#forgive me father for I am back on my original art bullshit

[weaponizedmoth]

sad ballerina :(

[kmclaude]

Forgive me Father, I have no awful headcanons for you, only a general question on comic making. How do you do it, writing-wise/how do you decide what points go where, how do you plot it out (or do you have any resources on the writing aspect that you find useful?) Not to get too bogged down in details, but I attended a writer’s workshop and the author in residence suggested I transfer my wordy sci-fi WIP into graphic novel script, as it might work better. (I do draw, but I don’t know if I have it in me to draw a whole comic—characters in motion? Doing things? With backgrounds? How dare, why can’t everyone just stand around looking pretty)

I was interested but it quickly turned into a lot of internal screaming as I tried to figure out how to compress the hell out of it, since novels are free to do a lot more internal monologuing and such compared to a comic format (to say nothing of trying to write a script without seeing how the panels lay out—just for my own sake, I might have to do both concurrently.)

As an aside, to get a feel for graphic novels I was rereading 99RM and was reminded of how great it was—tightly plotted, intriguing, and anything to do with Ashmedai was just beautifully drawn. I need more Monsignor Tiefer and something something there are parallels between Jehan and Daniel in my head and I don’t know if they make sense but it works for me. (As an aside, I liked the emphasis on atonement being more than just the word sorry, but acknowledgment you did wrong and an attempt to remedy it—I don’t know why that spoke to me the way that it did.)

I thought Tumblr had a word count limit for asks but so far it has offered zero resistance, oh well. I don’t have much else to say but on the topic of 99RM, Adam getting under Monsignor’s skin is amazing, 10/10 (about the Pride picture earlier)

wow tumblr got rid of the markdown editor! or at least in asks which means the new editor probably has no markdown....god i hate this site! anyway...

Totally! So first, giant thank you for the compliments! Second, I have a few questions in turn for you before I dive into a sort of answer, since I can give some advice to your questions in general but it also sounds like you have a specific conundrum on your hands.

My questions to your specific situation are:

did the author give any reason for recommending a, in your words, "wordy" story be turned into a graphic novel?

is the story you're writing more, like you said, "internal monologuing"? action packed? where do the visuals come from?

do you WANT it to be a comic? furthermore, do you want it to be a comic you then must turn around and draw? or would you be interested in writing for comics as a comic writer to have your words turned into art?

With those questions in mind, let me jump into the questions you posed me!

Let me start with a confession...

I've said this before but let me say it again: Ninety-Nine Righteous Men was not originally a comic — it was a feature-length screenplay! And furthermore, it was written for a class so it got workshopped again and again to tighten the plot by a classroom of other nerds — so as kind as your compliments are, I'm giving credit where credit is due as that was not just a solo ship sailing on the sea. On top of that, it got adapted (by me) into a comic for my thesis, so my advisor also helped me make it translate or "read" well given I was director, actor, set designer, writer, editor, SFX guy, etc. all in one. And it was a huge help to have someone say "there is no way you can go blow by blow from script to comic: you need to make edits!" For instance, two scenes got compressed to simple dialogue overlaid on the splashpage of Ashmedai raping Caleb (with an insert panel of Adam and Daniel talking the next day.) What had been probably at least 5 pages became 1.

Additionally, I don't consider myself a strong plotter. That said, I found learning to write for film made the plotting process finally make some damn sense since the old plot diagram we all got taught in grammar school English never made sense as a reader and definitely made 0 sense as a writer — for me, for some reason, the breakdown of 25-50-25 (approx. 25 pages for act 1, 50 for act 2 split into 2 parts of 25 each, 25 pages for act 3) and the breaking down of the beats (the act turning points, the mid points, the low point) helped give me a structure that just "draw a mountain, rising action, climax is there, figure it out" never did. Maybe the plot diagram is visually too linear when stories have ebb and flow? I don't know. But it never clicked until screenwriting. So that's where I am coming from. YMMV.

I should also state that there's Official Ways To Write Comic Scripts to Be Drawn By An Artist (Especially If You Work For A Real Publisher As a Writer) and there's What Works For You/Your Team. I don't give a rat's ass about the former (and as an artist, I kind of hate panel by panel breakdowns like you see there) so I'm pretty much entirely writing on the latter here. I don't give a good god damn about official ways of doing anything: what works for you to get it done is what matters.

What Goes Where?

Like I said, 99RM was a screenplay so it follows, beat-wise, the 3-act screenplay structure (hell, it's probably more accurate to say it follows the act 1/act 2A/act 2B/act 3 structure.) So there was the story idea or concept that then got applied to those story beats associated with the structure, and from there came the Scene-by-scene Breakdown (or Expanded Scene Breakdown) which basically is an outline of beats broken down into individual scenes in short prose form so you get an overview of what happens, can see pacing, etc. In the resources at the end I put some links that give information on the whole story beat thing.

(As an aside: for all my short comics, I don't bother with all that, frankly. I usually have an image or a concept or a bit of writing — usually dialogue or monologue, sometimes a concrete scene — that I pick at and pick at in a little sketchbook, going back and forth between writing and thumbnail sketches of the page. Or I just go by the seat of my pants and bullshit my way through. Either or. Those in many ways are a bit more like poems, in my mind: they are images, they are snapshots, they are feelings that I'm capturing in a few panels. Think doing mental math rather than writing out geometric proofs, yanno?)

