Coming Out of the WIP Closet Day Post #3
I keep forgetting to mention this, but there's a community for WIP Amnesty day. Go join wip_amnesty and post links to your WIPs for posterity. I don't know why. All the cool kids are doing it.
So my last installment for WIP Amnesty day is movieslash. Specifically, a bunch of fics I started in fandoms I sort of abandoned awhile back. Looking at all this stuff makes me miss them, though, and that is a dangerous thing.
Chaos Theory -- it's a lame title, but that's what the file says, so I might as well own up to it
This one stopped in mid-sentence. No lie. In fact, I'm going to go ahead and post it with the last, unfinished sentence intact, just because I find that amusing. I very rarely just stop in the middle of a sentence like that. It's a little disturbing.
I have no idea what this fic was going to be about. I think there was going to be making out behind the bleachers and possibly some groping at some point. I should have finished this one, but I was scared of Ricky/Clifford sex back then. I can't remember why anymore. You know what, maybe I will finish this thing someday. Ricky needs some sex, man. He's way too uptight.
Sometimes Ricky thought that people were right to be afraid of him. It didn’t matter that they were afraid for all the wrong reasons; what counted was that they stayed away, because letting people get too close to him was dangerous. Some of the thoughts that went through his mind scared even him, and ever since Clifford came into his life they’d gotten worse. Before his brother he hadn’t really given it much thought, but since then he’d had a lot of time to himself with nothing to do but think.
For awhile after his brother died he hadn’t thought about much besides how he broke everything he touched; even in the hospital after he tried to kill himself he spent a lot of time hating himself, telling himself he couldn’t even get something as simple as dying right. After they finally declared him healthy enough to leave he kept to himself as much as possible - it was safer that way, because as long as people didn’t get close to him he couldn’t hurt them. That lasted until he started his sophomore year for the second time, a day late and with his stomach twisted in knots at the thought of facing all those rumors every day for the rest of the year.
He didn’t notice Clifford right away; in fact he did everything he could not to look at the other kids as he chose a seat at the back of the room. Blending had never been very easy for him, but he’d spent the past year working hard to become as invisible as possible, and he was pretty sure he could do it at school too. It worked great at home, at least as far as his dad was concerned. His mother noticed him a little more, but she was usually too busy with work to pay much attention to what he was doing when he locked himself in his room.
If he could trick his own father into forgetting he was around, it shouldn’t have been hard to trick a bunch of high school kids into pretending he wasn’t there. At first it was easy to tell himself that was what he wanted, but once he finally noticed Clifford everything changed. It started with the day he watched Clifford getting shoved around on the basketball court; at first he didn’t think much of the small, skinny kid who’d somehow managed to become Moody’s favorite victim. But then Clifford had chased after him and propositioned him, and right away Ricky had been able to tell that this wasn’t just another kid for Moody to push around. There was something special about Clifford, something he’d seen the first time Clifford spoke to him.
The second time he felt it was the day he found Clifford soaking wet, mostly naked and trapped in a locker. The fire in Clifford’s eyes when the other boy invited him to finish what Moody had started made Ricky want to laugh, but the truth was that part of him had wanted to do…something. He wasn’t sure what, exactly, but from that moment on he couldn’t help wondering if part of the reason Moody picked on Clifford so much was because he saw the same thing in him that Ricky did.
Before Clifford he’d never given much thought to Moody one way or the other, but as soon as it occurred to him that Moody might want more from Clifford than just his lunch money Ricky had gone from disinterest to outright hatred. He couldn’t do anything about it; his mother already spent enough time worrying about him as it was, and the last thing he needed was to give the teachers more reason to be afraid of him. Sometimes, though, he wanted nothing more than to get Moody alone and explain to him exactly who Clifford belonged to.
The whole thing was crazy, and he’d done everything he could to get those weird thoughts out of his head. For one thing Clifford didn’t belong to him; they were friends, but that was as far as it was ever going to go. He told himself that every time they were alone together, whether they were hanging out at the hotel or Clifford was tagging along with him to look for parts to fix his bike. There were times when it was hard to remember that, though - times like the night he told Clifford about his brother - right before the dam burst and he’d spilled his guts out to this kid he barely even knew, he’d had Clifford pressed up against that metal pole and it felt…right. Terrifying and exhilarating and so wrong, but right all the same.
