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nevermindirah · 3 years

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Dorothy Freeman facts

By facts I of course mean headcanons, because Nile's mom doesn't get a first name in canon (or even confirmation that her last name is Freeman). All we know about her is the picture on Nile's phone lock screen (which is Kiki Layne's real-life mom and brother!) and a few lines that Nile tells Andy about her. I’ve been collecting my Dorothy headcanons for a while now to eventually make a post, and @mprosperossprite‘s excellent post giving non-Americans context for what it means that Nile is from the South Side of Chicago prompted me to go ahead and share this. Disclaimer that I’m white and I will absolutely make corrections if it’s pointed out that I’ve caused harm with any of this.

So here have some fun facts about the version of Mama Freeman who lives in my head rent-free:

Her family and growing up:

she was born in the mid-'60s and named after Dorothy Dandridge

I can’t decide whether she was born in Chicago or moved there later on (maybe with Nile’s dad?) and when in the waves of the Great Migration her family left the South

she came of age in the "post"-Civil Rights movement and went to college in the mid-80s when a lot of what are now the foundational classics of Black feminism were being written

she was a young adult when Anita Hill risked so much to report that a Supreme Court nominee had sexually harassed her, and as a result she HATES Joe Biden

Marriage and babies:

she met Nile's father — I can’t decide how they met and I have two competing headcanons for his name, either Gideon for the hefty Biblical masculinity vibes (Giddy for short among family, that man loved to laugh) or Carl, which started out as a shitty Carl’s Jr burger chain joke that turns out to be perfect (it means free man!), and @knoepfchen used it in the sequel to if you do take a thief where Carl is alive!! — and Dorothy was a little skeptical of his near-religious devotion to the military but he was really hot and really devoted to her and they made it work

she's a little pissed that she was right but it's unbearable if she thinks about it too often

it's going to be a long, long time before she can look back on pictures of Baby Nile stomping around the house in her dad's combat boots (this is a Gina Prince Bythewood headcanon, whyyyyyyyy can I not find a link to where she said this)

she named their second baby Indus, Indy for short (this is nearly as established fanon in Book of Nile circles as how much Booker loves eating pussy, and Indy Freeman as a young adult is portrayed by either Aldis Hodge or John Boyega I don’t make the rules)

Work:

Dorothy did some office jobs but nothing really grabbed her, and she was probably gonna have to move for her husband's career, so she decided on teaching — high school humanities

she’s been active in CTU (one of the strongest teacher’s unions in the US) her whole career and one year she was on the bargaining committee and her babies know damn well never to trust a boss, not even one who says all the right things — if she ever finds out the way Nile said "like Quynh?" when Andy promised to protect her, she will lose her mind with pride

(Nile was 18 and freshly graduated from high school in 2012 when CTU went on strike for the first time in a generation and she brought her mom snacks on the picket line)

one of her very favorite things is getting her students to laugh despite themselves at her "oh my GOD you're so EMBARRASSING" old-people jokes

she's one of those teachers who can get 30+ teenagers to go dead silent with judicious application of body language

she's known to occasionally go easy on grading subjective things like essays when she knows students are having a particularly rough time at home, but the second she gets the feeling they're taking advantage and not trying their best that shit is over and they better mind their Ps & Qs

she's the kind of person who says old-people shit like that

she gives her students assignments like "help 5 neighbors register to vote" and "write a compare/contrast table about the candidates in this local election" and "research 5 different ways you could get grant money to do X" and other practical civic-minded shit

standardized testing is her supervillain origin story, just kidding it’s Rahm Emanuel, why the fuck did Obama trust that asshole

After her husband died:

she would have lost her goddamn mind if it weren't for her church friends after her husband died, people from the church raised money so they could make ends meet while his pension paperwork was taking forever, church friends watched Indy so Nile could go out for the soccer team, etc etc

she sold her and her late husband's house and moved to a 3-bedroom co-op unit when Nile started high school, it's more affordable and it meant she didn't have to worry about household repairs in the same way, she can use a wrench if she needs to but she doesn't have time and it just makes her grief flare up (co-op housing has a long history in Chicago and other US cities (like Washington DC where I live) as a way for Black people to access decent, affordable housing in the face of entrenched discrimination)

the move meant putting a longer commute between her and church, but she didn't even bother looking for a church closer to their new home, she loaded the kids into the car on the weekends, parking is hell in their new neighborhood but it's worth giving up a hard-won parking spot to not have to wait so long for the L on Sunday mornings

Indy lived with her through college and he was gearing up to get his own place when Nile died, Dorothy was planning to move into a one-bedroom in the co-op building because she doesn't need so much space anymore, Indy took a day off from his new job (not so new anymore, her baby's so grown!) to help her sort things to donate when those dress-uniform Marines came to their door

part of her wishes she could've been home more and not had to rely on Nile so much for help with Indy, but he's turned out such a kind young man, and he's a much better cook than his sister is (was, oh God — no wait, is! she’s alive! what do you mean you’ve been alive all this time??)

some of the girls from church are encouraging her to check out this social dancing thing, nobody's pressuring her to date but there's definitely been some ribbing, and with Indy out of the house... maybe? probably not, but maybe

Her feelings and beliefs and likes and dislikes:

she's an absolute badass and also she's a soft human woman with lots of feelings

she's very, very traditional in some ways, and part of her mixed feelings about Nile following in her dad's footsteps is gender stuff, she's proud of her daughter and would never stand in the way of what Nile wants to do with her life, and if Nile came home and told her she's a lesbian she would never reject her, but if Nile came home and told her she's bisexual maybe she can just try focusing on men? “I love you sweetheart and I want you to be happy I just know how hard it is already for us in this world” type shit

she has been on team natural hair basically her entire life and one of the worst fights she and Nile ever had was over Nile wanting to straighten her hair as a pre-teen

Indy takes more after her and Nile takes more after their dad, she's so proud of both of them, but Dorothy's activism was mostly wearing her natural hair to work and daring bosses to give her shit, Indy's out there marching in the streets like her parents had and she WORRIES

she teases Indy for going to so many protests like he's using it as an excuse to meet girls, but she WORRIES

when she turns 60, she gets box braids with streaks of dark purple, subtle enough that it's still work-appropriate but it makes her smile, she may be old now but damnit she’s still pretty!

she loves Grey's Anatomy and Star Trek and she watched Bridgerton all in one day

she has a dirty-old-lady celebrity crush on Chris Hemsworth

if she's ever masturbated thinking about Donna Summer, well, that's nobody's business but her own (do non-Americans know about the queen of disco??)

If you want to read fic featuring Dorothy:

I won't have to leave alone, 1000 words, Nile has a nightmare and decides to go tell her family she's immortal

I See Your Eyes Seek a Distant Shore, 65k, Nile adjusts to immortality and does a lot of soul searching about what it means to "do what we think is right", Booker goes to grad school for trauma studies, the working title of this fic was Booker Reads Edward Said and Gloria Anzaldúa and Goes Down on Nile and the final product has an annotated bibliography in the author's notes if you’re into that kind of thing, a lot of my Dorothy Freeman headcanons were born of my process writing this

Gather round the table, we'll give you a treat, 2279 words, college AU, Nile brings her Jewish boyfriend home for Christmas

a contribution I made to Shitty Old Guard Deaths: (Booker, USA, 2025, cause of death: a mother’s righteous wrath)

#nile freeman #nile's family #dorothy freeman #tog headcanons #tog meta #mine #long post

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savoies · 3 years

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first dates and first impressions - brandon hagel.

summary: going on a first date w/ brandon.

word count: 636

warnings: maybe one bad word and mentions of alcohol and alcohol consumptiom.

a/n: i love me some b boy so here is this small blurb. thank you to those who came on the journey of me writing my essay earlier today. i hope you guys enjoy this!

(*credit to gif owner*)

Brandon and you were going on a date. It wasn’t really a blind date or your first time meeting since you did see each other at team events but it was the first time you would be going out with each other alone. Kirby was a mutual friend shared between you two and he had suggested that since both of you were quite similar to get to know each other better. Now let’s just say that maybe having Kirby organize the date wasn’t the best idea because upon arriving both of you sat in the middle of the restaurant surrounded by people in stuffy collared dress shirts and tight cocktail dresses and that was definitely not your first date go to. (you did have to give him participation points for trying though)

Now if you had planned the first date you definitely would have not come to a high-end restaurant in downtown Chicago but you knew that with good company anything could be made interesting. Both of you sitting down and making small talk as you looked through the menu and ordered.

Quickly jumping into conversation exchanging stories from your childhood to now.

“Wait so, Kirby told me everyone calls you bagel but the real question is do you actually like them?” You asked him thinking back to when Kirby mentioned Brandon’s nickname.

“Everything bagels are where it’s at.” He said as you guys continued to talk with some laughs in between. Brandon seemed like a great guy and you were really glad that Kirby had set you guys up.

You were a clumsy person so you knew that something was bound to go wrong since the date was going really well. Somehow as you tried reaching for a napkin you knocked your wine and it spilled all over Brandon’s pants.

“Oh my god, I am so sorry.” You said as you tried to pat down the remaining wine from the table to stop it from dripping on him.

“It’s totally ok, uhm I’ll be right back,” he said as he excused himself to the bathroom.

“Oh my god oh my god,” you said as you mentally kicked yourself for being so clumsy. Well, there goes the second date you thought.

After the whole wine spilling ordeal which Brandon kept insisting was okay after you apologized profusely he then drove you home.

“I had a really nice time tonight.” He said as he walked you up to your apartment door.

“Yeah me too.” You said as you walked into your apartment.

“Next time ill be sure to wear dark pants just in case there’s another accident.” He laughed softly and you hit him playfully on the shoulder.

“Well, goodnight Y/N, ill call you.” He said as he turned to leave.

