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RiffTrax: A Guide to Christmas and Holiday Episodes

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Since its inception, RiffTrax has regularly visited the crazy world of Christmas movies and shorts because when you get down to it, Christmas is a crazy time and Santa’s such a rich concept that it’s easy to go completely off the rails with him. Here’s a look at all the various Christmas-related movies they’ve watched. Luckily, all of them are available on-demand, so you can buy them and download the entire movie with the audio already synced up.

A handful of the shorts were featured in previous editions of RiffTrax Live, but are also available on their own. Then there’s the Christmas Shorts-stravaganza, which not only featured a bunch of Christmas-based short films, but also a film about serving pork and some kind of competitive swimming event. Weird Al was there too! At the show…not…not the swimming event.

Like when I discussed the 30 Most Insane RiffTrax Shorts, I’m going to give both the lucid explanation of what each short or movie is supposed to be in a sane, reasonable world and what we actually get.

You can check out RiffTrax’s collection of Christmas movies and shorts right her.

“Now, come on. Let me show you the rest.” “No, really, I have to go, I…”

NESTOR THE LONG-EARED CHRISTMAS DONKEY (1977)

The Idea: Remember how great the Rankin/Bass stop-motion version of Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer was? It was such a classic that people watch every year as a holiday tradition. Expanding on that world, the same company released Nestor the Long-Eared Christmas Donkey, figuring they’d spin another classic out of a more religious context. In it, Nestor undergoes some hardships due to the massive size of his ears, but is chosen to help Joseph and the pregnant Mary make it to Bethlehem.

The Output: You remember how Rudolph went, right? He was teased for a bit for being different, but that led to him discovering lovable, memorable characters and getting into fantastic adventures before proving his worth and showing that his so-called deformity was really his greatest strength. Okay, now imagine that exact story, only remove the lovable, memorable characters.

Then take that part of the movie where he’s teased and stretch it so it makes up 95% of the story. Hell, just make the thing completely depressing. There. You have Nestor the Long-Eared Christmas Donkey.

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This is an earlier RiffTrax release, so the only one on it is Mike. Hearing one riffer can be a little off-putting, but it’s worth it to see such a terrible rewrite of Rudolph without any of the magic. Oh, and spoilers for a 40-year-old holiday special, but Nestor ends up becoming best buddies with the man who killed his mother and it’s never explained because it’s at the very end of the movie. I guess Jesus being born really packed a punch.

“Introducing Chewbacca’s family!” “And many scream-yourself-awake nightmares!”

STAR WARS HOLIDAY SPECIAL (1978)

The Idea: In a time when Empire Strikes Back was far from release but the studios wanted to keep Star Wars in the public’s mind so they’ll keep buying their merchandise, it was decided to bring the cast in for a prime-time holiday special in the ’70s. Based on Han Solo trying to get Chewbacca home to his family in time for Wookie Life Day, the special features everyone from Luke to Vader with special guest stars Art Carney and Bea Arthur. It also has an animated short that gives us the very first appearance of Boba Fett!

The Output: Whenever I try to explain the Star Wars Holiday Special to someone who has never seen it or even heard of it, I point out that George Lucas, known for being a pretty greedy guy, refused to make money off of it in any way. He would never release the Holiday Special in any format because he was that disgusted by it. I don’t blame him because if not for Mike, Kevin, and Bill, I wouldn’t have been able to sit through it myself.

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Each segment appears to be more horrific than the last. We get huge stretches of time where Chewbacca’s family just kind of meanders around their household, growling at each other, with no subtitles. There are “comedy” and musical bits that are just a slog to sit through. One such bit appears to be Chewbacca’s father Itchy watching virtual reality porn. Not even kidding. Mark Hamill is covered in enough makeup to put the studio in the red from their cosmetics budget, Harrison Ford looks like he’d rather be doing anything else, Carrie Fisher is pretty high, and Bea Arthur sings lyrics over the “Cantina Song.” It’s a glorious Hell.

As the cherry on top, the version they watch has all the 1970s commercials completely intact. One of which features Schneider from One Day at a Time!

“He always has loads of fun.” “Why, here he is in Dallas in 1963!”

A VISIT TO SANTA (1963)

The Idea: A couple of kids send a letter to Santa Claus, asking to visit him at the North Pole before Christmas. Santa decides it’s a good idea and has them picked up and brought over in a magic helicopter. He shows Dick and Ann around his home and talks for a moment about how he spreads yuletide cheer through Thanksgiving parades. Then they ride around on a rocket and look at Santa’s prized train set.

The Output: It’s summed up perfectly when Kevin notes, “Interesting. I didn’t know that David Lynch made a Christmas film.” The whole production is very creepy, reminiscent of Manos: Hands of Fate’s cinematography. With all the many Santas that the RiffTrax guys have seen over the years, this one is probably the least jolly (that is, until A Song for Santa). He comes off as a deranged murder suspect trying to lay low with a disguise. In fact, everything about this short is suspect, like the elves, who are really just little kids in miniskirts.

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Dick and Ann only have a few lines in the opening and thank God for that. We can understand maybe five percent of anything they have to say.

“Ah, good. Finally, on the silver screen, the be-top-hatted spider-dog of my nightmares. Unless…I’m just having another nightmare.”

CHRISTMAS TOYSHOP (1945)

The Idea: As two kids are put to bed on Christmas Eve, their father tries to set up the tree and all the gifts downstairs. He stumbles around and the ruckus makes them think – in their dreams – that Santa just fell down the chimney. Sharing the same dream, they go downstairs and greet Santa. The little girl asks about where the toys come from and Santa tells the story of a magical toy shop. From here, it becomes a cartoon about living toys having fun when the shop owner is gone.

The Output: The animated sequence is your usual old, black and white cartoon fare. A bunch of toys do stuff for several minutes, including a forgettable musical number, then a plot suddenly happens at the end. Here, it’s an evil spider showing up to try and kidnap a toy of Little Miss Muffet, causing the toy soldiers to come to her rescue.

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The Mystery Picture on the National Lampoon’s Christmas Vacation DVD Cover

By Daniel Langrish-Beard

Somehow, the live-action segment is supposed to be a framing device and everything about the cartoon is being related by Santa. Why he’s telling them about a spider kidnapping a toy, I don’t know, but there you go.

This won’t be the last questionable piece of Santa Claus storytelling. We’ll get to that in a bit.

“Wow. I have literally never seen anything as small and of no account as this tree.”

CHRISTMAS RHAPSODY (1947)

The Idea: A lonely, tiny tree sits in the middle of the snowy forest, feeling itself worthless and meaningless. To its surprise, it’s taken in by a family and set up in their cabin. They decorate it for Christmas and give it the meaning it had been wanting for all this time.

The Output: You know, this one is almost decent, at least in concept. The basic Christmas moral buried in there is rather touching. Too bad the short has two things working against it. One, it’s really boring. Two, the tree is such a sad sack and won’t shut up about how much it sucks. It keeps explaining itself as being small and of no account, which will get your eyes rolling after the eighth time it repeats that.

There’s really nothing else to talk about here. Well, maybe the father’s creepy scalp.

“I need you tonight.” “WHOA!”

RUDOLPH THE RED-NOSED REINDEER (1948)

The Idea: No, not the Rankin/Bass cartoon we all know and love. This animated short is a completely different adaptation of the Rudolph song, predating the stop-motion special by decades. Rudolph is still made fun of for his nose and Santa needs his help due to a foggy night, but don’t expect to see his elf dentist buddy or the abominable snowman.

The Output: Other than the missing characters (which isn’t a criticism, since this came first and those guys weren’t mentioned in the song), the biggest difference in this telling is Rudolph’s status. The Rankin/Bass version made sense in that Santa had a bunch of reindeer living at the North Pole, so of course Santa would come across Rudolph. Here, Rudolph lives in a reindeer civilization. According to this short, animals live like humans around the globe in different sectors (ie. a rabbit-only town) and the only known human being is Santa Claus.

Doctor Who: revisiting Steven Moffat’s Christmas specials

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Oh, man. Maybe this is a sequel to Peace on Earth. Pretend you know what I’m talking about.

Another high spot is Rudolph’s mother, who is for some reason shown completely dressed, walking on her hind legs, and having almost human proportions. The riffers all find themselves sexually confused by this.

“Watch this!” “I saw Bam Margera do this on Jackass!”

A CHRISTMAS DREAM (1946)

The Idea: A little girl is happy to receive a few new toys on Christmas. So happy that she discards her older, rattier doll. As she goes to sleep that night, Santa decides to teach her a lesson about the value of one’s belongings by giving her a dream where her old doll comes to life to plead for her attention.

The Output: This is live-action and the doll is depicted with stop-motion animation. To this short’s credit, the animation is incredibly well done, especially for such an old film. It’s also really horrifying and the riffers don’t stop harping on that. The little girl is so excited when any sane person would be in a fear coma.

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Also, Santa can make you dream whatever he wants. I didn’t know that. That’s disturbing and a far bigger threat than getting coal in your stocking. All he needs are elves in the background, playing jump rope.

“One, two…you better not shout… Three, four…you better not cry… Five, six…you better not pout… Seven, eight…I’m telling you why…”

“Happy Christmas to all and to all a good night!” “Well, Happy Christmas to the one household I visited! The rest of the planet can ram it for all I care!”

THE NIGHT BEFORE CHRISTMAS (1946)

The Idea: We all know the famous poem A Visit from St. Nicholas by Clement Clarke Moore. This is another adaptation of it, though without the bickering cartoon mice. Rather, we see Santa as he visits a home, delivers gifts, and flies off into the night.

The Output: This is one of the most reasonable of all the entries here because there isn’t much you can do to screw up that classic. The only questionable stuff is how rather than have any kind of special effects budget, shots of Santa flying off on his sleigh are done through animation and go back to live-action in close-ups. Otherwise, it’s fairly forgettable amongst the other freaky shorts and movies they watch.

Still, it is a dick move of Santa to give one kid a tiny toy shovel for Christmas. Who the hell would want that?

“Ladies and gentlemen, for the first time in 150-plus movies, RiffTrax has nothing to say.” “Just this…enjoy.”

SANTA AND THE ICE CREAM BUNNY (1972)

The Idea: Santa is stranded in the sands of Florida. His sleigh is partially buried in the sand and his reindeer have abandoned him. He calls over a group of children to help him get the sleigh out of the ground, but to no avail. Santa insists that they don’t give up and relates their situation to the story of Thumbelina (or Jack and the Beanstalk). Luckily, the kids know one magical creature who just might be able to help Santa and make sure Christmas is saved.

The Output: God, where do I even start with this? It’s hard to sit through, but this is one of the most must-see riffs.

The Ice Cream Bunny is practically a mascot for RiffTrax (sorry, Disembaudio). It’s bad in every way. It’s an inconceivable mess. The Santa parts are embarrassing to watch and make you feel really uneasy in its disturbing, low-rent cheesiness. Then you’re rescued from it thanks to Santa telling the story of Thumbelina. By that I mean that they play a completely separate movie with a higher budget that has absolutely nothing to do with the Santa situation. This “flashback” is 50 minutes long and the entire movie is an hour and a half, so yeah. The Thumbelina stuff is also creepy to watch, if not boring at times, but it’s worth powering through.

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Once we return to Santa, we’re finally introduced to the Ice Cream Bunny. Words cannot do this justice. It’s a guy in a terrible rabbit suit driving a fire truck filled with kids when the guy most certainly can’t see what he’s doing and almost runs over a dog. There’s this really unsavory feeling watching what’s supposed to be a delightful movie for children and Bill kills it by adding a horrifying, demented laugh whenever the Ice Cream Bunny is on screen.

RiffTrax has two different versions of the movie. One is the classic VOD released in 2010, where the movie takes a lengthy break to show us the stuff with Thumbelina. In 2015, they did a RiffTrax Live edition with a different print of the movie. In it, the Thumbelina stuff was replaced with Jack and the Beanstalk. Comparing the two is a no-brainer as Jack and the Beanstalk is far more entertaining on its own and is 70s as hell. Plus the RiffTrax Live version includes several bonkers shorts beforehand.

“The sequel to The Ice Cream Bunny’s Amos and Andy!”

SANTA CLAUS’ PUNCH AND JUDY (1948)

The Idea: Santa visits a large group of children (orphans?) and delivers their presents, but one of them asks for a Punch and Judy puppet show. Santa uses his magic to summon such a performance to the delight of the children.

The Output: Have you ever watched a Punch and Judy show? Yeah, nobody goes out of their way to see one. There’s nothing all that wrong with the kids, Santa, or the setup in this short. The focus is just on what I imagine to be a skilled exhibition of puppeteering that hasn’t aged well. Just a puppet beating his girlfriend with a stick, as well as various animals, and we get a break where two minstrel show puppets have a boxing match. So yeah, fun for children.

“He’s like some horrible Soviet Bloc animated version of Santa.” “His nose looks like an infected thumb!”

THE SHANTY WHERE SANTY CLAUS LIVES (1933)

The Idea: A poor little boy live alone and in the cold, doomed to freeze on Christmas Eve. Luckily, he’s discovered by Santa, who takes him away to his own home, where the kid sees all sorts of wonders.

The Output: First thing’s first, the Santa Claus in this movie is rather horrific, one of the scariest of all the Santas in all of these movies, which is impressive for a cartoon. Despite being the title character, he only gets about a minute of screen time anyway. The rest is either the kid being depressed and cold or the kid watching yet another old-timey cartoon scenario where the toys just kind of do stuff and sing for several minutes until something resembling a plot happens at the end. In this case, the tree accidentally catches on fire and the boy has to help put it out.

The most striking thing about this short is the never-ending parade of racism. Lot of uncomfortable toys lounging in the shanty where Santy Claus lives.

“Ooooooh, I’m full grown, all right!” “Kids, if you ever hear someone say that in that voice, call the cops.”

MAGIC CHRISTMAS TREE (1964)

The Idea: A child befriends a witch around Halloween and is given a seed that will eventually sprout a magical Christmas tree. Not only does it talk, but it will also grant him three wishes! Unfortunately, the power goes to the boy’s head and his poor decisions put Christmas in some serious danger.

The Output: While it may not be the absolute best RiffTrax, it’s the best kind of bad movie for them to tackle. The movie is incredibly strange, but it gradually builds on it. In the beginning, it’s almost straightforward, but it gets more and more questionable as the minutes pass. For instance, there’s a scene where the main character’s family leaves to go Christmas shopping on Christmas Eve. The boy makes a wish to have ultimate power for a limited time (why a limited time? I don’t know) and uses his power to make it day and then goes around messing with people who are doing their usual daily routines, not at all aware that it’s supposed to be the night before Christmas.

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The Best Alternative Christmas movies

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By the end, we have a greed-loving giant living in the mountains showing up out of nowhere. What Christmas movie isn’t complete without a greed-loving giant living in the mountains showing up out of nowhere?

“And in the second place, ice cream break was over more than an hour ago!” “Ah, kids love it when furries have labor disputes.”

SANTA’S ENCHANTED VILLAGE (1964)

The Idea: As a sequel/extension of the Mexican Santa Claus movie (more on that later), we see a village where Santa’s various helpers get toys ready for the holiday season. Unfortunately, Stinky the Skunk would rather take extremely long breaks, much to the chagrin of his supervisor, the Ferocious Wolf.

The Output: By “sequel” I mainly mean that the guy who made this had the rights to the Santa Claus movie and would occasionally toss in clips from it. The original footage in this short (and the two that follow) are incredibly low-rent, mainly in the form of the mascot costume characters and their terrible voices. Most notable is how the Ferocious Wolf is accompanied by loud, obnoxious accordion noises whenever he walks around. Which is a lot.

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One of the true highlights is when the Ferocious Wolf visits Santa’s office and rants about how Stinky the Skunk is such a bad employee. Santa’s reaction is to just sit there the entire time, nodding and laughing his ass off like a lunatic. Which reminds me, the Ferocious Wolf complaining about his ulcer is – I kid you not – his catchphrase.

“Hey! Right here at this moment, this officially became the craziest thing ever made by man.” “Seriously, Merry Christmas, everyone. Merry Christmas.”

SANTA CLAUS AND HIS HELPERS (1964)

The Idea: The Ferocious Wolf, Stinky the Skunk, and Puss’n Boots get in a big argument and Santa is none too pleased. Watching from space along with his good friend Merlin, Santa decides to go give his angry employees a visit and set them straight.

The Output: This installment of the Santa’s Village of Madness Trilogy is easily the least coherent. Seeing the costumed characters is complete bedlam and even the riffers give up in awe of the chaos. Not only is half of the footage of this short taken directly from Santa Claus, but a couple minutes are taken from Santa’s Enchanted Village! But hey, no angry accordion music this time, so that’s something.

“Whoa! He’s got a face like a squid’s anus!”

SANTA’S MAGIC KINGDOM (1966)

The Idea: Puss’n Boots is the head of security in Santa’s Village and he confronts a visitor. It turns out to be a princess on the run from a giant ogre that’s out to destroy Santa Claus and end Christmas! Puss needs to gather an army together to face this beast and save Christmas.

The Output: So this giant ogre? They never actually show him. Well, except for a shot of a lame dinosaur statue that we see for a second. I don’t know if that’s actually supposed to be the ogre. Whatever. Otherwise, the narrative is just another fever dream filmed with the tiniest budget. Merlin ends up being the one to challenge the big monster and what a fight it is! I think. They never actually show any of it. We just hear them off-screen while everyone else reacts. The elves couldn’t even do that right.

“Ladies and gentlemen, a third-string ballerina on painkillers.”

