Happy Friday All!

In early 2020 (before Covid), I was painting larger paintings like this with Acryla-Gouache. I was really enjoying the medium.

I was inspired by a couple of photos by Annie Bertram on Deviant Art and asked permission to use them for reference.

Since I was just doing these for myself... I had NO plan. No test drawings. No layouts. I just started drawing on a large piece of paper and figured it out as I went.

Because of this... I never really figured out what to do with the hand on the left.

So... it just kind of disappeared.

I may go back and add it in later, I think.

But, for now... it's always a reminder of a time where I just broke out the paints and... played.

A couple months later... Covid hit and it was 3 years until I did my next large painting (the Gothic Vampire).

(Note: I can't find a reply from the photographer regarding permission or not. My memory is I heard back. But I can't find it.)

I DID hear from the model Theresa Fractale, a couple of years later, who was VERY upset that I had sold some postcards of the painting without her permission.

I was mortified. I hadn't even considered reaching out to the model. I offered her and Annie Bertram all of the profits I made from the sales, but she wasn't satisfied... and we left it at that.

These things DO happen with artists. Sometimes people claim you've "stolen" their art or style or likeness. And sometimes they have legitimate reason to do so.

Me, personally... I believe that artists should use ALL of the world around them for inspiration and if it is HEAVILY influenced by one artist or work of art... CREDIT them.

But change it. Don't directly copy it (unless you're studying someone's work... in which case... copy away).

But always credit.

I believe I REFERENCED the photos above, but didn't copy them.

But, I DID heavily reference them and, honestly, had NO intention of selling it (I still own the painting) or prints (I had only sold a few postcards before being contacted by the model... then stopped).

In any case... if the model or the photographer is unhappy with me selling prints... I don't sell prints. It's that simple.

Their work directly inspired MY work and while I feel that I've changed it enough to be unique... I don't want to cause another artist harm in any way.

Every artist is different. Some are open to sharing their art (like me) and others are very protective of their art.

But, there are no RULES to art. There is no such thing as "cheating" in art. There IS copyright LAW. And that is theft.

But that law ONLY (as far as I know) works if you are SELLING a copy of someone else's work. Profiting from it.

Not for learning. Not for practice. And not for posting online.

Just please... PLEASE credit the artist you're copying. Tell people why you are copying.

Nowadays, if I'm going to do a painting I plan on making prints of, I either use stock photography I've paid for or I get permission and pay the rights holder.

But, this is ONLY for pieces I want to sell prints of.

You do NOT need permission to use photo reference or even copy another artist's work for your portfolio or to post online.

Credit them. Share your inspiration with others. Tell them why you copied the works

But you don't need permission simply to make art. Ever.

Art should be shared. Copied. Studied. And most of all... enjoyed.

Sending Big Hugs from the Hobbit Hole. ♥♥♥

Scott

Obtund

The cold wind gushed by, Felixs hands still trembling but not because of the wind, rather because of his spiralling thoughts. 

Forcing his head down, he placed shaky palms on his ears as a lousy attempt to hide from the constant noise. If only it was the room and not his own mind that was creating the insufferable sounds. 

He stared at his legs that felt weak unfamiliar but soon the rapidly running drops caught his attention. Was he crying? He didn't deserve to cry, he didn't deserve to feel. Forcing his eyes shut, he tried to stop his breath, hoping it would come back to normal as he let go. He felt tried, not that he deserved too, he had barely done anything today. Stressing over minor inconveniences, how pathetic was he really?

Everyone had problems, everyone had issues and Felixs weren't that important compared to others anyway. Maybe his family was right, maybe he was over-reacting, or being over-sensitive. 

'Deep breaths, in and out, in and out, in...' he repeated the mantra, over and over and yet it seemed to bring more harm then good, 'like me', he giggled to himself about his own little joke, ignoring how messed up it was. 

Felix deep down wanted the members to notice, to care, to help but that was just his wild expectations right? They were all merely co-workers, roomates at most, expecting them to comfort him was too much, he should listen to his family, they know best. 

The tears were running dry, his face felt numb, his body felt numb and he knew soon he’ll be numb too. 

It was always like this, a brush of sudden excessive emotions and then black, pitch black. He didn't feel sad anymore though, that was a good thing right? He thought to himself. 

'I'm not sad, that means I am OK right?' He'd often ask himself, but every single time he knew, he knew this was worse. The numbness, the apathy. He was slowly but surely deteriorating into a hole of nothing.  


 _________________________________


"Hey we have practice later so we are gonna go eat now, wanna come with?" Jisung ever-so-sweetly asked, he and felix always had been close, maybe because they clicked so much, or maybe because they were the same age or was it was because jisung was one of the few people who knew about felix's.. problems? Maybe. 

"Nah, you go ahead" he didn't want to repeat what happened last time. The annoyed waiter tapping is foot rapidly waiting for him to choose, his mind hazzy from the bustling noise of the busy restaurant, he remembers feeling suffocated while his eyes and mind were everywhere but the menu, he probably annoyed the members too right? Who wouldn't be annoyed. 

"Ya sure? No one is cooking later tonight since we're eating out" jisung inquired again, making sure Felix wasn't just saying it because he didn't want to move. 
"Yes yes, go already, others are probably waiting" 

"Oh they can wait for this magnificence that is thy" he mumbled the words with sass and he closed the door on the was out, waving a lazy goodbye towards the latter. It had been a while since he went out with them, maybe he should have gone? But he didn't want to though, well what If they thought felix didn't want to be with them?  And down he went, dragged by the weight of his meaningless thoughts into a hobbit he was all too familiar with.

____________________________________

Life was weird? Sometimes he felt as though he was falling into a deep dark hole with an limitless end but for a while it all seemed to disappear. Maybe it was a mirage in his dayless dessert, whatever it was he never seemed to be able to enjoy it. He felt whole with his anxiety as much He'd hate to admit, it was a part of him that was just there.

While in this seemingly paradise he felt out of place, guilty even. 

Today was not one of those days though. 
Maybe because he felt okay, good even that things came crashing down. He had felt productive a few hours prior, he practiced for his language, dance and vocals classes and even managed gaining broken compliments from his stingy trainers, he went out with the members, ate, maybe not something healthy but at least it wasn't forced down this throat while he cluched his thigh. 

The headache was the first sign he choose to ignore, the lack of concentration though he couldn't. It wasn't that what he was doing was considered 'work', he was plainly looking for shows to bringe with a bag of 'healthy' chips. 

Click
Vinland sage; 7 minutes 


Click
Big bang theory; 12 minutes 


Click
Space force; 6 minutes 


Click
The office; 14 minutes


Click
Re:zero; 4 minutes 


Click

Maybe he should draw? Nah, hyunjin was better then him anyways, though it didn't occur to him why that was his first thought. Yes, he should play the guitar- he always wanted to learn the instrument for stay. 

He walked down to Channies room and grabbed the extra guitar, grabbed a pick from the jar on the table next to changbin's laptop and went back to his shared room with jisung, though jisung was hardly there, cuddled up in minho's bed, which was apparently way more fluffier than it seemed. Sitting on his bed he sighed and waited for nothing in particular, shoulders drunk down, eyes worn out and tried. 

__________________________________

Nights were weird, sometimes he would sleep soundlessly some nights he’d lie awake busying himself with work.

But tonight was different, well not that different, these feelings came back time to time, though he could never pin point when. 

In these nights, 
he was hungry, but couldn't eat?
Was tried, but couldn't sleep? 
Wanted to do something, but couldn't concentrate? 

Sitting in the corner of the shared dorm room, felix curled up in middle of the intersecting walls, next to the bunk bed he and Jisung shared, who was probably as usual cuddling with Minho in minho's and chan's dorm while chan stayed up like himself, just more productive.

Felix was in pain

His head hurt, body hurt and yet he found himself pulling, twisting and pressing the fresh peircing on his helix, something he got a few day ago. It hurt, it hurt bad but that didn't stop him from doing again and again and again and again. 

Pulling, he winced eyes shut close for a brief moment and he internalised the pain, after all it helped him stay grounded.

Twisting, he instinctively tried to pull way but he pulled through, the fresh wound throbbing with pain, it helped him stay conscious, stay sane in a weird sort of way.

Pulling, blood slowly tricked down his ears onto his fingers towards his palms, ears really did bleed that much huh?, it helped him concentrate, concentrate on the flowing bright blood and it trailed down, spreading all over.

Shutting his eyes close he banged the wall behind his head, eyes squeezed shut, guilt creeping up him. This was not self-harm right? He was getting better right? He didn't just relapse right now through a fucking piercing did he? 

“Knowing You is for the Better” Chapter 9

sorry this took so long online schooling is kinda ruining my life right now

Hope was good on her promise, she always is, a week later she left New Orleans and headed back to school. Nik was so inconsolable that the only way they could get him to let go of Hope’s leg was to promise they could all go up to visit for family day at the end of the month. She drove through the night, drifting in and out of sleep in the backseat of a black SUV with tinted everything. Her family was in the wind again, everyone going in their own directions, Freya and Keelin stayed in Louisiana, Kol and Davina went back to the west coast, Rebekah and Marcel disappeared off to Vienna and Hope back to Mystic Falls. 

She arrived at the school at an ungodly hour, it was either very late at night or insanely early in the morning. It was dark and quiet, no one met her, everyone else was asleep as she made her way through the still hallways, dragging her luggage to her room. The travel exhausted her and she fell asleep as soon as her head hit the pillow. 

Her dreams were filled with swirls of magic and faces she almost recognized just at the edge of her vision, everything was disorienting and always just out of reach. She felt like she was falling 

Her door slammed open just as the sun was starting to shine in through the windows and she jolted awake. Lizzie stood there still dressed in pajamas but otherwise very awake, with her hands on her hips. Hope watched her with blurry vision as the blonde scanned her entire room,” I thought she’d be with you,” she stated, a hint of worry in her voice

“Hello to you too,” Hope groaned sitting up,” and who?” she asked groggily, running her hands through her hair. 

“Josie of course,” Lizzie stated like it was the most obvious thing in the world. It was but it was way too early for Hope to form any kind of coherent thought.” She was gone when I woke up, bed hasn’t been slept in, mom and dad are kinda freaking out,” 

That woke her up. It was decidedly un Josie like to stay out all night but it had been known to happen,” Is she seeing anyone?” the words bitter in her mouth, they tasted like lead and smoke. The incredulous look on Lizzie’s face was worth a million dollars and under different situations, Hope would’ve enjoyed it,” Well she used to stay the night with Penelope right, could that be what’s happening now,” 

“Ew gross,” Lizzie spit,” No way. Look I’m the first person to support my sister’s sex life, the hobbit excluded, but trust me I know where her head is right now and that is not it,” she seemed sincere in a Lizzie way. 

Everything was still packed so Hope dug through her bags to find clothes,” geez I was just asking,” she stepped into her closet and shut the door mostly so she could change in private,” No way in hell I’m going to class today, so tell your parents to stop freaking out, I’ll go find Jo,” the goal here was to keep everyone calm, Josie was very capable and her family knew that. Hope knew it too, and if she could find her without letting everyone else blow this out of proportion then it would be ok. 

Lizzie calmed down and agreed to pass on the message before disappearing to let Hope finish getting ready in peace. It would have been easy to just do a locator spell, but instead, she found herself wandering the halls looking for Josie and smiling at the other students she hadn’t seen in ages. She went to all of Josie’s favorite spots, her corner in the library, the window seat in the kitchen, the empty classroom where the seniors keep their stash of liquor (that might be more of Lizzie’s favorite spot). She ends up walking through the woods heading towards the clubhouse, the school bell signaling the start of classes ringing behind her. 

The clubhouse is more rundown than Hope remembered, it’s wood was degraded and there was trash scattered around like everyone had a party but no one cleaned up. There was a beige couch pushed against one of the back walls, that’s where she found Josie. Asleep, her body contorted under a blanket and her dark hair covering her face. She laughed to herself and moved closer till she could gently nudge the younger girl trying to wake her. 

Josie shifted but didn’t wake,” Hey Jo,” she whispered, moving her hair from her face. Her eyes drifted open and she looked confused for a moment, then they went wide and she bolted up throwing her arms around Hope.

“Oh my god, you’re here,” she exclaimed, pulling the tribriad closer. Hope melted into her embrace taking in the smell of her and the feel of her, just Josie’s presence was overwhelming. She had to fight against her wolf nature, her eyes nearly flashed golden, but she couldn’t let herself go down that road. Josie wasn’t hers, no matter how much she wished she was. “When did you get back?” 

“Insanely early this morning,” Hope answered then immediately turned the attention back to Josie,” What are you doing out here Jo?” 

The siphoner glanced around like she hadn’t realized where she was until Hope pointed it out,” oh, I came out here last night to clear my head cause I couldn’t sleep, but I must have dozed off,” 

Hope tried to block out all of the noises and smells around her, with her heightened senses everything was intense and loud, she could hear birds, insects, running water and heartbeats all the time. She forced herself to focus on Josie, this whole sleeping thing seemed to be a recurring problem,” so does the not being able to sleep thing happen a lot?” 

“Recently yeah,” Josie looked down,” I’ve been having nightmares,” 

“Do you want to talk about them?” Hope asked, taking a seat next to her on the couch. She wanted to give her space but she was being drawn to the younger girl. 

“No, not really,” Josie moved closer, draping the blanket over Hope so they were sharing it. She leaned against her, obviously exhausted from a lack of sleep,” I just wish they would stop,” she sighed.

She didn’t know how to help her not knowing what the dreams were about, but she wouldn’t force Josie to talk about it if she wasn’t ready, so she did the only other thing she could,” well when you can’t sleep my door is always open.” 

She was met with a small smile,” thank you that means so much,” Josie’s sincerity always touched Hope, she just couldn’t resist it. Josie snapped out of whatever bubble encompassed them,” What time is it?” she asked blinking. 

“Oh, you definitely missed first hour,” she joked, causing Josie to groan and throw her head back. 

“God we better go,” Josie said, grabbing Hope’s hand and dragging her back to school. 

Josie started joining Hope in her room most nights, sometimes they talked sometimes they didn’t, but the night always ended in them holding each other as they slept. Lizzie hadn’t mentioned it, Hope wasn’t even sure if she noticed but either way she wasn’t complaining. 

Every time she looked at Josie she felt like her heart was going to beat out her chest, she was barely keeping it together. Never had she imagined that she was going to be head over heels for her best friend who was basically living with her, and completely unable to tell her how she felt. She and Josie had never been closer, mentally and physically, they were together all the time, talking, sharing, and touching. It was the small innocent, light touches that drove Hope out of her mind, and Josie had absolutely no clue what she was doing to her every time they brushed shoulders or held hands. 

One night Josie didn’t come, it wasn’t uncommon, she still spent the night with her sister in their room sometimes, but Hope was left alone. She laid awake in her suddenly way too empty bed, unable to sleep. The hours ticked by as she tossed and turned. The moon was high when a knock came on her door, Josie had stopped knocking a long time ago, but who else could it be. 

When she opened the door she found Josie on the other side clad in her matching blue pajamas and sobbing silently. The hallway was dark and still as Hope ushered the younger girl inside, tears streaming and shaking. They were both silent as they crashed together in a hug, she was holding Josie up as she closed the door behind them with her magic,” Do you want to talk about it?” she whispered offering her support . 

Slowly they made their way to the bed and curled together, Josie’s head on Hope’s chest as her sobs quieted and turned to sniffles,” No,” she answered pressing her eyes closed,” just distracted me, tell me a story,” 

Hope thought for a moment, stories running through her mind in flashes, wondering which one she could possibly tell Josie to make her feel better. None came to mind,” Does it have to be a happy story?” she asked. 

“I guess not.” 

“Well then I hope you’re ready because you’re about to get the full tragic backstory,” with anyone else the thought of opening up and revealing herself would make her want to crawl into a hole and never come out, but with Josie it was as if she’s always seen her even when Hope did her best to hide. Josie had already seen the worst of her and she hadn’t shied away. 

Josie looked at her with wide eyes, clearly shocked,” you sure?” 

Hope nodded and brought her hand to Josie’s cheek, delicately tracing her fingers over her skin, until she closed her eyes allowing Hope into her mind. There were no words that could describe the things Hope had been through, at least none that she could put together so instead she opted to show her. 

She painted the picture of a baby so hated and feared that the world wanted her dead from her first breath, of a child so loved that her family would do anything to keep her safe, of a girl who endured betrayal and deceit, and of the woman who faced everyday with her head held high despite it all. A weight was lifted as the memories flowed between them like magic and when the magic stopped Hope placed them outside a small cafe in New Orleans sitting at a table drowning in sunlight and flowers. Josie didn’t even seem to notice where they were, she just stared at Hope with a look she couldn’t place, somewhere between admiration and wonder. 

She stayed quiet to let Josie collect her thoughts, it was a lot to take in that’s why Hope was hesitant to share her story with people, she didn’t want their pity or judgment, but things were different with Josie,” Two things,” she said the sunlight making her glow.

“I’m all ears,” Hope said leaning forward, placing her head in her hands, giving Josie her undivided attention.

What Josie said next floored her,” You are so strong Hope, stronger than anyone gives you credit for,” she sucked in a shaky breath, trying to focus on the air in her lungs. When she failed to meet Josie’s eyes the younger girl reached across the table and took her hands in her own, offering support. Hope wasn’t used to praise or attention, she wasn’t comfortable with it but somehow Josie’s words hit home.” and secondly,” she said, changing the subject,” You had a crush on me,” she giggled, a bright smile forming on the girl's face.

“You already knew that,” Hope responded fighting off a smile. 

“I know but it makes me smile,” 

Hope would have let the earth turn to ash to keep that smile on her face. It terrified her. These feelings terrified her more than anything; she pushed them down and forced on a smirk, “Just keep smiling Jo,” 

Hope wished they could stay there forever, in their own little world, where the sun always shines and the flowers bloom, with no one to interrupt them, but she knew they couldn’t. The real world waited. Her eyes were starting to get heavy,” We should get some rest,” she said pulling her hands away.

“You say that a lot,” Josie whispered,” get some rest’ you always say that when we get somewhere real,” 

She didn’t have an answer, but her heart started to pound harder, she chose not to respond instead she placed her hand on Josie’s cheek mirroring where it laid in real life. She tried to convey all her feelings with that motion, hoping that the younger girl could see what she couldn’t say. Gently she removed herself from her head and back into the darkness of her bedroom, wrapped up in Josie. Her breathing was even, the brunette was asleep, satisfaction flowed through Hope proud that she’d calmed Josie enough that she was able to sleep peacefully. Without thinking she pressed a kiss to the girl’s head and closed her eyes. 

