the way it feels to be completely intertwined
You know like when you write a story for a thing and then realize it won't do for that thing at all? No? Maybe it's only me with random finished first drafts laying around.
Anyway, someone suggested I take my snippets and self publish them somewhere so I might do that. Just to see how it is on that side of the grass. (I suspect it will seem green, but not as green as it seems right now, amirite?)
Also I was bitch about the slut shamers and then dlasta hooked me up with a response to them.
I suck dick if I want to I love her.
Anyway, since I've been crazy busy and whiny and ranty I thought I'd try to make it up to people with another snippet of something new. This is from the thing I was going to do for Torquere's NoH8 Charity Sip Anthology...
........
“What’d you do this time to get your ass kicked?”
Chris jumped at the question. He was already shivering from the cold and shaking with adrenaline and tension but he raised his head and peered around the aura from Stanley Street’s one streetlight until he saw the shape of a boy at the very edge of the light.
Shape of a man, he should say, since according to the commencement speech that morning, they were men now, ready to face the world, or at least life after high school. Chris didn’t feel like a man. He felt pissed off and sore and stinging and scared, and he was tired of feeling all of those things so despite the kick of his heart against his ribs, he frowned and lifted his chin.
“Nothing.” He thought he was too loud, but it was at least two in the morning and the street was deserted. The distant noise of the grad party he’d just left would be blamed if anyone heard him, and the people around here were used to ignoring what their kids did.
Nicky, because that had to be Nicky over there no matter how unbelievable it was that that he’d be talking to Chris, snorted.
“Isn’t that like this town? Punishing you for what they think you want to do?” Nick’s voice was far away and slightly slower than Chris remembered it, but he hadn’t really heard Nick talking up close since grade school. He sounded drunk, Chris decided immediately and watched as the outline of Nicky tipped his head back to drink something from a bottle.
Who knew who had sold it to him. He could have stolen it since according to the rumors Nick was all kinds of criminal. The cool, scary, hot kind. The kind that good girls denied hooking up with despite how their eyes stayed on him when he crossed a room. The kind who had weed or beer if you needed it, even if he wasn’t allowed in your house when your parents were home. The kind who came to school with scraped and bruised knuckles every other day and a fat lip that only made him sexy instead of dangerous, or sexy and dangerous. Whichever, he was the kind who didn’t talk to Chris.
Very few people talked to Chris unless they were punching him and then the words were along the lines of “Fuck you, faggot” which seemed a gayer and gayer thing to say every time he heard it.
Chris licked at the cut in his bottom lip and squinted his one good eye at Nicky. At Nick. He hadn’t been Nick since they’d been kids, back before Nick’s mom had married his first stepdad and they’d moved away only to move back two years later when stepdad number two. Chris had been twelve, Nick just thirteen, and the Nick who had come back to town had not been interested in being best friends again.
Nick hadn’t been interested in being anyone’s friend. It had been a surprise to see him waiting to walk across the stage to get his diploma. Only his grandmother had been in the audience, not his mom.
“You didn’t go to Ryan’s party?” He didn’t know why he said it; it was the last thing he wanted to talk about and of course Nick hadn’t gone. Nick was having his own little party right here. He’d probably been getting drink under the small bridge that was part of the fire access road behind the last houses up here in the hills. The creek it was built over was dried up most of the year and that was where Nick spent his time, according to everyone.
“So that’s what you did,” Nick commented thoughtfully, as if they were really having this conversation. Chris couldn’t make out his expression. “You showed up.”
“Yeah.” Chris surprised himself by agreeing. He even smiled though it hurt his lip and half of his face hurt like hell and there was no one to kiss it and make it better. “Yeah. They, uh, didn’t like it.”
“I bet.” Nick snorted again. “They don’t like people who make them think about things they don’t want to think about.” He was definitely drunk. He had to be, to be talking to Chris again. Chris went with it anyway, though he didn’t go any closer. It was nice to have someone agree with him who wasn’t family.