SANTA CLAUS AND THE FAIRY SNOW QUEEN (1951)

The Idea: A six-inch tall woman called the Snow Queen visits Santa on Christmas Eve, but is annoyed to see him sleeping in her presence. As a joke, she gives life to a handful of nearby toys. The various toys dance and laugh, but are reluctant to be given off to children as lifeless gifts. Not only have they taken to being alive, but they’ve also grown attached to each other. Whatever will Santa and the Snow Queen do?

The Output: This whole thing is incomprehensible and it doesn’t help that the Snow Queen has a really thick European accent that you can barely cut through. The real star of this short is the Candy Lion. See, while you have understandable, recognizable toys hanging around like a toy soldier, a ballerina, a ragdoll, a Jack-in-the-box, and so on, you also have the Candy Lion. Described as a half-mummified Chewbacca, the dead-eyed toy stands around in the background for the most part and gets one memorable line when he excitedly brags to Santa, “I can eat candy!”

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The Jack-in-the-box is easily one of the more annoying characters in RiffTrax history, though. Goddamn that repeating freak. This is all hosted by Snoopy, a high-pitched “brownie” (which appears to be no different than an elf) who I’m not sure if I’m repulsed by or attracted to.

“My finger isn’t tired!” “Oh, God! What is he about to do?!”

SANTA CLAUS CONQUERS THE MARTIANS (1964)

The Idea: On Mars, children have become joyless and robotic due to the planet’s lack of fun and insistence on constant studying and good behavior. The only thing that brings them any happiness is watching Earth programs, such as news on this Santa Claus character. Afraid for the future of his planet, Kimar and his crew visit Earth to kidnap Santa (and eventually two children) and bring him to Mars so that he can spread joy to their world…whether he wants to or not!

The Output: While this movie may be on the IMDB bottom 100, I consider it a guilty pleasure. As I discussed when speaking with Kevin Murphy, I think at its core, Santa Claus Conquers the Martians is a great concept for a children’s movie. It has its own unique whimsy. Unfortunately, it’s hurt by bad, hammy acting and the kind of bad costuming and effects you’d expect from a movie like this.

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Santa Claus Conquers the Martians is the only RiffTrax movie to also be featured on Mystery Science Theater 3000, Cinematic Titanic (the offshoot where the other MST3K cast members went off to), and RiffTrax, all with their own unique set of jokes. There’s a good reason for that. The movie is incredibly silly and ripe for mockery, yet at the same time completely and utterly watchable. The RiffTrax version features the movie in its entirety, rather than the abridged version from MST3K.

“Don’t you wish that your school bus looked like this?!” “Packed with bearded lunatics and flanked by grim clowns? No!”

FUN IN BALLOON LAND (1965)

The Idea: A little boy goes to sleep and dreams of a world of giant balloon people and other children to play with. After getting into a variety of adventures, he and a little girl watch a holiday parade filled with all sorts of balloon floats.

The Output: This 1960s nightmare is the perfect B-side to Santa and the Ice Cream Bunny. The first third of it is complete and utter nonsense. This little boy would just wander around a warehouse, stumble upon some kind of big balloon statue, someone would voice said statue by shouting from across the room off-screen, and then it would move on to a completely unrelated scene. There is a group of ballerinas who show up to dance for absolutely no reason. At one point the boy is inexplicably walking around in only a gold lamé diaper and Kevin wonders, “Is this movie even legal?” The boy proceeds to hit on mermaids and plays hide-and-seek with a lobster thing.

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Then it becomes old footage of a holiday parade that lasts about a half hour and has more clowns and majorettes than I have ever seen in one place at one time. It’s pretty dry, but the woman narrating it is completely insane and the RiffTrax crew show absolutely no mercy in painting her as some kind of drunk lunatic. She ends the movie with a “guessing game” where she keeps changing the rules every three seconds and you don’t even know what the hell is going on.

“Still going? If this was a game of Ski Free, the Abominable Snowman would have gobbled them up hours ago.”

ZLATEH THE GOAT (1973)

The Idea: A boy named Aaron reluctantly has to bring his family’s prized goat Zlateh to the butcher in order to sell her. During the journey, the weather takes a horrible turn and Aaron and Zlateh are forced to hide out under a pile of hay for several days. The two form a bond that allows them to survive the ordeal.

The Output: This Hanukkah story is absolutely miserable. Despite being just a short, it feels like it goes on forever and pads itself out with many shots of the kid having to drag the goat through the snow. And you know how I just said that they form a bond that allows Aaron to survive? Yeah, that’s from him drinking milk directly from Zlateh. It’s nasty.

“It’s fun to make things of sugar. And they are good to eat.” “WHAT?!” “Just grab a slice of instant diabetes, kids!”

AT YOUR FINGERTIPS: SUGAR AND SPICE (1970)

The Idea: The At Your Fingertips series is all about arts and crafts using stuff around the house. Here, we see how you can use sugar to create festive Christmas ornaments. Through creativity and hard work, you can make decorating a blast!

The Output: The At Your Fingertips series is all about spending way too much time on ugly and insane crap that really looks far from fun. This Christmas-related one is no different. Things come off as less festive and more gross and unpleasant. And that’s before the children start eating pure sugar. Ugh.

“If she’s already sleeping, we might be able to see her dreams.” “We’re in, children. Let’s get ready to begin our Christmas inception. I won’t lie to you: we might have to shoot our way out.”

SANTA CLAUS (1959)

The Idea: In a Mexican adaptation of the Santa Claus myth, we see the jolly one as he spends the night delivering presents. Some children get extra focus for the movie, including a little boy whose parents don’t seem to have time for him and a poor, little girl who only wants a doll to play with. As Santa tries to make right by them, he’s vexed by Pitch, a devil sent to ruin Christmas for everyone.

The Output: This is another MST3K double-dip, but for good reason. It’s delightfully insane. See, Santa is already a nutty concept, but we get into Drunk History territory here where the people behind the movie don’t quite get it and his mythology gets even stranger in translation.

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By Jim Knipfel

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Did you know Santa is good friends with Merlin the Magician? Did you know that he has a burly blacksmith working for him? Or that Santa lives in space with little children from all around the world doing his bidding? Or that he regularly fights the minions of Satan?

The MST3K version might be better, but it is nice getting to see the full cut of the movie for once.

“Who and what are you?” “I am—“ “Meryl Streep. I am good in everything.”

A CHRISTMAS CAROL (1952)

The Idea: The Alastair Sim version of A Christmas Carol, otherwise known as Scrooge, is considered an outright classic. Perhaps the greatest telling of the Charles Dickens story of a hateful rich man realizing his own humanity thanks to being visited by ghosts. Here, we get to see the movie in its abridged form and get through it in minutes.

The Output: Listen, A Christmas Carol has a pretty solidified structure. Scrooge is a dick, his dead friend warns him, he gets led around by three other ghosts, and he comes out of it a better person. Abridging it simply does not work. Basically, Marley introduces him to the Ghost of Christmas Present and that’s enough to make a change. Bridget puts it best: “They edited the Dickens out of the movie!”

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This short is part of Have a Mary Jo Christmas and a Bridget New Year, which is done by Mary Jo Pehl and Bridget Nelson instead of the usual riffers. It features some non-riff stuff in-between this and the following short…

“Man, I wish I hadn’t gone commando today…”

THE LITTLE LAMB (1955)

The Idea: During storytime, a group of children ask to hear a story about an animal while one girl wants to hear a story about Jesus. Their mother figures to cover both by telling the story of Jesus’ birth from the point of view of three shepherds. While two of them brave strong winds to save a lost, little lamb, an angel appears to them to tell them about the birth of Christ. They and their curmudgeonly associate go off to find the new king.

The Output: Honestly, this one isn’t all that bad, really. It’s a pretty solid production and the only part that really gets a rise out of Mary Jo and Bridget is when they warm baby Jesus’ body by laying the lamb next to him. It’s not the most memorable little short, but it’s fine for what it is.

Plus I’m always distracted by how much the guy playing Joseph looks like CM Punk. It’s downright uncanny in some shots.

“A real child’s actual tears! I know I’m ready for Christmas!”

I BELIEVE IN SANTA CLAUS (1984)

The idea: Simon is a bullied child whose parents have been kidnapped by African soldiers. Desperate to get them back, he and a friend sneak off from a school field trip and board a plane in hopes to find where Santa Claus lives. Alongside a Christmas Fairy (who looks an awful lot like Simon’s kindly teacher), Santa goes to Africa to rescue the captives. Meanwhile, the children are captured by an ogre.

The Output: Did any of that sound lucid? Because this French film is out there, man. It’s cute, but it also decides that being a kid’s movie means it doesn’t have to be logically coherent. You know, even though there’s an entire plot thread about African warlords kidnapping people. Kids like that stuff, right?

You know that, “I’m the captain now!” part of Captain Phillips? Imagine Tom Hanks replaced with Santa in that scene and you’re just hitting the tip of the iceberg of how bizarre this Christmas film is.

“Monkeys, you know, are very much like human beings in many ways. And sometimes they do the very same things that we do.” “Why, here’s a monkey Black Friday stampede!”

SANTA CLAUS’ STORY (1945)

The Idea: It begins with Twas the Night Before Christmas and ends with the, “Yes, Virginia, there is a Santa Claus,” speech. In-between, Santa tells two children about how monkeys also celebrate Christmas and have their very own Monkey Santa Claus.

The Output: Monkey Santa Claus. Really.

This short is barely being held together by a narrative. They basically have a bunch of footage of monkeys and chimps doing stuff and since this includes 20 seconds of a chimp wearing a horrifying Santa Claus mask and costume, they decide that there’s a Monkey Christmas and write everything around that.

Somehow, this was the sanest thing shown at the RiffTrax Live for Santa and the Ice Cream Bunny.

“Bricks on his face. Sure! He’s a dragon.” “All dragons have bricks on their face.”

THE TALE OF THE CUSTARD DRAGON (1965)

The Idea: Ogden Nash’s poem for children comes to life. A little girl has a pet dog, cat, mouse, and dragon. The dragon, named Custard, is a bit of a coward and only wants to be let alone. But then on one Christmas Eve, when his friends are attacked by an evil pirate, Custard has to stand up and save their presents.

The Output: The poem is acted out via a handful of kids in little Halloween costumes, including Custard being a dragon with a brick facemask. The short takes place in somebody’s den and aesthetically, the whole thing is a weird mess. Custard also straight-up murders the pirate, which makes sense on the page, but feels a bit off the reservation when we see a child viciously attacking an adult in a lame costume.

“AAAAAHHHH! Hannibal Lecter’s Christmas trees!” “Good God, he’s keeping them alive!”

THE CHRISTMAS TREE (1975)

The Idea: This short tells us the story of three pine trees who are cut down and go through the process of becoming Christmas trees. This means being sold, being decorated, enduring Christmas, and, sadly, being discarded. Shown in live-action, the trees are portrayed by mimes in tree costumes and facepaint.

The Output: It’s cute, but also bewildering. With zero dialogue, we watch these three guys mug at each other while Christmas stuff happens around them. As strange as it is by default, it loses its mind in the final minutes when we see the trees thrown in the garbage as they start to die. Not only do the trees-with-faces die, but we get to see their trees-with-faces ghosts fly up into the sky.

Tree ghosts. Yup.

“GAH! His face looks like a series of horrible wounds!” “That just started healing.” “What are the dots..?!”

SANTA’S CHRISTMAS CIRCUS (1966)

The Idea: Hey, kids! It’s time for Whizzo the Clown! This local TV clown has a special show in store for everyone as he and his audience of kids play around and pretend to be circus performers! Then they check out some motorized Christmas-based decorations before getting ready for the main event: riding a magic carpet and visiting Santa himself!

The Output: This one’s best summed up right after the opening credits end. As Whizzo walks out and mumbles loudly like he’s having an episode, Mike laughingly wonders if they’ve gone too far, knowing that the three of them are about to sit through some rough shit. While Whizzo certainly has energy and some kind of charisma, he’s also the poster boy for why people are frightened of clowns without having to go the easy serial killer route. No, he’s a friendly and jokey clown, but he’s also completely horrifying to look at.

This low-budget affair not only features Whizzo’s catchphrase of, “Now I have that to worry about,” but also the catchphrase of one girl in the audience loudly coughing throughout the hour. It’s incredibly uncomfortable to sit through.

“Yeah… Celebrate the nativity… That’s what daddy likes…”

GIFTS FROM THE AIR (1937)

The Idea: A poor boy wanders through the snow, enduring Christmas Eve without food, family, or toys. He comes across a toy store where a dancing toy soldier annoys the store owner enough to have him thrown out. The boy takes the soldier in to his humble home and his good deed is rewarded as the toy soldier happens to know how to summon Santa Claus himself!

The Output: Dancing toy cartoons with poor kids is nothing new for RiffTrax, but this one is certainly unique enough to be a must-watch. The moment Santa delivers the toys to the little boy, it becomes complete and utter madness. It’s a bunch of bizarre toys who talk like what appears to be 1930s celebrities. Like there’s a goat that sings like Bing Crosby, so even though I know who Bing Crosby is, that doesn’t make the toy goat make any more sense.

Movies

MST3K Turkey Day: The Long History of Mystery Science Theater 3000 and Thanksgiving

By Gavin Jasper

Culture

Best Holiday Gifts for Geeks in 2020

By Chris Cummins

The highlight is when a Santa Jack-in-the-box pops out and tells another toy something so indistinct that Mike notes, “‘How the hell are you, scramble puss? Smelly Christmas to you,’ is what I heard.”

“Well. This place looks cozy. I LIVE HERE NOW!”

SANTA CLAUS’ WORKSHOP (1930s)

The Idea: Once again, we get to see how Santa Claus performs his duties. From his home in the North Pole to the home of a nice middle-class family, we see Santa get letters from kids, fly on his sleigh, and deliver the presents themselves. We also get a look at the family in question, who celebrate the holidays via singing a lovely rendition of “O Come All Ye Faithful.”

The Output: It’s your usual fare on this one and not too much that sticks out. That’s not to say that it’s meant to be skipped, as Kevin singing “Pretty Woman” over “O Come All Ye Faithful” makes this worth the dollar.

The one part of the short that makes it seem off is the revelation towards the end that Santa doesn’t simply fly across the world to deliver presents in one go, but instead flies back and forth for every single household. I mean, Santa can only carry so many presents in that sack of his, right?

“And so, they started out together, not realizing they were being followed.” “Well, they were easy to track…thanks to a long trail of spunk.” “DAMN IT, KEVIN!” “(Sorry.)”

SPUNKY THE SNOWMAN (1958)

The Idea: When a group of children write a letter to Santa, it’s up to their newly-created snowman Spunky to deliver it to Santa himself. Spunky and the little dog Jeff go on a quest, only to be opposed by a fox, an owl, and a wolf. Each creature wants to steal that letter and bring it to Santa, figuring that they can then steal the gifts. Spunky and Jeff are soon aided by a bear, but can even he keep them safe?

The Output: The guy’s name is Spunky. You know exactly what kind of jokes you’re getting the second you see that title.

Otherwise, it’s an animated story that tries to be whimsical, but is really just nonsense. It takes a bunch of Christmas cliches like magic snowmen, letters to Santa, talking animals, and desire for Christmas trees and badly pastes it all together into a confusing package.

“When you’re not shaking that over our heads to make us work, you can hobble around on it and enjoy your sciatica!” “A zinger from TV’s Frank!”

BEYOND CHRISTMAS (1940)

The idea: Three old rich men feel lonely during Christmas night and one comes up with an idea of throwing wallets with $10 bills out onto the sidewalk and inviting anyone kind enough to return them to enjoy dinner with them. The gambit pays off and leads to a romance between a Texan with a golden voice and a schoolteacher. Unfortunately, tragedy strikes the old men and they have to help the couple out from beyond the grave.

The output: This movie (originally known as Beyond Tomorrow) is actually pretty damn good. It’s a little sluggish in the second half, but it’s original, has some likeable characters, and never really gets too stupid. Even Bridget and Mary Jo find themselves getting invested in what’s going on when they should be telling jokes. With them, it feels more like you’re watching a movie together rather than just watching them rip it apart.

Personally, I think it would make for a better Christmas movie if the first act took place during Thanksgiving and built towards an ending happening during Christmas. Might have made the supernatural and uplifting stuff pop more.

“Seriously, what the Hell is going on with the mitten tree?!”

CHRISTMAS CUSTOMS NEAR AND FAR (1955)

The idea: As some children prepare for a Christmas pageant, one asks their teacher about the origins of the Christmas tree. This leads to her explaining how children from different countries celebrate Christmas in varying ways.

The output: As we all know, different = funny. While some of the customs might be normal, it doesn’t help that most of them are depicted by children dressing up as foreigners while standing in front of a curtain. So it’s a Christmas pageant within a short about the attempt to rehearse a Christmas pageant. Crazy.

Through the short, we get to see a weird kid dancing around in an elf hat, a Christmas tree covered in mittens, and a thing about how kids in China do a big ceremony to celebrate the events of Christ’s birth.

“Whaddya know?! Armed and dangerous!” “None of my quips are funny but some…make very little sense!”

JACK FROST (1997)

The idea: Not to be confused with the Michael Keaton family film from the same time, Jack Frost deals with a serial killer who escapes captivity, only to be seemingly vaporized by a chemical spill. In actuality, he survives as living snow and uses his new form to attempt revenge on the police officer that arrested him in the first place. Even when the officer and his family know what they’re up against, they don’t even know if there’s a way to stop him.

