#whenever i struggle to art i go back to drawing horse

[enden-agolor]

i did some re-designs of my mcsm pony au recently 🫣

[butchbarneygumble]

Imagine how I must feel as one of the only fans of Mighty Magiswords. You know. A headcanons-and-fanfic kind of fan. I even cosplayed Prohyas once.

Of course, it's nothing compared to what the actual victims went through... I'm fine. But it still felt like a part of my identity has been permanently soured. I don't want to seem like I somehow have it worse, that's not my intention. Nothing bad happened to me personally. I'm only posting my own side of how I deal with the situation, to get some closure myself and show solidarity with the victims.

I don't admire him anymore, and that's putting it lightly.

Full story under cut. Content warning for non-graphic discussion of csa.

The news came to me from my ex-but-still-friend. He told me privately, out of nowhere, just dropped it on me. Like, "Hey, sorry to tell you, but the guy you like got arrested for csa". However, I am glad he told me rather than me having to find out on my own.

The news hit me, and I felt nothing in my body. I usually would get this painful fight-or-flight all through my body whenever I read something that upset me, something I've been training myself to get better with. But right now? I just felt like... "huh. That happened." It helped a lot that Magiswords wasn't my fixation of the moment. And like... it's been like I've been slipping away from it. Like I didn't need it anymore.

More and more people were talking about him, and it wasn't positive. Who? Kyle.

I talked to him. Personally, like many people did. He never acted weird to me. I admired him. I loved his art, sent him physical fanart, all that stuff. I knew more than one person said he was not trustworthy but hey, he made a show that saved my life, so it was a constant struggle between feeling like I had to pick sides. I was going through hell by virtue of my dad being terminally sick and needing constant care, so I was gonna ignore the red flags and enjoy my silly sword show that brought me such joy.

Even if as time went on it started get harder and harder.

But you know what a certain depressed horse show said? When you're wearing rose coloured glasses, red flags just look like flags.

I now think dodged a bullet.

What emotions do I feel? Betrayal. Anger. Disgust. Disappointment.

The irony about it all. The sheer painful irony of blacklisting somebody for *drawings*, and then going behind everybody's back to actually hoard *actual* csa, and revenge porn, and all sorts of nasty stuff. For the record: there is nothing wrong with being put off or disgusted by specific sorts of drawings. But the irony here is what's most painful to me. I do not like people using this as a "gotcha" for either side of this tired argument. It's disrespectful to the actual victims.

People say I can easily seperate art from the artist if I want to but... right now I don't think I want to. He's in every pore of its identity. I do not want to talk or think about Magiswords right now, and I don't know if I ever will again.

It meant so much to me. Prohyas felt like Me. Being a goofy capable adult who doesn't stop collecting things he likes just cuz he's an adult. I thought I was trans for a while and the euphoria of relating to Prohyas helped that. Then he got lowkey confirmed nonbinary and I was over the moon.

It was good. Emphasis on "was".

And to the man himself I have one thing to say: you're another one in a long history of cartoon artists who end up being unsavoury, slimy people, taking advantage of young people, especially girls, in the animation industry. Not something to be proud of. I know we talked and you seemed perfectly okay to me, personally. All I can think is thank god it never went beyond casual chats.

I guess I can finally say I never liked the joke about Vambre not liking pants. Sure, sensory issues exist, but I doubt that was the intention of the design. I have deleted my sideblog where I chronicled ooc screencaps of the show and deleted my little spotify playlist of songs that reminded me of the show. I don't want to finish my longfic where Prohyas and Flonk fell in love anymore. I can't even change it into ocs because it's just so ingrained in the show's lore. So yeah, there's that.

I'll be fine. When the news hit I took it surprisingly well. I was going to an Alestorm concert and it was the most fun I had in ages. So yeah, I've got Christopher Bowes and His Plate of Beans to fill the void of comedy music. Was fixating on Simpsons already so there's that in terms of cartoons. I'm fine.

