#bruce keller

[t33n4ge-w4st3land]

ignore my handwriting but all my ocs refs are done for the guys in the band :)))!!! I literally love them so much they’re all my babies

my tag is my artfight!! Hope to see anyone on there this next month!! I will post there in depth lore eventually

Their band is called Rapid and it’s a glam band

Randy: Lead Guitar

Jody: Bass

Darren: Lead Singer/Rythm Guitar

Bruce: Drummer

Name of story and all associated is Star Studded!!

[perditism]

handwriting tag

 describe the handwriting of some of your ocs and tag seven people ((thank you @liarede for the tag, i LOVED your answers))

logan: the most chaotic handwriting you’ve ever seen. his hands cannot catch up with his thoughts. he strings his words in one long, indecipherable scrawl. some might even joke that it looks like doctors’ handwriting on prescription notes but logan’s words are only reserved for hasty grocery lists and cheerful notes to darya. his last letters always have a little flourish in the end - like trailing off the tail of a ‘g’ or looping a ‘l’ like a ribbon

darya: her letters are small and round, in clear precise strokes that emphasizes every vowel and consonant. she can write in many languages but her handwriting is the same irregardless of the different symbols - all looking like someone had typed it out of a computer. it always takes her a while to finish writing whatever she is writing because she always scans through her letters meticulously to make sure all are tidy and near.

valentin: big, blocky letters, almost laughable because even his handwriting is as bulky as him. he’s the kind of person who writes out their signature letter by letter when asked to sign his name. it’s almost a wonder that no one has attempted to forge his signature (but that might be due to the fact that most people think he’s dead but im sure that’s irrelevant...) he can also do those bubble fonts for cards and signs very well.

laurel: the first language she learned to write in is mandarin so the english words she write out tend to mimic the way mandarin characters are structured. the letters are all evenly spaced out and will give you a migraine if you read it for too long because they mostly look like just one long word. also, she dots her i’s too aggressively - any paper she writes on WILL have at least one puncture hole.

bruce: he has handwriting that is meant for poetry. his letters are thin and slanting, one can easily imagine they come from an old diary of an author, penning stories about high adventures and torment, or whatever romantic image one could think of. his g’s and y’s are always too long - if he’s writing on line paper, their tails will cut through the letters beneath them. he has really bad spelling, so anything he writes will be riddled with misplaced vowels and extra ‘l’s.

[tagging] @the-writers-blocks, @lady-redshield-writes, @agnodice-writes, @theforgottencoolkid, @marewriteblr, @hollie-writes, @disoriented-writer + anyone else who wants to do this! ( @foxredoryx)

[wip taglist] @leicawri​  @lady-redshield-writes​  @maskedlady​   @rosequills​  @starlitesymphony​  @poetinprose​ @i-rove-rock-n-roll​ @teacupwriter​  @lillayalightfoot @quartzess  @meafeminas  @omgbrekkerkaz @anomaly00

[t33n4ge-w4st3land]

Ocs Yearbook Photos circa mid 80s (I’m not sure of exacts years yet)

Under cut is like a rant about the inspo for their story and kinda personal stuff

These were based off my dads junior year photo in his yearbook from 1986. Thinking about my parents being my age and having their whole life ahead of them not knowing what they’ll end up as is genuinely heartbreaking to me especially since my parents both wanted to be musicians and ended up not doing it/not making it and I guess I inherited this because I’m probably going to end up the same but I’m gonna try to make it happen for myself and I guess in a way for them?

I really one day want to right their stories into a novel, tv show, or movie. I need to talk with my dad I want to get him to kinda map out what his life was like growing up in North Jersey in the 70s-80s as his childhood is a big inspiration for Star Studded and eventually I’d even like to write sort of a biography of his life as a time capsule of the time and specific area he was in I’d also like to do this with my grandma as well my relatives lives are honestly a huge interest to me because they got to live in the pre internet/social media world it just fascinates me if there is anything like this out there that somebody has written about people’s lives in specific times and areas I would love to read/watch it especially if it’s true stories

[perditism]

EXCERPT OF CHAPTER 1.2

I reached 400 followers! Thank you for this! I want to do something to celebrate but I’m out of ideas. So here’s an Tempest excerpt. IF ANY OF YOU HAVE ANY IDEAS HOW I CAN GIVE BACK TO THIS WONDERFUL COMMUNITY FOR THIS INCREDIBLE MILESTONE, PLEASE LET ME KNOW. 

chapter 1.1  ⎪ wip page    ⎪   tag   ⎪   [tag list is open. ask to be added or removed!]

