writing hall

I always find it kind of weird that matriarchal cultures in fiction are always “women fight and hunt, men stay home and care for the babies” because world-building-wise, it makes no sense

think about it. like, assuming that gender even works the same in this fantasy culture as it does in ours, with gender conflated with sex (because let’s be real, all of these stories assume that), men wouldn’t be the ones to make the babies, so why would they be the ones to care for the babies? why is fighting and hunting necessary for leadership?

writing a matriarchy this way is just lazy, because you’re just taking the patriarchy and just swapping the people in it, rather than actually swapping the culture. especially when there are so many other cool things you could explore. like, what if it’s not a swap of roles but of what society deems important?

maybe a matriarchy would have hunting and fighting be part of the man’s job, but undervalued. like taking the trash out or cleaning toilets: necessary, but gross, and not noble or interesting. maybe farming is now the most important thing, and is given a lot of spiritual and cultural weight.

how would law work? what crimes would exist, and what things would be considered too trivial to make illegal? who gets what property? why?

how would religion work? how would you mark time or the passage into adulthood? what would marriage look like? if bloodlines are through the mother, bastardy wouldn’t even be a concept - how does that work?

what qualities would be most important in a person? how would you define strength or leadership? what knowledge would be the most coveted and protected? what acts or roles are considered useless or degrading?

like, you can’t just take our current society and say you’re turning it on its head when you’re just regurgitating it wholesale. you have to really think about why things are the way they are and change that

can you imagine. Library au Keith and hunk work in receiving, processing new shipments/donations and putting books back from the dropoff chute. Pidge is IT support for the library and keeps the servers secure and lightning fast and definitely doesn’t spy on people with her network. Shiro and lance are the receptionists bc Lance thought it would be a good way to meet some smokin bodies and shiro just really loves books okay. Coran owns the building and Allura manages it and takes down all the mouse traps Coran puts up because “they’ve never chewed anything or pooped on the books, Coran!" 

 And there are the usual library shenanigans including but not limited to 

  •  - a closet full of books. no context it’s just there and Coran wants it to stay. 
  •  - squirrels sneaking in through the dropoff chute when the weather gets colder - hunk and keith hunting the squirrels bc they’re not always busy
  • - hunk wanting to be humane only and Keith slowly putting his knife away
  •  - Keith this is a library why do you have a knife
  •  - *squints into the horizon like a war veteran* squirrels
  •  - pidge suggesting that the mice are helping the squirrels
  •  - keith’s war against rodents begins and Allura scrambles to set up cozy hiding spots for them all just out of Keith’s reach
  •  - and then he finds his pistachios MISSING and his pear has been nibbled upon and he mc freaking loses it
  •  - shiro puts this sign up on the dropoff chute very quietly and kindly and he just kind of puffs up knowing that he’s done a Good Deed
  •  - people start obeying the sign and Lance leaves the front doors open so he can hear it every single time it happens. He has a tally chart.
  • - the chute opens one day without anyone shouting down it and Keith runs upstairs and looks around "did you see any squirrels ma'am" 
  • - Lance is dying bc it was him. 
  •  - klance makeouts between the bookshelves 
  • - the dudes from the computer repair shop next door coming in and asking if any of the webcams in the library had mysteriously turned on too 
  • - pidge is a good liar bc obviously she was behind it. 
  •  - hunk and allura putting food for the squirrels on the roof in an attempt to keep them safe from Keith 
  • - hunk and allura realizing that the squirrels are determined, suicidal little shits and so they just put food in the corner of the library or up on the highest bookshelves and hope that their tails will do the dusting for them 
  • - shiro sighing at literally everything as he hand feeds the squirrels 
  • - is he Snow White like how does he do that 
  •  - Keith’s Betrayed Face when he sees shiro schmoozing the squirrels 
  • - *whispers* I thought you loved me 
  • - shiro rolling his eyes so hard he goes and joins a bowling league 
  •  - the dudes from the computer repair shop coming back AGAIN and asking if show tunes had started playing in the library 
  • - pidge must physically remove herself from their presence bc she’s trying very hard not to cackle like an overlord 
  • - Keith brings in a CAT 
  • - allura is horrified and literally clutches her chest 
  •  - Lance falls in love with the cat, feeds it treats and snacks and gives it lazy toys until it gets ULTRA FAT 
  • - Keith comes to the conclusion that his bf sabotaged his cat plan on purpose and cuts off the nookie supply for a month
  •  - worst month of everyone’s lives tbh 
  • - hunk begs Keith to please just fuck Lance again 
  • - a hanjo in the Scientology section at the very least please please please 
  •  - pidge and shiro end up stuck in the weird book closet somehow 
  • - shiro COULD break down the door but that’s just a lot of work 
  • - why break things when you could have a book fight 
  • - they throw a couple hundred paperbacks at each other for 20 minutes 
  •  - pidge builds a throne of books and rules her domicile (400 books and shiro) with cunning and dignity 
  • - until shiro slaps her in the face with a copy of pride and prejudice and the war begins anew 
  • - the library has like three floors and everyone knows to stay out of the left wing of the third floor during lunch breaks bc Lance and Keith honestly don’t care if u see their butts they will not stop 
  • - shiro or hunk lifting pidge onto their shoulders to put more food on the shelves for the squirrels 
  • - the general populace of the town not being weirded out by any of the shenanigans in the library 
  • - it’s just another beautiful day in mr Roger’s neighbourhood for them 
  • - Keith runs by them with a knife in his teeth and a net in his hands? Totally normal