Aight here’s Whumptober Day 25

Diego hauled himself up the steps to- it didn’t feel right to call it his, and certainly not a home- the house by the railing. His hand slipped on the metal for a moment due to the blood coating it. He had gone out for a sunrise run and while it had been stunning and invigorating, halfway back some kid had jumped out to mug him and never got to the mugging part; he had gotten too nervous and ended up stabbing Diego and running without actually taking any money. And so Diego was left to struggle his way back home with a burning hole in his side, in the middle of October.

When he made it up the steps he paused at the door for a moment, panting slightly. What was he going to tell his family? He had on a black shirt and jacket, so that covered up the blood. If anyone asked he could say that it was water. He would go straight to the bathroom on pretense of taking a shower, and deal with his stab wound there. He took a deep breath and opened the door carefully, glancing around before entering and closing it behind him again.

“Diego! How was you run?” Allison called out, jumping up from her game of checkers with Five in the living room. Five watched her go, clearly annoyed. Diego hurried to reach the stairs before Allison got to him, but he stopped with a grunt as his wound pulled. He was so busy trying to avoid Allison that he didn’t notice Five peering around from the checkers table.

“You okay?” She asked, noting his hunched posture with some concern flickering across her face. He straightened himself, suppressing a cry as his wound screamed at the moment.

“Uh, yeah, I’m fine,” he finally got out. Allison raised an eyebrow and he scrambled for an elaboration. “I- I just got, uh, I just got a cramp while running.” He flashed a sheepish smile that was more of a grimace. He was almost alarmed by how easy it was to lie to her. It worked, and Allison rolled her eyes with a laugh.

“Next time maybe lose the jacket when you get going,” she suggested. He nodded, his head protesting with a bout of lightheadedness. The thought of blood loss suddenly struck him and a flash of panic did as well.

“Yeah, good idea. I’m just gonna head to the shower now,” he declared. He almost gestured with his hands but caught himself at the last second, remembering that his hands were covered in blood and boy would that raise a few questions.

“Come down when you’re done, we need to vote on a movie to watch!” She reminded as she headed back to her game with Five. The gnawing pain in his side grew as soon as she was gone and he hunched over, gritting his teeth so hard he thought he might crack one. He had to get upstairs- no one would bother him upstairs. He could turn on the shower and collapse on the ground and no one would care.

The stairs were an ordeal to say the least. Somehow Diego managed to not run into any of his siblings on the way up, and for that at least he was grateful. It wasn’t that he wanted to lie to them, it was just that he could take care of himself and it was stupid to make them look at him with their stupid wide eyes of worry and love that made him feel uncomfortably warm inside at the thought that someone cared- the blood loss was definitely messing with his brain. He finally, somehow, against all odds, made it to the bathroom. He felt the way he did when he had his first drink- a bit woozy, but still in control of his surroundings. In all honesty, he was beginning to be scared about the blood loss. He didn’t exactly want to bleed out on the bathroom floor alone, and have to be stuck with Klaus for eternity.

He closed the bathroom door, fumbled with the lock and grabbed some gauze and tape from the cabinet. He managed to smear blood everywhere, but at the moment the throbbing hole in his side seemed more important at the moment. A familiar burst of light, accompanied by Five, appeared behind him, making Diego jump and knock the bandages off the counter. He managed to strain his wound in the process and he doubled over with a shout of pain.

“Jesus, Diego,” Five muttered, picking up the bandages and pulling Diego’s hand off of the wound to see it better, half supporting his weight in the process. Diego wrenched his arm away abruptly, snatching the bandages back and slamming them on the counter a bit harshly.

“What the actual fuck?” He snapped hoarsely, “what if I was peeing?” Five shrugged, stepping back and leaning against the wall.

“You’re not,” he said casually as if that made the invasion of privacy any better. Diego groaned, half from pain and half from frustration. Five glanced at the wound and back to Diego with a raised eyebrow.

“‘I’m fine’, huh?” He commented. Diego swallowed thickly, his wound stretching and burning with each ragged breath.

“This isn’t what it looks like,” was the only thing he could think to say. He mentally slapped himself as he saw Five’s eyebrows go up in the mirror.

“Well, it looks like a stab wound to me, Diego,” his younger- older? brother said, his voice dripping with sarcasm. Diego sighed, turning on the faucet.

“...okay, so then this is exactly what it looks like then,” he admitted begrudgingly. He fumbled with a towel, trying to wet it so that he could clean the dripping hole in his side, but only succeeding in dropping it with a curse. Five put a hand out to stop him as he tried to lean over and get it, picking it up and handing it to him without a word. Diego took it with a glare, running it under the water and trying to avoid meeting Five’s eyes in the mirror as his brother watched him like a hawk.

“Why didn’t you say anything? Allison asked you if you were okay,” Five berated. He tried to keep his voice neutral and uncaring, but Diego caught the wager that his voice did when trying to cover up how upset he was.

“Is that- ah-” Diego hissed as he pressed the cloth to his side. “Is that why you’re here? Did Allison send you?” Diego was fully aware of how paranoid he sounded, but in truth he was in too much pain to really care. Five gave him a pointed look.

“Allison doesn’t know because she’s naïve enough to trust you to tell her the truth when you look like you’re hurt.”

“What, and you don’t trust me?” Diego asked, half-joking. Five rolled his eyes.

“I know that you’re a self-destructive dumbass who wouldn’t ask for help if you broke every bone in your body.”

“And you’re a little bitch,” Diego retorted. Five smirked, as if he has been waiting for Diego to say exactly that.

“You know what- just for that, why don’t I go see what Allison thinks of all this?”

“No, wait-” Five disappeared with a shit eating grin and a mocking wave. “Five, you little shit! Come back here!” He yelled, charging out of the bathroom. Five was standing halfway down the stairs and appeared by the door to the living room a moment later. Diego stumbled down the stairs, determined to catch the teleporting son of a bitch before he could get to the rest of their siblings. He barged into the living room and was met with four gasps and a familiar grin and of fucking course he would lead him here what did he expect-

“Dude, is that blood?” Klaus asked from where he and Luther were playing chess. Diego glanced down at the bloodstained towel pressed against his side and back up again.

“No,” he decided, and turned to bolt out of the room. He slammed into Five, falling to the ground heavily, gritting his teeth with a grunt as his side exploded in pain. Five, to his credit, helped Diego up again.

“This is real mature of you,” he hissed once he had gotten his footing again, gesturing with the towel as his head swam.

“Did you get stabbed?” Allison yelped. Diego groaned, realizing his mistake. Five gave him a small push and he stumbled to the middle of the room. Allison was immediately at his side, trying to inspect the wound, but he scowled and batted her away, covering it with the towel again.

“That doesn’t look good,” Vanya said softly from her chair, abandoning interest in The Hobbit. He moved his scowl to her and she met his scowl with a steady gaze of her own, her eyes flashing white for a moment and the towel was thrown from his hand to a few feet away on the floor. He scrambled for it and replaced it quickly.

“She’s right, you’re bleeding all over the place. What happened?” Luther added. His eyes were doing that thing where they went big and looked like a concerned puppy and Diego hated it.

“I’m fine,” Diego snapped, avoiding the question.

“Oh, really? You’re fine?” Allison asked, her voice going a tone higher as she stared him down, “because last time you told me that, I find out later that you’ve been stabbed.”

“Now you’ve done it,” Klaus murmured as he and Luther returned to the chess game and Vanya began fiddling with her book. Diego glanced at Five, who just grinned back at him innocently.

“I mean, can we really call it stabbed?” Diego tried defending himself, backing up a bit as Allison advanced, “it’s not like-”

“I don’t care about technicalities!” She snapped, “the point is you were hurt and you lied to me!”

“It’s not like I was purposefully withholding information, I just didn’t tell you.” His siblings subtly gave him strange looks and he realized that his sentence probably didn’t make as much sense as it did in his head, but his head was too disoriented and felt too stuffed of cotton at the moment.

“Why didn’t you come to us?” Allison yelled, waving her arms angrily, “I mean honestly, sometimes you-” her rant faded away as Diego opened his mouth to try defend himself again, but closed it after a moment. Why didn’t he? He frowned to himself in confusion.

He could have gone to them...

For some reason that idea was delightfully alluring and terribly frightening at the same time.

“Hey! I’m talking to you!” Allison snapped in annoyance, waving a hand in front of his face. He jumped, but it was a bit delayed. The slowness of his reaction time concerned him a bit.

“Yeah, sorry, it’s just-” his brow creased again as he continued to try and wrap his head around the epiphany. Five groaned, leaning against the wall and tossing a random paperweight up in a nonchalant manner.

“It’s just what? Spit it out, Diego.”

“I- I could have gone to you guys...” It was almost a whisper and equal parts a question.

The room froze. Allison’s hand flew to her mouth, Five stopped tossing the paperweight and looked up slowly, his apathetic front gone as he fixed Diego with a sad, almost soft look. Vanya put her book down and half stood up, and Klaus and Luther abandoned interest in their chess game, Luther halfway to putting a piece down as they all stared in shock.

“Of course you could have,” Allison said quietly after a minute. Her voice was gentler, but still distressed- a different kind of distressed that made Diego feel guilty. He nodded absentmindedly, his head reeling. In all of his years he had never considered that to be an option- he had never felt they would care, he didn’t want them to care, it was easier for him to hurt when they didn’t- was it his head reeling or was it the room?

“Are you okay?” He heard someone- was it Vanya?- ask. He tried to answer her, but suddenly found that his mouth seemed to stick to itself. The room yanked his feet out from under him and there was a burst of light with an all too familiar sound and he was on the ground with someone supporting half of him, saying “alright well let’s not all forget he’s been stabbed,” and something that sounded like his name was being yelled as the colors around him dulled to a black and he felt a numbness start to spread and damn a nap sounded good about now.

His love ( 1 )

Pair: Thorin x oc Miira

Warning: fluff, a tiny Little bit angst

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Miira's POV:

Hello my name is Miira and I am half dwarf half hobbit. Even though I am a dwarf I do not have any facial or body hair, but I do have little hairs on my big feet.

I'm not very tall for a half dwarf. I'm way smaller than the average dwarf but a little taller than the average hobbit. I'm 15 years old and I live with my three brothers and my father on a farm near Erebor.

My best friend is Dis younger sister of the princes Thorin and Frerin. Daughter of Thrai­n. And I'm gonna tell you a little secret nobody knows but Dis who fancies this. I'm in love with Thorin even though I know it will never happen him and I. Well that's what I thought.

One day I was wandering around the markets in dale. I wanted to buy a birthday present for my best friend Di­s who would have her birthday in a weeks time from today on.

She loved everything which had to do with fashion. She even was a little spoiled, being her fathers and brothers little princess. Sometimes I whished I had such a strong bond with my brothers.

Sure I loved them and all but we weren't that close. While my brothers were outside learning to fight with my father I was doing the household which I learned from my mother. Means cooking, cleaning, being on the field.

I wanted to learn how to fight as well. Wanted to learn how I could defend myself if something were about to happen. Anyway back to the birthday present. I was searching for something when someone ran past me and knocked me to the floor.

Cursing I tried to stand up when I saw a hand appearing in front of me. Sighing quietly I took the hand and let myself being pulled up by this stranger. But as I wanted to thank the person in front of me the smile on my face froze.

In front of me was standing Thorin with a somewhat stern look which held a little mischief in it. But the stern look turned into a soft look and he gave me smirk. I blushed furiously and made a curtsy.

Thorin just shook his head and softly pulled me up by my chin. " you don't have to curtsy in front of me. You're my sisters best friend" he said to me. And of course my heart sunk at his words but it didn't stop my heart from beating heavily inside my chest as he spoke.

His voice made me weak in the knees. So I just nodded quickly. But his words kept repeating themselves in my head again and again ' you're my sisters best friend '. Hearing these words from him hurted me more than everything else would have.

I just looked at him and he quickly put his stoic expression back on his face as others came walking towards us and he went forwards before giving me a sign to follow him. With my head hung low I followed him. I still had no presents for Dis and her birthday was in a weeks time already!

And I had plenty to do before that. I probably would have to sneak out tomorrow to buy that gift for her or else I would be a bad friend. Even if that means getting yelled at by my brothers. And that I really had not enough gold to buy an expensive present.

Back at Erebor Thorin walked me to Dis chambers where she is with her mother. We stopped in front of the chambers doors and I turned to him giving him a short curtsy and whispering under my breath " thank you for walking me here, your Majesty " and quickly hiding inside the chambers.

Whilst Thorin still stood in front of the chambers and looked surprised at why I have disappeared so quickly. But then he shook his head and walked away to talk with Balin about something important.

Di­s must've heard me because she called out " Miira is that you?" I took a deep breath before responding " yes, yes Dis it is me" and walked into her bed chambers to see her sitting on the bed with her mother behind her doing her hair.

I gave them a weak smile before slumping down onto a chair and watching Thora, Di­s' mother, doing her daughters hair into a braided bun on the back of her head before turning to me and asking me " Miira dear shall I braid your hair, too" that made me giggle a little.

So I nodded my head yes and swapped places with Di­s. Thora began to braid my hair on two sides of my head. She was also something like a mother to me since mine has died two winter ago. It still broke my heart and I missed my mother dearly. She taught me everything I know now.

I let out a soft but heavy sigh and stared holes into the wall in front of me and so I didn't see how Dis and her mother exchanged a worried glance with each other. Only as Dis coughed lightly I fell out of my ' dizziness '.

Then a huge smile began to form on her face and even Thora smiled brightly. Both of them probably knew that someone who brought me in such a state. Indeed Thora knew about my feelings for Thorin. If I could believe her everyone knew but Thorin.

That he's the only one oblivious to the fact that I had fallen head over heels for him. Well and my brothers. They'd rather leave me in the wild getting eaten by wolves than seeing their sister being in love with a soon to be king.

A quiet sniffle leaves me at this thought and tears began to stream down my face. Di­s who saw this first made her way over to me and gave me a slight hug before whispering in my ear " it's him , isn't it?" I could only nod. The pain I felt making it even more difficult to answer properly.

I was utterly in love with him and it hurted to not be with him. People said that it was just a crush and that it will end soon. But does it hurt so much to not be with the person you crush on when you wouldn't love that person?

Thora even told me once that Thrai­n would be happy if I was the person who would make their son happy. And not some princess who was just after his title. They wanted someone who would love Thorin with his difficulty and all his flaws. And I loved everything about him even when he could be really intimidating. But his grandfather was kind of in the way. I'd probably never get any way near Thorin as long as Thror does have to say something.

At that I let out a chuckle and I was sure I also was flushed. Di­s grinning showed me exactly that. But I couldn't believe that they wanted me to be with their son. I mean I was just a farmers daughter. Had almost no money and didn't know how to actually behave in front of monarchs.

I knew the important things of course but now when it came to etiquette. With a sigh I looked at Thora and who smiled at me and showed me that she was done doing my hair. So I stood up and walked to the big wall mirror and watched myself in the mirror with a small smile.

Then Di­s came and took my hand and we ran out of her chambers with Thora laughing at our excitement. We went to find Frerin. We found him in the stalls with his pony. Dis screamed after him and Frerin's pony rose and almost kicked Frerin in the guts who shot Dis a glare.

Frerin wanted to show us how to ride and today was our first " lesson". Di­s was the first. Frerin showed Di­s what she had to do to climb the pony properly without hurting it or herself.

So Dis climbed onto the pony gently and I walked outside standing in front of the gates and waiting for Di­s to come outside with the pony. When she did she already galloped. The pony ran around the outer pasture.

Smiling happily she encouraged the pony to gallop even faster. When Di­s was finished I went back inside the stable. Back inside Dis climbed off of the pony and made place for me. Frerin also told me what I had to do. He said " you have to hold the reins loose, and just hold onto them when you really have to. The pony knows what it has to do".

I nodded at that and gently climbed onto the pony. On top I softly patted its head and whispered into his ear. Frerin gave me an approving look and gave his pony a slight slap to its backside. The pony ran out and I had problems keeping myself on top of the pony.

As soon as i managed to get the pony to slow down I could have a good look around the pasture. Around the fence stood several more dwarfs than before. They must've seen Di­s and had made their way over to watch.

I could make out my brothers, Di­s, Frerin, Thora, Thrai­n and even Thorin. My heart began to beat unsteadily and I felt very uneasy about myself suddenly. Thorin was watching and I didn't want to embarrass myself in front of him. Or Thrai­n.

I took in a deep breath and let out a quiet sigh, then I softly kicked the pony into its flanks so it would start into gallop. And so it did. It took of quickly and ran around the pasture. Letting out a squeak of enjoyment, a big smile placed itself onto my features.

But then out of nowhere a wolf jumped in front of the pony and it began to rise. I threatened to fall of the saddle and then the wolf began to attack. The pony tried to keep me on its back but it couldn't help and I fell off the saddle. But before I could hit the ground I felt two strong arms around me.

Full of panic and held onto the person tightly and the pony ran away into safety. Now the stranger and I were facing the wolf all alone. The stranger shed their sword and kept the wolf away from us. Ready to kill the beast. Opening my eyes for the first time I looked up and saw who my saviour was.

It was Thorin. My heart began to beat three times faster than normally. Hoping he wouldn't notice that I buried my head into his neck, closing my eyes again. Too scared to look back and see the wolf. But then finally the other dwarves arrived and Thorin ran back and to the mountain, with me still into his arms.

Letting out a sigh I looked over his shoulder to see if the others were ok. Then blackness took over me and I fell unconscious in his arms.

Hobbit Fic: Gemini

AO3

Bilbo may be a Baggins of a Bag End, but his twin sister Bella inherited all their mother’s Tookish tendencies. If one Hobbit burglar is good, surely two will be better… right?

Rating: G

Wow... it’s been FOREVER since I last updated. If you’ve been waiting, welcome back! And if you’re new to the AU, just plain welcome!

Chapter 16: At the Sign of the Prancing Pony

Kili was grinning like a maniac.

As he bustled past with another tray piled high with dishes of cobbler, Ori smiled to herself and turned to a fresh page in her sketchbook to capture the way his hair clung to his sweaty face, and the way his eyes gleamed in the firelight, equal parts proud and excited. The Prancing Pony’s common room was a bustling, sweltering hive of activity, and Kili was right at home at the center of it. 

Word of cranberry apple cobbler had spread through Bree like wildfire, with first the local hobbits, then big folk and even travelers showing up, and more and more ingredients had been donated to the cause. Now, the place had the air of a festival day - all laughter and color and unrestrained merriment.

