w.i.p.s
A while ago i started some fics,all pumped up and determined to write them well and finish them quickly...but excitement soon worn off and those poor fics are stuck in a Limbo...
[an excerpt] title: "What have you done"
Spencer was absentmindedly wandering in a hallway, making his way to the Mathematic class, when a hand landed heavily on his shoulder, making him jump out of his skin. He turned sharply to see his friend Ryan staring at him with an eyebrow raised.
“Chill, dude…”
“Fuck you…”
“No thanks, fucking my best buddy isn’t in my list of things to do before I die,” Ryan replied, making Spencer frown.
Ryan sighed, “Sorry for scaring you…I guess you’re on edge for this rapist thing, we all are…We receive tons of emails about it, at the newspaper…Not even the security has been able to avoid what happened to the Vandenboom chick and the Weekes dude…”
Spencer ran a hand in his hair, “Yeah, I read about them. Haley is really shocked because she knows the girl, and I’m also acquaintances with Dallon…Fuck, two victims in less than two weeks…How can this pervert vanish into thin air once he’s done, and why has he never been recognized by his victims?!” he commented, breathing out a loud sigh.
Ryan shook his head disconsolate, “Yeah, it’s frustrating how they haven’t been able to recognize who molested them…But, hey,” he gestured Spencer to get closer, so they’d whisper, “both said that whoever got them wasn’t very very tall…”
Spencer looked at him, groaning, “Well, that’s not too much, but better than nothing, I guess… Thanks, now I’m going to fear every dude shorter than me could try to rape my girlfriend or even me…”
“At least the circle of the suspects has narrowed,” Ryan remarked with a wave of his hand, “and quit it with your paranoia, what makes you think you’re the rapist type? He raped only a guy so far, by the way,” he scoffed.
“It’s exactly because his victims don’t belong to a specific type that worries me. And who knows how many more he will rape before they stop him, he may molest other males,” Spencer explained, like he was talking to a baby.
Ryan rolled his eyes at him, “I must go now, Psych lectures for me,” he said, waving goodbye while walking off.
The old man tidied his old coat up, grabs the keys, takes a last glance around his beloved antiques and vintage shop, and with a soft jingling of the bell door he’s out for the night.
The street lamps light the place a bit: plates, mirrors, lamps, various ornaments fill every surface of the small shop.
“Yawn…”
A small jukebox tentatively turns on the orange lights that it has on top, and for last the screen with the lists of songs available.
Its colored lights soon wake up some of the objects nearby: a phonograph, a tall china cabinet and a white desk.
“Yawn…Hello, Patrick,” the bit oxidized gramophone greets.
“Hi Patrick,” the newly restored cabinet says from its right side.
“Hey,” the fake Louis XIVcommode ends the greetings.
“Hi guys…how’re you?” Patrick, the jukebox, asks while checking his CDs.
“Beautiful,” the cabinet answers, unable to hide the pride after being restored.
“Rusty,” the gramophone replies gloomily.
“C’mon, Brendon, when Grandpa is back you’ll finally be as good as new,” the commode comforts him.
The material of the horn shines a bit, symbolizing the gramophone’s smile.
The apartment is white, spacious, bright. Boxes are accumulating quickly on the wooden floor, thanks to two busy bees.
“Patrick, are we done with the boxes?” a young woman asks a teenage boy, who looks a lot like her.
“Nope, there’s one more in the truck, I’m gonna get it,” he replies, heading downstairs.
He’s just got down the two floors that divide the apartment from the main entrance, when a young man around his mother’s age enters the building and stops when he sees the boy; the younger male ducks his head, hiding under the brim of his trucker hat, muttering an embarrassed ‘Good morning’ before heading outside. The man looks after him, smiling while climbing upstairs for his apartment; once on his floor he sees the door opposite him wide open, a woman walking around fast between boxes and bags.
He knocks on the door, making her turn surprised, her reddish ponytail moving as well.
“Uh, hello? I’m Pete, I live in front of you,” he introduces himself, shaking hands with the woman.
