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ilooklikeaburntchickenugget · 3 years

Note

Hi, I love your writing. I really want to make a request where the readers have eating disorder but works in the modeling industries. She is like dating Gerard, but they were in a super big fight because of her eating disorder, as well as her constant traveling for fashion weeks, and at the end, they make up, and Gerard is helping her getting better, and stuff like that. I really love your writing, can you please write one? THANK YOU SO MUCH!!!!!

Title: Poisons A/N: I actually got two requests for something like these. The endings for both requests were slightly different, but here’s the first one. I didn’t really edit it, just because I haven’t updated much content in forever, but here you go! Pairing: Gerard Way (probably late Black Parade era) x Model!F!Reader Word count: 3,170 Warnings: Eating disorder, swearing, angst, drama, there’s just a lot.

Okay, so this was not what Gerard expected to come home to.

The man expected to go back to his New York apartment, shared with his gorgeous girlfriend, and for everything to be perfect. Well maybe not perfect, but perfect in Gerard’s mind.

He wanted nothing more than to just eat some chips, not having eaten in 16 hours due to his flight and partial distaste to airplane food, and curl up with his girlfriend, hugging every inch of her curves.

Instead he came home to a house that was nearly empty of any food, only a few protein shakes resided in the large fridge. This was already a huge warning sign Gerard looked out for. His mind attempted to justify itself, thinking that maybe he was jumping to the worst of the worst conclusions. No, you were probably just traveling so much that you weren’t at home enough to actually buy food.

He sighed, moving to one of the cabinets he knew the take out menus were hidden in. Opening it up, he picked up one of the cheap paper menus covered in dust, shaking it with his hand to get it off. Great, these hadn’t been touched in months.

After debating mentally between Chinese and Italian, he moved to your bedroom, in hopes to finally see the love of his life after months of being absent on tour. There you were, peacefully sleeping in bed. Jetlag, he knew.

He carefully removed his shoes, moving to his closet to change his airplane clothes to more comfortable ones. Climbing into the warm bed beside you, he placed his hands on your hips as he always had. His initial smile soon turned into a frown.

Even under the large hoodie you were wearing he could feel the painful outlines of your ribs. Grimacing to himself, he heard a small sigh fall from your lips. “Gee?” You coarsely called out.

“Mhm,” He hummed back, kissing the top of your head despite the pure disappointment towards you that coarse through his veins.

“What’re you doing? Weren’t you supposed to be gone for another week?” You asked again, still half asleep.

“The guys and I decided to cancel the last week where we were just supposed to travel, I missed you too much.” He smiled lightly, moving your hair to the side to kiss your neck.

“Mmm,” You hummed quietly, your consciousness growing back. Within seconds realization hit you, your eyes internally going wide, not wanting to show anything to Gerard, and you pulled away from him slightly.

“Babe,” He sighed, “We’re not doing this again.” “Doing what again?” You tried to pretend to not understand what he was saying.

“You’re a gorgeous, talented model,” He began with a soft smile, “But don’t go into acting, you’re not good at it.” “Gee, I don’t know what you’re talking about.” You fired back.

“Take off your hoodie,” He insisted, “Now.” “Gerard, what the fuck?” You scoffed, “Take off my hoodie?” “You heard me,” He stated, “Take it off.” “Why would I take it off?” You scrowled.

“So I can confirm that you haven’t been eating like you’re supposed to.”

“Gerard, please-” You begged, now falling off your pedestal of lies. He sighed heavily, rolling his eyes.

“Why haven’t you?” He asked, looking at you, “What has caused you not to eat again? I thought we were over this.”

“I don’t think that’s your problem.” You snapped. You rarely if ever did so, but this was only further confirmation that you hadn’t eaten in a couple of days. You were cranky.

“Damn right it is my problem.” He sat up next to you, his face had gone completely serious. There were traces of anger in his eyes, his pulsing veins along his muscular arms told you all you needed to know. He wasn’t only infuriated with your habit, he was disappointed.

A word you hated. You absolutely hated. The way it sounded, the meaning, how it made you feel. “Please,” You begged him, your once bright eyes gray from the torture you had put yourself through. “Please what?” He asked, his tone still somewhat harsh.

“Just don’t be mad.” You pleaded. You could see his eyes scan over your face, looking for any signs that you were lying. He found none.

Taking a deep breath and closing his eyes to clear his head he nodded lightly. “Alright,” He said barely letting out a breath, “But you need to tell me everything.”

And you did. Most of it at least. You explained how your insecurities resettled themselves in your mind, starting the moment he left for Tour. You talked about how you were getting more gigs and all due to your tinier size. You explained how skin and bones was basically the new trend.

He sat and listened to you. And he believed it, because he knew it was true. But naturally, he also was a human lie detector. Especially with you.

“Okay,” He began, “And what else?” So maybe that one small part your left out was something that you really didn’t want to admit. Gerard had this strong distaste for most of your model “friends”, ya know, the ones who are naturally tiny and eat salads 24/7, never genuinely enjoying a single meal. The one’s who flashed their designer shit everywhere they went, who posted bikini photos every other day and managed to somehow photoshop themselves into complete Barbie dolls. It made Gerard’s blood boil, he never liked you hanging out with them. Because are them you were not Y/N, you couldn’t be. And that made you even more secure.

“There’s nothing else.” You lied. He looked you in the eyes, waiting another moment.

“I’m gonna give you one more chance to tell me the truth,” He sighed, “What else?” “I said nothing.” Your tone was adamant. He rolled his eyes in disbelief.

“You lied to me,” He began, “You just fucking lied to me. We’ve been over this how many times?” “I didn’t fucking lie to you,” You stuck up for yourself, moving further away from him.

“Another lie, damn Y/N.” He sighed, “We’ve been dating for three years, and you still can’t trust me.” “I do trust you, Gerard.” “Then why are you lying to me?” He asked, his tone going to a much harsher pitch.

“Ya know what?” You said, grabbing your pillow violently, getting up from the bed, Gerard looking at you with no emotion. “Fuck you.” You stated.

“Are you seriously gonna leave?” He asked, rolling his eyes, “Immature.” “No, I’m going to the fucking couch where I don’t have to sleep next to a complete dick.” You fired back, going into your closet and grabbing a spare blanket. “You didn’t mean that.” He scoffed.

“Then why the fuck did I say it?” You marched out of the bedroom, flipping him off to which you heard a sarcastic laugh.

This was far from how you had planned his return. You were gonna stock the fridge and pantry, ya know, not give him a chance to think you weren’t eating, and probably have dinner made. You would eat a small portion, making the excuse you had a big lunch with your friends, and bam! Everything would be okay.

But naturally, shit didn’t work out and after numerous insults thrown at each other you found yourself on the couch silently sobbing. You and Gerard had never gone that far, ever. This fight was beyond messy, it was a complete dumpster fire.

You wanted no more than to apologize to him, but you also wanted an apology from him. You should’ve told him everything, that was on you. But he pushed your buttons and he knew what he was doing. It only took 15 minutes, before you heard his soft footsteps coming from the bedroom, and his warm arms wrapping around you, to which his shoulder became one to cry on. His slow and soft coos calming you down, as he began apologizing over and over again, clearly more mad at himself at this point. “Sugar, I’m so so sorry,” He apologized, “I was just really upset.” “I know,” You sniffled, “I’m sorry too. I shouldn’t have called you a dick.” You looked up at him. “Well, I was kinda being one.” He lightly smiled, to which you giggled in his chest. “Just promise me, you’ll start eating again.” “Gee-” You were about to make an excuse when you were interrupted.

“Babe, you have to.” He began, “Remember what your manager said last time?” You sighed, remembering. Yep, they would place you right in a psych ward. “So here’s what’s gonna happen. We’re not gonna tell anyone, but I need you to start eating, okay? We’ll go gradually, start small and build up. Together, okay?” You nodded, placing you head on his shoulder.

“I love you,” You smiled, looking up at him. “I love you too.” He smiled right back down.

-Six months later-

"Gee, that’s too much salt!” You scolded as he put a tablespoon of salt not a teaspoon into the cookie dough you were making.

“Oops.” He looked down to which you smiled lightly. You took a chunk of it placing it into your mouth, and he did the same. You couldn’t help but gag at how much salt was in it. “Salty.” He admitted, and you lightly nudged him.

“Yeah, ya dork.” You smiled. “That’s what happens when you add too much salt.” He lightly laughed, wrapping his hands around your waist from behind and placing his head on your shoulder.

“So what’re we gonna do to fix it.” “Nothing,” You said, “We could like, triple the batch, but that would be way too much.”

“Don’t forget we’re seeing the guys tonight,” He smiled, “They’re gonna eat this shit up.” You sighed, nodding.

“Maybe it isn’t such a bad idea after all.” The two of you spent the next half hour adding more of every ingredient, thankful that your apartment was stocked with food to use.

Carefully, you placed as many trays as you could into the oven, closing it and setting the timer. Giving Gerard a quick peck on the lips, he went off to review some emails as you checked your phone. Of course, the group chat was buzzing.