“Goodnight Brandon.” You said as you walked into your apartment, both of you guys with a small smile on your face.

~~~

The next morning you had been talking to Kirby about your date. “Oh my gosh, Kirby I spilled wine on him. Did he say anything to you?” you asked the boy seeing to see if you ruined your chances.

“Well, I think you did something right because he told me that he had a really good time and that he wanted to ask you out again.”

“Kirby you better not be fucking around with me.” You said. You had really enjoyed your date with Brandon but the fact that he wanted to see you again was not really what you were expecting.

“I’m not I swear.” He said and then your phone rang with an incoming text.

Brandon: ‘Wanna meet up for bagels?’ A smile arose on your face as you saw his message. Let’s just say that after that there was many more dates between you guys and you had Kirby to thank.

taglist: ( send in ask if you want to be added) @hartsyhart @nhlpetey @mitch-slap @frostythegoalman @kirbysdch @aria253264 @josty @kaitieskidmore1 @kiedhara @laurenairay @finnishmafiaa @alxvlasic @hockeyallthetime @barzy-baby @bowenbyram @martynecass @joshsandersons @connormcdavo @maattamatthews @joelsfarabees @selenophileangel @boqvistsbabe @ana-maa @stars-canucks @bowberrybyram @sidscrosbyy @2manytabsopen @wh0r3forpatrick

tagging some buds: @simplyjosty @beauvibaby @heybarzy @tkachuk-yeah @cozycozzy

#hockey boys #hockey #brandon hagel #chicago blackhawks #nhl imagines #nhl imagine #nhl blurbs #nhl blurb #hockey imagines #hockey imagine #hockey blurbs #hockey blurb #ari writes #also he debuted on ny birthday and i think thats great #much longer than i expected #thats what she said #stopp #as long as it gets ten im fine... right... yeah thats my limit for fics not flopping #also new layout?

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grittyreadsfic · 3 years

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been seeing underappreciated fic rec lists going around, so here are some of my top fics that deserved more attention, on a list that might have gotten it’s title from a DCOM: gonna let the light shine on me

note: for this fic, i used the criteria that it had under 250 kudos, though the bulk of these fall into the under 150 category, and that they’ve been around for a few weeks at least.

further and fast and gone after disaster by penaltyboxed

pairing: n/a, gen

summary: Robby had made his agent request the trade instead of asking for it himself.

Something about the idea of verbally admitting how badly he needed to get out of St. Louis kind of killed him inside. He didn’t even care where he went, not really. He just desperately wanted to be out of electric blue and gold, wanted to skate anywhere else, wanted to feel like he actually mattered to a team. Any team. Anywhere in the league that would take a disappointing excuse of a first round pick with ‘injury prone’ tattooed across his forehead. His name was on the fucking Stanley Cup and it just felt so cheap, and evil, in a cosmic sort of way. He was trying to exorcise the chorus of Gloria from his brain for the rest of his life.

So his agent had texted him: What about Detroit? Armstrong and the front office r willing to trade u for a kid named De La Rose.

And then his agent had texted him again: I can get u 1 for 1 but thats probably as good as its gonna be

why i love it: i’ve never loved a gen fic as much i love this one. it’s an absolutely beautiful character study of robby, and is some of the best writing of emotion that i’ve ever encountered. it’s such a perfectly crafted fic, and it made me want to care about the red wings (i team i literally know nothing about)

i’ve never been a natural (all i do is try, try, try) by iwantthemtostay ( @iwantthemtostay )

pairing: connor mcdavid/dylan strome

summary: In June 2015 Dylan gets drafted fourth overall by the Toronto Maple Leafs, in August his boyfriend breaks up with him. In July 2026 said ex signs with the Leafs. In the months that follow they work things out.

why i love it: this author has actually written two of my favorite mcstrome fics ever, and i recced the other one of theirs pretty recently. this fic has some of the best platonic dynamics, which adds such a nice depth to the story and the secondary characters. the pacing of it is absolutely perfect, and it felt like such a realistic way that connor and dylan could have come back together.

we’ve moved on again by stromesquad

pairing: travis konecny/dylan strome

summary: Dylan isn’t expecting his phone to ring during the second day of the 2023 draft, but it does, and it’s Stan Bowman.

“Hello,” Dylan answers.

“Hi, Dylan. I am calling to let you know you’ve been traded to Philadelphia. Thank you for your hard work and dedication here in Chicago, and we in management and the coaching staff wish you the very best for your future. Chuck Fletcher should be reaching out to you soon.”

why i loved it: i love trade fics, for the narrative, and i love trade fics that are actually trades i wish would happen in the real world. it’s such a great look into how dylan handles it all-the move, the break up, the gradual way he falls for tk, how he makes a home for himself in philly and on the flyers-and the pairing is one i would never have thought of, but now i wish there were so many more fics for them

step out into the wild by jamesvanriemsdick ( @jamesvanriemsdick )

pairings: travis konency/nolan patrick

summary: Travis Konecny doesn’t stop talking—Nolan finds he doesn’t mind, though, not when Travis fills up the space where the city’s heartbeat should be, not when he makes Nolan feel so, so alive, like there’s electricity running under his skin instead of just blood and bone and muscle.

why i love it: i was torn between putting a fic from this series or once in twenty life times, but i’m fairly certain i recced that one recently so. technically you could read my essay length comments on any of the fics in this series and you’d get all of my very indepth thoughts on this, but the the tldr is that i’m a sucker for magical realism and a little bit in love with the city of philadelphia, and this fic-the whole series-just does it for me. i love the concept of the heartbeats, of all the different way the city makes its claim known, and nolan’s is my favorite of the three.

i didn’t have it in myself to go with grace by crookedsilence ( @crooked-silence )

pairing: nathan mackinnon/cale makar

summary: It takes one morning for Cale’s entire life to change. One morning and a wish he didn’t know he made.

why i love it: wishbaby fics are one of my absolute favorite things to read, and this one is an absolutely perfect one. the domesticity, the way it’s so obvious who the second parent is, but cale takes forever to put it together, the complex and messy and conflicting emotions that this kind of situation would create-it’s really got it all and is such a wonderful read

somewhere where the summer lasts all year ‘round by jvrcus

pairing: jamie benn/tyler seguin

summary: Edmonton was cold, so Tyler goes somewhere warm.

why i love it: ao3 user jvrcus if you see this please know that i looked at your page for a solid 15 minutes trying to decide which fic to puton this list because they’re all perfect. this author is one of my favorite writers when it comes to imagery, and this fic is such a great example of that. this fic is really just a series of moments that feel too intimate to witness, which is what i love in a fic

this feels like falling in love by bageldiscourse

pairing: jt compher/tyson jost/alexander kerfoot

summary: Absence makes the heart grow fonder, right? Alexander would like to believe that, but he couldn’t imagine a fondness stronger than the one he feels every time he’s around them. He couldn’t imagine a world where his heart doesn’t skip a beat every time J.T. smiles, easy and pleased and, underneath it all, a little vulnerable. Or—when Tyson volunteers to help Alexander make brownies, and looks over at Alexander, the bridge of his nose dusted with flour and his hands sticky with chocolate.

When the three of them are driving to practice in the morning, Alexander in the backseat and Tyson and J.T. holding hands and Alexander just—wanting.

why i love it: part why i adore this fic is just the structure, how it’s set up that there’s a fact or anecdote about alexander, and then there’s a way that it relates to jt and tyson. alexander calls the two of them the closest thing to soulmates, but this structure makes it feel like all three of them are just linked somehow, and it’s a very sweet fic

nobody left but us by capsize (copenhagenborn)

pairing: tyson barrie/gabe landeskog

summary: Tyson is traded to the Toronto Maple Leafs in July, and it's fine, really.

It's not like his life is falling apart or anything.

why i love it: again, i love trade fics, and this one is one of my favorites because of it’s characterization of tyson. he spends most of the fic trying to help others, focusing on the issues someone else is experiencing, in order to avoid thinking about his own problems. it leads to some really great parallels in the fic, and the author crafted such a beautiful, layered, and compelling story because of it

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stoppit-keepout · 3 years

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when nobody is listening

Kissing prompt 8. Laying a gentle kiss to the back of the other’s hand. (I realise most of the prompts are v romantic, but I listened to some Mountain Goats and couldn’t stop myself from writing sad things, oops. Title from Long Neck’s Rosy)

Heads-up: this is about Nile Freeman’s family dealing with death--hers and her father’s.

Tony has a few memories of Dad’s funeral. They have hard edges, and they shine through tears, crystalline.

Auntie Kai singing Amazing Grace, a red flower on her black dress. Mom pressing a kiss to his praying hands. “Come here,” collecting him roughly into her arms with Nile, God, Nile.

He’s not going to remember Nile’s funeral. He’s not going to go.

He tells Mom while she’s making a salad to go with dinner on Thursday. Auntie Kai dropped off lasagna and tried to stay, but Mom wasn’t ready to see her, see anyone yet, so it’s just the two of them.

“What do you mean ‘I can’t go,’ you got plans?” The retort comes fast, before she’s looked at him.

Mom’s always on the move--ADD, Nile calls it, though who knows for sure--and it’s only gotten worse since they got the news. Since Tuesday.

There’s a lot to do, she says when Tony asks if she wants breakfast, and she can see the TV from where I’m ironing, thanks, baby, you just watch your show, and she’s just going to call Father Willem to make sure everything’s set, but she’ll go to bed soon, she promises.

“I can’t,” he says. His grief presses a greedy hand across his throat, strangles the rest of what he’d wanted to say.

Mom knocks over the salad dressing. The plastic thunks when it hits the counter. “Baby,” she says, and she’s there.

Tony pushes his face into her shoulder, and her hands push against the back of his head too, hiding his twisting sobs in her at-home sweater. “I can’t, Mom, she’s gotta come back,” the words lurching out around his crying.

“Shh,” Mom says, and holds him tighter. “I’ve got you.” Her voice trembles so hard that it shakes the bones in Tony’s legs, and they’re folding, Mom slowing his fall, but both going down together.

“Who’s gonna keep me out of trouble now?” Tony doesn’t know if anyone but Mom would be able to understand the words, they’re so clawed-up from tears; he doesn’t know if they really make sense, but it was what they always said. Mom and Nile, keeping their boys out of trouble, but Dad’s dead, and then Nile enlisted, and now, and now--

Mom’s crying just as hard as Tony, now, but he can still hear her say, “She’s still watching out for you, baby, she always will.”

The lasagna doesn’t taste like anything, but at least the lid was on the salad dressing when it fell. Nothing spills.

Tony goes to the funeral and stares so hard at that stupid flag that it shows up, inverted, when he blinks.

Tony’s heart churns in pain that whole first month. It’s somehow even worse than when Dad died, because at least then, he and Nile had been a team. Mom took care of them, and they’d make sure she didn’t stay up alone. Nile always made their cousins take Tony, too, when they go out for bike rides, always let him tag along and play his music. Tony made sure that when Nile got mad, she didn’t get mad alone.

Mom’s not mad now. The closest she gets is when Tony gets detention for getting in a fight with some guy trying to get him to join JROTC--she descends upon his principal like an ice storm, and Tony doesn’t get a mark on his permanent record from the incident.

But mostly she’s sad, and Tony’s sad, and it’s new enough that he doesn’t have a clue what to do.

His friends start coming over to hang out. The Sunday after the funeral, they just show up, and from that point on it seems like someone’s always around--he can’t complain about it. They teach Mom to play Breath of the Wild on Jalen’s Switch, and they pull a jagged laugh from him when Mom tries to catch the giant horse.

When Auntie Kai finds out that Mom’s letting Tony’s friends come over and play video games, she practically moves in. “Let me take care of you,” Tony overhears her telling Mom one night, and the echo of Nile hits him so hard that he has to sit down right there in the hall.

Auntie Kai’s able to be around all the time because work is giving her some paid time off--something about a bunch of vacation days she needed to spend, though she also told Mom the days definitely hadn’t been there in December when she’d wanted time for Christmas. Tony’s dimly grateful for whatever glitch had hidden the vacation from her then, though, because it means now she’s here, and she can help.

They spend a lot of time in the kitchen, even though food still doesn’t taste right. Tony sleeps in Nile’s room sometimes and tries to tell himself she’s still there looking over him, like Dad.

It doesn’t get easier that Nile’s gone, but it gets easier for Tony to still be around.

He gets into U Chicago. He gets into a few other schools, too, and has a couple rejections he didn’t care to read, but he gets into U Chicago.

“You deserve it, you worked so hard,” Mom says. He picks her up off her feet in a hug, and she laughs, loud.

“Thanks for making me work,” he says. “And thanks for fixing my application essays.”

“Oh, for--” She’s grinning as she slaps at his arm, and he puts her down. “How many times do I have to tell you, I didn’t do that!”

Tony rolls his eyes, but he’s sure he’s still grinning like a fool. “Sure, Mom.”

“You need to give yourself credit, you earned every bit of this.”

Sure, he did, but he knows he’s never totally perfected the right ‘their/there/they’re/whatever,’ no matter how many times Nile had tried to explain it. He also has some proof that Mom went and fixed things even after she gave him her approval for his submission--when he’d checked the system the day after he’d uploaded his application, the PDF didn’t look quite the same as the one he had on his computer.

Mom probably doesn’t want to bring down the moment with reminders of what they’ve lost, so he doesn’t bust her for it just yet.

She’s his mom, though, so she sees the bite in his smile even without him saying anything. “They’re so proud of you,” she says, and gives him another hug. “I just know it.”

In a weird twist, one of Nile’s old friends is the TA for Tony’s object-oriented programming class. He hadn’t recognised her name on the syllabus, but when she walks into the tutorial saying, “Okay, students of MPCS 51410-B, please correct your syllabi because you are now in Sandra’s section,” her face and voice shove him abruptly back in time.

He’s eight and he’s threatening to tell on her and Nile for cutting gum out of Nile’s hair, he’s ten and he’s trying to convince Nile to let him watch horror movies with them, he’s twelve and got roped into taking pictures of her and Nile posing in Hallowe’en costumes.

She looks shaken when she sees him, then shakes it off.

He doesn’t know how to bring it up, but he goes to her office hours in the second week of class anyway. Before he goes in, he doesn’t really want to talk about Nile. He doesn’t want to cry, he doesn’t want to have to lie that it’s okay, he doesn’t want to listen while someone talks about Nile the way people talk about Dad. Like she’s gone. Like she’s over.

He goes in anyway.

“Tony,” Sandra says, and she’s not crying yet at least. “I’m so sorry.”

It ends up not being too bad. They talk about Java for a bit, because there’s an assignment coming up next week, and Sandra mentions she just got a grant to work on something about databases that Tony doesn’t totally follow yet (but he will).

He comes back a few more times. It eventually ends up being nice to trade stories back and forth with someone who knew Nile, and Nile’s drive, her sharp wit, her big heart. Tony learns again that Sandra and Nile had met on the first day of kindergarten, and that Nile had screamed when the teacher had tried to partner them up with different people in the second week of school.

“She always said she just knew, with me,” Sandra says like a badge of honour.

“She was like that,” Tony says. It settles, a small betrayal, in his ribs. She’s still like that, he silently, irrationally papers over.

“You coming today?” Mom asks. She’s already dressed for church, but she’s sitting half-on the chair in front of the computer, distractedly typing something into a comment box on Facebook. “I’m leaving in a minute, just have to do...” She trails off, her typing picking up tempo.

Tony doesn’t bother responding out loud, just ducks back to his room to change his shirt and goes to wait by the door for Mom to finish up.

“Okay, okay, we’re already late,” she says, grabbing her purse and rifling through it for her keys. “Is your sister already in the car?”

The words pounce on them both. Stillness, then explosive motion as Mom flinches, as she drops her purse and her little tin of breath mints bursts and scatters.

