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sadoeuphemist · 4 years ago

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“So this is a library,” said Shaw, wrinkling up his nose at the faintly musty smell of parchment. He peered up into the high arched ceilings, the flat of wrymsbane resting cold against his nape. “Not particularly defensible, what with all these massive windows and all.” He felt obligated to end on a complimentary note. “Lots of books, if you like that sort of thing.”

“Oh, yes, and it’s in these archives that I’ve discovered exactly what we’ve been looking for,” said Annalthea, bustling between the rows and rows of shelves. The librarian was a plump, unimposing woman who, as could be expected, looked utterly unsuited for the task of dragon slaying. “If you’ll just give me a minute - I’ve got them right here …”

“Take your time,” said Shaw. He casually twirled his blade, admiring the gleam of it. “We’ve got this whole ‘chosen one’ business down to a craft. Sure, you’re the one fated to kill the Writherdrake, but no one said you had to do it on your own, yeah? You say the word, I can put together a party of the finest dragon slayers you ever seen. You want ballistas? Faefire? You want a team of trained harriers to claw his wings to shreds?” Already his blood was pulsing with the possibilities. “I promise you this: I’ll have you driving a blade into the dragon’s heart even if I have to hold the bastard down myself.”

Annalthea poked her head out from between the shelves. “You ... you did read that part in my note about the Amulet of Destiny?”

“Oh, yeah, yeah, boss told me about that. Amulet, that’s fine too. Always did admire that sort of sideways thinking, not letting fate box you in.” He stood in the open lobby, taking a few practice swings. “So if it’s a heist we’re planning, I know just the rogue for it, Sylvas Slyphfoot, fellow could steal the shadow off a cat. But if we’ve got magics involved, temple guards and that sort, we’re going to need to be recruiting a Gray Warder - there’s a few of them to be found in Breath’s End, but you generally need a line with the Underguards for that -”

He fell silent as Annalthea emerged from the shelves, hidden behind a massive stack of books that she set down with a thump on one of the tables, dusting her hands off triumphantly. “Uh,” said Shaw, looking the pile of books up and down much in the way a man might scan a corridor for traps. “What’s all those for, then?”

“Research!” Annalthea said, swiftly subdividing the stack into smaller piles, flipping books open and arranging them in front of her in quasi-military formation. Finally satisfied, she sat down, surveying her domain as if preparing to march into battle. She turned to Shaw. “Shall we begin?”

---

“Now, the Amulet of Destiny,” Annalthea said. “Of course, everyone’s heard of it, it’s appended to the end of all Skein prophesies - ‘and so the Amulet of their Destiny shall weigh heavy around their neck.’ The current High Knot of the Priesthood of Ludd is claiming it’s nothing but a metaphor, that every prophesy they make is immutable, but even a casual perusal of Ludd’s 64 Strings - much less the entire history of the Priesthood! - shows that’s clearly not true! The Amulet was considered for centuries to absolutely be a real artifact, with multiple Knots affirming the fact of its existence. Ludd himself writes in interweaving 9, verse 4 of the Strings that ‘the Amulet hangs on the Skein, and only by grasping this may a man change his fate.’” She looked up expectantly at Shaw.

Shaw furrowed his brow, made himself look as serious as possible. “Mm. Yeah. Like you said.”

“Now the thing is, mentions of the Amulet of Destiny actually predate the creation of Ludd’s Blood’s Skein - it’s part of a much older tradition that got absorbed by the Ludd Priesthood. I was cross-referencing different versions of the legend -” She held up a thick volume bound in dull red leather - “Geoffrey Rymer’s Assorted Tales and Legends of the Northern Isles - an invaluable resource - and the Amulet has been placed everywhere from Mount Hyperboreax to the Living Tombs of Ebon. So, using Parcefalus’ A Genealogy of the Second World - plus a bunch of other minor historians who aren’t part of the standard curriculum,” she added apologetically, as if she was depriving him of a particular involved leg of the hunt - “I’ve traced the earliest oral traditions of the legend to the Chalk Giants, who according to Rymer say - hold on -” she said, darting to the left and flipping furiously through another book, finding her place and putting on a scholarly affect- “’say in their dusty tones that the amulet is buried in the barren cleft of the earth, and is so responsible for the slow advancement of the continents upon one another, in that dreary part of the world we call the Wastes.’”

Shaw blinked. “Uh-huh,” he said, leaning over her shoulder and squinting at the incomprehensible squiggles she kept eagerly pointing out. “Okay, so, it’s in the Wastes, right, that’s the whole upshot of that?” He put his thumb to his chin. “Bit more complex than I thought, then, we’ll need a Waste-tracker for that -”

“But that’s not all!” Annalthea said. She slid to another section of the table. “So, Wastern literature is notoriously inaccessible, and what little we do know about their culture has been filtered through the self-serving biographies of would-be colonizers, like Castafez and Pinafetta. Notorious stories about rampant cannibalism, sacrifices to the Elder Wurms, the supposed ‘canals of blood’ made famous by Pinafetta’s infamous Report to the Imperial Committee - ”

“Hold on,” said Shaw. “Supposed? So you’re saying the canals of blood and all the rest, that’s not true?”

“They’re unreliable sources!” said Annalthea. “What I wanted to do was find firsthand sources for Wastern culture, because if the Amulet of Destiny is indeed buried there, surely they’d have some native accounts of it! Now, in the Chronologies commissioned by High-Mother Gortel, who was of course sympathetic to Wastern culture, having a son-in-law from those lands, it says - Hold on a minute,” said Annalthea, scrabbling for another book.

“Is this - Is this all relevant?” said Shaw, looking with a growing dismay at the massive expanse of words across the table. “We started with the Ludds, fair enough, but now I don’t know why we’re talking about that Gortel, and Parsifus or whatever his name is -”

“Parcefalus,” she said, looking at him concernedly. “You know, the Genealogies? Indirectly responsible for the whole dynasty of the Sun-Kings, it’s where they drew their authority from?”

“Whatever,” said Shaw, ignoring her tone. “And that old witch Gortel’s been dead for ages! Ruled over a completely different continent! What are we doing, hopping around the world, then?”

“Oh, but don’t you see!” said Annalthea, looking up at him brightly. “If we’re assuming the Amulet is in the Wastes, we need to find accurate accounts of the region to make our plan, and that involves a marshaling of historical data in order to figure out which sources can be trusted! There’s really no other way to do it other than going through the archives.”

“But we could just hire a Waste-tracker …” Shaw protested weakly.

Annalthea raised an eyebrow at him. “Have you read the Travelogues of Hyxeramminnieax? Across the Boiling World by P’tarri Fnordottir? Fnordottir in particular exposes the Waste-tracker system as little more than a fraud, perpetuated by generations of liminists who make their living as glorified tour guides showing off deserted portions of the Wastes!”

She stood before him, backed by her tremendous ramparts of books, and Shaw found himself utterly unarmed on this particular battlefield. “All right,” he sighed, and reluctantly sheathed wrymsbane, slumping down on one of the library’s many chairs, “Go on, then.”

“Right,” said Annalthea, already drawn as if magnetized to another tome. “Now, as I was saying, we see the Amulet of Destiny reappear in the Chronologies, obliquely, this time, in the form of a logical paradox supposedly etched into stone by the Oracle of the Wastes - no such etching is actually known to exist, of course. But the riddle, I think, is informative in how Wastern philosophy was viewed at the time. It goes, essentially: How can such an amulet ever change your destiny unless your destiny to begin with was to obtain the amulet!” She looked to Shaw, and not finding the reaction she had been expecting, turned back to the books. “Hold on, I suppose it loses something when not in the original Diretongue, let me find the translation by Aoi Iidii here - it’s by far the best attempt to really grapple with the lexicon, I think, by throwing some Quaennya into the mix -”

Shaw could feel the library’s shelves implacably closing in on him. The entire world could be bound between the covers of a book, apparently, and soon so would he. “Uh-huh,” he said.

“- but how could they have claimed such history with Wastern culture?” she was saying. “If we go back to Parmodines’ accounts, and all the others contemporaneous to him, there’s no trade, there’s no cultural exchange, there’s no nothing! The most there is, is this text supposedly dictated by the blind philosopher Jaenus to his disciple -”

Shaw looked on with glazed eyes. “Uh-huh.”

“- the direct words of the Oracle Morag herself! See, according to Torvid of Irridia’s writings, his master Jaenus would slaughter sheep and drag them out into the Wastes for her, and while she sucked the bones clean they would discuss philosophy, and he would memorize each word precisely as she said it! Of course, she also ate him eventually -”

“Absolutely fascinating,” Shaw said, stifling a yawn.

“- amulets made from his bones being sold, according to Torvid’s journals, which were called aloun, meaning protection, supposed to protect their bearers while journeying into the Wastes. Now, if we trace the original legends from the Chalk Giants about the Amulet of Destiny, we can see that Torvid’s mission to Qarilan coincided with the earliest recorded mentions of the legend -”

“Uh-huh.”

“- Torvid, being the tutor of the Princess Catalana, is widely accepted to have influenced her religious awakening and the subsequent founding of the Flower of the Eternal Now, a short-lived cult during the Majal Period. Rumor has it that he even had an affair with her, although this of course cannot be proven -”

“Mrhmm.”

“- and here, in Book Four of The Bliss-Touched Nectar, she says, ‘Cede not the desires of your heart, for it is the shell’ - and that’s how Poryphys translates it, shell, but in the original text it’s aloun! Torvid’s aloun, and Jaenus’ aloun!” Her voice rose in excitement, and Shaw was roused blearily from his stupor. “See, she says, ‘Cede not the desires of your heart, for it is the shell, aloun, that shall be consumed in the blooming of the seed, to form the plant that grows without restriction!’“ She was beaming at him. “Don’t you see? That’s it! That’s the Amulet of Destiny! It’s the answer to the riddle! How can you come to possess the seed of your fate, unless it was your fate to possess it to begin with?”

Shaw stumbled to his feet, groping vaguely for his sword. He was certain he had missed something terribly vital. “Uh, so?” he said. “What’s the answer to the riddle, then?”

“It’s in the desires of our heart,” said Annalthea, earnestly pressing both hands to her chest. “The Amulet of Destiny, it was a metaphor for free will all this time, corrupted by centuries of oral folklore into an actual mythical artifact! It was in us this whole time!“

Shaw blinked at her, his hands falling to his sides. “Uh...”

“That’s how we change our destiny!” Annalthea said. “Of course, it’s such an obvious philosophical and narrative tradition dating back to the Irridians! The artifact, and then the quest, only to discover in the end that you were the bearer of the sacred truth all along - That’s the true value of an archive like this one,” she said with satisfaction, “being able to see how people before us went through their lives, pick out the patterns, so that we can learn from what’s come before! To think, we might have spent weeks on some fruitless quest, exposed to the elements, harassed by all sorts of ne’er-do-wells, only to learn what was available to us this whole time! Entire continents and centuries are accessible to us, just by opening a book!”

“Uh, of course, of course,” said Shaw, befuddled. “So, I - Well we’re not going after the Amulet now, definitely -” She beamed at him, tapping a hand over her heart. “So …” He struggled to get back on familiar ground. “We’re back to the slaying the dragon plan, then?”

“Oh!” she said. “Heavens, no!”

“Then, uh, what?”

“Well, I don’t need to do anything now, do I?” Annalthea said, and began briskly stacking the books back in piles for reshelving. “That whole prophesy nonsense - I’ve already changed my destiny by refusing it.” She bustled past him, her arms full of books. “I’m sure you’ll be much better off without me getting in your way, anyhow.”

“But -” said Shaw. “But, no, you can’t -” His hand went instinctively to the hilt of wyrmsbane, and he found himself wishing that there was something productive to stab with it. “But what about the Grey Skies! The Writherdrake! The only one who can pierce his heart!”

“Oh, goodness,” said Annalthea, and put a hand on her cheek, looking at him sympathetically. “I’m just a librarian, dear. I tend to the books. What would I ever have to do with a dragon?”

---

Annalthea stood over the smoldering remains of the library, her clothes and skin stained with soot, ash gritty beneath her feet, raised blisters on her hands. She was looking into the depths of a building that no longer existed: every rafter, every shelf, every floorboard, every scroll, every page, incinerated and reduced to ash.

Her fingers were hooked into rigid claws, lined with weeping blisters. A low moan came from her throat.

Shaw came running up, There was a wound across his scalp, his hair dangling gristly with blood, scorch marks streaked across his armor. Blackened burned flesh bubbled across his left arm. “Oh good, you’re alive,” he muttered. “Dragon’s gone. Razed us clear to the ground and veered off to the west. More safeholds to pillage, I suppose.” He peeled his hair out of his face, taking in a breath, and found a bit of rubble to sit on. He grimaced at his left arm. “It’ll heal. Didn’t even give me the chance to stab him a good one, the bastard. I mean, town’s burning, but any fight you can walk away from, right?” He looked over to Annalthea, let his gaze drift over the former site of the library. “Ah.”

A tremor began in Annalthea’s shoulders, shook her rib cage, made her hands tremble so badly that she clenched them into fists. “Look,” Shaw said awkwardly, half-standing to raise a hand over her shoulder, and then deciding better of it and sitting back down. “You can’t blame yourself for this, all right? You weren’t trained for this at all, and these prophesies - well, I don’t hold much stock in them myself! Chosen ones, huh!” he said, and snorted. “Why’s it never a professional who gets chosen, I ask you? You, and your books - Why, no one could have expected it of you, it’s a completely unfair ask -”

“I’m going to kill that dragon,” Annalthea said.

“Uh?” said Shaw.

“I’m going kill. That fucking. Dragon,” Annalthea said, each word forced viciously out of her throat. “Every book. Every last one of them. Burnt. Burnt to the ground.”

“Oh,” said Shaw, and then leapt to his feet. “Oh!”

“Lost,” said Annalthea. “All of it. The irreplaceable archive of generations. Burnt to the ground by a fucking overgrown lizard.” She looked at Shaw, her eyes blazing through her blackened face. “I’m going to slit his fucking throat.”

“Yeah,” said Shaw, nodding along. He drew wyrmsbane again, slightly tarnished but still deadly. “Yeah!”

“I’m going to kill him. I’m going to claw out his eyes. No - I’m going to carve out his heart and make him watch as I eat it while he’s still alive, make him watch each bite with his last gasping breaths as I taste the brimstone on my tongue. And then I’m going to kill him,” she said, “and then I’m going to rend. His. Soul.”

“Yeahyeahyeahyeahyeah!” said Shaw, excitedly kicking up ash. “I can still get a party together, won’t take two ticks - I know this warlock, you should see what her eldritch blasts can do to dragonscale -”

Annalthea swung her head to him. “You said he went west?”

“Uh-huh,” Shaw said, “but if you just hold on -”

She was already heading westward, trailing a cloud of ash in her wake, moving quickly but implacably, as if she would never tire. Shaw watched her in wonder, his spirits much buoyed, and was about to run to catch up with her when he let his gaze drift once more to the ashen field, the burnt remains of the library. He felt, vaguely, like he ought to say something in memorial of his encounter with this odd and fateful institution, some testament to the fallen before embarking on their valiant quest.

He bowed his head, put one hand over his chest. “Too bad I never learned to read!” he said, and set off.

#fiction #repost

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elsanna-shenanigans · 4 years ago

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April Contest Submission #30: Break Me Off

Words: ca. 3,000 Setting: mAU Lemon: no CW: none

“Can I try yours?”

Elsa’s head snapped up from the book she was reading to look to her left. Her baby sister was looking expectantly, her small hand outstretched and waiting expectantly, fingers wiggling in a grabby motion.

“Sure,” she answered with a smile, and passed her barely started dark chocolate KitKat on to Anna. “I don’t think you’ll like it though.”

Anna ignored that statement and immediately put the candy bar in her ‘some teeth missing transition period’ mouth, and bit off a sizable chunk. She chewed for a few seconds before her chocolate-covered lips twisted in a grimace, and she threw the KitKat back in Elsa’s lap.

“Ewww,” she said once she finally swallowed the bite (she at least had the decency to not spit it out like she used to a few years ago, something Elsa could bet would drive their father nuts if she did it in the new car), then gave Elsa the dirtiest look ever. “It’s so bitter! Why are you doing this to yourself…”

The last words were said with an overly-dramatic flair as Anna put her hand up to her forehead and pretended to faint like an old-timey movie lady on an ottoman. Which would work much better if she wasn’t stopped by the seat belt.

“It’s not that bitter to me.” Elsa shrugged as she picked up the discarded KitKat and continued to eat it as if nothing ever mattered. “You just still have a baby palate,” she said around a mouthful.

Anna blew her a raspberry, and her gaze dropped to Elsa’s book. “Whatcha reading anyway?”

Elsa swallowed the KitKat. “Harry Potter.” She flipped the cover to show it to Anna, who immediately started tracing and mouthing the letters of the title. “The fifth part comes out next week, so I wanted to re-read it before then.”

“Can you read it to me?”

“Later,” she lowered her voice and glanced in the rear-view mirror at their father’s concentrated face. It wasn’t the best idea to read–and have Anna interrupt with her loud comments–while he was driving. “When we’re settled at the hotel, I’ll read some to you.”

+++

“Hey,” Anna whispered, leaning over the wide armrest so she could reach Elsa’s ear. “You wanna try a bite of mine?”

She offered her the obnoxiously white KitKat, and Elsa immediately took it, as if its glow-in-the-dark properties could be seen by the row behind them. Without thinking much, she chomped down on the half-eaten candy bar. The overwhelming sweetness exploded in her mouth and seemed to coat her tongue with a thick, fatty film.

“You like it?” Anna whispered again, absolutely disinterested in the screen, her eyes locked square on Elsa’s face. “It’s kinda sweet, but I think I dig the white chocolate.”

Fighting through the nausea, Elsa finally managed to push the saccharine mush down her throat. “It’s absolutely disgusting,” she whispered back, then chuckled at Anna’s betrayed face. “I can see why you’d like it.”

Anna opened her mouth to say something (presumably snarky, she was hitting that age) in return, but an angry shhh came up from behind them. Elsa glanced at the people sitting in the back row and mouthed a sorry.

She turned back to the screen and tried to catch up on what she’d missed from the movie. So far The Goblet of Fire was proving to be worse than the previous parts, but she still wanted to know how they managed to work out the lake task of the Triwizard–

When Anna opened her mouth again just a few seconds later, Elsa stuck the white chocolate KitKat in it.

+++

“Hey, tradition!” Anna screamed suddenly as Elsa unwrapped her finals-study-motivation KitKat, almost making her drop it. “Lemme try!”

Elsa blinked. This was just the dark chocolate variety, one that she was sure she’d already let Anna try at some point in her life.

“You already–” But before she could finish, Anna’s shark jaws locked around the still barely unwrapped candy bar in Elsa’s hand with a loud crunch.

She munched for a moment, a thoughtful look on her face as she was considering the flavor. It quickly gave way to a disgusted scowl.

“Ew,” she said with a fake gag. “It’s as bad as I remembered.”

So Elsa did let her try it before. She rolled her eyes and half-heartedly swatted Anna away.

With a devious snicker and a hurried good luck with the exam!, Anna skipped out of the room and left her alone to study.

Elsa shook her head and finally returned her attention to her long-awaited snack award.

For some reason, the sight of Anna’s glitter lip gloss on the dark chocolate made her stomach twist.

+++

KitKats turned out to be the best way to go through her finals that year, and the next semester, and the next next semester, putting in the required fuel, feeling of accomplishment and the calories missing from not having time to eat proper meals.

It was also one of her little pleasures to find and test new flavors, especially those not available locally. It was Anna’s little pleasure to never say she wanted to order some for herself, and instead take bites off of Elsa’s, ‘just in case I don’t like it and don’t wanna finish!’

And over time it was one of Elsa’s little pleasures to look at the print of Anna’s lips on the chocolate and tenderly place hers on top to match the shape.

That little pleasure turned into a major curse when she realized she was daydreaming about placing her lips on Anna’s directly.

From then on, she would only buy the 4 finger breakable Kits.

+++

“I don’t really like this one,” Anna said around a mouthful of the Ruby cocoa KitKat. “It looks super cute, but it just tastes kinda waxy.”

Elsa shrugged. “Honestly, it’s just like the regular, but pink.”

“No, it’s different.” There was no point arguing with Anna on that. While Elsa preferred to try out new flavors, Anna has always been a hardcore true fan and real connoisseur of the regular Kit, so all she could do was to believe the expert. The currently pouting, cutely irritated expert. “Do you wanna finish mine?”

Elsa’s blood froze.

The whole point of the 4 finger Kits (which she personally considered inferior as the ratio of chocolate to wafer was just not quite on par with the single stick) was to not kiss Anna by proxy. Is what she came to call it.

But Anna was holding out the pink KitKat with a darker pink lip gloss outline in her direction, looking at her expectantly.

“N-no, I’m fine,” she answered a little too quickly and in a little too nervous of a voice. “I don’t really like it either,” she lied.

Anna’s brows furrowed. “I thought you said it tastes like the regular to you.”

Elsa could feel herself sweat. Damn, the stupid act of sharing a KitKat, something they’ve done since they were little kids was making her sweat.

Probably precisely because they’ve been doing this since they were little kids. Growing up together. Being sisters. Who should not want to kiss each other, yet there Elsa was, looking away from Anna’s perfect cupid bow glossy lips like a teenager (which she was definitely not anymore, on the final stretch to obtaining her bachelor degree) in love.

Her own lower lip felt numb from biting down on it. Fuck, she was in love.

“Yeah, but you’re right,” she said, mouth dry. She was in love and she was just now realizing this because of a stupid Ruby KitKat. “It is waxy.” Stupidly good Ruby KitKat that she was going to deny herself because her sister’s lips touched it and she would burn in hell if hers did too. “Just toss it out.”

Anna’s face looked like she just told her she actually was planning to vote on Trump for the pure fun of it, but she didn’t say anything.

+++

“Hey, I’m just about to head out– oh is that a new one?”

Elsa almost dropped the half eaten candy bar on the floor. She was not expecting Anna to come in her room any time soon, and like the true disgusting goblin she was, she decided to partake in her secret stash of imported KitKats.

Her dirty little secret stash of single stick KitKats that she couldn’t find in 4 finger format, and thus could not ever, ever let Anna know about because even if she ordered two pieces of each kind Anna would refuse to try an entire bar on her own.

‘I mean, what’s the fun in that? Half of the joy of KitKats is sharing!’

Not really seeing any way out of that, Elsa admitted defeat. “…Yes.”

“Oh, cool!” Anna bounced over excitedly to drop down on the bed next to her. “Oooh, white chocolate and peach? So fancy! Is it from Japan? It looks about the size of the Japanese ones I saw online…”

Her pure, genuine excitement only made Elsa feel even worse about hiding in her room like Gollum with his ring. Then, right as she was reaching for Elsa’s KitKat, Anna’s face and hand suddenly dropped.

“Wait…”

Elsa gulped.

“…you… you were going to eat it without me, weren’t you?”

She focused on the pattern of her carpet.

“Oh my god, Elsa! You stinker!” Anna sounded full-on betrayed, and Elsa could honestly not blame her for that. “I thought KitKats were our thing!”

Elsa blushed, for many different reasons. “I-it’s not like that,” she started explaining herself, fully aware of how pathetic she sounded. “It’s just cause you never want a full KitKat of a new flavor and I couldn’t find them in the sharing format–”

“So? I didn’t know we were suddenly only allowed to share the break-apart ones.”

Elsa sighed. Right, to Anna it didn’t make any sense, because Anna was a normal person who didn’t fantasize about kissing her sister. Or flustered about indirectly kissing her. “I-it’s just easier to portion…”

“I’m pretty good at portioning a bite, thank you very much.” She still sounded a little miffed, but she did smile towards the end– right before her eyes turned very round and glistening. “Did you eat many without me?”

Holy shit, she was looking like the pleading emoji and Elsa was at her wit’s end. “No!” she denied quickly and truthfully. “I-I bought more, but this was the first one I was going to try…”

Anna crossed her arms.

“Aaand now that you know about it I guess there’s no point hiding,” Elsa continued sheepishly. “I’ll uh– I’ll go to the kitchen and cut you off a piece.”

She stood up quickly, holding the KitKat like a relay sprinter holds the baton, clinging on for dear life with the prospect of glory and escaping the rivals, or in this case escaping her sister before she could–

“Wait.” Anna’s hand was on her wrist and Elsa almost yelped. The rivals outran her and the finish line was nowhere in sight as she fell on her knees, defeated, and only metaphorically speaking as in real life she was just standing stiff in her place. “What? Just let me take a bite, it’s easier–”

“N-no,” she interrupted quickly, trying to pry the wrist away from Anna’s surprisingly strong grip. “Cause, uh– umm, that way I can make sure to cut in the middle and give you a fair share.”

