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Post by Tensleep on May 1, 2009 3:44:19 GMT -5
Ok, we have done something similar to this before back in 2007, but hey. Check out the first July rumble way back on page two if you feel like walking down memory lane . Rumble, May '09:Pick Your Poison*Insert cheesy announcer voice* This month, you have options. Yes, you read that right. Tired of reading the rumble prompt and having no inspiration? Then this rumble is for you! Write a story using one of the following sentences to either start the story or be included in the first paragraph. Please indicate which one you picked when you post your story. 6 pages Max, any POV, etc. 1. It was just another day at the DX. Well, until it happened... (feel free to substitute an event for the word "it") 2. There was no cake for breakfast. That was my first clue that it was going to be a rotten day... 3. I was used to people spending the night on our couch. What I wasn't used to was patching them up... 4. I'd met a lot of crazy chicks in my time, but this one took the cake... Hopefully there is something for everyone in there. And if you have an idea for a story starter sentence or any fun future Rumble prompts, please pass them along! No idea will be turned down, buried under mountains of paper work, or used as a coaster. Well, the coaster bit is a possibility... Please copy, paste and post your entries under this thread so we can all enjoy them! I know there are some awesome imaginations on this forum. So get writing! Tens
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Two-Bitty
Teeny Bopper
"I've no interest in living for a thousand years. It's enough if I can live through today."
Posts: 109
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Post by Two-Bitty on May 1, 2009 20:28:10 GMT -5
Something I can work with. To tell the truth, I couldn't wrap my head around a story for the April one (a LOT going on that month) But thankfully I can work with this. Options are my friends!
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Post by whatcoloristhesky on May 2, 2009 3:20:22 GMT -5
I have an idea! Thank God for college experiences.
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Two-Bitty
Teeny Bopper
"I've no interest in living for a thousand years. It's enough if I can live through today."
Posts: 109
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Post by Two-Bitty on May 8, 2009 20:25:07 GMT -5
Option 3! A friendship fic between Tim and Darry.
Patchwork
I was used to people spending the night on our couch. What I wasn't used to was patching them up… especially Tim Shepard. When I thought of Tim Shepard, I thought of straight hood, fearless, and reckless. He stumbled into the living room moments before midnight, the cool air swirling around him as he entered. Like everyone else, he just waltzed in like he owned the place and took a seat. I was in the kitchen, so I didn’t pay any attention. My brothers, all six of them, had decided upon themselves to trash the kitchen after dinner, but the blame wasn’t only theirs. I admit, I started it too.
But still I paid him no mind as I finished wiping whatever the yellow stuff was from the ceiling. Once the yellow substance, mustard?, was off of the ceiling and the rag was in the sink, I grabbed a beer from the fridge for Tim and proceeded to the living room.
I froze once my eyes made contact with his body. He was in the middle of stripping off his blood stained shirt when I walked through the door. I noticed him wincing when the shirt freed from over his head. There were black, blue, and greenish bruises lining his muscles, a few cuts which were pretty deep, and I knew there must have been a broken bone lying inside.
“Tim,” I said, approaching and handing him the beer. He took it and before popping the top off of it, he pressed the cold of it against one of his bruises. “Go jump in the shower,” I ordered, taking the beer. He didn’t resist, but reached back out and took the bottle and popped the cap against the table.
“You don’t tell me what to do…” he said in a hoarse, almost weak voice, then took a sip from the beer.
“Either you jump in the shower like I said or you can go.”
Tim noticed the seriousness in my tone and grunted, standing up and walking towards the bathroom. Before he made it to the door, I took the beer back from him; he glared at me, but continued. He paused hovering his hand over the knob for a moment.
“Need help?” I teased.
“No.” He pushed open the door and walked in, slamming it behind him. I heard the water running shortly after. After putting the beer in the fridge, I went to Sodapop and Ponyboy’s room, being as quiet as I could not to wake them, or Johnny who was sleeping on the floor; it was clean for once. After rummaging in the drawers, I took out a pair of Sodapop’s sweat pants and a t-shirt; those two were about the same size.
I returned to the bathroom and walked in, taking a glance at his silhouette through the curtain. He wasn’t moving. “You alive in there?” I called. He twitched.
“Yeah.”
“I’ll leave these clothes on the toilet. They’re some of Soda’s.”
Tim was silent for a moment, then cleared his throat. “Yeah.”
I left, shutting the door, then turned around to face Dallas. He yawned, scratching the back of his head. “What’s the deal?” he asked, glancing around me. “You bring a chick home, Darry?” There was a smirk on his face.
“No. Unless you consider Tim a chick.”
Dallas had the look like he was contemplating it, but shook his head no. “Nah, not quite,” he said. “Anyways, why’s he here?”
