#it's just something i've been thinking about when writing eleven and thirteen | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

insomniacwriter17 · 5 months

Text

Saved from the Flames - Epilogue

"When you’re born in a burning house, you think the whole world is on fire. But it’s not.” –Richard Kadrey

Billy Hargrove is 9 years old. He tries his best to be the son his father wants him to be - quiet, respectful, and obedient. But Neil just pushes harder and harder, all in the name of raising a “strong man”. When Billy is removed from his father’s custody and placed in foster care, it takes some time for him to realize his world is no longer burning around him. New experiences, new people, new opportunities all make Billy realize there’s a whole lot more to life than respect and responsibility.

AKA: The story of how Bob Newby became a real life superhero for one little boy who needed saving.

Inspired by this post I saw from @connordax

read on ao3

Here we are! The final chapter...thank you guys so much for going in this journey with me. I've loved every second, and I can't wait to see what else Billy and Bob get up to in the future! If you have any ideas on what you'd like to see for one-shots, my ask box is always open! Thank you guys for being the absolute best readers in the whole wide world <3

Even though Billy’s adoption day was big and exciting…things didn’t change much. At least, not right away. They drove home in the same car, the furniture all stood where it had been left, and Billy played on the same swing set in the backyard that he did most days.

Billy went to school each day and Bob went to work. Even though Billy’s “new” paperwork – his Social Security card, birth certificate, and the like – wouldn’t be ready for a number of weeks, Billy had immediately told his teachers that his new last name was Newby. Where Hargrove had been written inside his workbooks and binders, Billy had taken a permanent marker and scratched it out, carefully writing NEWBY beneath it instead.

Dr. Marcus had warned Bob that there may be some residual acting out as the finality of the adoption set in. But so far, everything seemed to be okay, so Bob instead tucked away the information for later in case something happened. Billy was still going to see Dr. Marcus on a weekly basis for at least a year, so Bob felt fairly confident that they could handle anything coming their way.

September gave way to October, and fall began to settle upon Hawkins. It was a few weeks after the adoption that Billy climbed into the car and looked to the front seat. “Hey, Dad, am I allowed to do Halloween?” he asked curiously.

Bob looked up in surprise as he started to drive out of the parking lot, meeting Billy’s eyes in the rearview mirror. How had he not even thought of Halloween yet?! Bob loved Halloween! “Of course you are, kiddo! We can get you a cool costume, go trick-or-treating with Joyce and the boys if you want? Or we can stay home and watch fun Halloween movies and hand out candy. Whatever you want!”

“I want to go trick-or-treating,” Billy said quickly, straightening in his seat. “I was talking about it with Steve and Jonathan today and they said it’s a lot of fun!”

“We can totally do that, pal,” Bob grinned. “Just means you have to decide what you want to be for Halloween.”

Billy thought for a moment. “What can I be?” he wondered softly.

“Well…” Bob shrugged. “Whatever you wanted to be, really. It’s early enough that we could make you a costume if you didn’t want one of the premade ones. But I mean, you could be pretty much anything! We could dress you up as one of the Hardy Boys – you’d make an awesome Joe Hardy. Or you could be a pirate, a monster, an athlete, a doctor, a superhero…the options are endless, kiddo.”

Billy hummed in thought, glancing out the car window as Bob drove the now-familiar route home. “I’ll think about it,” he decided after a moment. “It’s my first Halloween costume. It’s gotta be perfect,” he told Bob.

“I know!” Bob replied with an encouraging smile. “And I know you’ll come up with the best costume ever.”

Once at home, Billy ran to change out of his school clothes so he could go and play outside. “Put a jacket on!” Bob called absently over his shoulder on his way to the laundry room.

“I did, Dad!” Billy yelled back before the back door slammed shut behind him. Bob finished starting the load of laundry and then moved to his office to do some work that he hadn’t finished at the store. He glanced out the window every now and again to put eyes on Billy, who seemed to be content swinging in the evening sun.

With the chill moving into Hawkins as fall descended upon the small town, Bob decided to make chili and cornbread for dinner. Just as he was pulling the pan of cornbread out of the oven, Billy opened the back door and came in from outside. “It’s cold,” he huffed as he wrapped his arms around himself, making his way over to Bob. “What’d you cook?”

“Chili. The best thing to eat when it’s cold outside,” Bob insisted, turning to look at Billy. “Why don’t you get washed up and we’ll eat?”

Billy nodded and stepped over to the kitchen sink to wash his hands, looking over his shoulder at Bob. “I think I want to be a superhero for Halloween,” he mentioned, wiping his clean hands on the jacket he was still wearing.

Bob nodded approvingly, placing a bowl of warm chili and a plate of cornbread on Billy’s spot at the table. “We can work with superheroes,” he said with a smile. As Billy settled himself at the table and wrapped his small hands around the warm bowl, Bob asked, “Which superhero?”

Billy just grinned at him. “I don’t know yet,” he said. “I still have to figure that part out.”