Yes, that was a splendid save.

“I just want a bite, I’m not sure if I would like a whole half.” And a gloriously crushing response from the opponent. “Just let me–”

Her peach pink lip gloss would look amazingly fitting on the white chocolate and peach KitKat. Or on Elsa’s lips. Applied with her lips. On her lips. Kissing–

“No!” She yanked her hand away. Anna’s eyebrows shot up in shock, and Elsa realized she yelled that very loudly, even though she was mostly responding to her own dirty little secret thoughts. “I mean– I don’t wanna…”

What? What was she supposed to say to get out of this? There was literally no logical reason she could not be wanting to simply share the KitKat like they used to for so many years, aside from the obvious plague that was currently rotting her mind, but she could not tell Anna that–

“…are you disgusted by me?”

She said it in such a small voice, looking up from where she was sitting on Elsa’s bed with hands folded neatly in her lap, her big teal eyes glazed with a sheet of tears and Elsa’s heart broke into a thousand shards.

“Oh god, no!” Her hands moved on their own to grab Anna and pull her into a hug, but she stopped herself on the way, now with her hands awkwardly hovering at Anna’s eye level. “Why… no, I’m so sorry you would even think that, I–”

“Then what is it, Elsa?”

Fuck. Fuckity fuck shit fuck what was she–

“Just say it,” she damn near sobbed. “Out loud.”

“Your lip gloss,” she said in a flat voice, grasping at straws to not lie, but also not tell the truths. “It stays on the KitKat when you bite it.”

Anna’s eyes went wider. “You don’t like my lip gloss?”

Why the fuck was she sounding this hurt by the idea? “No, I–”

“I thought you said it looks good…”

“It does!” She could clearly feel herself getting flustered. “I like it, and it looks very good on your li– on you. Really good.” God, was she sounding as borderline creepy to Anna as she did to herself? “B-but it leaves a– a stencil of your lips on the…”

She trailed off, not really sure how to get out of the corner she just talked herself into.

Anna gave her a puzzled look. “So you don’t like… my lips?”

“No!” Jesus why was communication so difficult and why was the room so hot and why was Anna looking at her like this? “I love them. Like! I like them. I like. Them. Your lips. Like them.”

If Anna got up and called the ambulance right now because ‘my sister is having a stroke!’ Elsa would find it completely justified.

“Ookay…” Anna said slowly, not reaching for the phone, and instead continuing to try to read Elsa’s face (but what she could potentially read was that inside Elsa’s head there was a wind-up monkey puppet playing the cymbal, and nothing much beside that.) “So what is the problem?”

Elsa mumbled in response.

“I’m sorry?”

“It feels like we’re kissing,” she said weakly, absolutely giving up on her hopes and dreams in that instance. “When I bite the KitKat.”

Anna blinked at her. “That’s it?”

Elsa nodded.

“I mean, that’s all?”

It was Elsa’s turn to wear a confused expression.

“You’ve been getting only breakable KitKats for a year just so you could share with me without feeling like this?”

Elsa nodded again, albeit cautiously. She had no idea where Anna was going with this.

“And denying yourself flavors that don’t exist in that format so that I wouldn’t feel left out?”

Nod again.

“I’m sorry.”

Record scratch. “What? No, why are you sorry?”

“Because you were feeling uncomfortable because of me?”

“No, I– I didn’t want you to feel uncomfortable knowing I want to kiss you.”

Wait, no– oh no no no no holy fuck no backtrack backtrack backtrack–

Her stomach sunk. There was no way to backtrack.

Red alert, escape the room.

Anna caught her hips before she could dash for the door and spun her around to face her again, this time meeting her at eye level. She reached for Elsa’s hand–which was currently hanging limply at her side, and still holding the goddamned half-eaten KitKat–and clasped it gently in hers, then brought it up until it was between them, right in front of Elsa’s mouth.

The scent of peach and white chocolate hit her before her brain registered the development.

“Bite,” Anna said softly, but with demand. “And hold.”

Elsa’s mouth opened on its own as her sister pushed the KitKat in, and obediently she clamped her teeth down on it–just enough to break the chocolate layer, but not all the way through.

She stood there patiently with the candy bar sticking out of her mouth, watching Anna remove the remaining wrapper as if her body was not hers to steer, as if she was just a passive observer as her mind was struggling to pick the pieces of what her sister was doing without going for what she really wanted Anna to be doing in her heart of hearts.

Once the wrapper was off, Anna climbed on her tiptoes and– Elsa could swear she saw her smirk right before the free end of the KitKat disappeared in Anna’s mouth, slowly, until their lips finally touched.

Their lips touched.

She was kissing her sister.

She was kissing her sister around a fucking candy bar.

And in just a few heartbeats she heard the tell-tale, trademark KitKat crunch as Anna’s teeth broke through the wafer, and with a final brush of her glossed lips she was off, leaving behind only a chunk of white chocolate and peach mousse in Elsa’s numb, speechless mouth.

“It looks good on you too,” Anna said with her mouth still full and gaze dashing between Elsa’s lips and eyes. “Bet it would be even better without the melted chocolate.” She swallowed down her bite, and let out a satisfied hum. “Mm, I like this one. Funny how the flavors work together so well… chew, Elsa.”

She brought her hand up to Elsa’s chin and pressed on it, and Elsa mechanically picked up the chewing motion, earning a delighted smile from her sister.

Anna glanced down at her watch. “Well, I gotta go. The sea and beach won’t run away, but my friends just might if I keep them waiting any longer.” She placed a soft, sticky kiss on Elsa’s boiling hot cheek. “But I’m really looking forward to trying the other flavors you got.”

With a wink, she pushed past her and out the door, leaving Elsa to deal with the lump (of KitKat) in her throat.

#elsanna #submission #April 2021 contest #prompt: break

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monster-bait · 4 years ago

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Hi, do you have any tips for someone starting out who would like to make money off my own writing. I think I may use patreon, and self publish, I Mainly write Poto Leroux and would like to take request for original fiction, but I have a very small following and am put off sharing my work because I'm afraid not many people will see/read it. Sorry for the really long ask but if you have any tips and/or advise that would be greatly appreciated.

Oh wow, I don’t know where you guys got it into your heads that I’m any good at making money, lol!

Soooo...first off, I’m far from a publishing professional and I’ve only had my own Patreon up and running since September, so I’m a questionable authority at best.

I can only speak to my own experience and schedule, and time tends to be my most limited commodity, so I put a lot of thought into considering what I was and was not willing to commit to my Patrons each month, and for how many patrons I was willing/able to make that commitment. My patrons are guaranteed to receive one (1) exclusive story between 5-10k words a month, in addition to exclusive viewership of my multi-chapter work. Since that’s not an insignificant time commitment, in addition to commissions, side projects, and real life responsibilities, ensuring I had an audience first was a priority, because it’s *not* a time commitment I’m willing to make for 3 people. (Even though I’d be supremely grateful to @thelampades and two others regardless. 😜)

Since you’re specifically asking about monetizing, I’ll be blunt: if you don’t put the work in to build a readership, you’re not going to see much financial return. Now, that’s absolutely not an indictment of your work. That’s simply the nature of commerce and marketing: people won’t buy what they don’t know exists. This is especially true for what they’re willing to pay for, particularity when fanfic is free. If transformative fanwork is what you’re writing, then you already know the market is crowded.

I would ask yourself why you’re unwilling to share your work now, when you also want to make money from it. (I don’t mean give everything away for free, but presumably there’s going to be considerable overlap with the audience with whom you’re currently not sharing and the audience you eventually want to buy your work.)

If you search my #writing woes tag, I’ve answered questions previously on how to build and sustain a following, and that would be my advice, if it’s advice you’re seeking.

As far as self publishing goes...people self-publish for myriad reasons—because they have a pet passion that’s under-represented, because they’re trying to launch an authoring career, because they simply want to own a book on their shelf with their name on it, etc, so your experience will depend on your motivations. @jamiepage19 has self published an absolutely lovely bit of poto fiction, so she would be a good resource to whom you could reach out!

If you’re seeking to self-publish to make money, be prepared to spend money. Everything costs money. Covers, formatting, editing, advertising. But! Again, it depends on your expectations for “making money”.

If you’re interested in selling a dozen copies to family and friends, KDP is completely free. If you are bringing your own audience to the table, it might mitigate some of the advertising need. You can edit your own work, you can make your own cover from free-use stock images, and your investment is minimal.

If you’re looking to enter the realm of author as a career, it isn’t. The average spend for a self-published author is about $2k/book, including edits, cover, ISBN numbers if you’re selling anywhere other than KDP, and ad campaigns.

I will say, if it’s fanwork you'd be publishing, because its so niche you’d have an easier time finding readership than authors of broad categories like murder mysteries or fantasy romance (OMG, I’m going to sell 3 books, what is wrong with meeeeeeeeeeee 😭) *Ahem.* People who read niche fiction tend to browse the whole list of offerings, so there’s that. But again...with writers like, say, Michelle Rodriguez out there, a known quantity with multiple POTO works and followers, the main thing separating someone from buying your book is going to be the unknown factor.

Bottom line: you’ve got to put yourself out there. It’s never easy to share something you’ve created, because it’s personal and it hurts to have it be overlooked or ignored or criticized, but that’s the nature of the beast. *Especially* if you want to monetize it. People should keep their opinions to themselves and move along with fanfic; if it’s something they’ve paid for? They have the right to pick it apart and review it and that means growing a relatively thick skin as a creator.

If you want to write original fiction, start doing it. Create a Writeblr side-blog to share, if you want to move away from the fandom aspect. If you’re asking me how to start writing original work, you just need to take a breath and do it. I left the poto fandom and fanwork in general about 2 years ago and I’ve never looked back or felt the need to, so don’t feel like you’re locked in place. There IS life after fandom, I promise.

(I could honestly write a small book about planning and executing a launch, because that’s actually what I did in my day job and it really grinds my gears the way people can be so utterly clueless in assuming they can flip on a light switch and the whole world will know about it...there are entire departments dedicated to product launches in every retailer in the world, so if/when you get to that point, feel free to ask questions!)

My advice is to start sharing! Not sharing because you’re worried about your writing being overlooked and then jumping to monetizing seems like a sure-fire way to become discouraged over a lukewarm reception. (Patreon has its own pitfalls to be prepared for even without the question of ‘will people find me’ looming over it.) Build a readership, even if it’s a small one. Small and loyal is just as important as large and transient. Keep your readership. Work on making you writing the best it can be. And good luck! Please don’t be afraid to hit me up again...I’d love a progress report, and I always reblog work I’m tagged in on my Bookshelf page.

Check out my #writing woes tag for more typo-riddled writing advice-type posts on navigating Tumblr as a creator and building an engaged audience!

Join my Patreon

#writing woes #writing advice #monsterbait answers #publishing advice #writeblr #Anonymous

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floweryfreelance · 4 years ago

Text

𝕴𝖓𝖌𝖗𝖆𝖙𝖆 𝕽𝖊𝖉𝖎𝖙𝖚𝖘

CHAPTER SIX

Table of Contents

| 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 |

This work of fiction is an original collaborative work between tumblr users @theearltrancy and @floweryfreelance. Its original format was in that of a roleplay, and has been edited to be a more cohesive story. This work was created on 11.10.20 and completed on 11.30.20.

Please consider following each author for more fictional works.

The end of the day grew nearer as the sky turned dark, the servants of Phantomhive Manor making their rounds and lighting the candles that illuminated the hallways, foyer and dining room of the building. Over dinner, Ciel began to have trouble focusing on their conversation, something he hoped Alois wasn’t picking up on too easily. Every time his gaze arose from his plate with the intention of looking at his lover, they always seemed to be caught in the eyes of the demon Claude standing several feet away. All those years ago, he often felt threatened by even the mere presence of Claude, but knowing now that the two were responsible for keeping a secret, a secret that could mean the end of him if found out, it was leaving him more on edge than usual.

Upon hearing his name leave Alois’ lips, he snapped back to attention, unsure of just how long he had been oblivious to Alois’ words. “I.. I’m sorry, yes? I went away for a moment there.” He tried to cover for himself. “I must be tired from the long day.”

Smiling softly in response, the blonde looked down at the table, having noticed the other man unable to focus. It was fully his cross to bear, and in response he turned to look at Claude, much of the anger from the morning having faded but still a tension between the two.

“Claude, why don’t you go prepare some snacks for later and set them in the study?” He suggested, though a threatening tone still laced his voice. “When you’re done, go see if the other servants need any help. I’m sure that maid is tied up somewhere in god knows what”

With that, the butler nodded and left the room, though a glare crossed his face. It wasn’t as if Claude wanted to follow any of his master’s orders, but bound to contract, refusal meant contradicting his nature. Alois took this seriously, wishing he’d follow simply because he was masking as a butler; the lifestyle proved difficult for some demons.

“I was saying how I need to challenge you to a rematch,” he chimed, turning back around and picking up his fork, stabbing a piece of beef that was tenderly cooked to perfection and glazed in a hearty sauce. “If I can beat you once in chess, I can do it a million times!”

Sebastian stood by the door, stepping aside as Claude exited. He shared a glance with his master, earning a small nod from Ciel as a confirmation to follow him, and so he did. As Claude left the room, it was as if the air opened up. It was physically apparent how Ciel had been able to ease himself now that it was only the two of them in the room.

He cleared his throat, taking a sip of water to alleviate the feeling of dryness in his mouth he hadn’t noticed until now. “Yes, well,” he smirked, seemingly back to his normal sarcastic self. “If you’re to beat me in chess a million times, we’ll have to play at least five million games, four million of which I will win.” He bragged, never competitive about chess until he was faced with a cocky opponent such as Alois.

Seeing as they were now alone, Ciel decided to take the opportunity to ask a question he’d rather now have heard by either of their butlers. “So, assuming you’re staying again tonight,” he began quite nonchalantly, pausing to take a small bite of roasted potato. “Who’s room will we end up in this time?” Ciel’s teasing tone was always one of nonchalance; instead of acting playful he would simply act as if he didn’t care, always hoping to get a rise out of whomever he was speaking to.

Alois spoke with his mouth full, never having fully shedded his lack of manners. The man was never fond of them, never having made any particular use of them. “I like this game we’re playing,” he remarked, pointing at the other with the tip of his fork, “I suppose yours, since you’re so eager. I don’t think I’ll get a moment away from you, do you?” He purred, twirling his fork with his words.

Chuckling lightly to himself, leaning back in his seat. The moment would be stored in his brain, a painting that would crack over the years. Lovers sharing a casual dinner, he logged, romanticizing every second he was able to. And if he were allowed, he would paint in every age spot, prolonging the memory for the next generation.

The rest of the dinner passed with laughs and even more stories shared between the two men. Alois described his French home, suggesting he’d kick out the two lovers inhabiting it in a dramatic declaration of love. Perhaps with a staged fire, or an eviction notice, something of the sort. Those walls were to hold love, and he would only allow theirs to seep into them, no matter who he allowed into his own bed.

Illuminated by the fire, the two men had retired to the study once again. Alois himself was running his finger along the spines of books that hadn’t been touched in years, taking a particular passing interest in the ones on gardening. It was a hobby he found dirty and beneath him, but he always wanted to understand how things began and thus, died. He wondered what he could do in order to keep a plant alive, even preserve one after its passing.

“Do you read any of these?” He asked, noting the cover of dust on some of the pages of the ones he pulled off the shelf to flip through. “No interest in… horticulture? Oscar Wilde? Picture of Dorian Grey?”

Ciel sat in the armchair by the left out chess set, illuminated by the fire as he played with a Knight piece in his hand. He looked over at Alois, squinting slightly to see the book he had picked up.

“Most of them I read in childhood,” he commented, attention turning back to the chess piece. “Many of them haven’t ever been read. I used to have less work, and more time alone. Now I hardly have any time for such things.” Something in his tone was nostalgic as he recalled the days he would spend alone in his study or his bedroom as a young child. Before there was much work for him to do for the Queen, he would often read in isolation, always asking Sebastian to bring him a new book to escape into. That’s what most of them were, after all; escapes.

As calm and collected as he tried to appear, Ciel wasn’t always the most gifted at concealing his emotions. Though his facial expression was rather mute and nonchalant, something about him was still off; his aura, perhaps. It was the same energy Alois felt from across the dinner table. Something was still bothering him, and he wouldn’t speak of it. Likely, that something was related to Claude, one way or another.

It’s a good book,” he noted, opening it and flipping through to a particular passage- “ We are punished for our refusals. Every impulse that we strive to strangle broods in the mind, and poisons us. The body sins once, and has done with its sin, for action is a mode of purification… . Resist it, and your soul grows sick with longing for the things it has forbidden to itself, with desire for what it's monstrous laws have made monstrous and unlawful. It has been said that the great events of the world take place in the brain. It is in the brain, and the brain only, that the great sins of the world take place also. “ He smirked, closing it and placing it back in its place. “How naive.”

The man looked over now to his lover, noticing finally his expression. A look of concern settled onto the other’s face, a frown forming. He strode over to the chair by the fire that he rested in, taking his place on the arm if it, allowing the velvet of his coat to buckle and wrinkle with the action. Soft, he placed his own hand over the other’s, staring longingly into the fire himself.

“Two pence for your thoughts, my dear?” Alois inquired, quiet.

Ciel shifted in his seat as Alois sat on the arm of the chair, making a bit more room for the both of them to be comfortable. He leaned his head into his palm and stared at the fire, his other hand being held by the other’s. He thought for a few moments before speaking, hoping to articulate his mess of thoughts in a clear way.

“This.. secret we’re keeping,” he began, the heat from the fire beginning to make his exposed eye feel dry. Ciel turned to look up at Alois, trying desperately to squash his unease. “I’ve kept secrets before- Hell, I’m keeping us a secret rather well..” His thoughts began to wander, and so he trailed off, his mind darting from worry to worry as he struggled to figure out what to say next.

Alois sighed, his other hand reaching up to run through the man’s dark hair in hopes of comforting him. True, the situation was taxing when it wasn’t blissful, and while the blonde did his best to ignore that he knew his lover wouldn’t be capable.

“Which part of it is the part bothering you now?” He inquired, smiling down at his lover, icy blue eyes seeking an answer before he responded.

Outside the door, Claude had been following his hated rival for the majority of the evening. The two had cleaned the entire manor, folding every sheet possible and washing every window. It would make his blood boil if he’d had any human traits to speak of. It was then that he heard his master, wondering if there had been a speck of information he could use for himself. Surely, there was something here he could glean from the experience. He stopped in front of the closed door, pressing an ear softly against it.

The Earl ran both of his hands over his face, sighing as he stood from his chair abruptly. His reaction came across as frustrated, though he was truthfully only scared.

“Which part do you think?” He spat, purposely speaking to the other side of the room so as to not make Alois think he was angry at him. “Alois, if that butler of yours-” He turned to face him, taking a breath as he ran his fingers through his hair in an attempt to calm down. “If Claude knew what we know, he wouldn’t hesitate to kill me. And ironically, that’s something I can handle.” He pointed out, beginning to pace. “I’ve lived most of my life just waiting for death to take me. But he’d likely go after you, too..” Ciel’s voice softened slightly at the end of his rant, the thought of Alois being killed making him feel as if he were being suffocated by the air around him.

Pouting slightly at the outburst, Alois felt again like a child in the arms of a demon that was so much bigger than he’d ever hope to be. He could kill himself off as many times as he wished; he would never truly die until Claude wanted him to and was able to collect his soul as a light snack before killing his lover as well. With his luck, he’d probably live through it and watch Ciel die. The thought alone made him feel like he was about to choke. Both his hands dropped to the arm of the chair, steadying himself.

“I just… need a way to do it gently.” He pleaded, locking his gaze on his lover’s face. “My revenge is over. If he knew that, he would be able to go… I don’t know- rogue.” He stated, gritting his teeth at the thought. “Releasing him from the contract, if he knew it was fulfilled, we could both die. I doubt he’d pass up an opportunity to end us both.”

Ciel raised a brow, turning back to face Alois with a look of disbelief on his face. “Gently?” he repeated. “And how, exactly, would you even go about that?” Ciel crossed to Alois, cupping his cheeks and holding his head in his hands. “I know you want to believe there’s a way for this to go well, I do as well. But there simply isn’t.” If one looked closely enough, they could see the fear in his exposed eye, his pupil small and quivering. Ciel dropped his hands to Alois’ shoulders. “He’ll kill us, or at least try to, no matter how you go about telling him.”

The young man turned away once again, crossing his arms across his chest as he rested his chin between his thumb and forefinger. His shoulders rose and fell as he took a deep breath, determined to calm down. There was no point in getting worked up about it now, not here and not like this.

“I’ll help you if I must. I’ll bring Sebastian if you think it’ll help protect us from whatever rage, wrath- whatever follows.” He spoke in a serious voice, completing his thought before looking towards Alois over his shoulder. “But we needn’t come up with a plan tonight. As long as we can keep this between us, we have time.”

The blonde was backed into a corner emotionally, trapped in a prison of his own creation. He’d wished many times that at the very least, Claude could be more like Sebastian- a protector, a friend, a loyal dog. That simply was never in the cards for him, tossed around like a nuclear bomb of emotion ever since he was young enough to feel again. Killing those who used him could only bring him so much safety, wrapped in the lies of a demon at the end of the night, every night.

He buried his face in his hands, mind swirling as it did when he started to feel any strong emotion. Things like this made him feel small, like a child again in his own casket back when the old man was still alive. He’d be stolen and used over and over again - it was time for that to stop, now in his adulthood.

“We… have to find a way.” He whispered, choking up as he lost himself in his own head once again. “I can’t spend my whole damned life afraid, Ciel. I want a chance!”

Claude had heard everything, processing what he’d just heard his own master say. He was… free? He had been free for how long? When had Alois figured out that Sebastian hadn’t been the one to bring harm to his brother? Who had told him that they weren’t tied by fate, but instead only tied through lies and time? It would’ve been his deepest fear for the boy if he hadn’t also been freed in the meantime. He no longer had to wait for an order- he could collect Ciel, exact his own revenge, and set the table for a long-awaited feast. Perhaps years ago he would collect Alois as well, but the scent of him no longer enticed him.. What a disgusting thought, eating him.

They had less time than they thought.

Hearing the quiver in Alois’ voice he turned to face him again, his expression turning to one of pity and regret. He shouldn’t have said anything. It could have waited another night.

Ciel approached him, kneeling down next to the armchair and gently taking Alois’ hand in his own. “I’m sorry,” he spoke softly, his thumb tracing soft circles on the other’s skin. “We don’t need to discuss it anymore tonight. We’ll come up with a plan later.” He planted a light kiss on the back of Alois’ hand, getting his attention so he could look him in the eye. “We’ll discuss it later. Come to bed with me, it’s late.”

He stood from his position, pulling gently on Alois’ hands to stand him up from the chair. Their hands squeezed each other lovingly, comfortingly, as they looked upon each other. “Come now then, bed.”

Ice blue eyes focused on the other, now wet with tears that had only begun to form. He wasn’t sure how his lover was able to calm him down so well. He blinked them away, sniffling slightly and nodding. With his free hand, he dusted his coat, a distraction more than anything.

“Right, bed… Okay…” He responded, thoughts still far away. He followed reluctantly, dragging his feet the whole way to Ciel’s room. In a way, he wanted to be alone to think, speed up the process so in a few days he’d have a chance at living. Even he knew it wasn’t that simple, though.

A soft knocking came to the door, revealing the Trancy butler with a fresh change of clothing for the night and another damp towel. Despite his mood, it couldn’t have come at a better time, wishing to wipe the dried tears from his cheeks. He’d been crying silently to himself, pretending to admire the fabrics of the room and settling in by the window to watch the gentle rain hitting the windowpane. Although his lover was certainly aware, the blonde couldn’t be rattled from one of these moods once he got into them. Even with their distance, his lover knew this to be true as well.

He held his hand out, hearing Claude enter and feeling a familiar tingle on his tongue. These days, it was more of a burning feeling that betrayed the animosity they shared. He knew the steps of his demon’s feet, the sound he made when he was in a room, recognized the smell of his laundry, if only to give himself a couple more moments to prepare. The demon handed him the towel, wiping his face off and refusing to look over at him.

“Leave the clothes over there on the bed,” he ordered, distant.

“I actually feel like staying.” Claude uttered, out of turn. This was unusual- normally he would linger or bicker, but always followed orders. He didn’t have any agency- did he? Alois’ eyes widened, the thought crossing his mind that he may have been too loud earlier.

