The Writer's Block

Just here for kicks 25 | US | She/Her

[ambiguously-ambitious]

An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

Chapter One: A Second Chance to Live A Life Worth Living

Author: ambiguoslyambitious (me!)

Rating: Mature

Word Count: 2,402

Summary: Getting a job at Joja Corporation was supposed to be Bela Rivers' big break in the business world. Anyone who wanted to be successful in Stardew Valley dreamed at working in one of their corporate offices. However, life inside a cubicle is not what it's all cracked up to be, and the company that she is working for is harboring some deep secrets. A mysterious envelope gifted to Bela by her recently deceased grandfather might hold the key to a second chance to live a life worth living.

“M-Ms. Rivers? Hello?” a desperately cheery voice called out, a twinge of annoyance hiding just below the surface.

Bela pulled her eyes away from the harsh white light of the computer monitor in front of her to meet the even harsher glare of her supervisor, Mary Boerhen. Mary was a miserable woman cloaked in grey, both in personality and attire.

“Apologies, Ms. Boerhen,” Bela forced a smile to hide her hatred for pleasantries. “What can I do for you?”

Bela had just spent the past three hours aimlessly staring at her monitor, dreading spending yet another day updating spreadsheets. Every once in a while she glanced up at the menacing green light signaling that she was unfortunately still on the clock. The words, Join us. Thrive, seemed to be mocking her every day she was forced to sit in her corporate-issued personal hell. Bela had once held excitement for her job inputting data for Joja Corporation, the nation’s leading industry in just about everything. Everyone knew that if you wanted to make a solid living in Zuzu City, you just had to get a job with Joja.

However, that excitement soon faded once she had been squeezed into a tiny cubicle, condemned to spend her entire nine-to-five repeatedly going over numbers, day in and day out. She had thought that her recent degree in business administration, paired with her relation to the governor of Stardew Valley, would’ve given her the upper hand amongst her peers for a more “hands on” job opportunity within the company.

Unfortunately, she was still stuck crunching numbers like the rest of them, an insignificant cog in the corporate machine.

“Well, Ms. Rivers,” the woman sneered, “you could actually do the job you were hired to do.” Ms. Boerhen pursed her lips and turned away sharply, presumably to bark at anyone else who appeared to be slacking off.

Bela let out a small sigh, her fingers gravitating towards her desk drawer where a letter from her grandfather was resting. Once again, Bela felt her thoughts wander as she sadly remembered her last visit to him.

It had been ten years since Bela had last been to Pelican Town, a quaint little farming community located in the heart of Stardew Valley. As a child, Bela remembered spending each summer frolicking in the fields of Riverland Farm, a massive expanse of farmland spread out on a vast variety of small islands. However, her last visit wasn't so happy.

Bela remembered being thirteen years old watching from the train window, the city fading into the countryside. Harsh lights were replaced with the glow of fireflies and cement gave way to worn-down dirt paths. Her parents were tense the entire train ride, her father especially. She remembered the way his jaw was clenched and the tight grip he maintained with her mother's hand. Unbeknownst to Bela, this was going to be the last time that she was going to see her grandfather alive.

Walking into the farmhouse, Bela remembered how frail her grandfather looked in his cot. He lifted his head and offered her a weak smile.

"My dear, Bela," his voice was barely above a whisper. Bela desperately tried to prevent any tears from escaping, but seeing the ghost of a man she remembered as being vibrant broke her young heart. Before she could break down, her father's voice boomed angrily.

"Why didn't you say anything sooner?!" Her father's voice shook slightly, though Bela could not tell if it was from rage or sadness.

"What difference," the old man responded coolly, "would that have made?"

Bela's mother placed a hand on her father's shoulder, a desperate attempt to calm him down.

"I do not wish to argue, Jacob," Bela's grandfather said, meeting his son's furious gaze. "I know that I've made mistakes. I just wanted to tell you goodbye and give you the chance to say the same." Suddenly, he bent over in a violent fit of coughing, forcing Bela's father's gaze to cool into concern.

