#I have a three page outline now and this idea is going to haunt me fr

[noir-renard]

A BTAS style title card for the DP reboot/au that lives in my head rent free

if I were in charge of a DP animation reboot and I had an unlimited budget, I would make significant and meaningful style changes. The basic change: everything that happens in the 'human world' would be black and white, and only the ghosts would be in color.

for more details, keep reading!

I've been calling it the "Pleasantville AU" in my head, though it's really not an AU as much as a lore-relevant stylistic overhaul reboot.

Humans and everything in the human world is black and white; ghosts are full technicolor

Danny, as a halfa, is still mostly black and white, but his eyes are green and his skin is. Skin colored idk. (Also black sclera because it's cool shh this is my fantasy reboot au)

The more powerful a ghost is, the more colorful it is. Moreover, the most powerful ghosts are capable of changing their coloration to "hide" in the human realm

Humans can't see colors well, and most recording equipment can't "capture" the image of a ghost well. You need special equipment to see them clearly and special cameras to photograph them

Places where ghosts have had a prolonged presence or big impact start to "bleed" colors. If you get wounded by the ghost, you get splashed with color (will fade to white "if you take care of it")

The Guys In White find these colorful, ghost-touched areas and "clean"/bleach them

The longer Danny hides, the more his presence in Amity Park starts to affect things

I didn't love the "Sam is responsible for Danny getting ghost powers" storyline in the OG, so in the reboot Danny was alone when he had his accident and he didn't tell anyone. He thinks he's a straight up ghost/is becoming a ghost and will eventually become evil (in this au becoming a ghost is thought to be a long term process a la vampirism. This isn't actually the case but I love "bad scientist Fentons" so that's their prevailing theory)

(He'll tell them eventually but I love identity shenanigans so I think it's more interesting if he hides it from them for a bit while also interacting with them as Phantom on occasion)

Oh yeah, because Phantom is mostly black and white, he's the first ghost that a lot of people are able to see.

His coloration is the driving force for the Fentons to declare him "the worst ghost", because they accuse him of trying to pretend to be human.

His coloration is a big reason why other ghosts dislike/distrust him, too, because he looks too human

The Vlad is a halfa reveal happens way later and way differently in this reboot; Danny meets him and knows he's "ecto-touched", but the Vlad = Plasmius moment would have more impact if Danny has had interactions with Vlad before, imo. Anyway I have Plans(TM) for Vlad but I'll leave it at that for now😏

[forthiswholeworld]

for @cursed-or-not because we’re thriving on each other’s clownery (page break bc this got Too Long to inflict on unsuspecting dashes) 

They’ve had Cas back for four days when Dean realizes something is wrong.

For a paralyzing moment, he stumbles on the thought, feels the fear of it choking him as he freezes in the doorway with a mug of coffee in his hand. He watches Cas blink dazedly at Sam’s debriefing on the rugaru in San Antonio and wills himself forward, wills his mind not to go straight to darkness and loss and cosmic consequences. Cas flashes a ragged smile as Dean sets the mug in front of him, and it occurs to Dean that maybe this is less about cosmic consequences than it is humanity. 

Now that Dean thinks about it, he can see it: the circles under his eyes, the weary slope of his back-- the things Dean had attributed to resurrection rather than humanity. 

Cas is human, though, and Dean thinks he needs to remember that before he remembers that he was gone. 

Cas needs food and laundry detergent and coffee and sleep, and now that he thinks about it Dean is absolutely sure he hasn’t seen Cas touch his bed since he got back. 

He doesn’t bring it up; they’ve been here before. They’ve come back and kept secrets and spent sleepless nights trying to fix things before, and heart-to-hearts have never gotten them anywhere. 

Instead, Dean drinks three pots of coffee and waits.

It’s 2:07 AM when he hears the echo of footsteps in the hallway. He swings open the door and tries to look like he hasn’t been waiting in ambush as Cas freezes.

“Dean,” he says, voice rough and a little frantic, and Dean is reminded of the days he’d wake up to Cas blithely watching him from the foot of his bed. (The days when Heaven filled the space between them and Dean didn't understand the difference between being a human and being human.) 

He watches Cas’ eyes flit away from his gaze and smiles brazenly. “Trouble sleeping?” 

Cas shifts on his feet. “No,” he says like he’s not the worst liar in the entire multiverse.

Dean holds his gaze for another beat before breathing a sigh. “Cas.” He settles back against the doorframe to scrutinize him. “What’s up?” 

Cas swallows. His eyes trace a scuff on the floor. “It gets so quiet here at night,” he mutters, and Dean understands.

He works his jaw as he realizes. He thinks he should’ve recognized the signs. He should’ve seen the tired eyes and haunted glances and known then, because Dean doesn’t know what it’s like to come back from nothingness, but he knows what it’s like to close his eyes and see hell.

He watches Cas’s gaze flit from the floor to the wall behind him and settle just above Dean’s left shoulder, and he’s not consciously aware of deciding anything but he’s inhaling to say something, and he guesses it better be good because there’s not a whole lot he can say to heal emptiness. 

“Sleep in my room,” he says, and he’s not sure which of them it surprises more.

“Dean—” Cas starts, and Dean knows he’s going to refuse, but there’s a millisecond where his gaze catches on Cas’s and there’s something heavy in the space between them, and Dean knows what it is but he’s always refused to put a name to it.

Cas swallows as he looks away. “As long as you don’t mind,” he says, and Dean also tears his gaze away before he can do something dumb like consider the vulnerability of it. 

“Come on then,” he mutters as he heads back into his room. “You can take the bed.”

“Dean—” Cas protests like Dean knew he would, and Dean narrowly avoids rolling his eyes.

“We’ll both take it then,” he says before he can ponder the sheer idiocy of it. 

Cas hesitates beside the bed, but Dean thinks he must be either too tired or too apathetic to argue, because he swallows and steps forward. 

Cas is careful as he pulls back the comforter and settles in; he’s careful not to take too much blanket or too much space, and they both lie stiffly on their respective sides of the bed until Dean decides he can’t take it anymore and clears his throat a little obnoxiously. He hears Cas huff a laugh. 

“You said it was too quiet,” Dean says softly, and he’s grateful for the darkness because he thinks he’s wearing a damningly fond expression. 

He thinks he feels Cas relax as he mutters, “that’s on me, then.” 

The stillness doesn’t feel so stifling after that, and he hears Cas’s breathing start to even out. 

He can feel the thrum of caffeine in his veins as he watches the ceiling. Even in the dark, he can see the outline of the ceiling fan, the trimming on the wall, the chair in the corner. He can hear Cas’s breathing, feel the warmth in the space between them, and he realizes he has no idea what emptiness is. He wonders how long it’s been since Cas closed his eyes without seeing it. 

He lies awake for the next three hours, but the rise and fall of Cas’s chest is steady and even beside him, so the caffeine overdose is a small price to pay. There are no windows in his room, but if there were he’d be able to see the first hazy traces of sunrise filtering in by the time he starts to drift off. 

Cas is gone when he wakes up. 

He staggers out of his room just before noon, and Cas doesn’t quite meet his eye as he wordlessly hands him a plate of pancakes, courtesy of Sam and Eileen, but Dean thinks the circles under his eyes look a little less absurd, and it’s enough. 

The next night, Dean leaves his door open. 

He isn’t sure what he’s expecting, but 11:00 rolls around and he’s just getting ready to turn out the lights when he hears a tentative knock at the doorframe. He looks up to see Cas in the doorway. 

“I couldn’t sleep,” Cas mumbles, and something about his awkward stance and fragile uncertainty makes Dean’s chest ache. 

He thinks this is where he becomes brash; this is where he scoffs a laugh and brushes off this heaviness like neither of their shoulders are bowed under the weight of what-ifs. This is where he flees back to the safe side of the lines they’ve drawn. 

He swallows. “You wanna come in?” 

Cas stills. “I--” his eyes flit to Dean and then away in a millisecond. “No. I just--” 

“Cas,” Dean interrupts, and he guesses he’s being reckless instead of brash and can’t say whether it’s for the best but he can feel the thrill of it in his veins. “Get in here.” 

Cas watches him for half a beat, probably just as surprised as Dean is that he’s managed not to be a defensive asshole about this, and then he swallows. “Thank you.” 

Dean thinks he absolutely doesn’t deserve a thank you, but Cas shuffles in and hesitates at the side of the bed and before he can say as much he’s pulling the comforter aside to make room. 

Dean falls asleep earlier tonight; he thinks it has something to do with not being hyped up on three pots of coffee and the thrill of reckless, stupid ideas. He’s not sure when Cas nodded off, but he wakes up at 3:42 to the sound of gasping, panicked breathing. 

“Cas?” He asks with a sleep-worn voice but he’s halfway across the bed, reaching for Cas’s shoulder before he can get a response or take half a second to consider how horrible an idea this is. 

“Dean,” Cas breathes, and Dean isn’t sure if it’s a question or an answer or a prayer but Cas’s breath mingles with his as he says it and something in the fragile space between them finally shatters as Cas leans into the touch. 

Dean pulls him into his chest, holds him there and tries not to let the ache of it convince him he’s going to regret this.

Cas clutches the back of Dean’s shirt like it’s all that’s keeping him tethered to this world where things are allowed to make noise and wake up and see light, and Dean rests his palms against Cas’s shoulders and wishes he had the words to promise he’s holding on just as tight. 

Dean isn’t sure how long it is, whether it’s two minutes or three hours or an eternity, but Cas’s grip on his shirt loosens, and he breathes less stuttered exhales, and he rests his chin somewhere in the crook of Dean’s shoulder and closes his eyes. 

Dean leans slowly back against the headrest and thinks he’s never been very good at this. 

The intimacy of it is familiar—the weight of an arm over his stomach, the heady tangle of limbs, the needy warmth— that’s always come naturally to him. It’s the tenderness that gets him. It’s the brush of Cas’ breath against his neck, the softness of ten years of fear and loss and a word that Dean can’t say as easily as he should. It’s the ache where the rhythm of his pulse screams something between I want this forever and I’m so afraid.  

Cas is gone when he wakes up. 

Cas is gone, and Dean’s arm is stiff and he wonders if it will ever be enough just to hold an angel haunted by empty nights. 

That night, he tells himself he isn't waiting for the knock. 

He tells himself he’s not waiting, but he hears the shuffle of bare feet in the hall and a single rap at the door and a millisecond later he’s swinging it open. 

Tonight, there’s no apologetic hesitance or fumbling for words.

There’s Cas, standing plainly in the doorway and there’s Dean, dropping his hand from the doorknob and standing too close. There’s the tilt of Cas’s head as he searches Dean’s face for something Dean knows with terrified certainty he’ll find, and there’s Dean’s gaze flitting to his mouth for a stupid, breathless moment. There’s the part of Cas’s lips and the desperate beating of Dean’s heart, the distant electric buzz of the lights and the hitch of his breath as Cas leans forward—

There’s the cluttered breath and scrape of teeth as their mouths crash together.

His lungs stutter on the drag of stubble and chapped lips and tired warmth, and because he never thought he’d be allowed to, he pulls Cas in, clutches the front of his shirt and crowds him up against the doorway until they’re pressed together and they can both feel the desperate rhythm of his pulse. Cas’s fingers ghost over his jaw and something in Dean is absolutely dizzy with the realness of it. 

He doesn’t know how long it is before Cas breaks away but he feels ready to shatter. 

“I couldn’t sleep,” Cas says, and Dean breathes a ragged laugh into his shoulder. 

There are still things he can’t say, words that form in his chest sit and like a lump in his throat and will probably stay unsaid for just a little while longer, but he lets his arms circle Cas’ waist and murmurs “sleep in here, then,” and he has to bury his face in the crook of Cas’ neck to hide a stupidly fond smile.  

Cas breathes a soft “thank you” against his temple as Dean pulls him toward the bed, and Dean can hear the worn tiredness in his voice and thinks that might be all there is for a while but for the first time in their lives they have time, and it’s enough. 

It’s enough, he thinks, and he pulls Cas against his chest and holds onto him until there’s no empty space between them. 

[lovelylou]

since 2020 is almost over, i thought i’d share (some of) my favorite fics that made my 2020 a lot better.

[note: not all of these fics were written/published in 2020, although most of them are, there are some that are older, but that i’ve read or re-read this year]

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tastes like summer, smiles like may by outropeace

“Is this true?” Harry grabbed the beta by the shoulders. “Bryce, where did you hear that?”

“There’s rumors going around the castle,” he smirked. “stories about his beauty and his cold attitude. They know he is an omega only because of his scent, but he has never had a heat.”

“Do you know what this means?”

Bryce smirk grew into a big smile. “He can’t give you an heir.”

A cold prince, an alpha with nothing left to lose and a kingdom with a secret.

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But It's Useless by thinlines

“Hey.”

Louis was even hallucinating now. He closed his eyes.

“Hey, you.”

He chuckled wetly, head still leaning against the door.

“Can you get out of the way? You're blocking the door.”

He exhaled sharply before slowly turning around. His eyes fixed onto muddy Nike trainers before it traveled up to impossibly short jogging shorts. The yellow color was atrocious, simply ghastly.

“What happened to being polite, Harold?”

OR Omega Louis would never guess that he would be trying to hack into Alpha Harry's Wifi. That is until everything changes when he tries to get to know his enemy.

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haunted by the ghost of you by missandrogyny

He’s tall—that’s the first thing that registers in Louis’ head when he spots him, standing with his hands behind his back. Tall, with curly hair, staring at them with the widest, greenest eyes Louis has ever seen. And wait, are those dimples? Louis didn’t know ghosts could have dimples.

Because he’s definitely a ghost, this boy. At first glance he looks normal, standing there pigeon-toed in a band shirt (The Ramones, Louis can’t help but note incredulously), dark jeans, and some boots, with rings on both hands, and tattoos littering his left arm—a sleeve made of anchors and names and roses and other completely unrelated things. But he’s also a little bit translucent; if Louis focuses, he can see the outline of the furniture, the design of the wallpaper through him.

“Hi,” the boy—the ghost—says to Louis. His face shifts; somehow his dimples dig deeper into his cheeks. His eyes flit from Louis, to Niall, to Liam, and finally to Zayn, and his face goes from shocked to elated. “I’m Harry.”

At in that exact moment, standing between three of his best friends and staring at a (quite handsome) ghost, Louis can only think one thing.

Nick Grimshaw was right.

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On the Edge by zanni_scaramouche

Figure skating is as vital to Louis’ identity as his DNA, so when his skates go missing right before the last Olympics of his career there may be a meltdown only vanilla bath salts can fix. Well, that and the stupidly charming hockey player he met on the plane.

Harry’s too old to be the wonder kid and too young to be taken seriously in the NHL. As an alternate thrown in at the last second, he fights to prove himself on the national team at the largest sporting event known to man. Or he will, once he gets off this flight and can focus on something other than the fussy figure skater and his stunningly blue eyes.

A baggage mix-up skews both of their perfectly laid plans for gold, forcing the two to work together as the clock clicks towards the minute they’re expected to shine on centre ice.

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even the best laid plans by falsegoodnight

“Anyways,” Louis stresses, narrowing his eyes, “just let me say it and then rate how terrible of an idea it is on a scale from one to ten.”

“Alright,” Zayn agrees, sitting up expectantly.

“I want to ask Harry Styles to take my virginity,” Louis blurts, holding his hands out for emphasis.

The way Zayn’s eyes bulge is almost comical. “Negative infinity,” he says, voice choked. “Negative infinity times negative infinity.”

“Technically, a negative times a negative is -”

“Really negative infinity,” Zayn corrects himself, shaking his head wildly. “Louis, what the fuck?”

-

Or, Louis wants to have sex with someone and decides Harry is the perfect alpha for the job.

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The Compulsion to Find Love by Toomanytears

The most prestigious English third-level institution, Candling University, accepts omega students for the first time and Louis Tomlinson applies with bright eyes and brighter ambitions. There he encounters personal obstacles, traditional mindsets and a beautiful boy who inverts every prejudice Louis has ever known.

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Mine Would Be You by crinkle-eyed-boo (KimmieRocks)

Louis blinks his eyes open, his eyelids fluttering as the room swims around him. He takes several gulps of beer once he confirms that he’s definitely not hallucinating, that the very first portrait Harry Styles ever painted of him is hanging on that wall.

