[nowherebuthome]

[georgecuntanza]

love books. because it’s like what if something happened

[tokkibean]

nothing reveals typos better than the ao3 publish button. who needs spellcheck honestly

[ohcaptains]

[enyter]

[segamascott]

[iamyounicorn]

[guy whose bedtime is approaching fast] I need to write one billion words right now. and draw everything that has ever existed.

[hypotenussy]

the number 1 rule of fanfic is have fun and be yourself. the number 2 rule is the average healthy adult male can lose roughly 2 liters of blood before dying.

[nixscriptum]

less of a poem, more of a reminder. ( ఌ )

[mutant-what-not]

Hunter S. Thompson aims at his IBM Selectric typewriter, Woody Creek, 1989

[forestcat000]

Codyseth new chapter

An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

[fr34k0n4l345h]

Easy Come, Easy Go

A Marble Hornets 1920’s au fic

enjoy!!

Next

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Chapter One - Birdie

The streets were draped with a tranquil silence. Only the buzzing of distant cicadas and the rhythmic chirping of other nighttime crawlers filled the void that formed in the heart of Birmingham, Alabama. The streets may be desolate at this hour, but beneath layers of asphalt and crust was a bustling community.

The dance floor was cast in an elegant glow that coincided beautifully with men and women alike that moved and swayed about suavely in dazzling attire. Risqué attire of the likes that were frowned upon during the daytime. People of all sizes, backgrounds, and colors mingled and chattered between watered down bootleg alcoholic beverages. Brassy music filled the air that swirled stagnantly with remnants of tobacco smoke. The night life was energetic and free. Up until a few years ago, it was foreign and daunting world to Jay. Yet, it was one that he’d come to accept. What choice did a paperboy like him have?

“Birdie!” A masculine voice slurred from across the finely polished wooden countertop. This snapped Jay from his mindless idle daze.

“Pour me another whiskey on the rocks!” He looked up to meet the clearly inebriated man, who slapped a couple of crumpled bills atop the shiny bar-top. Jay had learned the hard way to keep his head down while on the clock. To do exactly as he was told. To speak only when spoken to. This job was the only thing keeping him off of the streets. The last thing he needed was his loud mouth getting him fired. So no matter how arrogant or crude his customers were, his body moved on command.

“You got it.” Practiced and gentle hands moved with precision prepare the man his requested beverage. He slid the sparkling glass across the lacquered wooden surface in exchange for the mishandled bills. The man tipped his fedora in thanks before vanishing into the crowd, melting into the sea of mingling strangers.

The bartender shoved the crinkled paper into a jar behind the bar, then folded his arms lackadaisically on the countertop with a heavy sigh. Jay often caught himself wondering if this was the life truly deserved. It certainly wasn’t the life he’d imagined as an ambitious teenager. He often wondered how things would’ve turned out had he gotten that position at his childhood friend’s budding film company. Kralie Inc. It was an industry mammoth now. He’d always known it had potential. Especially with the knowledge and expertise of the man running the business. Alex Kralie.

—

“No, no, you’re doing it all wrong!” An immature voice scolded. “You need to feel what the character is saying, not just speak the line!” The young blonde in his memory had lighthearted frustration carved into his features as he berated his friend. The innocent southern sun beamed upon the two of them, singeing his delicate skin even with the protection of his stained blouse. It was how they spent all of their days together; in the yard of his father’s victorian style mansion beneath the endless canopy of blue above them, acting out every book they could get their grubby little hands on.

“This is too hard,” Jay huffed in protest. “why can’t your sister act as the princess? She’s a girl!” Little beads of sweat glistened on their blemish-free features. A symphony of birds sang around them.

“Because she isn’t pretty enough, I already told you that.” Alex argued, arms crossed firmly over his chest. “Now start over!”

It was in that moment that Jay’s entire perspective of the world shifted, turning itself inside out. He was a boy; he couldn’t be pretty! His prepubescent mind couldn’t fathom such a concept. Oddly enough, the sun seemed to beat down on him harder.

