Pre-Orders for Epilogue: A Lost Legends Fanzine, are officially open!!!!
Epilogue is a charity fanzine dedicated to the graphic novel for Gravity Falls; Lost Legends. This zine is 8.5x11 inches, with full color printing and perfect binding, and will include more than 70 pages of never before seen artwork and writing!!!
Pre-Orders are open from now until August 30th, so be sure to get it while you can!
Also, be sure to reblog/retweet this to enter our giveaway!! The winner will receive 1 free physical copy of the zine, and will be selected after pre-orders close!!!
Many thanks to all of our amazing contributors, and to all of you, without whom this would not be possible.
So, I was taking a stress walk through the park, and come across these four college age bro-dudes leaning over the side of the bridge getting really excited about something in the river. They run over to the opposite side, lean over the railing and start shouting “There’s mine!” “I’m gonna win!” “Here comes mine!” a dramatic pause, and a victory howl “Yeaahhh! I won!”
Then it finally dawned on me what they were doing.
can fandom just collectively start to treat fanfic writers the same way it treats fanartists
like can we support fanfic writers with kofi accounts and patreons? can we help struggling writers out with donations in exchange for fic? can we share fic with the same fervor that we share art?
because honestly, writing is hard and this strange dichotomy that’s been created is really weird. not everyone is a great artist, and by that same token not everyone is a great writer.
if you love fanfiction, support fanfiction writers
Ha! Toffee Peanuts! I love these things! Used to toss 'em at Sixer in class. The perfect blend of sweet and salty with enough protein to get you through boxing practice. Still got the moves, too. Just ask the zombie idiots that attacked the Shack. Hey Sixer! Remember this!...Oh, come on! Like one peanut in your chemistry set is going to ruin your experiment. The results are in: you're a huge nerd!...Oh, so now you want to spar with me, huh? Come and get it, Poindexter!
Recipe coming right up:
Ingredients:
1 cup peanuts, shelled
1 egg white
1 Tbsp caramel sauce * (recipe at the end)
popcorn salt
First, warm up yer oven to 300 F. Then throw the peanuts in a small bowl with the egg white and caramel sauce, and toss ‘em around til they’re good and coated. You can use store bought caramel sauce for this part (if you’re made of money), but the ingredients are cheaper and it’s pretty hard to screw up. I’ll let ya in on the secret recipe at the end.
Now, take the peanut mixture and spread it out on a baking sheet lined with parchment paper. Bake for 25-30 min, or until dark gold. Yer gonna want to keep an eye on ‘em, sugar burns pretty fast, so don’t get distracted watching Ducktective, or something.
Sprinkle with popcorn salt, and let cool.
No matter what you do, they are going to stick together like Carla and that hippie with the guitar. But now that they’re cool, you can get revenge! Crumble the pieces in your fist, and watch them fall apart.
Then eat ‘em! Or, you know, store ‘em in an airtight container.
*Caramel Sauce Recipe
Ingredients:
1 1/3 cup sugar
juice of half a lemon
1 Tbsp butter
7 Tbsp heavy cream
In a small sauce pan, mix sugar and lemon juice. Then set the spoon down, and leave it there! You aren’t gonna need it until the next ingredient goes in the pot, so don’t touch it!
Okay, so melt it gently over medium heat, and bring it to a boil. You want it to stay at the soft ball stage. This means when you take a little and cool it down (a quick blast under running water works here) it should generally keep it’s shape. Feel free to nick a candy thermometer from a nearby grandma, if accuracy is that important to you. Yer lookin’ for about 235 F, so don’t let it get higher than that.
Let it simmer until it looks like the right color. We’re making caramel, here, so...caramel color.
Take it off the heat, and stir in the butter and cream slowly. Maybe reheat it a little if it doesn’t want to come together. Pour into a standard sized Mason jar, and put a lid on it. It’ll keep at room temperature indefinitely. It’s shelf stable, so put it next to yer Brown Meat for the apocalypse.
I think part of the reason Stan’s backstory feels so heavy to me is because it has little to do with anything paranormal or weird.
