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sparktober · 3 years ago

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Sparktober Bingo 2021!

Back for a new generation: Sparktober Bingo!

Instead of coming up with an Atlantis-specific list of prompts, I compiled a bunch of 2021 -tober prompt lists into one google doc here. (Links to original prompt lists are on the google doc.) Add in a list of Atlantis episodes and...

How to play:

Choose a “flavor” from the prompt sets below the cut, then paste it into this fandom bingo card generator.

Adjust your browser size til it looks right and take a screenshot, or use the html script if you’re familiar with using html on tumblr. Tag @sparktober if you want us to reblog it so everyone knows you’re playing!

Sparktober Bingo Rules:

Complete a row/column, corners, or a blackout of your card by November 1, or not! Update as you go.

All fan-works are allowed: art, edits, fic, meta... bonus points to anyone who picks the “sprinkles” flavor and goes full mid-aughts by filling their bingo cards with 100x100 pixel icons.

You are allowed to pull multiple cards until you get one that inspires you, and you can also go through the prompt list of your choice in advance to pull out squicks or things you absolutely won’t write. I recommend not googling unfamiliar words from your work computer.

Use the prompts liberally! Episode titles can be treated as the episode or as generic prompts (e.g. “Epiphany” can be for an episode-related fic or a prompt for an epiphany of your choice).

Flavor descriptions:

VANILLA: Gen prompt lists from Fictober, Inktober, Trektober Gen, and Trektober Trek.

CHOCOLATE: Zesty prompt lists from Trektober NSFW, Kinktober, and Whumptober. The multiple-prompts-per-day from Kinktober and Whumptober have been broken into individual prompts.

CANDY CORN: Fall / holiday themed prompts from TUA-tober.

SPRINKLES: Atlantis episode list (in order, in case you only want to copy certain seasons), along with characters and a few Atlantis-specific prompts.

TWIST: All of the above! (You can also manually mix and match different flavors, of course.)

Text blocks to copy into the bingo card generator are below the cut. Enjoy!!

VANILLA

CHOCOLATE

A/B/O; Soft; Anonymous Sex; Penetration with Object/s; Sleeping; Intercrural Sex; Restraints; In/Under Water; Group Sex; First Time; Possessive Behavior; Dry Humping / Grinding; Overstimulation; Roleplay; Rimming; Stretching / Fisting; Power Imbalance; Food Play; Fingering; Body Worship; Sex Work; Voyeurism / Exhibitionism; Safewords; Technology; Oral Sex; Omorashi / Wetting; Crying; Underwear / Lingerie; Friends with Benefits; Pain Kink; Dirty Talk; Trick or Treat; All trussed up and nowhere to go; Talking is overrated; Sticks and stones may break my bones...; Trust fall; I've got red in my ledger; Touch and go; My spidey-sense is tingling; Coughing up a lung; Rumors of my death are greatly exaggerated; Oops, I did it again; Just keep swimming; It'll be fun, they said; That's gonna leave a mark; Under pressure; Feed a cold, starve a fever; On a need-to-know basis; Field care 101; The doctor is in; Just a scratch; Lost & found; That's where the blood's supposed to be; They made me do it; You break it, you buy it; One down, two to go; Hide & Seek; You will go down with this ship; “I'm fine, I prom...”; It's (not) just in your head; All work and no play; Digging your grave; Hurt & Comfort; “You have to let go.”; Garotte; Taunting; “Do you trust me?”; Betrayal; Bruises; Helplessness; Pneumothorax; Presumed Dead; Hospital; Adrift; Torture; “This is gonna suck.”; Crush injuries; Delirium; Recovery; “Please don't move.”; “Now smile for the camera.”; Bitten; Trunk; Bleeding through bandages; Cursed; Auction; Self-induced injuries to escape; Escape; Fallen; Passing out; “Good, you're finally awake.”; “You're still not dead?”; Major character death; Disaster zone; Barbed Wire; Choking; Insults; Taken Hostage; Misunderstanding; Touch Starved; Numbness; Exotic Illness; (Blind) Rage; Flare-Up; Drowning; Made To Watch; Burns; Beaten; Fever Dreams; Scars; Hemorrhage; Doctor Visit; Bleeding; Trapped Under Water; Pressure; Demon; Ransom; Flashback; Flight; Waterfall; Vertigo; Nightmares; Too Weak To Move; Left For Dead; Trauma; Bound; Gagged; “Who Did This To You?”; Pushed; Broken Nose; Hunger; Blindness; “Definitely Just A Cold”; Tears; Ice Chips; Dehydration; Begging; Cauterization; Force; Bees; Aftermath; Dread; Cpr; Stabbing; Solitary Confinement; Blood-Matted Hair; Obsession; Pursuit; Revenge; Hiding; Trap Door; Collapse; Panic; Overworked; Ghosts; Prisoner; Losing Control; Threats; Caning; Mercy; Forgotten; Head Injury; Screaming; Comfort; Self-Sacrifice; Trapped; Near-Death Experience; Regret; Tragedy; Battlefield; Anxiety; Gore; Petplay; Bimbofication; Panties & Lingerie; Bondage; Double Penetration in 2 Holes; Breeding; Humiliation; NTR; Incest; Emeto; Omorashi; Free Use; Crossdressing; Public; Three (or more) some; Daddy & Mommy; Double Penetration in 1 Hole; Distention & Cockbulge; Xenophilia; Shotgunning; Watersports; Pregnancy; Lactation; Waxplay; Grooming; Human Furniture; Feet; Prostituion; MacroMicro; Spanking; Cockwarming; Glory Hole; Somnophilia; Body Modification; Temperature Play; Leather; Size Difference; Sounding; Stockings; Tentacles; Medical Play; Stripping; Orgasm Denial; Master & slave; Scissoring; Titfucking; Frottage; Knifeplay; Formal Wear; Breathplay; Fisting; Pegging; Scat; Beastiality; Fucking Machine; Tickling; Boot Worship; Bukkake; Collaring; Foodplay; Non or dubcon; Feederism; Sensory Deprivation; Oviposition; Clone & Selfcest; Exhibitionism & Voyeurism; Impact Play; Sadomasochism; Bloodplay; Praise Kink; Body Swap; Sweat; Branding; Massage; Role Reversal; Armpit; Masturbation; Inflation; Sex Toys; Burnplay; Menophilia; Stuck in Wall; Deepthroating & Facesitting; Dacryphilia; Hate Sex

CANDY CORN

Birthday; Sick Day; Autumn; Candles; Plaid / Flannel; Leaf Piles; Sweaters; Baking; Cinnamon; Pumpkin Spice Latte; Carnival; Movie Night; Candy; Graveyard; Black Cats; Goosebumps; Pumpkin; Party; Monster; Ghosts; Witch; Vampire; Traditions; Magic; Mask; Haunted House; Trick; Treat; Costume; Monster Mash; Halloween

SPRINKLES

Rising Part 1; Rising Part 2; Hide and Seek; Thirty-Eight Minutes; Suspicion; Childhood's End; Poisoning the Well; Underground; Home; The Storm; The Eye; The Defiant One; Hot Zone; Sanctuary; Before I Sleep; The Brotherhood; Letters from Pegasus; The Gift; The Siege Part 1; The Siege Part 2; The Siege Part 3; The Intruder; Runner; Duet; Condemned; Trinity; Instinct; Conversion; Aurora; The Lost Boys; The Hive; Epiphany; Critical Mass; Grace Under Pressure; The Tower; The Long Goodbye; Coup d'Etat; Michael; Inferno; Allies; No Man's Land; Misbegotten; Irresistible; Sateda; Progeny; The Real World; Common Ground; McKay and Mrs. Miller; Phantoms; The Return Part 1; The Return Part 2; Echoes; Irresponsible; Tao of Rodney; The Game; The Ark; Sunday; Submersion; Vengeance; First Strike; Adrift; Lifeline; Reunion; Doppelganger; Travelers; Tabula Rasa; Missing; The Seer; Miller's Crossing; This Mortal Coil; Be All My Sins Remember'd; Spoils of War; Quarantine; Harmony; Outcast; Trio; Midway; The Kindred Part 1; The Kindred Part 2; The Last Man; Search and Rescue; The Seed; Broken Ties; The Daedalus Variations; Ghost in the Machine; The Shrine; Whispers; The Queen; Tracker; First Contact; The Lost Tribe; Outsiders; Inquisition; The Prodigal; Remnants; Brain Storm; Infection; Identity; Vegas; Enemy at the Gate; Ronon Dex; Teyla Emmagan; John Sheppard; Carson Beckett; Elizabeth Weir; Rodney McKay; Jennifer Keller; Samantha Carter; Aiden Ford; Radek Zelenka; Kate Heightmeyer; Evan Lorne; Laura Cadman; Kolya; Chuck; Peter Grodin; Steven Caldwell; Lantea; Ocean; Ancient(s); Richard Woolsey; Athosians; Daedalus; Wraith; Nanites; Asurans; Genii; DHD; SGC; Stargate; Earth; Antarctica; Ascension

TWIST

“I need you.”; “You have no proof.”; “I’ve waited for this.”; “Fine, I give up.”; “I’m not saying I told you so…”; “Didn’t we already have this conversation?”; “That could have gone better.”; “This is it, isn’t it?”; “There’s no right side to this.”; “It’s so quiet.”; “I swear, it’s not always like this.”; “You keep me safe.”; “The things you make me do…”; “Your information was wrong.”; “I like that in you.”; “Not this again.”; “I’m with you, you know that.”; “This was not part of the plan.”; “I feel strange.”; “That’s what I’m known for.”; “What did I say?”; “No promises.”; “This time, do what I say.”; “Is this supposed to impress me?”; “Do you know what time it is?”; “I’m sure this has never worked, ever.”; “You could have died!”; “I don’t have to explain myself.”; “Why are we whispering?”; “Don’t ruin this.”; “Take me with you.”; Crystal; Suit; Vessel; Knot; Raven; Spirit; Fan; Watch; Pressure; Pick; Sour; Stuck; Roof; Tick; Helmet; Compass; Collide; Moon; Loop; Sprout; Fuzzy; Open; Leak; Extinct; Splat; Connect; Spark; Crispy; Patch; Slither; Risk; Meet-Cute; Amnesia; Age Difference; Pining; Sick Fic; Fake Relationship; Accidental Meeting; Epistolary; Secret Identity; Historical AU; Nightmares; Monster Hunter; A/B/O; Reunion; Soulmates; At Pride; Angst; Seasons; Fix-It; Coffee Shop; Movie Plot AU; Kid Fic; Actor's Other Crossover Work; OT+; Getting Together; Only One Bed; Pirates; Making Up; Forbidden Relationship; Tattoos; Halloween; Prime Directive; Lower Decks / Background Characters; Away Mission; Ship's Bar; Aliens Made Them Do It; Observation Deck; Crew with Family; Holodeck; Science Crew; Character Survives; Headcanons; Diplomacy; Decontamination; Trek Crossover; Replicator; Worldbuilding; Redshirts; Sex / Love Potion; Medical Crew; Transporters; Medbay; Interspecies Relationship; Mirrorverse; Uniforms; Mutiny; Stranded on a Planet; Rec Room; Academy Era; Second Contact; Command Crew; Off-Duty; Soft; Anonymous Sex; Penetration with Object/s; Sleeping; Intercrural Sex; Restraints; In/Under Water; Group Sex; First Time; Possessive Behavior; Dry Humping / Grinding; Overstimulation; Roleplay; Rimming; Stretching / Fisting; Power Imbalance; Food Play; Fingering; Body Worship; Sex Work; Voyeurism / Exhibitionism; Safewords; Technology; Oral Sex; Omorashi / Wetting; Crying; Underwear / Lingerie; Friends with Benefits; Pain Kink; Dirty Talk; Trick or Treat; All trussed up and nowhere to go; Talking is overrated; Sticks and stones may break my bones...; Trust fall; I've got red in my ledger; Touch and go; My spidey-sense is tingling; Coughing up a lung; Rumors of my death are greatly exaggerated; Oops, I did it again; Just keep swimming; It'll be fun, they said; That's gonna leave a mark; Under pressure; Feed a cold, starve a fever; On a need-to-know basis; Field care 101; The doctor is in; Just a scratch; Lost & found; That's where the blood's supposed to be; They made me do it; You break it, you buy it; One down, two to go; You will go down with this ship; “I'm fine, I prom...”; It's (not) just in your head; All work and no play; Digging your grave; Hurt & Comfort; “You have to let go.”; Garotte; Taunting; “Do you trust me?”; Betrayal; Bruises; Helplessness; Pneumothorax; Presumed Dead; Hospital; Adrift; Torture; “This is gonna suck.”; Crush injuries; Delirium; Recovery; “Please don't move.”; “Now smile for the camera.”; Bitten; Trunk; Bleeding through bandages; Cursed; Auction; Self-induced injuries to escape; Escape; Fallen; Passing out; “Good, you're finally awake.”; “You're still not dead?”; Major character death; Disaster zone; Barbed Wire; Choking; Insults; Taken Hostage; Misunderstanding; Touch Starved; Numbness; Exotic Illness; (Blind) Rage; Flare-Up; Drowning; Made To Watch; Burns; Beaten; Fever Dreams; Scars; Hemorrhage; Doctor Visit; Bleeding; Trapped Under Water; Demon; Ransom; Flashback; Flight; Waterfall; Vertigo; Too Weak To Move; Left For Dead; Trauma; Bound; Gagged; “Who Did This To You?”; Pushed; Broken Nose; Hunger; Blindness; “Definitely Just A Cold”; Tears; Ice Chips; Dehydration; Begging; Cauterization; Force; Bees; Aftermath; Dread; Cpr; Stabbing; Solitary Confinement; Blood-Matted Hair; Obsession; Pursuit; Revenge; Hiding; Trap Door; Collapse; Panic; Overworked; Ghosts; Prisoner; Losing Control; Threats; Caning; Mercy; Forgotten; Head Injury; Screaming; Comfort; Self-Sacrifice; Trapped; Near-Death Experience; Regret; Tragedy; Battlefield; Anxiety; Gore; Petplay; Bimbofication; Panties & Lingerie; Bondage; Double Penetration in 2 Holes; Breeding; Humiliation; NTR; Incest; Emeto; Omorashi; Free Use; Crossdressing; Public; Three (or more) some; Daddy & Mommy; Double Penetration in 1 Hole; Distention & Cockbulge; Xenophilia; Shotgunning; Watersports; Pregnancy; Lactation; Waxplay; Grooming; Human Furniture; Feet; Prostituion; MacroMicro; Spanking; Cockwarming; Glory Hole; Somnophilia; Body Modification; Temperature Play; Leather; Size Difference; Sounding; Stockings; Tentacles; Medical Play; Stripping; Orgasm Denial; Master & slave; Scissoring; Titfucking; Frottage; Knifeplay; Formal Wear; Breathplay; Fisting; Pegging; Scat; Beastiality; Fucking Machine; Tickling; Boot Worship; Bukkake; Collaring; Foodplay; Non or dubcon; Feederism; Sensory Deprivation; Oviposition; Clone & Selfcest; Exhibitionism & Voyeurism; Impact Play; Sadomasochism; Bloodplay; Praise Kink; Body Swap; Sweat; Branding; Massage; Role Reversal; Armpit; Masturbation; Inflation; Sex Toys; Burnplay; Menophilia; Stuck in Wall; Deepthroating & Facesitting; Dacryphilia; Hate Sex; Birthday; Sick Day; Autumn; Candles; Plaid / Flannel; Leaf Piles; Sweaters; Baking; Cinnamon; Pumpkin Spice Latte; Carnival; Movie Night; Candy; Graveyard; Black Cats; Goosebumps; Pumpkin; Party; Monster; Witch; Vampire; Traditions; Magic; Mask; Haunted House; Trick; Treat; Costume; Monster Mash; Rising Part 1; Rising Part 2; Hide and Seek; Thirty-Eight Minutes; Suspicion; Childhood's End; Poisoning the Well; Underground; Home; The Storm; The Eye; The Defiant One; Hot Zone; Sanctuary; Before I Sleep; The Brotherhood; Letters from Pegasus; The Gift; The Siege Part 1; The Siege Part 2; The Siege Part 3; The Intruder; Runner; Duet; Condemned; Trinity; Instinct; Conversion; Aurora; The Lost Boys; The Hive; Epiphany; Critical Mass; Grace Under Pressure; The Tower; The Long Goodbye; Coup d'Etat; Michael; Inferno; Allies; No Man's Land; Misbegotten; Irresistible; Sateda; Progeny; The Real World; Common Ground; McKay and Mrs. Miller; Phantoms; The Return Part 1; The Return Part 2; Echoes; Irresponsible; Tao of Rodney; The Game; The Ark; Sunday; Submersion; Vengeance; First Strike; Lifeline; Doppelganger; Travelers; Tabula Rasa; Missing; The Seer; Miller's Crossing; This Mortal Coil; Be All My Sins Remember'd; Spoils of War; Quarantine; Harmony; Outcast; Trio; Midway; The Kindred Part 1; The Kindred Part 2; The Last Man; Search and Rescue; The Seed; Broken Ties; The Daedalus Variations; Ghost in the Machine; The Shrine; Whispers; The Queen; Tracker; First Contact; The Lost Tribe; Outsiders; Inquisition; The Prodigal; Remnants; Brain Storm; Infection; Identity; Vegas; Enemy at the Gate; Ronon Dex; Teyla Emmagan; John Sheppard; Carson Beckett; Elizabeth Weir; Rodney McKay; Jennifer Keller; Samantha Carter; Aiden Ford; Radek Zelenka; Kate Heightmeyer; Evan Lorne; Laura Cadman; Kolya; Chuck; Peter Grodin; Steven Caldwell; Lantea; Ocean; Ancient(s); Richard Woolsey; Athosians; Daedalus; Wraith; Nanites; Asurans; Genii; DHD; SGC; Stargate; Earth; Antarctica; Ascension

#sparktober is coming #sparktober #sparktober bingo

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moonbeamwritings · 4 years ago

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relentless teasing

Summary: After another unfortunate encounter with Dio in the university library, you finally put an end to his endless teasing, much to his dismay. How is he going to get himself out of this one? (Modern/College AU)

Author’s Note: Hi! I’ve never written for Dio before, but I wanted to toy with him not being a murderer, but rather an emotionally incompetent, overly flirtatious college guy. Let me know what you think!

