Halt and Incendio FanFic

There was crying coming from the bathroom.

Donna, known by most as the cute red-head, ran into the bathroom holding the Sword of Gryffindor. The fabled sword had been bestowed to her while she was on her first-year boat ride to the school. Earning the sword so early was unheard of but Donna's talents were equally uncommon. Rushing across the tile floors Donna held the sword blade down, as any responsible witch would do, when she realized which bathroom she had entered. The crying was no doubt from one of the oldest students at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry: Myrtle Warren, or as she had be dubbed by the men of the school, "Moaning Myrtle." The cute red-head had no time for such limiting descriptive monikers.

Bracing the sword tight, Donna kicked open the stall door to find Myrtle dry-eyed even though the crying persisted elsewhere in the room. Myrtle pointed with a shrug to the stall door opposite her. Donna, again bracing the sword tight, kicked open this door and found a lowly creature.
"What's your name," Donna asked the shriveling thing.
"Sexybeard," he said, looking up to meet her gaze.
"Oh you're that 'Crabbe and Goyle' guy. Gordon, right?" she relaxed the grip on the Sword of Gryffindor.
"Are you crying because you killed Yo-Yo?"
Gordon shook his head "no."
As if a spell had been lifted she suddenly saw the rest of the bathroom. It was a mess. Sinks bashed in with a clumsy effort, water spraying out of toilets, ancient fixtures rendered useless.
Gordon, when asked, gave up the truth that he was looking for the Chamber of Secrets.

Somehow, beyond any reason a muggle would be able to comprehend, Donna found this endearing and within moments opened the Chamber of Secrets herself. Gordon didn't understand how she did this without a hammer.

As the two young students entered the Chamber they discovered a scene already in motion. That wizard Joe Macmillan was talking to somebody down in the depths. Joe spoke with a confidence entirely absent from Gordon's life experience.

"We're not friends," Joe said lifting a book, "we're family. We'll see each other at Christmas, every other year. We'll nod to each other across the room, and after about 45 minutes of fake chit-chat and butter beer, I'll make an excuse, 'We have to be somewhere. I'm so sorry.' And when the Slytherins ask me who that tall gray stranger in the diary is, I'll remind them, that's Tom Riddle."

With that Joe Macmillan stabbed the book. Donna, not for the first time, wondered if maybe she should work with Joe but immediately dismissed the thought and decided to hitch her thestril to Gordon's proverbial carriage.

Joe didn't see Gordon and Donna as he left the subbasement and came upon a noise behind the moving stairs. People were having fun. He hadn't heard laughter for weeks, not one smile since Yo-Yo died. Turning the corner he saw her, the short-haired girl with eyes as pure as bubbles, Cameron. She was talking to house-elves and having fun doing it.

Joe, with the sleeves of his robe rolled up to 3/4 length, introduced himself and asked her about the house-elves. She explained how when they're not taking care of Hogwarts' cleaning and food needs the house-elves are "free." The word stuck in her throat, immediately realizing how captive they really are at Hogwarts. Not just herself and her mold-breaking desires, but also the house-elves who are bound to duties. She had an idea for a club called Mutiny that would explore breaking the rules of house-elves and witchcraft.

Cameron's idea gave Joe another idea. He saw the potential of house-elves' time away from Hogwarts' related tasks. He walked away thinking about what he could accomplish with the nearly limitless efforts of house-elves. If only there was a space where he could work out his plan. And then, just as he needed it, a door opened in the middle of what had just been a solid wall. It opened to a room equipped with everything Joe Macmillan required.

Halt and Goblet of Fire

It was 1985 and before the Sorting Hat could say Slytherin, Joe MacMillan said "I want Hufflepuff."

In the Great Hall Joe sat down with the other newly appointed Hufflepuffs. His chosen seat was beside Gordon who was obsessing. Gordon, in trying to impress the cute redhead in Gryffindor, made a joke about how his name was Gordon, "as in Crabbe and Gordon" forgetting not only that the reference should have been "Crabbe and Goyle" but also that these two wizards would be the cause of great turmoil at the Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry in the near future. This was of course only according to the irrational tea leaves of adjunct professor Trelawney but it seemed in poor taste all the same. The joke worked like social polyjuice potion, tasting bitter and turning Gordon into a real clown. Somehow the red headed witch still smiled. It was beyond anything anyone could understand. Even Gordon himself wondered if he'd used a love potion on her and just forgot about it. He'd been using a lot of potions in the last 20 months and couldn't remember all of them. Gordon turned to Joe with all of these preoccupations clear to read on his conjunctivitis cursed face.

Joe's concerns were elsewhere and more focused. His thoughts were divided in two between both the house points in the hour glass and the short haired girl in Ravenclaw. Joe MacMillian had a plan for obtaining house points but nothing for her. She couldn't be understood by his understanding. She was raw talent incarnate. Like being hit with a spell, any spell, Joe's thoughts went still when thinking of her. Joe didn't know the particulars of spells well enough to diagnose this frozen feeling but he knew he had to be with this Ravenclaw. Gordon leaned over to inform Joe that the spell he's thinking of is most likely the freezing spell "Petrificus Totalus." All that did was anger Joe and strike Yo-Yo dead with a glacial blast.

Gordon's insufferable fucking up succeeded in bringing Joe's mind back to his objective, and if he'd ever admit to being helped, it also inspired a new goal. Before the year was out Joe would find a way to freeze the house points in Ravenclaw's hour glass forcing a merge with Hufflepuff. Also, before returning home for the summer to deal with his private and troubled past, Joe MacMillan will win the short haired Ravenclaw for himself. As sure as Voldemort's impending return, there was no spell to cure the scars on his body but maybe, just maybe, this Ravenclaw could cure his loneliness.