All I can say is my heart goes out to all the victims, and I'm deeply sorry I didn't see you sooner. I hope you can heal and have some semblance of closure now that he's gotten arrested. My heart goes out to all of you and again, I am so so sorry. I wish you all the love and healing.

[space-hair]

don’t read this even though it’s on me for putting my cringey thoughts in public u_u

i am trapped in this never ending loop with art and more and more i just wonder what’s the point anymore. if 9/10 times i’m not having fun and am actively hating every moment what am i even doing. i know exactly everything that i’m struggling with and yet unable to get out of it. i really struggle with change and hyperfixations and all or nothing and so i have a few small things i let myself watch/read/get into because i’m terrified of losing my few hyperfixations and if i leave it’s gone hard and the fear of change keeps me desperately clinging onto my little safety blanket of medias i let myself watch/etc . on top of it because of my memory issues i am losing more and more of the little content i do even have, so i end up rewatching/reading/etc just to remember it all . and i’m trying really hard to branch out and watch/read new things but i’m constantly overwhelmed and just feel so stupid over it but at the end of the day i’m just such a repetitive creature mostly cause of mental uwuness and it’s killing me every art way. i know that if i just let myself consume anything outside of the 5 things i do it could open me up creatively so much but it’s also so terrifying. and the unknown is just horrific in any media, so i get too scared about not knowing cause i just always need to be prepared for things and you can’t when you’re getting into new things and all that. and then it’s like. i have been trying really really hard to get into a bunch of new things, and nothing. like there’s no creative spark or new incentive to draw new things there’s no inspiration at all. and whenever i do try to make something new i get so attached only for there to be nowhere that i can talk about my things and innevitabely they just die a few days and it just feels like all this lost potential. cause i’m just alone and there’s nothing that can really be done about it. i always feel like going back to when i only let myself have one oc because the inevitable death of creation just haunts me. i have horrific projection of life onto inanimate objects and knowing i created something and it’s just gone sucks. also my artstyle sucks. like it doesn’t suck conceptually i’m a fine artist but i can’t let myself go anywhere because of repetition and fear of change. like i have it in me to improve but no motivation or inspiration and the scariness of difference and change is too much to bear so i draw the same shit over and over and cannot escape it and how can i wonder why i feel so disasstifisifsifeied with art. i don’t know if it’s even truly lack of consumption that leads to lack of newness and inspiration , if its that i’m really struggling mentally and it all spills out into art, or if like the hard reality is maybe i’m just dragging a dead horse trying to always draw. although i don’t think art will ever leave me it’s like . i spent my whoel life learning about art and constantly drawing and improving and it’s like. is that it? did i just spend all this time and it’s just done? the sparks of wanting to draw become fewer and fewer and more i have to draw out of obligation or whatever. because i’m an artist. so i have to. and i want to, it’s just that i don’t want to. there isn’t an hour in a day that goes by that i don’t think about art or drawing or feeling guilty if i don’t and feeling shitty if i do and i guess like that’s not mentally healthy but it’s like all i have in life. love other things like knitting and violin and all that but it’s just a hobby that i like and it doesn’t give me the same happiness art is supposed to but doesn’t anymore. it’s all so dumb anyways. i am trying to read dungeon meshi and i’m like... i’m terrified to do it because i don’t want my previous hyperfixation to leave me because i just shape my life around certain things cause it’s just what is keeping me going or whatever. also i am so stupidely dumb even just sound effects of noises or whatever is killing me. i don’t wanna see drool even in a comic because i’ll puke. and it’s like idk i’m too uncomfortable to be a good artist anymore. i can’t get over myself enough to create art.