You glanced over your shoulder as you nestled into a corner of the library, praying that you wouldn’t see him. Or rather that he wouldn’t see you.

Dio Brando had elected to make you the newest object of his torments for reasons completely lost on you. He was relentless. Coming up behind you to purr in your ear, boasting about his prowess in the bedroom or on the rugby field. It never seemed to end.

Sure you found him attractive, most people did, but you couldn’t help feeling as though he was playing some elaborate prank on you. Maybe he had picked up on your shy behavior, looking to butter you up for the express purpose of ridiculing you after finding out that, in some dark corner of your mind, you have a crush on him.

No thank you.

You had even gone so far as to change up your usual seat in the library, aiming to throw him off your trail to spare yourself from his presence. Barely even remembering how this cat-and-mouse game began, you prayed to whatever god would listen for some salvation from your own personal hell.

Pulling out your laptop, you lost yourself in an assignment, frantically typing out your responses as you relished in the peace and quiet.

“Funny seeing you here.”

You knew that voice.

Without even looking up, you replied, “Hi Dio.”

“Ouch,” he responded, dramatically landing in the chair next to you and wasting no time in slinging his arm along the back of your chair, “I can’t even get a look at your pretty face?”

The teasing lilt in his voice only served to make the situation worse. You felt your cheeks burn, seemingly working to fry your brain. Not good.

“What, love? Can’t speak? Cat got your tongue? Now, that’s just a shame,” His voice was a low purr, a deep rumble in his chest.

You were certain you were short circuiting.

“You’re insufferable.”

“Oh, I don’t know,” he leaned impossibly closer, “I think you like me, no matter how hard you try to hide it.”

Feeling your stomach drop at being found out, your fingers drifted away from the keyboard and up to cover your face.

“God,” the sigh that left your mouth sounds much more defeated than you had meant it to, “it’s not funny, ya know?”

You risked a glance at his face just as an unreadable expression crossed his features, brows creasing as he leaned away from you.

“What are you saying?”

“I know you only do this to tease me and it’s not funny anymore.”

“Is that what you really-”

“Yes.”

You interrupted him before he could finish, tired of this song and dance. He stared at you for a moment and you almost felt guilty. He appeared so… defeated, like you’d single-handedly ruined his day.

“I didn’t realize my presence was that intolerable.” His tone was biting, more sour than you’d ever heard it.

“Dio, I didn’t mean-”

He moved to stand, “I’ll leave you to your work then.”

“Dio,” you pleaded again, but he wasn’t hearing it, strutting away without even a second glance.

Fuck. You hadn’t meant to hurt his feelings, you just wanted him to be genuine. For once. Now he’d probably never speak to you again.

Leaving the library with a dejected sigh, Dio headed back to his apartment, fully prepared to throttle Jonathan. He had been the one to suggest that Dio pursue you, so certainly it was his fault that it had amounted to this.

Jonathan had seen Dio’s longing glances at you one too many times, both of them having shared multiple classes with you. He’d never seen Dio look at anyone like that, so he encouraged him to start talking to you. Little did Jonathan know that the Dio Brando Method bordered on ridicule and accentuated some of Dio’s worst qualities. The confidence, the playboy attitude, the teasing. He cringed just thinking about the times he had overheard Dio teasing you in the library, sounding more mean than anything else.

Slamming the door open, Dio started yelling before even seeing who was home, “Jonathan!”

Jonathan flinched at the sound, pausing the movie he and Erina had been watching, “What is it Dio?”

“Why won’t they give me the time of day? I try, do I not?” Dio practically threw himself on the empty chair, rolling his head back to stare at the ceiling, diving right into a detailed account of his encounter with you.

Jonathan let out a hum, choosing his words very carefully so as to not instigate a blow-out. Erina didn’t deserve that.

“Maybe if you toned down the teasing you’d come off as more sincere,” he finally replied, observing Dio carefully.

“Ugh,” Dio groaned, doing nothing to hide his displeasure, “What do you know? I don’t even know why I asked.”

Jonathan was experienced, too experienced, in the art of drawing Dio back from the brink. Years of punches and fits of rage taught him at least that much.

“Do you want my help or not?”

“Yes.”

Erina chimed in, having been filled in on all of the drama by Jonathan, “Have you ever tried talking to them like a normal person?”

Dio shot up, pointing a finger in her direction, “Shut up. They’re not normal, it’s-”

“No way,” she replied, a knowing smile lighting up her face, “You really like them.”

“Just tell me how to fix it.” His voice bordered on a whine, but he didn’t care. All he wanted was you, in whatever way you’d have him.

“The next time you see them, just try talking to them. No teasing, no invading their personal space. Nothing.”

“But-”

Jonathan rolled his eyes, “You wanted my help didn’t you?”

Silence fell over the room for a long moment before Dio dragged himself up from his spot in the living room, “Fine. I’ll try.”

Dio didn’t see you for another week. He couldn’t tell if you were avoiding him or if he was inadvertently avoiding you, growing uncharacteristically nervous at the thought of seeing you again. Nevertheless, he found himself longing to see you again. You always looked so cute when he saw you in the library, furrowed brow as you concentrated on your studies. Surely he couldn’t be entirely to blame for wanting to tease you a little bit, right?

Shaking his head, he found a spot at a vacant table near a large window, looking to get some homework done. Dio lost himself in his law textbook, furiously trying to accomplish an assignment all while thoughts of you swam in his head. After an hour of silence, he was startled by the sound of the chair across from him being pulled out.

It was like he was seeing an angel incarnate. You were standing in front of him with a small, almost sheepish smile on your face, backpack slung on one shoulder, hand gripping the chair in front of you. You’d never looked so beautiful.

“Sorry. Do you mind?” You asked, not wanting to intrude, especially after how poorly things had ended last time.

He shook his head, brain still trying to process what was happening.

“Dio I-” You let out a shaky breath, not quite meeting his gaze, “I’m sorry. About last time, I mean. I didn’t mean to snap at you like that. It was-”

He interrupted you before you could go any further, “Don’t apologize. I was being an asshole.”

“No, that’s not-”

“Love, will you please just let me finish?”

He waited for you to nod before he continued, “I’m not used to this. I’m not used to caring or even apologizing, but you make me want to do both. I know it doesn’t seem like it, but I do care about you and I’m sorry I made you think I was only talking to you to make fun of you.”

You sat there with your mouth slightly agape. He couldn’t be serious. No way.

“You’re serious?” You asked, hesitating to trust the situation, but remaining cautiously optimistic.

He nodded somewhat solemnly, afraid you’d reject him, “Yes.”

If Dio thought you were beautiful before, you were absolutely stunning now. The smile that graced your features was more than enough to blind him, but he’d gladly accept that fate if it meant that was the last thing he’d ever see. He felt his heart melt.

“What? Why are you looking at me like that?” He asked, starting to smile himself.

“I don’t know,” You responded with feigned innocence, “You tell me.”

He rolled his eyes, his smile slipping into a smirk, “That easy, huh? All I had to do was apologize?”

You shrugged, “Hmm, I think you owe me a date, Mr. Brando. Ya know, for the emotional damages.”

“Why you little,” He nearly lunged across the table at you, resting a hand along your neck as he pulled you into a searing kiss.

Maybe his teasing wasn’t so bad after all.

#dio brando x reader #dio brando imagine #dio x reader #dio imagine #jjba x reader #jjba imagine

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q-gorgeous · 4 years ago

Text

Stars

fanfiction

ao3

this happens after Fallen Star, Ghost Farm, and this art is from the beginning of this fic

hidey hey guys brains juices are gone so this is like 500 words kjnbhgv

Star looked up at the night sky. The stars twinkled back at her. It felt like they were mocking her now, considering she looked like one of them when she flew through the sky.

She remembers how badly it hurt. When she ripped herself from her body as she died. She remembered being in pain, the terrible anguish and rage that had filled her upon death. Danny told her that she was a powerful ghost. That not many were able to form like that right upon their death. That she’d have to be careful.

She understands why he told her that, but it’s not like she was going to hurt the people of Amity Park. They’re not the ones who killed her. That was the GIW. And they were being dismantled anyways.

She wonders if the GIW was dismantled and those particular agents arrested, why couldn’t she move on? Isn’t that how this being a ghost thing works? A ghost has unfinished business, and when they finish their business they move on? Go to heaven or hell or wherever ghosts go?

Star hugged her knees to her chest. Maybe she just wasn’t ready yet. Maybe there was something she still wanted to do. She never got to go to prom, never got her driver’s license. She never got to finish growing up. Maybe that was the problem.

She heard a hiccup from down below her and looked down to see Paulina standing in her front door, a breath of cold air coming from her mouth. Star had forgotten she was supposed to be waiting for her. Paulina was looking around until she looked up and their eyes met. She waved excitedly up at Star.

Star smiled and swooped down to meet her.

“Sorry. I got distracted.”

Paulina waved off her apologies. “It’s no big deal. We have plenty of time to get to the movies especially because someone promised to fly me around one of these days.” Paulina batted her eyelashes at her. Star snorted and rolled her eyes. “You could always ask Dash too.”

Paulina groaned. “He doesn’t even like flying! He’s afraid of heights! The only time he’ll go flying is when Danny’s with him. It doesn’t come as naturally to him as it does to you.”

Because he’s not dead.

The unspoken words hung heavy between them but Star forced a smile on her lips and opened her arms for Paulina. “Well, what are you waiting for?”

Paulina squealed and jumped into Star’s arms bridal style, wrapping her arms around her neck. Star shot back into the sky and flew above the city in the direction of the movie theater. She looked at Paulina.

She was looking up at the sky with amazement and wonder, taking in the stars above them. When she turned to look at Star, the expression on her face remained and Paulina gave her a kiss on the cheek.

“This is amazing! Thank you.” Paulina whispered, tightening her arms around Star's neck.

Maybe Star didn’t need to move on quite yet. Maybe this was all she needed for now.

#gorgi writes #danny phantom #dannymay #dannymay2021 #dannymay21 #stars #star #paulina sanchez #fanfiction #fanfic #fic #phic

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nightshade-minho · 4 years ago

Text

-Blue Book- (7)

Warnings: a kiss.

Word Count: 2.2k

"You seem like you're in a hurry." Felix pointed out, chuckling as Chan's eyes kept darting to the clock in the classroom.

"Please turn to page no. 45..."

"I have plans with Y/n." Chan explained under his breath.

"Oh."

"Yeah..." He tapped his foot impatiently, almost breaking his pencil from clutching it too hard.

The bell rang finally, Chan jumping out of his place as he left the classroom quickly, making his way through the hallway to get to your locker- only to bump right into Minho.

Chan grabbed him before he could fall, helping him to his feet as he cursed.

"Fuck- are you okay?"

Minho glared at him, shaking his head and muttering inaudibly. Chan tuned him out as he suddenly caught a glance of you, standing near Miyoung's locker and talking to her, gesticulating like you always did when you got excited about something. He noticed you'd worn your hair differently today, up in a ponytail. It made you look adorable, and a giddy smile made its way onto Chan's face.

"Bro- are you even listening to me?" Minho hissed, confused as he followed Chan's gaze to you and Miyoung. Slowly, he understood.

"If you want her, you're going to have to get that book, Channie." Minho chuckled, noting Chan's borderline lovesick expression.

Chan snapped back to reality, frowning at Minho. "Why do you even want that book? Is it that important?"

"The same reasons you do? Although that last bit is something you need to ask yourself, Chan." Minho raised his eyebrow.

Confusion filled him as Minho's words sunk in, the boy leaving him and going over to Miyoung.

***

"So, where do you want to go?"

"Hmm, I hadn't really planned anything today. I wanted to do something, just the two of us."

"Oh." You blushed, as Chan drummed his fingers on the steering wheel, trying to think.

"Wait...I have an idea!" You spoke up. "Okay, so drive to this place." You told him the directions, excitement filling you as Chan smiled, driving you where you'd asked him to. The ride was long, and it seemed like half an hour later you were finally there.

Chan parked the car near the building, looking around and realizing he'd never come to this part of town before. You bounced in your seat, taking off your seatbelt and looking at him. "Okay, I'm going to go get us a ticket. I'll be right back."

You smiled and opened the door, getting out and disappearing from his view.

Chan leaned back as he waited for you to come back, humming a tune he'd made up in his head. A few minutes passed, and he ran a hand through his hair.

Ever so slowly, his eyes drifted to your seat, your bag left open....and the blue book, poking out from the top.

Should he? Minho's words flashed in his mind, his heart pounding as he slowly reached his fingers out, hovering over the book. Just a little more, and his fingers would close around the edge. This would all be over...

No.

Chan withdrew his hand, unable to do it. He just couldn't, and he himself couldn't fully understand why.

***

Minho felt like he was squeezing the life out of his poor straw, trying to get the last few drops of vanilla milkshake into his mouth as Miyoung scrolled through her gallery, showing him the photos she'd taken at the mall.

"And this is Y/n in the green dress. She looks pretty, doesn't she? Oh, and I actually found this matching pink one...I'd buy it, but I already bought mine weeks ago-"

Minho inwardly rolled his eyes, the boredom seeping deep into him as he tried to pretend like he was interested in what she was saying.

To be honest, he wasn't sure how long he could keep this up. He didn't share any interests with Miyoung...she was hot, but that was about it. There was absolutely no fire in this girl.

It was easy to show affection and engage in skinship when Chan was around. However, when the two of them were alone, he found it hard to keep up the facade, as his driving force of jealousy and anger was absent along with Chan. However, he knew he had to keep doing it, or his plan would never work.

Minho tried to stay focused as Miyoung showed her a selfie she'd taken of the four of them. God, this was so boring...

Wait.

He narrowed his eyes as he looked closer at the photo Miyoung was showing him. Interesting...

In it, Chan was looking at you....but it wasn't just any look. It was the same look from earlier that morning, when he'd thought he was looking at Miyoung. Slowly, realization dawned on his features. Oh.

"That's a nice picture."

***

Chan found himself loving the excitement radiating off you as you grabbed his hand, the tickets firm in your grasp as you led him to the all-white building.

"Where are we?" Chan asked, as you reached the entrance, handing the tickets to a scruffy old man.

The man stood up from his chair, digging into a big box and bringing out two good-looking headphones. You took them from him, thanking him and handing one to Chan.

"Well..." You smiled as you pushed the door open.

"I love art, and I know you love music. This is sort of a place where both come together." You said, watching Chan's eyes widen. "This is the Melody Art Museum. My dad used to take me here when I was young, whenever we visited this town. I heard it's getting shut down soon though, so I wanted to visit it once last time."

"Ah."

The space inside wasn't huge, but it looked like a museum, all right. The interior was all white, just like the outside, and there were paintings and sculptures lining the walls.

Chan made a sound of approval as you grabbed your hand and brought him to the first painting, the voice speaking through your headphones instructing you to do so.

"Okay, so, there's a small piece of music to accompany each piece of art here. They're correlated to each other." You explained. "If we take the correct amount of time to observe each piece and visit it all in order, it'll make sense, or else it won't work."

"Wow...that's a cool idea." Chan said in surprise, his interest growing.

And so you began the tour. You kept your hand around Chan's under the pretense of wanting to drag him to each exhibit. Deep inside, the sound of your heart pounding was easier to hear than the music blasting in your ears.

When the two of you finally reached the last one, Chan almost felt sad that it was over. He'd never been so profoundly interested in something. Although both of you were more interested in evaluating different things- you the art and him, the music- he found it extremely wonderful how this exhibition had managed to bring the two domains together, creating an interwoven midpoint that was all the more beautiful.