It was only because of Clifford’s softly whispered ‘Jesus’ that Ricky realized he’d finally said the truth out loud, and even then he wasn’t sure whether it had really happened or if he was just having one of those crazy dreams he used to have in the hospital. He’d never planned on telling anybody, only from the first moment he laid eyes on Clifford part of him had wanted to tell him everything. He still wasn’t sure why he did it, whether it was to push Clifford away once and for all or if he was trying to make the other boy feel sorry enough for him to stay.
After that he knew there was no getting rid of Clifford. And part of him was happier than he’d ever been in his life, because it meant that Clifford really was his no matter what anybody else said about him. The only problem was that it still wasn’t enough, and he knew he was never going to get everything he wanted. He couldn’t even if he was brave enough to ask, because no matter how tough or funny or mature Clifford tried to act, he was totally naïve about a lot of things. He had his crazy grandmother and his hotel and his telescope, and Ricky had dark, hazy memories of blood and the smell of gunpowder and the steady electric hum of the TV in a dark, lonely house in the wrong side of town.
Clifford should have been the light at the center of all of that, but somehow Ricky’s mind managed to make even his memories of his only friend dark somehow. He spent a lot of time when he was alone thinking about Clifford; at first he’d fixated on the weird vendetta between Clifford and Moody, wondering what had sparked it and whether he was imagining the pleasure Clifford took in egging Moody on. Other times there was the image burned into his memory of a fragile-looking, pale figure shivering inside one of the gym lockers, blue eyes flashing defiantly even though he was completely at Ricky’s mercy.
And that was the thought that always tripped him up, because Clifford at his mercy was something that Ricky wasn’t supposed to want. He shouldn’t even think about it, because they were friends and he knew Clifford trusted him. Trusted him not to think weird, perverted thoughts about what he would have liked to do that day in the locker room, stuff Clifford had probably never considered even long enough to wonder if it was possible.
There was nothing he could do about any of it; he couldn’t tell Clifford to take a hike and go back to being the mysterious loner, he’d already tried that approach plenty of times and Clifford wasn’t going for it. He couldn’t act on any of his strange urges, either, because even though he knew Clifford wouldn’t tell anybody he didn’t really want to lose their friendship that way. He didn’t want to lose it at all, not really, because if he couldn’t have what he really wanted from Clifford at least he got something.
He got tonight, for instance, and there was no way he’d be doing this if it hadn’t been for Clifford. They’d only been inside the gym for five minutes and he’d already gotten
The ice cream fic.
I have no idea where this one was going, which is probably why it ended up going nowhere at all. Thankfully my flirtation with this fandom was brief. This snippet illustrates why very nicely.
Ice cream always made him think of their first date. And okay, it hadn’t actually been a date, and they’d never actually gotten around to the ice cream, but it would have if they hadn’t spotted Bombay and that Iceland chick coming out of the ice cream place together. He can laugh about it now, about what it betrayal it seemed like at the time. After all, it was almost three years ago, and stuff that seemed important then didn’t even register now.
Hockey was still important - it was the reason they were still at Eden Hall - but it wasn't their whole world anymore. It was still Banks' whole world, and possibly Charlie's, but to the rest of them it was just a game they had to play to keep their scholarships. Not that the scholarship had ever been important to him; he hadn't even wanted to take it at first, but he was glad Coach Bombay had finally talked him into it.
"Chocolate chocolate chip," he announced as he reached their table, waving Fulton's cone in front of him until the other boy looked up.
The smile he got when Fulton finally looked at him made his knees a little weak, so he sat down before he fell down and watched while Fulton lifted his ice cream. He'd never been very good at pretending he wasn't staring, though, and before Fulton even tasted it he frowned and glanced down at his cone. "What?"
"What?" Portman repeated, working up his best confused look.