The output: I remember renting this baby back in the late-90s and, hoo boy, it’s a lot worse than I remembered it being. As a horror villain, Jack Frost wants to be like Freddy Krueger or Chucky, where he kills his victims while belting out memorable one-liners. The problem is, everything he says falls flat or is complete nonsense. He constantly stumbles on his own attempts at charisma.

Movies

MST3K: The Landmark Episodes of Mystery Science Theater 3000

By Gavin Jasper

Doctor Who: The Weird Anomaly of the 1965 ‘Christmas Special’

By Andrew Blair

Despite taking place in a town in winter that’s supposed to support the existence of snowmen and sledding and the like, it’s obviously taking place in a hot and sunny area with weak attempts to hide it.

It’s still better than the sequel, which was one of those cringeworthy “intentionally bad” gems.

“God… Oh no, have they been hypnotized?” “I…I…I think it might be a cult. They’re quietly chanting to that tree right now.” “…I think the tree might be marrying them.” “This is horrible!”

A CHRISTMAS FANTASY (1962)

The Idea: Two children admire their Christmas tree before falling asleep on the couch. As they dream of trees in the winter, Santa Claus appears to deliver gifts. It’s only just over five minutes, so there isn’t much happening here.

The Output: Despite its short runtime, this one really meanders. The way the kids stare at the tree like they’re about to be murdered by the Blair Witch. The endless shots of trees with no leaves on them.

The money shot of this short is when Santa shows up. Rather than just get a guy to wear a beard and call it a day, they instead have him wear a mask. It seriously looks like Leatherface is pretending to be Santa here and it’s HORRIFYING. As the guys put it, even Krampus is freaked out by this Santa.

“Santa, I wrote you a new song!” “Oh, good! A song! That’ll get me hammered.”

A SONG FOR SANTA

The idea: A trio of lost boys find themselves in a church and sit down to enjoy the warmth and chorus. One child nods off from the music and finds himself in Santa’s domain, where he offers to create a new and original Christmas song to delight Santa and his angels.

The output: The first half is normal enough, despite little of interest happening. Right when the Santa stuff happens, things get weird and creepy. Instead of elves, Santa has little girls dressed as angels and disturbingly leers at them like there’s no good that can come out of whatever’s happening. The boy’s attempt to write Santa a new song goes nowhere, as he just sings him an old song with the justification that, “I didn’t know this song until now, so it must be new to you too.”

This is another one of those oddball shorts or movies where there’s a framing device that’s forgotten about. The boy never wakes up from his dream or anything. It just ends with him hanging out with creepy Santa and his underage harem.

“Spirit…tell me if Tiny Tim will live.” “I see an empty chair in the chimney corner.” “Oh, so he not only lives, he walks?!” “No!” “It’s a Christmas miracle!” “No, no!”

A CHRISTMAS CAROL (1959)

The idea: I explained Christmas Carol earlier. Luckily, we finally have a version that’s the full story and not abridged like what Bridget and Mary Jo watched.

The output: This one’s by Coronet Films, meaning it’s old as hell and feels cheap. To its credit, despite running at just over 20 minutes, it tells the complete story without feeling rushed. It just feels a bit under budget, what with the limited quality in costumes and several sets being some props on a fog-filled sound stage.

Still, it’s A Christmas Carol and you have to go out of your way to do a bad job with that. This one’s still fairly watchable, even if the riffs are well-deserved.

“This isn’t so much A Miracle on 34th Street as it is A Horse Who Took a Dump on 34th Street.”

SANTA’S SUMMER HOUSE (2012)

The idea: A group of travelers get lost in a fog and end up at the doorstep of a kindly couple who allow them to stay in their mansion for a couple days. Little do these visitors realize that their hosts are none other than Santa Claus and his wife! The two try to use their wisdom and magic to improve the lives of these visitors and mend their relationships.

The output: This piece of shit is written and directed by the same guys who gave us A Talking Cat!?! It even takes place in the same house. At least with Talking Cat!?! there were two separate houses used. Here, it’s just the one.

It’s a hell of a lineup of actors. Mrs. Claus starred in RiffTrax target Honor and Glory. The egomaniac scientist guy in this movie is the JCVD knockoff from MST3K’s Future War. Santa himself is played by Robert Mitchum’s son. Even though he isn’t all that overweight and doesn’t have a beard, he’s still identified as looking a lot like Santa.

The movie is just bad dialogue said by bad actors, occasionally broken up by wipe edits featuring Christmas Clip-Art. It never reaches Talking Cat!?! levels of batshit, but it’s still stupid as a pile of rocks.

“They’re buying a brother?!”

CHARLIE’S CHRISTMAS SECRET (1984)

The idea: A young Seth Green plays Charlie, who feels that he’s outgrown Christmas. The commercialism does nothing for him and makes him feel hollow. At first, his instincts are vindicated when he comes across various others – a bitter, old woman, a poor single mother, and a scheming homeless man – but soon he realizes the meaning of Christmas by putting their needs first.

The output: Again, this one is halfway decent. All in all, it tells a really sweet story. It just happens to have a few awkward aspects to it. The whole thing has subtitles and they almost never match what’s actually being said, instead going for the simplest way of conveying whatever thoughts. Like instead of saying, “No thank you, I’m not hungry right now,” it would just say, “No.”

The most questionable part of this special, and something that I’m glad is called out by the riffers, is that Charlie apparently has to buy his own Christmas gifts. Part of the plot is that he has his eye on a stereo and instead of asking Santa for it or having his parents buy it for him, he has to save up the money from his paper route, get the stereo, and then have his mother wrap it and place it under the tree.

What the Hell?

“No. No way. There’s no such thing as Santa Claus. You’re just someone in a Santa suit.” “That’s why YOU never get anything for Christmas!” “Also, ’cause you made Feeders!”

FEEDERS 2: SLAY BELLS (1998)

The Idea: Previously, aliens invaded and feasted on a handful of confused and horrified Earthlings. Now a second UFO has arrived to conquer again, this time with its aliens creeping around and causing havoc through a suburban town. As one family gets ready for Christmas, they gradually come to realize how doomed they truly are.

The Output: RiffTrax was kind of slick on this one. On Halloween of 2019, they put out a riff for an utterly terrible low-budget piece of garbage called Feeders, which is about a bunch of laughable alien puppets invading Earth and killing some of the ugliest people to ever show up on film. Then, just a couple months later, they released a riff on its Christmas-themed sequel.

While I do suggest watching the first one, you won’t be too lost if you don’t. A survivor from the first movie goes about summarizing the first movie’s events in a series of loose framing devices that aren’t directly connected to the rest of the movie. It is pretty funny on its own, though, because a character who died in the first movie and is featured prominently in the flashbacks is played by the very same guy who is the protagonist of this movie.

Movies

The 16 Best Winter Horror Movies

By Daniel Kurland and 3 others

The Twilight Zone Marathon: A History of a Holiday Tradition

By Arlen Schumer

Not only does the climax take place on Christmas Eve, but Santa gets involved! Santa, who for some reason sounds like Homsar from Homestar Runner, is attacked by aliens (who look even worse than in the first movie) and proceeds to be the secret weapon in saving the world. He’s up there with the over-the-top boss character and the silliest-looking dead cat special effect in reasons why you should watch this one.

cnx.cmd.push(function() { cnx({ playerId: "106e33c0-3911-473c-b599-b1426db57530", }).render("0270c398a82f44f49c23c16122516796"); });

“And now I will read you this editorial.” “‘The Rent is Too Damn High!’ by Virginia O’Hanlon”

YES, VIRGINIA, THERE IS A SANTA CLAUS (1974)

The Idea: A young girl, teased by her classmates, wonders about the existence of Santa Claus. Various adults try to assure her of his existence despite admitting that they’ve never actually met him. She ends up writing to the newspaper and asks them. Egged on by an ambitious paperboy, the newspaper’s editor decides to publish his response for everyone to read.

The Output: Imagine watching a Peanuts special that features absolutely none of the Peanuts cast and is at about 75% the quality. That’s what this cartoon is. It’s also very dull, what with them trying to add a narrative to the whole newspaper editorial.

There is some real heart in it, but it doesn’t work as a whole. Probably my favorite part is when the “Yes, Virginia” editorial is read out loud. Despite the simplistic animation, the people’s reactions are emotional. Some kids seem humbled. Some adult couples embrace. Then all of the sudden, the local Irish cop character does a happy jig that probably cost them half the animation budget.

“All of this was in Dickens’ first draft, by the way. Even the goofy music.”

BANKS: THE MONEY MOVERS (1977)

The Idea: Due to his familiarity as a popular literary character, Ebenezer Scrooge (er, Arthur Scrooge?) is used as a window to help people learn about how banks work and why they are a worthwhile place to put your money. As a stand-in for the viewer, Scrooge learns about deposits, withdrawals, interest, loans, and other aspects of the business.

The Output: This is all explained via a version of Christmas Carol where Scrooge is taught a lesson by ghosts for being stingy with his money. Namely that he keeps it in his mattress. As Mike points out, it’s incredibly messed up that Marley is suffering eternal damnation because he never got a Wells Fargo account. I get trying to map your lesson onto a preexisting story, but think it through a little!

Also wild in this is how despite his old-timey appearance, Scrooge exists in modern times and is even seen using a check to buy a motor scooter. It’s completely inane, but at least the guy playing Scrooge seems like he’s having a fun time.

“The birth of Jesus Christ, ladies and gentlemen. That’s what it’s all about.”

ALIAS ST. NICK (1935)

The Idea: As a family of adorable mice get ready for Christmas, a scheming cat decides to get through their defenses by dressing up as Santa Claus, delivering their gifts, and then devouring them. His plan appears to be working extremely well, but there’s one mouse child who doesn’t believe in Santa and is quick to see through his disguise.

The Output: Although the guys don’t bring it up, it’s kind of odd that the kid who spends the whole cartoon being loudly and annoyingly skeptic about the existence of Santa Claus is absolutely 100% vindicated. There isn’t some kind of last-second evidence of Santa or something. It just ends.

Otherwise, this is just your average off-brand Looney Tunes cartoon. Probably the most bizarre moment is when the cat puts together his Santa costume and strips a doll naked to make his beard.

“And now the ancient tradition of giving a present to Tommy Lasorda.”

DECEMBER HOLIDAYS (1982)

The Idea: A narrator explains three of the bigger December holidays: Posadas, Chanukah, and Christmas. Through what appears to be fly on the wall footage, various families celebrate these holidays with their festive traditions. The narrator tries to educate the viewer on the families’ behavior and how it relates to the origins of the holidays.

The Output: I mean, that’s…pretty much it. There’s nothing wacky about this short. It’s pretty dull, but it’s a decent enough target for Mike, Bill, and Kevin. Sometimes you don’t need an Ice Cream Bunny to have a good time.

“When are you planning on going back to Florida?” “I think we’re going to wait until you have your baby. Just want to make sure you’re okay.” “And that you don’t give birth to a CGI vampire baby.”

BABY OF THE BRIDE (1991)

The Idea: A made-for-TV movie starring Rue McClanahan is actually the second in a trilogy about a dysfunctional, all-grown-up family filled with all kinds of interpersonal problems. In the previous movie, Margaret Becker married a much younger man and it took her children some time to adjust. Now things are getting crazy as not only is one of her daughters pregnant, but Margaret is pregnant too! She, her new husband, and her four kids all have to deal with a ton of drama, which all culminates at midnight mass!

The Output: This is another Bridget and Mary Jo installment and the two have a habit of tackling movies that aren’t so much the worst thing ever, but are too corny to ignore. That’s Baby of the Bride, pretty much. It’s very much a watchable movie, but it’s also a movie about Blanche from Golden Girls being pregnant, which is buried among all kinds of different subplots about how dysfunctional her family is. This family collectively gets divorced more than they get their cars’ oil checked.

The whole narrative is about eight months long because of the whole double pregnancy thing, but the climax is during Christmas Eve, so I guess it ultimately counts as a holiday movie. It just takes a long time to get there.

“I think this guy was a boss in Cuphead.”

THE SNOWMAN (1932)

The Idea: Somewhere in the arctic, an Inuit child and his animal friends enjoy their slightly-less-chilly summer by building a snowman. After happily putting it together and throwing snowballs at it, the snowman comes alive and goes on a rampage. Can the child destroy what he created before the malevolent snow beast goes too far?

The Output: This cartoon is all over the place and is one of the absolute best holiday shorts RiffTrax has commented on. So much crazy shit is compressed into this package. Snowman buttcracks? Check. Jimmy Durante impressions? Check. Penguin church? Check. I won’t even spoil how the snowman is defeated other than saying that it’s completely ridiculous and makes zero sense.

Still, it’s better than that Snowman movie with Harry Hole getting all the clues.

The post RiffTrax: A Guide to Christmas and Holiday Episodes appeared first on Den of Geek.

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chut-je-dors · 5 years ago

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Hello :) how is your evening going? If it isnt a Secret could you tell us how you and Puck write Ten Minutes? How you share writing? Who write what? How do you know who should write this and who should write what? Etc etc

oh it’s not a secret by any means!! we write it in the form of rp, i write john and she writes paul. we always discuss beforehand what’s going to happen in the scene, throw ideas around, and then start writing from our character’s point of views. we use a broadcast channel on telegram for that, and it ends up looking like this (THIS IS LIKE THE ULTIMATE FIRST DRAFT. IT’S NEVER GOOD. we write them quickly, sitting in the bus, in the train, before going to sleep etc.):

The Brrrrothel ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°), [23.11.17 15:47]"So, shall we try, then?" John said, pressing the vibrator against his cheek, until he rolled it to his lips, making sure to look as teasing as possible as he kissed the vibrating object slowly.

The Brrrrothel ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°), [23.11.17 16:09]Paul groaned at the sight, his throat dry at the way the small silver bullet vibrated heavily between John's fingers and let his head fall back onto the pillow as he nodded, biting down his lip.

"Fucking go for it," he breathed, already out of breath and tried to mentally prepare himself as he waited for John to begin, wanting everything the man had to offer him.

The Brrrrothel ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°), [23.11.17 16:21]John's lips spread into a chesire cat smile, and then, with a calculated, slow movement, he let the vibrator touch Paul's side with an almost curious look, as if to see what would happen if he touched Paul with the small toy.

Hah, of course he knew what was going to happen. But did /Paul/?

The Brrrrothel ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°), [23.11.17 17:23]Paul jerked and let out a surprised groan at the sudden and somewhat ticklish feeling as John gently pressed the toy against his side and shuddered as the vibrations spread over his side. It was slightly odd, but in a good way and Paul hummed as the vibrations spread through his body, it being more intense than he had expected.

basically we just... let the characters take the scene forward, to the certain fixed event. in this scene, our plan was basically just “john’s gonna use the bullet on paul, paul is gonna be SO sexually frustrated, :D” and the rest of it..... just came while we were writing. that’s the fun thing in it, i never really know what’s gonna come from puck’s side, and then i get to react to that with john.

When we’ve got enough for one chapter, we do a skype call and edit on a shared google doc. the editing process happens so we decide on whose pov we’re doing for the scene. then i start stitching the written text into one comprehensible pov and basically rewrite the whole thing, with puck following a page or so behind me, editing the sentence structures and word choices and adding descriptions and stuff, making it altogether more readable. after when the whole fic is done like that we reread it and fix whatever we think needs fixing, often at the same pace. we might be rewriting like, the same paragraph at the same time. we might add some stuff, more often delete things, and after when that’s done we send it off to our beta daisy, who reads it three times and fixes our mistakes -- and then it’s ready!

here’s what the final text looks like for the earlier bit:

“So, what do you say? Shall we give it a try, then?” John asked, already knowing the answer, and pressed the vibrator against his cheek. From there he traced it to his lips, letting it buzz against his bottom lip, before pressing a small kiss to the shiny vibrating tip, holding Paul’s gaze all the while. Much to his satisfaction, Paul let out a strangled groan at the sight and let his head fall back onto the pillow, nodding as he bit down on his lower lip.

“Fucking go for it,” he breathed, already out of breath, clearly wanting everything John had to give. All the hesitation he had felt during earlier sessions was gone, and replaced by nothing but pure lust.

John’s lips spread into a true cheshire cat smile as he saw just how ready Paul was. He dropped his hand, gently tracing the vibrating bullet down Paul’s side as he watched the man closely for a reaction. No two clients reacted the same way when he used this particular toy on them, and he couldn’t wait to see what it would do for Paul.

Paul jerked and let out a small surprised hum at what John knew was a slightly ticklish feeling. Chuckling at his reaction, he pressed the toy more firmly against him, and he could practically feel the tremors travelling deep through Paul’s body, making him shake from the inside out. He was jerking and shivering deliciously, and John could only stare at the way Paul’s eyes fluttered closed for a moment before they opened again, his gaze - dark and heavy with lust - firmly fixed onto John’s.

#writing the rp is one of the most entertaining things #also it's pain because if you're out of ideas..........#it's just a limbo of waiting on both sides #so yeah #this is how we work #thanks for the ask!!#@puck #if you got something to add... now's your chance #hahah #imaginebeatles #writing #cjd rambles #ten minutes #rp #anonymous #answered

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dafukdidiwatch · 5 years ago

Text

Part 286 End

brb, going to see star trek, got to go. will sum this up later.

Edit: I'm back. Went to Star Trek. Was pretty cool. Time to sum this up.

...gamzee's back. I guess he's done time traveling to make the hell villain now.

Everyone on the outside of space is coming in! I do want a 3-way Jack battle. That would be so cool.

But oh no! Jack Noir meeting evil Jade?? Jade having her own space powers being able to control anothet dog god with space powers??? I hope they break tbe spell before they meet.

