the trustworthy ones, at one point, but the Inception job had proven him wrong on that. He does still have a few people he would trust his life with: Yin, Marcel, Whitney, Gracen and Quinne. There are more that he’ll work with consistently, whom he has never had a professional problem with, though there are plenty of personal problems to go around. He’s practical though, and leaves those issues at the door. Arthur, when pressed, can work with anyone. His current colleagues had been in the never given him reason to doubt category until just an hour ago.
And then there’s Eames. Eames is in a category all his own.
He doesn’t know exactly when it happened, but sometime over the ten years they’ve known each other, Eames became the only person that Arthur will willingly allow kill him in dreams. Anyone else and he’d rather shoot himself. Any one else and he’d better be subdued or already dying, because he’ll take out whoever points a gun at him first.
We All Go Down In Flames (a.k.a. all the cries deathfic, that plane crash prompt everyone and their dog filled)
"... I just, I didn't think it would be like this. I'm not unrealistic. I know our job has risks. But I thought I had more time, you know? That I would see it coming.
Fuck.
Eames?
I’m so sorry. I should have come to Morocco with you. If I had... If I’d just said yes, this wouldn’t. I just wish I could tell... I want to tell you. I just need to say it. Okay?
It’s just....
Oh fuck. Oh fuck!
I love...”
(*beep* you have no more unheard messages)
The worst idea for a fic ever (a.k.a. sadistically torturing herinfiniteeyes by ruining her childhood)
“Oh Kermie, you look beautiful like this. Almost as beautiful as moi. Do you love me? I know you do.”
Kermit strains against the black leather cuffs that are securely wrapped around the delicate bones of his thin wrists. He would never be able to slip his big hands through. He’s trapped. The nasal whine of his voice is muffled behind the spit-slick, red ball that is shoved into his mouth. It’s secured with a silver buckle behind his head and the straps lay uncomfortably against the skin of his bony cheeks.
Miss Piggy approaches the bed, swaying her hips in a forced show of seduction. She’s wearing her favorite pink lingerie, the ones covered in beading that catches the dim lighting, glinting it off the crystal edges, and a feather boa draped across her shoulders.The voluptuous swell of her breasts strain against the thin lace of the top. Kermit can see the hint of nipple hidden beneath, rosy pink and stiff with arousal. The elastic of her panties presses into her peach skin, pillowing the flesh above the band. Kermit’s cock jumps in appreciation at the sight.
You can read this entry at dreamwidth where it has
comments.