“That’s what my mom says.” Chris glanced back in the direction of the party, blocks away now. If he wasn’t small and thin he would have hit back. Someday he was going to in some way that mattered, so they wouldn’t pick on anyone else. He looked back at Nick, who was tall and broad-shouldered and anything but little. “I just think they’re assholes. No,” he immediately corrected himself with a sigh. “That’s not really true. I know they are probably just as messed up as I am, but at the moment, I’m sticking with assholes.”
“Now there’s the Captain Jupiter I remember.” Nick slipped into the light enough for Chris to see his heavy lidded eyes and the glisten of alcohol at his mouth. He smiled a little, as if just saying “Captain Jupiter” made him want to laugh. Chris pictured them in the capes and helmets of cartoon superheroes in his backyard and felt his face get hot for no reason he could think of.
“Hey, you were my sidekick,” he defended himself without thinking and winced, but Nick stumbled and straightened up in almost the same motion.
“You were bossy,” Nick answered after a second and took another swig before holding the bottle out. “You want some?”
God only knew what was in that bottle. It was brown and almost clear in the light. Chris looked away from the pink mouth that the girls raved about and the high cheekbones and Nick’s serious, shadowed eyes and tried to act as if people offered him booze every day. But his heart was pounding as he slowly crossed the street.
Nick’s fingers didn’t brush his as he took the bottle, but Chris could see him looking over his face and seeing his cut lip, his swollen eye, his messed up hair. He’d looked like this before but he didn’t think he’d ever noticed Nick taking an interest. But if Nick was bothered he didn’t say anything, he just handed over the booze and watched as Chris tried and failed to keep his eyes from watering up as the JD hit his tongue.
“Delicious,” he croaked when he’d had enough and handed the bottle back. “Thanks.” He wiped his mouth and tried not to cough.
“My stepdad’s,” Nick volunteered in a tight voice, but shrugged when Chris stared at him. “It’s better than the pills or whippets or whatever stupid shit they’re doing back there.” He looked back at Chris suddenly, right into his eyes. Nick’s eyes were the exact shade of the whiskey he was drinking. “Why did you go? Why do you always--?” Nick stopped and raised the bottle to his mouth. He drank enough to wet his lips but not enough to swallow. “You aren’t their punching bag.”
He spoke slowly. Chris wondered how drunk he really was. He already hurt, but it hurt more to think of anyone drinking alone under that bridge.
He reached for the Jack and gave a start when Nick let him take it. It fucking hurt to drink, hurt going down, hurt his bottom lip. He hated it.
This time he did cough, only to freeze when Nicky bared his teeth in a grin. Chris felt warm and stupid and glanced at his feet.
“I know I’m not their punching bag,” he mumbled with whiskey on his breath. “But they need…” He prodded his lip with his tongue and heard Nick inhale. He looked up to find Nick still and watching him. “I won’t be invisible.”
“Your lip is bleeding.” Nick had the same warm, boozy breath and long, long eyelashes. He was wearing the old leather jacket he always wore, probably his dad’s, kind of like an aviator’s jacket from the 60’s or 40’s and if he brushed his hair to the side he’d look like a hero from old serial from history class. Chris realized he was staring, but at least Nick probably wouldn’t kick his ass for it.
“I know,” he responded after an embarrassing pause and glanced around them. Same empty street. “What are you doing out here?”
He didn’t ask why Nick didn’t want to go home, he wasn’t that stupid, but no way was he going to pry. Not with Nicky speaking to him for the first time in years.
.....
I can't stop listening to Misery by Maroon 5 and I *don't know why*. Help me!
And yes, I am working on the charity fic that Kristi P. won from me. I know you've all been hankering for a story in my fantasy universe from "Some Kind of Magic" set in 1961 with a fairy DJ pining for a shy human, right? I mean, who wouldn't want to read about that extremely random subject? (This is what I do with prompts. Sorry.)
Oh and um... I gots me a tumblr. Woo hoo!
Anyway, someone suggested I take my snippets and self publish them somewhere so I might do that. Just to see how it is on that side of the grass. (I suspect it will seem green, but not as green as it seems right now, amirite?)
Also I was bitch about the slut shamers and then dlasta hooked me up with a response to them.