You sighed as you open the text chain reluctantly, scrolling through only to see your name pop up numerous times. “Y/N, where have you been?” “Yeah, fr, we have been out to lunch with you in forever.” “Why are you ignoring us?” “Really? Now you’re being a fake friend.” “Guys, I’m okay.” You simply responded, “Just really busy.”

“Uh huh, you’ve been doing boutique stuff for months.” “Literally nothing even big.” “Not since that Prada show.” “It’s Gerard, isn’t it.”

And just like that, you were about to light these girls up. Gerard was the only one willing, and quite frankly able, to get you out of the huge hole you had dug yourself into. And damn, now these bitches (I hate misogynistic terms against women, but I think it may fit here) were really gonna act like the good guys. “Don’t bring Gerard into this.” You simply responded. “It has to be him.” “He’s not even worth it.” “You could have any guy in the world, and you chose him.” “He’s way out of your league, and you’re still on your knees for him. Smh.” You knew damn well they were trying to get to you. None of these girls had had any true romance, only summer flings with football players, actors, and singers. Granted, Gerard was a singer, but he made good music. He was an artist at his core, singing was just apart of that art. It didn’t take you more than a moment to remove yourself from the group chat, and block all those girls. The real fake friends. The timer went off, which startled you a bit, but placing your phone down with a heavy sigh, you turned it off, to check out the cookies. The top row was done, which you were going to take out. Naturally, the tsunami of inappropriate texts from who you would once call your “girlfriends” was still flooded in your mind, and like a complete idiot, you reached in, touching and grabbing the sheet. With you bare hands.

“Shit!” You yelped, dropping the pan on the open oven and rushing to put your hand under cold water.

“Y/N?” You heard Gerard rush in. You looked up at him, and judging your hand under water, and the cookie sheet which had clearly gone through it, he took a slight sigh, first going to examine your hand. “You alright?” You nodded despite the tears forming in your eyes.

It wasn’t even the burn that hurt. It was the fact that you knew you let those girls get to you so easily, and the just embarrassed yourself in front of Gerard. You knew he didn’t find it embarrassing at all, it was an honest mistake. But still, it embarrassed the shit out of you. “Baby,” He cooed, moving your head up with his fingers under your chin to see the tears that were now slowly cascading down your red cheeks, “It’s okay.” He said lightly. You nodded, placing your head into his chest and sniffling a bit. “What happened.” “I was just distracted,” You admitted, “Forgot the oven mitt.” He nodded, holding you for a moment longer before he knew you were okay, and going to pick up the mess. “Gee, I can clean it up, I made it-” “No, no, please, just worry about your hand, okay, sugar?” You nodded, attending back to it.

The bright red mark across your hand didn’t want to budge, which you were fine with, considering it didn’t hurt as much, just stung a bit. He managed to clean up all the cookies pretty fast, putting them on the stove top to cool, and quickly going back to you. Giving you a kiss on the top of your head, it was his way of messaging he didn’t want to push the topic. But if you wanted to talk he’d be there to listen. It wasn’t but a few hours later that the guys came over. The mistake from earlier was long forgotten, other than the mark on your hand.

The guys were honestly some of your best friends, just like they were Gerard’s. They truly cared about you, just as much if not more than you cared about them. All of them knew about your struggles, and they were honestly your number one cheerleaders.

So the looks on their faces when they saw you healthy again was one that you could not pay for. It was definitely a lot of pride in you for doing it, and it made you feel even better about your decision to get healthy again.

Honestly, you loved the relaxes atmosphere of just hanging out. Sitting next to Gerard with some water, as he drank a Diet Coke, and some of the guys had beers, some opted otherwise. You could theoretically drink as well, but you didn’t want your boyfriend to ever feel alone or strange not drinking alcohol, considering his rough past with it. So you typically opted for a non alcoholic beverage.

It wasn’t until after the guys were gone and you were in the shower that Gerard figured out what was wrong. Your phone kept buzzing, going off constantly. He had never once checked your phone without your permission. There was a huge element of trust in your relationship, and he never felt that there was a reason to. He knew your passcode, you two had openly shared each others in the case one of you needed to use the others phone, but when he picked up yours and saw all those girls name pop up he scoffed.

He knew he probably shouldn’t have done it, but he opened your phone, scrolling through the messages. Some of them you had yet to block, and they were obnoxious. He went into the group chat where the messages were flooding, reading from the beginning of the day until now.

Pissed was an absolute understatement. If it wasn’t for the sound of the shower you were in keeping him aware of his surrounding, he probably would have smashed your phone. Taking a deep breath and closing his eyes, he placed it face down on the counter right where it was, resorting back to your bedroom in some hope of calming down before you got out, not making anything too obvious.

Everything was fine, completely normal. The two of you laying in bed together, doing your typical night time routine of reading a bit, maybe watching something, it really depended. You could feel how tense Gerard was, even by your head just leaning on his shoulder. His muscles flexed together, twisted into tight knots. You weren’t sure what had him so stressed, there wasn’t a need for him to be, right? “Babe?” You asked, to which he quietly hummed, “Are you alright?” You had caught on quickly, like you always had. And now he had cursed himself for looking at those messages. Transparency, he remembered, transparency.

“Honestly,” He sighed putting his book down, “I- I- I saw those messages.” He stumbled on his own words. You gave him a confused look, “The ones the girls sent.” You let out a sigh. Oh shit, he thought, thinking the worst of the worst. “Please don’t listen to them,” You insisted, “You know you’re not the reason for any problem in my life?” “Of course not,” He scoffed, “You’re totally fine. It’s just, how they treated you that bothered me.” “Gee-” “Y/N, we’ve talked about this.” He turned to you, “I’m not a controlling person, I try my hardest not to be. But damn, those girls are complete poisons. They’re hurting you, they’re doing far more harm than good. And I hope that doesn’t make me sound like a manipulator or anything, but even you’ve admitted you’re a lot different around them.” You sighed and nodded.

“I know, I just-” You began, “I’ve spent so many years of my life surrounding myself with people like them that it’s hard for me to know what to do without that, ya know?” He nodded.

“You don’t need a bunch of model friends thought to still be a great model.” You nodded.

“I’ll cut everything off with them in the morning, okay?” “Babe, you don’t need to rush it,” He said, “I mean, sure, the sooner the better, but this is your timing okay?” You nodded.

“Do you think everything will be okay?” You asked him next.

“Well, after they very possibly blame you for everything over text and try to put you down a psychological spiral, because that’s what they do, then yes, everything should be okay.” He smiled to which you nudged him. “You’re making this so much easier.” You sarcastically said, “I don’t even know why I ask you.” “Because you love me.”

#gerard way #gerard way fanfiction #gerard way x reader #gerard way x y/n #gerard way x you #gee way #my chemical romance #my chemical gerard #My Chem #my chemical gee #my chemical romance x reader

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icyllic · 3 years

Text

Path of Destruction | JEON JUNGKOOK

PAIRING: Jungkook x Reader

GENRE: Drama, Angst (maybe???), Thriller

WARNINGS: Stalking, obsession, swearing, a little dirty talk & thoughts

WORD COUNT: 2635

*note: ↑ i came across this video and saw this comment by boogieedits (credits to parkchimn & boogieedits for the inspiration! 😍) and felt inspired by this wonderful plot! i’m inspired by the amazing video edit too! <3 i decided to give it a try and welp- truthfully i’m having writer’s block with my Full of Stars series that i might wanna take a break from it for a while until i figured what the next episode’s plot would be. for now, let’s enjoy this oneshot! 🥰 (extra note: several changes were made in this story and yes, the nickname might be a little cringy but i couldn’t think of a better pet name, so....bear with it, i guess 😅😂 also, Y/N’s angered replies are intended to have typos. i purposely did the typos in her texts bcs she was angry af :3)

The night was feeling empty. The streets were quiet and you had no idea where you were heading. You couldn’t believe that you actually managed to get out from your best friend, Suzie’s party that was filled with a lot of her drunken friends and thank God you successfully escaped, even though right now you were feeling a little tipsy due to the amount of alcohol you consumed earlier.

“Fucking Suzie,” you mumbled as you walked home. “telling me it was just a small party and she lied! Who would lie to their own friends?!” You have the habit of talking to yourself if you feel alone and that was what you were feeling right now, so alone in the streets and you were clueless. You felt the need to cry but what’s the whole point? No one was here to save you even if you did.

You were sure you weren’t dreaming or hallucinating at all but you heard footsteps were following you. As you turned around, you furrowed your eyebrows in confusion, seeing as there was no one. When you turned around to walk again, the footsteps were heard. “HEY!” you yelled as you aggressively turned around. “don’t you dare follow me or I wouldn’t hesitate to call the cops!” You rolled your eyes in annoyance, mumbling to yourself again to make the uneasy feeling go away.

As you finally arrived home, you were struggling to grab the keys to unlock the door. At this very moment, the keys were tricking you; purposely tangling themselves with your pocket. “Are you kidding me?! I wanna get inside, you stupid keys!” You widened your eyes when you saw your older sister opening the door for you. How was she still awake at 2 a.m.?

“You look like a horrible mess.” Michelle commented, and you scoffed while pushing her away from the door as you went inside.

