#figuring out how to panel things and pace things was a good exercise

[liurae]

hourly comic day 2024~ it was a real struggle but it was fun!

[fernsnailz]

hello! i was wondering how long you've been animating for? and what got you into storyboarding & comic making? do you have any tips for comic making (paneling) & animating?

i've been animating since i was a teenager but i didn't start animating consistently until college, so a little over 5 years! but i've been making comics since i was little, so animating and storyboarding just kinda came naturally from that.

my general advice for comics is that it's all about flow and timing! flow is about determining the right pacing for your scene as well as making it readable. usually the panels flow from one into the other - like in the example below (by tracy yardley who is REALLY good at this stuff), the motion of the characters leads into the next panel, and the speech bubbles also line up with where the action of the panel naturally leads.

obligatory archie sonic mention complete

timing is just as important and can be conveyed in a number of different ways in comics. usually with my work, the size of the panel indicates how long i imagine the moment is. so a small panel is a short moment, and a large panel requires a bit more time.

long moments can also be split into multiple shorter moments if you break it up into numerous panels.

paneling itself can be pretty tricky - i tend to break a lot of my pages up into thirds first (at whatever proportion you need), then arrange whatever panels i need within those thirds.

these aren't really rules that are set in stone, just a few things that i've found have helped me. you don't need to fill a whole page with tons of Stuff for a comic - it's all about figuring out how you want your story to flow through the page's space. same with storyboarding, that flow and timing is important in an even more literal sense because storyboards flows through actual time, not just space on a page.

idk if any of this makes much sense so. i also highly highly recommend the Comics Devices Library for other elements and principles you can use lol it's very good 👍

i don't have as many tips for animating since 1) i consider myself to be a comic/storyboard artist first and an animator second, and 2) animating is. very complex lol. if you're new to animating then i suggest starting SMALL and trying out some beginner animation exercises and the 12 Principles of Animation.

if you're already an animator and just looking for general advice then uhh. idk arcs are important. arcs are SO fucking important do not forget that most motions move in some sort of arc. also remember to label your keyframes and looping animations. and put secondary actions and limbs on different layers if you don't want to go crazy. also animate your character's eyes and pupils moving if a shot feels too still. yeah that's all i got good night tristate area

[neverheroes]

PAGE 1, PAGE 2. Next →

This is a drawing exercise and I’m just making it up page by page

I have a huge sort of AU half-written but I suck at drawing comics and don’t have a style and am so torn between wanting my own style and just drawing like one of the cartoons. Anyway. Here I go watch me learn, or don’t, and as always; if you know me in real life, no you don’t.

First post: Spending my free time drawing a Step Up but make it TMNT 🎶how did this happen🎶.

Comic stuff is completely new to me. So is drawing people. All of this. It’s hard. And it’s weird that I’m sticking with it actually. One day it won’t take me like 6 hours to do a basic sketch page because I’m like hey let’s invent a whole cast of characters for a dance class. Wanna name them? I think I accidentally just AU an April? and Karai, what even is my subconscious.

Leo is definitely only in this class because the school has some academic rule about clubs but he can’t be in others for some reason. He’s good at it but not the best enough so is constantly mad at himself, which this nasty little whoever is using to manipulate him to get him to quit. I think he treats it like a fight, is great with improv but struggles to be soft. Anyway. “Am I thinking too hard about this?”

Second post:

I really just don’t like colouring I think, or need to spend some time figuring out colouring I actually like. First page was like 2 panels and the second one is like 2 pages long ahaha so I can add pacing to the things I’m bad at. So far one person has liked this post specific and significant hello to a wonderful potato.

[deusvervewrites]

Not to jump on the Eraserhead hate train (except I totally am, this shit is hilarious)

It really says something that, both in fics and small parts of canon, Izuku has done more to help 1-A with their emotional and quirk development than Aizawa has. Sure, main character syndrome and all, but how much has Eraser actually done in between doing the bare minimum as a teacher and sleeping under his desk?

And people will argue the exercises done during the summer camp arc as him helping with their quirks, but most of these are just things they either could have figured out on their own, already do, or just make sense if you look at their quirks and their drawbacks.

He also makes them run an eight hour march through the woods while being attacked by earth monsters and skipping their lunch, for some reason.

Hell, for most of them, the training is just "Use your Quirk as much as possible as quickly as possible."

I'm willing to be a bit lenient on Aizawa on this point because MHA's pacing is unrelenting and despite being a school we never see any classes or lessons, so it's probable that he's meant to be training them during time skips, but I do think it's very telling that when Midoriya flashes back to all the times Aizawa's been a good teacher... it's a panel invented for that flashback, and it's so generic you can't even tell what he's supposed to be doing, while Aizawa's flashback is instead to a very specific scene--"You can never be a Hero with that power."

Compare:

[thatdiabolicalfeminist]

I suspect I have ME/CFS but I'm not clinically diagnosed, and idk how I would even get diagnosed, but do you have any tips for beds or comfort? Do you have any comfort tips for someone who doesn't want to be in bed but fatigues early/easily?

So it's actually pretty important to figure out whether what you're ill with is actually ME/CFS or an illness with similar symptoms. Things that are good for ME patients can make people with similar chronic illnesses worse, and vice versa, and if you have something different to ME (or in addition to it) it may require medical treatment, either to make you feel better or to stop or slow serious damage.

If you have access to a rheumatologist, they should be able to run tests that can rule out lupus and rheumatoid arthritis, and they may be able to evaluate you for fibromyalgia as well. They'd likely run panels to check your blood counts and rule out vitamin deficiencies that can cause things from fatigue to neurological damage.

These are good things to do even if you're 100% sure you have M.E., because some of this stuff is commonly comorbid. (Oh, and if you have M.E. you might wanna get checked out for the most common comorbidities, like POTS or fibro or hEDS or IBS, to see if you can limit the strain your body's experiencing. Treat any comorbid migraines, etc.)

Check out the international consensus criteria to verify for yourself if you have M.E. Your GP may be willing to diagnose you if that's something you need or want to pursue - my original diagnosis was from a family doctor. A rheumatologist is better though, because they'll understand autoimmune stuff and know what to rule out. My rheumatologist caught ME symptoms I hadn't even noticed before.

In general though, being an ME patient means doing a lot of your own research. Doctors frequently know very little and only some are willing to read up on it. Don't let anyone try to sell you on graded exercise therapy - research shows it makes ME patients sicker, but some doctors recommend it anyway since it's good for many illnesses with similar symptoms.

As for what you actually asked about -

I think what you need/want as far as comfortable beds etc is going to be very specific to your particular body.

My main advice is to pay attention and not let yourself dissociate from your body.

People with chronic pain and fatigue often ignore our own bodies most of the time to avoid feeling that pain and fatigue so much, and it means we can have a hard time knowing what helps or hurts.

Experiment and be deliberate about noticing what feels restful and what doesn't.

In bed, you might find that you want extra pillows to support different parts of your body - a knee pillow makes a huge difference for me, and a body pillow under the edge of my back when I lie on my side.

Outside of bed, sit often and sit comfortably. As much as possible. I have found that it's WAY more draining to let my legs dangle down than to pull them up and cross them, so I sit cross legged a lot. I also have a day bed in the dining area so I can lie down when I get tired without missing out on socializing, or without leaving the room when I'm cooking. I've found that a chair with a back is less tiring than a chair without one. I also have a wheeled stool in the kitchen so I can cook sitting down and move around the kitchen without walking. It’s a lifesaver.

If you're not already using a mobility aid, consider getting one. I tire way, way less quickly with my rollator than I do with my cane, and I tire way less quickly with the cane than I do walking unsupported. (Also, some rollators and even some canes have convenient sitting when you're out and about!)

A cheap hand-propelled wheelchair doesn't save me energy unless someone else can push, but fancier ones are much easier to move, and motorized ones are least draining of all.

But honestly a $10 cane can be a lifesaver all on its own, even if you only use it on big fatigue days or when no one else is around.

Pay attention to whether light or sound tires you out, and if it does, try to reduce light and sound in the area where you rest. Same with other sensory input that can be quietly fatiguing. You may want to limit this input even outside of rest, so you don't wear out as fast. Lastly, if you're pretty sure you do have M.E., read up on pacing. My rheumatologist gave me this very easy to understand, nicely packaged guide to pacing, complete with charts to help you keep track of your activity patterns and explanations for friends and family so they can understand enough to be supportive.

Pacing is the number one best thing you can do to protect your health if you have M.E. The less often you go into post exertional malaise, the more ability you will retain.

Sorry this is so long but I hope it helps!

[junkworldusa]

on comics

[tl;dr i was worried for most of my life about being a ‘good artist’ but now i just make comics and you should too]

i spent april, may, and half of june 2020 rendering geometric objects in soft charcoal. i threw myself into what’s colloquially known on /ic/ as grinding fundies-- perspective exercises, bargue plates, and figure drawing. my intent was to git gud and finally launch a narrative webcomic-- something visually pleasing, digital, and well-written. i had finished scripts, thumbnails, character designs, etc. i had to take advantage of all this sudden free time from losing my job! this was my chance!

then last month i realized abruptly that i was not that kind of artist, i had never been that kind of artist, and i would never be that kind of artist. i could not go SCRIPT->THUMBNAILS->PENCILS->INK because it would kill me. i had to accept i could not “finish” anything that way. if i thought too much about the work i lost interest; if it took too long i got bored. even now, every comic is a race against my own attention span.

i think there are a couple factors at play here. one is my own brain. but another is a deeper problem inherent to the medium: i believe “writing” a script or words ahead of time sucks the life out of the work. (will eisner talks about this in “Comics and Sequential Art.” ideally the writer and artist should be the same person and it should be done at the same time; if they cannot be the same person, then the artist must have liberty to change the script as they see fit to better suit the pacing/visual storytelling.) comics are the interplay of words and image. the words feed the image, the image feeds the words. the fragmented process of, say, a typical DC comic-- script/pencils/ink/color all done by separate people hundreds of miles apart-- is antithetical to the medium and also why these comics are mostly bad. to go even further, the words and images should be done with the same tool. if i put the brush down to switch to a pen the words are not the same, and the disparate style is jarring on some level. the simultaneous creation of words and images is essential. there’s immediately life. your hands come up with things you didnt expect. what i very recently learned is that i have to work like a rollercoaster: start to finish, without looking back, and without stopping. thinking is not necessary-- “skill” is not necessary. (i still struggle with this last point but the mild popularity of a few of my left-handed comics prove it to me: people will respond to a shaky scribble as long as the scribble is alive.)

i got this practice from lynda barry. who else? when i first read that she just sits down and draws a comic from start to finish, i was horrified and jealous. she writes the words for a panel, draws the image, then moves on to the next. that’s it. it seems straightforward but it haunted me. i thought i was incapable of this and that anything done like this would be TRASH! (unless lynda barry did it, of course.) but that is how i am trying to work now.

it’s not easy. self-consciousness, self-criticism, and the years of thinking art must look a certain way are all against us. it gets easier, though. i think it got easier once i realized how fun it can be. i use crayons, cheap paper, collage, non-dominant hand drawing, anything to help me realize it’s not that serious. the tactile and permanent aspect of traditional art is another aid. some of my favorite cartoonists and inkers work digitally but my brain doesnt grok it-- on some level it doesnt think it’s real.

working this way, i am not making the type of comics i wanted to make. i am not making comics that a lot of people will like to look at or read. but i am making comics, and before this i was not.

everyone can and most importantly SHOULD make comics. i tell everyone i know that they should draw more, that they should make comics. the usual protests: “i can’t do that, i can’t think of anything, i can’t draw.” how do you know? i think the same things and these thoughts are the death of art. everyone has something to say-- if you draw a comic and show it to me i will love it because it’s something new.

i have nothing further to say about art that hasn’t been said by lynda barry, GOAT, whose books on writing and drawing i recommend to everyone. (”What It Is,” “Picture This” and, appropriately, “Making Comics”. i feel like these should be mandatory reading for humanity.) tom hart, one of the greatest living cartoonists in my opinion, has a big free [!] e-book available about cartooning and creativity with lots of exercises-- http://www.tomhart.net/how-to-say-everything.html

finally:

ok thanks for reading my manifesto xxx

[learnfromwebtoons]

Lesson 9 - Keep It Moving

Today’s Lesson: Keep It Moving

Today’s Teacher: Tower of God by S. I. U

How do you keep a story from grinding to a halt or retreading the same information over and over while you figure out the ending?

Pacing is difficult to teach by example because it’s something that develops over long stretches of story, not in single-panel or short sequential screenshots. But bad pacing is the most common reason people drop a longrunning story - “I just got bored of reading it. It felt like I was reading the same thing over and over again.” 

Fortunately for me, who’s never read the comic until prompted to do so while trying to find a good case study for this post, Tower of God has this problem right off the bat!

Tower of God is a pretty old Webtoon about some guy who needs to clear all the levels in a tower to get to a girl he likes. It was recently made into an anime on Crunchyroll. It’s also over 500 episodes long and still going. Each episode is twice the length of most Webtoons, clocking in at the equivalent of nearly 15 print comic pages. And because of this length, it feels as though the story is unfolding glacially slowly. It takes the protagonist four of these extra-long episodes to clear the first level of the tower. The amount of build-up and frequent cutting away to other characters commenting on the protagonist’s trials, instead of heightening the tension of his fight, serve to diminish it by making the fight feel stretched out as well. Long stretches of dialogue and white (or black) space prime the reader to scroll faster to get to the action and might lead to people missing the good bits amidst the fluff.

The formulaic nature of Tower of God’s Level-Up plot means that on a larger scale the story feels even more repetitive, as the protagonist fights a bad guy, moves up to the next level, faces a bad guy it looks like he won’t be able to defeat, unlocks a secret power he didn’t know he had and kicks the bad guy’s ass, and then moves up to the next level again, over and over. We’ve discussed the unsustainability of escalating battle sequences in Lesson 7, and that applies to Tower of God as well. But on a smaller scale, I feel like the fights in Tower of God would land more effectively if they were faster paced, told with bigger splash panels and less unnecessary buildup surrounding them. 

Pacing is also a matter of personal preference, however: Stephen King has said he prefers slower-paced stories. I like stories that move quickly (or at least feel like they do), with things developing and changing in every chapter or episode.

Regardless of if you prefer your comics fast or slow, every panel in a comic must either develop the story and characters, or establish the environment and mood, and if it doesn’t do either of those things, there is no reason for that panel to be in there. 

Exercise: This is based on an exercise I half-remember from Scott McCloud’s Making Comics. Pick a movie you like and grab some index cards! (If you don’t have any index cards draw some rectangles on a page.) Break down the movie into 16 key scenes or events. Now remove half the index cards so that the story still makes sense. Then, get some new index cards and expand each of the remaining scenes into two cards, or even three. How does the story change depending on what you cut or expand? How does the feeling of the story change? Experiment by cutting some things and adding others. The one thing you can’t do is add in things that weren’t in the movie you were thinking of, or rearrange the order of events.

Webtoon Rec of the Day: The Webtoon I always think of as an example of unsuccessful pacing, Cheese in The Trap, is currently a Daily Pass Webtoon, which means I can’t easily reread it or use it as an example. But I did notice something interesting in Soonkki’s new ongoing Webtoon, After School Lessons for Unripe Apples. Instead of long arcs spanning multiple episodes, each episode of ASLfUA consists of several shorter strips stacked on top of each other. It still feels very slow and occasionally repetitive, but when read closely you can see each short strip develops the slice-of-life scenario further, just very slowly. This slow pace is probably not to everyone’s taste, but it works in a way Cheese in The Trap didn’t for me. At any rate, I think it’s an interesting comic to look at if you want to see how a slowly paced comic can work well. 