Bilbo supervised the kitchen staff in the preparation of his secret - though apparently famous in the lands in and around the Shire- family recipe. Meanwhile, Kili had taken it upon himself to head up the small army of volunteers eager to lend a hand in exchange for a bit of dessert - and a peek at the apparently famous recipe, Ori suspected. Some, he turned over to the inn’s head cook, who directed them in arranging a frankly impressive spread of cold meats and cheeses, pickled vegetables, day-old bread, and fresh fruit. Others, he put to serving and collecting dishes. Still others worked with Dwalin to find places for everyone to sit. Under his eye, dinner had spilled out of the inn’s common room and into the square outside, with the latest arrivals laying out blankets and towels when the tables and chairs ran out.

Though Kili’s enthusiasm for the party was infectious, he wouldn’t hear of the other company members lifting a finger. 

“More’n enough help to be gettin’ on with,” Dwalin had growled in agreement, and he’d installed Ori and her sisters at what he declared was the best table to watch the proceedings. Nori disappeared within the hour, but Ori and Dori were enjoying the evening of relaxation.

Bella materialized out of the throng with three cups in hand.

“What’s that then?” Gloin demanded from the next table over, as Bella passed a cup each to Ori and Dori. The banker was already well into his own cups and was growing embarrassingly belligerent.

“Dandelion wine,” Bella chirped, apparently unbothered by his gruff manner. “Butterbur’s ale is fine enough, I’ll warrant, but this time of year, nothing beats his dandelion wine.”

“Bah!” Gloin downed the rest of the ale in his cup. “You halflings are all starry-eyed over nothing! Never been out yer little hidey-holes!”

Bella shrugged, unwilling to let Gloin get under her skin, though Ori’s artist’s eye noticed the faint pink tinge that made the freckles on her cheeks stand out. “It’s Bilbo’s first time out this far, true enough, but I’ve been out this way plenty of times.” She turned her back resolutely on Gloin’s table and addressed Ori and Dori instead. “Never could sit still, you see. Always something to do or someplace to go. Bilbo shares my taste for little adventures, of course. He just prefers his come out of a book, where he won’t get burrs in his toe hair.”

“He’ll be facing a great deal worse than burrs in his toe hair,” Thorin rumbled suddenly from behind Ori’s shoulder, making her jump and slosh wine onto her sketchbook.

Bella whipped out a pretty little embroidered handkerchief, and Ori had the fleeting thought that she’d like to sketch the little purple flowers from the border sometime, before Gloin snatched it away with a bitter laugh. “Don’ tell me,” he slurred. “Chrys-s-san...Chrysanth...Chrys’mums for cleanin’!”

“Belladonna, Master Gloin,” Bella sniffed, snatching the cloth right back again and attacking the spill as Dori pulled out her own handkerchief to help. “A gift from my dear cousin Otho on his last birthday. I figured a little adventure like this was the perfect chance to misplace it.” She held out the dripping sketchbook. “Here, Ori. I’ll let you take care of that. You’ll know better than anyone what can be done about it.”

“My apologies, Ori,” Thorin said gently. He passed over his own handkerchief to aid in the cleanup effort. “I will stop in the market for a new book first thing in the morning.”

“No need for that,” Ori hastened to assure him. “I was going to stop for a couple of spares in the morning anyway.” She blotted away more wine from the cover. “Most of this one’s in charcoal anyway, so once it dries, I can sharpen up any blurred lines, and it’ll be good as new.”

Thorin smiled away her protest, and Ori knew she’d lost this particular argument already. “Knowing you, that one is near full already.” Dori started to protest as well, but Thorin countered her argument expertly. “It is a company matter: we cannot have a scribe without a proper supply of books. I’ll find a replacement and some spares tomorrow. I insist.”

There was nothing Ori could say to that, and the soft smile Bella hid behind her wine glass said she knew it too. Thorin was too good sometimes.

“Whatever an ‘Old Took’ is, it can move mountains in this part of the world!” Kili flopped into the chair Dori had just pulled out for Thorin.

“Here,” Bella chirped up at Thorin. “You can have my seat. We’re about due for a refill anyway. Anyone else want anything? Kili? Thorin?”

Kili started to answer, but Thorin cut across him as Gloin banged his fist on the table he was sharing with Oin. “We are drawing more than enough attention to ourselves already.”

“Nonsense,” Bella answered. “If you’d only put on that smile again and lend a hand, you’d blend right in with the rest of the crowd. No one need ever know they’d shared dessert with a grumpy dwarven king.” She slipped away through the crowd with her armful of glasses before Thorin could answer back.

“She’ll be in a sorry state come morning,” Gloin groused suddenly. 

“Nah,” Kili answered at once. “Looks to me like halflings can hold their liquor just as well as we can.”

“Better than some, I hope,” Thorin muttered.

Kili laughed. “I don’t know… Nori’s got herself in a drinking contest with one of them back in the corner, and he’s matching her drink for drink. Not sure where either of them is putting it, if I’m being honest. Four helpings of cobbler, too. Each! Not that I blame them,” he babbled happily, still grinning and paying more attention to the room in general than he was to the dwarves at the table. “Phenomenal. Better than Ma’s - and that’s saying something!”

“Cheats!” Gloin bellowed suddenly.

Kili whirled, confused.

“Cheats, the lot of ‘em! Anyone could cook like that with the vendors on their side! Take my wife! Take my wife! Excellent cook! Best in the Blue Mountains - meanin’ no offense to your lady mother. Jus’ a fact. Best in the Blue Mountains. But even she - even my wife! - would have a hard time competing with these halfling cooks when every little thing she needs costs her an arm and a leg. Inferior quality, too, I’ll warrant!”

The others at the table were dumbstruck by this outburst, but thankfully the rest of the room seemed to be too loud and chaotic for it to have attracted much more attention than that.

“It’d be silly to let such a small matter as -” Dori began, but Gloin cut her off, chest puffing up as he slammed his fist on the table again.

“Small? Small! They’re downright dimn-dimin...diminuitive! What business have they got cooking so well? What do they do with it all? They’re so tiny!”

Kili frowned and peered around at some of the nearest hobbits. “They’re not that small.”

Gloin scoffed. “Half-lings, lad,” he said loudly. “Half. They don’ call ‘em that on account o’ bein’ large!”

If they weren’t drawing undue attention before, they were now. The conversation around them soured and then died. Ori saw Thorin’s shoulders shift and knew his hand was going for the hilt of a knife.

“Come on, Gloin,” Dori said, as though nothing at all were the matter. She stood and hauled him upright as well. “Why don’t you show me that picture you brought of your dear wife, hmm? I heard you telling Dwalin it was quite a flattering likeness, but you haven’t shown me yet.”

Gloin blinked blearily. “Haven’ I?” He lurched away from the table, only Dori’s strong grip on his arm keeping him vertical. “Well, come on, then. No time like the presen’, I always say. Righ’ flatterin’ likeness. Righ’ flatterin’.”

The tension slowly eased around their table as Gloin was escorted upstairs, but Thorin did not look particularly relieved. Ori patted some more at her damp sketchbook to keep her hands busy, while Kili tried to work out how Gloin managed to win their argument.

“Halflings,” he muttered as Bella returned with refilled glasses and Fili at her side. “Half. Lings. Half-lings…”

“We are hobbits, Kili,” Bella said shortly as she took up Dori’s vacated seat. Fili spun Gloin’s chair to join their table. “We are not half of anything.”

“I meant no offense,” Kili was quick to assure her.

“None,” Fili confirmed. “That’s just what the men call your folk.”

“Elves too!” Kili added emphatically.

Bella snorted. “In that case, I should be calling your folk Naugrim.”

Kili made a face. “What’s that mean?

“Stunted people,” Ori blurted, before she could think better of it. Her cheeks flushed as Thorin growled.

Bella paled. “Perhaps it would be best if we agreed to leave the more ill-considered aspects of Elvish nomenclature aside.”

“So, if you’re hobbits,” Ori ventured, eager to talk about something that wasn’t likely to make Thorin any angrier, “are their different words for male and female? Like dwarves and dams?” She flipped through until she found a page in her book that was mostly dry.

“Ooh!” Kili exclaimed. “Wom-bit?”

“Nah, Ki,” Fili answered. “That’s that rat-thing from Balin’s stories about the Dark Land.”

“Fine. She-bit?”

“Gal-bit,” Fili countered.

Kili grinned. “Fe-bit!”

Fili blushed, but he was saved from further embarrassment by the arrival of Bella’s brother, who flopped down onto the arm of her chair with a pleased huff. “Well, that’s the last of it!” He passed a cup to Kili. “For my assistant! You have to try this!”

“What is it?” Kili asked, the cup already halfway to his lips.

“Only the best dandelion wine I’ve ever tasted,” Bilbo declared happily, taking a swig of his own. 

Kili swallowed hard and started to cough.

“What’s the matter?” Bella asked, clearly alarmed by his reaction. “Don’t you like it?”

Ori glanced from Kili and Fili to their uncle and back again. She was not at all sure that was a story any of them wanted repeated. 

“Might like it a bit too much, if mem’ry serves!” Dwalin clapped both Kili and Fili hard on the shoulders as he strode up. “Come give us a hand, lads. They want dancing.”

“Twist my arm,” Kili laughed, clearly relieved. He bowed low and offered Bella his hand. “Care for a dance, fair Lady Bell?”

Bella giggled and gulped down the rest of her wine before reaching for his hand. Fili swooped in and grabbed Kili instead, twirling away with him. “There are tables to move first, dear brother,” he said formally. Bella laughed outright and followed them out to where several of the men were already shoving tables out to the edges of the floor.

“What about you, Master Baggins?” Thorin asked. “Do you share your sister’s love of dancing?”

Bilbo chuckled, but flopped down into his sister’s chair. “Normally, I’d say yes, Master Oakenshield, but alas, my poor feet have already taken quite the beating these past few days. I think they’d prefer a rest while I enjoy the festivities from afar.”

“We have much farther to go,” was all Thorin said in reply. 

The musicians started up, and for a few minutes, the three of them were content to watch. “Will you join the dancing, Ori?”

“Oh, no,” Ori said, blushing as she watched Dwalin and Fili stomp out a complicated figure in the middle of the dancefloor, to much clapping and cheering. “I’d much rather sketch. Everyone is so merry tonight, it’d be a shame to forget about it later.”

Bilbo sighed contentedly and settled back in the chair, sipping at his wine. “I can see the draw of it all now, I suppose. The travelling, I mean. I can understand a bit of why Bella would want to run off, if this was what was waiting for her.”

Ori opened her mouth to answer, to tell Bilbo how sweet a thought that was, but Thorin beat her to it. “There is more to the world than baking and dancing, Master Baggins,” he rumbled.

Bilbo was quiet for a minute, staring determinedly at the dancers, while Thorin lit his pipe, and Ori dared hope that would be the end of it. Bilbo had made so many people so happy today. It wasn’t fair of Thorin to shove reality back in his face so rudely. He was only trying to help. 

Suddenly, Bilbo whirled and pinned Thorin with a glare. “I know full well the world is full of rainstorms and thunder, Master Oakenshield,” he spat. “But it seems to me that there is then even more reason to savor the sunshine when it chooses to peek out from behind the clouds.” He stared a moment longer, but Thorin didn’t appear to have anything to say to that, and Bilbo nodded to himself. He finished his drink, blushing fiercely - he had freckles, just like his sister - and marched over to join the dancing.

Ori drank some more wine to cover her own embarrassment, and she sketched in the drier margins of her book - Dwalin’s wide grin as he clapped for a hobbit lass dancing a jig, Fili twirling Bella, Kili teaching Bilbo the steps to a dwarvish dance, Bofur piping with the other musicians, Nori listing to the side as a group of hobbits and men declared her the winner of her drinking contest and passed over a small purse…

Other than asking if Ori required another refill on her drink, Thorin did not say a word after Bilbo left. He merely watched the room warily as he finished his pipe, then retired up the stairs.

How to Structure Satisfying Scenes

Last week I was going through some old scenes and reading through them rather quickly but still tweaking them here and there to be more effective. While some I thought were good, they didn't have the same zing to them, and I realized it was because they didn't fully follow a satisfying structure.

You can find a lot of articles about structuring scenes, and I won't have room to cover everything here (though maybe over time I can get them all on my site), but I wanted to start with same basics that can be helpful to everyone.

When we talk about overall story structure and strip everything away to the bare, bare bones, it should follow Freytag's Pyramid.

This was posted online a while ago, and I saw someone commenting and laughing how it was out of date and that for the modern audience, Freytag's Pyramid isn't going to work. This is like saying that because we now have hip-hop, dance doesn't work. But hip-hop is dance. All satisfying story structures embody Freytag's Pyramid even if they add more elements. 7-Point Plot Structure, the Hero's Journey, whatever. All of them follow Freytag's Pyramid because it's the most basic unit of story structure. Just as hip-hop adds more specificity, but is still dance.

And when you start working with scenes, you'll notice that most successful scenes also follow this structure, on a small scale. Like everything, there are exceptions. But as you actually genuinely work at writing a satisfying novel, you may realize that we use this simple structure everywhere--plotting, character arcs, dialogue exchanges, sometimes even within a paragraph. Never underestimate the power of the basics. As Leonardo da Vinci once stated, "Simplicity is the ultimate sophistication."

With that in mind, let's talk about how satisfying scene structure actually mimics overall story structure, which may include elements that are often added to Freytag's Pyramid.

Preliminary

Before worrying about scene structure, it's helpful to identify a few key elements of the scene.

Purpose - What is the purpose of the scene? It should be moving the story forward in some way. This might be obvious, like having the protagonist confront the antagonist, but other times it might be a little less obvious, like introducing the audience to a rule in a magic system, revealing a character trait, or stating a theme. But the point is that the scene has a purpose and it's not superfluous. Ask yourself, what is the audience getting out of this scene?

Goal - The main character (of the scene) should have a goal of some kind, something he or she wants. As a beginning writer, it can be easy to want to skimp out on this, but it's very effective in writing a good scene and practically a necessity. It may be something immediately obvious and direct, like defeating the antagonist. Other times it might be more personal or even indirect, like Bilbo Baggins wanting to be left alone in his Hobbit hole--that may not be the main purpose of the scene, but it's there. This is why "purpose" and "goal" are two different categories.

Let me give you another example. The opening of Harry Potter has the purpose of teasing the audience about the Wizarding World and Harry himself from a Muggle perspective. But the viewpoint character, Vernon Dursley has the goal of having a normal day via dismissing all of the peculiar things happening around him

Conflict - What kind of conflicts or potential conflicts (a.k.a. tension) will be present in this scene? Is it the physical wrestle between the protagonist and antagonist? Is it Vernon Dursley being bombarded time and time again with peculiar happenings and people? And him being afraid to call his wife and ask about the Potters? Is it Bilbo having to deal with people wanting to socialize?

Sometimes, all these things line up in scenes, especially toward the end of the novel.

For example,

Purpose: Protagonist defeats antagonist in a sword fight

Goal: Protagonist wants to defeat antagonist in a sword fight.

Conflict: Protagonist and antagonist want to defeat each other in a sword fight

Seems simple right?

But in other scenes, it might be more indirect or sometimes not seem to match at all.

Here is one from a scene in the first Fantastic Beasts movie.

Purpose: Introduce the audience to Newt's magical case and all the beasts/elements inside, while appealing to wonder.

Goal: While Newt does heal Jacob and care for his animals, his main goal is to see which animals are missing, so he can figure out how to find them (notice that healing Jacob allows him to have Jacob tell him about places in New York and that feeding the animals allows him to see who is missing.)

Conflicts: I'm going to argue that the main conflicts center on Jacob being a Muggle--first Newt has to figure out how to heal him when Muggle biology is a little different, then Jacob doesn't know how to interact with the creatures, and finally, he almost messes with the Obscurus and Newt has to stop him.

Ideally, most scenes have more than one purpose, more than one goal, and more than one conflict. In fact, it's practically a necessity.

So in my last example, another purpose of the scene is to foreshadow and introduce the Obscurus. Newt also reveals his goal to release the Thunderbird. And he doesn't want Jacob to be obliviated. He touches on other conflicts--Frank being trafficked, the Niffler always getting out, the last breeding pair of Graphorns. There are mini-goals that I already mentioned, healing Jacob and feeding the animals. And mini-conflicts, an Occamy tries to bite Jacob, and Pickett won't get off Newt's hand.

You'll notice that even if the main purpose, goal, and conflict don't line up directly, they will naturally overlap during the scene itself in some way because they are elements that have to be present and therefore have to be interwoven to be satisfying. In order to fulfill the purpose of the last example, Newt has to go in his case, which means he needs to have a need/goal for doing that, and to show off the animals in interesting ways, there needs to be conflict for balance.

So they overlap, but they aren't directly the same thing, unlike, say the final sword fight between hero and villain.

And this is where I think some beginning writers have a problem--they don't have to all be the same thing. And in many stories, in the beginning scenes, they won't be.

Structure

Remember Freytag's Pyramid? Great. Most satisfying scenes follow that same structure, but on a smaller scale. I don't care if your scene is about a character falling in love with another, a conversation about what the antagonist is up to, or a train ride to school. If it's going to be effective, it most likely needs the setup, rising action, and climax. I should have mentioned above that some say the denouement (falling action) is optional--I strongly argue that in stories, they should almost always be included for validation, but in scenes, I think that can vary a little more, somewhat.

I'm going to add one more element. The hook. And instead of "exposition," I'm going to call it "setup." So here are the basic parts of a satisfying scene.

Hook - Grab the audience's attention in some way. This doesn't need to be clickbait, people. Hooks work on promises--they give the audience something to anticipate. Often this is something to hope for or to dread. But sometimes it's just the promise of more information--the hook communicates to the audience that they need(want) more information.

In my Fantastic Beasts example, I'm going to argue the hook is Newt and then Jacob disappearing magically into the suitcase. Since we know he keeps creatures in that case, we anticipate seeing them.

Setup - Author David Farland calls this part "grounding." We need to ground the audience. Where are we? When are we? And who is present? Give us an idea. How much you need of this may depend on the prior scene(s). In the very first scene of a book, we usually need more grounding (and setup in the large-scale sense, which is one reason why openings are so hard).

The camera shows Newt in the case in the first room with Jacob. Great, they both turned up in the same place. Then later we follow them out and get a glimpse of this case having animal habitats.

Rising Action - Once readers are invested and know where we are, it's time to build rising action. What it is depends on the preliminary elements: the purpose, goal, and conflicts.

If the main purpose is for one character to fall for another, we might cook up sexual tension. If the purpose is to figure out who the murderer is via a conversation between two heroes, the heroes may start talking about conflicts and clues, stakes and goals, and suspects. In Newt's suitcase, the rising action is checking the animals--which appeals to the purpose and goal and incorporates conflict.