Now in his bedroom together, Ciel sat on the edge of the bed, opposite the room as Alois. He knew his lover well enough to know when he needed to have a moment, but desired the presence of someone he trusted for comfort. And so, that’s what he did.

His back facing the door, he tensed up a bit as Claude entered, once again feeling the air around him grow thick. The young man decided it best to not say a word to the butler, and simply endure his presence until he did his duties and left.

Upon hearing Claude’s dissent, something in Ciel froze, something deep inside him. Looking towards Alois out of the corner of his eye, he saw the other’s look of shock and worry, and his own face began to mirror the same expression. Between the three of them, the room seemed to fall under a dark and heavy cloud of dread, one that was so thick it made them feel as if they could choke.

Did he hear them?

Frozen in his place, Alois felt awash with fear all of a sudden. He felt many emotions towards the other, but never endangered. His hand slowly rose to cover his mouth, beginning to shake.

“Get-… Get out!” He screamed, turning to stand and face the butler, now only slightly taller. However, it was clear that the two were far from being on the same level with one another. Nose to nose, the demon smiled out of the side of his mouth, pushing up his glasses and walking away- only to meet Ciel and lean in close. The tension was palpable as he eyed the man, dissolved to just a child in front of him. He ran a cold index finger along the darker man’s jaw, lifting his chin so he couldn’t look away, a threat if there ever was one.

“Trancy,” he began, low, “I hope you remember what being alone is like.” He stated. With that, he straightened and pushed back his glasses, walking towards the door frame. He stopped just before leaving, making eye contact with the Earl Trancy, his last moment as a proper Trancy butler. “You won’t be coming with.”

Turning on his heel to leave, Alois stood frozen in complete shock and defeat. He dropped to the floor, fear gripping him in its entirety. He felt his body rock with sobs, but he wasn’t aware of any of it, the action not coming from emotion but rather absolute shock. They were in danger, and he’d willingly die with Ciel, but to die without him, no longer wanted….

Ciel had nearly lost all control of his body as he was faced with the man, sitting down but feeling as if he would fall if he tried to stand. His entire body went cold, clammy and quivering, and he flinched as he felt a gloved finger run along his jaw. In Claude’s golden eyes he saw nothing but darkness, a threatening void that left an lingering sense of terror as he walked away.

A ringing in his ears silenced Alois’ sobs and the sound of the door shutting behind the demon as he left. Ciel couldn’t move, completely and utterly frozen in place as his mind tried to make sense of what just occurred. The desire to hit himself crossed his mind, just in case this were a dreadful nightmare he hadn’t yet woken up from. But it wasn’t.

Abruptly, Ciel shot up from his seat on the bed, stumbling forward and grabbing hold of the bed frame for support. He screamed for Sebastian, louder than he had ever screamed before, his voice growing hoarse and cracked the more he screamed. It was only moments before Sebastian appeared in the doorway, a look of intense concern on his face as he rushed to his master’s side, helping him stand as he took notice of Alois crumpled up on the floor.

“Master, what is it? What’s happened?” He inquired, completely unaware of the events that had happened just moments before his arrival.

“It’s..Claude..” Ciel choked out, putting most of his weight on Sebastian as he struggled to stand upright. “He’s going to kill me..”

“Dear master, he can’t-”

“HE CAN AND HE WILL!” He screamed, looking desperately into his demon’s eyes. “The contract has been filled, it was kept a secret from him.. He doesn’t answer to Trancy any longer, he’s going to try to kill me..” Ciel spoke quickly, eyes darting back and forth between Alois and the door. “He’s gone, but he’ll come back. No one comes onto the grounds, and no one leaves, do you understand me!?”

Sebastian’s eyes widened, admittedly shocked by the confession. His brows furrowed as he nodded and closed his eyes briefly, helping Ciel to sit back on the bed. “Yes, master. I’ll take appropriate action immediately.” The demon then left the room swiftly, determined to notify the other servants, both of Phantomhive and Trancy manor, and to search the grounds for any sign of Claude.

And so, they were left alone. The noble Phantomhive Earl sitting lifelessly in silence, and the stately Trancy Earl sobbing and balled up on the floor.

Alois pulled his knees to his chest in an effort to calm himself, still dryly sobbing to himself for a good few minutes in the dark of the night. He couldn’t yet bring himself to stand, reduced to a childlike state of shock. Claude didn’t even want him anymore… which in and of itself was hurtful enough. But then, he also wanted to take the one chance he had at happiness with him. He’d be left forever in a Hell of his own making, no solace to be found. The contract would leave him wealth and power, things while paled in comparison to companionship, once the only thing he actually wanted out of his demon.

Ciel’s screams echoed in his ears as if he were miles away or perhaps hearing them in a nightmare. Though, it must have been only moments before Sebastian found the other Trancy staff, Hannah rushing in to hold the man in her gentle arms. The Earl grabbed on tightly to her, knowing she would be the only one to love him if he ever lost his lover. She pushed his hair out of his tear-stained face as she got to work putting him back together. She whispered a few reassurances to the man, Alois hearing none of them and beginning to cough and choke on his tears. Holding a handkerchief to his mouth, she spent a few more moments with him in silence, the closest thing he had to a mother.

“Ciel,” she began, looking behind her shoulder at the other man, also falling apart at the seams. “I swore to his brother to protect him. I know now that includes you.” She stated with the calm only a demon could manage in the moment. “I will not hesitate if I must break rank.”

Still hearing none of the sounds in the room, Alois muffled his coughs against Hannah’s chest, raising a hand to hold the cloth to his own mouth now. He struggled to breathe, pretending instead that he was in the room alone and had the time to compose himself. He still shook and held the woman to steady his body. Hannah buried her face in the man’s golden hair, feeling the closest thing a demon could ever feel to fondness.

“There, there… you’re going to be safe…”

Hearing his name seemed to shock Ciel back into reality, suddenly unsure of how long he had been frozen in place and time. He especially wasn’t used to hearing his first name leave a servant’s mouth, but that was the least of his worries. He snapped his head towards her, wide eyed and pale as he listened to her words, and nodded to show her he understood.

It wasn’t just them, then. They weren’t alone in this; they had Sebastian and Hannah, the remaining Phantomhive manor staff and perhaps even the triplets, if they could be of any help. He would remind Alois of this when he was calmer.

That thought struck Ciel then, suddenly seeming to snap him back into the real world and truly analyze what was going on. Claude knew that he was free from Alois. Claude was going to try to take his life, and leave Alois behind to suffer. They weren’t alone in defending themselves. It was as if Ciel’s mind, in an effort to preserve his sanity, turned to his work related thought processes, working to keep him grounded and practical. This wasn’t the time for him to act emotional. They didn’t have that leisure.

Ciel rose from the bed, timely moving to crouch in front of Alois and cup his cheeks with still shaky hands, reminding him he was still there. “Alois, look at me.” he ordered, lifting the man’s head so his eyes met his own. “My staff are doing a search of the perimeter. No one is getting in here.” He turned his attention towards Hannah. “We’ll sleep in here tonight, with the door open. You’ll stand guard in case he returns tonight.” There was no time to make polite requests. He turned back to Alois. “He’s gone, Alois, he isn’t here right now. It’s just us, and we’re protected for now.”

Hannah nodded, leaving Alois with one last squeeze of his hand. She stood, turning on her heel to walk to the doorframe and prepare for a long night. It was at this moment that the triplets ran up, catching her in the light of the hallway. She gave them instructions, too low for either man in the room to hear, and they saluted, only to run off in different directions. While they weren’t huge fans of the Earl himself, they were bound to the female instead and heeded her every order. If her orders were to protect Alois, they would without a single pause.

The man shakily rested his own hands over his lover’s on his face, cold but steady. Through tears, he locked eyes with the other, searching for his reality. He blinked the tears from his eyes, sniffing and some clarity coming back to him.

“He… doesn’t even want me..” He said, processing aloud. While this was not the primary concern, he always supposed that if the contract ended, he would at least put the blonde out of his misery. As a last slight, however, he planned to take everything from him and let him sit in it. He scrambled through his memories, that night he asked for the demon’s help playing on repeat. He’d felt so wanted back then, but now he knew it was only until he found something better. The tables turned, the demon seeking revenge on him and Sebastian at the same time. Ambitious. “He… I….”

Ciel’s heart felt like it was being squeezed in that demon’s grasp as he watched Alois struggling to bring himself back down and ground himself. His thumbs gently stroked his cheeks as he leaned his forehead against the other’s, closing his eyes. “He’s evil and he’s angry..” He reminded Alois, hoping he could help him see that, after everything, the demon’s actions weren’t that surprising at all. “He won’t take me,” You don’t know that. “We’re protected,” He’ll find a way in. “He’s not going to kill me,” He will. “And I promise you, you won’t be alone.”

It was then that Sebastian reappeared, sharing a brief word with Hannah before entering the room and standing before the two young men on the ground, though his attention was solely on his own master.

“Anything?” Ciel asked quietly, looking up at his butler as he cradled Alois’ head in his arms.

Sebastian shook his head. “No, master, no sign of him. He’s left the premises. But I have staff stationed around the manor, and I’ll be doing rounds of my own tonight.” He gestured towards Hannah. “I see Miss Hannah will be responsible for the Trancy Estate’s servants, and will be here tonight as well.”

Ciel nodded slowly, trying to take deep breaths. “Yes, she stays here. But I don’t want you going far, you hear me?” After all these years, Ciel would be lying if he claimed he didn’t feel uneasy whenever Sebastian wasn’t near. “You answer to me and me only, and I command you to protect me at all costs.” His voice was low now, threatening even, but not towards Sebastian. It was as he said before: he had gone most of his life expecting death to take him at any moment, but he’d be damned if he left Alois alone in this godforsaken world.

The blonde, now coming down slightly, allowed his head to rest against Ciel’s chest. It was in this manner that he insisted on hiding from the world if only for now. There was a period of time when he was wanted by the demon for his own flavor and not the people he could collect in his grasp. For companionship, he posed as the son of a sodomiser, mingling with the family of his former abuser for only the reassurance he had standing dutifully behind him. He had not wished for wealth nor power, but respect and companionship. If only he had known what it would turn into, he would’ve taken his revenge only on the Old Man, the true Earl of Trancy, and allowed himself to be taken with the demon into a cold, unforgiving Hell.

His whole life now stemmed from those choices he’d made as a last resort when he was only thirteen. He wondered if he would have still met Ciel if he hadn’t been the fake Earl Trancy, but in this moment he almost wished he weren’t, all posturing and lies. Alive for naught but his rage and distaste for anyone who wasn’t him. and yet wanting someone to notice. Organically, someone had. If he hadn’t made that choice, perhaps even Hannah would’ve still eventually stepped forward for his brother, allowing him a chance at life.

Alois looked up into Ciel’s eyes, making sure that that one person, this one thing, was real. Claude had… left the premises. Resentment was one thing, but this was another entirely. Abandonment. “I… I want to sleep…” He mumbled, still quite out of it. “I’ll… need help… untying…”

Now the only two in the room, with the exception of Hannah’s presence by the door, Ciel helped Alois stand and walked him over to the bed. Without a complaint he began to unbutton the other’s coat, discarding it before moving onto his dress shirt and tie. He helped him undress silently, pulling a warm cotton robe from his wardrobe and pulling Alois’ arms through it. “Let’s not worry about night clothes, we’ll sleep in something warmer tonight.” Secretly, a part of him hoped the smell of him on the robe would calm Alois, perhaps even allow him to sleep.

After tying the robe snugly around the other man’s middle, he turned away to begin undressing himself, copying the same ritual and process of removing his clothes and folding them neatly on the table by the dresser beside Alois’. He, too, wrapped a warm robe around himself, circling around the other side of the bed to crawl in and under the covers beside Alois.

The two naturally turned into each other, this time with Ciel holding Alois tightly in his arms and combing his fingers through the blond’s hair in his chest. “We’re safe..” he whispered, letting the darkness engulf them, closing them in a small and comforting space that felt sturdy and reliable enough to be a fortress.

Whether or not the two of them would sleep that night or lay together in silence was hard to say.

Alois, unfortunately, was still reeling. His whole world shattered that night as he tried to build a new home in his lover’s arms. The robe made him feel only slightly better, smelling of the Earl Grey tea and merlot smell that encompassed the entire manor. In an effort to ground himself, he pulled it up to his face and smothered himself in it, trying his best not to think about his butler, betraying.

He thought of Dorian Grey, a novel he’d found refuge in the whole time he’d been travelling. If his sins and choices were portrayed on his face, he wondered how ugly that would make him. He’d reeled the love of his life into this mess, reckless perhaps, but he’d known no other lifestyle. Were he simply wealthy by birth, none of this would have happened. He wouldn’t have had to fight for bread, and traded his life for an endless supply of it. He was still clean-faced and lacked any wrinkles or signs of age, but he was sure that his sins would make him look like the monster he knew himself to already be.

The night passed as if caving in on both of them, Alois occasionally sitting up having heard a raindrop hit the window wrong or Hannah’s heel shift with her weight. No sleep came to him, waiting for the world to explode around them or for the butler to come back in through the window. For an hour or so, he even sat up in bed, just anxiously watching the night pass them by. This continued through morning, when the sky began to glow blue with the return of sunlight and some clouds became tinged with orange light. Though the night had felt long, he was surprised that they had in fact remained undisturbed all night. Realizing this, he looked up to Hannah, who had remained in the doorway the entire night. He wondered what orders she’d given the triplets, as he hadn’t even seen them to begin with. Without a word, Hannah flagged down Mey-Rin in the hallway, stepping away for only a moment to inform her that Alois was awake and she wished to retrieve him a change of clothes.

Just a short while later, Ciel began to stir as he felt movement beside him, weakly opening his eyes to see Alois sitting on the edge of the bed now and being dressed by Hannah. Now aware he was still close, he let out a short breath, relaxing his head back into the pillow. With his left arm he reached across the empty space to gently caress Alois’ lower back, stroking the skin with his thumb. He didn’t say good morning, as it wasn’t likely to be a good one.

Ciel wouldn’t claim he slept that night, rather he dozed while remaining on high alert. When Alois stirred, he would wake. When the wind was just a bit too loud, he would wake. When the floorboards creaked, he would wake. It was only in the last hour or two that he had really fallen into sleep, his arm draped over the other man’s lap until just moments ago.

The night before was still fresh in his mind. He was a target once again, for the first time in a long time. But now, he wasn’t the only one involved.

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arecomicsevengood · 4 years ago

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AGING ALTERNATIVES

We live in a culture that worships the large-scale spectacle of the obvious. Partly because of this, the most affecting thing a person can do is something with a large amount of effort behind it, delivered to a small audience: An elaborate meal cooked for a loved one, a labored-over zine in an edition of ten. But of course, time has this great leveling effect, and attempting something large scale can easily crash and burn, and in so doing become something only for a limited audience.

There is an ongoing conversation being had about older comics but they are almost always superhero comics, with some weird eighties genre trash thrown in. This conversation includes a great many alternative cartoonists, but it is very rare for a forgotten art comic to slide its way into the discussion. There’s numerous reasons for this: The larger the print run, the larger the chance a work will find its way to a bargain bin. But also, artists are competitive, and largely inclined to promote themselves or their peers. Once an artist is no longer producing work, they are rarely championed.

Obviously, not everyone finds their way into “the canon,” but you would think that work intended to be somewhat personal would end up being valued enough by individual people that you’d hear about it now and again. The case for alternative comics is the same as it ever was: It’s an artistic medium that can do anything, and it’s released in the fairest most egalitarian way, via mass production, for it to find people who will support it. The art is immediately striking in a way that gives it an edge over the written word, but it’s distributed to shops across America rather than galleries, and so should have long life after its initial release. Of course, the vision falters due to the reality that most of what gets produced is pretty bad, and not really expressing anything particularly unique or individual, and this only goes unspoken at the time of a work’s release due to admiration for the amount of labor that nonetheless went into it.

But what ends up happening in retrospect is this thing where banal superhero work gets reevaluated, with certain aesthetic decisions dictated by the technology of the time (like the coloring) becoming romanticized and recognized as things of beauty, while tons of black and white comics made by people who were desperately trying to push the medium forward and make something that works as art or literature get tarred with a blanket dismissal, associated with either the indulgences of the highest-profile practitioners or simply casualties of their pitiful attempts at graphic design. Only the small handful of practitioners whose publishers have steadily championed them and kept their work in print get to escape this fate. But obviously, if you’re working at something risky, you might end up working with publishers who are not economically viable in the long term, or, if they are, it’s because they’re being subsidized by projects way more commercial than yours.

There’s plenty of stuff which had a large enough print run for copies to be found, but functionally exist at the level of visibility of a zine. But, while I might be interested in extending the same amount of charity I would to someone making work with no hope of commercial success, to engage with the work honestly means that the fact that it was attempting to find its place in the world of commerce must be taken into consideration when thinking about the goals it set out to fulfill. That so much fails to meet these commonly-held goals can make one feel pretty depressed about the medium, and maybe this is another reason for people to avert their eyes: When you’re talking about superhero comics of a certain vintage, while they might not have attempted to be art, at least the people making them got paid.

Obviously, The Comics Journal has been fighting this fight for decades. I am sure all of the books I am going to write about, they have already covered, and they probably came to the same conclusions, and depending on the writer, they might’ve been more entertaining to read than I will be. But I want to offer these reconsiderations in light of all the other reconsiderations being made, that are coming to the opposite conclusion of what The Comics Journal would’ve. It is easy to look back at the 1980s now and say, for instance, that Elektra Assassin is a better comic book than American Splendor. There’s a discrepancy between what is the best work being produced at a given historical moment and what is the most exciting scene to be a part of. I like to think if I had been writing for the Comics Journal in the early nineties, I wouldn’t have gone all-in praising Palookaville, but I get that in the moment it would’ve felt important to do so. Now, of course, there is very little that feels exciting at all, in the context of real-world community, due to the global pandemic. This is an incredibly lonely moment, and nostalgia has a powerful allure.

But I’d like to ensure the nostalgia we feel compels us to fight for what’s human, rather than allow us to simply surrender our past to the colonizing forces of corporate interests. In the interest of the human, I will not make any grandiose claims for the works I’m writing about. I’m not describing anything as a masterpiece. These instead fulfill the humble virtues of being charming, cool, interesting. They didn’t upend my value system of what the comics medium could be. But, since it was all of the Picturebox releases that shifted my perspective on comics on its axis when I was in college that caused me to ignore some of this stuff, that its virtues can endure after such a flip is itself notable. Anyway, I have no reason to have written such a long preamble. I could’ve easily just made separate posts for each comic I wanted to talk about, but all this additional context seemed important to me to articulate. All of these are books I bought online over the past few months.

Shuck Unmasked, by Rick Smith and Tania Menesse

Feel like the main thing holding this comic back is a certain lack of joie de vivre to its line. There’s a certain cuteness to its designs that seems reminiscent of Jeff Smith or Goodbye Chunky Rice era Craig Thompson but it’s a little bit stiff in ways those cartoonists aren’t. The mask Shuck wears resembles the face Chester Brown draws himself having in Paying For It. I feel like this is maybe the only comic I’ve seen that frequently has dialogue that’s misspelled in an attempt to capture phonetic dialect and presents that through lettering that feels like a font. There’s a sense of being rounded instead of being scratchy, a lushness that feels hinted at, but also tamped down. There’s a literary flavor to it, an attention to the language, a deliberate and delicate sense of stately melancholy that’s present.

The Shuck of the title is a demon, living on Earth, tasked with making sure the dead don’t escape the afterlife and roam around. Despite his horned form, he’s able to wear the mask of an old man, and fit in with his neighbors, which include a little girl, with whom he develops a bond. There’s a gentle quality to it, but also a sense of darkness that prevents it from being cloying, an interest in the esoteric that suggests the profound. The premise could be a recipe for sitcom-ish stasis, but actually the status quo shifts quite a bit, over the course of these self-published comics, collected into a book by Top Shelf. It feels like each individual chapter should be reread a few times before proceeding on; the chapters have a nice density to them. That’s the funny thing about a lack of velocity to the line, it suggests a studiousness with which to approach it, but doesn’t invite the eye to return to it. Two issues of a sequel were self-published afterwards, I would read those.

Tales Of Woodsman Pete, by Lilli Carré

I’ve heard a couple people call Lilli Carré the best cartoonist of her generation. The first time I heard it said, I had never read anything by her, but I was struck by the assertion because there’s so many heavy hitters in that cohort I’m not comfortable making such declarations about anyone. There’s a collection of Carré’s short stories I’ve checked out from the library, but I found that collection inconsistent, with notable highs that didn’t still didn’t quite bowl me over. This could be partly an issue of format - Few cartoonists of Carré’s generation have a short story collection of their work available, and it might not be the best way to examine the work and see its strengths.

(A sidenote irrelevant to the larger thrust of this conversation - I started keeping a google doc of what years cartoonists were born, and have a my own idea of “generations” of cartoonists in terms of whose work it makes sense to consider alongside one another. 1960-1967 is one cohort, then 1968-1975, then 1976-1982, then 1983-some point unclear to me at this point, there’s a generational divide for sure but I don’t yet know the rules of it. I lump Carré in with Eleanor Davis, Dash Shaw, and Michael Deforge, rather than the slightly older group which includes Kevin Huizenga, CF, and Sammy Harkham. That’s not to say the people championing Carre are making the same distinctions, these generational lines are weird and arbitrary and some people are “on the cusp” and everyone chooses their own peers to a certain extent. However, I do think these generations are important or useful to think about, in terms of who came up with access to alternative newspaper strip jobs vs. the Xeric Grant vs. Tumblr, and it’s just generally interesting to think about what was around to serve as an influence at a formative age. People born after 1967 have had very few opportunities or chances for institutional support, by my reckoning. Over time, more people became acclimated to making uncompromising art, and there also became way less economic opportunity for people making work intended for adults. I suspect the forthcoming generation will be more inclined towards making content for kids because they grew up with things targeted to children, and they can be part of the push to make that stuff more diverse. This coincides with all of the economic infrastructure except for libraries being obliterated.)

Tales Of Woodsman Pete is a smaller object, of digest proportions, that Top Shelf released, early in Carré’s career. It’s worth noting her style nowadays is far more experimental and minimal, although I suppose at the time her work might’ve been considered pared-down, closer to folk tales than novels. This comic follows a woodsman, who monologues to no one, speaking to the trophies he’s made of his kills, in a series of short strips. This is juxtaposed against bits involving Paul Bunyan and his ox Babe, who share a camaraderie between them that doesn’t truly abate Bunyan’s sense of loneliness. It is, like Shuck, a gentle thing, and is able to conjure up some emotion, but I wonder if the sense of tweeness present within it is something Carré feels she’s outgrown? That’s not to say I object to it, just that I recognize a shift away from that stuff. I believe Carré is a Calvino fan, this stuff might be closest to the early stories in Our Ancestors, but Calvino’s work became far more overtly experimental afterwards. I don’t know, I still don’t have a bead on who Carré is or where she’s going. And that’s great, why should I?

Hectic Planet: Checkered Past, by Evan Dorkin

In high school, I read a Hectic Planet comic called The Bummer Trilogy, and liked it a lot. That was a single issue collecting three short stories that were the last work Evan Dorkin would do with the characters. While in retrospect, high school is probably the ideal age to read this material, those strips still feel more mature, in a sense of being personal, than much of Dorkin’s work. He’s written some superhero comics for the big two that never did much for me, and he has some collaborative genre comics I’ve never read, but he’s most associated with his humor cartooning, which I have kept up with despite only finding them intermittently funny. There’s always a sense of Dorkin as a performer of his material, where the humor tends to feel angry, but his most self-consciously autobio material is about the fact that his psyche is a dumping ground for assorted pop culture detritus. What’s interesting about this material is that is, in fact, still kind of immature, but it’s moving away from the science fiction premise, to be present enough to make jokes and talk about feelings. It’s the falterings towards finding a voice and having confidence in it, a youthful move towards what might not be maturity, but is, at least, work. So chunks of this are about a dude who’s heartbroken because he caught his girlfriend cheating on him and so he’s annoying all of his friends by complaining all the time and he’s thrilled to meet girls who like the same bands as he does and he goes to the grocery store and only buys junk food and while this might sound dumb, in context, it’s the beginnings of a worldview that feels fairly true to life for someone who would’ve been that age, at that point in time.