It told him that despite two entities being different, they could still work together, and in the process create something wonderful.

It was a good lesson to learn, that day.

***

"It's so late." You mumbled, lounging in the passenger seat of Chan's car as the two of you ate the burgers he'd gotten from the drive-through.

"It isn't that late, the sky darkened earlier today. Is your mom expecting you?" He asked between bites, looking over at you as you pulled out your phone, one-handed.

"Probably, yeah." You frowned as you pulled up your mom's text messages.

"Oh...nevermind." You raised an eyebrow as you read her text to you out loud to Chan.

(6:30 PM) Hey, sweetie...I would consider it a huge favor if you didn't come home tonight. My date and I are really hitting it off, and I'm trying to strike gold. Xoxo, mom.

Chan let out a snort as you finished reading. "Wow."

You whined in anger, shoving your phone back into your bag and taking a huge bite out of your sandwich. "I really hate her sometimes."

"Hey, it's okay." Chan sighed, placing a hand on top of yours. He paused. "You know, my parents are still away. You could always stay the night at my place."

Your eyes widened as you processed what he was suggesting. "Really?"

"Really." He said softly.

***

Chan and you watched a movie when you got home, half of which you slept through. He'd laughed and told you to turn in for the night, offering up his bedroom for you to sleep in.

Now you were lying in his bed, his scent filling your nostrils as you buried your face in his pillow. It had been raining when the two of you got home, and now that had evolved into a full fledged thunderstorm. You wished Chan hadn't chosen to sleep on the couch.

You whimpered, tossing in his bed as yet another streak of lightning flashed through the dark sky, the sound of thunder rumbling low.

Fuck it. That was the last straw. You sat up, stumbling off of Chan's bed and heading downstairs. Your heart was pounding, and all you needed was some comfort.

Chan sleepily turned over as he heard your footsteps, sitting up a little. Confused, he stared at you with half-open eyes. "Y/n? What's wrong?" He asked, frowning as he noticed your distressed expression. It ignited something in him...an urgent need to protect you from whatever was upsetting you so much. He still couldn't figure out why he was so affected by you.

You walked a little forward, wincing at the sound of another crack of thunder. Chan's eyes widened in understanding as he held his arms out to you.

Sleepily, you sat down and let him pull you into him. He wrapped his arms around your waist, gently rubbing circles into your side in an attempt to calm you down.

His face was too close to yours. Way too close. There was a mere inch separating your mouth from Chan's. Your heartbeat started racing, but this time not due to fear. Your eyes searched his, the dim moonlight softly illuminating his features, somehow making him look even more ethereal than he already was.

A flash of lightning momentarily lit up Chan's face, and you whimpered softly.

"Shh. It's okay, I'm here."

Gently, he adjusted your positions so he was spooning you, fingers wrapped around your waist as he nuzzled his nose into the back of your neck, letting out a sleepy hum.

Silence, except for the thunder as Chan carded his fingers through your hair, stroking you in a comforting manner. The storm raged on, yet you felt a lot warmer now.

"Chan...I like you a lot." You mumbled under your breath, hoping he hadn't heard your whisper. Unfortunately, he had.

"You do?" He asked softly, as you twisted your neck slightly, facing him.

"Yeah...I've never felt like this before." You said softly.

Chan couldn't help but feel guilt gripping his heart tightly. There was a perplexing mass of sadness and anger in his brain as he paused, taking a second to breathe.

Yeah, he'd started off in a place where all he wanted to do was get the girl of his dreams, willing to hurt others in the process. But at this point...He really didn't want to go through with it anymore.

All of Minho's threats and sly attempts to anger him disappeared into thin air as Chan tried to remember...what was he chasing, again? In the beginning, he'd only agreed to try and steal that book from you so he could get Minho to stay away from Miyoung, but now he couldn't care less about them. Chan took a step back and evaluated his position.

Here he was, harbouring strong possible feelings for you, while simultaneously breaking your heart, all in order to get something he wasn't even sure he wanted anymore.

Chan's eyes took in your big ones, looking up at him innocently, the ever-present twinkle shining in your pupils. And...he just couldn't take it any longer. He couldn't lie to himself anymore.

You swallowed as he leaned in slightly, his gaze heavy as he stared at you. Before you could even realize what was happening, you felt his lips press against yours softly.

Your mouth opened in slight shock as you processed what was happening. He was kissing you? Was this a dream?

In seconds, you felt your inhibitions melt away as his lips moved against yours ever so gently, his tongue taking the opportunity to slip into your open mouth. His fingers stayed in place on your waist, turning you to face him again. After a while he pulled away, breathing heavily as his eyes fell on your lips, swollen and red.

You looked slightly shocked, your cheeks flushed and eyes blown wide. As you fully processed what had just happened, you smiled shyly, burying your face in his chest out of embarrassment.

Chan found himself grinning, his heart filled with an odd sense of contentment. Was this...was this what it felt like to be happy?

It finally made sense. He had been chasing this emotion for years, thinking Miyoung was the key to his happiness. He'd been wrong.

Chan hadn't meant to fall for you. No. A small part of his brain was still screaming at him, telling him this was wrong. That he was making a grave mistake. But to be honest, he couldn't care less. His heart had made its decision.

You made him happy.

#chan angst #chan smut #chan fluff #bang chan smut #bang chan fluff #bang chan angst #chris angst #chris smut #chris fluff #chan x reader #skz smut #Stray Kids smut #skz fluff #stray kids fluff #skz angst #stray kids angst

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nealiios · 3 years ago

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The Supernatural 70s: Part I - Corruption of An Innocent

"We're mutants. There's something wrong with us, something very, very wrong with us. Something seriously wrong with us - we're soldiers writers."

-- with apologies to the screenwriter of "Stripes"

Dear reader, I have the darkest of revelations to make to you, a truth when fully and wholly disclosed shall most assuredly chill you to the bone, a tale that shall make you question all that you hold to be true and good and holy about my personal history. While you may have come in search of that narrative designer best known for his works of interactive high fantasy, you should know that he is also a crafter of a darker art, a scribbler of twisted tales filled with ghosts, and ghouls, and gargoyles. I am, dear innocent, a devotee of horrors! Mwahahahaha!

[cue thunderclap, lightning, pipe organ music]

Given the genre of writing for which most of you know me, I forgive you if you think of me principally as a fantasy writer. I don't object to that classification because I do enjoy mucking about with magic and dark woods and mysterious ancient civilizations. But if you are to truly know who I am as a writer, you must realize that the image I hold of myself is principally as a creator of weird tales.

To understand how and why I came to be drawn to this sub-genre of fantastic fiction, you first must understand that I come from peculiar folks. Maybe I don't have the Ipswich look, or I didn't grow up in a castle, but my pedigree for oddity has been there from the start. My mother was declared dead at birth by her doctor, and often heard voices calling to her in the dead of night that no one else could hear. Her mother would periodically ring us up to discuss events in our lives about which she couldn't possibly have known. My father's people still share ghost stories about a family homestead that burned down mysteriously in the 1960s. Even my older brother has outré memories about events he says cannot possibly be true, and as a kid was kicked off the Tulsa city bookmobile for attempting to check out books about UFOs, bigfoot, and ESP. It's fair to say I was doomed - or destined - for weirdness from the start.

If the above listed circumstances had not been enough, I grew up in an area where neighbors whispered stories about a horrifically deformed Bulldog Man who stalked kids who "parked" on the Old North Road near my house. The state in which I was raised was rife with legends of bigfoots, deer women, and devil men. Even in my childhood household there existed a pantheon of mythological entities invented explicitly to keep me in line. If I was a good boy, The Repairman would leave me little gifts of Hot Wheels cars or candy. If I was being terrible, however, my father would dress in a skeleton costume, rise from the basement and threaten to drag me down into everlasting hellfire (evidently there was a secret portal in our basement.) There were monsters, monsters EVERYWHERE I looked in my childhood world. Given that I was told as a fledgling writer to write what I knew, how could anyone have been surprised that the first stories I wrote were filled with the supernatural?

"The Nightmare" by John Henry Fuseli (1781)

My formative years during the late sixties and early seventies took place at a strange juncture in our American cultural history. At the same time that we were loudly proclaiming the supremacy of scientific thought because we'd landed men on the moon, we were also in the midst of a counter cultural explosion of interest in astrology, witchcraft, ghosts, extra sensory perception, and flying saucers. Occult-related books were flying off the shelves as sales surged by more than 100% between 1966 and 1969. Cultural historians would come to refer to this is as the "occult boom," and its aftershocks would impact popular cultural for decades to come.

My first contact with tales of the supernatural were innocuous, largely sanitized for consumption by children. I vividly remember watching Casper the Friendly Ghost and the Disney version of the Legend of Sleepy Hollow. I read to shreds numerous copies of both Where the Wild Things Are and Gus the Ghost. Likely the most important exposure for me was to the original Scooby Doo, Where Are You? cartoon which attempted to inoculate us from our fears of ghosts and aliens by convincing us that ultimately the monster was always just a bad man in a mask. (It's fascinating to me that modern incarnations of Scooby Doo seem to have completely lost this point and instead make all the monsters real.)

ABOVE: Although the original cartoon Scooby Doo, Where Are You? ran only for one season from 1969 to 1970, it remained in heavy reruns and syndication for decades. It is notable for having been a program that perfectly embodied the conflict between reason and superstition in popular culture, and was originally intended to provide children with critical thinking skills so they would reject the idea of monsters, ghosts, and the like. Ironically, modern takes on Scooby Doo have almost entirely subverted this idea and usually present the culprits of their mysteries as real monsters.

During that same time, television also introduced me to my first onscreen crush in the form of the beautiful and charming Samantha Stevens, a witch who struggles to not to use her powers while married to a frequently intolerant mortal advertising executive in Bewitched. The Munsters and The Addams Family gave me my first taste for "goth" living even before it would become all the rage in the dance clubs of the 1980s. Late night movies on TV would bring all the important horror classics of the past in my living room as Dracula, Frankenstein, the Wolf Man, the Invisible Man, the Phantom of the Opera, The Creature from the Black Lagoon, and Godzilla all became childhood friends. Over time the darkened castles, creaking doors, foggy graveyards, howling wolves, and ever present witches and vampires became so engrained in my psyche that today they remain the "comfort viewing" to which I retreat when I'm sick or in need of other distractions from modern life.

ABOVE: Elizabeth Montgomery starred in Bewitched (1964 - 1972) as Samantha Stephens, a witch who married "mortal" advertising executive Darren Stephens (played for the first five seasons by actor Dick York). Inspired by movies like I Married a Witch (1942) and Bell, Book and Candle (1958), it was a long running series that explored the complex relationship dynamics between those who possess magic and those who don't. Social commentators have referred to it as an allegory both for mixed marriages and also about the challenges faced by minorities, homosexuals, cultural deviants, or generally creative folks in a non heterogeneous community. It was also one of the first American television programs to portray witches not as worshippers of Satan, but simply as a group of people ostracized for their culture and their supernatural skills.

Even before I began elementary school, there was one piece of must-see gothic horror programming that I went out of my way to catch every day. Dark Shadows aired at 3:30 p.m. on our local ABC affiliate in Tulsa, Oklahoma which usually allowed me to catch most of it if I ran home from school (or even more if my mom or brother picked me up.) In theory it was a soap opera, but the show featured a regular parade of supernatural characters and themes. The lead was a 175 year old vampire named Barnabas Collins (played by Johnathan Frid), and the show revolved around his timeless pursuit of his lost love, Josette. It was also a program that regularly dealt with reincarnation, precognition, werewolves, time travel, witchcraft, and other occult themes. Though it regularly provoked criticism from religious groups about its content, it ran from June of 1966 until it's final cancellation in April of 1971. (I would discover it in the early 1970s as it ran in syndication.) Dark Shadows would spin off two feature-length movies based on the original, a series of tie-in novels, an excellent reboot series in 1991 (starring Ben Cross as Barnabas), and a positively embarrassingly awful movie directed by Tim Burton in 1991.

ABOVE: Johnathan Frid starred as Barnabas Collins, one of the leading characters of the original Dark Shadows television series. The influence of the series cannot be understated. In many ways Dark Shadows paved the way for the inclusion of supernatural elements in other soap operas of the 1970s and the 1980s, and was largely responsible for the explosion of romance novels featuring supernatural themes over the same time period.

While Dark Shadows was a favorite early television program for me, another show would prove not only to be a borderline obsession, but also a major influence on my career as a storyteller. Night Gallery (1969-1973) was a weekly anthology television show from Rod Serling, better known as the creator and host of the original Twilight Zone. Like Twilight Zone before it, Night Gallery was a deep and complex commentary on the human condition, but unlike its predecessor the outcomes for the characters almost always skewed towards the horrific and the truly outré. In "The Painted Mirror," an antiques dealer uses a magic painting to trap an enemy in the prehistoric past. Jack Cassidy plots to use astral projection to kill his romantic rival in "The Last Laurel" but accidentally ends up killing himself. In "Eyes" a young Stephen Spielberg directs Joan Crawford in a story about an entitled rich woman who plots to take the sight of a poor man. Week after week it delivered some of the best-written horror television of the early 1970s.

In retrospect I find it surprising that I was allowed to watch Night Gallery at all. I was very young while it was airing, and some of the content was dark and often quite shocking for its time. Nevertheless, I was so attached to the show that I'd throw a literal temper tantrum if I missed a single, solitary episode. If our family needed to go somewhere on an evening that Night Gallery was scheduled, either my parents would either have to wait until after it had aired before we left, or they'd make arrangements in advance with whomever we were visiting to make sure it was okay that I could watch Night Gallery there. I was, in a word, a fanatic.

ABOVE: Every segment of Night Gallery was introduced by series creator Rod Serling standing before a painting created explicitly for the series. Director Guillermo del Toro credits Serling's series as being the most important and influential show on his own work, even more so than the more famous Twilight Zone.

#horror #70s #occult #supernatural #television #writing

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davidcampiti · 3 years ago

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A SCREENPLAY IS NOT A COMIC BOOK SCRIPT

I'm frustrated by writers who hire a comicbook artist then send a screenplay as their script. My first question to them is, "Are you hiring one of our writers to adapt this into a comic book script?" Usually they'll respond, "No that's the script to work from."

But it's not.

Word balloons aren't broken out or numbered, SFX aren't identified, the pacing is wrong, and most panel descriptions are missing, causing the artist and the editor to do twice as much work without a corresponding increase in pay.

Here's a good article from Nick Macari about the differences --

I think you’d be hard pressed to find some work of fiction, some type of writing, that you could NOT turn into a comic. That is to say, you could create a comic from notes on bar napkins, a published novel, heck I bet you could even create a comic using nothing but a movie as the source material.

If you’re making a comic yourself, like literally by yourself, it doesn’t really matter how you do it… only the final product matters. If you have some crazy process that gets you a beautiful finished product, good on ya mate.

But for those writing spec scripts, trying to write for others, or trying to entice others to their project, it pays to create scripts that open doors instead of closing them.

In 2020, there are a million writers writing screenplays and pawning them off as comic scripts.

If you want to be one of those guys… as you were.

But if you actually want to write comics, if you want to be a comic book writer, you should learn how to write an actual comic book script, not how to sell some other script as one.

There are lot of useful technique comics can borrow from screenplays.

For the innocent novice writer, it’s understandable to see some technical execution confusion. But for working and professional writers, knowing what transfers over and what doesn’t separates the riff from the raff.

Before we get into it, let’s put to bed, once and for all, why a straight screenplay script is not a comic script. Here’s why;

Director Production Designer Art Director Costume Designer Cinematographer … Camera Assistant Director of Photography Scenic Artist Set Decorator Storyboard artist … Makeup artist Wardrobe stylist Assistant Director Production Assistant Production Coordinator Production Designer … Script Supervisor Sound Mixer Special Effects Coordinator

oh yeah, and actors.

These are a few of the people involved in a film.

Individual roles dedicated to a specific area of production. In essence, a screenplay can deliver fairly minimal information and it’s someone’s specific job to interpret that information, its context, and otherwise apply their knowledge, experience and skill, to turn that information into some tangible, successful element.

If you think it’s the artist’s job to fill all these roles, you’re crazy… and mean to artists.

Ok, you still here?

Good.

Let’s showcase some specific examples of why a screenplay doesn’t hold up for comics;

THE FRENCH CONNECTION

Drug Dealer I don’t…

Doyle Ever pick your feet in Poughkeepsie?

Drug Dealer What?

Doyle Did you ever pick your feet in Poughkeepsie?

Drug Dealer I don’t know what you’re talkin’ about.

Doyle Were you ever in Poughkeepsie?

Drug Dealer No… yeah…

Doyle Did you ever sit on the edge of a bed, take off your socks and stick your fingers between your toes?

Drug Dealer Man, I’m clean.

Doyle You made three sales to your roaches back there. We had to chase you though all this shit and you tell me you’re clean?

Russo Who stuck up the laundromat?