“Why are you still even awake anyway? Aren’t you supposed to be sleeping?” You were shaking your head while shutting your eyes to avoid that tipsy feeling.

“How can I sleep when I know my little sister wasn’t home yet? I was worried sick, you moronic bitch.” She shook her head, feeling disappointed with how you acted right now.

You were feeling sleepy and tired, so you decided to ignore her and went upstairs. Before you went to your room, you heard your sister yelling, “Yeah, go ahead and ignore me just like you always do to avoid conversations with me! I’ve had enough of babysitting you, Y/N! You’re so horrible!” You slammed the door before hearing any more of her complains.

Despite feeling so tired, you couldn’t sleep at all. You took the time to stare up at the ceiling instead, filling your head with numerous thoughts. But the thoughts stopped as you heard a Ding! on your phone. You read the texts and to your surprise, it was from an unknown number.

unknown [now]: sweet dreams, twinkle toes

unknown [now]: it took me nearly four years to pluck up the courage to text you

unknown [now]: and i can’t lie, i’m having butterflies

unknown [now]: you don’t know how many times i’ve dreamed of touching you

unknown [now]: by the way, go take a shower before you sleep 🌹

“What the hell?” You got up quick and scanned the whole area in your room, worrying that person who texted you might be in there. Hiding under your bed, maybe? You didn’t know whether to text this person back or not, or to block him but if you block him now, how would you know where he got your number from? ... or how would you know whether this person was a male or a female? So you decided to just leave it be for a while and reply this unknown person’s texts tomorrow. After this dreamland taking over your world, you were hoping that these texts were just all hallucinations due to tiredness.

••••••

....except that they were not hallucinations at all. You started to feel panic when you saw the messages were still there in your message box. Now it was your turn to build the courage to reply this person back.

you [now]: Who are you and how did you get my number?

Anxiety started to form inside you. You were supposed to run some errands today but with the situation you were facing right now, you were having doubts whether it was safe to go out there or not.

Your daydream of thoughts stopped when Michelle walked in to your room. “Y/N?” You raised your head up to look at her. “you feeling better now?”

You nodded, feeling hesitated as you knew that answer wasn’t true at all. You weren’t feeling any better, even after last night for being a little drunk but with this stalker texting you??? A whole new level of creepy started to scare you. You kept wondering how on Earth this person got your number.

“I baked you some cookies, just in case you were hungry and um,” she paused for a while. “I’m sorry for yelling at you last night. I didn’t mean to.”

These words shocked you. Her apology made you give her a look of astonishment. You and Michelle have been through it all; dramas over boys, arguing over little things and never once in your life you ever heard her saying sorry to you. This was so new, she finally apologized to you for the first time in her 25 years of living.

“I’m sorry for being an irresponsible bitch, Michelle. I didn’t mean it too.” She shook her head while smiling, walking towards you and gave you a hug to comfort you. Ding! And this person appeared again, stopping you from hugging your sister.

“Whoa, who’s texting you at an exact 8 a.m.?” Michelle teased while wiggling her eyebrows. You chuckled at her silly attitude, although this wasn’t supposed to be a happy situation at all. You were already feeling terrified as curiosity started filling itself in you, wondering what that person’s text might be.

“Probably just Suzie wanting to apologize too for being a lying turd.” You shrugged it off, chuckling alongside your sister. Michelle then walked out and you quickly locked the door, opening the stalker’s message.

unknown [3m ago]: you’ll know soon enough, twinkle toes 🥰

Twinkle toes??? Who the fuck does this person think he or she is? Calling me twinkle-fucking-toes? Your thoughts started to annoy you right now. You felt the need to slam something out of frustration, but you weren’t feeling like it anymore. You were still feeling scared because of this whole situation.

••••••

“Class dismissed!” Mr. Peterson announced when the bell rang. The whole Math class felt like a living nightmare. You were feeling sleepy the whole time but your attention was drifted off somewhere else.

When you walked outside the classroom to pack your stuff in your locker, you were stopped by Adrian. Adrian, the guy you knew had a crush on you since sophomore year. He was indeed cute; shaggy hair that really matched with his bright, green eyes and had a very nice personality that could make every girl fall in love with him. Unfortunately for Adrian, you weren’t one of those girls.

You’ve been taking the time to appreciate and love yourself for several years now. Your last relationship ended because that asshole cheated on and lied to you a lot of times, leading you to have trust issues and hence the reason why you didn’t wanna give Adrian a chance too. But Adrian, being a nice guy he was, stated that he’d wait for you no matter how long it might take.

“I brought your favorite snacks, Y/N. I hope we can eat lunch together today.” Adrian showed you your favorite snacks that were hidden in his brown bag. You softly smiled at how thoughtful Adrian really was.

“Thanks, Adrian. But um, I don’t think I wanna eat lunch today. I might just head home this afternoon. I’m not up for afternoon classes.” You felt bad for lying to him. Truthfully, you just wanted to investigate more about this stalker of yours.

His face was sad, but he seemed to understand. “Oh, okay.. are you okay, Y/N? You don’t look okay.” His voice was recognized with genuine concern.

“I’m having headache, that’s all. I need rest.” You scratched the back of your neck, feeling this conversation becoming awkward already. You were uncomfortable, your negative thoughts made you feel like this was an uncomfortable conversation to participate in.

Adrian nodded as he understood why, so he patted your back gently. You didn’t see it wrong, though. He wanted to kiss your forehead, but hesitant to do so since he knew that might be wrong. It was because he knew you didn’t feel the same for him.

••••••

{8.47 p.m. with Adrian walking in the streets alone}

Adrian was listening to music on his phone as he was on his way home from his friend’s house. But eventually stopped when he felt a sudden presence behind him. He turned around and it wasn’t there anymore. He shrugged it off, thinking it might have only been his imagination.

When he was singing along with the song he was listening to, the footsteps were closer and closer and suddenly, two strong hands grabbed Adrian’s hair and pulling him to the ground, kicking him hard and punching him numerous times.

This unknown person who punched Adrian was wearing a black mask, a black hoodie and ripped jeans that matched with a pair of motorcycle boots. Despite wearing a mask, his eyes sent deep, horrendous message. “If you ever touch Y/N again, I’ll make sure to have all of your bones broken so you can’t do anything in life anymore,” he aggressively grabbed Adrian’s collar this time. “Y/N is mine and mine alone. Don’t you fucking dare come near her.” He released it roughly, spitting on the spot of the ground next to Adrian and leaving him alone as he walked away. It was an unfortunate night for Adrian, no one was there to rescue him and call for help.

••••••

{10.11 p.m. in your room}

Ding! You groaned, knowing whose message this was from. You rolled your eyes as you read the person’s texts.

unknown [now]: i’m feeling so happy right now

unknown [now]: you have no idea how happy i really am 🥰

You shook your head and scoffed whilst reading them. Who even decided to care whether this unknown person was happy or not? Definitely not you.

you [now]: Lmao do I even care if you’re happy or not though? All I know is that you’re crazy

Ding!

unknown [now]: i am crazy indeed

unknown [now]: crazy about you

You groaned in annoyance at this unknown person’s response, not wanting to reply anymore. But then as you were about to place your phone on your side table, there was another notification from that person.

unknown [now]: i’m happy because soon enough, i’ll have you in my arms. no one’s gonna rescue you from me

“What the absolute fuck?” you got up and this time feeling so angry to the point you were having typos as you typed your words in all capital letters.

you [now]: GO FUCK YOURSELF WHOSVER YOU ARE, QUIT BUGFING

ME!!

you [now]: I’M GONNA BLOCK YOU NOW, YOU CNT DO THIS TO ME

Heaving a sigh, you grabbed a pillow and stuffed it on your face, screaming as loud as you intended.

Ding!

unknown [now]: you can try blocking me

unknown [now]: but i have a lot more phones that i’ve stolen and your number is saved in every phone i keep

unknown [now]: like i said, twinkle toes. no one’s gonna rescue you and take you away from me 😉

This time as your courage was already built, you dialed this person’s number but they quickly rejected your call. You tried again and you got the same result; your call was rejected.

you [now]: What’s the matter, huh? No balls to answer my call???

unknown [now]: i’m not going to make you hear my voice yet, princess. where’s the fun in that?

unknown [now]: i’m saving it for our date soon

you [now]: Screw you, you fucking creep

unknown [now]: damn, say that again

you [now]: FUCKING SCREW YOU!

unknown [now]: i’d love to be screwed by the one and only Y/N 😍

You were scared again. Not only this person secretly got your number, but he knew your name too! This was another whole new level of creepy!

You shut your phone off, not wanting to take this conversation further with that creeper. You closed your eyes tightly to move yourself in your dreamland, and thankfully, it was successful.

••••••

{Meanwhile at someone’s place}

He watched you through the one of the screens in his room. You had no idea about this at all, but this stalker had already placed a few cameras in your house. One specific camera he always watched was outside the window of your room so he could have a clearer and nicer view of your sleeping face.

“My God, she’s so beautiful,” he said as he attentively watched you sleeping. He was playing with his fingers as his eagerness started to bloom. He was starting to feel desperate now, wanting to touch you, wanting to hold you in his arms, wanting to kiss you until you’re unable to breathe.