Stan gets kicked out of his house at barely eighteen after being accused of ruining his brother’s science project, of lying and cheating indiscriminately, of being a deadweight to his family. he lives out of his car, makes money any way he can, and it’s clear that some of his dealings wind up shady. but it’s not until Ford contacts him that his life gets mixed up with the supernatural; that first decade of Stan’s adulthood is terrible and sad, but utterly grounded in the usual world.
all kinds of weird things happen in the series, but when Stan’s story is revealed, it’s devoid of that weirdness factor. it’s comparative mundanity makes it stand out from the main storyline—no monsters, no cryptids, no aliens or ghosts. it’s literally un-fantastical. even when he’s introduced to the weirdness of Gravity Falls, these prosaic elements continue to pervade his storyline: he starts up the Mystery Shack because he needs to pay Ford’s mortgage. and there’s this moment:
besides being an excellent structural story element, I think the almost blunt realness of Stan’s story is part of why it’s so devastating. the relative ordinariness of Stan’s backstory doesn’t allow for any sense of unreality an element of weirdness might give—it’s there for the viewer to put together, consciously or not, that what Stan goes through is rooted in reality. it’s a sad story in an extremely real way, and I think that’s important to note considering how the rest of the story unfolds.
Like many terrible situations in our own lives, Stan’s could have been prevented. That’s why as we watch things unfold in ATOTS we all felt that weight in our gut. It didn’t have to be this way! Why didn’t he do ___ instead? And that is super relatable. Bad choices and bad luck and trying to dig your way out of a bad situation are much more relatable than anything that supernatural shenanigans (no matter how captivating and well written!) can throw at us.
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
Hey guys! I just joined AO3, and is my first fanfic. It is a self insert, and don’t be shocked if that’s most of what you get from me. I like reading them, so I’m going to try writing them. Here’s the first story:
Stan hears a metallic clattering and a stream of curses fly from the kitchen. A pained growl. Low, harsh words. "You fucking idiot! Don't you ever learn! It's not that fucking hard!" He approaches warily, concerned to see who could possibly deserve that reaming out, and sees you alone in the kitchen.
"Who ya...Who ya yelling at, kid?"
Refusing to meet his eyes, you bend down at the waist to grab a knife from the floor. "This IDIOT doesn't know how to handle a knife! Been cooking their whole life, and suddenly can't peel an apple!"
He looks around slowly. Nope. There was no one else there.
"...Kid, nobody's here."
Back turned, you set the knife down with a drop of your shoulders and turn. "This..." you deliberately raise one hand, the one not dripping blood, and point at yourself. "...idiot." After a frigid beat where you stare straight into Stan's eyes, you turn back around to clean up the smears of blood on the counter.
Stan is stunned for a moment. Jesus, kid. You are one of the nicest people he ever met, great with the kids, patient with his brother, and never once made him feel stupid, or guilty about his past. Heck, here you are waking up early to bake pie for everyone. Or, come to think of it, did you ever go to bed in the first place? Aw, man. He felt like shit. How did he not see this?
You stalk across the kitchen to toss the bloodied paper towels away, reserving the one clutched savagely against the cut in your hand. Stan clears his throat, and shuffles forward, calmly taking your place in front of the cutting board. He feels your eyes on the back of his neck, but you don't make any move to stop him, so he does his best to copy what is already in the bowl. He keeps waiting for you to interrupt, to insist on doing it yourself, but you don't say a word. If that's the way you talk to yourself, he's grateful. It breaks his heart.
"What do I do next?" he rubs the back of his neck self consciously. "Stancakes are about the best thing I can make."
He ventures a smile, part goofy, part hopeful. You stare at him a moment too long, and his ears go pink. Stan starts to worry he did something wrong; maybe he should have left you alone, he never was good at this stuff.
"...There's some dough resting in the fridge. You need to roll it out."
Relief floods his face, and he turns to the fridge, missing your hand hastily rub across your eyes. Stan rummages around in the fridge until he finds it wrapped neatly on the bottom shelf. You perch on the edge of a chair at the kitchen table, back stiff, posture unsure.
"Don't, uh, mess with it too much. Your hands can melt the butter." Your voice is shaky, but evens out as you focus on teaching Stan what to do.