I suck dick if I want to I love her.
Anyway, since I've been crazy busy and whiny and ranty I thought I'd try to make it up to people with another snippet of something new. This is from the thing I was going to do for Torquere's NoH8 Charity Sip Anthology...
........
“What’d you do this time to get your ass kicked?”
Chris jumped at the question. He was already shivering from the cold and shaking with adrenaline and tension but he raised his head and peered around the aura from Stanley Street’s one streetlight until he saw the shape of a boy at the very edge of the light.
Shape of a man, he should say, since according to the commencement speech that morning, they were men now, ready to face the world, or at least life after high school. Chris didn’t feel like a man. He felt pissed off and sore and stinging and scared, and he was tired of feeling all of those things so despite the kick of his heart against his ribs, he frowned and lifted his chin.
“Nothing.” He thought he was too loud, but it was at least two in the morning and the street was deserted. The distant noise of the grad party he’d just left would be blamed if anyone heard him, and the people around here were used to ignoring what their kids did.
Nicky, because that had to be Nicky over there no matter how unbelievable it was that that he’d be talking to Chris, snorted.
“Isn’t that like this town? Punishing you for what they think you want to do?” Nick’s voice was far away and slightly slower than Chris remembered it, but he hadn’t really heard Nick talking up close since grade school. He sounded drunk, Chris decided immediately and watched as the outline of Nicky tipped his head back to drink something from a bottle.
Who knew who had sold it to him. He could have stolen it since according to the rumors Nick was all kinds of criminal. The cool, scary, hot kind. The kind that good girls denied hooking up with despite how their eyes stayed on him when he crossed a room. The kind who had weed or beer if you needed it, even if he wasn’t allowed in your house when your parents were home. The kind who came to school with scraped and bruised knuckles every other day and a fat lip that only made him sexy instead of dangerous, or sexy and dangerous. Whichever, he was the kind who didn’t talk to Chris.
Very few people talked to Chris unless they were punching him and then the words were along the lines of “Fuck you, faggot” which seemed a gayer and gayer thing to say every time he heard it.
Chris licked at the cut in his bottom lip and squinted his one good eye at Nicky. At Nick. He hadn’t been Nick since they’d been kids, back before Nick’s mom had married his first stepdad and they’d moved away only to move back two years later when stepdad number two. Chris had been twelve, Nick just thirteen, and the Nick who had come back to town had not been interested in being best friends again.
Nick hadn’t been interested in being anyone’s friend. It had been a surprise to see him waiting to walk across the stage to get his diploma. Only his grandmother had been in the audience, not his mom.
“You didn’t go to Ryan’s party?” He didn’t know why he said it; it was the last thing he wanted to talk about and of course Nick hadn’t gone. Nick was having his own little party right here. He’d probably been getting drink under the small bridge that was part of the fire access road behind the last houses up here in the hills. The creek it was built over was dried up most of the year and that was where Nick spent his time, according to everyone.
“So that’s what you did,” Nick commented thoughtfully, as if they were really having this conversation. Chris couldn’t make out his expression. “You showed up.”
“Yeah.” Chris surprised himself by agreeing. He even smiled though it hurt his lip and half of his face hurt like hell and there was no one to kiss it and make it better. “Yeah. They, uh, didn’t like it.”
“I bet.” Nick snorted again. “They don’t like people who make them think about things they don’t want to think about.” He was definitely drunk. He had to be, to be talking to Chris again. Chris went with it anyway, though he didn’t go any closer. It was nice to have someone agree with him who wasn’t family.
“That’s what my mom says.” Chris glanced back in the direction of the party, blocks away now. If he wasn’t small and thin he would have hit back. Someday he was going to in some way that mattered, so they wouldn’t pick on anyone else. He looked back at Nick, who was tall and broad-shouldered and anything but little. “I just think they’re assholes. No,” he immediately corrected himself with a sigh. “That’s not really true. I know they are probably just as messed up as I am, but at the moment, I’m sticking with assholes.”
