whee! bandwagon shiny

[hope]

If you happen to be working on some creative writing project, fanfiction or NaNoWriMo or what have you, post exactly one sentence from each of your current work(s) in progress in your journal. It should probably be your favourite or most intriguing sentence so far, but what you choose is entirely your discretion. Mention the title (and genre) if you like, but don't mention anything else. This is merely to whet the general appetite for your forthcoming work(s).

how about passages instead of sentences? i like passages.


alphabet (faculty)
when they get home his mom stands about a foot away from him and brings their upper-bodies together by banding powdery arms around his shoulders and pulling powdery-tentative, her breasts squashing against his rib cage and her hair sticky against his face from styling spray.  his dad nods at him briefly from a few steps further down the hall then disappears into the living room, casey hears the tv click on as he heads up the stairs, lifting the draping robes to avoid standing on them and tripping up.


as-yet-untitled (supposedly epic plans, roadtrips, faculty)
zeke pulls his sweatshirt off when they get out of the car and casey realises that the day has overtaken them despite him; the smell of oil rises from the tarmac as if baked out, polished windshields and fenders glimmer blurrily in the intense sunlight.  he squints towards the low, squat building on the other side of the asphalt yard, zeke a figure rapidly approaching the middle-distance, blurred from either the heat or the sleep-squint of casey's eyes.  zeke pauses to light a cigarette and casey fumbles with his camera; by the time zeke has tapped one out of the crushed cardboard pack and lit it between his tightly-pressed lips casey has set the apeture and shutter speed, and lifts it up at arm-length, aiming it back towards him and beyond him before firing the shutter.  when he looks back, zeke is dragging thoughtfully on the cigarette, gazing out at the brief stretch of road in front of the gas station, cars fast but far between, sound fading gradually.


erm, untitled again (was meant for airgiodslv, i had have plans! i suck, sorry)
they both stand as josh comes up to the table, cheap wooden chair-legs sticking in the thick, beer-sticky carpet as the backs of their thighs push against them and elijah is closest because orlando was at the rear of the table to face the door and so josh moves to him first and the awkwardness is obvious as he goes to clap a hand onto elijah's shoulders or wrap an arm around the back of his neck or clap him into an embrace but elijah's hand jerks forward for a handshake and josh ends up gripping his forearm, elijah's forming a loose handcuff around josh's wrist in return with the closed-smile transferring elijah's face into a mask made visible by orlando's witnessing of it at its barest, and josh's grip slides over and off elijah's arm, wrist, hand, fingers, like a disrobed sleeve.



heh, okay, lets really scrape the barrel here - i'm now going through the fic folder on my hard drive that hasn't been opened for many many months. most of the folowing is the *only* thing i have written for the fic:


eothain.doc (lotr gen)
He'd only been to Edoras once before, but that was when he was too young to remember it.


movieverse.doc (lotr)
Frodo's laugh is bitter, and it echoes back into the catacombs behind them like water on the bare stone walls before descending into shapeless sound.


ponylij.doc (did i ever post this? the outsiders/lotrips)
The air is cool over his skin and he walks quicker, parts of his body touched colder where his legs were curled up, arms draped around his knees.  Pinprick stars that he'd watched glow into life with his head back against the old car seat in the vacant lot staying still as the dark weatherboard houses move slowly by him.    He shrugs his shoulders tenser in the worn jeans jacket, pulling the frayed cuffs lower around his knuckles, lifting the half-burnt cigarette to his lips, elbow close to his side.  The cherry glows red in the blue night and the smoke is warm.


wool.doc (lotr, frodo/sam (i assume) - there's a lot more than this, this is the last para:)
The bed, at least, that was still unmade; the coverlet cool already under his hands as he stretched to pull it straight.  The fabric was dense, heavy, with thick corded designs of leaves and curling vines stitched into it.  It felt smooth to the worn skin of his palms; but his feet tingled a little at the rich memory of it on sensitive nerves, healing skin.


randomcrap.doc (lotrips, dombillijah(?) o_O)
when dom wakes up he's alone.  billy's singing britney spears in the shower and his voice bounces off the slick tile while he remains invisible behind the plastic curtain as dom takes a piss.  elijah's on the playstation already, wearing nothing but boxer shorts and black-rimmed glasses, and the controlled resting on his knees.  there's a warm coffee cup with a have-smoked clove drowning in it on the coffee table behind him, and dom grimaces, at the antics of the oddly-jointed action figures on top of the tv guide.

"milk," he bleats from the kitchen, his first word of the day, startled out of him


Jocasta.doc (? lotrips, cate/elijah)
'why do you have to talk like that?'
'like what?'
'with that fucking accent?'


i was sure there were more of them. LE SIGH. i want to write again.