Under your guidance, Stan actually proves to be a good student. He's tentative, but determined to at least try. The pastry is rolled out, neatly placed in the pie pan he didn't know he had, and filled heaping with apples. The top is rolled out same as the first, and placed with gentle apprehension over the filling. You sneak a look over his shoulder to check on his handiwork, and he clears his throat, explanation ready on his lips. Look, he knows it's not great, but...he didn't have a good excuse. Heat flushed his cheeks and his hand rose to knead at the back of his neck. It felt like being in school again having to explain why he didn't do the homework, why he couldn't understand the subject when his brother got it just fine. His eyes fall, the floor suddenly fascinating. You smile quietly, give his shoulder a playful nudge, and turn the oven on. Leaning a hip on the counter you cock your head, and give him an assessing look.
"Think your ready to learn the secret of beautiful pies?"
He falters. He did okay up to this point, at least he thought so. You corrected him one or two times, but you didn't say he messed it up yet. Nothing like how you berated yourself earlier. Honestly, he wouldn't have minded if you did. If it was you or him, he would be happy to take the heat. But, he really didn't want to disappoint you.
"I-I don't--"
"Please, if my dumb--if I can handle it, I'm sure you can. You already proved how good you are with your hands."
He flashes a quick smile. Catching your self correction.
"You ain't seen nothing yet, toots. Lay it on me."
Okay. The end. Thoughts? Scathing reviews? Requests for the secret of beautiful pies?
I strongly headcanon that Stanford is covered in Bill tribute tattoos from his past and he wears turtlenecks to hide them. He burned the eyes off to stop Bill from being able to see through them.
Listen. We all saw Scary-oke okay. We all saw Not What He Seems. We all saw The Stanchurian Candidate. We all saw Boss Mabel and The Land Before Swine and god help us, we all saw Weirdmageddon 3: Take Back the Falls.
Stanfuckers know what we like and we’re gonna grab it by his lovely lovely arms and we refuse to be shamed for it.
Heya, Stranger. You want to know the secret to my coffee omelette? Well, I guess I can tell you, you cute little cutie face. Wink. The secret ingredient is coffee! One morning, I spilled my coffee into my skillet when Mr. Catface tried to pounce on my shoelaces, that silly man, and I thought, coffee and eggs both end up in the same place, why shouldn't they start in the same place? Am I right? I'm right.
Ingredients:
2 eggs
3 Tbsp strong coffee
1 Tbsp cream
Filling:
1/4 cup hashbrowns
3 Tbsp belle pepper, chopped
1 Tbsp shallot, sliced
1 slice ham, chopped
3 Tbsp mozzarella
First melt some butter in a skillet over medium heat. Then add all fillings except cheese. Basically, you want to get some color on the vegetables, anywhere between golden brown and charred is good. Dump them on a plate.
Get a small bowl. Add eggs, coffee, and cream. Now beat it! Make those eggs spin! Spin!
Melt some more butter in the same skillet, and pour in the eggs. Now push the eggs around a little, like you think the order said scrambled, but then stop because you remember that it actually says “omelette.” This adds some extra height to your omelette. Sprinkle on a pinch of salt.
Dump your all fillings on one side of the omelette, add the cheese this time, and shimmy your spatula under the half without filling. Now flip! If you’re worried about the inside being too soft, cover the skillet and wait a minute. This will also help the cheese melt.
Mystery Shack Terrarium is complete! There’s baby Norway Spruce trees, a couple anonymous ferns, and three varieties of moss (one from the backyard). I am very proud with how this turned out, and I hope to build Greasy’s Diner next.
First adventure into recreating Lazy Susan’s Coffee Omelette. It sounded so weird at first, but honestly, she’s really got something here. This is sort of an every part of breakfast shoved into an omelette amalgamation: eggs, sausage, hashbrowns, peppers, and coffee with cream in the eggs. I know, it sounds weird, but damned if the toasted nutty coffee didn’t add a real truck stop diner attitude to this dish. Still fine tuning the recipe. Expect to post it later in the week.
dededos
areudirty
vaporwave
romaincrisis
titsay
germansingergirl
snowghoul
blakekathryn