Arquius.....i didnt miss the feelings of rage and pain that Equius subjected me to. So please....dont make me do through that again, just no. No.

The only,topoc,of some interest is comparing human and troll anatomy, but time/place/someone else.

(Though my theory on troll boobs is that female trolls get to keep their mid-pair legs under their shirts)

But Arquius/Hal being bros with Dave Sprite as sprite buddies and family brothers, that makes me happy. And I hope Dirk will feel encouraged to reach out to Dave for family. Striders really do put their brothers on a pedestal don't they?

Speaking of Strides, Dave and Jade. Dave is really serious about his mastery of time and not abusing it. Honestly, I'm proud and impressed. Sure, part of his refusal comes from his forced conga line of predestination and fear to return to it. But the other half is acknowledging that time shouldnt be changed and triffled with. That he doesnt want to be so callous and abuse his powers. I'm proud of him for his decisions.

And That Feferi has singled Dave out to be English's doom. No idea why Dave. Maybe as another Time player, or his Sword, or he is a Knight. I mean, we know that Jake is going to be the one to defeat English so this is still a team effort.

And Jade brings up the issue of her breaking up with Dave Sprite. And That both Daves are real Daves. Why must this be brought up and agree with me when Jade is evil? Le Sign.

And finally, the most Important Moment, John tackling John. That is the biggest thing here I think. Because even as a time player Dave couldn't do that. If he tried to he would have made an offshoot timeline.

No, what was important was that John tackled John before forming.

He knew he was going to be there. He knew, remembered that it lead to something bad, and prevented it from happening. Whether he actually got control of the juju and can control his poofing or not, he saw his chance and took it. Changed time without screwing with the Alpha Time Line.

As a master of time, Dave can probably tell John what he should or should not change. Because John can hop into any universe, not just the one he is at. So he can literally rewrite everything.

I think the most important thing I want to know is what happens to the second John. Does he disappear from the timeline? Do they merge so John gains memories of the other John like a hive mind? Can John do that to boost his mastery of the strange juju?

Really, John is what I want to know about.

#dafukblog #homestuck #act6.6 int1 #hs286 #hs286 end

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hamilton-one-shots · 6 years ago

Note

ChA is young (19-23). They don't want to die. They find ChB, and B offers them eternal breath, but for an unknown prize. That's how ChA finds themselves at their 97th birthday, still looking 19-23, in an abusive relationship with ChB and fully at B's will. But then ChC comes in the picture. Leaving you with full artistic freedom for everything that wasn't specified! (Which characters, what happens, etc) One important requirement: Make it strong. Make it hit me like a truck with bricks.

(TW: Rape attempt, rape mention, manipulation, blood mention, physical abuse mention

In the words of Dane Cook, “I did my best”. Also, I’m so sorry that this was in my inbox for so long, I promise this doesn’t ever happen.

Edited by: @daflangstlairde-writes)

John smiled as he followed his friends through the forest, embracing the beating sun between trees and welcoming the sudden noises. It was his turn this year to choose what they did on Spring Break, and what they were doing was a hike through the woods to a lake that was still a few miles out. He was having the time of his life, but his friends couldn’t help but complain every once in a while.

“There’s too many mosquitoes,” Maria grumbled, slapping her calf as another one of those blood sucking parasites landed on her.

“Well, they wouldn’t be such a problem if someone wasn’t too good for insect spray,” John reminded her.

Maria groaned. “I’m stuck between being sticky and being a buffet.”

Their third friend, Lafayette, gave a small laugh. “Well, it could be worse.. I just wish I could call my dad and let him know I’m not dead…” His poor father was a worrier and Lafayette worried about him in return. “At least he has papa to keep him from worrying too much..”

John nodded. “Yeah. But this’ll be fun, I promise.”

After another hour of walking, they decided to stop for lunch. John finished first and decided to take a quick bathroom break, walking a few feet into the trees and taking care of his business. There was just one problem.

When he was done, he tried to retrace his steps, but couldn’t seem to find the trail again, being met instead with tree after tree.

“Maria? Lafayette? Where are you guys?” he called out, cupping his hands around his mouth to make himself louder.

“John?” he heard Maria call back.

“Maria!” John followed the voice, relieved as he saw a patch of brightness. “I feel so stupid! I’ve been looking for you guys-” John cut himself off with a scream as he fell off a small cliff, dropping straight down and landing on his hands and knees. He hissed as he felt twigs digging into his skin and sat up on his knees slowly, two heads popping up above him.

“John?!” Lafayette called out. “Are you okay?!”

He looked up at them. “Yeah! Yeah, I’m okay..”

“Stay right there! We’re going to get help!” Maria called.

John nodded. “I have food and water for a while.. Please try and get back before dark..”

“Of course! Just stay right there. We’ll leave a trail with some of this rope,” Lafayette told him before he and Maria disappeared.

John sighed and stood up. At least, he attempted to.. He looked down and found his left foot caught in a pile of rocks, his right one only inches away from being in the same state.

“No..” John muttered to himself. “No, please, no..” he cried. He reached down and tried to pry his foot out, but to no avail. He kicked at the rocks, but they didn’t budge. He tried pulling down his sock and pulling off his shoe to make it easier, but all that did was make his skin drag against the rough stone. It wasn’t long before his skin gave out to the rocks and blood started leaking out of his ankle. John hissed, but maybe it was the edge he needed. He tried freeing himself again using his blood to try and make him slip out more easily, but all it did was make the bleeding worse.

That’s when John realized it was no use. He was trapped there.

He felt a sob rising in his throat, but he couldn’t just quit. No, John Laurens was a lot of things, but a quitter wasn’t one. He wrapped a spare shirt around his foot to slow the bleeding and mask the smell, then waited, trying to keep himself calm.

Maria and Lafayette were getting help.

He would be okay.

He had to be okay.

About an agonizing hour later, John heard footsteps approaching and looked back as best as he could, relief flooding his system as he saw a person walking towards him. “Sir, I’m stuck. Please, can you help me?”

The stranger grinned at that. “Why don’t I help myself, first?”

John’s eyes went wide as he watched the stranger kneel behind him and began kicking behind himself aimlessly, trying to keep the stranger away. “No!”

“It’s me or this rock, now hold still!”

John was sent into panic mode as his leg was pinned down. He reached for the knife on the side of his bag and began randomly slashing the air behind him, just trying to scare the man enough to get him away.

But John did more than that. The creep flopped back and screamed as he frantically tried to stop the bleeding from his chest.

John let out a sob and covered his ears until it was over, just trying to keep himself sane at that point. The second that everything went still, John knew he couldn’t stay there any longer. He sat up as best as he could and held the knife above his trapped foot, letting the adrenaline flow as he-

“Need some help, there?”

John looked up and found some other stranger standing a few feet away. “What the fuck do you want?” he cried out, his voice unsteady.

He tutted. “I’m just saying, that seems a little extreme. And you don’t know what kind of things that guy had in his blood.”

This stranger had a point.. “You didn’t answer my question,” John reminded, cautious.

The stranger sighed. “You want to live, don’t you? That sun’s going down fast. That other guy was your only hope besides me.” He sat down, cross legged a few feet in front of John. “I’m offering you the opportunity to live. Forever, at that. All I ask for is a little bit of your time.”

John shook his head. “Live forever?.. Yeah, right. Look, my friends are coming for me soon. If you try anything, I’ve seen your face. I know your voice.”

The stranger rolled his eyes. “Alright. Let me show you a bit of what I can do.” He got up and moved so he was near John’s foot, putting his arms up in mock defense as he held the knife near him. “If I hurt you, please, shove it through my heart. At least check this out, first.”

John thought for a second before lowering his arm. He watched as the stranger grabbed his leg. John winced a bit, the stranger’s grip was stronger than he thought, but it wasn’t too bad..

The stranger pulled the bloody shirt away from John’s leg. “See?”

John gasped and felt his heart skip a beat as his eyes were met with completely healed skin. He let out his breath and looked up at the stranger. “Who are you?..” he whispered. “What are you?..” he added after a beat.

“Just call me Charles,” the other stated. “And what I am is someone who can save your life, if you let me,” he stood straight up once more, entertained by John’s mixed emotions. “Or I could let you die.”

John looked at him with pleading eyes. “Whatever, just save my life!”

Charles grinned. “Done.”

John blinked and sat up, finding himself in a bed.. Was it all a dream? No.. This wasn’t his bed. He looked around and found a familiar face grinning up at him.

“Good morning, John. Welcome to the rest of your life.”

John felt his heart drop. “W… What?..”

“It’s what you agreed to,” Charles said in that sickeningly smooth voice. “I saved your life. In return, it belongs to me.”

His entire life? He’d have to spend it with this stranger? He could be a monster, for all John knew.

No. A monster was too kind. Charles casually managed to trick John into giving up everything he knew by coming to him at his most desperate.

“I hope you didn’t think you were getting saved for free,” Charles laughed.

“You tricked me..” John muttered before sitting up and repeating himself, much more panicked. “You tricked me!”

“I didn’t trick you,” Charles replied, smirk still stuck on his face and voice just as smooth and calm. The calm before the storm. “It’s your fault you didn’t ask what I wanted in return. If you’re good, I’ll even sweeten the deal. If I could ever find someone as beautiful as you, I’ll let you free. No tricks, I’ll rewrite your life and make it a happy one for you. Nobody, not even you, will know you were ever gone.”

John bit the inside of his cheek. That did sound good.. And, who knew, maybe it would only be for a little bit. Maybe five or ten years, at most, if Charles was really going to give John his life back… “Can I see my friends and family?..”

Charles shook his head. “Sorry, dear, but they already think you’re dead. Unless you want to see them grieving, I recommend you stay with me.”

John almost felt sick. Everyone thought he was dead… He might as well should’ve been, if this was the alternative, but it didn’t stop it from hurting. “Okay.. I’ll stay with you..”

“Great.” Charles grinned to himself as he got up, letting John stay where he was. Humans were so naive. Sure, Charles planned on following through with his promise, but John did seem to miss one important word. If.

And that’s how John found himself many years later, woken up by Charles under the bedsheets, an incredibly rare moment saved for special occasions.

“Happy birthday, baby,” Charles purred as he emerged from beneath the sheets, wrapping his arms around John’s waist. “So, tell me, what does it feel like being 97? It’s been so long, I don’t remember.”

John wouldn’t know. For a human, he wouldn’t know. In all that time he’d been stuck with Charles, he hadn’t aged a day. “It’s cool, I guess..” he muttered, knowing there’d be worse consequences for no response than there would’ve been for him at least giving a half-assed one.

Charles tutted at the lazy response. “It’s your birthday. At least pretend to be happy.”

Even pretending to be happy was difficult around Charles. But it wasn’t like he had a choice. John forced an almost painful looking smile onto his face.

“There you go. Now was that so hard?”

Yes.

“Come on. Don’t forget, I’ll let you get any snacks you want from your human world.”

As if that made things much better. Still, John got up and out of bed, Charles following him to the shower. Once they were done, Charles gave John some of the only time alone that he was allowed, letting him go up to a human grocery store. While he was there, he ran into someone who seemed a bit too familiar…

“Alexander?.. Alexander Hamilton?” John asked, cautious, though visibly confused.

The other’s eyes went wide, but he didn’t seem fazed at all by the question, more interested in the boy standing in front of him. “John.. But.. You’re dead..”

He shook his head slowly. “I’m not.. And neither are you..”

Alexander looked around a bit before looking at John a bit closer. “You’re human, I know you are. What is this?..”

“I..” John sighed. What was the point in lying? It wasn’t like the truth would change anything. “I was tricked.. Some guy, Charles, he’s keeping me against my will.. He saved me and he tricked me.”

“I’m so sorry..” Alex gave him a sympathetic look, but the look on John’s face said he was more interested in answers than in sympathy. “I’m not exactly human, either.. I can shapeshift into any human I want. Every thirty years or so, I fake my death and make myself twenty again..” He shrugged. “It really is nice to see you again.” He smiled at John and reached for his hand, frowning as the other pulled it away. There were always people who he remembered, even after they’d died. John was one of them, but this wasn’t John. This was a terrified husk of the man who had once been his friend. And Alexander couldn’t just watch it happen. “I want to help you.”

“There is no helping.. But I’d love to have a friend.” John smiled weakly. After all those years, a friend was all he wanted.

Alexander nodded. “A friend.. It sounds perfect.”

It seemed that Charles really did have eyes everywhere as he appeared a split second later, arm tight around John’s waist. “And who might you be?” he hissed, glaring daggers at Alexander.

But he’d seen worse. He just held a hand out. “Alexander Hamilton. I was friends with a friend of John’s, many years ago.”

Charles looked at the outstretched hand and scoffed.

John held Charles’s hand. “He’s just a friend, Charles.. I just want a friend..”

It was well known that Charles was not a people pleaser. In fact, he was quite the opposite. But he was smart enough to know that if he made John unhappy enough, there wouldn’t be any more John. “Fine.” He glared at Alexander again. “You touch him, you’re dead.”

“Noted,” Alex shrugged.

“Good. Get back home soon, John. Your little friend here pissed me off and I need some way to fix that.”

John nodded and visibly relaxed as Charles left. Alexander gave him a look of pity.

“I’m sorry you have to live with that.. Here..” He dug through his pockets and pulled out a piece of paper, scribbling his number on it and giving it to him. “Call me when you want to hang out.”

John nodded and took the paper, careful not to touch Alex. “I will..”

And he did. He called Alex all the time and, with Charles’s permission, hung out with him whenever he could. After the two had already been friends a lifetime ago, they could only get closer.

Naturally, there were some things that bothered Alexander.

The bruises on John’s cheeks and the way he had trouble walking sometimes, the way he flinched if Alexander yelled at whatever video games they were playing…. And that was just in the first month.

Then came the next month and the anniversary of when Charles and John were… “married” and Alexander felt more worried than he’d been in centuries. After all, John had been missing since that day rolled around.

Everytime Alexander’s phone rang, he’d dive for it, always disappointed when it was anyone else. A flood couldn’t describe the amount of relief he felt when he finally saw John’s name on the screen.

“John! Hey! Oh, my god, what happened? Are you okay?..”

“D.. Do you want to hang out?..”

“Yeah, of course..”

Alexander made his way over to John’s house and to the lounge where they hung out, gasping as he saw his friend.

John was black and blue everywhere Alexander could see, his hair was matted and stained with what looked like blood, and even a blind man could see the pain in his eyes.

“John.. What happened to you?..”

“Charles’s idea… Every year, on the day he stole me, he celebrates by doing whatever he wants with me. Each year, he adds one day.. 78, this time..” John smiled weakly, knowing that Charles would hurt him if he dared act like he wanted to leave, and Alexander knew he had to get John away.

Alexander got to his feet and stormed to the kitchen to confront Charles, who didn’t seem the slightest bit bothered by everything happening.

“You need to let him go. You tricked him, made him think that this would only be twenty, fifty years, but I know your kind. You plan on making it forever.”

Charles shrugged. “I said it clearly. How he interpreted it was his mistake. Unless he wants to end this early, he’s stuck with me.”

Alexander’s glare intensified. He knew what that meant. John had the option of death, but someone like Charles was more clever than that. He knew how to speak to make death worse than the torture John lived with and how to make it seem as if John was anywhere close to the end of his sentence. “You won’t get away with this.”

“You can’t stop me.”

Alex stormed out of the room, plotting the second he left. By the time he got back to his friend, John was already getting ready to leave the room.

“What are you doing?” Alexander asked.

“Charles’s birthday passed… We do the same thing for that as we did for our “anniversary”..” he admitted solemnly, putting air quotes around the word “anniversary.” John wiped the tears from his eyes. “I just… I needed to see you first.. You don’t know how much better I feel knowing that you’ll be there as soon as he’s done with me..”

Alexander’s heart broke. He couldn’t let John do this.

“Come on, John,” Charles called from the other room.

Alexander shook his head. “Just let him stay another minute, alright?”

“Whatever. As long as he gets over here. And fast.”

Alexander closed the lounge door and moved a bit closer to John. “I’m going to take your place.”

John’s eyes went wide and he shook his head. “No… No, I can’t let you.. He’ll hurt you!”

“And he’ll kill you.. John, why do you think he’s never mentioned others he’s brought here?..”

John paused for a second. Alexander was right… Logically speaking, there was no way he wasn’t.

“John, I can give you what he promised. I can give you a happy life with the people you loved. It’ll be what you remember, but better and you won’t remember any of what he’s done.. I want to make your wishes come true..”

“John!” Charles shouted, Alexander turning around to leave.

“No,” John sobbed, clinging to Alexander’s shoulders. “No, I can’t let you do this.. I love you.”

With those three words, Alexander felt his world go still. John loved him.. He actually loved him and here he was, trying to make him erase him from his memory. Sure, it was cruel, but leaving him with Charles would’ve been worse. Letting him stay would’ve been the most selfish thing Alexander could’ve done. “I love you too..” He gently held John’s face in his hands and ran his thumb over his cheekbone, smiling to himself. Alexander was going to make sure John was safe. No. John was going to be happy. Even if it meant erasing himself from John’s memory, erasing that moment. As long as it lived in Alexander’s mind, he didn’t care.

“Alex?..” John began sheepishly.

“Yeah?”

“Kiss me.. I never let Lee do it, not that he cares and.. It’s one of the few things he hasn’t ruined for me. I don’t want to remember our big goodbye as just a hug..”

Alexander couldn’t bring himself to tell John that he wouldn’t remember anything at all that he didn’t implant in his mind. He didn’t want this to be any harder for either of them and he’d be lying if he said he didn’t want this, so he did it. Alexander leaned in kissed John softly, relishing in the sweet taste of his lips. They were almost as sweet as he boy himself. And it made Alexander know that no moment would ever feel as good as the moment he disappeared.