Like the middle of a story, the rising action of the scene escalates. This is why it's called rising action. This is what happens in our Newt example. Newt doesn't have too much trouble curing Jacob, then he goes to the Thunderbird, where he has to he warn Jacob that Frank doesn't like strangers. When he tries to let go of Pickett, it's more difficult than the other two things. He shows Jacob the Occamies, but one nearly bites off Jacob's finger. Eventually this escalates to Newt having to stop the most dangerous outcome of all, Jacob messing with the Obscurus.

Alternative to conflicts and tension, you can see the purpose of the scene itself escalate. First we briefly glimpse the Swooping Evil, then interact with Frank, then visit three Graphorns, then four bowtruckles, four Occamies (would be five, but one is missing, but Jacob and Newt both hold one), then a montage of a whole bunch of different animals with Newt and Jacob interacting with them.

(See what I mean about Freytag's Pyramid being used everywhere?)

Climax - This is the high point, where the purpose, conflict, and/or goal reach their max for the scene. This is the moment the character falls in love in our prior example. This is the line in the conversation where the heroes realize which of the suspects is the murderer. For Newt, I actually included the climaxes in the last example to illustrate. For the conflict, the climax is when Jacob is near the Obscurus. For the purpose, the climax is when we get that montage of loads of fantastic beasts. What about the goal? It's when Newt finishes counting the beasts at the Erumpent pen. You'll notice that this climax is much more subtle. That's okay. In some scenes the character's goal may not even climax, because it changes or remains unfulfilled or gets obstructed. You don't need everything to climax, but there should usually be some form of climax.

Denouement (Falling Action) - On occasions, some scenes will not have a denouement. But I think we sometimes misunderstand falling actions. They don't necessarily tie everything up if there is more to the story. This is the same thing with series books. The denouement may tie up the main elements of the novel, but it also keeps us looking forward to what happens next, in other words, it has a promise, a.k.a. hook, that gets us to anticipate, usually through hope or dread, what might come next.

In my hook section, I said the hook for Newt was him going into his case. Some of you might have realized that was actually the end (denouement) of the prior scene. It doesn't have to be structured like that. You can have hooks at both the end of one scene and the beginning of another--in fact, you usually should. But my point is that there should usually be some kind of hook to get us to want to keep reading.

Often naturally, in a scene, the denouement will get us to look ahead. Great, our heroine fell in love--but guess what? We know from the setup that this is a forbidden love, so now what's she gonna do? Our heroes figured out who the murderer is, great, so now how are they going to catch him? Newt knows which creatures are missing, so now how is he going to recover those?

In the overall story, the denouement may validate what happened to the reader. This may or may not happen in a scene. In our love example, we may have a few lines that validate that yes, our heroine did just fall for that guy. Or yes, that suspect has to be the murderer, because look at how this now all fits (and the heroes will be talking about that).

The falling action finishes the scene. In some cases, it may be cut to end on a cliffhanger. Just don't forget that just because you have a denouement doesn't mean you can't have the audience anticipating what happens next. Some beginning writers think you can only achieve that by axing the falling action. If you do that every time, it can get annoying, and make the story feel "gap"-ish as you never "finish" one scene before starting another.

Note - Scenes are much briefer than an overall story. Depending on the scene, these may take paragraphs or they may be as short as half a sentence. For example, you may have the hook and the setup in the same sentence. But whatever the case, they typically follow the same proportions. The rising action takes up the bulk of the scene, while the hook will be the shortest.

There are really so many ways to talk about how a scene works and other approaches, but this is a good one to start on. If any of this is paralyzing to you, relax. If you are an outliner, you can use this to help you outline scenes. If you are a discovery writer, go ahead and discover the scene, then if you are stuck or feel like it's lacking, go through these like checkpoints. This is meant to work for you, not for you to work for it.

I want to go on, but this post is getting rather long, so next week I'll be back to talk about how the character moves psychologically through the scene.

Giveaway - I'm giving away a first chapter edit for our advent calendar for writers! The great thing is, if you are already subscribed to my blog or follow me on social media, all you need to do is click a couple of times to enter. You can enter here.

Check out all the other gifts so far here. You can still enter to win them, too!

They’ll Never Take Us Alive  pt. 4 - We All Fall Down

Synopsis: Being the sister of Captain America was easy enough when you were children. Follow him and Bucky around, try to keep him out of trouble, bug him, etc. As you grew up Bucky became so much more than just your older brother’s best friend.

Warnings: Swearing, Smut (eventually), torture elements later on, and some heavier themes that i will put disclaimers on when the time comes. so please 18+ and read with caution.

A/N: It took me a week longer to write this than I thought it would. It was also going to be ridiculously long so I split it into 2 chapters, but oh my god if I hadn’t I would still be working on it.

Chapter 4: We All Fall Down

Masterlist

Bucky had been acting strange the past couple of days. He was quieter than usual, staring off into space, and stuck in his own head. On Friday night when he went to have dinner with his mom and his sisters, like he did every Friday, he was gone a lot longer than he usually was. When I asked him about it he just mumbled some nonsense before going up to his room. I didn’t see him at all until the next afternoon.

I was starting to feel like it was my fault. That I had done something wrong.

My nights had become boring. I was holding myself up in my room, replaying the past few weeks in my head trying to figure out what I had done wrong. I found myself not sleeping most nights, stuck with only my books. Even when I tried to lose myself in a story my mind seemed to drift over to something else.

What did I do wrong?

Bucky’s silence was ruining me. He’d barely spoken more than a sentence to me. He hadn’t kissed me in days.

Until now.

There was a quiet knock on my door, spooking me out of my thoughts. I made my way over to the door, trying to avoid the sinking feeling in my stomach.

Bucky was standing at my door, hair a mess and bags under his eyes. He couldn’t sleep either. Something had to be really wrong if it was able to keep him awake. He fell asleep almost the moment his head hit the pillow.

“I need to talk to you,” he whispered. The walls were thin between Steve’s room and my own. I gave him room to step inside, closing the door behind him. He sat on my bed, staring blankly at the wall. I could practically feel the floor vibrating from how hard his leg was bouncing.

“I got my orders,” he spoke evenly and quietly. That’s when I noticed the envelope in his hand. It was the one he got a few weeks ago. The one I had completely pushed out of my mind.

The one I should have been worried about.

My shaking hands reached for the envelope, which he handed over without looking at me. It couldn’t be it. No way.

Opening it was painfully slow. I needed to know what it said. I needed to make sure Bucky was wrong.

“To James Buchanan Barnes,” it started. My eyes skimmed the pre written letter. All of the blanks filled in for Bucky. “On the 14th day of june, 1943”

Tomorrow. Tomorrow he would get his uniform. Tomorrow they would tell him when his train leaves.

“y-you’re leaving,” i said with tears already running down my face. “Why didn’t you tell me sooner?”

“I haven’t told Steve yet. I couldn’t tell either of you,” He said, eyes still trained on the wall. “Especially not after Ma. She cried a lot.”

It was real. Bucky was going to war.

“Doll?” He looked up at me. I had almost forgotten how beautiful his eyes were. They were darker, though. They were filled with fear.

I sat next to him and wrapped my arms around him. He hugged me so tight I almost couldn’t breathe. I didn’t mind, because I understood why, because I felt the same. If I let go he will disappear.

“I love you,” I whispered to him. I had never told him before, despite the fact that I had known for so, so long. I kissed him. I just needed to show him how much I loved him. He kissed me back harder, his hands instinctively moving to rest on my cheeks.

My whole world was spinning. Kissing Bucky always took my breath away, sending my brain into a haze of nothingness. In my haze I wanted everything I could have.

My hands reached for his shirt, undoing the buttons feverishly. His reached for the buttons on my dress, taking them much, much slower. His mouth moved away from my mouth, kissing along my jaw.

Bucky broke away from me, watching his own hands as he pushed my dress down my shoulders. His fingers trailed back up my arms, just barely brushing my bare skin as they went.

“I love you too.”

Bucky was gone when I woke up. He had left for the draft office early that morning, to make his scheduled appointment. When I ventured downstairs for breakfast, I found that Steve was missing too. It was uncommon that he would leave without telling me where he was going, with a note or verbally. I’m sure it was in case he picked a fight where he wasn’t able to move after.

Bucky asked me to meet him at Tom’s Restaurant for lunch later that day, so after a few hours of reading I headed out into the warm air. I thought a lot about what I was going to do for the next few months, or years, without Bucky here. I would still have Steve, that was always a given, but it still felt like a part of me was being taken. I would do whatever I had to, to get him home.

Maybe I would even help Mrs. Feldman with her garden.

I also wondered where Steve had went this morning. I’m sure he had intended to be home soon if he hadn’t left a note, but sometimes there was no telling if he was actually thinking clearly or not.

When I got to the diner, Bucky wasn’t there yet. Of course, because I just needed to be left alone to swim in my thoughts for a bit longer. It wasn’t long before I was fished out by a familiar, and very welcome voice.

“You waitin’ on someone, doll?” I turned, finding Bucky standing a few feet away. He was in a brown suit, standard issue from the army. I’d seen many guys wearing it, especially recently, but no one wore it as well as Bucky.

Then again no one wore anything as well as Bucky did.

“You look good, sarge,” I spoke as I stepped up to him. I smoothed down the collar of his suit, admiring how perfectly it fit him. I never wanted to see him in it, but it looked so good on him.

“Not as good as you, Doll.” I shook my head, trying to hide the smile that was forming.

“What do you want to do with your last day of freedom?” He wrapped his arm around my shoulders, pulling me into his side.

“I would like to spend the day with my girl, and my favorite punk, too. maybe go to that Stark Expo thing?” Whatever he wanted. Because tomorrow he was leaving and I might never see him again.

“We can do whatever you want.” He gave me a smile that could honestly make the whole world stop. I knew it wouldn’t last forever, but I wanted to do everything I could to try and keep it there. At least until he had to leave tomorrow.

“Well if that’s the case, let’s start with lunch.” He pressed a kiss to my forehead before leading me into the restaurant, to start the last date we were going to have for a long time.

“Well It’s about this guy who is a Hobbit, which is kind of like a dwarf, but not quite.” Bucky held my hand tight in his as we stepped out of the diner. He held a newspaper he had bought during lunch in his free hand, he had been showing me an article about the Stark Expo. Then he made the mistake of asking me about the book I had been reading.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah! And he goes on a journey, and there’s this gold ring that turns him invisible when he puts it on. It’s really good!”

We continued on our own journey in search of Steve all while I talked about a book I knew Bucky didn’t actually care about in the slightest. We rounded the corner by the movie theater, and were greeted with a not so surprising sight.

Steve, backed into the corner of an alley, using a trash can lid as a shield. I let out a sigh as I watched him try to defend himself. Maybe I should have been more worried about him, but he seemed to get into this situation far too often for me to spend that much time worrying.

“I can do this all day,” he stammered.

No. He really can’t.

“I’ll go help him,” Bucky sighed. He squeezed my hand once before marching himself over to the guy, who was twice as large as Steve, and still bigger than Bucky. His hand landed on the guy’s shoulder, quickly turning him around. He threw his fist, connecting with the guy’s face, followed by sicking crunch. Once staggered, Bucky kicked him, making sure to send him out of the alley.

“I had him on the ropes.” Steve had a small line of blood trickling from his lip and a slight bruise forming on his cheek. Honestly if Bucky and I hadn’t found him when we did I’m almost positive he would have died.

Not that, that would stop him.

“I know you did,” Bucky replied with a smirk on his face.

“You get your orders?” The pit in my stomach formed again. The growing black hole that consumed the happiness being with Bucky gave me. The more time that past, the sooner it was to tomorrow morning. To the first train of the day. The one where I had to say goodbye.

“Sergeant James Barnes, of the one-oh-seven.” Even with the smile on his face, there was still a hint of sadness in his voice. He was scared.

So was I.

Bucky threw his arm around Steve with a smile. Watching them made my heart hurt. I was so used to see this. I’d seen it practically every single day for the past twenty years, and now everything was going to change.  

“Where are we going?” Steve asked, pulling me out of my thoughts. My eyes fell back to them just in time to see Bucky give the newspaper to Steve.

“To the future.”

Tags: @the--sad--hatter

Finally getting around to this!

Was tagged by @cenobitic-anchorite (thank you!)

Putting this under a read more, because I wrote a lot.

1. What is your favorite movie? My answer to this is always Sleeping Beauty because it was the first movie that I stayed up watching with no adults. Like I must have been around 7 and my older cousin was 12 and we stayed up watching it after all the adults went to sleep. So for me, it signified some sort of independence. (On another note, that same cousin and I also stayed up to watch Pretty Woman before I realized what was going on in that movie.)

I know sometimes it’s a cop out answer, because I really can’t pick a favorite live action movie. There’s too many and I love a lot of them. Also, usually, when I say Sleeping Beauty, based on the other person’s reaction, I can tell if they’ll be compatible and/or get my vibe or not.

2.  If you had to drastically change your hair, how would you cut it and what color would you dye it?  I want rainbow hair, but I can’t have that where I work. I’ve been saying I’ve wanted to dye it red for several months now, but haven’t made the appointment yet (long story, but also mostly me dragging my feet). I’ve ALWAYS wanted a pixie cut, but have always been told that my face shape isn’t good for it (I did it senior year of college and there were people who flat out told me never to get that hair cut again). I’ll do it again, when I feel like I have the energy to maintain it.

3.  Can you drive a manual transmission car? lol, no. I can just barely drive an automatic. (Fact: I got my license at age 23 and didn’t regularly drive until 32.)

4.  What’s your favorite thing to cook or bake? Why? Is there a word limit to this? Cuz we’ll be here a few days. lol Favorite thing to bake is scones because I love scones. I also love to bake pumpkin chocolate chip cookies. And anything with a short pastry, so pies, tarts. I LOVE making sweet danishes. Oh crumb cakes. Oooh it’s season for fresh cranberries. I make a really good cranberry lime crumb cake. Cake, in just about every variation (rounds, sheet, cup, etc.) I like these because they’re delicious (and very few bakeries make them well, and I’m a dessert snob. If I’m eating it, it better be worth the calories. I’m also very particular about my cake to frosting/crumb ratio). Also, fact: I suck at baking regular cookies. I can do it, but they never look right and I’m pretty sure I’m screwing up the ratio of dry to wet ingredients or the butter’s not cold enough or something, but yeah, my cookies always look seriously deformed. (yes, I’ve seen that chart that troubleshoots cookies. No, it hasn’t helped.)

Favorite thing to cook. Hm... go to comfort stuff: penne vodka, but really, I like trying new recipes.

5.  How old were you when you got your ears pierced (if your ears aren’t pierced, do you want to get them pierced? The first time I got my ears pierced, I think I was in 8th grade, so 13-ish. After the initial however long it was that you’re supposed to keep them in, I got lazy so I didn’t keep earrings in all the time (and they hurt my ears), so the holes apparently closed. I got them re-pierced in sophomore or junior year of high school and again, after a little while, they closed again. I was thinking about getting them re-pierced again.

6.  Do you like Thanksgiving? Why or why not? I LOVE Thanksgiving. Yes, the historical aspect can go to hell, but personally, I love Thanksgiving. So growing up, being Chinese, we never celebrated American Thanksgiving. When I was about 13, I got a bread making book from the Scholastic book fair and discovered that we had a working oven (Chinese people don’t cook with ovens. We have a wok and a rice cooker. That’s really all you need.). Anyway, I started baking bread and it was amazing.

Also, our local supermarket would do the holiday promotion of if you spend $X, you can get a free holiday protein, and being a household of 8 (sometimes 10), we hit that spending threshold very, very quickly. So one year, I told my mom that we’re getting a turkey, instead of the ham that she likes. She was skeptical, but I was hell bent on celebrating American Thanksgiving and figuring out what this whole turkey hoopla was about.

I started cooking a Thanksgiving feast for my family (immediate and extended) from the age of 14. I did a sticky rice stuffing in the bird. Mashed sweet potatoes (no marshmallow. it’s sweet enough by itself.) I always made a lasagna (with cheese from DiPalo’s, where I would wait hours on line for our order) or another pasta dish. We did Chinese vegetables. And every year, we would pick new recipes we’d want to try. By ‘we’, I mean me. I would pick new recipes that I’d want to try and my three younger siblings would be obligatory sous chefs. And since bread baking happened in the wee early hours of the morning, we would have it for breakfast. So then I expanded the menu to include breakfast, lunch, and dinner. It became an all day thing and I was (and still am) obsessed.

Oh, it probably also helped to know that I come from a very large extended family and everyone would come through our house during holidays. Usually, it’s because my family hosted the mah jong parties, so we were kinda party central. My biggest Thanksgiving, we had about 50 people cycle through the house that day, so I had to make sure I had food enough for 50 people. Growing up, I’m pretty sure we never had less than 30. (It’s been a shock for me these past several years when we’ve hosted less than 20 people on turkey day.)

Then, my siblings would find recipes that they want to try, and Thanksgiving was this day where we would try food. Not all the recipes worked out, but no one ever got sick or food poisoning (oh man, I have stories from adjacent family members). But yeah. It’s an insane production and I love every minute of it (especially since my mom did the clean up, because bless that woman, she messed up Jiffy corn bread mix when she tried to bake, so she sticks to cleaning).

Anyway, after I got married, I demanded Thanksgiving, which my in-laws didn’t care about because they were getting it catered anyway. But I found out the hard way that they’ve sucked the soul out of my Thanksgiving festivities. One person demanded Stove Top (over fresh sausage dressing?!??!!). Fine. Another prefers roasted turkey (as opposed to smoked or fried). Year after year, they keep telling me to make less food, because they don’t enjoy watching me cook (they think I work too hard, but they also don’t understand that I’m having the time of my life).

At this point, I know that in order to get back to the Thanksgiving that I want to celebrate, it will be after that generation has passed. It’s fine.

I used to start planning my Thanksgiving menu in March, studying recipes and picking and choosing stuff up until like two weeks before hand. Ever since the kids came along, that excitement has also waned. But I’m excited for this year. There will be apple cider mimosas. And I’m roasting a savory pumpkin. And there will be artichokes. Oh and one of my good friends went to Dominique Ansel Kitchen’s pie night this year and had a poached pear chocolate pie that she said was divine. I am attempting to recreate it based on her descriptions of the textures and her pictures. This is what I live for.

(where the fuck is that barney stinson challenge accepted gif when you need it?)

and yes, this year will be my 24th year cooking Thanksgiving dinner.

7.  If you could live in the world of one film, which one would you pick? Oh man. D2: The Mighty Ducks. Ok, I lied. I do have a favorite live action movie. I wish I had a more creative answer to this. Yeah, Harry Potter’s world would be cool. Yeah, I identify with hobbits. Any of the Star Treks would also be good in terms of universes. But I want Adam Banks to teach (13-14 year old) me how to ice skate.