"You're staring at me," Fulton said, a hint of exasperation creeping into his voice. "This isn't poisoned or anything, is it? You know if you're sick of me you can just say so."
"Nah, if I was sick of you I'd kill you in your sleep," Portman answered, grinning at the scowl he knew Fulton didn't mean.
"That's really comforting, thanks, Portman."
Fulton/Portman -- sequel to "Kingdom of One"
For all rights and purposes this fic should have been finished months ago. It's just a smutty follow-up to the first Mighty Ducks fic I wrote, but for whatever reason I got stuck and then just abandoned it.
His heart stops when Portman walks into the locker room. At first he thinks maybe he's taken one too many blows to the head, but then he hears that voice and he knows it's real. He also knows Bombay had something to do with the eleventh hour reunion of the Bash Brothers, and he doesn't know whether to be grateful or terrified. Both feelings give way to relief when Portman pulls him close and hugs him, and Fulton barely notices the rest of the team pressing around them because Portman hasn't let go of his hand.
He doesn't think anybody notices; everybody's hyped up over the game and Portman's big entrance, so he lets himself hold on for as long as he can. When they do let go it's time to head back to the ice, but Fulton knows his mind won't be on the rest of the game. Portman makes sure of that when he gets himself thrown in the penalty box just a few minutes after he hits the ice and starts taking his clothes off.
Fulton tells himself Portman isn't doing it for his benefit. He tells himself Portman's just hyped up about the game, that he's used to being the center of attention and he's just making sure all eyes are on him. The fact that one pair of those eyes belong to Fulton doesn't have anything to do with it.
Besides, it doesn't matter what Portman's doing, because there's still a game to play and they're back down to one Bash Brother again, which means the pressure's on Fulton to perform. He hears Portman calling his name but ignores it, keeping his attention on the game and the varsity players who are gunning even harder for him now that he's back on the ice without his other half. But even he can't avoid the penalty box forever, and when he skates by he can't help stealing just a quick glance at Portman.
It's not his fault. Anybody would have looked; the guy's practically got his own gravitational pull. Only when Fulton does look he finds Portman looking right back at him, and as soon as their eyes lock he remembers every second of what that still bare chest felt like pressed against him. And now he's hard and left to fend off the entire varsity line-up by himself, and all he can do is pray that he makes it through the rest of the game without humiliating himself.
This is technically book fic, I suppose, but there are movies so I'm calling it movie fic.
Percy/Oliver. And this is why I don't write HP.
This is as far as I got. It took me four tries and a month to get this far. I still say it's because the challenges were so lame (this one was supposed to be about Percy getting anonymous love notes) but part of my failure was due to my intense fear of writing British characters.
"Not again."
The voice was low and full of misery, and pitched just right to draw Oliver out of the light sleep in which he'd been hovering for the past half hour. He blinked several times to clear last vestiges of sleep from his vision, squinting at the bright light that was partially blocked by the figure standing in front of the window. "All right, Perc?"
The other boy started at the sound of his name, tucking something into his robes before he pulled the window shut and turned to face Oliver. "I didn't mean to wake you."
"S'okay," Oliver mumbled, reaching up to rub the sleep out of his eyes. He watched Percy walk back toward his own bed, one hand still stuffed firmly in his pocket. "What've you got there?"
"It's nothing," Percy answered, but he didn't look away fast enough to hide his blush. "Sorry I woke you."
Oliver rolled onto his back, pushing himself up on one elbow to watch the other boy shift books back and forth on his bedside table for a few moments before he finally gathered most of them up and started toward the door. He started to call after Percy; there was obviously something bothering the other boy, and he had a feeling it had to do with whatever Percy had stuffed into his pocket.
Instead he watched Percy let himself out of their room, no doubt headed for the library even though he hadn't had breakfast yet. He'd been spending more and more time on his own lately, more than was normal even for Percy. Oliver sighed and pushed himself into a sitting position, running a hand through sleep-rumpled hair.
And thus ends my contribution to WIP Amnesty day. I'm sure I have more movieslash lying around unfinished on my hard drive (like the Ghost Ship AU that will never get written even though I still love the idea), but this is everything I think I can bear for people to see. Except for the sequel to "Bells Will Be Ringing", but I've already posted the beginning of that.