Doyle How about that time you were picking your feet in Pougheepsie?

The drug dealers’ eyes go to Russo in panic, looking for the relief from the pressure of the inquisition.

Russo (in pain) You better give me the guy who got the old Jew or you better give me something or you’re just a memory in this town.

Drug Dealer That’s a lot o’ shit. I didn’t do nothin’.

14 dialogue exchanges, with for all intents and purposes not a single visual description (one minor one toward the end about the dealer’s eyes.). This is likely at least one page of comic with this volume of exchanges and dialogue, and there is literally, nothing cuing the artist as to how this should go down.

THE FRENCH CONNECTION

Mutchie

That’s right, he couldn’t fight legit. One night at the Garden about 1950, ’51—he fought either Jake LaMotta or Gus Lesnevish, I think it was—he took one o’those cream puff punches in the sixth—the laziest left you ever seen—missed him entirely. Down goes Blackjack without even workin’ up a sweat and the whole Garden gets up on its feet and I swear to Christ, everybody starts singin’ “Dance with Me Henry.”

75 words. Way too much for a single panel.

How many ways can you break the dialogue into how many panels?

Is one way to break it up more effective than the others?

Because if it is, and that’s NOT the method you write up, you’re producing a less effective script.

But ultimately, what works in film as a 30 second monologue (doesn’t work in comics), would be far more effective as caption narration over flashback action.

THE EXORCIST

EXTERIOR – IRAQ- NINEVEH- DAY

The old man arrives back at that dig site in a small jeep. As he pulls up two armed guards rush out. When they see who it is the old man gives them a wave and they slowly walk back to there quarters. The old man walks up the rocky mound and sees a huge statue of the demon Pazuzu, which has the head of the small rock he earlier found. He climbs to a higher point to get a closer look. When he reaches the highest point he looks at the statue dead on. He then turns his head as we hear rocks falling and sees a guard standing behind him. He then turns again when he hears two dogs savagely attacking each other. The noise is something of an evil nature. He looks again at the statue and we are then presented with a classic stand off side view of the old man and the statue as the noises rage on. We then fade to the sun slowly setting as the noises lower in volume.

Hey! this has some nice direction, this screenplay stuff is perfect for a comic.

NO.

Let’s break it down;

This passage is 15 beats, give or take. One beat a panel, 3-5 panels per page, we’ve got 3-5 pages of comic in this passage alone.

Hang on we’re not done.

If you fill your page with this type of description (you shouldn’t, but let’s say you did), you could get almost double that amount of beats. So one page of screenplay delivering nearly 6-10 pages of comic content!

Tell me, when was the last time someone delivering a screenplay “comic script,” delivered a 2 page script for a complete issue? Never says I.

BONUS on this example:

Did y’all notice the soundtrack emphasis in this excerpt from the Exorcist script? Of course you can have sound effects in a comic, but no matter how you crack it, comics DO NOT have soundtracks. Relying on film soundtracks in a comic script is a sure fire way to deliver less effective scripts.

BIG TROUBLE IN LITTLE CHINA

JACK Alright, where’s my truck, Wang? I’m outta here. And my money, too.

WANG Forget about your truck, Jack. You don’t wanna go back there. You’ll have to go through the Wing Kong to get it. It’s insured, right?

JACK Of course it is. But that’s not the point.

WANG The smart man comes back for it later…

JACK The smart man calls the cops!

WANG Cops have better things to do than get killed.

We showed the typical lack of visual description a screenplay gives in the first example. [Screenplays tend to focus on the scene setup, then briefly hit key actions of the scene.] Here we have another example of missing visual description, but I point it out for something more specific–LACK OF EMOTIONAL context.

As I point out in the Writer’s Guide, Emotional content is one of the essential elements of each and every comic panel. So not only do we not have visual cues to support the action in the screenplay, but how are the characters delivering these lines!?

JACK Alright, where’s my truck, Wang? I’m outta here. And my money, too.

How many ways can you say this line?

I can say it pissed. Irritated. Fearful. Sarcastically. Comically. Those are just a few that pop in my head… and I’m no actor.

Leaving emotional context open to interpretation undermines narrative control–in a big way.

A good, effective scene, could die a horrible misinterpreted death.

For the record, you can use parentheticals in a screenplay. This can give emotional context, like the one from Jack’s first line I omitted to make the example more effective

JACK (pissed off)

But where parentheticals do contain emotional context, you use them in a script sparingly. Just like you don’t tell the director how to do his job filling your screenplay with camera direction, you don’t try to tell the actors how to do theirs. (Remember, the answer to why Screenplays aren’t Comic Scripts, there’s a lot of people, hopefully professionals, bringing their expertise to the table.)

CASABLANCA

Ilsa Your secret will be safe with me. Ferrari is waiting for our answer.

At the bar Ferrari talks to a waiter.

Ferrari Not more than fifty francs though.

Ilsa and Laszlo walk up to him.

Laszlo We’ve decided, Signor Ferrari. For the president we’ll go on looking for two exit visas. Thank you very much.

Ferrari Well, good luck. But be careful. ( a flick of his eyes in the direction of the bazaar) You know you’re being shadowed.

Laszlo glances in the direction of the bazaar.

Screenplays live in movement. Unless you’ve got a static insert of a letter or photo or something, everything is in motion and there is constant change (even if subtle) from micro-second, to micro-second.

While comics work to capture movement (and there are some tricks), it is ultimately a static medium, locked into showcasing moments frozen in time.

What I explain in the “works in movies not in comics article” is that the constant movement and motion, supported (primarily) by actors, but by the lighting people, the art direction people, director, etc. all gives depth and purpose to every single second of a film.

With all these people doing their job, a screenplay can give super general stage direction, like what we see here in this Casablanca excerpt.

At the bar Ferrari talks to a waiter.

Ilsa and Laszlo walk up to him.

Laszlo glances in the direction of the bazaar.

These trivial actions carry no narrative. They work in film because of performance and motion, which steps in to create narrative.Without performance and motion, a single frame captured from core stage direction translates to ineffective comic panels.

By the way, all the examples I’m giving here, are from solid movies. The big pink elephant in the room when writers deliver “comic screenplay scripts,” is that they assume they know how to write a good screenplay in the first place. Trust me, novice writers rarely do.

There’s a lot of technique and skill in writing a solid screenplay. And if you think a good screenplay causes problems converting to a comic, wait till you try it from a shitty screenplay.

Still thinkin’ screenplay is synonymous with comic script? Well you’re wrong sunshine, but what do I know?

I’m just a non-famous full-time mercenary writer, writing almost exclusively in comics and games for a decade or so. :p

I’ve spent a few hours writing this article, but there are plenty of other examples I haven’t touched on.

I’ll come back and add some more as I think of them in my down time. Maybe eventually when the list is so long it takes you a couple hours to read this article, y’all get it through your noggins that comics are there own medium which demand the attention and respect of a unique format and writing approach. Something the comic book writers reading this, already know. #justsayin

About the Author — Nick Macari is a full-time freelance story consultant, developmental editor and writer, working primarily in the independent gaming and comic markets. His first published comic appeared on shelves via Diamond in the late 90’s. Today you can find his comic work on comixology, amazon and in select stores around the U.S. Visit NickMacari.com for social media contacts and news on his latest releases.

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crowdvscritic · 4 years ago

Text

round up // NOVEMBER 20

Hi, I’m tired. Actually, my friend Celeste created a piece of art that puts the emphasis needed on that sentiment:

I’m very tired. November felt like it was three years and also felt like it went by in a blink and also I’m not sure where October ended and November began—how does time work like that? (I’ve yet to see Tenet, but maybe that will explain it.) But like Michael Scott, somehow I manage, and lately it’s been like this:

Late-night Etsy scrolling. Browsing beautiful, non-big-box-store artwork is very calming just before I go to bed. I’d recommend Etsy stores like Celeste’s chr paperie shop, which I know from experience is full of great Christmas gift ideas.

Taking a day off of work to do laundry. I’m not sure if it’s more #adulting that I did that or that I was excited to do that.

Eating Ghiradelli chocolate chips straight from the bag. I actually don’t recommend this as a healthy option, but this is also not a health blog.

Watching lots and lots of ‘80s movies. One day I’ll ask a therapist why this decade of films is so comforting for me despite its many flaws, but for now I’m just rolling with it.

Reading. Have you heard of this? It’s a form of entertainment but doesn’t require screens—wild!

Memes. All good Pippin “Fool of a” Took jokes are welcome here.

Leaning into the Christmas spirit by ordering that Starbucks peppermint mocha, making plans to watch everything in that TCM Christmas book I haven’t seen, and keeping the lights on my hot pink tinsel tree on all day as I work from home.

This month’s Round Up is full of stuff that made me smile and stuff that sucked me into its world—I think they’ll do the same for you, too.

November Crowd-Pleasers

Sister Act (1992)

If in four years you aren’t in an emotional state to watch election results roll in, I recommend watching Whoopi Goldberg pretend to be a nun for 100 minutes. (Though, incidentally, if you want to watch that clip edited to specifically depict how the results came in this year, you’ll need to watch Sister Act 2.) This musical-comedy is about as feel-good as it gets, meaning there’s no reason you should wait four more years to watch it. Crowd: 9/10 // Critic: 7.5/10

Nevada Memes

Speaking of election results, Nevada memes. That’s it—that’s the tweet. Vulture has a round up of some of the best.

youtube

SNL Round Up

Laugh and enjoy!

“Cinema Classics: The Birds” (4605 with John Mulaney)

“Uncle Ben” (4606 with Dave Chappelle)

RoboCop (1987)

I’m not surprised I liked RoboCop, but I am surprised at why I liked RoboCop. Not only is this a boss action blockbuster, it’s an investigation into consumerism and the commodification of the human body. It’s also a critique of institutions that treat crime like statistics instead of actions done by people that impact people. That said, it’s also movie about a guy who’s fused with a robot and melts another guy’s face off with toxic sludge, so there’s a reason I’m not listing this under the Critic section. Crowd: 9/10 // Critic: 8/10

Double Feature – ‘80s Comedies: National Lampoon’s Vacation (1983) + Major League (1989)

The ‘80s-palooza is in full swing! In Vacation (Crowd: 9.5/10 // Critic: 8/10), Chevy Chase just wants to spend time with his family on a vacation to Wally World, but wouldn’t you know it, Murphy’s Law kicks into gear as soon as the Griswold family shifts from out of Park. The brilliance of the movie is that every one of these terrible things is plausible, but the Griswolds create the biggest problems themselves. In Major League (Crowd: 8.5/10 // Critic: 6.5/10), Tom Berenger, Charlie Sheen, and Wesley Snipes are Cleveland’s last hope for a winning baseball team. Like the Griswolds, mishaps and hijinks ensue in their attempt to prevent their greedy owner from moving the Indians to Miami, but the real win is this movie totally gets baseball fans. Like most ‘80s movies, not everything in this pair has aged well, but they brought some laughs when I needed them most.

This Time Next Year by Sophie Cousens (2020)

They’re born a minute apart in the same hospital, but they don’t meet until their 30th birthday on New Year’s Day. So, yes, it’s a little bit Serendipity, and it’s a little bit sappy, but those are both marks in this book’s favor. This Time Next Year is a time-hopping rom-com with lots of almost-meet-cutes that will have you laughing, believing in romantic twists of fate, and finding hope for the new year.

Double Feature – ‘80s Angsty Teens: Teen Wolf (1985) + Uncle Buck (1989)

In the ‘80s, Hollywood finally understood the angsty teen, and this pair of comedies isn’t interested in the melodrama earlier movies like Rebel Without a Cause were depicting. (I’d recommend Rebel, but not if you want to look back on your teen years with any sense of humor.) In Teen Wolf (Crowd: 8/10 // Critic: 5/10), Michael J. Fox discovers he’s a werewolf.one that looks more like the kid in Jumanji than any other portrayal of a werewolf you’ve seen. It’s a plot so ‘80s and so bizarre you won’t believe this movie was greenlit.

In Uncle Buck (Crowd: 8/10 // Critic: 7.5/10), John Candy is attempting to connect with the nieces and nephew he hasn’t seen in years, including one moody high schooler. (Plus, baby Gaby Hoffman and pre-Home Alone Macauley Culkin!) This is my second pick from one of my all-time fave filmmakers, John Hughes (along with National Lampoon’s Vacation, above), and it’s one more entry that balances heart and humor in a way only he could do. You can see where I rank this movie in Hughes’s pantheon on Letterboxd.

Lord of the Rings memes

This month on SO IT’S A SHOW?, Kyla and I revisited The Lord of the Rings, a trilogy we love almost as much as we love Gilmore Girls. You can listen to our episode about the series on your fave podcast app, and you can laugh through hundreds of memes like I did for “research” on Twitter.

Nothing to See Here by Kevin Wilson (2019)

Most adults are afraid of children’s temper tantrums, but can you imagine how terrified you’d be if they caught on fire in their fits of rage? That’s the premise of this novel, which begins when an aimless twentysomething becomes the nanny of a Tennessee politician’s twins who burst into flames when they get emotional. The book is filled with laugh-out-loud moments but never leaves behind the human emotion you need to make a magical realistic story.

An Officer and a Gentlemen (1982)

Speaking of aimless twentysomethings and emotion, feel free to laugh, cry, and swoon through this melodrama in the ‘80s canon. Richard Gere meanders his way into the Navy when he has nowhere else to go, and he tries to survive basic training, work through his family issues, and figure out his future as he also falls in love with Debra Winger. So, yeah, it’s a schamltzier version of Top Gun, but it’s schmaltz at its finest. Crowd: 8.5/10 // Critic: 7.5/10

November Critic Picks

Double Feature – ‘40s Amensia Romances: Random Harvest (1942) + The Ghost and Mrs. Muir (1947)

Speaking of schmaltz at its finest, let me share a few more titles fitting that description. In Random Harvest (Crowd: 8/10 // Critic: 8.5/10), Greer Garson falls in love with a veteran who can’t remember his life before he left for war. In The Ghost and Mrs. Muir (Crowd: 8.5/10 // Critic: 8.5/10), Gene Tierney discovers a ghost played by a crotchety Rex Harrison in her new home. Mild spoiler: Both feature amnesiac plot developments, and while amnesia has become a cliché in the long history of romance films, Harvest is moving enough and Mr. Muir is charming enough that you won’t roll your eyes. You can see these and more romances complicated by forced forgetfulness in this Letterboxd round up.

The African Queen (1951)

It’s Humphrey Bogart and Katharine Hepburn directed by John Huston—I mean, I don’t feel like I need to explain why this is a winner. Bogart (in his Oscar-winning role) and Hepburn star in a two-hander script, dominating the screen time except for a select few scenes with supporting cast. The pair fight for survival while cruising on a small boat called The African Queen during World War I (in Africa, natch), and the two make this small story feel grand and epic. Crowd: 8.5/10 // Critic: 9/10

Kind Hearts and Coronets (1949)

A young man’s (Dennis Price) mother is disowned from their wealthy family because she marries for love. After her death, he seeks vengeance by killing all of the family members ahead of him in line to be the Duke D'Ascoyne. The twist? All of his victims are played by Sir Alec Guinness! Almost every character in this black comedy is a terrible person, so you won’t be too sorry to see them go—you can just enjoy the creative “accidents” he stages and stay in suspense on whether our “hero” gets his comeuppance. Crowd: 8/10 // Critic: 8.5/10

Bluebeard’s Eighth Wife (1937)

What would you do if you found out you were to be someone’s eighth wife? Well, it’s probably not what Claudette Colbert does in this screwball comedy that reminds me a bit of Love Crazy. This isn’t the first time I’ve recommended Colbert, Gary Cooper, or Ernst Lubitsch films, so it’s no surprise these stars and this director can make magic together in this hilarious battle of the wills. Crowd: 9/10 // Critic: 8.5/10

The Red Shoes (1948)

I love stories about the competition between your life and your art, and The Red Shoes makes that competition literal. Moira Shearer plays a ballerina who feels life is meaningless without dancing—then she falls in love. That’s an oversimplification of a rich character study and some of the most beautiful ballet on film, but I can’t do it justice in a short paragraph. Just watch (perhaps while you’re putting up your hot pink tinsel tree?) and soak in all the goodness. Crowd: 8/10 // Critic: 10/10

The Third Man (1949)

Everybody loves to talk about Citizen Kane, and with the release of Mank on Netflix, it’s newsworthy again. But don’t miss this other ‘40s team up of Joseph Cotten and Orson Welles. Cotten is a writer digging for the truth of his friend’s (Welles) death in a mysterious car accident. Eyewitness accounts differ on what happened, and who was the third man at the scene only one witness remembers? 71 years later, this movie is still tense, and this actor pairing is still electric. Crowd: 8.5/10 // Critic: 9/10

The Untouchables (1987)

At the end of October, we lost Sean Connery. I looked back on his career first by writing a remembrance for ZekeFilm and then by watching The Untouchables. (In a perfect world I would’ve reversed that order, but c’est la vie.) In my last selection from the ‘80s, Connery and Kevin Costner attempt to convict Robert De Niro’s Al Capone of anything that will stick and end his reign of crime in Chicago. Directed by Brian De Palma and set to an Ennio Morricone soundtrack, this film is both an exciting action flick and an artistic achievement that we literally discussed in one of my college film classes. Connery won his Oscar, and K. Cos is giving one of the best of his career, too. Crowd: 9/10 // Critic: 9.5/10

Remember the Night (1940)

Fred MacMurray and Barbara Stanwyck in my favorite team up yet! Double Indemnity may be the bona fide classic in the canon, but this Christmas story—with MacMurray as a district attorney prosecuting shoplifter Stanwyck— is a charmer. I’ve added it to my list of must-watch Christmas movies—watch for some holiday cheer and rom-com feels. Crowd: 8.5/10 // Critic: 8.5/10

Photo credits: chr paperie. Books my own. All others IMDb.com.