The Webtoons that have the best pacing I’ve noticed tend to be Webtoons that were completed in under 200 episodes, and unfortunately a lot of completed Webtoons are now in Daily Pass jail. I really enjoyed Lilac 200% recently, though, so if you have the patience for Daily Pass and enjoy bodyswap stories and scathing critiques of the idol industry, I recommend it.

[masterjedilenawrites]

The Sniper and The Medic: Chapter 6

Starring: Crosshair, OC Joan Vo

Chapter Warnings: Injuries

Taglist: @proadhog @skippyhopperwisdom

AO3 Link (In case you like it better over there, it’s okay, no judgement)

< Previous Chapter | Masterlist | Next Chapter >

Chapter 6: Black and Blue

Crosshair found himself hesitating outside the door to Joan's office. It looked just like any of the other doors down this hallway; he'd probably passed by it before without ever giving it a thought. But now that he knew where it led, who would be on the other side, he felt his stomach twist in apprehension.

And then he felt the dull pain from the bruise along his ribs and decided to just get it over with. He knocked, and heard her muffled voice calling back for him to enter.

Her office wasn't like the others he'd seen. Some kind of paneling had been put up against the standard white walls and a giant black rug took up most of the floor. It made the space feel smaller, but cozier. Even some of the lights seemed different, not as harsh and glaring as they usually were in these facilities. A desk was pushed against a wall on one side, and a small couch against the other. There was an assortment of other items about, from a bookshelf to a coffee machine to an exercise ball. A door lay open in one corner, and from his two-second view as he passed by, Crosshair determined it was a bedroom.

Joan herself was in the middle of the room, her back slightly turned as she faced a dartboard across from her. She had a dart poised to toss, but paused to look over at him and smiled in greeting.

"Hey Crosshair."

She didn't ask how he was this time, instead returning to focus on her game. Her tongue stuck out a little as she aimed and released the dart. It only barely hit the top of the board.

"Damn," she sighed. There was only one other dart on the board, the rest on the floor beneath. She faced him again with a smile. Her hair was out of its usual ponytail and she wore shorts along with her tank-top. Crosshair briefly wondered if he would ever catch her not looking wonderful.

"Do you play?" She came toward him and handed out her last dart.

He shook his head but still took the dart from her, hoping she wouldn't notice how much pain he was in. His plan was to casually ask for a bacta patch and then leave. If she wondered why, he'd say it was just a bruise but that he was fine and the only reason he came was because Hunter had insisted.

He would not, under any circumstances, tell her what had really happened. That he had been distracted by thinking about her while trying to run up some temple steps, causing him to trip and fall on top of the butt of his gun, which had gone underneath his chest plate and jammed his ribs. Nope. That was a secret he planned to take with him to the grave.

So he took the dart, held it up briefly, and tossed it over to the dartboard, hitting the bullseye square on.

Joan looked between him and the board a few times incredulously.

"You... you didn't even aim," she finally said.

"I aimed," he asserted.

She held her hands up with a little laugh. "Okay, Mr. Sharpshooter." She went over to the board to collect all the darts, looking back at him with another incredulous shake of her head. He was glad to have impressed her so much, especially when he wasn't feeling well.

"So, did you just come here to show me up, or what?"

She walked back to him, and it was then he noticed the large, gnarly-looking scar that spanned the entire length of her left thigh. Around it were tattoos of little birds, made to look as if they were flying in a spiral, up and away.

"No..." he said, distracted by her scar and tattoos. There was always something new to learn about her.

"Oh shit," she said, stopping a few paces from him. "You're injured, aren't you?"

Her eyes scanned up and down his body, trying to assess his condition. Of course she could tell when someone was hurt, he cursed at himself. It was her job. "Where?"

He vaguely motioned around his abdomen. "Just a bruise. I'm fine. Hunter..." he started to say, but she had set down her darts and was moving to take hold of his shirt. He put a tense hand on hers to stop her.

She looked up at him, half-amused. "I've probably seen worse."

That wasn't exactly what he was nervous about. Most doctors here would've had him disrobe on day one, one of many ways he felt humiliated in any examination room he went in. But since working with Joan, he'd been able to get over that fear a little. He didn't feel judged or scrutinized under her gaze. And he hadn't had to take any clothes off thus far.

But he let her lift up his shirt anyway, knowing he couldn't really stop her with the amount of pain he was in. Hopefully she would only pay attention to the injury.

She bent to inspect it and he couldn't help but glance down at it, too. It was the first time he'd seen the actual damage, and it definitely looked as worse as it felt. A large bruise was splattered across his lower ribcage.

"Um," she said with a little sigh. "Yeah that's... that's not good."

Crosshair braced himself for her to scold him, or fuss over him, or worse, demand to know what had happened. But instead, she calmly took a step back and folded her arms across her chest, looking him right in the eyes. "Well? What are you going to do about it?"

He scowled at her question. "I don't know. You're the medic."

"Last I checked, Clone Force 99 doesn't have a medic."

Crosshair realized what she was going for. She had made it clear just as much as Hunter had that the goal was for them to be prepared for their missions. If he couldn't figure out how to heal himself on Kamino, he didn't stand a chance doing so anywhere else. The problem was he really didn't know how to figure it out. Tech would know way more about this sort of thing.

"I'd ask Tech for help... I guess," he ended up saying.

That amused smirk ended back up on her face. "Yeah? When did this happen?"

"This morning."

"And did you ask Tech for help at any point between then and now?"

"No...."

"So what are you doing to do now?"

He wanted to sigh, but breathing was becoming much more strenuous. Why couldn't she just help him? He didn't really like when people fussed, but at this point, he'd much prefer that over standing around any longer. He got an idea, a rather silly and selfish one, but it was just the two of them and he figured he might as well give it a shot.

"I... I guess..." he pretended to think of a plan, letting his breaths come out shorter and louder and making himself sway a little on his feet. He didn't need to put on much of an act, just succumb to the pain and faintness he was already feeling. As predicted, Joan stopped testing him and rushed right to his side.

"Okay, okay, stay with me, Crosshair," she said softly. She wrapped an arm around his back, knowing he wouldn't be able to stretch his arm up and over her shoulder in his condition. Even through the pain, Crosshair felt a little excited tingle run through his body as her frame pressed against his. She began slowly leading him toward the couch. "I'll give you a pass on this one, but you need to stay awake so I can teach you what to do."

Joan helped him sit on the edge of the couch and quickly launched into her teaching moment. She had him cut open his shirt and showed him how to use the handheld x-ray monitor to asses if any ribs were broken. After determining it was just a bad bruise, she then explained how not to treat it: no bandagings, no deep breaths, but also not too many shallow breaths or else pneumonia might settle. She had him apply his own bacta patch and repeat back the frequency he should replace the patches while it healed. She also made him promise not to strain himself for a while, knowing he'd still need to train, but wanting to ensure he did it as safely as possible.

The whole time, Crosshair was in awe... of her medical expertise, her calmness, her way of inspiring him to take his health into his own hands. He wondered if she would ever feel the same about him. It was one thing to be impressive at darts, and a whole other thing to actually be attractive. Sitting there with his shirt off, his slight frame hunched and an ugly bruise on his abdomen, he wasn't sure he could pull it off.

Once she'd taught him all she could, she helped slip a poncho over his head, the only thing he could put on until the bacta settled in and gave him more range of motion.

"Thanks," he told her. "Sorry if I ruined your evening."

"Not at all." She walked with him to the door. "Also, I'll make sure Hunter lets you all have tomorrow off. I told him he could push you guys, but not break you."

"It wasn't Hunter's fault." Crosshair couldn't believe he was admitting this, but it was too late now. "I... kinda got distracted."

She gazed up at him for a moment, her green eyes subdued in the dim lighting. He knew if there was ever a moment for him to say something meaningful, it would be now. But he didn't know the first thing about flirting. He wasn't even a conversationalist in general. What could he possibly say?

"Green." The word slipped out of his mouth before he could even think about it. Her eyebrows quirked up questioningly. His heart thudded painfully in his chest. He gulped and tried to save himself. "We did the Endor sim today and I realized my favorite color is green."

She didn't react right away, just kept looking at him with that soft look in her eyes. Then she said, "Mine too. I didn't know how much I'd miss it, coming here. Maybe... maybe you could show me the sim some time? Not to run, just to look at."

He nodded, trying to contain the blush that threatened to appear.

"Although, maybe I should get some target practice in... Clearly I'm not that good at it."

"Is that why you resort to punching droids?"

She laughed, a genuine and lovely sound that made his heart race for completely different reasons.

"I'll help you practice," he said, finally stepping into the hall to be on his way. He wanted to leave before he said something stupid and ruined the moment. "The least I could do."

"Deal," Joan grinned.

[emospritelet]

Twisted Fate - chapter 24

Last time, Gold went to Storybrooke, and Belle’s waters broke

[AO3]

x

“Mr Gold, thank you so much for dealing with this so quickly.”

Mary Margaret Blanchard both looked and sounded relieved, and Gold could understand why. The leak in her bathroom had been fixed, but not before water had soaked through the ceiling and fused the kitchen lights.

“I don’t even know how it happened,” she went on. “I could have sworn everything was turned off.”

“One of the pipes was damaged,” he said. “Took a knock somehow, cracked it in two places. I’ve had the plumber replace it. Good as new.”

He ran his eyes over the ceiling, where damp patches still showed, and made a note in the little book he kept for repairs and tenant complaints.

“Minimal damage, it seems,” he said. “I’ll have someone come out and repaint as soon as it’s dry. We may need to replace one of the panels, but I’m sure it won’t require any major works.”

“Oh, thank goodness.” She smoothed the skirt of her dress with her hands. “Uh - may I offer you some tea?”

Gold eyed her curiously before clicking the end of his pen and slipping it into the inside pocket of his coat with the notebook. Miss Blanchard was a good tenant, but even she had never offered him tea before.

“No, thank you,” he said. “I need to head back to Boston.”

“Oh yes, Mr Dove mentioned that you’d only be in Storybrooke today,” she said, and hesitated. “Um - I hope you don’t mind my asking, but Granny said that you and Belle are expecting a baby.”

Gold felt himself smile.

“Yes, that’s right.”

“I think pretty much everyone in town was in a state of shock,” she said, with a tiny laugh, pressing a hand to her heart. “We had no idea you were even seeing each other!”

“Well, that’s the unavoidable consequence of not telling anyone, I suspect,” he remarked.

“Moe didn’t say a word!”

“I think he preferred to pretend it wasn’t happening,” he said coolly.

“Right.” She looked as though she was about to burst from curiosity. “Could you give me Belle’s number? I’d love to catch up with her, give her my best wishes.”

Gold had a vision of every woman in Storybrooke suddenly clamouring to get in touch with Belle, and he gave Miss Blanchard a tiny smile.

“Why don’t I give her your number, and a message that you’d like to speak to her?” he suggested. “The baby is due next week, you see. She’s somewhat preoccupied with that at the moment.”

“Oh, of course!”

His phone buzzed in his pocket, and he fished it out, smiling slightly as he saw Belle’s name flashing on the screen.

“Excuse me,” he said, turning away from Miss Blanchard a little and swiping the screen to answer.

“Hey,” he said gently. “I’m just about ready to head back.”

“Yeah, you might want to step on it.” Emma’s voice floated out of the phone. “Belle’s waters broke.”

Gold felt as though a fist was closing around his heart, squeezing the life from him.

“What?” he whispered.

“Is that Belle?” asked Miss Blanchard. “Say hi from me.”

“She’s in labour,” said Emma patiently, as Gold reminded himself to breathe. “Probably got a while to wait before there’s any real action, but I’m gonna call the midwife after I get off the phone to you. If she tells us to go to hospital, I’ll let you know, okay?”

“Tell him to get his arse back here right now!”

Gold could hear Belle in the background, her voice strained, and Emma chuckled a little.

“You heard her, big guy,” she said. “Drive safe, okay? We’ll take care of her.”

“Thank you,” he said numbly, and the call cut off.

Gold slipped the phone back into his pocket, his heart thumping hard. The baby. The baby is coming. I have to get there. I have to be with her.

“Is she okay?”

Miss Blanchard’s voice cut through his inner terror, and he started.

“Yes, thank you,” he managed. “I’ll - uh - I’ll get Mr Dove to arrange the painting. Please let him know if you have any other issues.”

“Thank you, Mr Gold. Are you sure you won’t have that tea?”

Gold was already on his way out, letting the door close behind him, and barely heard her. He walked as swiftly as his limp would allow, heading back to the shop to grab the few things he had boxed up to take with him, and locking the doors behind him. Within five minutes he was on the road, senses heightened by anxiety as he headed back down to Boston. The baby’s coming. I’m gonna be a father.

x

“Is he coming?” Belle could hear the low-level panic in her voice, and told herself to calm down. “What did he say?”

“He’s leaving now,” Emma assured her, looking through her phone contacts. “What’s your midwife’s name?”

“Oh - Dorothy. Dorothy Gale.”

“Okay.”

Emma put the phone to her ear again, and Belle began to pace back and forth. She was dimly aware of Emma talking, but paid little attention, rubbing at her aching back as she traversed the lounge.

“How long until the baby gets here?” asked Henry excitedly. “Does Belle have to go to hospital?”

“That’s what Mom’s asking about,” said Neal, ruffling his hair. “Why don’t you go sit down and read until we know what’s happening, okay?”

“Okay, thanks a lot.” Emma looked up, handing the phone to Belle. “She says come on in. You have everything you need?”

“In the hall,” said Belle anxiously. “But - Alex! Will he get here in time?”

“Of course he will,” said Emma soothingly. “He’s on his way right now. We’ll call him when you get to the hospital, let him know where you are, okay?”

“I should never have told him to go to Maine!” She was fretful, her pace quickening. “He wanted to stay with me and I told him to go! What was I thinking?”

“He’ll be back in plenty of time,” said Neal easily. “You’re gonna be yelling at him before you know it.”

Belle burst into a laugh that sounded a little hysterical, and Emma put a comforting hand on her shoulder.

“Come on, get your coat,” she said. “Neal, can you pick up the bag in the hallway?”

“Got it.”

Neal headed for the hallway, and Belle slipped the phone into her pocket, glancing around worriedly. Have I forgotten anything? Oh God, it’s really coming! Where the hell is Alex?

“Will the baby come tonight?” asked Henry.

“Probably not,” said Emma. “Probably tomorrow.”

“What’s tomorrow?”

“April thirtieth.”

“Oh,” said Henry. “Dad’s birthday is the day after.”

“Yeah, it sure is. Come on, get your coat.”

“Hey Dad!” called Henry. “If the baby doesn’t come for another day you could have the same birthday!”

“I don’t want to be in labour for two days, thanks Henry,” said Belle, in a dry tone.

“Okay, do we have everything?” Neal put his head around the door. “I’ve got your bag.”

“Thanks,” said Belle, wincing again. “Oh! The casserole!”

“I turned the oven off already,” said Neal. “Figured you’d be a little too busy to make dinner.”

“Right.” Belle chewed at her lip, suddenly frozen with indecision.

“Coat,” said Emma firmly, steering her towards the hallway.