“Hi! I’m Patricia, I just moved here with my son,” she replies, smiling easily.
Right then the boy arrives upstairs, a bit red in the face.
“Patrick, this is Pete, our new neighbor,” she beams, gesturing for the man.
Original, Pete thinks unimpressed -Patricia named her son Patrick.
“Hi,” Patrick greets shyly.
“Hello to you too,” the man says, hiding a smirk.
[an excerpt] title: "Do I have to be a cheerleader?"
The previous evening his father arrived with the documents that made official their last name without the silent ‘h’ and how they have a daughter instead of a son. Patrick felt relieved for the first announcement, but the second threw him a bit off: nobody knows how long this transformation will go on, yet his father already made sure to change his status and all. Needless to say, it caused a tiny discussion and a Patrick that closed himself in his bedroom, where he cried his eyes out until he finally fell asleep.
He wakes up grumpy in wrinkled clothes that he hastily changes and goes to school without even having breakfast.
“Hey Trisha!” Greta’s chirpy voice comes from behind Patrick on his way to his locker, “how’re…uh, bad day?” she ends hesitantly.
“Horrible,” he replies laconically, not feeling like talking at all, sorry.
“Okay…” Greta doesn’t push
[an excerpt] title: "CleaningBot"
Pete wakes up still embraced to Ashlee, a wonderful smell of bacon and coffee coming from the kitchen. Careful not to wake her up, Pete rolls out of bed and shuffles out of the bedroom, following the scent and entering the kitchen, where a busy Patrick is cooking and singing under his breath.
“Oh! Good morning, Mr Wentz,” Patrick says cheerfully when he hears Pete taking a seat.
“Good morning, Patrick,” Pete smiles back, still a bit sleepy.
“I was just going to call you, breakfast is ready. Here’s the newspaper,” Patrick hands Pete the paper and puts a plate of English breakfast in front of the man.
“Thanks,” Pete opens the newspaper and lays it on the table, scanning the news while devouring the delicious breakfast, “Mmmm…This is almighty food…Ashlee is going to kill me, but the truth is that she isn’t that good of a cook,” he confesses around a sip of his coffee. Patrick chuckles shyly while washing the saucers.
“Here are your clothes, I ironed them earlier,” Patrick takes a suit from the pile of ironed clothes and neatly puts it on the table, careful not to wrinkle the fabric.
More recent works in progress that I fear could do the same end:
“Rose! Hugo! Come on, we’re going to be late!” Hermione called her children.
“No, we won’t be late, because it’s barely past 9.30 a.m., mom,” Rose rolled her eyes while scurrying downstairs, younger brother in tow. Ron, who just returned inside after loading Rose’s trunk and owl in the car, snickered behind Hermione’s back.
“I heard you, Ronald,” the woman rebuked without even turning towards him, “and traffic is always a pain, Miss, so you better get in the car.”
“It was Hugo’s fault, he didn’t want to give me my favorite hairclip,” she said running outside, Weasley’s trademark ginger hair bouncing freely in Granger’s curls, school’s pleated skirt moving along with her steps.
“Hey!” Hugo shouted back and raced his sister to the car. Hermione sighed and she and Ron followed their kids.
“I expected more excitement on her behalf, I mean, she’s going to Hogwarts,” the man noted.
“Oh, she’s just acting cool,” Hermione shrugged and got in the car.
“Ready?” Ron asked as soon as he started the engine.
“Ready!” his children chorused enthusiastically.
Ron drove the Muggle car to King’s Cross, where Rose had to take the train to Hogwarts for the first time. When they reached a pillar between platforms 9 and 10, it was his and Hermione’s first day all over again, but this time it was Rose’s turn to run towards the hard bricks with her trolley, anxiety to hit the column despite the knowledge there was nothing to fear depicted on her face. He, Hermione and Hugo followed suit and they all appeared on Platform 9 ¾, bright red train waiting patiently for the departure time to come.
“I load the trunk,” Ron said, but Rose interrupted him.
