skoosiepants: (mike!)
J is working overtime, which means I'm left to finish our basement by myself - in time for the new rug to be installed this friday. So far (just this past weekend) I've had to rip up the old rug, scrape the carpet pad off underneath where it was glued to the concrete in places, pry out the old disgusting carpet-covered baseboards, pry up the old carpet tacks, pry out the staples on the baseboard running up the stairs, hammer down all the staples that I couldn't pry up - essentially, I've realized that I'm old, and that my back hurts and my shoulders hurt and my hands can't properly open so much as a water bottle right now; I think the base of my thumb on my right hand is swollen. AND ON THE AGENDA TONIGHT: scrubbing the floor with bleach to get what padding I couldn't get up off the concrete and spackling and priming the walls. Ugh. Kill me.

Now, I'm currently contemplating who to focus my next Supersaturation 'verse fic on. I know I have to fix Joe and Bob, and I'm planning on giving some of the guys mini-clones (they're so cute!), but I need to have a newish character to focus on. I was thinking maybe Mike Kennerty? Or possibly Marshall. Is there anyone that I've touched on briefly that you guys want explored more?

ALSO: If I was, say, to write more of William's House of Orphans, what/who would you guys want written about?
skoosiepants: (bill)
Build Your House, Call Me Home | PG | 10,000+
William’s House of Orphans AU
William/Gabe, others implied

William is not entirely certain how this happened, how he became a veritable magnet for downtrodden orphans, but he’s going to blame Jon.

Warning: this is not even remotely historically, geographically, or culturally accurate in any way.
A/N: I don’t know if this qualifies as actual fic? I’m sorry. I’m just—really, really sorry. Title comes from Sara by Fleetwood Mac.

Build Your House, Call Me Home )
skoosiepants: (johnson is a ninja)
With the help of stele3 I've gotten Semagic up and running so I can post simultaneously here and at IJ, however I've realized that lots of times I post from work, where I won't have this magical thingamajig, but whatever! Maybe I'll just use it for important stuff instead of all this other crap.

Received some bad news yesterday. I'm still processing it, so let's talk about better things! Let's talk about William's House of Orphans!

Greta ambles in with Gabriel, lips pulled into a frown even though her eyes are smiling. “Well, I don’t know what you think I can do about this,” Greta says to William.

“You can take them away,” William says. He hugs his snifter to his chest.

Behind Gabriel, Jon sees, are two little boys pushing each other. Scuffling, really, and then behind those two little boys are three more, and Jon’s mouth twitches.

“Oh,” Ryan says, “do we have company?”

“They’re all named Alex,” William says, both his face and voice pained. “Or nearly.”

“Not really,” Gabriel says. He grabs one of the scuffling boys by his collar just when fists start getting involved, and flicks at his ear when the boy turns on him instead, using tiny feet on Gabriel’s shin. “This one’s Horatio or Sanchez or something. I remember the hair.”

“No.” William pinches the bridge of his nose. He always gets like that when he takes on another orphan. “No, I think that one’s just Ian.”
skoosiepants: (merlin)
I'm just a little hung up on what to write. Which means you're probably going to get poorly plotted AU fic, but whatever.

And omg, I'm on my fifth day off from work and I'm going insane. I can't wait to go back into the office tomorrow, you have no idea. Blessed peace and quiet! No cats lounging on my chest or dogs barking in my face! This is why I can never work from home.

ETA: Hey, I just updated my homepage, check it out and let me know what you think? Is it less confusing, more confusing, doesn't make much difference - I could make a poll, but I'm extremely lazy.

Also, for some reason, I'm still writing William's House of Orphans. It's kind of really, really bad :) Like, so so bad, oh man, but I'm having so much ridiculous fun:

Ryan never remembers to eat, but Spencer has long since stopped trying to collect him for dinner. It’s just as easy to cajole a tray out of Cook later than to ferret out wherever Ryan’s wandered off to.

So Spencer’s alone when he slips into the dining room and finds someone who he doesn’t know, grinning at Jon like Jon’s discovered chocolate ice cream or shoe buckles – Spencer’s awfully fond of shoe buckles – and Spencer’s stomach does this flip. This truly annoying giddy flip that he quickly covers with a frown and narrowed eyes. Spencer isn’t all that comfortable around strangers.