8.  What kind of pet have you never had, but have always wanted? lol one of my bffs and I always wanted a baby panda.

9.  If you won the huge lottery, what would be the first 3 things you’d do?Get a good fucking lawyer, set up a shell foundation so it’s not listed in mine or my husband’s name, prepare to disappear after a couple of years of acting normal. Then, for the more fun three, pay off debt, travel, get a house somewhere the fuck else.

Ceno’s answer was too perfect, so I left it, mainly because I’d pretty much do the same. I’d buy my parents a new house and hire a chauffeur for them. Also @katiekeysburg will get a chauffeur. And I’d throw money at teleportation research. And fund a bunch of gofundmes.

10.  Have you ever gotten a tattoo? What is it? If you haven’t, do you want one? I do not have any but I’ve always wanted one of my Chinese name above my ankle and I’ve always wanted the pi character somewhere (debated various locations). One day, when I get the guts to. (and when it’s seasonally appropriate to get one above my ankle, cuz omg I never knew about the various care required while it heals.)

11.  What’s the stupidest thing you’ve ever done? hahaha um. Probably calling the cops on an online friend who I thought was going to kill himself, but he really wasn’t (but I didn’t know that). (hey kids, don’t put your addresses in your aol profiles--yes I’m ancient.) actually, I’ve done my share to stupid aol/online shit. it will probably come back to haunt me if i ever run for public office or marry a celebrity.

Ok, real stupid thing. I’m a severe klutz, and one time I walked off a raised cement slab (like the kind that statues would sit on) and sprained my ankle. It was probably 3 inches off the ground on the side that I got on it, but it was further off the ground on the other side, so when I got off the slab, I misjudged where to put my foot and I rolled my ankle. Ended up at the ER and they put me in a soft cast. I had to have crutches to get around campus and this one guy who I don’t even know his name, picked me up and carried me up the campus hill (we had a really big hill), and it was against my consent. I did NOT want him to pick me up. It was terrible. Anyway, I rolled my ankle by walking. I have tons of stupid shit. How much time you got?

I was also pretty pretentious when I was younger. (I might still be. I’m not as self aware as I wish to be.) I once asked an Italian friend to try my tomato sauce and asked him what was missing because it didn’t taste right. (I know. I was so gross. You learn from your own grossness though.)

What other stupidity? I fawned over boys. My bff gave me a copy of The Giving Tree in college (I had never read it before) as a metaphor of how much of myself I gave to this toxic dude. I sobbed reading it for the first time.

In hindsight, not getting my license at 17 was a pretty stupid move too. But that also had to do with life circumstances.

OH. Turning down an interview for an internship with my dream company at the time, because I had already accepted an internship position with another company.

Trying to explain to my MBA ethics class how my industry worked only to get it mansplained back to me (pretty stupid of me to have tried in the first place).

Going for my MBA was also a pretty stupid move in the holistic view of my life.

12.  Have you accomplished your New Year’s Resolution for 2018? I honestly don’t remember if I even made resolutions, so I’m going to say hard no.

13.  If you could get any degree from any school, free of charge, what would you pick? Criminal Psychology. Ceno, we can go to school together! (this reminds me I need to catch up on last week’s Criminal Minds) Another option would be anything in the forensics sciences. I would also like to learn massage therapy. And I want to take that artisan bread breaking course at the Institute of Culinary Education.

I forget how many people I’m supposed to tag. @katiekeysburg @daisyjm75 @steverogersnotebook

In a Tunnel Beneath Alaska, Scientists Race to Understand Disappearing Permafrost

https://sciencespies.com/nature/in-a-tunnel-beneath-alaska-scientists-race-to-understand-disappearing-permafrost/

In a Tunnel Beneath Alaska, Scientists Race to Understand Disappearing Permafrost

To enter the Fox permafrost tunnel—one of the only places in the world dedicated to the firsthand scientific study of the mix of dirt and ice that covers much of the planet’s far northern latitudes—you must don a hard-hat then walk into the side of a hill. The hill stands in the rural area of Fox, Alaska, 16 miles north of Fairbanks. The entrance is in a metal wall that’s like a partially dissected Quonset hut, or an enlarged hobbit hole. A tangle of skinny birches and black spruce adorn the top of the hill, and a giant refrigeration unit roars like a jet engine outside the door—to prevent the contents of the tunnel from warping or thawing.

On a mild, damp day in September, Thomas Douglas, a research chemist, escorts visitors through the tunnel door. Douglas works for a project of the U.S. Army Corps of Engineers called the Cold Regions Research and Engineering Laboratory (CRREL), which has its fingers in everything from snowmelt modeling and wetlands plant inventories to research on stealth aircraft. But his own work focuses on several aspects of permafrost, and he leads occasional tours here.

Inside, the permafrost tunnel itself is even stranger than its exterior. A metal boardwalk crosses a floor thick with fine, loose, cocoa-colored dust. Fluorescent lights and electrical wires dangle above us. The walls are embedded with roots suspended in a masonry of ice and silt, with a significant content of old bacteria and never-rotted bits of plant and animal tissue. Because of this, the tunnel smells peculiar and fetid, like a malodorous cheese (think Stilton or Limburger) but with an earthy finish and notes of sweaty socks and horse manure.

A trim person in a light jacket, Douglas strolls down the boardwalk with an amiable half-grin on his face, narrating the surroundings with the kind of glib enthusiasm of a museum docent or a mountain guide. “This part of the tunnel here is about 18,000 years old. We’ve had it carbon-14 dated. This is kind of a bone-rich area right here,” he says. He gestures to what look like gopher holes in the silt—the gaps left behind by cores drilled by science teams. The bone of a steppe bison, a large Arctic ungulate that went extinct about 10,000 years ago, at the end of the last Ice Age, rests in the hard peat. A little further along: a mammoth bone. We have stepped both underground and back in time.

The earthen walls look like they could be soft, like mud, but he raps the end of a long metal flashlight against one of them, and it makes a clinking sound. “You can see this is hard as a rock,” he says.

Permafrost is one the weirder concoctions of the Earth’s Ice Ages. In the abstract, it sounds like a simple substance—any earth material that stays frozen for two or more years. In reality, it is a shape-shifting material that underlies about 24 percent of land in the Northern Hemisphere—from the Tibetan Plateau to Siberia and parts of Arctic and sub-Arctic North America. Now many such areas are becoming both volatile and fragile. Permafrost can be hard as bedrock, but when it thaws, if it’s rich in ice and silt, it can morph into something like glue or chocolate milk or wet cement. In its frozen state, it can hoard materials for thousands of years without allowing them to decay. It can suspend bacteria in a kind of cryo-sleep—still alive for millennia.

Research chemist Thomas Douglas stands at the entrance to the Fox tunnel.

(Whitney McLaren / Undark)

Much of the scientific research on permafrost has been done from above or afar, via remote sensing equipment and computer models, or through happenstance in old mining tunnels or places where a river bluff has fallen apart and exposed millennia-old ice. Sometimes it’s done via the laborious process of hand-sampling and boring a hole deep into the ground. “Really most of us are studying permafrost from the surface, and we’re imagining what it looks like underneath,” says Kimberly Wickland, a U.S. Geological Survey ecologist who studies carbon emissions from lakes and wetlands. The Fox tunnel is one of only two underground facilities dedicated exclusively to the scientific study of permafrost where a visitor can actually walk around inside the frozen earth. (The other is in Siberia.) When Wickland stepped into the tunnel for the first time in 2001, it was like a revelation she says—the moment she truly grasped what permafrost was.

Here, people like Wickland collaborate with Douglas, his colleagues, and researchers from all over the world. Collectively, they have studied everything from the utility of ground-penetrating radar in space exploration—the tunnel is thought to be an analog for Mars—to isotopes in steppe bison bones that might suggest something about the migration habits of these creatures before they went extinct. Here you can see the stuff in three dimensions, and easily retrieve 18,000 to 43,000-year-old specimens of it for research. You can reckon with how complex permafrost is, how much of it remains hidden, and how much scientists still need to learn. You can study and decode the vast amounts of information it potentially holds about the Earth’s history, and you can test the ways its disappearance might influence the planet’s future.

Indeed, permafrost is discussed most often these days in a global context and, increasingly, it is a subject of alarm. In December, the National Oceanic and Atmospheric Administration revealed that the world’s permafrost—which used to capture and store carbon—is instead collapsing and setting loose things that it had long ago entombed. Some scientists worry its thaw could liberate microbes wholly foreign to the modern world (a threat whose significance seems even more disturbing in light of the damage wrought by the COVID-19 pandemic). Meanwhile, the NOAA analysis suggests that the globe’s unraveling permafrost is already releasing as much as 300 to 600 million metric tons of planet-warming carbon into the atmosphere annually, about as much as the myriad industrial and transport activities of France or Canada. The finding is a warning signal—possibly the beginning of a feedback loop in which natural processes in the Arctic may make the impacts of climate change far worse.

As climate change warms soil temperatures across Alaska, too, the Fox tunnel probably contains some of the most protected and coldest permafrost in the area. How long that will remain true is hard to predict. A visitor to the tunnel can’t help but wonder just how much will ultimately be lost biologically, ecologically, and scientifically—as the planet’s permafrost collapses.

Early on, permafrost was mostly an engineer’s concern, and it was often a nuisance. Around Fairbanks in the early 20tth century, permafrost was an obstacle lying between prospectors and the gold beneath. So miners would blast through or thaw it with devices called steam points, turning the frozen earth into muck, then haul it out to get to the gold. (The younger, front part of the hill in which the Fox Tunnel now stands was dredged and hauled away by gold miners, which is why the tunnel features mainly ancient permafrost.)

Elsewhere, permafrost was a construction problem. In 1942, when the U.S. Army Corps of Engineers sent more than 10,000 soldiers and civilians to carve the Alaska Highway through eastern Alaska and into Canada, engineers discovered that one could not build directly on top of the stuff without thawing it—a hard lesson that involved broken equipment and trucks stuck in unyielding mud. The construction challenges helped identify “cold regions research requirements” that would later lead to the formation of CRREL, according to a history published by the Corps.

Only in the Cold War did the frozen ground begin to seem like a possible asset, and a thing worthy of scientific inquiry. The Department of Defense wanted to see whether icy terrain could offer a secure location for military bases and operations. In 1959 and 1960, the U.S. Army built what amounted to a city under the snow in Greenland, called Camp Century, with labs, a dormitory, a gymnasium, a barbershop, and a nuclear reactor to supply heat and power. Here, they studied the properties of snow and drilled to the bottom of the Greenland Ice Sheet for the first time. The camp was also intended to house “Project Iceworm,” which aimed to build thousands of miles of tunnel inside the ice sheet and use them for storing ballistic missiles and nuclear warheads. But after a few years, it became clear that Greenland glaciers were too dynamic and unstable to support such a network, and the project was canceled. The camp was abandoned in 1966.

The Fox permafrost tunnel had a more modest purpose. In 1963, when it was first dug, it was simply designed to test whether frozen ground could be an adequate bunker or smaller-scale military storage facility. Permafrost is naturally shock-absorbent and could theoretically handle shelling and bombing. George Swinzow, a geologist in the Experimental Engineering Division of CRREL, one of the first builders and stewards of the tunnel, had also attempted to create his own synthetic version of permafrost, called “permacrete,” which he used to build columns, bricks, and other underground supports and masonry inside another newly excavated tunnel near Camp Tuto in Greenland. (Swinzow would also later write a tome titled “On Winter Warfare,” about the technical problems of combat in cold places.)

In 1968 and 1969, the U.S. Bureau of Mines borrowed the tunnel and tested some blasting and drilling techniques in a gently sloping side channel called a winze. At the end, the tunnel looked like a lopsided letter “V.” For the next two decades, the main research carried out here still focused on engineering — permafrost as a physical thing rather than a biological one, a substrate that would affect the construction of buildings and pipelines. The engineers soon discovered that permafrost would warp and bend as it approached about 30 degrees Fahrenheit (or -1 degrees Celsius). So CRREL installed the first refrigeration unit at the entrance and a set of fans to send the cold air back through the earthen passageways. The chiller now keeps the facility at about 25 degrees (or about -4 degrees Celsius).

After turning down the winze, the boardwalk ends, and Douglas instructs his visitors to “walk daintily,” or to “walk like ninjas.” The ceiling of the tunnel lowers, and he implores them to avoid kicking up the dust, also called loess, a type of delicate dirt carried miles by the wind and collected in this hill. When the tunnel was first dug, the ice held the loess in place. But when exposed to frigid air, ice will convert directly to water vapor, a process called sublimation. When the ice departed, it released the particles of dust onto the floor. Dig through the dust—as Fairbanks paleontologists sometimes do—and you can find ground squirrel bones, millennia-old leaves still tinged with green, ancient seeds and fruits, and beetle carapaces that look like they might have recently died on your windowsill.

By the early 2000s, the dusty surface of the tunnel also made it seem like a good analog for Mars, which has cold dirt and layers of its own permafrost. Researchers began running prototype rovers through the tunnel and using ground-penetrating radar to find novel ways to look for the water and ice—or even extraterrestrial life—on Mars. Around the same time, NASA became interested in whether ice-dwelling microbes might hold clues about the form and function of life on other planets. In 1999 and 2000, a NASA astrobiologist named Richard Hoover sampled microscopic filaments that he thought might belong to bacteria frozen into a 32,000-year-old section of the permafrost tunnel. In 2005, he announced his findings from those samples—the first species ever discovered to be still alive in ancient ice, an extremophile called Carnobacterium pleistocenium.

Thomas Douglas points to an image showing the layout of the Fox permafrost tunnel.

(Whitney McLaren / Undark)

The discovery heralded a new understanding of permafrost. It was proof that life could exist in extreme places. But more ominously, it suggested that the thawing happening all over the planet could awaken both ecological processes and long-dormant organisms, and not all of them might be benign.

Emerging from the winze, the permafrost tunnel opens into a high-ceilinged gallery of water-ice patterns, each one as beautiful as an abstract sculpture. This is the newer part of the tunnel, a section burrowed out between 2011 and 2018. The drilling here exposed these massive cross-sections of ice and earth, called “ice wedges.” Some are as wide as 15 feet across. (Unusually, some of the academic scientists at CRREL dug this part of the tunnel themselves, driving heavy machinery into the earth. Douglas was not involved, but snow researcher Matthew Sturm, who holds a post at the University of Alaska, Fairbanks, described driving a skid steer, like a small bulldozer, and a research engineer manned a device called a rotary cutter, attached to an excavator.)

Ice wedges are giant spears that form when water trickles into cracks in the silty parts of the permafrost. The new ice carves out gaps where water can percolate every summer season, so the wedges gather more ice and expand over time. Here, they spread across the walls in dark, glossy, marbled forms. “Isn’t this a wild shape? It reminds me of, like, a Da Vinci sketch,” exclaims Douglas. “Doesn’t it look like an eagle, like a man becoming an eagle?” He pauses before a sheet of ice that curiously resembles a figure—a head with pointed ears, arms spread like wings atop a glassy body, and feet shaped like tree roots. The formation is accidental, frozen in place here about 25,000 years ago, but such fantastical shapes abound. A few feet away from the eagle-man is a horizontal ice-tube that looks like a diorama, with grassy bits and roots and air bubbles suspended in it. This plant matter is around the same age but looks like someone picked it yesterday and stuck it inside a glass case.

The eagle-man and every ice formation in this gallery is a slice of a wedge. By capillary action, water can also collect into lenses and chunks in the soil. Some become enormous; some remain microscopic. Most of these bits of ice are about 99 percent frozen water, with little silt mixed in. But salts in the permafrost can lick the edges of the ice and form unfrozen bits. Here, in what are called brine channels, live other microbes. Today, these microbes are an increasingly active areas of study in the tunnel—and in permafrost research elsewhere in the world—for good reason.

In the popular imagination, microbes in permafrost are like tiny undead monsters—superbugs that awaken and spread pandemics. In 2016, the Yamal Peninsula of Siberia had its first anthrax outbreak in 75 years, likely triggered when a heatwave thawed the region’s permafrost and released anthrax spores from a long-dead reindeer carcass. At least 20 people were infected, and one 12-year-old boy died. Such risks have given scientists enough pause that, in November, an international group in gathered in Hanover, Germany to discuss them.

And microbes may have an even more disturbing role in shaping the fate of the atmosphere: It is the microbes that will determine how much of the permafrost’s carbon escapes into the air and how much can be stored again in the dirt. In 2013, Wickland and a group of her collaborators came to the tunnel to gather bits of 35,000-year-old permafrost that had been carved out of the walls during the recent excavation. They collected these scrapings in several coolers packed with dry ice then flew with them to their laboratory in Colorado. They suspended the samples in water, then strained them, like tea, and measured how much carbon dioxide leached from the water.

The thawed, awakened bacteria in the tea began breaking down the organic carbon in the sample; in less than a week, about half of it was emitted into the air as carbon dioxide. It was a disturbing finding. Scientists had long debated how quickly or gradually the thawing of permafrost would affect the global climate. But this study suggested the warming of ancient soils could produce a giant burst of emissions into the atmosphere in a short period of time—one more reason to be wary of the stuff.

But there are other scientists who are trying to find redeeming value in the newly awakened microbial community. Some have continued Hoover’s work, but brought more powerful DNA analysis into the search for live microbes in ice that might yield insights about interplanetary life. Robyn Barbato, a soil microbiologist at the CRREL lab in New Hampshire, also has plans to gather samples from the tunnel for the purpose of bioprospecting. This is the term used to describe the search for microbes that might help with the design of things like super-cold glue, bio-bricks, sustainable road materials, and antifreeze. “I consider the Far North and the Far South to be kind of the new Amazon. There’s all this biodiversity,” Barbato says. “We could really encounter interesting and useful processes that we can adapt to make things more sustainable.”

At least three times in the past 27 years, flooding from a combination of engineering troubles and heavy spring and summer rains has threatened the tunnel. In 1993, the floodwaters collected at the rear of the old tunnel, warped the ceiling, and brought down large chunks of silt. In 2014, water flowed into the tunnel from a nearby hillslope, and frozen puddles collected inside. In 2016, “we nearly lost the tunnel,” recalls Sturm. The rains altered the drainage above, and water infiltrated an ice wedge adjacent to the tunnel. “By the time anything could get done, it had eroded a house-sized piece of ice wedge.” The main pulse of the floodwaters ultimately drained away from the tunnel, but the close call reminded CRREL staff of the potential for catastrophe. Patches of ice from the various floods still linger in the tunnel.

