Aug 25, 2024
Petting sigbun
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Petting sigbun
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11 and 13 for the writing ask game!!
11 - with characters you want to write more of in the future
my little western gothic buddies <33
If you asked the town doctor, she’d say it was loneliness that caused Owen to start them fires. When I asked him myself, a couple of days before he went away, he said God made me do it.
Which, considering the high calibre this town used to hold religion to, ain’t an odd response. People ‘round here claimed God spoke to ‘em all the time; excused illnesses, delivered messages, appeared in dreams. What is odd, is that Owen said God made him.
The big man can request, but he’s never made no one do nothin’. He wants you to love thy neighbour, pray before bed, help your mother with the dinner, but you don’t have to. He can’t make you. He don’t really exist, but don’t tell no one I said that, cuz people ‘round here have been got for a lot less.
I humoured him, nodded and said sure thing, makes sense, and it weren’t til he was walkin’ away and his back was turned that I thought sure. God made you. God took your tiny mind into his divine, imaginary hands, and made you set the church on fire, with Pastor Sinclair and all his little pastorling’s inside.
13 - that helped me understand a character better
i find izzy hands very very interesting and its so much fun to write his thoughts
Stede fucking Bonnet has been aboard the Revenge for no more than two weeks and Izzy has grown murderous. If he has to hear that adoring tone gush praise and approval over the flags needlework one more time, he fears he’ll have to throw himself overboard.
“That’s really, very clever Ed!” Bonnet compliments, leaning over the side of the ship to watch how the anchor brings them to a stop. Blackbeard suppresses a grin, shrugging his shoulders and aiming for casual as if he had invented the idea himself. “Will you show me it again?”
They spend three bloody hours floating in the middle of the ocean so Bonnet can watch the anchor sink and then remerge. And every time he laughs, and claps his hands together, and showers Blackbeard with flowery flattery, and every time Blackbeard accepts it, and asks if he wants to watch it once more.
If Izzy were to ask the Captain to show him how the anchor works, to lean in close and lay a soft hand on the warm skin of his forearm, he’d receive a scoff and a fuck off and a burning shame in his ribcage. If Izzy were to clap his hands and tell Blackbeard how wonderful and clever and strong he was for hours on end, he’d be laughed at and reprimanded for such a waste of time.
This is not jealousy.
This is abhorrence.
Sig what's it like being an animal?
Because now bugs will start to make homes in your fur
"Awesome."
21, 23
21 - a piece of my writing that i liked, but had to cut
i actually don't keep drafts of my writing, so i normally only have the finished product. (i also never edit fics, what i post is usually the first draft and i'll reread it once, fix any mistakes and go eh good enough) having said that, i do still have a line from make you feel alive that i never included
"John believes that if you're most likely to be shot down and killed everytime you do your job, you have to make the most of the time you have.
Gale would agree, but he'd also argue that a man is less likely to be shot down and killed if he flew like a sane human being.
Bucky doesn't see the fun in that."
23 - a piece of my writing that was inspired by a work from another medium (music, visual art, dance, etc.)
i nearly wrote my uni disseration on a series of conversations with an alien, where the alien learns about life on earth. it was going to be about really simple or broad things like birthdays and standing in line and that kind of thing, but i only ever wrote one conversation. it was about friendship, and it was heavily inspired by the 1986 film stand by me.
(i was going to post just a snippet but honestly i really love this and someone should get to see the whole thing)
The alien arrives on his doorstep, suitcase in hand, and says; “I’ve come to learn about humanity.”
Friendship
I never had any friends later on like the ones I had when I was twelve. Jesus, does anyone?
“Well?”
The alien is sat cross legged on the floor in front of the TV. A mug of tea – teabags had been fun to explain – is clasped snuggly within their six fingers. “I’m not sure I understand.”
“I – what’s there to understand?”
“This is a well-loved film among your people?”
“It’s a classic, yes.”
They turn from the television screen to look back at him. “A classic?”
He waves a hand, wafting through the air to try and locate a better definition. In the end, he simply settles on; “well-loved.”
“But why? What’s the message?”
“Films don’t always need a message – but this one, I suppose, is about treasuring friendship, or something like that.”
“Treasuring friendship.”
“Appreciating the friends that you have, yes.”
The alien shuffles (rather badly) to turn their body away from the screen and face where he sits on the sofa. Tea sloshes over the edge of their mug, but if they notice they do not show it.
“And what is the purpose of a friend?”
“Well, that’s…hm. The purpose of a friend is to be a friend. It’s sort of a broad but simple term.”
“What do friends do?”
“They spend time together, for one.”
“Why?”
“Because they enjoy each other’s company.”
“But what’s the point?”
“The point?” He sighs.
“What do you gain?”
“You gain their friendship. That kind of is the point.”
“But why?”
An alien, it occurs to him, is sometimes no more than an exasperating child. Their innocence is so pure, their lack of knowledge something to be defended, and yet it is every parents wish that their child would grow wise fast, with the outcome being that they never again have to hear the phrase but why.