“Not sure. Walked in and went to the shower.” Which was a lie. Hey, Superman can lie sometimes too, right? “Now why don’t you get back to sleep.”
He almost objected, but instead he let out a big yawn. There was a small sneer, almost a grin, on his face as he made his way back to my room, where he and Two-Bit elected to share the bed; we’re all family, it doesn’t matter. But still I didn’t know why everyone decided on sleeping over.
The shower cut off, followed by a small, almost inaudible moan from the bathroom. I snickered, leaning on the wall. The more he groaned from pain, I decided to grab the first aid kit.
Tim walked out of the bathroom, holding his jeans in his hand and a towel covering his head. I put the first aid kit on the coffee table, shoving things out of the way, and took a seat. My finger pointed at the couch as if saying, “Sit.” Tim walked over and sat in front of me. I pulled out a bottle of rubbing alcohol, that shit that always stings unlike peroxide, and a few cotton balls. “Shirt, off.”
He obeyed, groaning as he did so. The bruises were really coming in and the cuts were red around the wound. “Golly, kid, when this happen?”
He cleared his throat again, side-effect of smoking, and looked to the side. “I’m not a kid…” he commented.
“Yes you are.”
“…and it was a few hours ago.”
“And you didn’t do anything about it?”
He shrugged.
“Well you’re one of the stupid ones.”
Tim almost objected, but I ran the rubbing alcohol over one of the cuts on his biceps, making him cry softly. “Damn it, Darry!”
“Shut up. My brothers are sleeping.” I continued to rub it over the wound. “Who’d you fight?”
“A Brumly Boy. Tough mother-fucker.” He chuckled. “I left the victor, though.”
“But he got you good.”
“At least I ain’t limping!”
“Keep it down.” I pressed the alcohol-filled cotton ball on another wound, resulting in the same reaction as before. He gave me a glare. “What was the fight about?”
He bit his nail. “Nothing really.”
“How juvenile.”
That got him to talk. “Apparently Angela is pregnant and she said the last guy was that Brumly Boy.”
“Yeah?”
“And he denied the whole thing so I taught him a lesson.”
I was placing a band aid over a large cut. “Knife fight?”
He nodded. Then, Tim glanced around. “Where’s that beer?”
“Fridge. I’m done with your chest; you can put your shirt back on.” I got up and handed him the shirt he tossed at me. Then I walked to the kitchen to grab the beer. If he didn’t drink it, I’m sure someone would in the morning. I’d rather him drink it.
I came back with the beer and he was sitting patiently for me to return. I handed him it, which he took and sipped furiously. “So why are you still awake? I was hoping to just come here to sleep and not be babied like now.”
“Cleaning.” I had the alcohol back out and he groaned. “Come here, the one on your cheek isn’t looking too good either.”
Again he did as was told and leaned forward. “Why are you doing all this? I’m not one of your brothers.”
“Eh, I don’t know. Better than having you go to the hospital for something so stupid.” He groaned as I ran the cotton ball over the wound.
“Bitch,” he said.
“Same to you.” I put the band aid over it, then slapped it. Tim swore and glared at me.
“Was that necessary?”
“Completely.” I put everything back into the box and stood. “Get to sleep. If you don’t want anyone knowing you got your ass beat…”
“I didn’t get my ass beat.”
“…I’ll wake you up in the morning before anyone else wakes up.”
“Sure.” He inspected himself a little in the reflection of the window. “Nice patchwork. You got a knack for this or something?”
“Just practice.”
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Post by Tensleep on May 9, 2009 18:26:28 GMT -5
Two-Bitty - Great job getting this up and ready for the rumble. I do suggest you take a look at some of your grammar and sentence structures when you go back to edit this, but it didn't take from the story. I like the idea that Darry would just take care of Tim like that, it seems like a Darry thing to do, after scrubbing the walls, doing up the dishes, settling up the bills, etc... And Tim involved in knife fights fits with the image we all probably get when we think of the guy. Not so sure I could ever see them as friends, but hey, anything is possible in the world of fan fiction. Keep up the good work!
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Two-Bitty
Teeny Bopper
"I've no interest in living for a thousand years. It's enough if I can live through today."
Posts: 109
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Post by Two-Bitty on May 9, 2009 22:36:51 GMT -5
Grrr, I hate grammer. I'll go through and look at it and STILL miss things. I'll be sure to reread it and fix the mistakes I find. Thanks.
I wasn't really trying to make them friends. But it did kind of end up like that, didn't it?
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Post by whatcoloristhesky on May 31, 2009 13:36:49 GMT -5
Good story, Two-Bitty. Sadly, I lost the idea I had and can't seem to get it right. :/
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