simon as a photographer tho

  • it just so happens that a pitch is getting married
  • could be baz’s cousin or whatnot
  • and simon was hired as one of the photographers
  • so he’s just doing his thing right 
  • then the ceremony starts and the groomsmen and bridesmaids start walking down the aisle
  • and this guy all elegance grace and charm 
  • just started walking with a 3 year old kid who’s a ring bearer
  • and it was just so adorable 
  • that simon forgot who he’s actually supposed to be taking pictures of
  • then the reception came
  • simon thought he was being subtle enough
  • oh look he’s with the baby let’s take a picture of him or he’s with the groom that’s a nice shot 
  • when he was about to take another photo of him
  • he didn’t even notice that the figure he’s taking a shot of is slowly walking towards him
  • “what are you planning to do with those”
  • and simon’s just so awestruck that he just stood there
  • until he realized the guy is actually talking to him
  • and the question didn’t even make sense
  • “uh for the newly wed?”
  • and the guy looks so smug 
  • even took simon’s camera out of his hands and started going through the pictures
  • “delete this one I don’t like how I look in it”
  • at this point simon’s just bright red
  • and he’s like fuck it we went all this way
  • “You’re beautiful”
  • he didn’t even wait for the guy’s response and went on
  • “see how the light just hits you right? and the way you just stand out in the picture? you’re beautiful and I think i did a pretty good job at capturing it”
  • and the boy is silent the entire time and simon’s just deflating at this point
  • until he heard him whisper
  • “I’m gone for”
  • and simon’s like “sorry?”
  • “I’m baz the bride’s cousin. Shouldn’t you be having a break right now? C’mon let’s go ge drinks.”
  • “I’m Simon and yeah uh okay”
  • simon was close to passing out when baz offered his hand as they walked to the refreshment table
I would give the shirt off my back just to know how you’d look in it.

Anonymous requested : “Is that my shirt?” for a Jily prompt but I mistakenly deleted the ask when I was cleaning out my inbox of some years-old THG-fandom asks, sorry.
Read it on ffn or AO3

She is seated at the Gryffindor table eating a hearty serving of fried eggs and toast and talking to her friend Marlene when they come traipsing into the Great Hall like a scene from a Muggle film. Judging by the dark circles under all of their eyes, none of them got any sleep last night. It doesn’t make them any less picturesque.

Sirius, with his long, sleek, shimmery black hair and a careless smirk set on his handsome face, has always been one of the most beautiful people she has ever seen; even when they were eleven and weren’t exactly on the best terms there was no denying his ethereal beauty. Remus, all rugged and scarred and managing to look somehow both seventeen and eighty at the same time – it’s that haunted look in his eyes, she thinks – comes alive with the grin that his friends bring to his face. Peter, who has always been nothing but eager smiles and quick, witty one-liners and blue eyes in a boyishly charming face, is shorter and far less impressive to look at than his friends, but manages to fit in seamlessly all the same. Finally, there’s James Potter, the tallest of the bunch, arguably less handsome than Sirius but still with his fair share of admirers thanks to the easy grin, the effortless humor, the contagious laughter, the eager, open, friendliness that he exudes, the perpetually messy hair and deep, soft, charming hazel eyes that draw focus to a pleasant face.

Her heart skitters when she looks at him, finds him already watching her, heading straight for her. The playful grin turns boyish and eager when their eyes meet and she has to look away before she bites her lip and gives it all away. He is wedged between Sirius and Peter, an arm draped over each of them, but he wrenches himself away from them and drops into the empty seat on her left, tossing an arm over her shoulders.

“Morning, Lily. Marlene,” he says with a nod for the blonde to her right.