“Right.”

x

Gold had never made the journey from Storybrooke to Boston as quickly in his life. There was a tailback on the way into the city which made him want to scream in frustration, but eventually he reached the hospital. Emma had called him when he was leaving Maine to say that Belle had been advised to go in, and that the midwife was attending her, and he had been running on anxiety and adrenaline ever since. He found himself brimming over with gratitude for Belle’s friends being with her when he couldn’t. Striding through the hospital, he cursed his limp, wishing he could run to Belle, praying she was alright, his inner voice calling out his inadequacies, his failures. He reached the maternity unit stressed, breathless and thirsty, and found Neal sitting in the waiting area cradling a cup of coffee.

“Hey,” said Neal, getting to his feet. “The midwife’s with her. You can probably go on through.”

“How is she?” asked Gold, and he grinned.

“Not long now, I guess,” he said. “Look, if you don’t mind I’ll leave you to it. Emma took Henry home, and I should really get back to them.”

“Yes, of course.” Gold hesitated, putting out a hand for Neal to shake. “Thank you. You’ve been good friends to Belle. I can’t tell you how grateful I am.”

“Well, she’s easy to be friends with,” he said, with a lopsided grin. “Tell her we’re looking forward to seeing the new addition to the family, okay? Let us know how things go.”

“I will.”

Neal shook Gold’s hand briefly, drained his coffee and tossed the empty cup into the trash before sauntering off, and Gold took a deep breath before heading to the desk to ask which room Belle was in before setting off as fast as he could. His leg was hurting, the pain enough to make his teeth ache, and he grimaced as he reached room 609, pushing open the door. Belle was in a hospital gown, an open bathrobe over the top, pacing back and forth with a hand pressed to her back and an agonised look on her face.

“Where the hell have you been!” she demanded.

“I’m sorry, I got here as fast as I could without being arrested,” he said, hurrying to her side. “How are you? How is she?”

This last was said to Dorothy Gale, who gave him a smile and a soothing pat on the arm as she passed.

“She’s doing fine,” she said. “Everything’s proceeding as we’d expected. I need to check her dilation again, but we’ve got a while to go before it’s time to start pushing, right Belle?”

Belle groaned, clutching at her midriff, and Gold rubbed her back soothingly.

“There, love, just hang on,” he said gently. “You’re gonna be okay. Keep breathing.”

“Oh, thank God you’re here, I would have forgotten!” she snapped.

“Right,” he said, sharing a glance with Dorothy, who looked amused. “Well, I remember the breathing exercises we did together. Shall we try those?”

“Oh, shut up, Gold!” She pushed him off, pacing faster. “This is all your fault!”

“Yes, it undoubtedly is,” he agreed. “Blame me all you like. Uh - is there anything I can do to help? A foot rub? Perhaps set myself on fire for your amusement?”

Belle burst out laughing at that, and shot him a fond look that became a twisted grimace of pain.

“I’m sorry,” she said, through her teeth. “This is - every bit as painful as they said it would be. And I was worried you wouldn’t get here on time so I kind of freaked out. I might yell some more.”

“Oh, you’ll definitely yell more,” said Dorothy cheerfully. “I’m sure he can stand it. How about we check your dilation now? Hop up on the bed.”

Belle took Gold’s hand, sending him a strained smile, and he helped her towards the bed, wishing he could bear the pain for her.

x

Their baby was born at six-fifteen on the morning of April thirtieth. By the time her labour was over, Belle was exhausted, drenched with sweat and almost hoarse. Gold didn’t leave her side, running through breathing exercises with her, speaking words of encouragement until his voice almost gave out, and feeling helpless as she suffered. On the final push, Belle squeezed his hand so hard he felt the bones grind together, a hoarse cry coming from her throat.

“There we are!” Dorothy cried. “Well done, Belle!”

Belle fell back against the pillows, gasping for breath, and Gold stroked damp strands of hair back from her forehead. A cry went up, a stuttering, fractious sound, and Gold felt his heart thump hard as Dorothy straightened up, grinning at him.

“It’s a baby boy!” she announced.

Gold glanced up, eyes wide. His son was being held up, red-faced and squalling, tiny arms flailing in outrage at being born into the world. He could see the cord leading from his belly, strands of dark hair covering his tiny head, and he felt tears well in his eyes as love burst through him.

“Oh God, he’s beautiful!” he wept. “Belle, he’s so beautiful! He’s perfect!”

He turned to her, bending to kiss her full on the mouth, not caring that tears were streaming down his cheeks. As he pulled back he could see that she was crying too, lower lip wobbling as she sent him a tired, but beautiful smile.

“Is he okay?” she asked tremulously.

“He looks absolutely fine,” said Dorothy. “Responding well, plenty of movement, good pulse… Here, why don’t you hold him?”

She placed the baby carefully on Belle’s chest, the tiny body streaked with blood and birthing fluids, and Belle burst into tears, bending to kiss the top of his head. The baby grizzled a little, tiny fists waving before he settled. Gold felt his heart swell with love for them, and reached out to stroke his son’s head with a gentle finger.

“He’s perfect,” he breathed. “Thank you! Thank you, my darling.”

Belle sniffed, lip still wobbling, and turned to kiss him. She was still trying to catch her breath, and Gold brushed damp strands of hair back from her face.

“You did so well,” he whispered. “I’m so proud of you.”

“Had to come out somehow,” she said wearily.

Gold smiled, and leaned in to press his brow to hers before turning back to gaze at the child they had made. He’s beautiful. As beautiful as his mother. He could hear Dorothy and the nurses clattering around as they cleared things away, but he couldn’t take his eyes off his family. I have a son. I have a beautiful son and a beautiful woman who loves me. I’m the luckiest bastard on this entire earth.

“Okay, looks like the cord’s ready to be cut.” Dorothy’s voice made him look around. “It may take a little while for the placenta to come out. Alex, you can go get yourself a coffee if you like. We’ve got some measurements to take and we need to get Belle and Baby all cleaned up.”

“Oh.” Belle smiled at her, letting her head fall back against the pillows. “Yes please, that sounds great.” 

“You sure you want me to go?” Gold asked, and Belle smiled, squeezing his arm.

“Go get a coffee,” she said. “You look as exhausted as I feel, and I’m sure you don’t want to see me getting stitches. Would you call Emma, let her know?”

“Of course.” He hesitated. “What about your father?”

Belle pulled a face.

“I’ll call him later,” she said. “He won’t be awake yet, anyway. Maybe when the baby’s had his first feed. Maybe when we’ve decided on a name.”

She was looking a little hesitant, and Gold smiled.

“Does that mean you’ve thought of one?” he asked, and she inclined her head.

“What do you think of Gideon?” she asked. “I thought - I thought maybe Gideon Alexander Gold. How - how would you feel about that?”

Gold mouthed the name, then whispered it as he stroked his son’s head. The baby snuffled, his tiny fist shifting against Belle’s skin, and Gold nodded. It sounds good. It sounds right.

“Gideon Alexander Gold,” he said aloud. “It’s perfect, sweetheart.”

She beamed at him, her eyes shining, and he bent to kiss her gently before kissing the top of his son’s head.

“I’ll be back soon,” he whispered. “I can’t wait to hold him.”

When he left the room he slumped against the wall for a moment, feeling drained. His jacket and tie had been discarded some hours ago, his shirtsleeves rolled up, and he headed for the bathroom to freshen up. Stubble scraped his palms as splashed water on his face, his eyes stinging with tears and weariness. A son. I have a son. I’m going to give him the best life I can.

After he had washed up as best he could, he headed for the cafeteria. It was quiet in the early morning; the only people in there apart from the serving staff were a man doing a crossword at the corner table, and an orderly mopping the floor. Gold watched the mop move in circles, leaving gleaming wet streaks like petals. The lights seemed too bright for his tired eyes, but he bought himself a large coffee and a toasted bagel and sat at one of the tables, staring into space and thinking about the future he wanted to build with Belle and Gideon. Belle had mentioned the possibility of raising him in Storybrooke when she had finished her studies, and the thought was a pleasant one. If she could get a librarian position, even better. He sipped his coffee, cogs turning in his head as he thought it through. Perhaps there was a way to make it work. He had favours to call in. 

He called Emma at seven-thirty, letting her know the news and agreeing to pass on her best wishes and a promise to visit later. After that he called his lawyer and left a message on her voicemail. The formal agreement with Belle might have been torn up, but there were still things to sort out in order to ensure she and his son were provided for.

By the time he returned to Belle’s room, she was dressed in clean nightwear and tucked up in clean sheets, with Gideon swaddled and feeding at her breast. There was a plastic bracelet on Gideon’s wrist, and another around Belle’s. She was smiling down at the baby as he fed, tiny head pushed into her breast and a clenched fist jerking against it. Gold took a moment in the doorway to savour the scene, smiling as he watched mother and son. My family. My perfect family. God, I love them so much!

“You know, you could always take a picture.” 

Belle’s voice made his smile widen, and he went to sit by her side, reaching out to gently stroke Gideon’s head.

“Have you seen the doctor yet?” he asked.

“Dorothy says Jekyll will be around in half an hour or so,” she said. “She says everything’s fine, though. Gideon’s responding well to all the tests, he’s feeding well. He peed on her when she weighed him.”

Gold chuckled.

“How much does he weigh?”

“Six pounds two ounces,” she said. “I can’t remember if that was before or after the pee.”

Gideon coughed, a dribble of milk coming from his mouth, and Belle wiped it away with a cloth. He grumbled a little, and she smiled, lifting him up and kissing his cheek.

“Here, why don’t you hold him?” 

Gold took the tiny bundle from her, feeling love surge within him as he held his son in his arms. Gideon opened his eyes, and Gold smiled broadly.

“Hey there,” he said gently. “I’m your Papa. It’s wonderful to meet you, Gideon.”

He stroked a fist with his finger, his smile widening as Gideon grabbed it.

“Well, that’s quite a grip you’ve got,” he said.

“He’s a strong little thing,” said Belle. “I think he’s gonna be a handful when he gets mobile.”

“Hazel eyes,” said Gold. “Although they change colour, don’t they?”

“Yeah, apparently they don’t settle on the final colour for a while,” she said, yawning. “I think they’ll be brown, like yours.”

“As long as he doesn’t get my nose.”

Belle giggled.

“There’s nothing wrong with your nose.”

Gideon wriggled, beginning to grizzle, and Belle held out her arms.

“Here. Let me see if he’s still hungry.”

Gold handed him back, watching avidly as he latched onto a breast again.

“I could watch him all day,” he said, and Belle shot him a fond look.

“I know. I keep thinking I’ve dreamed it and I’ll wake up. But he’s really here. A whole little person that we made.”

He leaned in to kiss her forehead tenderly.

“I think you did almost all the building,” he said. “I provided the equivalent of a shovel full of rubble in the foundations of a skyscraper.”

“Hey, don’t underestimate the importance of good rubble.”

She was smiling, her eyes gleaming, and he kissed her again.

“You look tired,” he said, and she groaned, letting her head fall back against the pillows.

“God, I’m exhausted!”

“In that case, you should sleep,” he said. “I’m going to go home and get showered and changed. I feel as though I’ve been hit by a truck, so I can’t imagine how you must be feeling.”

“Tired, happy and bloody sore,” she said, with a smile. “You should get some sleep too.”

“Emma said she’d visit later,” he said. “She sends her love.”

“Well, if I’m going to have visitors, I definitely need sleep,” she said, and kissed him. “Go on, get home and have a nap, at least.”

“Okay.” He kissed her again, and kissed Gideon. “I’ll be back later.”

x

By the time he got home, Ella had called him twice, so he called her back, received effusive congratulations and gave her some instructions on making provision for Gideon’s future. He wasn’t expecting to sleep, but after showering and shaving he lay down on the bed anyway, and woke up as it was approaching five in the evening. He dressed quickly, cramming a sandwich into his mouth and downing some coffee before hurrying out of the door.

The hospital was far busier than it had been when he left, and he moved as quickly as he could past parents and children and rushing nurses. He reached Belle’s room just as Dr Jekyll was closing the door quietly, and the doctor gave one of his nervous smiles, snatching his glasses off his face and cleaning them.

“Ah, Mr Gold.” Jekyll put a hand on his arm, steering him away from the door. “Perhaps you could give her half an hour? They’re both sleeping. The poor thing hasn’t had a chance to get much rest today what with all the comings and goings.”

“Of course.” Gold hesitated. “How are they?”

“Oh, doing very well. I imagine you can take them both home tomorrow.” Jekyll smiled again. “I expect you’ll all be relieved to hear that. You’ll have a busy house from now on.”

“I’m looking forward to it. Thank you.”

“Don’t mention it.”

Jekyll walked off, and Gold headed to the cafeteria again. He was surprised to see Neal sitting at one of the tables, nursing a cup of coffee and flicking through a magazine. Gold got his own coffee, carrying it over, and Neal looked up with a grin.

“Hey, congratulations,” he said. “How’s it feel to be a dad?”

“Pretty amazing, actually,” said Gold, and gestured at the chair across from him. “Do you mind?”

“Take a seat. I told Emma I’d meet her here. She was taking Henry to get some new sneakers but she shouldn’t be too much longer.”

Gold sat down, pushing the coffee cup towards the centre of the table. His leg was hurting, and he cursed himself for forgetting his painkillers.

“Belle’s still asleep, I take it,” added Neal, and he nodded.

“The doctor said to give her half an hour.”

“Yeah, you never get much rest in hospitals,” said Neal. “Emma said when she had Henry she couldn’t wait to get home.”

“The doctor says I can take them home tomorrow,” he said. “She should be able to get some proper rest then.”

“Which I guess means you getting up with the baby, huh?” Neal grinned at him, and Gold smiled.

“I don’t mind. I’m looking forward to spending some quality time looking after both of them.”

There was silence. Gold sipped at his coffee, wincing as it burned his lips, and looked across at Neal. He was turning the cup between his fingers, just as Gold himself did when he was thinking. Gold cleared his throat, making Neal glance up.

“Thank you for being here for Belle,” he said. “Especially for all those months I wasn’t.”

Guilt stabbed at him, a painful reminder of his self-destructive decisions, his terrible behaviour towards the woman he loved.

“You’re here now, right?” said Neal.

“Doesn’t make up for it,” said Gold quietly.

“Maybe not, but it means something.” Neal leaned forwards, resting his elbows on the table. “You didn’t know she was pregnant, and as soon as you did, you tried to make it right.”

Gold let out a hollow laugh.

“Believe me, the way I’ve acted in this past year should in no way be praised,” he said dryly. “I behaved appallingly, and I wish I could take it back.”

“Hindsight’s a great thing,” said Neal. “Doesn’t stop you making dumbass decisions in the here and now, though.”

“That’s certainly true.”

“I never knew my dad,” he added. “Told myself that I’d always be there for my kids, and then because of my own stupidity, I missed eighteen months of my son’s life. Time we won’t get back, you know?”

“I don’t suppose Henry remembers much about it, if it’s any consolation,” said Gold.

“True,” agreed Neal. “But I remember. And so does Emma. If I had my time over, I’d make different choices. I guess that’s all you can do. Decide you won’t screw up that way again.”

Gold nodded slowly. He was right. There was no getting that time back, he just had to concentrate on being a good partner and father in the future.

“Belle said that you and Emma were in the system together,” he said, and Neal pulled a face.

“Not exactly,” he said. “We met on the streets. We were both in kids’ homes when we were younger, but we didn’t meet until we were teens. That was after we’d both run away.”

“That must have been dangerous for you both.”