Personally, I tend to lean on dialogue as it comes easier for me (it's probably why I'm so drawn to screenwriting!) so for me, if I were to do another longform GN, I'd probably take my general "uhhhhhh I have an idea and some beats maybe so I guess this should happen this way?" outline and start breaking it down scene by scene (I tend to write down scenes or scene sketches in that "uhhhh?" outline anyway LOL) and then figure out basic dialogue and action beats — in short, I'd kind of do the work of writing a screenplay without necessarily going full screenplay format (though I did find the format gave me an idea of timing/pacing, as 1 page of formatted script is about equal to 1 minute of screentime, and gave me room to sketch thumbnails or make edits on the large margins!) If you're not a monologue/soliloque/dialogue/speech person and more an image and description person, you may lean more into visuals and scenes that cut to each other.

Either way this of course introduces the elephant in the panel: art! How do you choose what to draw?

The answer is, well, it depends! The freedom of comics is if you can imagine it, you can make it happen. You have the freedoms (and audio limitations) of a truly silent film with none of the physical limitations. Your words can move in real time with the images or they can be a narrative related to the scene or they could be nonsequitors entirely! The better question is how do you think? Do you need all the words and action written first before you break down the visuals? Do you need a panel by panel breakdown to be happy, or can you freewheel and translate from word and general outlines to thumbnails? What suits you? I really cannot answer this because I think when it comes to what goes where with regard to art, it's a bit of "how do you process visuals" and also a bit of "who's drawing this?" — effectively, who is the interpreter for the exact thing you are writing? Is it you or someone else? If it's you, would you benefit from a barebones script alongside thumbnailed paneling? Would you be served by a barebones script, then thumbnails, then a new script that includes panel and page breakdowns? What frees you up to do what you need to do to tell your story?

If I'm being honest, I don't necessarily worry about panels or what something will look like necessarily until I'm done writing. I may have an image that I clearly state needs to happen. I may even have a sequence of panels that I want to see and I do indeed sketch that out and make note of it in my script. But exactly how things will be laid out, paneled, situated? That could change up until I've sketched my final pencils in CSP (but I am writer and artist so admittedly I get that luxury.)

How do I compress from novel to comic?

Honest answer? You don't. Not really. You adapt from one to another. It's more a translation. Something that would take forever to write may take 1 page in a comic or may take a whole issue.

I'm going to pick on Victor Hugo. Victor Hugo spent a whole-ass book in Notre-Dame de Paris talking about a bird's eye view of Paris and other medieval architecture boring stuff, with I guess some foreshadowing with Montfaucon. Who cares. Not me. I like story. Anyway. When we translate that book to a movie any of the billion times someone's done that, we don't spend a billion years talking at length about medieval Paris. There's no great monologuing about the gibbet or whatever: you get to have some establishing shots, maybe a musical number, and then you move tf on. Because it's a movie, right? Your visuals are right there. We can see medieval Paris. We can see the cathedral. We can see the gibbet. We don't need a whole book: it's visually right there. Same with a comic: you may need many paragraphs to describe, say, a space station off of Sirius and one panel to show it.

On the flip side, you may take one line, maybe two, to say a character keyed in the special code to activate the holodeck; depending on the visual pacing, that could be a whole page of panels (are we trying to stretch time? slow it down? what are we emphasizing?) A character gives a sigh of relief — one line of text, yeah? That could be a frozen panel while a conversation continues on or that could be two (or more!) panels, similar to the direction [a beat] in screenwriting.

Sorry there's not a super easy answer there to the question of compression: it's a lot more of a tug, a push-pull, that depends on what you're conveying.

So Do I Have It In Me to Write & Draw a GN?

The only way you'll know is by doing. Scary, right? The thing is, you don't necessarily need to be an animation king or God's gift to background artists to draw a comic.

Hell, I hate backgrounds. I still remember sitting across from my friend who said "Claude you really need to draw an establishing exterior of the church at some point" and me being like "why do you hate me specifically" because drawing architecture? Again? I already drew the interior of the church altar ONCE, that should be enough, right? But I did draw an exterior of the church. Sorta. More like the top steeple. Enough to suggest what I needed to suggest to give the audience a better sense of place without me absolutely losing my gourd trying to render something out of my wheelhouse at the time.

And that's kinda the ticket, I think. Not everyone's a master draftsman. Not everyone has all the skills in every area. And regardless, from page one to page one hundred, your skills will improve. That's all part of it — and in the meantime, you should lean into your strengths and cheat where you can.

Do you need to lovingly render a background every single panel? Christ no! Does every little detail need to be drawn out? Sure if you want your hand to fall off. Cheat! Use Sketchup to build models! Use Blender to sculpt forms to paint over! Use CSP Assets for prebuilt models and brushes if you use CSP! Take photographs and manip them! Cheat! Do what you need to do to convey what you need to convey!

For instance, a tip/axiom/"rule" I've seen is one establishing shot per scene minimum and a corollary to that has been include a background once per page minimum as grounding (no we cannot all have eternal floating heads and characters in the void. Unless your comic is set in the void. In which case, you do you.) People ain't out here drawing hyper detailed backgrounds per each tiny panel. The people who DO do that are insane. Or stupid. Or both. Or have no deadline? Either way, someone's gonna have a repetitive stress injury... Save yourself the pain and the headache. Take shortcuts. Save your punches for the big K.O. moments.

Start small. Make an 8-page zine. Tell a beginning, a middle, an end in comic form. Bring a scene to life in a few pages. See what you're comfortable drawing and where you struggle. See where you can lean heavily into your comfort zones. Learn how to lean out of your comfort zone. Learn when it's worth it to do the latter.

Or start large. Technically my first finished comic (that wasn't "a dumb pencil thing I drew in elementary school" or "that 13 volume manga I outlined and only penciled, what, 7 pages of in sixth grade" or "random one page things I draw about my characters on throw up on the interwebz") was 99RM so what do I know. I'm just some guy on the internet.

(That's not self-deprecating, I literally am some guy on the internet talking about my path. A lot of this is gonna come down to you and what vibes with you.)