“Wait, let me grab the uniform,” she opened the crate quickly and picked the neatly folded robe to wear over the rest of her school clothes, then left the trolley to her father. She wore the uniform and made a turn, showing off a bit.
“You look so good,” Hermione cooed proudly. Rose beamed.
“What took you so long?” Ryan frowned at his best friend once he got to the platform.
“A lost kid,” Spencer said, pointing his thumb in the direction of the wall from where he just appeared and another trolley was making its entrance, guided by a dark haired boy with his eyes shut tightly.
Ryan cocked his eyebrow and Spencer said, trying to hide his bit of irritation, “You made it, you can open your eyes now.”
The black haired boy hesitantly cracked an eye open and looked around, jaw dropping: it was evident the kid was a First Year, possibly Muggle born.
Ryan snickered at the shocked face of the boy, but politely hold a hand out to shake, “My name is Ryan.”
“Oh! Yeah. I-I’m Frank,” the new boy introduced.
“Come on, let’s hop on the train, it can’t leave without us,” Spencer said, making Ryan lead the way.
Spencer’s family arrived at last, something that secretly comforted him, and with Ryan he waved goodbye.
Frank was walking ahead, looking for a free compartment.
“Hey!” Spencer called. Frank turned sharply and went on tiptoe to spot the boy.
“Were you leaving without us?” Spencer frowned.
“Of course not! I was just looking for a free compartment,” Frank retorted shyly.
A perfect smile relieved the short boy.
“I see. Hey, that one looks empty, let’s sit there.”
The three boys shouldered their way, finally making it to the compartment, but a boy was already sitting there.
“Oh, sorry,” Spencer apologized, but the tiny guy stopped him before he could close the door.
“Don’t worry, they’re all free, take a seat!” he said cheerfully, allowing the other three boys to warm up at him immediately and relax on the benches.
- there's a rapist at campus - Ryan and Spencer are students who try to solve the case
[an excerpt] title: "What have you done"
Spencer was absentmindedly wandering in a hallway, making his way to the Mathematic class, when a hand landed heavily on his shoulder, making him jump out of his skin. He turned sharply to see his friend Ryan staring at him with an eyebrow raised.
“Chill, dude…”
“Fuck you…”
“No thanks, fucking my best buddy isn’t in my list of things to do before I die,” Ryan replied, making Spencer frown.
Ryan sighed, “Sorry for scaring you…I guess you’re on edge for this rapist thing, we all are…We receive tons of emails about it, at the newspaper…Not even the security has been able to avoid what happened to the Vandenboom chick and the Weekes dude…”
Spencer ran a hand in his hair, “Yeah, I read about them. Haley is really shocked because she knows the girl, and I’m also acquaintances with Dallon…Fuck, two victims in less than two weeks…How can this pervert vanish into thin air once he’s done, and why has he never been recognized by his victims?!” he commented, breathing out a loud sigh.
Ryan shook his head disconsolate, “Yeah, it’s frustrating how they haven’t been able to recognize who molested them…But, hey,” he gestured Spencer to get closer, so they’d whisper, “both said that whoever got them wasn’t very very tall…”
Spencer looked at him, groaning, “Well, that’s not too much, but better than nothing, I guess… Thanks, now I’m going to fear every dude shorter than me could try to rape my girlfriend or even me…”
“At least the circle of the suspects has narrowed,” Ryan remarked with a wave of his hand, “and quit it with your paranoia, what makes you think you’re the rapist type? He raped only a guy so far, by the way,” he scoffed.
“It’s exactly because his victims don’t belong to a specific type that worries me. And who knows how many more he will rape before they stop him, he may molest other males,” Spencer explained, like he was talking to a baby.
Ryan rolled his eyes at him, “I must go now, Psych lectures for me,” he said, waving goodbye while walking off.
- fic where bandom people are objects of an antiques shop that animate at night
The old man tidied his old coat up, grabs the keys, takes a last glance around his beloved antiques and vintage shop, and with a soft jingling of the bell door he’s out for the night.
The street lamps light the place a bit: plates, mirrors, lamps, various ornaments fill every surface of the small shop.