Don of the Planet of the Apes FanFic

"We're calling it 'the stick.'"

Breaking Bad Friday Night Lights FanFic: Dorm Days with Holly and Gracie Bell

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It’s practically 2030 and dorms still suck like they always have. I know this because the carvings on the bunk bed are from 2015. My roommate’s cool at least. For all intents she should be a brat, her mom practically runs Braemore College, but I’m supposed to be a brat too so it’s fine. After all, I’m nothing but a trust fund kid just waiting to hit 18 and roll it in. That’s the problem with having smart parents: you skip grades and get to college before you have the cash to spend on booze and drugs. Smart of them to set up a trust fund too. Lots of problems with smart parents. I’ll try to marry someone dumb and give my kids a chance.

Dean Taylor’s kid Gracie Bell ain’t half bad though. She asked me about my folks and I told her to tread lightly. She knew I was just being defensive and gave me choice of beds as a peace offering. She’s a good kid. Campus rumors say her sis was the real wild one in the family. Maybe she’ll be good for Flynn but who knows what forsaken island he’s on. Spending his hard earned trustbacks with Louis and those girls he manages to pick up with his charming Flynn powers. Anyway, my guess is that Gracie Bell’s sister took all the fun out of being rebellious and left all the “being responsible” genes to her. For all counts she could’ve went Ivy League but I’m sure getting a free ride from Dean Mom factors into things. Her dad’s kinda hot though. Shut up, I know. But he is. I’m gonna order some stuff from Super IKEA and see if that doesn’t line up with one of his unannounced “are you girls being safe” checks. I can’t wait to see him try to put one of those things together.

Other than that there’s not much to do around campus but I’m sure we’ll think of something. And the good news is now that I’m in Pennsylvania I can visit Uncle Jesse anytime I want.

He hates when I call him “Uncle Jesse” and every time I do he tells me the three reasons why.

“One: I’m not your uncle. Two: I hate that show.” I always forget what show it’s from. He says it’s before my time and he’s right. But apparently there’s some goofy show with an Uncle Jesse in it who thinks he's Elvis or Neil Diamond or something. But then there’s the third reason and that’s the one we always say out loud together.

“And Three: I’m in witness protection, Bitch!”

Gracie Bell borrows her mom’s car and drives us up to his spot. Dean Mom’s pretty cool and insists that I call her Tami. I’ll try not to litter in her Prius. Gracie Bell wonders if this is the right place and I break it to her that Uncle Jesse’s seen better times. It’s hard finding his headstone because I always forget the dumb assumed name he gave himself. There it is. “George O’Margolis.” What a goofball. If you’re gonna hide from the scariest man around don’t name yourself after some girl you dated.

I put some flowers down, some that remind me of the other half of his namesake, and sincerely wish that he’s safe now. Safe from my dad. Who knows if he is? They’re in the same place and I don’t think this semester of Intro to Religion is gonna cover jurisdiction of vengeful ghosts. But I hope he’s okay. I hope they both are.

I don’t care if she hears me, I shout “And Three: I’m in witness protection, Bitch!” and low-five his stone before I leave.

We get back to campus before dark cause Gracie Bell insists we go to the first game of the season. I hate football.

Pacific Rim FanFic

It's been a few years. But I'm a dog so it feels like a few years times seven. Fighting the Kaiju is a way of life for my guy. For me that means walking around the mess hall and Shatterdome looking for scraps. My guy has sandy hair. He's not happy when some other sandy hair guy comes in. I get confused now and then. My guy is the guy who rubs my face. I have to remember that.

I get moved around a lot. No one tells me what city I'm in or what a city is even. They're always changing. I gather it's the Kaiju's fault. I hear that a lot. But I also hear it said that they come from a Kaiju fault. So I'm not sure if "fault" means blame or what. Sometimes it sounds like "fault" is a crack in the earth. Like a fissure. Everyone says it different. "It's the Kaiju's fault" or "It came from the Kaiju fault." It's the kind of thing about the English language that makes me want to give up on trying to communicate. Maybe I should just learn Japanese like everyone else.

The new sandy haired guy, the one who doesn't rub my face, he's been talking to that black and blued haired woman. Not the older sandy haired guy. That guy seems to be my sandy haired guy's dad or something. He doesn't rub my face but he rubs my sandy haired guy's back sometimes after a rough day. That's another one I can't deal with. People come up to me all smiles and say "ruff" but, and I know they're trying to be nice, but "ruff" sounds like "rough" and out of context I just can't tell if they're trying to start a sentence about a rough day or mocking me. Either way it's probably best not to engage so I just slobber a bit to buy some distance.

There's a lot of recent talk of drifting. Not the drifting of tectonic plates that could cause a fault, but like some kind of mind sharing thing. I wouldn't have to learn Japanese if I could just drift with my sandy haired guy. The new sandy haired guy is starting to smell like the black and blue haired woman. I wonder if they're drifting. I usually only see them in the cafeteria. He likes to eat diced fruit with spaghetti. These people.

I see my guy and this new guy fight in the hallway. Matching each other move for move. They'd be good partners. Perfect partners. Compatible for drift. If they become a team I'll never get to drift with my guy. I'm going to have to think of a way to break them up.

It's late and the guy with the nose bleeds doesn't see me sneak under his bed. I chew on his little girl shoe, the red one, and toss it up on his bed. He wakes up thinking he has some sort of inspiration and he gives it to the black and blue haired woman. Instincts told me this would work but honestly it just adds further evidence to the fact that I just don't get humans. But it works so I'm not going to argue or read to deep into it. The black and blue haired woman teams up with the new sandy haired guy and my guy needs a new partner. This is my shot.