They stepped outside the grand door. It was a miserable day. The rain fell hard, pelting needles at bare skin. Thunder crackled across the dreary sky as if it was going to split the world in half.

Both of them walked straight into the wet, bearing no instruments to protect themselves from the weather.

Passersby spared the oddly well-dressed couple a few weird and suspicious looks but moved along on their journey with an umbrella or folded up newspaper that acted as a makeshift shelter, having no desire to be involved in anything unnecessary.

“Where are you taking me?” Darya asked, her voice rough. He looked at her with a smile that made her skin crawl.

“Somewhere private,” he said. His head dipped until Darya could feel his breaths whispering against her ear. “Don’t worry, no one can see us there.”

She shoved him as hard as she could, her stomach curling with disgust. The very thought of him being so close to her made her feel like retching. She fought to keep her nausea in check.

They made a hard turn to the right, into a more secluded area of the neighborhood and stopped in front of a sad, ruined building that once stood as a bakery. It was burnt down a few years ago but no one seemed to bother to renovate it so it was just left on the spot to rot and be forgotten.

The dark shadows of night were slowly creeping in, blending in with the dull colors in the sky. The single streetlight flickered weakly.

He finally released his vice grip around Darya shoulder and she felt like she could breathe again. She wiped the rain from her eyes, watching him cautiously through her fingers.

He leaned against the brick wall, drinking Darya in properly – from the fiery glow in her blue eyes to her balled fists hanging at her sides. His mouth split into a grin.

“My,” he cocked his head. “It’s really been a long time, Darya.”

She reacted instantly. Her arm slammed against his collarbone and he crashed roughly against the charred bricks. He didn’t let out any indication of pain.

It was ironic, really. Back in the day, he used to be the reckless one – carrying out actions before his thoughts could catch up with his fists. She was always so calm and collected.

Now, standing under the cold and wet, they had changed. Opposites. Her breaths were ragged while his came smoothly.

“Three years ago,” Darya said, the words tasting like bile. “Hong Kong. Was it you?”

He smirked.

She dug her elbow into his throat, satisfied when his breath caught. “Three years ago, Bruce. Was. It. You?”

“Who else would have sent that knife to your door?” Bruce choked. Despite his discomfort, he bared his teeth. “Of course it was me.”

With a guttural cry, Darya attacked him. Her fist swung up to punch but Bruce dodged at that very instant. Her hand crashed against the wall, throbbing painfully at the impact. But she wasn’t done yet – the adrenaline pumping through her veins made her feel nothing, nothing except for rage.

“You killed her!” Darya screamed. Another one of her punch got blocked. “She was an innocent! She didn’t have anything to do with us!”

This time, she got a kick in. It knocked the air out of him and made him stumble back against the brick wall. Bruce’s eyes flashed, a bit of smugness and a bit of admiration.

“You ruined my life, Darya,” he said. “So I ruined yours. An eye for an eye.”

Darya’s hand found another tranquilizer dart. Her arm sailed upwards and jabbed the needle to Bruce’s throat, pressing deep enough to cause a drop of blood to well up.

“You ruined mine first,” Darya whispered. She could barely hear herself over the white noise buzzing in her head.

Bruce was still for a second, eyes searching hers then slowly drift towards the weapon against his skin. And he laughed. He threw his head back laughing and laughing like a maniac.

“You can’t hurt me with a tranq dart,” Bruce said, choking back laughter. “And you won’t kill me either.”

Darya dragged the needle down his neck, leaving a trail of red trickling in a thin stream. “Who says I won’t?”

“You could have killed me during Graduation – you didn’t. There’s no reason why you can do it now.” Bruce reached up to touch her chin; his hand felt colder than the winding chewing at her face. “Not killing me was your first mistake. You underestimated me.”

“No.” Darya dug the dart deeper into her skin and his jaw clenched. Bruce’s hand fell away. “You underestimated me – that’s how you lost in the first place. Why did you come here tonight? What do you want?”

His eyes flashed. “I heard you’re working for CRUX now.”

She glared. “I don’t work for them.”

Bruce leaned in close enough for her to smell his cologne. “Then stay away from the Tempest Program.” He said softly. Darya’s grip on her weapon tightened. “You don’t want us as your enemy.”

“An eye for an eye, right?” the bloody point of the dart trailed under his eye. “You killed Laurel, and now I dismantle your entire organization.”

“Stand down, Darya,” Bruce’s voice dropped in warning, his jaw clenched. “You can have a life back if you do. Prospero will call off his men and you can live like you always dreamed.” His lips twisted. “Like how we used to talk about. A steady job, white picket fence, a dog maybe?”

Like how we used to talk about. With an agitated yell, Darya drove the needle into Bruce’s skin.

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