“don’t worry, my Y/N. You’ll be in the arms of Jeon Jungkook’s soon.” Jungkook started to smirk with the dirty thoughts of you forming in his head. He really, really, really couldn’t wait to smother you with his kisses. ....once he catches you.

••••••

The next day at school felt so weird as you found Adrian absent. Adrian wasn’t the type of a person who’d miss a day at school, but today he decided to do that. You furrowed your eyebrows in confusion as you looked around for him. Weird. Where is he? you thought.

Ding! “Gosh, what the fuck does he want now?!” You opened to see who the notification was from, but thankfully it was from Suzie.

suzie patootie [now]: bubs, wanna hangout tonight? mum’s having a date with her 5th boyf. house is free for us girls

you [now]: Girls night, eh? I’m on

This girls’ night was all you needed to avoid feeling scared as you were right now. Sure, you were feeling brave already to confront that person through messages but you were still scared too. What if that person was watching your every move right now and you weren’t aware of it?

••••••

You decided to head to grocery store to buy some foodies and drinks for your girls’ night. You didn’t bother to head home first to take a shower since you knew that this girls’ night would be a sleepless night for you, anyway.

As you walked out from the grocery store to head your way to Suzie’s home, the footsteps were heard again. You stopped your tracks. Oh no. What if this is that person? You were standing still and the footsteps stopped too. You didn’t care and you walked forward quickly and the footsteps got faster following you from behind.

You started running and the follower chased after you so quick until he finally caught you, locking you in his strong arms.

“Don’t run away from me, Y/N,” he whispered, placing a kiss on your earlobe and you started to cry. “didn’t I say I’d have you in my arms soon?”

Before you could scream, he covered your mouth quickly and dragged you backwards with him to an unknown place while holding you tightly.

“No one’s gonna save you. You’re all mine now, twinkle toes.”

#jungkook x you #jungkook angst #jungkook fluff #bts angst #bts fluff #jungkook oneshot #jungkook fanfic #jungkook imagine #jungkook scenario #jeon jungkook #jungkook #jungkook x reader #bts jungkook #*written

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turtle-steverogers · 5 years

Text

Fugitives- Chap 8

its 1:30 am and this is trash, so forgive me, but its worth reading to the end because PLOT POINTS!!

also idk why but this chap was really hard to yeet out. i have like the whole fic planned, but i needa get there first if that makes sense so writing the shit leading up to the REAL SHIT is hard but stay tuned cuz it gets really fucking saucy in the future oooooo

warnings: non graphic gunshots and kinda death shit but its really nothing compared to previous chaps so its fine

ship: eventual ralbert

editing: no and its obvious. sorry

Although Albert’s mental state was far from okay, it was in his nature to be optimistic. As much as everything had gone to shit in the past week, he forced himself to get up every day and assimilate as best as possible into gang life. The nightmares hadn’t stopped yet, though. Every night, he was plagued with clear images of Elmer, dead against the wall of Sarah’s apartment, brain matter splattered aimlessly on the eggshell white walls behind his lifeless form. But he learned quickly that a hot shower almost always brought him down, and since the night that Race had confessed his experience with Rockefeller to him, he had learned to keep quiet during a breakdown.

Ever since the night of Albert and Race’s talk, the dynamic between them changed significantly. Albert found himself relaxing around him, and would often join him for breakfast, which for Race never seemed to deviate from a singular banana. They got into the habit of playing various card or board games in the rec room after trades and Albert learned very quickly that Race had a talent for strategy. He rarely won against him, but his competitive disposition forced him to continue game after game.

“Check,” Race exclaimed, eyes glinting triumphantly as he moved his bishop in line with Albert’s king. It was Saturday night, exactly a week after Albert’s arrival in Empire, and trades had been particularly slow that day. Romeo and Jojo had gone to handle the one trade they had in Staten Island, leaving the rest of the group to mill about the theatre lazily. Snow had begun to fall rapidly outside, so the prospect of leaving was quickly shot down.

“Bullshit, you cheated,” Albert countered, squinting at Race, “We’ve been playing for, like, two minutes. There’s no way you already have me in check.”

“Not cheating,” Race said, loftily, “Just really good.”

Albert shook his head, scanning the board for any moves he could make in an attempt to escape Race’s bishop. He sighed when it became evident that he was stuck.

“You’re a motherfucker, Higgins,” Albert mumbled as Race took his king, cackling.

“I may be,” Race grinned, “But I’m a smart motherfucker.”

“In some respects, but don’t give yourself more credit than you’re worth.”

“Rude,” Race pouted. Albert snorted, glancing to the side at the TV, which was playing the local news, as per usual. He frowned when the camera zoomed in on what looked like a crime scene. Race followed his gaze and both boys blanched as the reporter spoke.

“This morning, Soho residents, Elmer Kasprzak and Sarah Wilkinson, were found dead in their apartment,” He said, solemnly, “Officials predict that they had been dead for nearly a week before their discovery. Several gunshot wounds were found during the autopsies, clarifying the cause of death. But perhaps the most disturbing detail, was the graffiti found on the wall at the scene of the crime,” The camera zoomed in on the symbol for death that Race had spray painted that day, “This notorious symbol is known to be used by Empire and Prospect. Two of the warring gangs here in New York City.”

Albert hadn’t even noticed he was shaking until Race reached out and tentatively took the pawn that he had been holding out of his iron grip.

Albert’s tongue felt heavy as he spoke, “Sarah was, uh, she was killed, too?”

Race set his jaw, eyes fixed on the chess board, “I didn’t know. But, yeah, I guess Jack and Davey didn’t wanna risk it.”

Albert closed his eyes, desperately trying to stop the tremors in his chest. He could feel Race watching him, but he couldn’t stand to look at him right now. Sure, he had predicted that Sarah wouldn’t be let off the hook, but seeing it become a reality felt like someone burning an exposed nerve. He felt sick.

“I’m gonna shower,” He said, after another few seconds of tense silence, save for the disturbing murmur of the TV.

Race didn’t say anything as Albert walked out of the room on shaky legs, numbly venturing to the showers. He stopped along the way to grab a towel from the bathroom bin, but frowned when he found a note saying all the towels were being washed. Scowling, he turned down the adjacent hallway to the bathrooms and entered he laundry room.

He startled slightly when he found Crutchie, perched on top of the washing machine, pulling towels out of the dryer to fold them. He looked up when Albert entered.

“Heya, Al,” He chirped, smiling too widely for Albert’s liking, “Need something?”

Albert licked his lips, acutely aware of the nausea that still thrummed in his stomach, “Uh, yeah,” he croaked, clearing his voice a bit, “Just, uh, just a towel?”

“Ah,” Crutchie hummed, taking a folded towel from the top of the pile and tossing it to Albert, “Sorry ‘bout that.”

Albert nodded his thanks and turned to leave, but was stopped by Crutchie’s voice, “You okay?”

Albert plastered on a fake smile, “Peachy.”

Crutchie studied him for a moment, “You’re pale. You sick? I could get you some-”

Albert waved a shaking hand, effectively quieting the other man, “I’m fine, man, I just wanna shower.”

Crutchie’s looked like he wanted to say more, but he simply shrugged, pulling another towel out of the dryer, “Alright,” he sighed, “Hey, I know we’re part of a gang and soft shit ain’t really, like, a thing. But if you ever need someone to talk to…” he trailed off and Albert shifted uncomfortably.

“Uh, thanks,” he said, hand on the doorknob. He really just wanted to shower.

Crutchie seemed to sense this, “Alright, I’ll letcha go, man. Have a nice shower.”

Albert shot him a thumbs up and left the laundry room. To his relief, the bathroom was vacant and he locked the door, savoring the solitude it provided him. He turned the shower to the hottest setting and stepped in, allowing the water to wash over him. He breathed deeply as the shivers that wracked his body slowed to a stop. Ten minutes later, his mind was significantly clearer and he couldn’t help but think that he was getting better at handling this.

He climbed into bed, stomach rumbling, and with a jolt, he realized that he hadn’t eaten dinner. He considered getting up to find a snack, but decided against it. He’d just eat extra in the morning. Besides, everyone else seemed to have gone to bed while he was in the bathroom and he didn’t really know how to cook.

He settled into his blanket, taking his phone off the floor and clicking into his Snapchat. A lot of his streaks were lost in the last week, but he decided to send out a few just for the sake of it. He didn’t want to lose all connections to his previous life. His friend, York, answered a few moments later, demanding to know where he’d disappeared to. Biting his lip, Albert decided to leave him on read. It wasn’t worth the trouble.

“Hey, Al, you up?” Albert lifted his head off of his pillow. Through the curtain, he could see the outline of Race’s curly hair propped on his hand.

“Yeah, what’s up? You good?” He whispered back, shifting so that he could hear better.

“No, yeah, I’m good. I was just gonna tell you to follow my meme account.”

“On Instagram?”

“Yeah.”

Albert suppressed the urge to laugh, “I mean, uh, sure. What’s your user?”

“Uh,” Race pulled back the curtain and peered around, making eye contact with Albert, “It’s a shit ton of underscores, then hotdogmilk- all one word- then another underscore.”