Bob sat down with his own dinner and shrugged. “That’s fine. We’ve got all the time in the world, bud.”

~~~

Halloween was there before they knew it, and Bob and Billy were supposed to meet the Byers in a few minutes to go trick-or-treating. Bob was dressed up as Captain Kirk, donning a yellow long-sleeve shirt and black slacks. He had also gotten the Insignia pin back from Billy (just for the night, he promised). “You about ready to go, kiddo?” Bob knocked on the closed bedroom door. “Joyce and the boys are going to be here any minute!”

“Almost!” Billy called from inside his room. A moment later the door opened, and Billy stood in front of him, looking up at him expectantly. “Does this look right?”

Bob took in the boy in front of him. Dark gray slacks, a short-sleeved white button down, and a tie that draped loosely around Billy’s neck, not yet tied. “It looks great!” Bob replied honestly, trying to blink away the tears forming in his eyes. “My tie’s a little big on you, kid,” Bob chuckled, reaching to tie the garment for his son.

“Well, I wanted the costume to be right!” Billy insisted, watching as Bob effortlessly tied the tie.

“You’re sure this is the costume you want to wear?” Bob asked for what felt like the millionth time. “I’m sure we could throw together a Superman costume real quick if you’ve changed your mind.”

Billy frowned as he stepped back, hands on his hip. “Dad, I still haven’t changed my mind,” he insisted. “Come on! You said they’re going to be here soon!” He moved past Bob and grabbed his arm, pulling him out of the doorway.

Bob followed after him with a smile. “You need to grab a jacket, kiddo.” He stepped into his office and swiped something off his desk before he headed into the living room. Billy was standing there excitedly, pushing his arms into the sleeves of his jacket.

Bob sat on the edge of the couch, watching with a soft smile. “Hey, Billy, come here for a second. I think you’re missing something on your costume.” Billy frowned and looked down at his costume.

“Am I?” He stepped over to Bob with a frown.

Bob held up his Radio Shack name tag, clipping it to Billy’s shirt. “If you’re demanding to go trick-or-treating as the lamest guy in the world,” he teased, “You’re going to have to tell everyone who you’re dressed as.” He smiled and squeezed Billy’s arm lightly, but Billy pouted at him.

“You’re not a lame guy,” the boy insisted. Bob laughed and shook his head, leaning back against the couch. Billy scrambled into the man’s lap and settled against his dad’s chest. “You’re a superhero.”

Bob hugged Billy close, looking at the clock. Joyce and the boys would be here any second now. “Being a superhero means that I did something really cool and saved people. I don’t think I want that kind of responsibility,” he told Billy with a chuckle.

“You saved me.” Billy’s voice was soft. “So that makes you my favorite superhero.”

Bob swallowed thickly, unable to stop the tears this time. “Aw, Billy,” he hummed softly, squeezing the boy in a tighter hug. “You’re my favorite superhero.”

Billy grinned up at Bob and wiggled away out of his arms, standing up. “Wait here!” the boy instructed before running down the hall, leaving Bob to clear his throat and wipe his cheeks of the few tears that he’d not managed to keep in. A few moments later, Billy returned, his hands firmly behind his back.

“You have to say it,” Billy insisted.

Bob blinked in confusion. “Say what?”

“Trick or treat!” Billy sounded exasperated, as if Bob should’ve known what Billy was asking. “Come on! Say it and hold out your hands!”

Bob smirked and leaned forward, his elbows resting on his knees as he held out his hands. “That’s your line, bud. But I’ll bite. Trick or treat?” Then he closed his eyes.

He heard Billy shuffle forward, and then something was placed in Bob’s hand. “Okay, open,” Billy demanded, and Bob opened his eyes to find a folded piece of paper.

“What’s this?” Bob asked as he opened the paper. He stared at the picture on the page, but only for a moment before tears welled in his eyes and he couldn’t see anything. “Billy…”

It was a drawing of Bob. Poised like Superman flying through the air, cape and all. Beneath it, Billy had written, BOB NEWBY. SUPERHERO.

Billy was standing in front of him, his hands wringing nervously. “Do you like it?” he asked softly. “I drew it after school the other day.”

“I love it, Billy,” Bob said seriously, smiling at Billy and pulling him in for another hug. “You’re my favorite kid in the whole world, you know that, right?”

Billy nodded against Bob’s chest, saying something that was muffled against Bob’s chest. “What?” Bob asked, pulling away just enough that Billy could speak freely.

“I love you, Dad.” Billy repeated, immediately diving forward to hug the man again.

Bob’s world exploded. He’d never be the same. Somehow, he’s not sure how he lived all these years without Billy. How there’d ever been a day that Bob would’ve been okay with Billy going back to his biological family.

“I love you more than anything in the world, kiddo,” Bob whispered into Billy’s blonde hair. “You’re the best thing that ever happened to me.”

They stayed on the couch, hugged tightly to one another until Joyce and the boys showed up. When Jonathan opened the door dressed as Spiderman with a Wizard Will right behind him, Billy was off like a shot, running up to the boys to greet them.

Bob stood to head to the kitchen while the kids examined costumes. Joyce followed after him, an amused smile on her face. “What’s going on with you?” she asked, and Bob turned, handing her the drawing Billy had just given him.

“Oh, Bob!” she gasped, her own eyes teary as she studied the photo. “Billy?”

“Yeah,” Bob nodded with a watery smile. “It’s now my most prized possession,” he said, only half-joking. He took the art back from her and quickly stuck it to the fridge, just above the school lunch menu. “It’s staying here until I go back to work, and then it’s hanging in my office forever.”

Joyce opened her mouth to reply, but there was the sound of pounding feet, and Billy appeared in the doorway. “Dad, we’re ready to – you hung my picture up?” he asked, a grin spreading across his face.

“Um, of course I did!” Bob grinned, gesturing to the paper. “Do you see this? This is art, Billy Newby!”

At his full name, Billy grinned. Jonathan and Will appeared beside him, and Billy bounced excitedly on his toes. “We’re ready to go trick-or-treat!”

Bob walked toward them, Joyce following behind them. “Well, we can’t keep you waiting, now can we?” They made their way out of the house, but Bob watched Billy peer back into the kitchen to see the hanging picture before he left.

As they walked down the street, Billy fell back so that he walked beside Bob. After a moment he reached for the man’s hand, wiggling his tiny hand into Bob’s until Bob squeezed his hand and held it tightly.

Looking around, Billy realized that he was finally like all the other kids. He had a dad who loved him, a cool Halloween costume, and he knew he’d get to eat his weight in candy and watch spooky movies with Jonathan after Will fell asleep in Billy’s bed when they got back to the Newby house. Billy was finally home.

#stranger things #billy hargrove #ao3 #insomniacwriter17 #fandom #bob newby #bob newby deserved better #billy hargrove deserved better #saved from the flames #sftf #foster care au #cw: child abuse

17 notes · View notes

carlos-in-glasses · 10 months

Text

Oversharing on the Internet

Thank you for the tag @liminalmemories21 @welcometololaland @theghostofashton @lemonlyman-dotcom @alrightbuckaroo and @bonheur-cafe ❤️

Let's prefix this with another giant grumpy baby in a gurney picture 🥰

ONE: Are you named after anyone? If you believe my mum, no. But I think it’s Karl Marx. He named all of his daughters Jenny. In the 80s/early 90s, mums in their droves rushed to name their newborn daughters Jennifer. Therefore, I have deduced I am named for the clandestine Marxist revolution going on between second-wave boomer mums. My mum denies this. She gave me an incredulous look when I asked, which seemed over the top, and claimed to have "just liked the name..." I think the first rule of the 80s Marxist Mums Revolution was to not talk about it.

TWO: When was the last time you cried? I’m not much of a crier usually, but I cried last week when I signed my boss’ leaving card and read all the other messages people had written for her. She’s someone who has had a massive, positive impact on my life and I’m so sad that she’s going.

THREE: Do you have kids? No, and I never will. Sometimes this makes me sad, but most of the time it doesn’t.

FOUR: Do you use sarcasm a lot? I save it for best.

FIVE: What sports have you played/do you play? I don’t understand this question.

SIX: What’s the first thing you notice about people? What they’re wearing. I was once on a plane sitting close to a woman who wore the most fantastic, long, colourful coat. I was so fixated on the coat that I didn’t realise the woman was Thandie Newton until we were at Heathrow.

SEVEN: What’s your eye colour? An indeterminable grey-green-blue shade that changes depending on the light, what I’m wearing, and my mood.

EIGHT: Scary movies or happy endings? Happy endings.

NINE: Any special talents? I’m not good at anything other than creative writing. I truly am The Worst at all else. I understand it’s objective and people might disagree that I’m good at writing at all – but I mean, relative to everything else I do, it’s really all I’ve got.

TEN: Where were you born? Saaaaf London.

ELEVEN: What are your hobbies? Writing, reading, going for walks. I love movies and reading about the movies I've watched or watching video essays about them. I also really love going shopping tbh, but I don’t do it much for financial and moral reasons.

TWELVE: Do you have any pets? Alas, I am petless.

THIRTEEN: How tall are you? 5ft 7 with disproportionately long arms, to paint a picture.

FOURTEEN: Favourite subject in school? Drama and art. I’m lousy at art and got a D for A-level, but was given a special award from my school for the sheer amount of effort I put in. Hahaha god.

FIFTEEN: Dream job? Poet in the poetry world doing poetry things, I guess working at a university and winning the TS Eliot for my debut collection, sigh. I didn't have enough coin to stay in academia doing something so damn arty, but once upon a moonlit dream I had notions of going to the States to do an MFA. Anyway. Still sort of trying with the odds against me. Two publications last month and one upcoming though, yay!

I'm a bit late to this so if you've been tagged already please ignore or no pressure if you don't want to do this at all!!!: @heartstringsduet @cold-blooded-jelly-doughnut @irispurpurea @actuallysara @goodways @danieljradcliffe @lutavero @howlingsaturn @ladytessa74 (I meant to add you but just saw I didn't?!!!)

#Tagged #Oversharing on the Internet

24 notes · View notes

ashintheairlikesnow · 1 year

Text

BBU Community Days - Day 2

@bbu-on-the-side prompt: * {Day 2: Questions} What's an open question you've always asked yourself about the BBU? Ask it, and see if other writers have found answers to it!

One thing I've considered but haven't ever really taken the time to do much with has been households with children. I've touched on it, briefly, here and there, but never really centered a story around it. But it's something I've seen a few BBU writers touch on and enjoyed!

Also, the impact of real-world racism on the kind of dystopian future that the BBU built! It's not something I feel comfortable really working out in much detail, although writers like @angst-after-dark have written some really great considered takes on how they see the human pet system interacting/intersecting with the racism that would already be in existence before the system ever came into being.

Basically, those really heavy world-building questions!

As for a question I've actually worked on, I like to think about/write about how the system fits into the everyday lives of people. There's a lot of criticism of the BBU that tries to posit that this sort of thing couldn't happen, people wouldn't allow it, etc - but I think history (chattel slavery and the transatlantic slave trade as well as the history of using incarcerated individuals as a form of legalized slave labor even into the present day, plus present-day existing human trafficking) proves not only that it can happen, but it has happened, it was justified by other people - even those who did not directly involve themselves in evil.

One of the things I've touched on is that the system is "just how it's always been" for a lot of people, and there is a growing and vocal movement against it but they are often dismissed or derided by others, subject to violent repression, etc. I have WRU as a powerful corporation that lobbies heavily to keep what it does legal, and people who more or less shrug at it. "Well, it sucks, but what can you do."

I think people, historically, as a species, are pretty good at focusing on getting through life and not moving too far out of their comfort zone into doing anything about even the pretty fucked-up stuff that happens outside their front door.

But, yeah. So that's just a few world-building questions I've considered when working on my WRU pieces.

I've touched on the idea of the societal viewpoint on this, and how people handle it, in a few pieces:

Chris revealed as a former pet to his friends in a series of very veyr short minifics: One Two Three Four Five Six Seven Eight Nine Ten Eleven Twelve Thirteen Fourteen Fifteen Sixteen

This Isn't Hypothetical for Chris - involves an in-class argument over the ethics of pet ownership that gets out of hand and sends Chris spiraling

Chris, years after rescue and recovery, sees another pet with his owner at a coffeeshop.

#bbu community days #bbucommunity #wru #whump #box boy universe #box boy #bbu #world-building #worldbuiding

13 notes · View notes

ambiguouspenny · 10 months

Text

oversharing on the internet

Finally doing this...*insert 'it's been 84 years' gif here*

Thanks @alrightbuckaroo for the tag :)

ONE: Are you named after anyone?

My middle name was almost after someone, but according to my mother in the chaos of my birth she just "forgot" that she'd planned to name me after her sister

TWO: When was the last time you cried?

It's actually been a surprisingly long time since I've had a real cry, but I did get misty watching S1E10 of Ted Lasso today.

THREE: Do you have kids?

No and I do not want any either.

FOUR: Do you use sarcasm a lot?

I used to think the answer to this was yes, but I actually think maybe I don't understand sarcasm enough to be using it correctly. But I am the type of guy to say "no" whenever I'm asked to do something that I'm absolutely intending to do. Is that the same? Idk.

FIVE: What sports have you played/do you play?

I used to throw shotput and discus in high school and that is the extent of it. I'm not athletic at all.

SIX: What's the first thing you notice about people?

Their shoes. And then their sense of humor.

SEVEN: What's your eye colour?

I honestly don't really know, gray/hazel?

EIGHT: Scary movies or happy endings?

Scary movies with happy endings.

NINE: Any special talents?

Sometimes I write and read spoken word poetry.

TEN: Where were you born?

On the other side of the state I live in.

ELEVEN: What are your hobbies?

Drawing, writing, acting out scenes of fanfiction to myself alone in my apartment, and maying spotify playlists.

TWELVE: Do you have any pets?

My parents have two dogs that I see quite often, and then I have a cat, his name is Simon.

THIRTEEN: How tall are you?

I am 6 feet tall and have been since middle school. My coworkers were incredibly shocked after a year of meeting exclusively on zoom.

FOURTEEN: Favourite subject in school?

Drama and Art

FIFTEEN: Dream job

I'd love to be in some kind of creative leadership position or whatever. Something doing like communications, or marketing or something like that. While maybe a lot of people would think my dream job would be to make a living off of making art, I get a lot of fulfillment from being on a team and problem-solving and I'd love to do that in a more creative setting than what I'm currently in.

hooty hoo! I did it~

going to tag some peeps who may or may not have already done this- obviously no pressure- @hoko-onchi-writes @mixtapestar @freneticfloetry @detective-giggles @guardian-angle22 @heartstringsduet @watmalik @jddryder

hey i'm super happy you exist <3

#about me #oversharing on the internet

12 notes · View notes

streettealee · 10 months

Note

theory i've had running for a while now about how various downworlders represent different aspects/forms of neurodivergence and mental illness. and without being too spoilery about ~anything~ I was reminded of the connection I made a while back, long story short, do you think werewolves could represent something like the mood swings in bipolar or bpd or even autistic meltdowns? i know it's a very out there ask but i have IDEAS

TW: steroids, personal medical experience

That's quite an interesting take to think about. Without, of course, being spoilery about anything: when I write about werewolves, I more had in mind a period of my life where I was actually on steroids (prescribed by a doctor) on and off. At first, they feel kind of amazing, because they made a chronic pain I've been living with since the age of eleven disappear like it'd never been there. But I had a lot of energy all of a sudden. I struggled to sleep at all for many nights, and when I did, it was extremely lightly. My appetite increased dramatically and sometimes wasn't there at all. And I had wilder mood swings than I think I've ever had in my life. My skin broke out in acne worse than ever. The first time I was on steroids, I was only about thirteen, when a lot of my hormones were also going wild out of natural processes - and, of course, this medication threw them further out of balance, from my understanding.

I was aggressive, more physical, highly self-conscious, easily angered, quick to sadness and meltdowns, extreme in happiness, hyper, just... it was an intense experience. I got into arguments more. Literally took to punching a guy I had a crush on (just in the shoulder, but the intent to hurt, oddly, was there because of some provocation he did some days) and, on one occasion, throwing food at him (I have the distinct feeling he found it much less amusing than I did at the time). He confessed he had a crush on me too (I have no idea why and now I'm concerned for him upon reflection) but instead of being nice about it, I ignored him (for an entire year. As in I did not directly talk to him for the duration of a year.) I pushed myself physically further than I should have when lifting weights. I remember literally feeling like I could run up walls, wanting to try it, needing to bolt outside and run up the hills like a hound let loose. Everything about me was snappy, in a way. Words, moods. I couldn't focus either. Blew up in class at people. Hated myself. Was driven to a very, very dark place, the worst I've ever been in. There were, admittedly, other factors.

But I'll never forget how invincible I felt while on steroids or how much I craved them when the pain came back. The only thing holding me back from dangerously consuming more outside of what was prescribed was the fear of becoming as unstable as I was again. I scared myself with who I became and I'm still a little scared of her now.