my biggest love and hate with art is design. i love to design characters and ideas and whatever else but i can’t help but get sucked in and too attached but then after a few days there is nowhere else for it to go so it fades away which just sends me into such a depressive panic every time. i want to design but every time i end up crying because i just can’t . do anything with my designs. i don’t even want to in theory, i just want to design and create . but cause i made oc’s now everything has to be something and hwen it’s not i just get so upset. its’ embarrassing but sometimes i just can’t do anything for months because of attachment struggles.. i have a pencil or a package container that is on my room floor and i feel like it’s just a part of the room now, the pencil likes being on the floor and it would feel sad if i picked it up so i cna’t. i know it’s stupid it’s just not something i can easily break out of . i draw full things in not even 5 minutes, fully lineart/colour/sahde etc pics can take me no more than an hour. so designing something where a lot can be built onto it is great because i try but can’t draw slower even when i’m realy trying. but then i get too attached and eventually nothing more can happen and i hate it all.

i just wanna draw and be happy :( rant over cause i’m going to have a panic attack over having to change my tissue box because i have severe mental issues

[chibi-pix]

Hey guys!  I felt it was a good idea. I want to share photos and a bit about the cats I have. Some are at home (Mama’s place), some at my Grandpa’s place.  So, how about it?  Time to introduce the cats!

Name: Soot Age: assumed 6 or 7 years (adopted three or four years ago) Location: Home Skills: Pissing people and cats off while being adorable. Occupation: professional asshole Likes: Yogurt, Pop Tarts, hiding under my dresses, chasing the ladies, and horror video games. Dislikes: Kisses, vacuum cleaners, my singing Extra: Soot has no understanding of my personal space. Under my skirt, across my chest, trying to get into my yogurt, you name it. He loves snacks, especially smoothies made with milk, yogurt, and frozen strawberries. He does not show signs of lactose intolerance. When we adopted him, he was so scrawny. Now he’s a chonk. He may be a smidgen overweight, but he’s happy. 

Name: Christmas Age: maybe 17? (Adopted three or four years ago) Location: Home Skills: healing purrs Occupation: Polite old lady Likes: Snuggles, giving her own cat scans, making my leg go numb Dislikes: someone trying to clean her butt, someone getting the mats out of her fur, me not paying attention to her Extra: She’s an older lady. She’s a bit sore with her age and maybe weight; she struggles to move, but she always comes to sit on my lap or shoulder for love. Her purrs are comforting and helps with my headaches. With her age, she doesn’t groom herself like she used to, so she gets mats. Mama and I have to team up to get them out.

Name: Bandit Age: possibly 17? (She’s Christmas’ sister and adopted with her) Location: Home Skills: telling time without a clock Occupation: Judging others

Likes: treats, catnip, the laser pointer, calling for the manager Dislikes: being picked up, being pet too much, me being one minute late giving her her treats Extra: She’s always silently judging others. Me singing? Judgment. Another cat licking a bag? Judgment. The videos I watch? Judgment. My sneeze? She’s damning me to hell, I’m sure. However, she is kind and caring, If I’m not feeling well, she’ll let me rest longer. 

Name: Baby Boo (Baby) Age: maybe 14 or 15? (Adopted three or four years ago) Location: Home Skills: Summoning demons from the dark pits of hell and turning invisible in the shadows Occupation: witch’s familiar Likes: lurking in the shadows, being pet, sitting on her tower and watching over the peasants, yogurt (but she is lactose intolerant, so I don’t let her have any) Dislikes: demons not obeying her, when the Hellgate suddenly opens up while she’s enjoying a snack and it interrupts her, dancing, and Soot. Poor Soot.  Extra: This is the cat of a witch and I’m pretty sure while she appears to be in her teens, she’s actually the ancient spirit of a scorned witched, cursed to live out her eternal life in the form of a cat, watching over witchlings and commanding legions of demons. She is also the one most likely to kill me in my sleep, but she doesn’t because I’m her person. Thank you, Baby. You make me a proud witch.