That night I have my first dream. I'm in the Jaeger only this Jaeger looks like my mother. My sandy haired guy looks at me, but he's also behind me, but he looks at me and asks if I'm ready. I say "はい" and we start to drift. I see his whole life and he sees my deepest secrets. He knows where all the bones are buried and I'm okay with that. I can finally communicate with him and tell him I want to come on his leg.

And then I wake up and he's not there. His dad picks me up and starts to cry. I lick his face with my slobbery tongue and he sets me down. I waddle to the Shatterdome and everyone is cheering. Everyone but the guy with the nose bleeds. He's not there either. I see the new sandy haired guy and he bends down, holds me, and rubs my face. He says he has rough news and for the first time I know what he means.

Monsters University vs Francis Ha

For summer blockbusters, thematic twins hitting theaters at the same time has been a given since Dante’s Peak and Volcano both erupted in the summer of 1997. Then, as if to cement this phenomenon, 1998 followed suit with two movies about the world getting hit with a space rock in the form of Deep Impact and Armageddon. Last year there was a pair of Snow Whites, and by Friday will have had two White House takeovers.  Playing in theaters right now are Monsters University and Francis Ha, two films that couldn’t seem more different but in fact share an extremely rare strand of DNA.

One is an animated legacy born to be a blockbuster and the other is an indie darling predestined to be seen more On Demand than in theaters. Though they come from completely different pedigrees, they share something deep in their core theme. Both stories are about compromising lifelong dreams for the sake of a more stable career. This summer children and young adults alike will be relating to characters that choose jobs that are in field that they love but in more administrative capacities.

Monsters University is a prequel to Monsters, Inc. and tells the story of how Sullivan (the big blue one) came to be the top kid scarer on the scare floor, a tale linked entirely to the reveal of how Mike (the small green one) came to be his excellent assistant. This relationship becomes tragic when it’s revealed in the first scene that Mike’s dream has always been to become a scarer, not the monster helping the scarer. The audience soon realizes that this is going to be a story of aspiration losing to reality and a character’s acceptance of his lot in life. However, since this is a geared to be an uplifting movie, the storytellers find a way to turn this potentially depressing notion into a celebration by having the character find a way to actually be excited about this less romanticized outcome.

Francis Ha tells the story of a girl who wants to be a dancer and choreographer but (spoilers) settles for a desk job at the company. Since this is the only film in the Francis Ha franchise we don’t know where her story is headed until it gets there naturally but when it does it is with a similar air. Francis, a durable dreamer, finds peace in her desk job and continues to follow her passion on the side. Unfortunately for Francis, the audience is left with a feeling that the side is where her career in dancing will stay. She is content and we as an audience are made to feel similarly.

There are other shared connections between the two films such as bearing witness to varying degrees of nepotism and living with wealthy peers who don’t struggle as much as the lead character but it’s this odd final note of happily giving up that’s the real mutual disaster flick happening here. Perhaps even more than most cultural mediums, cinema has the ability to speak on behalf of a generation. For ages 8-32, these films herald the era of quitting while behind and calling it ahead. The summer of 2013 seems to be about playing it safe and convincing the audience that they should be happy with it.

The Social Network FanFic

"You know what's better than a million poodles? A billion dollars."

- Sean Parker, Vet

None of us knew what was going to happen when we opened up shop. Eduardo wanted to call it "The Social Petwork" but Sean thought that was stupid. I suggested "The Social Vetwork" but Sean looked at me and I quickly said I was being sarcastic. I don't think he caught on. I'm very smart. Then like a gift, Sean said "drop the 'the'" and walked out of the room. Eduardo and I didn't know if Sean meant to drop the "the" on "The Social Petwork" or "The Social Vetwork" so we decided to start from scratch.

Three weeks later we were up and running. The first pet hospital exclusive to graduates of Madam Rough's Doggie School. There was just one problem. The dogs weren't getting sick. Madam Rough had died several years ago in a fire sparked by lightning bugs when the dalmatians were all out on holiday. Since then her body, limp but not lifeless, roamed the hallways much like a zombie. But I'd prefer to call it a virus. Anyway it infected the dogs that she bit and now they all have a fine bill of health or lack there of. Zombie Dogs. That's what I'm getting at.

The Big Lebowski Trainspotting Boardwalk Empire Facfic

“Shut up, Donny. Shut up Donny, Shut the fuck up Donny.” Every decision he made was shadowed by those words. Theodore Donald ‘Donny’ Kerabatsos moved away from California after he was shot. His friends thought it was a heart attack that knocked him down like a 180 lb bowling pin but he knew he had enemies. He went to New Jersey to find the man who shot him. He kept waiting for someone to ask him “don’t you want to know who wants you dead?” so that he could reply “I want to know who shot me, listing who wants me dead would take too long.” That’d be a cool reply. That’d teach people to tell him to shut the fuck up.

After two months in Atlantic City looking for anyone with either a handgun or motive, Donny was two incubator baby shops away from calling it quits. One evening after getting nothing but stares back as a response he turned around and walked down the boardwalk to a little club that he’d been eyeing since he came to town. The cool people seemed to go there. The people he wanted to be seen with to show his friends at home that he’d grown up and found his place amongst the In crowd.

At the door he made a joke about prohibition that nearly prohibited him getting past the bouncer. Cool people don’t care about history. “Shut the fuck up, Donny.” Inside he bought his drink, making no historical jokes, and made his way to the closest wall to plant his roots and that’s when he saw her. In a silver dress that made his stomach shiver. He was struck and in love and then she spoke to him.