Alexander took a deep breath and morphed into John, then spent the rest of his walk home mentally preparing himself for the upcoming 8 months of hell, started by Charles’s sickeningly sweet voice.

“Happy anniversary, baby.”

When John opened his eyes, he was kissing his now husband, Lafayette. In all his nineteen years of living, he’d never felt so happy. He laughed as he was lifted into the air by his love and was carried out of the church, waving at his amazing parents as he passed them. He was a successful writer, he had an amazing husband, and they were expecting a child via their best friend and surrogate, Maria Lewis. There was something missing… But John couldn’t pinpoint what, and so couldn’t complain. He just knew he was the luckiest man on the planet.

And even after a whole 78 days of violent sex, Alexander didn’t regret turning him into that. The blood running down his face was a small price to pay for making his love as happy as he could’ve. Besides, it was finally over. Charles had just finished tending to his wounds and rolled John over to face him, a sickly sweet smile spread across his face.

“So,” Charles began, “Where’s John?”

#hamilton #hamilton fanfic #fanfiction #john laurens #alexander hamilton #lams #Charles Lee #maria reynolds #lafayette

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hillonphotography · 5 years ago

Text

On Landscape Interview 2019

By Paul Hill & Tim Parkin | Posted November 12, 2019

For the Meeting of Minds conference last year, we printed off a picture for Paul Hill, but sadly it didn't arrive in time for the exhibition. Paul asked us to donate it to the Stills Gallery in Edinburgh. Whilst dropping it off, we had a quick chat with Paul and his partner, Maria Falconer, about art and contemporary photography and some of the subjects he's approaching in his rewrite of "Approaching Photography".

https://youtu.be/yt3_nmt-LfI

Tim Parkin (TP): I wanted to talk about this possible disparity between what could be called your typical ‘hobby’ practitioner of photography and the more academic/contemporary side of photography (pictorial, romantic vs ‘new’ ways of looking at photography). I was wondering if you still see this dichotomy in photography? Or do we get hobbyists transcending the pictorial or contemporary/fine art/academic photographers embracing a bit of beauty now and again?

Paul Hill (PH): There is definitely a cross over, and there always will be. It’s a personal problem for me, actually sticking to one subject matter. I think it just negates so many possibilities for making interesting pictures or stretching yourself as a photographer. You can end up essentially illustrating your hobby or your interests which makes it very difficult to change tack or make quantum leaps. In workshops, we come across a lot of people who you would say are mainstream hobbyists but they take on board and embrace the more challenging ideas that we talk about. I think they haven’t previously, largely because they haven’t had an art or photographic education, and so to be put in these situations is unique for them. It’s the first time and a lot of them really take to it. Because it’s new, it’s different.

TP: Is it essentially a lack of exposure and a lack of knowledge? So, are they essentially receiving mixed messages from the vernacular use of landscape?

PH: What I was trying to say in the talk at the Meeting of Minds conference was, why are you here, why are you doing it? Are you aware of all the possibilities that are there to explore? Express something that might be your own involvement rather than looking at templates and matrices. These templates have been provided by talented people who found their own way there and were innovative for their time or expressed something which was more than just the information that’s in front of them when they photograph. Photography appears very easy but the more you get into it is a lot more complicated, or at least it can be. Essentially, on a surface level, you can make a picture quite easily.

EXPRESS SOMETHING THAT MIGHT BE YOUR OWN INVOLVEMENT RATHER THAN LOOKING AT TEMPLATES AND MATRICES. THESE TEMPLATES HAVE BEEN PROVIDED BY TALENTED PEOPLE WHO FOUND THEIR OWN WAY THERE AND WERE INNOVATIVE FOR THEIR TIME OR EXPRESSED SOMETHING WHICH WAS MORE THAN JUST THE INFORMATION THAT’S IN FRONT OF THEM WHEN THEY PHOTOGRAPH.

I put the picture of a butterfly made by my iPhone on Facebook the other day. You may have seen it, Tim. I saw these butterflies which were tortoiseshells and painted ladies, down this footpath. So, I tried to get close with the iPhone and I did and I got them. The results are absolutely stunning. You would not even be able to get that quality if you used a macro and a flash. A normal lens would not be able to have done it because of the minimum focusing distance, so you wouldn’t be able to get close enough, and all the rest of it. I’m writing a new edition of my book “Approaching Photography” and I’m using this example of how photography has moved on since 1982 when the first edition came out.

TP: But the modern camera takes it all away doesn’t it?

PH: What I’m saying is, that is the difference between now and then. It’s become relatively easy to make an image nowadays and at the end of the day, that’s what it’s about. If we know we can do that, without too much hassle, we know how to drive the machine, then we can go on to try to explore ideas with that new skill that you have now acquired. These skills aren’t at a high level it has to be said. Nothing like comparing yourself with a concert pianist, for instance.

YOU’VE GOT THIS WONDERFUL MACHINE TO RECORD THAT AND TELL YOU THE STORY THAT YOU WANT TO, WHICH IS IMPORTANT AS AN INDIVIDUAL BECAUSE WE ARE ALL UNIQUE, AND WE ALL HAVE OUR OWN STORIES, AND HISTORIES.

However, that ease releases you to say anything you want and visually deal with any sort of subject matter, in all sorts of different places, and different areas - intellectually or physically - that you want to. You’ve got this wonderful machine to record that and tell you the story that you want to, which is important as an individual because we are all unique, and we all have our own stories, and histories. That's what I’m interested in - other people’s photographs and stories. I don’t want to see a style that may look great but is repeated and repeated. Whether it’s down in Lands End or John O’Groats, I’ve seen those pictures, everyone has seen those pictures, and that’s fine. There’s a market for people who want to buy those or use them as illustrations. But they are not very individual or original.

I’ve done quite a bit of writing for photographic magazines - and known quite a few editors over the years - and one should never forget that these are mostly all consumer magazines. They don’t exist unless they sell advertising and they also sell a lifestyle. And the market for cameras is now the amateur one. That’s why the emphasis is on the amateurs and on high spec gear, that’s what they are trying to sell. They wouldn’t be doing themselves any favours if they said “it isn’t about the camera gear, it’s about what you do with it,'' they would lose advertisers and go bust. It’s a perfect capitalist model at the end of the day. Persuade the readers that it’s the machine. ‘You’ve got a great camera there, it must take some great pictures’

TP: Do you think academic/contemporary photography avoids certain subjects, aesthetics and ideas? Because they have become mainstream? (i.e. beauty, popular composition memes)

PH: There’s one thing Martin Parr and I have in common that is that we’re populists and a bit suspicious of too much academisation in photography. I think that the problem is with a lot of conceptual work, to use that as an example, is that you have to have a certain sort of education not only to produce it but also to understand it. Many times, the idea may have been great, but the visual representation of that idea is not very engaging. It’s using photography and the camera in a different sort of way; you’re not trying to tell a story by using visual language.

Like other experiments, these movements come in like blue sky thinking in science. People are going to explore new concepts, and even I have pushed the boat out a few times with what I’ve done. I’ve done some more conceptual pieces that are more about ideas. But if the images are not visually interesting or stimulating then I think it’s a case of throwing the baby out with the bathwater.

TP: I’ve heard this said repeatedly by a few contemporary photographers, that they avoid the use of playing with aesthetic perspectives because the effect gets in the way of what they are trying to say.

PH: Absolutely, but there is a wonderfully wide range available to us of how we use and think about photography. That’s what I was trying to say at the conference, just think about photography. Don’t necessarily think about the landscape, seascape, or the adventure. That’s all part of it but more importantly, just be aware that there are other options open to you to engage with that may relate to that location or that space.

I can understand the satisfaction of producing these wonderful photographs of waterfalls and streams etc, but It’s a bit like painting by numbers. There’s nothing essentially wrong with that, but what you tend to get is another lot of the same pictures. What you really need, to use a cliched photographic word, is exposure to other ideas. That’s why we don’t compromise on the workshops we do. We know that it’s a niche area but there are people out there who want, and respond well to, that exposure to new ideas because what that does is bring photography back to them. They are in control and not being measured by what other people can do better with their new Canon XYZ or whatever it is. They can use whatever they want photographically but try to make something that is unique.

That’s what interests me, what’s new and different, and that goes through into my photography. I’m not saying that what I’ve produced is a unique photograph or history changing, of course, it isn’t! But all of the things I’ve tried to be involved with, I have always tried to look at how it can be done from a different perspective. Because it’s boring to follow what other people have done.

BUT ALL OF THE THINGS I’VE TRIED TO BE INVOLVED WITH, I HAVE ALWAYS TRIED TO LOOK AT HOW IT CAN BE DONE FROM A DIFFERENT PERSPECTIVE. BECAUSE IT’S BORING TO FOLLOW WHAT OTHER PEOPLE HAVE DONE.

Photo enthusiasts are always being told to be creative but most people seem to think that means photoshop. When we started the RPS Contemporary Group - I was the first group and panel chairman - there were these people that said: “How do you define contemporary?” This does sound very condescending, but if you have to explain what contemporary is, go and join another group. But you can’t be like that as there are people who are open to the ideas and at the end of the day, it’s just semantics.

Our first option was that it was about contemporary life and thought, but that doesn’t really work either. But since then they’ve tried to find all sorts of definitions. If you look at the RPS definition, it’s a bit of a dog's dinner. Distinction panels should really be defined as either applied, academic (history, research etc), scientific or art? If you try to slice it into too many compartments it confuses people. It means that the compartmentalisation is increased, rather than the idea that we’re all in the same pool but swimming with slightly different strokes.

TP: How do you present these ideas to your audience?

PH: If you’re bringing a fresh set of ideas to people who haven’t come across them before, you have to take on board the audience and take them on a journey. We talk about what we do and it’s obvious that some of them haven’t seen work like this and would not see, in some instances, the merit of it.

They might see some merit in my picture of Enoch Powell, and they get that and it’s funny, or Maria’s dance pictures, or something like that. But when we are dealing with that which is a bit more personal, they would say “I can’t see why you’d want to photograph that”, then you have to get over that it is not actually about that object, it’s about an idea. You can talk up a set of pictures and talk the talk, but sometimes you have to walk the walk. And if it needs a lot of explanation, I get worried. Personally, I give a way marker to my work, by way of a small written or verbal introduction to whatever piece I’m doing.

TP: A hint on how to read it?

PH: Yes, this is who I am, this is what I do, without a lot of detail. For someone who talks about photography and writes about photography, I think there is such a thing as a visual language. I want to give that language a chance.

I was talking at the conference about the “one picture tells everything” - why should we take that on board, why should we follow that particular route still? Like the landscape aesthetic that was set up in the 19th century - there are so many other opportunities. If people see more work by people like Robert Adams, Simon Norfolk, Jem Southam and John Blakemore, they are going to see why John is photographing dead tulips? Not 'aren’t these beautifully crafted prints'. The print becomes the experience and the vehicle for an idea.

FOR SOMEONE WHO TALKS ABOUT PHOTOGRAPHY AND WRITES ABOUT PHOTOGRAPHY, I THINK THERE IS SUCH A THING AS A VISUAL LANGUAGE. I WANT TO GIVE THAT LANGUAGE A CHANCE..

TP: I think people have a problem in seeing contemporary/project work as a group of single images when in fact they can’t really be separated and retain their meaning.

PH: This is the problem I’m having to face as I’m basically selecting single images to illustrate a point I’m making in my book. When I’m talking about photo essays and about projects, I’ll have a matrix of images to give the idea of a body of work. But it is difficult when you’ve got to be restricted to a certain size. You have to really say the work is the book, not this one picture. There are so few opportunities to fully explore an idea, with a narrative really; but more photography books are being published than ever and with the internet, we can present these ideas using multimedia tools.

TP: So, could one of the differences between a hobbyist photographer and a contemporary art photographer be the use of single image vs the collection of images?

PH: I think that’s true. When we get people on workshops that is the one thing that is the revelation to them - you are telling them that their idea can be expanded. You can say more with the sum of the parts as it were.

Maria Falconer (MF): The idea that we can deconstruct images and they might have never really come across that idea and then they realise that it’s layered. In the same way that a whole series of images brings meaning through the different parts. That can be revelatory to them. If they’ve done anything before, they have deconstructed in a formalistic way, for example by sharpness and saturation - but not meaning. It’s the meaning in a symbolic fashion.

PH: To get back to what we were saying about why people do landscape and approach it in a particularly repetitive way. Maria is a good example of this, having come from a background of mostly photographing people and dancers. The expression Maria uses is that it is very difficult to put a frame on a landscape.

TP: Landscape doesn’t essentially have any narrative associated with it directly so you can’t frame a narrative-less landscape.

MF: I know what you mean. It’s not that I’m looking for a narrative, I just can’t put a frame around any part of it. I’ve tried so many times and I’ve come to the conclusion that is just not how I see. I love looking, I love running about, I love climbing and hiking, I just cannot frame it.

PH: After moving to the Peak District in 1974 I used the landscape as a backdrop to human forms in a project I called "Prenotations". But I realised a few things when creating “White Peak, Dark Peak”. As a resident of the area, I would go out and photograph around where I lived - a 2 mile radius to start with (and later I expanded it further). I did this as an exercise. It was in black and white using mostly flat lighting. What I realised when I got into certain interesting situations was that for whatever reason (I had a 35mm lens on my Leica) it wasn’t conforming to what I wanted. So it forced me to think about the foreground more.

I was having to think about things which I would not necessarily normally put in the picture. I found that I was looking down at what you walk on and the landscape became not the conjunction of the horizon and the sky but about the marks on the land. I am fascinated by the two-dimensionality of a photograph and how the horizontal perspective can 'flip' and can become vertical and this became a noticeable feature of "White Peak Dark Peak".

TP: That’s a nice way to think about equipment isn’t it. Most people think about equipment as “I want it to do everything. I want a system that can do everything for me”. Instead of that, let the camera be a limiting factor.

PH: That's the discipline. We do an exercise about going out with a particular focal length. I remember working as a photojournalist and on a slow news day, a colleague and myself said next time we go out we’ll just use a 28mm or a 180mm and do the job with that and see it as a challenge!

It’s that’s sort of exposure to those ideas that we are talking about. Some people are going to think, “but I’m quite happy with doing this and it conforms to what I like and it gives me pleasure”.

There was this one guy on a workshop who had a high powered job intellectually, something scientific. We have these little exercises we make people do, and a lot of people took to them really well but this one guy just couldn’t do them. People who knew him said perhaps you should have a chat with him. He said, “I never take photographs I don’t like”. Intellectually he was programmed toward perfection and we were saying “throw all that out!”. In the end, he did get it and produced some great pictures.

So sometimes you get these people who are incredibly bright, but you’ve got to get them to loosen up; and that is more difficult for somebody who’s a really keen amateur but has been, say a lorry driver all their life.

I do a talk called Moments of Recognition, which is taken from a quote by Edward Weston. There’s that idea in Zen in the Art of Archery, where you’re actually seeing beyond the target. You need to hit the target, but not look at it. I think that there is an element of Zen at that moment where you are able to put a frame on things. If you release yourself to what you viscerally are responding to, and then take a picture. There’s no way you can analyse that process. To do that is what you should try and aim to do as it opens you to seeing photographs everywhere.

I don’t believe success comes with hard work but with persistence. Persistence is hanging around long enough to know that there’s something there. Hanging around long enough knowing when the window of opportunity comes along. The difficulty with the Zen thing is that people don’t recognise when the window of opportunity is there. If you’ve been a press photographer you know, it’s when someone slips on a banana skin.

People will snap, snap getting pictures which are boring but hoping something will happen. When you see that moment you have recognised and produced this unique piece of information, data, art, whatever you want to call it, it’s got to be something that no-one else has done. That moment of time will never be repeated and that is wonderful to be able to do that. That’s what I think is very important to do - be original - because photographers are seen very much to be down the pecking order. I’m sure you’ve found that.

THAT MOMENT OF TIME WILL NEVER BE REPEATED AND THAT IS WONDERFUL TO BE ABLE TO DO THAT. THAT’S WHAT I THINK IS VERY IMPORTANT TO DO - BE ORIGINAL - BECAUSE PHOTOGRAPHERS ARE SEEN VERY MUCH TO BE DOWN THE PECKING ORDER. I’M SURE YOU’VE FOUND THAT.

TP: I’ve got a friend who’s had a successful painting career in Germany and he decided he was going to be a photographer. Everybody told him he was committing suicide commercially and artistically. He agreed completely but still did it.

PH: When we began our pioneering work in photo education and the Arts Council etc. in the 70s, we started from different points of view, and were very different individuals trying to elevate the status of photography so that it was taken seriously. In terms of sales, photographs will never be in the same league as paintings.

TP: That’s my last question, which was if one of the photographers that we speak to for instance who’s a member at a camera club and says I don’t understand it, as I look at some of these high end valued pictures and I don’t understand why they are worth so much money such as the Gursky Rhine image.

PH: Well neither do we!

TP: Is this the curse of people trading/investing in art?

PH: As a professional photographer and having earned my living out of photography one way or another since 1965, I can say it puzzles me. It's not professional jealousy, as I don’t want to take pictures like him, but it's a bit of a mystery.

I’ve found going my own way has not necessarily made me much money but the pictures that I made that people thought were a bit odd 40 years ago are now in major collections. I’ve followed my nose and it’s worked!