“...and for you, my special granddaughter, I want you to have this,” he managed to choke out, handing Bela an envelope enclosed by a vibrant purple seal, bearing the Rivers family crest, a pair of swans facing each other with the phrase, a flumine perduraverit, written between them.

Before she had a chance to open it, Bela’s grandfather blurted out, “No, no, don’t open it yet...Have patience, my dear.”

Her grandfather smiled weakly before continuing on, “Now, listen close...There will come a day where you feel crushed by the burden of modern life, and your bright spirit will fade before a growing emptiness. When that happens, my child, then you will be ready for this gift. Now, let grandpa rest...”

A few weeks went by before her grandfather finally passed. Bela's father quietly had him buried on the property without a funeral and refused to go back. Or at least, until now.

While Bela sat at her desk bored, her parents were currently boarding a train to Pelican Town in order to find the proper documents to sell Riverland Farms. They planned to use the money to fund their retirement and help Bela get her own apartment.

I wonder what’s in the letter that Grandpa left me, Bela mused, swirling a pencil between her fingers. She let out an exasperated sigh and decided that it was finally time to begin her work. Not even five minutes into crunching numbers the phone on her desk began to ring.

“Good afternoon from Joja Corporations, this is Bela. How can I be of assistance?” Bela answered perkily, rolling her eyes at the spiel she was taught to spit.

“Bela Rivers,” a serious voice responded, “you are wanted in Mr. Jameson’s office.”

Bela immediately straightened up in her seat and her heart rate quickened as she realized that she was being summoned to her superior’s office.

Damn it, she cursed to herself. Ms. Boerhen ratted me out to the big boss.

Bela took a quick breath before replying calmly, “Of course, I’ll be right there.”

She quickly placed the phone back on the receiver and stood up, mentally preparing herself for a scolding for her less than desirable performance. As she walked down the hallway to Mr. Jameson's office, she silently began to berate herself for wasting such a golden opportunity. Her heels clicked loudly like the hands of a clock, counting down the seconds until she was out of a job.

As she stood outside of Mr. Jameson’s door, Bela closed her eyes briefly and knocked raptly.

“Ms. Rivers, you may come in.”

Bela pushed the door gently, surprised to see the amount of people in the office. At the giant desk made entirely of glass, sat Mr. Jameson, a stocky man dressed in a sharp, yet dull grey suit that matched his seemingly lifeless expression. Next to him, sat a meek looking woman in a similarly bland pantsuit who avoided looking in Bela’s direction. Across from them sat two men wearing long black coats over simple business casual wear. When she entered the room, the older of the two gentlemen stood up, clutching a gold badge in his right hand.

“Hello Ms. Rivers, my name is Detective Hanlon,” the man then gestured to his more youthful companion, “and my partner Detective Gaumond.”

“Detectives?” Bela questioned, wondering why the hell the police were getting involved with her lack of productivity. You can’t be arrested for being lazy, right?

“Yes, unfortunately Ms. Rivers, there seems to have been an accident on the tracks near The Mountain.”

Bela’s heart skipped a beat. She couldn’t believe what the detective was saying. “W-what? What happened?”

The younger detective briefly made eye contact with Bela, a genuine sadness in his eyes before he ducked his head.

“I’m afraid that your parents, Mr. Jacob and Mrs. Kiera Rivers, were both killed in the rockslide on their way to Pelican Town.”

The young detective stood up and gave her a pitying look, “I’m deeply sorry for your loss, Ms. Rivers. This has been an unfortunate accident. These types of natural disasters are completely unpredictable.”

It was as if Bela had been sucker punched right in the chest. She stood there in complete disbelief until a faint whisper of a memory tickled the back of her mind.

“Wait,” Bela said coldly, moving her eyes over to the two behind the desk who refused to meet her gaze, “hasn’t Joja been mining in The Mountain?”

Mr. Jameson quickly looked over at the woman to his side, a bead of sweat trailing down his temple. The woman sheepishly looked up, desperately trying to avoid Bela’s cool glare.