“Excuse me,” she said as she was knocked into him by a drunk mess. Before Donny could even try to say something she was headed to the door, throwing on a red jacket. Donny had two thoughts at that moment. The first was that one day when he’s rich and fancy he’ll wear a fresh cut carnation everyday of the same bright red color to remind him of her. The second thought was, I must get her before she’s gone even if it means not finishing this expensive drink.

“Stop!” he yelled at her before he could help it. She stopped. Shut the fuck up, Donny, Shut the fuck up, Donny, Shut the fuck, up. “Donny! I’m Donny, my name’s Donny.”

“I don’t care what your name is,” she said.

A Scottish accent? Donny’s heart elevated from lovestruck to charmed. He loved Scotland. It’s history fascinated him. He knew about Scotland. He could tell her about Scotland. Shut up. She’s staring. He hated this town’s stares. He was losing time. Losing her. Think of something. Think. Think.

“I’m Diane,” she said and stepped back before walking down the boardwalk.

Donny couldn’t tell if this was an invitation so he ran after her just in case. He started to speak when she cut him off and went off on him about his approach. She had heard it all before and let him know it. Donny found this irresistible and that’s exactly what she intended. She was in control and Donny was drawn to that as the taxi was from her waving hand. Donny stopped cold and stared back as she took a seat in the cab and left the door open. Donny jumped in beside her before it was too late. It was the most spontaneous decision he’d made in his entire life other than the one time he flew to Atlantic City to find the man who shot him.

Like two final pins knocked down in the second frame, Donny was spared any further discussion. Diane for some reason outside his understanding was pulling him in close and any jokes or historical teaching that he’d normally share had to wait because tonight he was being kissed.

In her bedroom things escalated faster than he had ever expected or even dreamed. He had waited so long for this moment that he felt he must say something to acknowledge his overwhelming feelings. He pulled away from her and began to speak.

“Shut up, Donny,” she said.

It was terrible, what happened next. What happened when she said those words. Shut Up, Donny. The distance he had forced between him and his past, California, his friend Walter, The Dude, all came sweeping back faster than a tidal wave and crashed on his emotions like a sea of empty bottles. His eyes snapped. Diane recognized that the man child she had invited into her bed was crazy and it frightened her.

“MOM! DAD! Get in here!” she screamed. Pulling the blanket off her bed to cover herself, Donny was left covering his half naked body when her parents threw open her bedroom door.

The dad was tough. Not as tough as her mother, but tough. Donny’s face split open like a sonuvabitch. Covering his swollen face with a handkerchief did little to detract the stares he was attracting on the boardwalk.

“Stop staring at me!” he tried to yell but it came out a wheezing cry.

His walk home was filled with pulsing delusions of his possible futures. In one he was a gangster in a suit, a thin black tie, a thief, an old man talking to teenage girls, an interviewer, a kidnapper. When he saw himself as a kidnapper he saw a partner. It wasn’t Diane, it was some man, a man he knew. A nihilist. The man who shot him? He was chopping wood, chipping it in a machine. His wet eyes focused and he was back on the boardwalk, but fallen on the wood. He got up and saw Diane, in the way he’d want her. Reserved, wearing a floppy hat in the past. And he’d take her to his nice big house without her parents. And then he felt the heart attack and he was back in the bowling alley parking lot. And then he was ash and in the hair and mouths of his friends. And also at the same time he was in the Pacific Ocean and then the Atlantic.

Coach Taylor and the Friday Night Lights Part 3

Coach Taylor parked outside Hagrid's hut. Cars weren't allowed on the grounds but it was 3am and Julie just called him on the cell phone he bought her for Christmas. She sounded drunk.
He looked out through his windshield at the hut. He watched the candle light illuminate their silhouettes. There was his little girl. And the wall that moves was Hagrid. What were they doing in there? He kicked in his seat. Thank goodness the car was in park or he would've accelerated right through the wall. The candlelight was moving toward the front door of the hut. It swung open and there she was, Julie Taylor, sweeping her blonde hair over her ear and Hagrid behind her adjusting his pants and leaning down to kiss her goodnight but his eyes drifted and caught Coach Taylor. He jolted up and readjusted his clothing again. As quick as lightning Coach was out of his car and walking toward Julie. He grabbed her hard on the arm and moved her aside. He was staring at the mountain now. Hagrid's beard was at his nose. It had bits of food stuck in it and stunk of pumpkin juice. Coach lifted his finger at the beast's round droopy nose and couldn't say a word. He was embarrassed. Frustrated, even. The idea that his girl was with this thing that was more oaf than man was more than he could respond to.
"Julie, get in the car," he said as he himself backed toward it.
"Eric," Hagrid started.
Sharp as an eagle, Coach turned back to Hagrid and his breath formed only enough sound to warn "don't you dare."
In the car there was only quiet. Julie could think of things to say but her thoughts would only culminate in her rolling her lips into a seal. She had called her father and she had gotten him. The light in the hut was snuffed and like a spell had been lifted, Coach was again able to speak.
"I can't have you seeing him."
"Dad!"
"He used to be a teacher here and then he wasn't. I don't trust him and he's too old for you. That's it. It's not a discussion."
The drive back to the castle was long. Even the creature in the lake didn't stir.

In the morning, Julie was upset but she understood her father's anger. She learned a lot about Hagrid that night and though at the time she wasn't ready to admit it, she knew that no good was going to come from it. Coach had told Tami and they decided that it'd be best to let Julie be for now.