Name: Cimmaron (Cim) Age: 11 or 12 (adopted on a farm when he was a year old) Location: Grandpa’s Skills: being cute Occupation: executive art supervisor Likes: sitting with me while writing or drawing, trying to wake up Grandpa, milk from cereal, gravy from beef stew Dislikes: showers (not that I force him) Extra: Cim is a wholesome lad. He likes to chill and see what’s up. He tends to follow me around when he’s not spending hours sleeping on mine or Grandpa’s bed. He accompanies me for my showers, keeping an eye on me.  He was most likely reincarnated and therefore has the soul of a gentle old man.

Name: Buffy Age: seven (adopted when he was about a year old) Location: Grandpa’s Skills: sleeping Occupation: horny freeloader Likes: reminding the dogs who are about fifty pounds each that he was there first, boiled chicken, yelling for attention and then snubbing those who are willing to pet him, Voltron: Legendary Defender Dislikes: being picked up Extra: This freeloader doesn’t contribute. He caught one mouse when he was a year and a half old and that was it. He tends to jump up on my bed to cuddle one of the dogs and watch cartoons with me. He knocked up another cat that my grandparents adopted.

Name: Horatio (H) Age: about 6 (born at the house; Buffy is the father) Location: Grandpa’s Skills: sleeping, eating, and screaming Occupation: screaming freeloader Likes: food. Cat food, chicken, bacon, apple pie, toast, anything he can get to. Dislikes: being picked up, my sister Extra: This guy. He is an absolute chonk. We know he is. But he won’t exercise for anything and when we try to feed the other cats, he shows up wanting food, too. He’ll scream whenever he sees fit and when someone would check on him, he just walks away. He also likes to lay across an entire step on the stairway. Asshole. But cute. His three sisters were adopted by a nurse who took care of my grandma. He’s now an only child pretty much and he sure tries to remind us of that and tries to get us to spoil him. Also, while he loves toast, we do not give him toast. We have birds who have plain wheat toast with their breakfast; one of them dropped a piece and before one of the dogs could get it, Horatio laid down with it and started eating it.

Bonus of Buffy and Horatio.

Name: Foreigner Age: Unknown (stray) Location: Grandpa’s Skills: existing Occupation: supervisor Likes: Walks with grandpa, keeping an eye on Grandpa when he’s working in the yard, sleeping in my chair, chasing after my feet Dislikes: Other cats and dogs invading his space, Ink (another cat) Extra: He just showed up out of nowhere, as cats tend to do out in the country. He was skittish at first, but he warmed up to Grandpa very quickly. Now he’s just part of the family. He is not allowed in the house because he doesn’t get along with the indoor lads and Grandpa’s got a bird. Foreigner also supervises when the horses get out, making sure we’re all okay and can get them back.

Name: Ink Age: unknown (stray) Location: Grandpa’s Skills: Hunting Occupation: Wanderer, professional barn protector Likes: catching mice and other pests on the farm, being admired, keeping his plans for world domination a secret, sunbathing, making cars stop on the road because he’s an idiot who plays in the street and thankfully cars don’t go through often Dislikes: Feriegner Extra: This is a cat with a plan. He was probably sent here from another planet or is a warlock in cat form, slowly observing others and planning to dominate the planet. He wanders off for days at a time, perhaps looking for weaknesses in the planet’s defenses. He’s done with everyone’s shit, but love and affection restores his faith in humanity.

And that is it. These are the lovely cats of my life.  I hope you all enjoyed meeting them.  Until next time. 

Editing to add Myst. She’s fictional, but she’s still a cat.

Name: Myst Age: eternal (created three years ago) Location: going back and forth between the spirit realm and the mortal plane Skills: can go through walls Occupation: existing Likes: sleeping on shoulders, chasing ghosts, people, sleeping on the computer Dislikes: holy water Extra: Myst is a spectral cat from an unknown location. She’s rather recognizable for her fairly transparent body and skull-like face. She floats, shifts size, can be a blob, is very expressive, and doesn’t shed fur. Of course, she sheds a sort of ecto-plasm and it’s hard to wash out. She’s a wholesome cat who likes attention. 