Resources on writing

Some of these are things that help me and some are things that I crowd-sourced from others. Some of these are going to be screenwriting based, some will be comic based.

Making Comics by Scott McCloud: I think everyone recommends this but I think it is a useful book if you're like "ahh!!! christ!! where do I start!!!???" It very much breaks down the elements of comics and the world they exist in and the principles involved, with the caveat that there are no rules! In fact, I need to re-read it.

Comic Book Design: I picked this up at B&N on a whim and in terms of just getting a bird's eye view of varied ways to tackle layout and paneling? It's such a great resource and reference! I personally recommend it as a way to really get a feel for what can be done.

the screenwriter's bible: this is a book that was used in my class. we also used another book that's escaping me but to be honest, I never read anything in school and that's why I'm so stupid. anyway, I'd say check it out if you want, especially if you start googling screenwriting stuff and it's like 20 billion pieces of advice that make 0 sense -- get the core advice from one place and then go from there.

Drawing Words & Writing Pictures: many people I know recommended this. I think I have it? It may be in storage. So frankly, I'd already read a bunch of books on comics before grabbing this that it kind of felt like a rehash. Which isn't shade on the authors — I personally was just a sort of "girl, I don't need comics 101!!!"

Invisible Ink: A Practical Guide to Building Stories that Resonate: this has been recommended so many times to me. I cannot personally speak on it but I can say I do trust those who rec'd it to me so I am passing it along

the story circle: this is pretty much the hero's journey. a useful way to think of journeys! a homie pretty much swears by it

a primer on beats: quick google search got me this that outlines storybeats

save the cat!: what the above refers to, this gives a more genre-specific breakdown. also wants to sell you on the software but you don't need that.

I hope this helps and please feel free to touch base with more info about your specific situation and hopefully I'll have more applicable answers.

[sinsbymanka]

Writing Tag Game

Okay listen I’m on vacation XD hence why I’m ignoring everyone’s tags/taking forever to respond. But I’ve been tagged in this A LOT and I really liked it/wanted to do it so thank you to everyone who tagged me (oh my god I’m so sorry if I missed one of you there were SO MANY): @noire-pandora, @in-arlathan, @thevikingwoman, @morganlefaye79, @elveny, @kunstpause, @pikapeppa

I’m not tagging anyone because I’m tagging everyone since I’m too lazy to find my tag list (I’m on VACATION). If you’ve not gotten tagged and wanted to do this, say I tagged you. 

How many works do you have on Ao3?

147 - I have 145 linked to my profile and two in the anonymous collection. 

What's your total Ao3 wordcount?

1,468,248. Almost 1.5 million!! 

What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

Of Miracles and Heroes (FenHawke, Cadash/Varric, Varania/Blackwall): 269

Interspecies Relationships Have Their Ups and Downs (Shakarian): 145

Don’t Make it Hawkeward (Varric/Hawke): 135

The Ambassador’s Vices (Josephine/Adaar): 111

The Girl with the Arrow Tattoo (Cadash/Varric): 101

Do you respond to comments? Why or why not?

I do (but - to be honest - it takes me FOREVER). I love comments. It’s so much easier to not leave comments than leave comments, so every time someone leaves one I’m blown away. I feel like - for leaving me a comment - you’re definitely owed an answer! I do apologize that it takes me awhile though - I am very bad at answering because they mean a lot to me and I get easily overwhelmed by the AO3 inbox I don’t know why. Blame anxiety. 

What's the fic you've written with the angstiest ending?

I’ll be honest, I don’t like angsty endings so I don’t have many of them. By far the angstiest ending I have is Flowers, Lies, and Forgiveness. This is a Bianca Davri/Varric Tethras fic set during the final act of DA2. I wrote it from Bianca’s POV - showing Varric unraveling under the pressure of Kirkwall and Bianca’s complicated feelings about infidelity to her husband who clearly cares about her as well. I wrote it for @hollyand-writes who always lets me lean into the tragic “fucked upness” of the pairing when I’m feeling like making Varric suffer.  

What's the fic you've written with the happiest ending

I prefer happy endings so almost EVERYTHING has a happy ending. My favorite endings, so far, are for Cheating the Dread Wolf, which is my Varric/Cadash/Solas polycule (or as I like to refer to it - Solas has a dwarf kink) and The Viscount’s Mistress which is my Hurt/Comfort Cadash/Varric Trespasser bullshit. 

Do you write crossovers? If so, what is the craziest one you've written?

I have not written crossovers - but I am very into AUs in another setting that belongs to a different fictional universe. Most recently I got back into my Downton Abbey bullshit and wrote Flappers for Fen’harel which is basically a Downton Abbey AU Solas/Cadash and I’m not taking comments about the outrageousness of it. 

Have you ever received hate on a fic?

Yep. Honestly though? Over the two years I’ve been active in Fandom, the shitty comments can be counted on one hand and usually came from the same people over and over again, who are easily blocked, and should stop seeking out clearly labeled content they don’t like. Me and my work are not for everyone - that’s REALLY okay. I’ve blocked people for no other reason than making things I don’t like - that doesn’t mean they’re bad people. 

Do you write smut? If so, what kind?

GOD DO I.

I am extremely sex and kink positive. Because of this - a lot of my work involves sex in some way or another. I think sex is a beautiful part of many (although not all) relationships, and that it’s frequently glossed over in mainstream media (particularly queer, kinky, and polyam sex). 

This ranges from sort of vanilla slow burns (My Cole/Bea fic, Compassion for an Assassin, has smut which hasn’t been posted yet. It’s Cole’s first time and is fairly vanilla and romantic, and occurs approximately 40k into the fic) to some pretty dubious consent near 24/7 dom/sub dynamics with BDSM kinks (I’ve written JUST as much of the Sereda/Gorim problematic smut as @jarakrisafis has in our series Forced Moves). 