“What are you doing just standing there? Move!” Alex nudged his shoulder with a closed fist, shaking the boy out of his flabbergasted staring contest with the ground. When he looked up, he was met with a smiling expression. One that, as a child, Jay had become familiar with. A smile that spread to his own features. A light laughter bubbled from his chest. The memory faded.

—

“I can’t be friends with you anymore.”

“But Ale—“

“DON’T!”

The voice echoed. Then, there was a trembling breath. It was so faint, yet oh so fragile. Like a mere gust of wind would cause the male to crumble into a million little fragments.

“Don’t call me that. Don’t call me anything at all. I— we’re done. For the sake of my life and yours, don’t write me. Don’t look for me. Y’know what— just forget we ever met.”

His chest burned.

“Goodbye, Jay.”

—

It was as if a boa constrictor had wrung itself around his heart. Becoming tighter with each loop around. Why, oh why did that memory always come back to tourment him?

“Sir? ‘Scuse me, sir.” A thick country accent filled his ears, smooth and warm as honey. Jay looked at the man across from him, tired eyes boring into the stranger. Eyes that weren’t quite seeing in the present.

“You seem to have, uh.. spilled.” The man gestured to the glistening puddle of an unknown liquid and cubed ice in front of him. If Jay wasn’t wide awake before, he certainly was now. He jumped to action, yanking the rag dangling from his belt and hurried to clean up the liquid. The surveying man chuckled. It was a pleasant noise that carried above the music flowing from the stage across the establishment.

“Long night, huh?” The curious customer inquired. Jay huffed out a short laugh. It was a pathetic attempt at courtesy towards the customer.

“Yeah, you could say that.” He’d murmur. With the spilled alcohol now soaked into the rag without a trace, he plopped the soiled fabric aside. Before he could lift his gaze, a wad of neat bills were slid his way. It was more than enough cash for just one drink.

“Neat moonshine for me. Get yourself somethin’ while you’re at it. You look like you need it.” His effortless smile exposed a little tooth gap hidden behind his lips. A subtle feature that complimented the man’s kind attitude. Jay could only stare at him in wonderment at the suspiciously generous offer.

“Thanks.” He’d awkwardly reply after a few moment of battling his own brain to come up with coherent words to say in response. He took the cash, then worked to pour the stranger his alcohol of choice. Surprisingly enough, even as a bartender in one of the several underground speakeasies in Birmingham, Jay didn’t get around to drinking often. To summarize a long story short, he was a lightweight and didn’t enjoy how quickly the substance got to him. But bootleg beer was the perfect ratio of water and actual alcohol to give him a comfortable edge. So, he poured himself a glass.

To Jay’s confusion, the stranger didn’t leave after being served his drink.

“Brian, by the way. Are you new ‘round here?” Brian focused in on him with upmost curiosity, but it wasn’t the condescending type. It was friendly and lighthearted. This man didn’t seem like the type to frequent a speakeasy like, yet here he was.

“Uh, yeah, kinda. I work weekends mostly.” He’d sheepishly reply. Truth be told, he wasn’t new at all. He’d been working at that joint for about a year now. Sometimes, the paperboy couldn’t help but tell little white lies. What did it matter, anyways? At these bars, he was Birdie; a hard-working student caring for his siblings at home. Not Jay Merrick; the man who was hardly getting by. A failure living a double life to escape his unfortunate reality.

The man, who he’d come to know as Brian, nodded and sipped on the golden liquid in his glass.

“Thought so. I was wonderin’ why I haven’t seen the likes of you ‘round.” He idly responded, swishing around the liquid in his glass. There was a brief silence between them. “What’s eatin’ you? You’ve got that thousand yard stare to you.”

The question came as a surprise to Jay. It wasn’t often that anyone acknowledged him beyond asking for a drink. For a moment, he faltered.

“I thought the bartender was supposed to be the one asking those questions.” He cracked an insincere smile. It was true. Jay was wrung dry; undeniably so.