Louis stares at the wall, his heart jackrabbiting in his chest as he realizes that there’s not just one painting of him, there’s five, the portraits lined up like they’re some sort of storyboard depicting the rise and fall of his deepest love. His greatest heartache. A pain that cut him so deep that he left the fucking country, severing all ties with his life in New York, now suddenly surrounding him as if he’d never left.

Fucking shit motherfucker fuck.

Louis returns to New York City five years after he left it – and the love of his life – behind. He didn't intend to see Harry again, but fate has a funny way of pulling them together, whether they like it or not. After making a begrudging truce, they both start to wonder: Would it be so bad if history repeated itself?

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UN(RE)SO LVED. by daddyharrie

The ghoul boys are back, but this time around there are some unresolved feelings involved. Harry is a skeptic, Louis is not. Watch them go on their ongoing investigation into the question: are ghosts real?

Or, BuzzFeed Unsolved AU.

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Hate to Smoke (Without Me) by louhazpride

“For fuck’s sake,” he huffs, grabbing the pillow and pulling it on top of his head in an attempt to block out the banging coming from the other side of the wall.

It’s the third time this week that his neighbour has woken him up in the middle of the night with his little ‘rendezvous.’ Honestly, he's quite sick of it. There’s only so much sex he can bear to hear in one week and he has already hit his limit. If he wanted to listen to someone having sex, he’d turn to porn.

As if the noises weren’t enough, Harry immediately becomes aware of the faint aroma of weed filling his flat.

“I’m going to murder him.”

Sleep. Harry just wants one good night of sleep. However, his neighbour has a thing for headboard-banging-against-the-wall-sex every night. After a secret set-up and a bet, Harry may finally get the sleep he so much desires.

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Three Days in February by writing_practice

“We have to get out of here, outside,” Harry whispered, turning his hand in Louis’s grip to hold on and pull them both to their feet.

“And how do we fucking do that?” Louis hissed, carefully rising and pulling Harry to his feet before Harry could do it. His gaze darted to the front then back of the arena. “None of the doors are where they’re supposed to be.”

“What?” Harry looked around again too, couldn’t see any doors, only knew that they must be there, somewhere. “How do you know?”

Confusion slid over Louis's features.

“Because we’ve been here before, Haz. It’s the O2.”

The show. It must be the first night of their tour. They were too late; they were out of time.

Louis is cursed after a night out with the lads and the five have just three days to figure out what happened and how to break it before Harry and Louis both lose their sanity and maybe something more. Louis can hear everything Harry thinks and Harry isn’t sure he can keep his feelings for Louis a secret from his own mind.

Ridiculous amounts of banter and angst, a lot of Harry and Louis alone together, a healthy dose of OT5 friendship, and one very magical weekend.

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Coming Up For Air by stylinsoncity

It's a long plane ride to LA but sitting beside Harry makes time fly.

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I'd Give Up Everything Just Ask Me To by Rearviewdreamer

They don't usually exchange Christmas gifts, but this year is different. This year, Louis knows exactly what he wants to put under the tree to make his boyfriend smile. He just doesn't know how he's going to get it.

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bruise you like a peach by falsegoodnight

There’s two reasons Harry despises Econ.

The first is that it’s boring as fuck. The second reason is a bit more personal, a bit more focused in a way. As in it’s focused on one specific thing, or in his case, person.

His name is Louis Tomlinson.

-

Alternatively titled 'the peach fic.'

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Sometimes You Just Know by 2tiedships2

“Dear diary. Today is going to be a good day, and here’s why...”

“What are you doing?” Louis mumbled as he bit into a piece of toast.

“It’s been almost two years and today Harry Styles and Louis Tomlinson reunite. Louis is very excited about…”

Louis’ chair screeched along the kitchen floor as he flew up out of his seat, quickly grabbing the paper from Niall’s grasp. As he scanned the page he found it amounted to lines of nothing.

“What is this?” Louis asked again. “We’ve discussed how Harry Styles will never be spoken of in this flat. I don’t care how long it’s been.”

Niall snatched the paper from Louis and proceeded to draw a line across the page before writing.

“Today is the day that he-who-shall-not-be-named is coming to dinner.”

Or the one where Harry and Louis don’t believe in soulmates… until they do.

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eyes off you by soldouthaz

“Just promise me you’ll do whatever it takes to keep us all safe while we’re in there,” Liam says.

Through the crack in the door, Louis can just barely make out the broad curve of Harry’s back, the slope of his curls as they tumble down all sleep-soft and lazy, and the sharp twist of his arm - all leading down to where he’s got his pointer and middle finger crossed over each other behind his back.

“I promise,” he tells Liam firmly, “I promise.”

--

or; a charlie’s angels inspired fic where louis is the brains, harry is the charm, liam is the muscle, and niall drives the getaway car - and zayn is there, too. sometimes.

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Welcome to The Rivalry by 2tiedships2

“Welcome home!” Niall yelled, clapping his hands in excitement. “Isn’t it great?”

Louis looked between Niall and the house, unsure how to respond.

“I don’t understand,” Louis finally managed to say. “Aren’t we a little old to be living so close to campus?”

Niall scoffed. “You’re only twenty-four for fuck’s sake. There is still plenty of partying left for us to do. What better place than one street over from where a car was set on fire after the Michigan game last year?”

“Is there proof of that? Did the car have Michigan plates or something? Is there a photo I can send in a DM to Wolfie?”

As if on cue, a Twitter notification popped up on Louis’ Apple watch. He had tweeted again.

Or a reverse You’ve Got Mail au inspired by the Ohio State/Michigan rivalry. Featuring duplex neighbors, (kind of) enemies to lovers, and an anonymous Twitter feud between omega Louis and alpha Harry.

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Cold Little Heart by seducedbycurls

Louis is a soft omega with an abusive past and an alpha child

A few months after getting a divorce, Louis meets Harry, an ex-military alpha wolf that offers him something -odd.

In exchange for teaching him how to cook, Harry will babysit his son, Abraham

Louis really could use the help.

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[finalgirlbuffysummers]

okay here it is. The rest is below the cut.

You would think that living on a Hellmouth made the nightmares worse. That every night would be screaming torment, but really, the hollow earth below never really prowled the dreams of its lesser citizens. Sure, the vampires and their teeth made appearances, dead classmates, the prickling curent of the wind, but waking up and knowing your neighbor heard the same bump in the night, knowing you survived to see the sun: that’s your bitter reward. Your comfort. It’s normal here, perched on the lip above the sharpest tooth.  

No, the nightmares get worse ten years down the line. You’re out of highschool. You wake up alone. You wake up in a city that doesn't understand you, strangers who want to prescribe you medicine or tell you to mediate. So you end up alone, and you know alone is how they like you. You’re not sure if demons lurk in your new city. You thought once that a man standing on the corner lit his cigarette with massive purple claws, and you ran, your feet echoing like gunshots through the streets. 

You never did learn to shoot a gun. You keep it in your nightstand drawer, but you know it wouldn't stop anything that's followed you out of California, out of Sunnydale. Once, you had a girlfriend. Rummaging around for a hair tie she discovered your small handgun, your safety blanket. She picked it up with her forefinger and her thumb, like it was filthy, like she didn't understand. “Why do you keep one of these awful things?” You couldn't answer her.

There's no girlfriend now. No one to make you coffee in the morning, no one to rub your back when you wake up with the feeling of teeth in your throat, tight grips on your ankles. She got tired of you, you poor, novel thing from the west. 

So it's been weeks. So it's been grocery shopping at 3am, staring at the wilting vegetables, trying to stay out of your apartment. It's been staying longer at the museum you work at. No, you don’t work there just to read the old books for some kind of answer, you lie. At your highschool, there was a librarian who kept swords. You think about sending him an email: Hey, Mr. Giles, do you sleep at night? Does it get easier? Where might I acquire a sword such as yours? You draft hundreds before you realize you have no idea where to send them. 

Your classmates don't keep in touch. there is no Facebook group, there is no reunion. There can’t be: Sunnydale is no more. It collapsed in itself. This should be comforting: but all you can think of is the beasts who crawled out of the pit, who remember the stink of your fear. Some folks stayed local, moving just a town over, the low thrum from the throat of hell enough the lull them into a stupid haze of breakfast, lunch, and getting eaten for dinner. The rest left. There are two hundred, give or take, Sunnydale immigrants scattered around the country, waking up alone. Waking up with a gun in their hands. Waking up dead. Your school newspaper had an obituary page. The boy who ran it wrote well, you thought, if cynical. Who the hell can blame him? Mr. Giles, you write. How come it didn't get us? Why are we still left? Mr. Giles, can you tell me if it's following us?

Last week a friend of a friend called you to say Dennis had died. Dennis… you remember now. He was the lead singer in that band, what was it? Something about Dingoes. You ask how he died. Sunnydale habits: You keep an ear out for the signs. The friend says, puncture wounds, on the neck. Police suspect it was inflicted by a barbeque fork. You drop the phone. You sharpen stakes, get splinters in your palms. Buy crucifixes by the dozen. More than once, you’ve slept in a church pew, under the painted ceiling. At work, your boss asks with some concern about the dark circles under your eyes. Long night, you say. You are starting to hate this city. In this city, there’s no hero.

Yes, you remember her. You know everyone else does, too. Buffy. One time, you saw her sparring with the librarian. No swords, just fists. Another time, she crawled out of your biology classroom window at the arrival of a dark haired girl who blew her kisses. One time, she slammed the computer science teacher against her own desk. Wacky shit. You knew, though. That Sunnydale High had to be the safest place in town because of her. She killed things, probably. Definitely. Then she left. Sometimes, there are whispers: “I heard Buffy’s in Rome.” “I heard she lives in a castle.” “I heard she’s dead.” God, please, no. After every long night, you pray she still lives. That she hasn't let her guard down. It's midnight. You draft another email. Mr. Giles. Buffy’s still alive, right? Please tell me she’s okay. People keep dying, Mr. Giles, and we’re not even in Sunnydale anymore. Can you tell me what happened there? Why can't I stop dreaming about the destroyed graves of everyone who died? Can you tell me anything at all? Mr. Giles, Dennis is dead. Oz’s friend. I hope Oz is alive, too. I hope you’re alive. I hope you’re well. Take care. This time, you call a colleague in London. You track down Gile’s email through a stroke of luck, and you hit send. You don’t hear back at all. 

Three months later, you receive a response. You’d almost forgotten about the message you sent. Your museum opened a new and successful gallery You received a promotion. You’ve been successful. (Yes, you’re even sleeping more. Shh, don’t say it too loud). You open the email.

Greetings and glad to hear from you- it’s wonderful to hear from old students. I do hope you’re well.

There is no easy way to answer these emails. Yes, you're not the only one who’s managed to reach me. I won’t disclose my location, or hers, but I can tell you that Buffy is safe, and alive, and I think she’s happy. She’s been happy for a while. I’ll tell her you asked, she likes to know that old classmates are doing well. Yes, Oz is alive. He’s been in Tibet for some time, though we do hear from him on occasion. He heard about Denis’s passing. Truly a tragedy. 

I’m quite pleased to hear you’ve entered museum studies: a deeply satisfying and enriching work. I hope that you are finding enough answers with it. I know that living on- Well, where we lived is disorienting, confusing. I’ll try to answer you as best I can. 

The swords I kept in the library (do never tell anyone I did that) I received as a present form a collector friend, who is long dead and whose collection is long scattered. The rest of the blade I received from my employers. I do not recommend keeping swords in your home as a safety measure. Invest in a good lock. Invest in protection charms found in books of the dark arts. I checked: your museum has some in collection. (Since you are emailing me, I can only guess that you’ve accepted explanations beyond those from the metaphysical realm).

I do sleep at night, thank you for asking.  It gets easier. I don’t say this just because I’ve put an ocean between myself and Sunnydale, no: time does heal. It helps that I’m with people who understand. It helps to name the thing in the dark. I’ll put you in contact with a colleague of mine- he’s in your museum network- and you can begin to build yourself a circle, if you wish. 

There is no reason that we live, my friend. There's no reason why any of our friends died. Your life is not a curse, I can promise you that. This isn’t borrowed time.

If you were being followed it would have gotten you by now. I apologize for my bluntness.

Oh, the ageless question of what happened. All the time in the world and I couldn’t give you a satisfactory answer. What would I say? That vampires haunt the sunniest part of California? That hell is real, and it can speak? I believe you already know the outline. What I can comfort you on is that yes. There are people who find evil, and they stop it. They haven't gone away. But that's not the point: don’t worry about them. Sunnydale is gone, dear student. It’s up to you to name the thing in the dark, keep it at bay. Be watchful, be wise. The world is bigger than most people know. 

Sincerely,

Rupert Giles

You close your laptop. You stretch your legs. You go into the bedroom to retrieve the handgun, then place it on the kitchen counter.  You stare at it. It doesn't move. You stare. The apartment is still, like the city is holding it in its throat. The clock strikes 4 am. It’s just a clock. It's just a gun. In your apartment, you’re just you, waiting for the sun to rise.

END

[barbasbodaciousbeard]

If You Love Someone, Let Them Go

Summary: Since starting with SVU, Sonny hadn’t kept much terribly close to the chest. The squad knew about his family, growing up on Staten Island, the classes at Fordam. What was hidden was why he didn’t date. Sonny Carisi was also separated from his childhood sweetheart, a separation neither ever took to divorce. They had the same haunts. They’d grown up neighbors. Their paths crossed every few months, and divorce talks would turn into reminiscing would turn into a night spent together, sometimes sex sometimes just talking until the early morning. It always ended with one of them waking up alone however. How will that change when the squad finds out? 

Pairings: Sonny Carisi x Original Character,

A/N: I’ve outlined a few chapters of this. This is kind of set up, and I’m kind of toying around with it. I hope somebody likes it. I thought of it and had to try to write it.

June 1994

“You can’t catch me,” Victoria squealed, poking Sonny in his side before she took off running across the yard. The Carsisi girls, all three sisters and his mother, were on the porch with Victoria’s mother. Victoria was the same age as Bella, two years younger than Sonny, but he was always delighted to know she’d rather run through the grass with him. She always picked him. These were the days before hormones kicked in, he was only nine, but she was cool and funny and his favorite person, not just his favorite girl.

“I can to!” he took off, and the way she laughed as she ran across the yard made him slow down. His legs were certainly long enough he could have caught her quickly, but instead he jogged while she sprinted. When she dropped into the grass, he fell beside her, sprawling out lanky limbs beside her.

“I won.”

“You’re gettin’ fast, Tor.”

“I gotta practice so I can beat you.”

“Yeah, yeah,” he grinned. “I bet ma will get us pizza. Want to watch a movie?”

“Can we watch Who Framed Roger Rabbit? We been watching Gremlins a lot.”

“Can we get sausage pizza?”

“Deal,” she said seriously, holding out her hand, which he shook gladly. 

“Sonny!” Bella called into Victoria’s yard. “Ma and Ms. O’Toole said you gotta stay where they can see you.”

“We’re in their yard!”

“Where they can’t see.”

“Fine!” Sonny scrambled up, offering his hand to help Victoria up. “You can’t catch me.”

“Can to!”

“Try,” he laughed, taking off to his own yard again. He jogged again, and this time her sprint caught him. Victoria launched herself at him, tackling him and collapsing with him as they both laughed. Gianna Carisi and Irene O’Toole found the pair asleep by a pizza box that evening, giving each other a knowing smile.

April 2003

“I can’t believe your ma let you come,” Victoria grinned, looking up at Sonny. “Mom’s going to be mom so I was going to be on my own a lot.”

“In New Orleans? That ain’t safe, is it?”

“I been here a lot. I know the safe parts.”

“I still don’t like the idea.” What Sonny didn’t want to admit was what his teenage brain had realized about his best friend. She was really pretty. She was really pretty and really nice and really funny. That meant she wasn’t safe. It was at the new years eve party that he realized it, seeing her in a pretty dress and flirting with a guy. Johnny was fine, but he got a gnawing in the pit of his stomach, his mind racing as someone else got the attention that he always monopolized.