“I don’t think either of us realised how dangerous until we found our way off the streets,” agreed Neal. “There again, there were reasons we ran away in the first place. Excellent reasons, you know?”

“I’m fairly sure I don’t want to imagine,” said Gold, and Neal nodded.

“I guess there are good and bad people involved in Social Services,” he said. “Can’t say I ever met any of the good ones, though.”

“I’m sorry you both had to go through that,” said Gold sincerely, and he shrugged.

“It was a long time ago.”

“Yes, but that doesn’t make it any easier to deal with,” said Gold dryly. “As my therapist helpfully informs me.”

Neal chuckled.

“How’s the therapy going?”

“Slow,” he admitted. “But I’m told any progress is good. I’m also told there may be times when it feels as though I’m going backwards.”

Neal wrinkled his nose and hunched his shoulders a little. The gesture reminded Gold of how he himself reacted to his therapy sessions at times.

“Yeah, I hear you,” said Neal. “Emma and I went to therapy after I got out of jail. Thought it would be good for us. Fresh start, all of that.”

“Did it help?”

“Absolutely,” he said sincerely. “Sometimes you don’t realise how much you’re bottling up, you know?”

“Oh, I know,” said Gold quietly. 

“Emma was abandoned when she was just a baby,” Neal went on. “Never knew her parents. Sometimes I think it’s harder on her because of that. She’s spent a lot of time thinking about who they might have been, why they had to give her up.”

“And you?” asked Gold, and Neal grimaced.

“Well, I never knew my dad, but I remember my mom,” he said. “I especially remember the day she dropped me off with Social Services and never came back.”

“Really?” Gold shook his head. “I can’t imagine ever wanting to abandon my child. Not ever.”

“Yeah…” Neal hunched his shoulders a little more, shuffling his feet. “Guess not everyone’s meant to be a parent.”

“Have you seen your mother since?” asked Gold, and he shook his head.

“Nah. She never left a forwarding address, and I decided a long time ago that I never wanted to look for her.”

“What about your father?”

“Don’t even know his name,” said Neal. “I know he was boring and didn’t like to have fun. That’s according to my flighty, absentee mother, of course.”

He shared a smile with Gold.

“Families, huh?” he said.

“Indeed.”

They fell into silence again. Gold sipped his coffee. It was cool enough to drink, and he took a gulp. Neal drank the last of his own, setting down his cup.

“Belle said that you had a kid,” he said. “I mean other than Gideon.”

“Oh.” Gold felt his jaw tighten. “Yes. I did. I do.”

“Yeah, she didn’t really go into what happened.” added Neal hastily. “She said you probably wouldn’t want her to talk about it.”

“No, it’s okay.” Gold scratched the back of his neck. “I’m told I need to learn to open up more.”

“Yeah, well.” Neal sent him a slanted grin. “Easier said than done, right?”

“Speaking as someone who’s had a lifetime of keeping things to myself, I concur.”

“Gets easier,” said Neal. “Emma was like that when we met. Hell, so was I. Hard to trust people when all you know is being let down by those who are supposed to care for you.”

“Yes,” said Gold quietly. “Well. I promised myself I’d give Gideon everything he needs. Everything I didn’t have.”

“Like me with Henry,” said Neal. “See? Like I said, all you can do is learn from your shitty past and decide you’re not gonna pass the crap down to the next generation.”

“True enough.” Gold glanced up as two familiar faces appeared in the corridor leading to the cafeteria. “Here’s Emma and Henry now.”

“Hey,” said Emma, tossing blonde curls back off her shoulders as Neal turned around. “How are the new parents?”

“Excellent,” said Gold, with a grin. “Belle was sleeping, so we were just having a coffee while we waited.”

“What’s the baby like?” asked Henry excitedly. “Is he big?”

“You can see him yourself very soon,” said Gold, and pushed to his feet. “I should go and see if they’re ready for visitors.”

“What colour’s his hair?” asked Henry. “Does he cry a lot?”

“Just hang on for like forty seconds and you can see him for yourself,” said Neal, looking amused. “But keep it calm, okay? Belle doesn’t want you climbing all over the bed when she’s just given birth.”

“Okay. Is there gonna be a party?”

“A party?” said Emma, confused.

“It’s Dad’s birthday tomorrow,” said Henry, and she ruffled his hair.

“Yeah, I hadn’t forgotten.”

“Maybe he and Gideon can have a party together.”

“I think Gideon has some growing to do before he can enjoy a birthday party, kiddo.”

Something in what Henry had said tickled at the back of Gold’s mind, and he frowned.

“Your birthday is the first of May?” he asked, and Neal nodded.

“Yep.”

“Right.” He drummed his fingers on the handle of his cane, skin prickling with what felt like anxiety. “Uh - let me just go and see if Belle’s awake.”

He took a step away, then hesitated, swivelling on the toes of his shoes as he turned back.

“Do you mind if I ask how old you are?” he asked, and Neal pulled a face.

“Twenty-nine tomorrow,” he said. “What’s up?”

“Oh nothing,” he said quickly. “Nothing. Excuse me.”

He bowed his head, turning away and heading for Belle’s room at a fast pace. Coincidence. It has to be.

[jakeh0wl]

Star Wars Short Fiction - Week IV - A New Hope

“…We will then crush the Rebellion with one swift stroke.”

The Imperial officers gathered at the table nodded their agreement, murmuring declarations of concurrence. Even the arrogant Admiral Motti, seated to Tarkin’s right and still recovering from Vader’s choking display of power, dipped his head towards the Grand Moff.

Tarkin stood, eyeing the officers. “You may leave us,” he said, sweeping his hand towards the seated men. “I would speak with Lord Vader alone.”

The officers rose from their seats, each giving Tarkin respectful half-bows before filing from the room, several of them shuffling nervously beneath Vader’s black, eyeless gaze. Once he and Vader were alone, Tarkin waved to the Death Star Troopers flanking the entrance to the conference room, who sealed closed the doors.

Tarkin straightened, hands clasped behind his back, then turned to Lord Vader. As always, the six-foot, black-clad cyborg regarded Tarkin with that unreadable jet mask of a face, the eyes shimmering a dark red when the light caught them. The identity of who hid behind that visage was something Tarkin had guessed at, and was now fairly certain of.

Still, the regard of the Emperor’s Force-wielding pet remained unsettling, even after all these years. “You have still had no luck with the princess, Lord Vader,” Tarkin said. It was a statement, not a question.

“No,” Vader replied in a deep, dread-inducing voice. As always, Vader said little when he could help it, preferring to unbalance those he was addressing with the mere power of his presence.

Tarkin, however, was not so easily shaken. Whilst Vader still left Tarkin with a sense of unease, the Grand Moff had built an impressive immunity to Vader’s influence. This, coupled with Tarkin’s favour with the Emperor, guaranteed a certain level of mutuality between them. “Despite your assurances that we will soon have the Death Star plans returned to us,” Tarkin continued, “I remain uncertain of the probable success of your interrogation methods.”

“The princess has a fierce will,” Vader replied. “She bears an unexpected degree of resilience.”

“She’s the daughter of a politician,” Tarkin said, pacing across the reflective black floor of the conference room. “Such things are understandable from one of her upbringing.”

“We will retrieve those plans,” Vader said, watching Tarkin from across the room.

“Can you be sure, Vader?” Tarkin said, meeting the man’s – the machine’s – masked gaze.

Vader didn’t respond.

“I thought not,” He shook his head, running a hand through his thinning hair. A thought occurred to him then. “Whilst I cannot say I approve of you choking my officers, Lord Vader, and despite my lack of knowledge in the details of your powers, there is no denying that you are in possession of certain unique… assets. Assets that, concerning our present situation, could prove very useful indeed.”

“Dispense with the ambiguity, Governor,” Vader demanded. “You would have me refer to methods of interrogation utilising the Force?”

Tarkin raised an eyebrow. Something in Vader’s tone suggested he had already considered – or perhaps even tried – using the Force to manipulate the princess. “Could such a thing be done?”

“The Force is not a torture machine, Governor,” Vader growled. “To perceive it as such is to lay bare a gross ignorance of its nature.”

Tarkin mentally scoffed. It seemed that the Emperor’s most feared and deadliest servant was not above the occasional thinly veiled insult. There was something about that revelation that Tarkin found surprisingly amusing. “Very well,” Tarkin replied. “I have outlined a proposal of how to deal with this rebel problem of ours which I intend to present to the Emperor momentarily. He is awaiting my transmission. Would you care to join me, Lord Vader? I believe this proposal will be of interest to you as much as it will be to the Emperor.”

Vader said nothing, simply gazing across the circular table at Tarkin with those eyeless, black visors. Then he nodded, striding across the room to stand at Tarkin’s side, cape rippling slightly as he moved. Despite their occasional differences, Tarkin’s respect for Vader was rivalled by no other. Everything that Vader was emulated power and authority, and there were oft times when Tarkin found himself envious of the pure fear Vader struck into those beneath him.

Tarkin leaned forward, sliding back the black panel of the activation key for the holographic projector. Pressing the key, Tarkin took a step back as a great, shimmering projection of Emperor Sheev Palpatine, supreme ruler of the Galactic Empire, took shape above the table.

Tarkin gave a sweeping bow. “Your Imperial Majesty,” he said.

Vader went one further, falling to a knee. “My Master.”

Not the first time, Vader’s unwavering loyalty and devotion to the Emperor reminded Tarkin of a muzzled akk hound. The most ferocious akk hound in the Galaxy, one who made entire systems tremble when the Emperor saw fit to let him off the leash.

The Emperor’s holographic eyes, shadowed beneath his ever-present hood, shifted between the forms of Tarkin and Vader. “Governor Tarkin, Lord Vader,” the Emperor addressed them. “You hinted at a proposal you had for me, Governor?”

“I did, my lord,” Tarkin replied, straightening in the Emperor’s presence. “It would appear that we are faced with a dilemma of a rather urgent nature. Despite Lord Vader’s best efforts, the troublesome Princess Leia has yet to inform us of either the location of the rebel’s hidden base or where the data tapes containing the plans for this space station are. Now, considering recent development concerning the Imperial Senate and the state of the Imperial Systems, I believe, my Lord, the time has come for more aggressive negotiations.”

“Speak on, Governor Tarkin,” the Emperor drawled.

Tarkin glanced at Vader, the black-clad cyborg expressionless as ever. “There exists a way to ensure the princess’s cooperation. Namely, her revelation of the rebel’s hidden base. We have yet to exercise the full destructive potential of this space station, and now we have been presented with the perfect opportunity, my Lord.” Tarkin reached down, activating a second hologram above the table. The form of the Emperor slid back to give way for the blue-green projection of a planet that now hovered before them, between Tarkin and the Emperor. “Alderaan, my Lord. The Princess’s home planet. It is a world of beauty and peace. The Alderaanians bear no love of weapons and claim passiveness. However, our intel holds that this traitorous planet was a core breeding ground for the Rebellion, offering the rebels both a hidden base of operations and support in the Imperial Senate. Now that the Imperial Senate is no longer an obstacle, I propose we test the true power of this space station’s superlaser. Jedha and Scarif were but… inklings of the Death Star’s capabilities, my Lord. Alderaan will provide the perfect test target to experience the obliteration that this station is prepared to unleash on the Galaxy. With Alderaan held as an example, no System would dare oppose you, my Lord, nor give the rebels any further support.”

The Emperor studied the holographic projection of Alderaan. “Wisely spoken, my friend,” the Emperor said. “I approve. As does, I sense, Lord Vader. However, what is to become of the princess and the rebels?”

Tarkin clasped his hands behind his back. “Herein lies the final stroke, my Lord. We will suspend the destruction of Alderaan before Princess Leia as a threat. With the Senate’s recent dissolution, the princess’s father, Bail Organa, will soon be returning to Alderaan. I believe it wise for us to wait until we have confirmation of his return before we initiate the test of the Death Star. Then, faced with not only the annihilation of her home planet, but the loss of her family, I believe the princess will be quite willing to give up her rebel friends. Alderaan will still be destroyed, of course. Then, once we have the location of the rebel base and Alderaan is but dust between the stars, the princess will be deposed of most adequately.”

“Excellent, Tarkin, excellent,” the Emperor said, cackling. “Have the princess brought to me on Coruscant once Alderaan and the rebels have been destroyed. We will make her execution most public.” The Emperor’s holographic shadow shifted towards Vader. “Lord Vader, I believe you may be of some use in that respect. I would have you execute the princess personally.”

Vader bowed. “As you wish, my Master.”

The Emperor turned back to Tarkin. “You’ve done well, Governor. I am most pleased.”

Tarkin felt a rare smile tugging at his lips. “I will have an order for the princess’s execution written up, my Lord.”

“Good. I will await news of Alderaan’s… eradication.” The Emperor’s figure blurred, then faded, the projection fuzzing out.

Tarkin subsequently disabled the hologram of Alderaan.

“You have garnered the Emperor’s approval,” Vader said.

“As I have yours, apparently,” Tarkin replied, turning to face him.

Vader pointedly ignored the statement. “Despite the advantageous effects its destruction offers, Alderaan will certainly be a loss to the Galaxy.”

Tarkin nodded. “A necessary one, however.”

Vader made for the doors of the conference room. “Perhaps if events in the last weeks had transpired differently, it would not be so.”

Tarkin sensed the implication. “It was not I who lost the data tapes to the rebels above Scarif, my friend,” he said, raising an eyebrow. “From your troopers’ reports, you practically had the plans within your grasp. Had you not been distracted by certain… unnecessary thrills, those plans would now be in our hands.”

Vader turned back to face him. “The rebels were far more prepared for our pursuit than anticipated,” he replied. “And perhaps if you had turned the Death Star’s weapon on the rebel fleet instead of firing on the planet, their escape would have been impossible.”

Tarkin smirked. “You saw what the Death Star did to Scarif,” he said. “There was no guarantee our own forces would not be decimated in the process. Including your own.”

Vader took a step forward, towering over Tarkin and raising one gloved hand towards him. “Galen Urso’s daughter was on Scarif, Governor, as was Director Krennic. Your frequent bouts of rivalry with the Director were well documented. So do not speak of unnecessary thrills to me, Tarkin.”

Tarkin swallowed, holding his composure. Likely only his imagination, but it had seemed for a moment that the softest touch of pressure had brushed his throat. He stepped back, carefully forcing an amiable smile across his lips. “Perhaps, my friend, it is best if we simply agree that the loss of the plans at Scarif was an unfortunate misstep on both our counts,” he said.

Vader studied him for several quiet seconds, then straightened. “Indeed,” he said eventually.

Tarkin moved made for the exit, the doors to the hallway beyond hissing open at his touch to the entrance panel. Vader strode past him, the Death Star Troopers standing outside the conference room wincing slightly at his shadow.

“I will set our coordinates for Alderaan. If you would be so kind as to retrieve the princess, Lord Vader,” Tarkin said, “I will have her execution order procured.”

Vader gave the slightest, towering nod, then turned away.

Tarkin watched, eyes narrowed to slits, as Vader walked down the hallway, black cape billowing with his stride. Tarkin would need to tread careful on this ice, fearsome things waited beneath.

Turning away from the conference room, Tarkin made for the command bridge.

[halfwayinlight]

Series: Precious Commodities Chapter: 3 The Impasse Fandom: Star Trek TNG Pairing: Will Riker/Deanna Troi Rating: PG Notes: continuation of my fic for @nothingeverlost, all cross posted to AO3

Dexterity was a precious commodity, and Deanna only wished she could enjoy this display of Will’s intelligence more thoroughly. Distractions and schemes are touchy things. Some distractions are subtle and catch others by surprise. And some are an accumulation of sheer bluster and personality. She excels at the first type. She has used her calm and deep study of psychology to distract and play her own strategies when needed.