“Now there’s the Captain Jupiter I remember.” Nick slipped into the light enough for Chris to see his heavy lidded eyes and the glisten of alcohol at his mouth. He smiled a little, as if just saying “Captain Jupiter” made him want to laugh. Chris pictured them in the capes and helmets of cartoon superheroes in his backyard and felt his face get hot for no reason he could think of.
“Hey, you were my sidekick,” he defended himself without thinking and winced, but Nick stumbled and straightened up in almost the same motion.
“You were bossy,” Nick answered after a second and took another swig before holding the bottle out. “You want some?”
God only knew what was in that bottle. It was brown and almost clear in the light. Chris looked away from the pink mouth that the girls raved about and the high cheekbones and Nick’s serious, shadowed eyes and tried to act as if people offered him booze every day. But his heart was pounding as he slowly crossed the street.
Nick’s fingers didn’t brush his as he took the bottle, but Chris could see him looking over his face and seeing his cut lip, his swollen eye, his messed up hair. He’d looked like this before but he didn’t think he’d ever noticed Nick taking an interest. But if Nick was bothered he didn’t say anything, he just handed over the booze and watched as Chris tried and failed to keep his eyes from watering up as the JD hit his tongue.
“Delicious,” he croaked when he’d had enough and handed the bottle back. “Thanks.” He wiped his mouth and tried not to cough.
“My stepdad’s,” Nick volunteered in a tight voice, but shrugged when Chris stared at him. “It’s better than the pills or whippets or whatever stupid shit they’re doing back there.” He looked back at Chris suddenly, right into his eyes. Nick’s eyes were the exact shade of the whiskey he was drinking. “Why did you go? Why do you always--?” Nick stopped and raised the bottle to his mouth. He drank enough to wet his lips but not enough to swallow. “You aren’t their punching bag.”
He spoke slowly. Chris wondered how drunk he really was. He already hurt, but it hurt more to think of anyone drinking alone under that bridge.
He reached for the Jack and gave a start when Nick let him take it. It fucking hurt to drink, hurt going down, hurt his bottom lip. He hated it.
This time he did cough, only to freeze when Nicky bared his teeth in a grin. Chris felt warm and stupid and glanced at his feet.
“I know I’m not their punching bag,” he mumbled with whiskey on his breath. “But they need…” He prodded his lip with his tongue and heard Nick inhale. He looked up to find Nick still and watching him. “I won’t be invisible.”
“Your lip is bleeding.” Nick had the same warm, boozy breath and long, long eyelashes. He was wearing the old leather jacket he always wore, probably his dad’s, kind of like an aviator’s jacket from the 60’s or 40’s and if he brushed his hair to the side he’d look like a hero from old serial from history class. Chris realized he was staring, but at least Nick probably wouldn’t kick his ass for it.
“I know,” he responded after an embarrassing pause and glanced around them. Same empty street. “What are you doing out here?”
He didn’t ask why Nick didn’t want to go home, he wasn’t that stupid, but no way was he going to pry. Not with Nicky speaking to him for the first time in years.
.....
I can't stop listening to Misery by Maroon 5 and I *don't know why*. Help me!
And yes, I am working on the charity fic that Kristi P. won from me. I know you've all been hankering for a story in my fantasy universe from "Some Kind of Magic" set in 1961 with a fairy DJ pining for a shy human, right? I mean, who wouldn't want to read about that extremely random subject? (This is what I do with prompts. Sorry.)
Oh and um... I gots me a tumblr. Woo hoo!
date
newest »
newest »
message 1:
by
Erin
(new)
Jun 28, 2012 09:48AM
I had to go back up to the top of your post to see if you were still working on this...hoping you were. This is really great and now I have to know what's going on with Nick and Chris. Thanks for posting it. Will it be something you finish up?
reply
|
flag
Well technically I finished it. It just... needs to be edited to be published as a stand alone, and also now I kind of want to see them in the future, but I can't figure out how to expand it. In ways that aren't horrible cheesy anyway. (Not that I don't love cheese, because I adore it, but it has its time and place.)
lol...cheese is good but yeah, it really does have it's place. Please keep us posted on its progress thou. I'm excited it's finished and I'm looking forward to reading it. :)