When he found her crying that February because Johnny actually wasn’t fine and had cheated on her with a cheerleader, he’d wanted to fight him. Instead, he took two of those stupid mud masks she and his sisters always tried to con him into, a pizza, and listened to her cry. His sisters always braided each other’s hair when they were venting, and Sonny had learned from them. That found him carefully braiding Victoria’s auburn hair as she transitioned from crying to laughing. Nothing made him prouder.

When Ms. O’Toole invited him to keep Victoria company on the pair’s vacation, he jumped at it, and not just because he didn’t want Tor to be left alone. He’d get a week of his summer to spend every day with her, knowing Ms. O’Toole would be busier partying and staying out than spending time with her daughter. That always seemed to hurt Victoria, so maybe his presence would lessen that while getting him the opportunity to piece apart if he’d do anything about how pretty she was.

“Well, good thing I got my bodyguard,” she grinned. “Mom’s at Jazz Fest until the end of the weekend. We might see her after, but we’ll probably see her at the airport. We can go to a day or two of the festival, if you wanna.”

“I happen to know a gal that likes the zoo and aquarium here. I got tickets to do the zoo and then take the ferry to the aquarium.” He hoped it sounded like a date, but he knew it wouldn’t to her. Only, it kind of did, and Victoria had butterflies and wasn’t sure how to process them or where to tuck them away.

“Sonny, that’s really, really sweet of you.” 

“Gotta make sure you get a good week, Tor.” 

When she stretched up to kiss his cheek, they both ducked their heads to avoid the other seeing their cheeks turning pink.

October 2003

“Are you okay, Dom?” she asked him softly. He’d been a mess all afternoon, foot tapping and hands fiddling with the pages of the book he was reading for English. Things had been different since New Orleans. There was a nervous energy that hadn’t been there before, and she found herself catching him blush at things that he hadn’t before. It worried her, but it also excited her because she’d started blushing more too. 

“Yeah, just thinking.”

“Wanna talk about it?”

“It’s nothing.”

“I’ve known you twelve years, dummy. It’s not nothing. Tell me wha--” Her eyes widened when he cut her off.

“Do you wanna go to homecoming with me?” he asked, the words tumbling out quickly enough she had to process what he’d even said. Then, she was confused, brow furrowing as she looked at him.

“We always go to homecoming together?”

“Yeah. But do you want to, like, go with me? Like to the dance too.”

“Are you asking me to be your date?” Victoria could hear her heart beating in her ears, biting her lip as she watched him. For his part, Sonny didn’t look as much like he was going to throw up as he felt. Was she angry he’d asked? Was she assuming he meant as friends? He’d gone too far to back out.

“Yeah. I realized something when you dated Johnny. I like you a lot, Tor. More than as my friend. When I dated Julia, I kept getting in trouble for hangin’ out with you because I liked you more. She said I was crazy about you and I didn’t think she was right until you were flirting with Johnny and I got jealous. And then we went to New Orleans and I figured I’d realize I didn’t but I just liked you more, and now I probably fucked up our friendship and--”

“Shut up, the answer is yes,” she finally said, cutting him off by grabbing his face between her hands.

“Really?” he asked, smiling broadly. 

“Yeah. I like you too, okay? That’s why I hated Julia. But I didn’t want us to mess up our friendship.” He pulled her against him in a hug, this time tighter than usual. Victoria’s arms looped around his neck, and she kissed him sweetly.   “Ma!” Bella’s voice rang through the house. “He finally asked her! And they’re kissing!”

“Finally. Leave them be.”

June 2006

“I been basically living with you,” Victoria said, playing with his fingers as they laid in the dorm bed. “What if we moved in together when you find an apartment?”

“Ma ain’t going to handle that until we’re married, Tor. You know that.”

“But we’re going to end up married.”

“I know, but we gotta be married first.”

“Then let’s get married.”

“Doll, I’m supposed to propose.”

“Well, if we get married, when you move into an apartment we can live together, and I know I’m gonna marry you.”

“I know I’m going to marry you too. But what about a ceremony?”

“We could get married at the courthouse. Have a wedding later.”

“We could,” he mused, rubbing her back. “You still planning to go straight to work?”

“Yeah. I want to maybe go to pastry school. But I worked in that bakery the last year. I think I’d be a really good baker.”

“Me too.”

“Well, you willing to run off with me?”

“Gimme a minute,” he said, untangling from her and digging into the lock box under his bed. Victoria watched him, her brow furrowed. When he pulled out a little wooden box and moved to sit by her, her eyes were wide. He huffed, blowing hair from his face. “Ma gave me this last month because I think she knows us getting married is gonna happen. It’s Nonna and Nonno’s rings.”

“So you been thinking about it anyway?” 

“Was thinking about proposing in October for our anniversary. But now seems like just as good of a time.” 

“You wanna like propose or just be engaged?”

“Well,” he hummed, before giving her the grin she loved so much and setting the little box to the side and taking her hands. “Victoria O’Toole, you’re the best thing in my life. I’ve known you since I was five. And when I kissed you the first time, I knew we were gonna end up married. Our Mas were right. Will you marry me, Tor?”

“Of course, Dominick,” she grinned, tearing up as she pulled him in and kissed him. He fumbled to get the engagement ring from the box, the bands remaining as he slid the ring on her finger. 

“Thank God it fits,” he chuckled, hand smoothing her hair back. “Now, we gotta book at the courthouse? Or do we just show up?”

“We book it. And then we go change my last name afterwards.”

“We can go tell Ma and the girls. Getting yelled at for keeping them outta the loop is worth it for this to be just about us.”

“I love you, Sonny.”

“And I love you, Tor.

July 2008

“So, do we stay here? Or do we go back to Staten Island? Or somewhere half way?”

“You’re close to manager at the bakery,” he said, rubbing her back as they laid on the couch. “Are you okay with that commute? I know you love working with Ruth.”

“I really do. And the commute isn’t too bad. I can do it at least a year. And we can get a better place there. Plus, I think being a cop’s gonna make you more tired than being a baker makes me.”

“We’ll start looking. Could be nice to be closer to family too.”

“Yeah,” she smiled softly, brushing his hair back. “Proud of you, Officer Carisi.”

“I don’t think dad and your mom thought we’d be able to get by.”

“We’ve done a damn good job, huh?”

“Been married and on our own two years. I know we got married young, but I’m glad we did. Dad was worried I’d feel like I was missing out, but I get to go out to bars with you. Way better. If we hadn’t started dating, same thing would be happenin’, y’know?”

“Yeah. I like doing all this stuff with you. Makes it better.”

“Good. Because you got like eighty more years, Mrs. Carisi.”

“I better.”

October 2010

“What’re these for?” Victoria asked, kissing Sonny softly as she took the flowers.

“Was doing traffic stops and remembered it’s been seven years today since I got smart enough to kiss ya.”

“You’re a sap.”

“But I’m your sap. Glad you’re still dressed. I’m taking you to dinner.”

“I love you.”

“Love you too, Doll.”

November 2011

“I thought you could use a little time. Something’s been up with you.”

“I’m fine,” he said flatly, eyes on the road as they drove towards the cabin.

“We can go home if you don’t want to,” she said softly, and he shook his head.

“I want to. I’m excited, doll.”

“Good. It’s your birthday. We ain’t had much time together.”

“I appreciate it. I’m sorry if I’m actin’ weird.”

“It’s okay. I love you.”

“Love you too.”

December 2012

“Sounds like we’re celebrating a lot,” Ma Carisi smiled, hugging her daughter in law. “A birthday and a big purchase?”

“Sonny told ya?” she grinned. 

“Bella. I’m so happy for you, Tori. You worked hard for this.”

“Yeah. It’s really nice. Ruth told me she was retiring and I got nervous. Then she said she’d sell the bakery to me, and I thought she was joking.”

“She’s been like family to you. Think she knows it’ll be in good hands.”

“Thanks, ma. And thanks for planning this dinner. We aren’t ever all in the city.” She settled into her seat across from Bella and beside Gina. They all ordered drinks, and, after waiting a little while, appetizers. When the plates came and Sonny still wasn’t there, she excused herself, slipping outside. She dialed his number, cradling it to her ear as she bounced nervously in place.

“Hey, Doll.”

“Sonny, where are you?”

“I just got home. Where are you?”

“Dinner…”

“Shit, I forgot something didn’t I?” She could hear him fiddling with his calendar before he let out a groan. “Tor, I’m so sorry. Work’s just been crazy and-”

“It’s fine,” she said tightly, able to feel his family looking at her through the window. “I guess I’ll see you later.”

“I can come out now.”

“It’ll take you at least an hour, Dominick. We already ordered appetizers. I’ll just see you at home.”

“Okay. we’ll celebrate when you get home.”

“Yeah.”

“Love you.”

“Love you too, Dom.”

May 2013

“I’ll be home after class. I can’t make it home before.”

“Okay,” Victoria nodded, leaning against the counter. “I guess I’ll stay late tonight. Margy wanted to go early anyway.”

“Cool. See ya.”

He hung up, and it jarred her at first. He’d never hung up without an “I love you” and goodbye. She hated the feeling it gave her in the pit of her stomach. 

I miss you. Can we have a date soon?

I’ll figure something out.

When she got home, she tried to stay up and wait for him, but she got a text he’d gone back to get some overtime. When she woke up to get ready for work, she let him sleep, heading out and leaving coffee on the warmer.

August 2013

“Hey, I’ll be home late again tonight,” he said down the line. 

“Again?” she asked softly. 

“I need the OT. And then I have class.”

“Yeah,” she muttered, fiddling with her wedding band. “Will I get to see you sometime soon?”

“You always do?” he said, obviously confused. “Anyway, I gotta go. I’ll see ya.”

And like that, he’d hung up, and she wanted to hurl the phone. Five years in, and it felt like she was losing him. He was working overtime, which she knew they did need. That said, it had been months since they’d spent time together, and even that time was only because they went to Easter at his mom’s house. She’d bought the bakery from Ruth, and there wasn’t any acknowledgement. He’d stopped saying goodbye in the mornings, and their phone calls didn’t end with an “I love you” as they always had. 

Can I come stay with you awhile? She texted Rachel, who agreed easily.

“What’s up, Tori?” Bella asked when she answered the phone. “Sonny okay?”

“Same as he’s been,” she said softly, and Bella let out a sympathetic hum. Victoria had always been open with Bella, usually because she’d had a couple of glasses of wine. 

“He’s not been himself.”

“He won’t talk to me about it,” she said, tearing up. “He doesn’t even say I love you any more. Bella, I can’t keep running in circles. I can’t do this.”

“Are you leaving?”

“He doesn’t really care if I’m here.”

“He does, Tori. He really does.”

“Then he can come and fix it. I can’t, Bella.”

“I don’t think this is a good idea…”

“I have to.”

“Keep in touch, okay? I want to know you’re okay.”

“I will. I just wanted someone to know.”

“I appreciate that.”

[booksbeyondimagining]

Before the Devil Breaks You (The Diviners #3), by Libba Bray

Publish Date:  October 3, 2017 Published by: Little, Brown Books for Young Readers Length: 546 Genre: YA Paranormal/Historical Fiction My Rating: ★☆☆☆☆ (1 out of 5 stars)

Synopsis:

New York City. 1927. Lights are bright. Jazz is king. Parties are wild. And the dead are coming...

After battling a supernatural sleeping sickness that claimed two of their own, the Diviners have had enough lies. They're more determined than ever to uncover the mystery behind their extraordinary powers, even as they face off against an all-new terror. Out on Ward's Island, far from the city's bustle, sits a mental hospital haunted by the lost souls of people long forgotten--ghosts who have unusual and dangerous ties to the man in the stovepipe hat, also known as the King of Crows. With terrible accounts of murder and possession flooding in from all over and New York City on the verge of panic, the Diviners must band together and brave the sinister ghosts invading the asylum, a fight that will bring them face-to-face with the King of Crows. But as the explosive secrets of the past come to light, loyalties and friendships will be tested, love will hang in the balance, and the Diviners will question all that they've ever known. All the while, malevolent forces gather from every corner in a battle for the very soul of a nation--a fight that could claim the Diviners themselves.

My Review:

I don't even know where to begin this review. I feel like I don't understand what happened with this book? I loved the first two. They were breathtaking and wonderful and full of gorgeous characters, a setting that drew me back in time, and a plotline that gave me the best kind of chills. This one? This one just failed. Utterly failed. For a long time I considered Libba Bray to be my favorite author, but this book disappointed me so much that I don't know if I can anymore. What started as a spine-chilling paranormal historical story full of wonderfully diverse characters dealing with a multitude of problems, both emotional and physical, became what can only be described as a hot mess in this installment of the series. And not even the good, Evie O’Neill type of hot mess. Just, a mess.

What happened to the characters I fell in love with? It felt like they completely disappeared in this book. They were all trying to take the lead at the same time and instead of standing out, became lost in one another until it seemed like they barely existed as people at all, but rather caricatures of themselves. It honestly felt like Bray was just rehashing singular traits of these characters that had already been established in the first two novels, and rather than expanding on them and giving them growth, they all just felt very stagnant throughout the story. Or they would have a small moment, only for things to move quickly on before any true growth or resolution was shown despite the need for one. What irked me the most was how the perspectives would shift so quickly and often, literally within the same paragraph at times. It was like getting whiplash trying to keep straight whose feelings I was reading about. This translated horribly into the larger story arcs as well. Very often a plot point would pick up - Mabel and the Secret Six, Theta and Roy, Jericho at Hopeful Harbor - and the book would spend a little bit of time dealing with that, only for it to suddenly switch gear, drop it for multiple chapters (re: hundreds of pages), then to finally bring it back up again much, much later. This led to these story arcs (and consequently the characters) losing their momentum and my interest. I don’t understand why they weren’t intertwined more throughout the book as in the previous books, which balanced both the personal lives of these characters and the over-arcing plotline so well in comparison to this one. And the rest of the plot? A mish-mosh that felt like it was all over the place and completely tedious all at once. I wanted to like this book but I just couldn’t. I can’t tell you how many times I read a line or two and thought “Am I reading a rough draft?” Honestly, sometimes it didn’t even feel like more than a rough outline. Character emotions would pop on and off at random moments. They would do things that seemed to skip important movements in between. Descriptions were just sorely lacking. The first time I started this book (and yes, it took me two tries to get through it), I thought that I was unable to deal with it because it was 1. The early stages of a pandemic and 2. Filled with a lot of recaps of the books I had just reread. I thought it was just me. But it wasn’t. It took me almost four months to finish it the second time around, and only because I forced myself to do so because I wanted to know how this series ended and what became of my beloved characters. All I ended up wanting to do was cry. And not because of the actual story. Just how it was written. I never thought I would ever give Libba Bray a one star review, but sadly, this book just cannot earn anything above that from me. NOTE: The following is a more in-depth look at several plot points that I just want to rant about, and will therefore place under a spoiler alert. [SPOILERS BELOW]

We will start with Mabel, since she is the first character who felt like she had the beginnings of a story arc going on in this book. Mabel Rose, what happened? Again, here I thought she was going to be one of the main focuses of the book (such as with Henry and Ling in Lair of Dreams), but sadly her story just bookended the rest of the plots. But what annoyed me the most, was how botched her character became towards the end. She kept going on and on about “believing in people being good at heart” as if suddenly she had been blind to everything else? And don’t get me started on her believing herself to be in love with Arthur - she was in love with the idea of him loving her, because otherwise when they had sex, she would have been thinking of him, and not how she had beat Evie to something for the first time. (Speaking of, what was with EVERYONE having sex seemingly all at the same time? Was this some weird Sense8 thing?) In conjunction with that, we had Sam and Evie getting it on at the end as well. Now, this is one to unpack. Because let’s see - first, they were on the outs and fighting. Then, Evie was making the moves on Jericho again (and him on her). And things seemed to be actually heating up there (not that I cared). BUT, Jericho got all beefed up both physically and paranormally and suddenly became a raging neanderthal who ALMOST RAPED EVIE and they had one small conversation after he came back to his senses that didn’t really resolve anything, she left feeling conflicted, and then slept with Sam because he was “real” with her. *blinks hard* So are we supposed to ignore the fact that Evie wanted Sam to give everything to her while she still had unresolved and conflicted feelings for Jericho? Or did she make up her mind about him and we just missed that? Look, I love Sam and I thought it should have been him and Evie from the get-go (but not without some long-term dancing around each other), but not like this. It just felt...wrong. (I still hate Jericho. He’s dull. And he’s a philosophy nerd. It seems to explain a lot.)