Will can do this, too. He’s cagey, smooth, and charming. Between poker, chess, war games, and any number of missions and incidents, she’s had a front row in his masterclass.

But he’s also large and hard to miss. He can leverage this, too, to his favor. Noise, demands, and a lean or a glare can get him very far. He’s using both with their captor and these long rounds of chess. She knows he could have won in fifteen moves or less.

He won the first round, stretched it into a long play. Passed up any number of opportunities to end it swiftly and ruthlessly. It gave her a chance to nap for a bit. And set up legitimacy for his own complaint of standing too long as he teased out a second game. Feigned disinterest. Maybe that wasn’t true. He wasn’t particularly interested in chess. At least not in this particular game.

Deanna can sense the strategies that go far beyond the chess board. His angles have given him a partial view of the brig layout. He’s had time to sneak several overviews of the panels and realized their potential. And he’s still trying to figure out when to make his final sequence. Not to end the chess game, but to begin to put action to the plans and contingencies he’s forming.

He complains that it’s hard to see the board. And Deanna almost laughs at this. She’s known Will to play blindfolded before, moves called out in sequence. His mind can hold the entire board, visualize the moves, keep track of which piece is where, and still win handily.

She does her best to be quiet, to quiet her mind. Food and the short nap helped. But she is still cold enough that she can’t relax. It’s unlike her not to be able to sit still. She does it for long stretches of time during counseling sessions, going especially still and quiet when a patient is on the cusp of epiphany. She’s trying not to distract her mother, either, but her thoughts search out Lwaxana’s as often as she had called for her parents as a small child with a very over-active imagination when she should have been sleeping.

Deanna catches herself right as her mind is turning to her mother again, pulling herself back as she remembers the last time she reached out. Her stomach turns at the thought of her mother and DaiMon Tog. Her mother’s revulsion at the reception is all too real in Deanna’s memory, and she is not okay with Lwaxana doing that, even if it’s an attempt to keep Deanna and Will safe. Betazoids are free with many things, but they also are repulsed by forced or non-consensual situations.

She can’t stand to sit still, so she’s pacing the cell and in motion. Her arm isn’t as sore as it was, but she welcomes the dull ache that distracts her. It’s not a great coping mechanism, but she’s aware there are far worse ones. It’s certainly going to be an interesting conversation with her counselor on subspace, well, whenever they get out here. That poor, amazing woman had helped Deanna through so much already. Her counselor could write entire volumes on the psychological effects of space exploration and its impact on the psyche. More than once her counselor has said that for someone facing as much uncertainty, Deanna was generally handling it well. More than once, Deanna had felt like a complete wreck. She had learned to deeply appreciate one of the few conversations where she could simply exist, without having to be the calming presence in the room. For someone who spends eighty percent or more of the conversation listening, it’s still hard to talk about herself for that long.

Deanna expected it would be easier when Will was outside of the cell. She tried not to hover at the opening. Tried to act casual as she took Will’s abandoned seat. Tried her hardest to focus on a breathing exercise. But she couldn’t settle on which one to use. She felt like a liability to both her mother and Will—she couldn’t do anything to help either one right now, nor to help them find a way off the ship. And while she didn’t want her mother here alone, a thousand “what-ifs” were playing through her mind, all while she watched the chess game intently.

Will shifted on the padded stool, his shoulders stiffening. He gave a slight shake of his head in irritation, as though trying to clear his thoughts and refocus. On some level, she was distracting him.

She took a slow breath in, held in for a four count, and then released it even more slowly. Beneath her, she could feel the lingering warmth on the padded bench from where Will had been sitting for some time before leaving the cell. And another small gust of cool air from the intake made her shiver slightly. This time she welcomed the distraction.

When he finally made his move, Deanna both saw and felt his surprise flare of pain in Will’s hand. She wasn’t familiar with much about Ferengi anatomy, but the skull seemed particularly dense. Hopefully he hadn’t broken anything. At any rate, it felt like a victory to be helped out of the cell. She felt a little safer on the same side of the force field as Will. Even if it was an illusion and re-capture was only meters away.

Deanna was relieved to have at least a small something to do. She’s the connection to her mother, and it was utter relief to see that her mother has once again used her own eclectic blend of charm and firmness to keep things… appropriate.

You’re so prudish, Little One, her mother chided. Those humans have influenced you too much.

A day or two ago, Deanna would have chafed and argued. Protested. For now, she was simply glad that her mother is distracting their captor. And thankful that Will has such a wider understanding of ship systems than she could ever hope to have. Her position and degree from the university and time at Starfleet have put her in the rank of Lieutenant Commander. But the only time she really feels like she’s acting in that position is when she’s acting as Diplomatic Officer. She knows her skills and services in that role have more than earned her right to have the rank.

Yet, she has struggled far more with imposter syndrome as an officer than she ever did as a graduate and doctoral psychology student. She was not a fan of the older uniforms when she first began to serve on Starfleet ships. Her reasons for preferring more casual versions of the standard uniform, however, go far beyond the way the top piece often rides up and requires adjusting. And beyond the fact that it’s difficult for people to relax and open up about personal or professional challenges when she’s wearing the uniform of their authority.  But this echo of imposter syndrome has made her consider, once or twice in passing, taking the bridge officer’s test. To prove she can handle command. To prove it to herself. But there are portions, like the engineering section, that continue to make her inclined to reconsider an attempt.

Uniform or not, Will has brought his singular focus to the console. She wonders idly how much Ferengi or glyphs he can read and how much is instinct. It does seem naïve not to have anticipated the need for access codes. She should have predicted that, knowing how the Ferengi are so insular, how they prefer to keep everything to themselves. In a civilization that thirsts for money and power, of course the risks would be too great to a DaiMon to leave even internal systems without security features—lest some lower ranking crew try to usurp power.

It’s a surprise to both of them when their attempt is denied. And she could sense the wariness in Will, his resolve grinding down by the moment. They’re both drained. He has dark circles under his eyes, his usually tidy beard is attempting to grow full-out, and his hair is mussed in the way she only sees in the rarest of occasions. Mentally, she can sense he is scrambling for a Plan B.

Reaching out to her mother was easy, but the wait time for answers stretched out.

Beside her, Will tried several other combinations to probe the restrictions of the console. By the third attempt, he pressed his head against the console and gave a huff of frustration. “I’m afraid if I keep trying, I’m going to trigger some kind of alert. We’re no good to her or ourselves if we get locked back in there. Especially if someone comes to investigate and finds our friend. I don’t know what their shift changes look like.”

“I know,” she sighed, moving closer and giving his upper arm a squeeze.  When he didn’t turn, her arms wrapped around him from behind, and she hugged him tightly. Her eyes closed, and Deanna pressed a warm kiss against the fabric over his shoulder. Her cheek came to rest against him, and she gave over more of her weight. “Will, you’ve done so much for all of us. We will figure out a way to get off this ship.”

“Deanna, I don’t know what else—”

She sighed and tightened her grip around him. “Breathe with me for a minute,” she encouraged, a small smile crossing her lips when he found one of her hands and gave a gentle squeeze before obeying. “You’re exhausted. We both are.  But we will figure this out. And get back to Enterprise. And have real food—or at least replicated food—again.”

“And a hot shower,” he mumbled with a sigh. “And clean clothes. Clothes that are appropriate to space,” he added. His hand caught hers, drawing them back slightly so he could turn to face her. “C’mere.” Gently, he eased up the ruffle over her left upper arm. “How is this?”

It was nice to have this half moment, even if she can feel a shimmer of upset from her mother, the first signal fire that things aren’t going smoothly with command codes. “A little achy still, but better.” Her fingers covered the spot and rubbed lightly.

He pulled her against him, arms going around her for long moments to offer warmth. “Deanna… if it comes down to it, if we can’t all—”

Her head shook before he could even finish. “No, we need to do this together. All three of us.”

“If it comes down to it, you and your mother should—”

“No!” she protested, pulling back slightly. “I’m not having this conversation with you. There are too many things in our favor on this. If we can’t draw the Enterprise to us now, we can wait it out. We’re both officers. There has to be some trail that someone will trace back to Tog—between Data or the Captain or someone on the ship… Mother is an ambassador. They might be willing to gamble on any number of things, but even Tog and Farek will have to admit that they don’t dare incur the wrath of Starfleet. Or the other DaiMons if Starfleet pressures them.”

He pressed a warm kiss to her forehead. “You have a point,” he sighed, and she could sense he was irritated that he was too tired to have come to the conclusion sooner.

“You were busy getting me out of the cell and trying to signal Enterprise,” she reminded affectionately. “And I’m sorry, but I might have to delay those plans on the holodeck.”

“You’re breaking our date?” he teased wryly, and she was glad to hear the lightness in his voice, even if he was still tired. It meant that he was ready to do whatever they needed to do next.

Her head shook slightly, and she offered a small smile. “A raincheck. No offense, but I really want a bath and to sleep first.”

“Your creature comforts,” Will teased. “With all of your bath salts and oils? What was it, sandalwood and…”

Her eyebrows lifted slightly. “Sandalwood is entirely your fault, you know. I’d never smelled or heard of it until you gave it to me all those years ago.”

His hand slid to her shoulder, thumb lightly tracing her collarbone. “Creature comforts,” he repeated, dropping a kiss to her cheek. After taking a slow breath, he chaffed her shoulder lightly. “And thank you, I’m better now.”

“I think we’re both going to be due a counseling session once this is over, but so long as only one of us is frustrated at once, we’re alright.” She gave his wrist a squeeze and took a breath to refocus, but before she could make any suggestions, dread flooded her and she froze.

“Deanna?”

Her eyes were wide when they lifted to meet his. “It didn’t work… Farek… He interrupted. Will, he’s going to run experiments on her.”

“Experiments?” Will pressed, already moving back toward the console and scanning over the consoles again as if he might see something he missed before.

“Neural scans,” she grimaced, her own fear spiking in harmony with her mother’s. Try to delay. We’re doing everything we can! Deanna swallowed hard and stepped out of Will’s way as he reached across the far side to bring up the strange grid and layout. “Farek thinks he can replicate mother’s telepathic abilities with enough probing and experimentation.”

Under his breath he let out a Klingnon curse that would’ve made Worf speechless. “Like hell they are,” he grunted, “Grab that phaser in case this doesn’t work.” He jabbed a series of commands and smacked the wall beside the work station when those failed like the ones before.

[lockwoodlitherland]

DAMIAN

Name: Damian Parvi-Beckenheim Age: Twenty One (during original) Birthday: July 17th - Cancer  Height: 5ft 8

[FC: Manish Dayal ]

The good-natured smile that usually lit up his face died instantly. Damian shook his head gently, closing his eyes tight for a minute before opening them; there was a ghost on his doorstep. Unable to move his startled gaze away from the figure, he kicked clumsily at the wheelbarrow he’d been pushing, sending it rattling into the dense, frosted shrubbery that lined the long driveway up to the cabin. He was wearing his uniform: thickly muddied combat pants tucked into chunky walking boots, navy blue polo embossed with the logo of the Provincial Park that Beck owned and used as the guise for the family’s private territory.

“I- uhh.” His mouth hung open slightly and he let out a long breath, dazed, walking towards the porch. One hand gestured out in front of him in a half shrug while the other fumbled for his keys in his back pockets. Damian took the steps up to the doorway two at a time, brushing past her. He didn’t say anything. Truth be told, he had no idea what to really do with himself here or how to react to her sudden arrival.

He had changed since the last time Jamie saw him. The passing by of all those months had matured his features, subtly changing his face to reveal more bone structure than chubby cheeks. He’d grown a little taller, but mostly he’d grown wider. His shoulders and chest had filled out to become more muscular, his arms were much stronger and thicker. With age and with the hard work that came along with the physical labour of tending the park, Damian had really grown up in his appearance. Over the winter moths he had let his soldiers’ crew cut grow out. Now, his thick black hair was a little shaggy about his ears where the undercut had begun to grow. Currently, the thick mass of it was quaffed up and slicked back over to one side, held in place –most probably- by his sweat. Black stubble covered his more defined jaw line. He smelled of the earth and damp and sweat that smeared patches of his warm tanned skin. It was a considerable change from the baby faced, spiky haired boy Jamie had first met, all those years ago.

For a moment he lingered, looking uncertain before finally twisting the key. He gave the heavy wooden door a shove, looking back at her for a second with a furrowed brow, both confusion and concern in his deep brown eyes. Damian had always been so easily manipulated, Jamie had known that especially. He knew it, he hated it and he feared it.

Why is she here? He worried. Things had changed so much in the time they’d spent outside of each other’s lives. Absentmindedly, he threw his keys into the beaten metal bowl atop the set of drawers beside the row of coats that lined the wooden panelling of the hall. Damian was pretty sure the last time he was with her, it had been for sex. Sex was one thing; sex could mean a lot of things Damian had learned. Maybe this was different, he always had struggled to read her. The unexpectedness of this encounter had sent his mind spiralling a little, why did he feel embarrassed?

Taking a deep breathe he moved his palm over his forehead, brushing his fingers into the thick quaff of hair and holding it there for a moment as he turned around to Jamie in the doorway. He was trying to figure out and process what he was feeling before just lashing out into any kind of impulsive action, as Silvie had been helping him to do. There was an anger that sparked in his chest at the sight of her, crawling up his back and setting in his shoulders. He recognised the dullness of it as the shock at seeing her began to fade. He rolled his shoulders in an attempt to shake it off.

Let it go Parvi. He told himself, Annika’s voice echoing in his ears. After a second of holding his breath, mouth open, waiting for the words to come, he finally broke the icy silence.

“Do you, uh, want to come in?” He gestured further down the hall with his free hand.