In equal parts, I felt good, but I also felt like absolute shit. I had energy yet was simultaneously exhausted. Being on the medication and then off was, for a decent while, a real struggle (I did not suffer actual withdrawal, because my doctor was careful about that, but I did still suffer from intense mood swings for a while after I stopped taking the medication). It's what I draw inspiration from when writing about werewolves because of how changed they are when first turned. To me, werewolves have more to do with having more of things inside you that you lacked before, that you don't know what to do with, that lashes out and struggles to stay in no matter how desperately a distant, quiet part of you is saying "this isn't me, I know who I am, why can't I just be like I was?" Not so much a monster within as a version of you that is reflected tenfold outward, with less of your sensibilities. If, well, that makes sense. That was my experience I drew from. Changing and being not like yourself in a frightening way you feel like you can't control.

Honestly, I don't know enough about bipolar or BPD or autistic meltdowns to say with any confidence that Cassandra Clare was likely using werewolves as an allegory for these things. I barely have a clue what goes on in her mind after ChoT and some of the author talks I've seen her post. I used to think I knew what she was about, but I'm lost now. When I've seen CC write about newly turned werewolves, they are highly volatile, who need time and training before they can even interact with the wider world (hence the existence of the Praetor Lupus, for example, and some packs in general).

I could imagine werewolves representing some mental illness, but I'm unsure about a disorder or aspect of one. I'm wary of the possibility of unflattering comparisons that may harm others who may not appreciate the idea. What I will say is that when I write of werewolves, they represent a self that is intensified often beyond recognition, some change in you that you eventually learn to accommodate for and live with or control in some ways. I hope that all made sense <3

#tlh #the last hours #werewolves #wbithom #wasting beats in this heart of mine #fanfic #tlh fanfic

3 notes · View notes

squaretablehold · 2 years

Text

what if I posted the end of a fic idea without writing the beginning or the middle.... haha wouldn't that be ridiculous???... hahahaha....Unless. (varré/omc like, twice and neither ends well)

So the background to this is there's been a long standing tension between Varré and Juzan where Juzan thinks Varré could be a great doctor and good man if he'd just stop fucking killing people, and Varré has a crush on Juzan because he's equated love and connection with suffering and Juzan's fucking miserable all the time cause he hates being a white mask.

But then Varré meets a runner named Linden and Linden falls hard for Varré and starts trying to woo him, and Varré's confused by this cause Linden's not dying, why would he want to be around a war surgeon? But they get closer and right as Varré thinks this might be something real Linden fucking dies.

Varré breaks down about it and doesn't really know why and this scene is Juzan coming to comfort him because he's a decent friend.

"You've never lost anyone before have you." Juzan states.

"Don't be ridiculous," Varré snaps, "of course I've lost patients. I'm hardly perfect. Your flattery in this moment is perverse!" Varré sniffles and wipes his nose on the back of his glove as if to drive the point home, shooting Juzan a glare but doing nothing to pull away. The other surgeon lets out a sigh that sounds suspiciously close to a laugh.

"No, I mean you've never lost a loved one before." At that Varré freezes. Love? Did he love Linden? Is that why it feels like someone's carved his heart out and replaced it with caltrops? Juzan's still rubbing soothing circles into his back like he hasn't just shattered Varré's world and the warmth of his hand isn't the only thing stopping him from plummeting into the sky.

"No." Varré feels himself say. "I haven't."

Juzan lets out a long breath, and shifts closer on the cot, wrapping his arm around Varré and pulling him into a partial embrace. The war surgeon hesitates for just a moment before turning and burying his face against Juzan's shoulder. He winds his arms around his squadmate and clings, willing himself not to start weeping again but failing utterly.

"When I was eleven years old my baby sister froze to death."

Varré stills, shocked out of his stifled sobs by the sudden and terrible fact about himself Juzan's just shared.

"That's horrible," Varré mutters, not wanting to pull away but feeling like he ought to.

"Yeah, I thought the whole world was ending at the time, but then when I was thirteen both my uncle and my older brother got drafted into the army. We'd get the courtesy wood ash for them one after another the next year." Juzan continues softly, like it's a secret he doesn't know how to share.

"Wood ash?"

"It's what they send when they can't be bothered to find a body or their actual ashes," Juzan's typical derisive tone creeps back, and Varré can almost see the angry frown. Now he does pull away.

"Why are you telling me this?"

"Because," Juzan tilts Varré's chin to catch his eyes from where they'd fallen to his lap, "I want you to know that you'll survive this. I know it doesn't feel like it, but you will, and it will get easier. The pain fades. Not all the way, but it does. What's left is how you hold onto them, even though they're gone." Juzan smiles then, one of his few genuine smiles, but it's tinged with a precious agony that steals Varré's breath away. It glitters in his eyes like candlelight over dark water, deep and beautiful and treasured in the other surgeon's heart. And Juzan offers it to Varré as a balm for his own, while smiling at him like he's worth it, like he makes it better.

Varré doesn't think as he surges forward to capture that smile in a kiss and drink in their shared pain, all he knows is that he wants this. This is what he knows, he knows pain, he knows agony, and he knows how to drown it in tenderness. He didn't know he'd loved Linden until it was too late, but when Juzan offered up his wounded heart bid Varré partake to mend the shreds of his own he knew he loved - loves - Juzan and all his dazzling pain.

Varré's first kiss will always belong to a dead man, but he thinks that maybe his second is even sweeter for knowing what to expect, for knowing to expect it. Or it would be, if Juzan wasn't pulling back and grabbing Varré by the shoulders to keep him at bay.

The two surgeons stare at each other, each one's mouth slightly parted. Varré's in horror at what this could mean, and Juzan's in a flustered shock. Ice creeps up Varré's spine as every damning second creeps by, his heart thunders like the hooves of a frightened animal and he has the strangest urge to run far away from how his friend's shock is turning into a pitious scrutiny.

It's Juzan that speaks first, "Don't- don't do this Varré."

"I-I-, " Varré stammers, his usually silver tongue turned leaden in his mouth.

"This isn't a good idea. You just lost Linden, you can't just…" Juzan heaves a sigh and drags his hands down his face. Released from his hold, Varré has to fight the urge to lean forward, his mind screaming that he has to fix this somehow.

"You're hurting Varré I know, but don't use me as wound dressing. It isn't fair to either of us."

"That's not what this is!" Varré insists, "I wasn't even sure I loved Linden until he died, but you…" Varré goes to grab Juzan's hand but stops when it flinches away. Something gnawing, cold, and ugly starts chewing its way through the pit of Varré's stomach, something with words he doesn't want to hear.

"I felt this way before I even met Linden," Varré whispers, watching Juzan's hand because he can't bare to see the look on his face. It's a lie but it feels truer than anything he's ever known. How had he ever not loved like this? How could something that seems to flow through every part of him as surely as his blood have ever not existed? It's impossible.

"Even if I believed you, I don't- I can't…" Juzan huffs a breath as he folds over and buries his hands in his hair. He grips it in the way Varré knows means he's struggling terribly and his heart leaps to soothe even as it aches and cracks apart all over again at the only thing Juzan could mean.

"Do you not feel the same for me?" The smallness of Varré's voice surprises him. He thought it'd be louder, more tremulous, reflect some of the howling desperation that's screaming through him. He's not sure what he expects to see when Juzan looks up at him but it's certainly not a guilty sort of pain that makes his surely masochistic little heart flip in his chest.

"I'm sorry. I could. I think I could, but not now, not like this. Not as a white mask."

And with that admission Juzan might as well have shoved Varré backwards off a cliff for how everything tumbles around him. He can't breath for the wind rushing in his ears even as he's frozen in place.

It takes a moment for what Juzan said to sink in, and when it does Varré's shock turns to anger.

"Oh? So you could love me if I wasn't what I am?" He bites out the question and relishes Juzan's shocked expression.

"That's not what I m-" Juzan cuts himself off, the realization that Varré's misinterpretation of his words rings just as true playing dizzily across his face.

"Fuck, Varré, don't take that the wrong way."

"And how should I take it? I was raised to be a war surgeon all my life, so if you find that distasteful you may as well pull out your dagger and start carving my face off yourself." His accusative and gruesome comparison fails to elicit Varré's desired reaction from Juzan. Instead the other surgeon takes a deep breath, closes his eyes, and speaks in a carefully gentle tone.

"You're angry cause you're hurting, and you're misunderstanding me."

Somehow the attempt at patience and understanding from the normally abrasive man only riles Varré up further.

"I understand perfectly! You can't do what you must for the good of the army and insist on torturing your patients as if that'd make your hands any less bloody. You're a failure of a war surgeon and instead of facing the truth you've convinced yourself we're all evil, unlovable, wretches. Is that it, hm?" Varré isn't sure when he leapt to his feet to try and tower over Juzan, but he only realizes it when the other man glares up at him from his seat on the cot. There's a familiar hatred there that makes Varré's blood run cold. He's pushed too far this time hasn't he, bringing up their disagreements as doctors.

"Fuck off, Varré," Juzan huffs as he grabs his mask and stands. He heads for the exit, but Varré catches him by the arm as he passes.

"Where are you going? We're not done here!" His voice cracks on the last word, that missing desperation from earlier finally making itself known.

"We are." Juzan states as he wrenches his arm from Varré's grasp and puts on his mask, shattering any intimacy that might have remained between them, "I have patients."

He says it like an accusation, an indictment of Varré not having patients to tend to, and that twists whatever knife had seemingly found its way into Varré's gut. He stands there alone in the tent unsure of where to go from here. Linden is dead, and Juzan rejected him. Nobody loves a white mask it seems, a bloody killer in the guise of an angel. No one can stomach it, they're not meant to. A killer is only loved when life is too painful to continue, and so Varré must face his life without. He must snach bits and pieces where he can, and eek out a heart on the fringes with his own kind. He tries to tell himself he can be content with that again, as he once thought he was. But after knowing the warmth of love, his mask feels far too cold against his lips.

#varré #varre #white mask varre #juzan the former white mask #wip fic #the amount of back and forth tension and worldbuilding that lives in my brain for this is stupid #i researched medieval military ranks and communication systems for it #also some people make ocs to ship them with canon characters for fun and wishfufillment #i do it for character development angst and yearning #i doubt I'll ever actually write this whole thing out but enjoy suffering premoghwyn varré anyway #i gave him TWO potential boyfriends and then yoinked them away because this is frOMSOFT BAPEY!!!#don't ask who linden is #he's generic leyndellian solider number 4 who just so happened to also be a varré enjoyer #im posting this now before i get to embarrassed and then i'm going to pass out and not think about it until tomorrow

11 notes · View notes

ladyknightskye · 10 months

Note

Ask game ask game ask game!

Do you plan each chapter ahead or write as you go?

What do you do when writing becomes difficult? (maybe a lack of inspiration or writers block)

What do you think makes your writing stand out from other works?

Putting it under a cut because I got really rambly there. >.>

Do you plan each chapter ahead or write as you go?

Little bit of column A, little of column B. In general I have a rough idea of what happens in a chapter, but I don't usually have like, a bullet point list of what all has to happen. Since getting into SPN and doing a lot of fandom Bangs, I have gotten to the point where I will plan more than a chapter ahead, but I don't have to stick to any of those plans.

2. What do you do when writing becomes difficult?

Honestly? I take a step back or work on something else for a little while. Or, if it's just a part of the work that's not vibing with me, I'll go back to either the beginning of the scene or the chapter and simply redo the entire thing. Usually when I do that, the cut goes into my draft file somewhere else so I can keep it just in case. If it's the whole work that's not working? I tend to abandon it. (I am so sorry to everyone who ever follows me and starts reading WIPs. Someday. Or honestly you can ask and I'd at least give you bullet points of what'll happen next)

3. What do you think makes your writing stand out from other works?

Mmm, I think it's my ideas more than anything really. Not necessarily the tropes and stuff, but the combinations of them. I had a fairly atypical upbringing (combination of where I live, who I was raised by, the environment of my home) for a woman of my demographics, and a pretty meandering list of interests. I think that kinda combines into a willingness to play with the source material and tropes in such a way that you end up getting interpretations and combinations that aren't that common in many of the fandom spaces I've been in.

I say that not in, like, an "I'm so special~" way, because I absolutely had all the normal "girl" stuff as a kid. Like, I was a horse girl, had an astrology phase, all of that - but I was raised by an extended family (three to four generations at once on two contiguous acres of land, my mother was a military brat that has actually visited other countries and my father was a hippie that graduated from Notre Dame; my paternal grandmother and grandfather met while working on components of the Manhattan Project and said paternal grandmother was a well known pillar of the community; this entire motley crew all lived on the same land as a camper/trailer park that had some permanent residents but renters who came from all over the state as well as families from all over the east coast since to this day I remember the girls I hung out with from West Virginia; I am a character from a family of them), was introduced to the romance genre by Jean Auel's The Valley of Horses at the precocious age of eleven, and by thirteen had my sister handing me her Bertrice Small books on the regular. I read The Kadin at like, twelve or thirteen, so I was introduced to the idea of a healthy polyamorous relationship (let's be real y'all, our mom and grandmama's harem books were basically poly even if the ladies weren't having sex amongst themselves) at a time when most teens around me were discovering their sexuality for the first time. My special interests run the gamut of angelology/Abrahamic folklore, dinosaurs, cosmology (the science of space), epidemiology (heh heh, I was smacked in the face by that fuckin' red dodgeball of Apollo the first time I heard about a mysterious respiratory illness in China in January of 2020), cryptozoology, and music. Like, you throw all that into a blender, some weird shit is going to come out.

#ladyknightrambles #ask game

1 note · View note

buckleyseddie · 10 months

Text

oversharing on the internet

i was tagged by @buck2eddie and @cowboy-buck thank you <3

ONE: Are you named after anyone?

no but funny story. my mom's cousin had a son a few years before i was born and before she knew it was a baby she wanted to give him my name so my mom told her that if she had a daughter she would name her that (and then a few years later her cousin got pregnant again this time with a girl and couldn't use the name she wanted cause my mom had use it already lmao)

TWO: When was the last time you cried?

i think it was yesterday or the day before because something made me think of my grandma who died a few months ago and it made me sad

THREE: Do you have kids?

nope

FOUR: Do you use sarcasm a lot?

kind of, mostly irl

FIVE: What sports have you played/do you play?

i've been doing swimming for almost 12 years. since i was in highschool and before i got a big girl job i would participate in open water competitions. i still swim i just don't compete anymore but i would like to do it again.

SIX: What's the first thing you notice about people

either their eyes or their hair

SEVEN: What's your eye colour?

dark brown!

EIGHT: Scary movies or happy endings?

happy endings! although i do like scary movies from time to time even if they scare me asjdhsj

NINE: Any special talents?

um i have very neat handwriting? swimming is also a talent too i suppose, and writing. i don't know about anything else

TEN: Where were you born?

costa rica!

ELEVEN: What are your hobbies?

well watching tv shows for sure! i bought a bracelet-making kit so i've been doing that, i like baking but i don't really have a lot of time to do it, same with writing! i also like coloring

TWELVE: Do you have any pets?

i do! two dogs, koda and luna <3

THIRTEEN: How tall are you?

170cm

FOURTEEN: Favourite subject in school?

science<3 especially chemistry and biology. also english and literature, math was a favorite at some point too. i was a big nerd lmao

FIFTEEN: Dream job

my current job but with less hours so i can actually sleep and have free time and ideally with a much nicer boss

i don't know who to tag. i never do shfjshd maybe @lover-of-mine and @ijustdontlikepeople if you want to and you haven't done it!

#such fun questions!#now you all know a little bit more about me <3 #tag game #monse talks

1 note · View note

efingart · 2 years

Text

Just What I Needed - Chapter 1

ao3

Deleted Scenes: #1

Bell reflects on the few memories she has.

Author's note:

2/6/24 Reviewed, updated, and edited this chapter

This started as a comic. I wanted to see Bell and the Safehouse Crew interacting outside of the missions. Then it grew into a larger story and became too big of an investment as a comic. But the story is stuck in my head now and I have to let it out. So I'm just going to write it.

This first Chapter is a retread of the comic, but there is new stuff extra characterizations etc. Next chapter will be mostly new.

I know some of you were on my taglist for the comic, but since I've changed it to a fic just lmk if you'd like to be tagged still. No hard feelings if not. (I do plan on having illustrations in the future chapters as well)

Chapter 1

March 1, 1981

The paper in her hands, once filled with numbers and cryptic symbols, was quickly becoming a watery swirl of red and blue. Bell blinked a few times to clear and refocus her eyes. She looked down again and the page had returned to normal. How long had she been staring at this thing? Just a moment ago she had risen from the worktable to pin it back up on the evidence board and move on to something else. But as she stood she felt compelled to look at it again, feeling the spark of inspiration. But as soon as she tried to zero in on the thought and make sense of the jumble of letters and numbers, when the solution nearly seemed to lift off the paper, it would almost immediately slip from her mind. And this time was no different. So she stared at the paper in vain again, combing the depths of her mind for that lost something. And her head was pounding, which was not doing her any good. It was like her own brain was fighting against her solving this puzzle. She rubbed at her temples and considered taking out her ponytail. Deluding herself into thinking that maybe that was the cause of the pain and not the fact that she worked almost around the clock.