“To me, that’s one of the most salient things we learned from the tunnel,” Sturm says. When permafrost collapses or erodes, the landscape left behind is called thermokarst. The word evokes limestone karst — a type of belowground terrain that is like Swiss cheese, full of caves, rock pools, springs, and streams formed by dissolving and eroding limestone. But thermokarst is far more unstable than limestone karst. Within a few years, a puddle left by permafrost thaw can turn into a lake, then collapse into a ravine. Permafrost won’t decay because of warm temperatures alone. Water will play a destructive role. Fires have also raged in recent years across Alaska and Siberia. Inside the tunnel, near a second entrance, is a thin black band along the wall, a line of charcoal from what was probably a fire. In the Anthropocene climate, if flames laid bare the hillside above the tunnel, heat might radiate into the ice inside and help thaw it.

Douglas leads the group out this second door and past another loud cooling fan into the damp air and daylight. He walks up the hill onto what is effectively the tunnel’s roof and then into the forest behind it, following an old footpath behind a fence through clusters of dwarf birches, willows, black spruce, and fragrant Labrador tea. It is a picture of collapsing permafrost and another active area of research. CRREL researchers have set up various meters and cameras to track snowfall and melt throughout the forest. His tour crosses several areas of sunken, flooded ground, and then a long gully with spruce trees curved toward it, as if they are bowing. Tea-colored water trickles through the center. This is the top of a collapsed ice wedge.

“Who knows how far out that ice wedge has melted?” Douglas says. “There is this sense that the underground is not stable.”

That sense of collapse extends far beyond here. The mean temperature of Fairbanks over the entire 2019 year was 32.6 degrees Fahrenheit, just above freezing, and permafrost cannot survive many more years like it. What lies inside the tunnel seems more and more like a captive, rare animal, an Earth form that might soon be lost. In a time of climate change, the Fox tunnel becomes a project for reckoning, on a grand scale, with that loss and its cascading effects. “Sometimes we’ll kind of joke about, at one point, we’ll have the only permafrost in the Fairbanks area,” Douglas says. This year, he and his colleagues will experiment with other means to extend the tunnel’s longevity, such as using solar panels to power its chillers. They will complete an expansion project begun this winter by the end of 2021, doubling the size of the tunnel. This will allow them to see permafrost from many angles above (with radar) and below (with the human eye) and develop means to scan frozen ground on a large scale.

At its essence, it’s an effort to study and visualize the remaking of large parts of the Earth.

In the next 80 years, in just one lifetime, most of Alaska’s near-surface permafrost will fall apart, Douglas explains. “That will fundamentally alter hydrology, vegetation, the snowpack, the timing of spring melt, heat exchange, habitats for animals, and it’ll basically completely change the landscape.” The work ahead at Fox, he adds, is to understand the staggering ramifications of this loss. Alaska and all of the far North, he says, are “just going to be a fundamentally different place.”

UPDATE: A previous version of the piece incorrectly stated that the planet’s permafrost could be releasing as much as 300 to 600 metric tons of carbon dioxide per year. The amount is 300 to 600 million metric tons. The piece also wrongly stated that Thomas Douglas set up meters and cameras to track snowfall and melt throughout the forest behind the permafrost tunnel. The work was conducted by various CRREL researchers.

This article was originally published on Undark. Read the original article.

#Nature

Hit me with the angst but like don't. Like divorced supercat and the don't see eachother anymore but they meet at a wedding Kara is like I've missed this when they slow dance togtherrrr

I really tried to not dive into the angst but I’m not sure I did a good job on this one, really. I hope it’s still up to your liking, dear anon ♥

She’s silently crying when she feels a hand, a warm familiar palm really, settle around her shoulder and she doesn’t even need to look to know who it is. She would recognize that scent everywhere and even after all those years, it has a very powerful effect on her. It’s flowers, a hint of citrus and something earthy, indescribably pure.“Kara.” She whispers. She doesn’t move but the fingers curl around the sharp bones of her shoulder, a gentle thumb hesitantly brushing the patch of skin at the base of her neck. It’s incredibly familiar in a way that pokes at old, unhealed wounds. It’s soft and there’s some tenderness in the gesture but it’s heavy with memories she doesn’t want to revive, not today.“Hi Cat. Long time no see.” The voice is kind and low, it sounds different in her years. She’s not used to that odd, deep note in a tone that had always sounded too bright for the world they were living in. It unsettles her and she finally, finally muster the courage to meet Kara’s eyes.Oh.

She’s meet with the dazzlingly deep shade of blue that haunts her dreams and sometimes even her days. There’s a whole world in those eyes, burning stars forming unfinished comets and entire galaxies gravitating around the black hole of her pupils.It’s not as bright as it used to be, she notices and she takes in the rest of Kara’s features.It’s been something like ten years since they last saw each other and she slowly notices the cracks and wrinkles showing all over the younger woman’s expression. It’s subtle really, she’s probably the only one to see the lines of exhaustion on Kara’s forehead, the slight crinkles around her eyes and the discrete creases at the corner of her mouth. The once glowing skin is now a little drab and there’s some makeup to help with the color.It still looks smooth though and Cat remembers how it felt under her fingertips.Kara’s looking at her with her so ever blue eyes and Cat scowls her features into a composed expression but she can’t quite hide her surprise.“I didn’t know …” She trails off. She should have asked, she realizes it.“I … Carter invited me and I wanted to … be there, you know.” Kara Danvers, the girl of steel, sounds hesitant and Cat is brought back to a time when she was annoyed at that sort of uncertainty. One lifetime ago.“Of course. He’s going to be thrilled to see you here.” She forces the words out of her mouth and there’s the faintest hint of a smile tugging at Kara’s lips.Cat stares, she can’t help it. She wonders if it still tastes like pumpkin, cinnamon and cheap strawberry lipstick.“I saw him on my way here. He was indeed quite happy.” Kara said and this time, the smile is firmly on her lips and it’s soft, tender and it reaches her eyes. Suddenly, it’s like the whole universe is spinning again, for a few seconds. It doesn’t last.“I can’t believe he’s … “ Kara sounds almost sad and Cat’s heart aches because she realizes what’s happening in the younger woman’s head. She wants to reach out to tangle her fingers with Kara’s but she contains herself and she simply nods. Her voice is soft and melancholic when she speaks.“He’s all grown up and … well. That’s why I’m here.” She says, gesturing to the mess that her face must be. She’s swore to herself she wouldn’t cry but she’s too emotional.Her heart practically stops when Kara move her hand from her shoulder to actually touches her cheek. She catches a tear that threatened to fall on her dress and the drop sparkles on the woman’s finger. Kara looks entranced by it.Cat’s heart is slowly recovering and her skin tingles where she’s been caressed. She finds that she misses the contact already, even though it barely lasted half a second.“No one can blame you. Do you want me to leave you alone?” Kara asks, concern suddenly clear on her face as she takes a step back. Cat struggles not to grab her arm to make her stay. It’s been ten years but she’s still deeply affected by the younger woman’s presence.“No, it’s fine. I need to reapply my makeup so I can be ready for the whole ordeal.” She says and she sees the smile that ghost across Kara’s lips.“I can wait for you, if you want.” She says and Cat suddenly realizes that Kara doesn’t want to leave her. It’s an oddly comforting thought and she just nods, too taken aback to trust her voice and speak.Kara waits and she disappears into the bathroom to arrange her face. She takes an extra couple of minutes to try to calm the mess of her mind but it doesn’t work. Kara Danvers had always had that effect on her. It’s infuriating really.When she slips out to join Kara, she’s a little calmer and she looks ready to face the day. She doesn’t ask when Kara offers her arm, she just takes it and they walk away together.—The ceremony is beautiful and her makeup is ruined again.She’s just witnessed the wedding of her baby boy, the one with bright blue eyes and unruly curls who had a crush on Supergirl for years and she’s crying again when the familiar hand finds her way on her tight, a little above the knee.“I’m so proud of him.” She hears and she smiles because Kara’s voice is wavering with pride and love and too many other emotions at once. She glances to her left to see that the younger woman is also crying, tears rolling down her cheeks and falling on her exposed collarbone. She feels a little better and she wonders why.She accepts the hand Kara is offering to follow the happy couple out of Town-Hall and she doesn’t protest when she feels a hand against the small of her back. It’s familiar and comforting and she needs it. She lets Kara guide her to a car and she stays silent as they ride towards the beach house, where the real party will be happening.Kara doesn’t really leave her side and Cat finally realizes that Kara came alone. No Alex Danvers, no Maggie Sawyer, no cardigan hobbit or faithful guardian, no one came with National City’s most beloved hero. She almost asks but then she chose against it.Kara is smiling and joking with Carter and his newly appointed husband and it looks so normal, so natural, it warms her heart. Cat catches his son’s eyes on her and she smiles to reassure him. She’s feeling fine, surprisingly enough.Time goes by and night is slowly falling upon them when Cat hears the first note of a song she thought she would never hear again. Carter is looking sheepishly at her but then his husband is dragging him on the dance floor and she can’t help the smile that floats on her lips.Carter is happy, engulfed in his husband’s arms and it’s all she’s ever wanted for him.“It was our wedding song.” Kara’s voice is low and leaned with something that sounds like sadness. Not regret, not pain, just an infinite sadness that shines in her eyes a little too much. Cat just nods but she doesn’t tear her eyes away from her son dancing on the dance floor.She remembers like if it was yesterday, it was her dancing on a similar floor, securely being held by Kara’s strong arms as they were happily swaying together. It had been such a beautiful day, their wedding day.It had lasted five years and then she added another divorce at her list. It wasn’t anyone’s fault, really. Time, distance, work, National City, Supergirl’s duty, life happened and they simply parted way.Cat never got over their divorce.“May … May I have this dance?” She hears and she thinks she’s still caught in her past, until Kara steps forwards and extends a hand to her.People are joining the married couple on the dance floor and it’s another song now, one she recognizes as Carter’s favorite. She remembers, Kara loves it too.“You were never able to resist Ed Sheeran.” She says and she does something foolish, she accepts the hand. She follows Kara and there’s a moment when she thinks the girl of steel is going to change her mind but then …Then she feels two strong arms encircle her and she’s breathing in that earthy perfume that clings to Kara’s skin and she thinks that it’s the way it should be. It’s the balance of life itself being restored as she pressed her forehead against Kara’s shoulder and there’s a sob caught in her throat and a smile tugging at her lips because she knows.She knows it’s only for one dance, she knows she should hate Ed Sheeran but when Kara holds her like this, she can’t think of anything else but how she’s missed it.“I missed it. I missed you.” She hears and the sadness in Kara’s voice is clear. They both know it’s only for one night and then, tomorrow, they’ll be apart again.Cat’s sob escape her lips and Kara holds her tighter.“I know.” She manages to say and she feels Kara nod.She feels something wet fall into her hair and they cry in silence as the words echo endlessly.Oh maybe we found love right where we areAnd we found love right where we are

Adventures in Middle-earth

Part 1 of a series Word Count: 2,136

Contents Page

Scene setter

Synopsis: Being an extreme introvert and stumbling into Middle-earth and joining the company of Thorin Oakenshield 

Enjoy!

GIFS USED ARE NOT MINE

There was something about the forest behind your back garden that had this weird vibe, you could never put your finger on it. You felt a strange tingle in your chest every time you'd go near there. Sometimes, on a starry night, you'd sit in your back yard and listen to the breeze rolling over the trees and relax, it was a nice feeling, not odd, painful or discomforting. It was delicate and pure. Something about how the moon shone through the leaves and left shadows on the floor near your feet made you feel like something magical was in that forest, probably your childish nature. You loved to make believe something interesting would happen to you and you'd be on an adventure, just like they do in the movies. It was kind of an ironic fantasy to have.

You had only lived at this new house for a little over 6 months, not long at all. You hadn't made any new friends and you hardly spoke to any of your old friends at home, you thought they would have at least had the decency to text you to see how moving in was, but no. You only really had one friend, and you didn't really talk to her that often, it was the kind of friendship where you knew you were best friends so you didn't need to talk every day. The best kind of friendship. You knew her since you were 4 years old and she was the only person to call you a week after you had moved in and ask how things were in the new home. Previously, you lived in the suburbs, you hated it. You were more of a nature-lover, you loved climbing trees, finding peace and harmony in your surroundings. The new home was nice, you had a bedroom with a view of the forest behind your garden, you loved to look into the horizon far past the forest and imagine that the trees didn't stop for hundreds of miles. You often found happiness in sitting at the very borders of the forest to your garden and drawing or reading a book. You weren't a lover for technology, although you owned a phone, you didn't use it much, you only really used it to take pictures or listen to music and even then your music taste wasn't very modern, most of the music on your phone were soundtracks from your favourite films or ambient soundtracks of birds singing and the wind whistling. One particular Friday evening, you found yourself completely drained from the college work you had been given, you were given a detention for daydreaming in class and you felt separated from everyone. You spent all of your months in your new town in solitude, but something kept drawing you to the borders of that forest at the foot of your back yard. Your parents always found you sat with your knees bent into your chest either reading a book or drawing away late into the night. But, this particular Friday evening, you had an urge, a desperation to go further into the forest. Sunset was probably an hour off and you thought to yourself, "I won't be late for dinner." You packed your favourite backpack with your drawing pad, pencils and other stationary, your phone, music player and camera just incase any of them died, your favourite woolly hoodie which had gotten you through most winters considering you hadn't changed much in size for a couple of years. You slipped on your trainers and headed out the back door, without saying a word to your parents, it was normal for you to go out and sit outside, they didn't expect anything unusual. So, off you went, into the forest you had been admiring for months from your bedroom window and from the borders of your garden. You felt excited, you had no idea of what you'd find in this forest, perhaps an abandonned house you could explore and take photos of, perhaps a lake with deer and ducks. You just kept walking through the heavily rooted forest with positivity in your step, for the first time since you had moved to this accursed town, you finally felt free. To some extent. You hadn't noticed the lace on your trainers beginning to loosen as you grabbed onto branches and climbed over bulging roots on the ground, you didn't even realise the thorns that were clinging onto your clothes were causing little ladders to form into your tights, you loved climbing through trees and what not so it didn't bother you when you looked down to find a hole in your tights, but what you still hadn't realised was the lace on your shoe slowly unravelling itself until it's fiendish plan to trip you up had taken place. As you climbed over one unnecessarily large root sticking out of the ground, you had accidentally stood on your lace with the opposite foot causing you to swing over the root and faceplant the floor with a painful thud causing a loud shout of pain to escape your mouth. "Damn laces!" you cursed as you fumbled hopelessly on the ground with your shoe in hopes to tie it up tightly, before your eyes were met with a pair of obnoxiously large boots peeking out of what seemed to be a tatty grey dress. Your eyes struggled upwards to find the owner of these feet, you were shocked to find an elderly man stood before you offering his hand, with a cheerful look on his face, "What a tumble!" he laughed as he pulled you to your feet, you looked at the old man in confusion, did he live out here? Where did he come from? You didn't see him a minute ago. The man brushed his fingers through his very very long grey beard as if he was thinking as he looked at the bump that was forming on your head, "quite a bruise you'll have there by nightfall, I should think." "Thank you for helping me up, sir." you politely replied as you gently ran your fingers over the forming bump, "Oh how lovely to be called a 'sir' by one of your kind." he smirked to himself as he gazed menacingly, "My kind?" you asked with confusion all over your face, "Yes.." He spoke eerily, the old man was beginning to frighten you, but somehow his blue eyes that searched yours seemed honest and pure and you had this strange feeling to trust the old man. "Forgive me, my dear. My name is Gandalf, if you will, I should like you to come and meet my friends, one of them is especially qualified in the field of medicine and I would like for him to see to the bump on your head." he was so well-spoken for a man in tatty robes, "Oh no, really it's fine. It's just a bump, it'll be gone in a few days, no problem, really." you sounded almost too enthusiastic to get back on your way before the sun set. But with the reassurance, the old man pulled a stick from behind him which was leaning on a tree, in one quick motion he whacked his staff-looking stick over your arm causing some blood to pour out, you yelped as you saw the blood, you frowned at Gandalf angrily. 

"Oh! Goodness, my dear! I must apologise, now you must come, that needs tending to!" he was so eager for you to follow him, but was it wise to follow an old man in the forest? If you did, you had completely disobeyed your fathers every command for you to not follow or talk to strangers. But at the same time, you did want to know what the old man was going on about, the excitement won over your inner battles when you saw a group of small people peering over at you from a distance. You followed the old man through the trees and thorns whilst keeping your eyes on the small people. Well, they weren't particularly small, you were short and they sort of matched your height well but there were some of them that were really only the size of children but bared the appearance of fully grown men. Peculiar.

After the small-ish man with the trumpet hanging out of his ear wiped up the cut on your arm, you were surprised to see that there wasn't a huge gash as though it felt, but a tiny tiny cut, like a kitten scratch. It was all beginning to get a bit strange, these small men, this old man with his pointy hat and this very small man whom didn't wear any shoes. His feet were very hairy for a man of about 3 foot tall. In fact, all of these men had a substantial amount of hair on their face and on their heads this was strange for you as you were used to seeing men with little to no facial hair and well trimmed on top of their heads. "I don't want to be rude, but... Why are you all out here?" you asked with a tone of utter confusion clear in your voice, "Oh, my dear, forgive me I have not explained!" said the old wizard who you now knew as Gandalf. "You see, we aren't quite like your folk-" "-okay, that. What does that mean? My kind? My folk? What are you talking about?" "These are Dwarves and Mr. Bilbo here is a Hobbit of The Shire." You stared at the old man in utter disbelief, you snickered quietly until you caught the gaze of the dwarves who looked confused at you, "Okay... so what are you mister pointy hat? A wizard?" you laughed to yourself, "Indeed." the words seemed so sure and you didn't know what you were thinking, your thoughts trailed into a blur, "Wow, I must've hit my head hard." you muttered to yourself as your rubbed your eyes and kept looking at the company of dwarves and a hobbit and a wizard expecting them to disappear, but... they didn't. "Okay... well, it was lovely to meet you but I have to head home now, the sun's setting." you spoke cheerily, half expecting yourself to wake up from a dream any minute, again, wrong. "Where is your home?" one of the dwarves called, you didn't know his voice but his hair was dark and his beard thick, he had stern eyes and his voice was bassy and rumbled through your body, "Just West of here on the boarders of the forest, in a tow-" "There is nothing West of here, unless you mean to travel a hundred miles to Bree?" he replied, his voice still vibrating through your very being making you feel uneasy but it was also a pleasant feeling, "What? I only live about 15 minutes in this direction?!" You were totally baffled, "My dear, if I may," Gandalf called, you were beginning to grow tired of his ruse so you turned to look at him with a roll of your eyes, "You are no longer in your world, but in ours." your brow creased as you sighed and smiled at the old man who had clearly been smoking something, whatever he had, you'd really like some at this moment. You began to huff and walk off back in your direction of where you assumed your home would be, but then realised you had lost all sense of direction and to be perfectly honest, you were lost. "You'll find nothing in that direction.." the loud voice boomed over you, "I'm going the way I came." you spoke abruptly as you were beginning to grow tiresome of the 'dwarves' company but before you could carry on with your journey back home before sun set, which by the way was looking rather unlikely by now, the elderly man piped up, "He's right, my dear. You'll find yourself in nowhere but trouble if you proceed in that direction." his voice was sincere and you felt guilty for being rude to him, you turned to face him and your expression relaxed, "Then how can I find my way home?" you asked politely and quietly, "Perhaps you could join us on our quest until we can return you safely to your home, nobody would know you're missing!" An eager blonde dwarf spoke through his braided moustache which hung beside his lips with beads clasping onto them. You looked back towards you initial direction in which you thought your home was, still confused and debating whether you really had knocked yourself into a state of illusion from the fall earlier, but you agreed to follow the dwarves, the hobbit and the wizard, after all, you are one for an adventure.