BASIC STATISTICS

Full name: Damian Jalesh Parvi (legally changed to Beckenheim) Name origin: Westernised version of the Punjabi ‘Daman’ Nickname: D or Parvi Nickname origin: n/a Do they like the nickname?: Yes Preferred Pronoun(s): He/Him Titles/epithets: n/a Sex/gender: Male Age: Twenty One (during original) Birthday: 19th June Place of birth: Toronto, Ontario, Canada Race: Indo-Canadian Religion: Sikhism/Agnostic Occupation: Park Ranger

Relationship Status: Single

PHYSICAL APPEARANCE Height: 5ft 8 Eye color: Dark Brown Face shape: Oval Distinguishing facial features: - Other facial features: -

Describe their smile: Good natured, friendly, goofy Left or right-handed?: Right How do they dress?: Casually and comfortably Any special accessories? If so, why are they special?: Wrist Watch- belonged to his biological Grandfather who migrated to Canada from Punjab, India. Wrist band made by his little sister Silvia. Something they always carry with them: Above and Park shed’s keys. Weapons: n/a Describe hairstyle: Quiffed, overgrown crew cut Natural hair color: Black Natural hair texture: Thick and straight Cleanliness/grooming: Good Miscellaneous physical characteristics: Stocky, barrel-chested, thick armed Usual mood/expression: Cheerful

SPEECH AND COMMUNICATION Pace of speech: Slow Voice tone: Accent: Ontario, Canadian English (slips into mothers more traditional Indian accent when angry or drunk, swears in Punjabi) Describe their laugh: Describe general speech pattern: Mannerisms/demeanor: Typical posture: Gestures:

LIFE Current residence: Beck’s Park Cabin Do they live with anyone?: Usually Where would they ideally live?: Same place Any pets?: Current occupation? Are they satisfied with this?: Park Ranger, yes General health: Great

FAMILY OF ORIGIN Mother’s name: Paavani Parvi Mother’s age: Deceased at thirty five Mother’s living status: Deceased Father’s name: Vikram ‘Vik’ Parvi Father’s age: fourty nine Father’s living status: Alive Describe relationship with parents: Was caring, positive, loving but tentative with mother, Any other caretakers?: Avan Sharma (maternal Grandfather), Kelsey Beckenheim Siblings: Silvia Mahi Parvi Describe their ancestral history: Punjabi Indian, Indo-Canadian, Canadian-English

EMOTIONAL CHARACTERISTICS Describe their sense of morals: Lawful Good How do they act in public?: Stiff but friendly How do they act privately?: Relaxed and goofy How do they react in a crisis?: Lean into impulsivity, uncertainty, anxiety, finds it hard to control emotions, especially anger How do they view life?: Simply How do they view death?: Not fully considered What motivates them?: Family, nature, happiness What makes them happy?: Family, food, nature, exercise What makes them sad?: Uncertainty, other people’s sadness, conflict What makes them angry?: Carelessness, Jamie Smith/Rivers What humiliates them?: Lacking confidence to stand up for himself, others

RELATIONS WITH OTHERS Who are their close friends?: Jackson Koh  (Jay), Abbie Tomlinson (f, park ranger), Shannon Tremblay (m, park ranger), Marcus “Levers” Levesque (m, park ranger) Sexuality: Heterosexual First love: Jamie Smith/Rivers Current love: n/a

MENTAL ATTITUDES Any psychological issues?: Anxiety, managing anger Intelligence level: Not academic Self-confidence level: Low self confidence Optimist or pessimist?: Optimist Emotional or logical?: Emotional Dominant or submissive?: Submissive Patient or impatient?: Impatient when stressed, mostly patient Compassionate or self-involved?: Compassionate Greatest fear: Losing his family, especially biological sister Silvia What is their greatest strength?: Simple, caring nature What is their greatest weakness?: Lacking self confidence, people pleaser Biggest accomplishment?: Managing the park and its employees Biggest regret?: Jamie Smith/Rivers

[comicteaparty]

April 4th-April 10th, 2020 Creator Babble Archive

The archive for the Creator Babble  chat that occurred from April 4th, 2020 to April 10th, 2020.  The chat focused on the following question:

What is something you’ve improved with in regards to writing or comic creation thanks to working on your story?

carcarchu

Oh this one i can answer definitively. it's 100% lineart. forcing myself to have to do lineart for hours everyday is definitely a way to force yourself to get better at it while i still don't like it it's something that i can do now without being scared about it

shadowhood (SunnyxRain)

Colouring. I had to get really creative in expressing emotion and hinting plot devices with colour. Also got much better with drawing gesture drawings due to looking at a lot of references!

Cronaj (Whispers of the Past)

Either writing dialogue or drawing/painting backgrounds... I used to be particularly awful at writing dialogue. It was too stiff and formal, and sounded a lot like old prose. Now, because of writing a comic and going through several scripts, the dialogue is a lot more natural, and the pacing is more realistic to actual conversations. And the other: backgrounds. I really used to not even draw them at all, and doing a comic forced me to have to think about environments in scenes. So I went from drawing floating characters to having to consider where they are and how it affects the story/mood.(edited)

Feather J. Fern

Paneling! That was my main focus to figure out how to do good paneling to have clearer pages

Deo101 [Millennium]

Honestly? Everything. It's all gotten better and I've learned so much. I would say my biggest improvement is probably in my time management, and art wise is probably composition and layouts. But it's hard to pick because I've grown so much in every aspect!

chalcara [Nyx+Nyssa]

Biggest thing I learned was to keep the story small and focused - and that the smaller, more human struggles are much better in creating tension than the whole default "the world's gonna end!" thing. Mind you, I still love a good "world's ending" story, but you gotta make people CARE about the people in that world first!

Holmeaa - working on WAYFINDERS

ohohohoooo I have done more drawing in photoshop in this short time I have worked on Wayfinders, than the rest of my life! That has given me some skills for sure! Coloring is another one, and generally just efficiency and flow in a comic

Nutty (Court of Roses)

For me it's been my use of color, and getting more confident in experimenting with it to really drive home a scene's mood!

LadyLazuli (Phantomarine)

The clearest improvement I always notice is my layouts - I’ve gotten more adventurous with panel shapes and placement as time has gone on, experimenting with more interesting designs for the whole page. Some of those experiments haven’t been totally successful but it always feels like a worthwhile try. I’ve gotten some really, REALLY cool layouts out of these experiments, and I love seeing how dynamic the panels have become compared to my first chapter. Also speed. I’m so much faster now. Thank gooooooodness (edited)

Eightfish (Puppeteer)

@LadyLazuli (Phantomarine) I've definitely noticed the experimental panel layouts! They're really cool.

AntiBunny

Planning. Book 2 is when I started using sketchbook thumbnails to plan ahead. The luxury of that first draft meant I could rethink panel layouts and how to best express the events happening if I first had an idea of what was happening laid out.

Also digital art by necessity since I switched to digital during the current arc. I was decent at lineart already, but other aspects have really challenged me to grow as an artist. I had to totally rethink the way I create backgrounds for instance. During this time the background quality actually declined a little while I got used to a new method, but experience has improved my skills greatly as I force myself into new methods.

DanitheCarutor

Hmmm maybe paneling, speechbubbles and backgrounds? My current project is my second real attempt at doing a comic, but I have learned a lot of stuff from the community and general art and story tutorials. Backgrounds and bubbles were the worst for me when first starting out, I only read manga before starting so the speechbubble shapes did not fit with how English is written. Plus I've only drawn wooded fantasy settings before making my comic, so using a ruler, figuring out perspective points and drawing buildings was very new to me. I still hate drawing cities and such, but I've gotten a lot better at it and it is easier to do now. Since I mostly stuck with B&W before my current project, coloring also kind of improved? Depending on who's looking at it. Lmao If I were to think about story/characters/dialogue, I have no idea if I've improved. Honestly, I don't pay much attention to the quality. Also my brain kinda says it's all bad regardless of what I make.(edited)

Joichi [Hybrid Dolls]

For my Improvements: I'm getting better at my comic panels, as I adjust to the vertical style. Before I've always drawn the standard format. It's more than just boxes, I try to keep a variety of sizes. I'm picking up roughly how much 'gutter space' I need per 2-3 panels.etc I'm also improving on choosing colors that fits my love of detailed linework.(edited)

OH! I'm also learning about Clip studio shortcuts, how to use the assets they provide which makes the process, abit easier on me. Things I need to change, is I want to get a good speedy coloring style, without referring to my usual coloring.(edited)

Tuyetnhi (Only In Your Dreams!)

the more I worked on the comic, the more I feel ambitious in making different angles and perspective. So it's really hitting me out of my comfort zone which is good! lol Though I'm trying to keep in mind of my speed, what I feel like I've improved a bit is trying to keep in mind of paneling and dialogue.

FeatherNotes(Krispy)

Process! Space and i have definitely figured out the most productive way to produce content at the rate and quality that also provides us with time for our own projects. Comics are a useful tool that helps you discover ways to better organize your creative workflow for sure!

sssfrs (JOE IS DEAD)

I think probably scenery. I used to dread drawing inanimate objects but now I feel more confident in filling in a scene & even look forward to it sometimes. Maybe also page composition and paneling but I still have a lot to learn there

eli [a winged tale]

One of the reasons I embarked on the webcomic journey is to push myself to improve not only storytelling but also utilizing art to create a reader experience that would be difficult to replicate with just words. I’d like to think that 9 months into making A Winged Tale, I’ve improved on deciding when is a good opportunity to invest more into backgrounds vs character dynamics and when should be focused more on sequences of panels and composition. While the comic is written in a four panel format, more and more I’m finding areas where the story could be told by breaking those rules (attached pic). It’s a balance and I hope going forward I will improve more in pushing the limits of panels and find ways to express the story in fun and interesting ways.(edited)

Joichi [Hybrid Dolls]

Wow that's a very good description @eli [a winged tale] I look forward to reading more of your story journey

eli [a winged tale]

Thanks so much Joichi! I’m eager to keep learning~

Capitania do Azar

I'm gonna go with planning and actually getting it done. I'm so much faster because now the process is much more streamlined to me

kayotics

My whole comic was started s an exercise to just get better at comics generally so I’d probably say every part I’ve improved at? The biggest things are probably colors and the upfront planning process

Phin (Heirs of the Veil)

Ooof hard question. I think my main improvement lies with page and speechballoon layouts and writing natural feeling dialouge. I'd say maybe also character acting?

Joichi [Hybrid Dolls]

I'm slowly learning how to create more engaging comic narrative. I read and research in the polished prem webcomics to see what makes them engaging? Like I'm going to challenge myself by creating a series of short stories with a reoccurring set of characters. Every new comic series I create is an experience, trial and error. Sometimes I skip the writeup and just go in blind, trust my own instincts. I'm glad to reach out and talk about it than in my own head. I hope by this year, I'll have at least 2 chapters of Hybrid Dolls out.(edited)

keii’ii (Heart of Keol)

I've definitely gotten better at planning/ outlining multiple chapters ahead of time. I did not even do this when I was doing the first 10 something chapters. (I did attempt an outline before I began the comic, but the story changed significantly from the outline by the time I started the comic, and I did not try to do it again for a long while.) I can't remember when I started, but I do recall having a lot of trouble the first time I tried to do it. It's gotten a little easier each time, though. In fact, I just spent the past few days outlining the next few very important chapters, de-tangling some big tangles. I'm really glad my outlining (and overall writing) skills had leveled up, because HOO boy, I don't think my 2014-2015 self could have done this!

I also became friends with enviros. I had already become somewhat comfortable drawing perspective when HoK started, but I had a sort of mechanical approach to it, like "oh I need some enviro for these establishing shots, guess I'll draw them." But now I LOVE drawing enviros! (some types anyway...) It's my comfort activity, something I treat myself to after a long day! In the thumbnails for my next few pages, there's a few enviro-heavy panels that I have to remove, because I drew too many of them (and the pacing got too slow as a result). I have to stop myself from drawing too many of these.

My biggest improvement is probably I've come to understand my characters and my themes much better, but that's more of a "I got better at making HoK" than a "I got better at making comics." There's definitely a difference between the two.

Joichi [Hybrid Dolls]

@keii’ii (Heart of Keol) ah I totally understand I tried the outline method before I start but my story changed alot after I drew it. So it start to feel like a waste of time for me, but I'll still write an outline to make sure to plan where my story heads(edited)

keii’ii (Heart of Keol)

Yeah! I needed to draw those first few chapters to understand the direction of my own story.

The drawing part is an essential part of self-reflection, to try to understand what it is that I want out of the story. The answer has always been there in my heart, but I'm not able to see it clearly from the get-go.

Joichi [Hybrid Dolls]

I end up breaking scenes and put them in for future episodes, since I want to get a certain flow in the story.

It could be tricky to see what it is you want out of the story until you are in at least 3 chapters in?

keii’ii (Heart of Keol)

I needed way more than 3 chapters -- though granted, my chapters are short, so that could be a part of it

Joichi [Hybrid Dolls]

I see the early first script as testing the water. like a test to figure out the characters personalities. Unless you are bringing in old characters which you knew before?(edited)

keii’ii (Heart of Keol)

Even if the characters have been with you for a while, unless I have made a comic with them, there is a big chance that the characters will completely change, too.

DanitheCarutor

You know, I was thinking about about this, mostly about how I wouldn't have been happy if I was able to finish my comic the day I started. Then I realized I'm happy that I didn't. The first chapter wasn't the best, I was just learning how to coloring a comic, still fleshing out my characters and was still brainstorming small kinks in the story. I also still didn't have as much of an understanding of perspective, or panel and bubble layout. Even though I still have a lot I need to work on, I've gotten a lot better in all those aspects. Even though my use of color is weird, I've definitely gotten much more confident in it, enough so that I experiment and take a lot more risks with style. Even though my panelling can be boring, I have a much better understanding of how I want a page to look. I've improved a lot with my planning as well, like even though my thumbnailing/storyboarding only takes maybe 30, I've learned to step away for a bit if I don't like a layout, or analyzing why I don't like it and brainstorming ways to make it better. If I had magically finished the comic all at once, it would look really bad and may have been less readable.

Joichi [Hybrid Dolls]

That is inspiring to hear about your improvement @DanitheCarutor

Natsu-no-Hikari

Chiming in! Just this week, Miko (my co-creator) and I were discussing how far we've come from when we started our first comic (https://liarsgotoparadise.com/) vs. where we are now. I think there have been a lot of learn experiences, such as art, dialogue, general editing - but especially with pacing and character interaction. We regret that we didn't stop to focus more on that interaction, as we wanted to move ahead in the story...and now we can't change that, except to start now and not allow ourselves to grow impatient. Take our time and enjoy the journey - that's our new motto. There's a time to rush ahead in perilous moments, but there's also definitely a time to catch our breaths and let the characters mingle and speak. It's an improvement that will become more noticeable going forward in Liars and our second comic as well.

[gooddame]

Someone Worthwhile

This is a drabble prompt for the lovely darling in need of Klaroline meeting at Comic-Con my @childoftimeandmagic! I hope you get some time today to read this monster. All Fluff and banter.

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Special stars are Bonnie, Tyler, Enzo, Marcel, Damon, Finn, Stefan, and a mention of Elijah.

<3

She hears her hotel door open but is surprised by the voice, “Caroline,” his voice shocks her from her excitement of the building crowds in the streets she sees from her hotel window.

He must have bribed the hotel to let him in, she thought maybe she really needed to stop using Tracy Samantha Lord as her fake name at the front desk as he says, “I need a favor.”

Caroline turns around as Bonnie trails in behind him having found her Gamora wig, she smiles at her friend and then at her ex, “Nope, I’m here strictly on a fan basis this year. I promised.”

Bonnie nods at the bathroom as Tyler begins to speak, “You didn’t even know what I was gonna ask,” he retorts while cracking his knuckles like he’s about to finish off the biggest deal he’s ever made.

The Blonde laughs almost to herself recognizing all his usual tricks, “But I know that look on your face, it says ‘I need working Caroline’” she reveals to him as she walks to meet him eye to eye.

“It would only be an hour,” Tyler stresses, “You’ll be back before anyone knows you’re here as,” the brunette tall man trails off trying to figure out her rainbow top and blue pants.

“I’m The Doctor,” Caroline laughs putting him out of his misery; Tyler was all business and no fun.

“Doctor who,” he asked, his brow meeting in the center of his forehead not bothering to hide his confusion.

“Exactly,” she states with a grin and her hands on her hips full wonder woman pose.

Bonnie laughs coming out of the bathroom in full garb, “I knew cutting your hair this short would be perfect,” she tells Caroline making the blonde actress preen as she touches her own hair.

Tyler watches the two confused as to how he grew up with them before the tension in his brows gets the best of him, “Look, I need a celebrity commentator just for the Epic Kings group session.”

Caroline’s body freezes, fangirl mode launched as she presses her hands on Tyler’s arms, “You want me to talk to Klaus Mikaelson never having met him before and talk about how he and Silas are going to go head to head this season,” she exclaims excitedly.