Of course this would happen when she was needed most.

Just behind her, Sims dropped a cardboard box onto the work table.

“Any luck with that disk decryption?” Sims asked. She looked over her shoulder at him. He had begun sorting through the box which looked to be filled with electronic junk. A cigarette dangled from his lips. She wondered if he cared about ash getting into the box.

“No,” Bell admitted, “I feel like I’m missing something.” Frustrated with herself she rubbed her forehead again and looked up at the evidence board hoping that maybe this time it would reveal it’s secrets. Instead a bright light flashed across her face. The sunlight beaming through the skylight above hit a metal object pinned to the board. She plucked the offending object off it’s peg and turned it over in her hand. It looked like a keyring with a deranged apron-clad figurine attached.

“What is that?” Bell muttered to herself, perplexed as to why anyone would want to carry around such a manic looking thing. Though it did seem strangely familiar to her.

“Find something?” Sims asked as he walked around the table to join her at the evidence board.

“Uh-” Bell paused. She hadn’t intended to pose the question to him and she felt a little silly showing him the keychain since it wasn’t related to her work, but she was still curious about it.

“No, but what is this?” Sims took a drag and looked it over.

“Looks like a keychain, Bell.” Bell looked at him pointedly and sighed, “I know-”

“I’m kidding you. Woods picked that up on your last mission.” He chuckled, “And he says Adler’s sentimental.” Bell looked back at the odd figure in her hand and scrunched up her nose.

“Why would he be feeling sentimental about this weird child?”

“You know, we all find ways to deal with the things we’ve seen- the things we’ve done,” Sims said, “And Woods has definitely been through it.” Then he shrugged before adding, “You should ask him- about the keychain, I mean.”

“Yeah.”

Bell glanced down at the keychain again. She thought about putting it back on the evidence board, but instead she closed her hand around it. Sims studied her face. She must have looked as exhausted as she felt because he then said, “Why don’t you take a break? Get some coffee and try tackling it again in a few.”

“Yeah, but-” Bell protested and looked over her shoulder at Adler. He was in his office. His expression very grave. Sims followed her gaze.

“Even he doesn’t work 24/7. Shocking, I know.”

Sims nudged her side encouragingly before going back to his work. Bell pinned the paper on the evidence board, but held on to the keychain.

Why? Because it was Woods’?

She shook the thought from her head as she went to the kitchenette. The coffee pot was empty, as it often was. Just about everyone on the team drank coffee, or tea, round the clock. They had terrorists to hunt, and sleep could wait.

Bell began brewing a fresh pot and leaned against the counter to wait, surveying the Safehouse.

Her eyes landed on Park who sat at a desk nearby listening to recordings- of what Bell was unsure. One hand pressed a headphone speaker to her ear. In her other hand she held a cigarette and a pen, this was poised over an open folder. Occasionally her hand would drop down to jot a note or two in the folder as she listened. Sometimes she would bring her hand to her face to take a drag from the cigarette.

That’s how it was here. A constant chain of cigarettes and cups of caffeine. Not the healthiest lifestyle, but did any of them expect to live long?

Sims was still sorting and cataloging boxes. She could see now that they looked like old radio parts. He had removed his blue MACV-SOG windbreaker and tossed it over a chair. The beaded bracelets on his wrists clacked together as he moved around. And he was humming to himself, though she couldn’t make out the tune.

She couldn’t see Woods, Mason, or Lazar from where she stood, but she could hear them talking in low voices. Or at least as low as any of them talked in casual conversation. Shooting the shit as Woods and Mason were getting ready for their next mission. They were headed straight into Russia. Mount Yamantau. But to hear them talk it was as if it was nothing to them. She knew deep down that they took the job seriously and they maybe the both learned some time ago that a little levity went a long way in this line of work. It would be foolish to mistake their jovial attitudes for a lack of care or professionalism.

Directly across the room from her she could that Adler was still in his office. The door was closed, but the shades were up. He was on the phone, chain-smoking, pacing and generally looking pissed off. His desperation to catch the man who eluded him for so many years was coming to a head.

The coffee pot gurgled loudly through it’s process drawing Bell’s attention to it. Her friend was working his ass off and here she was, taking a break. Letting him down because she couldn’t cut it. She couldn’t figure out some critical puzzle piece. In fact, everyone in this room was waiting on her. The fate of the mission was on her shoulders, and what was she doing? Getting coffee?

She recalled the way Adler had been in Vietnam. Even when things had gotten rough there he was always encouraging. Making the best of things. This was different. He was different.

The faster they caught Perseus, the better it would be.

She’d have her friend again.

Bell shoved her hands in her pockets and debated on whether just to go back to work. She looked down at her boots and kicked the cement floor. Feeling, somewhat unreasonably, disgusted with herself. She heard someone walked up to the coffee pot. The familiar deep gravely voice dragged her from her thoughts.

“Hey, coffee,” Woods said, “Thanks, Bell.”

He reached into the cabinet just next to her and grabbed three mismatched mugs, turning them over and lining them up next to the pot. Woods poured the fresh coffee into the mugs and handed her one.

“You take it black, right?” He asked.

“Yeah,” She said, a little surprised, “Thanks.”

No one really thanked anyone for doing something as mundane as making coffee around here. It was so automatic. She looked at the other two mugs, one for Woods of course, and the other probably for Mason. It was then that she remembered the keychain.

“Hey, Woods?”

She looped the keychain around her middle finger and let it drop so the little figure dangled in the air just below her hand before asking, “What is this?”

“It’s a keych-”

“I know it’s a keychain," Bell said, "But what is it supposed to be? This weird little man-”

“Bubby.”

He narrowed his eyes at her as he took a sip of his coffee.

“Do you seriously not know who Bubby is?”

“Well, I saw the bigger version. The talking one at that restaurant-”

“Burger Town,” Woods said as he gave her a curious look. He tilted his head and moved his arms in a gesture of disbelief.

“Bell, do you not know what Burger Town is?”

By this time Park walked over and was filling the electric kettle with water at the sink.

“Not everyone shares your undying love for American fast food, Woods,” Park said over her shoulder.

Woods tipped his mug at her, “I’m sure you’d never be caught dead inside a Burger Town, Park.”

“Got that right,” She replied as she placed the kettle in its base and turned it on. The kettle clicked and hissed as it heated the water. She then walked back to her desk to jot a few more notes down in her notebook.

“Bell,” Woods said drawing her attention away from the kettle. He had a serious look on his face set down his coffee mug and took a stride towards her. To her surprise he took her wrist in his hand. Shaking his head in disappointment he slipped the keychain off her finger.

“I don’t think I can trust you with this. I’m putting it back.” Woods then looped a finger through the handles of both of mugs and picked them up as well. Bell watched him go. It was only when he had disappeared around the corner did she realize that she was holding her hand, the hand he had just touched, to her chest. She quickly dropped it to her side.

Someone cleared their throat. For such a large man Adler had managed to walk up to her without making much noise. He looked down at her over his sunglasses. His expression was smooth. Everything about him was smooth. She had the distinct impression of a giant cat crouched down, ready to pounce on some unsuspecting animal. Have you ever been attacked by a tiger, Bell?

“Now that you’re done goofing off with Woods, can you get back to work, Bell?” It wasn’t a question. His was voice measured, but his eyes narrowed. Unconsciously, she took a step back. She felt the strange urge to throw her hot coffee in his face. To run. Alarm bells were ringing in her head and somewhere deep down there was another voice telling her-

In a low voice, Adler said, “We have a job to do.” She felt a cold rush hit her. Her body relaxed while her mind snapped to focus. The feeling of anxiety washed away. In front of her stood her old friend. His expression was soft, not angry. He just wanted to find Perseus.

Of course. Bell couldn’t believe for a moment she had thought there was anything sinister about him.

How ridiculous. “Of course, Adler,” She said and picked up her coffee before heading back to work.

Don’t worry, Adler. I’ll figure this out. I know you’re counting on me. Then everything will be like it was.

It was nighttime when Bell left the Safehouse. Pulling her sweater on she stepped out onto the porch and looked out into the dark field the team used for a parking lot. It wasn’t too cold out, even for early March, but Bell wrapped her sweater tightly around her all the same. She found it was constantly falling off her shoulders and she had to wonder why she had bought something so ill-fitting.

But she couldn’t actually remember buying it. Or where she even got it.

As soon as she started thinking about it in any detail the dull ache in her head returned. A clear sign to her that she was just overworked. Of course she had bought it. She just couldn’t recall where at the moment. There were more pressing matters at hand.

Maybe after this mission she would take it easy for a while. Use some vacation time and catch up on sleep.

A soft breeze blew across the lot. The cool air helped to soothe her.

At least she had finally managed to crack the code on the paper tonight. However, she still wasn’t sure how it connected to the rest of the evidence. It felt like even with her best efforts she was only inching forward. And it was only more frustrating when she realized she couldn’t recall the last time she ate. The last time she drank anything that wasn’t coffee. Bell knew she wasn’t taking care of herself the way she should be.

Working on very little sleep, going home, and almost passing out on her bed still fully clothed, smoking the stress away- she wasn’t sure how long she could manage it. But whatever Perseus whatever he was plotting, they needed to get ahead of it, or things were going to get bad. Her health could wait.

Bell lit a cigarette and stepped out into the parking lot. Leaning on Adler’s car, she smoked and enjoyed the peaceful darkness of the night.

The pain in her head was subsiding, though she knew it was only temporary. She needed to eat. Bell placed her cigarette between her lips, freeing her hands. She yanked on her hair tie and pulled out her ponytail. Running her fingers through her hair she shook it out and rubbed at the pressure points along her skull.

“Ugh, my head. Stupid ponytail,” She groaned.

The sound of a lighter clicking drew her attention. She peered into the darkness ahead and saw Woods astride a motorcycle. He was lighting a cigarette and his face was briefly illuminated by the small flame.

“Oh, I didn’t see you there,” Bell said.

“Yeah,” Woods said and shrugged, “You looked like you needed a minute to yourself. Didn’t want to bug you.

Then he added. “You get enough from Adler anyway.”

She opened her mouth to say something in Adler’s defense, but stopped. Instead she walked over to Woods, curious about the motorcycle. She hadn’t seen it in the parking lot before. But then again Woods had been in Kiev up until yesterday.

“Cool motorcycle.”

“Thanks,” He said flashing her a grin, “I’m borrowing it from a friend.”

A moment of silence settled over them. Bell would have liked to talk to him, but she didn’t really have anything to say beyond their work. And she wasn’t interested in talking about that.

Woods was looking out at the road just ahead. He seemed like he was thinking something over and he took a long drag from his cigarette.

“So, Bell,” He started, “I can’t quite let go of the fact that you’ve never had Burger Town before.”

It definitely was not what she would have expected him to say.

“You-“ She paused before repeating him, “can’t let that go?”

He looked her over like he was assessing her. Sizing her up. Like he didn’t know what to make of her.

“No,” He finally said, “Doesn’t sit right with me. Everyone needs to understand the joys of greasy fast food.”

A wide grin spread across his face. Bell wasn’t sure if he was serious.

“Sounds appealing,” She said with a flat voice. With the way she felt, junk food wouldn’t have been her first choice.

“Look, it’s a nice night, and I was going for a ride anyway,” Woods said as he gestured ahead.

“Do you want to come?” He asked.

Bell considered it. She hadn’t been looking forward to going home and making dinner. Not with the way she was feeling. This would be easy and a nice change of pace.

And if she was being honest, spending some time with Woods away from everyone else, sounded pretty good.

At the same time she felt the pull of her work. Something was telling her to head back inside. She had the uncanny feeling that if she did turn around Adler would be in the window watching for her. That disapproving look on his face.

There she was goofing off with Woods again.

Adler’s voice sounded in her head like a radio playing in the back of her mind.

Get back to work, Bell We have terrorists to catch. We’ve got a jo-

She shook his voice from her mind.

“It’s that important to you?”

“I wouldn’t say it’s important.”

“Well, if it’s not important,” Bell said with a shrug.

Woods sighed and picked up his bike helmet holding it out to her. She took it in her hands. Her image, or rather a shadow of her as it was too dark to pick up much detail, reflected in the surface.

It’s how she felt. A shadow of herself. Working herself so hard she was barely even sure she was alive.

“Come on, Bell. Live a little.”

The static in her head had quieted at the sound of his voice. It was like he knew the right words to say. It was a little curious to her why Woods was pushing. No one else seemed concerned or interested about what she did as long as she was working.

Was he really just this passionate about his favorite fast joint? Or maybe this was just his way of getting to know a new teammate. Couldn’t hurt to go especially since they would be continuing to work together.

“Fuck it.” She said softly. Bell took the helmet from him and hopped on the bike.

“All right, hold on,” Woods said.

And before she could do anything, he grabbed her hands and placed them around him.

“I’m not scraping you off the side of the road.”

After some time they pulled into Burger Town. It felt to Bell like Woods may have taken a longer route than necessary. There wasn’t much open road in West Berlin and surely if it was so popular there would be more than one Burger Town location inside the city. So by her judgement they should have reached one sooner. Bell dismounted the bike and handed Woods the helmet.

“Only Burger Town in the city?”

“Wanted a ride, took the scenic route.”

Good enough for her. The ride had been fun so she wasn’t about to complain.

Bell turned towards the brightly lit building. There was a slightly smaller statue of the Burger Town mascot, Bubby, outside to greet customers as they walked in.

She studied his face. His green eyes seemed to follow her wherever she moved. It was as if he would come alive at any moment.

Friend or foe, Bubby?

The one in the Soviet facility had spouted communist propaganda. She wasn’t even sure if this one could talk.

Bell leaned back to look over the entire building. It wasn’t freestanding, but the facade and the interior looked the same.

“Looks so much like the one we saw in the simulation,” Bell said as Woods walked up to join her.

“Yeah, except no Soviet soldiers to contend with.”

Hopefully.

Woods patted one of the outdoor picnic tables.

“You hang out here. I’m gonna go order. Don’t wander off, or Adler’ll kill me.”

Bell rolled her eyes and hopped onto the table. She moved to light a cigarette but realized Woods was still looking at her. It seemed like he was expecting her to confirm that she actually wasn’t going to wander off.

“Where do you think I’m going to go?” She said, laughing a little in disbelief.

Instead of responding, Woods just shook his head and chuckled to himself as he walked towards the restaurant. Bell turned her head and watched him. He tapped the Bubby statue with the flat of his hand before stepping inside.

Bell braced her hand on the table and leaned back looking up into the night’s sky. She didn’t know what to make of Woods. He projected a certain level of toughness, which was expected. His beard and his style of dress seemed to send the message that he was’t someone to mess with.

But at the same time of all the people she had interacted with at the Safehouse, he was the only one who didn’t seem to be holding her at arm’s length. Well, him and Mason. She would have thought, given their reputation, they would be tougher, intimidating.

Hell even mean.

But they had surprised her. Woods especially. Formidable in the field, a good and capable leader, but at the same time able to shamelessly get excited over something as simple as fast food.

Isn’t that healthier? With a job as hard as his, isn’t a little levity necessary?

She blew a puff of smoke into the air and looked up at the stars. A vague memory of a little dog floated up in her mind—a dog in the stars.

A bag landed next to her causing her to start.Bell turned as Woods hopped up on the table next to her.

“You couldn’t just hand it to me like a normal person?” She asked, lazily flicking her cigarette butt away.Woods narrowed his eyes at her, “You’re one to talk about being normal.”

Bell picked up the bag and carefully opened it.

“Hmm,” She peered inside, “It smells good.”

“What did you expect?” Woods was opening his own bag.

“With you? I can’t be sure.”

He chuckled, “Probably a good policy.”

Then he handed handed her a drink cup. The cup was freezing.

“What’s this?” She asked, pulling up her sleeve to wrap it around the cold drink.

“It’s a milkshake-” Woods began.

“Oh, I love these!” Bell interrupted, her eyes lighting up. Woods gave her a surprised look, but she could tell he was pleased by her reaction.

“Can’t remember the last time I bought someone a milkshake,” Woods said with a grin.

“Oh! Did people really do that in the 50s?” Bell asked as she unwrapped a straw and stabbed into the hole in the lid of the milkshake.

“How do you know about that?” Woods asked, giving her a puzzled look, “How do you not know about this Burger Town, but you know that?”

“I saw it in a movie on TV-” Bell started, but this time Woods cut her off.

“Don’t start singing. All those movies had singing in them,” He rolled his eyes, “Besides, I wasn’t a teenager in the 50s.”

Bell drank from her straw and studied him for a moment.

“Old man,” She said finally, grinning around her straw, Woods pointed a french fry at her.