This time Albert really did laugh, but more out of disbelief than anything else, “You’re kidding.”

“No?” Race’s eyebrows furrowed, “That’s it.”

“No, no it’s just that I’ve been following you since you were at 400 followers. Good content, man.”

Race was practically glowing, “Thanks!”

“Yeah, no problem,” Albert hesitated, then asked on a whim, “Wanna go make mac and cheese? I haven’t eaten since lunch.”

Race smirked, already moving to put on a pair of socks, “Yeah, man, I’m down.”

They tiptoed to the kitchen and quietly got out the ingredients. Albert was reaching for a box of elbow macaroni, when Race stopped him, “Ah, ah, let’s use my stash,” he said, winking.

Albert frowned, “Your stash?”

Race nodded, kneeling on his hands and knees to reach under the sink. He brought out a gallon sized plastic bag, filled with penne pasta.

He held it up, grinning, “No one else knows about this, but it’s a Higgins family specialty.”

Albert’s eyebrows shot up, “You make pasta?”

Race blinked owlishly, “Yeah,” he said, sounding vaguely condescending, “I’m Italian.”

Albert jerked his head back in surprise, “You’re Italian?”

“I know,” Race said, “The blonde hair and blue eyes are off-putting, but yeah, I’m Italian,” he moved to put water on the stove, “Weren’t you there when I cursed Jack out in Italian after he won poker the other night?”

Albert put a saucepan on the stove next to the pasta pot, “I mean, I was, but I thought you were just extra like that.”

“Nope,” Race said, “I mean, you’re not incorrect, I am extra, but that was legit.”

“Wow,” Albert said, starting to melt butter for the cheese sauce, “The more ya know.”

“So, tell me about yourself, Al,” Race said, conversationally as he waited for the water to boil.

Albert glanced sideways at him, adding some flour and milk to the butter to create a bechamel sauce, “What do you want to know?”

Race shrugged, sticking out his bottom lip a bit, “I dunno, what do you like to do? What are your interests?”

Albert stirred the pot thoughtfully, “I don’t really know. I was studying to become a mechanical engineer before all this shit went down, so I dunno. Stuff like that.”

“Damn,” Race breathed, “Mechanical engineering’s pretty intense.”

“Nah, s’just numbers and stuff,” Albert said, nonchalantly, “Couldya pass me the cheddar cheese?”

Race passed him the bag of cheese and watched as he added it to the now thick sauce.

“What about you?” Albert asked, “What are your interests?”

Race scuffed the floor with his toe, looking mildly uncomfortable, “I dunno, I haven’t done much outside of shit for Empire,” he paused for a moment, “But I do like to read. I’m not great at it, but I like doing it.”

“Yeah?” Albert was a little surprised, Race didn’t seem like the reading type, “What do you like to read? Also, the water’s boiling.”

“Shit,” Race scrambled to turn down the stove, then added a fair amount of salt to the water before pouring his pasta in, “Thanks.”

“No problem.”

“Anyway,” Race continued, probing the pasta to break the pieces apart, “I like books that make you, like, think, ya know? Like, 1984, and shit like that.”

Albert clicked his tongue approvingly, “That’s a goodass read.”

“Ain’t it? Like, it’s not like the other shit dystopian novels. It’s got hella depth and is more than just, death and destruction and shit.”

Albert nodded, “I feel,” he brought the cheese sauce off the heat and covered it with a lid, “That’s definitely on my list of favorites.”

“I thought I heard voices,” Albert and Race jumped violently at the new presence. A boy, who looked no older than 10 years old, was standing in the doorway to the kitchen, wearing a white undershirt and Star Wars themed pajama pants.

“Les!” Race blurted out, “It’s, like, near midnight. You should be asleep.”

“I’m 11,” Les said, looking slightly offended, “I don’t have a bedtime.”

Race floundered for a moment, but Les was already moving to seat himself at the counter, “Anway,” he smiled, “Hi, Albert.”

Albert blinked, “How did you know-”

“I heard there was a new guy and I don’t recognize you. I put two and two together, it’s not rocket science.”

Albert and Race exchanged a bemused look, “Anway, what’re you guys making?” Les questioned, gesturing to the pots on the stove.

“Mac and cheese,” Race said, draining the cooked pasta, “Want some, squirt?”

Les rolled his eyes, “I stopped being squirt when I turned ten, you useless Italian.”

“Geez,” Race looked slightly wounded, “Harsh crowd. Guess you don’t want any.”

“Bitch!” Les squeaked, “Of course I want mac and cheese.”

“Then you better respect your elders,” Race sang, transferring the pasta to the cheese sauce pan and stirring.

Les hopped down, peering over his shoulder at the mac and cheese, “That’s what good pussy sounds like.”

“Les,” Race scolded, as Albert and Les cackled, “No vine references. That’s my thing!”

“Who said!”

“I did!”

“So what?”

“Listen, you tiny shit-”

“Guys!” Albert cut them off, “Can we just eat the goddamn mac and cheese? I’m starving.”

Race huffed, but served three bowls of the dish nonetheless. They all sat at the counter, digging in right away.

“Holy shit,” Albert said, mouth full of pasta, “This is really fucking good penne, Race, what the fuck.”

Race smiled, cheeks stuffed with food, making him resemble some sort of blonde chipmunk, “Thanks!”

They ate in silence, the only sound being the scrape of forks against ceramic bowls. Each of them helped themselves to seconds, then thirds, until it was all eventually gone.

“Wow, I have a massive food baby, now,” Les commented, patting his stomach idly.

“Me too,” Race groaned, “And I forgot my lactose pills, so I’m aboutta die.”

Albert choked on the water he was drinking, “You’re lactose intolerant, too?”

“Yeah, wait,” Race said, eyeing him, “Does this mean you also forgot your lactose pills?”

Les looked between them a few times, “Rip,” he muttered.

They cleared their dishes, then got to work tidying up the kitchen. They finished fairly quickly and made to go back to their beds, but were stopped short by a very annoyed looking Davey outside the kitchen.

“Lester Jacobs,” he reprimanded, arms folded at his chest. He looked like a mother. A very terrifying, murderous mother, “What are you doing still awake?”

Les shrugged, pushing past him down the hallway, “Midnight snack!” He called over his shoulder.

Davey sighed, “Kids,” he muttered, addressing Albert and Race for the first time, “Did I miss mac and cheese?”

Albert glared at him, hatred bubbling in his stomach. He hadn’t had many interactions with Davey since the day of Elmer’s murder. Only a passing glance here or there. He still made Albert’s skin crawl. His authoritative and oddly stoic demeanor sat badly in his stomach and that, combined with the fact that he quite literally shot his best friend in the head, made him a candidate for the top of Albert’s enemy list.

“Yeah, sorry, bucko,” Race said, clapping him on the back apologetically.

“Shame,” Davey said with no real emotion behind his words, “Anyway, do you think you two could pick up a trade in Queens tomorrow?”

Albert opened his mouth to snap something, but Race interjected before he could, “Sure, what time?”

Davey clicked into his phone, pulling up a photograph of some graffiti, “It looks like, um, 7:15. Heroin trade.”

Race’s jaw dropped, “7:15 am?”

“Looks like it,” Davey said, “Here, I’ll send you the picture for reference.”

“Thanks, Davey-o.”

“Don’t call me that.”

“Sorry.”

XXX

Albert woke up to a faceful of shaving cream. He choked, spluttering for a minute, before gathering his wits enough to wipe the cream off of his face.

He sat up, glaring at Race, who was holding a can of shaving cream, an innocent smile plastered on his face, “I tried to shake you awake, but you were comatose. I had to resort to extreme measures.”

Wordlessly, Albert took a handful of cream off his face and chucked it at Race, who dodged it skillfully, “Bitchass,” he grumbled.

“C’mon, I already letcha sleep in some,” Race said, nudging Albert’s exposed leg with his boot, “We gotta get going. Wash up while I get the shit from Finch.”

Albert flipped him off, but got up nonetheless, getting clothes from his bin, before heading to the bathrooms to clean off his face and freshen up. Ten minutes later, the two of them were exiting the theatre into the snow, bananas in hand. It was 6:45 and still dark, casting a calm atmosphere over the city. They were to be in Corona, Queens in a half-hour, so they opted to take a taxi rather than the subway. Albert was still fairly tired, so he took the ride to doze against the window. They arrived 20 minutes later and trekked through the cold to the location of a trade, teeth chattering in the wind.

“I think it’s in here,” Race said, nodding his head towards an old furniture store on the corner of one street.

They entered the shop and Albert frowned, “How will we know who to give the trade to?” He whispered as they made their way to the back.

“A code for heroin in our circle is ‘powder’, so I’ma ask if they have any and see what the guy responds with.”

Albert nodded, following him to the counter, where a young man, probably around twenty, was sitting. He looked half-asleep, but perked up when they approached, “Can I help you?”

“Yeah,” Race said, “Got any powder?”

The guy raised his eyebrows skeptically, “You Empire?”

Race reflexively looked over his shoulder, tensing up slightly, but he recovered quickly, “Depends who’s asking.”