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eagle-of-the-night · 4 years ago

Text

Sire - Part 1

//OOC: Angst here, angst here - come get your angst! Kidding....

Mostly. This is a second draft of something so hopefully it reads okay! It is not to heavily edited otherwise I’d be holding onto this for like a year lol :p but I wanted to write something to give a perspective of what is happening. Obviously no one is witnessing this but it’s in character but I’ll likely post it as ‘private story post’ or something when I do these :)

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Ash’s first reaction to hearing the haven door open was part paranoia, part relief. He was in bed, struggling to nap to try fall asleep due to his disturbed and nightmarish daysleep. So hearing the door, knowing Morrigan was well wrapped up in her garden or her art, he immediately got to his feet. Not caring for clothes or safety as he practically ripped off the bedroom door off its hinges as he forgot to try exert an ounce of control over his strength.

If he had been still holding onto the door handle, it would have crunched between his hands. It was Victor, hurt.

He was wearing what he had when he left - his boots, his jeans and his hoodie. It covered nearly every inch of his skin - except the skin exposed through the rips in his jeans, his hands and the parts of his hoodie that did not put his face in shadow. Instant seething rage, looking at his fledgling. The damage that had been done to him. The beast snapping at him, even though there was no one to take out their rage on.

‘Victor,’ He snarled, unable to control it and he strode forward while Victor instinctively took a few steps back - hands raised.

As if his fledgling thought he was going to hurt him.

‘Some of the other Gangrel didn’t like what I said at the meeting, that’s all…’ Victor said meekly.

He could barely see Victor’s skin - for nearly every part of it was blue and purple from bruises. He recalled the text ‘Victor’ had sent him and forced himself to absorb what Victor had said. Dominate, a tricky discipline - oh he did remember Sayyid’s use of it. As if it was yesterday. And it was clear it had been used on his beaten son.

The beast was chomping at the bit, wanting to be let go. Released. But he had nowhere to direct its rage. No one. He took several long, several deep breaths as him and Victor stared at one another. Victor looked frightened, he was so filled with rage he could feel the edges of his vision turning red.

‘If you show me the extent of what they did I won’t be mad,’ He promised but every word was stilted, slowly and heavily weighed upon by his accent as he struggled to get his mouth around the words. Rage often did try to obscure his knowledge of English.

‘Promise?’ Victor whimpered, almost folding in on himself.

He watched Victor almost try to hug himself but stopped halfway - likely due to not wanting to aggravate injuries.

‘Promise.’ He said simply.

Victor was shy with it, slowly pulling off his hoodie and then undoing his button down to reveal his shirt underneath and exposing more of his skin. He pulled up a leg of his jeans to his calf and did sort of lift his shirt to his stomach before dropping it.

Ash’s breathing picked up again as he struggled to control his rage. It was not just his fledgling's face and legs and hands that were injured. It was every inch of him - and he could even see how some of his bones had been broken but concealed by how both his shirt and hoodie were loose around his frame. Ribs, collarbone - his left wrist look twisted. He had never seen such damage to even - even after the werewolf attack.

The air in the room seemed to heat up with his slowly boiling anger.

‘Your stalker did this?’ Ash asked, grinding his teeth together - including his fangs and felt them strain from it - hurting him but he did not care.

‘No, like I said - some of the gangrel didn’t like what I said at the meeting so they cornered me and beat me up,’ Victor said, his voice small and tight, hunched an curled in on himself.

Ash took a step towards him, and another and another and another. Victor flinched but didn’t move from where he was leaning against the corner table next to the sofa. Ash hovered in front of him - merely inches away. He did not touch him yet, he did not trust himself. He felt the urge to hit something, to hurt, to destroy. To rip his bastard of a sire into tiny little strips of flesh and -

No. He said to himself firmly and closed his eyes - tried to calm himself down and think of a happier memory to calm the rage and the beast. It was a heavy silence between them - the only sound was that of Victor occasionally quietly whimpering - likely from pain. When Ash felt calm he opened his eyes and almost reached out to touch his fledgling but hesitated when he flinched.

‘Habibi, I am not going to hurt you. I am angry that you have been hurt,’ He said gently and moved himself in a way that he often did when he was giving Victor permission to hug him.

‘It’s fine dad, really,’ He mumbled and lowered his head.

It wasn’t surprisingly, but seemed almost instinctive when Victor hunched down further and then wrapped his arms around Ash - wincing but clinging to him.

Ash kissed him at the top of the head, gently trying to return the hug to only get another wince as he wrapped his arm around his son as gently as he could.

‘Family hug?’ Morrigan said from where she was poking her head out of her gardening room.

She could only mostly see Ash from her angle, but he could only imagine her reaction upon seeing Victor too.

‘Family hug,’ Victor mumbled with a nod.

Ash nodded to let her know to come over and he watched her facial reaction to Victor’s injuries, saw her halt and look at him with anger.

‘I know, I will get him,’ He mouthed with a snarl.

Morrigan seemed satisfied and joined the hug gently. Victor despite his wincing seemed to enjoy the hug for a long time.

‘Where’s Ellie?’ Victor asked once the two of them seemed to calm their outwardly angry energy.

‘She’s in the mew with the other birds. She seems untouched - I think she must have settled in there during the day. Do you know why she didn’t remain with you?’ Morrigan asked.

‘I think maybe she just wanted to let you guys know I was safe,’ He said with a shrug.

The hug separated and then Ash remembered he wasn’t wearing anything but boxers and went to throw on some actual shorts and a vest before coming back to the living room to where Morrigan and Victor had settled in to watch some movies while Morrigan gently played with his hair.

Ash went outside to the mew to collect Ellie who eagerly flew past him after he opened the door to the mew and in through the open door. Ash snorted, Malik came to take his residence on his shoulders and Ash checked on the new birds briefly before returning inside to join the family for a calm and gentle movie night with their bruised and hurt fledgling.

He knew the effects of Dominate when he saw it. Victor believed it had been other Gangrel but Ash knew better. That text he had received from ‘Victor’ - it was his sire. Who had then hurt his fledgling and altered his memories and let him walk away. There surely had to be more to it?

Ash was going to keep him closer than ever, to make sure his fledgling and Morrigan were not caught in the crossfire of Sayyid’s revenge.

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Translations:

Habibi - my beloved one

#ic #ooc #private story post

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bird-in-a-cage · 4 years ago

Note

Found the ones with the horniest vibes for me! 39, 62, 103, 114, 127, 149. You know e x a c t l y what I want bby 😌😏 -CockAsInTheBird

Hi bby!

As one of my biggest supporters, and with how many prompts you gave me, you’re getting two fills. For the first one, well, you’ll see. Hope you enjoy!

Also a quick thank you to everyone who has sent in a little request so far. It means the world to me. I’m slowly making my way through them all and will get to each one in time. Having a full time job really does take up vaulable writing hours let me tell you. There’s still plenty of prompts available from the list here, or if you wanna just spin me your own ideas that’s totally okay too. My ask box is always open.

#62 - It’s okay, they’re he’s gone now. #149 I just want to look at you

2k | dead dove do not eat | murder ahoy.

Part I is here

Serial Killer AU Part II

“If you could kill anyone, who would it be?” Steve asked casually, passing back the shared cigarette, smoke filling the air between them like barely there fog. Billy was laying down, plaid sheets bunched around his middle, looking up at a popcorn ceiling, shaggy brunette hair and dangerously calm amber eyes. Billy took what was left of the cigarette and inhaled slowly, but he didn’t have to think of an answer. He knew. Had known for years, if given the chance, who he would kill without a second thought. Had spent nights thinking about it over and over again.

“My dad.”

Those dangerous eyes twinkled in the dark, the only light coming from a lamp sitting on the nightstand, casting the room in a too bright orange glow. A smirk started to grow on Steve’s face, half hidden by shadows, the wheels starting to turn. He shifted, sank more under the sheets from his sitting position up against the headboard until he was on his side, propped up by an elbow, reached across the small space and thumbed Billy’s jaw tenderly like a lover would. It was little touches that pulled Billy more under his spell, little soft words here and there. Affirmations he was doing something good for the first time in his life.

He was good. After all this time.

“I think that sounds like a fun date night, don’t you?” Steve’s hand crept up to hold Billy’s cheek, cupping it softly, brushing his fingers over the bone underneath, tracing his skull like that’s all Steve could see. Was all he was interested in. “And you were so helpful with my little Hagan problem, I think you deserve it.”

Tommy had been three days ago. Billy drove. That’s what he did now. Drove Steve around wherever he wanted to go. Helped whenever he needed it. Mostly loading and unloading. Holding people down. Being the muscle. Keeping people quiet. Making sure their eyes were open. Steve liked that. Liked people watching him work. Liked to see the will to fight turn limp and tearful upon realisation.

Tommy never locked his door. Never had apparently. Steve had been in his house many times. Knew exactly where to find him, knew his mom was working out of town for a week after a little reconnaissance. Steve was still the town’s darling after all. Tommy put up more of a fight than most. Almost got away if Billy didn’t stop him at the door. Because he did that now too. Kept watch. Kept watch for cops and onlookers. Nosey neighbours. Made sure no one got away. No possible loose ends that would need to be tied up.

He'd looked up at Billy so betrayed.

Steve stabbed Tommy fourteen times in the kitchen of the Hagan house. One for every year they had been friends. The last one was in the heart, so powerful Billy heard a rib crack from the other side of the room.

Disobeying the King had broken Steve’s heart. So he had to break Tommy's in return.

Blood was everywhere. Steve was covered in it as he panted over Tommy’s body, choking and gurgling on the last few moments of life. Looking up at them both helplessly, like maybe this was just a nightmare and he'd wake up soon. Steve waited until all was silent, got to his feet and set the knife on the kitchen table, regained his composure and swept his hair back with a bloody hand and a deep sigh. During the act he looked manic. Possessed by pure evil. Eyes wild and crazy. Unblinking. Not missing a single moment of his own handiwork.

“I don’t want Mrs Hagan to find this, she was always nice to me," he said calmly, eyes never leaving Tommy’s body. It was an order without the words.

Clean this up.

So Billy did, without question. Grabbed rubber marigolds and bleach from under the sink and scrubbed and scrubbed until the kitchen was sparkling again. Tommy was rolled up into a bedsheet and dumped like old luggage in the trunk of the BMW. Billy drove them out to the outskirts of town when it was nearly dawn, a little side road Steve had picked out especially. He liked to display. What he was doing was art at the most carnal level.

"We used to come here when he was wanting to experiment," he explained calmly, like he wasn't propping up the body of his former friend against a rock for a hiker to stumble across on their morning trail. "Wasn't gay if it was out of town. It's not gay if you don't take it Stevie."

Billy had just smoked. Kept the engine running for the headlights and watched. He could have ended everything right there. Crushed the maniac under the wheels and ran. Someone would surely believe his story. He was innocent. But he didn't. He just stood and smoked. Waited.

Internally, he'd been trying to convince himself this was all for self preservation. Billy knew he was on Steve's imaginary list. He had to have been. Everyone else had been picked off and there wasn't a single hope he wasn't next. But Steve never said a word about it. Never gave off a look or an attitude that he was even contemplating it. He gave Billy smiles and compliments, reassurances that everything was okay, Billy was good at this, that he needed Billy's help, couldn’t do it without him. And something deep deep down clung to those kind, blood soaked words.

Billy had never been told he was good before. Always a bad kid, a troublemaker, only fit for a chain gang. Even in elementary school. Good grades but a poor attitude. Constantly in the way of everyone's good time, fit for nothing. So many times he'd heard his father's rage towards him, both in front of and behind his back. Cruel words snarled like Billy was nothing but an old dog that just wouldn't die. Didn’t fit in with the new family. A ghost from the past.

Steve told him he was good. Almost constantly. And he’d never really liked Tommy that much anyway.

With how those dark eyes glittered in the dark of Steve's room, looking directly into Billy's very soul, calling to him like a siren in the middle of a storm, a date night sounded like a great idea.

***

Max and Susan were away for the weekend. Billy remembered it being on the family calendar pinned to the wall by the door the last time he was home. The day of Nancy. Written in bold black ink and circled three times. They were visiting some aunt or cousin or whatever. Billy hadn't really been paying attention to the conversation other than when the phrase 'boy's weekend' innocently left Susan's lips and Billy's very core turned the ice at the thought of there being absolutely no barrier between him and his father’s rage for three whole days.

A lot had changed since then.

For as much as Billy detested his father, he knew his routine. An ex military man. Always kept impeccable timing. It had gotten Billy in trouble more than once. Being a minute late for curfew and having to spend the night freezing in his car, shivering under a leather jacket and not much else.

He could feel Steve practically vibrating with excitement in the passenger seat as Billy cut the engine pulling up to Cherry Lane. He squeezed Billy's thigh firm but tender. Reassuring but serious.

Don’t back out now.

"You ready for this stud?"

Billy could only nod looking up at the house and what he knew what inside. It was late and a Saturday night. Neil would be passed out on the couch in front of whatever movie was on tv, half drunk on warm beer if Billy wasn’t there to be the punching bag.

He wasn't scared. Wasn't really thinking about the consequences of all of this. This was revenge now. Payback. For years of abuse both mental and physical. For being beaten down and made to feel lower than dirt. For every foul word and sharp backhand. For every dinnerless evening and night alone willing himself not to sob into a pillow because boys don't cry William. For being made and twisted into a creature that was now beyond human, beyond all control, but Steve understood.

They shared the same soul, the same creature. It rattled around them deep inside. Jerked and pulled and warped and swelled and became unstoppable. Billy just needed someone to unlock the cage. Steve had the key that fit perfectly.

Billy squeezed Steve's hand before they left the car. Billy still had keys even though he hadn't been home in close to a month. No one came looking for him. He didn't expect them to. He very well could have been dead in a ditch the way the body count was growing and the cops were being incompetent. But it all just added fuel to the fire.

The entire time Steve's grin was delicious. That same manic look back in his eyes that was always there when they did this. Like a shark when there was blood in the water. It made Billy’s heart flutter. For this one they swapped places. Managed to get the surprise swoop and have Neil pinned with a hand over his mouth before he could properly register what was happening. Before he could spit one last drop of venom in Billy's direction.

Steve had given him back his switchblade. A present for being so loyal and helpful. A sign of trust that it would never be used on himself. Billy twisted it into his father's neck with no remorse. Buried the blade so deep it hit bone. The gush and waterfall of blood was warm on them both. Billy stepped back from it to watch realisation and anger and then abject hopelessness wash through steely eyes that had been nothing but cruel his whole life. Steve laughed. Cackled towards the ceiling, biting his lip like a schoolgirl. Made sure to get blood on his hands like he was washing them under a wild spring. Billy felt some drip off his cheek, stain his shirt as he just panted, heart hammering in his chest and thrumming through his bones as Neil was let go to twitch and die on the carpet. Finally gone.

Steve took Billy's head in his hands gently, cupping his jaw and thumbing up to his cheeks. Everything was slick and warm. Spreading blood everywhere that had been clean. Marking his teritory.

"Oh baby, I just wanna look at you, I'm so proud of you!" Steve spoke comfortingly. Like a mother would after their kid won a third grade spelling bee. His eyes sparkled like diamonds. He was genuinely proud of what Billy had done. And that made Billy warm inside. Emotions mixed and twisted as it sunk in what Billy had done. He was crying a few solitary tears before he knew it, but they were gently brushed away by caressing thumbs.

"Hey, hey its okay, he’s gone now" Steve cooed. "The first is always the hardest. Especially if it's family."

That had been Steve's first. His own father. He'd confessed one night in bed, both of them sweaty and hard. Like talking about this kind of thing was a turn on. It certainly was for Steve. Made him hard as a rock. He muttered his sins into the back of Billy's neck as he fucked into his protege so vigorously the headboard slammed off the wall and threatened to snap. Scraping his teeth over tanned skin as he let memories fly. About how he'd poisoned his father and just watched him convulce on the hallway floor. Just watched as the man begged for help but received nothing but the cold eyes of his own sixteen year old son.