“Says who?” Brian chided, a charming smile dancing on his lips. Jay felt his mouth go dry at that. He lifted his glass to his lips and took a sip of the bubbling liquid inside in a desperate attempt to drown the butterflies in his stomach.

“Well, y’know how it is.. the state of the world ‘n all.” Jay brushed the man’s obvious prying off with a lazy shrug. Much to his relief, Brian seemed to take the hint. He hummed from across the wooden bar top.

“Yeah, real shame what’s goin’ on in these parts. Especially with folk disappearing or turnin’ up dead in the night. Real scary world out there.” The stranger spoke before tilting his head back and taking a swig of his aged moonshine. At that, Jay could only stare.

“S-Sorry, what?” He stammered over his words. His brows knit together. “Did you say people are..” He couldn’t even utter the words. Why hadn’t he heard of this in the papers he delivered? Surely the press would be raging about something so alarming. Brian nodded.

“You heard that right. Murders and disappearances. Some say there’s a killer on the loose. Some are sayin’ it’s a man-eatin’ cryptid that lives in the forest.” He continued. It sounded absurd, and yet there was no sign of jest in the mans tone. Jay felt his heart lurch in his chest.

“No one really knows. Just stay safe out there, alright? Don’t give in to the shadow’s call.” Their eyes met. Jay held Brian’s gaze, which was terrifyingly sincere for a man he’d just met. It was a haunting passing moment. Then, he realized the message he was being delivered; a warning. Brain must know something that he did not. A wave of unease washed over him. Perhaps he was just paranoid— but if he were paranoid, how could Brian make such claims with a straight face?

“Loosen up, kid! look like you’ve just seen a ghost!” Jay’s boss, Mr. Murphy, boomed as he rounded the corner. He was a plump and jolly man with slicked back salt and pepper hair. Your stereotypical black-jack loving speakeasy owner. He casted one of his thick arms around Jay’s scrawny shoulders, which made him stumble. At the appearance of a new face, Brian’s pleasant smile reappeared.

“Good evenin’ to you, Mr. Murphy. I’ll get goin’ now.” Brian stood from the barstool, abandoning his now empty glass. He straightened out his tan overcoat. “It was nice talkin’ to you, uh..” Brown eyes flickered over Jay’s appearance. Oh right! He hadn’t introduced himself.

“Call me Birdie.” He promptly filled in the gap. At that, a smile tugged at the corner of Brian’s lips. A glint of an emotion he couldn’t quite capture twinkled in his eye.

“Right. Until next time, Birdie.” With that, the man with the comforting accent excused himself from the bar, revealing the atmosphere behind him. The population of customers were slowly dwindling. The music tapered to a laid-back swing. The morning hours must’ve been approaching. Beside him, Mr. Murphy droned on about tonight’s business and the typical drama that occurred almost nightly. Jay tuned him out. He took Brian’s abandoned glass and acquired a clean polishing rag.

As he was wiping the surface, something caught his eye. In red ink at the base of the glass resided two lines side by side and a curved one beneath it, resembling a smiling face. It was uniform and tidy, like it had been stamped on. Jay’s eyebrows creased. Where could this have come from? He’d been watching the customer the entire time, had he not?

He looked up towards the dark stairway that led towards the only entrance and exit of the secret establishment and felt a freezing chill run down his spine.

“Murders and disappearances. Some say there’s a killer on the loose. Some are sayin’ it’s a man-eatin’ cryptid that lives in the forest.”

Jay began to vigorously rub away the red ink with the smooth fabric of the white rag, staining it with the dye as a result.

“Don’t give in to the shadow’s call.”

He set the glass aside. He found himself looking back towards the darkness engulfed door way, as if something was luring him towards it. Beckoning him. A sense of unease hung over his shoulders. Brian’s words stuck to him like a curse. What did that man know that he didn’t? There was something strange going on. And something from deep within him, a primal yearning for knowledge, urged him to find out what it was.