So, considering the era, and the sense of a science fiction premise being abandoned, it might make sense to think of this comic as following in the footsteps of Love And Rockets, albeit from an East Coast Jewish male perspective, and nowhere near as good. It almost feels like if a low-budget eighties sci-fi movie had cast a stand-up comedian in it, and when the budget got cut, they let him fill out the runtime with his routines and riffs, in an attempt to make it a star vehicle in case he ever got cast on SNL. Slave Labor put out a lot of alternative comics, and they all kind of got looked down upon to one degree or another. Much of what they published is both really poorly drawn and nakedly chasing whatever youthful subculture audience they could. Dorkin is easily one of the better artists they had, but the desire to be cool according to the terms of the subculture of the times makes for comics that feel dated now. All the characters in this book are really into ska, the back of the book has all these images taken from ska compilations and 7-inches featuring the characters. But that’s also interesting, because sensing the book’s quest to find its readership lends such authenticity to the young adult milieu, of what it means to be on your own and trying to find your people. It’s from a moment in time when talking about young people put a work in dialogue with alternative culture and not major book publishers, who due to generational differences, would not have understood any of the things this comic is about.

(This piece is sort of a variation on what I talk about in my article in But Is It… Comic Aht 2, by the way. There, behind a beautiful Lilli Carre cover, you can see me talking up more explicitly “all-ages” comics Slave Labor published, like Zander Cannon’s Replacement God, and Scott Roberts’ Patty Cake. Halo And Sprocket was a little bit later than the time period the article focuses on, but I liked that as well. Maybe the most interesting thing I’ve read from Slave Labor that wasn’t all ages and was never collected into a book would’ve been Jon Lewis’ series Ghost Ship. I also like the issues I’ve read of Bernie Mireault’s The Jam, which ran at multiple publishers, and I would like to read more of.)

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thebrochtuarachs · 5 years ago

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The Making of Outlander: The Series Author Tara Bennett on Why She is Thankful for What Sam Heughan and Caitriona Balfe Shared

By Paulette Cohn

The countdown to season five of Outlander continues with three months left to go until the Feb. 16 premiere on STARZ. But in the interim, author Tara Bennett has a little something to help the time pass more quickly and provide you with an Outlander fix. It is her new book, The Making of Outlander: The Series: The Official Guide to Seasons Three & Four, which takes a deep dive into the making of the series, and is now available in stores and online.

“We spent a lot of time on the first one trying to frame it with new voices and different ways of telling the stories, or with people that aren’t covered by typical press for the show, and it went over well,” Bennett tells Parade.com in this exclusive interview. “Because of that, we wanted the second book to look and feel similar, as if you were making a collection on your shelf, and so we kept the format, we kept the relative design, and then we looked into spotlights and head-of-department features, so we could change it out, so you didn’t feel like you were learning the same thing but for a different year.”

The Making of Outlander: The Series is a beautifully crafted tome, and what makes it a must-have for fans of both Diana Gabaldon’s novels and for fans of the Starz TV series – as well as a great holiday gift — is the large number of photos, many that have never appeared in print or online stories.

“I did a cross check of everything that was available to the public via press versus what was made available to us for the book,” Bennett says. “We tried to put in as much new stuff as possible, otherwise, why bother buying the book? I literally made a huge Excel spreadsheet of what was given to press, and then what was given to us, and then made sure that we leaned into those things. If there was a beautiful picture that STARZ and Sony gave the regular press, it was still nice to be able to find a way to feature it, so that you could really look at it in a different way than looking at it on your tablet or your laptop.”

Bennett was also able to coax some interesting tidbits that hadn’t been in print before out of series stars Sam Heughan (Jamie Fraser) and Caitriona Balfe (Claire Fraser), like what lengths they went to for season three and four to accurately portray being parents, as neither of them are in real life.

“They both spent a lot of time trying to establish and understand that dynamic and really create that rapport with their costars,” Bennett relates. “Sam has some really great stories about the hesitancy of that, working with the little boy that plays Willie, his son, and creating that rapport. Then several of the actors also talk about watching him with the young actor and how endearing that was. I think that’s just a nice testament to both of them as actors is the level that they go to, to try to create the authenticity with Jamie and Claire.”

You’ve told us what’s the same about this book, what’s different other than the seasons?

We went into a lot more, specifically, about the production design and visual effects, how they worked in tandem, which was a lot more subtle in the first two years. Then in season three and four, you had tall ships that had to be created in visual effects, you had shooting Scotland for the United States, so for a lot of the environment, they would have to use blue screen to create Jocasta’s plantation house in season four. That doesn’t exist in Scotland.

And so, they basically had to do a lot of visual effects to that house, including an entire second floor, and the environment around it to make it look like it was truly in Wilmington. We decided to peel back a layer with that.

We did a lot about the First Nations, basically, the big immersive sets that they created and then really tried to look at some of the new cast, so that we could give them time in the sun. So, it’s people like Ed Speleers, who played Stephen Bonnet, and, of course, giving much bigger spreads to Sophie Skelton (Brianna) and Richard Rankin (Roger), because they’ve been bumped up in terms of presence, especially by season four, so they equal Sam and Caitriona now in terms of the spreads that they get in the book.

To me these are special coffee table books. I keep mine out, so I can flip through it any time.

Yes. That’s nice. That’s why we try to make sure when we play around with the color and the brightness of the pictures that you’re really getting the best possible version of the picture on the page, so that you really get to look at details that your eyes will get a little tired from looking at on a computer.

In the first book, there was a story about Caitriona’s casting, which was something that I didn’t know before I read it there. Do you have stories like that in this book? Is there one you could share?

David Berry, who is Lord John Grey, is a character that the book readers really, really love and that TV fandom has embraced. He’s Australian, and the story that both the casting director and he tell in tandem — she in her section and he in his — is that he was really part of a wide net that they put out for the show, because there’s so many television shows being produced now that even since the first season of Outlander, it’s harder to find actors who aren’t already engaged in something. So, what they used to do was just look in England and Scotland, but now they have put it out to the world when they’re doing a new casting call for a major character.

So, David Berry has a good story about how, in a casting sense, they went to Australia and were really starting to look for Australian actors who are very good, and then about how quickly his turnaround was. He had to deal with playing that character on the fly the entire first season. He’s been intermittent in the show, so his stories have been really fun about trying to get into character, but really not being with the show very much so that’s been a challenge.

How involved were Sam and Caitriona in the second book?

I have to thank them. It’s been a benefit that I’ve been able to cover the show as a reporter and then also be able to do these books. I first started covering Outlander for print and online outlets, and so, they’ve known me. Then when I started doing interviews with them for the book, there was already a recognition factor. The really great thing is that over a span of — now they’re into production for season five, they know me even more.

As it is with all lead actors in a television show that’s over four seasons, it gets harder and harder to get them, because they’re really busy, and when they’re on breaks, they’re doing other projects. But they have always made time to say, “Yes, I’m going to talk with Tara,” and so I’m always super grateful because, at the end of the day, there is no companion book of value without the two of them. Claire and Jamie are the books, and so, I would’ve really been devastated if we hadn’t gotten them. I ended up sitting on the phone with each of them separately.

In some instances, Sam was in a car literally heading to LAX, so a good way to combat traffic is to talk to me. With Caitriona, she was on a break from shooting, and so, we talked when she was doing a little bit of other press for season four and so it ended up being really great.

I always try to approach their interviews, in particular, as they’re covered a lot by mainstream media, so I try to talk a little bit more thematic and about the work that they do to progress the characters from year to year. I think they really appreciate that kind of deeper conversation that they don’t always get when they’ve got 10-minute hits with media outlets. So, that was always my focus and they were always really gracious. I always know that they really get thoughtful and dig deep to think about those moments that mean a lot to them and how they progress the character.

Any conversations about working with Rollo or the horses?

All those animals make noise and create problems and they’re never fun, so they look like they’re happy around them, but John Bell, who plays young Ian, is the only one that really likes Rollo because he was the one that had to, basically, help train him from its youth, so that he would respond to him.

Everybody else had had enough of those animals. There are good stories about how Matt Roberts, who’s the new show runner who took over from Ron Moore, had to go around the globe to find those animals and bring them back. They would basically make a global search for multiple puppies and other animals that would fit what the readers’ expectations were, so it’s not just going to a shelter and yanking an animal, it’s this whole thing that the book explains as well, which was surprising to me.

And this coming season, they had to look for Adso, too.

Adso will be, hopefully, in book five and six if people buy this book.

Did Diana participate at all? I know she’s been busy working on the next novel in the franchise.

For the first book, Diana, obviously, was establishing the transition, and so, she did the foreword. Then she also was a cameo actor and she also wrote episode 211. So, for season three and four, because of her own book deadlines and production timing, she didn’t end up doing an episode for either season three or four, and we wanted to leave her alone. We didn’t really want to bug her unless she really had free time, which she didn’t.

So, we asked the foreword go to Matt Roberts. So, she isn’t present but she’s been super gracious in terms of doing book signings and with approval, saying she appreciated what we did with the companion for the seasons.

But the nice thing is, she announced that she’s going to be doing episode 511. She’s writing that one, so I have a hope that if this book does well, then she will be back in the next tome, which is great.

In addition to photos, there’s sketches of some of the different sets.

We were able to get some sketches from Jon Gary Steele, who is the production designer, and then we were also able to get sketches from Terry Dresbach, who was the costume designer through the middle of season four.

That was something I wanted for the first book, lawyers sometimes don’t always make that easily happen, and so, because we knew we wanted them and could get the request earlier for this book, we were able to get the sketches directly from Terry and from production design to be able to give a flavor of some of the things that they built. So, you get a general idea of mood board things, which are very important for Terry in coming up with the overall ideas of what a character looks like, especially as they progress through the eras.

Then, for Jon Gary Steele, who really uses the facilities of the warehouses in Glasgow to basically repurpose, he’s a fun part of the book. He really explains when you see a new set what it came from, why he created something so that he could easily retrofit it to something for the next year, and there’s always a sense of they are borrowing from last year to use the footprint for what they’re going to need to do for the next year. So, there’s basically a taste of everything that came before and everything that he builds going forward.

#outlander #outlander article #article #parade magazine #tara bennet #the making of outlander #sam heughan #caitriona balfe #sam x cait #samcait #sam cait #interview #magazine #magazine feature #a good read #though i can see some questionable whoopsies here and there #hahahahah

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teffyjeffy · 4 years ago

Text

Fabric Tears (Part 2)

NEXT (Coming Soon to the Mystery Shack!)

PART 1

SKIP TO PART 3

ONCE UPON A TIME...

TABLE OF CONTENTS

Mabel was stolen away from her fluffy-animal-infested dream when she heard what could only be described as... a Dipper Scream.

Mabel quickly shot up, standing on her bed and getting into a crane stance. "WHO GOES THERE!? SPEAK NOW OR FOREVER LOSE YOUR TEETH!!!"

Frisk was quick to follow, mumbling incoherently as they slowly sat up from their sleeping position in the sleeping bag. They covered their left ear as Mabel bellowed. "Mmmmgh not so loud, Mabel... Whatsssss going on?"

Then they saw it.

There, sitting in a ball position at the left leg of Dipper's headboard, was a familiar plum-furred bear.

The whole thing with it actually breathing? And making bear noises? And eating Dipper's left sock? Those were definitely unfamiliar territory.

"Oh dear," was all that Frisk could manage.

For what felt like too long of an amount of time, nobody else spoke. All they could do was focus on the bear that was devouring the poor sock like it was nothing but an ice cream sandwich. Finally Dipper spoke up. Or tried to, at least. "B- ba- b-b-bear.. ee…eeeeee… eatinggggg… mmmmmmy sock. It just… it was up in my face and-"

Mabel finally found her voice, and the first thing she did with it was shout "Mr. SnuggleLots?!?! How are you alive?? And... what are you doing with my brother's sock?! That's not healthy for you at all! Any sock that's on Dipper's feet must be washed, sterilized, and quarantined for a week! And you have it in your mouth?!"

Frisk blanched. "Dipper, is that actually true???"

"Wha- no!!!" said the dumbfounded Dipper. "At least... good god, I hope not...!"

"Mr. SnuggleLots, drop that sock this instant!" said Mabel, dropping down from the bed and beginning to march towards the Teddy.

In response, the plum bear gave a disgruntled huff and turned itself... or, himself away from Mabel. Dipper and Frisk watched in shock and awe (but mostly shock) as the bear finished scarfing down the no doubt toxic sock and swallowing it. He then gave a sigh of satisfaction.

"Nooooooooooooo..." moaned Dipper, sounding like he just watched a brand new car that he purchased go careening off a cliff. "I lose enough socks in the laundry as is..."

"That was one hungry Mr. SnuggleLots," commented Frisk, having yet to get out of their sitting position in their sleeping bag. That quickly changed though when the bear made his way to the sleeping bag and started to gnaw on it. "Hey!" said Frisk, mildly perturbed.

"Alright Mr. SnuggleLots, t-that was your last warning!" said Mabel, who was honestly adapting to this situation remarkably fast. Not that it made things any less weird. Mabel walked right up behind the bear and lifted him up from the ground. "What am I going to do with you?! ...Seriously guys, what am I going to do with him??? Mabel's Rehabiliteddy Program™ was never prepared to handle Teddy bears that went sentient!"

Before anybody could answer her though, the Teddy bear very rudely latched his mouth onto Mabel's pajama sleeve and began to chew.

"AAACK!!!!" Hollered Mabel, making the other kids wince. The fact that nobody had barged into their room yet to demand some peace and quiet was honestly more miraculous than the sentient Teddy bear. And if that bear didn't let go soon, Mabel was just going to keep on shouting.

The bear refused to let go, and Mabel began running around the room on top of shouting, forcing Frisk to get out of their sleeping bag so they didn't get trampled.

"Not the pajama sweater!" Mabel cried out. "Anything but the pajama sweater! Mr. SnuggleLots let go! LET GO LET GO LET GO!

"Hold still, Mabel! I'll get him!" announced Dipper, looking poised and ready to leap out of his bed and natch the pesky plushie.

What happened next happened in slow motion.

Having realized that she was getting nowhere by shouting or running around, Mabel took her franticness up one more notch. She started spinning around like a ferocious helicopter-propeller. Around and around she went, getting dizzier with each passing second. But she never relented. Nobody was eating her sweater tonight!

Then, finally, she felt the extra weight on her sleeve disappear. She gave a sigh of dizzy relief.

CRAAASSSSSSHHHHHH!!!

Dipper and Frisk looked on in speechless horror as Mr. SnuggleLots had been flung off of Mabel's sleeve and straight through the bedroom window. The kids only barely registered the audible thud of the bear hitting the ground. Then huffing. Then scampering away.

...

"Whoops," squeaked Mabel

"Hoo boy," added Frisk.

"Mabel, what on earth was that thing?! And why is its name 'Mr. SnuggleLots?!?!'" barked Dipper.

"Three..." mumbled Frisk gloomily, like they were counting down to Ragnarok.

"Excuse me?! If you didn't spend all day sleeping away in bed," snapped Mabel in response, "we could already be heading out after him instead of playing catch up!"

"Two..."

"Let the thing go, for all I care!" snarled Dipper, leaning against the door and gesturing to the broken window."Cursed or not, that Teddy bear was never yours! Bet you $50 a witch owns that toy!"

"One..."

"No deal!" declared Mabel, crossing her arms in an "X" formation. "There's no guarantee that the bear has an owner to begin with! This is all laid out in the Rehabiliteddy Program™ which, once again, you wouldn't have missed if you didn't waste the day away in your bed!"

Dipper scowled. "Listen Mabel-!"

The door suddenly swung open violently, painfully sandwiching Dipper between the door and the wall. There, standing rigid and fuming, was Toriel.

“You all have five seconds to explain yourselves for this racket before I officially lose my temper. Starting now.”

"And that's why we need to go after him!" finished Mabel, waiting patiently as her scarf was wrapped around her.

"Goodness..." said Toriel, finishing Mabel's scarf and moving on to Frisk now that Mabel was all bundled up. "I will admit I still find the whole thing to be far fetched, but after the encounter you three had with that Blind Biker a few days ago, I'm inclined to believe any type of weird phenomena story that comes out of the mouths of you three."

Everyone was still in the bedroom. It didn't take to long to explain the situation to Toriel, even though the trio well exceeded the five second time limit. By the time she had learned that Mr. SnuggleLots was still out there, Toriel immediately went to work on dressing the kids up in extra layers, mittens, and scarves.

"What were you doing up this late, Ms. Toriel?" asked Dipper. "If you don't mind me asking, that is."

"I've spent all day looking for something that I cannot seem to find," Toriel answered while fastening a beanie cap onto Frisk. "A videotape. Perhaps one of you three saw it earlier this morning and it's currently in your possession?"

"Nope, sorry" said Dipper.

"I have not," added Frisk, their voice muffled by the scarf.

"Me neither," rounded off Mabel, pulling her scarf down to speak clearly. "Unfortunately all I have with me right now is candy. But I'm happy to share it with the coolest mom to ever walk the earth!"

Toriel was just about to start with Dipper when Mabel said that. Much to the twins' alarm, she started to weep.

Mabel panicked. "W-what did I say?! Oh god is that considered an insult in monster-culture?! I didn't mean it Miss Toriel I swear-!"

"You *sniff* you did *sniff* n-nothing wrong at all sweetheart," reassured Toriel, collecting herself. "It's just been a very lousy day for me it seems..."

Mabel and Frisk seemed at a loss for words.

"Hhhhhow about we put a pin on that for now, Ms Toriel?" Dipper butted in, before attempting to lighten the mood by adding, "Besides, we still need to track down a rogue Teddy bear."

Toriel gave a sad chuckle. "Please... no formalities are necessary. Toriel is... just fine. And yes, if we could save my troubles for later on, that would be great. I'm more concerned about you three pursuing this critter in the bitter cold of midnight winter."

"It's really not that bad-" started Dipper.

"Don't ever argue with the Goat Mom, Dipper," hissed Mabel, getting right in Dipper's face.

"Whoa hey there, personal space please," said Dipper, waving her away.

Toriel nodded. "It doesn't matter to me if winter on the surface is less brutal than winter in the Underground, you three are my responsibility right now, and that means you bundle up."

"Understood Mom," acknowledged Frisk.

"Of course Mis- I mean, Toriel," said Dipper, lifting his arms as Toriel started to apply his scarf.

Mabel suddenly had an idea. "Dipper, I can't believe I'm asking this, but do you think the black journal has anything about Mr. SnuggleLots?"

"It's worth checking," said Dipper, his voice muffled as well, now that the scarf was on. He pulled it down gently. "Toriel, if you don't mind, could you hold off on the mittens for a second? This is important."

"Just don't take too long. The further that bear gets, the longer you three have to be out there in the cold," reminded Toriel.

"Again, we've dealt with much worse-"

"Don't argue with Mom/The-Goat-Mother," said Frisk and Mabel at the same time.

"Right, right," said Dipper, grabbing the book and skimming through the pages. "Hmmm... not having much luck here. Maybe this author didn't encounter him. Gravity Falls is a big place-"

"Hang on," said Frisk, putting their hand on Dipper's shoulder. "I think I saw it. A few pages back."

Dipper flipped back a couple of pages, and eventually found a page with a very detailed illustration of Mr. SnuggleLots.

"Wow, dunno how I missed that," said an embarrassed Dipper.

"It's because you were rambling again!" teased Mabel, waving her arms from side to side. "Ramble ramble ramble!"

"Oh knock it off, Mabel. Thanks for catching that, Frisk," said Dipper, Frisk smiling in response. "Alright, lets see what we have here."

the nocturnal teddy bear

this peculiar stuffed animal holds a dark and not-that-deadly secret. every night, from sundown to sunrise, this bear comes to life and prowls the streets if it is without an owner. despite being a bear, not all of its behavior matches that of an average grizzly bear, so as far as advantages and weaknesses go, it is hard to pinpoint what works with this creature and what doesn't. one thing is for certain though: its diet is solely fabric. bed sheets, clothes, boxers, this bear will tear through it all until it is nice and full. once it is satisfied, it refrains from eating. if you are tracking down a starving nocturnal teddy bear, be wary or well armed. Or, bring along an outfit that you wouldn't mind if it got eaten. that is heavily ill advised, though.

An awkward silence befell the group as they all looked to each other and the new layers that Toriel had just finished putting on them.

"That certainly would have been nice to know beforehand," said Toriel, pinching the bridge of her snout.

"Sorry..." said Dipper sheepishly.

"But on the bright side," Mabel pointed out, "the book mentions nothing about a taste for human flesh! Just fabric! Which means we won't die!"

"Yeah, sure. Instead, we all will run the risk of committing public indecency," said Dipper, his winter coat's hood casting a shadow over his eyes. "I honestly would prefer death."

"It's not like anybody would see you this late at night," said Mabel, deadpanning.

"I will make sure to look away if such an event happens to you," Toriel promised Dipper.

"You'd probably die of Hypothermia before the embarrassment set in, Dipper," Frisk was polite to add.

"Let's just make sure it doesn't happen, okay?!" Dipper yelled.

"WAIT!!!" Mabel suddenly shrieked, an entire Christmas tree's worth of lights going off in her head. "I know how we can arm ourselves! We have to be suuuuuuuuuuuuper quiet though~"

It took a few seconds to leave the bedroom, Frisk having decided to bring their backpack with them before setting out, but soon afterwards, the trio and Toriel were standing in front of...

"The attic?" said Dipper incredulously, as he walked up to the attic entrance. "Why do we need to be quiet here? That's where Sans sleeps! We could kill a goat in there and it wouldn't wake him up!"

Hearing no response, Dipper turned around to see a Mabel who looked ready to punch him, a Frisk who looked beyond upset, and a Toriel that- oh.

"Shoot, I'm sorry," said Dipper to Toriel who looked downright uncomfortable. "I meant like, you know- we could make... an equivalent to that much noise... and Sans wouldn't... wake up."

"Let's just put a pin on it, like you suggested before," said Toriel. "Now please open the door so we can move on from this awkward situation."

"Right."

Click!

Creeeeeeeeeaaaaaaaak.

Slowly, silently, all three children slunk into the attic, stepping onto the creaky floor. If Sans caught them, it would take forever to explain the situation. Mabel worried that she'd be even further away from Mr. SnuggleLots. Frisk worried about having to explain why Toriel was with them. Dipper worried about Sans growing suspicious from all the snooping that Dipper had been trying to do on him.

Except, there was no Sans. Instead, there was a simple note on the window seat that read "be back later."

All three children groaned at how pointless all of that super awesome stealth turned out to be.

"He's not even here??? Then where is he?!" said Dipper, exasperated. "Frisk, is this disappearing act common for Sans?"

"Only during the daytime..." said Frisk, scratching their head in confusion while also adjusting the straps on their backpack. "I don't think I've ever seen him vanish at night though. Though to be fair, he never let me into his bedroom when I was in the underground..."

"You were snooping around in Sans's bedroom???"

"No. I just said that he never let me in. How could I possibly snoop in his room if I'm locked out of it? All jesting aside, yes I tried to do that. I failed miserably though."

"Well at any rate," said Dipper, eyes narrowing. "This skeleton is not helping his case. Everything he does only makes me grow more and more suspicious of him."

"Suspicious of what?" asked Toriel, approaching Dipper and Frisk.

Shoot... Should I tell her? Dipper cursed internally. She's a good friend of his, isn't she? And it's not like I have any concrete evidence of Sans being the time anomaly that the author is talking about... Think of something else, Dipper! Say something! Anything!!!

"Suspicious of him stealing your videotape," Dipper went with.

Toriel looked absolutely horror-stricken. "He did what?"

Whoa, that was not the reaction that Dipper was anticipating. He was ready to defend his lie, but she just went with it? How important was this videotape to her?? What was on it???

"I haven't found any evidence yet!" Dipper backpedaled. "I-it's just a hypothesis! I don't want to be right about it, believe me!"

Toriel did her best to calm down. "I certainly hope that that tape wasn't stolen in the first place. If it was, I... I don't know how I'd be able to handle it."

Dipper and Frisk gulped. The air in the room had gotten quite stagnated. If someone really had stolen it, Dipper had just basically sentenced him or her to death. So now, Dipper could be arrested tonight for arbitrarily committing public indecency or incitement. Hooraaaaaaaaay....

"Guess that's one obstacle out of the way!" said Mabel, her voice immediately vaporizing the suspense that she was oblivious to. She waltzed over to the stained glass window and opened it, paying no mind to the noise it made. Immediately the quartet was overcome by the intense chill of winter at midnight. Finally the kids saw the value of the extra clothes provided by Toriel.

"Now for the tough part..." shivered Mabel.