As the afternoon's rain coated the castle, Coach Taylor spread out his fingers searching for the Texan sun. He was not himself here. He couldn't help but think about Julie. Tami was busy teaching Muggle Studies and Gracie Bell was exceeding expectations in all her day care activities. Mrs. Flupplebupple went as far to predict that Gracie Bell may well be a witch. To this Coach Taylor pasted on a smile as he lifted Gracie Bell from under the arms and took her away.
"Thank you, Mrs. Flupplebupple but Gracie's going to work with me today..." he said insincerely.

But Gracie Bell was more than he could handle, making glass walls disappear without warning, and she was back in day care by the end of the day.

The rain smacked him on the face as his thoughts went back to Julie.

She was exiting Trelawney's class which she enjoyed sitting in on. Late one night after bonding over ping-pong Julie felt like she could tell him anything and admitted that she went to the class to get a sense of her future. Coach didn't know how to respond to this and said nothing. Julie always thought of that night and how dismissive he was to her thoughts. Only Coach knew that it was that moment he first understood that Julie has lived through a past that could only make one question what's next to come. He loved her for that but that night holds a place in her heart as the one where she felt more alone and distant from her father than ever.

"Come here," he said to her as he sat on the stone wall of the courtyard in front of the giant clock. She sat next to him and again was a child, kicking her feet over the edge. From a paper bag he took out a milkshake in a wax paper cup.
"What is that?" she said, knowing the answer.
"Fresh from the Alamo Freeze," he added as he sipped from the straw.
"Mmm, this one's yours," he said tasting as he handed it to her. And then he took his out from the same bag.
"But how?" She pushed, knowing her father was no fan of magic.
Just then three Snowy Owls flew out from the Owlry.
"Ain't they somethin'?" he said rhetorically.

Julie nudged her father and the Whomping Willow shook off its snowy branches.

Coach Taylor and the Friday Night Lights Part 2

A car radio tunes itself to a clear station.
"It's a hot day out here on the grounds and that means one thing, Quidditch..."
Through its windows are the trees of the Forbidden Forest, the hut of Hagrid ornamented with a sign post reading "Potter #7", three Wizards pulling up to The Three Broomsticks, this is Hogwarts. The radio continues to play through the speakers of this beat-up green car as it flies without pilot. On the other end, two commentators duel on the mics originally calibrated by muggle expert, Arthur Weasley.
"It feels like First Years that pulled up in their boats just months ago are now preparing for what looks to be an exciting new season."
"Well what I'd like to see is if this Headmaster Taylor can turn around what can only be described as a rag tag Hufflepuff offense."
"I am stupified that the Hufflepuff headmaster would even accept the help from this muggle who's only experience in coaching is for a game called 'football'."
"Just be happy that Minerva had the good sense not to release her command of the Griffendor team. With Potter missing this season the last thing they need is input from someone who doesn't know the sport. Forgive me, but even though Dumbledore may have vouched for this Taylor as a headmaster, I just don't see him wrapping his head around this... well, I'll say it... Wizards' game."

With the rush of the morning, Eric Taylor speeds into his kitchen as Tami is already washing breakfast's dishes. Gracie Bell sits in her high-chair chewing on something long and droopy.
"What is..."
Headmaster Taylor grabs the slobbery mess out of her mouth, revealing the what looks like a mangled ear.
"Tami, what is this?"
"I don't know, is it alive?" she asks genuinely as she takes it from his hand and bangs it against the table.
"OW!" shouts Julie as she bursts into the room clutching the side of her head.
"Julie, what is this?" asks Headmaster Taylor.
"It's an extendable ear. Everyone has one."
His jaw drops with disdain. He tongues his cheeks as if they were coated with a strange taste.
"Oh I've seen these around... Hey, were you listening to me and your mother this morning?"
"What's the point of living in this stupid magic castle if we can't use the magic?!"
She grabs the extendable ear from her mother and stuffs it into a bag without end.
"And you can't enroll Matt just so I stop going out with Hagrid. He found his Chicago already and Hagrid is mine!" Her voice softens.
"You should be happy for me. You're the ones who wanted me to like this place."
Julie storms out the portrait door and into the hallway. The stairs move away as she climbs them. A nearby student remarks how he hasn't seen those stairs move in the castle since 2001.
Headmaster Taylor looks at Tami, a little defeated but mostly with an air of delegation, "you're going to have to talk to her."
Headmaster Taylor opens the portrait door to find Buddy Garrity pretending that he wasn't just eaves dropping.
"Hey Eric, look what I found! Someone told me it belonged to a guy named Madeye... neat, huh?" Buddy exclaims as he holds up an enchanted eye that seems to roll on its own accord.
"Not now Buddy." Headmaster Taylor walks past him. Buddy looks to Tami like a puppy who just found an alternate source of attention.
"Not now Buddy," she restates as she closes the portrait on him and turns to Gracie Bell with a sigh.

Coach Taylor and the Friday Night Lights Part 1

Things were just starting to settle for them when he got the letter. An owl had gotten into their house that evening. With last night’s game tape blaring before him, Coach Eric Taylor stood on his couch, with a roll of wrapping paper, swatting at the evasive ivory bird. He licked his lips and pierced his eyes at it with determination when suddenly the door opened.

“Shut that door!” A statement as loud as it was sharp.

“Fine dad, calm down.”

It was Julie. She had just gotten home from a party with some new boy. Coach Taylor knew this by the unfamiliar sound of the noise that dropped her off.

“Are you seeing some boy with a dirt bike?”

“DAD! I’m 16!” she shouted back. She then paused, thoughtfully, “Why are you on the couch… Is that an owl?!”

“Your mother’s going to talk to you tomorrow! Go to bed.”

She slammed her bedroom door. It startled the bird and Coach Taylor squared it under the wing. It dropped a letter and flew out the chimney. The letter opened on its own accord and spoke to him.