I’ve made a reasonable living and despite the shite, you have to deal at times, it's been wonderful and extraordinary. I had a chat once with Geoff Crawley from BJP, who came from a science background, and he said, “you’re a freelance aren’t you?” and I said "yes". He said, “I’m always interested in people who freelance and you know I think freelancing is more a lifestyle choice”. He'd worked for Ilford and been a company man and he’d never been a freelancer. He said he didn’t know if he could make such a lifestyle choice. I thought he’s right you know. Life is about making those sort of choices and, for me, the decision about freelancing was about being free.

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peaceisadirtyword · 6 years ago

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Secrets (Modern! Ivar/Reader)

A/N: Hi! I should have posted this on Tuesday, but I didn't like what I had written, so I’ve been rewriting it since then (like three times) and, well... The result is this. I’m sorry if it’s too boring or anything, I just wanted this one to be an introduction to the story, idk... I’m really excited with this one, even if it’s not my best work, but I really hope you like it because I'd love to do this series. It’s my first time doing modern Ivar so please, don’t be too harsh on me lol. Thank you so much for reading, I hope you enjoy it!

English it’s not my first language so please, forgive any mistakes I may have had. Also, I didn’t have time to edit this one, sorry!

Inspiration: This work was inspired by Griffenholm Confessionals a series written by @akamaiden @ivarswickedqueen @laketaj24 and @ivarsshieldmadien (please, check it out because it’s amazing).

Warnings: Ivar, a dysfunctional family, my bad writing and the fact I named the school Valhalla Academy because my almost non-existent creativity decided to disappear when I was writing this. Also we’re talking about the Lothbroks here so probably there will be violence and smut on the next chapters.

Words: 2476 (I tried to do it shorter so it wouldn’t be that boring, I’m sorry)

Part 2

gif isn’t mine

Great, you just arrived and you already hated Denmark's weather.

It hadn't stopped raining since the plane landed, and it got worse when you got stuck in a car with your mother and her new husband.

Maybe it was because they were leaving without you.

Since your mother met John, everything had fell down. They started dating and, at first, you were happy for your mother, even though you didn't like John, but she seemed to be so in love with him you couldn't say anything.

But a year later they got married, and when they came back from their honeymoon at the Bahamas, your mother told you they were moving out to California... Without you.

You still had to finish school, and John had contacts in Denmark who could get you in one of the most prestigious schools in Europe, the Valhalla Academy.

Your mother agreed, and a few weeks after, there you where, at the back of a rented car in the danish countryside on your way to hell.

"Oh, and please say hello to Mrs. Fischer, she works at the cafeteria, if you tell her you know me she will invite you to coffee sometimes" John hadn't stop talking since you left your home, and it was starting to be very annoying.

You rolled your eyes, John had been in that school when he was younger, and he seemed to know everyone...

"I will say hello to everyone if you shut up" you said, putting on your headphones to stop listening to him.

Your mother glared at you.

"They will teach you some manners too" John scoffed, but you hummed and closed your eyes, ignoring him.

Valhalla Academy was bigger than you imagined. The entry had a big fence and a lovely path surrounded by trees, and the main building looked like a mansion. You tried not to look very impressed by it, but you couldn't help cursing when you saw how big it was.

There was an old man and a woman waiting for you there, and John greeted them with that fake, big smile he always had when he spoke to important people.

You learnt that they were the principal and one of the teachers, who would be your tutor. You didn't even paid attention to their names.

They talked for at least one hour, while you stood near the car, looking around to find some way to run away.

"So Y/N" the principal smiled at you, but you were too angry to smile at someone in that moment "Welcome to Valhalla Academy, we hope you have an amazing experience with us".

You raised your eyebrows, faking a smile when your mother glared at you again.

"I'm sure I will"

"Well, my dear, I'm sure Y/N will be well taken care of in here" John smiled to your mother "We should get going, we have to get up early tomorrow if you want to visit Copenhagen before leaving for California"

They had come with you because, according to your mother, they wanted to say goodbye properly, but you knew it was because they thought you would have ran away if you were alone. And they were right.

"I will miss you" your mother hugged you, and for a moment you hugged her back. Those past moths your relationship with her had been inexistent, but she was still your mother, and you would miss her anyway "Behave, okay? I will call you twice a week"

"Okay mom" you sighed "Have fun fucking your husband in LA"

"Y/N" she pressed her lips together, a thing she did when se was angry "Please, John is doing this for you, because he loves you and wants you to have the same opportunities he had"

"Of course he does" you said sarcastically, rolling your eyes.

He wasn't your father, even if he wanted to pretend he was. Your real father lived in Paris, and he now had a new family; two daughters, a newborn son and a wife... And he hadn't talked to you for months.

You could say you had a dysfunctional family.

"I will send some postcards to you" your mother kissed your cheek "I love you, sweetie"

"Bye" you got away from her. If she would miss you so much and loved you, why did she left you in that place while she was moving out with her husband?

John tried to approach and hug you, but you turned around to take your luggage out of the car, avoiding him.

A few minutes later, you were walking next to your tutor, carrying your things towards your new room.

The rooms for the students were in another building, which was almost as big as the main one.

"It's dinner time" your tutor, whose name was Mrs. Lauridsen, said "So that's why there's no students around here now, but you can meet you roommate later" she said, stopping in front of a door and giving you a key "This is your room, you can leave your things and go to the canteen if you're hungry, don't lose your key" she said with a serious expression "And tomorrow you have to be at the hall at eight o'clock, I will be there to show you around and give you your schedule, don't be late"

You nodded, with no intention of going to the canteen.

She left and you opened the door, praying to all the gods that your roommate was having dinner and not in the room.

She wasn't.

The room was big, it had two single beds, a large desk and two chairs and two bedside tables. There was one big shelve on one side of the room with some books on it.

The curtains were dark, and the window at the other side of the room was big. There was a small balcony with amazing views to the forest and a big closet in one of the corners of the room.

One of the beds was unmade, so you supposed it was your roommate's. You left your things next to the other bed and lied onto it, exhausted.

You only could hope your roommate was nice, and luckily the other students would be too busy to notice you, or they wouldn't even care.

You didn't know how much time you spent lying down on the bed, but suddenly the door opened and a girl dressed in the school's uniform came in, stopping when she saw you.

"Oh, you must be... I can't remember your name, actually" she said, offering you a smile.

"Y/N" you said, trying to smile back at her.

"Yeah, I'm Elise, nice to meet you"

You sat on the bed, looking at her.

"Same"

"Are you hungry? Dinner is not over, you still have time to grab something"

"No, thank you, but I'm fine"

"You don't seem to be very happy about being here" she walked over her bed and took her jacket off, leaving her phone on the table "Why is that? All the newbies who get accepted here are so fucking happy it's annoying" she rolled her eyes.

"Well, my mother's husband knows everyone here, so I got in because of that, but I didn't want to come to this brainwashing place, no offense"

"None taken, but this is not so bad when you get used to it, and there's parties almost every day so"

She stood up and took a cigarette, walking to the window and opening it.

You raised your brow.

"I thought we were not allowed to have parties here"

"Well, you can if your last name is Lothbrok" she laughed.

"What?" You blinked, confused.

"The Lothbroks are the most important family here in Denmark, forget the royal family" she shrugged "Ragnar Lothbrok rules the country, and half of Scandinavia actually, and four of his five sons are in this school, they can do whatever they please, no one is gonna punish them" she turned around to look at you "Most of them are nice, I had a crush on the oldest one, Ubbe, but he has a girlfriend now, he's the nicest... Hvitserk is nice, too, but he's a player, don't trust him or accept any drink he gives to you, probably he just wants to fuck, Sigurd it's not that bad, but he can be a bit rude sometimes, he doesn't like people... And Ivar, well" she bit her lip "He's the worst, you'll recognize him because he carries crutches and because he's the hottest guy in the school, but he's... Well, stay away from him if you don't want trouble"

"So" you stood up and walked over to the window "Those guys can do whatever they want to?"

"Yes" Elise seemed used to it, but it looked a bit unfair for you.

"Even kill a person?"

She laughed.

"I'm almost sure they have already done that" she whispered, shaking her head "But don't worry, probably Ubbe and Hvitserk will welcome you and if you don't mess with them you're safe"

"I had no intention of doing that" you sat down on her bed, near the window "But... I am not the only new person here am I?"

Elise smiled.

"I'm afraid you are, love, I'm sorry but you'll be the center of attention for a few days".

You felt everyone's eyes on you. Elise was right, you were the centre of attention... And you didn't like it.

You only wanted to have lunch in peace, after an awful morning walking around the school and following your grumpy tutor, signing papers and pretending to be excited for being in such a exclusive academy. It was exhausting.

Elise had told you to sit with her and her friends, but you couldn't find them anywhere, and you really needed to sit down and eat.

Finally you spotted an empty table, and practically ran to it, too relieved... When you bumped into someone.

Of course, just when you thought you could relax for a bit, you ran over some boy and ruin everything.

Honestly, the boy almost didn't notice you bumping into him... On the other hand, you almost fell down.

He was tall, with his long, blonde hair tied back into a man bun. His playful eyes were green and he was so handsome you had to blink a few times before realizing you were staring.

"Sorry" you managed to say, blushing and hoping that he wouldn't be too harsh on you "I wasn't paying attention..."

"Oh, don't worry about that" he was definitely danish, and his voice matched his eyes' playfulness "Are you alright?"

You nodded, still embarrassed.

"Then it's totally fine, I'm Hvitserk, by the way" he smirked at you while looking at you up and down "You must be the new girl..."

You froze. He was Hvitserk Lothbrok, the one Elise warned you about a few hours before. Great, the day was getting better and better.

"Yeah, I'm Y/N" you tried not to sound impressed, looking at him straight in the eyes.

He chuckled, amused by your pretended boldness.

"Well, Y/N" he shrugged "You should come tonight to the party, so we all can give you a proper welcome... And watch where you're going".

He winked at you before turning around and leaving, and you stood there, confused.

Elise had spent half of the night talking about those boys, Hvitserk and his brothers, about how dangerous they were, and how no one dared to mess with them. But he seemed like a normal guy... A really hot, normal guy.

You sat down, and your eyes followed Hvitserk as he walked over to another table, not far away from yours.

Another guy, maybe a bit older than Hvitserk, with brown hair and blue eyes, was sat next to the table, with a blonde girl sitting on his lap, her uniform's skirt was too short, and the way his hand caressed the girl's thigh didn't actually help.

That must be Ubbe, you thought, remembering how Elise described him and his girlfriend, Margrethe.

Next to him, there was a blonde guy, with long and wavy hair, he had a guitar leaned against the backrest of his chair, so he could be Sigurd. Elise told you he was a musician, and he played several instruments. He was alone, looking at his phone with a bored expression on his face.

And then someone else caught your attention.

He entered the canteen as fast as his crutch allowed him. Everyone looked at him, some of the students with fear on their eyes, his deep blue eyes scanned the room, maybe looking for his brothers.

Soon, everyone stopped looking at him, maybe it was because Ubbe cleared his throat and made the rest of the students resume their eating and their conversations.

Well, everyone but you.

You couldn't stop looking at him, as if he was a freaking god. Although he was walking on one crutch, his movements were elegant. He had long hair tied back, like his brothers, but much darker, contrasting with his clear eyes.

He sat next to Hvitserk, who was nibbling an apple with an amused expression.

Ivar.

Unlike his brothers, everything about him screamed danger. Maybe it was the way he looked at everyone, as if he was a king looking down at his subjects, or maybe it was how he walked, without a hint of shame, making you forget he couldn't really walk without help.

You were too busy staring at Ivar that you didn't notice Hvitserk looking at you and smirking... Not until he leaned towards his brother and whispered something on his ear.

Then Ivar's blue eyes found yours, and you looked away quickly, with your cheeks burning. Your food, still untouched, was now cold and you didn't think you could take a bite in that moment.

You felt the Lothbrok's eyes on you, probably because you were staring at his little brother for like five minutes.

But, thank the gods, Elise came and saved you.

"Hello, new girl, how was your first day?" She smiled, sitting down in front of you and leaving her backpack on the table.

"Too long" you shrugged, still nervous "But Hvitserk Lothbrok invited me to a party tonight, so..."

Elise seemed impressed, and her wide eyes glanced at the Lothbrok's table with curiosity. They had stopped looking at you; Ubbe was now making out with his girlfriend, Sigurd still looking at his phone and Hvitserk and Ivar were talking to each other, not paying any attention to any of the students who looked at them warily.

"You already met them" she shrugged "Well, it's a good sign if Hvitserk was nice to you, just listen to me and don't get too involved with them, it's a bit dangerous... Now, tell me about your classes, are you taking Old Norse Mythology?"

Tags: @mblaqgi @alicedopey @lol-haha-joke @hallowed-heathen @ivarslittlebadgirl @naaladareia @tephi101 @captstefanbrandt @love-hate-love @titty-teetee @thisisparadisemylove @sallylebecks

I think I tagged everyone! If not, please tell me. I hope you liked it, and thank you for reading, I wanted to make this a series, maybe posting one chapter per week or something like that...

Also, I’m sorry if I don’t answer your comments! I read them all and appreciate them, I swear, but I’m a forgetful person and I probably forgot, sorry!

#ivar imagine #vikings imagine #ivar x reader #vikings #modern ivar #ivar fanfic #modern vikings #modern ragnarssons #valhalla #odin forgive me for this #also that gif #its the best gif ever

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r-ate-9 · 2 years ago

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Regarding a fanfic I posted 11 years ago... a rant.

The fanfic in question, hyperlinked: Dead or Alive?

I just reread everything I have written and posted for the much-loved “Dead or Alive?” …I’m not really sure why it was so loved.

I like my idea. I like my plot. I think it’s possible that the Temujai’i would use poisons unknown to the Rangers.

John Flanagan’s Rangers tend to feel a little too overpowered, if you catch my drift. Regardless of their information-gathering skills, they’re not defined as spies (right?). Instead, Rangers are defenders of the kingdom, from internal affairs, mainly. They are the most senior member in a fife and report directly to their Commandant, who in turn directs directly to the King. One could even say they are internal spies… Big Brother, maybe?

I digress. My point being that it’s not unlikely for the Temujai’i to use a poison that renders their enemies entirely defenseless in the midst of battle, but not dead.

But then our Rangers aren’t aware of this type of warfare. When Will gets hit and shows no obvious signs of life, there’s only one solution… a funeral. With the bodies piling up (and the ground still solid from the recent winter), a typical Skandian funeral is reasonable. True warriors get sent to Valhalla via burning ships, food for their journeys, weapons they once carried, and a proper farewell.

In Araluen, we’re never told how bodies are disposed, but I’m assuming they’re buried (or placed in tombs for important people). In Halt, Horace & Cassandra’s minds, burning a body is only intended for one’s enemies and to do so to a former comrade (family) would be incredibly dishonorable.

Subsequently, they come to the agreement to send him off, without the fiery bit.

And so the story begins.

So much potential!

I don’t like how I executed it. :/

Granted, I started writing “Dead or Alive?” in 2011… so I was 14. In 2018 I rewrote the prologue, and got no further (the writing is noticeably different between the new prologue and ch. 1).

I’m about to turn 26, in 20 days, actually. I’d like to think my writing has since improved.

Honestly? I couldn’t tell you how I planned to finish this fic. Though I have thought about it quite a lot in passing, these last few years.

In either 2018 or 2019, I wrote a new chapter for the fanfic, well, rewrote one I’d written sometime earlier in a notebook.

Simply put, eleven years later, I can’t stand how I wrote this plotline. I hate Will’s new name “Panthera”. I hate that I made him into a Mary Sue, he’s OP, has a giant black panther as a companion… which is 100% lifted from R.A. Salvatore’s Legend of Drizzt series. So, there’s a blatant crossover. I hate how bad I was (still am) at naming characters…

I’ve tried editing, continuing it, altering it… but I get filled with so much cringe and then throw it back on the shelf and ignore it for another year.

But I keep coming back because I don’t like when I find a plotline, fic, author that I love, and then they don’t complete their works!

Because of this, I am marking “Dead or Alive?” as: COMPLETE. It’s over, it’s done.

I’m not content with the ending. Ideally, I’d rewrite the entire story. I won’t delete this one, regardless of my feelings.

I think, ultimately, it’s important to keep all of your writings for a few reasons:

1. 2011 was when I started writing, legitimately. Without DoA, I wouldn’t have 11 years of writing under my belt.

2. It’s important to know where I started at, to be able to compare myself to my past, to see my development.

3. I believe every author is allowed to decide whether they want to delete their content or not. But I also think it’s important to consider the reviewers, and according to DoA’s stats:

a. There are 81 followers

b. Since 2011 over 27,400 people have viewed it

c. It has 175 reviews, which amounts to 41% of my account’s total reviews

d. It’s my longest fic at 38,000+ words

e. 58 people have favorited it

f. These stats prove to me, that at some point, my reader-base has appreciated this fic, therefore it will stay available

Thank you to anyone and everyone who is still around. Thank you to any new readers who stop by in the future.

#ranger's apprentice #writing rants

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chinxino5-blog · 7 years ago

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who are you

suckles oneshot warnings: mentions of being drunk, coarse language. 2268 words

note: sorry this is literally so trashy. it was better in my head. really bad when i edited. i dont have the time to re-edit tho or rewrite - it’s just bad quality. but i still hope it can be of some enjoyment.

next oneshot will be better i promise.

Mason’s head was pounding. And by pounding, he meant it was splitting seven different ways and simultaneously imploding in on itself.

“Urghh.” The moan of pain slipped out of his dry mouth as he squeezed his eyes shut tighter. Light from somewhere was filling the room he laid in and it threw more kindling on the fire of his agony.