“And the whole crew,” Tyler begins to smile near excitement dawning on his face at the way Caroline speaks animatedly like she might just do it.

Bonnie is the one to cut in with a groaning, “When does this start,” knowing that Caroline would not do it if she asked.

It’s with this information in mind Bonnie doesn’t look completely put out knowing that her best friend would be crazy to not miss a job opportunity like this. She walks over to the pair of friends and hugs Caroline who is about to meet her own secret celebrity crush in the process.

“So it’s a yes,” Tyler asks Bonnie with the saddest pair of puppy eyes he can muster making it even more dramatic the longer she takes to nod her head.

“You’ll have to call Kat,” Caroline warns him about her agent, “But I’m sure she’ll be on board,” she finishes off knowing Kat wouldn’t mind a pair of really nice shoes as a bonus.

“Let’s get you to conference room 394,” Tyler thanks them gripping both the girls hands for getting him out of a bind, “Bonnie can come too,” he says with false woefulness.

“Maybe I don’t wanna come,” Bonnie giggles as they grab for their bags and phones making sure to keep the hotel key on them.

“He dais cast and crew Bonnie, Enzo will be there,” Caroline murmurs with a look that says ‘get on board’ making Bonnie freeze too.

“Holy crap,” she cries making Tyler look up from his phone behind them while confirming with Kat about Caroline’s changing schedule. “I’m gonna meet St. John.”

“Not if we don’t hurry,” Tyler tells them as they reach the elevator doors.

-<3-

Caroline looks around the allotted conference room pacing the makeshift backstage when someone with a badge and Madonna phone stops in front of her, “Let’s get you a mic, and get you talking,” he says walking to a table with an array of gray plastic cases filled with equipment.

The actress, no stranger to a microphone of a camera reaches for the one that has ‘commentator’ taped to side, the tense individual sighs in relief that she’s found her mic, “Say something,” he directs.

“I like Paris in summer,” she states clearly after flicking on the mic seems to solve the man’s problem because he nods.

“Yup, that’s great, were gonna start letting the crowd in now so just hold off on coming out for a bit,” He explains using his pen to scratch another thing off of his clipboard and disappears leaving Caroline alone.

“Paris in summer is breathtaking,” an accented voice agrees from behind her making Caroline turn around to see who is speaking to her as she switches off the mic.

“Klaus,” she blurts out in a gush of air surprised by his surreal presence.

“Mikaelson,” he very nearly blushes as he extends a hand to her own, “And you’re Caroline,” he utters against her knuckles mouth brushing them as he speaks.

“You know me,” Caroline takes back her hand gaining her confidence back smoothly if not swiftly as he continues to speak.

“I know of you,” he admits with a pointed tilt of his head his eyes looking at her appreciatively, “Your work on The Good Lady was, astonishing,” his eyes meet hers then to show his complete sincerity.

“I, well, thank you, it was great to do something different,” the blonde responds when an enthusiastic smile that would have had all of Mystic Falls at her feet.

“Klaus, no flirting with the pretty girl until after, okay,” a man with hero hair chimes in while reaching for Klaus’ shoulder, apparently they knew each other.

“Sorry Love,” he utters as he follows hero hair along the other side of the back stage.

“How are you doing,” Bonnie makes Caroline jump in surprise as he disappears from view.

“Bonnie, he knows me,” she finds herself saying as she recounts what he said about her performance in the Good Lady, it was her first time doing something other than girl next door flicks and views had not taken it well.

“I saw that,” the brunette smiles knowing Caroline has gone starry eyed but needs to be refocused, “He know you too,: she mocks before using another more authoritative tone, “Snap out of it babe.”

Caroline takes a deep centering breath, “You’re so right,” she nods her head shaking off the feeling of his lips on her hand by formulating a plan, “Keep it cool. Mouth exercises let’s do this.”

The blonde asserts herself checking her stance, as Bonnie reaches for one of the free water bottles realizing someone is reaching for the same one as her, “I see an angel,” he declares.

Bonnie rolls her eyes grumbling, “More of witch,” she replies opening the water bottle and nearly chocking as she sees his face, “St. John.”

“I like to go by Enzo,” he rejoins with contentment as he takes the bottle from her hand and sips from it before she can, “I suppose your name is something other than little witch.”

“Bonnie,” she replies swiping the bottle from his hands as she juts her hip.

“Bonnie,” he smirks about to say something more.

“I really got to keep you guys on leashes,” the man with hero hair appears again reaching for the back of Enzo’s shirt, “Let’s go before Elijah finds you guys out of order again.”

“Stefan, mate, relax,” Enzo says pushing back his slick hair, “It’s a fan driven event, means there’s supposed to be fun had,” he says that last bit to Bonnie with a wink.

“Yeah, okay, let’s go,” Stefan tells him making him leave Bonnie with nothing more than a little wave.

The anxious man from before returns to Caroline’s side, just as Tyler enters giving her two thumbs up, “Here are your cue cards and the names of each character, don’t forget your remote for the sizzle video and secret preview after,” the rest is a blur as Caroline reaches the stairs to go onto the stage.

“Holy crap,” she mutters with her fingers on the mic off switch.

“You’ve got this,” Bonnie reiterates shaking off her own encounter, “You’re an academy award nominee and you’re just doing Tyler a favor, this is nothing,” she reminds her watering down the situation.

“You’re absolutely right,” Caroline agrees hugging her best friend, “I’ll see you after.”

-<3-

The panel is slow to begin from the backstage while the leading men are being called by a pre-recorded voice in a flamboyant nature to the stage by their names one by one. For Caroline and for the crowd it’s the best time to cheer for each actor and show their personal appreciation. Klaus catches her eye and his smile is megawatt wide making Caroline instinctively grin back at him.

Her wave at him seems to make his smile more alluring, his eyes more firm as if they’re looking into her soul and finding everything so she breaks contact looking out past the stage.

She can see how the room only minutes ago empty seems smaller now with hundreds of fans settled into their seats cheerfully could still seem to be chaos. Caroline hugs her mic to her chest carefully switching it on as she takes her seat when Finn the arch enemy of the Epic Kings cast is called as he is the final one to arrive.

A hint of butterflies flutter in her stomach in excitement Caroline introduces herself to the crowd and they immediately recognize her as she declares with delight, “Surprise!”

Before long the sizzle reel starts and the crowd is eager to hear from the men of the show who excitedly and in colorful language, express the mutual respect they have for one another and their fan base. Caroline finds herself enraptured in the conversation often forgetting her cue cards and asking the real questions fans weren’t generally allowed to. Damon, the creator of the show does his best to keep his lips sealed about the plot of the season but more often than not Caroline get something out of him.

This leads them to fan base questions towards the end of the panel where a select group of people who watch the show can ask questions burning on fans tongues and web pages. Between Klaus and Marcel you can tell there is a true kinship and Caroline is glad that their chemistry is not just one made up by television. She does her best to keep herself composed around Damon’s gross commentary nodding to Tyler when he sees her face twisting in distaste for the famously cringe-worthy creator of the show reeling it back to the basis of the panel session.

After one on-set hi-jinks question from a fan Enzo tells story that has everyone enthralled even before he begins, “So Klaus was rounding the set during rehearsal in dead of night mind you,” he pauses looking directly at the crowd.

His hands out like pointed weapons, “With these two pistols and Marcel comes around the other end of storage container both, with no idea that they’re about to run into one another.”

The cast is in stitches at the memory by that point as he laughs fully, “Long story short, Klaus shot Marcel in the back.”

Klaus feigns weakness with his hand to his mouth, “Our friendship almost died,” he fake sobs into the mic.

Marcel laughs patting him on the back, “I almost died, you didn’t know it was me,” he calls out.

“It was a fake pistol,” Klaus replies so deftly he looks saintly.

As for his friend Marcel pretends to be wounded at his friend’s words, “I didn’t know that at the time,” he points out.

Klaus rebuttals, “You think that low of me,” he asks with a huge smile.

Finn sighs, “Well, I do think it’s possible but I’m the bad guy you were gonna shoot,” he reveals making the crowd gasp.

Caroline laughs seeing Tyler’s signal to switch up the topics, “Alright, alright next topic, on this season of Epic Kings Klaus, your character is supposed to be challenged to the extreme, what does that mean?”

Klaus and Damon exchange a glance before he looks to her and explains, “Well he’s a bloody killer,” he laughs scratching his neck, “He’s gone out on his own, essentially left the family.”

Marcel ducks his head so Caroline looks to him as he interjects, “Yeah, we’re so lost without you.”

Klaus chuckles as he looks from Marcel to the crowd, “They are, the little dears, no, ah, my character is very vulnerable at the beginning of the season, he doesn’t know who he can trust,” he clarifies.

“Maybe Nick can take up with the Scooby Doo gang and really flesh out those characters, build an army,” Caroline speaks before she realizes she’s talking into her mic making the crowd wild.

“You watch the show,” Damon asks before Klaus can and Caroline nods.

“Of course, I do that’s why I was asked to commentate,” she half lies smoothly, “See the mic says so.”

“What are your thoughts on the show,” Klaus asks her genuinely curious as the crows settles.

“I ask the questions,” she replies with a flirty smile.

“I do like a lady in charge,” he rejoinders with a wicked look that gives her chills.

“Oh, do you,” she just about gets up to speak to him the tension radiates between them as she tells him, “Because you don’t strike me as,” trailing off when she sees Tyler’s mean look.

“Okay, back to the show,” the actress smiles her best pageant smile once more addressing the audience, “Sorry fans, we have time for one last question and then we’re gonna reveal a very special scene from the new season of Epic Kings!”

She laughs as the guys on stage start humming the theme song dramatically playing pretend instruments as Caroline picks out another name from the pile of pre-approved questions, “Last question by fan, April, go ahead.”

“Hi, I love you guys,” the brunette wide-eyed fan squeals, “Okay, my question is, are there any new or old love interests this season that might make the Kings not get back together?”

Damon takes over that question leaving the cast to nod whenever they agree with something he says, “That’s a great question April,” he answers with a compliment and a leering look that makes even Caroline cringe before he gets to the answer.

“For now, we are thinking a new love interest, especially for Nick who is on his own now and heavily eyeing our commentator,” he mutters into his mic, “He will meet someone in the first I’d say 3 or 4 episodes of the season and it’s gonna really change the dynamic I think.”

Klaus locks eyes with Caroline as he speaks into his mic, “Meeting a new person that’s worthwhile can have a profound effect on how people act. And I think we’re going to see that in Nick and the way he goes about either reconciling with his brothers or not.”

“Get a room,” Bonnie shouts from backstage making Caroline blush as if she wasn’t already turning red from the heat in the room.

“Oh piss off St. John,” she hears Klaus groan pushing at his friend his seemed to be immobilized by laughter at Bonnie’s comment.

“And that’s it for the panel guys,” Caroline tells the crowd as she stands from her chair, How about a big applause for these guys? Thanks for coming out,” lots of whistles erupt in the room as the guys get up from their chairs making Marcel and Finn flex only egging on the crowd further.

Klaus walks directly to Caroline moving with the agility of a jaguar off of the wrong side of the stage, “Listen Caroline I,” he stops short as Caroline’s face brushes his.

Caroline for her own reasoning hadn’t realized how close Klaus was until she turns to look at him, “Oh, sorry, you were saying?”

Her eyes asks him to continue as the backstage erupts as well into working on the next panel set up, “I’d like to have dinner,” he clarifies.

Her eyebrows shoot up in surprise, not knowing how to reply, “There’s a restaurant nearby that delivers called Beso, I recommend it.”

“I meant with you,” Klaus articulates running a skittish hand threw his curls, “I meant what I said out there, about when you meet someone worthwhile.”

The blonde smiles as him, “How do you know I’m worthwhile or interested,” she inquires.

“Because if nothing else I could make a visit to set possible and you’ll understand Nick’s family strain before anyone else does,” he mutters in a tone reminiscent of one his character uses when he has the upper hand.

“Bribery,” she surmises.

“I want your attention not matter what the cost,” he says, his answering grin making her heart drop.

“Caroline just tell the man yes, or I’ll tell him about your Epic Kings themed birthday last year,” Bonnie sings as she hugs her best friend from behind.

“Bonnie! We have plans tonight or I,” she explains looking from her oldest friend to Klaus trying not to give away that Kat had already talked Damon into letting her visit the set after her movie was finished with re-shoots.

“So keep them,” Klaus states reaching for Caroline’s hand once more, “I’ll give you my direct number and you can call me anytime you’d like. But do call.”

“Okay,” Caroline relents as Bonnie lets up whispering, “Do it,” in her ear, “I will do that,” she says unlocking her phone to let him type in his number.

He types it while keeping her within eye level, “I can’t wait to hear from you Caroline,” he murmurs in caress.

“Well, fuck me,” she sighs when Klaus disappears without looking back to see her obviously stunned face because her friend just laughs.

“Oh, he will,” she tells her as she fixes Caroline’s coat.

“Bonnie!” Caroline whines half-hardheartedly at her friend’s teasing.

[imaginetonyandbucky]

Phase Change: Chapter 1

The man who used to be both Bucky Barnes and the Winter Soldier but now is neither has to figure out who he is and what he wants, with a little prodding from Tony along the way.

Prompt: “I love Tony x Winter Soldier, so pretty please, can one of you write something with Bucky in WS mode? Idk, maybe WS who doesn't understand concept of feelings, but he's aware that he has them and he doesn't know what to do with them, so he decides to ask Tony, who is not only genius but also the object of those feelings, so he's perfect person to ask in Soldiers reasoning...”

Also on AO3

The soldier aka James Buchanan Barnes code name ‘Bucky’ distinctly remembers the first time he saw Anthony Edward Stark also known as Tony code name ‘Iron Man.’ He had been stepping off the jet that had been used to transport him to Stark Tower, where he was being remanded to the custody of the Avengers until, as one SHIELD officer put it when he didn’t realize the soldier was listening, “the government figures out what to do with him.”  Anthony Edward Stark was standing on the landing pad, flanked by people, some of whom the soldier recognized, some he didn’t, but all of which were watching him with varying degrees of wariness.  At the feeling of all of those eyes on him the soldier slowed, heart pounding as adrenaline flooded him.  He gritted his teeth and flexed his hands, trying to choke down the urge to lash out, to fight back, to run, and the effort made his steps grind to a halt halfway across the landing pad.

Anthony Edward Stark was the one who took two steps forward when everyone tensed, who pushed his sunglasses down his nose so he could look the soldier in the eye.  He raised his chin, jaw tight, as Stark studied him, and then watched in surprise as wariness turned to understanding. Stark gave him a short nod and then the sunglasses were back in place as he turned away towards the others.  “You guys, I think the welcoming party isn’t helping.  Let’s give him some space, yeah?” And just like that the landing pad cleared until it was just the soldier and Steven Grant Rogers code name Captain America.

He heard Steven Grant Rogers let out a long exhale in relief.  “Come on, Bucky.  You’re going to be bunking next to me for now,” he said over his shoulder as he started to walk towards the tower.  The soldier hesitated a split second before he remembered code name Bucky and followed.

(More after the break!)

The soldier spent the next few weeks pacing around the compound, feeling trapped.  His living quarters were the worst because that’s where Steven Grant Rogers “Please, Buck, call me Steve” was, where he always seemed to be watching the soldier with alternating hope and despair. Both made the asset equally uneasy; he felt like he was failing at a mission he’d never been briefed on.