AND ANOTHER THING! What the hell was the retconning about Sam and the circus?? It was mentioned like three times in this book? But never before that? All of a sudden he's a trapeze artist? What is even the point?  Finally, the other story arc that annoyed me was the Roy one. Mostly it was how it ended - Theta goes full Phoenix on his ass (and I was so ready for her to give him his comeuppance), only to be stopped at the last minute by Memphis who gives her a mini speech about “stopping you for you” so that she doesn’t feel guilt in the future (not that she should after what Roy did). Seems like a good time for some quality character development right? Well, after Roy runs away after screaming “I’ll get you for this” like a Scooby-Doo villain, Theta just smiles and kisses Memphis as if the credits are already rolling. No breakdown, no talking things through, no reassurances - nothing. Just, move on - next storyline please. [END SPOILERS]

[ninety6tears]

king-of-exchanges letter

Wooo kingofexchanges is happening again! 

I’m a big fan of SK but only somewhere in the middle of my consumption/obsession; with King being heavy on self-referencing and crossover-friendly treatments, I’d be happy for you to mix and match any of my requests, as long as you can see from my goodreads page that I’ve read the relevant stuff.

Basic preferences: I read everything from G-rated to explicit PWP. I love pastiche for lit fandoms but something that feels more off the beaten path of the original style can also be fun.

I love: Angst, pining, subtle UST, first times, or established relationships with some level of conflict to be resolved. Intense friendship stories. Protectiveness in close relationships as well as in those that wouldn’t obviously appear to be protective at first. A character or characters experiencing a type of attraction that isn’t the status quo for them. Relationships that had a falling-out and neither of them ever really got over it. Characterization that focuses on the nature & nurture of who people have grown to be and the unique ways they take care of or need other characters. Insecurity/hangups over worthiness. AUs of all varieties.

I can handle: underage, dubcon, noncon, torture and incest. Character death. Love triangles. Infidelity.

Do Not Want: Fix-its without sacrifice/troubles. Soulbonding/magical soulmate tropes. Disputes centered around marriage as a show of commitment ("If you were really serious you'd have proposed by now rather than just wanting to live together" and all that). A/B/O, mpreg, or any body fluid kinks. More than a mention of Alzheimer’s/dementia.

Christine ‘83 (FIC):

Arnie/Dennis

Arnie/Christine/Dennis

---NOTE - The movie is more fresh in my mind for prompting purposes but I have read the book, so feel free to run with this request for either version. I do like the dark humor Carpenter brings to adolescence without mocking the angst of being a teenager, not that King isn’t morbidly funny in his own right.

We get very little of them together before Arnie starts to go all possessed but we can tell their friendship has lasted a lot of changes over the years. That hospital visit over the holiday (which I remember was more bittersweet, less tense in the book?) feels like the last time Arnie remembered that he's supposed to be a big part of Dennis’ life. But even before all that, there’s a nice dynamic where Dennis is protective of Arnie and really thinks highly of him (and huh, maybe sees something in his looks other people don’t) when it’s not socially advantageous for him to retain that loyalty, and I’d like to get more of that. Maybe they’ve fooled around once or twice? Maybe Arnie was the one who got weird about it, afraid of the eventual rejection, or they’re both just too repressed? I like the triangle with Leigh too, if you wanted to get into the confused jealousy/conduit attraction thing, just nothing that completely dismisses any meaning of her relationship with Dennis if it’s referenced at all.

If Dennis was the one Christine got dangerously jealous of (either because something happens between them or she just knows) how would that go down differently? Or what if the car decides she wants to be shared by them, and maybe likes to watch them do things to each other (take that however you want it to mean) and either their closeness makes the two of them eventually snap out of it, or they all just become a weird evil threesome? I'm also into the idea of some other fantasy/sci-fi AU in which Christine is something or someone else entirely but is still threatening in some paranormal/inhuman way.

Crossover Tags (FIC):

Peter McVries & Ray Garraty & The Stand

Peter McVries/Ray Garraty & The Stand

---I’m interested in how these two would fit into a story with such an elemental moral war. Both are reckless but McVries more prone to hopelessness and nihilism; would he be tempted to join Flagg without outside influence? Would he just kind of wander around with no sense of purpose until Ray found him? It could also turn the existential misery of The Long Walk on its head, with them losing their families and possibly realizing too late the preciousness of life that way. You don’t have to get into much philosophy or plot either; I’m kind of into the everyday pain-in-the-ass minutiae of the post-apocalypse and people finding ways to laugh about their circumstances and reach for each other in their grief. Feel free to write it as full-on crossover with some of the canon Stand characters appearing.

Larry Underwood & Richie Tozier

---If you have some other idea of where to put these two together, go for it, but I had this idea of Richie hosting an occasional interview special for up-and-coming musicians and Larry being invited on when the single’s just out and being so nervous to meet this famous personality, and maybe they get drunk or high together before or after the interview (bonus points if Larry can hardly get in an answer cause Richie gives him the giggles). They’re kinda both assholes so they get along? They’re both assholes so they kinda hate each other? I didn’t nominate it as a shippy treatment but if you’re really sad I didn’t, hey, stuff happens when people party.

The Dark Half (FIC):

Alan Pangborn/Thad Beaumont

Alan Pangborn/Elizabeth Beaumont/Thad Beaumont

George Stark/Alan Pangborn

---I thought the surprising friendship and trust that takes hold between Thad and the officer who initially believes him to be a cold killer was one of the better aspects of this novel, and the way that connection is so soon polluted by Stark's insurmountable connection to a part of Thad’s psyche is chilling and more than a little sad. I would love to get a shippy treatment of their immediate companionship and/or the inevitable disturbance of it. If you wanted to make it a poly thing with Elizabeth, with all three of them not really pausing in the midst of all these maddening things happening to question opening their marriage to someone they find comforting, I would be interested in how that might underscore the events.

And when it comes to George/Alan...yeah, I want darkfic, potentially outlining Stark’s role in putting Alan off Thad in a more sinister way, whether it’s poisoning the well of Alan’s (sublimated? not yet acted on?) desire and affection for Thad by being sleazily flirtatious in pointing it out, or going to a darker noncon place with all the mingled disgust and misplaced attraction that might provoke. (In the context of this prompt, I’m not super into the gross-out factor of Stark being at the stage where his skin is falling off, but if you can’t somehow set it at an earlier stage it would be better to just not mention it.)

Also, I realize Alan has a family, but you can deal with that however you want; his wife can just not exist for the purposes of the story, but even infidelity wouldn’t put me off if you’re taking the character that far out of a healthy mindset.

The Long Walk (FIC):

Peter McVries/Ray Garraty

---Since we’re never in Pete’s head, it would be great to get anything detailing how his initial distance from Ray quickly erodes into the protectiveness he obviously can’t help over him, if there’s a spark of empathy there even before the first time Ray saves him, or what he’s really thinking or trying to say at some of his more cynical and cryptic moments. I wonder what it was that Parker said to him to imply he thought he and Ray were “queer for each other” and how this apparently was covered without McVries feeling the need to deny it?

If you wanted to write them both somehow surviving, I would love to see how their relationship remains in the aftermath; maybe they don’t exactly end up together because they associate each other with this traumatizing thing, and they have an essential but troubled friendship because of it (and maybe they end up fucking a couple times but don’t really talk about it).

In the realm of more absolute alternate universes...a bigoted boarding school atmosphere, an aggressive correctional camp, anything where a compulsive make-out might happen in the bunks or the showers and then be stiffly denied later on sounds like a backdrop I’d love for these boys if you want to do something bleak-but-not-as-mortally-bleak.

I prefer to think of McVries as having complicated depression that doesn’t just stem from girlfriend problems; I’d prefer you mention the incident with Priscilla as little as possible, but any focus on Pete’s scar is totally fine.

The Stand (ART):

Larry Underwood/Lucy Swann

Lucy Swann/Larry Underwood/Nadine Cross/Randall Flagg

Nadine Cross

---My attempts to prompt for art for these tags may be unhelpful but I’m really into Nadine’s scary paranormal bond with Flagg, the imagery of her hair and Flagg’s tainted handsomeness and everything haunted about her and her life, and how the love triangle with her and Larry and Lucy is really a quadrangle of temptations and baggage beyond the usual moral pressure of romantic entanglements. They’re all figuratively in bed together whether they like it or not, but I could see that presented more literally in art. I also would like anything associated with the individual permutations (Larry/Nadine, Larry/Lucy, Larry/Nadine/Randall?). Desperate/melancholy embraces, or moments of almost touching. That ghost leering over Nadine’s shoulder in her moments of getting too close to tenderness.

[fatebreaking-a]

Last Song

so here’s the rough outline for a Sona comic I wanted to make, but then ran out of time for. I had some pretty clear ideas in my head, but here’s the rough draft that’s... a little parallel to some more canon stuff. Given that, I thought it was best to post it now. At the time of writing this, I wanted to give Sona an actual character arc, and to give it an ending. My interpretation usually includes themes of acceptance and self-sacrifice, so those are aplenty. I have some thoughts on this, but I’ll put them all the way at the bottom. Click on the read more and enjoy.

I’ll probably reblog this a few times, because I am proud of it. Obviously a martyr ending is not good for a MOBA game and I took some liberties, but- Well, anyway. Here it is:

Ch 1: Orphanage

“Where you go, the world will bloom. You are never alone.” This note with baby Sona and the etwahl as the opening panel.

Several panels showing Sona standing in the center of the frame, growing up as the number of people around her both thin out and spread away (indicating both others getting adopted and her getting isolated). At least one of them should have her missing, then bring her back next frame to indicate she was adopted then returned (canon).

Finally, there’s no one left but her and she’s 17+. Caretaker puts their hand on her shoulder but she just smiles genially. Final panel of chapter is her sitting outside staring at the clouds. Sona. 17. Orphan.

Ch 2: War

A relatively short chapter that looks at Sona living her life in the orphanage, but haunted by nightmares. This is the part where her powers of empathy and prescience come in, and it’s shown she can see auras and is traumatized by what she senses. It ends with a panel of an extended hand from Lestara.

Ch 3: Suspicion (Demacia)

Another short chapter that details her practicing hard to learn her instrument as well as the suspicion and anti-mage sentiment. Paneling is split up into about three pages littered with mild flashbacks and “Remember, you must keep your magic a secret” or “What are you waiting for?” “For when I am needed.” It’s an almost slice of life chapter. It should also include a few panels of studying - both language and swordplay. We should also see Quinn in Sona’s home for at least one panel.

Ch 4: Invocation

The chapter opens with Sona opening the doors to the concert hall and walking on stage. There are brief reminders of anti mage sentiment through single line quotes and flashbacks that should take up no more than half a page each, to remind the reader that Sona feels like an outsider.

As the performance progresses, we should get close ups on various members of the audience, some familiar, who are emotionally moved by the performance. Garen, Jarvan, Fiora, Tianna, J3, Xin, etc are good options here.

The chapter should end with Sona bowing. Her face should be obscured by her hair and tears should be falling from her face. Next to her should be Sona but at a much younger age, also bowing - an indication that she’s grateful to finally feel accepted. This is where everything has led up to.

(The comic can end here, or continue on to something a bit more sacrificial:)

Ch 5: Sylas (Rebellion)

A short chapter that begins with Sona coming back from helping Ryze. As she enters the city and discovers what has happened, there are panels of people closing the door on her, looking at her with suspicion, and so on. The smiling faces of Demacia have turned sour and mean to her. Lux will not look at her, Garen turns his back, Jarvan is too busy, etc etc.

Ch 6: Tree of Life (Invocation, Part Two)

The conclusion to Sona’s arc. An unnamed battlefield, in which hundreds from both sides lie crumpled on the ground. We get close ups of several key characters on the ground. Demacia has many things, but it lacks this crucial element: A healer character.

Sona is stopped by guards who imply she can’t go forward because she’s got no training - she’s a liability on a dead battlefield. Someone calls to let her through - it’s Quinn and Valor.

As Sona walks into the battlefield, she kneels down and begins to weep/cry. This is her moment - what she has been waiting for, where her magical talents can be used. Both sides have collapsed under something (void, maybe? Singed bombs?)

And she sits there and plays her instrument and weeps and keeps playing as waves of healing pass over the entire battlefield. “Where I go, the world blooms,” some callback to that. She keeps playing as the scarred earth underneath her gives way to a meadow and tree roots begin to grasp her legs.

As the song progresses, people on the battlefield begin to get up. (Optional: Someone attacks her and she is defended by Quinn, Garen, or Lux). As the song continues, a tree grows around her and the entire landscape is healed.

Last panel is tiny child Sona bowing in front of the tree, and the story closes there.

===================================== ===================================== =====================================

The postword (?) / additional comments: 

For me, I often find myself thinking that Sona should have a more active role - it often feels like things that lu/x does (and don’t get me wrong, my opinion on light lady has improved dramatically, we love her on this blog) could also be done in some respects by sona. often hcs I have (sona sneaking people out of demacia) end up in lux lore. Which is great, because same hat! Love that for Lux. Sad for Sona. I hope that makes sense. I really, really want to emphasize that this is in no way a jab at lux or lux blogs or anything of that nature. It’s just- as the other Demacian mage, Sona ends up being in a similar niche and so the ideas I have often end up being similar. And I’m really grateful to people for being kind to me about it, because feeling like I’m copying even if I came first makes me nervous as hell. It’s happened before, a lot. Drinking petricite, sneaking people out of Demacia, etc.

Anyway there’s the proof that this was something I drafted fully nine days ago, right before the new year. Cool. I did storyboard a little but I’m super uncomfortable with how it looks and it’s not digital.

Why are the two conclusion chapters called invocation? Based on a short story I wrote about quinn & sona, and Sona taking a stand to help her country.

Feel free to ask me as many questions as you want!

I’m @’ing the people who specifically said they wanted this: @eternallydamned​, @toolbalance​, and @aigaming​. Thanks for cheering me on.

[missandrogyny]

“So,” Liam says, as Louis unlocks the door quietly. “If you don’t believe in this flat being haunted, why the fuck are we here?”

Louis glares at him. “To prove a point,” he says, letting them both in. He closes the door behind them and walks into the spacious living room, keeping an eye out for singing walls or moving furniture. There aren’t any, so Louis gets to work—he pushes the glass coffee table off the middle of the room, unfurls the purple blanket he’d brought on the ground. “To prove my point.”

“And you’re doing that by…conducting a séance.”

Louis resists the urge to sigh. “Yes Liam,” he says. “We’re going to see if there are any ghosts in the flat by conducting a séance.”

Liam just looks even more confused. “But I thought séances were supposed to call the ghost,” he says. “If there are no ghosts right now and then we call a ghost…then the flat’s going to be haunted, isn’t it?”

Trust Liam to make everything a lot more complicated. “Look,” Louis says, rolling his eyes. He takes a seat on the blanket, crossing his legs. “I have no idea how this entire thing works. All I really want to do is prove that there’s no ghost in this fucking flat, look Grimshaw in the eye when I tell him there’s no ghost, and watch him eat his quiff.”

Liam opens his mouth again, presumably to say something else, but Louis is saved by a knock on the door. “That’ll be Zayn and Niall,” Louis tells Liam, and Liam gingerly sets down the bag he’s holding, goes to open the door.

Niall bounds in, clearly excited, followed by Zayn, who’s got something tucked under his arm. “Hiya lads,” Niall says, and reaches over and gives Louis a hug. “This is exciting, isn’t it? A séance! I thought they only did this in the films.”

“Well, we’re doing one now,” Louis says, primly accepting a hug from Zayn. Zayn takes a seat next to Louis’ right, Niall to Louis’ left, and Liam right across him. “You got the Ouija board, Z?”

“Yeah,” Zayn says, pulling out the thing under his arm. He places it in between them all.

There’s a silence. “Um,” Liam starts. “Why is the Ouija Board…sparkly?”

Because it is. The board is garish—bright purple letters and numbers stark against the baby pink background. Its edges are outlined in purple glitter, and on the top, the words My First Ouija Board are proudly printed in sparkling silver in some terrible, cursive font.

“Zayn,” Louis says. “Where exactly did you get this Ouija board?