The kids climbed out of the window and onto the roof, all three bracing the cold current. One by one, the Mystery Trio tip toed along the roof.

"Still don't understand why we didn't just use the ladder from the gift shop," griped Dipper, a burst of wind making him shiver.

"We'd be climbing down those noisy stairs. We'd risk Undyne waking up," said Mabel. "I doubt you're eager to know what she's like if she's rudely woken up."

"Just to enlighten you," began Frisk, "she begins every day by chucking a spear at her alarm clock. She has an entire closet dedicated to alarm clocks because of all the ones she breaks. Now, imagine her mistaking you for an alarm clock because you woke her up-"

"I would rather not imagine something so horrifying while also balancing on a roof and enduring the bitter cold," said a trembling Dipper. "I get it. Ladder was a bad idea. Let's keep moving."

A few more minutes of sneaking, and they reached their destination: Wendy's platform. There, sleeping soundly, was Papyrus, with his newly knitted, and extremely long, "spaghetti scarf" draped around his shoulders.

Mabel looked to Dipper. Then she looked to Frisk. She put two fingers closed together in the air, waited three seconds, then pointed them to Papyrus and whispered, "Go!"

Dipper and Frisk fanned out, each approaching the opposite side of Papyrus. They gripped the scarf, and gently lifted it up and over. The scarf was now hovering in front of the sleeping skeleton, being held tight by the smiling Dipper and Frisk.

"Mission accomplished!" whisper-screamed Mabel.

It was at that moment that one little roof shingle had decided that it couldn't handle having Dipper's foot on top of it any longer.

CHHHRK!

Dipper slipped backwards, yanking the scarf. Frisk, who was still holding it, felt themself jolted forward, unable to keep themself from slamming into the panicking Pines brother. Dipper tried to right himself, but (surprise!) only managed to trip on the long scarf, making him fall backwards even further, Frisk lurching further forward as they were too riled up to remember to let go of the doggone scarf. This time, the delirious duo collided heads, resulting in an unceremonious CONK! as the blasted scarf continued to entangle them. Frisk and Dipper became a ball of yarn as they teetered off of the roof platform and landed on the snow covered grass with an obnoxious thud.

Everything... hurt.

"Mission... accomplished?" repeated Mabel, worried that Papyrus had been woken up from all of that noise.

"ZzzzzzzzzzzznnnnNNNYEH I WILL MAKE IT INTO THE ROYAL GUUAARRDDDDDDZZZZZZzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz"

"Whew," Mabel sighed before making her way back down to untangle the pair.

But not before taking a photo of the pair sprawled in the snow and entangled in that giant scarf.

"Oh dear, I never expected that he would actually take my advice to heart," Toriel chortled. "An actual spaghetti scarf. I really want to know what goes on in that skeleton's head. It must be fascinating."

With the scarf now acquired, it had been strategically wrapped by Mabel around the already scarfed necks of Dipper, Frisk, and and herself, before setting off into Gravity Falls to hunt down Mr. SnuggleLots. Silhouetted by the moon, the children looked like a paper-people-chain come to life.

Toriel insisted on coming along, not liking the idea of three kids being out at night without a grownup. The trio argued with her a bit, but they were quick to admit defeat when she gave them all a glare that only a mother could perfect.

"I'm shocked we didn't wake Papyrus up," quietly commented Frisk, who was at the front end of the line. "Especially after that humiliating descent."

"Look, I said I was sorry," mumbled Dipper in the middle, rubbing his forehead on instinct.

"It made a fun memory for me too look back on, though!" giggled Mabel from the back as she put her newly developed photo into her scrapbook.

"I'm glad to know that you still find pleasure from my pain," grumbled Dipper.

"Let's try to stay on task here," reminded Toriel, having decided to walk alongside the line rather than behind or in front of it. "So, you three are going to be using this scarf to lure the bear out?"

"In a way, yes" explained Frisk "But for the most part, it's to give Mr. SnuggleLots something to chew on that isn't our clothes."

"Hopefully the guy isn't hungry enough to eat the whole scarf," said Dipper worriedly.

"Yeah, Papyrus would not be happy with us," said Mabel.

"That's not what I'm- okay, that too," conceded Dipper, before turning his head back to the path. "Now then... if I were a hungry Teddy bear... where would I go..."

rustle rustle

There was a rustling of leaves. Immediately, all four heads darted to the source of the sound. Right in front of them were two bushes, shaking up a storm.

"Oooooooooooo!" squeaked Mabel, putting her hands to her cheeks. "Guys, I think maybe we found Mr. SnuggleLots's parents!"

"Everybody be absolutely still..." whispered Frisk.

"Ummmm, guys?" said Dipper as quietly as he could. "Mr. SnuggleLots is in fact a Teddy bear, right? Do Nocturnal Teddy Bears have parents???"

"That's..." said Mabel

"...a good question..." finished Frisk, tensing up.

Was it a pair of Nocturnal Teddy Bears? Gnomes? Goblins?! Eldritch Horrors?!

The rustles got louder.

Louder.

Louder-

"Oink!"

"Yip!"

The sigh of relief was unanimous as the heads of Waddles and the Samoyed popped out of the bushes.

"Waddllleeeeeeees! What are you doing outside this late at night? Get over here, mister!" cooed Mabel, rushing over to Waddles. Having forgotten that she was tied to the scarf, Dipper and Frisk were lurched forward and dragged through the snow by Mabel. She scooped up her prized pig and nuzzled him vigorously, Waddles lapping up the snowflakes on her cheeks. "Were you giving the dog a tour of the town? Were you? You were, weren't you, you cute little... cutie!"

"Oh hey! It's that dog from the mountain!" said Dipper in recognition of the other critter. "......what's his name again?"

"I don't think he has one," Toriel pitched in. "Frisk, you really should consider putting a collar on that puppy or at least giving him a name, what with how frequently I see him."

"This dog cannot be restrained by a collar," said Frisk, suddenly looking at an imaginary sunset. Dipper found it weird. Mabel was captivated. Then the moment was over as quickly as it began. "But I like the idea of giving him a name."

The child suddenly pointed at the white dog, who cocked his head.

"Toby."

"Brrk?"

"Your name is Toby."

"Urf."

"................may I call you Toby?"

"Arf!"

"Toby it is."

In the end, Toby and Waddles started following the group, the head count growing from four to six. And those six were lead on a wild tour of Gravity Falls at night in order to find this furball. If this fiasco was a scripted sequence for some TV show, this would have been the moment when the montage music started playing.

They went to Soos's house, where a groggy Abuelita pointed towards where she saw the bear head off to after it took a chomp out of her sofa. One round of cookies later, the group was back on the trail.

Next was the Valentino Funeral Home, where Greg and Janice spoke about how Mr. SnuggleLots made their night. Not too long ago, one of the buried corpses rose out of the ground as a zombie, only to have the tux it was buried in torn off and devoured by the tiny menace. The zombie was so embarrassed that it sank right back into its coffin and never rose up again. Mabel slipped a spare cookie underneath the door to Robbie's room before returning to the scarf-line and heading out.

The group passed by McGucket's new mansion for a brief moment, unable to enter because of the locked gate barring them from the courtyard. They shrugged and continued past the mansion. Toby and Waddles, who were falling behind, were the only ones who spotted a crow fly over the gate easily, only for the crow to be vaporized by a red laser beam courtesy of the new security features that McGucket had installed in the front yard. Bug-eyed, traumatized, and holding knowledge that no one else will ever learn, Toby and Waddles slowly trotted away from the estate.

The Pines Twins even dared to visit the Tent of Telepathy. They didn't need to get too close though: the tent had holes everywhere. Mr. SnuggleLots had definitely been there. They slowly snuck away, slowly enough for Frisk to spot a poster announcing that the Tent of Telepathy was closed indefinitely. Well, at least nobody was inconvenienced. So why were Dipper and Mabel so spooked about approaching it...?

Each location they visited showed that Mr. SnuggleLots had stopped by. But they just couldn't seem to catch up to him.

"Maybe we should stop by Candy or Grenda's house next!" suggested Mabel.

"Absolutely not," said Dipper. "I understand that you want to get back together with them, but if we do that tonight, there's no way we'll be able to avoid them inviting you for a sleepover. And we have bigger things to worry about."

"I like the sound of a sleepover," admitted Frisk.

"Really???!!!!! Awesome!!!! I'll be sure to let Candy and Grenda know!" squealed Mabel, paying no attention to Dipper who was frantically waving his hands at Frisk and begging them to not be enticed by a sleepover with Mabel's friend group.

"Focus, children," said Toriel with a gentle huff. "I understand the want to socialize, but I would prefer to relocate this bear as quickly as possible. I need to be back at the shack before sunrise. I'm sure that tape is somewhere I haven't checked yet. Perhaps I'll check the lab next..."

Dipper's curiosity had finally had enough. He leaned forward to whisper to Frisk. "Frisk, do you have any idea what's up with your mom? She's usually so calm and down to earth, but tonight... I dunno, she just seems especially stressed. Just what is on that videotape that she's searching for so feverishly?"

"I understand your concern, and I wish I could answer your questions immediately," Frisk whispered back. "However, I would prefer that we wait until we have retrieved the Nocturnal Teddy Bear before we discuss this any further. It is rather personal."

"Well okay..." said Dipper, looking down to the snow covered ground. "I honestly don't know how much longer I can go looking for this bear's whereabouts though-"

That's when he saw it. Paw prints. Specifically, prints of paws that looked patched-on. And they lead up to...

This way to the Corduroy Cabin. Follow the signs.

A sign that gave directions to Wendy's house? But why would the paw prints lead to...

Wait...

Dipper called to the group. "Do you think Mr. SnuggleLots knows English? All this time, I assumed he didn't, based on our initial encounter."

"Maybe he was just too hungry to listen?" suggested Mabel.

Frisk nodded. "Why do you ask, Dipper?"

"Okay... this may sound extreme to everyone but Mabel. But I think Mr. SnuggleLots understands English enough to read it... and he mistook Wendy's family's home for a Fabric store."

Mabel, Frisk, and Toriel all looked to the sign that Dipper was gesturing at.

Then to the fresh trail of paw prints seemed to be doing exactly what the sign had suggested.

"FOLLOW THAT TRAIL!" announced Mabel.

"Hush!" hissed Toriel. "The town is asleep!"

"Oop, sorry Goat Mom," said Mabel meekly, before whispering, "Follow that trail!"

They had hit the jackpot. By following the signs (and the paw prints in the snow), the trio, the pets, and Toriel had managed to locate the cabin that housed Wendy and her testosterone-buzzed brothers and dad.

The first sign of trouble was that the lights were on. The second was that the sounds of war cries and glass shattering could be heard all the way from the house to where the group was standing. The third was that the front door had been jerked open, and a bewildered Wendy Corduroy was sprinting towards them, kicking up snow everywhere.

"We can explain-" started Dipper.

"Oh my god I couldn't care less about the explanation right now-" growled Wendy, her voice having an especially ragged quality to it. Dipper didn't have a lot of time to ponder that though as suddenly the redhead had an iron grip on both of his shoulders and was staring right through him with baggy eyelids and bloodshot eyes.

"Oh dear..." said Toriel in the back, Mabel and Frisk cringing as well. It appeared that all three of them had just put together why Wendy had been so drowsy lately.

Wendy croaked, "Every December, my family gets more and more fired up about the New Year, and it results in them screaming throughout the night. It does not help that Gravity Falls has its own New Year that ignores the yearly calendar. Long story short, I haven't slept in six days you guys."

A gasp was shared by all who were capable of doing so.

"And that- that- that toy freak in there???" continued the delirious Wendy, raising a trembling hand and pointing behind her to her home. "NOT HELPING MATTERS!"

"I am so sorry that you've had to deal with this," said Toriel. "I promise you, that bear will be out of your home before sunrise."

"Oh jeez, is that you, Toriel?" said Wendy, her vision finally clearing from the tired rage. Her cheeks flushed with massive embarrassment and she scratched the back of her head. "Did- did I just shout right in your face? I am so sorry, I didn't... mmm- mmmmmean to..." Wendy suddenly arched back and gave a massive yawn. The three children winced, realizing how tired she must have been for the past few days.

"You've been deprived of sleep. It's more than understandable that you would be cranky," said Toriel gently.

"I dunno if we'll be able to help with Wendy's personal conundrum," pondered Frisk.

"We can try to, once we have Mr. SnuggleLots back!" said Mabel proudly, before suddenly shrinking and asking nervously. "How um... how is your family dealing with his intrusion?"

"Meh, the same way they handle any other bear that invades our property," explained Wendy. "With violence. And probably rifles."

The change in Mabel's velocity was so intense that the scarf was torn in two as she charged towards the house, howling with worry.

"Wait," said Wendy, suddenly noticing the scarf. "Is that Papyrus's-"

"Explanation afterwords, right?!" said Dipper, frantically taking the scarf off of Frisk so he could don the other half of the scarf by himself. "Come on Frisk, we need to catch her before she rips someone's ear off!"

"Affirmative!" nodded Frisk, following Dipper as he sprinted toward the cabin, leaving Wendy and Toriel out in the snow.

An awkward silence befell on the two of them.

"Um.............. Aren't you going to follow them?" asked Toriel.

Much to Toriel's alarm, Wendy let out a snore.

"OH MY GOODNESS! WENDY YOU CAN'T FALL ASLEEP OUT HERE, YOU'LL FREEZE!!!"

In a panic, Toriel hoisted Wendy up. With the pets following close behind, Toriel quickly carried Wendy back into the noisy, but warm, cabin.

Two figures, polar opposites of each other, were in a current face off. On one side of the room was a small animal, covered in soft fur, trembling with fear. On the other side of the room was a big animal, strapped in lumberjack work clothes, covered in red hair on his head, face, arms, and chest. He was trembling with anger and testosterone.

....aaaaaaaand a little bit of fear, to be honest.

Mr. Manly Dan wiped the sweat from his brow, regaining his focus. He had finally managed to trap the little furry menace in a corner of the living room, its plum fur not doing much to camouflage it amongst the red plaid wallpaper.

"You took a bite out of Marcus's hat, Kevin's shorts, and Gus's shirt... and then... you went for my underwear."

Mr. SnuggleLots only growled in return.

"Them's fighting words..." snarled Manly Dan. "So be it! BY MY HAND, YOU SHALL LEARN OF WHAT YOUR OWN BLOOD TASTES LIKE!"

"NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!"

Everything that followed happened in a manner of seconds.

Dan shouted in alarm as Mabel lunged onto his back and covered his eyes. The gorilla of a man flailed about wildly, making the trio of boys duck to avoid getting smacked by his meaty arms. Mr. SnuggleLots took the chance to dart out of the corner, only for Frisk to block his path. In the hallway, few feet behind Frisk, was Dipper, ready to face against Mr. SnuggleLots if he managed to get past Frisk.

Mabel and Dan continued to spin around the living room, Marcus, Gus, and Kevin all trying their best to stay away. From the entrance way appeared Toby, Waddles, and Toriel, still carrying Wendy. Toby was immediately intrigued by the space and climbed atop of the stairway rail, climbing all the way to the top of the first row of stairs to get a good vantage point. Waddles went the opposite way, hugging himself against the wall comfortably. Toriel spotted the dining room and quickly sat Wendy down in a seat at the dining room table. With all the noise going on, Wendy was soon roused from her sleep.

Mr. SnuggleLots managed to dart under Frisk's legs and latch his teeth onto their backpack. Frisk yelped, which alerted Marcus to the bear. Giving a battle cry, Marcus charged towards the bear, wrestling the back pack off of Frisk, which only made the poor child fall flat on their face. Seeing this, Mabel finally let go of Dan and ran over to the fallen child. Meanwhile, Marcus began to spin the bag around. Mr. SnuggleLots, remembering what happened last time he was spun around, let go before the momentum could grow too much. The backpack was flung in a random direction, hitting the (thankfully unlit) fireplace. With Marcus dizzy, Mr. SnuggleLots was free to escape, bolting for the hallway. Dipper, noticing the Teddy bear heading his way, readied himself. He grew a massive scowl and held the spaghetti scarf like a muleta. But in all his preparation to look threatening, Dipper forgot to remove the scarf from his neck.

Dan regained his balance with the help of Kevin and Gus, and headed outside with a growl to get some shears from the tool shed. Waddles entered the living room and spotted the now abandoned backpack near the fireplace. Toriel approached Dipper and the bear, while Toby climbed the second row of stairs out of three and gave himself a bigger vantage point- not that he was actively seeking it out- just as Mr. SnuggleLots lurched forward, bit the end of Dipper's half of the spaghetti scarf, and kept running.

Frisk, Mabel, Toriel, and Wendy watched in alarm as Dipper was yanked backwards and dragged behind Mr. SnuggleLots, who took off with the scarf still in his mouth.

-Toriel charges forward to save Dipper but just missed her mark, falling down on the floor and having right herself back up into a sitting position, leaning against the fridge in the kitchen adjacent to the hallway. Dipper was further dragged, following Mr. SnuggleLots into the bathroom at the end of the hallway. Frisk, Mabel, and Wendy collectively panicked and raced toward the bathroom. Mabel outran both of the others, Frisk making sure their mom was okay, and Wendy spotting that the boys had head into their bedroom to search for a bear trap to ensnare Mr. SnuggleLots with.

Soon after the bear had entered the bathroom, Mr. SnuggleLots started freaking out because the space was a lot smaller. He darted around the bathroom, throwing Dipper against the sink, the toilet, and the bathtub, which was when the bear finally let go of the half eaten scarf in his panic, Dipper getting shot-putted into the bathtub. Dipper spent the next few seconds just sitting there, dazed enough to not even bother righting his lopsided cap.

Mabel barged into the bathroom.

"Hey Mr. SnuggleLots! Look what I have for ya!"

Mabel waved the other half of the spaghetti scarf in her attempt to lure the bear away from Dipper and out of the bathroom. Mr. SnuggleLots took the bait, and Mabel calmly dragged him out of the bathroom. Dipper finally stopped seeing stars, and gripped his head as the headache set in. Wendy had just finished convincing the boys why a bear trap would be more danger than its worth, as Mabel passed by the bedroom doorway. Wendy realized Dipper was still in the bathroom and head over there to check on him. The boys shrugged and left the bedroom.

Waddles had been spending all this time rummaging through Frisk's backpack, unbothered by anybody. By that time, Dan returned with the shears, noticed the pig, considered dinner, but then remembered that the pig is Mabel's pet and thought against it, not wanting to be attacked by her again. He entered the hallway, ready to tear that bear into ribbons with the shears. At that point nearly everyone else was in the hallway, which meant that Frisk and Mabel got a perfect view of the rusty shears that Dan was holding. They both gasp, Mabel's shock giving her hand enough slack for Mr. SnuggleLots to snatch the scarf out of Mabel's hand and eat it happily, the rest of the Corduroys surrounding him cautiously while Dan was forced into a heated discussion spearheaded by Frisk and Mabel as to why the bear shouldn't be harmed. It was at this point that Toby spotted Waddles, who was still playing around with Frisk's backpack.

Toby leapt onto Mabel's head, then Frisk's, then lunged at Dan's face, hitting him with enough force that he dropped the shears and tilted backwards, falling down on the floor with a thud. Frisk quickly grabbed the shears and put them on the kitchen counter, away from Dan. Toriel followed Frisk as they left the kitchen to return to Mabel and Dan. Toby finally leapt off of Dan and bolted for the back pack, the pets now in a tug of war. Wendy and Dipper exited the bathroom, encountering the boys and the bear. The bear, who was still surrounded, payed no mind and finished eating Mabel's portion of the scarf, swallowing it, and looking very much stuffed. He gave everyone a very cute smile, and Mabel noticed he was finally acting like a Teddy bear. It made no attempts to bolt.

That's when the bear was grabbed by the throat, and lifted from the ground by a meaty hand. It was Dan, who had gotten back up. "Got you!"

There was the sound of something ripping.

For a second, a collective panic swarmed through the group, worried that Mr. SnuggleLots had torn himself open in his attempt to get out of Dan's grip. But he was fine and unharmed.

The group turned to look at Toby and Waddles, who had gone silent. The backpack had been ripped open, its contents flying through the air like candy from a pinata. One giant object, rectangular in shape, caught the eyes of Toriel and Frisk. It hit the floor hard enough to bounce and spin like a hamster wheel, before sliding on the floor and skidding to a halt at Toriel's feet.

There, lying motionless on the wooden floor, was a videotape.

With ear-ringing silence, Toriel reached down and picked up the tape. She flipped it to the front, and read the title that was written on it in faded crayon. She read it a second time. A third time.

"Frisk Dreemurr..." said Toriel with a disturbingly calm voice. "What was this tape doing in your bag? Did you put it in there?"

"M-Mom I-"

"Just answer the question," snapped Toriel. "Were you the one who put this videotape in your bag? Yes or no?"

"Yes..."

"Did you do so, knowing that I was looking for it?"

"......."

"Frisk."

"Yes... Yes Mother, I did."

The room was silent.

"...I am disappointed in you, Frisk. Severely disappointed. Not to mention angry. You should not steal anything, from anyone, period. But to think that you would deliberately try and hide this videotape from me..."

Toriel caught herself, realizing she was slipping. She breathed in.........she breathed out. In........... and out.

Suddenly, a hand was gently wrapped around Toriel's shoulder. It belonged to Wendy.

"Listen um... My bedroom, it... it has a TV and VCR. I know it might be a little odd but... you've clearly spent all day and night looking for this tape and wanting to watch whatever is on it. So... why don't you go on up to my room and watch it? It'll... give you and the rest of us some time to mull things over."

Toriel looked ready to argue, but after a tense couple of seconds, she sighed and deflated. "Some solitude would do me well right now, I suppose..."

She took Wendy's hand in her paws in a silent display of gratitude before letting go, picking up the videotape once again and heading for the staircase. She paused after climbing the first step. The room went quiet again.

"You are by no means off the hook, little one. We will talk once this is all over."

"Yes, Mother."

Then, she climbed up the stairs, vanishing from everyone's line of sight.

Dipper fidgeted with his hands. We was never good at handling the pressure of only being a bystander during a very tense encounter.

Wendy let out a deep sigh, no doubt wishing that this night wasn't so... eventful.

Mabel looked to Frisk with worry. Their hair was casting a shadow over their eyes, and their hands were hanging loosely at their side. Mabel frowned, wanting to help, but not knowing how to. She thought back to when she was younger, when Dipper would come home crying because the bullies at the park found him again, how all she had to do was invite him to her Teddy bear tea party as a guest...

...!

Just as Mabel had begun to come to a realization, Mr. SnuggleLots had gotten sick and tired of being held by the neck so firmly.

CHOMP!

"YYYYYYOW!!!" hollered Dan, letting go of the bear to waggle his hand and stave off the pain from having his index finger being bitten into by a bear cub. "Noooooooo come on! I finally had him! BOYS! GET HI-"

Mabel spoke without thinking. "MR. SNUGGLELOTS, I TOLD YOU TO BRING A BIB WITH YOU TO THE TEA PARTY! WHERE IS IT?!"

Everyone, Teddy bear included, froze in their tracks. Mr. SnuggleLots looked up to Mabel, his cute beady eyes expressing pure, non-artificial confusion.

"Rule number five hundred and sixty eight of Mabel's Rehabiliteddy Program™!" barked Mabel, pointing at the stupefied stuffed animal. "Any and all critters that are invited to partake in Mabel's Complimentary Tea Party must bring their own bib! To forget one is poor hospitality! What do you have to say for yourself!?"

At the bear's obvious silence, Mabel looked to the others for support, hands outward in an utter display of 'Just play along!!!'

Frisk was silent, but their head lifted up slightly. They appeared to be curious.

As the Corduroys whispered to each other, Dipper walked right up to Mabel.

"You agree, don't you bro???" said Mabel, jokingly - but also rather forcefully and painfully - elbowing her brother in the side.

"Owwwww..." groaned Dipper, rubbing the spot that got jabbed. "Mabel, are you seriously trying to have a tea party with a bear that only eats sheets and clothing? Furthermore, you're trying to convince Wendy's family to host this tea party?? Are you out of your mind???"

"Just hear me out," said Mabel, whispering in Dipper's ear. "I just remembered that point where you suggested that Mr. SnuggleLots might be able to read, and I thought 'heh, well that doesn't seem very bearish of him!' and then, the clouds parted."

"Mabel, what are you talking about." said Dipper flatly.

"All this time, we've been treating this Teddy bear as, well, a regular bear. And I think we just assumed that that was typical behavior for him. But look at him now!"

The kids glanced over to Mr. SnuggleLots. He was sucking on his paw and looking around the room with interest.