There’s very few kinks I’m not willing to touch at least to try out - even if I end up not liking them. And the ones that aren’t for me are 100% allowed to exist and I will fight for them to the bloody end. My only recommendation is CLEARLY labeling your shit and not being afraid to add a tag if someone asks you to. 

Have you ever had a fic stolen?

Not that I’m aware of? I’ve seen ideas I’ve tried on picked up by other people - but I don’t consider that stealing and it’s hard to trace “who has been inspired by who” because we ALL have been inspired by thousands of other people and frankly more stuff for me when I pull you over to my weird AUs and rarepairs. 

I also think that’s a huge part of not getting stolen - I’ve got so much weird niche shit that only a couple people read that stealing from me is going to most likely be caught IMMEDIATELY the audience is so small. 

Have you ever had a fic translated?

I don’t believe so!

Have you ever co-written a fic before?

Yes! I’ve got some co-written secret smut with @blarfkey which almost nobody has seen, I’ve borrowed @tightassets Hawke, Lavellan, and Shepard for fics that she has illustrated, borrowed @tuffypelly‘s Adaars for some great fics, and my most ambitious project - the Forced Moves series with @jarakrisafis. It started out as us just exchanging gifts back and forth but we’ve wrangled it into Gambits and Countergambits, an Aeducan-origin prequel, that I’m VERY proud of. 

I love co-writing very much, but it’s very important to find the right partner and for it to be someone you trust completely. 

What's your all time favourite ship?

This is a stupidly hard question because I am, at heart, a multi-shipper. 

I love Varric/Hawke and Varric/Cadash. I’m also a sucker for Solas/Cadash. My fandom pool noodle is Varric/Cadash/Solas which I adore, and I’m very fond of Cole/Cadash. 

Most recently I’ve been DEEP in Aeducan/Gorim Saelac, Bhelen/Rica/Vartag, and Aeducan/Brosca feels. Dwarf origins are the best origins in my opinion and those characters are PERFECT. 

What's a WIP you want to finish but don't think you ever will?

I fully plan on finishing everything. My writing style changed a lot, for the better, in a short period of time. I need to integrate my old style/new style and had to get a pep talk about how to do that. Now I’m ready to try as soon as I finish Compassion for an Assassin. 

What are your writing strengths? 

I write very sexy, hot smut. I also really like playing with character voice and making sure I get them “right” so I do a lot of experimenting before publishing a new character for the first time. 

I struggle to write action scenes - it’s like pulling fucking teeth - but people really LOVE my action scenes and they read well. So that’s something I’m proud of even if it feels like doing fucking pull ups. 

What are your writing weaknesses?

I never learned anything. My experiences with English and writing teachers were overwhelmingly negative. I’m unsure if I’m just not cut out for classes or if they were that bad, but I always left feeling like there was one “right” way to do it, and everything I liked was “bad”, so what was the point of “learning” anything? 

It turns out there’s this very pompous, pretentious thought process in writing where people “assume” things must be done, but GOOD writing teachers teach you the rules and then how to break them. I either never had a good writing teacher or got too intimidated to give them a chance before bouncing. 

So I’m exceedingly self-taught. I lack the vocabulary to discuss plot structure, characterization, grammar, etc. I instinctively know most of these things based on trial and error and reading, but I didn’t learn them and I miss a lot of nuance in the rules, but until recently I was still too intimidated and unsure of myself to admit that or take it seriously. 

So - my defense mechanism is NOT taking ANYTHING seriously. If my writing is a joke to me, it’s gotta be a joke to everyone else, but that’s been a shield to hide behind instead of being thoughtful about things. I’m here to have fun, yes, but there’s nothing wrong with learning a technique to the art. 

I’ve learned - mostly thanks to @blarfkey who is an amazing person and a wonderful teacher - that I am a good writer based on my self-teaching. And being intimidated of people who throw around impressive sounding words is a weakness that I am working on. 

What are your thoughts on writing dialogue in other languages in a fic? 

Use sparingly and with good reason. It should be short and explained later or clear from context. 

What was the first fandom you wrote for?

Harry Potter on message boards back in the fucking day. Thankfully none of it exists anywhere anymore. 

What's your favourite fic you've written?

This is such a sappy answer and I’m so sorry. My favorite things have been written for and because of people I love and care about. When I read them, I’m not just reading the story, but remembering the relationships I’ve made and how important they are. 

So, my top three fics for THAT reason: 

1. Cheating the Dread Wolf - written for @blarfkey who inspired the idea and ruthlessly encouraged me to make it happen. This fic was so healing for me because it heavily features Fatherhood within it - and I lost my father in June 2020. I don’t know if I’d have been able to do it without her and it was so important for me to do. 

2. Gambits and Countergambits - written with @jarakrisafis and the culmination of a years worth of gifting shit back and forth and crafting a shared universe. The worldbuilding, smut, relationships, EVERYTHING about this fic is so deeply and passionately cared about by both of us and to our knowledge it is completely, totally unique.  

3. Relentless, Ridiculous, and Rakish - one of my only primarily gen-fics focusing on a forming brother/sister relationship between Maria Cadash and @tuffypelly‘s Otsar Adaar. I very much enjoyed writing it for her <3 

And then my overall favorite fic: 

The Viscount’s Mistress: I have a lot of opinions about how fanfiction treats the anchor’s meltdown and the aftermath. It’s one of the things in DAI that resonated with me SO much as someone who lives with chronic pain and a disability. I loved the fact my OC was in the same shoes and STILL saving the world. This is very much a fic that explores all the dark sides of trauma, pain, and the mental health effects of it. But it ends on a happy and hopeful note.  