“What was that kid?”

Bell rolled her eyes and looked away from him out into the street.A car drove up and parked right next to Woods’ motorcycle. Pop music blared from the speakers. A group of teenagers hopped out and headed into the restaurant. Though one stayed behind and leaned on the car. He lit a cigarette. They had left the windows rolled down and the engine running so the music kept on playing. It was loud enough that they could hear it from where they sat. It was a familiar tune, but the lyrics were a little odd.

Bell was surprised to see Woods tapping his foot to the beat.

“Didn’t take you for a pop music fan.”

“You spend a lot of time driving you kind of have to like a variety of music, you know?” He said with a shrug, “Anyway it’s catchy.”

Bell could agree with that.

Then she grunted and grabbed the bridge of her nose. Her head had begun pounding again.

“Brain freeze? You’re drinking that thing too fast,” Woods said, “Anyway you should eat something, your burger is getting cold.”

Grabbing the bag between them he handed it to her. Bell wasn’t sure if her head pain was from the cold milkshake or not. But he was right, she did need to eat.

She took out the burger and folded the bag in her lap. Then with great care she peeled back the wrapping on the burger as if it were something delicate. Finally, she took a bite.

It was so good it surprised her. The bun fluffy and sweet. The burger patty itself a bit smoky. Just a little charred on the outside but nice and juicy on the inside. There was also a tangy sauce that complimented the meat well. Not quite mayo and not quite ketchup. And she was certain there were some vegetables in there somewhere. Nothing like farm fresh veggies advertised in the pictures on the menu of course. But a little limp lettuce and a sad tomato didn’t detract from the experience.

Maybe Woods was onto something. Or maybe she was just hungry.

She took a few greedy bites of the burger.

God she really was hungry.

“Ok ok, slow down!” Woods chuckled, “You ever eat?”

Bell looked sheepishly at the remains of the burger in her hand.

Instead of responding to his question she said, “Thanks Woods, it’s nice to do something- something different.”

“What do you mean?” Woods questioned her. His brow was furrowed as he asked, “Don’t you- I thought you, Sims, and Adler were old pals. Don’t you ever- I don’t know, go for beers or anything?”

“This mission is different. Adler is so focused.”

Bell took another bite then set her burger back down on the paper bag in her lap and debated continuing her thought. She brought a crumpled thin napkin to her mouth, dabbing at whatever food debris might be on her face, while she chewed away and considered things. It would be nice to tell someone what had been bothering her. Let it all out. But she didn’t know Woods like that, they had only just met.

Bell briefly glanced at Woods, who gave her a curious look. Something about it seemed to say she could trust him. That he didn’t mind listening to whatever she had to say.

Is that why he took her out here? Maybe he saw it too? Or at least sensed it. A good leader would notice something was wrong, right?

She looked back out in front of them to the street. The teenagers had bought their food and left. And a new car was pulling into the vacated spot.

“I feel like he’s keeping me at arm’s length,” She said finally, keeping her voice low, “Sims is friendlier, but I think he’s still following Adler’s lead.”

“Oh,” Was Woods’ only response. He sounded surprised. They both let that hang in the air for a moment. Neither saying anything.

It seemed to her like Woods was giving her room to talk if she wanted it. And she did want it. She wanted to talk to someone about how she felt. Holding it all in her head was making her feel like she was crazy. But at the same time talking to someone else about Adler, about her friend, felt like she was being disloyal to him.

After all, shouldn’t she at least try to talk to Adler about it? Why did she feel like she couldn’t?

“Look if you ever want to talk about it. Doesn’t have to be now…” Woods trailed off. She knew what he meant, he was leaving the door open to her.

Bell nodded. Then she chuckled to herself.

“He’s gonna be so pissed,” She said by way of explanation.

“Adler?”

“Yeah,” She said with a sigh, “He wants me to just focus on this mission. It’s like he thinks I’m-” Bell paused, thinking over her words. Then she looked at Woods and shrugged before continuing.

“I don’t know. He thinks I can see things differently. He doesn’t want me distracted. You know what I mean?”

And there she was, unloading, just a little. She sighed, it felt so nice in the moment to just say it. Just let it out.

Bell studied Woods’ face for his reaction. He had invited her to talk to him, but that didn’t necessarily mean he’d believe what she said. Woods ran his fingers through his dark hair, the movement drawing her eyes up. She hadn’t noticed before how in the midst of the thick black hair there were little bits of white mixed in. The white was especially prominent by his temples. He even had a few streaks in his beard. It was such a stark contrast she wasn’t sure how she had missed it.

His blue eyes were fixed ahead, he must have been thinking through what she said.

“Adler’s pretty intense. But even for him, that’s-” He stopped short as if he just realized something, “Shit, Bell, I didn’t want to make things tense between you two. You wanna head back?”

“No,” Bell said with a shrug, “He’s going to be mad no matter what at this point.”

She took a bite of burger and chewed slowly, thinking.Then she nudged him in the arm, saying, “Anyway, it’s worth it.”

Woods blinked at her then his face broke out in a grin.“So, you like the food?” He asked hopefully.

“And the company.”

She nudged him, again and he chuckled softly. They ate their last bites of food in silence. Bell shoved the burger wrapper back in the bag. Woods hopped off the table and took the bag from her crushing it into a tiny ball and tossing it into the trash.

They walked the few feet to the motorcycle and Woods unlocked the tail box to grab his helmet. He handed it to Bell and shoved his hands in his pockets. When he looked at her again his brow was furrowed.

“Say, Bell. I was wondering, how did you get to Vietnam-”

That was not what she had been expecting.

“Do you really want to trade war stories?” She asked as she fitted the helmet over her head and secured the chin strap.

He kicked the sole of his shoe across the sidewalk, then seeming to make his mind up about something hopped on the bike.

“Nah,” He said finally, “Not really.”

July 1981

Something was off. The worn mattress, stained and smelling vaguely of mildew was somehow worse than it had been the last time she woke up on it. Even with it’s ancient springs that poked out of the thinner sections of fabric, those rusty prongs that somehow hadn’t yet given her tetanus, something that had already been the bare minimum of better than sleeping on cold concrete was now inexplicably worse.

Bell was awake now, but did not open her eyes. She breathed in and coughed as tiny fibers of mattress entered her dehydrated throat. Her jaw ached in protest at the movement. Bell groaned and her jaw ached again.

She was on her belly, sleeping at an angle, her entire right arm and shoulder hanging off the edge of the mattress. The back of her hand and her forearm were touching the cold floor. For a moment she thought she couldn’t feel them. The tips of her fingers were so cold she thought they had gone numb. But they hadn’t as she was able to brace them on the ground and lift herself up.

The blanket that had been draped across her- who the hell would even bother to do that- slipped to the floor. She shivered. By her own measurements she could guess it was summer but this place seemed determined to retain the damp and cold.

And she looked up to the single window in her cell, high up on the ceiling, grated, but open, exposing the room to the elements. A drain sat on the floor beneath it to collect rainwater. How she hadn’t caught pneumonia yet was a mystery to her.

She felt the heaviness in her head of lying in one unsupported position all night. Her lower back felt stretched out in the wrong way. Her chest ached like she had been punched.

She curled her legs under her body and dragged the threadbare blanket off the floor as she wrapped it around herself again. With her right hand she massaged her ice-cold toes, her fingers occasionally running over the soft bare nail beds. The feeling of her missing toenails was unsettling and still caused her to shiver. She pushed them from her mind and looked around sorting through the events again in her mind. They must have drugged her. Again.

And that’s how she hadn’t noticed, until this very moment, that they had taken her bedframe.

Bell looked over the mattress. A new dark stain had blossomed over the spot where her head had just been. A vague memory came back to her, the origin of pain in her jaw. She touched her face and with a fingernail chipped away at the thin crust of blood that had settled over her chin.

A realization pushed through her drug-hazed brain and panic thrilled through her. She shoved her finger in her mouth, feeling around, just to be sure. And she relaxed when she found that amazingly all her teeth seemed to be intact. The kick seemed to have only skimmed over her jaw, probably cutting her lip, thus the blood. She didn’t know how they would manage a broken tooth here, but she could imagine that they wouldn’t have the patience or the skill of a practiced dentist. And even if they did they would go for the most painful option anyway. Bell hadn’t been the most cooperative of prisoners.

She rubbed her temples with the heels of her hands. The pressure at least helped to mitigate the ache for a time. Then bracing a hand against the wall behind her, she stood up. Bell fell back into the wall again but was able to just catch herself with her hands.

“Too fast,” She muttered to herself.

Bowing forward slightly to keep the lightheadedness at bay, she once again rose onto her feet. The mattress squeaked in protest, and she walked the long way off of it so she could keep her hand braced on the wall.

The head rush caused the ache in her jaw to throb and send little shocks to the nerve endings across various points in her face.

It had been worth it. She couldn’t recall exactly what lead up to her being kicked in the face, but at a certain point in her stay she realized she might die here. And she made up her mind to make her captor’s lives hell as much as she could until then.

The bed frame had been part of a poorly devised escape plan.

Had it worked it would have been something. And she would be miles away trying to figure out her next steps.

Anyway what does a person with no friends in the world and about six months total of real memories do with freedom?

Where would she go? Well she and-

Bell shook her head. She needed to take things one at a time. First escape, then figure out what to do. Even a carefully laid plan could have some hiccups. She had been down here for months without a clue what was happening outside. Her face could be plastered over every newspaper and post office in the world. That was the consequences of being a part of a plot to blow up a quarter of it.

No no, neutron bomb, remember? Organic material.

Just the people.

Monster.

She sighed and leaned against her hand still braced on the wall. Her fingers curled over the pockmarked concrete. Her empty stomach churned as the acid inside it threatened to rise up her dry throat. She coughed.

“Don’t vomit,” She ordered herself. She had nothing to vomit, it would just be burning acidic mucus and make her feel worse rather than better.

But her stomach did seem to settle. Hot tears rolled over her cheeks and fell from her face and staining the concrete by her nailless toes. Bell pulled her dirty shirt over her face to wipe her cheeks and her nose before pushing off the wall and staggering over to the opposite end of the room.

She pressed the palms of her hands into the wall while she carefully and slowly kneeled. She felt around the floor for a suitable sharp piece of broken concrete. Finding one, she stood again and studied the growing collection tiny marks she had made on the wall as she tried to remember where she left off.

Did it really matter?

Bell ran her fingers over the grooves. Some of the paint around them flaked off and disintegrated when it hit the ground.

Based on the amount of marks she could just about guess it was July. But hell it could be August for all she knew. Between the drugging and all the games they played she could be missing whole days.

She placed her forehead against a clean patch of wall letting the cold concrete soothe her aching head.

How much of her life had slipped away from her?

She couldn’t focus on it. Bell closed her eyes and tried to push it from her mind.

With her mind nearly blank, a song she had heard, maybe once or twice, in the short period of her life that she remembered came to mind. It was amazing how she could be made to forget a lifetime, but an earworm would always stay an earworm.

“Wasting all my time-“ Bell sung into the wall, her voice cracking at the last word.

She firmly, placed her hand on the wall and carved a line into it, starting a new row of tics.

The song continued to run through her head. It was like she was there again. In her tiny collection of memories there were only a select few that she would have described as happy. And even those were tainted now weren’t they?

She raised her fist and slammed it against the wall. More paint flaked away turning into dust on the ground. Bell turned and leaned against the wall.

Then she slid her back down the wall to sit on the floor.

What motivation did she have to keep going?

What was the point of her being here when she could have easily just died on that cliffside? She looked to the window where she could just see the waxing moon in the sky.

Bell shook her head.

“No,” She whispered to herself.And then she recited the same lines she recited every night for the past few months. Words that Adler had embedded in her head, like the song, played as if on repeat.

If I am captured, I will continue to resist by any means available.I will make every effort to escape.

Those words drove her forward. Kept her on her feet. She rolled the concrete stone between her fingers.

Bell smiled and rested her head against the wall again. Maybe the means to Adler’s destruction.

“I know what I’ll do if I get out,” She whispered to the room, “I’ll fucking kill them.”

Tomorrow she would try again.

Tomorrow she would escape.

#call of duty #cod bell #fanfic #frank woods #alex mason #helen park #russell adler #eleazar azoulay #lawrence sims #jason hudson #cod cold war #frank woods x bell #efing fanfics #efingfanfics #my art #myart

115 notes · View notes

indigo-mayhem · 2 years

Text

my symptoms

hi today i'm going to be talking about OCD and how it personally affects my life because fuck it sure does

NSFW warning because some of my obsessions are very uncomfortable (for me and probably for you too) and if you don't wanna read about that then uh. don't i guess. also tw for mentions of disordered(ish) eating and incest (sorry. it's my brain's fault)

so my obsessions can be, as i said, very uncomfortable. they include standard stuff like saying or doing something embarrassing, to engaging in... inappropriate contact with people i really should not be doing things like that with (i.e. family, teachers). it fucking sucks ass all the time and i hate it so much.

i also have numerical obsessions, especially when it comes to eating certain numbers of things or volume numbers. for example, i just can't eat four cookies. one, two, three, and five are all fine, but not four. i will ruminate on it for however long it takes me to have a fifth cookie because god knows i'm going to have to in order to stop thinking about it.

i know that my phone volume goes from zero to sixteen so i restrict myself to having my volume at one, two, three, five, eight, ten, twelve, thirteen, fifteen, or sixteen. four, eleven, and fourteen are okay i guess but not ideal. seven and nine are bad and i only have my volume on them if i feel that one lower is too quiet and one higher is too loud.

i get obsessions about mentally/emotionally harming people accidentally. i ruminate on how i can be the best person i can be and how not to offend anybody. it sounds kinda dumb but i really don't want to accidentally cause drama because i didn't know something. i don't want to say the wrong thing.

i also suffer from less common obsessions like existential obsessions. these are basically exactly what they sound like. i contemplate human existence, as well as my own, to an unhealthy and time consuming extent. it makes me feel worse about myself and my path in life as well, which is just awesome. it's like a 2-in-1 deal; spend a stupid amount of time thinking about something that's going to force you into even further depression. this is a more recently manifested obsession but it's totally kicking my ass.

now. my compulsions are more complicated because i don't have very clear ones. my most dramatic compulsion is trichotillomania, or hair pulling. it's left me with bald patches and it's really embarrassing to explain when someone asks why my hair is everywhere.

other compulsions that honestly might just be normal person things/not even ocd related:

i feel really uncomfortable if i use the bathroom without washing my hands, it's like my hands are contaminated and dry and i can't touch anything until i wash them. this one doesn't affect me that much because it's not hard for me to just wash my hands after using the bathroom. it's not inconvenient and it's not overly strange. it's probably just a normal person thing to be honest. i'm not too worried about this one.

sometimes i get phrases "stuck in my head" and i feel that i have to repeat them in my mind a certain amount of times. i also have a system where i use my thumb to "draw" on my palm, and i have to do it a certain amount of times. i will sometimes use my thumb to "write" the phrase that's in my head on my palm. i've been doing this for as long as i can remember, actually. it doesn't bother me that much but it's kind of distracting.

you could have probably guessed that i have numerical compulsions as well. when i look at the clock and it's a set of numbers that just feel right, i'm satisfied, but if it's not right, it'll bother me and i'll have to keep looking back at the clock until it is right. i'm not going to get into what makes a number feel right vs. wrong because my brain has come up with a stupidly complicated set of rules and exceptions that i don't think i could fully explain if i tried. and if i did, i'm sure i would sound insane.

another thing is writing and rewriting something over and over again until it's right. this is actually hella time consuming and frustrating, and why i greatly prefer typing to handwriting. the longer i look at something i've handwritten, the more i want to redo it until it's perfect. i remember having a little breakdown in 6th grade because i just kept erasing and rewriting and playing with the zipper on my pencil case, zipping and unzipping as fast as i could, trying to make the feeling go away.

i don't have neatness/cleanliness compulsions so my room is a shithole but i do have symmetry compulsions where i just,,, want everything to be symmetrical. pretty self explanatory.

that's pretty much all that i remember but i might make more parts to this because i want to destigmatize these symptoms and make people understand how big a part of me they are. i can't just... shut off my mental illness. i talk about it so often because it never goes away. i don't get to choose to stop feeling it, so it's hard to choose not to talk about it so much. maybe i'm just being weird. i dunno. don't judge me for this. i can't do much about it.

thanks for reading.