“Hamleys,” Zayn answers, brushing stray pieces of glitter off his shirt. “In the girl’s section.”

“…Why?”

“Google said so,” Zayn replies, completely unbothered. He digs into his pocket, and Louis can only watch incredulously as he pulls out a sparkly red planchette and drops it onto the board. “Here.”

Louis opens his mouth to say something, but Liam beats him to it. “Never mind that,” he says. “If it works, it works.”

Louis takes a deep breath. Lets it out. “Okay,” he says. “Niall? Do you know how to start a séance?”

Niall grins at him. “Fuck yeah.” And then he’s reaching into his jacket and pulling out some paper. “Lifted the whole thing from WikiHow,” he says, smoothing out his print outs. Sure enough, the top part of the page reads WikiHow, and the print out is covered with those terrible vector photos. “God, that website is so helpful.”

Louis actively refrains from commenting on that. “The candles?”

Liam pulls out the candles from the bag he’d dropped earlier, arranges them in a little square in front of them.

“Okay,” Louis says. “Now we’re ready.”

---

How to Perform a Séance, by Louis, Liam, Niall, Zayn (with credits to WikiHow)

1. Make sure everyone is ready to take part in the séance.

2. Be seated in a circle and light the candles. Make sure electric lighting has been turned off or dimmed.

(“Wait,” Louis says, as Liam lights the candles. “Are those candles scented?”

“They were the only ones left in the store!”)

3. Join hands and close your eyes to begin the séance. Holding hands closes the circle and allows your energy to build up inside the circle.

(“Liam, why’re your hands so sweaty?”

“What do you mean my hands? Your hands are the sweaty ones, Zayn!”)

4. Focus on the purpose of the séance to help you make contact. If you choose, the person acting as the medium can state the purpose aloud to keep everyone’s thoughts on it.

(“The purpose of this séance is to see if ghosts actually exist,” Niall says aloud, tone somber.

“And to tell Grimshaw to suck it,” Louis adds.

“And to tell Grimshaw to suck it.”)

5. Recite an opening incantation if you’re acting as medium. The opening incantation officially begins your séance and invites the spirits to join your circle.

(“Hello, Spirits,” Niall says. “Welcome. To our circle. We’ve got fun and games. We got everything that you want honey, we know the names.”

Zayn elbows Niall in the side.)

6. Ask the spirit a question when you feel it’s near.

(“I feel like the spirit is near,” Niall says. “Do you feel like it’s near?”

“How is a spirit supposed to feel like?” Liam asks.

“I always imagined it to feel like a cool breeze on your back,” Zayn says.

“Oh.” Liam frowns. “I feel hot. No, I don’t think it’s near.”)

7. Hold hands throughout the séance to maintain the circle.

(“My forehead’s itchy,” Niall complains. “Can you scratch it for me?”

“Where?” Louis asks. He lifts their joined hands together, using the nail of his index finger to scratch at Niall’s forehead. “Here?”

“A little to the left.”

“Here?”

“A little bit more.”

“Here?”

“Okay, to the right a bit.”

“Here?”

“Okay, perfect.”)

8. Decipher the spirits answers to your questions.

(“Wait,” Zayn says. “We gotta put our fingers on the planchette, like in the films.”

“But how do we do that without letting go of each other’s hand?” Liam asks.

“Could we do it without letting go of each other’s hand?” Louis asks.

“Let’s try,” Niall says, and places his and Louis’ joined hands on the planchette.

They can’t do it.)

9. End the Séance when you’re ready.

(“Okay,” Louis says, one finger on the planchette. “Someone is definitely pushing the glass.”

“It’s Liam, Liam’s pushing it,” Zayn replies.

“No, I’m not!” Liam answers. “I’m just pressing down on it, like you told me to.”

“Liam, you’re not supposed to press down on it, you’re supposed to just leave your finger on it.”

“Oh. Oops.”)

---

“Well, that was fun,” Niall says, yawning. It’s a little past two in the morning—they’d ended up playing with the Ouija board for about an hour, sniping at each other and spelling out increasingly obscene words. Louis had managed spelled out ‘penis’ five times before Zayn had complained, flicking at his finger. “No ghost though.”

“I wonder why,” Zayn muses.

“Probably because there wasn’t a ghost in the first place,” Louis says triumphantly. He feels a little giddy, actually—the séance had been a little all over the place, but they did everything Niall (and WikiHow) told them to do, and no spirits made contact with them. “Which means I get my commission and my bonus, and Grimshaw can suck it.”

Liam pays him no mind. “You don’t think it’s because the Ouija board is fake, do you?”

“I think it’s because our scented candles were too much,” It’s Zayn who speaks up, picking up his Ouija board. Throughout the séance, he’d steadily grown more and more attached to it, to the point that he’d said that he ‘might actually just bring this home’. “Because someone decided to buy two vanilla candles and then two lavender candles and light them all at the same time.”

“I told you, it was the only one left in the store,” Liam says, rolling his eyes at Zayn. “They weren’t that bad.”

“They were terrible, Liam.”

“I don’t know,” a new, unfamiliar voice pipes up, and all four of them freeze simultaneously, look at each other with wide eyes. “I quite liked the smell.”

Louis closes his eyes. Takes a deep breath. Counts one, two, three, and turns around slowly.

Finds himself staring straight at a boy he doesn’t know.

He’s—well. Quite handsome actually, with dark curly hair and a grin a mile wide. He’s wearing what looks to be a band shirt and some dark jeans, boots in his feet. When he raises his hand to wave, Louis can see he’s got a ring on each finger.

All in all, he looks quite normal, except for the fact that he’s a little bit translucent.

“Hi,” the boy—the ghost—says to Louis, grinning. He reaches out a hand, and when Louis tries to take it, he feels nothing but air. “I’m Harry.”

[kpopfanfictrash]

Cupcake Wars (M)

Author: kpopfanfictrash

Pairing: You / Kungsoo (D.O.)

Genre: Smut / Humor

Prompt: “Frost the damn cupcakes.”

Rating: 18+ (explicit sex)

Word Count: 2,901 [ THIS IS A REPOST ]

Every year, your company holds its annual bake sale. The event is a big deal, not in small part because Accounting always wins. The remaining three hundred and sixty four days of the year are then spent pointedly lording this fact over everyone else in the building.

Each meeting you attend holds a simper, that look of fake concern over the top of wire-rimmed glasses (a fashion staple, in Accounting). “Such a shame,” Rosetta tends to sigh at your weekly check-ins, tutting gently between her teeth. “Especially after what happened to Y/N last year. A real pity. I hope the same thing doesn’t happen again.”

This is when you tend to grit your teeth and smile, pinching your leg beneath the table and biting back your retort. You don’t need pithy comebacks against Rosetta, because you have the best brownies in the world.

She is right about one thing, though – last year was a catastrophe. It was a disaster of monumental proportions, ruined by a freak accident you could have done nothing to avoid. Not that this keeps Rosetta from implying otherwise, of course. It was in the middle of baking, when your apartment held that emergency fire drill. Your roommate practically dragged you from the kitchen, leaving so fast, you didn’t have time to properly turn off the oven – ironic, come to think of it – and ending in your caramel pretzel brownies being burnt into crisps.

When you arrived and saw their ruined state, you sank to your knees, cursing gods of both baking and fire.

While you did this, your roommate, Jongin, stood by and stared. “Uh,” he responded, growing more and more nervous as time passed. “Are you going to be okay?”

“No, Jongin,” you exhaled, lowering your chin to your chest. Gently, you placed one hand on the oven door. “My children have given their lives and I must mourn them appropriately.”

“Ri-ight.” Slowly Jongin backed from the room. “This has been… weird, Y/N.” Without breaking eye contact, he shut the door to his bedroom.

You sat there for several more minutes before grumbling to your feet, deciding nothing could be done to salvage the situation. You were out of baking supplies and it was 10:30 pm on a Sunday night – there was no way you could bake something by tomorrow morning. Instead, you were forced to bear the shame of arriving with store-bought goods – a fact which has honestly haunted you ever since.

Not this year. 

Gritting your teeth, you stir harder. This year, things will be different; except that this year, you have a new problem. Glaring over the top of your mixing bowl, you stare pointedly at Do Kyungsoo. “Why are you here again?” you demand, continuing to stir.

He raises his eyebrows over the top of his glasses. “My oven broke,” he explains, for at least the fourth time today. “Jongin said I could come over and use his.”

Again, you glare at Jongin’s bedroom door. “Yeah, well Jongin isn’t here,” you huff, incensed. Jongin is off visiting his girlfriend this weekend. “It’s just me.”

“Right.” Kyungsoo seems unbothered, continuing to crack eggs. “But half of the oven is Jongin’s, and it is this half I will be using.”

“Oh, no,” you mutter, wagging the spatula in his direction. “Don’t you try and accountant your way out of this one.”

It looks as though Kyungsoo is struggling hard not to laugh. “Okay, first of all – accountant is not a verb.” He places a shell in the trash. “Second, you don’t have to worry about me because I’ll be done soon and out of your hair. Things can’t possibly go worse for you than last year, can they?”

Rather than giving Kyungsoo the satisfaction of answering him, you resume stirring. The batter soon becomes smooth from your ministrations, closer to where you need and while you work, you sneak a peek at Do Kyungsoo.

Truth be told, you don’t actually hate him. Despite him being a part of Accounting and kind of stuffy and continually at your apartment hanging out with Jongin – you don’t hate him. Kyungsoo has these deep, dark brown eyes. He has this funny, square smile when he laughs. His humor is deadpan, the kind which usually flies over the rest of Accounting’s heads during meetings.

Okay, so maybe you like him.

Kyungsoo is Jongin’s best friend, though. He is over here all the time and he has never once expressed interest in you, so it’s clear where he stands on the matter. Take right now, for instance. Kyungsoo continues to stare studiously at his cookbook, squinting down at the page and acting as though you don’t exist.

You stir harder – too hard, actually – and some of the flour from the bowl explodes over the rim. “Crap,” you mutter, blinking through the haze. When you try to wipe it, this only makes things worse, leaving a giant smear of chocolate down the side of your cheek.

Glancing up, you see that Kyungsoo is staring. He bites down on his lips to keep himself from laughing. “You – uh,” he pauses, lips pressed into a thin line. “Need help?”

“Nope,” you snap, turning away. Wiping your face, you rub it further into your cheekbones. “Just ignore me and frost the damn cupcakes.”

Kyungsoo glances down at the bowl, then back up, puzzled. “I haven’t even baked the cupcakes yet.”

Ignoring him, you turn on the sink, wetting your hands to wipe at your face. “Right. Never mind,” you exhale, blinking back tears. How embarrassing, to do that in front of him. It surprises you, when you turn back around and find Kyungsoo before you. “What are you doing?” you blurt, ass hitting the counter as you take a step backwards.

Kyungsoo’s eyes narrow, lifting a hand. Gently, he wipes a smudge from your cheek. “You missed a spot,” he exhales.

The moment seems to last longer than it actually does. Time slows while his thumb brushes over your skin. The motion is purposeful, matter-of-fact, but his eyes remain warm. You find yourself at a loss for words, gaze locked on his. Then Kyungsoo pulls away, returning to his abandoned bowls on top of your counter.

“Thanks,” you manage, staring after him.

Kyungsoo shrugs, resuming stirring.

Walking back to the counter, you feel aware that something has shifted. For some reason, you keep glancing at Kyungsoo, sure that he is doing the same. Your gazes never meet though, so you quickly stop. That is, until you are pouring batter into your tray and happen to look up, before he looks away.  

Kyungsoo blinks, breaking the moment but the damage has been done. His cheeks flush red and hastily, Kyungsoo removes his glasses in the guise of cleaning them. Smiling, you smooth your batter with a spatula, realizing he is not immune to this tension.

“Soo?” you murmur, innocently looking at him.

Kyungsoo seems surprised that you know his nickname. Occasionally Jongin calls him this, but never you. He has left his glasses on the edge of the counter and his eyes, meeting yours, are wide. You notice his hair is mussed, from when his hands ran through it earlier. 

“Yes?” he asks.

“Could you pass me that spoon?”

Kyungsoo looks down and nods, picking it up. When he hands it to you, your fingertips graze his to send electricity down your spine. “Thanks,” you murmur, voice lower than you meant it to be.

Sneaking another glance, you notice him biting his lip, concentrating hard on adding flour and sugar. Returning to your brownies, you try to shake the visual from your mind. Kyungsoo would have said something to you if he liked you, you remind yourself. This is just your imagination, reading into his movements.

Eventually, it is time to place your tray in the oven. As you slide in the sweets and set the timer, you turn towards the kitchen and nearly run into Kyungsoo. “Oh!” you blurt, right before he kisses you.

His lips are warm, soft, his nose brushing yours as he pulls gently away. The kitchen around you is silent, but for the tick of your timer. Slowly, you open your eyes in confusion.

“What was... that for?” you exhale, struggling to catch your breath.

Kyungsoo stares back at you, looking nervous for the first time that you’ve known him. “I just,” he swallows, shaking his head. “I’ve wanted to do that for such a long time.”

The memory of his kiss still burns on your lips, as you look on in shock. You had no idea that he liked you – Kyungsoo is always so cool, always so composed. He never seems to think much of anything, let alone you but now he doesn’t seem cool, doesn’t seem composed at all. His glance continues to dart from your lips to your eyes; searching for a response, an answer, anything to put him out of his misery.

“You only wanted to kiss me?” you manage to ask.

The corner of his mouth lifts, as Kyungsoo ducks his head to boldly kiss you again. Softly, his hands slide into your hair, pulling you close. His lips mold to yours, body hard as you melt up against him. His hands slide over your torso, pulling you backwards; away from the oven, to be pressed against the refrigerator, flush to the metal while his hands slide behind you.

He quickly undoes your apron, yanking it free to throw onto the floor. He laughs at your clothes, still sprinkled with flour. “What was the point,” he murmurs, kissing your neck. “Of wearing an apron, if your clothes got dirty anyways?”

“The apron was cute,” you respond to him, shrugging. “I wanted to look cute.”

“Mm.” Raising his head, Kyungsoo locks eyes. “But you always look cute.” Leaning in, he presses his entire body to yours, dark hair falling into his gaze.

It is hard to think straight, when he looks at you like that. Smoothing your hands under his shirt, you slide up his back and over his skin. Kyungsoo kisses you gently, teasing and sweet until you achingly groan. Right hand sliding into your hair, he opens your mouth and rolls his hips against yours.

His length is clear, outlined through the press of his jeans and sending your heart racing. You want him, god do you want him. “My room,” you gasp, breaking away.

Kyungsoo’s eyes widen, but he nods, gripping your hand tightly in his. He lets you pull him down the length of your hall, into your bedroom. When he steps inside, you almost smile, because it is such a strange sight. You don’t normally bring guys back on the first date but, come to think of it, Kyungsoo has already been in your home before. Just not in your room.

He seems to be realizing this as well, as he walks the edge of the room. He stares, silently observing your books heaped in piles, the colorful pictures hung on your walls.

“I guess you’ve never seen my room before,” you say to him, soft.

Shaking his head, Kyungsoo picks up and replaces a figurine. He looks over at you. “No. But I thought about it.”

Breath catching, you watch him walk forward. “What did you think about?” you murmur, unnerved when he stops before you to slide his hands around your waist. Gently, he tugs your shirt upwards.

“You,” he responds simply, removing your shirt entirely. “In your bed. I was there as well,” he adds, almost an afterthought.

You laugh, tugging his shirt free from his belt. “Was I? What was I doing?”

Kyungsoo’s chest is toned, rising and falling as he stares back at you. Without answering, he kisses you, walking you backwards to sit on the edge of your bed. Quietly, he pulls you to sit on top of him. 

“I could show you,” he offers, soft.

Not daring to speak, you nod. As you slide closer, Kyungsoo’s eyes darken when you roll your hips over him. He groans, low in his throat and kisses you, this time with a deeper edge. Flipping you over on the bed, his hands trail your sides as he watches your expression. He bends, only his dark hair visible while he unlatches your bra, removing entirely to toss onto the floor. 

You gasp, arching when his lips close over your nipple. His other hand moves to your center, palming you fast over your leggings. You weren’t expecting this and your legs close tight around his hand, while his mouth continues to tease you.