Victoria stops by Spencer’s side where he’s hovering in the doorway. Victoria has always been the greatest of tomboys, but she’s recently ceased lacing their fingers together, and she’s recently started donning the most ridiculous dresses that Spencer supposes are stylish, somewhere, but seem a great deal more hassle than the lighter skirts she could ruck up to her knees when they went tree climbing out back. She clasps his hand now, though, and tugs him further into the room, whispering out the side of her mouth, “His name’s Brendon, and I’m afraid he’s the most adorable boy I’ve ever laid eyes on.”

“More than me?” Spencer asks, smiling now, like he’s sure she meant to have happen.

Victoria pinches his arm playfully. “I just said, didn’t I?”

“Shrew,” Spencer says.

“Harpy,” Victoria counters.
skoosiepants: (bill)
He rubs his fingertips over his temples. “I should have never indulged Greta.”

“Like you ever have any say in what Greta does, Billy,” Gabriel says absently. He tilts his head back on the armchair and puffs at his pipe, teeth biting into the carved ivory.

Which is entirely true. They’re of like ages, and their families have been dear friends since years before either of them had been born, but if anyone’s the bully in their relationship, it’s Greta. William’s sure that’s how he’d gotten saddled with Butcher and Jon in the first place. If it’d been up to William, they both would’ve been raised in Derbyshire by Uncle Orlan, and William would’ve spent his bachelor years gallivanting about London, racking up massive gambling debts. Instead, he’s got Gabriel and a houseful of big-eyed orphans – but he thinks, in the end, he’s gotten a rather good deal. He’d never ever tell Gabriel or Greta that, though.

“You fret like an old woman,” Gabriel says. “Butcher’s known Siska for years, it’ll all work out fine.”

William is disinclined to believe him, but there’s nothing to be done about it now.
skoosiepants: (butcher)
Remember that little brain fart of an idea I had in October about William's house of orphans? Yeah, um, I kind of ran with it. THIS IS NOT EVEN REMOTELY HISTORICALLY ACCURATE AT ALL. Right now I'm writing the part where Siska's coming back to Beckett Manor as a boy for the very first time - there's this whole thing where he's Greta's ward and he really wants to actually be a girl, but he's fourteen now and he can't really get away with it anymore - and he's worried how his very best friend Butcher is going to react!! HERE, HAVE SOME CHEEKY JON WALKER, SIR WILLIAM'S WARD:

William is not entirely certain how this happened, how he became a veritable magnet for downtrodden orphans, but he’s going to blame Jon. Jon, who currently looks like a common street rat, dirt streaking his rosy cheeks and just south of his pert smile, perfectly serviceable breeches just that morning now torn beyond repair. Victoria isn’t going to like this one little bit.

“Care to explain yourself, Jonathan?” William asks, arching an eyebrow.

Jon just grins wider.

Honestly, William’s been saddled with the cheekiest ward. He doesn’t think he was this much trouble when he was fourteen.

“This reminds me exactly of you,” Gabriel says, slouching negligently against the hearth mantel, curve of his mouth much too amused for William’s comfort. William’s trying to be firm here, to lay some ground rules, so as young Mr. Walker can’t, er. Walk all over him. It’s bad enough Jon’s talked him into having the laconic, kitten-eyed Ross and his fierce little protector hanging about, snagging his best guest rooms, pestering Cook for warm tarts and hot cocoa.

“Stuff it, Gabe,” William says, cutting him a small frown before turning once again to Jon and the little bit of a thing clutching the back of Jon’s once snowy-white shirt. “Jon.”

Jon’s smile falters the slightest measure at William’s tone, and William watches as the little bit of a thing’s eyes widen, suddenly fearful, and William isn’t an ogre. William’s entirely too soft for his own good, apparently.

“You,” William says, and Jon’s mouth downturns even further, like William doesn’t have a good ten years on him, and his voice is practically a reprimand when he says, “Brendon.”

Jon is a whelp and the bane of William’s existence. He’s lucky William’s so fond of him.

William pinches the bridge of his nose and ignores Gabriel’s snickering. “Just. Clean him up, would you,” he says, because he won’t stand for grubby little paw prints all over the manor.


skoosiepants: (Default)


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