#ocd #actually ocd #ocd symptoms #mental illness #mental health #mental health awareness #original content

10 notes · View notes

tranquilstudy · 3 years

Text

Hey everyone! So I've seen a lot of these floating around and I've always wanted to make one but just never had the creative incentive to do so... until now! I think these are pretty cool in how they allow people to get to know each other and bond on the studyblr community and as a community of welcoming and acceptance. Not all of the challenges on here are study-related but I think they make pretty decent conversation starters for people to get to know you and your studies better! Because this may be a time for people to take a break from school as well, I think the questions are fairly fitting. But, it's my first time doing this so who knows, haha.

Basic Information

The challenge will run from kind of a weird time: May 2nd, 2021 to May 27th, 2021. However, you can start or stop at any time! Feel free to participate in this whenever you feel like it. Everyone is welcome!

There are 25 26 prompts / challenges, and they range from strictly academia to just fun prompts to spruce up your posts. It's honestly more about getting to know yourself and where you direct your energy. There's questions for productive days and questions for days when you just wanna crawl into a ball and fall asleep forever. The most important part is having fun and connecting with others here, that's why I decided to make this. They're meant to be answered once a day, but know that you can answer however your posting schedule fits you! I know for me I don't typically post everyday so I'll probably be answering these in a bit of a wonky fashion. Feel free to join me or answer them on the dime!

If you decide that you wanna participate, whether at the designated time or not, feel free to use the tag #tranquilstuddybuddies ! I'll be following it and I'm excited to see what you guys come up with. Also, please reblog this post so that I know you're at least thinking of doing it! Even if you don't end up doing it. I'll create a taglist below as I see more people becoming interested and reblogging this post so we can all stay connected!

Questions

Daily Question: So, I've been doing a lot of yoga lately.

...I swear this will all make sense.

And I've been doing a lot of Yoga with Adrienne on YouTube, and in her practices she always tells her followers to set intentions for themselves, which I thought was really cool. So, I'm gonna borrow her idea here!

For every day of the challenge, you can answer one or two of the following:

1. Fill in the blank: Today, I choose _______. (Kind of like an affirmation for your day.

2. Fill in the blank: Today, my goals are __________. (Like a to-do list! what are your plans for the day? What do you want to accomplish?)

These are meant to be done along with the prompt for each given day. So , for Day One you would answer the daily question(s) as well as the prompt for Day One, and so on. They don't have to be answered but it might be a nice way to set yourself up for success, both in an academic and a mental mindset.

...

Prompt questions:

Day One: Tell us a little bit about yourself! What classes are you currently taking, if any? If not, what are you currently studying or what is your current long term productive projects or goals?

Day Two: Choose one: "True love flows like water, coming and going, surging and receding, and must be followed accordingly." or "True love is choosing someone or something, over and over, no matter what." Explain your choice if you'd like! Kind of a philosophical way to get the brain churning.

Day Three: Share some pictures from your favourite vacation or travels. What's your favourite part of this place? (Or, if thinking of travelling makes you sad because of covid restrictions, take a picture of your study area and tell me what you love most about it!)

Day Four: What are you doing to take care of yourself today? Show us a picture of your favourite face mask, tea / coffee / hot beverage or your comfort activity.

Day Five: What is your favourite band? Share some of your favourite songs from them! (Bonus points if you also share your study playlist with us, or what you like to listen to to get in "the zone").

Day Six: What do you do on days that you feel blue? Share three songs that help you feel better.

Day Seven: What type of learner are you? (Visual learner, audial learner, etc.)

Day Eight: Tag someone that you would love to stargaze with, talking about anything that comes to mind deep into the night. Can be a studyblr, or it doesn't have to be!

Day Nine: Tag someone that you think deserves to have more recognition in the study community. What are two things you like about them?

Day Ten: What would you love to learn more about or do more of?

Day Eleven: What article of clothing that you own makes you feel your best? Share it today!

Day Twelve: Do you have any pets? Share a picture and an interesting fact about them!

Day Thirteen: What class have you had the most fun in during your academic journey? What class have you learned the most in?

Day Fourteen: Do you believe that dreams reflect real life? What do you think dreams represent? (Kind of a random one, but interesting I think)

Day Fifteen: Within your field of study, what particular issues are you the most passionate or interested in? OR, what subject or class in school is your favourite?

Day Sixteen: What is your process for writing notes?

Day Seventeen: What time do you usually go to bed? Do you find falling asleep easy or difficult? How do you cope with not being able to fall asleep?

Day Eighteen: If you're comfortable with it, share an experience or a struggle that has helped you to become who you are today. (If you're not comfortable, share a picture of your handwriting instead!)

Day Nineteen: How would you describe your best friend? How do you think your best friend would describe you?

Day Twenty: What book(s) are you currently reading, if anything?

Day Twenty-One: What keeps you motivated? What motivation tips would you give to someone in a slump right now?

Day Twenty-Two: What do you use to escape from reality, if anything? Do you think it's necessary to escape from reality every once in a while?

Day Twenty-Three: Tag yourself: Team "late night matcha lattes, snuggled up with a blanket for one last late night review session" or Team "staying out late at the soda shop, drinking a milkshake and popping quarters into the jukebox, dancing your cares away"? (Team cozy matcha or team sodapop for short)

Day Twenty-Four: Share your favourite recipe for one of your favourite dishes to make! Can be cooking or baking.

Day Twenty-Five: Tag someone that gets you. On, like, a higher level. They just get you.

Day Twenty-Six: The end of the challenge! What did you like or dislike about this challenge? What did you enjoy? What did you learn? What are your plans for the future now that this challenge is over?

Well, I can't count. I thought there were 25 questions... *sigh* this is why I failed stats...

Taglist

@lampstudy @notionblr @asterinunfathomed @predvmstudies @itsleahstudies @divinity-study @helianthuscryptid @jkjustplanning @econtwin1 @leillee @mangofiend @mangomybeloved @agriblr @fromtheatretomedical @elentiascodex @finchleaf :)

111 notes · View notes

snarkwrites · 3 years

Text

13 | gangsta ; sweetpea

NOTES:

It's been a while. I've had these two chapters written for a while now but I haven't had time to sit down, edit them a little better and post them. Since I have time now, I thought I'd go ahead and do that, whether you guys asked for these next two chapters or not.

Sorry this took forever! Sorry I'm so slow, I've been settling into a new house and taking care of some IRL stuff / taking a little break. I swear, I'm going to update everything sooner or later. >.>

I love you guys.

WARNINGS:

NON/ LOOSE CANON COMPLIANCE - this is the biggest warning, so if you’re into things that follow exact canon plot you are… definitely not going to like this. ANGST & SLOW BURN, HEAVY SEXUAL TENSIONSTARTING NOW, ACTUALLY - this is just so everyone who started reading this thinking the smut would transpire in a hurry knows that apparently, it is not. VIOLENCE / SWEARING & FIGHTING, POSSIBLE UNDERAGE DRINKING AND OTHER SHENANIGANS- look.. it’s high school. shit happens. also apparently, my ofc Alyssa uses the word fuck like all the time?…EVENTUAL SEXUAL CONTENT / A VIRGIN ORIGINAL CHARACTER- this one is self explanatory. yes, i plan to write a smutty chapter in this at some point. when? i don’t rightly know. it’s got a while before we get there. STALKER TW - this chapter marks the true appearance of Alyssa's ex, Dave Novak. It's hinted heavily that he's a gross asshole who likes to play mind games. ATTEMPTED KIDNAPPING TW - This chapter contains an attempted kidnapping. If this is gonna bother you you're best off not reading it.

If you're under 18+, probably not a good or wise idea to continue reading this series. Because there are going to be a few dark and adult themes within. I'll warn here, of course, but you need to understand that I don't control you. If you continue to read after having read the warnings and you're upset or don't like something... Totally on you, friend.

PAIRING:

Andrews!Sibling OFC x Sweet Pea.

TAGGING:

@brithedemonspawn is the only person on my Riverdale tag list. If you want to be added, the link to do so is below.

OTHER PARTS:

ONE - TWO - THREE - FOUR - FIVE - SIX - SEVEN - EIGHT - NINE - TEN- ELEVEN - TWELVE - soundtrack

OTHER STUFF:

[ about my writing - tag list doc ]

THIRTEEN.

[773 - 589 - 7956] Quiet sleepy little town you’ve got here. I can see the appeal, scarlet.

[773 - 589 - 7956] I saw you last night. If I didn’t know what a treacherous bitch you were, I’d say you look more beautiful than ever.

[773 - 589 - 7956] Have you shown that new boytoy of yours all the dirty little photos you were sending me? I bet he’d fucking love to see that… Or did you actually let him see the real thing?

[773 - 589 - 7956] You can say what you want to the cops, scarlet. You and I both know you enjoyed sending me those dirty little pictures. Do your parents know what a teasing whore their daughter really is? I know mommy wasn’t too thrilled when you went running to her to snitch just because things got a little too real for you…

[773 - 589 - 7956] I’ll see you soon. It’s like I said, scarlet. You owe me. I intend to collect. You think this is a game? You can just promise things and then betray me like that? That’s not how this works, scarlet.

The second my phone was powered on again after school, it immediately started to go insane. The texts came in a flood. They were so disgusting and scary that I dropped my phone because my hands were shaking so hard I couldn’t hold it. I quickly picked up the phone and took a few deep breaths, attempting to pull myself together.

,, I can’t keep this to myself. I have to tell someone what’s going on.” the thought nagged at me for the thousandth time in two weeks and I decided that as soon as I finished my tutoring session for the day, I was going to go to the construction site and show my father the texts. Tell him that somehow, Dave was out of prison and apparently, he was here in Riverdale.

My stomach was churning and a bitter taste filled my mouth at the thought. I felt like a dead girl walking. How could I have been so fucking stupid? I should’ve told my father the first time Dave texted me. I should’ve done something.

I felt anger at the situation too. I came here to get away from everything, to put it behind me. I just wanted to forget any of it happened. How dare he show up and ruin everything? He was supposed to be in jail right now, not walking free!

It wasn’t fair.

I knew I’d never be brave enough, but I found myself thinking that if I did see him again, I wanted to strangle him. To give him a reason to be afraid of me for once instead of the other way around. To get even for the hell he put me through in Chicago.

I stepped out into the parking lot, taking a few deep breaths to calm down. Leaning against the brick wall beside the doors that lead into the building. Waiting. Trying to pull myself together. Half hoping that my brother was still here, still in wrestling practice.

Then I remembered that he didn’t have it tonight and that he’d left earlier with Veronica, Betty and Jughead.

Cheryl and Toni were already gone too. I’d stayed over because I was tutoring some kids in the grade below me. I didn’t think it’d take as long as it did. When I realized just how late it had gotten and that I’d be walking home alone in the dark, I’d panicked.

I could always call my dad.

That’s what I wound up doing. About halfway across the parking lot and just as my father’s phone went to voicemail , Dave stepped out and grabbed me, clamping his hand over my mouth before I could do anything other than scream.

My phone fell out of my hands and hit the pavement . I fought him off, managed to get out of his grasp and took off at a run. He caught up to me and grabbed me, trying to drag me towards his Chevelle that was parked nearby, idling. I fought tooth and nail, making as much noise as I could. Grabbing hold of anything I could to try and wrench myself free from his grasp.

I spotted Sweet Pea walking towards the school and I screamed louder. Fought harder.

“Sweet Pea!” I screamed his name, biting at any exposed skin I could get my mouth on Dave’s body. Clawing and scratching. Determined not to go quietly or without a fight. Sweet Pea disappeared from sight for a few seconds in the scuffle between Dave and I, and I was fighting so hard that Dave was struggling to keep a good firm grip on me…

XXX

He’d come back to school because normally, Alyssa was done and at Pop’s within thirty minutes, an hour tops. It had almost been two. Something felt off. Sweet Pea tried to tell himself the entire walk across town to Riverdale High that he was just being paranoid or overprotective. By the time the school was in view, he almost had himself convinced that he was just being a paranoid idiot.

Until he heard her screaming.

Sweet Pea took off at a run in the direction her scream came from, watching as a guy grabbed Alyssa and started trying to pull her towards an idling Chevelle nearby. He locked eyes with Alyssa before slipping out of sight. Getting himself into a position where he could slip up on the guy from behind and hopefully, distract him enough that Alyssa could get away.

The second she managed to smash her head into the guy’s nose hard enough that he dropped her, Sweet Pea spoke up. Firmly. “Run, Cherry. Don’t stop running.”

“No.” I stubbornly refused to leave. I wasn’t going to leave him to fight Dave off on his own. Not when this was my mess to begin with, my own stupidity coming back to bite me in my ass.

“Damn it, woman. Fucking go!” Sweet Pea practically growled as he lunged for the guy in front of him, spearing him against the side of his own car. The fight took to the ground, the two rolling around. For a second or two, Dave had the upper hand because he managed to get his hand on Sweet Pea’s throat. Sweet Pea used his legs, flipping them so that he was on top, swinging his fists with no real thought other than the sheer rage he felt about the guy trying to grab Alyssa. Dave managed to get the upper hand again, holding Sweet Pea against the concrete, Sweet Pea’s hand wrapped around his throat as he tried to squeeze harder.

Sweet Pea swore in frustration when he saw Alyssa slipping over to the open rear door. She emerged with a baseball bat, making her way over to the fight.

“What the fuck do you think you were gonna do, man?” Sweet Pea snarled in anger as he got in a few hard and fast punches.

“I was gonna get my hands on that little bitch you call a girlfriend and teach her a lesson.” Dave grunted out the words as Sweet Pea’s hand closed around his throat tighter and he managed to get Dave on his back again.

“The only one who’s going to learn a lesson tonight is you, asshole. Don’t fucking touch her.” Sweet Pea got the upper hand again, holding Dave against the concrete, smashing his head against Dave’s head as he sneered, “I’m gonna fuckin kill you, putting your hands on my girl.” and really tightened his grip.

Dave managed to shove him off and stood, the two of them fighting. Alyssa swung the bat at Dave’s lower back, almost connecting with it but Dave stepped out of the way at the last minute, making a grab for her.

“Cherry, I told you to run, damn it!” Sweet Pea growled as he lunged at Dave, sending Alyssa stumbling back, barely managing to keep herself from falling on her butt on the pavement. The two were rolling around on the ground again, punching and choking wildly and Alyssa spotted her cell phone and she dove for it, dialing 911.

Just as she was about to hit call, Sweet Pea choked Dave out and grabbed for the rope that had fallen out of Dave’s jacket pocket, tying his arms together while he was down. Then he rushed over to her, checking her over in concern, wincing at the pavement burn on her cheeks and the few scrapes.

“What the fuck happened to run, huh?” Sweet Pea asked, trying to catch his breath.

“I wasn’t leaving you here with him.” Alyssa panted. Sweet Pea took her cell phone and hit call, keeping his foot on Dave’s head to keep him down as he made the call.

Two minutes later, a cop car came racing around the corner and pulled to a stop behind the idling Chevelle.

The cop got out and wandered over. Glancing from Sweet Pea to Dave.

Alyssa spoke up.

“Sweet Pea was trying to save me, officer.”

“I’m going to need you two to come to the station and make statements.” the cop informed them after getting Dave into the back of the cop car. Alyssa nodded, hugging herself against Sweet Pea’s side. Sweet Pea slipped out of his leather jacket,draping it around her, because at some point during her fight with Dave, her shirt had gotten torn down the front.

The cop left, leaving the two of them alone.

Sweet Pea took a few deep breaths, pulling her against him. Squeezing her tight. Holding her in place. “Thank God I decided to come by here. If something would’ve happened…” he muttered against her hair quietly.

She pulled away to look up at him and he locked eyes with her, leaning in closer…

XXX

My heart was still hammering away at my chest. The adrenaline was starting to wear off and I was starting to panic a little as I began to realize what almost happened to me. How close I came to disappearing, having God knows what would be done to me by Dave.

I wasn’t thinking about how awkward me kissing him would be. I wasn’t thinking about anything if you want the truth. I rose up on my toes, grabbing hold of the front of Sweet Pea’s t-shirt, pulling myself up. My mouth brushed against the corner of his gingerly, trying to avoid the portion of his lower lip that was busted and bloody because it had to hurt like hell. His hands dug into my hips and he growled quietly, his mouth latching onto mine just as I went to pull away, stop myself before I went for it and kissed him in the heat of the moment.

The kiss deepened and I raised my arms, wrapping them around his neck. Dragging my fingers through his hair. My back met the side of the Chevelle with a soft smack and he pressed himself into me more firmly. His mouth continuing to hungrily devour mine.

The kiss broke a few seconds later, we pulled apart breathlessly and stared at one another in a daze. Sweet Pea wiped the back of his hand over his mouth and cleared his throat. Going quiet again.

All I could do was melt into him and try to wrap my head around what almost happened and what had just actually happened. He curled his fingers under my chin, tilting my face so that I had to look up at him.

“Who was that? Wait.. was that your ex?”

My jaw dropped. I blinked at him and then I nodded quietly. He swore under his breath and held on a little tighter. Pulling away again, his hands on my upper arms as he stared down at me. “I should’ve fucking killed him.”