Kyungsoo’s thumb continues to stroke, making small circles over the outside of your pants. Soon, a whimper falls from your lips. “Kyungsoo,” you groan, distressed when he lifts his head; only to move to your other breast. “Soo.”

“Yes?” His fingers slide under the hem of your pants, rolling the material and tugging it down to your ankles.

Strangely, you are not embarrassed by being naked before him. Normally, you would be. Sex with someone for the first time is inevitably awkward but the way Kyungsoo is looking at you now, makes you never want to wear clothes again. He stares at you in awe, transfixed by the sight.

“Yours, too,” you murmur, hands fumbling with the strap of his belt.

Kyungsoo tears his gaze away long enough to replace your hands with his, shoving his pants down and off to the side. He pulls you forward, kissing you eagerly while you shiver into his body.

Somehow, your leg wraps around the edge of his waist, curving closer. His hands twine in your hair, hands hot on your body. He follows your spine to your ass, pulling you closer. Hand drifting in between your legs, Kyungsoo briefly swears when he discovers your wetness.

“Fuck,” he groans, pulling back just to see you. “Can I taste you?”

Nodding, you tremble when he lowers you onto your back. Kyungsoo lowers himself between your legs, fingers sliding over your thighs. When his mouth brushes skin, tongue deliberately tracing everywhere but where you want him, you tug at his hair.

“Soo,” you groan, legs framing his head.

He smiles, finally giving into what you want. You groan when he starts to suck on your sex, one finger sliding into your body at the same time. He continues until you’re soaking and needy, begging for him to please be inside you. Then, Kyungsoo raises himself on his elbows, kissing you messily while you explain where the condoms are.

Before he can roll it onto himself, you bend and take his cock in your mouth. Kyungsoo is already hard from pleasing you; he hisses, when your lips cover his shaft. When you take him all the way, deep-throating, he runs a hand through his hair.

“No,” he groans, eyes fluttering shut. “I don’t want to come like this.”

Sliding your lips off, you sit back on your heels. Kyungsoo rolls the condom onto himself, stroking his member in slow, slow motions. When he is fully covered, Kyungsoo grabs your body. He holds you above him, waiting for your nod before sinking you onto his lap.

You stay there for a moment, forehead pressed to his, slowly breathing. Then, his hands dig into your back, pulling you closer while he slowly thrusts upwards.

The sensation is deep and you whimper his name, especially once Kyungsoo begins to move faster. He thrusts into you over and over, rolling his hips at just the right angle. Lowering his head to your neck, he bites down as his finger skims down your torso.

When he reaches your sex, he pauses, continuing to thrust while rubbing circles against you. Entire body tightening, you clench down around him, certain you can’t hold on for much longer. Each thrust hits your g-spot and you can’t quite think, due to the building pleasure within you.

“Soo,” you moan, pressing closer. Arching your back, you deepen the angle. “I’m so close.”

He nods, thrusting harder, kissing you deeply while his finger continues to tease. Soon, you’re gasping, slamming yourself down on his dick and feeling yourself coming undone. Your orgasm is shattering, entire body releasing while he continues to move. At his own release, Kyungsoo stills, sliding hands up the length of your body. You stay like that for awhile, fingers curled tight into the hair at the base of his neck.

“Wow,” he exhales at last, eyes finding yours. “I mean, just – wow.”

You laugh at his expression, leaning back while he presses his lips gently to yours. “I can’t say I disagree with that,” you murmur.

Kyungsoo pulls you closer, wrapping his arms tightly around you. “I’ve liked you this whole time,” he admits, voice quiet. “Each time I came over, every day at the office, I would try and work up the courage to say something.”

“Why didn’t you?” you ask, pulling back.

“Are you kidding me?” Kyungsoo smiles wryly. “Look at you. Look at me. I’m boring, dull, I’m everything you couldn’t possibly want.”

“Boring? Dull?” Arching an eyebrow, you stare. “I don’t have time to tell you how wrong you are but, suffice to say, now that I have you – you’re not getting away.”

Kyungsoo chuckles, kissing you again. “Deal.” As he pulls away, his eyes widen at something over your shoulder. “Oh, fuck,” he groans, biting down on his lip to keep him from laughing.

“What?” you blurt, turning as much as you can. “What is it?” From your spot in Kyungsoo’s lap, you notice the tendril of smoke rising out of the oven. “Oh, no,” you groan, lowering your head to his shoulder. “No!”

Kyungsoo laughs, his body shaking with yours. “It’s okay,” he grins, removing himself from your body. “It’s fine, we still have my batter.” Wrapping your blanket around his torso, Kyungsoo shuffles into the kitchen. At the door he stops, peering at you through the frame. “Unless you want to use the batter for… other things?”

A tiny smile grows on your face, as you shrug. “Why not?” you groan, falling back on your bed. “Work already thinks I’m a horrible baker anyways.”

[3,000 Followers Drabble Game Master List]

[patronusofthepugs]

Dark Prophecy Boys

Alright another crossover pair that literally no asked for except me but just imagine how well Sal Fisher from Sally Face and Kenny from SP would get along. 

  Kenny moves to Nockfell when he is fourteen and at first he’s pissed as hell. His older brother got sick of their parent’s shit and took off in his beater car with Kenny and Karen. It not that Kenny just wants to stay with his friends but he is genuinely terrified of how his curse would be affected if he doesn’t live in South Park. Perhaps the next time he dies, it’ll be for good. But when he looks down at Karen’s hopeful eyes, he sighs and swallows the fear. After all they are moving into a place called Addison Apartments, it’s such a bland name for what Kenny is sure to be a bland place filled with knitting old ladies and crotchety old men. What’s the worst that can happen? 

On their first day of moving into 404, somebody gets murdered down the hall and Kenny hears a knock at their door. 

Him and Sal become instant friends, it hard not to like the little blue dude. He’s genuinely nice and says the funniest shit with the straightest face. It becomes a game between them on who can say the most outrageous stuff without smiling or laughing. Sal has his prosthetic face which gives him an advantage but Kenny has years of practice of saying stupid shit on a daily basis so he would say that they are evenly matched. Once Kenny meets Larry, the three boys are solidified into the ultimate trio with artsy, metal head Larry, tiny, polite, blue gremlin Sal, and lanky, sardonic Kenny. 

Kenny was usually more of a pop music type of guy but overtime he grows to love metal and can be found head banging with the best of them. He spends most of his time in the basement with Larry and Sal either playing video games or rocking out on the drums for their totally sick rock band, The Face Eaters.  Kenny and Larry like to gang up on Sal with the cheesiest puns that they can think of. Their jokes and pranks usually involve lots of props and one liners so corny, Sal will literally hurl his fake eye at Larry and Kenny’s dumb laughing faces as punishment for their terrible dad humor.  

Kenny meets Todd and Ash, while he likes them well enough for Todd reminds him a bit like Kyle and Ash is pretty cool, Larry and Sal are still his main dudes. Kenny has always felt detached from the other kids in South Park, his many deaths always playing in his mind on a constant loop. it hurt too much to let his guard down especially when he knew that at the end of the day, he was going to end up dead. But living in Nockfell, it was like time has moved forward again and Kenny is able to go to bed alive every day. It’s exhilarating and terrifying for once he’s a normal kid with normal friends. He feels a strong connection to Sal, there’s some strange electricity buzzing in his bones that urges him to get closer to the porcelain masked boy. Sal would often radio Kenny every time he has a nightmare and the two boys would either go hang with Larry or sneak onto the fire escape to talk and look at the stars. 

Sal is a beautiful, sad mystery to Kenny. One minute, he’s laughing and teasing Larry and then the next, his eyes would go so dark and sad, and Kenny feels as if he’s staring into the eyes of an ancient grief that’s barely holding on. It’s a feeling that he knows all too well and it makes him to want to get even closer to him because he can’t stand seeing that expression on anyone’s face, especially Sal’s. 

Once the boys start the ghost hunting business, Kenny feels the slight premonition of the darkness that haunts the building. While Kenny’s dying days seem to be over, he’s forever connected to the other side. He can see hazy outlines of the ghosts trapped in the building. Whenever he walks over a certain spot, his mouth is flooded with the coppery taste of blood and his body aches as if he’s been stabbed. Miss Rosenberg’s flat eyes gazes at him as if he’s simply a ghost himself, and while she mutters cryptic stuff about the ancient ones under her breath, Kenny is too scared to go near her for very long. She may have answers to his questions but he isn’t sure if he’s ready to hear the exact truth. 

After the Bologna incident, things change within the group. There’s an overwhelming dread and purpose to shoulder the burden of stopping the terrible evil that sleeps under their feet. Kenny grows closer to Sal as the two boys struggle with their roles of being puppets for the eldritch horrors that are guiding them to their dark destinies. 

Kenny saves up to move Karen out of the cursed apartment building. The kids grow older and at Henry and Lisa’s wedding, Kenny is so happy and tipsy that he spontaneously kisses Sal during their first slow dance. Panic washes away the happiness but as Kenny sputters out apologies, Sal only laughs and lifts up his mask briefly to kiss Kenny back. And that’s it, Kenny’s a goner for this blue boy who can make him laugh so hard that it hurts to breath, for the one who hushes Kenny’s fears of being forgotten and the one who is so kind and good and so god damn beautiful that Kenny feels like crying and laughing at the same time. Not much changes in their relationship besides more hand holding, sly grins and cutesy nick names, and double dates with Todd and Neil. 

Kenny is so happy he feels as if he could float to the moon. They are freshly graduated and he is moving in with Sal. Karen and Kevin are set up in another part of town, away from the Addison Apartments. Larry is moving in with them as well and Ash is coming back to town. Kenny is sure that this is how his life will be from now on, filled with friends, family, metal music and the love of his life. 

But he has forgotten what the embrace of Death has felt like and Death is a possessive, jealous being. Kenny has forgotten that he doesn’t get a happy ending, none of them do. Kenny’s life is shattered with one phone call from Sal and as he races to the apartments, he can feel Death nipping at his heels. He knows that he will die tonight. For the first time in many years, Kenny McCormick will die but the question remains. Will he stay dead? 

Older Kenny Fan Art Credit to: https://www.deviantart.com/tamaytka/art/Oh-my-god-they-killed-kenny-689294649

Young Kenny Fan Art Credit to: http://ayachiichan.tumblr.com/post/157111681063/pen-pressure-sucks-but-i-still-tried-to-doodle

Young Sal- I can’t find the original artist for this. If someone has any idea please let me know so I can credit them please

Older Sal Art Credit to: https://aminoapps.com/c/sface/page/item/sal-fisher/qkex_N5Bs3IB3bXx51Zrp6xB8jQlNG2weqm

[wiredandrewired]

Was trying to actually work on something but my brain is stuck on loop.  So instead I’m gonna make a post of the Voltron stuff sitting unposted in my writing WIP folder to help me organize my thoughts.

I guess since I’m posting this, if you have anything you wanna say/ask about any of these feel free.  I respond well to outside interest.

1. Project ReVolt is without a doubt the project I’ve posted about the most here.  And talked about in random tags.  And tangents.  Originally it was just the name the project had in my internal brain filing cabinet but it’s kind of spread and stuck to where my wife and I just refer to it as that when we talk about it.

ReVolt is basically going to be a VLD series rewrite more along the lines of how my wife and I would have done it or at least liked to see it done.  In some places it will probably stick pretty damn close to the events of the series canon, but in others go completely off the deep end.  We’re each going to be doing one, so a lot of the headcanon and worldbuilding and such that we’ve worked out together in various other stories and RPs will be consistent between the two stories, but it will also give us a place to veer out and do things without the others’ input (as we’re not gonna let each other see our fics until they post, tee hee).  I’ve done a SHITPOT of rules and infrastructure work using actual alchemy tracts to try and make sense of the series’ largely Powers As The Plot Demands system,  and am pretty convinced I’m going to A)fall hard into my very common Esoterica Ranting Mode pitfall and B)enrage literally everyone who reads it with my character and plot choices.  Most conservative estimate says this will be six ‘books’ long as again, we’re doing literally the entire series.  Current status: at the ‘ridiculously large amount of notes and setting up actual arcs and outlines’ stage, and waiting for the wife to finish ‘Happier HOPEless’.

2. There Are No Monsters Here is a fic I really want to do but cannot seem to get off the ground, set to take place entirely in the ‘last universe’ from season 8--the one native-Honerva died in and crazed-death-god-Honerva picked out as her ideal and tried to wedge herself into.  I guess the basic idea was that, like the ‘main’ universe, it got rebuilt pretty much as it was prior to Nightmare Mom Ruining Everything, and I have it with no one fully remembering the events of season 8 that took place there, but characters really closely tied to those events having some itching feeling that something happened, and all the Altean alchemists agreeing that some kind of massive quantum Event certainly occurred even if they don’t know what.  

Mostly the story exists as  a place for me to have a canon-compliant AU that still lets me explore stuff like Altean history, the racial and cultural tensions of the Coalition, dink around with Oldadins that DON’T die in one fell swoop, a living Daibazaal and Altea, Lotor growing up with a decent-but-not-without-strains relationship with his dad, teen Allura and tiny Lotor being absolute shits to each other while also coming to terms as they grow up with who and what they MUST be both on a political and quantum scale, and generally prove that even a perfect universe isn’t, all in one place.  The title is entirely facetious, and anyone who’s read any of my alien culture headcanons for this series knows that.  Lol.  Current status: lots of bits and pieces, but no good beginning or connective tissue.   I have a lot of notes, some arc outlines, and a few scattered scenes and bits of dialogue from later in the story, but my god, I CANNOT get it off the ground.

3. Someone Must Get Hurt (But It Won’t Be Me) is supposed to be a pretty wholly Honerva-centric fic that starts...sometime in her youth?...and carries forward to an as-yet-undetermined point.  Probably her death.  I mean the first one.  I’m not sure.  Another chance to dig my fingers into Altean culture and Alchemy, this time leading up to All The Bad Shit That Happened, with the added bonus of being done from a focal point of a character I have a lot of really strong feelings about both positive and negative that’s resulted in me somehow being EVEN MORE wrapped up in her than I was before I added abject knee-jerk trauma hatred to the mix.  In no way meant to make Honerva more sympathetic, I think I just want to write her even more like my mother so I’ll feel EVEN BETTER about killing her?  Idk man my feelings about her are so complicated.  Also an excuse to write a shitpot of her and Zarkon because listen, I’m really glad they’re married because I ship them so fuckin hard.   Current Status: SO many notes.  SO much infrastructure.  Like three pages of an opening I’m almost definitely throwing away because I can’t decide where, when, or how to open but feel like this isn’t it.  One short but very telling scene of Honey and Zarkon from late in the story.  I’m obsessed with it but I can’t get anywhere. 

4. Currently Untitled Demon Hunter AU started because my wife talks to me about Happier HOPEless a LOT and I just got an itch in my bones to work on one myself.  In spite of the entire Demon Hunter AU thing getting started by a prompt on a Shance blog, neither Shiro nor Lance are set to appear for at least a chapter?  And I am not confident in my ability to not veer off into utter non-shipping anyway because man, am I bad at it.  Or like...just an entirely different ship for either or both of them.  Current Status: A lot of vague notes, a POWERFUL urge to structure the chapters and overall arc after Ripley’s Gates even though that limits my chapter count and means I will DEFINITELY have 20k+ word chapters, and about seven pages of the first chapter so I guess I’m committed now?

5. Currently Untitled Post Series Fic basically exists for me to vent my frustrations about two main things: The Universe is Fucking Huge And There Are Dangers Other Than Galra, and The Galra Empire Was Huge and Is Not Going To All Fall In Line Behind Voltron Coalition and Especially Behind Keith Who Just Arbitrarily Fucking Decided To Tell Them They Couldn't Pick A New Leader According To Their Own Traditions And Need To Do What They’re Told Now What The Fuck.  Also there was a lot of stuff in the series that got left hanging, and while ReVolt is an IN-series fix-it fic, I wanted something that patched up loose ends in a way that was satisfactory to me but also kind of canon-compliant.  Current Status: A lot of notes and screaming.  No one has seen my progress on this and they might never.