"Doesn't he seem a lot more Teddy bearish to you???" concluded Mabel.

"Huh.... yeah, I think I see what you're getting at," said Dipper, starting to follow Mabel's train of thought. "You think we should approach him as the Teddy bear he is, and have a tea party with him. Am I on the right track here?"

"Right track, right train, right everything!" said Mabel, proudly patting Dipper on the back. Dipper smiled without realizing it.

He quickly regained his focus. "But even if that's the case, there's no way that Daniel Corduroy, the same Daniel Corduroy that snapped a tree in half by punching it, is going to let you host a tea party inside his h-"

"So what're you kids thinking?" boomed Manly Dan, stepping in the middle of the discussion. "Chamomile or Oolong?"

The twins looked up to see that in his hands were two different boxes of tea flavors.

"Huh....?" said Dipper in a stupor.

"You got any Candyleaf?" replied Mabel.

"BOYS!" shouted Dan to Marcus, Kevin, and Gus, all three in the living room. "GET TO THE CONVENIENCE STORE AND GET YOUR DAD SOME CANDYLEAF TEA! BE BACK IN TEN MINUTES, OR NONE OF YOU ARE ALLOWED TO GO OUT HUNTING TOMORROW!"

"YES DAD!" screamed the boys in unison, scrambling out the door.

"Huh?!" said Dipper.

"Hey Dipper Kid," boomed Manly Dan, getting up in Dipper's face. "You still haven't told me what you want."

"I- I don't-"

"Whaddya mean you don't?! You don't drink tea?! Well young man, in this house, you don't get to abstain from drinking tea! Now pick a flavor, or I'll pick one FOR YOU, AND I'LL MAKE IT AS SCALDING AND AS TASTELESS AS POSSIBLE!!! YOU DON'T WANT THAT, DO YOU?!"

"Just pick one, Dipper," said Mabel, putting her hand on her brother's shoulder.

"Ummmm..." mulled Dipper. "Oo-...Oolong...? I guess...?"

"Good choice," said Dan and Mabel together, with Dan adding, "I'll fire up the kettle!"

"Mabel what is happening right now," sputtered Dipper. The poor boy was certain that he was losing his mind.

"I don't know honestly!" said Mabel laughing. "But I like it!"

"We'll talk about it later," said Wendy, walking up to the pair with Frisk close behind her. "Right now, we gotta focus on setting the dining room up for a round of tea."

"Right!" said Mabel enthusiastically.

"Dipper, Frisk, you're helping out too," instructed Wendy.

"Of course," said Dipper and Frisk with a nod.

NEXT (Coming soon to the Mystery Shack!)

PART 1

PART 3

PREVIOUS CHAPTER

ONCE UPON A TIME...

TABLE OF CONTENTS

#so #this got longer than I meant for it to get #so expect part 3 in just a few minutes!#gravity falls #undertale #underfalls #gravitytale

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mia-cooper · 5 years ago

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Fanfiction Questions

from here

Fandom Questions

1. What was the first fandom you got involved in?

Involved as in ‘frantically read every book I could get my hands on, daydreamed about being part of that universe and wrote stories/made art inspired by the books, if not actual fanfiction’? Mm, probably The Chronicles of Narnia when I was six or seven. The next great obsession was The Silver Brumby when I went through my horse stage around age 12, and then Sweet Valley High when I was 15. Hahaha.

2. What is your latest fandom?

Marvel! I’m not into comics and I’m definitely not interested in consuming every last bit of canon material or memorising the variations of every universe, but I love (most of) the movies and Agents of SHIELD is pretty cool.

3. What is the best fandom you’ve ever been involved in?

Star Trek Voyager. No contest. I venture to suggest that the older fandoms, the ones that are all about defunct shows, are a hell of a lot more chilled. Maybe because we’ve come to terms with our shitty canon endings and learned that liking the ship you hate doesn’t make someone problematic, unlike some newer fandoms I could name (Yes I’m talking about you, Game of Thrones fans. What the fuck.)

4. Do you regret getting involved in any fandoms?

I’ve dipped a toe into one or two fandoms for shows or books I’ve really enjoyed and backed the fuck out when the vibe gets weird (oh hey, it’s GoT again), but nope. No regrets.

5. Which fandoms have you written fanfiction for?

All the Star Treks except TOS, and a Trek/MCU crossover. I’d like to write more for MCU someday. Plus I’ve written longhand entire notebooks full of teen romance shit that bore an uncanny similarity to SVH, and my first short story was a fantasy fic that featured a girl whose guardian was a wise talking lion who led her into mystical secret worlds, which is kind of familiar.

6. List your OTP from each fandom you’ve been involved in.

Wow. I’m going to define ‘involved in’ as ‘cared enough about to have an OTP’, but I’m guaranteed to forget a ton. In no particular order:

Voyager: Janeway x anyone who can get her off

Discovery: Lorca x Cornwell or Pike x Tyler x Burnham (or any combination of)

DS9: Kira x Jadzia Dax

TNG: Picard x Vash, I guess? I don’t really have any TNG ships

ENT: T’Pol x Trip x Hoshi (or any variation therein)

MCU: Cap x Widow

AoS: Coulson x Skye... no May... no Skye... I don’t know

CAOS: Madam Satan x Zelda

Timeless: Garcy

The Good Place: Eleanor x Tahani

The 100 (shut up): toss up between Clarke x Bellamy and Kane x Abby

Veronica Mars: Veronica x Leo (first run), Veronica x Logan (s4)

Orphan Black: Cosima x Delphine

BSG: Apollo x Starbuck

SG1: Sam x Jack

Arrow: Olicity (so over the show now though)

This Life: Milly x Egg

Yeah you know what... I’m drawing a blank. I can’t think of any other shows where I’ve been invested in The Romance that much.

7. List your NoTPs from each fandom you’ve been in.

I’m too tired to do every fandom, and besides, I can come around to almost any ship if the headcanons (or fics) are convincing enough. I do have a few hard no-gos, but they might be someone else’s OTP so I’ll shut up about them.

8. How did you get involved in your latest fandom?

Reluctantly. The MCU movies are not something I ever thought I’d enjoy beyond a dull evening’s entertainment. I never expected to get attached to the characters. And yet.

9. What are the best things about your current fandom?

Voyager is my forever fandom and the only one where I’ve really interacted with other fans. The best things about it? In general, everyone is just cool, accepting, open and basically awesome. And talented. I love my Party Bus people.

10. Is there a fandom you read fic from but don’t write in?

Sure. The 100, Veronica Mars and Agents of SHIELD are the ones I’d dip into more frequently. I really enjoy crossovers between Trek and BSG or the Stargate variants, too.

Ship Questions for your Current Fandom

11. Who is your current OTP?

Janeway x Chakotay.

12. Who is your current OT3?

Janeway x Chakotay x Paris.

13. Any NoTPs?

A few.

14. Go on, who are your BroTPs?

Janeway & Tuvok! Also Torres & Chakotay, and I’d have killed for more Janeway & Torres in canon. (If they kissed sometimes that would be okay too)

15. Is there an obscure ship which you love?

Yeah. Paris x Seven. There are like two fics in existence, and yet ... the potential! (Sorry, B’Elanna)

16. Are there any popular ships in your fandom which you dislike?

Nope.

17. Who was your first OTP and are they still your favourite?

Janeway x Paris. And they’re still way up there, but not quite at the top.

18. What ship have you written the most about?

84% of my fics feature Janeway x Chakotay as either the primary or secondary pairing... holy shit.

19. Is there a ship which you wished you could get behind, but you just don’t feel them?

Paris x Torres. I mean, I feel them. I just don’t generally feel the need to write about them.

20. Any ships which you surprised yourself by liking?

Chakotay x Seven. In another universe, it could’ve been beautiful.

Author Questions

21. What was the first fanfic you ever wrote?

Actual story that was clearly fanfic? A farcical drunken romp told in the 24th century equivalent of email format called PADDemonium (see what I did there?)

22. Is there anything you regret writing?

Lol, a few things that should probably have never seen the light of day for various reasons, some of them leola related. But I’ve only deleted two fics that I can recall.

23. Name a fic you’ve written that you’re especially fond of & explain why you like it.

Relieved. It’s a 30k AU Chakotay moral dilemma backstory that brings in DS9 characters, Section 31 and his longstanding history with AU Janeway. I did so much research for it (way back in the days before memory alpha and chakoteya.net) and I’m really proud of how I wound in canon stuff across series but changed a few key bits and pieces. Only problem is, it’s a sequel to ...

24. What fic do you desperately need to rewrite or edit?

... Pressure, which I can’t even read without cringing. My characterisation of Janeway, even Angry Maquis AU Janeway, is way over the top and there are moments that verge on Mills and Boon and give me first, second and third hand embarrassment. God, I’d love to rewrite it. Actually, that’s a lie. I want someone else to rewrite it so I can read it without covering my eyes and moaning.

25. What’s your most popular fanfic?

Desperate Measures, by about 70,000 light years, lol. Although Fragile Things beats it on bookmarks.

26. How do you come up with your fanfic titles?

You know what? A fair percentage of the time, I think of the title first and come up with a plot second. Aside from that, I prefer shorter, punchier titles that clearly tie into the story (Flight Risk, Speechless), though sometimes it’s song lyrics (Burn Our Horizons, your body like a searchlight) or a literary quote (Required to Bear, All the Devils are Here) or a turn of phrase from the story itself (The Prisons You Inhabit). Hey that was fun. Thanks for letting me pimp the shit out of my stories.

27. What do you hate more: Coming up with titles or writing summaries?

Ugh, it depends on the day. Summaries are harder, I think. I never want to give away too much of the plot, but there has to be enough there for people to know whether they’ll bother clicking. Funny story: I actually ran the stats on this a few months back. Here they are for your edification:

Fics with a one line plot summary = 54%

With two or three line plot summary = 18%

With a short snippet directly from the fic = 16%

With a snippet + a one line explanation = 3%

With a one line plot summary plus a line to date the fic (eg "set in season 3", “episode tag to Worst Case Scenario") or the fic prompt = 7%

And finally, a quote from something other than the fic = 2% (that's only 3 fics).

28. If someone were to draw a piece of fanart for your story, which story would it be and what would the picture be of?

Ooh. I’ll say the final scene in Explosive.

29. Do you have a beta reader? Why/Why not?

I used to regularly ask @jhelenoftrek and @littleobsessions90 to beta for me, and both of them are brilliant at it. Lately I’ve been posting without sending my stuff off for editing. This is partly because I’m impatient to get stuff out there, partly because I don’t have as much time to write/edit, and partly because I’m a little less focused on improving my writing and more on enjoying it for its own sake.

30. What inspires you to write?

Little bits of episode dialogue I haven’t noticed before, other people’s fanfiction, stray conversations, fic prompts, song lyrics, random headcanons, fever dreams, dares ...

31. What’s the nicest thing someone has ever said about your writing?

I’ve been really lucky with comments on my fic. The least helpful comment I’ve ever received was on one of my early 30k fics and all it said was “Did you have to take the name of the lord in vain?” Which is kind of funny. The nicest thing anyone’s ever said? I’m very partial to the feedback that starts “I don’t even like this pairing/genre/trope/show but you made me love it”, and particularly “I’ll read anything you write, I don’t care what it’s about.” But all comments are gold. The little heart button is cool too.

32. Do you listen to music when you write or does music inspire you? If so, which band or genre of music does it for you?

I’m not someone who can tune out music I love, or leave it in the background to inspire me. If it’s on, I’m fully invested in it. I’m that annoying person in the car who flips radio stations every three seconds until I find something I like and then it’s on 11 and I’m singing along to it. I’m also really picky but extremely eclectic, although there are genres I can’t stand (anything with autotune makes me stabby). That said, sometimes I find a song that I can’t stop listening to for weeks and often that perfect combination of music and lyrics will inspire me to write a fic. For example, I just plotted out an entire J/C story because of this song.

33. Do you write oneshots, multi-chapter fics or huuuuuge epics?

All of the above. Although I’m not sure if my longest epic is huuuuuge or just huuuge.

34. What’s the word count on your longest fic?

101,467.

35. Do you write drabbles? If so, what do you normally write them about?

I have two drabble collections. One is all J/C, full of responses to random prompts and I add to it sporadically. The other is episode additions set on Kathryn Janeway’s birthday (May 20) and added to annually.

36. What’s your favourite genre to write?

Angst, definitely. Sometimes it’s smutty angst or fluffy angst or hurt/comfort angst, but often it’s just fucking unrelenting angst. And I’m okay with that.

37. First person or third person - what do you write in and why?

I did the stats on this once, too, haha. Pretty sure I came out fairly even on first and third person with a smattering of second person in there. I’m probably even-ish on present vs past tense, too. I make it a point to mix it up to avoid my writing getting stale or same-y. And sometimes a fic doesn’t really click for me until I try it in a different POV or tense or from a different character’s perspective.

38. Do you use established canon characters or do you create OCs?

I mostly write for canon characters - the fun is in all the different ways you can interpret and imagine them - but I’ve been known to throw in the odd OC, or focus on a character who only got a brief cameo appearance, or write about someone who only appears in beta canon, or who only rates a mention on screen.

39. What is your greatest strength as a writer?

Oh, wow. I’m not sure. I guess the thing I value most about my own writing is my willingness to try different styles, characters, pairings and so on. The thing I strive for most is characterisation that feels true, and I really love it when I get comments on that. Exploring a character in a way that rings true with a reader is the best thing ever.

40. What do you struggle the most with in your writing?

Overly long sentences and adverb abuse, haha. No, truthfully, there comes a point in most of my fics, particularly the longer ones, when I really just want to scrap it because in my heart I know it’s dreadful. Usually that passes once I slog through the ‘I don’t wanna’ stage because I’m a bloody-minded bitch, but sometimes fics do get left in the dust half-written. Honestly, though, they’re the ones that probably should stay there.

Fanfiction Questions

41. List and link to 5 fanfics you are currently reading:

This is hilarious because I was just talking on discord about my problematic ‘to read’ pile. My unread AO3 subscription emails currently number 29 and my phone browser has 71 tabs open. So here are 5 random picks from that list of exactly 100 fics I should be reading:

Sex on the Beach (E, Janeway/Chakotay) by @traccigaryn

The Ruby Ring (T, Janeway/Chakotay, Janeway/Tighe) by @trinfinity2001

Earth is But an Idea (T, Janeway/Chakotay, Carter/O’Neill) by @caladeniablue

Home (E, Janeway/Chakotay) by Cassatt

Wise Up (E, Janeway/Chakotay) by KimJ

42. List and link to 5 fanfiction authors who are amazing:

Only five? Shit. Okay. In no particular order, these are five of the writers I keep coming back to:

quantumsilver (also here)

northernexposure

LittleObsessions

Helen8462

Cheshire

But there are so many others. My chosen fandom is chock full of amazing talent.

43. Is there anyone in your fandom who really inspires you?

All of the authors above for various reasons, but also august because her writing is so spare and delicate and devastating, and runawaymetaphor because she writes the most delicious Janeway/Paris, and @seperis because I read In the Space of Seven Days literally 20 years ago and I still haven’t recovered, and I could be here all night raving on this topic but there are still many questions to get through.

44. What ship do you feel needs more attention?

Janeway x Paris. I’m so happy there’s been a little bit of a resurgence in J/P fics lately. Thanks, @curator-on-ao3, you’re doing the lord’s work.

I’ll also take Janeway x Johnson content any day of the week.

45. What is your all time favourite fanfic?

What the hell? I can’t pick just one! Ugh!

... but okay, here’s the first one that came to mind when I tried to think about this: if you came this way by tree. I’m not sure I’d call it my favourite, but it’s one I revisit often. Ugh, there are so many other fics I’m thinking of now that I really want to list.

46. If someone was to read one of your fanfics, which fic would you recommend to them and why?

Oh, that’s hard. I should probably pick an angsty smutty J/C because that’s a fair proportion of what I write and it’s good to let a new reader know what they can expect. But honestly, I think the best fic I’ve written is The Uncharted Sea. (It’s safe for work. Maybe not for makeup.)

47. Archive Of Our Own, Fanfiction.net or Tumblr - where do you prefer to post and why?

The Archive, of course. Where else can I find ad-free hosting on a stunningly user-friendly interface with absolutely no moralising content restrictions and the world’s best tagging system? That Hugo award is well deserved.

Tumblr is good for headcanons and meta and gifsets and a few other formats that I’m less likely to post on AO3 because I’d feel like I was pissing off people who subscribe to me by giving them some random garbage.

I also have my own website, but I’m not really sure why. Sometimes I post fic there that doesn’t make it to tumblr or AO3.

48. Do you leave reviews when you read fanfiction? Why/Why not?

I try to. Honestly I do. I love it when I get reviews, so I figure paying it forward is the least I can do. I’m less scrupulous about leaving comments when I’m busy or reading on my phone.

49. Do you care if people comment/reblog your writing? Why/why not?

I mean, I love it when people reblog, but I certainly don’t expect it. @arcadia1995 is amazing for reblogging stuff *blows kisses*

Nobody owes fanfic writers shit, but I feel like there’s a tacit agreement that if you like what you just read for free and you’re on a platform that makes it easy to do so, you leave a review or at least a kudos, because I’m not gonna lie, posting a fic you’ve worked super hard on and seeing it get very few kudos or comments is a bit deflating. I’m sure a lot of us have been there.

50. How did you get into reading and/or writing fanfiction?

During Voyager’s original run I was trawling the internet for Endgame spoilers (I don’t know why; I usually love surprises) and I guess I googled (or whatever the 2001 equivalent of googling was) something like “how does voyager get home” and somehow I stumbled across Revisionist History. At first I had no idea what I was reading - was this a lost story pitch that somehow got leaked? A professional novella commissioned by the showrunners?

Then I started following links and discovered yahoo groups and webrings and Trekiverse and fanfiction.net and all sorts of incredible things I’d never guessed at, including the now defunct ‘archipelago of angst’, a collection of Voyager writers who focused mainly on a darker Janeway than most of the other fic writers I was encountering, and I was hooked. So I wrote a few of my own pieces, and then I lost interest for 15 years. I’m still not sure how I got dragged back in.

51. Rant or Gush about one thing you love or hate in the world of fanfiction! Go!

Honestly, in what other way can I indulge my obsessions, hone my skills and talk about it endlessly with like-minded people? Where else can I instantly find a plethora of fiction about the exact topic I feel like reading about on my mobile device and for free? Fanfiction is fucking amazing and I’m so glad it exists in my life.

#miamemes #fanfiction #fanfic asks

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dailyaudiobible · 4 years ago

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06/08/2020 DAB Transcript

1 Kings 3:3-4:34, Acts 6:1-15, Psalms 126:1-6, Proverbs 16:26-27

Today is the 8th day of June welcome to the Daily Audio Bible I am Brian it is great to be here with you today. Ahh…today would've been…would've been my mother's birthday. So, you know how certain days of the year are important to you and you might not realize that until you realize it’s that day. This is kind of one of those days. It's my mom's birthday. So, thinking of her as we move into the day and grateful. None of this would be happening if it weren’t for her. So, I’m grateful. So, let's jump in and take the next step forward. We’re working our way into the book of first Kings now. And, so, in yesterday's reading we said goodbye to Israel's second king and his name was David and we followed his story from his youth until his death. And we followed the drama about his successor. But as it turns out, his successor is his son by Bathsheba, which is…I mean…ironically the woman that…that he took. She was another man's wife. He took her and…and…and they…they got pregnant and David had Uriah, who was Bathsheba's husband, he had him killed in battle and…and David to Bathsheba to be his wife and the child they had conceived died. But they had another child, Solomon, who has become the king of Israel. And, so, we pick up that story. We’re reading from the Good News Translation this week. First Kings chapter 3 verse 3 through 4 verse 34.

Commentary:

Okay. So, now we see that King Solomon is certainly in full control and is the king of Israel. And we had this famous passage today where…where Solomon is worshiping In Gibeon before the Lord and he has a dream and the Lord asks him what…what he wants, and Solomon asks for wisdom to lead the people. And then God responds that He will give him more wisdom than anyone's ever had before as well as all of the things that he could have asked for, which is kind of what the book of Proverbs tells us, right? Like if you gain wisdom, everything else will follow. But if you try to do it opposite and achieve all these things without wisdom, you won't be wise, and you won’t be able to control these things and you won’t be able to have these things. Wisdom is the thing that can guide our lives on the correct road. And even as we were getting into the book of Proverbs, we heard the voice of wisdom telling us this, that she would be at every crossroads. These ideas would end up being documented by Solomon. And, so…so, what we see is that Solomon asked for wisdom, but he was a very wise man, which is kind of the point of the narrative here. He was wise beyond his years. He was a wise man, and then the Scriptures turn us into an immediate example of this and that’s the example of the two women who were prostitutes who each had children and one of the child…children…one of the baby boys died and how it was that Solomon went about, you know, kind of teasing out the truth of the matter. That kind of became proverbial in its own way throughout Israel to…it was an illustration they used to give themselves rest in their king, that he was just and that he was a wise and that he could see how to bring justice to the land. So, basically where we leave the reading in first Kings today is that, yeah, Solomon is a very respected person who is reigning over a vast kingdom. Many other kings and kingdoms are subject to Solomon. He is at peace. He has all of the resources he could possibly need to do whatever he could possibly imagine. The people are at peace. There is prosperity and a huge amount of development, a huge amount of building and growth is happening. And what we're seeing is all of King David's work in establishing his kingdom passed on to Solomon, all of those resources combined with wisdom and the blessing of the Lord is leading this people to their greatest ancient moment, which we will see in the coming days.

And then we flip over into the New Testament in the book of Acts and we see the formation of something that still exists in the church world today. So, basically what's going on is that many people are coming to accept Christ. Many are coming in every day as the gospel is spoken and at this point the book of Acts tells us the people who believe in Jesus are respected. Like not a lot of people want to be around their group because they're afraid of getting thrown out of the synagogue, which is to kinda be ostracized from your community, but they’re respected, they’re spoken well of, persecution hasn't really broken out because nobody really knows exactly what's going on right now. And we will explore how tensions arose in the weeks ahead. But because kind of everybody is coming together in common as much as possible to kind of all be together, caring for one another, and in particular caring for like widows and people in need, just making sure everybody's taking care of, a rift broke out between Greek Jewish people and native Hebrew people that the Greek people were being…the Greek widows were being treated differently than the native Hebrew widows. So, this is like one of the very, very, very first issues that we see crop up at all. And what is this issue? Well, it's the accusation of favoritism, that the Greek widows were being suppressed in favor of the Hebrew widows and they weren’t being treated equally. And, so, often that's still an issue in our world today. So, the apostles and…and all the people got together for…for a meeting about this. And the apostles are like “man…man….we need to keep…we need to keep spreading the gospel and keep telling people and educating people about Jesus and if we have to stop that and kind of figure out how to count…figure how to do finances, like we need some help. Appoint some people that are honorable. Bring them. Pray for them. We need some help here.” This model, this example here would one day grow up to be called the diaconate. This is where the idea of deacons or the office of a deacon comes into play. And we briefly meet one of those men. I man we…we met them all. We heard all of their names, but we briefly met one of them in a little more detail and his name is Stephen. And we’ll get to know Stephen in the coming days but Stephen will also allow us a bit of a review of the stories that we’ve found in the Bible that we've immersed ourselves in this year. So, that is coming in the next days.

Prayer:

Father, we’re thankful for that but we are in this day and this is happening now. And, so, we thank You for Your word in our lives and the way that just begins to build up and accumulate in our hearts and affects the way that we live in. And, so, we invite that today. May we go from this moment and into our day or into our evening or whatever time it is knowing that You are within and around us, that You are surrounding us, that we are in You, that we are hidden with Christ in God, that we are intertwined and that You are leading and directing our steps. Come Holy Spirit into this we pray. In the name of Jesus’ we ask. Amen.

Announcements:

dailyaudiobible.com is the website, its home base, its where you find out what’s going on around here. So, check it out.