So my last installment for WIP Amnesty day is movieslash. Specifically, a bunch of fics I started in fandoms I sort of abandoned awhile back. Looking at all this stuff makes me miss them, though, and that is a dangerous thing.
Chaos Theory -- it's a lame title, but that's what the file says, so I might as well own up to it
This one stopped in mid-sentence. No lie. In fact, I'm going to go ahead and post it with the last, unfinished sentence intact, just because I find that amusing. I very rarely just stop in the middle of a sentence like that. It's a little disturbing.
I have no idea what this fic was going to be about. I think there was going to be making out behind the bleachers and possibly some groping at some point. I should have finished this one, but I was scared of Ricky/Clifford sex back then. I can't remember why anymore. You know what, maybe I will finish this thing someday. Ricky needs some sex, man. He's way too uptight.
Sometimes Ricky thought that people were right to be afraid of him. It didn’t matter that they were afraid for all the wrong reasons; what counted was that they stayed away, because letting people get too close to him was dangerous. Some of the thoughts that went through his mind scared even him, and ever since Clifford came into his life they’d gotten worse. Before his brother he hadn’t really given it much thought, but since then he’d had a lot of time to himself with nothing to do but think.
For awhile after his brother died he hadn’t thought about much besides how he broke everything he touched; even in the hospital after he tried to kill himself he spent a lot of time hating himself, telling himself he couldn’t even get something as simple as dying right. After they finally declared him healthy enough to leave he kept to himself as much as possible - it was safer that way, because as long as people didn’t get close to him he couldn’t hurt them. That lasted until he started his sophomore year for the second time, a day late and with his stomach twisted in knots at the thought of facing all those rumors every day for the rest of the year.
He didn’t notice Clifford right away; in fact he did everything he could not to look at the other kids as he chose a seat at the back of the room. Blending had never been very easy for him, but he’d spent the past year working hard to become as invisible as possible, and he was pretty sure he could do it at school too. It worked great at home, at least as far as his dad was concerned. His mother noticed him a little more, but she was usually too busy with work to pay much attention to what he was doing when he locked himself in his room.
If he could trick his own father into forgetting he was around, it shouldn’t have been hard to trick a bunch of high school kids into pretending he wasn’t there. At first it was easy to tell himself that was what he wanted, but once he finally noticed Clifford everything changed. It started with the day he watched Clifford getting shoved around on the basketball court; at first he didn’t think much of the small, skinny kid who’d somehow managed to become Moody’s favorite victim. But then Clifford had chased after him and propositioned him, and right away Ricky had been able to tell that this wasn’t just another kid for Moody to push around. There was something special about Clifford, something he’d seen the first time Clifford spoke to him.
The second time he felt it was the day he found Clifford soaking wet, mostly naked and trapped in a locker. The fire in Clifford’s eyes when the other boy invited him to finish what Moody had started made Ricky want to laugh, but the truth was that part of him had wanted to do…something. He wasn’t sure what, exactly, but from that moment on he couldn’t help wondering if part of the reason Moody picked on Clifford so much was because he saw the same thing in him that Ricky did.
Before Clifford he’d never given much thought to Moody one way or the other, but as soon as it occurred to him that Moody might want more from Clifford than just his lunch money Ricky had gone from disinterest to outright hatred. He couldn’t do anything about it; his mother already spent enough time worrying about him as it was, and the last thing he needed was to give the teachers more reason to be afraid of him. Sometimes, though, he wanted nothing more than to get Moody alone and explain to him exactly who Clifford belonged to.
The whole thing was crazy, and he’d done everything he could to get those weird thoughts out of his head. For one thing Clifford didn’t belong to him; they were friends, but that was as far as it was ever going to go. He told himself that every time they were alone together, whether they were hanging out at the hotel or Clifford was tagging along with him to look for parts to fix his bike. There were times when it was hard to remember that, though - times like the night he told Clifford about his brother - right before the dam burst and he’d spilled his guts out to this kid he barely even knew, he’d had Clifford pressed up against that metal pole and it felt…right. Terrifying and exhilarating and so wrong, but right all the same.