[iamnotbrianmay]

in the arms of life and death

Hi, its me, since I couldn't physically stop myself from writing another fanfic when this idea came to life I was forced by my brain to write and post this chapter. Now I'm writing two fanfics, which is great if you ask me. Less time to do homework, more time to write!

I hope you like this one, its a very weird concept I have had for three days, now its written down and I am shaking with terror about your reactions.

Description: Roger Meddows Taylor is born with blood in his hands and death in his heart. An unbreakable curse with the lamest silver lining he had ever heard of— he had a soulmate. A single soul made just for him to love, cherish, and be happy with.

What a load of bullshit. How could he be happy with anyone if anything he touches will surely die?

Do not stand at my grave and weep I am not there; I do not sleep.

Roger Meddows Taylor is born with blood in his hands and death in his heart.

The doctors treat him with utmost care, making sure that his head is held upright, his skin is cleaned from all blood, and he is wrapped tightly in a bundle of warm blankets. However, they type his birthmark into the system with anger, because people start pitying and being angry in Roger's behalf from the moment he is born.

His mother cries once he is taken into his father's arms and she is sure she won't drop him. The Hemlock which adorns his skin is nearly a death sentence, and ironically it's the most beautiful flower mark anyone had ever seen. It blooms right above Roger's heart, a bunch of delicate and elegant buds which looked as if the most talented painter in the world had taken hours to draw.

Of course, it's only right that the most terrible curses get the most beautiful flowers.

His father holds him tight against his chest, cooing at the newly born and blinking back the tears. The five-leaved clover that covered Michael's heart burning; taunting him with his never-ending bad luck. Luck that had passed down to his baby.

The blond boy gurgled, and Michael let out a soft sob. A single tear fell onto the boy's cheek, and the doctors left the trio to grieve alone. It was then that Michael Taylor started begging for his son's forgiveness, even if the boy was too small to even understand what was being said to him.

I am a thousand winds that blow, I am the diamond glints on snow,

In the beginning, and for a long time, Roger remained giftless.

He is still branded as a Cursed, though, and forced to go to a school meant for Cursed children only, until his gift shows. At first, he has dozens of friends, his toothless grin and charismatic personality does wonders for him. He goes around charming students and teachers alike, and by the end of the first semester, there is barely a Friday afternoon in which he finds himself at home.

But things inevitably change, and the first one to go is a little girl called Rosa. She had a mane of red hair, and a grin that makes every boy and girl fall in love with her. They are all sitting in a classroom, attentively listening as their teacher reads a book about a lost bird trying to find his family when Rosa asks the question that changes everything.

"Miss Pearl?"

"Yes, Rosa?"

"Can I sit in your lap?"

"Of course, Rosa. Anything for my favourite girl."

It's a simple request, something that shouldn't have sent alarms ringing, but suddenly the class is buzzing with anger. Shouts and complains ring all over the room and poor Rosa is left in the middle of the chaos, with fat tears rolling down her cheeks.

Roger is the only one unaffected by the gift, he has never been and will never be a jealous person. He looks around the room as children jeered and insulted Rosa until his head feels like it's about to explode and his ears are ringing. He grabs Rosa's hand and runs out of the classroom, ignoring the screams from their teacher.

Once they are alone, sitting on the lid of one of the boy's bathrooms, Roger urges Rosa to show him her flower. All of their flowers are well-kept secrets, only meant to be spoken out loud once their time comes, intended to warn or guide people once their gift showed.

Hesitantly she lowered the hem of her yellow, cotton, dress and Roger let out a soft 'oh' once he saw the mark.

"Hyacinth bloom." She whispered, lisp making it hard to pronounce the name correctly.

"Jealousy."

She nodded and let the hem settle back to its original state. He gathered a little bit of toilet paper and dried her tears, the ones that were still falling after the stressful event.

"My mom says it's not our fault when our gift makes people act differently." He tried to comfort her, but her bright eyes look weary.

"Is it because your flower is similar to mine?"

Roger freezes. He is barely six years old, barely over his toddler-age; he should be innocent and believe that maybe his flower wasn't as bad as people thought it would be. But he had stubbornly learned how to read to find out more about his condition, and had heard his mother crying through the thin walls of the house.

He looked at her in the eyes and shook his head, trusting the little girl with the only piece of information he was allowed to give at that moment, "No. It's much worse."

The next morning Rosa had already been transferred to a school for the gifted, and people had come to explain that every single one of them was going to be transferred unless their gifts proved too dangerous to be around other children. The lecturer's eyes zeroed in on Roger, even if he had no idea of what Roger's gift might be, it felt like a premonition of the years to come.

I am the sun on ripened grain, I am the gentle autumn rain.

He is the last one to get his gift.

The classrooms became smaller, the lectures more private, and soon only he and three other people were left out of a class of nearly seventy children.

They are trying to complete a science experiment, and Roger doesn't fail to notice how he is the only one in the classroom that doesn't need to wear thick leather gloves. The other three people had been cursed with the gift of Bellwort, Holy, and Marigold, and therefore had been deemed too dangerous to be around other children until they were at least fourteen years old.

The day starts like any other, he laughs with Khandra, makes fun of Luis, and nearly gets into a row with Anthony, before his gift gets revealed.

He sticks his hand into the fish tank, trying to catch one of the slowpokes to test their experiment, but when he puts the fish back into the water, it dies immediately.

Roger frowns and pokes at the floating fish with one of his slender fingers, then watches horrified as the meat rots under his touch and falls away, leaving only the skeleton. The other children jump back, trying to put as much distance between Roger and themselves, and he doesn't blame them.