“H-how’d you know about Dave? Did my brother tell you?”

“And Jughead. I don’t know everything. I just know that I told myself if I ever actually saw the asshole, I was going to kill him.” Sweet Pea answered quietly. Taking a few deep breaths and then adding a few seconds later, “We need to get to the station.”

I nodded in agreement. Sweet Pea scooped me up when he saw me take a step and wince, then try it again with the same outcome.

“I can walk.” I protested weakly.

“You fell. You probably twisted your ankle. Just… let me carry you, Cherry.” he muttered quietly, his voice a soft and concerned whisper as he gazed down at me.

All I could do was nod. Lean my head against the space between his neck and shoulder.

As we worked our way towards the police station, it poured out of me. Every single thing I’d gone through with Dave in Chicago. I grimaced as I told Sweet Pea exactly what had gone down and why I thought Dave had come to town and tried to grab me tonight and Sweet Pea’s jaw set firm.

I could tell that hearing it bothered him. And at one point, he muttered quietly, “If you don’t want to talk about it you don’t have to…”

“No, I need to get it out. I shouldn’t have kept the fact that the asshole was texting me to myself. Blocking his number obviously didn’t work because he reached out with a new one. I thought if I just ignored him, he’d lose interest. I thought it was just him, trying to scare me. I didn’t think he’d be stupid or brave enough to show up here.” I muttered, shaking my head at how stupid that sounded now that I was really stopping to think about it.

“He’s not gonna bother you again, okay? I’m going to make sure he doesn’t.” Sweet Pea muttered after a few seconds, just as we stepped into the station and made our way over to a sitting area to wait.

“You need to call your dad.” Sweet Pea spoke up after a few seconds that felt like hours.

I nodded. Taking my phone back from Sweet Pea, I dialed my dad’s number and I could hear the relief in his voice when he answered.

Static crackled and popped on his end of the line so I strained to hear.

“I’ve been riding around town looking for you for over an hour, tiny. What the hell happened?” my dad asked in a rush.

“Dave was waiting outside of the school tonight when I came out… If Sweet Pea hadn’t gotten there when he did I… he tried to grab me tonight, Dad.” I grimaced as I said it, bracing myself for all the questions and the lecture I knew I’d be getting because I hadn’t told anyone the second all this started.

,, to be fair, I definitely deserve it.” the thought came and I let myself have it. Leaning back in the chair, resting against Sweet Pea’s side slightly. Taking a few deep breaths.

My dad swore and I heard him punching at something, probably the dashboard of his truck. After a second or two, he spoke up. “Where are you two? I’m on my way, tiny. Right now.”

“We’re at the station giving a statement.” I explained.

“Thank god. So Novak got arrested? That’s good. I’m going to be sure to find out what I can do to make sure that little prick stays in a cell this time.” my dad responded as I heard him rev the engine on his truck.

The call ended and I leaned my head against Sweet Pea’s shoulder. He slipped an arm around me and took a few more breaths as if he were trying to calm himself down again because he was still angry and tense.

The cop who made the arrest found us and ushered us back to his workspace and we sat down. Telling the cop every single detail of what happened tonight. The cop let me finish and then spoke up.

“We’re holding him for Chicago. He apparently escaped. Attacked another girl… A Claire Watson… Then he came here. But everything you’ve told me will help keep him behind bars, Alyssa. Do you have a parent you can call?”

I nodded.

“She already called him.” Sweet Pea answered calmly as he folded his arms over his chest and glared at the cop suspiciously.

The cop eyed him, nodding. Managing a cordial smile. “That was quick thinking on your part tonight kid. Also stupid as hell. If he’d had a weapon, that could’ve gone wrong. Next time, call the station.”

“And do what? Let an asshole make off with my girl? Yeah, no thanks. I’m good. I’ve seen how fast you assholes respond to any call you get from the South side.”

“Not all of us are bad, kid.” the cop pointed out in a calm and even tone.

“Yeah, well… I wasn’t going to stand there and let him take my girl either. I did what I had to do.” Sweet Pea took a deep breath, rubbing his forehead. Calming himself back down.

I spotted my father and Archie coming into the station, heading right for us and I let out a ragged breath. Squeezing my dad so tight he almost couldn’t breathe when they got over to where we were sitting in the back.

My father spoke up, addressing the cop. “We will be pressing charges. So, whatever I need in order to do that, just tell me and you’ve got it.”

Sweet Pea cleared his throat.

“If it helps, here’s her phone.” Sweet Pea held my phone out to the policeman and he took it, nodding. “If there’s anything on here, that’ll help. If you’ll come with me, Mr. Andrews, we’ll get that paperwork drawn up to start the proceedings.”

My dad gave me another hug and stopped in front of Sweet Pea. “If you hadn’t been there tonight, kid… Thank you.”

“I wasn’t gonna let anything happen to her, sir.” Sweet Pea muttered, awkwardly letting my dad hug him too.

My dad made his way to an office with the policeman who’d taken our statements and I glanced up at Sweet Pea, grimacing at the bruises and scraped starting to form on his face and neck. The black eye and the busted lip.

“Archie, can you go get some ice or a soda can? His lips really swelling up..” I muttered. My brother nodded, taking some change from me to go do it. And this left Sweet Pea and I alone again.

“About that kiss.. I’m sorry, I.. the last thing I wanted to do was make anything awkward. I just got caught up in the moment and I can’t keep fighting the way I feel and I… Sorry.” I spoke up quietly. Prepared to give him an out. Afraid that I’d gone way over the line.

“Yeah, about that… I’ve been wanting to do it for a while.” Sweet Pea admitted quietly. Making me look up at him as he chuckled quietly. “You wanna repeat any of what you just said?”

I felt my cheeks burning. I pouted up at him and gave him a dirty look.

He smirked in response and spoke up. “I’m being serious. You were doing that mumble and babbling thing again.”

“You heard me.” I answered, biting my lip as I looked up at him.

“A little, yeah… But maybe I wanna hear it again, cherry.” he pulled me close and gazed down at me for a few seconds.

“Wait.. you wanted to kiss me?” I realized what he’d admitted. Gazing up at him, a little shocked.

“You’re trying to change the subject now?” he questioned, slipping his arms around me. I gave a soft laugh and muttered quietly, “Maybe a little.”

“When you say you can’t ignore the way you feel.. What’s that mean?” he questioned again, making me look up at him. I took a deep breath and toyed with the front of his shirt, trying to figure out the best way to put it to words.

The truth. Simple and direct.

“I care about you a lot. I lo--” I started to say that I loved him, but Archie cleared his throat behind us, holding out the soda can to me. Then promptly excusing himself again to go find our dad. I gently guided Sweet Pea down into a chair and sank down to sit on his knees. Gingerly pressing the cold soda can against his lip. And after a second or two, I finally got myself to say it again. “I love you, okay?”

He chuckled quietly. Locking eyes with me. Lowering the soda can to ask quietly, “Like a best friend or something.. Right?”

I shook my head. “More than, actually. Since that day at the car wash when I drenched you with the hose, I’ve… It’s been hard to make myself not look for you in a crowd. Yes, yes.. I know this is mushy and you don’t do mushy, I..” his mouth crashing against mine cut off the flow of my words and he muttered in a daze, “Say it again. Tell me you love me, Cherry.”

“I love you.” I managed to get the words out breathlessly. His mouth was latching onto mine all over again. The kiss deepening. His arms enveloping me tighter. Squeezing til I thought I’d get lightheaded between the deep and heavy onslaught of kisses and the way he was holding me.

“I love you too.” he mumbled quietly. Gazing down at me. Panting for his next breath as the kiss broke yet again.

“Okay, are you two done with whatever yet? Because dad told me to get Al back home. You can come with us if you want.” Archie surprised me by inviting Sweet Pea. Sweet Pea eyed him and nodded, standing after I’d finally managed to pry myself away from him.

As we walked out of the station, he slipped his hand down between us, lacing his fingers between mine. Giving my hand a squeeze as he glanced down at me.

#sweetpea fanfiction #sweetpea imagine #sweetpea fanfic #sweetpea imagines #sweetpea fic #my writing; sweetpea #my fanfiction; sweetpea #my fics; sweetpea #// stalker tw #// attempted kidnapping tw #// violence tw

10 notes · View notes

buzzdixonwriter · 3 years

Text

I've Told You A Million Times To Avoid Cliches Like The Plague

Recently a year old re-print of a 1959 Writer’s Digest article by Donald Westlake started circulating on social media.

First off, if you don’t know who Donald Westlake is, go find out. You like rough edge crime stories, try his Parker books published under his Richard Stark pseudonym; you like funny crime, dig up the Dortmunder series under his own name; you like odd ball history, check out Under An English Heaven “being a true recital of the events leading up to and down from the British invasion of Anguilla on March 19th, 1969 in which no one was killed but many people were embarrassed.”

Second, Westlake was a serious writer in that he took the craft of writing Very Seriously indeed, no matter how light hearted and funny some of his books could be. He wrote a blistering letter (later turned into an essay) in the fanzine Xero (starts on page 97) where he excoriated the sci-fi field of the era as being neither artistically nor commercially viable.*

So who am I to challenge this master’s assertions?

Well, I take the craft of writing Very Seriously indeed myself, and to quote a late, lamented friend: “Fools rush in, and there we are…”

The Writer’s Digest article is a mixed bag, partially a quick off-the-cuff job for a few bucks, partially a valid observation on pitfalls in writing popular fiction in September of 1959.

Bear the date in mind, it’s crucial to this discussion.

This was an era when Americans read a lot. Millions of people subscribed to The Saturday Evening Post or dozens of other slick magazines (not to mention the digests, which are what the form the old genre pulps mutated into), and this meant each week dozens of new short stories or serialized novels were available to them (and that’s not counting non-fiction).

Westlake in 1959 was commenting on an over saturated market, one where too many writers and editors simply replayed old tropes over again and again because they knew a significant portion of their audience felt comfortable with them (this is particularly true in the slicks, more so than the digests).

Westlake divides his 36 plots into three groups: Mysteries, science fiction, and slicks.

My first quibble lays in what Westlake means when he says “plot”.

From the original article:

“A plot is a planned series of connected events, building through conflict to a crisis and ending in a satisfactory conclusion. A formula is a particular plot which has become stale through over-use.

“My own working definition of plot is what I call “5C.” First, a character. Anybody at all, from Hemingway’s old man to Salinger’s teenager. Second, conflict. Something for that character to get upset about, and for the reader to get upset about through the character. Third, complications. If the story runs too smoothly, without any trouble for the character, the reader isn’t going to get awfully interested in what’s going on. Fourth, climax. The opposing forces in conflict are brought together. Like the fissionable material in an H-bomb and there’s an explosion. Fifth, conclusion. The result of the explosion is known, the conflict is over, the character has either won or lost, and there are no questions left unanswered.

“5C: Character. Conflict. Complications. Climax. Conclusion.”

All well and good, but in his article Westlake provides almost no examples of same.

To me, a plot is a quick summary of a story that lays out beginning, middle, and end: G.I. Joe captures a Cobra secret weapon but doesn’t realize what it is. Cobra needs to get the weapon back without alerting the Joes to its potential, and the Joes must figure out what Cobra is after before they can get their hands on it.

(There’s a lot you can do with that plot. It can be a slam-bang action oriented story, a techno thriller, or a slapstick farce depending on your angle of attack.)

What Westlake presents are more along the lines of story springboards: ”What would happen if…”

A lot of the situations Westlake presents are rife with potential: “John Smith is sitting in the park, feeding the other squirrels, when a beautiful girl runs up, kisses him, and whispers, ‘Pretend you know me.’”

Okay, let’s list the possibilities, shall we?

She’s being stalked by a creepy guy and needs protection…

She’s been hired to set Smith up for some reason…

She’s mentally disturbed from trauma in her past…

She’s a flipping psycho intending to kill Smith…

She’s a secret agent slipping a secret code in Smith’s pocket…

She’s a silly college girl doing this on a dare, unaware Smith is a serial killer…

Six stories right off the top of my head, and each one could be played in several different ways, from deadly serious to over the top farce.

That’s a lot of potential in a single trope.

Here’s another: “John Smith, private eye, is sitting at his desk, when Marshall Bigelow, thimble tycoon, trundles in waving thousand-dollar bills and shouting, ‘My daughter has disappeared!’”

Well, d’uh, isn’t that what private eyes do? Find missing people? Or uncover who committed a crime when people don’t want the police involved? Or find out if a spouse is cheating?

Name a private eye story that doesn’t play off some variant of this. From Murder, My Sweet to Harper to Shaft, hiring a private eye to find a missing person is a perfect way to get a story started. “You find my Velma.”

Of the dozen story springboards he offers in his mystery section, none are unworkable, though two remain overly familiar to this day and probably are best avoided unless the writer can provide some incredible new spin.

The science fiction section is more problematic, and here’s where I suspect Westlake was slumming (there ought to be an article on the type of articles one shouldn’t write for Writer’s Digest that includes articles like the one Westlake wrote).

Seven of the eleven clearly reference classics of the genre, and if this wasn’t a deliberate dig at those authors on Westlake’s part, one can only argue that while they may be shopworn now due to retreads by the untalented, these ideas remain strong enough to support a good story.

The other four remain headscratchers. Two -- Adam & Eve and “atoms are tiny solar systems” -- are indeed hoary old ideas, burned off by EC comics earlier in the decade.

I can’t say there weren’t thirteen year old aspiring sci-fi writers who submitted these to publishers and editors back in the day, but they seem more likely to have been found on the pages of fanzines (i.e., what sci-fi geeks had before the Internet) than a professional slush pile.

We know Westlake was active to some degree in sci-fi fandom of that era; could those two tropes have come from seeing those stories in the pages of amateur magazines?

The remaining two ideas represent a ribald attitude I don’t recall seeing in sci-fi digests of that era.

Oh, sex was starting to rear its beautiful head in science fiction, and there were a few cutting edge stories, but these two seem more like set ups for smutty fanfic, not genuine submissions of the time.

Again, something I’d expect to see in a fanzine, not a professional market.

Like I said, I think this tips off that Westlake is having us on, that this whole article came off the top of his head in a matter of minutes instead of being carefully thought out.

On the other hand, his critique of slick magazine fiction seems pretty spot on and devastating.

While he covers several sub-genres, his primary focus seems to be on stories written for a female audience, the type found in McCall’s and Ladies Home Journal. He doesn’t come close to a dozen examples, however, as several (even those labeled as sub-examples) are just the same story springboard in different settings.

Two of his bad examples, however, stand out quite clearly as a dislike (whether personal / professional / aesthetic, I can’t tell) aimed at a specific series of stories found in The Saturday Evening Post, i.e., the Alexander Botts, tractor salesman stories of William Hazlett Upson.

One of Westlake’s verboten plots isn’t even a plot but a literary device: “Any story told in an exchange of letters”. The other one that ties into Upson’s oeuvre is “Joe Doakes, a traveling salesman for a paper clip company, gets involved in some pretty unbelievable adventures in a small town in the Midwest. The other participants are a local belle and a salesman for a rival paper clip company.”

The two combined describe Upson’s Botts stories to a T. The second one is richly ironic since Westlake eventually used the same basic premise for his Dortmunder series (the only change being Dortmunder is a thief, not a salesman; po-tay-to, po-tah-to).

Finally, Westlake left himself a huge out with “If you can take one of the 36 clichés listed above, and give it a brand new twist, so it doesn’t look like the same story any more, you may have a sale on your hands. If you search hard enough in the magazines on the stands today, you’ll find one or more of these variations currently in print.”

Look, I get it. I’ve faced deadline doom before myself, and more than once have fired off a short piece that contained all the depth of a dixie cup.

This isn’t the worst writing advice I’ve seen, but it’s far from the best, and Westlake coulda and shoulda done better.

* He wasn’t alone in his opinion, though ironically the 1960s proved to be one of the most fertile eras for the genre. Yet Westlake and other writers such as John D. MacDonald, Frederic Brown, and John Jakes left sci-fi for other genres because it couldn’t support them either as artists or professionals.

#Donald Westlake #writing #how this writer's mind works #William Hazlett Upson

2 notes · View notes

aala-13jellychocolate · 4 years

Text

THEY NEVER KNOW (Chapter Nineteen)

This GIF is not mine……

Author’s note: This is my first time writing, so I hope you all will forgive my mistake and grammar too. I’m hoping for comments on my writing. Thank you…

This story has taken little inspiration from Sehun web story “ Dokgo Rewind”.

I’m sorry, yesterday tumblr was not working, hence I couldn’t update sorry.

Summary, One, Two, Three, Four, Five, Six, Seven(M), Eight, Nine, Ten, Eleven, Twelve, Thirteen, Fourteen, Fifteen, Sixteen, Seventeen, Eighteen

-Sehun pov-

Things were out of my hand. On my way to find my brother's killer, and I caught up with Choi gang. How? Jinwoo trapped by Junsu.