Unfortunately, his mind refused to let him resume his slumber, only becoming more and more conscious with every the moment he laid splayed out on likely Toby’s couch, if he remembered the end of his night correctly: far too late and far too drunk. Seeing as there was no possible way he’d be able to open his eyes painlessly for a number of long minutes, he allowed his senses and very broken memory to fill him in on what had happened in the previous twelve hours.

He remembered drinking with Cam until very late. It had been John’s birthday… no- it had been Smitty’s! And with his dumb friends it was tradition on someone’s birthday to get absolutely fuckin’ smashed.

So unsurprisingly, they did.

From the celebrations, the cheering, the dancing: after losing count of how many drinks he’d had, his memory only seemed to be able to catch bits and pieces of the rest of the night. Smitty was definitely sitting in John’s lap at one point, and the images of Cam downing shot after shot across the table flashed behind his eyes. He knew himself well enough to guess he had been doing exactly the same. Other than that, he recalled little to nothing: only climbing back in through Toby’s window and collapsing wherever he deemed comfortable in his drunken haze.

Trying to clear his head and sharpen out the blurry memories was steadily becoming more and more difficult so the Australian stopped himself, letting out a heavy sigh and turning his face more into the cushioning beneath his head.

As he shifted he felt the sticky skin of his back peel away from the leather couch, only to resettle in a sweaty mess of discomfort.

Huh.

He’d also lost his shirt sometime during the night too, it seemed.

But since when did Toby have a leather couch?

… Mason gave this another few minutes of careless though before furrowing his brows. Toby didn’t have a leather couch. He’d spent weeks living in that house! He knew there wasn’t a single bit of leather furniture in there – so how on Earth was Mason laying on a leather couch?

He regretted opening his eyes instantly. Even just a crack. The brightness poured gasoline into his head, flames erupting outwards.

“Aw, fuck,” he groaned, throat feeling red-raw and just as agonizing as his head.

But no matter the pain, Mason did not like the idea of being not in Toby’s house. So with the limited energy he had, he lifted his hands to cover his eyes and lessened the pain of opening them. He blinked.

This was officially the worst hangover he’d ever had.

Peering through his fingers, it was very easy to confirm he was, indeed, not in Toby’s living room. He wasn’t even in Toby’s house. Had his headache not been so consuming, he probably would have been a lot more concerned. But with this level of agony, all he wanted was a glass of water and some painkillers.

He sat upright, peeling his hot skin from the sticky couch and cringing at both the feeling and the headache. A pair of black skinny jeans were laying on the floor, one leg still caught on one of his feet and he mentally thanked his intoxicated-self for having the common sense not to fall asleep in them.

In his exhaustion, he took a moment to glance around at the room he laid in.

There was a very casual, careless atmosphere to it, not that clean but also not grossly untidy. Another brown leather couch sat beside the one he occupied, both angled to face a big screen that sat on the wall above a cabinet that showed off several different consoles and a rack of coloured controllers.

There was a window either side of the screen, the left one wide open (obviously having been Mason’s entry point the night previous). He wondered for a minute what kind of idiot left their windows unlocked and unalarmed, before swinging his legs off the couch and standing up. Hands on his hips, he stretched up and yawned widely.

The little wooden coffee table had a few magazines and an empty bowl, and his toes curled in the fluffy carpet that covered the floor of the comfy room. The walls were painted a soft grey, matching the white of the carpet. But Mason could tell his attention was not gonna be able to stay with the room for much longer.

Sitting back down and kicking his foot out of his jeans, he picked them up and breathed a sigh of relief to find his phone and wallet still in the pockets.

Friday. 22:03.

john but not really john: mason come home soon and let yourself in

john but not really john: the doors unlocked

Saturday. 00:42.

john but not really john: mason youre gonna die if you keep drinking

john but not really john: you and fitz come back here

john but not really john: come on you fucking dumbass check your phone

Saturday. 00:53.

Missed call from john but not really john.

Incoming call from Missed call from john but not really john.

Saturday. 1:39.

john but not really john: mason. home. now.

zuck my ass: oksy muuuuuuuuuuuiuimm

zuck my ass: hheeheh

john but not really john: is fitz with you

zuck my ass: fitzfitzzyyy is wih dniittttyyyyyyy

john but not really john: okay are you coming now

zuck my ass: eslkinf nowee!!

zuck my ass: vlinmbing in urr wondpw!@!!@

Saturday. 2:31.

john but not really john: where the fuck are you

john but not really john: i hate you. let yourself in if you get here

john but not really john: im going to sleep

john but not really john: text me in the morning.

Oh.

Toby was gonna be pissed with him. He didn’t remember answering a call at all. Well… He didn’t remember anything to do with his phone in general. He definitely remembered climbing in a window though. It just wasn’t the right window.

Whoops.

The pounding in his head was only getting louder and heavier and he was not ready to call Toby for help without getting some sort of medicine and some damn water. He just hoped the owner of this house was either asleep, or not home.

The second he was in the hallway, he noticed just how silent the place was. There wasn’t a single sound. No ticking of clocks, no sounds from plumbing or electricity. The lights were all off but the morning was bright enough to make things clear. Everything seemed very still and calm.

Perhaps the eeriness of it made him so cautious as he stepped down the hall, staying on the balls of his feet in fear of making any sort of sound. All he needed was water and painkillers. Fortunately, the kitchen was just at the end of the hall, a couple of dried clean dishes in a rack on the sink and a bowl of fruit on the bench.

Mason felt no regret in running the tap cold and lapping at the water like a kid. The cool liquid quietened the clanging in his ears and he sighed, standing upright and wiping his mouth with the back of his wrist.

Now painkillers…

He pulled open drawers, finding utensils, baking instruments, bags, bowls, cups and mugs; everything a kitchen would have. But he didn’t come across any sort of medicine. In his search, he forgot that he wasn’t really supposed to be in this house.

“Hey!” The shout scared Mason out of his skin, the scrawny boy jumping in fear and smacking his head on the door of the overhead cabinet.

“Shit!” he cried out, gripping his head with both hands and turning to face the man in the doorway. He took in messy brown hair, sharp dark eyes and the metal baseball bat held tightly with both hands and staggered back a few steps. “Who the fuck are you!”

“Who the fuck am I!? This is my house!” The combination of complete confusion, panic and fear smacked them both in the face as the homeowner took two steps forward and pointed the bat at Mason. “Who the fuck are you!” Mason stumbled back until he met the counter, eyes wide and fearful at the idea that this guy might actually fuck him up with the metal bat.

The guy waited, bat still held out but making no motion of actually attacking the random stranger in his kitchen. “Uhh…” Mason glanced around the room, eyes wide and fearful. Thoughts of how exactly he’d escape the room ran through his head in the chance this guy actually tried to hit him. “Mason?” He said his own name with confusion and after another long moment, the baseball bat lowered to point to the floor and the homeowner lifted a hand to his face with a sigh.

“Mason.” The guy spoke with a tone of defeat, realising that the boy was completely harmless. “Why the fuck are you in my house?” he asked, voice far more calm and flat. It was thick with lethargy, and he rubbed his eyes with his thumb and finger.

With his heartrate lowering back to a humane level, Mason took a deep breath. Unsurprisingly, there was no explainable answer to the guy’s question and he didn’t even try to stop the dumb sounding: “Uhh…” from drifting off his tongue.

The guy blinked, brows raised. A moment passed and dark eyes dropped from Mason’s confused face to the rest of him. “Why are you naked?”

Mason’s eyes widened, falling to look at himself in surprise. “Oh fuck,” he said, the biting cold of the room suddenly making a lot more sense. When he looked back up at the guy, he ran his fingers through his hair and tried to make some resemblance of a smile. To relieve the awkwardness? Maybe to come off as friendly? He didn’t know his own intentions, but he knew his headache was getting more and more murderous by the second. “Hey, uh. Do you have any painkillers?”

Another moment. He took a step forward and Mason jumped in alarm, fearing the worst. Instead, the bat was placed on the kitchen counter and the guy ignored Mason, walking to the furthest overhead cabinet. From inside, he pulled a marker and a box of painkillers. He pulled a glass from the drawer beneath, filling it with water and placing it on the bench beside the stranger.

He didn’t give away anything with his expression, other than exhaustion in the bags beneath his eyes. Mason flinched back when a pale hand held itself open in front of him, waiting. Cautiously, he mirrored the action, trying not to react when the man took hold of the back of his wrist and easily popped two pills from the packet into the palm of his hand.

He closed his fingers around them, confusion growing when the hand slipped up further to grip his forearm, uncapping the marker. But something about the guy encouraged him to stay quiet and not bother him with questions. He just waited, soft tip inking numbers along his arm.

“Door’s out there. If I hear you banging around in my house any longer I’ll bury you.” Mason listened in surprise, hand finally released and feeling cold in contrast of the warm fingers that lifted to card through soft-looking brown hair. “Text me and tell me what happened in a few hours when I can actually process shit.”

The ten-digit number made his skin tingle and Mason blinked. The sound of the man’s voice was nice to listen to: deep and rounded. It was unlike other voices he’d heard before and he barely paid attention to what he was telling him, too focused on the sound of his voice. “Uhh, sure. Okay. Thanks.”

He took a step back. The dark eyes scanned him again.

“D’you have clothes?” Curious, still sleepy. Mason glanced down at his nudity again, mouth opening to offer an answer only to be stopped by the guy’s hand held up to face him. “Y’know what? Never mind. I don’t actually give a fuck. Just drink that and go home, uhh… Marson?”

He snorted. “Mason,” he corrected and the guy nodded, waving his hand vaguely.

“Yeah. Mason.”

With that, the homeowner nodded and walked past Mason and out into the hall. He watched him go, confused and stunned and slightly amused in his hungover. The painkillers went down his throat easy and the water helped considerably in refreshing his hot head. Rinsing the cup and sitting it in the sink, he returned to the living room, snatched up his jeans and opened up the phone app.

A sigh greeted him when he put the phone to his ear and he couldn’t help the immature grin on his face at his friend’s dissatisfaction. “Hey Toby,” he said, pinning the phone between his ear and his shoulder. He staggered, trying to yank the jeans up over his feet.

“Where are you?” Tired and already fed up.

Mason giggled. “I climbed into some guy’s house through his window.”

“For fuck’s sake, Zuckles. You’re kidding”

“Nah.”

note: again! sorry for the trash-tier writing. ill try improve on it when i have something better plot and better planned to get out here

#suckles #suckles fic #suckles fanfic #swaggersouls #zuckles #not romantic #gbg #gbg fic #gbg fanfic #gay baby gang #idk man #its trashy and just a what the fuck fic bt here you go

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sleemo · 7 years ago

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Rian Johnson on the evolution of the Force in 'Star Wars: The Last Jedi' and more spoilers

Who is Snoke, anyway? Has Kylo Ren ever kissed a girl? Rian Johnson answers the burning ‘Star Wars: The Last Jedi’ questions. — LA Times | Dec 18, 2017

As Obi-Wan Kenobi once told young Luke Skywalker, “The Force is what gives a Jedi his power. It’s an energy field created by all living things — it surrounds us, and penetrates us; it binds the galaxy together.”

Ever since Tatooine’s favorite farm boy learned about the Force, “Star Wars” fans have devoured every bit of the universe that’s come alive in the galaxy far, far away over the course of eight movies and counting.

But in Disney’s weekend box-office smash “Star Wars: The Last Jedi,” writer-director Rian Johnson (“Brick,” “Looper”) takes bold leaps and shakes up the “Star Wars” universe, sending “Force Awakens” heroes Rey (Daisy Ridley), Finn (John Boyega), and Poe Dameron (Oscar Isaac) further into the fight between light and dark with one surprise after another.

How much does “The Last Jedi” redefine the rules of Force physics as we know it — and what do these tantalizing new possibilities mean for the future of “Star Wars?” Who is Snoke, anyway? What exactly can Force ghosts do from beyond the astral plane? Has Kylo Ren ever kissed a girl?

Back in Los Angeles between globe-trotting appearances, a week after his star-studded premiere, Johnson answered all these burning “Star Wars” questions and more. Heavy spoiler warning: Best to read after watching “Star Wars: The Last Jedi.”

“The Last Jedi” takes much of what we all thought we knew about this 40-year-old franchise and how the rules of the Force work, and expands them in some wild new ways. Knowing the doors you were going to open, what were your consultations like with Lucasfilm’s in-house protectors of the canon while writing the script?

There is a man named Pablo Hidalgo who is the sweetest dude in the universe, and he’s one of several keepers of the flame at Lucasfilm. It would always be a conversation, and if the story required it and if it felt like it stretches into new territory but doesn’t break the idea of what the Force can do, Pablo was down — I got the blessing.

The evolution of Rey’s relationship with Kylo Ren takes an intense and pivotal turn in “The Last Jedi.” We learn that Supreme Leader Snoke has linked them through the Force, as if he were connecting a call at a switchboard — an idea thematically mirrored in Poe’s “bad connection” scene with Hux earlier in the film. Where did that idea originate?

It was always through the demands of the story. With the Force connections between Rey and Kylo I thought, “OK, I need to get these two talking. But if I put them face to face they’re going to either fight, or one of them has to be tied up” —

Well, they could also make out …

They could also make out! I’m going to give you a spinoff movie …

Even if they make out, then they can’t be talking. So I knew I wanted them to talk, and to talk enough to where we could go from “I hate you,” to her being forced to actually engage with him. That’s where the idea of these “Force connections” came from, which is kind of a new thing. It’s a little bit of a riff on what happens with Vader and Luke at the end of “The Empire Strikes Back,” but it’s entirely new in some regards.

I’ve got a catchy name for Rey and Kylo’s sexy “Force connection” sessions for you: “ForceTime.”

[Laughs] I’ve heard “Force Skyping,” but that’s good! I’ve got to talk to Apple. There’s a real big co-branding opportunity here.

Some of these revelatory new Force possibilities might be challenging for fans to accept. Are they such a stretch within “Star Wars” science and the greater franchise?

The truth is, because “Star Wars” until “The Force Awakens” has been set in amber and we hadn’t had a new “Star Wars” movie in 10 years, you forget that they were introducing new Force stuff with each movie, based on the requirements of the story. Force-grabbing didn’t come around until “Empire,” it wasn’t in “A New Hope.” Same with Force ghosts. They’d introduce new ideas of what could happen with the Force each time.

After the climactic battle on the salt planet Crait we learn Luke was projecting himself from his island the whole time. How does that scene rewrite the rules of the Force? Could a Force user projecting themselves physically influence the world around them, not just the minds of others?

That’s a question. When Luke shows up he’s projecting, it’s like a hardcore variation of what Kylo and Rey have been doing the whole time and that’s why it takes so much out of him. In the version that we play, no. We tried to play really, really fair. In terms of his footsteps – we removed all of his foley — there are no footstep sounds. They never touch. And if you look, the salt flakes that are falling are sparking off of Kylo’s saber and not off of Luke’s.

What about Force ghosts and the suggestion that Jedi masters wield even more previously unknown powers from beyond the grave? Can powerful Force users create physical, tangible manifestations?

The one point where we do introduce a bit of a twist in terms of Force ghosts is where Yoda calls down the lightning onto the tree. That, I think, is a tantalizing hint of the potential of someone who is a Force ghost interacting with the real world.

Hypothetically speaking, can dark Force users become Force ghosts?

I think that would be interesting. We haven’t seen them in the movies as far as I can remember. But that would be really interesting considering the dark side is about self-preservation, trying to find immortality, and the notion that the light side actually got to it through selflessness — what would the dark side version of that look like? There’s so much cool [stuff] to think about if you’re willing to open your head a little bit!

Another surprise in this film is seeing Leia use her latent Force powers after decades of being the Skywalker twin who doesn’t wield the Force. Why was that an important parting gift to give both Leia and Carrie Fisher?

That was something Kathy [Kennedy] was always asking: Why has this never manifested in Leia? She obviously made a choice, because in “Return of the Jedi” Luke tells her, “You have that power too.” I liked the idea that it’s not Luke concentrating, reaching for the lightsaber; it’s an instinctual survival thing, like when you hear stories of a parent whose toddler is caught under a car and they get superhuman strength, or a drowning person clawing their way to the surface. It’s basically just her not being done with the fight yet.

I wanted it to happen [for Carrie] and I knew it was going to be a stretch. It’s a big moment, and I’m sure it will land different ways for different people, but for me it felt like a really emotionally satisfying thing to see.

Han’s dice are a nice touch that resonates with Luke, Leia and Kylo, not to mention the fans, and a callback to how he got the Millennium Falcon in the first place.

When I wrote it, it was something that was in “The Force Awakens.” I think they shot it and didn’t end up using it: When Han comes onto the Falcon, he takes his dice out of his pocket and hangs them back up, like, “This is mine again.” When it got pulled out [of “The Force Awakens”] I thought, even if it’s not directly set up I think you’ll get it that these are Han’s dice. The notion that they get used different ways ending with Kylo, I liked.

Fans have been obsessed with Snoke’s origins since “The Force Awakens,” and while we get to know him much more in “The Last Jedi,” you don’t necessarily give that answer. Does it matter who he was?

Not in this story it doesn’t, which is not to say it wouldn’t be interesting — they might explore it in the next movie or elsewhere. I wrote this script before “The Force Awakens” came out, so when I wrote it, the “Who is Snoke?” mania hadn’t arisen with the fans yet. Even if it had, my perspective is it’s similar to how the Emperor was handled. The first three movies you know nothing about the Emperor because you don’t have to, because that’s not the story. You know exactly what you need to know. Whereas in the prequels, you know everything about him because that is the story.