“Mom,” Tony says, and she’s already on her knees, gathering up her things. His knees thud on the floor, following to help.

“I’m sorry, it’s just--”

“I know,” he says, and he repeats it because Mom wasn’t looking the first time. “Mom, I know.”

“I didn’t forget,” Mom says, hands finally still, eyes meeting Tony’s. “I could never.”

“But it’s like she’s still here, right?” Mom blurs and glows in the tears filling Tony’s vision. “You feel it, too.”

That’s what tips Mom over into crying, too.

They’re late for church, but they still go.

Peace be with you, murmuring around them, and Mom holds his face in her hands and makes him bend so she can kiss him on the forehead, like she always does.

Communion, and prayer. Please protect Mom, and bless the whole family, and let me get through finals okay. Tony prays the way he’s been praying for almost a year now: to God, and to Nile.

Mom’s kneeling beside him, her shoulder against his, and he crosses himself when his thoughts have smoothed out. Mom catches his hand in a tight grip as he’s lowering it; they hold on to each other.

#the old guard fic #nile freeman #nile freeman's family #the old guard #cw: death #mourning #grieving #i realised like 900 words in that the age difference between Nile and Tony doesn't necessarily make perfect chronological sense #(it sorta presupposes a smaller age gap for when their dad died but then he's still in high school while she's on her tour? oops)#but you know what maybe in movie canon nile is actually in her early 20's when she dies #and then i can have her brother be in high school without him having been like. a toddler when their dad died.#PROBLEM SOLVED #maybe #...#flippant tags to distract from emotions #ficbit #posting in the middle of the night and queueing a daytime reblog: the way i'm apparently doing things now

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thelittlesttimelord · 3 years

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I had so, so many questions for DW Universe question game. Sorry if I trouble you. Number 3, 6, 7, 9, 11, 17, 18, 21, 24, 28, 30, 31, 34, 36, 37, 40, 42, 45, 46, 47, 48, 49, 51, 53, 56, 61, 64, 68, 70, 72, 75, 77, 78, 79, 81, 84, 88, 91, 92, 94, 95, 96, 100.

Well, here we go!

3. First DW episode you ever saw?

I can’t actually remember. I know I kept seeing pictures of “Let’s Kill Hitler” on Pinterest and memes from series 6, so I just started watching. I started with Nine, so I’m pretty sure the first one was “Rose”.

6. Monster(s) that scared you most as a child?

THE FUCKING SCARECROWS from “Family of Blood/Human Nature”. I fucking hate those things. The mannequins from “Rose” and the Snowmen are a close second though.

7. Joke/story you didn’t get as a kid?

I didn’t really understand River’s story the first time around. I still don’t really, but it makes a bit more sense thanks to YouTube videos.

9. Who introduced you to DW?

Like I said, I kept seeing things on Pinterest and started watching because of that.

11. Who is your Doctor?

ELEVEN. But is anyone really surprised?

17. Best multi-Doctor story?

50th Anniversary, but only because it’s the only one I’ve seen.

18. Best Doctor monologue?

Shit. That’s a hard one. It’s a tie between Eleven’s final speech and Twelve’s angry one during the Zygone two-parter.

21. Favourite companion?

Unlike most people, I really like Clara. I also love Bill. I wish she’d had more than one series.

24. Best TARDIS Team?

Eleven, River, Amy, and Rory. I love their little space family.

28. Who should have been a companion but wasn’t?

Oooo. I don’t know. So I’ll answer it this way, I would’ve liked to see some companions from RTD era meet Eleven.

30. Who did you not used to like, but really like now?

Twelve. I stopped watching Doctor Who when Eleven regenerated, because I didn’t like what I saw in “Deep Breath” clips. When I went back and rewatched, I slowly fell in love with him.

31. Favourite episode ever?

The Doctor’s Wife. I love seeing Eleven and his TARDIS interact. So many good one liners!

34. Best two-parter?

Silence in the Library/Forest of the Dead. Mostly because of River and the Doctor’s interactions. It also hits a lot differently now that we know River’s whole story.

36. Episode that will always make you smile?

Vincent and the Doctor. I struggle with depression and anxiety, so I connect a lot with the story. I also live by the quote about life being a pile of good things and bad things.

37. Episode that will always make you cry?

It’s a toss up between Doomsday and The Time of the Doctor. Doomsday because of that final scene between Ten and Rose and Time of the Doctor because of Eleven’s regeneration.

40. Favourite Christmas special?

A Christmas Carol. It’s so bittersweet and I love the song at the end. Although I also kinda like Last Christmas because Twelve is such a mood.

42. Favourite series?

I really love series 4, because of the shit Donna and Ten get up to. They have the best dynamic out of the Doctor/Companion relationships.

45. Favourite series opening?

Eleventh Hour. It’s a perfect opener for Eleven. It shows off his personality and how much he will come to care for Amy.

46. Favourite series finale?

I really like The Pandorica Opens/Big Bang.

47. Best series arc?

I have to say “Bad Wolf” because none of us saw that coming. It was subtle and it was really clever.

48. Thoughts on series 11/12?

Looks okay. I haven’t really watched it. I’ve seen clips and Thirteen seems like a sweetheart and Graham is a straight up MOOD.

49. How much of Classic Who have you seen?

Absolutely none. I’ve seen clips here and there in YouTube videos and I know some storylines, but other than that I know nothing.

51. Favourite monster/villain?

Probably the Daleks. But only because they’re so stupid sometimes. Like in Victory of the Daleks...HOW THE FUCK IS A DALEK GONNA MAKE TEA?!?!?!

53. Monster(s) that scares you most?

Weeping Angels.

56. Monster you want to return?

I’d love to see the Doctor face off with the Midnight entity. Maybe she’d handle it a bit differently...

61. Torchwood or Sarah Jane Adventures?

Torchwood. I’ve never seen it, but I feel like I’m too grown up for the Sarah Jane Adventures.

64. Do you rewatch COE or MD?

I think given the choice, I’d probably rewatch Miracle Day because I know what happens in Children of Earth and it breaks my heart(s).

68. Do you read the comics/novels or listen to Big Finish?

I want to read some of the comics, but they’re hard to find in physical form. I have read some of the novels and I listen to Big Finish. I will take my Doctor Who in whatever form I can get it.

70. Do you like DW analysis (video essays, fan theories, etc)?

Oh yes. Those are my favorite kinds of videos.

72. Favourite piece of Murray Gold music?

Either Eleven or Clara’s theme music. Eleven’s theme is so epic, while Clara’s is flighty and whimsical.

75. Favourite Doctor outfit?

I’m a sucker for Eleven’s classic tweed and red bow-tie, but i also like Twelve’s look in series 9 (the old rocker look).

77. Best show runner?

I feel like if I answer this, I’ll be shot so I’ll say each show runner has brought something different to the show (whether that be good or bad). They’ve left their mark in a unique way.

78. Best writer?

Neil Gaiman, hands down. Or maybe Mark Gatiss. I love every one of their episodes.

79. Best opening titles?

Series 5. I hate the voiceover Amy has in series 6.

81. Time period you’d want to go with the Doctor?

Chicago in the 20′s. I’d wanna meet mobsters like Al Capone.

84. Companion you’d most like to travel with?

Donna or Martha. I feel like we’d get along pretty well.

88. Historical figure you’d like to meet?

Anne Boleyn. I admire her so much.

91. Historical event would you like to see in DW?

Maybe the French Revolution. Don’t know why. I just think it’d be cool.

92. Issue you’d like to see addressed in DW?

Maybe more about sexuality. We have Jack, who is Pansexual and Bill, who is a lesbian. But they kinda just go “this is this character’s sexuality and that’s that.” I’d like to see them go into it a bit more and maybe have companions with different sexualities. Like maybe an Ace companion. Or have a Transgender companion. I guess just more diversity really.

94. One unanswered DW question you’d love to know the answer to?

HOW DOES JACK BECOME THE FACE OF BOE. I need to know this before I die.

95. Actor/actress you’d like to see play the Doctor?

Tom Hiddleston. Because if he kept his natural hair color, the Doctor would finally be ginger.

96. Actor/actress you’d like to see play a companion?

I’d like to see another American companion (besides Jack), but I’d never really thought about it.

100. If you could write an episode of DW, any ideas for what you’d do?

Well Gallifrey “stands” now right (disregarding what the Master did in series 12)? I’d like to see the Doctor go back to Gallifrey and maybe find his family. I’d like to see his Timelord wife and maybe his children because they’re not dead now. I really just want the Doctor to be happy. Is that too much to ask for?

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buzzdixonwriter · 3 years

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Ellison’s Law

Even for the early 1960s, Burke’s Law was a silly gimmick show.

The gimmick? Millionaire Amos Burke, despite inheriting fabulous wealth, always wanted to be a detective so he joined the LAPD and worked his way up to captain of the homicide bureau.

Basically Batman without the trauma or costume.

And like Batman of a few years later, an exercise in camp.

The show was rigidly formulaic, but for practical reasons. It relied heavily on stunt casting celebrities as suspects or witnesses and as such it had to be flexible enough to handle rewrites and re-castings in the middle of production.

The typical episode began with someone found murdered or shown getting killed in some unusual manner, cut to Amos Burke flirting with a lady only to be called away by his police duties. Cue the opening title as Burke and his driver hurry out of his relatively modest Beverly Hills mansion to his Rolls-Royce (actually producer Aaron Spelling’s car which he rented back to the production) as a sultry female voice incants: “It’s Burke’s Law” then after the first commercial break Burke arrives at the scene of the crime and finds clues pointing him to four or five suspects.

Said suspects are the celebrity guest stars, recruited either to give them some manic scenery chewing time or -- more rarely -- an intense dramatic scene.

After three more commercial breaks, Burke intones one of his “laws” (“Burke’s law: Never ask a question where you don’t already know the answer.”), pulls a rabbit out of his hat / solution out of his butt, and fingers that episode’s duly appointed murderer.

The problem with the series as a whole is that it could never quite decide on what tone it wanted to take and stick with it consistently. The British series The Avengers found the perfect balance of tongue-in-cheek / derring-do but Burke’s Law bounced all over the spectrum, frequently in the same episode.

So why bring up this mediocre TV show at all?

Two words: Harlan Ellison

. . .

I’ve posted many times before on Harlan’s career and the impact of his writing and friendship on me.

He was in the mid 1960s at his zenith as a TV writer, and while his writing career as a whole encompasses so much more than that, his brief run as one of the meteors streaking across the Hollywood sky only lasted 4 years.

Oh, he kept writing for TV after that, but the old zing was gone. He supplied stories for other series, created and fought hard to keep The Starlost on track but eventually had to walk away from that heartbreak, adapted several of his own short stories to a Twilight Zone revival, as well as numerous development deals that went nowhere (including two great ideas for The Name Of The Game, another Gene Barry series, that would have fit perfectly into that show’s oeuvre).

If you find his second book of TV criticism, The Other Glass Teat, check out his first draft for “The Whimper Of Whipped Dogs” episode of The Young Lawyers (not to be confused with his short story of the same title).

It’s one of the most powerful / gut wrenching things you’ll ever read…

…but by the time the studio and the network got through with it, the final product was virtually unrecognizable…and unwatchable.

Such was Harlan’s fate after 1967 in Clown Town (as he referred to it).

But from 1963 to 1967, he was golden.

. . .

Harlan’s rocky personal history went through many highs and lows before coming to Hollywood in 1962.

Harlan’s first breakthrough as a writer was with his series of stories and essays on juvenile crime in New York in the early and mid-1950s..

Drafted in 1957. following his discharge, he settled in Chicago with his second wife and her son, editing Rogue magazine, a Playboy imitator.

Feeling his personal life becoming untenable, he called in favors from a friend, drove out to California with his soon-to-be ex-wife and stepson (aware the marriage was over, she also wanted to relocate away from Chicago), made his first sale to TV (his short story “No Fourth Commandment” to the TV show Route 66), then briefly found a sweet spot with Burke’s Law, writing four teleplays for their first season.

Burke’s Law is a good crucible for examination because of its silly, gimmicky nature and rigid format requirements.

These scripts represent a pivotal point in Harlan’s writing career, but more importantly, they mark the only sustained run he enjoyed on a non-anthology show, and as such make a good benchmark in comparing his growth as a writer and how his unique perspective played out in in relation to the constraints of episodic television.

While a couple of Harlan’s better science fiction / fantasy stories were written before 1963, the meteoric rise of his career in those genres began with his classic short story “’Repent, Harlequin!’ Said The Ticktockman” in 1965, followed by a host of other groundbreaking short stories and novellas, and his original anthologies Dangerous Visions and Again, Dangerous Visions in which he recruited other science fiction and fantasy writers -- many of them already well established pros -- to follow the path he blazed in the genre.

His experience on Burke’s Law occurs squarely between what he once was to what he was becoming, and as such is worthy of attention.

SPOILER: There are no great hidden gems here.

There’s a lot of amusing writing, and a few flashes of the emotional intensity Harlan could provide, but by and large this is journeyman level stuff: Better than most, but not the best.

. . .

”Who Killed Alex Debbs?” was his first script for the series, and he pitched it to producer Aaron Spelling at a cattle call after a screening of the show’s pilot episode.

Harlan jump started the pitch process by improvising an idea off the cuff at the end of the screening, and Spelling took him to his office to hear how Harlan planned to resolve it, then hired him on the spot.

It’s unclear if Harlan was actually a staff writer on the series or simply hung out at the studio a lot, but he used his skills as a quick study to start working his way up the food chain.

His first script fulfills all the requirements of a Burke’s Law episode and shows off two of Harlan’s main strengths: An ability to hone in on intense emotion and a keen eye for the culture around him (in this case, very specifically Hollywood of the early 1960s).

On the downside, logic gaps render this story more implausible than most -- and as noted, Burke’s Law as a series wasn’t famous for its plausibility.

A flaw of almost all Burke’s Law episodes is that the victim is typically found dead under mysterious / bizarre circumstances, and the impression we get of them is constructed entirely through the words of suspects and witnesses.

It’s not an unworkable approach, but not the best suited for episodic television.

In this instance. victim Alex Drebbs is a Hugh Hefner-like men’s magazine publisher and monarch of a mini-empire of key clubs ala the Playboy Clubs of the era. Harlan captures that milieu well but here’s where the logic gaps hit hard: There’s no way a Hefner-like figure would be alone long enough for someone to kill him without being noticed, there’s no way his disappearance wouldn’t be immediately noticed by employees needing his attention, and it sure as hell wouldn’t have happened in a deserted club on the afternoon of its big opening.

On the plus side, there are some great character scenes including Arlene Dahl as a bitter ex-investor in Debbs empire now reduced to licking saving stamps to keep her decay mansion in repair, Burgess Meredith as a men’s magazine cartoonist who is nothing but a bundle of neurotic twitches and tics, and finally Sammy Davis Jr as Cordwainer Bird, the humor editor for Debbs’ magazine.

This was at the Robin Williams stage of Davis career, when all you had to do was point a camera in his direction and let him go. Harlan supplied the corny gags but Davis launched them over the top with his antics, and while he brings the proceedings to a complete disruptive halt, his brief scene is the most entertaining in the entire series. (Harlan later used Cordwainer Bird as his WGA pseudonym when he wanted to indicate displeasure at what had been done to his scripts.)

By his own account, Harlan had less luck with Diana Dors -- “the British Marilyn Monroe” -- and treated her condescendingly during the shoot. (By comparison, William Goldman in his memoir Adventures In The Screen Trade shows a much more sanguine / roll-with-the-punches attitude, and that might explain part of the reason his screenwriting trajectory was far different than Harlan’s.)

All in all, an uneven example of both the series and Harlan’s abilities.

. . .

”Who Killed Purity Mather?” was Harlan’s second script for the series and one of the few that played with the rigid format of the series insofar as the victim is seen alive for a few moments before being killed in a rather sadistic and spectacular manner (splashed with acid then trapped in a burning house, and the high angle shot used to show her demise must have been incredibly risky -- and thus costly -- to film).