“Trevor.”

Race relaxed upon hearing the name, “Beautiful, yes. I’m Empire. Got the dough?”

Trevor nodded, opening the cash register and pulling out fifty dollars. Race grinned and held out his hand expectantly. Trevor rolled his eyes and reluctantly placed the cash in his outstretched palm.

“Kay, there’s your shit,” He snapped, “Where’s mine?”

Race pocketed the money and reached into his jacket, pulling out a neatly folded paper bag and placing it on the counter. He waited while Trevor poured out the contents and studied it for a moment before nodding. He looked pleased as he spit into his palm and held it out for Race to take, who returned the gesture.

“Thank ya,” He said.

“Welcome,” Race said, pumping his hand too enthusiastically for 7 am, “Pleasure doing business.”

“Likewise.”

They exited the store, delayed only briefly by Race getting sidetracked by an ugly carpet purse, claiming that Romeo would love it. Eventually, Albert was able to drag him out and down the street, but before they could hail another taxi, Race let out a yelp and pulled Albert into a small bodega.

“What are we here for?” Albert hissed, tugging on Race’s sleeve as he browsed the aisles.

“I’m tryna get high tonight,” Race said distractedly, plucking a bag of jalapeno cheetos off a shelf, “And these,” he held up the bag for Albert to see, “Are wonderful when the munchies hit.”

Albert bit his lip, annoyance and vague fear pricking the back of his neck, “And we couldn’ta done this, I don’t know, in our own turf where we aren’t at risk of getting fucking killed?”

“Please,” Race scoffed, “We’re always at risk of getting killed.”

“What if some Prospect guys catch us?”

“I’ve got a gun and a knife, we’re fine.”

“Okay, but what if-”

“Jesus Christ, shut up and let me buy fucking cheetos, it’ll take two seconds.”

Albert squinted at him, but stopped talking nonetheless. Race began to scan the shelves again and Albert glanced around, zeroing in on a packet of gum. In a sudden moment of impulse, he reached out and opened it, taking a singular piece of gum out and popping it into his mouth.

“What the fuck are you doing?” Race asked, cocking his head, making him look like a confused dog.

“I’m a criminal now,” Albert said, chewing, “May as well live up to it.”

“By stealing gum?”

Albert blew a bubble, popping it loudly, “Yes.”

“Alrighty then,” Race said, slowly, “Lemme check out, I’ll be right back.”

Albert wandered around the store for a few more minutes before Race met him by the milk, “Ready to go?”

Albert nodded, putting the gallon of chocolate milk he had been studying back in the refrigerator. They got out of the bodega to see that the sun had risen completely and Albert had to squint to see clearly.

Race clicked into his phone, mumbling something about ordering an Uber this time, because they’re cleaner, but shouts from the alley they were next to put them on alert. Race and Albert frowned at one another before scooting closer to hear.

“What the fuck is this?” A low, gravelly voice, thick with a Brooklyn accent, growled.

“Uh, it’s uh, it’s weed, man, like I said,” Another voice said, fear dripping in their tone.

“No, asshole,” The Brooklyn accent snarled, “This is fucking oregano.”

“I didn’t know, man, I’m-”

“Save it. Hotshot, take care of him,” Brooklyn accent barked, “Motherfucker really thinks he can trick the King of Brooklyn.”

“You got it, boss,” A new voice said. Albert spared a glance at Race, who had turned a scary shade of white. He looked like he was shaking and Albert frowned. What was happening? A gunshot brought both of them out of their trances and Race cursed under his breath, grabbing Albert’s arm and running in the opposite direction. As they sprinted, Albert couldn’t help but be reminded of the day they met, when Race was running from the police. Albert grimaced to himself as he thought about how simple his life had still been then. He missed it, but this was his life now and there were more pressing issues at hand.

They stopped in a new alleyway, several blocks away. Albert leaned against the wall, sucking in air in an attempt to catch his breath.

“So much for an Uber,” He panted, “What the fuck just happened? Were those Prospect guys?”

He looked up at Race, who had his back against the bricks, eyes squeezed shut and arms laced behind his head. He seemed to take a moment to compose himself, before opening his eyes and locking his gaze with Albert. His expression was indescribable and Albert couldn’t help the wave of dread that flooded his body like ice water.

“That was Prospect alright,” Race said, swallowing, “That there,” He paused, taking a deep breath, “that was Spot Conlon.”

OOO SPOTTIE BOY IS HERE (BROOKYLNS HEREEEE)

thanks for reading, chiefs

hmu to be added to my tag

TAG LIST: @bencookisagod @we-dont-sell-papes @aw-jus-let-em-try @well-the-kids-do-too @spot-conlon-king-of-brooklyn @thatpoorguysheadisspinning @labert-dasilver

@andthewoildwillknow @the-newsies-justice-for-zas-blog @sunshine-e-cigarettes @have-we-got-news-for-you @musical-shitposts @thebroadwayaesthetic

@thomasbeingthomas

@irondad-spiderson-duo

@snakesarenonexistent

@i-got-no-clue-what-im-doing

@kpop-kk

@mentallytiredgoat

@yxseminx

@be-more-chill-evan-hansen

@stopthe-presses

@elmers-half-a-cup

@and-i-lostmy-shoe

@spot-me50-papes

#newsies #newsies fic #ralbert #racetrack higgins #albert dasilva #fugitives #ooo #wild shit #omg im sorry this chap was bad

44 notes · View notes

katranga · 7 years

Text

Disclaimer: Fic is just for fun. Nobody on ao3, or tumblr, or wherever, is expecting perfection. Most of these tips are gonna take a little extra time and effort to implement, and if you don’t feel like doing that, because you just wanna post the darn thing? Go for it! I’m not here to tell you what to do, and I’m certainly not saying that your writing is bad if you don’t follow these tips. These are just suggestions that will hopefully help you improve your work, if that’s what you’re after.

Intro: Why Revise?

To kick things off, I’d like to go over the importance of revision!! This is more of a general writing tip, but it’s a great starting point, because I DON’T want you to be thinking about most of my future tips while you’re writing the first draft.

I want you to get. those. words. on. the. page! That’s all you should be worried about when you’ve got a blank page staring you in the face.

There’s so much pressure to get writing right the first time, but I’m here to tell you that’s pretty much impossible. So, pressure’s off! Just write the basics so you get to know your story first. I

I know it seems like writing it perfectly will save you editing/revising time later on, but you can’t revise—let alone post—what you don’t have written because you’re stuck on one line that doesn’t sound just right. You with me so far? Great!

Honestly, writing gets so much faster when you remind yourself that no one is going to see your first draft!

So I cannot overstate the importance of revision.

Because guess what? Everything you don’t like about your first draft can be fixed in revision!

Okay. What is it?

To clarify, when I say first draft, I don’t mean the stuff you do in high school, where you write out a shitty essay on paper first and then type it up basically the same, just to prove to the teacher you wrote a first draft?? Or whatever.

I mean you just write the absolute basics of your story down, and fill in the rest and perfect it later (I’ll go into detail about how exactly to do that in my motivation post).

Now, grammar, spelling, and overall readability, are all important things to fix before you post. But that’s little stuff, and your word processor will be able to pick up on some of that, and just rewording a few sentences to make them clearer probably won’t take too much effort on your end (though I am gonna have a post about filler words and clarity and stuff like that, so if that tends to be a problem for you, I gotchu).

Besides basic grammar/spelling, most of what I change as my first draft transforms into my second or third is:

Improving the flow of a scene (it can’t all be dialogue, unfortunately)

Pacing throughout the fic (are they falling love too fast? is this scene too long? etc)

Overall clarity (I know why the character did that, but will the reader?)

It may be different for you. Basically, you’re polishing up whatever you didn’t worry about writing the first draft.

My first drafts, for example? They’re 80% dialogue. Because that’s my favourite! And that’s what comes to me when I’m dreaming up fics. But then I go back later and beef up the rest—the characters’ movements in a scene, their inner dialogue, description etc.

Because as much as I love dialogue, scenes feel empty and too-fast with just characters talking. Similarly, scenes can feel bogged down and slow with just characters thinking about things.

But revision isn’t just about adding things! Sometimes you need to take stuff out. Inner dialogue that later gets covered by dialogue? Cut it. (Or vice versa—maybe the detail isn’t important enough for the characters to talk about, and just the mention of it within the narration is enough).

The point is, repetition needs to go. The reader rarely needs to be told the same thing twice.

Quick example from the top of my head:

Lance had lost his jacket. He’d looked over the whole castle for it, but couldn’t find it anywhere. His brother gave him that jacket. One of his last ties to Earth, and it was missing in action.

Maybe Keith took it to spite him, that jerk.

“What’s up, Lance?” Hunk asked when he passed him in the hall.

“I lost my jacket!” Lance said. “My signature jacket, the one Marco gave me! I’ve looked everywhere, but it’s gone. Do you think Keith stole it?”

Same information twice: Lance can’t find his brother’s jacket despite a thorough search, and suspects Keith stole it. No reason to repeat that. Something’s gotta go.