It was only because of Clifford’s softly whispered ‘Jesus’ that Ricky realized he’d finally said the truth out loud, and even then he wasn’t sure whether it had really happened or if he was just having one of those crazy dreams he used to have in the hospital. He’d never planned on telling anybody, only from the first moment he laid eyes on Clifford part of him had wanted to tell him everything. He still wasn’t sure why he did it, whether it was to push Clifford away once and for all or if he was trying to make the other boy feel sorry enough for him to stay.
After that he knew there was no getting rid of Clifford. And part of him was happier than he’d ever been in his life, because it meant that Clifford really was his no matter what anybody else said about him. The only problem was that it still wasn’t enough, and he knew he was never going to get everything he wanted. He couldn’t even if he was brave enough to ask, because no matter how tough or funny or mature Clifford tried to act, he was totally naïve about a lot of things. He had his crazy grandmother and his hotel and his telescope, and Ricky had dark, hazy memories of blood and the smell of gunpowder and the steady electric hum of the TV in a dark, lonely house in the wrong side of town.
Clifford should have been the light at the center of all of that, but somehow Ricky’s mind managed to make even his memories of his only friend dark somehow. He spent a lot of time when he was alone thinking about Clifford; at first he’d fixated on the weird vendetta between Clifford and Moody, wondering what had sparked it and whether he was imagining the pleasure Clifford took in egging Moody on. Other times there was the image burned into his memory of a fragile-looking, pale figure shivering inside one of the gym lockers, blue eyes flashing defiantly even though he was completely at Ricky’s mercy.
And that was the thought that always tripped him up, because Clifford at his mercy was something that Ricky wasn’t supposed to want. He shouldn’t even think about it, because they were friends and he knew Clifford trusted him. Trusted him not to think weird, perverted thoughts about what he would have liked to do that day in the locker room, stuff Clifford had probably never considered even long enough to wonder if it was possible.
There was nothing he could do about any of it; he couldn’t tell Clifford to take a hike and go back to being the mysterious loner, he’d already tried that approach plenty of times and Clifford wasn’t going for it. He couldn’t act on any of his strange urges, either, because even though he knew Clifford wouldn’t tell anybody he didn’t really want to lose their friendship that way. He didn’t want to lose it at all, not really, because if he couldn’t have what he really wanted from Clifford at least he got something.
He got tonight, for instance, and there was no way he’d be doing this if it hadn’t been for Clifford. They’d only been inside the gym for five minutes and he’d already gotten
The ice cream fic.
I have no idea where this one was going, which is probably why it ended up going nowhere at all. Thankfully my flirtation with this fandom was brief. This snippet illustrates why very nicely.
Ice cream always made him think of their first date. And okay, it hadn’t actually been a date, and they’d never actually gotten around to the ice cream, but it would have if they hadn’t spotted Bombay and that Iceland chick coming out of the ice cream place together. He can laugh about it now, about what it betrayal it seemed like at the time. After all, it was almost three years ago, and stuff that seemed important then didn’t even register now.
Hockey was still important - it was the reason they were still at Eden Hall - but it wasn't their whole world anymore. It was still Banks' whole world, and possibly Charlie's, but to the rest of them it was just a game they had to play to keep their scholarships. Not that the scholarship had ever been important to him; he hadn't even wanted to take it at first, but he was glad Coach Bombay had finally talked him into it.
"Chocolate chocolate chip," he announced as he reached their table, waving Fulton's cone in front of him until the other boy looked up.
The smile he got when Fulton finally looked at him made his knees a little weak, so he sat down before he fell down and watched while Fulton lifted his ice cream. He'd never been very good at pretending he wasn't staring, though, and before Fulton even tasted it he frowned and glanced down at his cone. "What?"
"What?" Portman repeated, working up his best confused look.
"You're staring at me," Fulton said, a hint of exasperation creeping into his voice. "This isn't poisoned or anything, is it? You know if you're sick of me you can just say so."