It also drops a very subtle clue that I’ll reveal in the footnote.*

This is Harlan going so far over the top he emerges on the other side. Plotwise it features more logic gaps than his first script, but the whole thing is so silly it’s pointless to complain about it.

Purity Mather is a professional witch (!) who speeds up the investigation into her own demise by mailing Amos Burke a recording saying she’ll be killed along with a list of five possible suspects (that she doesn’t mention them by name in the recording reflects the show’s desire for standalone scenes, enabling them to recast and rewrite plotlines more easily; the scene where Burke reads the names to his team was doubtlessly shot after the guest cast was locked in).

Burke & co. start shaking down suspects, including Telly Savalas as Fakir George O'Shea, a Muslim holy man / cosmetics chemist (!!); Charlie Ruggles as I. A. Bugg, an eccentric elderly millionaire who likes to chase -- but not catch -- prostitutes around his apartment while dressed in lederhosen(!!!); Wally Cox as Count Carlo Szipesti, vampire for hire (!!!!); and Gloria Swanson as Venus Hekate Walsh a fright wig bedecked self-proclaimed goddess of free love (!!!!!).

The episode might as well have had a laugh track. It’s amusing with several daft touches only Harlan could provide, but the daftness comes from his take on Hollywood culture of the time.

I’d go so far as to say elements of Cox and Swanson’s characters were based on real life people living in and around Hollywood at the time, in particular some science fiction fans Harlan had come in contact with.

It’s a romp but a disappointing one. The logic gaps are too big in this one (case in point, if you’re the captain of the homicide bureau and you come home to see a masked figure climbing out of your second story window in broad daylight, you don’t simply shrug and let them run off) and the ending is one of those annoying ah-yes-now-that-you-caught-me-I-will-admit-everything-even-stuff-you-don’t-know cappers that Joe Ruby and Ken Spears would have rejected for Scooby Doo.

In short, a script whose parts are better than the whole.

. . .

”Who Killed Andy Zygmunt?" is another slight story that pays off with an insight into Hollywood pop culture of the era. The victim is “a pop artist” (no, he’s not; he an assemblage sculptor) impaled on his own artwork.

He’s also revealed to be an extortionist who acquires embarrassing evidence that he affixes to his assemblages then blackmails his victims into buying the art to keep their secrets safe.

Once again Burke is conveniently handed a list of suspects, in this case the people who bought the last five pieces of art from the exhibit.

This is one of the few times the series had more than one suspect in the same scene as there’s a big gathering in Burke’s office midway through the story (it also includes Michael Fox, a semi-regular on the series playing the coroner, so it represents a pretty sizeable filming day for the show). The suspects include Macdonald Carey as Burl Mason, the star of a popular TV detective show (Harlan gives his scenes what we would now call a meta-fiction touch by playing off Barry’s fictional TV detective dealing with a fictional fictional TV detective); Jack Weston as Silly McCree, a kid’s show host who destroys his career with an on air anti-child rant; Ann Blyth as Deirdre DeMara, a rival “pop artist” who creates her art by spraying women with paint and having them roll around on giant canvases (a gimmick later used in the bizarre 1966 Ann-Margaret comedy The Swinger); Aldo Ray as Mister Harold, former pro-wrestler turned poodle groomer; and Tab Hunter in a surprisingly well done scene as a sky diving playboy.

Hunter’s scene in particular shows Harlan getting his hyperbole under control, much more laconic and evocative than other characters he wrote for the series. As mentioned above, Burke’s Law occurs just on the cusp of Harlan’s huge success in print; he’s beginning to harness the lessons learned to maximum effect. (He would have some setbacks, too, in his screenwriting career, and to be honest part of that can be attributed to his failure to consistently apply the lessons learned, part of it can be attributed to his reputation preceding him, and part of it can be attributed to just bad luck.)

The motives this time are fairly edgy for a 1963 TV series, and combined with the slices of Los Angeles life Harlan provides give a fair example of the cultural zeitgeist of the era.

. . .

”Who Killed ½ Of Glory Lee?” can be explained as Benjamin Glory, half owner of Glory Lee Fashions, with Gisele MacKenzie as the other half, Keekee Lee.

After breaking the budget with his spectacular demise of Purity Mather, Harlan staged this murder as an inexpensive off camera elevator plunge.

This time the plot is a wee bit more plausible, with control of a profitable business being the apparent motive for the murder.

But Harlan loaded up this episode with a more powerful emotional punch than most of his others, and while the dénouement may feel a bit farfetched, it certainly rings true emotionally.

He certainly gave Nina Foch and Anne Helm plenty to work with regarding their characters’ complicated mother / daughter relationship, yet at the same time found room for a playful scene in which Buster Keaton pantomimes his answers to Burke’s questions.

Yet at the same time one senses an impatience behind the keyboard. The opening scene has a squad of female elevator operators (yes, once upon a time there needed to be somebody in the elevator to push the buttons for you) discussing pop culture references of a generation before -- Harlan’s generation.

And while the key emotional conflicts are played out well, several of the other scenes feel rather perfunctory…yet at the same time this is probably the most cohesive whole of any Burke’s Law script, whether written by Harlan or not.

It’s as if after a brief but profitable run on a network series, Harlan realized he’d absorbed as much of the practical end of the business as he could and his next moves should be into broader, edgier territory.

* SPOILER: Purity Mather is the murderer; she connives a career nudist (!!!!!!) to participate in a magic ceremony then disfigures and kills her, leaving evidence that she hopes will convince the police the body is hers. The subtle clue Harlan drops is the victim, wearing a long black negligee, complaining about how she doesn’t like the feel of the clothes. A nice touch, but undercut by Purity then going to the nudist camp her victim operates and waiting in the buff by the front gate for the police to show up and question the career nudist -- whom Purity has mentioned as a suspect in her faked murder. While it works insofar as Purity doesn’t try to pass herself off to anyone else at the camp as the career nudist, it doesn’t scan that she would know when the police would come to investigate or if they could be easily convinced at the gate and not come in to question other patrons.

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gotatext · 5 years

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by this point im p sure u all know the drill.... i’m nora, 23, she/her, gmt and tonight matthew im going to be greta o’driscoll, a terrible person but a hot one which frankly makes it almost ok. here is her pinterest..... this intro is literally just copied n pasted frm the last time i played her so soz if u’ve read it like 10+ times....

「 diana silvers. cis-female. 」have you seen greta o’driscoll around yet? i hear she decided to be in POTENTAS for their SOPHOMORE year as a CRIMINAL PSYCHOLOGY major. the 20 year old SHEPHERD is known to be tenacious, magnetic, capricious and evasive. ➨ the muse is written by nora, she/her, gmt.

was adopted as an infant. had two foster moms and two older sisters so always surrounded by women. lived in a boarding house, very much like the one in 20th century women, with lodgers coming in and out all the time, mostly artsy young women because her gay moms were both high school teachers trying to set up their own arts collective. one of her moms left when she was 4, n she doesn’t really remember her.

while living with entirely women made her super into catlin moran and the guilty feminist, as a teenager she often let boys walk all over her bc she just craved male attention jst bcos she’d never really experienced it. saw it as something aspirational, like sitting in the back of chad’s second-hand truck while he drove you to macdonalds and offered you and his five friends with identical haircuts weed was the height of being cool to greta, she wanted to be their dream girl, even if it meant compromising her beliefs

was always a really sporty bitch. it started with a junior athletics squad, which turned into athletics and cheer, which then became athletics, cheer and hockey until she basically was doing a different activity every night. she came to see her body as a tool that she could make work for her if she trained it up and this attitude’s always kind of stayed with her that as long as her body is strong she is capable of anything. runs every day.

bubbly bitch but also massive snake. metaphorically and literally, always shedding her skin. loyal to few, ruled by none, out for herself, babey!! every place she goes, she becomes a new character, someone who’s a figment of her imagination, as if each city is repertory theatre and she’s a character actress, so as a result som ppl think she’s called rita, some ppl know her as margot, she just flicks through identities like nobodies business.

left school at 18 n went backpacking around the states making money in the casinos by being a shot girl (yeehaw) and trying to make it as a mysterious 1920s widow with a smoky voice, a dark secret n a heart of gold, looking for love in the big city. all she found was producers and acting agents who’d promise her stardom n actually just fuck her in a motel n then ignore her calls.

TW domestic violence, TW gun, her watershed moment came when she met luke in sioux falls while she was working at a strip club. he was a few years older and had a car, and they kind of went from seeing each other to being that super intense couple who are just necking all the time.

they got engaged like 3 months after they met n rented a flat together, much to her family’s annoyance but she was 19 so there wasn’t much they could do. their relationship was super super intense though, often really heightened and when they fought it could become quite violent, but she’d pass it off as just him being really passionate.

one of their fights got really heated and greta threatened him with the gun he kept in the glove box of his vauxhall corsa, but the safety was off and she accidentally shot him. she pleaded self defence in the trial n cos of the amount of times she’d been hospitalised for various concussions n things like ‘fallling down the stairs’ the police were like yea… pretty watertight evidence that he was a bastard who [chicago voice] had it coming…..

she’s now under witness protection, rehoused in livingstone as a sports-scholarship student, due to the amount of police involvement in the area, it would mean should one of luke’s family members try to track her down, she’d be relatively safe

massive sports fanatic. plays tennis. on the cheer team. was a track superstar in her high school. honestly just that sporty bitch, you’ll see her doing lines at a party at half four and then on your way to your 9am lecture you see her running across the park like a fresh fucking daisy who is this bitch. maybe it’s maybelline, maybe its coke.

massive feminist. low key quite scared of powerful men bcos of her ex. wants to start a female only lesbian commune bc she misses her childhood in a south dakota boarding house and has endless support for women. honestly annoyed that she is attracted to men, would so be 100% gay if it was a choice. cuffs her jeans and can’t drive. is That bisexual. skateboards. wears backwards caps. i hate her

isn’t a foward-planner, however. greta prefers to leave her options open, play the field, live in a spontaneous manners so her study style is mostly cramming a few days before a test, or staying up all night writing an essay on a massive adrenline boost powered by red bull or probably adderall, scribbling (or typing) furiously into the night.

has an addictive personality. seems unable to do anything in a small dose, she has to let it utterly consume her. with sports, she’s fiercely competitive. with alcohol, it’s never a shot, it’s a whole bottle – wine or whiskey – she’ll be table dancing before the night’s up and making out with someone she’ll regret in the morning.

not afraid to go after what she wants !! ambitious academically and romantically thirsty !! she loves the adrenaline of the chase. when someone’s easy to get, she becomes bored. very bisexual and very proud of it. feminist as fuck nd part of a queer representation in the arts group which holds fortnightly meetings to discuss lgbt representation in film, literature, art etc.

old soul in a young person’s body. all the shit that has gone on has kind of aged her. she’s quite cynical about everything now. always smoking smoking smoking. very edie sedgwick in that way. little girls skirts bought for next-to-nothing at the market because she’s skinny enough to get away with it, barely long enough to cover your bum, and then the ugliest baggy sweater you’ve ever seen thrown over it.

likes old things. old books, old music, old houses, it reminds her of happier times like when she wasn’t alive. buys all her music on vinyl and has a gramphone because “The Sound quality is Better” kfdsjj.

super into pop art and andy warhol. puts female friendships above everything but at the same time, would fuck her best friends man

her clothing style is like…. vintage thrift store but make it preppy. berets and cute hats, neck scarves, large fluffy cardigans or like those leathery jackets with big suede fringes on them, mini skirts (very 70s), and knee high socks or boots. quite often she’ll be in sports kit, maybe a cute tennis skirt, n when she’s feeling casual she’ll wear like, a talking heads tshirt with a pair of mom jeans and converse, but otherwise, the library is her catwalk.

aesthetics:

a bubble of pink gum on chapped lips, mom jeans, a beaten up pair of adidas, denim jackets, strawberry laces, knee-highs, chapped lips, peeling sticky plasters, split knuckles, bruises you try to cover with concealer, stick and poke tattoos, hot coffee, sleep caught in your eyes on a lazy afternoon, kissing girls, cigarette smoke shrouding you like a veil, alien conspiracy theories and sci-fi paperbacks, doc martens with fraying laces, the red string of a thong peaking out purposely from jeans, leonine arch of your back and that stellar smile that says ‘you have no idea who you’re dealing with’, a rucksack permanently packed for the move, a streak of red across your lips, roller blades, cut knees, not eating your greens, smiling with a mouthful of blood, and piercing your own ears with a safety pin when your mom wouldn’t take you, kate moss posters lining the walls of a teenage bedroom, his name scrawled in rage across the pages of a diary, thumb holes poked through the cuffs of your sleeves, a tennis racket you punched through in a fit of temper, feet pounding the earth until your soles bleed crimson, sleeping in a cherry lip balm and scrunchies to keep the wild locks from your eyes.

wanted plots

frinds !! unlikely friends !! toxic friends !! former best friends separated by sports rivalries ! sporting friends who are on other teams but who she absolutely loves playin against!!!

since greta literally can’t differentiate between romantic and platonic love, she’s got off with so many of her mates, so i want awkward friendships where they nearly dated, or exes that have now just turned into weird friendships

girls from the cheer team who she’s like, weirdly intimate with like the shower together but its not a Thing cos the other girls straight !!! what do u mean !! aha just fun !

and I want like, fellow criminology students who are like?? how is this bitch still passing?? i swear she goes out every night??

she works part time at a fast food restaurant, i want a mate that just goes and sits in there talking to her until her manager gets angry.

ppl she did a few modules with ie. art history, bio-med, film studies, before changing course and somehow sort of remaining in touch with

ppl who she runs track with.

someone she’s trying to make a zine with.

here’s a list of plots on her old blog if u want any of them w her.

would love plots of any type, throw them all at me please, i cnt wait to interact w all of u. like this if u want me to message you about connections / plots! xo

full biography if u can be bothered

trigger warnings: drugs, domestic abuse, gun.

you never meant for it to happen. you’d heard the stories, of girls who let their man walk all over them, and thought to yourself “i’ll never be one of those girls…” the kind that eat low-fat yoghurt and drink slim fast to shred a few extra pounds because he said she was getting round in the tummy, or the ones who spent their evenings tied to a kitchen sink drinking wine while him and the boys played poker, wishing god, if only I could get out of here. not you, not you raised by strong women, four bright shining beacons. single mother with her hard-as-nails attitude and her stony glares, elder sisters (twins) one ginger, one blonde, one doctor, one lawyer, both determined to take a bullet to the brain and a hammer to the patriarchy before they let a man touch them without asking. you were always so inferior, so insecure and small, like a bird (like a sparrow) with blonde plaits down your back sucking tropicana whilst your busom buds sucked dick, their lips permanently ripe with stories of their sexual exploits, fake tan and glittered nails whilst you sat in the unbroken egg of virginity wondering what it was like to be loved. one day you found out.