“Because it’s nice, having someone who you have no real loyalty to – hanging out with someone you like just because you like them and share some kind of mutual, unspoken promise that you’ll keep on liking them for no real reason other than you just do.”
The alien considers this, tapping an uncomfortably long finger on the side of their mug, and he prays to whatever God he doesn’t believe in that their next words won’t be another question.
“Are we friends?”
Well. That was certainly unexpected. He supposes caretaker would be a better word, but the alien is looking at him so expectantly and hopeful.
“Yes, of course we are.”
The alien seems pleased.
“Does it make more sense that way?”
“Yes, I think it does.”
8 + 25 for the writing ask? :))
8 - a piece of my writing that hurt my own feelings to write
this was from one of my uni assignments! it was about a breakfast diner being open on the day the world ends, and the handful of people who end up there. this is the ending.
Nick does the only thing he can think to do. He takes Becca’s hand.
Another drop. A detonation. Collective alarm.
“Oh God,” he says.
“I know,” she says.
“I don’t want to die.”
“I know.”
“I’m so scared. I’m so scared.”
“I’m not.”
His grip on her hand is crushing. He looks up at her, but she’s looking out the window, up at the sky.
A white flash. An intense, orange glow. A scorching heat, and then, nothing at all.
25 - a piece of writing that i consider a favourite
oh god how does anyone ever choose just one!
this is another piece from the breakfast diner:
They talk. Gene – her name is Gene – is 72 years old. A leo, she enjoys walks around the countryside and had a budgie named Harold when she was a child. Her favourite season is spring, her favourite number 12, her favourite colour the specific pink of the tulips she held when she walked down the aisle. She’s never been to the Krispy Kitchen before and thought there was no time like the present to try it. Nick learns she couldn’t decide which ring to wear as her last, so she simply settled on all of them. Gene threatens to take off her shoes and prove that the rest of them are on her toes, but he takes her word for it. She says the most important ring is on a string under her blouse and rests just above her heart. Married for 43 years. Her wife’s name was Phoebe.
He learns she has five grandchildren, and not a single one has called.
a little bit from a lesbian romance i wrote that i adore with all my heart, in which our lovers carry a sofa up a flight of stairs:
She feigns sobs. This is all your fault. You picked a building without a lift.
You’re the one who wanted to live together.
I fear I’ve made a terrible mistake.
I laugh, wiping my forehead on my sleeve.
Let’s go find some strong men, and flirt our way into free labour, she suggests.
Wow. Very progressive of you.
I’m not built for this.
okay last one. an extract from another uni assignment, where i wrote about a horrible man making a deal with the devil, and it not at all going the way he hoped:
Silas glares, and if pure will alone could back-pedal a deal of the soul, he’d be walking out a whole man.
‘Reverse it,’ he repeats for the third time. A broken record.
‘Say please.’
‘You’re not serious,’ he scoffs, an exasperated laugh climbing the walls of his throat.
Then the Devil smiles, an alligator smile, familiar to the night Silas took their hand.
‘I swear to God.’
It’s then, standing between the Church benches, that Silas realises his mistake. The Devil was a trickster, and he was the fool. He swallows his anger, ignores the burn in his face and pushes aside all of the pride in his body.
‘Please,’ he squeezes out from between clenched teeth; but the Devil is gone, and he is alone amongst the pews.
I'm wracking my mind to gather my thoughts right now I'm an emotional wreck!! I love that you went with that ending because even though it killed me, there's something about sad endings that makes everything more heart-felt, so kudos to that!! I'm feeling so lucky to have discovered you and I cannot wait to read more of your stories!! Your sensible and mature writing is truly appreciated!! 💕
thank you so much! something i was 100% certain would happen in this fic was how it would end, and i’m glad that people have been receptive to it (rather than asking me to change it or write an alternative ending, like i’ve seen happen to other stories with a similar conclusion)
p.s. i have a list of all my fics here, if you’re looking to read more of my work :)
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idk what to do with my life after reading your story. its was truly amazing, the plot twists, god the ending, and even the little tidbits like the cactus and the 5h apartment number. i knew like halfway how it would end, like along what lines it would. IT HURTS MY GOD. the fluffy scenes dont make up for the gapinh hole in my chest, but it was amazing. CANT WAIT FOR MORE CONTENT YOU ARE GREAT
fluffy the cactus is my fave thing tbh. thank you for reading!
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So like that fic you just posted was amazing. But I'm all in my feelings and I'm dead now seriously I don't think a one shot has ever made me wanna cry like that but it was sooo good ... But like so did laur die when the car hit her 😩
thank you! in response to your question (spoiler alert):
yes, lauren does die. the last scene alludes to the idea that she meets camila again in the afterlife (because wherever camila goes, lauren will follow - kind of like a cyclical shakespearean tragedy)