The next morning Julie had little to say when Coach Taylor told his wife Tami about the dirt bike suitor. Tami sighed when Julie stormed out claiming to have to leave for school early. Something about a teen outreach program. Now alone, Coach nestled up to Tami and offered to pour her some coffee. Tami knew this gift came with a price. She looked up at him, matching her inquisitive puppy dog eyes with his shameful puppy dog eyes. She won.

“I got a new job,” he said.

Her shoulders broke at the news.

“But you just took this one, you said you were done changing things!”

He said nothing. She said nothing.

“Well where is it?” she gave up.

As he spoke he winced as if he knew it sounded like he was being incredulous.

“It’s called Hogwarts.”

She wasn’t impressed with a coaching job at some place called Hogwarts. So Coach upped the ante with a smile.

“It’s in England.”

She gasped.

“And they want me to be Headmaster.”

She threw her arms around him and told him it was wonderful.

The car packed, Julie slammed the trunk and then slammed the rear doors and the passenger door and the driver door. Tami and Coach didn’t like to see her this way but they knew this move was going to be tough on her. Even telling her that the school had a moving art collection did little to get her interest.

Convinced they were lost, frustrations were cutting in. Eventually they were shown to a train and there they sat for what seemed like hours in silence. When they arrived, Coach was separated from them by a large hairy man. He was the groundskeeper and Julie smiled in front of her parents for the first time all year.

“Ello ‘Ulie” the man said, familiarly.

“What are you doing here?! Mom, Dad, this is Hagrid!” she blossomed.

Coach Taylor looked through this man and then up at him as if he was studying every inch of him. Then he saw something behind this man. A motorbike with a sidecar. Tami looked just as nervous but thanks to three hours of butterbeer she pointed out that Julie always did have a thing for teachers. She grabbed Coach by the arm and nudged him away. She didn’t approve but did find the man mysteriously comforting. Like a giant dog with a teddy bear face. She looked at Eric and wondered how he would look with a beard.

That evening Coach was instructed to give a few words to the incoming class. He started by introducing the other teachers. This seemed easier than introducing himself. There was Professor Flitwick, Minerva McGonagall, Poppy Pomfrey, Pomona Sprout, and someone who wasn’t on the list but in a seat nonetheless by the name of Sybil Trelawney. Coach made a mental note to look into this. Severus Snape was there as well having put a Confundus Charm on anyone who said he killed the previous headmaster, Albus Dumbledore. Coach Taylor then smiled and winked at Julie and then sneered at the man whose giant hairy hands were clumped over her shoulder when he announced:

“And your new Defense Against the Dark Arts professor, Mrs. Taylor!”

She spoke as if it were her turn to speak. Minerva rolled her eyes. Headmaster speaks first. Then the hat. Then the teachers.

“Hey y’all. It’s such a pleasure to be here, I’ve never taught magic, I guess you’d call me a Moogle, but I’ve been a principal and I’ve been a guidance counselor so I’ve really seen a lot and I look forward to growing with you all.”

Coach stepped back to the podium and began his speech.

“Now I want y’all to take a knee."

Mario Galaxy FanFic

Mario sat at the foot of his bed. He took off his shoes and rubbed his feet, sore and tired from a day of jumping for coins. He gently collapsed back, staring at the ceiling. The door opened, Peach was home.
"Why don't you stargaze anymore?" Peach asked. A question she had been holding for days.
Mario closed his eyes as if saying this with them open would be too embarrassing.
"I've been to space... and I've seen planets that look like my face.. I don't know what anything means anymore."
Peach says nothing but sits on the bed, placing her hand on Mario's leg. She wants to say "I understand" but she can't lie to him anymore.
"Do you want to talk about it?" she asks instead.
"Well Rosalina says that..."
"Oh, so you can talk to Rosalina about this," Peach states.
Mario's eyes, still shut, are held even tighter when he feels her weight shift off of the bed.
"I'm just so confused, Peach. The planets look just like me."

SHUTTER ISLAND FAN FIC

"I don't know how to get a gun out of my holster because I am a terrible liar."

Later that evening he went missing. On the floor only his jacket remained. It lie there still. Letting out only a quiet burp.

It would eat again. But not tomorrow. Tomorrow is Friday and Friday is Taco night on Shutter Island.

The Player FanFic

There's blood in the water. It's like a cloud is bleeding.
"Only thing that could come from this is a crop of Audrey II's," said the tough detective. When the cops in earshot asked what he meant by that he explained that Audrey II was the man-eating plant in "Little Shop of Horrors." And though it cleared that up, there was still the body blocking the sewer drain.
"Gonna be a long night" the cops said to each other as they left the detective crouching by the body, tweezers in hand.
"Gonna be as long as the sun doesn't come up" said the detective, pinching off a flake of garlic from what used to be the body's nose. He stands up in a start and shouts,"Come on! Take in this scene before it turns to dust, it's nearly half-past five!"
He walks away stopping to throw in, "You'll be dusting for fingerprints and gettin' only finger."

Police headquarters is busy, even in the morning. Especially in the morning. In this town. New York may be the city that never sleeps and New Orleans may be the city that actually never sleeps, but Hollywood is where vampires eat on the people trying to sleep. The detective slams his door, his name painted on the glass dares itself not to crack. "Detective DeLongpre".

Test results come back on the garlic, it's imported and only one store sells it. Detective DeLongpre drives to Encino where it's sold illegally from an eccentric producer's live-in gardener's basement. Under questioning the gardener says that he sells it only to one man, a writer.
"Writers," Detective DeLongpre says.
"I know," agrees the gardener.