He always came hard to that story, knuckles white, fingers digging into Billy’s hips and leaving bruises for days.

Billy tucked his head into Steve's neck, wrapped his arms around the thinner waist and let himself be held in return. Let himself be kissed. Let himself taste copper pennies and iron and smoke and spearmint gum from an hour before. And excitement. Let himself be pushed up against the wall of the hallway he'd walked through countless times and feel his partner hard against his hip. Let thighs slot together and bodies start rutting. Both running on adrenaline and excitement as a slain monster lay defeated on the floor. No longer part of the story. Groans being eaten. Hair being pulled. Bodies running tighter and tighter until the inevitable conclusion and cum soaked denim aftermath.

Steve panted warm against Billy’s temple, lips stained and swollen. Before this would have never been allowed. Never ever. Now Billy was free. Unchained. Knew deep in his heart and his head he would follow Steve to the ends of the earth as thanks for this wonderful gift. Words would never be able to describe how grateful he was.

It was the best day of his life.

#harringrove #my writing #serial killer au #billy x steve #dead dove do not eat #tw: murder #tw: blood #tw: horror #tw: gore

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readerinsertfanfiction · 4 years ago

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Can I get headcanons for what type of music Lavi, Allen, Kanda, and Lenalee (from D. Gray-Man) listen to?

You’re asking for something incredibly difficult. 🤔

Fandom: D. Gray man

Characters: Lenalee Lee, Allen Walker, Lavi & Yuu Kanda

I also really, really, need to watch the new anime already. It looks so promising and the void of the manga is killing me.

Lavi Bookman

Lavi listens to anything and everything and can probably also sleep on everything and anything to the great amazement of many.

Looking through his playlist you can’t make any sense out of it, but his music library is very neatly organised. Got a mood? Name it, he has the list. Except for a list of favourites, because this man will swallow his own tongue before he ever admits to having a favourite.

Would be an avid collector of music of all sorts and kinds, however. Vinyl? He has it, with a recorder. He knows what a cassette is, and yes, he knows what direction and how far to twist it to get the requested number.

Creates a mixtape for every girl he falls ‘in love’ with, rearranged and themed as how he sees and observes them.

Lenalee Lee

Lenalee probably would try Kpop if given the chance. She especially likes the energetic dances that come with some and sometimes posts dance covers.

Honestly a fan of anything that she can dance on.

She likes EDM the best for running, however. She loves to dream away on the music and make up a whole movie in which she stars with said song being set as the main theme of the setting.

Received a mixtape from Lavi once, it was filled with sensual RnB on which she likes to roll her hips on, much to Komui’s agonising surprise.

Allen Walker

Allen would be that kid who looks like he only listens to Christian music, then suddenly pulls out a collection of rock, but is actually a fan of screamo to drown out his sorrows.

His smile says Chopin and Vivaldi, but his lips can spit out the sickest rap. Is secretly infamous for his freestyle.

Topic: Marian Cross - Beat dropped: Deceased. This boy has so much to diss his master for, so, so, much bile to come out and he does it all with the brightest smile. Kanda is a second favourite topic of his.

Even Lavi was shocked to find this side to Allen. The redhead thinks that he was good at hiding his personality in his music collection? Meet Allen ‘I Will Roast You’ Walker

Yuu Kanda

Kanda is stereotyped to listen to meditative music, but while he tries to pose himself off as someone who prefers the calming tunes he actually holds a lot more in common with Allen than he would like to admit.

Doesn’t appreciate the sort of rap that Allen is into, or most rap at all, because he doesn’t really understand the art behind it, but boy, does he try to beat Allen in rap and with rap (in which I mean he will get physical after trying to roast Allen and realise that all he has to say is “you’re so short your mother mistook you for a bean sprout at dinner”).

Tiedoll has tried to calm Kanda down by making the man listen to classical music, having heard that it apparently will improve the IQ of babies. Kanda hates it.

Lavi once jokingly made Kanda a mixtape as well. Kanda raged, claiming that he isn’t one of the ‘chicks’ that the redhead is trying to pick up, but listened to it nonetheless and then raged again when all of the songs was Rick Astley’s - Never Gonna Give You Up.

#dgm #dgm x reader #dgm kanda #dgm lenalee #dgm allen #dgm lavi #kanda yu #kanda #kanda yuu #lenalee #lenalee lee #allen walker #allen #lavi #D.Gray-Man #D. Gray Man #d. grey man #D.Grayman

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katsukiboom · 4 years ago

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Chained Heart || Bakugou x OC

Hello everybody! I’m back with one of the pieces I’ve been working on - the person who commissioned me (who wished to remain anonymous) lended me their awesome OC which I had the pleasure to name. I hope you guys like it and remember that commissions are always open! <3

Ko-Fi || Commissions

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“Another day, another good run.”

Chiaki Sato sat on her apartment’s balcony as she sipped on a peach juice box she had bought on the way home – of course, she’d tell her parents she’d stolen it along with the several other items she brought from a nearby 7-Eleven. Always making sure she went to different stores to avoid recognition from others, the teenager wondered just how much longer she’d have to go about trying to please people around her.

Of course, nothing in life comes without a little fun.

One of the few perks she could think about was staying out of the home for as long as she pleased, practicing her so-called arts on the tall walls of abandoned buildings or even playing pranks on unsuspecting citizens, such as misplacing grocery bags or sometimes going as far as to hide people’s bikes, all with the help of her chain-creating quirk. However, it always made her feel even just a little bit guilty regardless of the fact that no one ever got hurt because of her habits; it was the constant voice inside her head that told her that there would be a limit to all of that, and she wasn’t sure she wanted to get there at all. She took the weariness that came after the constant usage as a form of ‘punishment’, turning to an iron-based diet to supplement what she lost every day.

As the afternoon sun shone upon her and warmed her skin, Chiaki inhaled slowly and felt the tiredness taking hold of her body despite it being early. “Damn, I must’ve been up there a bit too long,” she whispered to herself with a smile as she reached to her back to caress one of the chain scars, “it was a damn good graffiti if I do say so myself.” Her day replayed like a movie reel as she got up and walked back inside and towards the kitchen, crushing and throwing away the already empty box. Only when she got to a certain point of her memories she stopped in her tracks, a smile breaking out on her face that could only mean it was a good day – she had almost seen him.

He was a teenager like her but on the opposite side of society’s spectrum. While she was trying to look and act like a villain, the blond guy was an apprentice under Best Jeanist’s wing and seemed to have an awful, almost haughty attitude towards anything that could remotely seem wrong or against the rules and laws based on what she’d seen.

It was either that, or the guy just acted like that about everything.

But Chiaki didn’t truly care, since she had taken it to heart to mess with him as much as possible without getting caught in the process and it was just the funniest thing to her; whenever she knew he was in the area, she’d get to the nearest store and shoplift the littlest thing she could find so that the hero in training would show up with his mentor only to see the item had already been either paid for anonymously or returned to its place. Even some of her graffiti was directed towards him. She was thankful that only she knew who those were talking about – she made sure to stick around long enough to see him appear on the scene, and his face of anger always got a laugh out of her.

The truth, however, was that she envied him just a bit; there was a part of her that wanted nothing more than to just leave all that she knew behind and start over with a clear conscience, and most importantly, she wanted to know what it would be like to be on the other side of the page – on the heroes’ page. However, she kept those dreams to herself due to her own parents pressuring her to continue the family business, talking about what a great villain she’d be and how she’d succeed them eventually.

Letting out a short sigh, she warily made her way to her bedroom through the hallway of the rundown apartment they all called home.

It was early morning as she got out of bed, stretching her arms and legs as she sat up and glanced at the clock on her bedside table – it was already 9 am and the soft smell of coffee made its way inside the room through the slightly open door, making her stomach growl at the very thought of whatever breakfast was on the way. She quickly changed into her everyday clothes, went into the bathroom to brush her long brown hair into her signature ‘horned’ style, and then made her way to the kitchen; she could hear her parents chit chatting about things she most likely didn’t want to know, but Chiaki was sure they’d find a way to get her into it anyways.

“Well, look who’s already up!” her mother exclaimed as soon as she saw her. Aika Sato was a woman in her mid-forties that didn’t look a day over 30, but she always claimed it was all a product of her youthful mentality rather than something affecting her physical appearance. Sitting in front of her on the other side of the table was Daichi Sato, a stern-looking man that was responsible for the life of crime they were trying to live – he was the last member of a crime family older than heroic society itself so it only felt natural to him to continue now that there were even more resources to do so; her mother followed him along, her love stronger than any other thought or emotion. “Come darling,” Aika added, “I’ve prepared something nice for you to start the day off.”

“We’ve been talking,” said her father as Chiaki sat down between them, his eyes much softer than his voice. “And we think it’s time we introduce you to some of our friends that could teach you a thing or two; you will become so much stronger under their wing and will be able to go on your own to bigger missions as well.”

Chiaki’s eyes were glued on the small cup full of fresh raspberries that accompanied the usual rice and miso soup, along with the ginseng tea she used to take every day. “Oh, I… I don’t know what to say,” she mumbled, reaching out to take a piece of fruit and putting it in her mouth. The sweet juice tasted good and she tried to focus on that.

“I know, it seems like such a big responsibility,” Aika replied as she put a hand on her daughter’s shoulder with a big smile on her face, “but we’re sure you’re ready for something important. After all, you’re a very talented young lady and the world should know that as well, don’t you think so?”

She could only nod as images of her among some of the most powerful villains known to date, torturing people or going even further than that, filled her mind which in turn filled her heart with fear – unsure of how to get out of that situation, she finished her food as fast as she could, grabbed her bag and then said her goodbyes while rushing out of the house with the excuse of having to go to the public library to research for school.

The outside air felt more refreshing than ever, but her emotions felt stronger and it became hard to control once she had walked far enough, a few tears escaping from the corners of her eyes as she walked to the blind alleyway in which she used to hide whenever she felt overwhelmed. With her face buried on her hands, she leaned against a wall and finally let it all out with muffled sobs, the weight of the situation making her feel confused as to which was the right way to take.

She cried for a few minutes until she finally got up and wiped her face with the sleeves of her jacket, not really caring about the way she may have looked after that; reaching into her bag, she pulled out one of the few paint cans she had left before looking up and making two chains appear from her shoulder blades. She maneuvered until they grabbed onto the top of one of the short buildings to the sides of the alley. Carefully, she climbed the wall until she was high enough to start painting when she heard it.

A short muffled scream in a high pitched voice made her turn around and look down, the sight in front of her completely making her freeze – a woman faced to the ground with a gun held to her head by a man with his face covered by a ski mask and who seemed to be even more nervous than her. Both entered the alleyway quickly. “Give me everything, goddammit,” he said with a hurried tone yet his voice was loud. Chiaki was only able to look from her place, but when the woman looked up she couldn’t help but think of her own mother in a similar situation. “Give me everything or I’ll kill you.”

It only took a second of losing her focus for her moral compass to take control and soon a third chain came out of her side, made its way towards the thief and wrapped itself around him tight enough to incapacitate him. “Run, get help!” she yelled at the woman, who looked at her with what seemed to be gratitude in her expression mixed with panic and then ran off the scene. The man looked up at her with rage in his eyes before he tried to run as well, but nothing seemed to be working against her quirk. She looked at the man, proud of herself for doing the right thing but wondering what would happen when help did come. “Try to point that gun at me, fucker.”

Soon enough she heard quick steps coming from the street and then an old cop appeared, followed closely by a pro-hero she didn’t recognize and… oh my god, she thought as soon as she saw explodo-boy. The three of them looked up as they witnessed the scene, and Chiaki made sure to slowly descend from her place on the wall – unable to even look at the blond teen directly, she kept her gaze glued to the ground as her chains vanished once she was close enough to it.

“What are you doing here, young girl?” the pro-hero asked her as he came closer. “You don’t look like a regular civilian with that outfit.”

For once, Chiaki actually felt self-conscious about her choice of wardrobe. “It’s… just my clothes, sir,” she replied shyly, cursing at the fact that her first good deed was actually going to be the one that got her in trouble. The blond was behind him, staring at her with the usual angry look; he looked intimidating but cute, she thought for a split second. “I usually come here when I need to be alone, and I couldn’t just stay back while someone got attacked.”

Both heroes seemed mad, but when the cop called for the oldest one the man quickly turned around and walked away, leaving the two teens by themselves. “Don’t think I don’t know what you were doing up there,” the blond spat out with an almost venomous tone, and she could tell he was frowning underneath the mask that covered half his face. “You were the one that left all those ridiculous graffiti all over the damn place. What is stopping me from going and telling the cops, huh?”

“I-I’m not looking for trouble…”

“You are trouble,” he cut her off, “and you’re about to get what you deserve. You’re just another villain in training and this was just a cover-up for your stupid actions, I just know it.”

Those words were the last thing she had expected to hear from him, but they still felt like knives stabbing her on the back. “You know nothing about me,” she replied, the bubble of anger threatening to explode inside her any moment now. “You had it easy from the beginning, no pressures from anyone. You had it easy being on the other side, the good side, but when people expect too much from you, you break. Do you know what it’s like to want to do the right thing knowing you’ll disappoint everyone around you?” He remained expressionless as she ranted on, and that only served to fuel her anger a lot more. “If you’re going to be a hero yet you don’t care about anything, then maybe you’re the one who’s on the wrong side of the fence.”

“Well, it seems like you don’t know shit about me either,” he said in a whisper, coming closer to her until her back hit the wall. Her feelings mixed with embarrassment as her gaze fixed on the floor and she could feel her face getting redder. “But why should I talk with a petty villain like you? You’re not even an ant on my way.”

“Because…” she struggled to look for words to emotions she had never exactly spoken about, as it never came easy. “Because I do want to know what it’s like.” Finally letting her guard down, Chiaki looked straight into his eyes with determination. “I don’t want to be this, yet it’s all my environment seems to look forward to. I… I don’t know how to tell them I don’t want to be a bad person. I have no one to talk about this with.” She waited and looked for any sign of comprehension in his gaze, though nothing was clear. “How was it so easy for you? How did you get to be training with some of the best heroes in the country?”

The boy took a few steps away and looked back at the pro-hero, who was now helping the cop get the thief away to his car. “Shit,” he muttered before turning back to her, and for the first time since she knew him, he looked distressed as he clenched his fists. “I don’t know why I’d give advice to a shithead like you,” he started as he turned back to her, his expression returning into his usual angry one but he still sounded unsure of his own words. “But if you want something, you, uh, you should just go for it. You probably won’t be more than another extra… but you can try. Maybe you could… go to some damn school and not listen to whoever’s telling you to be a shitty villain. You want to be better than that, which already makes you… stronger than them.”

It almost made her laugh just how much he was struggling with words, seeing that he had always seemed so assertive, but she didn’t get any chance to reply. “Young man,” the pro-hero said as he appeared behind the blond, putting a hand on his shoulder and pulling him back just a little bit. “Go outside and wait for me; I’ll catch up in a minute.” Obeying not without letting out a little grunt he just turned around and walked towards the cop who was just now getting into his car, and Chiaki only looked at him with a goodbye stuck in her throat. “Now about you, missy,” the man said once they were alone. “We won’t say anything about you using your quirk without a permit since you helped us this time. However, you will have to turn your attitude around; we’ll be on the lookout for any suspicious activities and if we find out you were related to it, you won’t get out of it that easy.”

And with that he too walked away, leaving her with her thoughts for the first time in what had felt like hours. You want to be better than that, which already makes you stronger than them. The words the other teen had told her ran through her mind almost unconsciously, his voice loud and clear and soon becoming the only thing she heard. Chiaki looked up at the midday sun and with a smile appearing on her face, she picked up the half-empty paint spray can from the floor and threw it on one of the garbage cans around before walking out of the alley. Curious eyes from nearby stores were glued to her, but for the first time, she didn’t bother about it.

Holding onto the hems of her uniform jacket, the girl looked up at the huge main building of her new school while walking towards the steel gates and avoiding the other students gathered around her. Standing in front of the one thing that would help her achieve her dreams, it all felt beyond surreal. She was still trying to wrap her head around the fact that she had gotten into the biggest hero school in Japan behind her parents’ back, and even though they had shunned her at first they had grown used to the idea of their daughter not following their steps; they never brought it up though and never asked how her things were going either, but she knew it would be hard for them to digest the news.

Her pace was calm but to her, it seemed like she was in a rush anyways, a small droplet of sweat rolling down her temple – despite it being the final days of summer, the day still felt way too warm yet she blamed it on the thick fabric of the clothes. Looking all around, she witnessed Eraserhead to the side of the door lazily greeting the arriving students and she smiled at the sight, but as their gazes met she instantly looked down, feeling her cheeks turn bright red.

Chiaki took a few more steps until she crashed onto somebody, making the person in front of her stumble back. “Oi, what’s your goddamn problem?” a familiar voice roared, and when she looked up she was met with angry red eyes that seemed to pierce right through her. She wouldn’t mistake him for anyone and was shocked that of all the people she could encounter on her very first day and in the very same school she was attending, it had to be him; it was like fate was playing tricks on her. “Watch where you’re going, you damn extra.”