6. Dog Runs And Death Dreams is a warmup file turned deeply self-indulgent series of scenes in which I choose to assume that Shiro’s rare neuromuscular disorder was left so ambiguous so I could plug the symptoms of mine into it.  It’s genuinely not any deeper than that.  The whole thing is set pre-Kerberos, and includes copious Shiro x Adam content because of it, but also not the kind that makes me feel good about writing because that means it includes the ‘slow fizzle’ that leads up to their breakup before the mission.  Ugh.  Working on it does make me feel better when I've been having symptoms, though, and I’ve been letting myself write it, unchastised, in a really loose rambly way that I usually deride myself for.  It’s just cathartic.  Current Status: no notes, no plan, just strain-writing between seizures, but somehow it feels like it has some kind of structure and just keeps growing?  Possibly too close to the bone for me to ever post.

7. Birth and Rebirth was born out of two things: the fact that Zarkon is shown to have two ENTIRELY DIFFERENT reactions to first being presented with his baby son in different flashbacks and different seasons, and the fact that in spite of the flashbacks we get at the end of the series, earlier on, the impression I got of Lotor and Zarkon’s relationship wasn’t of a young man who had never had affection from his father, but who had instead lost it.  Well, three things: I have a lot of underlying issues at work, at play, and at large when it comes to the Galra Imperial Family.  Also, anyone notice the monitor blips in the first baby Lotor flashbacks indicate a heart murmur?  Anyway, it was supposed to be a thoroughly self-indulgent and thoroughly self-hurtful examination of Lotor’s early life and the death by degrees of what was left of his father in the husk Rift Adventures left behind, but I got stuck on it a little way in.   Current Progress: ten pages, a lot of notes, and some wistfulness.  I keep hoping I’ll get inspired to pick it back up again.  Contemplating rewriting some of the beginning, maybe it’ll help?

Bonus entry that is not actually in any form of progress soever:

50/50 Voltron Trashfire Edition is spawned from the ‘50/50′ challenge on an old TF board I used to haunt.  It’s a fifty-prompt smut challenge using the list of ‘50 reasons to have sex’ from some tv show, and the idea is to write a different ship for every prompt (hence the name).  My wife is blazing through it and has several (like twelve?) up on her AO3, but I’ll be utterly blunt: I haven’t written fifty porn fics in my LIFE.  Over ALL my fandoms.  Current Status: Literally all I have done is assign a ship to each prompt, and I might actually have some prompts with just question marks beside them still.  I have one aborted start to one entry.  That’s it.  It’s not happening.  But the empty file is technically in the folder, SO.

[jeffmac813]

Too Many Cooks Stories

On October 28, 2014, a short comedy piece named Too Many Cooks aired in the "Infomercials" slot on Adult Swim -- 4am. Within one week, though, the short had garnered over 5 million views on YouTube and become a viral smash. I asked my editor Sarah Ottney at Toledo Free Press if I could cover the phenomenon, and thanks to Adult Swim, garnered interviews with the short's creator, Casper Kelly, and actor William Tolarsky, who played the silent killer named Bill. These stories are some of my favorite pieces I've ever written, because of how quickly they came together and how kind and excited their subjects were at Too Many Cooks' surprising success.

(written 11/12/14)

"Too Many Cooks": Creating a New Cult Classic

The writer behind the net's most bizarre viral sensation

Written by Jeff McGinnis

It starts out looking like most any cliche, cheesy sitcom opening sequence from the 80s. Upbeat, bland theme tune. Actors turning with a smile to the camera. All very familiar. 

But then things start to happen that feel ... wrong. The theme music never stops. Just keeps on playing. More and more cast members appear, past the point of being ludicrous. The show's genre seems to change -- from sitcom to cop drama to prime time soap and more. And then there's the creepy guy who suddenly starts killing the rest of the cast.

This is "Too Many Cooks," the comedy short that is taking the internet by storm. Produced for Cartoon Network's "Adult Swim" late-night lineup, the dark satire first aired during the network's "Infomercial" slot -- meaning 4 a.m. -- earlier this month. But something happened when the clip found its way online, and soon the bizarre short had exploded virally. In about a week, the myriad postings of the short -- both official and otherwise -- have garnered over 5 million hits.

And at the epicenter of it all is a young writer and director named Casper Kelly, who is both ecstatic and a little dumbfounded.

"It is super, super -- THREE supers -- exciting and thrilling, almost veering into the other side, of flop sweat and panic," Kelly said in an interview with Toledo Free Press. "I'm holding it together, having fun."

Kelly is not a new voice among Adult Swim's class of comedic subversives. He has worked for years at production headquarters in Atlanta, composing funny promos for Cartoon Network shows, writing for shows like "Squidbillies" and "Aqua Teen Hunger Force," co-creating the series "Your Pretty Face is Going to Hell." Not typical fare, even for late-night basic cable, but Kelly revels in the creative freedom working at Adult Swim provides.

"It's wonderful, and our boss, Mike Lazzo -- he's a tough audience," Kelly said. "He's a very sophisticated viewer, and gets bored easily. But when he likes what you're doing, he gives you a lot of rope. A lot of freedom to try it. And does not micromanage. He gives you kind of big ideas at the beginning, and might give you ideas at the end, but in the middle, he lets you do your thing -- which is great."

Still, Kelly was hesitant to pitch the idea that would become "Too Many Cooks." Though there was plenty of precedent for the network doing experimental ideas like it in their late infomercial slots, he wasn't totally confident that the concept could sustain a full short.

"I had the idea, and I didn't even tell Mike Lazzo, because I didn't know if it would work. So I was afraid to pitch it. But I told some co-workers, who at a work party told him. And the idea made him laugh, so I had to do it at that point."

Filming came together remarkably quickly given how complicated the finished product would prove to be, Kelly said. "Interestingly -- and this was probably a good thing -- we did not have a lot of time, because we had a narrow window open up where our production company could do it. So once I had the outline, I think we only had a couple of weeks. So I just had to think about it constantly and just kind of throw down every idea I could.

"We had a lot of time in post, but leading up to it was a mad dash. And so much work was getting headshots, and finding people that had the right look, to give you the feeling for that character."

Another crucial element would be the short's music -- that initially chipper tune that mutates into forms that are dramatic, haunting and more. Kelly was hands-on with its creation, as well.

"That took a lot of time. I wrote the lyrics -- most of the lyrics -- and then we used one audio guy, who was great, and then it got to be too much. Because we had no money -- he was doing it for us as a favor. He did as much as he could, and then we had to hand it off to someone else to finish it, who did a great job. I think I really got the best out of both of them.

"People were saying that song gets stuck in their head. It sure did get stuck in our head when we were editing it."

Kelly has no plans to rest on his laurels, even now that "Too Many Cooks" has garnered such remarkable fame and acclaim in such a brief amount of time. He's hard at work on the second season "Your Pretty Face," for one thing. And as to whatever opportunities may arise from here, Kelly said he's primed and ready.

"I'm excited, because I have opportunities now to make more stuff. And I have a notebook full of ideas, short films, and feature scripts and more. And I feel like a kid in a candy store right now."

"Too Many Cooks": Killer Bill

Atlanta actor makes mark as short's silent assassin

Written by Jeff McGinnis

The voice on the other end of the phone is kind. Bright. A little higher than you'd expect, given its owner. A definite southern twang, understandable since he's lived in Georgia so long -- though he's Pennsylvanian by birth. He's gracious, good-natured, a sweetheart. You wouldn't guess how natural he looks chopping people's heads off with a machete.

William Tokarsky is his name, and for the past week or so his face has become the central image of one of the internet's most wildly successful viral videos. He plays the killer -- "Bill," if the credit on IMDB is to be believed, though he's never named in the short -- at the center of the bizarre satire "Too Many Cooks," produced by Cartoon Network.

"I was working as an extra for [director] Casper Kelly on another show he does on Adult Swim," Tokarsky said in an interview with Toledo Free Press. "And we became friends, and he liked my look. And there were two or three other people he had in mind for that role, and we all submitted this little tape and audition, and he picked me. And I think I did a decent job."

Tokarsky is putting it mildly. His gleefully crazed facial expressions and malevolent presence are key to much of the short's dark comedy. It's a look that has served Tokarsky well since he first began dipping his toe into acting.

"I retired from General Motors. And they were making a movie where I live. And suburban Atlanta has become a hotbed of movie and TV production. And I was talking to some people that used to be on the line working, and there's people that were extras. And I thought, 'Well, I could do that!' And I just started doing that.

"I have a unique look, that garnered me a position up front sometimes, to the point where someone tapped me on the shoulder on 'Hunger Games: Catching Fire' and said, 'You have a speaking line next week if you want it.'"

No speaking lines were needed on the set of "Too Many Cooks," though. Tokarsky's silent maniac appears subtly at first, stalking in the background of many shots, to the point where many viewers may not notice him until he begins his mad slasher act in earnest. Even Tokarsky is surprised at how often he appears in the finished product.

"I never had a script when we did it. So basically, what occurred was, they would place me, or give an action, and I would do it. And you don't necessarily shoot in order. So it was a surprise to me that we were playing 'Where's Waldo,'" he said.

"I watched it the first time, and never saw myself in locations -- like the 24-second mark in, where I'm standing behind the little girl -- I didn't see myself there. But I was there when we filmed the damn thing! It's like I didn't see the big picture in Casper's mind when we filmed it. He gave me an action, and I did it."

The success of "Cooks" -- both on an artistic and popularity scale -- has come as a surprise for most. But even though Tokarsky admits he's not exactly part of the demographic the short is aimed at, he said he had a feeling it would either be a colossal success or an equally memorable failure."

"I was speaking with my wife, and I said, 'Well, there's one of two things that's going to happen. This thing is going to stink so bad, no one's ever going to see it. Or, it's going to go viral.'"

Now that his latter prediction has come true, Tokarsky's excited about the opportunities his sudden exposure may bring. "I would think I would get a few things out of it -- you know, the creepy janitor on a TV show," he joked.

"I've found my genre; I've found what I can do. So, I'm retired, and I have a decent pension, so, as a friend of mine, another actor, said -- 'It's all gravy.' And I'm having fun with it, I got an agent last April, I've pretty much stopped doing extra work except for Casper -- I'm going to work for him, because I like him, and he likes me, and maybe I can get a contract out of him on his other show!"

Is he worried about being typecast, thanks to "Too Many Cooks"' popularity? Not at all. In fact, he relishes the idea.

"I know who I am, so it doesn't bother me," Tokarsky said. "If you want to act, you got to get an agent, you get an agent where they don't have ten other guys looking for your role. Because how many guys want to be the creepy guy?"

View "Too Many Cooks" on Adult Swim's YouTube page: http://youtu.be/QrGrOK8oZG8

[wantisamlindyla]

Your Ghost - Chapter 1

New York, 1999.

He wanted her to live again, even if she could only come back to him through the pages of a book. 

A/N: Hi all. I’ve been sitting on this for a while I finally decided to post the first chapter.  I have a rough outline but I don’t know how many chapters there are going to be, maybe 6? This is AU, Mileven, takes place 15 years after Eleven disappeared. Most of season 2 still happened, but there was no Mike/Eleven Reunion at the end of episode 8. Will eventually post on Ao3, but I dunno when I’m gonna get my invite to set up an account. Enjoy!

28 October 1999

 “Ladies and gentlemen thank you for coming here today. There will be a book signing of this amazing book after this session. Now, the reason for why we are all here today, and why some of you have been lining up outside the venue all night, is currently backstage, waiting patiently for me to stop nerding out and pull myself together to introduce him!

 After publishing his first novel and topping the New York bestseller’s list at only the age of 23, he is here tonight to talk about his newest novel, titled the Ides of Winter, and the third book in the world famous Montauk series. Everybody, please join me in welcoming to the stage, Michael Wheeler!”

***

It was one month and 17 days into the book tour. Mike had one more stop in New York before he could call it a day and go home.

He was so goddamned tired, he still had several book signings, an interview with the New Yorker (with that pretentious prig, Howell), a TV appearance on the Today Show, and, a few radio interviews, before he can escape back to the Lake house in Lovell, Maine which he now called home.

It’s not all bad news though. New York means seeing Will again for the first time since Christmas.

Not that Mike has completely lost all touch with his old friends, quite on the contrary.  

After graduating from a fine arts course at his brother’s alma mater, NYU, Will had decided to stay in the city. He’d eventually landed an unpaid internship at a small start up animation studio. Now Will split his time travelling back and forth from California to New York as the head character designer on a number of superhero animated cartoons that Mike watched religiously on Saturday mornings.

It wasn’t hard to stay in touch with Will, it was just that this last year had been manic. Mike had barely fit in time for sleep what with working frantically to get his novel finished, having to attend stressful and tense meetings with his editor, forcing himself to return his lawyers’ phone calls about a copyright infringement litigation his publishers had commenced on his behalf, and having to deal with ideas about for the short story anthology he had been working on springing up at the most inconvenient times.

He and Will still managed to talk every other day though, either by telephone or AIM.

Ever since Nancy and Jonathan officially became a couple around Christmas of ‘84, Jonathan and Will became regular dinner guests at the Wheeler residence. He and Will had become almost inseparable, more than anybody in the party.

During his parents’ divorce, which took place during Mike’s sophomore year of high school, with Nancy and Jonathan away at college, Mike spent more and more time at the Byers’ residence, trying to escape the tensions at home, right up until he left for college in ‘89.

At college, Mike made new friends, attended dumb keg parties, dated girls, but he never lost touch with Dustin, Will, Lucas, or Max.

You didn’t help save the end of the world with your friends, twice, and then drift away from them over trivial things like distance and attending different colleges.

In fact, Mike had just met up with Dustin only a few months ago. Dustin had been in Maine for some reason connected with his annoyingly mysterious job.

After Dustin had graduated from MIT he had immediately been recruited by a secretive tech company in California. Dustin couldn’t talk about where he worked or what he did at his job. Whenever people asked him where he worked he’d tell them Cyberdyne Systems with a straight face.

He and Dustin had attended the Phantom Menace premiere together with Dustin’s then-girlfriend, Cindy. The boys had left the movie theatre deflated and heartsore while Cindy had tried valiantly to console them by saying all the wrong things.

Dustin called Mike a few weeks later to inform him that he and Cindy were no longer going out.

“I had to dump her Mike, she said she thought Jar Jar Binks was cute. Also she refused to share her food with me when we went out.”

“So?”

 “So? So? It’s weird. We go out for Italian and I end up having to eat an entire Pepperoni pizza on my own, which I don’t really mind, but then her ravioli looks good too, but she won’t let me have any because she likes us to have our own meals. And don’t even get me started on that time I took her to Wang’s Treasure Palace.” 

Besides those occasional and surprising visits during the year there was always Christmas and New Years at Lucas and Max’s place to look forward to.

Of all of them only Lucas and Max had opted to return to Hawkins. Lucas quit his mechanical engineering job and got a position as an assistant professor, teaching at the community college only after a few years in Chicago. Max got a job as a mechanic at a garage. They bought a house, got married, and got busy starting a family.

Mike smiled at the memory of last year’s Christmas.

He’d practically lived at Lucas and Max’s house the whole time he was there since the picture perfect Wheeler family Christmases that his mom had worked so hard to create during his childhood was now only a distant memory.

Nancy preferred to spend her Christmases in New York with Jonathan and Mrs Byers. The Wheeler home had been sold a few years ago when Holly had left to go to college. Holly preferred to spend her holidays in Chicago with her boyfriend’s family.

His mom was away on another cruise, and, his dad was busy with wife number two.

So, Mike spent his Christmas and News Years at the Sinclairs. He’d taught their three-year-old son, Robbie, how to build a snowman. He conducted a twelve-hour D & D Campaign, pelted Dustin with snowballs, watched a pregnant Max eat all the ice-cream and listened to her complain about how gassy pregnancy made her, watched a star wars marathon and gorged on pizza on Christmas day (just because Max was the only girl in the party did not mean that she would be cooking and cleaning for four man-child wastoids who liked to mooch off her and Lucas).  

Mike considered a detour to Hawkins for a visit after New York so he could meet the newest addition to the Sinclair family, baby Grace, who was about to turn 6 months old. He decided to bring it up with Will tonight at dinner.

Mike pulled himself back to the present and to the interviewer who was introducing him to her broadcast audience.  

“You’re listening to Terry Gross on Fresh Air. Joining us today is Michael Wheeler, author of the best selling book series, Montauk. The series is set in the 60s, in the small town of Montauk in upstate New York, the town is haunted by the misdeeds of its occupants.