In this movie, Rey doesn’t really care where he comes from, so if in any of their scenes he had stopped and done a 30-second monologue about how he is [Darth] Plagueis or whoever, Rey would have blinked and looked confused and the scene would have gone on … and we would have ended up cutting it in the editing room because it doesn’t matter to the story right now.

Why does it matter, then, who Rey’s parents are — the idea that she doesn’t come from a lineage of “special” Jedi kin?

It felt like the way to go because it’s the hardest thing that she could possibly hear. It would be the easy thing for her to be defined by, “yes, this is how you fit into this story — it’s because your parent is so and so!” In that moment, for Kylo to be able to use that [information] as a knife and twist it to try and get what he wants, felt like the most dramatically potent option.

Please explain the dramatic necessity of giving Kylo Ren a shirtless scene.

At the premiere I heard somebody in the balcony say, “Yesssss!” You can see Adam was training hardcore throughout the whole process. It’s fun but it also has a specific purpose, which is the increasing feeling of uncomfortable intimacy. That was sticking with the theme of trying to give Rey the hardest thing you could possibly give her, which would be unavoidable intimate conversation with this person that she wants to just hate. This was just one more way of upping that ante.

So … is this the first time Kylo has ever held hands with a girl?

I actually talked about that with Adam [Driver]. Adam was like, “So … have I actually kissed a girl before?” I would think maybe he has. Maybe after hours in the Jedi camp, there was a game of spin the bottle — “spin the lightsaber…”

— LA Times

#interview #rian johnson #luke skywalker #rey #kylo ren #the last jedi #snoke

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gwen-of-myth · 7 years ago

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For Day 1 of Steter week (Nov. 24: Season One Rewrite). Peter asks Stiles for the bite, and this time, he says yes.

EDIT: for some reason the very end of this messed up? I fixed it!

Of all Peter’s choices, it might just be biting Scott that he regrets most. The pup’s inexperience isn’t even what bothers him. It’s the lack of loyalty, of Pack in the boy, that gives him such a sour taste in his mouth. No killing, either, not even to save the lives most precious to him. Peter hates that. It reminds him of being left in a hospital room to die for six years.

So it isn’t quite shocking when Peter’s next choice, even when near out of his mind with grief, pain, and rage, is picked much more carefully. After much observation, and forethought, and some amount of amusing conversation, Peter has his choice.

Stiles.

The boy is more magnificent without the bite than Scott McCall ever became with it, Peter is sure. He is a bundle of anxious energy and fear, but Stiles still leapt into the supernatural to first help his best friend, then the whole town. Loyalty to the end, that is what Peter needs.

Eventually, after meddling on both his and their parts, Peter offers him the bite.

His offer is shrugged off at first. Stiles feigns disinterest, perhaps not willing to take anything from “the bad guy”, especially when death is on the table. Always a clever boy. Reluctantly his ruse falls, and he accepts with eagerness. Stiles isn’t power hungry, Peter knows, but Stiles must know what being a werewolf entails--again, he is very clever,

It surprises Peter how horribly Stiles takes the bite at first. Later, it’s confirmed by Deaton that his magic was rejecting the bite in an effort to save Stiles. Peter just stayed with him, draining pain for several hours until he was sure it had taken. Until he could feel the Pack bond snap into place. When Stiles was next wakes, Peter is still by him, but this time they’re in Stiles’s room.

“Wha’re...you...”

Honey eyes widen quickly, fear and uncertainty lining his every erratic breath. His eyes flash gold, and Peter can tell he’s seconds away from a panic attack.

Peter places one hand to the boys neck, and another to the boys cheek. Grounding him.

“Sssh, darling boy. You’re safe.”

A flicker of sarcasm appears on Stiles’s face, but he calms anyway. His Alpha told him to, after all.

“I’m safe with the psychopath that has tried to kill me, my friends, and numerous others?”

“Yes,” Peter promises, and this time Stiles hears the truth in his heartbeat. “You will always be safe with me.”

Stiles flushes a pretty red. Unused to attention, Peter’s sure. He scents the boy then, his hands never truly having left him. Urges like scenting haven’t been fulfilled for him in years, not truly. It’s satisfying, and Peter can tell it’s affecting Stiles in much the same way, Stiles smells content and anxious, and one sniff tells him why. He releases Stiles (Peter doesn’t comment on the high pitched whining that leaves his throat), and gently pushes him away from the bed.

“Eat and take your medicine.”

“How did you--”

Peter cuts him off by tapping his nose with a grin, and the returning flush on Stiles’s cheeks is nothing if not satisfying. Yes, Peter could get used to this.

The Pack bond grows stronger, and with it, so does Stiles. They’re a small Pack, and Stiles alone shouldn’t be enough to keep Peter sane. But he does and it is, so Peter is able to control his murderous rampage for revenge, if only to keep his Beta happy.

Scott, Derek, and the others they eventually recruit think Peter is brainwashing Stiles. They tell him at school, but he brushes them off. Knows his Alpha has been nothing but fair, if mistrusting. Scott reminds him of the murders, of

Laura.

Stiles shoots back that it was justice, and that a good Alpha wouldn’t let their own rot in a hospital bed for six years.

It makes Scott angry, that Stiles is choosing Peter of all people over him. They fight, but the difference between them is that between a puppy and a doberman--one, inexperienced and out of control, the other a trained and practiced fighter. It’s over quickly, with Stiles’s hand over Scott’s throat and serious intent in his gold-rimmed eyes.

“Stay away from him,” Stiles suggests in a quiet voice. “Ok, Scottie?”

Peter knows something happened when Stiles comes to him more unsteady than the day he bit him. He pulls him close and lets the boy cry into his chest. Peter smells Scott on him, but knows better than to question Stiles when he’s like this. When his sobs turn to whimpers, Peter swipes away the tears on his face.

“What is it?”

The boy’s heartbeat flutters.

"I...” Stiles struggles with words for a moment. “Scott was like my brother, y’know? I though that wouldn’t change. But he wants to kill you and...I fought him.”

Peter’s heart swells with affection.

“For me?”

Stiles nods. Peter’s chest rumbles and his eyes flash red.

This is the loyalty Peter needs, the type not even his precious niece could give. The type Derek still couldn’t. Peter can’t find it in himself to truly hold that grudge anymore, because through everything he knows, Stiles is...

Mate, his wolf howls, pleased and possessive.

“Stiles, I need to tell you something important.”

He takes it fairly well, if passing out counts as well. Peter catches him with an amused huff, and he begins planning how to tell John without getting shot. Holding his mate to his chest (his beautiful, loyal, smart mate), he thinks he could withstand anything. A bullet is nothing.

Peter grills steak, soothing Stiles every thirty seconds as he continually freaks out (”Peter, this is going to give him a goddamn heart attack, no I will not calm down!”). Stiles quiets when he hears the car pulling into the driveway, frozen next to Peter.

“Stiles,” John calls out.

“In here, dad. I, uh, have to talk to you about something.”

Peter does, in fact, get shot. Stiles wolfs out by accident in response, stuck between wanting to protect his Alpha and his mate and not wanting to hurt his dad. Peter reacts the calmest, digging the bullet out with barely a grunt. He convinces the man he isn’t here to hurt anyone, and yes, werewolves do exist.

The mate part nearly gets Peter shot again, but he passes John the steaks and all is (almost) forgotten.

“I still don’t like this. You’re way too young for him, son. What happened to that Martin girl?”

“When did I ever have a chance with her? Besides dad,” Stiles smiles, teeth razor sharp, “how fucking cool is this?”

“Language.”

Stiles laughter rings in Peter’s mind, and he can’t help the affectionate look he sends across the table. Stiles catches him, and returns it with equal amounts of sappiness. They may be a two wolf Pack, but Peter would burn a thousand times over to see his smile.

#steterweek2017 #fanfic #Steter

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iluvtv · 4 years ago

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Still Watching: A Love Letter to my Mom

The content below has not been censored for your consideration as neither the Real Housewives nor my mother would have approved of such blasphemy.

The decline in blogging was conveniently intentional.

There were other projects.

My career as a TV critic wasn’t exactly gaining steam.

My readership technically wasn’t booming.

For a time there had been an unmistakable fulfillment in my blogging habits.

Full disclosure: this work held undeniable titillation, provoked as it were by the vain echoes of my own subconscious. It was too enticing not to indulge the ego, booming, unselfconsciously through the page as I “eloquently” deciphered probable intentions of a writer’s room.

But was this self-aggrandizing, albeit surely intellectually stimulating task truly worthwhile?

I kept falling back on this tricky notion of time management. Was taking copious amounts of notes regarding my viewing habits (a laborious task which required endless rewinds and thusly an inability to watch TV with others) coupled with the studious investment of actually researching and writing a cohesive piece which included a clear argument for television as a medium and thereby proving a consistent thesis, truly a valuable use of my time?

Not to mention, of course, the added effort of finagling my mother to invest her energies toward a strong copy-edit.

It was an investment, sure. But then again none of it was necessarily difficult at least in the classical sense of the word.

Actually, the engaging my mother bit was sort of easy. Not only was I skilled at the subtle art of stroking of her ego; “Your attention to detail is just so much better than mine. You are so smart…” I also possessed a valuable trump card which, admittedly, brought as much pleasure as my own voice: she actually liked my writing!

To have known my mother is to know what a huge compliment this fan-dom truly was.

My mother was proudly authentic. She had no shame over her inability to “fake it”.

This personality trait demanded a certain dedication on her part. She was famous for telling my girlfriends they looked like sluts at our eighth-grade dance and embarrassing fits at the market while her younger children tried to disappear into the kid’s seat of the shopping cart. Patronizing eye rolls were par for the course. When a third grade Hebrew School teacher lauded my literary skills my loving, supportive mother made it abundantly clear she didn’t think I was a bad writer but maybe just too… precious?

Admittedly, poetry about attempted genocide from an eight-year-old may hold some tonal issues.

No matter, after 30 years of practice I had found my niche. I was everything she seemed to be looking for in a writer: I would rather drink turpentine than emote and I like really “got” satire. Finally, my words were funny and thusly, the woman who had helped foster this cynical humor had little trouble understanding my intentions.

We fell into lockstep. Her killer, critical eye and unparalleled editing skills were a welcomed privilege. I was no longer precious. A trait which carried over in my ability to “take a note.” I fully understood the value of a critical red pen from a grammar die-hard. Particularly one, who not only had a deep ceded appreciation for my style (she helped cultivate it, after all) but also a keen understanding of the objective, which only a mother could boast.

I was fully aware what a priceless service this was.

And so, I kept watching. My notetaking became obsessive. Whenever I pondered this expense of time, I considered the reality: rewriting dialogue was improving my own. I was becoming a better writer.

Since both my mother and I were committing countless hours to the free and underappreciated service of my viewing recommendations, it didn’t take long for the shows and topics I bothered dissecting to be unequivocally dictated by her unapologetic tastes. Or better stated, my own experience of such.

As an aside, I’d be remiss not to note that in losing both my parents it has become abundantly clear that one’s guardians (especially good ones) mostly exist in relation to ourselves and our already noted inflated egos.

Basically, the television I studied, the theories I pondered, the conclusions I drew had to appeal in large part to Dale Allen Boland. This was a nuanced role. An honest woman of remarkable talent she also happened to be the strict television gatekeeper of my childhood. Back in the 90’s a desire for this blue light pulsed through my veins like an addict in search of her next hit. I hadn’t been picky at all back then. This was a time in my life when even Jerry Springer reruns in black and white, streamed through bunny ears in my Jr. High weight room took the edge off.

To be frank, while at first her editing felt crucial so as not to embarrass myself on the interwebs it soon became clear that the bigger part of my ask was just any sort of consistent audience. In time it became obvious that my mother hadn’t only become a fan, but she was, in fact, my blog’s only fan.

And as any good writer knows, you gotta’ appeal to your base.

It helped, of course, that my mother had been my earliest educator (dictator) of media. The San Francisco Chronicle’s Datebook and the New Yorker were mainstays next to the can, meaning my earliest poos were made all the more pleasurable by the accompaniment of Adair Lara and John Carrol. By 34 I was not only well versed in what she found tolerable, but also possessed a keen understanding of how to stylize this appeal.

Simpsons? Yes. Danielle Steele? Not so much. Had she given Danielle an opportunity? Of course not! But I was willing to play her game.

We both were expending a lot of energies at this point and since any real readership was in the slim to none margins it was crucial that we at least reward ourselves.

In retrospect I understand that this was actually how we enjoyed time together.

After she died my father noted that my mother and I had always shared a very special intellectual connection. A greater compliment than sharing a literary bond with Dale had never been given. In fact, in my father’s wake it is easy to see that this final gift from him may have been the most important. In saying so, he finally acknowledged what I’d always longed to hear. He respected, perhaps even envied not only my intelligence, but my mother’s too.

While I had given up on blogging years before their deaths, my diligent notetaking continued up until them. I accepted that my time critiquing television for free to a marginal audience had not been without purpose (though I missed the motive of the maternal connection it fostered until just now). I am well aware that through my efforts I had gained the confidence to write a novel. I understood that to maintain this skill set a continued attention to television’s minutia was critical.

But then, she died. Suddenly, grief allowed me space to achieve an entirely different and antithetical goal I’d set years earlier and had made no real efforts to achieve: to do less.

Finally I was able to let thoughts wave over me. I allowed flashes of “brilliance” to be fleeting. I relaxed into a space of agitated ease. I exclusively sought joy. In doing so I concurrently and without coincidence leaned into a brand of watching which had always been considered “just desserts.”

Bravo TV became a life raft. I watched Real Housewives and Summerhouse with a certain amused stillness I hadn’t exhibited since my complacent years as a co-ed.

The day following my mother’s memorial I listened to “Radio Andy” on Siris XM in a monotonous loop throughout the entire 6-hour drive home. I slept to Bravo podcasts. I read tweets from Bravo fan accounts during session breaks.

I noticed Bravo was keeping me smiling. The network and commentary was rewarding me with a source to which I could focus. I appreciated the humor.

Two months later my father died. Mind blank I leaned in harder to the quiet blankness this watching served.

But then, I noticed something.

Watching Kathryn Dennis of Southern Charm open a coke can with her teeth in a loudly expensive living room, next to her foam roller it occurred to me that these women were the antithesis of my own mother.

Vicky Gunvalson whooping it up at a classy resort represented everything my mother had no tolerance for.

To see these women as satirical requires a certain level of empathy for their antics that would have eluded Dale.

Their bad behavior was just too black and white. For my mom there would have been nothing charmingly relatable about a woman like Lisa Barlow of Salt Lake City, placatingly sipping a constant stream of fountain soda through a plastic straw while proudly bragging she wasn’t “like a regular mom,” proving this factoid by feeding her children drive through fast-food for every meal and ignoring their calls when she was at a party.

These are women that bat fake eyelashes and scream at each other through plastic pumped lips. They float effortlessly in azul pools in Mexico boosted by the silicone in their tits.

My mom also wasn’t a regular mom but she wouldn’t have found this indulgent brand of opulence at all inspirational, aspirational or relatable. She did not identify as a “powerhouse” or a woman who needed to tell other women that she “lifted up other women” over an expensive cocktail brunch with “40 of her closest girlfriends” all of whom wielded designer purses like coats of armor.

This trope, repeated often throughout every Housewives franchise for the past 20 years would have just pissed my mother off.

It’s not that she didn’t relate to women behaving badly this just wasn’t her brand of bad behavior. She maybe could have sympathized if they’d been wearing Walmart rather than Prada.

Lorelai Gilmore? Sure, why not? Emily Gilmore? Definitely not.

It’s funny because in a certain sense my mother’s proud authenticity and lack of shame in her outbursts would have made her an ideal housewife. But the weight these women put on things and beauty would have been too damn distracting to her.

In spite of being a woman whose love language was often a good screaming match she would have found any and all of the dramatic fights on Housewives absolutely insufferable.

And in spite of my deep love for the genre, convincing Dale that any of this was actually satire worth watching would have been an exercise in futility.

I embraced this factoid quietly and with little work on my end (other than setting the DVR to catch up on back seasons of Atlanta) I leaned into a space which never would have been tolerated.

It felt good.

It was my own.

In doing so, I came up with a million things about Bravo to share. Perhaps one day I will. God knows I need to create a new fan base.

But before I could even consider either changing the channel or sitting down to a blog analyzing how one housewife’s ludicrous and racist notion that eating chicken feet was somehow any different than eating chicken nuggets, I got this text from my mom’s best friend: “have you seen Derry Girls.”

Maybe an audience was asking for a resurrection, after all.

But as I flipped to Netflix and started a new note labeled “Derry Girls” it occurred to me that I first must come to terms with how much things have changed.

There is a certain level of self-actualization left amidst the cluttered grief of losing my parents. As I write this, I am continuously tempted to take a break for “Mom’s consideration”. Her feedback would have supplied an unrequited serotonin boost, like a gentle promise to my oh so evasive ego that there was purpose in my efforts, that the writing I was doing was valuable. When my mom was alive I always knew that someone would appreciate my continued efforts, making it tolerable to finish, and tidy, and publish. My mother was like a promise that not only my words but also I myself was worthwhile.

This chore of loving, maternal reassurance is, of course, now my own. A truth my mother, who never needed to brag about lifting up other women, would have celebrated.

Nothing would have made my mom happier than me making my own choices, editing my own words and being my own cheerleader Perhaps she died just to prove it. To know Dale Allen Boland is to suspend belief that she maybe could have made her last stubborn point through such dramatic means.

And to be totally frank; that is a storyline not even a housewife could pull off.

Thank you for being my greatest cheerleader. I love you Mom.

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