From the Fog, She Sings

STRANGER THINGS FANFICTION

Summary: In the months following season one, Mike is devastated by the disappearance of Eleven. He begins sensing her when he’s at home, right before he falls asleep, and quickly learns that she is trying to contact him from somewhere beyond Hawkins. Mike realizes that he can spend as much time with El as he wants, as long as he’s asleep, in a world where nothing can hurt them. But when trouble arises in this paradise, will Mike and Eleven be able to get help from their friends in this world of their own design?

Chapter One: The Hole

    Sometimes, when the length of the day slips into nullity and his feet are wound tightly in the folds of his blanket, Mike can feel her. 

At first she manifested from coincidence, born as a cool breeze blowing through a closed window--unusual but not extraordinary. Not in Hawkins, at least. He would be floating on the brink of sleep, slipping blissfully into a world where her absence didn’t leave an open sore on his unwieldy life, when the temperature seemed to drop ten degrees and he would go still, unwavering, listening with bated breath as if he could hear her small feet move across the carpet of his bedroom. But then, just as quickly as the feeling had surfaced, it would be swallowed by the ambiance of the Wheeler household. Of Nancy talking to Jonathan on the phone, or his dad shuffling loudly down the stairs to take up residence in front of the T.V. 

And then she would be gone. 

And the hole grows even bigger.

---

    The sun vanishes behind a set of dark clouds when Mike wheels his bike out from the garage. His backpack rests snuggly between his shoulder blades as he pedals onto the splintery road, swerving between the lanes on his way to Meadow Street. At the center of Roane county lies the city of Hawkins. Nestled in the embrace of thick forests and a swelling river that runs along its southern stretch, the township is modest but size can be deceiving.

    Like any small town,Hawkins has its bad apples. Its moments of darkness are so thick it seems the sun won’t rise again. That life will never revert back to normality. Unlike other towns, however, Hawkins is home to true evil. Monsters, both human and non, roam the woods. It can be easy to get caught up in the freak show, Mike thinks as he speeds past Hawkins’ Power Plant and onto Main Street, devoured and never seen again. 

She made it better, though. 

As soon as he saw her, he knew. She saved the world. She saved him, more than once.

    However, only those who lived through the disappearance of Will Byers would know anything about that. 

Mike drags his feet on the pavement as Dustin’s house barrels into view, a stunt he knows his mom will notice and complain about later. He’s been growing at least an inch a week. Karen has bought him three new pairs of shoes in the last two months even without him wearing the soles down. Mike hops off his bike, leaving it overturned in the Hendersons’ driveway, and takes off around the side of the house in search of his friend.

Mrs. Henderson knocks on the kitchen window and waves pleasantly through the glass. She smiles and points at the line of trees surrounding the yard as if to say, “He’s in there, doing God knows what.” Mike nods politely and swallows the lump in his throat. He tries to avoid the woods at all costs these days, as a rule. However, school starts in an hour and they still have to meet with Mr. Clarke about A.V. club. So, Mike puts one foot in front of the other. The skin on the backs of his knees go clammy as the sun disappears again behind a set of thick, dark clouds.

“Perfect,” Mike mutters. 

    Once at the edge of the wood, he stops and squints, willing his eyes to see past the gloom and into the thicket of branches that cover the path. It’s so silent, so completely isolated at the edge of the trees that Mike thinks he hears Mrs. Henderson folding laundry at the kitchen table. He looks around again for Dustin, anxious to get back into the open. 

    “Dustin?” Mike’s voice bounces off the tree trunks, startling a bird into sudden flight. No answer. He clears his throat again and takes a tentative step into the wood, his sneakers crunching loudly on a loose pile of compost. 

Suddenly, he is transported to a stormy night last fall. A city-wide search. His two friends armed with yellow rain slickers and flashlights, searching for Will in a sprawl of trees not far from here. They were desperate, like Mrs. Byers, to find her son. Chief Hopper had insisted that things like “what happened to the Byers kid,” don’t happen in towns like Hawkins. It wasn’t until that rainy night when they found her drenched to the bone, head shaved, and dressed in only a t-shirt did Mike realize the terrible things that can happen to kids.

    “Hey, look what I found!”

    Mike jumps, nearly turning to sprint back into the yard, when Dustin pokes his head out from behind a tree and lifts a clenched fist. His toothless grin does little to take the edge off as Mike yells, “Dustin, you scared the shit out of me!” His friend laughs and stumbles onto the dirt path. 

    “Sorry, man. Look,” Dustin holds out his fist and presents a blue and black striped lizard. “I found a Blue Racer!” Mike nods curtly, turning to make his way back onto the green grass. The sun emerges from its cocoon and Mike’s skin instantly warms. He sighs, smiles at Dustin, and asks, “What’s so special about that, again?”

    Another toothless grin. “Only that these babies can move at about 4.3 miles per hour, making them fast enough to outrun most any predator.” Mike nods, impressed, as Dustin swings open the back door and sets his lizard down on the counter. Mrs. Henderson rounds the corner and drops her laundry basket, screaming at the sight of Dustin’s new friend.

    “Dusty, why do you always leave me to put these things in the terrarium?”

    “Mom, we’re running late for a very important meeting,” Mike laughs and watches from the yard as Dustin searches for his backpack and sticks an apple in his mouth. “Cuh pl puh h in dh…”

    Mrs. Henderson puts her hands on her hips and frowns. “Don’t talk with your mouth full.” Dustin slings his backpack over his shoulder and says, quickly, “I owe you one. Bye mom!” With a slam of the back door, Mike and his friend jog to the driveway where they mount their bikes. Even more clouds have gathered in the sky, forming an angry gray wall. Mike pulls a rain slicker out of his backpack. “Just in case,” He replies to Dustin’s raised eyebrows. 

“Scared of a little rain, Wheeler?” 

Mike rolls his eyes and begins the trudge down the street, toward Lucas and closer to school. “Yeah right.” He says, and Dustin laughs, but not before pulling his hat down over his eyes. Mike can smell the rain, see the leaves on the trees inverting to protect the supple skin of their faces. He used to like the rain, back when the Party could play outside without fear. Now it just reminds him of her. Of her small, pretty face as thick droplets gathered on her eyelashes, the corners of her lips. Of the Upside Down. Mike picks up speed, hoping to outrun the storm.

--

    “I’m just saying, we should probably check out the new arcade before it becomes too congested with people who are only interested in playing Duck Hunt,” Lucas takes a fervent bite of his PB & J, a slick of grape jelly sticking to the end of his nose. Will gestures timidly and Lucas drags his sleeve across his face before continuing, “I’m just saying. I want to be one of the first to log a high score.”

    Lunch time at Hawkins Middle means strategizing. What will they do after school? Homework, obviously, but then what? DnD is on the table as always, but Mike hasn’t felt much like saving villages from monsters since his encounter with the Demogorgon. Immediately after the thought forms Mike feels his stomach sumersault. With one final swallow he pushes his lunch tray toward the center of the table and peeks over at Will. 

His friend is staring, like always, at the table in front of him.

Much to the dismay of his mother and chief Hopper alike, Will Byers has elected not to speak of his time in the Upside Down. Even Mike, who knows he’s Will’s best best friend, has never heard all of what is surely a horrifying tale. Will doesn’t notice Mike staring. Hell, he hardly notices anything anymore since his return to Hawkins. Mike cocks his head to the side and uses Lucas and Dustin’s brief debate on the Hobbit as an opportunity to really study the kid who went missing for nearly a month last year.

    The first thing he notices is Will looks tired. Exhausted, like he hasn’t slept a whole night through for six months. His skin is thin and sallow, the color of yellow paper lanterns. He doesn’t eat much anymore and it shows especially in the hollowness under his cheekbones. Mike wonders if he’s been to therapy, too.

    The bell rings, and just like that lunchtime is over. The Party stands and gathers their scraps, Lucas and Dustin hardly noticing the heavy silence stemming from the other two. Mike moves slowly, deliberately, as two of his friends head down the hallway to prepare for fourth period. The cafetiera clears and Mike notices that Will hasn’t moved. He feels his eyebrows knit together. 

“Will?” 

Nothing. He doesn’t even blink.

Mike rises unsteadily and swears at how fleshy his anxiety has become. Even the slightest whiff of weirdness makes his heart race. He moves his feet, one in front of the other, until he is standing in front of his friend. Hey man,” Mike begins. When nothing happens he waves a clammy hand in Will’s face. 

Nothing.

The warning bell sounds and Mike shakes his head, trying to clear the fog building between his ears. He swallows uselessly at the coppery taste of fear in his throat. “Hey, the bell...we have…” Will’s head snaps up. Mike’s heart skips three beats as the whites in Will’s eyes have gone gray. His mouth hangs open in a silent scream. “Class.” Mike finishes timidly. When Will still doesn’t move, Mike grabs his backpack and shuffles quickly and silently around the table. He decides to go and find the school nurse when a cold hand grabs his forearm, stopping him in his tracks.

Will stands slowly, fluidly, in a way that is not native to him. Mike winces as his skin is caught by Will’s nails, as the grip on his arm tightens. His friend leans in close to Mike’s face, and the air suddenly smells like rain. Will lets out a sharp, sudden breath and raises a finger to Mike’s forehead. 

“I don’t understand…” his voice sounds thin even to his own ears. 

Will shakes his head once. Twice. And traces a number right between Mike’s eyes with his fingernail

0 1 1.

    CHAPTER TWO COMING SOON!

please let me know what you think of the fic so far. Best wishes!

Dwight Garner’s favorite quotations

For nearly four decades I’ve kept what is known as a commonplace book – a bound notebook, and later a long computer file, passed from desktops (1990s) to laptops (2000s) to my cell phone, into which I’ve poured verbal delicacies, “blasts of a trumpet”, as Emerson put it, and bits of scavenged wisdom from my life as a reader. Yea, for I am an underliner, a destroyer of books, and maybe you are, too. Commonplace books are not so uncommon. John Locke kept one, as did Virginia Woolf. W. H. Auden published his, as did the poet J. D. McClatchy. E. M. Forster’s was issued after his death. The novelist David Markson wrote terse and enveloping novels that resembled commonplace books in many regards; they were bird’s nests of facts threaded with the author’s own subtle interjections. For fans of the commonplace book genre, many prize examples have come from lesser-known figures like Geoffrey Madan and Samuel Rogers, both English, who produced books that are notably witty and illuminating. These have become cult items. Christopher Ricks noted about Rogers that, although he may not have been an especially kind man, “he was very good at hearing what was said”.

I use my own commonplace book as an aide-mémoire, a kind of external hard drive. Reading it is a way of warding off what Christopher Hitchens, quoting a friend, called CRAFT (Can’t Remember a Fucking Thing) syndrome. I use my gleanings in my own writing. Like Montaigne, I quote others “in order to better express myself”. Montaignecompared quoting well to arranging other people’s flowers. Sometimes, I sense, I quote too often, swinging on them in my writing as if from vine to vine. It’s one of the curses of spending a lifetime as a word-eater, and of retaining, so far, a semi-reliable memory.

I am no special fan of most books of quotations. Bartlett’s Familiar Quotations, the Yale Book of Quotations and the New Penguin Dictionary of Modern Quotations, to name three dependable reference books, have their uses, for sure. They are sturdy repositories of literary and verbal history. (Countless other books of quotations aren’t reliable at all.) But even the best contain a good deal of dead weight. They lean, sometimes necessarily, on canned and overused thought and, more grievously, are skewed to the upbeat. So many of the lines they contain seem to vie to be stitched on throw pillows or ladled, like chicken soup, on the credulous soul. “Almost all poetry is a failure”, Charles Bukowski contended, “because it sounds like somebody saying, Look, I have written a poem.” The same is true of quotations and aphorisms; too many have a taxidermied air, as if they were self-consciously aimed at posterity.

This small slice of the material I’ve hoarded is a sliver of a much larger book project, one that will break with the conventions of commonplace books and volumes of quotations by organizing quotes by feel rather than by category. There are few life lessons except by accident. I must add that I do not agree with everything that is said: retweet does not, as they say on Twitter, necessarily equal endorsement.

-----

(small selection) 

“It’s only words, unless they’re true.” – David Mamet, Speed-the-Plow

“Why are you all reading? I don’t understand this reading business when there is so much fucking to be done.” – Sheila Heti, How Should a Person Be?

“Better a good venereal disease than a moribund peace and quiet.” – Henry Miller, Quiet Days in Clichy

“Everything that is true is inappropriate.” – Oscar Wilde

“Everyone nodded, nobody agreed..” – Ian McEwan, Amsterdam

“Let’s, as if sore, grab a few things from the flood.” – A. R. Ammons, Complete Poems

“Fragments, indeed. As if there were anything to break.” – Don Paterson, Best Thought, Worst Thought

“He licked his lips. ‘Well, if you want my opinion–’ ‘I don’t,’ she said. ‘I have my own.’ –Toni Morrison, Beloved

“Love poems must be bounced back off a moon.” – Robert Graves, Paris Review interview

“See the moon? It hates us.” – Donald Barthelme, Sixty Stories

“You know where the Beatles got that shit from. You know that’s our shit they fucking up like that.” – Albert Murray, South to a Very Old Place

“How come the Beatles never got busted for statutory rape – because they’re white?” – Eve Babitz, Eve’s Hollywood

“I hope you don’t mind, I’m from the South. We’re touchers.” – Charlie Rose, attributed

“Mick Jagger should fold up his penis and go home.” – Robert Christgau, Village Voice

“Somehow he knew, based on very little experience, that this faux-casualshit spelled money.” – Tom Wolfe, Bonfire of the Vanities

“Being rich is about acting, too, isn’t it? A style, a pose, an interpretation that you force upon the world.” – Martin Amis, Money

“If you want to know what God thinks of money, just look at the people he gave it to.” – Dorothy Parker

“Oh, fuck, not another elf.” – Hugo Dyson, as J.R.R. Tolkien read aloud an early draft of The Lord of the Rings

“I am putting a mental jigsaw together of what a hobbit looks like, based on a composite of every customer I have ever sold a copy to.” – Shaun Bythell, Diary of a Bookseller

“You put your finger in it, and go swish, swish, swish.” – Jane Jacobs, on how to make a West Village martini

“Wasn’t the whole 20th century a victory lap of collage, quotation, appropriation, from Picasso to Dada to Pop?” – Jonathan Lethem, The Ecstasy of Influence

“I suddenly began to realize that everybody in America is a natural-born thief.” – Jack Kerouac, On the Road

“The not paying for things is intoxicating.” – Philip Roth, American Pastoral

“I don’t trust anybody who hasn’t shoplifted.” – John Waters

“Cleanliness might not be next to godliness but it is certainly adjacent to horniness.” – Geoff Dyer, on hotels, in Otherwise Known as the Human Condition

“The assumptions a hotel makes about you! All those towels.” – Stanley Elkin, The Dick Gibson Show

“The meat around my skull can’t stop smiling.” – Catherine Lacey, The Answers

“Let’s have some new clichés.” – Sam Goldwyn

“I need some new attitudes, some new affirmations and denials.” – Lionel Trilling, letter

“Good-bye, and I don’t mean au revoir.” – Christopher Ricks

“Of course it’s all right for librarians to smell of drink.” – Barbara Pym, Less Than Angels

“Edward worried about his drinking. Would there be enough gin? Enough ice?” – Donald Barthelme, Flying to America

“I have no enemies. But my friends don’t like me.” – Philip Larkin

“There was obviously nothing to recommend me to anyone.” – Deborah Levy, Hot Milk

“I have always disliked myself at any given moment; the total of such moments is my life.” – Cyril Connolly, Enemies of Promise

“Talk into my bullet hole. Tell me I’m fine.” – Denis Johnson, Jesus’ Son

“Every time he played a note he waved it goodbye. Some times he didn’t even wave.” – Geoff Dyer on Chet Baker, But Beautiful

“Let us reflect whether there be any living writer whose silence we would consider a literary disaster.” – Cyril Connolly, The Unquiet Grave

“If we did get a writer worth reading, should we know him when we saw him, so choked as we are with trash?” – George Orwell, Keep the Aspidistra Flying

“Book publishing should be done by failed writers who recognize the real thing when they see it.” – Robert Giroux, Paris Review interview

“Books are, let’s face it, better than everything else.” – Nick Hornby, Ten Years in the Tub

“Revenge is the capitalism of the poor.” – Aravind Adiga, Selection Day

“It makes an immigrant laugh to hear the fears of the nationalist, scared of infection, penetration, miscegenation, when this is small fry, peanuts, compared to what the immigrant fears – dissolution, disappearance.” – Zadie Smith, White Teeth

“The face of ‘evil’ is always the face of total need.” – William S. Burroughs, preface to Naked Lunch

“In our deepest moments we say the most inadequate things.” – Edna O’Brien, The Love Object

“How desperate do you have to be to start doing push-ups to solve your problems?” – Karl Ove Knausgaard, My Struggle: Book Two

“The primary object of a student of literature is to be delighted.” – Lord David Cecil

TLS, 2018

Gateways

Many educated people believe in Parallel Universes. Many of these people are mathematicians, string theorists and Quantum mechanics. That means, they are not folks one would dismiss, with a raised pinkie wave. They believe that there might be beings who could cross over from one dimension to this one and then dart back again. One reason a bullet shot at Sasquatches, causes an array of sparkling lights and total disappearance as a body, is that they are dimensional being. Looking for the Gateway to other dimensions keeps them busy and happy. Worm holes (Einstein-Rosen bridges) are another potential Gateway. There space itself bends and allows one to bye-pass the road, and go through the tunnel. There are moments in everyday life, where one can just “Go for It” and bypass the bull-plop.