The teacher watches as the chaos unfolds and locks the door. He manages to calm down the three other children in the room and then zeroes in on Roger, who is holding his hands as far away from his body as he can.

The teacher, a balding man with soft brown eyes, kneels in front of Roger and talks him into a state of faux calm that is bound to break at any moment.

"Roger, can you show me your flower?"

The blond shakes his head, as fat tears roll down his cheeks.

"Can you tell me what the flower is, then?"

Another shake of his head, and more tears rolling down his face. He looks back at the fish tank, watching as the remaining flesh drifted to the bottom of the tank.

"Can I call your parents?"

Roger is hesitant, seemingly speechless for the first time since he learned how to talk, but then he nods. The man takes out his phone and dials his mother's number. The conversation is short and grim, and once his teacher is turned back to Roger the older man is looking at him with pity in his eyes.

"I'm sorry, Roger."

The tears won't stop coming, and his teacher's eyes are misty.

"I'm so sorry, sweet boy."

He braces himself for the hug that he knows his teacher is prone to giving, but instead, Mr Amourne takes a step back and runs towards the door, screaming at his colleagues for help. He is left standing in the middle of the classroom, alone, terrified, and confused, waiting for something that would never come.

When you awaken in the morning's hush I am the swift uplifting rush Of quiet birds in circled flight.

Roger Meddows Taylor never gets to leave the school for the Cursed.

He grows into a beautiful young man, and his teachers do everything to the best of their abilities to make him as smart as he is good-looking. He teaches some classes for the younger children in his spare time, takes music lessons to drown out his boredom— and grows talented at the art of not touching people.

His gloves help him in unavoidable situations, as does his thick clothing. But for the most part, Roger Meddows Taylor hasn't touched a single living human for more than a fleeting moment since he was nine and a half years old. In fact, he can't even remember what it felt like.

His mother hasn't combed his long blond hair in years, his parents' lips haven't peppered his face with kisses since the morning before the accident, and he has had to sleep alone in cold winters for ten years and counting.

The gloves help with almost everything, including things like his passion for banging the shit out of drums and his ironic talent of gardening. What they don't help with is with his parents' near-constant pity party of their first born.

They only served to worsen it.

They watched with sad eyes as Clare, their beautiful Crocus blessed Clare, took the mantle of the charismatic child. They observed as day after day as she bloomed and he withered.

And when the time came for him to leave school, they had to watch Roger, their Roggie, fall apart.

His already brittle soul chipping away as each of the people he had grown used too wished him the best in life, bowing before him like he was something holy, worthy of admiration. Which in his mother's eyes he was.

Roger, however, hated it when people bowed to him. It was a constant reminder of the fear he had placed in all of their hearts, of the terror they had of what lived inside his veins and was tattooed upon his chest.

But he accepted it, nonetheless, knowing that was the most he was ever going to get, and bowed back.

I am the soft stars that shine at night.

The day he meets Freddie is the happiest day of Roger's life.

It's the first day he has ever been out of his house in months, and he is headed to one of his teacher's art exposition. An extravagant event hosted by the same woman who had once taught him how to draw people with their hands entwined, or in the middle of a passionate kiss. He wouldn't miss it for the world.

He walks into the gallery with his best suit, thickest long coat, stunning sapphire tie, and his trusty black, leather, gloves. He fits right into the scene for the first time in a while, and he even allows himself to loosen up. He drinks one flute of champagne, knowing precisely what would happen if he drank more and walks around the gallery, engaging in conversation with whoever is brave enough to get close to the Child of Death,as they had nicknamed him a few years prior.

He still didn't allow himself to brush with people, expertly dodging and slithering between crowds to avoid contact. And people, upon seeing his face made way.

But something was inevitably bound to happen.

And while he weaved his way through the crowd, twirling and ducking to avoid contact, he ended up crashing into someone.

Fear gripped his heart in a vice grip as he landed on the floor. He scrambled to his elbows as fast as possible and saw that the person he had crashed into, a thin boy with raven black hair, was looking at him with wide eyes. They stared at each other, waiting for the worst to happen, before the other boy spoke.

"Jump up and down and twirl around."

The body-numbing fear was instantly replaced by endless amounts of confusion. Roger made a face, shook his head as if trying to see if the boy was real, and then rubbed his eyes for good measure. "What?"

The relief that rolled of the other man was palpable, "Oh thank God, I thought I had touched you."

It was only then that Roger noticed the thick leather gloves on the man's hands, and the Wax plant pin attached to his coat.

"Sorry for the weird first impression, by the way, I'm Freddie Bulsara, Susceptibility."

Roger raised his eyebrows, "Not scared flaunt your curse, I see."

Freddie shrugged, "Better to warn people before they get a nasty surprise. My gift is something you can't quite shake off."

Roger eyed the boy with curiosity, taking in his white tuxedo and silver coat. He scanned the flawlessly applied makeup, the hundreds of necklaces and chokers he was sporting, and the gorgeous Wax plant pin made out of crystals. He also admired the way that he was laying on the floor, talking with a random stranger about the bane of their existence while looking like he did just that every single day.

"Roger Taylor, Death," he said while fiddling with the cuff of his coat, "It's a pleasure to meet you."

Do not stand at my grave and cry,   I am not there; I did not die.

         - Mary Elizabeth Frye

Okay so the flowers mentioned in this chapter (and their meanings) are:

Hemlock - You will cause my death Five-leaved clover - Bad Luck Hyacinth - Jealousy, sorrow Bellwort - Hopelessness Holly - Am I forgotten? Marigold - Cruelty Crocus - Cheerfulness Wax Plant - Susceptibility

Comments and Feedback are highly appreciated! In fact, I am a slut for comments! If you want to be added to the tag list, just send me a small message! I love you all, hope you enjoyed it! 