Next

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HIIII THIS IS MY FIRST “big” project so feedback is appreciated :]]] will be posted to ao3 and wattpad at some point!!

[nondelphic]

writing isn’t hard. i just have to extract 80,000 words from my brain using sheer psychic force

[nowherebuthome]

How's it going void?

I haven't used this blog in ages and I can't even say I'm sorry. Crazy what happens when you let your social anxiety win out over your need for outside validation.

Progress report, I guess:

Stories finished: 5

Sad poems/ flash fiction written: Quite a few

I hit a slump around March that lasted for about six months where after one of the most productive writing periods I've ever had, I just. Stopped.

This hasn't happened to me since I was really depressed back in middle school and I guess my workload just became too much. I couldn't write for fun anymore because it started to feel like work.

In those six months, I did absolutely nothing writing wise (aside from uni) but I devoured books like never before. (Feel more educated now, clean split between fiction and nonfiction I'd say)

I also came back to my cinephile-roots (I've never written this here but I always wanted to make/ write movies when I was younger) and watched A LOT of movies and series. Plus a few rewatches of media that formed me and my taste in storytelling/ aesthetics when I was younger. Maybe out of pure mid-20s nostalgia, maybe because I was hoping it would rekindle that flame. I don't know.

Two weeks ago, I got an idea in my head and have been writing like a madwoman and now I have an almost finished audioplay (I guess?) on my hands. It feels kind of crazy. Twenty-some pages, all hand-written like back in the day when I would fill every blank page in my notebooks with a new story or a new chapter.

I haven't felt this hungry for writing in a while. This sort of obsession that has me sitting at the breakfast table with my notebook open while absentmindedly chewing on my porridge because my story just can't wait.

I missed it. I missed you. I missed burying myself in notes and being happy about it. I missed the joy of writing.

So, I guess:

Audioplays finished: 1

[nondelphic]

how to spot a writer:

unhinged google search history

crying over fake people

owns 200 notebooks (they're all empty)

[nowherebuthome]

Hey void,

I've spent all winter writing (feels like it at least haha). I hit a slump around December when I had for some reason decided that 4 projects simultaneously plus uni work would be a good idea. Turns out it wasn't. But now I feel refreshed and ready to tackle all of the small and big stories that have been piling up over the past few years.

I don't believe in 'New Year, New Me', neither do I believe in 'New Year, New Attitude'. It's a luxury only people with a strong will or a great deal of optimism can afford and I'm neither. But what I can try to do is get as much work done as I can and that's what I will do.

It feels like I've been trying to chase down a more positive mind set since last March and about a month ago I finally made a small break through. Read as: I finally started to write the new chapter for Obvious and Oblivious. I even did some structuring (!!) on one of my days off.

Meanwhile I'm also trying to get back into some other stories that I think deserve to finally be finished because, well, I love them. Or moreso I love their concepts and I would hate seeing them go to waste. It feels like buying a bottle of good wine, drinking one sip and then just letting it hang around in your fridge until it goes bad.

Furthermore I'm working on some stories at the moment that haven't even had the time to ferment yet and release their aroma. But I can already taste the potential of these creative grapes so I'm willing to take a chance.

(Enough of that wine metaphor before it gets away from me completely lol)

I've fallen back in love with hotels and spring and flowers (spending a grey winter couped up in a small town apartment will do that to you) so I can't wait to write about those things again.

Currently actively working on: a racing AU, a dance school AU and a small Agatha and Florence spin off for my best friend.

Passively (if I'm suddenly struck by an apolllonic vision) working on: Hot Mess, Obvious and Oblivious, and the Marlon.

See you later void <3

[nowherebuthome]

I don't think there's anything that's as satisfying as working your ass off to tease a plot twist and then finally (FINALLY!!) seeing it come to fruition after half a year of plotting

[nowherebuthome]

Me, beginning to write a one shot in the middle of the night: I'm sure I'll know what I meant come tomorrow morning.

Me, staring at my laptop the next morning: What the fuck was I on about?