“Morning, James.” Marlene smirks at him as Sirius, Remus, and Peter take up three spots across the table from them. “Boys.”

“McKinnon, may I say, you’re looking quite fit today,” Sirius says, eyeing her over the table even as he loads up his plate with bacon and eggs.

“Yes, you may,” Marlene says loftily.

With her silky, wavy blonde hair, vibrant blue eyes, and curvy build, she is no stranger to boys like Sirius Black hitting on her. Still, Sirius is one of the few boys who manages to makes those comments and walk away unscathed. She claims it’s because their respective best friends are dating and it would be awkward to face him day after day knowing that she had all but hexed his balls off, but Lily suspects it’s more than that.

Carelessly flicking her hair over her shoulder, Marlene turns her attention away from Sirius, fixes a charming smile on her face, and leans toward Remus across the table. When she speaks, her voice is high-pitched and just slightly breathy. “Hey, did you finish that Defense essay yet?”

Lily wants to laugh, knowing that Marlene’s efforts are lost on Remus, who is not just oblivious to female interest, but actively tries to avoid it and therefore will not be seduced into helping Marlene with anything.

“Just about,” Remus says, watching suspiciously as she takes his plate from him and fixes him a heaping serving of the sausages sitting in front of her. “You want my notes, don’t you?”

“Please, I’m in completely over my head here,” Marlene drops the seductive tone and hands his loaded plate back.

“Sorry, I don’t actually take notes in Defense.” He cracks a rueful smile when she groans.

“Defense Against the Dark Arts genius over here,” Sirius says, nudging Remus with his shoulder.

“You don’t take notes in anything,” Lily points out, doing her best to ignore James’s wandering fingers on her leg.

“My genius is not limited to any one subject,” Sirius insists.

“Funny your grades don’t reflect your genius, then,” Marlene says.

Next to her, James laughs. Lily bites her lip to keep from joining in. She can’t help but to crack a smile when Sirius tosses a chunk of bacon at James, who catches it and throws it back at him.

“You can use my notes if you let me copy your History of Magic notes,” Peter offers hopefully.

“No offense, Peter, but you’re not exactly the top Defense student,” Marlene points out with a sigh.

“Maybe not,” Peter says. “But I stole Remus’s essay yesterday and took notes on it.”

“I knew I didn’t leave it unrolled!” Remus exclaims.

“You’ve got a deal, Peter.” Marlene grins and shakes Peter’s hand across the table, both of them happily ignoring Remus’s scowl.

“Catch this, Potter.” Sirius lifts a spoonful of jam and makes to fling it at James.

“If you hit me, Black, you’re a dead man,” Lily says darkly. He eyes her for a moment, takes note of her wand sitting next to her hand on the table, and wisely drops the jam.

“My hero,” James places a hand dramatically over his heart and leans over to kiss her.

He catches her chin instead of her lips when she turns her head at the last second. He sighs and lets his arm fall from around her shoulders. “You’re not still cross with me, are you?”

“Why ever should I be cross with you?” Lily says.

“Exactly, you shouldn’t!” James insists.

“Good thing I’m not, then!” she snaps, and turns her back on him to speak to Marlene, who is now watching them with wide eyes. He may be her boyfriend, and she may be the only person in the world who finds him more attractive than Sirius Black, and her heart may skip several beats whenever their eyes meet, but she’ll be damned if she doesn’t make him pay for his indiscretions.

“I’ve had a cross girlfriend or two in my day,” Sirius stage-whispers to the rest of them, “and she’s definitely cross.”  

Lily just barely resists the urge to stick out her tongue at him or maybe glue his tongue to the roof of his mouth.

He doesn’t make a sound or touch her or anything of the sort, but Lily is as aware as ever that James is staring at her. It’s a bit difficult to ignore someone staring at you when said person is sitting barely two inches away, but she gives it her best effort, chatting with Marlene, Remus, and Peter in between bites of her breakfast. Next to Remus, Sirius is clearly taking advantage of James’s inattention, doing something with his wand under the table. She has a brief moment of pity for her boyfriend before she remembers that he definitely probably deserves whatever Sirius has in mind.

“Is that my shirt?” James asks suddenly.

Lily freezes, a forkful of egg halfway to her mouth, and looks at him. “No.”

It’s a silly thing to lie about. It’s his favorite shirt in the world. He’s worn it just about daily since his parents gave it to him for Christmas three years ago and he would know it anywhere. There’s a telltale stain just below her left breast where Sirius spilled Doxy venom on him back in fifth year – he still has the scar on his chest to prove it – and a hole the size of a knut where the too-long sleeve bunches up at her right wrist.