Knowing the Right People, can cut Red Tape, into confetti to fling recklessly about one’s victory parade. Rich and powerful people have always known about this. From the start of Humanity, some folks got it, some folks don’t. I have made a huge discovery. I am ALWAYS NICE, FRIENDLY, POLITE, AND WHILE NOT OBSEQUIOUS, I AM VERY RESPECTFUL. The clerk across the desk, the checker at the supermarket, the nurse before a procedure, (any time everywhere) the cleaner, the person dishing up food at the cafeteria, they are all people who deserve to be respected and treated well. They also can make difficulties appear or disappear with the littlest effort. (They also, can mess with your head, and make a total nightmare out of the “Procedure/Protocol they are nominally required to follow.) My latest dealings with the bank went so smoothly one of the tellers wanted to know, who I knew to get things so expedited? Answer? Actually no one, but I know how to help people feel like they deeply want to help me.

Seeing a gateway can be easy. Sometimes there is no doubt, it looms overhead. Sometimes it is a door inside a huge door, a wicket in the wall, a Hobbit Hole. I do need to admit, sometimes they lead to secret garden, sometimes they lead to Alice’s Rabbit Hole. ( a fall that defies the laws of physics and leads to confusion and uncertainty) But we have to go through to find out what the Gate leads to. Be brave and bold, gateways open in both directions, one often an suck it up and admit defeat and head onward. I recommend singing your favorite, most heartening marching/hiking song. roll your caissons, Valder your ree, Doe your deer, and move on through the Gateway, head high and arms swinging. (or rolling, tottering, whatever is your mode) 

Over Hill and Under Hill

There were many paths that led up into those mountains, and many passes over them. But most of the paths were cheats and deceptions and led nowhere or to bad ends; and most of the passes were infested by evil things and dreadful dangers. The dwarves and the hobbit, helped by the wise advice of Elrond and the knowledge and memory of Gandalf, took the right road to the right pass. Long days after they had climbed out of the valley and left the Last Homely House miles behind, they were still going up and up and up. It was a hard path and a dangerous path, a crooked way and a lonely and a long. Now they could look back over the lands they had left, laid out behind them far below. Far, far away in the West, where things were blue and faint, Bilbo knew there lay his own country of safe and comfortable things, and his little hobbit-hole. He shivered. It was getting bitter cold up here, and the wind came shrill among the rocks. Boulders, too, at times came galloping down the mountain-sides, let loose by midday sun upon the snow, and passed among them (which was lucky), or over their heads (which was alarming). The nights were comfortless and chill, and they did not dare to sing or talk too loud, for the echoes were uncanny, and the silence seemed to dislike being broken-except by the noise of water and the wail of wind and the crack of stone. "The summer is getting on down below," thought Bilbo, "and haymaking is going on and picnics. They will be harvesting and blackberrying, before we even begin to go down the other side at this rate." And the others were thinking equally gloomy thoughts, although when they had said good-bye to Elrond in the high hope of a midsummer morning, they' had spoken gaily of the passage of the mountains, and of riding swift across the lands beyond. They had thought of coming to the secret door in the Lonely Mountain, perhaps that very next first moon of Autumn-" and perhaps it will be Durin's Day" they had said. Only Gandalf had shaken his head and said nothing. Dwarves had not passed that way for many years, but Gandalf had, and he knew how evil and danger had grown and thriven in the Wild, since the dragons had driven men from the lands, and the goblins had spread in secret after the battle of the Mines of Moria. Even the good plans of wise wizards like Gandalf and of good friends like Elrond go astray sometimes when you are off on dangerous adventures over the Edge of the Wild; and Gandalf was a wise enough wizard to know it. He knew that something unexpected might happen, and he hardly dared to hope that they would pass without fearful adventure over those great tall mountains with lonely peaks and valleys where no king ruled. They did not. All was well, until one day they met a thunderstorm - more than a thunderstorm, a thunder-battle. You know how terrific a really big thunderstorm can be down in the land and in a river-valley; especially at times when two great thunderstorms meet and clash. More terrible still are thunder and lightning in the mountains at night, when storms come up from East and West and make war. The lightning splinters on the peaks, and rocks shiver, and great crashes split the air and go rolling and tumbling into every cave and hollow; and the darkness is filled with overwhelming noise and sudden light. Bilbo had never seen or imagined anything of the kind. They were high up in a narrow place, with a dreadful fall into a dim valley at one side of them. There they were sheltering under a hanging rock for the night, and he lay beneath a blanket and shook from head to toe. When he peeped out in the lightning-flashes, he saw that across the valley the stone-giants were out and were hurling rocks at one another for a. game, and catching them, and tossing them down into the darkness where they smashed among the trees far below, or splintered into little bits with a bang. Then came a wind and a rain, and the wind whipped the rain and the hail about in every direction, so that an overhanging rock was no protection at all. Soon they were getting drenched and their ponies were standing with their heads down and their tails between their legs, and some of them were whinnying with fright. They could hear the giants guffawing and shouting all over the mountainsides. "This won't do at all!" said Thorin. "If we don't get blown off or drowned, or struck by lightning, we shall be picked up by some giant and kicked sky-high for a football." "Well, if you know of anywhere better, take us there!" said Gandalf, who was feeling very grumpy, and was far from happy about the giants himself. The end of their argument was that they sent Fill and Kili to look for a better shelter. They had very sharp eyes, and being the youngest of the dwarves by some fifty years they usually got these sort of jobs (when everybody could see that it was absolutely no use sending Bilbo). There is nothing like looking, if you want to find something (or so Thorin said to the young dwarves). You certainly usually find something, if you look, but it is not always quite the something you were after. So it proved on this occasion. Soon Fili and Kili came crawling back, holding on to the rocks in the wind. "We have found a dry cave," they said, "not far round the next corner; and ponies and all could get inside." "Have you thoroughly explored it?" said the wizard, who knew that caves up in the mountains were seldom unoccupied. "Yes, yes!" they said, though everybody knew they could not have been long about it; they had come back too quick. "It isn't all that big, and it does not go far back." That, of course, is the dangerous part about caves: you don't know how far they go back, sometimes, or where a passage behind may lead to, or what is waiting for you inside. But now Fili and Kill's news seemed good enough. So they all got up and prepared to move. The wind was howling and the thunder still growling, and they had a business getting themselves and their ponies along. Still it was not very far to go, and before long they came to a big rock standing out into the path. If you stepped behind, you found a low arch in the side of the mountain. There was just room to get the ponies through with a squeeze, when they had been unpacked and unsaddled. As they passed under the arch, it was good to hear the wind and the rain outside instead of all about them, and to feel safe from the giants and their rocks. But the wizard was taking no risks. He lit up his wand - as he did that day in Bilbo's dining-room that seemed so long ago, if you remember-, and by its light they explored the cave from end to end. It seemed quite a fair size, but not too large and mysterious. It had a dry floor and some comfortable nooks. At one end there was room for the ponies; and there they stood (mighty glad of the change) steaming, and champing in their nosebags. Oin and Gloin wanted to light a fire at the door to dry their clothes, but Gandalf would not hear of it. So they spread out their wet things on the floor, and got dry ones out of their bundles; then they made their blankets comfortable, got out their pipes and blew smoke rings, which Gandalf turned into different colours and set dancing up by the roof to amuse them. They talked and talked, and forgot about the storm, and discussed what each would do with his share of the treasure (when they got it, which at the moment did not seem so impossible); and so they dropped off to sleep one by one. And that was the last time that they used the ponies, packages, baggages, tools and paraphernalia that they had brought with them. It turned out a good thing that night that they had brought little Bilbo with them, after all. For somehow, he could not go to sleep for a long while; and when he did sleep, he had very nasty dreams. He dreamed that a crack in the wall at the back of the cave got bigger and bigger, and opened wider and wider, and he was very afraid but could not call out or do anything but lie and look. Then he dreamed that the floor of the cave was giving way, and he was slipping-beginning to fall down, down, goodness knows where to. At that he woke up with a horrible start, and found that part of his dream was true. A crack had opened at the back of the cave, and was already a wide passage. He was just in time to see the last of the ponies' tails disappearing into it. Of course he gave a very loud yell, as loud a yell as a hobbit can give, which is surprising for their size. Out jumped the goblins, big goblins, great ugly-looking goblins, lots of goblins, before you could say rocks and blocks. There were six to each dwarf, at least, and two even for Bilbo; and they were all grabbed and carried through the crack, before you could say tinder and flint. But not Gandalf. Bilbo's yell had done that much good. It had wakened him up wide in a splintered second, and when goblins came to grab him, there was a terrible flash like lightning in the cave, a smell like gunpowder, and several of them fell dead. The crack closed with a snap, and Bilbo and the dwarves were on the wrong side of it! Where was Gandalf? Of that neither they nor the goblins had any idea, and the goblins did not wait to find out. It was deep, deep, dark, such as only goblins that have taken to living in the heart of the mountains can see through. The passages there were crossed and tangled in all directions, but the goblins knew their way, as well as you do to the nearest post-office and the way went down and down, and it was most horribly stuffy. The goblins were very rough, and pinched unmercifully, and chuckled and laughed in their horrible stony voices; and Bilbo was more unhappy even than when the troll had picked him up by his toes. He wished again and again for his nice bright hobbit-hole. Not for the last time. Now there came a glimmer of a red light before them. The goblins began to sing, or croak, keeping time with the flap of their flat feet on the stone, and shaking their prisoners as well. "Clap! Snap! the black crack! Grip, grab! Pinch, nab! And down down to Goblin-town You go, my lad! Clash, crash! Crush, smash! Hammer and tongs! Knocker and gongs! Pound, pound, far underground! Ho, ho! my lad! Swish, smack! Whip crack! Batter and beat! Yammer and bleat! Work, work! Nor dare to shirk, While Goblins quaff, and Goblins laugh, Round and round far underground Below, my lad!" It sounded truly terrifying. The walls echoed to the clap, snap! and the crush, smash! and to the ugly laughter of their ho, ho! my lad! The general meaning of the song was only too plain; for now the goblins took out whips and whipped them with a swish, smack!, and set them running as fast as they could in front of them; and more than one of the dwarves were already yammering and bleating like anything, when they stumbled into a big cavern. It was lit by a great red fire in the middle, and by torches along the walls, and it was full of goblins. They all laughed and stamped and clapped their hands, when the dwarves (with poor little Bilbo at the back and nearest to the whips) came running in, while the goblin-drivers whooped and cracked their whips behind. The ponies were already there huddled in a corner; and there were all the baggages and packages lying broken open, and being rummaged by goblins, and smelt by goblins, and fingered by goblins, and quarreled over by goblins. I am afraid that was the last they ever saw of those excellent little ponies, including a jolly sturdy little white fellow that Elrond had lent to Gandalf, since his horse was not suitable for the mountain-paths. For goblins eat horses and ponies and donkeys (and other much more dreadful things), and they are always hungry. Just now however the prisoners were thinking only of themselves. The goblins chained their hands behind their backs and linked them all together in a line and dragged them to the far end of the cavern with little Bilbo tugging at the end of the row. There in the shadows on a large flat stone sat a tremendous goblin with a huge head, and armed goblins were standing round him carrying the axes and the bent swords that they use. Now goblins are cruel, wicked, and bad-hearted. They make no beautiful things, but they make many clever ones. They can tunnel and mine as well as any but the most skilled dwarves, when they take the trouble, though they are usually untidy and dirty. Hammers, axes, swords, daggers, pickaxes, tongs, and also instruments of torture, they make very well, or get other people to make to their design, prisoners and slaves that have to work till they die for want of air and light. It is not unlikely that they invented some of the machines that have since troubled the world, especially the ingenious devices for killing large numbers of people at once, for wheels and engines and explosions always delighted them, and also not working with their own hands more than they could help; but in those days and those wild parts they had not advanced (as it is called) so far. They did not hate dwarves especially, no more than they hated everybody and everything, and particularly the orderly and prosperous; in some parts wicked dwarves had even made alliances with them. But they had a special grudge against Thorin's people, because of the war which you have heard mentioned, but which does not come into this tale; and anyway goblins don't care who they catch, as long as it is done smart and secret, and the prisoners are not able to defend themselves. "Who are these miserable persons?" said the Great Goblin. "Dwarves, and this!" said one of the drivers, pulling at Bilbo's chain so that he fell forward onto his knees. "We found them sheltering in our Front Porch." "What do you mean by it?" said the Great Goblin turning to Thorin. "Up to no good, I'll warrant! Spying on the private business of my people, I guess! Thieves, I shouldn't be surprised to learn! Murderers and friends of Elves, not unlikely! Come! What have you got to say?" "Thorin the dwarf at your service!" he replied-it was merely a polite nothing. "Of the things which you suspect and imagine we had no idea at all. We sheltered from a storm in what seemed a convenient cave and unused; nothing was further from our thoughts than inconveniencing goblins in any way whatever." That was true enough! "Urn!" said the Great Goblin. "So you say! Might I ask what you were doing up in the mountains at all, and where you were coming from, and where you were going to? In fact I should like to know all about you. Not that it willdo you much good, Thorin Oakenshield, I know too much about your folk already; but let's have the truth, or I will prepare something particularly uncomfortable for you!" "We were on a journey to visit our relatives, our nephews and nieces, and first, second, and third cousins, and the other descendants of our grandfathers, who live on the East side of these truly hospitable mountains," said Thorin, not quite knowing what to say all at once in a moment, when obviously the exact truth would not do at all. "He is a liar, O truly tremendous one!" said one of the drivers. "Several of our people were struck by lightning in the cave, when we invited these creatures to come below; and they are as dead as stones. Also he has not explained this!" He held out the sword which Thorin had worn, the sword which came from the Trolls' lair. The Great Goblin gave a truly awful howl of rage when he looked at it, and all his soldiers gnashed their teeth, clashed their shields, and stamped. They knew the sword at once. It had killed hundreds of goblins in its time, when the fair elves of Gondolin hunted them in the hills or did battle before their walls. They had called it Orcrist, Goblin-cleaver, but the goblins called it simply Biter. They hated it and hated worse any one that carried it. "Murderers' and elf-friends!" the Great Goblin shouted. "Slash them! Beat them! Bite them! Gnash them! Take them away to dark holes full of snakes, and never let them see the light again!" He was in such a rage that he jumped off his seat and himself rushed at Thorin with his mouth open. Just at that moment all the lights in the cavern went out, and the great fire went off poof! into a tower of blue glowing smoke, right up to the roof, that scattered piercing white sparks all among the goblins. The yells and yammering, croaking, jibbering and jabbering; howls, growls and curses; shrieking and skriking, that followed were beyond description. Several hundred wild cats and wolves being roasted slowly alive together would not have compared with it. The sparks were burning holes in the goblins, and the smoke that now fell from the roof made the air too thick for even their eyes to see through. Soon they were falling over one another and rolling in heaps on the floor, biting and kicking and fighting as if they had all gone mad. Suddenly a sword flashed in its own light. Bilbo saw it go right through the Great Goblin as he stood dumbfounded in the middle of his rage. He fell dead, and the goblin soldiers fled before the sword shrieking into the darkness. The sword went back into its sheath. "Follow me quick!" said a voice fierce and quiet; and before Bilbo understood what had happened he was trotting along again, as fast as he could trot, at the end of the line, down more dark passages with the yells of the goblin-hall growing fainter behind him. A pale light was leading them on. "Quicker, quicker!" said the voice. "The torches will soon be relit." "Half a minute!" said Dori, who was at the back next to Bilbo, and a decent fellow. He made the hobbit scramble on his shoulders as best he could with his tied hands, and then off they all went at a run, with a clink-clink of chains, and many a stumble, since they had no hands to steady themselves with. Not for a long while did they stop, and by that time they must have been right down in the very mountain's heart. Then Gandalf lit up his wand. Of course it was Gandalf; but just then they were too busy to ask how he got there. He took out his sword again, and again it flashed in the dark by itself. It burned with a rage that made it gleam if goblins were about; now it was bright as blue flame for delight in the killing of the great lord of the cave. It made no trouble whatever of cutting through the goblin-chains and setting all the prisoners free as quickly as possible. This sword's name was Glamdring the Foe-hammer, if you remember. The goblins just called it Beater, and hated it worse than Biter if possible. Orcrist, too, had been saved; for Gandalf had brought it along as well, snatching it from one of the terrified guards. Gandalf thought of most things; and though he could not do everything, he could do a great deal for friends in a tight comer. "Are we all here?" said he, handing his sword back to Thorin with a bow. "Let me see: one-that's Thorin; two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten, eleven; where are Fili and Kili? Here they are, twelve, thirteen-and here's Mr. Baggins: fourteen! Well, well! it might be worse, and then again it might be a good deal better. No ponies, and no food, and no knowing quite where we are, and hordes of angry goblins just behind! On we go!" On they went. Gandalf was quite right: they began to hear goblin noises and horrible cries far behind in the passages they had come through. That sent them on faster than ever, and as poor Bilbo could not possibly go half as fast-for dwarves can roll along at a tremendous pace, I can tell you, when they have to-they took it in turn to carry him on their backs. Still goblins go faster than dwarves, and these goblins knew the way better (they had made the paths themselves), and were madly angry; so that do what they could the dwarves heard the cries and howls getting closer and closer. Soon they could hear even the flap of the goblin feet, many many feet which seemed only just round the last corner. The blink of red torches could be seen behind them in the tunnel they were following; and they were getting deadly tired. "Why, O why did I ever leave my hobbit-hole!" said poor Mr. Baggins bumping up and down on Bombur's back. "Why, O why did I ever bring a wretched little hobbit on a treasure hunt!" said poor Bombur, who was fat, and staggered along with the sweat dripping down his nose in his heat and terror. At this point Gandalf fell behind, and Thorin with him. They turned a sharp corner. "About turn!" he shouted. "Draw your sword, Thorin!" There was nothing else to be done; and the goblins did not like it. They came scurrying round the corner in full cry, and found Goblin-cleaver and Foe-hammer shining cold and bright right in their astonished eyes. The ones in front dropped their torches and gave one yell before they were killed. The ones behind yelled still more, and leaped back knocking over those that were running after them. "Biter and Beater!" they shrieked; and soon they were all in confusion, and most of them were hustling back the way they had come. It was quite a long while before any of them dared to turn that comer. By that time the dwarves had gone on again, a long, long, way on into the dark tunnels of the goblins' realm. When the goblins discovered that, they put out their torches and they slipped on soft shoes, and they chose out their very quickest runners with the sharpest ears and eyes. These ran forward, as swift as weasels in the dark, and with hardly any more noise than bats. That is why neither Bilbo, nor the dwarves, nor even Gandalf heard them coming. Nor did they see them. But they were seen by the goblins that ran silently up behind, for Gandalf was letting his wand give out a faint light to help the dwarves as they went along. Quite suddenly Dori, now at the back again carrying Bilbo, was grabbed from behind in the dark. He shouted and fell; and the hobbit rolled off his shoulders into the blackness, bumped his head on hard rock, and remembered nothing more.