"Nah, if I was sick of you I'd kill you in your sleep," Portman answered, grinning at the scowl he knew Fulton didn't mean.
"That's really comforting, thanks, Portman."
Fulton/Portman -- sequel to "Kingdom of One"
For all rights and purposes this fic should have been finished months ago. It's just a smutty follow-up to the first Mighty Ducks fic I wrote, but for whatever reason I got stuck and then just abandoned it.
His heart stops when Portman walks into the locker room. At first he thinks maybe he's taken one too many blows to the head, but then he hears that voice and he knows it's real. He also knows Bombay had something to do with the eleventh hour reunion of the Bash Brothers, and he doesn't know whether to be grateful or terrified. Both feelings give way to relief when Portman pulls him close and hugs him, and Fulton barely notices the rest of the team pressing around them because Portman hasn't let go of his hand.
He doesn't think anybody notices; everybody's hyped up over the game and Portman's big entrance, so he lets himself hold on for as long as he can. When they do let go it's time to head back to the ice, but Fulton knows his mind won't be on the rest of the game. Portman makes sure of that when he gets himself thrown in the penalty box just a few minutes after he hits the ice and starts taking his clothes off.
Fulton tells himself Portman isn't doing it for his benefit. He tells himself Portman's just hyped up about the game, that he's used to being the center of attention and he's just making sure all eyes are on him. The fact that one pair of those eyes belong to Fulton doesn't have anything to do with it.
Besides, it doesn't matter what Portman's doing, because there's still a game to play and they're back down to one Bash Brother again, which means the pressure's on Fulton to perform. He hears Portman calling his name but ignores it, keeping his attention on the game and the varsity players who are gunning even harder for him now that he's back on the ice without his other half. But even he can't avoid the penalty box forever, and when he skates by he can't help stealing just a quick glance at Portman.
It's not his fault. Anybody would have looked; the guy's practically got his own gravitational pull. Only when Fulton does look he finds Portman looking right back at him, and as soon as their eyes lock he remembers every second of what that still bare chest felt like pressed against him. And now he's hard and left to fend off the entire varsity line-up by himself, and all he can do is pray that he makes it through the rest of the game without humiliating himself.
This is technically book fic, I suppose, but there are movies so I'm calling it movie fic.
Percy/Oliver. And this is why I don't write HP.
This is as far as I got. It took me four tries and a month to get this far. I still say it's because the challenges were so lame (this one was supposed to be about Percy getting anonymous love notes) but part of my failure was due to my intense fear of writing British characters.
"Not again."
The voice was low and full of misery, and pitched just right to draw Oliver out of the light sleep in which he'd been hovering for the past half hour. He blinked several times to clear last vestiges of sleep from his vision, squinting at the bright light that was partially blocked by the figure standing in front of the window. "All right, Perc?"
The other boy started at the sound of his name, tucking something into his robes before he pulled the window shut and turned to face Oliver. "I didn't mean to wake you."
"S'okay," Oliver mumbled, reaching up to rub the sleep out of his eyes. He watched Percy walk back toward his own bed, one hand still stuffed firmly in his pocket. "What've you got there?"
"It's nothing," Percy answered, but he didn't look away fast enough to hide his blush. "Sorry I woke you."
Oliver rolled onto his back, pushing himself up on one elbow to watch the other boy shift books back and forth on his bedside table for a few moments before he finally gathered most of them up and started toward the door. He started to call after Percy; there was obviously something bothering the other boy, and he had a feeling it had to do with whatever Percy had stuffed into his pocket.
Instead he watched Percy let himself out of their room, no doubt headed for the library even though he hadn't had breakfast yet. He'd been spending more and more time on his own lately, more than was normal even for Percy. Oliver sighed and pushed himself into a sitting position, running a hand through sleep-rumpled hair.
And thus ends my contribution to WIP Amnesty day. I'm sure I have more movieslash lying around unfinished on my hard drive (like the Ghost Ship AU that will never get written even though I still love the idea), but this is everything I think I can bear for people to see. Except for the sequel to "Bells Will Be Ringing", but I've already posted the beginning of that.