“Yes, it is. That’s my Puddlemere United shirt.” He reaches towards her as if he wants to rip it off of her but seems to think better of it and merely brushes the back of his bruised hand along the navy blue material covering her arm. If it were one of the boys caught wearing his shirt, she is sure he wouldn’t hesitate to rip it off them regardless of the number of onlookers.

Her breath hitches in her chest when he leans in close, his chest against her shoulder and his mouth at her ear. “It looks really fucking good on you.”

She turns her face towards him, undeniably affected by his hot breath on her and his gravelly tone in her ear. Still, when he leans in to kiss her, she places a hand on his chest to still him less than an inch from her lips. “I missed you last night.”

“I’m sorry,” he says, and tries to kiss her again.

“We had plans. You ditched me,” she reminds him.

“I… It was Sirius’s fault!”

“Beg pardon?” Sirius says around a mouthful of bacon.

“If you hadn’t got tickets to see the Chudley Cannons play Lancashire!” James exclaims. “They’re both shit teams anyway!”

“If they’re such shit teams, why did you ditch your girlfriend to watch them?” Remus asks slyly.

“And why did you cheer harder than anyone else there when Rookwell made that goal?” Peter adds with a soft, amused snort. 

“Traitors.” James brandishes his empty fork across the table at his friends.

“Don’t blame Sirius,” Lily says sternly as she scoops another bite of egg onto her fork. “He didn’t force you to do anything.”

James watches with a pathetic pout on his face as she pretends to concentrate all of her attention on her breakfast.

“Yeah, don’t blame me,” Sirius says.

Without looking away from Lily, James throws a greasy sausage at Sirius, hitting him on the nose and ignoring his protests.

“It’s Quidditch! I have poor impulse control when presented with Quidditch! You knew that and decided to love me anyway!”

“So you admit it’s your fault,” Lily prompts.

“It’s all my fault. I’m stupid and I chose Quidditch over you and it wasn’t even worth it, even if Rookwell did make that spectacular goal. Anyway, not important. Still not better than spending an evening with you.” He leans in close again, presses a quick kiss to her neck before she can stop him. One hand tangles in her hair and the other creeps slowly up her thigh beneath the table. “Or a morning, an hour, a few minutes.”

“A few minutes? You need to work on that, mate,” Sirius laughs.

“Or perhaps he has, and a few minutes is all they need,” Marlene counters, sparing Sirius an unimpressed glance as she reaches across the table for a strip of bacon. “Something you should work on, maybe.”

Sirius gapes at her. Before he has a chance to get his thoughts in order enough to retort, Lily’s wand is in her hand and pointing at him. He chokes, grabs his mouth, and glares at her with his tongue firmly plastered to the roof of his mouth. She smiles at him and turns her attention back to her boyfriend, who only looks ever more turned on now that she has hexed his best friend.

His heated gaze is her undoing, but she tries to hide it with a lofty sigh as she studies him thoughtfully. “You do look rather pitiful.”

It’s not entirely true. What he looks is desperate with his wet, pink lips and dark, round, wide eyes. It makes her feel desperate.

She leans in close to him, feels him take a deep breath, either steadying himself or breathing her in, she’s never too certain. His fingers drum a tattoo high on her thigh under the fabric of her skirt. She hums in delight.

“Perhaps you can make it up to me.” She is sure to keep her tone husky, a bit raspy, the way she knows he can’t resist.

Across from her, Sirius watches with one arched brow, a knowing smirk playing on his lips, all insult and injury forgotten. Remus rolls his eyes and looks away pointedly, the corners of his moth upturned just slightly while Peter laughs openly at the wide-eyed stare James is giving her. Marlene just grins at them, not that either of them notice what any of their friends are up to.  

Lily rises from the bench and drapes herself over James, her chest against his back, arms hanging over his shoulders, hands trailing down his firm chest to his abs, her mouth hovering just next to his ear. “I think I’ll keep the shirt on this time.”  

His jaw is slack when he turns his head and tries to kiss her, but she backs away quickly, and turns to walk from the Great Hall without looking back. He trips over shoelaces suddenly tied together – Sirius’s sneaky doing earlier, no doubt – and she hears him hit the ground cursing unreservedly, followed by the laughter of several nearby students.