“How long are you going to call everyone that, Bakubro?” the redhead that was with him let out a short laugh before turning to her – she was sure her cheeks were the same colour as his hair. She noticed they had the same eye colour and had to suppress the need to chuckle. “Don’t worry about it, he’s always like that…”

“I know,” she muttered without thinking, instantly regretting it.

“You know each other?”

The blond looked surprised but said nothing as he waited for her to speak. “I, uh… we… met last year though I don’t think he remembers,” she explained, “and he gave me advice on how to become a hero when I was in a bad place. It really helped me.” Both guys’ eyes opened wide at those words, the redhead wrapping an arm around his friend’s shoulder with a big smile on his face.

“Ooh Bakugou, seems like I was right about you being a softie after all!”

“Shut up, Kirishima,” the blond – Bakugou said with a growl, pushing him off him and turning his attention back to her with his brow furrowed. “I remember you now; you tried your worst to be a villain and now you’re here. You followed me here so I could congratulate you or something?”

His tone was harsh, but the soft pink on his cheeks spoke way louder than his words. Finally letting out a laugh, she replied, “Not really, this is just my first day. I hadn’t been able to say thank you for the kind words though, they really helped.” The bell rang across campus just as she finished her sentence and she bowed to the two before turning around, making her way to the main doors, unaware of the pair of eyes that were glued to her back.

“You know,” Kirishima said with one eyebrow raised and a mischievous smile on his lips, catching Bakugou’s attention back from the unknown girl – she had such a sweet perfume, but he’d never admit that even if his life depended on it. “You could at least have asked for her name, Bakubro.”

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letterboxd · 4 years ago

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Green-Light Yourself.

As Merawi Gerima’s debut feature Residue lands on Netflix, he tells Gemma Gracewood about being the son of indie film legends, duty of care as a director, and why Akira is his go-to comfort movie.

Sometimes it’s impossible to move forward with your art until you’ve taken a good look back. In Merawi Gerima’s impressionistic and hypnotic first feature, Residue, a young man, Jay, returns from college on the West Coast to find that his Washington, DC neighborhood has been hugely transformed within a few short years. A white neighbor barks at him to turn his car stereo down. Familiar faces have disappeared. The gentrification is debilitating, but Jay’s efforts to work out his disorientation and rage through art meets opposition with old friends.

Like his lead character, Gerima is both a DC native and a graduate of a West Coast college (USC’s School of Cinematic Arts), and was similarly confronted by change when he got home. Making Residue was “absolutely something that I had to do because that was the only positive direction to pour my energies into,” he says. “I think that there was a lot of destructive potential in my life at that point. The film really was the first moment when I started to feel that I perhaps was not powerless in this situation.”

Derron “Rizzo” Scott as Mike in ‘Residue’.

Gentrification as a form of structural racism has long impacted Black communities, and Gerima is not the first in his family to cover this ground. His parents are the LA Rebellion filmmakers Haile Gerima, whose work includes the Golden Bear-nominated 1983 slavery drama Sankofa, and Shirikiana Aina, who documented changes to their DC neighborhood in her 1982 non-fiction short Brick by Brick.

Residue was a family affair; the Gerima name is all through the credits. “My aunts were the chefs; my sister, she was, like, the head of the catering.” Although his legendary father managed to get off lightly with Costco runs, Gerima’s equally impressive mother ended up anchoring two of the film’s most affecting scenes, as Tonya, the Mom of Jay’s childhood friend, Mike (Derron “Rizzo” Scott).

“I had somebody else cast—she was a no-show. My mother was on set that day, just kind of helping feed people. I knew that she had what we needed, emotionally speaking. She was actually trying to drive away to go find the woman; I was like, ‘Nah, I need you right now’. She did it, but at a great cost.” The thing about filming in your own neighborhood, Gerima explains, where you’ve raised not only your own but also everyone else’s kids, with varying outcomes, is you end up bringing that lived experience to your scenes. “It’s very real for her. She’s not acting. I almost cried once we finished filming. Nobody spoke for a long time.”

The scene taught Gerima much about a director’s duty of care—particularly when he dared to ask his mother for a second take of a pivotal scene that takes place in a downpour. “In preparing to shoot in the rain we made a few mistakes, with the camera, the placement, there was miscommunication with me and the DP [Mark Jeevaratnam]. I, he, we both agreed that we needed another take. When I asked my mother for another take, she just looked at us like, it hurt, it was painful to ask. She did what she could, but you could tell that she didn’t have it in her.” As it turns out, the first take was the one. “I thought we ruined everything, but once I slowed down, I just saw what a miracle it was.”

It’s impossible to separate Residue from its limited budget and circumstances. Structurally rich and technically unusual, the film is a triumph of local knowledge, happy accidents, and “hood auditions”, where people were pulled straight off the street into the cast. It’s infused with an all-hands-on-deck spirit, constructed scene-by-scene during a home edit by Gerima himself.

“We shot the first draft of the script. You know what I mean? We didn’t have time to wait for a rewrite. We didn’t have time to wait for money. We didn’t have time to wait for anything. In many ways, it was the source of many of our problems, but it was also the source of a lot of our freedom, because we weren’t tied down by money. We weren’t tied down by a locked-in script.”

Mark Jeevaratnam, Merawi Gerima (with camera), and Obinna Nwachukwu on the set of ‘Residue’.

At Slamdance this past January, Residue won the audience award, and an acting prize for its star, Obinna Nwachukwu, whose story is a lesson for other aspiring actors. He was right for the role (“He fit the bill in terms of, he knows DC lingo, he knows the culture, he’s from the area, which was incredibly important”). More importantly, he was available. “The fact that we didn’t have resources, we needed somebody like him. He wants to act. He designs his life in his way where he was able to give us two weeks without knowing much about us. Once we got him, everything else became a lot easier.”

After Slamdance, of course, 2020 took a bit of a turn. Residue was shortlisted for Cannes, but that was cancelled and in May Gerima told his college paper: “I think that the festival prospects for the rest of this year are getting dimmer by the day.” When we speak, however, he is in Venice, where his debut feature has just screened in the independent Venice Days section of La Biennale di Venezia. It turns out that Cannes Directors’ Fortnight head Paolo Moretti had put in a word with Venice Days. As 2020 goes, this is as good as it gets for new filmmakers—and is a beautiful demonstration of how the global festival community has pulled together to make something good out of the mess we’re in.

Likewise, Gerima is grateful to Ava DuVernay’s ARRAY Releasing, who made the Netflix deal. He notes that a Black-led distribution company is a luxury his parents never knew. “I think if Ava did not exist, our film probably would not have distribution. The broad imagination necessary to see the commercial potential of Black films is still not there. I’m often sad thinking about the fact that my parents had no such opportunity.” Like a scene straight out of Dolemite is My Name, Gerima describes how his folks would book their own theaters across the US and use the African diaspora to help fill them, “proving the commercial nature of these films, in communities that hungered for real Black stories”.

Merawi Gerima directs Jacari Dye on the set of ‘Residue’.

Gerima’s film appetite is wide, and he’s often looked outside the US for inspiration. Some of the most crucial films in his development as a director have been the 1968 post-revolutionary Cuban films Lucia and Memories of Underdevelopment. He is also a fan of La Lengua de las Mariposas (‘Butterfly’, 1999, José Luis Cuerda), which has “one of my favorite endings in film, period”. Japanese influences include Akiro Kurosawa’s Seven Samurai (1954) and Kaneto Shindo’s The Naked Island (1960) and he also looks to Chilean legend Miguel Littin and Soviet directors Andrei Tarkovsky, Sergei Eisenstein and Nikita Mikhalkov. His go-to comfort film? “Akira. I don’t know if it’s comfort, but I watch it all the time! I just think it’s one of the best films ever made.”

On the home front, an “incredible, important” American film is Ivan Dixon’s 1973 action drama The Spook Who Sat by the Door, while the movies that “really put me onto talking to girls” are Gina Prince-Bythewood’s Love & Basketball and Rick Famuyiwa’s The Wood. “These are the types of films, circulating within the Black community [that] we memorize the lines to. That set the sexual compass of Black adolescents, you know what I mean?”

‘Sankofa’ (1993), written and directed by Haile Gerima.

His parents, however, remain Gerima’s greatest influence. “Sankofa was made without arbitration. Black stories that have no minders like that, nobody to answer to, often are far and away, the most honest types of Black storytelling that we see in film.” For other storytellers yet to take the first step, he offers this: “My best lesson from this film has been to always and at all times green-light my own self, my own actions, because that’s the only thing that I can control—and to not wait for conditions to be right or perfect.”

Acknowledging the privilege of being born into a filmmaking family, Gerima adds: “That may not apply to everybody. There are many, incredible things which prohibit action at times. But I think that there are many incredible conditions under which people can take action with the camera. I think that it’s really just a matter of how urgently that story burns within you. I can only say for myself, that’s the way the film got made. Without that, it would have been literally impossible.”

When asked who we should watch next, Gerima recommends 200 Meters, written and directed by Palestinian filmmaker Ameen Nayfeh. (“He’s an incredibly poised and principled filmmaker.”) The film won the audience award at Venice Days. He also recommends Really Love by Angel Kristi Williams, which won a SXSW Special Jury Recognition for acting, and will feature as a Special Presentation at AFI Fest next month.

‘Residue’ is in select US theaters and on Netflix now. Follow Gemma on Letterboxd.

#merawi gerima #haile gerima #la rebellion #residue #netflix #netflix film #array #array releasing #ava duvernay #washington dc #washington dc films #usc #usc cinema arts #letterboxd

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genericfandomname344 · 5 years ago

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Kintsugi of the Heart (Steven Universe)

Chapter 1: Steph

Next Chapter: Here

Summary: Kintsugi - Japanese art of repairing broken pottery by mending the areas of breakage with lacquer dusted or mixed with powdered gold.

Or:

Steven shattered Jasper in a fit of rage. He tries to fix the only person he thinks he needs to, himself, by traveling into a different timeline and taking his younger self away to try and repair the damage inflicted upon him in his childhood. Only now his younger self is placed in the guardianship of someone else unstable and losing himself by each passing day.

Author Note:

Please do not read this story if you are a minor, the relationship depicted is not only toxic, but dangerous. This story is not based in reality and if you ever feel like you are in a relationship similar to the one in this story, platonic or romantic, please find help out of that situation.

...

It was a sunny day in Beach City.

It was always a sunny day in Beach City, it rarely rained or snowed. It stayed hot most of the year, and like most of the year, he had been left on his own for about two days now. Pearl, Garnet, and Amethyst had to go do Gem Stuff, and Greg had to do actual work at the car shop. There is a mudding truck event nearby and some of the drivers swear by Greg’s handy work at car hygiene. He thought of going to help his father- but on days where he was loaded with mud-covered trucks, he seemed to only distract his father.

He had spent most of the morning playing his console games, reading comics, watching movies and playing with his toys- but after spending the better of a couple of days doing these things, he felt that he couldn’t spend another moment in the house alone. Without many options, he had tried to dial up Connie, but the house phone wouldn’t answer.

He hung up the phone, flopping on the couch with an exasperated sigh. He allowed the phone to slip off the couch as he stared at the ceiling with a pout. It was only the afternoon, how could he already be out of things to do? He stared at his feet above him, resting on the wall by the couch as he laid there on his back, just vegetating for the time being.

He hasn’t tried to go to town at all today.

That perked his interest, as he sat up from the couch, lifted up by his elbows. Surely one of the townsfolk would have time for Steven and his antics. He slid off the cushion of the couch with a new plan of action. It took him a moment, but he got off from the couch, grabbing the phone to place it back on the landline hook.

He placed the phone back on the hook and left towards his room to get ready for the day. Wiggling up his jeans, he got on flip flops, ran a wide-tooth comb through his curls, and grabbed his burger bag. He was equipped for his visit to town!

His first trip was the Donut Shop, with the few dollars he had left, he got himself lunch of a few donuts and after fifteen minutes of talking with Sadie, she left for her break and Lars was less enjoyable for chit chat for a longer period. He found himself out after a bit of back and forth with the more grumpy employee.

Peedee had work, and most of the other townies he was hoping for a visit from were either busy, working, or out of town. Even the popular kids had taken a road trip to the city. He wasn’t exactly sure where Onion was- and he was still banned from the amusement park and arcade for something he vaguely remembers.

Feeling defeat, he returned home, slouched over with his paper bag dragging behind him. He descended the long stairs, feeling bored already. Maybe there’s a rerun of Crying Breakfast Friends, he could take a nap- and hopefully, the gems will be back.

He stepped onto the porch, lost in his running thoughts before he caught a glimpse inside the beach house and, for a moment, was stunned by the sight past the mesh doors and clear windows.

A form, unable to be recognized yet was lazing over the sofa, relaxed with their legs crossed. He couldn’t stop the grin that spread over his face. The gems had to be home, and he knew that must’ve been Amethyst on the couch! He raced inside, almost dropping the donuts as he shouted his welcome.

“Guys! I’m so ha…” His mind drew a blank at the sight before him. He found himself frozen as he stood before a stranger in his home, scrolling through a phone he didn’t know the model of. The teenager had relaxed in his home as if he was on his own. Steven couldn’t find the words, standing aimless at the front door- sent into shock from a stranger.

Maybe it wasn’t the fact there was a stranger.

Maybe it was because the stranger was a fluorescent hot pink, buff like an action movie with an amazing looking pompadour hairstyle to boot. His chin had some unshaven scruff of a beard, and his clothes were worn and torn- but his black had the same star as his.

The stranger only looked up when the screen door shut behind him, Steven was far too in a daze with the sudden events to hold the knob or notice the door shutting. He turned sharply at the sound, wincing as he heard a simple hum come from the man on the couch, turning his attention over his shoulder to gawk at the teenager.

“Oh! You’re here,” The glowing pink male before him laughs, standing up as he dusted himself off. He pocketed his phone, leaning on one leg in his stance as he casually crossed his arms. He acted as a friendly guest rather than a home invader. “I was kinda worried, don’t want to meet the gems before you.”

“Who.. are you?”

“Oh!.. uh.” The man seemed uncomfortable with the question. “I’m, well…” The man placed his hand on his hip, using his free hand to scratch the back of his neck in a sudden nervous fit. Steven turned fully to the man, awaiting the answer. He looked familiar to his dad- if his dad was buff and young. The man was tall, Steven could tell the stranger could tower over him greatly even if he was at the entrance door- and the man was still standing by the couch.

He didn’t want to get close, as the man released a few more clumsy chuckles before he finally answered.

“It’s kinda complicated- but I’m your brother, from another timeline.” He gracelessly began to make finger gun gestures in the direction of the younger with both arms. “It’s like the hourglass- but no one dies..” Quickly adding the last bit, he was smiling sheepishly at the hopes of the child’s reaction, there was a pause in time, and the sweat on the brow on the man was growing thicker.

“Whoa.. like, that Dogcopter movie, where his alternate timeline’s owner comes to help him save the world from Cattruck?” Steven grinned, fisting his hands in anticipation of the answer. He had taken the half-witted, on the fly answer and believed it.

The room fell in silence, the man rapidly blinking a few times as his brow raised before his face relaxed. A smile formed on his face as he continued. “Yes, exactly like that.” Before he could speak, he was interrupted again.

“Woow!” Steven abandoned the fried dessert’s bag, running up to the man and pulling up his pink shirt to reveal his stomach, “Do you got one- like me?” He flopped his hand onto his stomach, allowing it to jiggle as the other man only shook his head, lifting his tattered shirt to show his own gem.

“‘Course I do.” The other male seemed more confident now, lifting his ripped top to showcase his glimmering gem.

“Woh…” Steven’s eyes turned into stars as he stepped closer to the man, who was more than happy to have his trust. The younger’s fingers brush over the gem before he scrunched as he realized the already flawed logic of the older’s words. “Wait, how could mom give us both a gem?”

“Like I said- it’s complicated. But that’s not important right now.” The mention of their mother seemed to make the other male uncomfortable, something flashed over his features- but it didn’t last long. His cocky smile and demeanor were back within seconds, ready to change the subject. “I came to help you, Steven.”

“Oh?” Steven fidgets with his shirt lightly, looking up to the stranger. “How can you help me? Is there an evil Steven? Are we gonna team up and stop-”

The man took a sharp, loud inhale as if he was gearing up for a speech, successfully making the younger quiet down. His hands interlock at his torso as he began, in a tone of someone reading a script rather than speaking to someone organically. “I came to help you with your powers, I wanna train you.”

“Whhaat!!” The younger boy shrieked, making the other grab lightly at his ear in shock. The boy was excited, shaking his fists lightly as the stars in his eyes only brightened. He grins, unable to even dampen the expression as he lightly bounces on his feet. “Did you train the other me- um, your brother in your dimension?”