I know cutting stuff isn’t fun. You worked hard on that! You spent hours/days/whatever perfecting a sentence until it gleamed like a diamond, and now just because you thought of a better way to get that information across you have to get rid of it? No way!

I’ve been there, trust me. But hanging on just slows down the whole writing process. Because, for me at least, I know when stuff needs to go, or needs a massive overhaul, or whatever. I’m just digging my heels in because I don’t wanna do any additional work.

Luckily, this is where your shitty first draft comes in handy! If all you did was spit words onto the page as soon as they entered your head, then you didn’t spend a lot of back-breaking effort on whatever you need to cut! And what you need to cut isn’t anything awe-inspiring, it’s just your rough notes, so tossing it aside isn’t nearly as stressful!

Remember, you can always save scenes/dialogue/etc in a separate document! Maybe you’ll be able to salvage some it later. Alternatively, create separate versions of the doc as you edit/revise. If you end up actually needing part of a deleted scene, you’ve still got it somewhere!

And please, never think of the stuff you cut (or fics you never finished) as “wasted time”. Writing time is never wasted! You’re practicing, you’re honing your craft, and even if some bits never see the light of day, you’re still benefitting from all that work you did!

Now, I know I know I know most people edit/revise as they write. Can’t think of the next scene? Reread the previous scene and fiddle with it until something comes to you. That’s great! Revising already written material is loads better than just staring at your screen!

BUT I’ve recently started writing the whole gosh darn diddly thing without looking back and that is so much faster! While I highly recommend it, that’s obviously difficult to do when you don’t know what’s going to happen next in the fic.

Or if you just don’t have the motivation. So! That’ll be our next topic: Getting words on the page!

But for now, I’ve got an example under the cut, as well as additional resources and links if you want to learn more about revision!

Here’s where I take an old embarrassing fic of mine and revise it, hopefully clarifying the points I’ve been making, as well as proving that only practice makes better!

Okay so this is an excerpt of one of my unpublished fics from 2011. I’m just gonna be honest with you here, it was a Twilight human!AU where Edward was a massive nerd.

For background, Bella has been at the new school like a week and is appalled at the bullying happening to Edward, who she barely knows. (It’s first person bc that’s how the books were written. Just deal with it.)

Here we go:

“They gave him a swirly yesterday,” I announced, appalled.

“Who?”

“Edward!”

Jessica shrugged, unaffected. “Nothing new.”

“Well what are they, twelve?” I demanded angrily.

“He kind of needed a hair wash,” Mike muttered.

Snorts of amusement followed.

“Stuffing his head into a toilet is not funny,” I argued.

“Yes it is, Bella,” Alice chuckled.

“Kay, next time we go to the bathroom, I’ll shove your head into a toilet,” I offered. “And we’ll all laugh about it.”

This was a whole scene, I kid you not. Now, this isn’t bad because it’s just dialogue. It’s ten lines. That’s a reasonable amount of space for a quick dialogue exchange. HOWEVER, there’s about four people in this scene, so the dialogue tags are a little sparse. ALSO, this is the first time Bella’s bringing her concerns about Edward to the group, so there should be more inner reflection on that.

Overall, it’s just way too minimalist lol. So this is a good example to beef up.

First of all: where the fuck are we? Notice how no setting was given? Not the greatest habit to get into. If it’s already been established in the fic where people are, and the setting’s not that important, I guess you can skip it, but a quick mention isn’t gonna hurt. You don’t want the reader confused!

Since this a Twilight fic, let’s say they’re in the caf. (In Voltron fics, you’re probably gonna be on the ship, but you can always mention what room they’re in. Or, if it’s a new planet, give a line or two of description).

Explanations for changes I made are in [square brackets]:

I tossed my lunch tray onto the table before throwing myself onto the chair next to Alice. “They gave him a swirly yesterday.”

[Indicated setting. Also implied she was feeling “appalled” using verbs instead of outright stating it. Showing not telling!]

Across from me, Angela looked up from the sandwich she was picking at. “Who?”

[Indicated who was speaking—always important—as well as gave brief description of speaker].

“Edward,” I said like it should be obvious. I scanned the cafeteria for him, but the corner he usually sat in alone was empty.

[Another mention of setting. Also backed up her concern for Edward with action and not just talking about him].

Jessica shrugged, unaffected. “So what?”

“So?” I repeated incredulously.

So I’d never heard of someone actually getting a swirly. In real life. Shitty teen dramas? Yeah. Actual high school? No. It was ridiculous, and gross, and… I hadn’t seen anything to indicate Edward deserved it. (Nobody who’d ever deserved a swirly had ever received one, I was sure).

[The almighty character motivation! Note that you don’t actually have to explicitly state why they’re doing something—obviously we as the reader know the deep-down motivation is because Bella cares for Edward. But characters are not always forthcoming with information, even to themselves. Right now she’s focusing on the unjustness of the situation, and partially trying to convince herself that’s all it is].

Mike slung an arm across the back of Jessica’s chair, snorting a laugh. “He needed to wash his hair, anyway.”

“A toilet’s not gonna do that, Mike!”

[Just a cleverer response. Also, a dialogue tag isn’t needed, because no other speaker at the table is gonna be defending Edward. We know it’s Bella.]

He ignored my glare, choosing instead to steal a fry off my plate. I smacked his hand away.

[Again—action. The characters aren’t just static in their seats.]

“Well, really,” Alice began. “What’s it matter?” She sat up sharply, an idea just now occurring to her. “You haven’t been making friends with him, have you? I told you, Bella, it’s social suicide!”

[Gives Alice a chance to respond to Bella’s outburst—in this AU Alice is very concerned with popularity and does not want Bella associating with Edward. She would definitely have a problem with Bella sympathizing with Edward.]

I rolled my eyes. “No, I just…”

The whole situation was ridiculous. This wasn’t how people should be treated. Was I the only one who realized that? Was I really the only one who cared?

“Whatever,” I grumbled, crunching down on a fry.

[This feels like a more natural resolution to the conversation. Alice directly asks why Bella cares, and Bella reiterates to herself it’s just because. And then decides it’s not worth the argument. This is 2k into an (unfinished) 30k fic. She’ll make a bigger deal out of stuff later.]

Now it looks more like a real scene!

So, to summarize, I added: Description—both setting and character! Character musing! Cleverer comebacks!

These are just some of the things that you can fix with a keen-eyed round of revision.

And that about wraps this up! I didn’t want this to get too long, but it did anyway. (I’m sorry about the graphics I’m a writer, not a graphic designer. But I had to split the post up so it wasn’t one big block of text)

Was any of that helpful? Was it too long? Did the example clarify things? Let me know, I wanna make sure these tips are helpful!

Additional Resources That I Highly Recommend:

DRAFTING: THE THEORY OF SHITTY FIRST DRAFTS -- This post probably explains shitty first drafts better than I ever could! If you still have concerns about it, definitely check it out.

Editing & Revision Answerathon -- Okay, this video is pretty long, but I looove Max Kirin for anything writing-related and especially revision!! They’ve got a tumblr and a Youtube account filled with writing tips! If you like getting your writing info through videos, definitely check out their stuff.

Top 5 Writing Tips: Revision -- Here’s an infographic by Max if you don’t want to watch a 44 minute video lol. Also, you can go through their /tagged/revision for more!

#writing advice #fic writing advice #revision #katranga writes #i mean a lot of these tips are gonna be just general writing tips #but i will focus on issues that commonly crop up in fics #revision was just really important to go over first #idk i hope this is helpful #katranga's fic tips #i guess will be the tag

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preciousmetals0 · 4 years

Text

The Great Gilead Gaffe; P&G Earnings Are No Laugh

The Great Gilead Gaffe; P&G Earnings Are No Laugh:

Friday Four Play: The “Fool in the Rain” Edition

In the evening, when the day is done, I’m looking for market sanity, but the girl don’t come.

So, don’t let the market play you for a fool. She don’t show no pity. She don’t make no rules.

Last night, I scanned the market headlines before I slipped off to dreamland. It’s a habit that I developed to have some semblance of where the market was headed the next day.

When I saw the Gilead Sciences Inc. (Nasdaq: GILD) stories, I thought: “There’s no way this will carry over into Friday’s market.” But, in my groggy pre-sleep state, I underestimated two things: investor hope and the amount of cash sloshing around in the market right now.

Hope and vast amounts of cash are a dangerous thing. A fool and his money … if you will.

The Gilead news, if you can even call it that, lit the fires of hope that COVID-19 was on the verge of defeat. And that prompted a surge of cash into the market.

But let’s take a look at what everyone is hopeful about…

The “study that wasn’t a study” revolved around Gilead’s remdesivir antiviral treatment — a drug that the Food and Drug Administration hasn’t approved for any usage. There were only 125 participants, and there was no control group. In fact, from a scientific perspective, this report is no better than hearsay.

Even Gilead tried to downplay the news by issuing a statement: “This is uncontrolled, anecdotal data, which often winds up not being confirmed in controlled studies.”

So, here’s the crux of today’s market rally: underinformed investors with a lot of Fed-fueled cash hoped for an early end to the pandemic.

And, while everyone was cheering the end of COVID-19, China reported a 6.8% drop in first-quarter gross domestic product. The Chinese economy hasn’t contracted in 28 years. That’s where the U.S. is headed.