It never does take much teasing to get him going. When he catches up to her seconds later, a blazing look in his eye, and takes her hand to pull her along at a faster pace, she knows she’s in for a real treat.

my best advice for writing, no joke: read more books.

not just books you think you’ll like, but even books you think (or know) are going to be terrible or boring.

published books. the mainstreamiest of mainstream books. books way over your reading level or in a genre you think is intellectually beneath you. books you pick up and read the back cover of and think “why the fuck would anyone read this?”

because you’ll pick up a couple of things, namely:

  • what other people’s writing looks like
  • what good writing looks like 
  • what bad writing looks like

how did I figure out how dialogue works? did someone tell me? no, I just picked it up from reading other people’s writing, over and over again, and at one point I realized, “oh, you start a new line every time a new person talks.”

how do I know not to overuse a thesaurus for simple words like “said”? I read a lot of books where they didn’t do that (cough ELDEST cough TWILIGHT cough), decided that it looked silly, and didn’t put it in my writing.

you read a lot of books, and you start to pick up on what’s the norm, what you like, what kinds of things you want to write for yourself. I’ve read enough books to know that, for me, consistency and continuity are really fucking important. so now I take a lot of steps to make sure that I keep the continuity going. and that’s because I’ve read a couple of books (even books I’ve really liked! especially books I really liked!) where there was a continuity error, sometimes a blindingly obvious one that took me out of the story. if I’d only ever read books that had a great grasp of continuity, how would I know that it was important?

do you want to write well? I don’t mean “do you want to get published” or “do you want to make it your career,” because you don’t need those things to write. but do you want to write well? even if it’s “just” fic? even if it never leaves your documents folder?

read more books.


Every Tuesday my parents go to Austin’s Bar & Grill with 25 or more other old people. My parents start talking about what they’re going to order on the Wednesday after they were there on Tuesday. Sometimes it’s going to be salad and onion rings. Other times it’s hamburgers and, perhaps, green beans. They tip bigger than they would because others in their group tip smaller than they should. It’s something to do when you don’t have all that much left to do.

On their way to Austin’s, they will pass Garmin, a complex that started out small and just keeps getting wider and taller. My dad worked at King Radio for most of his adult life. It was founded by Ed King, a K-State graduate who built a company that became the gold standard for small aircraft navigational equipment. I worked there during the summers when I was in college where I shipped more 170B transponders than you could imagine. (Coincidentally, Mr. King paid for the International Student Center on the KSU campus and this is where Pete took me on our first “date” where he ate the food in the refrigerator that was not his.) 

Anyway, when he was at King Radio, Dad had a casual friend named Gary. They played softball together, talked about their young kids, got their hair cut by the same downtown barber. Gary and an Asian engineer at King went on to combine their names, Gar and Min, and formed the company Garmin. If my dad had been younger and less close to retirement, he would have gone to Garmin in those days when it was neither wide nor tall. Sometimes, as they drive to Austin’s for tacos and french fries, Mom and Dad mention Gary and wonder how things might have been had Dad been in on the ground floor.

Anyway, Austin’s and Garmin collided two days ago in my hometown. As you might have heard, two Indian engineers headed across the street from Garmin to Austin’s to watch what every sports bar in Kansas would be watching—the KU Jayhawks go for their 13th straight Big 12 conference title. A drunk, known to the Austin’s people, kept hassling the two men and was kicked out of the bar. He later returned, shouted something like “Get out of my country” and shot them. Another young man, who would have had no idea that he was going to become a hero that day, stepped in to help. One Indian was left dead, the other was injured along with the hero. Another day. Another angry white man with a gun. Another dead young man. Another time of us all saying we never thought it would happen in our town. Until it did.

And we’ll all begin the rituals that we’ve become so good at. A few days ago, I looked for a GoFundMe page so that I could donate to the desecrated Jewish cemetery in Missouri. Today I will donate to the GoFundMe for the Austin’s bar victims. Young kids and moms and teen girls will bring flowers to put outside the bar. Neighbors of the shooter will say that they knew their neighbor was a bit off but they never expected this. We will mourn the loss of a fellow human who was trying to make his way on this big earth. His body, paid for with GoFundMe money, will make its way home to his family. We are just really really good at this in America. Practice makes perfect.

Anyway, last night, with those words “get out of my country” that have been given more acceptance by Trump bouncing around in my head, I went to the town hall meeting at the church at the end of my street. Senator Jerry Moran was not there. To be completely fair, and I’m trying to be in these trying times, this was not an organized meeting. Moran had not set up this town hall meeting. He had not said he would attend the meeting. Rather, organizers set it up and invited him. Even on the website, it said that no one knew if Senator Moran had seen the invitation and no one knew if he would attend. So I can’t fairly say that he ducked out of meeting that he had never set up.