The main protagonist is Millie, a brave young girl, with a few secrets of her own.

When Millie’s best friend, Noah, goes missing in mysterious and sinister circumstances, she sets out on a journey into the woods near the town to find him. The first two books in the series have already sold over 80 million copies worldwide and a movie adaptation of the first novel is currently in the works. The third book in the series, Ides of Winter, was released recently.

Michael was only 23 when the first novel in the series was published. He was awarded the Hugo Award for best new author in ‘95 and he has been named one of Time’s most influential people of the year. Michael thank you so much for joining us today.”

“Of course, thank you for having me.”

Terry was one of the best interviewers Mike had the pleasure of meeting. Her soft spoken and inquisitive questions put him immediately at ease, so much so that so he almost forgot he was being interviewed on radio.

He didn’t forget to lie though.

When Terry asked him about where he’d drawn inspiration from for his twelve-year-old girl protagonist, he told her Millie was a blend of himself and the two sisters whom he’d grown up with.

When Terry asked him what drew him to the supernatural and horror themes prevalent in his novels, he only talked about the books and authors he’d read growing up.

“Michael, my favourite chapter of your second novel is the Cave of Horrors. I’m sure you get that a lot. I just wanted to ask you about that chapter, because it’s pivotal, its when Millie comes to believe that she may have truly lost her friend forever, and you write so well about grief, and loss, and the trauma associated with that at such a young age. I guess what I wonder is, was this kind of loss something you had experience with?”

Mike pauses for a long moment.

He doesn’t know what it was, perhaps it’s the kindness in Terry’s voice.

Maybe it was the year he’d just had, it’d been especially difficult.  

Maybe it was the tour.

Maybe it was the thought of that big empty lake house waiting for him at the end of the tour.

Maybe he’s just so tired of the lies and the bullshit. He didn’t really even understand why he still did it; it’s as natural as breathing, but its been almost 15 years. All the men who could punish him or his friends for saying the wrong thing are long gone.

He doesn’t know why or what it is, but all of a sudden his chest feels as if it’s been cracked wide open and its like everyone can see the wound inside him, vulnerable and raw as the day it happened. He wants to tell the world about her, he wants to scream it from the top of the Empire State Building.

He’s twelve years old again, he can smell the tang of blood and the smoke of ashes that had never touched fire. He can hear the violent and desperate screams of a dying creature ringing in his ears and in between darkness and the flickering fluorescent lights, he sees her eyes, tired, resigned, and filled with pain.

Goodbye Mike.

He wanted her to live again, even if she could only come back to him through the pages of a book.

So he’d saved her the only way he knew how. She came back to life by people reading his book, by growing to love and adore Millie, the brave and wonderful girl that would face monsters and death in order to save her friends.

“I….I lost a friend when I was a kid Terry. I don’t really speak about it often. But the way that it happened….it was violent and sudden. I don’t think I was able to come to grips with it for many years. It’s hard to admit sometimes, I think I lie to myself about it, but so much of her is in my writing.”

Terry nodded thoughtfully even though though the gesture won’t be captured by the microphone.

“Did writing help you with dealing with that loss?”

Mike answered honestly, “I don’t know. Some days I think it’s made it worse, because she’s with me, everyday. I live and breathe the loss of her in work. But its just become inseparable from me, the pain. I think it’s just like an arm, or a leg. You heal, but you’re not ever the same. And you never really forget what you lost.” 

[lucelockwood]

When Lucy has trouble sleeping—and lately, that has been more often than she’d care to admit—she gets out her sketchbook. There’s something calming about getting all of her jumbled thoughts out on paper. She draws until her head is empty, however long it takes, and by the end of it she’s able to put her life in some kind of perspective.

Or file away the issues she’s trying not to think about, so that she can deal with them later.

Either way, it gives her an outlet for the feelings and thoughts she sometimes struggles to cope with, and that eventually helps her fall asleep.

Tonight, she’s made her way down to the library, where she’s stretched across the sofa with a blanket on her lap. She hadn’t bothered turning on the overhead lights, settling instead for the small reading lamp on the end table beside her. In the dim lighting, she flips slowly through the sketchbook on her way to the next blank page, each sketch bringing fragments of memories with it as it passes.

Her time since returning to Lockwood and Co has been nothing short of interesting, thanks to her trip to the Other Side, among other things.

She’s just started sketching the outline of a face when Lockwood knocks softly on the door frame. Like her, he’s wearing his pajamas, complete with the long blue robe. Like her, he’s been having trouble sleeping.

“I was wondering if you might be up,” he says; he’s speaking softly but his voice still carries across the dimly lit room.

Something about the words, or maybe just about him, makes Lucy smile. “I am, unfortunately.” She wonders if she sounds as tired to him as she does to herself. “I figured if I wasn’t going to sleep I might as well spend some time sitting alone in the dark.”

He’s smiling too now. “For the sake of clarification, how flexible is your definition of ‘alone’?”

The words are good-humored, but Lucy hears the slight hesitation in them. He’s been doing that a lot lately, at least where she’s concerned. Asking, rather than assuming. The amount of care he’s been putting into making sure she’s comfortable and happy is almost as unfathomable as some of the scarier thoughts that keep Lucy up at night.

She can’t help the rush of affection she feels towards him. “There’s room for at least three on this sofa,” she answers, pulling her knees to her chest to make room for him. “And I’d enjoy the company.”

“Me too.”

Lockwood crosses the room to the sofa, grabbing the book he’d left on the end table a few nights ago as he passes. To Lucy’s immense satisfaction, he sits in the middle of the sofa rather than at the opposite end. They share one lingering smile before they fall into what George has dubbed their Quiet Routine.

Lucy draws until she is drowsy. She doesn’t fully notice it when she shifts positions, but eventually she’s closer to Lockwood than she is to the arm rest, her blanket shared between them.

There’s something about the dark, early hour that quiets her usual inhibitions. The longer they sit together, close but not quite touching, the easier it is to feel detached from the rest of the world and its pressures, like they’ve built their own sanctuary far from the things that haunt them during the day. The sleepier Lucy gets, the less she worries.

It isn’t long before she’s curled her legs underneath her, resting the side of her face against his arm, still sketching, but with slower, lighter strokes.

This is exactly the sort of peace that she craves, and she only ever finds it with Lockwood. Cozy and comfortable, Lucy draws herself into a sleepy, contented haze.

Lockwood’s voice brings her back some time later, soft and curious. “That’s incredible, Luce.”

“Hm?” Lucy blinks up at him, and it is like surfacing after spending a very long time underwater.

He gestures to the sketch she’s finishing. “Your work is beautiful. I’ve been trying to place her, is she anyone I would know?”

His book is lying on the sofa next to him, closed. Lucy realizes, with a sleepy sort of jolt, that he’s been watching her draw. “It’s my sister, Mary,” she says. “As close as I can get from memory, anyway. She wrote to me this week. I guess I’ve been thinking about her a bit.”

“Ah, yes. I can see the resemblance.”

“No you can’t, we look nothing alike,” Lucy grins.

Lockwood studies the drawing of Mary for a moment. “Her eyes are like yours,” he says finally, “though I suppose it is hard to tell from a sketch.” He looks from the sketchpad up to Lucy, his gaze suddenly serious. “I’m sure you miss her.”

“I miss all of them,” Lucy says, though part of her doesn’t want to admit to it. Thinking too long on her family tends to make her gloomy, and she doesn’t want to spoil their moment.

Lockwood is quiet for a long time after that, and Lucy’s almost sorry she told him. The last thing she wants is for him to feel guilty about how she misses her sisters. But before she can tell him not to worry over it, he’s changed the subject. “I’d like to see more,” he says, gesturing again to the sketchbook in her lap. “If you’d be okay with that, I mean.”

Lucy can feel herself flushing at the idea of Lockwood looking through her sketches. It’s not something she’d really even consider if they were anywhere else. Her sketchbook is a very personal part of herself, and the idea of sharing it leaves her feeling vulnerable.

But maybe not as vulnerable as it normally would. Maybe it’s the sleepy warmth, or her dangerous lack of inhibitions, or maybe it’s the realization that she actually likes the idea of sharing something so precious and personal with Lockwood, but as terrifying as it is, Lucy wants to do it. She silently hands her sketchbook to him. Then she watches.

He starts with the sketch of Mary, then works his way backwards through pages of landscapes, ghosts, people, random doodles, all in varying stages of completion, often overlapping each other almost incomprehensibly. He takes each page in carefully, occasionally asking questions, but mostly appreciating in silence.

Slowly relaxing, Lucy rests against his arm again, her attention moving from Lockwood to her art. She knows he notices how often he’s the subject of her sketches. In their quiet, safe space, she’s not as mortified as she’d thought she’d be.

Somewhere along the way, his arm stops being her pillow and ends up around her.

He’s nearly to the beginning of the book when he comes across three detailed, nearly life-like sketches, each taking up its own page. Holly’s there, as neat and as prim as Lucy’s ever seen her, smiling her soft, closed-lipped smile. George is next, a little rumpled, hair a mess, but his knowing eyes stare almost accusingly out of the paper. The final drawing is Lockwood, in all his usual finesse and charm. This isn’t the Lockwood he presents to the world, but rather the Lockwood she’d known at Portland Row. Coat gone, shirt sleeves rolled up, and tie hanging loose around his neck. He’s wearing that crooked grin she’d missed so much when she was away. She’d spent far too long on his smile.

They are probably the most complete pieces in her entire sketchbook, but Lucy doesn’t care to look at them for long. The memories attached to these three pages are muted now, but still painful.

Lockwood spends a little too long on those three sketches in particular, and Lucy finds herself needing to explain. “I worked on those while I was off on my own, whenever I missed you all too much to be able to sleep,” she says quietly. “Made things a little easier.”

Lockwood doesn’t answer right away, but when he does his voice is tight with emotion. “I’m so sorry.”

“Don’t be.”

“I am, all the same. You put yourself through that for me.”

Lucy sits up so she can look him in the eye. “And I’m not sorry for it. I’ll never be. You have to know you’re worth at least that much to me.”

They share a long look in the darkness, but it isn’t long before he drags the sketchbook out of his lap, leaving it lying open on the sofa on top of his long-discarded book. Then he’s pulling her closer, taking her free hand in his.

“Just so we’re clear, you are incredible, Lucy Carlyle. And I am so glad you’re here.”

[riona-is-writing]

Beginnings (Part 3)

Finally! Now we get to the last part of this, where I talk about what kind of writer you are, and how that affects the way you start. So, are you a linear or non-linear writer? Do you have to start at point A, or are you the type of writer who starts at point M, dashes on down to point Z, and then back up to point B? Or are you somewhere in between?

Knowing this can help you with your writing. Below, see more.

Let me explain what I mean by a “linear” writer. And what I mean when I say “non-linear” writer.

A linear writer is a writer who starts at the beginning. They don’t necessarily have to have everything planned out when they start, but they start on page one and move on to page two, then to page three, and so on. Most of the time (in my experience) these writers have a plan or outline that they’re following. It might not be very detailed - but it’s there. Of course, there are linear writers who do not have plans (NaNoWriMo comes to mind...). In which case, they just start writing and make it up as they go along. In short, linear writers write the book in the order that someone is going to read it.

A non-linear writer...doesn’t. They might start at the middle of the story, and then jump over to the end, and then write something in between those, and so on. Often non-linear writers don’t have a plan when they write. They might write one scene and then a completely different scene, and then write a scene to connect it later on. They might discover the plot as they write. There are, however, non-linear writers who do have a plan when they write - they’re just not going to write any of it in order. Non-linear writers do not write the book in the order that someone is going to read it.

A good way to picture the difference between these two types is a film. When a viewer watches the film, they watch it in a linear order - point A to point B and so on. That’s how a linear writer would write. But when a film is made, it is not made in a linear order. The order it’s made in depends upon the sets, actors, and parts of the script that are available at the time, as well as a whole host of other circumstances. So if the old woman who appears for ten minutes at the end of the film is available in May when they start filming, but the star actress who appears in the first two minutes isn’t available until June, they’re going to film the old woman first. A non-linear writer works like that. Whatever idea or scene they have in their head at the moment is the one they’re going to write, even if it doesn’t come next in the story.

The reason I make the time to explain this difference is that I am an extremely non-linear writer, and people who are not sometimes have a hard time understanding how that works. Personally, I like this quote from Diana Gabaldon, as I feel it explains a lot about linear vs. non-linear writers:

“Hearing about this process does, btw, infuriate people who write linearly. I once had a woman sitting on a panel on writing processes with me inform me that I couldn’t possibly do this, because "you have to have a logical foundation! You can’t put the roof on your building unless you’ve built solid walls to hold it up, can you?"

"Of course I can," I replied. "There’s no gravity in the mind, after all. I can make the roof and just leave it hanging there until I have time to build walls under it. You don’t have to write a book from beginning to end, just because that’s how people will read it." She Wasn’t Pleased, but the point here is that people’s minds are wired up differently, and a good deal of writing successfully lies in figuring out how your own mind works best, and using it that way. There is no "right" way to write a book. Anything that lets you get words on the page is the right thing to do.” (I found this on her website, but Tumblr won’t let me source this, so).

The point is, neither type is better than the other. It’s really just about which one works better for you. If you need those walls before you can build the roof, great! If you can build the roof before the walls, also great! (To extend Diana Gabaldon’s metaphor.) My intent is to give each type a variety of ideas and ways to help them start their stories.

Of course, there are varying levels of any writer’s linear/non-linear style. Don’t feel limited to one type or the other. Sometimes, trying the opposite style can actually help with things like writer’s block. For instance, I said that I’m a non-linear writer. When I get stuck writing, sometimes I try to outline a little bit ahead to give myself a way out of where I’m stuck. Maybe it works and maybe it doesn’t, but it gets me to keep writing and work on my story more. A linear writer who is stuck on one part of the story, and can’t figure out how to write a certain scene, might skip ahead to a different scene, or try writing something completely on the go.

This is important for beginnings, because it might determine how you begin your story. If you’re a linear writer, you begin at the beginning. If you’re a non-linear writer, you might not. This list is meant for both types of writers, and for those who have no plan and for those who have a plan. Hopefully it helps!

Anyway, here’s the list, for both linear and non-linear writers:

1. If you haven’t written the beginning of your story yet, try to. Don’t worry about whether it’s good or not, or if it fits into your plot, just make a placeholder. You can always go back and edit it later.

2. Have you been working on your beginning for what feels like forever? Have you changed it a zillion times? Drop it. Skip ahead (if you have an outline, pick a random scene to write instead). If you don’t have an outline, drop your characters into a random situation (room full of bugs? a haunted house? an awkward social situation?) and write about their reactions. This scene might not end up being part of your story, but you could always have your character/s think about s/he/they got there. That might spark an idea for your beginning.

3. Skip the beginning entirely! Write an ending. It doesn’t have to be THE ending, just some sort of ending to your story. Feel free to use it or not use it. Writing an ending could help with your beginning. The end of your story should have your characters in a completely different place than they were at the beginning (not always physically, but definitely within their character arc). By writing the ending and seeing where your characters are headed, it might help you figure out where they should be at the beginning of your story.

4. Maybe you’ve got half of the story figured out, but you have no idea how your character got to point M from point A. For example, you know that your female character from the 90s ends up on top of a mouth to Hell and fights vampires (this would be the plot of Buffy: the Vampire Slayer), but you don’t know how she got there. Have her write an autobiography. “I was born in...and when I was seven this happened...in high school, weird stuff started to happen...” Not only will you get a better sense of your character, they might help you figure out the rest of your plot.

5. Start in the middle! Plop your character right in the middle of some action. Is your character a vampire slayer (Buffy)? Start out by having them fight vampires. Is your character a competitive ice skater? Start out with an intense scene where they are in the middle of a competition. Are they regularly bullied? Start off with them in the middle of being bullied. Not only does this establish character, but it also will draw the reader in. Who knows, it might even become your beginning.

This ends my series of posts on beginnings. Hopefully, you all found this helpful, and be sure to check out my blog for more stuff - I’m planning some posts on character development and some prompts for characters and stories, so stay tuned!

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3

(Tumblr won’t let me source things, so you can find the rest of this series on my blog.)