Check out the resources that are available in the Daily Audio Bible Shop. Check out the Windfarm coffee and tea. And just all…I mean everything that we put in that shop is…are things that are just centered around the rhythms of life and a lot of things that…that we do on a regular basis. Some of you are avid journalers and I like journaling. And, so, there's all kinds of journaling resources in their because…man if you’re gonna take the journey through the entire Bible in a year, then you’re gonna cover a lot of ground, right? So, here we are in June in the 6th month and just kind of fully getting ourselves here and then this month will over before we know it, but the 6th month already. So, if we look back…well…if we look back at all the things that have happened in the world it can make our head spin. But if we look back at all that we have encountered in the Bible and the way that the Bible has become poignant and the way that it just has this way of saying what needs to be said a lot of the time and just kinda clicks things into place, we should write that down because a lot of stuff happens. And, so, it's so easy to forget that God spoke to us through His word, and here's what it meant to us on that day. And here’s…here’s where we went from there. And later on, we’re able to look back and see the thread that…that…that God is always with us and always leading us if we’re paying attention. And then we can see it in our own hand in the story of our own lives, and that’s valuable and it’s a biblical principle. I mean, piling up rocks or making some kind of a monument to remember what happened there so that future generations will not forget what happened there, that…that's all throughout the Bible. And, so, it's a good practice to be in as we take this journey. So, those resources are available in the Shop along with a lot of other resources. So, check that out.

If you want to partner with the Daily Audio Bible you can do that dailyaudiobible.com. There’s a link on the homepage. If you’re using the Daily Audio Bible app, you can press the Give button in the upper right-hand corner or, if you prefer, the mailing address is PO Box 1996 Spring Hill Tennessee 37174.

And, as always, if you have a prayer request or encouragement you can hit the Hotline button in the app or there are a number of phone numbers that you can use depending on where you are in the world. If you're in the Americas 877-942-4253 is the number to dial. In the UK or Europe, you can dial 44-20-3608-8078. If you are in Australia or the lands down under, that part of the world, you can dial 61-3-8820-5459,

And that's it for today. I'm Brian I love you and I'll be waiting for you here tomorrow.

Community Prayer and Praise:

Hello, DABbers this is Sharon in South Carolina I’ve been listening for a lot of years, but I’ve never called in. I was recommended by a good friend of mine __. And, you know, I’ve lost two children before and I’ve heard different ones calling in grieving so much. And she said I should give my testimony about how God showed His loving kindness to me and took away inordinate grief. So the time’s ticking away but the main thing is…well I may have to call back to give the rest of it. But I was riding along, I was a truck driver at the time, and I was riding along, and I had to tell my daughter happy birthday and it had been almost a year since she passed away from breast cancer. And I said, “Father tell her happy birthday.” And He said, “she didn’t have a birthday. She came out of me she came back into me. She always was and she always will be.” Now I know that didn’t come out of my mind. You know, I…every day I was praying, and the tears were flowing inside that truck. I had lost a son in 1986 and then lost her in 2000 and I thought am I gonna lose all my children, but I just want to encourage you today. I love all of you so much and I pray for you every day. I hear you on the radio and I repent for not calling in to encourage some of you. Our Father is so faithful. He…He is the I Am but most of all He is, He is ever present for every need and every concern. Be encouraged today so…

I am really so encouraged by Brian and the Hardin family. I just…this message is going straight to Brian and his family just because I really am just so thankful Brian that you just took the time the other day to actually really say something about what’s happening in the nation and about race and even you taking the time to…to really minister us even with about the pandemic. I really, really appreciate it because as an African-American, I don’t always feel loved, I don’t always feel accepted, I don’t always feel understood. And this is a space where I feel like I do feel loved, accepted, and understood and you made that very, very clear and it only makes me even more involved and committed to this ministry because I think it’s from the heart. And I really appreciate it. It really meant a lot to me that you took some time out to really address it. And I just thank you. Take care and God bless.

Good morning DAB family this is Vito from New Hampshire a first-time caller and longtime listener. I’d like to begin by thanking Brian and Jill and China and Benn and everybody else behind the scenes for making this happen. It’s changing my life. It’s changing people’s lives all around the world and what an amazing blessing and need at a time such as this. I’m calling to ask for prayer for my friend Bill Smith and his wife Jane. Bill and Jane were visiting my wife and I four months ago when Bill suffered a stroke during the visit. Four months later he still is paralyzed on half of his body. He doesn’t recognize the voice or image of his wife. Because of the COVID situation nobody can go visit him and it’s been like that for months. I am…I have a heart for my friend, and I ask for your prayer for him, not only for God’s healing grace, but for his salvation at a time such as this for Bill which is so desperate. I’m praying that there’s somebody feeding him the word of God and bringing him to a salvation in the Lord. I don’t know that he believes in Christ. I think he considers himself a Christian but I’m raising up Bill and Jane his wife, Sarah and Colby his kids. Thank you for your prayers for me. Lord, have mercy and thank you for your provision, your grace, your love, mercy and power. I pray this in Jesus’ name. Amen.

Hi Sherry from Kansas I just heard your praise report which is what it is because you are able to accomplish something that you have not been able to do in a really long time. So, I lift you up to God and I pray that He continues to help give you the strength and the ability to get the things done and the simple things in daily life and I hope that things can continue to get better for you every day. I will keep you in my prayers. And again, thank you so much for sharing with us. I pray for you in Jesus’ name. Amen. And God bless you.

Hi DAB family I just wanted to ask for your help. This is Dorothy out in California. Wanted to ask for prayers. I’m embarrassed to…to admit I just…I just feel so lost. I feel lost in my personal life, I feel lost about the future or the state that the worlds in. I have a couple of inventions that I think will help society. I…it’s so expensive to fund I don’t even know what direction to take and I feel like I don’t have enough together in me. And I know we’re supposed to just lay it at God’s feet. I just don’t feel like I have enough together to be able to move forward with anything. And all I can do is get through today. Anyway, I’m sure a lot of…with the curfew in place and everything else going on it’s not just that. It…I just feel lost and I need your help. Anyway, just don’t feel grounded. So, your prayer is much appreciated. This song came to mind. I don’t want to sing right now but [singing starts] all that you are I want. all you’ll allow we’ll embrace. With your strength and compassion all that you are we need [singing stops]

All of my brothers and sisters in Christ, I am calling first time and my name is Wanda. We are living here in Spain and me and my husband we are trying to do ministry for Spanish speaker. We both work this media production, which is a documentary about __ evolution and creation and it’s already four years since we’ve moved here in Spain and it’s been very challenging for me because I am from Belarus and I didn’t know language and during this time we got two babies and now I’m asking you to pray for God to answer our prayers because it’s so difficult. My husband works only part time and __ expensive and we can’t pay many things what we need. And now I just took money from my son from his jar to buy diapers. It’s very difficult…

Hi this is Gloria in New York City it is…it is Wednesday June 3rd and I haven’t called in a very long time, a very long time. I’ve been listening though, and I heard Bart from Kentucky, I think, mentioned me at the very end. I was surprised, very nicely surprised to hear…to hear that you are praying for people that…some that he hadn’t heard from in a long time. And thank you so much. I have always been praying for a couple for serious things. And anyway, last year, my mom, she did pass away. It’s almost a year ago now. I actually had a pretty serious medical issue myself which…but I just want to give glory to God because I’m doing very well just thank God so thankful because fortunately the divorce I had been praying against did happen and I was not happy about that. It was all this stuff in one month and now you know here we are in we’re all going through a lot of…a lot of stuff but I have to say, I mean, globally and nationally and here in New York City it’s, you know, obviously with the rioting I live pretty close to one of the big hotspots, Union Square. And…but I want to just tell everybody and encourage everyone, I…just…I mean…I just been studying the Bible constantly and have been out there praying for our city, our country. Praying for repentance and for people to…for those of us in the church especially to really get out there and bring the message of the cross to…to a world that’s just perishing. It’s also heartbreaking but through it all God is good and thank you again for remembering me Bart. God bless you all and I’ll try to call, not two years from now. Bye.

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han-made-bookbinding · 5 years ago

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La Prose Part One: Recreation and Research

What an exciting project I have been involved in through my most recent bookbinding commission: the recreation of La Prose du Transsbérien et de la Petite Jehanne de France - the remarkable book by poet Blaise Cendrars and artist Sonia Delaunay. Sonia and Blaise first met in January of 1913 and formed an instant friendship, producing this book by letterpress and pochoir in 1913. The original book was a landmark achievement for its time and remains vibrant and modern today.

The recreation project was conceived by Kitty Maryatt, the proprietor of Two Hands Press in Playa Vista, California since 1974. In 2017 she decided to publish the recreation with the help of underwriters. Kitty has created a blog of her own documenting her journey through the process of recreating 150 editions as closely as possible to the original book by using letterpress and pochoir. Her blog is totally fascinating can be found here. It is thanks to this blog, plus some additional information that was printed to be housed with the completed book, that I am able to pass on so much information about this latest binding of mine.

The image above shows the binding made by Paul Bonet between 1963-64, sold by Christie’s in Paris on April 29, 2004 for 350,000 Euros. Sonia and Blaise had planned on making 150 copies however this was not completed.

“Was the primary reason for the incomplete edition the excessive length of time it might take to complete the pochoir process, assuming that the pochoir was the final procedure before binding? Did World War I intervene? Were there exhibits of the book, any reviews, any publicity at all? Were the sales disappointing? Did they run out of money?”

The actual number remains unknown, 74 have been identified but the list of these has never been published.

“The edition numbering system Blaise Cendrars used is somewhat random, indicating that the edition numbers were not written on the copies when they were first made. For example, there are two copies numbered 47, two numbered 111, and two numbered 139. Many copies do not have an edition number. There is a copy numbered 1 and one numbered 150.”

The La Prose of 1913 was printed on three materials: vellum, Japon and simile Japon, they stuck to the typical formula of publishing a deluxe edition and regular edition. Japon in one of many Japanese papers sold by the Japan Paper Company; simili Japon is made with Western fibres, also sold by the Japan Paper Company. The Paul Bonet binding is one of the vellum editions.

The below image shows Kitty’s recreation (right) alongside an original copy at The Getty Research Institute, Los Angeles, CA (left). This is #124, glued and folded into 21 panels, inscribed to Archipenko, the vellum cover is not attached.

“The book itself is captivating with its colorful and painterly pochoir (French-style stencil), so unlike stenciled copies of artwork at the time. The colors seep from the painted side into the poem on the other side.”

Kitty wanted to recreate the pochoir methods as closely as possible to the original using pommes (short, wide brushes) and metal stencil plates. Pochoir is a refined stencil-based technique employed to create prints or to add colour to pre-existing prints. It was most popular from the late 19th century through the 1930's with its center of activity in Paris. Numerous stencils were designed as a means of reproducing an image. (Photo courtesy of Kitty Maryatt)

My copy was one of two that Neale Albert (New York) had underwritten and commissioned. When I received my copy of the sheets in the post (#58 0f 150) they came with three different instruction sheets of how the pages could be folded - it was rather daunting!

The long vertical format of the book was an unprecedented choice for a book of the period:

“The Trans-Siberian Railroad was begun in 1890 when Blaise Cendrars was only three years old, but it was highlighted at the 1900 Exposition Universelle in Paris that he attended with his family. The entire series of railroad lines weren't actually completed until three years after La Prose du Transsbérien was published. In the book, Blaise included a map of the journey from Moscow to Vlasivostok, which gives us a clue as to the distinctive folding scheme of the book. I've found tourist maps of Paris for the period similarly folded, in half first, and then in accordion – folded flat and glued to the cover. In the case of La Prose, as you open the book, you can't actually see anything in the book, neither the text nor the imagery, until the book is completely unfolded.”

It was up to me to choose which format I wished to use having been instructed that there was no set way of binding the book, so total creative freedom! Along with the written instructions, Kitty also sent all binders images of the folding and gluing process - crucial information to have before proceeding. There were three ways of folding the concertina, either like the original (left hand format), long and thin like the Paul Bonet binding (middle format) or double width (right hand format). (Photo courtesy of Kitty Maryatt)

The 1913 edition book covers were painted in oils by Sonia Delaunay, some covers had a snap, which made the book resemble a purse. Kitty’s version of La Prose is bound with vellum covers however she used acrylic paint to decorate the cover as she found that the oils yellowed the vellum. The book is housed in an acrylic slipcase and is pictured below. (Photo courtesy of Kitty Maryatt)

So, the time had come to trim and stick all of my sheets together!

The first step was to cut all four pages to size. I am used to working in cm, I have almost never used inches, so the fact that all of the instructions were in imperial took extra brain power - I never even glance at the other side of the ruler!

The first step was to measure 7 1/18 inches from the centre fold mark at the top and bottom and to cut off one vertical side.

The next was to cut off the other vertical side so that the width of the page was 14 1/14 inches and the two sides were parallel.

Next I had to cut off one inch at the top of page one, and to trim the top of pages 2 to 4 at the printed mark on the right side just above the first line of type. The bottoms of each page then had to be cut to meet the following lengths: Page 1 - 21.75 inches, Page 2 - 20.25 inches, Page 3 - 19.875 inches and Page 4 - 19.5 inches.

I was then able to proceed with gluing all four sheets together. I soon found I didn’t have a long enough table to work on but managed to get around that by moving two next to each other! The cut edges of the sheet were not thinned or pared in any way, they were stuck together at full thickness (the same as with the original binding).

Pages one and two were lined up along their edges, overlapping by 3/4 inch. Each page was glued to about 1/2 inch in, so that when overlapped all of the paper overlap was covered in glue. The reverse of the upper page was glued, then the front of the lower page before being combined.

A weight was applied to the glued joint afterwards and I waited for it to dry before moving on to gluing the next joints. The instructions stated:

“Note that the images don’t line up completely at the joints. I copied the original exactly. Why did they do that? It’s odd from our perspective. The outside lines should line up pretty well if you cut to size carefully.”

Once all four sheets were glued together is was time to start folding. Her the instructions did actually switch to being in centimetres!

“Folding: I use a jig of board cut to 197mm. I place the board on to the paper at the bottom edge, blank side up, place the ruler next to the left side of the board, remove the board, and score the paper 197mm from the bottom edge, and fold up. The next fold is 197mm from the first fold, I score on the blank side and reverse the fold (or you can flip the book if you wish). Continue until you get to the top, where you will have a tab left for attaching to your binding, if you wish.”

These folding instructions left me with a text block to the largest format possible. I deliberated for a long while whether to keep it at this size, but in the end took the plunge and did an additional fold in each section to give me a text block that was half the width, so the same format as that of the Paul Bonet binding.

Once I had the text block size it was time to start designing the cover. I knew that I wanted to use embroidery, as I always do, so set about making sure I had threads to match all of the wonderful pochoir colours.

I decided to do some research into Blaise Cendrars. Blaise Cendrars was the pen-name for Fréderic Louis Sauser - a play on Braise (ember) and Cendres (ash). He was a Swiss-born novelist and poet who became a naturalised French citizen in 1916. He was a writer of considerable influence in the European modernist movement.

His writing career was interrupted by World War I, he was sent to the front line in the Somme from mid-December 1914 until February 1915. It was during the attacks in Champagne in September 1915 that Cendrars lost his right arm and was discharged from the army.

As he was right-handed, he had to learn how to write with his left hand following the war. I decided to try and find handwriting examples of his from before and after he lost his right arm which was possible online. It would have been wishful thinking to find a handwritten transcript of La Prose, however I did find some good examples of both his left and right handwriting on other documents.

What I decided to do was to transcribe parts of the poem in each of these handwriting styles to use on the front and back of the book. I used a typed print out of the poem to refer to and found example of whole words (if possible), or individual letters, from the documents I had found, and pieced these together to try and reflect the writing style of before and after the loss of his arm - the left hand writing was more haphazard and scribbly-looking. What I couldn’t work out at first though was which should go on which cover!

I put the question to some family and friends and got some great feedback. What I hadn’t thought about before was that if I did the “before” handwriting on the front and the “after” handwriting on the back, when the book was opened up or laid flat I would have the writing on the sides which naturally correspond to the hands which were used - the decision was made.

So the “after” left handwriting became the design for the back board, and I took wording from the beginning of the poem.

And the “before” right handwriting became the design for the back board, and I took wording from towards the end of the poem.

It took a few attempts to get it to the right width for the boards, and to get enough words on so that the front and back covers started and ended at the same heights. For each of the covers I photocopied the writing onto tracing paper templates so I had a master copy to work from.

During the period of time I was working on this binding I made a trip to London to see the British Library’s exhibition entitled, Writing: Making Your Mark.

“Writing: Making Your Mark is a landmark British Library exhibition, which spans 5,000 years across the globe, exploring one of humankind’s greatest achievements – the act of writing. From carved stone inscriptions, medieval manuscripts and early printed works to beautiful calligraphy, iconic fonts and emojis, Writing: Making Your Mark (26 April – 27 August 2019) will deconstruct the act of writing and consider its future in the digital age.”

What a timely exhibition to be on whilst I was making my own mark with the handwriting of Blaise Cendrars.

“People first created writing 5000 years ago, its invention revolutionised society. Writing began in a number of locations around the world, at different times and for different reasons. People developed it to communicate across time and space, carrying it with them as they traded, migrated and conquered.”

It is amazing to think that writing and technology have often developed hand in hand. What began as inscribed patterns on bones thousands of years ago has somehow led to me sitting at my computer typing away at this blog on a keyboard. I hope I have done Blaise Cendrar’s two versions of handwriting justice in my binding!

In August 2015 Kitty identified thirty-eight distinct typefaces used in La Prose.

“Blaise Cendrars printed La Prose at Imprimerie Crété in Corbeil, France because he was already in the process of printing his second book, Séquences, at Crété in early 1913. The poem is four hundred and forty-five lines long. In a brilliant and groundbreaking master stroke, Blaise decided to select dozens of typefaces for the poem.”

She was convinced that Blaise did not walk along the hundreds of type cabinets at Crété impulsively selecting type: Crété certainly would have had an in-house type catalogue to view the available typefaces.

The next blog post will go through the choices I made when it came to binding such a book, “La Prose Part Two: Structure”.

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eternallyimaginative · 5 years ago

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Marked ( House of Night Novel) by P. C. Cast & Kristin Cast

Book: Marked (Book 1 of House of Night)

Author: P.C. Cast & Kristin CAst

Publisher: St. Martin’s Press

Release Date: May 1st, 2007

Format: ePub

Pages: 306

Started Reading: October 15th, 2019

Finished Reading: November 15th, 2019

Summary (supplied from GoodReads): After a Vampire Tracker Marks her with a crescent moon on her forehead, 16-year-old Zoey Redbird enters the House of Night and learns that she is no average fledgling. She has been Marked as special by the vampyre Goddess Nyx and has affinities for all five elements: Air, Fire Water, Earth and Spirit. But she is not the only fledgling at the House of Night with special powers. When she discovers that the leader of the Dark Daughters, the school’s most elite club, is mis-using her Goddess-given gifts, Zoey must look deep within herself for the courage to embrace her destiny – with a little help from her new vampyre friends (or Nerd Herd, as Aphrodite calls them)

My Thoughts: Hmm...where to start....

Well lets start with setting I assume? In my minds eye this is in a parallel universe to our own, not quite our own reality. I say this because in the book it is common knowledge that there are humans and vampyres amongst the civilians of the universe. Heck the humans know that they may get “changed” into a fledgeling if they are “marked” by a “tracker” (another vampyre gifted with the ability to sense where a potential fledgeling is and mark them for the vampyre goddess Nyx). Other than that little difference based on my opinion, most of the technologies for 2007 are the same as we would have had in that year. Its kind of interesting that both of the writers made a logical choice and had the vampyre schedule be pretty much the flip side of the human schedule, Night vs Day. To me it made sense, and I wouldn’t have had it any other way.

Characters were actually pretty well rounded out for a beginning book of a series I think. It kind of gives you a glimpse at them, and want to learn more about them. But, of course with there being at least 12 books in the series there is still a lot of character development to be made. Honestly I’m not too surprised that this one has the content that it does simply because there is A LOT to cover.

As for each individual character....Nefret you can tell that there is something more with her from the foreshadowing that the protagonist Zoey gives us. Damien seems like a cupcake BATHED in glitter goodness, funny because thats how Stevie Rae is portrayed to the other characters. Speaking of Stevie Rae? I freaking LOVED her, honestly from the moment we’re introduced to her character you’re made to feel like there is to be a deep bond between her and Zoey. Mind you I think this is foreshadowing for the other books. The Twins are two psuedo twin girls from different ethnic backgrounds, but love everything the same way. I found them interesting in the fact that they are so much alike and spicy in personalities, but I do wish that we could have seen them more in this book, but again there is another at least 12 books so there is time for that. The character of Zoey’s “ex-almost-boyfriend” is named Heath....he’s not a bad guy....but he’s very much like a puppy that just won’t leave you alone...yeah take that how you want. The 2nd love interest of Zoey is Erik. He’s not a bad guy, but it just seems too easy of a love interest to me, like way to easy? “Hey I’m the new kid and I’m going to automatically get the attention of the hottest guy on campus”. Honestly I don’t know if I like that trope simply because I prefer the build up of a relationship dynamic. But, lets not forget about our main character Zoey Redbird. She’s not a bad character? She just seems kind of flat to me a bit. Especially when she has such a rich background and ethnic history that could have been explored more, or even stressed more to the audience. She seems like the type of character that is just spit out in a video game world and knows what they have to do *looks pointedly at SAO with a glare*. But, that’s just my opinion.

Now for a possibly touch topic? It really shouldn’t be touchy considering that its JUST a book. Religion/Faith/Spirituality. You’ve got a lot of this in the novel’s, and I guess you could say its the driving force of the realm that the books take place in. You have the humans and their “People of the Faith” who honour and worship the Judeo/Christian God, and who think that anything that is different than that is devil worship. On the flip side of that coin you have the vampyre society who acknowledges this god, but knows its not for their path and have been chosen to follow the way of Nyx the goddess of the night. Honestly this book was the first thing that introduced me into my own faith. I myself am Wiccan, but didn’t know exactly what this book was pulling from at the time of reading it. This is where I really do have to pay it to the writers for doing their research regarding pagan, mainly I do believe Dianic Wicca (I’m taking a guess on this path of Wicca simply for the fact that Dianic is more feminine power based to my knowledge). The symbolysims were pretty spot on from the colour candles representing each element to the fact that there is a goddess in this path. There is another reason why I want to say that it seems like the Vampyre society reflects pagan faiths. They acknowledge the other paths are there, but know where their feet are looking to go down the paths.

Now, I think I should address the writing style. Its actually fitting for the books. Its written like a teenager communicates. With the exception of Zoey though....to be honest she’s a little too innocent in the language department when I compare it to how I was at that age. On the other hand its probably at an age group that is probably available for a 13 year old to read? Even if there is some conent that you’re like “how is this in a book written in the language appropriate for a 14 year old? They should be more innocent?” Its just a little bit of a mixed vibe, but not bad.

Verdict: I’m going to rate this book as a 3.5 stars. Its showing that its got more in store for the story, and keeps you reading. It really is showing the potential in my eyes.

#marked #pc cast #kristin cast #house of night #hon #books #book #book review #30th book review #3.5 stars

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davidaccampo · 6 years ago

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Breaking Down Comics

A friend of Amanda Donahue, one of my co-creators on THE MARGINS, asked me some questions, and they were so good I felt it was worth dusting off Tumblr to answer. Thanks, Nick, and I hope these rambles give you something worth your while!

Below are Nick’s two questions and my VERY long answers.

Sooo, my first question would just be how you got into it. Is it your primary form of writing?

Great question. So, is it my primary form of writing? Hmmm. I just finished a commitment to a set of 4 interactive mobile game scripts that took up quite a chunk of the last few months. In that time frame I also released a one-shot licensed 22-page comic and a 12-page digital creator-owned comic. So, on balance, I don’t think it’s currently my primary form of writing, but it’s definitely my favorite form, and it’s a medium and industry that I’m both very familiar with and passionate about, so whenever I’m given the chance to write comics, I take it.

However, comics as an industry is a difficult one to navigate. With the two biggest publishers owning incredibly popular franchises, the prime means for writers to make a living on comics is to essentially write super-heroes that you don’t own. And that, in itself, is neither good nor bad. It’s just worth noting that if you want to make comics your primary form of income, then DC and Marvel are going to come into your orbit in some shape. And that type of writing will come with its own set of thrills and challenges.

On the flip side, creator-owned comics and graphic novels can be an extremely fulfilling creative experience, if financially tricky to produce and sell. But the comics industry is still intimate enough that you can find ways to make and sell your comics. There’s a lot more to talk about there with regards to distribution and comics retail, but that’s another conversation.

It’s also worth noting that while the prevailing understanding is that digital comics sell only a fraction of the numbers of printed comics, it’s also a very accessible platform. With time and effort, you can put a comic book out to a global audience.

I may have veered slightly off topic here, but I think the point I’m trying to make is: if you want comics to be your primary form of writing, they most certainly can be. And you can and will make comics passionately and whole-heartedly, and you’ll put them into the world.