But his presence or absence isn’t really the story here. I live in Johnson County, Kansas. It’s not totally red like most of Kansas. It’s definitely not blue. But, still, parts of it voted for Hillary. Others voted for the candidates who could not win. If you add those together, more in Johnson County voted for someone not named Trump than voted for Trump. It’s not a purple area yet, but it’s definitely lavender. Olathe, though, is a red dot in that purple. It’s really red. Like maybe scarlet. And, still, the parking lot was packed. Perhaps with as many cars as would be there on a Sunday. It was dark and you could see the headlights of cars driving up and down aisles trying to find a place to park. 

My high school friend Verneda was there. We talked about the meanness that we hadn’t known existed in America. We talked about the night Hillary lost. We talked about how all this political activism was something new. We agreed that we needed to keep it up even when it was hard.

The meeting room was full. The overflow crowd had spilled into the lobby. No one in the lobby could hear the speakers inside. What most surprised me was the demographic of those there. I had expected young people in jeans and sweatshirts on this unseasonably warm evening. I’d thought there might be some moms there. They were there. But also there were so many old people. Like really old people. And they, the old people, were the ones in charge. One bent-backed lady with silver hair kept shushing those of us in the overflow area because she wanted to hear the speakers. She looked like those women who always run the polling stations. Those women who show up, do their job, get it done, and go home with no thanks. I repeat. The majority of the people there were old. I was—-surprised.

These old people had us fill out 3x5 cards with messages to be hand delivered to Moran’s office. They had a whiteboard where you could write a message to Moran, take a picture of yourself standing next to it, and as the old women told us, post it to social media. Social Media? These suddenly tech savvy ladies and gentlemen were telling these teens how to use social media to ferment discord.

When I was a teen, there was a song by Buffalo Springfield that I loved and, when I hear it, I remember Vietnam and halter tops and Jesus freaks. The song said:

“There’s something happening here. What it is ain’t exactly clear.”

That’s how it felt last night in this church lobby in scarlet red Olathe where I mingled with angry riled up Kansans. There’s something happening here. And Senator Moran and others would do well to pay attention.

hey guys hear me out: legends as a ghost hunting show au

  • rip is the founder of the group and picks the places they investigate
  • ray and jax are the tech mainly, but leonard also helps out sometimes (he’s mainly in charge of Where Cameras Go and shit like that tho because he’s really good at memorizing the layouts of places and somehow knows exactly where to get the perfect angles)
  • nate is in charge of research and lore
  • everyone else is mainly just there to investigate and fight some fucking ghosts
  • they typically split into 2 teams: team A that consists of rip, sara, jax, and amaya; and team B that has leonard, mick, ray, and nate
  • team A is very organized and careful, they just sit around and try to get voices on their recorder most of the time (sara tends to provoke them a Lot and that usually gets a few good reactions)
  • team B is basically just watching an episode of ghost adventures with mick yelling at the ghosts to fight him (followed by ray and nate pissing themselves when they actually do scratch him or some shit)
  • ft. kendra, carter, and jonah that sometimes appear on the show as Special Guest Investigators
  • stein is in charge of evidence review with ray and jax, he’s too old to go out hunting with them he’d probably have a heart attack or something
  • the flash, supergirl, and arrow have their own ghost hunting shows too and they sometimes appear on each other’s shows to provide some extra insight on evidence captured, they’re all in Cahoots with each other and really admire each other’s work even if their television networks are rivals

geritas-love-child  asked:

Mabey you could wright a Dusttale sans and genocide sans fight? I feel Like it's be interesting to see how sans feels about himself being the one who went genocide.

(*Did you guys know that I reallyreallyreally love Dusttale? )

“It’s a beautiful day outside.
Birds are singing…
Flowers are blooming.

…but you already knew that.”

Sans opens his eyesockets, staring at the hooded figure before him.  His opponent has a creepy grin permanently plastered on his face, despite the fact that he had just left a trail of dust and despair in his wake.  

Of everyone he’s judged, of all the various outcomes he’s experienced, he never in a million timelines saw this coming.

It’s unsettling seeing his own expression mirrored back to him.  The only difference is the red eyelights and thick layer of dust clinging to the other’s clothes.  

“you know what i’m about to say, dont'cha buddy?  you’ve been here before, standing on this side of the judgement hall.”

His Dust Mirror shrugs, seeming so nonplussed by the confrontation. He finally spoke up, “yeah, yeah, burning in hell, broken promises, blah blah.  i know the spiel.”

Sans’s fingers clench in his pockets, but he tries to maintain his composure.  There’s no mistaking who this skeleton is, and it’s left him rattled.

“ok, so how about something off-script?  why did you do it?”