“Yes, they have,” she admitted, glancing over at the two detectives, “However, it is too early to say whether Joja’s mining directly contributed to the rockslide, seeing as that is a natural disa-”

“Bullshit!” Bela interrupted, her voice steadily raising in anger. “You KNOW that you killed my parents!”

“Settle down, Bela,” Mr. Jameson snapped, “This was just an unfortunate accident. You can take the week off to settle your affairs.”

“Take a week off?” Bela’s eyes widened in disbelief. “Is that all my parents’ lives were worth? That’s all I get? Not even an apology?”

“Ms. Rivers,” the woman quipped, “Joja Corporation is not liable for natural disasters. And as a Joja employee, you should remember that your contract states that you are not allowed to speak negatively about the company in any way.”

“I-Is that a threat?” Bela retorted, in shock at the audacity of this woman. “Are you threatening to sue me for telling the truth? That YOU killed my parents?!”

She shook her head angrily, not able to process the barrage of emotions hitting through her at that moment.

“You know what?” Bela spat, “I quit.” Bela turned on her heel, storming back to her cubicle.

Once there, she began grabbing all her personal items and shoved them into a cardboard box. When she finally got to the desk drawer that held her grandfather’s letter, she hesitated for a second before tearing the envelope open. Inside were two pieces of paper, the top one decorated with her late grandfather’s handwriting, saying:

Dear Bela,

If you are reading this, you must be in dire need of a change.

The same thing happened to my grandfather, long ago. He had lost sight of what mattered most in life; real connections with other people and nature. So, he decided to drop everything and move to the place where he felt like he truly belonged.

I’ve enclosed the deed to that place, my pride and joy: Riverland Farm. It’s located on the southern coast of Stardew Valley, between Ridgeside Village and Pelican Town. It’s the perfect place to start your new life.

This was my most precious gift of all, and now it is yours. I know that you will honor the family name, my child.

Good luck.

Love, Grandpa

P.S. If Lewis is still alive, say hi to the old guy for me, will ya?

Bela’s eyes welled up with tears as she glanced at the second paper, the deed of Riverland Farm. She rushed to gather the rest of her belongings and walked out of the corporate office for the last time.

Before Bela knew it, she was gazing out the window of the bus she was on, heading to her new home. The trees blurred together in a sea of green as Bela allowed herself to get lost in her thoughts.

Maybe, Bela sighed, this fresh start is just what I need.

The bus slowed down to a stop at a small crossroads. Once Bela exited the bus, she was approached by a cheerful redhead.

“Hello! You must be Bela,” she smiled warmly. “I’m Robin, the local carpenter. I don't know if you remember me, since it's been a few years since you've last visited, but I'm Sebastian and Maru's mom.”

Bela smiled back hesitantly, before memories of an awkward, spiky-haired emo wannabe flittered into her head. “Hi, Robin, it’s nice to see you again, though I was expecting Mr. Meyer.”

“Oh, Mayor Lewis sent me here to fetch you and show you the way to your new home. He’s tidying things up for your arrival.” Robin turned, and began walking down the dirt path, gesturing for Bela to follow. “The farm’s right over here, if you’ll follow me.”

Bela listened intently as Robin began to relay different stories of some of her most difficult jobs. After a few moments they approached the dilapidated Riverland Farm. Bela was astounded at how unkempt the land was, littered with overgrown patches of grass and rotting crops.

“Yeah,” Robin shyly rubbed the back of head, “this farm has definitely seen better days. However, there is still good soil underneath.”

Suddenly, the farmhouse door opened, and a kind older man stepped out with a head full of grey hair and a matching moustache.

“Ah, our newest farmer!” he chuckled lightly, “Welcome back, Bela! In case you've forgotten, I’m Lewis, the mayor of Pelican Town.”

His eyes twinkled mischievously, “You know, everyone’s been asking about you. It’s not every day that someone new moves in. And it's even rarer when someone comes back. It’s quite a big deal!”

Robin nodded in agreement. “With the increased taxes, more people have been leaving Pelican Town than staying.”

Mayor Lewis shot Robin a warning glance before continuing his welcome speech, “So, you’re moving into your grandfather’s old cottage.” He sighed deeply; eyes lost in thought as he remembered his old friend.