But making a living off of them is much more complicated scenario and every creator out there will have different advice for you, but be prepared for an equation that’s pretty familiar to any who has ever freelanced: less control = more money. Generally speaking, of course. There’s always a Walking Dead situation, if all the stars align.

Oh, and I never answered the first part of that question — how did I get into it? I’ll try to bullet point my personal path, which is super wonky, but probably not much stranger than most writers.

It kinda went like this:

Dave’s Writing Career: A Timeline

I always loved comics. In high school, I even wrote and drew 80 pages of a comic that was a horrible pastiche of Marvel/Epic’s Elektra: Assassin by Frank Miller and Bill Sienkiewicz and DC’s The Question by Denny O’Neil, Denys Cowan, and Rick Magyar. However, in my 20s, I’d attend conventions and discover that I had no idea how to move from fandom into professional writing.

I went on to study English and Creative Writing, thinking I’d write prose novels.

Then I moved to LA and fell in with a crowd of Hollywood screenwriter types. I wrote a few screenplays with a writing partner, Jeremy Rogers, but when nothing really came from it, we decided to make our own short films.

We made 3 short films that went into film festivals. At this point, I was tired of spending so much time and money making 10-30 minute films that didn’t result in much. We hatched a new plan: what if we availed ourselves of the iTunes platform and released an audio drama as a podcast?

Wormwood: A Serialized Mystery was the result. It allowed us to tell long, serialized stories, much like my first love: comic books.

Toward the end of the Wormwood run, an illustrator named Jared Souza contacted us. He’d adapted scenes from Wormwood into sequential art, and was curious if we ever thought about turning it into a comic book. We jumped at the chance, and with Jared we wrote and drew an 12-page mini-comic that we printed and took to the San Diego Comic-Con. Hermes Press was interested in our book, and they offered us a deal shortly after the show was over.

From there, I kept thinking about what else I could do with comics. I partnered with Chris Anderson for Lost Angels, and we made another 12-page mini-comic as a sales pitch, and we were offered a digital-first deal with a new publisher, Comicker.

And it keeps going from there, but that is the long and windy road telling stories in a LOT of different formats, each with its own strengths and weaknesses. Learning the strengths of one format does help you to understand the strengths of another. For example, for Wormwood we could really lean into long, twisty passages of monologue because it was all about the actors’ voices. However, as soon as you bring that to comics, you realize the amount of word balloons those monologues would take would utterly cover up any artwork on the page. And so you adjust.

Which is a nice segue to your other question…

Secondly, I'd love to hear how you work things out. As far as layout in regards to story. The most challenging aspect for me is to convert my thinking from imagining in film to now these static images. Do you put a lot of thought into that area, or do you focus mostly on the story and then sort of work that out as you are getting it down?

My initial thought is: “I do both.” But let’s break those up.

In terms of static images: think about the key moments. The perfect still frame of film that sums up the core of a moment of story in your mind. You want to build out from there.

But almost more importantly: think about the gutters. The space between panels. The gutters are actually where all the magic in comics reside. I recommend reading Understanding Comics by Scott McCloud. McCloud is great for understanding how a reader processes the information when we’re as absorbing art in a sequence. And the key is the gutters: The narrative “time” between panels can last a millisecond or a millennium. And the reader understands that from the context. So you’ve got to figure out how much you can get away with in between panels.

A panel exists in one moment in time. One action can occur. Imagine a father and son playing catch. What’s the most important part of that scene? The father throwing? The son catching? That’s two panels. Or, it could be a wide shot of the two, the ball in mid-air, but that wide shot probably should take up as much space on the page as two close angle shots of throwing and catching.

So, you ask yourself: what’s the emotional context of the scene? Is it important to show the father about to throw the ball (perhaps metaphorically teaching his son)? Is it important to show the son catching that ball (perhaps showing the son absorbing the lesson)? Is the activity itself the most important part (the wider shot might work best). It really depends upon the what you want to get out of the scene.

Another example: A man sits in his living room. There’s a knock at the door. He answers. It’s his landlord.

How many panels is that? The only concrete answer I can give you is that it’s ”more than one” — because the of multiple actions involved.

It could be two panels: 1) the man sits reading a newspaper, but his head is cocked because he’s JUST heard the SFX of knocking on his door. 2) he’s standing at the open door and the landlord is asking him for a rent check.

It could be five panels: 1) the main sits reading a newspaper. 2) We show the front door, with knocking SFX. 3) The man opens the door, but we don’t show who it is, building suspense. The man is nervous. 4) we reveal it’s the landlord, standing there, arms crossed and angry. 5) The landlord asks for the rent check.

How important is that scene to your overall story? Five panels is roughly a whole page. Do you want to spend a whole page to show that the man is late with his rent?

That’s brings us to the next part of your question, and the other aspect that’s really important to comics: page count.

Page count is crucial because of the amount of time it takes an artist to draw a page, and also because of the printing costs. A standard issue of a comic is roughly 20-22 pages. So you’ve got to start by knowing how much space you’ve got (some writers will refer to this as “real estate”).

As a general standard, I’m going to assume that you’re looking at a mini-series or story arc that’s probably 5-6 issues, at 20-22 pages per issue. That works for comic book issue publishing, and it collects nicely into a graphic novel.

Even if I know I’m writing a graphic novel (as we did with The Margins), I tend to think in those general terms because it helps me break the story down.

So, I might start by assuming I have 5 chapters that are each 20 pages. Then I figure out — where is the best place to end Chapter One? It shouldn’t just be a moment of pivot — a cliffhanger, something that pushes the reader to start the next chapter as quickly as they can.

I’ll use the film THE MATRIX for this example, but I’m doing this from memory, so this may not be the best story breakdown.

At first thought, knowing I have 5 chapters of 20 pages each, it seems to me a great end to the first chapter might be Neo waking up in his pod in the real world. I mean, you have to read Issue #2 if that’s where Issue #1 ends, right?

If that’s page 20, you now have 19 pages to get there. And you have to get through: Trinity and the agents, Neo following the white rabbit, Neo meeting Trinity, Neo getting a call phone from Morpheus, Neo taken by the agents and getting the tracker put in him. Neo getting the tracker removed. Neo taking the red pill.

That’s a LOT! (It’s probably more than 20 pages, but please bear in my I’m just using this as an example.)

Next I’d think about: how much real estate do I give to Trinity vs. The Agents. Maybe four pages. The first two are the fighting and running across the rooftops. The second two could be a DOUBLE-PAGE SPLASH (two pages that make up one giant image) of Agent Smith ramming his truck into the phone booth. That’d also make for a good title/credits page.

I can probably script that, but I first have to think if I can get though the rest of it with 15 more pages. Ack!

Luckily, the next bits contain a lot of conversations, so we can probably get away with 5-9 panels per page, lots of back and forth conversation, condensed onto fewer pages. And that’s key because we’re going to have to go to larger panels for key action sequences like Neo climbing out on the building ledge. Neo getting the tracker put into his belly.

To be honest, at this point, I’d probably have to rethink some of this — this feels like too much for 20 pages. But hopefully that example shows you how I approach the process. It’s basically taking the whole story and then breaking it into issue-sized chunks, then pages, then finally panels.

And as you think about panels, you do want to make sure you have a mix. Some kind of big splash page is important — it allows you to focus on the biggest moments, and it also gives the reader a bit of a chance to relax, slow down and take in the art. A sequential page can have more panels, but it becomes denser, and each panel can contain less information — one or two dialogue balloons, limited backgrounds, etc. The more panels, the less room and detail each panel can contain.

Personally, I like to think about most of my sequential pages being about 4-8 panels, peppered with one or two splash pages. I can bump up or lower the panel count as needed. If you start by thinking about 3-4 panels for big cinematic action and 5-9 panels for dense conversation or smaller actions, then you’ll probably find yourself with a decent balance through your comic.

Those are my long-winded answers. I hope this helps. There’s much more to talk about in terms of craft, but this covers most of what I think about when breaking down a comic book story.

#makecomics #writingprocess #writing #comics

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internationalspacehobo · 6 years ago

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okay i was gonna do this yesterday but here’s a list of the non-pre-revisionist (post-revisionist? revised?) MTG novels

==Artifacts==

The Artifacts novels revolve around Urza, one of the most emblematic characters from the entire Magic setting. There’s older novels but this is where the story as we know it today really started. Even if you only got into mtg as recently as Dominaria, some of those elements appeared here for the first time. Jhoira, Karn, and Teferi are all introduced here.

In terms of the game; these novels vaguely correspond to about a dozen sets: Antiquities, the Dark, Fallen Empires, Mirage, Weatherlight, Visions, Tempest, Stronghold, Exodus, Urza’s Saga, Urza’s Legacy, and Urza’s Destiny.

The Brother's War (1998)

Planeswalker (1998)

Time Stream (1999)

Bloodlines (1999)

==Ice Age==

What happens when you blow up the world with a magic nuke? You get millenia of frost covering your entire planet. If you’re curious about who that apparently ancient wizard that Jhoira talked to during Dominaria was, or how Jaya Ballard might have been when she was Chandra’s age, this is the cycle you’re looking for.

The Gathering Dark (1999)

The Eternal Ice (2000)

The Shattered Alliance (2000)

The resolution to this block was released six years later, for the small set Coldsnap (the one I started playing with!). I’ve archived it as best as I could [here].

==Masquerade==

These books revolve (mostly) around Gerrard Capashen (the result of Urza’s generations-long eugenics project), and the crew of the Weatherlight (notice how much of this stuff shows up in Dominaria?).

It also marks the start of magic getting one story per non-core set! Which they kept up all the way until Lorwyn / Shadowmoor*; almost always naming the novels after the set they correspond to (with some exceptions).

Rath and Storm (1998) (Not technically part of the cycle anymore, but was originally the first book of the story. Wizards just like to shift shit around)

Mercadian Masques (1999)

Nemesis (2000)

Prophecy (2000)

*aside from Legends, which has always done its own thing

==Invasion==

Invasion closes up the Weatherlight storyline, with the Phyrexian invasion of Dominaria.

The Thran (1999) is not part of any of the cycles (published originally as a prequel to the invasion cycle, then later re-published as the last bit of the artifacts cycle), since it takes place thousands of years before the very beginning of the story.

Invasion (2000)

Planeshift (2001)

Apocalypse (2001)

==Odyssey==

The Urza / Weatherlight saga is over! 21 sets, 15 novels, 7 years, and a shit ton of cards later, we get to discover a whole buncha new characters. Not gonna lie, I have never read up on the story of professional Beefy Boy Kamahl. I know it sets up the Cabal (eh? eh? sound familiar?) and the Mirari, and gets a couple shout outs in cards in Dominaria, but I’m lost beyond that.

Odyssey (2000)

Chainer's Torment (2001)

Judgement (2001)

==Onslaught==

The continuation of the Odyssey cycle! Kamahl does some stuff, his sister fuses with an angel and I think someone else as well and becomes an almost god? Or something? Magic got wild for a while, I’m not gonna lie.

Onslaught (2002)

Legions (2003)

Scourge (2003)

==Legends==

Hey how about some unrelated characters? We all love legendary cards right? Do you like furries? If you answered “uh... i guess?” to all of these then boy is the first Legends cycle for you!

Johan (2001)

Jedit (2001)

Hazezon (2002)

Man, sure seems like nothing relevant to the modern story has happened in a while, huh? We got to follow good ole’ Jedit Ojannen do his thing for a bit. Man, and that was only the first half. The second one probably isn’t any better, huh? Apparently the bad guy is named “Nicol Bolas”? Who came up with THAT name, huh? Doesn’t sound like an intimidating and long running villain, if I’m gonna be honest. I doubt we’ll see him again.

Assassin's Blade (2002)

Emperor's Fist (2003)

Champion's Trial (2003)

==Mirrodin==

*notices your new focus on exploring worlds beyond dominaria* OwO what’s this?

The Mirrodin block marks the beginning of the Modern format, and a new focus on exploring new worlds instead of just tangientially mentioning them in relation to Dominaria! It still continues with the publishing format of one book per non-core set but we finally get to what I think attracts most people to the lore: the exploration of other worlds, with their own stories, characters, and even fundamental laws of physics.

The Mirrodin set revolves around the completely metallic plane of Argentum, created by our old buddy Karn (you might remember him from the very beginning; or the Dominaria storyline, if you’re working your way backwards), and what wild shit happens there during his absence.

The Moons of Mirrodin (2003)

The Darksteel Eye (2004)

The Fifth Dawn (2004)

==Kamigawa==

What an incredible setting, and what a let down of mechanics. Kamigawa is actually formed of two worlds: the material world and the world of spirits (or kami, as they’re called here). When a spirit is kidnapped by the humans, O-Kagachi, lord of all things, declares a war to take back That Which Was Taken.

Kamigawa was (until the Dominaria set) the only set that had legendary creatures at uncommon! They came up with a bunch of wild stuff, like ”arcane” spells, which are a sort of proto-tribal mechanic, and cards you could flip around to become different cards. This was before I started playing so I couldn’t tell you how it played at the time; but apparently it was a commercial failure. Here’s hoping we get to revisit it someday (maybe with Tamiyo?).

Outlaw: Champions of Kamigawa (2004)

Heretic: Betrayers of Kamigawa (2005)

Guardian: Saviors of Kamigawa (2005)

==Ravnica==

The original introduction of the most popular plane in the history of magic: the gathering!! If you’re even vaguely interested in the story of the game you know what Ravnica is; so I’ll just leave it at: Cop Mystery Drama Set on Ravnica. Also: the Guildpact, when it was an all encompassing legal-magic-spell, and not a skinny nerd in a blue cloak.

Ravnica: City of Guilds (2005)

Guildpact (2006)

Dissension (2006)

==Time Spiral==

After 3 years of planeswalking, covering 3 blocks of 3 sets each, we finally make it back to Dominaria (the plane)! Modern Horizons before Modern Horizons; Dominaria (the set) before Dominaria (the set). Glimpses of the past, an alternative reality where everything is just slightly shifted, and visions of what the future might hold.

Time Spiral (2006)

Planar Chaos (2007)

Future Sight (2007)

==Lorwyn / Shadowmoor==

Fairy tales, a self contained story that doesn’t require any previous knowledge of the lore, and also isn’t required reading to understand any of the later stuff. What more do you want?

Llorwyn (2007)

Morningtide (2008)

Shadowmoor (2008)

Eventide (2008)

#long post #mtg story

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dingoes8myrp · 6 years ago

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Angel & BtVS: Human Again (1)

I’m writing a fanfiction piece in the style of a lost episode screenplay. This story is set during season 2 after “I Only Have Eyes for You.”

Notes: This piece was originally written in a screenplay format. Unfortunately, there’s no easy way for me to appropriately recreate that formatting on Tumblr. So, the formatting’s a little screwy. If anybody has tips on how to fix this, please share! This work is currently unfinished, and I could use some encouragement to keep going with it. If you’re interested in seeing where this goes, please let me know! Criticism is welcome as long as it’s helpful (i.e. “I didn’t enjoy this because it didn’t include enough visual description.”). Stuff like “This sucked” or “I didn’t like this story because I hate this character” isn’t helpful.

Premise (contains spoilers) - avoid if you’d prefer to go in blind

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * BEWARE OF SPOILERS * * * * * * * * * *

Willow conducts a spell in secret, hoping to give Angelus empathy. The spell ends up bodyswapping Angelus with Xander. As each struggles to live in the other’s shoes, their friends, allies, and enemies alike attempt to get to the bottom of the strange behavior exhibited by both parties.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Human Again

Part 1

EXT. CEMETARY -- NIGHT A vampire growls as he falls into a tombstone. XANDER Cordelia? He struggles to pull a stake out of his jacket pocket as Cordelia gets to her feet. The vampire recovers and Cordelia screams. Xander grunts as the vampire tackles him. CORDELIA Hey! She shoves at the vampire, surprising him, and Xander struggles to position the stake. The vampire starts as the wood punctures its heart, then it turns to dust. Xander takes a few deep breaths. XANDER Well, that was bracing and not at all terrifying. He sits up and Cordelia takes his arm to help him stand. CORDELIA Are you okay? XANDER Shouldn’t I be asking you that? CORDELIA You’re the one who got tackled by Derek Orth. He used to be a linebacker for Sunnydale High before he got that football scholarship. XANDER A linebacker, huh? That makes me feel slightly better about getting the wind knocked out of me and possibly breaking a few ribs. They start walking through the cemetery.

INT. MAUSOLEUM -- NIGHT The door to a mausoleum creaks open. Willow pokes her head in and clicks on a flashlight. With a glance over her shoulder, she enters, setting a rock between the door and the frame to keep it ajar. She kneels on the ground with her bag and arranges three candles in a triangle around her.

EXT. CEMETARY -- NIGHT Cordelia is walking with Xander, who has a hand on his side, grimacing in pain. CORDELIA We should find Buffy. Serves us right for getting distracted. I can’t believe I let you make out with me in a cemetery! XANDER I didn’t exactly hear you complaining. CORDELIA We’re in a cemetery! The complaint is implied. XANDER What’s that supposed to mean? CORDELIA Oh, come on. Who trapeses through a cemetery and thinks “Hey, let’s make out?”

INT. MAUSOLEUM -- NIGHT Willow has lit the candles and connected them with lines of a pink salt substance. She flips pages in a book and reads from it. WILLOW “I call upon the elements, the power of air, the power of spirit, the Elders of the sky and the veil…”

EXT. CEMETARY -- NIGHT Xander and Cordelia stop walking and Xander turns to her. XANDER Excuse me, but I seem to remember I was the maulee here, not the mauler. CORDELIA Oh, please! You were the one who dragged me behind that statue thing. XANDER That was because I heard something! I didn’t want you to get attacked by a demon. Kinda rethinking it now, though!

INT. MAUSOLEUM -- NIGHT A small plate sits between Willow and the top candle. Willow continues reciting the spell. WILLOW “I call upon thee to return that which was lost…”

She places a folded handkerchief on the plate.

EXT. CEMETARY -- NIGHT Cordelia steps up to Xander. CORDELIA Oh, sure. You were so worried we were gonna get attacked, so you decided it was a good time to cop a feel. XANDER All I did was put my arm around you to keep you under cover! You’re the one who decided to make with the smoochin’.

INT. MAUSOLEUM -- NIGHT Willow strikes a match. WILLOW “I offer you this token and ask of you this.” She smooths a handwritten notebook page. WILLOW “To whom this token represents, return to him his empathy. May he remember what he feels for others, and what others feel for him. May this favor be granted with your blessing. I beseech thee.”

EXT. CEMETARY -- NIGHT Cordelia rolls her eyes and folds her arms over her chest. CORDELIA Fine, Mister Handsy. Next time you make a move I’m not gonna-- Xander winces and leans against a tombstone. Cordelia frowns and goes over to him. CORDELIA Xander? Slow clapping makes them both look up. Angelus steps into view. ANGELUS Wow. You two are entertaining! They both straighten, Cordelia gripping Xander’s arm. He swallows hard. ANGELUS Not very bright, wandering off on your own out here, but you put on a damn good show. XANDER Cordelia, get out of here. CORDELIA What? XANDER Run. Go get Buffy. ANGELUS Yeah! Go get Buffy. Leave your new boyfriend right here. I’ll keep a close eye on him. He smiles menacingly. CORDELIA Xander… XANDER Cordelia, GO! NOW! She runs and Xander straightens as much as he can, wincing.

INT. MAUSOLEUM – NIGHT The fire in the plate flares. WILLOW “I beseech thee to return what has been lost, to draw forth heart and feeling.”

EXT. CEMETARY -- NIGHT Angelus steps closer to Xander. ANGELUS You know, I never liked you. XANDER Same here, pal. ANGELUS I gotta say, though, I’m impressed. You and Cordelia? Angelus grips the front of Xander’s jacket, startling him. ANGELUS I mean, she’s way out of your league. Angelus laughs and Xander lashes at him with the stake. Angelus reacts fast, gripping Xander’s arm painfully. He cries out and drops the stake.

INT. MAUSOLEUM -- NIGHT Willow pours the pink salt substance into the candle flame. WILLOW “Hear my call, I beseech thee, and grant this favor as you will it.”

EXT. CEMETARY -- NIGHT Angelus growls, his face morphing into its vampire visage. ANGELUS I was just gonna rough you up and let you go, but now… He bends Xander’s arm behind his back and Xander screams in agony. ANGELUS Now I might just have to rip your arm off.

INT. MAUSOLEUM -- NIGHT The flame in the plate flares, startling Willow. The plate breaks and the flame goes out.

EXT. CEMETARY -- NIGHT Angelus loosens his grip momentarily as he wobbles with dizziness. Xander falls to the ground and rolls onto his back, grimacing in pain. Angelus stares down at him.

ANGELUS What…? He grunts as Buffy’s foot makes contact with his face. BUFFY You got a message for me, Angel? She throws a few punches. Angelus stumbles back, stunned. BUFFY Why don’t you give it to me instead of going after my friends? Cordelia runs to Xander, kneeling beside him. CORDELIA Xander? Buffy goes to kick Angelus and his arm goes up to block it. ANGELUS Buffy, wait-- She delivers a swift kick to one of his legs. He cries out and crumples. BUFFY Cordelia, get Xander out of here! She kicks Angelus in the side and he rolls away, getting quickly to his feet. ANGELUS Buffy, it’s not what you think. I-- Buffy delivers three steady punches. BUFFY Were you gonna kill him? Is that it? Like you killed Ms. Calendar? Angelus ducks her next punch and manages to take a few side-steps to avoid a kick. He’s distracted by Cordelia leading Xander out of the cemetery. ANGELUS Cordelia… CORDELIA! Stop! It’s not-- He grunts as Buffy grabs him and tosses him into a nearby tombstone. It crumbles under the force and leaves Angelus winded. Buffy pulls out a stake and takes a few steps toward him. BUFFY I won’t let you hurt anyone else. Angelus scrambles to his feet, backing away. He turns and runs. Buffy gives chase. Angelus scales the stone wall, disappearing over the top. Buffy climbs up and peers over the wall, but there’s no sign of Angelus.

EXT. CEMETARY ENTRANCE -- NIGHT Cordelia supports Xander as they exit the cemetery. CORDELIA Almost there. Just take it easy. Willow runs out after them. WILLOW Guys? What’s going- Oh my God, Xander! What happened? CORDELIA There was a vampire. We… got separated from you guys and this vampire attacked me, so Xander jumped in. And then… Angel. WILLOW Angel? H-he’s here? CORDELIA Back there. Buffy was fighting him when we got out of there. Buffy walks over to them and Willow turns expectantly. WILLOW Buffy? Angel…? BUFFY Gone. He climbed the wall. Took off. Cordelia looks at Willow. CORDELIA Where were you? WILLOW Oh. I was hiding… in a mausoleum. I… thought I heard something so I… I hid. BUFFY Good thing you did. Buffy turns to Xander. BUFFY You okay, Xand? Xander studies her, frowning. XANDER Little worse for wear. BUFFY Did he say anything to you? Give any indication of what he might’ve been doing here? XANDER No, not really. Probably just wanted to rattle you, give you a scare. Buffy sighs, raking a hand through her hair. BUFFY Cordelia, can you drive Xander home? CORDELIA Of course. Cordelia and Xander head to Cordelia’s car while Buffy walks down the street with Willow. BUFFY You wanna hang at my house tonight? I don’t think any of us should be alone right now. Her voice fades as Angelus watches distantly from the shadows.

EXT. SUNNYDALE STREET -- NIGHT Buffy and Willow walk down the street, Willow hefting her bag onto her shoulder. WILLOW Wow. Sounds like you really kicked his ass. BUFFY I guess. WILLOW That’s a good thing, right? I mean, you scared him off so the rest of us could get out of there safe. BUFFY Yeah. I hope Xander’s okay. They walk quietly. Angelus follows distantly behind them. ANGELUS (to himself) Okay. Just find the right moment. Find the right moment, and say the right thing. WILLOW He didn’t… say anything to you? BUFFY I didn’t really give him much of a chance. WILLOW Right. No, not the time for chit-chat. ANGELUS Okay. Anytime now. Say something anytime. Buffy slows her pace, frowning. WILLOW What is it? BUFFY I don’t know… Angelus slows his pace. Buffy turns and he dives behind a shrub. Buffy studies the spot where he was standing. Willow follows her gaze. WILLOW Did you hear something? BUFFY No. I guess not. Buffy and Willow continue walking. Angelus gets clumsily to his feet and watches them go, slumping his shoudlers. ANGELUS Or you can do that. Damn it! He looks around uncertainly and turns to keep walking toward the cemetery.

Read part 2 here.

#Buffy The Vampire Slayer #angel the series #fanfiction #dingoffabtvs #dingohumanagain

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