lily milligan’s parents gone and a free house for the night, bottles of ouzo and tequila swiped from your mother’s liquor cabinet thinking she wouldn’t know (she always knew) your legs, hardened from pep squad, slut dropping on a kitchen table because the boys thought it would be fun to get the quiet girl drunk. you’d never had a sip before that night. band t-shirts, denim shorts and the split soles of rotten converse that you refuse to let go of, you still clutched with both hands to your youth, but in a tube top now (borrowed from alice carmichael who had a sister in college) and a short tennis skirt, your feet not in trainers but in thigh-high boots. uncomfy as hell but lily said you needed to look sexy. you didn’t know if you wanted to be sexy. you didn’t know what kind of girl you were, if you were even a girl at all. but robbie looked at you like he knew exactly who you were, like he knew you better than you knew yourself, and his lips had the pink cupid’s bow of a movie star, and his hair was dark locks, curling like a mane. his hands were soft, and suddenly on your waist, and after three more shots his lips were on yours and his name was the only sound in your head and on your lips as you lost it in lily’s college sister’s bedroom beneath the glare of a T-Pain poster. you bled for what seemed like hours, his hand still in yours, kissing on the sofa as truth tellers and dare devils continued to spin a bottle of unprecedented youth. you thought it was love. robbie was the one. he loved you, you knew it, how else could someone be so soft? but soon he grew bored, scrunched up your paper heart and set it alight. then came the tears, the hatred, the ‘fuck robbie, in fact, fuck all boys.’ and that you did.

you were known for being easy. any boy could be yours for a night, as long as he promised to love you for those few short breaths and pants before you cried yourself to sleep. you felt poisoned, but poisonous as well, as if by ensnaring these young boys you were gaining power over them, and not the other way around. soon it started to work. they’d want more, but you’d deny them it, sick of sucking off silly schoolboys, they’d call you a tease, a vixen. maybe you were, but you couldn’t help but want older men. you got the history teacher first time, him bending you over his desk to sneak a hand up your tennis skirt as the after-school clubs carried on next door, unawares. love didn’t exist, not for you. it was nothing but a game for pretty young girls to play, bubble gum in their canines and a hand tugging at the hem of their cheer skirt.

there was so much anger inside of your small body, ‘beware of boys and their hook-like words’. hockey helped. there was something formidable about the feeling of a stick like a weapon in your hands and the thwack it made against thighs in the heat of a scrum - “slipped, sorry!” - you’d utter with a snakeskin smile, millicent quinn knowing that you’d hit her on purpose because she shagged robbie at that party last week. she couldn’t prove it, cobbled acne on her forehead turning green with disgust. ben came into your life like a car crash. two years your senior, with a baseball jacket and shoulders like a god. he became your personal hero. on the pitch, he was lethal. together, you could bring anyone to their ruin. each day after last period he’d be waiting in his car. you’d leap into his arms like a girl-half starved, love me, love me, love me, your heated kisses the envy of every junior girl. he was yours for three blissful years, utterly yours, and you were his, his star-spangled girl, and he was your knight - you were both the same, playing games, always difficult to predict. it was a shock to all when he proposed, high-school sweethearts find love in south dakota.

the engagement was a bittersweet affair; three months – you barely out of your gingham print skirts and into a graduation gown, him, a surly quarterback towering above your sisters, cigarette at his lips and a scowl like a fart in a lift. they hated him. so did you. but you were eighteen and in love, and he fitted the cookie cutter mould. everyone wanted him, and you had him. you had him and you were happy, happy, happy, and he loved you. he said he’d give you the world, anything you wanted hand-picked and given to you. instead, he gave you a jack russell terrier and a flat you couldn’t swing a cat in, wallpaper peeling like the rotten bits inside of you, the bits that only he knew. and you got tireder and tireder of the sad excuse of a life he’d picked out for you, him out doing god knows what to pay the bills, and you dancing on tables to pave your way to stardom, and this was love, this was real, until the shine wore off and your fresh-faced, dimple-cheeked cheerleader facade faded and the ugliness started to reveal itself, the whining, the petulance, the sharp-tempered cruelty, the mind games, the need to always win, win, win. he was dull, he was boring, he was nothing like the boy the girls had said he was and no chiselled six pack could hide his lack of anything remotely interesting, your patience wearing thin until it snapped like rubber, a rucksack on your back, running shoes on your feet and the joint bank account emptied into your eighth grade birthday wallet.

you built your small fortunes working the casinos of sioux falls, a crimson dress and an attitude to match. bookish archie with his little dipper freckles was fun for a month, before he became just as dull and dreary as the rest. a three hour bus and you were in minneapolis, bright eyed and bushy tailed, fresh meat ready for the pickings. a hostel here, a friendly co-worker’s sofa there as you made what you could by taking off your clothes and shaking your ass like you were back in pep squad, doing what you did best. you met your fair share of creeps, and soon it was back on the road to escape a wide-eyed stalker and a restless itch for more. milwaukee, chicago, you made the roads your own. log cabins and lodgings, and the occasional motel, a beaten up pick up truck purchased at a scrap merchants – you got a few miles out of it before it bit the dust, and when you finally set it alight after nights spent lounging across the driver’s seat, a parka tucked over you as a duvet, you were sad to see it go. you’re nomadic by fault, never attaching to place, people or things, creating a new personality in every place you go like a character actress; each town is a different repertory theatre, and you’re the star. a compulsive liar, you even fib about your own name, to some you’re ellen, nineteen, bookish, a law student who likes smoking and cosmos. to someone else you’re rita, you’re twenty five and look young for your age, like smoking, comics and fucking in public places.

in the bright lights of michigan, you found charlie, sweet charlie, too good for you, though you let him spoil you while he thought you were the small town girl of his dreams. next came abigail, who was fun until the jealously kicked in, and then luke, gorgeous luke, dangerous, exciting, who despite his temper, despite the fights, despite bruises down your spine and your teeth marks on his arms, loved you with the strength of a wild fire. there was destruction in your wishbones, a savageness from the field, from the pitch and now somehow in his arms, you were godly. he was cruel, he was careless, and he refused to fall at your feet like so many other boys had, which only you made you want him all the more. you were rage incarnate. you hated him so fiercely you thought you might kill him, so he played the only card you wouldn’t predict; proposed.

the house you shared was a backstreet flat in detroit, you making your name as a downtown singer while he footed the bill with pills. they had a drug for anything these days, to dull the senses, to pick them up, to drive you to insanity or pull you out of the madness hole. the two of you lived like criminals on the run (you never told him that you were, living out your days as the enigma he wanted you to be), you with your voice like caramel and fishnet legs. you were his and his alone until his hand was at your throat and the gun was in your hands screaming at him to stop, stop, stop, until a bullet stoppered his brain, crimson staining linoleum as you cast yourself out like lucifer. self defence was decreed the moment they saw your violet neck, black tears and headlight eyes and mind screaming red, red, red like the pom-poms you shook so willingly in school and the insides of his skull. you were gone, and “you” was born, renamed “greta”, boxed, shipped-out, and next-day delivered to livingstone where under witness protection you were a student, blank slate, fresh-faced in a place where no one knew your name, doing what you always did and starting again.

#this is soooOoOOO fuckin long cos every time i play greta i add more shit to it..... her seventh form will just be an entire fuckin novel.#anyway call me beep me if u wanna reach me #aka pls msg me either here or on discord. my discord is linday lohan's meth8664 #wshedintro

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halsteadpd · 5 years

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Stalker

I know, I know I have fics to write, but I needed some motivation. I gave myself an ultimatum after procrastinating on an essay I’ve been struggling with for weeks and I’m glad to say it actually worked out in my favour tonight. So here I am, a thesis statement and basically a whole outline for my essay later with a one shot idea that I absolutely LOVE. From here on out, if I have a good day or chunk of time devoting to studying or assignments, I’m going to try to write a Linstead one shot (it’s a win-win for all of us). Whether it’s short or long, I don’t care. Whether I think it’s a masterpiece or shit, I don’t care. Maybe drop some suggestions and if I see one that really excites me I’ll write about it. But I think this will kick my ass into shape and hopefully when I finish this semester (passing of course), I can continue writing my fics. Special thanks to @queseraone for helping me brainstorm and always supporting me in everything I do. You honestly don’t know how much it means to me. Okay, without further ado, let’s have some Linstead!

Erin Lindsay loved walking through Chicago at night. It was a great way for her to unwind after a long day of chasing criminals and dealing with the knuckleheads known as her team. It didn’t matter to her if it was 30 below zero or if the sun was still gleaming down on her—she was going for that walk. Sometimes work would call in and she’d have to cut her walks short, but she didn’t even let that get in the way. She was going for that walk if it was the last thing she did. There was something different about a city once the thrill of the day wears off. People are more relaxed, the city is quieter, and most importantly, it gives her time to think and reflect about her day.

She often walked around the riverwalk which was unsurprisingly dead at 11 at night. She wasn’t scared, she was a detective in one of the most elite units of course and she could handle herself thank you very much. She kept her gun on her hip and her badge shining proudly against the moonlight on these walks, just in case someone decided to pull something stupid. Thankfully, she had never had to deal with that. The riverwalk was equivalent to a desolate wasteland.

Until that one night.

He was wearing dark clothing and his hands were stuffed in the pockets of his hoodie even though it was the middle of summer. He kept his head down but she could see that he was caucasian and he had a light brown stubble covering his face. She didn’t think much of it—he’s a complete stranger just out for a walk. She turned abruptly—ending her walk early that night—and headed back to her apartment, playing it safe.

The next evening, Erin laced up her sneakers before embarking on her walk again. She double checked that her apartment door was locked before making her way down to the lobby. Her apartment was relatively close to the riverwalk, that’s why she always takes a stroll down there. She could hear and see all the neighbours turning in for the night, kids were called inside from playing outside all day and the sound of locks turning echoed as she made her way downstairs.

As she went down the familiar path, she felt herself being followed. Again. Turning around to look behind her, she noticed the same brown stubbled stranger on her tracks. His head was cast downwards again but he quickly looked up to take in his surroundings. He fidgeted in his pocket for his cell phone, quickly waking up the screen before returning it back to its home.

She kept a close eye on the man, changing up her path every so often. Erin couldn’t believe that this punk was creeping her out and forcing her to walk in different directions. She hated change. Another night she decided to call it in early. She kept glancing over her shoulder as if he was somehow going to appear right behind her. But he kept his distance as she walked away.

This happened every night for a week.

Finally, Erin had had enough. She crept out of her apartment early and hid in the thick bushes that she knew would conceal her. She watched the time on her phone, waiting for the inevitable.

Sure enough, the tall stranger walked the familiar path at the exact same time as he had been doing all week.

Erin was definitely not letting him get away with this.

As soon as he got close enough, Erin jumped out of the bush, her fist ready to fly. She caught him off guard and she saw the fear in his blue eyes before her hand was connecting with his nose.

“What the fuck.” He exclaimed as he held his hands up to his face, blood dripping over them. “What the hell was that for?”

“You’ve been stalking me all fucking week, don’t think I didn’t notice!” Erin screamed, trying to not pay any attention to the pain radiating in her wrist.

“Stalking you?” The angry stranger asked. “Is it a crime to walk outside at night?”

“No but it is a crime to follow someone around.”

“You’re mistaken.” The stranger pulled his hood down to reveal his brown hair with slight curls. “I like taking walks at night. I just moved here from New York City and thought walking around the water would be nice.” He wiped at his nose which was still oozing blood. “Fuck I think my nose is broken.”

“I-I’m so sorry. It was an accident!” Erin apologized as she realized he was innocent. She felt like a total ass.

“You accidentally attacked me?” The stranger asked sarcastically.

“I live nearby. Let me take you to the hospital.” She ignored his question and quickly grabbed his bicep, noticing how toned it felt under her fingers, as she led him towards her apartment, and consequently her car.

“So, tell me about yourself.” Erin asked as she held an ice pack to her bruising knuckles. She looked over to the man reclined on the bed. His nose was definitely broken, but the blood had thankfully stopped. There was some mild swelling in his cheeks but his eyes twinkled in the light of the hospital—almost twinkling mischievously. She had to admit that he was attractive. The freckles lining his cheeks complimented his skin tone and his striking blue eyes made her weak in the knees.

“Well, I’m Jay. I’m a personal trainer. Born and bred in Chicago but I moved out to New York after my mom died.” His voice quieted down as he spoke. “Decided to move back home on a whim. Just felt right.” He looked over to Erin as she inspected her hand. “And yourself? Are you a professional boxer or something?”

Erin giggled at his question. “No, actually I’m a detective with the CPD.” She pointed towards her waistband that housed her badge and gun to prove her point. “Lived here my whole life.”

“I can’t be the only one who has had a date with your fist have I?” Jay joked. Sure this girl could pack a punch and it intimidated the hell out of him but there was something about her confidence and the way she held herself up that intrigued him.

“No. And you definitely won’t be the last.” Erin winked at him as she heard the curtain to the hospital room open up.

“Holy shit!” The redheaded doctor exclaimed as he took a look at his patient. “Rumours were flying around that my brother got knocked out but I didn’t think it was true.”

“I didn’t get knocked out.” Jay said with annoyance in his voice. “I was just caught off guard.”

“Will Halstead.” Will held his hand out towards Erin, shaking it as he introduced himself. “Jay’s far better looking and more successful brother.” He winked at her as he felt Jay punch him lightly in the chest.

“Just fix my nose before you fuck it up for me too.” Jay ordered, casting a small smile towards Erin.

“Well I never expected it to end up like this.” Erin said as she marvelled at the cloudless sky, looking at all the different constellations of stars. Jay’s warm hand held her own—it was calloused in some parts from the gym, she knew. She looked over towards her boyfriend and watched his eyes do a once over of the Chicago River—the lights from buildings danced off the ripples. They had been dating for about a month now. Jay’s nose looked as if it had never been broken but she still remembers how careful she had to be with him that first night. There was no way they were going to end up in the emergency room again that night—there would be no explaining that to his brother.

“Well, I’m glad I found someone who also loves taking walks at night with me. I swear everyone gives me strange looks when I say I like doing this.”

“I guess we’re just two strange people who meet in strange ways.” Erin said, a smile ghosting her lips.

“By strange I believe you mean waiting in a bush to accidentally attack me?” Jay teased.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” Erin said. “But to be fair, I was playing it safe.”

“Yeah, yeah. Well I’m glad we had that little accident that night.” Jay pulled Erin towards his chest and pressed his lips against hers.

They stood under the stars and moon that night and every night after, the only change in their routine being the addition of two extra strollers over the years.

Leave me a fucking review okay?!