Bela offered him a gentle smile, “He mentioned that the two of you were old friends.”

Lewis returned the smile, “Yes, we were. Well, you've inherited a good house...very ‘rustic’.”

Robin chuckled, “Well, that’s one way to put it.”

“Oh, don’t be rude,” Lewis shook his head, “Don’t listen to her, Bela. Robin just wants you to hire her for upgrades.” Robin rolled her eyes playfully in response.

“Well,” Lewis directed his attention back to Bela. “You must be tired from your long journey. You should get some rest. Tomorrow, you ought to explore the Town Square and reintroduce yourself to some folks. The townspeople would appreciate that.”

With that, both Robin and Lewis took their leave of Riverland Farm.

Now, Bela thought, gazing at the acres of overgrown land. What the FUCK am I going to with all of this?

[youngmomjeans]

“girls should be allowed to wear what they want, including things like shorts and crop tops, without being sexualized by men” and “it’s problematic that most clothing that is available for girls to buy/wear is revealing” are two statements that can and should coexist 🤷🏻‍♀️

[lovely-v]

writing fanfiction is just. i’m being so creative and original. i’m plagiarizing everyone by accident. i’m a genius. i’m cringe. i’m too angsty. i’m too cheesy. this is not in character. it doesn’t matter that it’s not in character because these are my characters now. i love my hobby. this is the worst possible use of my time. i’m seeking validation. i’m projecting my own personal problems onto this story and i’m barely hiding it. i know so many words and i’m using all of them wrong. im on tumblr posting about it instead of writing it.

[cinnarulean]

no more serious art ive had enough of serious art!!!! heres will and nico in stupid matching shirts instead :3

(click for better quality)

[medusaceratops-deactivated20210]

george lucas naming anakin: he'll be named after the greek goddess of inevitability, ananke, who ruled over fate, circumetance, compulsion, to symbolically indicate that luke's fate is bound inexorably in who his father was

george lucas naming obi-wan: belt

[tealbluemagic]

@tennessoui

[jswander]

[valtsv]

i think my favorite thing is seeing people on the internet calling fictional characters their precious smol uwu bean baby boy or whatever and the character in question is either a middle aged white guy with a receding hairline who makes plain untoasted bread look like decadence or literally the human equivalent of an unsocialized feral animal who would bite their hands off

[valtsv]

every day this site reminds me to be grateful for all the experiences i haven't had as well as those i have

[leeshajoy]

A lot of the substances we think of as protection against the supernatural (e.g. salt, silver, garlic) are actually antibacterial, and would have helped stave off infections and illnesses that people once attributed to supernatural influence.

Based on this, I want to see a story where vampires are repelled by hand sanitizer.

[kaijuno]

Twitch can be such a magical place

[dirudo]

Lmao ur cute af lemme talk to you

talk then

[demisatyr]

the power that radiates from this post

[greed-the-dorkalicious]

Today is a very important day, one of the biggest holidays of the year.

That’s right…

It’s the anniversary of the final episode of Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood.

[ambiguously-ambitious]

[aurumacadicus]

Still thinking of a TikTok I saw a year ago where a girl with a shellfish allergy got a crab tattooed on her thigh with one of the claws exactly where her Epi Pen should be stabbed into her so she’d be able to wheeze out “stab the crab” if someone else needed to use her pen on her. Absolutely obsessed. The epitome of work smarter not harder.

[condensed-theorem-shop]

One of the most bizarrely cool people I’ve ever met was an oral surgeon who treated me after a ridiculous accident (that’s another story), Dr. Z.

Dr. Z. was, easily, the best and most competent doctor or dentist I’ve ever encountered – and after that accident, I encountered quite a number. He came stunningly highly recommended, had an excellent record, and the most calming bedside manner I’ve ever seen.

That last wasn’t the sweet gentle caretaking sort of manner, which some nurses have but you wouldn’t expect to see in a surgeon. No; when Dr. Z. told me that one of my broken molars was too badly damaged to save, and I (being seventeen and still moderately in shock) broke down crying, he stared at me incredulously and said, in a tone of utter bemusement, “But – I am very good.”