Jinwoo on his way back to my place after accepting Wang's leader another letter for me. Junsu somehow manages to convince Woo-Shik(Choi gang leader.) that Jinwoo has stolen their new drugs package. And asshole brings 10 of his members to hurt Jinwoo. Taeyong has reached to help Jinwoo. And Yuna informs me. It won't be a big deal, but they were actually waiting for me, why? Y/n comes up. How? Junsu knows about My/Sehyun and her relationship. And he challenges Woo-Shik to win Y/n, to be specific for one night. And I've learned, asshole doesn't play by rules. The good thing about Jaehyun, he never touches women without their full consent. He flirts, intimate but never go too further. And I think Wang leader is also the same. While Woo-Shik already has many harassment and three molestation cases too. He is an authentic evil. Y/n need to stay protected, I'll do it. If I'm not wrong, if Woo-Shik cannot get hold on Y/n, he would try to go after Yuna. I have to make sure Yuna also have someone around all the time. Or I have to convince Y/n, and Yuna stays together most of the time. It will be easy to protect also save time and energy for me, Teayong and Jinwoo.

I cannot neglect, it would be challenging when jealousy is involved. Y/n is jealous of Yuna for some unknown reason. Or maybe because I was Sehyun for her, for a while, and another girl has my attention bothered her. And sensing Yuna's current loving behavior toward me, she is also the jealousy of my attention to Y/n. Did I mention I miss my brother again because I want to run away from this situation? If not, I DO MISS HIM LIKE HELL.

Back to the point, when Yuna called me about Jinwoo, Y/n saw demon through my eyes. I ask her to come with me, know a bit whatever I and my brother associated with, where unintentionally she is also involved. I was frightened. There will be a fight for sure, bloody too. I'm sure Y/n has never seen any fight. I hope after seeing she don't be fearful of me. It is the last thing I need after her hatred.

However, I was hoping to find anything on Jaehyun. Or something related to Wang leader. I sigh and suddenly notice Y/n was staring at me. I give her 'What' look.

"You know this car is a gift from my parents. I didn't say, but I love my car." I nod.

She huff and said, "Then DIRVE SLOW. If anything happens, small or big, I'll kill you." I have to admit. I'm fearful of her. I begin to drive slow; then we stay in silence.

I park her car far away from my place. We got down of the car, start walking toward my home. Y/N stop and ask, "The guys we are meeting killed Sehyun?" I can hear angry and agony in her voice. "I don't know, nothing is clear," I answer her truthfully.

"What's up with these people?"

I sigh, "Y/n, these people are connected." I smile and continue, "This gang leader may know about Sehyun case. No guarantee. We're here because they have Jinwoo." She nod.

I reassure her, "Y/n whatever occurs trust me, you will be safe. I won't let any harm to you, ever." She gives me a sarcastic chuckle, "I know. Let's go." I wasn't able to say anything. We started walking toward the meeting point. In the halfway, I hold her hand in mine. Before she starts her protest, I said, "You are my girlfriend. Please just follow the act." She is mad, she tries squeezes my hand, tightly to hurt me. I wanted to laugh. How should I tell her, her soft hand cannot hurt me? Her every and very small act make my heartbeat fast. She continues trying to hurt me as we walk. While I hold hand with affection.

We reach the destination and my luxuriate feeling dies, seeing Jinwoo in knees, near some black car, beaten. Taeyong continues protecting Yuna with the teaser, who was trying to touch her. My blood boils, if I wasn't holding Y/n hand, I would have attacks second I saw it.

Woo-Shik sees me from inside of his car. As he comes out, everyone gets alert. Taeyong and Yuna coming rush to me. I didn't utter a word. Yuna understands my silent question and tells me she is okay. Taeyong nod. Jinwoo gets up and walks toward me. I let go Y/n hand, look at her, and smile. She looks confused. I turn toward Jinwoo, reaching to him, I exams his body a bit. Taeyong comes and takes him where Y/n and Yuna was standing. He makes Jinwoo sit on the ground. Yuna sits beside him too. Taeyong was coming to help me, I silently tell him no with eye contact. He gets it. Y/n was chaotic.

I turn back to Woo-Shik, he comes closer along with his company and smirks while saying, "Sehyun, long time." He looks toward Y/n "You have an attractive girl, I have to admit." Shamelessly staring at her, "So, here is a deal. Give me your girl for a week and I will forgive you and your friends for my drugs." I keep calm with a blank face. I was aching to rip off his tongue for asking Y/n like property, however, my angry won't do any good. He looks here and there, and snickers, "I know, I said one night, but look at her. I need at least a week to completely know her." People behind him were silently smirking. Like dog waits for his owner to complete meat and pass reaming born of it.

I took a deep breath, firm and gentle voice I said, "If I say no?" Woo-Shik smirk, go to his car, sit on the car hood, and orders to fight. Now I smirk, they don't know what is going to happen once the fight starts.

-Y/N P.O.V-

You don't know why, but your heart was beating fast as something unpleasant will happen. And way the Sehun was driving, your fear was increasing. You don't have any will to die with a car accident, it made you scold Sehun a little.

When Sehun holds your hands, you feel annoyance. His hand hold was like Sehyun, only Sehun's hand skin was rough. Not wanting to go back again, there. You clutch his hand tightly, to show your irritation with his touch. He didn't even flinch. It didn't pester, it was playful maybe. You keep trying hard to hurt him while walking, like a child trying to build a card house when wind continuously blows.

You feel the change in Sehun's hold. It was gentle but reserved. You look up and see where you are. Yuna comes stands next to you. She gives you one, unsmiling look. Sehun let go of your hand. Surprisingly, you feel the loss of warmth, you were enjoying it.

Everything was confusing for you, and when the guy in brown start talking, you felt nausea. You didn't know if he was talking about you or Yuna. You know the fight will start, you have heard about it a lot Sehun's fighting skill too. But you never thought it would be like this.

It was hard for you to keep track, whose hand was moving, whose leg was. But Sehun was able to. You were okay until you saw a baseball bat, chains, and things you cannot name. Soon you saw blood. Sehun takes something metal thing from someone's hand and punches on his chest, maybe near to his chest, you don't know, but he fell on the ground in the worst pain and scream. Then a guy with the twisted wrist falls near your leg. You couldn't move, he was crying in extreme pain. Taeyong, push him away from you, harshly. Your eye widened, fear, hard to breathe, heartbeats faster, and numb. You can only see blood and scream and hitting noise. Everything makes you remember Sehyun, you image his scream while getting beaten. You can imagine his pain, screams, blood. He was killed mercilessly. You couldn't see anymore, your eye was blurred with tears. Before you can forget the real world and see more pain, Taeyoung stands in front of you, blocking sight. "Hey, look at me. It is okay." He keeps calling you. You may not able to see but you can hear everything, clearly. Your mind was imagining Sehyun, while it makes you remember Sehun. You try to ask Taeyoung to go and help Sehun, he is outnumbered, but words didn't come out of your numb frame. Your heart breaks thinking something will happen to Sehun too. You will lose him too. You wanted to know why, what, and how are things happen, you were losing your small world.

You want to deny your feeling. You want to lose your memory and have a new start. A new world, where there is no pain of losing people you love. Your phone was vibrating in your jeans pocket. With your numb hand, you take it out. Myung was calling, you couldn't pick up knowing your surrounding and your lost voice. You got a few notification asking, 'where are you?' and 'call back.' You have no idea how long you been staring at your phone. You look up when Yuna call Sehun loudly. And he was coming toward you.

-Sehun pov-

It got over sooner then I thought. Woo-Shik sneaks out while I was busy with others. I want him that most, he was my answer key but next time. I had a small cut near my stomach and arm due to shape knuckles besides that I prefect. I called Taeyoung to drop them in the hospital. I'm not a killer however I can kill if I want. I kept two of them in condition to drive. After helping Taeyoung put people in the car carefully; finally, I turn toward Y/n. I didn't look at her during the whole fight, not wanting the distraction. She was standing still with tears. While Yuna helps Jinwoo to get up from the ground. Me and Taeyoung go to them, I asked, if they are okay or not. I order them to go to my place and do necessity, I will be there in a while.

Y/n was looking at me whole while with widen eyes. I stand in front of her, two-steps away. I didn't speak to her, keep looking at my friends walking away. When I ensure they are okay and no one else is there seeking at us. I called Y/n. She didn't utter a word, keep looking at me from up to down. "I'm not going to hurt you. Don't be scared of me. Please." She was still. With all my courage inside me, I hug her. I know, she doesn't like me touching her. But she was shocked. To my surprise, she hugs me back after a few seconds. I can feel her getting better in my arms, warm feeling pass to my blood. She is not afraid of me. I pull her closer, she didn't protest. After a while, she utter, "Are you okay?" I assure her, I'm fine. She goes out of the hug. I thought maybe we will be friendly for now, but no, "Don't think too much out of my concern. I was worried for Sehyun's brother, not you." My heartbreak with her words, but I smile with a nod. We stand silently, for a while until we both got control. She starts walking toward, my place. I look at her in confusion. Before I could ask, she speaks, "I don't want to stay alone. I will sleep in the Sehyun bed." We silently reach to my place. She didn't utter a word went to my and Sehyun's room without looking at my friends, like she owns this place. Taeyoung and Yuna's face turns sour while Jinwoo was lying on my sofa. I clean up his treated his wounds properly. I took a detail of Woo-Shik, what he said when he cames and stuff. Ask Jinwoo to rest properly and avoiding to talk about Y/n which my other two friends wanted. I clean up my wound while Taeyoung sets up a bed for everyone.

I went to my room, to change my clothes. Y/n seems to use my bathroom without asking. She was wearing my brother's hoodies and my sweatpants without asking. Eating my pack of chips, on my bed without asking. She sees me and casually says, "You sleep upper bed, I will sleep in down one." She keeps her half-eaten snacks on the table, drinks water, goes to bed, and orders, "Off the light." I was at the door speechless. I don't remember allowing her to use my house and things like hers. If Yuna has behaved like this I had scolded her but I didn't know what should say to Y/n. The person I love plus my brother's girlfriend. I was busy in my thoughts, she called me again, "Sehun change, turn off the light and sleep. Aren't you tired?" I nod. After taking a shower, gone to bed, and slept.

Next morning, I feel good after a healthy and peaceful sleep. It was 9 am, I get down from the upper bed and see Y/n was still sleeping. I thought of waking her up, however, hearing her soft snore, I let her sleep.

When I go down, my friends were up and breakfast was also there. After breakfast, we start our discussion. Jiwoo was good, he didn't have anything major. I warn them for not starting the topic of Y/n's behavior. As per the condition, it was right to stay together. If Woo-Shik wouldn't have run away, we could have avoided it. Yuna was ready but seeing Y/n's unpredictable behavior, I don't know how to tell her; from today onward, me and my friends will be with her 24/7 when she couldn't bear me even for 24 seconds.

17 notes · View notes

nothingbutfangirlsmut · 4 years

Text

The Girl Out of Time

Pairing: Bucky X Reader and Sam X Reader

Background: Willow Roffe was born and raised in Brooklyn. She lived her life as happily as she could with her two childhood best friends Bucky Barnes and Steve Rogers. When they both left her to join the military she tried to continue with life but that didn't get to happen for her for the simple fact that she meant something to James Buchanan Barnes.

Rating: Story will be overall MATURE but not every chapter. There will be strong language, talk of both mental and physical abuse, some good ole angst, and smut. There will be a warning at the beginning of the chapter when it includes smut.

Chapter 16

It felt like I'd been laying there for hours watching the huge helicarriers fall from the sky in slow motion. It wasn't until I saw a dark shape that resembled a human body falling from the only helicarrier still in the sky. I shot up to my feet as another shadow looked to be diving from the helicarrier to the water. Both shadows hit the water only seconds apart.

I waited to see what was going to happen. A head popped up from under the water's surface. The first thing I noticed was the wet dark hair. Is that James? Then what happened to Steve?

James drew closer to the shore where I stood. Once his feet could touch under the water I could tell he had a hold of Steve's unconscious body. I gasped as he started to pull him up the shore. He let go of him after getting him on his back. I dropped to my knees to check his pulse. He coughed spitting up a small amount of water. He remained unconscious but his chest was rising and falling at a steady pace. I looked up to thank James only to find him walking away.

"Wait!" I shouted getting back to my feet.

James stopped immediately. I ran over to him so I could stand in front if him.

"What did you mean they used me against you?" I asked him.

He scoffed then tried to push past me.

"Look, I don't remember you but from all the evidence I've seen I know that I knew you. We were friends. I'm just trying to figure out what was taken from me." I explained quickly.

His eyes softened for only a moment then turned hard again.

"We were much more than friends baby doll." He whispered.

I blinked. What? He smirked then quickly shoved past me while I was slightly frozen from his words.

"James!" I yelled after him but he had already disappeared.

The next day after everything was said and done we all made it out alive. Natasha was currently on Capital Hill doing what she does best. Fury was off some where pretending to be dead. Hill had decided to go after a job at Stark Industries. Steve was lying unconscious in a hospital bed while Sam and I sat on either side of him.

"When do you think he'll wake up?" I asked Sam quietly as I stared at my badly wounded best friend.

"I honestly don't know." Sam shook his head.

Sam returned his attention downward as he attempted to sleep in that awkward position. I kept my eyes on Steve's face hoping to see his blue eyes again.

As if he heard my inner plead his eyes blinked open. He looked around slowly taking in the room, me, then Sam.

"On your left" Steve whispered.

Sam smiled then slowly lifted his head to see Steve awake.

"What happened?" Sam asked.

"Got my butt kicked." Steve groaned as he sat up straight.

"But he isn't gone completely. I think I got threw to him." Steve added quickly.

"Steve, he remembers me." I said quickly grabbing Steve's hand.

I immediately had Steve's full attention.

"How do you know?" Steve asked.

"He told me" I shrugged.

"So you two just had a casual conversation?" Sam asked a bit harshly.

"I wanted information and he wasn't going to fight me anyway. He made that very clear. He said that they made him remember me because I was their weapon against him." I explained.

Sam scoffed then crossed his arms over his chest. Steve looked in thought for a moment.

"Of course, how else to punish a man like Bucky? Erase everything except the girl he's in love with and his feelings for her. Take that exact girl and remove every single memory she's ever had with him. Completely erasing him from existence in her mind. That would have been torture for him. I'm sure there was more to it than that. Why make you a super soldier?" Steve spoke like he was thinking aloud.

"I don't understand everything yet but we will. I know we'll figure it out." I reassured myself and Steve.

Later that night I met Sam in the hall outside Steve's room. He had been unusually quiet.

"Is everything alright?" I asked him quietly.

"It's a little hard dealing with the woman I like having this weird intense history with a man whose done nothing but try to kill us." He grumbled.

"He didn't try to kill me. Plus he ended up saving Steve in the end." I corrected him.

This didn't seem to help him so instead I stepped forward forcing his arms to uncross so I could lean against his chest.

"I don't understand it Sam but I know he is a part of my past. I need him in order to figure out what happened to me. He might be apart of my history but it's just that, history." I whispered.

I reached up on my tip toes to press a soft kiss to his lips. His arms instantly wrapped around my back holding me against him.

"What if that changes if or when you remember him?" Sam asked.

I sighed. I didn't have an answer for that.

"Can we just focus on the present for now? Please?" I asked as I fisted his tshirt.

He smiled at me then kissed my forehead.

"Of course" he said softly.

The day Steve was released we made a trip to the graveyard where Nick Fury was supposedly buried. The three of us stood in the grass staring down at the head stone for a man we all knew to be alive.

"So, you've experienced this sort of thing before?" Fury asked as he stepped up beside Sam.

I chuckled. I hadn't really thought about the fact that the people who knew me, all but Gracie, thought I was dead.

"You get use to it." Steve chuckled.

Fury stepped closer to us.

"We've been data mining Hydra's files. Looks like a lot of rats didn't go down with the ship. I'm headed to Europe tonight. Wanted to ask if you'd come." Fury asked looking between me and Steve.

"There's something I gotta do first." Steve said simply.

Fury nodded then turned to Sam.

"What about you Wilson? Could use a man with your abilities." Fury told him.

"I'm more of a soldier than a spy." Sam shrugged.

"No way I can talk you into leaving Cap's side?" Fury asked turning to me.

"Not a chance" I chuckled.

"Alright then" Fury sighed.

He took a moment to shake each of our hands.

"If anybody asks for me tell them they can find me right here." Fury said pointing to the grave then walking away.

"You should be honored. That's about as close as he gets to saying thank you." Nat said walking over to us.

"Not going with him?" I asked her.

"No" she chuckled shaking her head.

"Not staying here?" Steve asked her.

"No, I blew all my covers. I gotta go figure out a new one." She shrugged.

"Might take awhile" Steve said.

"I'm counting on it." She smiled then pulled out a folder.

"That thing you asked for. Called in a few favors. Will you do me a favor? Call that nurse." Nat said handing Steve the folder.

"She's not a nurse." Steve corrected her.

"And you're not a Sheild agent." Nat fired back.

Steve chuckled.

"What was her name again?" Steve questioned.

"Sharon. She's nice." Nat said softly then kissed Steve's cheek.

"Be careful you two. Might not want to pull on that thread." Nat added gesturing to the folder.

Steve opened it to reveal two images of James Barnes. A large one of him as he looks now behind some kind of frozen glass. The second image was a small one paper clipped to the folder. It was one of his old military photos.

"You're going after him." Sam stated once he saw the folder.

I turned to look at him. He was already watching me.

"You don't have to come with us." Steve said quietly.

Sam stared at me for a moment before replying.

"I know. When do we start?" He asked.

---

Masterlist

#nothingbutfangirlsmut #bucky x you #bucky fanfic #bucky imagine #bucky barnes #james buchanan barnes #steve rogers #natasha romanoff #nick fury #fury #agent hill #natasha romanov #sam wilson fanfiction #sam x reader #sam wilson #falcon

16 notes · View notes