To paraphrase Molly Hatchet, the market is travelin’ down the road and flirtin’ with disaster.

Great Stuff’s advice? Take profits from this rally now — before the market realizes it’s been duped.

And now for something completely different … here’s your Friday Four Play:

No. 1: These Apples Aren’t Delicious…

…as a matter of fact, they aren’t, Goldman Sachs said. (Any BNL fans out there?)

Goldman Sachs targeted Apple Inc. (Nasdaq: AAPL) with a rare downgrade this morning, cutting the iPhone maker from hold to sell. The firm also lowered its AAPL price target from $250 to $233 — the second lowest target on Wall Street.

According to Goldman, iPhone unit sales will drop 36% year over year in the second quarter due to pandemic weakness. Furthermore, Goldman analysts believe that average selling prices will remain low due to flagging demand.

It’s also important to remember that all Apple stores outside of China are closed right now, and they have been for nearly a month.

I would think that most of this information was already priced into AAPL shares at this point, but the market has been a bit crazy with hopes, dreams and jellybeans lately.

(Need a 5G play? Not so fast … there’s something even better. Click here for details!)

No. 2: A Boring Company

There’s a certain happiness to be found in boring quarterly results … especially in today’s insanity.

Procter & Gamble Co. (NYSE: PG) has boring covered to a tee today. The toilet paper maker reported first-quarter earnings that beat the consensus by $0.04 per share on revenue that matched expectations. What’s more, P&G said it expects sales growth of about 3.5% for the full year — exactly what analysts projected.

The consumer goods company was cautious, however. Chief Financial Officer Jon Moeller gave a nod to the pandemic by telling investors on a conference call: “It’s a very wide range of possible near-term scenarios, and it’s [foolish] to spend too much time trying to sign probabilities to each.”

So, there’s uncertainty in the market for P&G. But, when you’re one of the biggest essential goods producers in the world, you get to call those uncertainties “foolish.” Sometimes, boring is good — especially for your portfolio.

No. 3: Closed-Door Cinema Club

Do you smell that? It’s the smell of buttery, salty popcorn goodness coming back to life! (Undead popcorn? Ewww.)

The reports of AMC Entertainment Holdings Inc.’s (NYSE: AMC) death have been greatly exaggerated … allegedly.

“We believe the company will have sufficient liquidity to withstand a global suspension of operations until a partial reopening ahead of Thanksgiving,” the company announced today, after a $500 million private debt offering.

Reading this report felt like someone hit fast forward on 2020. Just a few weeks ago, everyone was talking about canceled summertime plans, lost beach vacays and upturned frolicking. (What? You don’t spend your summers a-frolicking? Everyone will need a fine frolic after this.)

But now, AMC is heading back to the future. By Thanksgiving, we could be looking at a completely different film industry — as far as blockbuster releases go, anyway.

But there’s a hitch in AMC’s giddyap. The stay-at-home market shows moviegoers the wonders of direct-to-online streaming. Silver screens? Where we’re going, we don’t need silver screens!

Don’t expect throngs of people to line up when AMC finally opens its doors again.

No. 4: Lovesac, Baby!

If you see a faded sign by the side of the road that says “15 miles to the Lovesac,” you might want to get back on the Atlanta highway.

The Lovesac Co.’s (Nasdaq: LOVE) beanbag furniture showrooms are a little old place where nobody can get together right now. Yet, showroom closures for the quarantine didn’t stop the company from posting standout earnings of $0.37 per share, besting the consensus estimate for $0.31 per share.

Supposedly the next big thing in durable beanbags and buildable “sactionals” — clearly this is the 21st century tech they got us excited about as kids — Lovesac’s sales shot up over 43% year over year.

Hey, when you’re stuck working from home, an oversized beanbag counts as a business expense, right? Leave my plush, form-fitting workstation alone…

The secret behind the ‘Sac’s sales success? The forced shift away from showroom sales and toward an ecommerce-based, direct-to-consumer strategy — online shopping, in real human speak.

Though, if you’re interested in what might be the only pure-play beanbag stock … keep an eye on Lovesac’s expenses. A company’s online presence and e-commerce business didn’t just come out of nowhere, and Lovesac’s marketing costs more than doubled year over year.

Great Stuff: With Great Stuff Comes Great Responsibility

Week one of earnings season is in the books, and I have to say…

If you had told me in January that the virus developing in Wuhan would erase the entire Great Recession job recovery … I probably would’ve believed you. But if you told me on Monday that this week would end with a massive rally? Why, I’d have called you a fool in the rain.

If you’ve been following along, you know the market is laying tracks ahead of the train à la Wile E. Coyote. As we keep travelin’ down the road … remember one thing: with Great Stuff comes great responsibility.

Now, more than ever before, is the time to have a guide by your side.

Enter Charles Mizrahi. When he was a money manager for Wall Street, Charles helped his clients navigate the 1987 crash, as well as the dot-com bust in 2001. How? Because instead of seeing charts as heaps of data or wiggles on a chart, Charles focuses on uncovering well-run, standout businesses that stand to keep growing … long after whatever earnings havoc might lie ahead.

To anyone wondering how we’ll survive the potential oncoming recession, Great Stuff has just one special message to share from Charles that could be the answer.

Click here to get the details.

In the meantime, take this weekend by the throat!

Travel to the outskirts of the living room! Explore the unknown reaches of your closets! Delve deep into your attics and garages! Be daring!

And don’t forget to check out Great Stuff online in your search for excitement. You can always find us on social media: Facebook and Twitter.

Until next time, be Great!

Joseph Hargett

Editor, Great Stuff

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goldira01 · 4 years

Link

Friday Four Play: The “Fool in the Rain” Edition

In the evening, when the day is done, I’m looking for market sanity, but the girl don’t come.

So, don’t let the market play you for a fool. She don’t show no pity. She don’t make no rules.

Last night, I scanned the market headlines before I slipped off to dreamland. It’s a habit that I developed to have some semblance of where the market was headed the next day.

Hope and vast amounts of cash are a dangerous thing. A fool and his money … if you will.

The Gilead news, if you can even call it that, lit the fires of hope that COVID-19 was on the verge of defeat. And that prompted a surge of cash into the market.

But let’s take a look at what everyone is hopeful about…

Even Gilead tried to downplay the news by issuing a statement: “This is uncontrolled, anecdotal data, which often winds up not being confirmed in controlled studies.”

So, here’s the crux of today’s market rally: underinformed investors with a lot of Fed-fueled cash hoped for an early end to the pandemic.

To paraphrase Molly Hatchet, the market is travelin’ down the road and flirtin’ with disaster.

Great Stuff’s advice? Take profits from this rally now — before the market realizes it’s been duped.

And now for something completely different … here’s your Friday Four Play:

No. 1: These Apples Aren’t Delicious…

…as a matter of fact, they aren’t, Goldman Sachs said. (Any BNL fans out there?)

It’s also important to remember that all Apple stores outside of China are closed right now, and they have been for nearly a month.

I would think that most of this information was already priced into AAPL shares at this point, but the market has been a bit crazy with hopes, dreams and jellybeans lately.

(Need a 5G play? Not so fast … there’s something even better. Click here for details!)

No. 2: A Boring Company

There’s a certain happiness to be found in boring quarterly results … especially in today’s insanity.

No. 3: Closed-Door Cinema Club

Do you smell that? It’s the smell of buttery, salty popcorn goodness coming back to life! (Undead popcorn? Ewww.)

The reports of AMC Entertainment Holdings Inc.’s (NYSE: AMC) death have been greatly exaggerated … allegedly.

But now, AMC is heading back to the future. By Thanksgiving, we could be looking at a completely different film industry — as far as blockbuster releases go, anyway.

But there’s a hitch in AMC’s giddyap. The stay-at-home market shows moviegoers the wonders of direct-to-online streaming. Silver screens? Where we’re going, we don’t need silver screens!

Don’t expect throngs of people to line up when AMC finally opens its doors again.

No. 4: Lovesac, Baby!

If you see a faded sign by the side of the road that says “15 miles to the Lovesac,” you might want to get back on the Atlanta highway.

Hey, when you’re stuck working from home, an oversized beanbag counts as a business expense, right? Leave my plush, form-fitting workstation alone…

The secret behind the ‘Sac’s sales success? The forced shift away from showroom sales and toward an ecommerce-based, direct-to-consumer strategy — online shopping, in real human speak.

Great Stuff: With Great Stuff Comes Great Responsibility

Week one of earnings season is in the books, and I have to say…

Now, more than ever before, is the time to have a guide by your side.

To anyone wondering how we’ll survive the potential oncoming recession, Great Stuff has just one special message to share from Charles that could be the answer.

Click here to get the details.

In the meantime, take this weekend by the throat!

Travel to the outskirts of the living room! Explore the unknown reaches of your closets! Delve deep into your attics and garages! Be daring!

And don’t forget to check out Great Stuff online in your search for excitement. You can always find us on social media: Facebook and Twitter.

Until next time, be Great!

Joseph Hargett

Editor, Great Stuff

#Timor Invest

0 notes