[zephfair]

DVD ficlet meme fill Leo/Riario

For @idriseleven There is no way I can apologize for taking so long to fill the meme prompt you gave me back in October. I am ashamed.

And on top of that, I changed up the prompt--I AM A HORRIBLE FRIEND AND I AM VERY SORRY! Please punish me however you see fit! <3

@idriseleven​ asked for: Oh please oh please do one of your crack/fluff fics of DVD as the high school popular kid and nerd. Anybody you want. I'm interested in which of those nerds you imagine was the popular kid!

*The answer is: THEY'RE ALL NERDS

Originally, I envisioned Riario as the religious geek with Zita, Leo as the art geek, Zo as the kid who smokes and hustles, Nico as the under-underclassman who follows Leo around, Vanessa as the theater geek, Lorenzo and Giuliano as the athletic jocks, Lucrezia the cheerleader, Clarice the valedictorian.

But then I got a crazy idea for a Footloose parody and my TiVo actually recorded it the other week and let's just say I took it as a sign from the universe that a DVD/Footloose fusion should exist. I’m sorry; blame the TiVo.

If you’ve never seen that movie, it is still fun! And full of fun 1980s pop songs!

Leo slammed down the tray on the cafeteria table and nudged close to Zo’s chair. “So when are we leaving?”

“Leaving?” Zo said through a mouthful of unidentifiable chicken product.

“I told you, we’re going dancing tonight in—”

“Keep your voice down,” Zo hissed and cuffed the back of Leo’s head. “Do you want to get us both in trouble?”

“This place is bullshit. This entire school is bullshit. This insufferable county is bullshit. All of it—”

“Is bullshit,” Zo agreed. “But it doesn’t change the fact that we can get suspended and punished if you keep talking about partaking in illegal activities.”

“I still cannot believe that dancing and music is outlawed in this ridiculous fucking county.”

“Well, as long as our ‘leader,’” Zo made the air quotes, “is that prick Sixtus, and he runs the church and the town council and owns the sheriff’s department and county judges, well, we’re all fucked.”

Leo scrubbed at his face with impatient hands. “I’ll never forgive my father for making us move to this shithole full of closed-minded assholes.”

Zo mock-toasted him with a can of soda. “Cheers, mate.”

“Not you, Zo, you’re one of the few in this place who can see the real world and who wants to escape. And believe me, Zo, as soon as we graduate, we are out of here so fast, we’ll leave scorch marks.” Zo laughed bitterly but Leo went on, “If there were only something we could do to make it more tolerable for now. If there was some way to stick it to that sick fuck Sixtus.”

Then Leo’s gaze fell on his answer. He asked Zo slowly, “Can you introduce me to Girolamo Riario?”

Zo almost choked on the soda. “Oh no. No. No, no, no. First of all, I cannot introduce you because Riario fucking hates me. You fill his car with cow shit one time, and he threatens to kill you. And holds a grudge. And second, I would not introduce you even if he didn’t have a restraining order against me because you meeting him would be like,” Zo’s arms flailed wildly, “throwing a cigarette into gasoline. Boom!”

“Actually,” Leo said distractedly, still watching the young man across the room, “there is a very good chance that the cigarette would not, in fact, ignite the gasoline because it’s the fumes that typically—”

“Don’t get all technical with me,” Zo snapped. “You know exactly what I’m trying to say. Mixing you and Riario is just asking for certain doom. You’d lose your temper, he’d threaten you, and next thing you know, you’re in jail and he’s still Sixtus’ favorite little nephew, lording it over us all.”

“Yes, but if, if he doesn’t, well, then, maybe he’s the one who could change it all.”

Zo groaned and let his head fall onto the table. “We just have to make it through two more months. Two months! Can’t you wait that long?!”

“No,” Leo said briskly. “Now, help me come up with a plan to run into Riario.”

********

Zo found, to his horror, that Leo meant that quite literally and backed his decrepit VW Beetle directly into the passenger side of Riario’s sleek black Mustang.

Leo jumped out, hands spread apologetically, and went into a prepared speech about how he hadn’t seen the car and he’d happily pay for the damages. Riario stood there, trademark sunglasses on, clearly disbelieving every word.

“Aren’t you the one who transferred in halfway through our senior year?” he said finally, stopping Leo’s fulsome apologies.

“Yeah, I’m Leo.”

“I doubt you even have enough money to cover the cost of repairs,” Riario said bluntly. “Just forget it.”

Zo instinctively ducked, even from the safety of the passenger’s seat of Leo’s Bug. He saw Leo grit his teeth and try to be charming. For once.

“No, no this was totally my fault, and the very least I can do is to take care of it. And I’d love to do something extra, for you. How about I take you to dinner tonight?”

Riario bit off a little smile but only inclined his head. “There is no need. And no, I have plans.”

“Some other time, then?” Leo called after him, but Riario got back into his car and took off with a rev of the engine.

“What the fuck are you trying to do?” Zo asked when Leo got back into the Bug.

“I’m going to turn him to our side. And then maybe he can influence his uncle to change some of the rules around here.”

“This is only going to go one way—badly,” Zo told him, but Leo grinned as they took off, the Bug’s loose back bumper casting sparks as it dragged along the road.

*******

Leo began a campaign to “just happen” to be everywhere Riario might be at the same time. He bumped into him between classes. He couldn’t manhandle a lunch seat at the “popular table,” as Zo called it, but he did bribe an underclassmen to let him squeeze into a seat behind Riario, where he could still occasionally drop things and initiate conversation.

Zo watched Leo pursue Riario after school, but the Mustang left them in the dust on winding country roads when the Beetle couldn’t keep up. And Leo claimed that his stakeouts of the house showed Riario often didn’t come home until late, sometimes right at the town’s curfew.