Detective DeLongpre drives to this writer's house. Knocks. The door creaks open. He walks up to a man with his back to him, trimming some plants.
Detective DeLongpre thinks about what he could say to catch this man off-guard and gain some traction at the same time.
"You're a regular Seymour Krelborn," he says.
"Little Shop of Horrors, good one..," the writer nods.
"Detective DeLongpre," answers Detective DeLongpre.
The writer is not a tough man, not when he's dealing with humans at least. He admits to killing the vampire, proud of it even. Another case goes black for Detective DeLongpre.

Avatar FanFic

It starts with him opening his eyes in the blue light of the space ship. It always starts this way. He scratches his three stroke scar and reaches for the door's release.
"I forgot something , we're going back." said General Knife Grabber.
The Marines that work for the company turn and look at him. All of them not saying, "did he die on Pandora?" None of them admitting, "I honestly forget, but I think he did."
"Shut up!" General Knife Grabber says to the silence. "Maybe I'm a clone or a twin or something. Like a Twix bar. Just give me a break!"
General Knife Grabber struts down the corridor and kicks down the door to Giovanni Ribisi who is busy slam dunking rolled up paper basketballs.
"I'm sorry I don't know your name."
"I'm sorry I don't know your name either."
"Unobtainium."
"Unobtainium."
The two are bonded. Bonded like a banshee to a Na'vi.

Meanwhile, on Pandora Jakesul Ly and Matisyahu rule as King and Queen. Jakesul hides his shame for killing Matisyahu's betrothed during a freak attack-the-oppressing-corporates accident. One day he thinks he'll tell her.
"GREAT SHIT!"
She plugged into his braid. She knows everything now. She doesn't even say 'I see you' and walks away.
LAND, the big ship does and all the Na'vi surround it. The sound of taught bow string is so dense that were a supernatural white glowy milkweed seed to land on one, the pluck of grand piano would result. Unfortunately, the arrows do nothing to stop the ship from landing on red-painted Na'vi who were visiting from out of town. The door opens and General Knife Grabber comes out, gas mask equipped.
"I'm sorry, I seem to have forgot something! Like a pack of Nerds or something."
Jakesul approaches him, cool, confident.
"Look around, take it, and leave."
"You don't understand me," General Knife Grabber suggests, "When I said 'a pack of Nerds' that was a metaphor."
General Knife Grabber grabs Jakesul's neck in a headlock.
"Now listen here, Marine, what are you doing? Your body isn't going to last like this! The Avatar bodies are like a really expensive jacket, but if you notice, sometimes really expensive stuff falls apart faster than cheap stuff. Like a Jawbreaker is pretty cheap, but that'll last longer than a Godiva..."
"A Jawbreaker?"
"You know from the 20th Century?"
"No."
"Okay, then like Jujubes."
"Oh, yea, Jujubes, I love those."
"Well it's like that so come back with us! I can get you some human legs too."
"I forgot about those."
Jakesul looks to Matisyahu. She's not there.
Jakesul and General Knife Grabber have a brief back and forth on whether or not the Tree could keep fixing his expensive body and eventually night falls. General Knife Grabber retires to his chambers to find the entire crew murdered. He yells and Jakesul runs on board. In the horror of the situation they turn to see the ship's door closing and an odd shape blocking the way out.
It's Matisyahu holding a knife to the sleeping human body of Jake Sully.
"You are stupid."
She kills off the human body and the blue one faints. General Knife Grabber gives up and runs outside to be taken by the teeth of the giant dinosaur banshee. Matisyahu returns to her tree house and plays Egyptian Ratscrew with the Tree-healed Michelle Rodriguez when suddenly six banshees crash into their roof. The baddest banshee is ridden by Dominic Toretto, he detaches his braid.
"Come on, Letty, I hear there's a killer ridge on the floating mountains."
They all fly away. Fastly and with furiousness.

One Word Review™

2012: Meta

Where the Wild Things Are FanFic

At 21 years old, Max pinned a tail to his suit and sailed out towards the island. When he climbed up the shore he found the path to the forest that he remembered by sense of smell alone as now much of the trees that marked it when he was 9 have now been returned to dust. Beyond what was the fort was now a hilltop. It was not there before and seemed to be built as if to hold something secret in its belly. On top was a creature of a mass hugging a round stone. Carol looked up and saw Max and Max saw that on the stone was written "K.W." in a heart. Carol fixed his yellow eyes on Max and said "today's my birthday."
Max led Carol down past the fort and beyond the dusty forest and to the shore that held his boat. Max lifted up the sail and brought out a great chocolate frosted cake.
"It's mine too," said Max and they carried the cake up the hill to the round stone. Great sounds came toward them and Douglas and Ira and Janet and Alexander and The Bull made their way up the tomb.
Carol sat back and put his hand on the stone, unable to look at the wild things.
"Here, have some," offered Max, lifting up the cake and drawing back the attention of Carol's great yellow eyes.
"Yes, have some," agreed Carol, "it's still hot."
And they roared and howled and had cake.
Then the sun came and Max left knowing that Carol was with all his teeth now.