Prompt: We both like walking in the park at night and I think you’re a stalker so I accidentally attack you and give you a black eye. Sorry.

#Linstead #linstead au #chicago pd au #chicago pd #jay halstead #erin lindsay #jay x erin #erin x jay #Jesse Lee Soffer #sophia bush

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alittlesliceofcucumber · 5 years

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Dear Starkid,

I discovered Starkid around Summer 2018, after I found a compilation video of AVPS. And so, against my PotterHead friend's wishes, I watched the sequel first. And let me tell you, it was the funniest thing that I had ever seen. And so I watched AVPM, and that too was amazing. The video and sound quality didn't matter, all that mattered was the genuine smile that it put upon my face after a long, long time.

I next watched Holy Musical B@man, and as a superhero fan it immediately became my favourite. A day later I had to go on a hike, and I downloaded some Apocalyptour videos to watch on the way. That was when I got to know Starkid for who they were. A group of extremely talented friends who go out of their way to give us such amazing content and asking for very little in return.

One by one, I watched the other musicals. AVPSY, Twisted, The Trail To Oregon, Firebringer... even those funny little update videos they post every once in a while. Each one exceeded the last, and as someone who already loved music, I can firmly state that it was Team Starkid that initiated my love for musical theatre. Inspiring me so much that I auditioned for a production of Chicago, and was accepted.

The people of Starkid are treasures. It's comforting to know that they have a good time creating the content that we, as fans, love so much. I love each member of the cast in their own unique way, and I may or may not create an entirely separate post stating how much each individual means to me.

...Then TGWDLM was announced.

I was shocked. There had been no new Starkid content since Movies, Musicals And Me and never seemed to join a fandom at the right time. But that time I did.

I had joined the StarCanCom Discord server at the time, where I got to know so many lovely people, and believe me when I say that there is no better feeling that freaking out with them at every little announcement, than sharing the love and trivia about this group of people and their work, and just to know that there were other people like me. So many other people.

I waited excitedly for TGWDLM, and it did not disappoint. I loved it so much, I made a bold choice. I decided to cover one of the songs. I had made a few song covers before, but never arranged/played one myself, so I was very nervous. I spent a few hours going over the song, studying every single detail until I felt confident enough to perform it.

(You can listen to it here!)

To my surprise, so many people liked it! They even asked for sheet music! And so I provided. Then the lovely @scribblepuffs graciously tweeted it, and none other than the amazing Robert Manion liked the tweet and tagged Jeff Blim! I know this is an honour that happens to many people, but I had never felt that ecstatic feeling before. They noticed me. Just the fact that people spread it around gave me a sense of validation. That people like me. That I'm worth something.

I wonder if Starkid ever feels that way.

My dream is to one day meet Starkid. I know this is far-fetched, seeing as I live in the north of England, but still. To be able to see them, let alone meet or perform with them, would make my entire life.

I could write a whole essay on how much Starkid means to me, but I'm going to spare you of my rambling.

Though I'm a relatively new Starkid fan, I can't stress enough how proud I am of them, and how much they inspire me every single day to stand up and be the person I am now. To sing what I want. To play what I want.

I don't feel ashamed to be myself anymore.

TL;DR Thank you, Team Starkid. Without your hard work and efforts into the content you give to us, I would not be the happy person I am today. Thank you for never disappointing, and encouraging me to create and perform. Congratulations on 10 wonderful years.

Thank you. ❤

@thanksforten

#starkid #team starkid #oh no i'm crying #at my own post whoops #my post

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ink-flavored · 5 years

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11/11/11 Tag Game (Triple Threat)

I was tagged by @bookenders @timetravelingpigeon and @oradall! Thank you!

Questions

What animal would be your familiar?

You can bring any one extinct species back, with the guarantee that it won’t become extinct again. Which animal do you bring back?

Top three favorite animals?

What’s your favorite road trip snack?

What’s one place you never want to visit?

If you had to live in the world of (one of) your WIP(s), how screwed would you be?

What’s the worst name for a character you’ve ever had?

What’s something your 8-year-old self would love about you?

What’s the stupidest thing your OC(s) has ever done?

How important is family to your OC(s)? To you?

What’s the song you want playing in the background every time you walk into a room?

Tagging: @rainy-rose @rrrawrf-writes @aslanwrites @tenacious-scripturient @waterfallwritings @quilloftheclouds @blueinkblot @lilquill @kobalt-ink and anyone else who feels like it!

My 33 answers below!

1. What baseball positions would your OCs be in if they all had to be on a baseball team? What’s the team name? What’s their mascot? What do the uniforms look like? (If you hate baseball or prefer a different sport, substitute said sport for baseball.)

Well, considering Park is literally on a baseball team, I think I’ll answer this one for him. He’s a pitcher for the North Carolina Sabretooth Cats, and if you can’t tell their mascot from that, then I don’t know what to tell you. Their uniform colors are white, gold, and black.

2. How good are your OCs at bowling? How good are you at bowling?

I, personally, suck at bowling. I’ve never been good at it, but I still have fun!

Before Hayden was on crutches, he was the bowling master. It’s harder for him to bowl now that he can’t really balance by himself, or hold a ball at the same time as he holds his crutches.

Park is also really great at bowling, something that Jamie (bad at bowling) will never forgive him for.

If bowling existed for Teconia, she would try her best, but not succeed. Xinya would be almost good. The occasional strike. Yu-Qi would attempt to chuck the bowling ball like a softball because it Made Her Lose.

3. Rewrite this in your style: “I picked up the book and read the back. He took it from me before I could protest. He never lets me have the cool stuff.

I took the book of the shelf and flipped it over to read the back, but I couldn’t get a single word in before he snatched it out of my hands. I pouted – he never lets me have the cool stuff.

4. What do you love about the last book you read?

The last book I read is called Policing the Black Man, a collection of essays edited by Angela J. Davis. I’m telling you this because you should read it. It’s not an easy read, and I’ve had to take several breaks from it because it’s very heavy, but it’s an eye-opening look at how race and law enforcement interact in America. It reinforced a lot of the things I already knew (the police are an institution founded on racism), but it’s teaching me so much more about why that is, and how we can fix it in the future. Highly recommended – especially if you’re white.

5. What are three things you love about your writing?

I really love my descriptions, character interactions, and settings.

6. What’s a word you love the sound of? What’s a word you really don’t like the sound of?

I have an entire list of words that I love, but I’ll pick my top three: Vivaciousness, Gossamer, and Facetious.

My least favorite word is flesh. I hate that word so much.

7. How do you like to begin your stories?

It depends on the story. Usually I like to jump into the action, to give the reader something to latch onto as soon as possible, and to get them to form questions at the same time.

8. What other forms of writing have you tried other than the one you’re working with now? (i.e. playwriting, screenwriting, poetry, interactive, novels, short fiction. etc.) How do you feel about them?

I’ve been writing a game! It’s been a super huge blast, and even though I know neither jack nor shit about coding, the program I’m using makes it very easy to write games without any coding. Use Twine! It’s the best!

Once I graduate (in June!!), I want to finish the game and upload it somewhere so I can get people playing it. Stay tuned for that!

9. What’s your favorite play/musical? Why? What’s your favorite part?

OH NO, I HAVE TO PICK ONE? Okay fine, it’s Chicago. I absolutely adore that musical, mostly because I love jazz. But also because the dark humor, satire, and well-rounded and unique women are top notch. I had the privilege of seeing it on Broadway in 2017, and I cannot recommend it enough.

10. What kind of stories do you like to read? How different are they from what you write?

Honestly, not much different at all. I read a lot of fantasy, sci-fi, and poetry – I write a lot of fantasy, sci-fi, and poetry. The only thing I write, but don’t read, is suspense/horror-ish stuff. Which sounds weird, but I listen to Welcome to Night Vale, which is about as much horror as I can handle.

11. What’s your favorite bit of worldbuilding from a story someone else wrote?

I’m a huge Tolkien nerd, and the whole concept of two trees that give light to the whole world is the best idea.

12. If you had to change the genre of your WIP, what would you change it to?

Oh man, this is a tough one. I think the easiest one would be changing Firesoul from fantasy to steampunk-fantasy, a la Perdido Street Station by China Miéville, but I’m not sure if that counts. The idea of an urban fantasy God-Dragon’s Wife is interesting, too.

13. What’s your favorite writing POV? First person? Third person limited? One or multiple POV’s?

I prefer Third Person Omniscient or Third Person Limited, but I will (very rarely) write in First Person, and even a little Second Person.

14. Have you thought of a title for your WIP? How did you pick it?

All my WIPs have titles, but the one that was hardest was Out of the Park, because it’s way too cliché and I only picked it because I needed something to call the project.

15. How easy is it for you to come up with outfits for your OCs?

Depends on the character. Xinya is the hardest, because all of her outfits have to be super elaborate and have to fit in with her culture, but Hayden? Jeans and a t-shirt. Easy.

16. Who is the oldest OC in your WIP? (Either in-universe or when you made them.)

In-universe, Xinya is the oldest human at thirty-three. Yu-Qi easily surpasses that by like ten thousand years, but she’s an eternal dragon deity, so.

In real life, Teconia is the oldest. Believe it or not, I made her for my first D&D campaign, and then decided I liked her so much I would make a whole story about her.

17. Have you ever written fanfiction (even if it wasn’t posted online?)

Yes! I write a lot of fan fiction, and though most of it hasn’t left my flash drive, I have an AO3 account, with a couple of works-in-progress. Come say hello!

18. What are your OC’s favorite colors? (List as many or as few as you want)

Teconia: bright orange, green, red

Xinya: dark blue, silver, light pink

Hayden: purple, yellow, lime green

Park: grass green, rusty red-brown, gold

19. What is the most significant/important/often-appearing object in your WIP? Or, what is one object that one of your OCs cherishes?

D…dragons. In almost all of them, it’s dragons. Can you tell that I like dragons?

20. What’s that one word that you can never seem to spell correctly?

This isn’t really a spelling thing, but I will never ever remember the difference between affect and effect. I’ve had it explained to me countless times, but I will never get it. I’ll be confused for the rest of my life.

21. Which arc do you like better/think is more interesting: a hero who starts slowly slipping into evil, or a villain who decides to try to be good?

I think both have their perks, but the villain that tries to do good has a special place in my heart because it shows that people can change, which is a dose of positivity that I think we all need right now.

22. Do you have any minor characters that are trying very, very hard to become one of the mains?

You know, I thought Yu-Qi would be happy staying the love interest. But now she wants to be a co-protagonist with Xinya. That’s what I get for making her literally a god.

23. Weirdest thing you’ve been inspired by?

I read a fan fiction once, and I thought, “Psh. I could write that better.”

And now I have The God-Dragon’s Wife.

24. Which character is closest to a self-insert?

In a way, all of my characters have some aspect of me in them, or some kind of trait I wish I had. Teconia has my kindness – the kindness that’s probably too nice. Park has the confidence I wish I had a lot of the time, but also the fear that I’ll never be good enough. I gave Hayden my anxiety (sorry), but also the determination to push through it that I need. Xinya is pleasant in polite company, but behind closed doors she’s a very angry character, which is something that I’ve been dealing with lately.

I guess I just don’t like the term “self-insert,” because all of my characters are me as much as they’re their own characters. They can be both.

25. Favorite season?

I’m assuming you mean my favorite season. It’s summer.

26. Do you eat appetizers when you go out to eat?

Short answer: Yes

Long answer: If they serve mozzarella sticks, you bet your ass I will eat every single one of those fuckers unless someone holds me back. Also, if you try and separate me from gyoza, you will have your arms separated from your body.

27. What is something you’re scared to write about?

Romance. I don’t know why, but I always feel like it comes off very stiff and impersonal when I write it, so I’ve been avoiding it for a long time.

28. Favorite fantasy book series? (I need recommendations ;))

The. Inheritance. Cycle. Ho-lee shit, I have been talking about this series since I was in first grade, and I will never shut up. The first book is Eragon by Christopher Paolini. If you read it (or if anyone reading this has read it before) feel free to drop in and scream at me. I’m always ready.

29. The most you’ve ever written at one time?

I don’t remember, actually! I think it might have been… when I wrote 8k words in a day?

30. When do you like to write?

Whenever I can, but mostly at night. Which is not doing my sleeping schedule any favors, I’ll tell you that.

31. Why is coming up with questions the most difficult part?

Good question. I have no idea.

32. Which character would cry over a marvel movie?

Teconia, for sure.

33. First character you created. Why?

My first character was a girl who had the werewolf-esque ability to turn into a dragon. She was pretty much my ideal self.

#annika talks #ask game #wow this is long #33 is a bigger number that i thought

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t-aeddie · 5 years

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Chicago MED rewatch...

A whole messy essay.

While trying to understand where Chexton started, I don't know if it's during Noah's first appearance in Season 1 (He was under Ethan and Sarah's supervision) or Season 2 Episode 4 when Ethan and April really had a moment. Ethan opened up about how combat medicine was easier (just save the patient no matter what). Their case was a sugar daddy who was unconscious. Ethan really wanted to save him so did the sugar baby while the son was objecting (with the DNR card, but he didn't exactly have the legal paperwork).

Ethan and April's relationship was one of trusted colleagues and great teamwork. I guess, with feelings involved, it would make sense if Ethan would do anything to shield April. Although, they still bump heads on several occasions. Anyways, in the beginning, when the kiss was shared in Season 2's finale, I thought it was out of the blue. Now, rewatching the series, I see that the writers left subtle clues. Had them work together starting the second half of season 1 actually. Season 2, they kept them around. Ethan had this tough love going on when it came to season 2's appearances of Noah.

Ethan doesn't open to many. When Wheeler committed suicide, he looked tough the entire episode, but, ultimately, he went to the morgue alone and shed tears. Remember when, in season 2, the Navy medic came in. He inquired about the notebook Ethan had in his bag. Ethan brushed it off as "important notes that I shouldn't forget". End of that episode, we see him writing down the name of the mother who died in the ED from a stray bullet. He keeps notes of people he couldn't save. Not like others would know. It took a very long time for Ethan to accept his PTSD and shared this to Dr. Charles. At first, when the patient with bipolar disorder in season 1, had a manic episode from dialysis (lithium was killing her), he told Dr. Charles that she should try to cope with it without using harmful medicine. He was doing the same (trying to cope with PTSD).

I didn't pay that much attention to Ethan or what the writers was telling us. Watching back while waiting for the latest episode of season 4, helps a lot. Honestly, I thought that it was rushed and they happened over night with two episodes then boom Chexton a couple. Chexton is the normal real life progression. Colleagues that have been working together for a long time starting to develop feelings over time. That person is there when traumatic events happen (death of their patient not a patient). They are a nurse/doctor combo. Many doctors work with the same team of nurses every day. Thinking about this make sense that Ethan would open up or shield April (although he really hated to be put on the spot when it came to the drug mule). I guess he even tried his hardest when it came to his sister, because of how April and Noah are. He opened up about his family to April. He has great trust in her.