“Yawn…”
A small jukebox tentatively turns on the orange lights that it has on top, and for last the screen with the lists of songs available.
Its colored lights soon wake up some of the objects nearby: a phonograph, a tall china cabinet and a white desk.
“Yawn…Hello, Patrick,” the bit oxidized gramophone greets.
“Hi Patrick,” the newly restored cabinet says from its right side.
“Hey,” the fake Louis XIVcommode ends the greetings.
“Hi guys…how’re you?” Patrick, the jukebox, asks while checking his CDs.
“Beautiful,” the cabinet answers, unable to hide the pride after being restored.
“Rusty,” the gramophone replies gloomily.
“C’mon, Brendon, when Grandpa is back you’ll finally be as good as new,” the commode comforts him.
The material of the horn shines a bit, symbolizing the gramophone’s smile.
- Patrick moves in a new apartment with his mother and the new neighbor welcomes them (loosely based on Lolita -that I've never read)
The apartment is white, spacious, bright. Boxes are accumulating quickly on the wooden floor, thanks to two busy bees.
“Patrick, are we done with the boxes?” a young woman asks a teenage boy, who looks a lot like her.
“Nope, there’s one more in the truck, I’m gonna get it,” he replies, heading downstairs.
He’s just got down the two floors that divide the apartment from the main entrance, when a young man around his mother’s age enters the building and stops when he sees the boy; the younger male ducks his head, hiding under the brim of his trucker hat, muttering an embarrassed ‘Good morning’ before heading outside. The man looks after him, smiling while climbing upstairs for his apartment; once on his floor he sees the door opposite him wide open, a woman walking around fast between boxes and bags.
He knocks on the door, making her turn surprised, her reddish ponytail moving as well.
“Uh, hello? I’m Pete, I live in front of you,” he introduces himself, shaking hands with the woman.
“Hi! I’m Patricia, I just moved here with my son,” she replies, smiling easily.
Right then the boy arrives upstairs, a bit red in the face.
“Patrick, this is Pete, our new neighbor,” she beams, gesturing for the man.
Original, Pete thinks unimpressed -Patricia named her son Patrick.
“Hi,” Patrick greets shyly.
“Hello to you too,” the man says, hiding a smirk.
- Patrick wakes up in a girly body and will have to adapt to this. Oh, did I mention he becomes a cheerleader?
[an excerpt] title: "Do I have to be a cheerleader?"
The previous evening his father arrived with the documents that made official their last name without the silent ‘h’ and how they have a daughter instead of a son. Patrick felt relieved for the first announcement, but the second threw him a bit off: nobody knows how long this transformation will go on, yet his father already made sure to change his status and all. Needless to say, it caused a tiny discussion and a Patrick that closed himself in his bedroom, where he cried his eyes out until he finally fell asleep.
He wakes up grumpy in wrinkled clothes that he hastily changes and goes to school without even having breakfast.
“Hey Trisha!” Greta’s chirpy voice comes from behind Patrick on his way to his locker, “how’re…uh, bad day?” she ends hesitantly.
“Horrible,” he replies laconically, not feeling like talking at all, sorry.
“Okay…” Greta doesn’t push
- future!AU where Ashlee and Pete buy a robot to look after their house, but Pete will feel something for the robot (Patrick)
[an excerpt] title: "CleaningBot"
Pete wakes up still embraced to Ashlee, a wonderful smell of bacon and coffee coming from the kitchen. Careful not to wake her up, Pete rolls out of bed and shuffles out of the bedroom, following the scent and entering the kitchen, where a busy Patrick is cooking and singing under his breath.
“Oh! Good morning, Mr Wentz,” Patrick says cheerfully when he hears Pete taking a seat.
“Good morning, Patrick,” Pete smiles back, still a bit sleepy.
“I was just going to call you, breakfast is ready. Here’s the newspaper,” Patrick hands Pete the paper and puts a plate of English breakfast in front of the man.