“I, uh... I did.” The pink-skinned man nodded quickly, smacking his lips at the question. “And now I’m gonna train you.” He turned from the boy, who followed his shadow like a lost puppy. He returned to where he sat at the couch, plucking a pink jacket that wouldn’t seem to fit someone of his bulk- and pulled out a glass-like box from the pocket.

“Can I go do Gem Stuff after I train? I’ll be a Crystal Gem, then, right?”

“Of course you will… You’re going to help a lot of people.” His voice was soft, but the tone was blank, sober in a way Steven couldn’t read. He simply stood beside the man, who for the first time since he realized he was in the room stopped looking at him.

The man pressed his thumb down on the top of the surface causing a bright light to fill the lid, transforming the box into a flat tile structure that covered to the floor the moment he tossed it. The once solid box became like a thin floor padding with a single half circular orb in the middle of it. He flung the pink jacket over his forearm, taking Steven’s arm and guided him towards it.

Being brought closer, he could see the shine from the polished black, he couldn’t put a finger on what the material was, it was like a plastic steel hybrid. The tile was a large square on the floor, enough room for multiple feet to stand on it.

Steven bent down, looking over the odd new technology. The man released the boy’s arm as he inspected the new gadget. He hasn’t seen anything like that before, no gem tech ever looked sleek and dark like this. He glanced back to the man, the pink teen seemed to always have his eyes directed on him.

The eye contact felt heavy now, as Steven turned his eyes to stare at the blackened flooring.

“What is this?” Steven pokes at it once, the man only offering a shrug.

“It’s a teleportation device. It’ll take us where we need to go to train.” The man stepped onto the newly blacked tile, as soon as he stood on it, a holo touch screen came up from the orb in the middle of the square structure. His fingers went to work, using his fingertips for a scan and soon typing, the chirp made the man hum in approval.

“C’mon Steven, we’re going.” The pink male gave no effort as he lifted Steven from the collar of his shirt, plopping him on his feet upon the tile.

“Wait- how long? I don’t even - what’s your name?” It seemed to finally hit him that he was being whisked away somewhere, with someone he didn’t know. The man’s expression stayed somber, as he kept a firm hand on the younger’s shoulder so he couldn’t step off.

“Call me Steph.”

It was the last thing he said before tapping the holographic screen once as the two disappeared from the living room in a burst of light.

...

This is a very short chapter! I think this is the first time I ever wrote a chapter of any story under a week, it only took a few days, which is crazy? I am a very slow writer, so I loved it! Hopefully I can continue to push chapters like this out!

#Steven Universe #Steven Universe Fanfic #Steven Universe Fanfiction #Steven Universe Future #Stevencest #Older Steven/Younger Steven #Steven Universe/Steven Universe #Kintsugi of the Heart #fanfic #Fanfiction #SUF fanfiction

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hexlikesramennoodles · 5 years ago

Note

If you’re still doing kissing prompts? #4

4. An accidental brush of lips followed by a pause and going back for another, on purpose.

Author’s note: this is rated M for suggestive content and violence. Inspired by this beautiful work of art by @kelpie-earnest.

“It’s my brother. He can’t know I’m here,” Max said. “He’ll kill me. He’ll kill us.”

Steve gazed through the gap in Joyce Byers’ curtains, out to where the Camaro was tucked in the driveway like some gigantic waiting spider. The noise generated by the engine was tremendous, a powerful, vibrating thrum of tectonic force that could be felt through the walls. Right through to the marrow.

“Lock yourselves in,” he said.

Four pairs of disbelieving eyes swiveled around to stare at him. Steve felt the strange urge to laugh. Before he could, though, they all started arguing at once:

“Steve, no—”

“Didn’t you hear what I just said? He’ll kill you—”

“Hey, hey, hey!” Steve said in a loud voice, clapping his hands. “Did I stutter, you boneheads? Lock yourselves in, I said. Don’t open the door until you hear me say so.” He gestured vaguely to the window. “If it goes south—”

He heard Dustin’s intake of breath, registered Lucas’ eyes growing large and round in their sockets, but couldn’t bring himself to acknowledge them both, lest he start thinking too hard about what it was he meant to do—

“You run like hell, okay?”

It was fine, he told himself. He had survived the Demodogs. He could survive this, too. One carrier was chump change compared to what lurked in Hawkins’ cavernous underbelly. He was going to be completely fine.

It wasn’t until he stepped out onto the porch that he realized he’d forgotten to bring his bat.

“Am I dreaming, or is that you, Harrington?”

As always, the cherry of Billy’s lit cigarette preceded the rest of him. Steve watched its slow orbit in the gloom, his arms crossed loosely over his chest. Something made him uncross them, straighten his spine. A mnemonic echo. Billy’s fangs jutting wetly from the bed of his mouth, his hand held out. Plant your feet.

“I didn’t know carriers could dream,” he said evenly.

Billy lowered his hand. The cherry descended like a miniature comet, trailing embers and smoke. “I’m looking for my step-sister,” he said. The words were casual, almost friendly. They didn’t match his eyes. “Little birdie told me she was here.”

“I haven’t seen her, man. Sorry.”

A sudden explosion of glass made him jump: a beer bottle, flung from Billy’s hand into the gutter. Foam bubbled sluggishly from its broken neck, spreading across the blacktop in jagged white lines.

“You know,” Billy said. The driver’s door slammed shut, but the headlights stayed on; they cut a bright, glaring swath through the trees. “I was meant to be goin’ on a date tonight, amigo. I had it all planned out. Sure, his face wasn’t much to look at, but his neck? A whole meal. He had his own donor card, too. Certified and everything. But then what happens? Maxine goes missing, and I get told—I get told that I have to find her sorry ass, because she’s my responsibility. Which means my night—all that hard work—is down the toilet. Fucked.”

He smiled, then. Or snarled. The cherry of his cigarette rose, a wandering red star, a demon’s eye that kept lazily opening and closing on each inhale. Billy opened his mouth, still smiling, and doused the cigarette on his tongue. There was an angry hss of cooking flesh, like animal fat rendering over an open flame.

“As far as I’m concerned, you took my fuckin’ food, Harrington,” Billy continued, dropping the butt under his boot. “Are you gonna pay for it?”

“Will you leave them alone if I do?”

He could tell by the way Billy paused that whatever he’d been expecting when he stepped out of the Camaro, it hadn’t been that. Steve watched him flick his tongue over his teeth, telling himself that he was used to the sight by now. It was generally considered to be bad etiquette for carriers to flaunt their fangs in public, the same way it was considered indecent for non-carrier women to breastfeed in shopping malls. Billy was either unaware of the unspoken social laws of his kind, or he considered himself to be above them. Steve would bet all the money in his wallet on the latter; whether it was on the court or in class, the locker rooms or at house parties, Billy always had his fangs out.

“If the price is right,” Billy said. He was silent for another moment, his tongue between his teeth, studying Steve with an expression that was difficult to read. Sizing up the merchandise, Steve thought. “Have you been tested?”

He nodded. “When I was with Nancy, I—”

“Oh, that’s right,” Billy exclaimed, his smile turning into a sneer, “you were her blood bag.”

Steve gritted his teeth through the mockery. “I was her donor.”

“Please. We both know what you were, Harrington. What you still are. There’s no use denying it.” Billy moved with frightening agility; one moment he was on the other side of the road, the next he was breathing down Steve’s neck, his teeth—both incisors, each at least an inch long—hot and hard against Steve’s pulse. His pupils were two scorch marks, deepest obsidian ringed in flaming red and orange. “You and everybody else in that house, you’re all just meat. Prey. And I’m the hunter.”

“Not tonight,” Steve said. He turned his head, willing himself to stare into the darkest center of the red. The rage and hunger there. “Not ever. You can have me. But you can’t have them. They’re off limits from now on, you understand?”

Billy’s lips peeled apart. “Like I said. If the price is right.” He jerked his head in the direction of the Camaro. “Let’s have a taste.”

“Don’t you wanna take this elsewhere?”

“Why? I’m already dressed up for it.” In the blink of an eye, Billy was standing on the opposite sidewalk, holding the passenger door open. “Get in the car, blood bag.”

The inside of the Camaro was surprisingly clean, save for the smell: hot ash and hot blood. Visceral and vital. It was the smell of a fever that had yet to burn itself out, cloying and oppressive; the smell of a cancer ward. The word vampire was outdated. Vampire was for old Christopher Lee movies, for actors with powdered faces and plastic fangs smeared with sticky, ketchup-looking fake blood. Carrier was treatable; vampire wasn’t. Carrier made it sound akin to plague; carrier and medical emergency and regressive behavior. Carriers—not vampires—still retained their humanity somewhere inside, despite their monstrous symptoms. Steve knew better. Billy, like Nancy before him, was nothing human.

“Where did Wheeler like to have her fill?” Billy asked. “From your neck?”

“No. From my thumb.”

“Your—seriously?” Billy threw back his head, letting out a quick, yipping laugh. Steve followed the needlepoint gleam of his incisors with nauseated fascination. “How fuckin’ chaste. And you—you were okay with that, pretty boy?”

“You know, they don’t recommend you drink from the neck, typically,” Steve said. “Because it’s so close to the artery—”

“That’s what makes it feel so fuckin’ good, though. Like, really good.” Billy caught his eye in the rearview mirror and smirked, then leaned across to squeeze his knee. “Better than getting your finger sucked by some prissy bitch in her daddy’s pillbox McMansion.”

Steve pushed his knee out of Billy’s grip. “Don’t call her a bitch.”

“I’ll call her whatever the fuck I want, Harrington. She deprived you, and she did it on purpose. I bet she knew that if you had it elsewhere, you’d leave her in the dust.”

Something about Billy’s eyes, this close—how the red surrounding his pupils fluctuated as he spoke, shifting and dancing like real flames—had loosened Steve’s tongue, made him less aware of himself and his surroundings. Hadn’t there been a warning in the pamphlets about looking directly into carriers’ eyes? He couldn’t remember.

“It doesn’t matter,” he heard himself say. “She left me in the dust first.”

(Why not? Steve thought. Underneath the blood and ash and sickroom smell, he could just make out Billy’s cologne, a hint of sweetness to offset the bitter. The world was going to hell in a handbasket, but Billy looked like the closest thing to a model from a Calvin Klein magazine spread. Pretty. Hair spilling down his shoulders in soft, stylized waves, his muscled arms sitting snugly in the sleeves of his maroon shirt; Steve had always envied him for his arms. Why the fuck not?)

“She did, didn’t she?” Billy made a soft, sympathetic noise that was as bogus as it was scathing. “Oh, and she hurt you, too. She really hurt. But it’s okay now, though, because you’ve got me. And I can show you what you’ve been missing out on.”

He leaned across, so abruptly Steve didn’t have time to parse what was happening; panicking, he blurted out: “Is it gonna hurt?”

Billy’s smile paused inches from his neck. “It will, and then it won’t,” he said, “but you gotta relax first.”

Steve thought of Nancy. Billy’s hand was creeping up his arm, over his shoulder. Pulling the collar of his jacket and T-shirt to one side. Moving slow, like he wanted to savor it. Steve fixed his eyes straight ahead, on the outline of the driveway just outside the reach of the Camaro’s headlights. The engine growled and shuddered underneath his feet like an animal that wanted to throw him off. He thought of Nancy, or he tried to. Every time he pictured her smile, he came up short.

Billy let out a shaky breath. “Beautiful,” he said.

“What?” Steve said, distracted.

“Nothing, Harrington. Just relax.”

With Nancy, it had been like getting a flu shot. A quick jab, minimal pain, no mess. If Steve became lightheaded, she would stop. If he told her to stop, she would stop.

He didn’t know if Billy would extend him the same courtesy.

Minimal pain, no mess. Billy’s thumb caressed his neck, soothing the hoofbeat clatter of his heart. He was no longer smiling. Steve closed his eyes.

It was quick, he’d give Billy that—the initial pain. Steve shifted in the passenger seat, tilting his head as far back as the headrest would allow; Billy moved with him, cupping his jaw. He bit down lightly, suckling on Steve’s neck. Pain blossomed like a flare in the dark. Fading as Billy’s teeth probed deeper. He made a noise against Steve’s skin. It might have been a sigh of relief. A moan. Steve couldn’t tell.

“Let me know when you see the colors,” Billy said thickly. He sounded drunk. His hand was back on Steve’s knee, massaging the bone, anchoring them both.

“The—”

Billy bit down again and Steve cried out, shocked, his spine bowing. Not from pain. The pain had subsided entirely, morphed into a distant, warm prickling. It was actually kind of nice. Steve let the tension in his shoulders slacken, giving Billy’s mouth more leeway to rove over his skin. He was sucking hard, lapping at Steve’s neck like a dog with a bowl of water, his Adam’s apple working as he swallowed, paused to breathe.

“Knew you’d taste good.”

Billy’s voice, faint. Prickling like pins and needles. Steve was starting to feel as though he’d fallen asleep with his arm trapped underneath his body; the tingling, pins and needles sensation had spread from his neck down to his wrist. Numb and blissful. The heat from Billy’s mouth was building, tightening into a stranglehold. The car was getting warmer.

“I’d think about it,” Billy’s voice said. Still faint, still distant and removed. Steve fought to open his eyes; he was dimly aware of someone watching him, the hand on his knee parting his legs to run up the inseam of his jeans. He was too warm to do anything about it. “You know, when we were in the showers together and you’d … you’d just stand there, ignoring everybody else, I’d look at you, and think about what it would be like if I just …”

“Tore my throat out?” Steve slurred.

The prickling had turned into an itch, restless, fierce. Billy latched onto his neck, sucking with a junkie’s greed for his next fix, like he would die if he didn’t have it, like there was nothing in the world that mattered more. “No,” he said, laughing. Pulling off his neck with an obscene, theatrical pop that should have made Steve retch. Instead, it sent desire licking down his spine. “Hey, I’ve never killed anybody. Ask Laurie. Ask Tina. They both came to me begging for it. You know, I’ve always thought there was somethin’ in the water here that drove people crazy horny. Maybe you’re all just bored. Too wimpy to turn to meth. I was doing them a favor, man. There are worse things to get hooked on.”

“You were doing them a favor, huh? Wow. What a hero you are.”

“It was a mutually beneficial partnership,” Billy insisted. “You can feel it, right? It’s like … fuck, it’s like we’re fucking, almost. Or doing poppers. Except there’s no come down, no limit to how high you can get … you just keep flying … and flying …”

“Uh,” was all Steve could say. It did sort of feel like he was flying. He could no longer feel his arm, or his leg; the left side of his body seemed to have dissolved, become incorporeal. He didn’t have any sense of where the roof of the Camaro had gone; he was rising, being steadily submerged into the night sky. There came another moan. Billy’s teeth were thumb tacks pressing into the grooves of his palms, pins and needles, prickling and itching and stoking the fire between them.

“Can you feel it, Steve?” he was panting. His hand clutched at Steve’s leg in ecstasy and desperation. “Can you see me?”

“I—I can see you,” Steve mumbled. He was hot all over, floating in an ozone layer of swirling blues and greens and pinks. Each color was its own self-contained galaxy; each color reminded him of Billy’s eyes, ever-changing. Rings hot with lust. “God, the colors, Billy … I didn’t know …”

“It’s called a glamour,” Billy said. “I told you, baby. It’s good, isn’t it?”

“Good? It’s—it’s incredible. God, I’m—”

“Yeah?” Somewhere back on Earth, Billy’s smile had returned, wide and cannibalistic. “Yeah, baby? Are you close?”

“I’m—” Steve said, swallowing. His hands flapped at Billy’s chest like maimed birds. “I’m—I’m—”

It came at him out of nowhere, all at once. When it did, his mouth was still straining to form the words that he could no longer speak, pleasure robbing him of all ability to do so: I’m, I’m, ohmyGod, Billy, Billy, I’m gonna. Something soft brushed his cheek and he automatically turned towards it, his mouth opening, searching for comfort like a newborn’s rooting reflex searched for the nipple. He met the soft something halfway, and tasted himself.

Billy kissed him hard, his mouth tasting of Steve’s blood. The kiss was without fangs, without hunger or violence. His hand caressed Steve’s neck, played with his hair. His grip was lax and boneless.

He was well fed.

“Like we’re fucking,” Steve repeated. His voice sounded husky and raw, his vocal chords crippled. He was still coming, still high; his wrists trembled through the ghostly aftershocks. “Did you dream about that, too?”

He knew Billy was watching him. The prickling in his neck was all but gone; the wound had already sutured itself closed, and it would only reopen the next time Billy came for him. And he would come, Steve thought, with an odd sense of pride. Billy was the one who needed him, now. He wouldn’t be able to find it anywhere else. Not the way Steve tasted.

Billy reached for the steering wheel. He turned the key, and the headlights stuttered. Then, like a candleflame guttering out, they went dark.

#harringrove #billy hargrove #steve harrington #vampire!billy #blood drinking #my writing #writing prompts #it has just occurred to me that i could have done this for the neck kisses one and it would've made more sense #i only realised i wanted to write vampire!billy like 2 days ago so

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