So he paced.  On one of the early days he found the range but not an armory, which was probably wise.  Sometimes he wasn’t confident that he wouldn’t fight his way out if he had a weapon, even though he knew he’d agreed to come here and agreed to stay.  He found multiple kitchens and gyms, shied away from the offices and other peoples’ living quarters, and ran the tree line that served as the edge of the property so many times that he’d memorized it.

He realized, after a while, that he was bored.

Then he realized he'd been under surveillance the whole time when he saw Anthony Edward Stark jogging across a grassy expanse to intercept him on one of his runs.

“Hey Murderbot,” Stark said, and the soldier had stiffened, worried that he’d broken some unknown rule by going outside. “Follow me. You need a hobby, it’s driving me crazy watching you pace around this place like a caged tiger.”  He gestured and started walking back towards the compound. After a moment, the soldier followed.

Stark took him back to the range, but this time he went to a panel on the far wall; when he put his palm on it, part of the wall slid to the side to reveal the armory.  “I understand that this is your thing,” Stark said, waving his hand towards the mouthwatering array of pistols, rifles, throwing knives, and assorted other weapons that were on display.  “Have fun.  Just as a note, the guns will self-destruct if taken out of this room.” Stark glanced at him, gaze more measuring than suspicious.  “Steve thinks this is a bad idea.  Please don’t prove him right.”

The soldier gave him a nod, already reaching for a rifle.

That night, for the first time since he’d arrived at the compound, the soldier slept through the night.  The next morning, as he was trying to find something to eat, he was drawn to one of the kitchens by the smell of food and coffee and found Stark there.

“Morning, sunshine,” Stark said without looking up from his phone. “Did you have a good time yesterday?” The soldier grunted assent while he assembled himself a plate of food.  “Great,” Stark continued, apparently satisfied with that answer.  “Well, you’ve been here forty-two days now, I feel like I’ve been patient enough.  Would you mind joining me in my lab so I can take a look at your fancy metal arm?”

The soldier stood near the entrance to the kitchen as he ate, chewing thoughtfully as he considered.  “Yes,” he said finally, having decided that keeping Stark’s mysterious goodwill outweighed the deep unease he felt at the idea.

At that, Stark finally looked up at him. “So he does talk,” Stark said with a crooked smile.  “It doesn’t have to be today.  Take your time, warm up to the idea, and let me know when you’re ready.” He stood and put his phone in his pocket and the crumb-filled plate in the sink.  He filled up his cup with more coffee and on his way out of the kitchen he said over his shoulder, “Oh, and same rules as yesterday.  Steve thinks this is alsoa bad idea, so when you do come, please don’t prove him right by trying to kill me or destroy my lab.”

The soldier scowled, starting to get the feeling that Steven Grant Rogers’ opinions were one of the reasons why he’d been so bored lately.  He raised his chin. “Now,” he growled, half-expecting Stark to argue with him, but he only shrugged.

“If you say so. Follow me.”

Stark led him to a set of steel reinforced double doors that the soldier had passed a number of times but had never been able to access.  As Stark walked up, the doors opened on their own and the room inside was huge, a bland institutional gray filled on one side with machines and desks and toolboxes and on the other with a variety of fast-looking vehicles.

The soldier liked it immediately.

“This is my lab, my sanctum sanctorum, my home away from home, so don’t touch anything.  Except this chair,” Stark said, pushing a wheeled stool towards him. “Please sit on the chair.”

The soldier sat.  “I’m not Hydra’s attack dog anymore,” he said gruffly, and Stark’s eyebrows went up.  “I’m not going to hurt you or destroy anything.”

“I think so, too,” Stark said after a moment as he cleared a space on a work table. “But I think Steve…well, let’s say he would prefer to be safe than sorry.”  He patted the table for the soldier to place his arm on it and dragged up a chair for himself. “So tell me about this thing.”

The soldier let go of his aggravation at Steven Grant Rogers and began rattling off specifications from memory, recalling all the times the technicians had discussed his arm in his presence as if he were just another piece of machinery.  He directed Stark to the access panels and then conversation gradually trailed off as Stark became engrossed in investigating his arm.

After approximately an hour, Stark leaned back and rubbed his eyes. “JARVIS got enough scans of this that I can go ahead and finish up here so I don’t take more of your time. I think the perimeter guards are probably wondering why you are late for your morning marathon.”  The soldier scowled at that.  Boredom had apparently made him predictable. “Hey, so I’m sorry if this is a rude question, but what should I call you?” Stark asked as he started refastening the access panels on the arm.

He hesitated. “Bucky?”

Stark’s forehead creased at his answer.  “I get the feeling,” he said carefully, still looking down at what he was working on, “that you don’t actually like that name.”

The soldier felt a split second of surprise before he schooled his emotions.  How had Stark noticed what others had not?  He didn’t like being called "Bucky."  Bucky was a ghost, less a memory than an abstract fact the soldier would rather forget. There was another long pause while he thought.  “Soldier?” he ventured.  He saw a tic in Tony’s jaw that meant he didn’t like that answer either.

But Stark didn’t say anything until he was finished with the arm, setting his tools down on his work table before he sat up to face the soldier. The soldier relaxed when he saw that Stark’s expression wasn't angry or disappointed.  “Come on, ‘soldier’ isn’t a name," Stark said with a faint smile.  "It’s barely a title.”

The soldier pondered that. “Soldat?” he said after a few moments.

Stark snorted. “I know soldat is just Russian for soldier.  Look, if you don’t like Bucky or James or any of the names you were born with, I can give you a new one.  Just ask Captain Hotpants or Point Break.” The solder felt the corner of his lips turn up at Captain Hotpants and saw Stark’s answering smile.  “But I think it’s important that you decide on a name you like.”

He pondered that.  He’d gone by a lot of names in his life, some for longer than others.  “Yasha,” he said, as he stood to leave.  “Call me Yasha.”

“Alright.  Let me know if you have any problems with the arm, and maybe take it easy with the exercising.  Don’t you read or watch movies or do anything that involves…sitting?”

The thought of sitting for any length of time made Yasha’s skin crawl. Except…he’d just sat here for over an hour and didn’t feel like punching his way out of the room and then the compound.  He narrowed his eyes at Stark, who already seemed to have forgotten him as he pushed himself across the floor on his wheeled stool to a computer on another table. He grunted, more to himself than in response to Tony’s question, and went to the armory instead of for his usual run.

[go-diane-winchester]

Misha Collins is not the Professor of Slash Fiction

What Misha Collins has done to Supernatural slash fiction, has ruined slash within the fandom and added fuel to the fire of hatred that gay men are starting to have for slash fans.  I feel very sad for the teen destiel shippers in fandom, who have fledgling sexualities and instead of letting them explore these things organically and healthily, via slash fiction, Misha wants to school them on slash, a subject he has piss poor knowledge of.  Because he is a well known figure, in SPN circles anyway, they assume that he knows what he is talking about.  Actors and characters are merely muses, not the foundations blocks for a shipper's  happiness mansion.  You don’t need their permission or blessing.  You don't need their validation.  What Misha did was, he made destiel his personal brand.  Anything for popularity.  And he did it, despite knowing that the other half of the pairing is disapproving of it.   

A slasher's sexuality is being exhibited through the stories she writes.  Slash fiction is not about an actor, show, character or other external parties.  It is internal.  It has everything to do with the girl writing the story, and is a reflection of her sexual expression.  Once upon a time, women wrote only what they like.  If they didn’t like something, they steered clear of it, because that is what people with common sense do.  I, for example, can’t read fellatio because it doesn’t do anything for me.  I guess its because I am not a man, don’t have a penis and therefore don’t know what it feels like, so I don’t appreciate it.  In my stories, my characters don’t fellate each other.  If I read a story that is really enjoyable and fellatio makes an appearance, I skip that paragraph.  However, I don’t berate the person for writing something I personally don’t like.  She wrote it perhaps because she finds it enjoyable. 

Today, women are not really writing for themselves.  They are writing homosexually appropriate sex scenes, just so that their gay male readers, that are not the majority, don’t scoff at them and go “that’s not how we do it”.  Yes, the gay friends in this bubble are happy, but the majority of the slash fans that are mostly heterosexual women are left feeling lackluster.  Perhaps that is why there is a general trend for women to “grow out of slash fiction” and even mass media is seeing slash fiction as a teenage girl’s pass time.  Women, who are fully grown, and fully aware of their sexuality can’t pretend to like the stories because the stories are no longer appealing.  Of course, some Misha fans are A-OK with that artistic injustice because “Misha would love it because he is not a bigot”.  It has nothing to do with bigotry.  Sometimes, it is best to leave out the sex scene rather than make a select few happy.  Slash sex was never meant to be realistic sex.  It is, after all, written generally by straight females for straight females.  Throw in the bi females as well.  Its fantastical, as it should be. 

In early slash stories that I read, back in the lord of the ring days, ukes came the way women do, without a hand on them.  Why?  Because that is how women usually orgasm.  They write what they know.  However, young sexually inactive girls, listening to Misha and his LGBT slash tirades, endeavor to make stories “accurate”.  So now we have lots of young girls, growing up with a better understanding of gay sex than of straight sex.  I have even heard a few saying that they wanted to be gay men.  Misha is interfering with a natural process and confusing teenagers, which bites because as it is, sexuality is so confusing for young people.  Proper slash or classic slash is an artistic manifestation of straight sex.  The drivel that we have now is political correct, inclusive nonsense that gay men didn’t ask for and women don’t feel overwhelming enthusiastic about.  I don’t know what the ramifications of that is going to be other than women deserting slash fiction. 

I would like to point out at this juncture, that as far as SPN is concerned, Misha is a culprit.  But there were one more culprit.  There was one who communicated with general slash fans around the early 2000s.  His name was minotaur.  And he tried to school slashers on how to write gay sex correctly because they weren’t doing a good enough job for his liking.  He had no business doing that.  It has nothing to do with him.  Slash fiction is for woman.  Gay fiction or bara is for men. 

For Supernatural, I like J2 alternate universe.  There aren't very many other people left to love on this show.  They are all back stabbers.  If I write a story, Jensen is always the baby.  Baby is the word I used to use during my Lord of the Rings days, before I realized that the word uke existed.  Its not the correct way to write Jensen.  It is my favorite way of writing Jensen.  I like Jensen as the baby.  When I write a story where I need the baby to be a kidnap victim or abused stepchild or ethereal unattainable prince, I like to see Jensen in that role.  It has nothing to do with him.  It is how I like to write.  Its about my perception.  He is just a muse.  

I like seeing Jared as the daddy.  Go ahead and laugh.  I still smirk about this embarrassing word that I used before I know seme existed.  I like when Jared as the savior.  I cant see him as a baby because he is so fricking huge and tall, with the rippling muscles, expansive torso and broad shoulders.  Its is, for me at least, too easy to write him as a ferocious warrior, then as an abused baby locked away in a dungeon. 

P.S.:  THIS IS ONE OF MY FAVORITE JARED GIFS. 

The Jensen and Jared in my stories are mere avatar of the real actors.  They are manifestations of my sexuality and what I like sexually.  They have nothing to do with the real actors.  That is what hellers fail to understand.  They think that whatever they read in a destiel story is a manifestation of the truth.  That is why destiel and cockles stories are not imaginative.  J2 stories are so diverse because the actors themselves, despite being slash friendly, have never interfered with the genre.  They allowed the art form to grow at its own steady pace, organically.

Only the destiel fans do that now.  Because Misha turned an innocent art form into a drug, and he is their only dealer.  And you know how druggies love their dealers.  Reader opinions matter but not about who should be the baby and who should be the daddy.  You can't tell others how to navigate their sexual expression.  That is what Misha fails to understand.  Misha tries to show that he is an alpha.  So he is, essentially telling his fans what to write.  That is why Cockles stories are one trick ponies.  Artistic growth is completely stunted.  They are mostly High School AUs with the Jock Dean and Nerd Cas falling in love.  Even Twist and Shout was like that.  Except that Cas died in the end.  From AIDS.  No wonder gay men hate slash fans.  AIDS has no place in a slash story.  Its not a trope or a fetish.  Have some respect.  And who made hellers think slash was a gay thing?  Misha.  So blame him. 

Mpreg is proof that slash is a female art form.  The only other people who write mpreg now, write it as a creative exercise.  I used to feel embarrassed by mpreg especially if men found out about it.  But now I am fiercely protective of it.  Because its one of the last remnants of female sexuality in slash fiction. You don’t see mpreg popping up as frequently in bara, because gay men don’t fall pregnant and therefore don’t have a natural maternal desire.  Mpreg is big in SPN.  The brothers, Cas, even Kevin have gotten knocked up.  SPN is like a regular maternity ward.  I realize that Misha might not know anything about mpreg because he hasn’t spoken about it in his panels.  If this is true, then I hope it stays that way.  I don't want Misha to ruin mpreg, because imagine poor Jensen dealing with that. 

I was under the assumption that Misha doesn't know what tin hatting is.  I assumed that he thought Cockles is just an RPS pairing.  His talks about Cockles has started to make me think otherwise.  Misha doesn't realize that he is playing with fire.  And the day the penny drops for Jensen, he is going to be furious.  He is going to realize Misha is the reason his and Jared's reputation are completely tarnished.  He is going to realize Misha is the reason he and Jared get so many threats.  That is why, I wish Misha will stop talking about Cockles.  Just his interference, by itself, has turned his destiel shippers into a militant group.  Notice how his sastiel fans don't do that.  It is because he doesn't indulge sastiel.  In other words, he neglects the expendable fans, because he assumes, incorrectly, that destiel gives him more clout. 

Because he is schooled hellers for the past ten years, they are brainwashed into making slash fiction something it isn't.  It is not an expression of gay rights.  Its not a sexuality and its not about making the writers do what you want.  Even having a civil discussion about slash fiction is hampered because the answer to anything, from that camp, is usually “Well, Misha doesn’t have a problem with it”.  Misha is not your father.  You don’t have to see slash fiction or anything else through the Misha Collins lens.  Use your own common sense.  Normal destiel fans understand this.  Why cant hellers?

You don't need actor validation to enjoy slash fiction.  In fact, in my ideal world, I would hope that the actors never heard about slash fiction.  Personally, I find it mortifying.  The actors [decent ones anyway] are not there to fulfill your sexual needs.  They are not sex dolls.  They are only muses because you love them.  That doesn't mean they have to approve of your fetishes.  The proper definition of slash fiction should be:  Slash fiction is an escapist fantasy platform showcasing stories and artwork, by women for women, about male subjects in a romantic setting.  Leaving out the words “homoerotic” does away with multiple confusions, because slash is not gay porn.  This is what Misha believes and his own shipper fans got angry with him for calling destiel pseudo-porn.  Misha researched slash fiction on Wikipedia, like the complete idiot that he is, and it gave him biased, incorrect information.  It is the first time I actually saw destiel fans questioning Misha about this subject.  Even they acknowledge he doesn't know what he is talking about. 

Misha Collins is singlehandedly ruining something he had no business getting involved in.  I don’t really bother about what minotaur did to other slash fans, because originally it didn’t disturb my little corner of the internet.  Misha had ruined slash in this fandom.  When slash was true to itself, in the classical sense, women were still honest with themselves about their sexuality.  Bullying was infrequent and slash fiction was not ruined beyond repair.  Gay men weren't getting infuriated because women were fetishizing their lifestyle.  Now the hellers are bleeding into other fandoms and influencing their thought processes.  Misha's rotten influence has had a domino effect.  I really wish he would read this and stop.