Leo even cleaned up and attended church like the rest of the county who at least turned out to present themselves to Sixtus. Zo gave up trying to elbow him awake about five minutes into the sermon and enjoyed a nap himself.

But Riario stood firm against Leo’s advances. Zo was only surprised that he hadn’t taken legal action to stop Leo.

******

It all changed the evening Leo was sitting outside the drive-in diner and Riario pulled up. Normally, he was surrounded by a collection of various teens important to the local community—the Medici brothers who were venerated as jocks and whose family was in local government; Clarice who was dating a Medici but better known as the class valedictorian; Alfonso who was a dumb jock but an even bigger asshole bully than the Medicis; and Lucrezia, a relative of Riario’s who had a certain reputation. Leo had first thought about using her to get close to Riario, and she had shown some interest in him, but he recognized the haunted look in her eyes. She had been used and used every wile at her disposal to make it so far, and Leo was positive that she would be joining him and Zo in the mass exodus out of town as soon as she was able. He didn’t want to add to her nightmares.

So when Riario ordered food to-go, all alone, Leo followed him without a second thought. There was no way that Riario didn’t notice the VW’s lights, but Leo tried to hang back enough so it wasn’t completely noticeable. He missed him once, when Riario took a turn that Leo didn’t see until he was past, but he backed up and followed, heart beating quickly, wondering if Riario was leading him into a trap.

He pulled up to an abandoned rail car, gravel crunching under the tires, and parked next to Riario’s empty Mustang. Leo was wary of walking into the rail car, wondering if he were being set-up for something, but he finally did and found Riario sitting on the floor alone.

“You’ve found me,” Riario said.

“You haven’t made it easy,” Leo said, remaining standing.

Riario didn’t seem to care about the posturing. “I thought I would make it easier and get this confrontation over with. What do you want from me?”

“What makes you think I want anything?” Leo retorted automatically.

Riario sighed. “Because every single person who approaches me wants something. Whether it’s a favor from my uncle, a good word put in, or just the prestige of claiming to have me as a friend, everyone wants something.”

“That’s incredibly cynical of you,” Leo said, finally sitting down next to him. “But also remarkably perceptive.”

Riario smiled his mirthless little smile. “So what is it that you want from me?”

“I wanted a way to get at your uncle and somehow make him relax some of the ridiculous rules that surround this town,” Leo admitted to the quirk of Riario’s lips again. “I wanted freedom of speech and the freedom to listen to whatever music we want, and I even wanted to advocate for a prom. With dancing.”

Riario bent his head back and laughed.

“But now,” Leo went on and leaned closer, “there is something I want much more than that.”

“And what, exactly, would that be?” Riario’s quiet voice was a whisper across Leo’s lips.

“I just want you,” Leo said, closing the distance and kissing him.

*****

Leo didn’t know what to expect: maybe Riario’s friends bursting into the rail car and beating the shit out of him, maybe Riario pulling away then beating the shit out of him, maybe Zo slapping him awake in the middle of another interminable church service.

But he never would have expected Riario to open his mouth to him, to reach up and pull him closer, to card his fingers through Leo’s short hair and wrap a strong arm around his back. Leo melted into him, and when Riario tugged him to crawl over him, Leo went willingly.

******

“So,” Leo said sometime later while he smoked one of his forbidden cigarettes, “it looks like we have way bigger issues than getting your uncle to agree to a prom dance. I’m sure that premarital sex—especially between two males—will upset him even more.”

Riario paused in buttoning his shirt. “Actually, haven’t you heard the old school joke?” When Leo shook his head, Riario said, “Do you know why premarital sex is banned in the school? Because it might lead to dancing.”

“Oh that’s bad,” Leo said, but he chuckled anyway.

“Why do you want to hold a traditional prom? You don’t seem like the type who would even want to attend one.”

Leo shrugged. “Normally, no. But here, in this hellhole, it seemed like the best way to make your uncle rage out. While some of the students might actually enjoy it. Imagine what a romantic time: their first night listening to rock’n’roll and slow dancing in the gym. What’s not to love?”

“You have a strange definition of romance.”

“It’s a rite of passage for high school students. And since you deprived children have never had the privilege, I feel it is very important for me to spearhead this effort and make sure that we have the best, most stereotypical prom of any high school ever. And afterward,” Leo waggled his eyebrows at Riario, “there is the traditional deflowering.”

Riario rolled his eyes then leaned up to bite Leo’s bottom lip. “I believe we already took care of that.”

“Yes, well, I’m sure there’s more … gardening that can be done,” Leo said lamely as Riario kissed him firmly.

“And you want me to help you do this all behind the backs of my uncle, the school and the other leaders in town?”

“Yeah.”

Riario pulled away for a moment and looked into Leo’s eyes. “Fine. We’ll try. But only if you repay me in various sinful, immoral and totally inappropriate ways,” he said, running his hand up the inseam of Leo’s jeans.

“I can totally do that,” and Leo tackled him.

*******

After many devious schemes and near-misses and nail-biting tension, the outcasts like Zo and Leo banded together with the Medicis and other popular students to provide a prom like the world had never seen.

And Leo and Riario were voted prom kings and got to slow-dance in the spotlight in their matching rented tuxes with purple cummerbunds. Leo still had some of the pollen in his hair from where Riario had beaten him about the head with the orchid corsage Leo had tried to slip onto his wrist. Riario made it up to him by kissing him and groping his ass right in front of the entire senior class, and the town council assured each other that Sixtus was only spending the night in the hospital as a precaution because what were the chances he’d had a heart attack at exactly that moment.

And all the kids who wanted to leave town did and lived mostly happily ever after playing any music and dancing all they wanted.