“Thanks,” Pete opens the newspaper and lays it on the table, scanning the news while devouring the delicious breakfast, “Mmmm…This is almighty food…Ashlee is going to kill me, but the truth is that she isn’t that good of a cook,” he confesses around a sip of his coffee. Patrick chuckles shyly while washing the saucers.
“Here are your clothes, I ironed them earlier,” Patrick takes a suit from the pile of ironed clothes and neatly puts it on the table, careful not to wrinkle the fabric.
More recent works in progress that I fear could do the same end:
- Hermione sees Draco again the day her eldest daughter leaves for Hogwarts (things will ensue)
“Rose! Hugo! Come on, we’re going to be late!” Hermione called her children.
“No, we won’t be late, because it’s barely past 9.30 a.m., mom,” Rose rolled her eyes while scurrying downstairs, younger brother in tow. Ron, who just returned inside after loading Rose’s trunk and owl in the car, snickered behind Hermione’s back.
“I heard you, Ronald,” the woman rebuked without even turning towards him, “and traffic is always a pain, Miss, so you better get in the car.”
“It was Hugo’s fault, he didn’t want to give me my favorite hairclip,” she said running outside, Weasley’s trademark ginger hair bouncing freely in Granger’s curls, school’s pleated skirt moving along with her steps.
“Hey!” Hugo shouted back and raced his sister to the car. Hermione sighed and she and Ron followed their kids.
“I expected more excitement on her behalf, I mean, she’s going to Hogwarts,” the man noted.
“Oh, she’s just acting cool,” Hermione shrugged and got in the car.
“Ready?” Ron asked as soon as he started the engine.
“Ready!” his children chorused enthusiastically.
Ron drove the Muggle car to King’s Cross, where Rose had to take the train to Hogwarts for the first time. When they reached a pillar between platforms 9 and 10, it was his and Hermione’s first day all over again, but this time it was Rose’s turn to run towards the hard bricks with her trolley, anxiety to hit the column despite the knowledge there was nothing to fear depicted on her face. He, Hermione and Hugo followed suit and they all appeared on Platform 9 ¾, bright red train waiting patiently for the departure time to come.
“I load the trunk,” Ron said, but Rose interrupted him.
“Wait, let me grab the uniform,” she opened the crate quickly and picked the neatly folded robe to wear over the rest of her school clothes, then left the trolley to her father. She wore the uniform and made a turn, showing off a bit.
“You look so good,” Hermione cooed proudly. Rose beamed.
- bandom people in the Harry Potter AU - know him/about him
“What took you so long?” Ryan frowned at his best friend once he got to the platform.
“A lost kid,” Spencer said, pointing his thumb in the direction of the wall from where he just appeared and another trolley was making its entrance, guided by a dark haired boy with his eyes shut tightly.
Ryan cocked his eyebrow and Spencer said, trying to hide his bit of irritation, “You made it, you can open your eyes now.”
The black haired boy hesitantly cracked an eye open and looked around, jaw dropping: it was evident the kid was a First Year, possibly Muggle born.
Ryan snickered at the shocked face of the boy, but politely hold a hand out to shake, “My name is Ryan.”
“Oh! Yeah. I-I’m Frank,” the new boy introduced.
“Come on, let’s hop on the train, it can’t leave without us,” Spencer said, making Ryan lead the way.
Spencer’s family arrived at last, something that secretly comforted him, and with Ryan he waved goodbye.
Frank was walking ahead, looking for a free compartment.
“Hey!” Spencer called. Frank turned sharply and went on tiptoe to spot the boy.
“Were you leaving without us?” Spencer frowned.
“Of course not! I was just looking for a free compartment,” Frank retorted shyly.
A perfect smile relieved the short boy.
“I see. Hey, that one looks empty, let’s sit there.”
The three boys shouldered their way, finally making it to the compartment, but a boy was already sitting there.
“Oh, sorry,” Spencer apologized, but the tiny guy stopped him before he could close the door.
“Don’t worry, they’re all free, take a seat!” he said cheerfully, allowing the other three boys to warm up at him immediately and relax on the benches.