All this does not excuse the fact that he was a dick the past few episodes of season 4. He got to work on his stubborness.

About the Chexton break-up, April specifically. I mean my keywords for her is that she is a woman of family and a woman of integrity. While I understand that Emily was in the wrong, I still don't understand why the writers had her broke up with Ethan based on this. April was the one who pushed Ethan to reach out to his sister. Honestly, I would have thought that April would have tried to help Ethan bring Emily back on track. April does that for Noah. She has his back. It made no sense to me that she broke up with Ethan, because Ethan had his sister's back. There were other reasons that could have led to break, but not family. While rewatching, I recall, when April was still pondering if she was going to marry the footballer, that she didn't want to be a house wife in a house where his ex lived. If they wanted to give a good reason for April to break up, the storyline should have been to bring back Vicki after she back from her deployment. Possibly had the storyline when Ethan was hospitalized earlier (or have them break up early season 4).

I remember I argued that Ethan and April had trust issues. Rewatching the episodes, I think I misread the issues. First issue, they are bull-headed. Second issue, they have different opinions. Ethan is disciplined (very by the book), hellbent on saving lives and follower of rules to the extreme (the oath), likes to do things his way. April is really honest (princess of integrity but Goodwin is integrity incarnate), risks it all and hellbent on doing it all for her patient, conservative on certain aspect, a strong woman and great older sister. Their personality should be matching and making them the perfect duo, but not entirely. When their patient in season 2 episode 22, the one who had ALS and was willing to receive blood thinner to be sure to donate his organs, the duo clashed hard. April didn't not want to. She explained her reasoning clearly. He could have weeks, months or a couple years to live and to do the most out of it. Ethan, on the other hand, saw the lives that could be save with the organs and tissues. He said it clearly "58 people can be saved". Both are not wrong. Their arguments are sound. Stubborn April did say that it was assisted suicide in the beginning when they had their argument. But, then, she opened up that she would give anything for the baby she lost to be able to live. Earlier, Season 2 Episode 16, the drug mule incident. That is the best incident to show where both Ethan and April are on two different point of the spectrum. Ethan will save a patient; however, drugs are illegal; therefore, the mother should be reported. April, other hand, the mother flushed down the drugs (except 2 packs) and sacrificed her life for her daughter to receive treatment; therefore, they should keep it a secret. When they were in Goodwin's office, April was quick to say that the one packet was the only thing in the woman had with her. Sure, Ethan backed up the lie. He was pissed. In his mind, you got to obey the law. He will treat any patient; however, he will report any incident (he even reported the domestic abuse incident where the wife was poising her ranger husband so that it'd seem he had diabetes thus he would no longer be able to deploy). Another time that both butted heads was about their relationship. April didn't want to be that cliche. She didn't want people to know that Nurse Sexton is dating Dr. Choi. Meanwhile, Ethan wanted to be public about (was even jealous of Natalie and Will being able to share their love without bother in the lounge back in the early episodes or when Doris talked about having April hook up with the cousin). It was a few episodes of early season 3. Up until the season 4 episode with Vicki, they have been able to deal with their stubborness and differences and work well. Their third issue, their feelings. They are human beings clearly still in love. Their emotions got out of hand. It gave us a great scene between the two. I get the tension. I get why things blew up. April did the right thing compared to Vicki actually. Ethan always get too caught up and emotional when it comes to someone with military ties (active duty to veteran). April was grounded and made the right calls. Ethan realized his mistake afterwards (kissed April even). They are still a great work partnership, but they got to learn to find a common ground (and to leave that stubborness outside).

Do I think Chexton will be back together next week? No. Or, I hope not. I want them to relearn how to trust each other, to accept the other's opinion, to talk to each other and to listen to one another. I want them to repair the foundation of their relationship. I want them to take their time. Besides, Vicki exists. A whole Nina 2.0 is dating (being a sidechick). I think they will be together eventually.

#chexton #april x ethan #april sexton #ethan choi

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unkindnessofone · 6 years

Text

Unhook Pt 2 [Billy Hargrove]

Part 1

Disclaimer: I don’t own Stranger Things or the gif.

Warnings: Swearing.

Word Count: 5.8 k

Masterlist

He was avoiding you. Right out in the open, obnoxiously, and adjacent to wherever you were standing, Billy was avoiding you. He made sure you saw him right in front of the entrance first thing in the morning before school started. He spoke at volumes above what was necessary whenever near your locker in between classes and, for the first time in his whole career at Hawkins High, he ate in the cafeteria. He chose the table just across from the one you were sitting at with friends, and stared at your fluttering lashes only to quickly pull his gaze away when you would so much as glance toward his direction. If he was trying to annoy you, he was succeeding. You were elated by the time the day was over. Suspecting his next move would be standing around his car to try and catch your attention on your way out of the school, you took the East doors and snuck away without any trace of him in your peripheral view.

You fiddled with your Walkman, untangling the headphones from around the compartment while walking at a slow pace toward your house. You would have just over ten minutes to peel off your clothes in exchange for your Pizza Hut uniform. Monday night shifts were always slow no matter the time of year. You hoped there would be enough tables to serve or cutlery to roll to keep your mind from wondering about the state of your relationship.

Just about to slide your headphones over your head like a thin silver headband, your heart jumped at the sound of a screaming horn over an unmistakable soundtrack of metal music. It was Billy, slowing his car down to stall after school traffic and grab your attention. He won. A natural reflex to loud bothersome sounds, you turned to look and he put in a smile like a blue ribbon. He drove away right as you noticed Max roll her eyes in the passanger spot. It became clear to you then as your thumb pressed down on the play button that Billy wasn’t avoiding you. He was tormenting you. He was dangling himself right in front of you, close enough to smell his musk, but refusing to engage. He was punishing you for a college application that you hadn’t even completed yet. You were in the kitchen, organizing plates and dirty cutlery into the dish pit, Billy far from your mind when the newest hostess, a fifteen year old who wore blush bold and bright just like the pink bands on her braces, called for your attention from the swinging kitchen door. “Just sat table 6.” A booth by the window, a spot that usually provided a big bill and decent tip on the weekend. “Thanks, Allison.” You called back to acknowledge that you had heard her and her eagerness to do a great job during her first unsupervised shift. Wiping your hands clean, you carried the paper towel piece out and tossed it as soon as you were back in the floor. At table six, a blond curly mullet caught your attention from the hostess stand. Billy was a thousand things and, one of them, was recognizable. From his cigarette scented skin, his warm Calvin Klein cologne that didn’t mask it, and his curly hair were all dead giveaways. “Hey,” You looked over the hostesses high ponytail and observed the schedule. “Could Lindy take table six, you think?“ “It’s a party of one.” Confused, Allison retorted as she looked up at you with both brows pulled low. “I know.” “You only have one other table and they finished dessert forever ago.” She was right. It was dead in the restaurant tonight, but you could have been the only employee in the place and you would still be trying to give Billy’s table away. “So, she can’t take it?” Moving the conversation along, you ignored the points she was trying to make. “She went out for a smoke break.“ For a second, you resented yourself for not picking up the bad habit. You sighed and tightened your black apron around your uncomfortable black pants that had the scent of marinara sauce forever soaked in the fabric. If he was going to be pathetic, you would let him. “Can I get you something to drink?” You asked your shoes as you refused to look up and into his adorable blue eyes. Billy pulled his gaze away from the window where he was looking at his car and the preteens standing a little too close to it. His smile was tight as he looked you over, but it faded when it occurred to him that you were delibareltly avoiding eye contact with him. He opened his mouth to tease you gently, but you threw your head up from the ground and beat him to speaking. “How did you even know I was working?” Squinting at him, you asked gruffly. “I know your schedule.” Billy said back. He always kept tabs on you. It freaked some of your friends out, but he was protective and that was all you chalked it up to. “There’s no way you’re craving pizza because we eat it all the time.” With both hands on your hips, you started to ramble. “There’s no bobblehead here with you, so you’re not trying to taunt me.” That would be a Billy move and you knew it. “So, what? Are you just trying to make me crazy? It’s working. Congratulations.” One of the reasons you and Billy worked so nicely was because you rarely lost your composure, but the boy was grinding on your last nerves. He was exhausting you. “Why would I bring another girl here? I have a girlfriend.” He looked at you as if you were actually crazy. ”You.” “I don’t know why you do anything, Billy.” He was not easy to understand and you knew one day scientists would win awards for studying his brain in-depth. “Like, why you kicked me out of your car yesterday?” It was the real question. Billy went to answer you, but instead a loud sigh decompressed him and he hung his head as his mind went blank. He had one arm resting lazily on the table while his other hand picking at a growing hole in the knee of his jeans. “It was just an application. You reacted like it was a plane ticket.” “Might as well have been.” He grumbled and spoke to the hole he was picking at. His self pity was evident. He was being dramatic. You glanced over your shoulder at the sound of the wind howling as the front door opened. You spotted the other waitress returning from her break and held up one finger at Billy before walking away into the kitchen. You hung up your apron and covered a brown tray with two drinks and a small plate with four bread sticks on it. You were hungry and you bet your boyfriend was as well. Setting down a fizzy coke in front of Billy, you caught his attention and then put down the plate in the center of the table, but slightly closer to your glass of water. He smiled with naive hope, looking like a little boy for a second, as he watched you slide into the booth on the other side of the table. “I haven’t sent it in, you know?” You refreshed yourself with a long sip of water and mentioned while he ripped a soft breadstick in half. “I still have to write the essay. You don’t have to believe me, but I was going to talk to you about it first.” It sort of stung that he thought you wouldn’t. You always ran your plans by him, not for approval, but just as a courtesy. You were a team. Or you thought you were. Billy didn’t say anything in response. He let the garlic and butter flavor settle on his tongue and just looked at the other half in his hand, feeling ashamed of himself. It was all over his face as plain as his dangling silver earring. “You always say you want to blow Hawkins once you’re eighteen.” As a stubborn Taurus, his birthday was just a month and a half away. “Can you stick it out another month until we graduate?” His post school plans might have been different than yours, but there was no reason you two couldn’t walk down your own paths still holding hands. “I can wait til you graduate.” He shrugged both shoulders and replied with his voice low and uninterested. He hated school and only went because it was a break and a distraction from the rest of his life. He preferred being bored than being beaten. “You get good grades.” His dad would rip his entire head from his shoulders if he didn’t. You knew for a fact that Billy was intelligent when he wasn’t thinking with his penis and fists. “We could apply for schools together.“ "Or we could go to Cali together in the summer and figure it out from there.” It was such an in brand plan for him that you didn’t flinch, simply reached across the table and helped yourself to a somewhat warm breadstick. “Billy, I want to go to college.” You didn’t know if it was for you until this year. “Mr. Farley thinks I’m a good writer and - ” “Mr. Farley thinks you’re hot.” Cutting you off, he mused with evident irritation as he swallowed a busy sip of soda. For just a minute, you stared so unimpressed at Billy that your eyes were practically emotionless. You were not about to argue with him that your married forty eight year old English teacher did not have a boner for you. “No, he thinks I’m a good writer and he was going to write a recommendation letter to Chicago. They have a great Journalism department apparently.” You informed him with your voice growing a little excited at just the idea. It was nice to have someone who wasn’t your mother believing in you. “If I got in, I’d want to go." It was usually Billy calling the shots. He was pretty sure this was one of the first times you were advocating for yourself and he knew that meant something. "If that’s what you want…” Looking at both his hands loosely over one another in the table, fingertips shiny from hair product and breadsticks, Billy nodded along, “then that’s where we’ll go.” Maybe he didn’t have to go back to California. If he was out of Hawkins, he figured he would be happy. “Well, that’s what I wanted before you left me on a back road.” There was another pink elephant in the room that you both had to address. “I’m sorry.” It was almost inaudible, but he said it and meant it. Billy rarely apologized unless his dad had a hand around his throat. “It was really scary.” “I’m glad you got home okay.” Billy had chain-smoked himself to sleep that night, his heart wrestling with his stubborn brain. He really wanted to go to your house and check on you, but his pissed off ego wouldn’t allow him to. “No.” You didn’t care about the long walk. “Seeing you like that.” He had seen red as he revved his engine and screamed his lungs raw. Billy could only remember your frightened and frozen eyes. Everything else was foggy in his memory. “I didn’t know if you would -" "I’m not him. I don’t do that.” He could not have said it any faster than he did. Giving both of you a little time to think, get your priorities in order, you worked on the last breadstick silently while Billy went back and forth between watching you with nervous eyes, fidgeting with a napkin, and checking on his car out the window. “If we are going to Chicago together or anywhere together, you got to work on your temper.” You watched his reactions closely, worried he might storm out at what you were saying. He had warned plenty of people at school that no one told the great Billy Hargrove what to do. “I don’t want to be scared of you again,” It hit him like a cold fist to the chest to hear you say that and Billy his his face from you. He looked at the window and let the parking lot see how sorry he was, “and I don’t know what you’re going to do when you’re like that, like, where’s your line?” Others had asked you that about your boyfriend before, but now you really didn’t know. “Would you see someone?” Your mom was friends with a couple therapists and the guidance counselor at school was always friendly. “What? Like a quack?” He responded in his typical fashion, eyes rolling to the left at the idea. “I’m not a pussy.” Somewhere between a pout and a frown grew under his nose, under his most recent attempt at a mustache. Sighing, you leaned in and began to lament, “Billy, you could get into Chicago if you wanted to. You could get in anywhere.” It wasn’t just a kind thing to say. You believed it even if he did not. “I can get you an application, but whats the point if you don’t work on your temper? You say you’re not like him, but you do a great impression of an asshole then.” It was a dangerous thing to say and you didn’t know how he would react. He threw his back against the pleather cushion, gutted by the truth. Even if he looked hurt, you could tell the wheels in his brain were spinning. “I can work on it.” He agreed. “I will.” For you, he would. He slid his hands back onto the table from between his knees and offered them to you. A whole day without your touch was too much for the stubborn boy. He waited for your palm to lay in his, his breath nervous in his throat that you wouldn’t want to hold his hand. Maybe, he had pushed you away too far. Thankfully, your fingers fiddled their way between his and you both let out a breath of relief. Now, Billy just had to put his money where his mouth was.

——