Dust cocks his head slightly to the side, a bony brow quirking.  "why’d i go genocide?“  Sans nods, confirming the query.  "heh. you already know the answer to that, pal.  i got stuck in the loop, same as you… only eventually, my attacks stopped working.  i couldn’t kill the kid anymore.”  He pauses, his grin widening.  "so i knew i just needed some LOVE in my heart to win.“

Sans furrows his brow a little.  "what are you talking about?  you started killing to beat frisk?”

Dust twitches a little at the name.  "no–chara.  to beat chara… to save frisk.  are you telling me you don’t know?“  He chuckles, shaking his head.  Before he continues, however, he looks off to the side, his attention drawn elsewhere.  Sans doesn’t see anyone else in the Hall, yet with the way Dust’s head is tilted, it seems as if he’s… listening to someone.

“ok, but even if you beat them, don’t they just RESET?”

Dust nods slightly, but Sans doesn’t think it’s directed at him.  "you’re right.  he’s so dense.  it’s hard to believe i was ever like this.“

Dread began to pit in Sans’s gut.  ”…who are you talking to?“

Dust scoffs.  "who else?  paps.”

Sans’s gaze hardens, the recent loss of his brother biting into his SOUL.  "enough talking.  you’re nuts, so let’s just get straight to the point.“

With that, Sans opens with a quick attack.  A row of bones jutted toward his mirror, followed by several Gaster Blasters, each larger than the last. There was a whirl of magic, building into a whine, before each of their maws opened up to unleash raw energy toward Dust.  

Each bone sent Dust’s way was countered with a purple-tinted bone, and when the Gaster Blasters fired, he narrowly teleported directly behind Sans.  Anticipating this, Sans teleported to the other side, reversing their positions.  

Dust chuckles. "not bad.  i mean, you are me, but… heh, i’m stronger than you.”

Sans narrows his gaze, focusing on the other.  Instantly, the Check is performed.

* sans  250 ATK  1 DEF
* wanna have a mad time?
* LV 37

Sans is so stunned by the other monster’s LOVE that he barely dodges the purple-tinged bone that abruptly juts from the ground.

Dust’s grin widens as Sans barely dodges being skewered.  He had felt the Check, and he knew what the other would see, knew how it would quite literally rattle his bones.  


Dust glances toward the floating form of Papyrus, his bust slightly opaque, but highlighted by the bright, wafting scarf cinched around his neck.  

“you’re right, paps.  he’s only got 1 hp still… and we all know he can’t dodge forever.”

Sans shudders, his smile tighter than it’s ever been.  “yeah?  and you have more than 1 hp?”

Dust’s left eyesocket wisps purple, and he raises his hand.  “yep.  ya’see, i used to feel like you… so hopeless.  but then, i realized what i had to do.”

Sans stares, shaking his skull.  Dust unleashes another barrage of bones, and Sans nimbly dodges each with flare, sometimes leaning back, sometimes ducking, sometimes hopping up and doing the splits.  




“you had to kill everyone, huh?  kill papyrus, too?”

Dust shrugs.  “better me killing him than the human.  besides… paps is still here.”  He tilts his skull toward the side, and while Sans doesn’t see anything there, Dust sees his brother’s phantom bust floating around him, coming over to speak close to the side of his face. 


“paps is happier this way.  paps understands that i did what’s right.”

Sans rolls his shoulders, chuckling humorlessly.  “you’ve become everything you wanted to stop, and you don’t even see it.  buddy, i know you’re not that blind.  or maybe you really can’t see with your freaky eyes.”

Dust grinned wider.  Integrity…. Justice…. who needed those traits when he had Determination?  That red tinge to his gaze was just that, shining through.  “i can see clearer than i have in hundreds of timelines, pal.  besides… don’t act like you’re LOVEless.  i’m you, remember?”

Sans gritted his teeth together and snapped his fingers.  In an instant, Dust’s SOUL turned blue.  “ y o u ‘ r e  w r o n g .“  And with hollow, empty sockets, Sans sent Dust flying across the Judgement Hall, into a nearby pillar.  Dust chuckled, shaking his head.  The attack would have been easy enough to counter, but he wasn’t worried.  He hadn’t been lying when he told Sans that he had more than 1 HP, so why not prove it?  Why not let him see how much HoPe there was to be gained from his way of handling their mutual problem?  

A bone jutted from Dust’s shoulder, jagged and broken.  He crushed it in his palm.  “still only 1 ATK.  you’re pitiful.”


“heh, hurts a lot, coming from you.”  Sans shrugs, his hands still casually in his pockets.  “i would never kill paps.  i don’t care how many times all of us die.  i’ll never stop trying to get through to frisk, and i would never hurt my brother.”