The National Parks: America's Best Idea FanFic

"I felt their youth pulsate through the trees. I never will shoot a wolf in clear conscience whether in field or valley." - George Morgil
"For all the virtue that George Morgil wrote about, there was little known about the man who many considered the 'great grandfather' of the National Parks." - Harriet Beacher, Chief Groundsperson of Yosemite National Park.
George Morgil was found hung over a cavern three days after the park opened to the public. His body, devoured by the wolves he so often wrote about, was discovered by Teddy Roosevelt's personal secretary and friend, Rodger Helmsmith.
"It was a cool evening, I had just commenced a stroll with my son when we saw his body."
-Rodger Helmsmith.
"Dad, there's a ghost in that cave!" - Rodger Helmsmith Jr.
"That is no hovering apparition, but a human no longer tethered to this mortal coil but instead to a redwood tree over a wolf cavern. Stop crying. That man is George Morgil." - Rodger Helmsmith.
With his son's hysterics put to bed by means of a chloroformed handkerchief, Rodger Helmsmith extracted what were perhaps the final thoughts of George Morgil by means of a note deeply wedged in his throat.
"There is nothing more democratic than the magnificent beauty unmarred by man in his foolish pleasures. The wolf pack knows not of any sculpture or poetry, yet they add more to the landscape than any farmer or patriot. If by chance they eat of my flesh, let me run in them. If they by chance eat of my True self, let me impregnate them so that I may run with their cubs and their grandcubs alike and in stride. Let the children of this great land come to visit these grounds and look upon my children with a sense of equality. And if they hunger, let my wolf pack feed on them and make love to their bodies. Let the howling of the coyote seem dim in the light of the moans of my wolves. Let no great bald eagle fly where my wolves do not den. This is what is possible for I want of nothing less." - George Morgil.
The nation was reborn and in the wake of Morgilian thought and preservation, caravans of station-wagons reconnected with the country's past and ever-present future.

Coco B.C. fanfic

Gabrielle Bonheur Chanel ran quickly down the cobbled steps of her lover's apartment house and slipped on the rain-slicked street.
"Merde!" she said.
A foreigner passerby believed that she said "murder" and ran up the steps and into her Italian lover's hallway. The lover explained the misunderstanding and it was settled. That foreigner felt embarrassed and left a small drawing, signing it: "Pablo, Pablo Picasso." The lover showed it to Gabrielle and she was transfixed by the Spaniard's strange use of form.
Gabrielle picked herself up and continued running down the street as if her accident was a tenured teacher in nihilism. She had to get to the garment district before the boutique opened for the Monday morning rush. They were having a great sale.
She opened shop and stood behind the counter as people came throughout the day to try on wares of the current fashions and highest thread counts. Egyptian cotton was on everyone's must have lists. All around France, things from the middle-east were flying off the hangers - "even the planes" as the joke goes. She stared blankly at a German foreigner who kept responding to her sales pitch with "nein yards." Gabrielle realized what was happening after the third time and politely smiled at the German and moved on to another customer. The German, embarrassed for speaking a combination of German and English in France left the store but not before leaving a note for Gabrielle that read: "Dear Lady, sorry for the inconvenience. Here are 15 francs for the translator of this letter. Sincerely, Johann Wolfgang von Goethe."
Upon reading the letter, Gabrielle looked up to see her lover being taken away by interpol. His hands in interlocking cuffs looked like two letter "c's." She blurred her eyes and put on her "Piscasso filter" -as she came to call it- and saw that not only did they look like two "c's" but it looked like "Coco." Giacomo Casanova was then extradited to the Doge's Palace in Venice and lived out his days with a pet pig.
Coco, as her nametag now read, asked her boss if she could do some work for the boutique and she went on to make two popular quilted bags and five wonderful perfumes. When the boutique owner, Louis-Françious Cartier, moved on to watches and jewelry - not to mention spend time with his son Alfred and grandsons Louis, Pierre, and Jacques - he left the store to Coco. She named it Chanel. Then word came that things were now Anno Domini.

Bright Star FanFic

"Just press the fucking gas button!" John exclaimed as the space cruiser was hit by a meteor. He knew that with this crew the Hyperion was never going to make it to her destination. Commissioned by the Queen of New Spain, the Hyperion was a vessel on a very clear-cut and far-from-secret mission. Ship manifests documented their journey from the start and this is in part the reason the writing-robot was out of ink. It really didn't have to log every single interaction of the crew, especially the last ditch effort of team building/bonding - the talent show. John knew that there would be no record of his words, hence the swearing in his commands. Percy Bysshe Shelley, John's crewman and contemporary, pressed the button and the Hyperion jetted away from the meteors and resumed a course toward their destination. There it was, glowing red in front of them, the Moorgate. 85 Moorgate to be exact.
"This is where I'm born," John said aloud to himself as if he couldn't control his voice from making those sounds. Percy Bysshe Shelley respectfully withheld any question about what this outburst meant. John steered the Hyperion directly to the center of the Moorgate and they were blasted at warp speed toward the nearest dying star. Percy Bysshe Shelly sat back with a confident comfort.
"It's time for the payload."
"Yes," John said, in both affirmation and command.
With a pull of a lever, the Fanny Brawne was released from the Hyperion's sub-torpedo chamber. It launched directly into the near-dead star and reignited the thing.
The writing-robot's sensors fried in the outburst of sunlight. Its head fell to the side and said only one thing:
" Bright star, would I were stedfast as thou art--
Not in lone splendour hung aloft the night
And watching, with eternal lids apart,
Like nature's patient, sleepless Eremite,
The moving waters at their priestlike task
Of pure ablution round earth's human shores,
Or gazing on the new soft-fallen mask
Of snow upon the mountains and the moors--
No--yet still stedfast, still unchangeable,
Pillow'd upon my fair love's ripening breast,
To feel for ever its soft fall and swell,
Awake for ever in a sweet unrest,
Still, still to hear her tender-taken breath,
And so live ever--or else swoon to death"
It was something difficult to ignore but the crew did their best.
"Should we procede... Captain Keats, should we go home?" asked Percy Bysshe Shelly.
"Yes," was John's response, "And let us not talk of this again."
They jettisoned the writing-robot and headed back to New Spain where aged wine and cheese would greet their new sun.