In the library, by yourself at a back desk, you reread the same line over in your biology textbook for he sixth time. The words wouldn’t stick to your brain. Your memory refused to commit to the fact. While it was generous of Miss Silk to allow you a free study period for your last exam, you were exhausted from studying. You needed a break. In fact, you had found yourself longing for watching episodes of MacGyver with Billy even though you thought the show was boring and every one ended with MacGyver saving the day and Billy’s hand all the way up your top. Everyone’s head jolted to the door when it smacked the wall upon abruptly opening. The period started fifteen minutes ago. Everyone was there who was coming to the class. While it wasn’t surprising to anyone that Billy was the one to enter so bombastically, the librarian on duty still scolded him with a pissed off shush. Some people always shuddered or rolled their eyes when Billy barged in, just like some girls always swooned. Everyone was scared this time though. He had a wild smile on his face that was filling his eyes with a crazy glow. He made a beeline to your spot, ignoring everyone. With one hand, he smacked a paper and covered your textbook page. Before you could even glance at it, he turned your head with the fingers of his free hand and kissed you while the hand s snaked around your neck to make sure you could taste his happiness and the mint he had just sucked on a minute ago. “Mr. Hargrove.” Miss Silk’s warning sounded as sweet as she was, a new teacher who could barely control her emotions let alone Billy’s. He pulled away from you, but was still grinning from ear to ear. You held some of your hair behind your ears and turned to the paper that he had presented to you. The University of Chicago emblem was the first thing you noticed, flowed by Billy’s name. It was an acceptance letter and your eyes bulged out from your face before you jumped up and screamed. The pride beat off your face boldly as you threw your arms around him, ignoring the librarian’s shush that was clearly directed at you. “I did it.” He laughed into your ear. “I fucking did it, babe." You weren’t about to admit it, but you were a touch surprised. While you believed in Billy, he didn’t apply himself without a shove. He hadn’t always been studious. After kissing him again, you squeaked against his lips and pulled away. Neither of you could let go of one another, Billy’s hands on your lower back while your fingers played with the hair behind his neck.

"I got in and I haven’t punched anyone in two months.” He confirmed and made you laugh. “Seven weeks give or take.” Billy corrected himself with a small shrug. In his defense, the other guy sucker punched him first. You took your hands from his neck only because you could feel the annoyance from your classmates beating from their glances. You sat back down at the desk, but Billy followed suit and pulled up a chair right to the other side of it. “I brought this.” He reached into his jean jacket and took an envelope out from it, exchanging it for his acceptance letter. It was another letter, one addressed to you this time. “I drove to your place and got it. I almost opened it.” He laughed at himself and drummed two fingers against the desk’s edge. He was dying to know what was inside the envelope. Did you get in too? Carefully, you peeled back the flap and fished out the folded letter between two fingertips. Billy’s breath was beating warm on your knuckles as he leaned in eagerly. You prayed that it was good news. Mostly, you didn’t want to put a damper on his celebration even though you wanted to get into the university as well. Folding it open, you took your eyes right to your name. “You’re taking forever. What does it say?” Billy smacked the table and tried to hurry you up. When you didn’t answer right away, Billy began to sink behind the paper. He folded his own letter up and tucked it into the pocket he had pulled yours from. Billy had put himself for people consistently even if his little sister and classmates thought he was a self-obsessed prick. “Fuck Chicago anyway.” In an effort to comfort you through rejection, Billy hissed. “They’re fucking idiots if they want me and not you." Over top of the letter, you glared at him. Even if he was trying to pump you up, you loathed when he put himself down. "Don’t say that. They’re lucky to have you.” Very naturally, you told him. “They’re lucky to have us both.” The grin couldn’t be contained if you tried to hold it back, you showed him your letter and beamed. “Holy shit.” Billy hummed under his breath before letting out a very loud and considerate ‘woo!’ in celebration. “We are getting the fuck out of this shit town!” He informed the entire library while standing up on his feet. In return, the library groaned and ignored him. Except for Miss Silk. “Mr. Hargrove, if you are going to be disruptive, I have to ask you to leave.” She approached him from behind and cautiously told him. She looked terrified like a mouse under the shadow of a lion. Billy merely shook his hand at her from behind his back, shooing her away in a sense. “Let’s get out of here. Let’s celebrate.” Drinks somewhere with his fake ID and uninhibited sex with his smile buried between your bouncing breasts. Billy tugged on your hand to egg you to follow him out of the school. His joy was infectious and you couldn’t not smile when you looked at him. It was so nice to see him looking out of his skull happy. Still, you shook your hand along with the arm he was holding. “No. They won’t want me if I don’t pass my science exam.” You explained as he pouted and nearly stuck out his tongue like a toddler. “Same as you. We aren’t all the way in. You have your geography one left.” Both of you would be done by Friday, just one more exam and it was done until graduation. “Yeah, yeah, yeah.” He groaned and leaned in for one more kiss, happy to put on a show for anyone looking. Billy wasn’t about to let anything bring him down today. “See you after by the car.” He said before leaving reluctantly, his ass looking particularly good in his jeans as he walked out, cackling toward the livid librarian. Billy kept the music loud the whole way home which wasn’t unusual. The strange part was how he couldn’t stop smiling and singing along. Max looked genuinely concerned that he had finally cracked for good. When you turned around to see her in the backseat and let her know that you both had been accepted to the University of Chicago, Max joined in with the sing-a-ling, but she was mostly celebrating the fact that her stupid big step brother was going to be gone and out of her life. He dropped you off outside of the restaurant, but hung his head out the window with his lips out for a kiss. As always, he ignored Max droning on about how gross it was for her to hear and see. “Want a ride home?” He checked for the second time. You had said ‘no’ when he first offered as soon as school was out since you weren’t sure exactly when you would be done. “I’m good. Thanks for dropping me off.” He words buzzed between your lips before you sucked on his bottom one again.

— —

After work, you were exhausted. You nearly fell asleep on the bus home. Just as you were unlocking the front door to head inside, your mom was running out to start her night shift. She was in her scrubs, silver travel mug clutched in her hand along with her full key fob. The exchange was so fast that you didn’t have a chance to tell her your news. “There’s soup on the stove that you can heat up.” She kissed your cheek with a loud smack and mentioned as she began to leave. “Billy called. I said you’d call him back.” She informed you as she rushed down the porch steps on her way to her old piece-of-shit Honda. “He is not allowed over though. You have to study!” She waved and jogged the last few steps over to her car. Once inside, you dropped your backpack on top of a bunch of shoes at the door and considered joining it on the ground. You really didn’t want to study. All you wanted to do was sleep, so you dragged your feet down the hall to go to your room. Once out of your smelly uniform and in a Loverboy tee shirt and comfy red sweats, you went to the kitchen where the phone was mounted to the wall. By heart, you knew his number and dialled it while praying that Susan or Billy answered. You worried Neil might scold you for calling so late or just grumble at his son about it. Your prayers were answered when a meek female voice spoke. “Hi Susan, it’s [Y/N]…Is Billy there?" "Yeah, one second.” She held the phone to her chest and called out for him. “He told us the news, so we have been celebrating. We are so happy for you.” Kindly, she shared, talking to you as sweetly as she often did Max. While you had tried, you never quite understood Susan Mayfield. She was so nice and yet stood by when Neil was a tyrant to his son. “Oh, thanks.” Stifling a yawn, you replied politely. It was nice to hear that tonight was a pleasant night at Billy’s place. You could hear soft mumbled back and forth between her and Billy before the phone was passed off to him. Billy was lucky. They had a cordless phone and you heard him walking away and close a door. “Gorgeous, hey.” He grinned into the phone and you swore you could hear the corners of his mouth spread. “You home?" "Yeah, just got in.” Leaning against the wall and tangling the spiral cord around your index finger, you waited for him to take over the conversation. “My dad wants to take us out Friday after exams …to celebrate.” It was the last thing you expected him to say. You were stunned silent. “You don’t have to. I can say you’re busy.” He leaned down on his bed amongst laundry he had yet to put away and probably wouldn’t. “No, no, it’s fine.” Shaking your surprise off, you assured him. “Do you want to? It’s your call.” When it came to Neil, you let Billy call the shots. “Free dinner, right?” He shrugged. He didn’t want to admit that he really wanted to go. It felt pathetic, but he was hungry for dad’s approval. Billy was still replaying the moment he gave his dad the acceptance letter. How Neil threw an arm around his neck and dragged him into a proud hug, barely able to contain how happy he was. Billy couldn’t remember the last time his Dad looked at him like he wasn’t a pain in the ass. “Yeah, sure. Sounds great.” If he wanted to go, you would join him. Besides, it was always easier for Billy to face his family with you by his side. “Cool. Are you going to study?” “I should, but I’m just going to crash. I would ask you to come over, but Susan says you guys are celebrating.” “Just some drinks. It’s nothing big.” He downplayed. “I should stay in though.” He really didn’t want to ruin the moment of solace with his dad. “Of course. Say hi to everyone for me. I’ll see you tomorrow.” “I’ll pick you up.” He always did. It went without saying. “Hey, um, uh, I love you.” It was only the third time he said it. Billy wasn’t very forthcoming with his emotions, but he showed affection in almost every other way. “Sleep well.” He nodded and leaned into the phone against his ear, wishing it was your face or chest instead. “I love you.” Savoring the rare softness from him, you quietly responded and hung up. You felt like you two were in a good place finally, but the promise of dinner with his dad and stepmom left an uneasiness in the pit of your stomach.

–

It was worse than the first time you went out with Billy. Standing in front of the mirror on the bathroom door, you fussed over your clothes, lip gloss, and even the shape of your chin that hadn’t been a major point of contention until now. The truth was you were just nervous. You always wanted things to go well when you were around Billy’s family. You never wanted to give his dad a reason to make any negative comment. Billy was really looking forward to tonight, telling you so before you went into the gym to write your final exams. It took much longer than you intended it to, but eventually you settled on an outfit that your mother described as “cute” and then “safe” when you explained how nervous you were. She didn’t know the details of Billy’s relationship with his dad, but you had told her on occasion that it was “less than ideal” and “volatile”. Billy had been adamant that you keep what he confided in you about to yourself, so out of respect, you did.

You thought it would be Billy squeezing your thigh under the table, but instead you were gripping his fingers and keeping close to him in the booth. You two had driven an hour out of Hawkins, Neil treating you all to a meal that wasn’t deep fried which was all that Hawkins had to offer besides gas station goodies and the Pizza Hut you worked at. Maybe it was all in your head, but it felt tense at the table. You were just waiting for the other shoe to drop as Neil and Susan talked about their own memories of ending high school, Billy half listening and sipping on a soda that he wished was a cold beer. You felt yourself relaxing, but your shoulders were still tight when Neil’s comment made you sit up straight as a pin again. “You know he wouldn’t have got in without you, right?” Fresh from a sip of his drink, Neil raised his brows at you to call for your attention. Instantly, you shook your head to very gently disagree. Eyes wide, you were ready to refute that and praise how hard Billy could work when he wanted to, but Neil kept going. “The things we do for a piece of ass.” He laughed and earned himself a smack in the arm from Susan, her eyes pleading for forgiveness from you and Billy across from her. Billy crossed his foot over yours and you instinctively squeezed his fingers again as they linked together over his knee. “I can’t take the credit.” You worked up enough gull to say. It was not fair to let his dad’s comments hang in the air. They weren’t true and Billy deserved to hear that from someone. “Billy’s really smart. He helped a lot with my biology final.” A lot might have been an exaggeration, but he did explain ionic bonding in a way that made sense to you. “What do you think you might want to study?” Susan took her husband’s silence as her cue and asked you, leaning in to take a piece of sourdough bread from the basket in the middle of the table.

“Journalism. My acceptance is actually into their program.” You informed her. It wasn’t as if the two of you knew much of one another. She mused and nodded, somewhat interested. “She’s gonna be a big deal.” Gloating, Billy couldn’t contain himself. “What about you, Billy?” Neil smacked his lips together and asked gruffly. “Up until now, you didn’t have much of a plan.” It was as if it would actually kill him to be optimistic towards his son. “You were gonna fix cars or work in a gym or something…” Billy was silent. He didn’t have an answer. His plan was to take a smattering of courses at first and figure out what he liked. He was scared that University wouldn’t be a good fit for him and the question only made that fear louder in his head. “You’ve been looking into kinesiology.” You reminded him. It had been the last thing you two talked about. “Yeah.” Billy agreed with his face scrunched together. Looking up from his knees to tell Susan instead of his Dad. He thankfully missed Neil’s blank stare that asked, ‘what the hell is that?’. “So, how are you two planning to swing all this?” Neil had not been saving up a fund for his son as Billy had gone on and on about dropping out and ditching as soon as he turned eighteen. As proud as he was of his boy, this was still a brand new change for him. “I assume your mom isn’t helping out.” The comment sounded innocent enough, but you suspected that was somehow a jab at your hardworking single mom and her lack finances.

“She’s helping, yeah.” You nodded even though it wasn’t really anyone’s business. “I save all my checks from work,” Minimum wage wasn’t much, but you also didn’t have a lot of costs at the moment. “And we’re both going to apply for student loans,” Neither of you were being offered scholarships so it was mandatory that you have some help for tuition. “There’s really affordable housing on campus.” You had done a lot of research. “I’ll work while we’re out there, so will he.” Looking at Billy, you caught him nodding. He wasn’t concerned at all. He just wanted to leave Hawkins, be with you, and never come back. Every day he found himself more excited than the day before to start over in Chicago.

“Looks you have it all figured out.” Neil mused as the waiter approached the table, two dishes in hand. “Thank God, one of you does.” It was another jab at Billy. He just couldn’t help himself, letting it sneak out right before Susan’s meal was placed in front of her.

Billy advised you on the walk from the restaurant to his car, after saying ‘goodbye’ and ‘thank you’ to his Dad, not to get upset. He held your hand and whispered under his breath to let it go. He knew you were upset. He could read you like a five cent paperback in the middle of aisle six.

“That’s the nicest time I’ve had with my dad in…” Billy had to think about it as he shook his hair out of his face and put the keys in the ignition. “I don’t know when.”

It was a fact that left you as sad as you were full, “It just confirmed for me that us getting out of town is the right move.” You said instead of wailing on how rude his dad has been. If Billy was satisfied, you didn’t want to damper that. You locked your seatbelt into place as he pulled out of his tight spot, cursing the Trans Am parked on his side for their awful parking job.

“Yeah,” He returned to your conversation once he was back on the road. “I’ll show that motherfucker how wrong he is about me.” He gripped the wheel and laughed.

“Yeah.” Right away, you agreed. The thought had crossed your mind multiple times at dinner.

“Honestly, I don’t give a fuck.” Billy shrugged. “I don’t care if he thinks I’m a loser.” He did care. He cared a lot, but Billy hoped sincerely that it would stop hurting him internally one day. “All this shit is over now, it’s just you and me. That’s what I’m thinking about.” He put his hand on yours and headed to the highway that led back to Hawkins, grinning as you picked up both hands and led them to your mouth in order to kiss his knuckles. This was exactly how he wanted it to be. The two of you in his car with his music loud. Nothing else mattered.

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