His gaze is hard; his sockets dark.  Dust’s shoulders shake briefly, before he starts all-out laughing, holding his sides as he loses his composure.  “ah ha… haha… AHAHAHAHAHA!  that’s hilarious!”  Dust wipes a purple-tinged tear from the rim of an orbit.  “never?  never ever?  sans, buddy, pal–look at me.”  He stops laughing to lock gazes with Sans directly.  

“y o u   a l r e a d y  h a v e . ”

Another bone goes through Dust.  And then another.  And another.  Sans rapidly fires them through the other skeleton, while Dust starts cackling again.  

“you must really hate yourself, huh?  too bad it’ll take you hundreds of…. of….”

Dust trails off, suddenly wobbling.  He tries to catch himself on a bone, but ends up landing on his knees on the Judgement Hall.  


Dust’s vision starts to blur as Sans steps forward, his slippers slapping against the polished floor.  

“welp, you know what they say…”  He stops right in front of Dust, his grin wide and humorless.  “karma’s a bitch.”

Karmic Retribution.  Of course.  He should have realized what was going on.  After all, the the purple tint to his eye was born from that brand of magic.
But he was used to using it against Chara, against their LOVE.  

He forgot entirely that his special attack as Judge could be used against him as well.  

Dust drops his skull, his reflection staring back at him in the shiny, golden tile.  He can see Papyrus, floating beside him with worry weighing heavily on his features.  “heh, don’t worry, paps.  i’ll see you again soon.”

Dust raises his gaze to Sans, listening to the sound of a Gaster Blaster whirling to life from somewhere off to his right.  

“get the hell out of my timeline, and don’t come back.”

A smirk crosses Dust’s face.  “don’t worry.  we’ll meet again soon.”

He chuckles.

“only next time, it’ll be when you’re looking in a mirror.”

And then the Gaster Blaster turns him into nothing but dust, while Sans grimly watches.

(* Mobile Imagine Masterlist
I’m going to start including that at the bottom of all my imagines, if I can.  )

all that we could lose

tell me a secret

she says it from under a blanket and he isn’t sure he heard her right, because she is his biggest secret (she has always been, since he was eleven and she was a red haired angel on a train) and there isn’t much else to tell. finally he points at a scar on his elbow and tells her the story of jumping off the refrigerator as a kid, sure he could fly. her face appears over the top of the blanket, hair in her eyes, and she informs him that he is a dork of the utmost calibre and then they’re both laughing.

tell me a secret

she nudges his arm and whispers it, in a room full of people a sentence meant only for him. he didn’t know this game would come back, tries in vain to find a way to tell her what he’s thinking (he loves her, loves her more than the sky and the stars and the sun). but it takes too long and she elbows him in the ribs and he admits that he shaved his legs once to see how it would feel. then her hand is on his leg and she’s frowning and telling him that he didn’t do a very good job, and right in the middle of the great hall his head floats up to the ceiling and into outer space.

tell me a secret

she says it from behind her notes and it sounds like an order, though he doesn’t really mind, he’s been hoping she’d ask again. he opens his mouth and almost says it, almost tells her how much she means to him (more than the universe, lily, more than every breath) but the common room is full and he doesn’t want her to think it’s another joke, not this thing that matters the most to him. so he describes the feeling when he first got to hogwarts, the feeling of intense belonging, so much that his heart hurt. and she snorts, waving the pile of assignments, saying that her heart certainly hurt - but he can see in her eyes that she knows what he means, maybe even more than he does. 

tell me a secret

they’re queuing up to get back on the train, go home for the summer and reckon one part of life with another. she kicks him in the shin before she says it, just to get his attention, but the professors are all looming and he can’t answer until they’ve all been checked in. the empty compartment is not where he had planned to declare his love, but empty was good (anything in front of people would be too much; there was nobody he cared to impress other than her) and he wasn’t going to declare love anyway, or at least not in the way he’d already done so many times. so she looked up expectantly and he tells her, with no preamble, how he would willingly die, with no hesitation, for the people he loves. she doesn’t have to ask if that includes her, but she does anyway, and his slow nod is everything in the world to her, everything.

james potter would offer his life for lily evans, and someday he will have to.

you: intellectuals think the same as everyone else, they just talk differently.

me, an intellectual: Although academic English is well-adapted to the low-context culture in which it is used, its inherent qualities are not sufficient to justify its relative inaccessibility; its use can only be explained as an expression of social status.

Writing, it was like a heavenly balm, it was like the flowing out of deep waters, it was like the lifting of a load from the spirit; it brought with it a sense of relief, of assuagement. One could say things in writing without feeling self-conscious, without feeling shy and ashamed and foolish…
—  from The Well of Loneliness by Radclyffe Hall