I stopped crying on the spot. In the last twenty-four hours or so of one doctor after another, no one had said anything that reassuring to me. He clearly just knew his own competence so well that the idea of someone being scared anyway was literally incomprehensible to him. What more could I possibly ask for?

(He was right. The procedure was very extended, because the tooth that needed to be removed was in bits, but there was zero pain at any point. And, as he promised, my teeth were so close together that they shifted to fill the gap to where there genuinely is none anymore, it’s just a little easier to floss on that side.)

But Dr. Z.’s insane competence wasn’t just limited to oral surgery.

When I met Dr. Z., he, like most doctors I’ve had, asked me if I was in college, and where, and what I was studying. When I say “math,” most doctors respond with “oh, wow, good for you” or possibly “what do you want to do with that after college?”

Dr. Z. wanted to know what kind of math.

I gave him the thirty-second layman’s summary that I give people who are foolish enough to ask that. He responded with “oh, you mean–” and the correct technical terms. I confirmed that was indeed what I meant (and keep in mind, this was upper-division college math, you don’t take this unless you’re a math major). He asked cogent follow-up questions, and there ensued ten or so minutes of what I’d call “small talk” except for how it was an intensely technical mathematical discussion.

He didn’t, as far as I can tell, have any kind of formal math background. He just … knew stuff.

I was a competitive fencer at this point in time, so when he asked if I had any questions about the surgery that would be necessary, I asked him if I’d be okay to fence while I had my jaw wired shut, or if it would interfere with breathing.

“Fencing?” he said.

“Yes,” I said, “like swordfighting,” because this is another conversation I got to have a lot. (People assume they’ve misheard you, or occasionally they think you mean building fences.)

“Which weapon?”

“Uh. Foil.”

“No, it won’t be safe,” and he went off into an explanation of why.

Turns out, he was also a serious fencer – and, when I mentioned my fencing coach, an old friend of his. (I asked my fencing coach later, and, oh yes, Dr. Z., a good friend of mine, excellent fencer.) (My coach was French. Dr. Z. was Israeli. I never saw Dr. Z. around the club or anything. I have no idea how they knew each other.)

So this was weird enough that later, when I was home, I looked Dr. Z. up on Yelp. His reviews were stellar, of course, but that wasn’t the weird thing.

The weird thing was that the reviews were full of people – professionals in lots of different fields – saying the same thing: I went to Dr. Z. for oral surgery, and he asked me about what I did, and it turned out he knew all about my field and had a competent and educated discussion with me about the obscure technical details of such-and-such.

All sorts of different fields, saying this. Lawyers. Businessmen. Musicians.

As far as I can tell, it’s not that I just happened to be pursuing the two fields he had a serious amateur interest in – he just seemed to be extremely good at literally everything.

I have no explanation for this. Possibly he sold his soul to the devil.

He did a damn good job on my surgery.

[saywhatjessie]

#op your oral surgeon is an immortal

[kyraneko]

Some god is slumming it on Earth with maxed-out stats helping people and his dive bar of choice is oral surgery.

[ambiguously-ambitious]

[misgenderisms-deactivated202010]

youre nb but you call yourself a bitch (bitch is a FEMALE dog btw) why???

i am on the FLOOR

[gendergenius]

bitch and bastard are GENDERED terms and thus you must use the neutral: bitchard

[zinnia-apologist-deactivated202]

[misgenderisms-deactivated202010]

happy pride month to the stupidest post on this site.

[sunshiny-rants]

Bucky, Natasha and Clint have movie night once a month where they watch unsolved documentaries about people they’ve assasinated

[melonisopod]

The narrative neurotypicals give about the mentally ill is so warped like how many times have you heard “If Van Gogh took medication, we wouldn’t have Starry Night,” and he literally painted that one on meds in a mental ward.

[melonisopod]

Okay, wow, this post really blew up more than I ever expected! I love the feedback, and to everyone who added “Even if his suffering is what gave us the paintings, they aren’t worth his suffering,” you are all correct.