[nvld-hedslife]

As my followers know, I went undiagnosed with all my shit for a really long time.

Recently, I’ve decided to try digging into my childhood to see what signs were there, or lack there of, just because I’m curious. I will update this post as I learn more.

Finding stuff is slightly difficult because when my parents got divorced, all my memory books and school work got divided weirdly so I only have access to a photo copy of my baby book, birthday letters that my mom would write, and pictures.

When I was 2ish, I memorized 3-6 books. I couldn’t read yet, so I just memorized them by listening. One of them was Barbar, which is long for a kids book.

As a baby, I hated highways. My family has no idea why, but according to my grandma, I would get really agitated whenever we were on the highway. My guess is noise??

In my baby book, my mom wrote down that I loved protein. And I still do. Like insanely. And if I don’t eat an excessive amount, I’m in pain and tired and my Eds gets worse. My theory is that it has something to do with EDS and I need to extra protein to help my muscles and stuff function semi normally.

I started biking around 4, with training wheels obvi. Apparently, I didn’t understand how to break for some reason, so I problem solved. Whenever I wanted to stop, I’d just calmly steer into a bush. Smart kid.

In preschool, I was able to recognize 20/26 letters reliably. Pretty impressive.

In kindergarten, I loved practicing my letters. I would have my parents spell words for me so I could write them down.

I never knew this, but apparently I was really good at art and drawing for my age from preschool to 2nd gradeish. I was able to draw facial expressions, “distinct features” and people could apparently tell who I was drawing because of this. I also drew horses and dogs when I was 4 and my mom and teachers said you could tell what they were. I was also very good at the connect the dot number drawings and drew very straight lines. Idk man.

Funny things I did or said, and apparently I had no chill:

Most of these have no context. If there is any, it will be provided.

3-4yr old me to my mom: “Did nana have wrinkles when you were young?”

3-4yr old me to my grandma: “Did they have tape in the olden days?”

When I was 4, I was going to sleep over at my grandparents’ house for the first time. The plan was they were going to take me out for a nice dinner that night too. That morning on the way to school, I told my mom “I want to eat at Nana’s house to see if she’s a good cook.” We have no idea why I wanted to see if she was a good cook, or where I got the idea she might not be.

When I was 4, it was one of the years that the cicadas came out. I loved collecting the shells and wings. Apparently, when my mom would drop me off at school, I’d put wings in her suit pocket for her to take to work. I would also get very concerned and sad when I saw them stuck on their backs, so whenever I was outside, I’d meticulously flip them back over so they weren’t struggling.

When I was 5, my favorite color was rainbow.

In kindergarten, I was very good at gettin distracted while doing tasks. I was having trouble getting tasks done because of this, so when my teacher noticed I was behind in a task, she would make me come sit next to her so she could refocus me when I got distracted, which apparently worked. Lol

My favorite story so far:

When I was 7, we had moved into a new house following the divorce. We had a person over at the house assembling curtains and stuff. It was bath time, so I got undressed to get in the bath and I must’ve gotten distracted because I started watching tv instead. While watching tv completely naked on the couch while my mom thought I was bathing, I heard hammering so I screamed “what was that noise?” My mom comes in and I jumped up and covered my privates and looked at her and said, in a confused voice “wait, why am I naked?” My dumbass got so distracted, I forgot what I was supposed to be doing, that there was someone working in the house, that I was supposed to be taking a bath, and I somehow forgot and didn’t realize that I was FUCKING NAKED.

[xsugarysweetsx]

Hey! Could you do an Armin x reader? (He’s my baby) where the reader is Eren’s twin sister. In the forest where the female titan attacks, the reader (who is with the Levi squad) get gravely injured, and while she gets hauled back to the inner gates, Armin just kinda confesses everything, cause he knows the reader won’t make it back. And she dies while they’re trekking through the city. Idk I’m just in an angsty mood rn 😂

So I’m going to combine these two because they’re very alike so It’ll be 2 in 1 anons! I hope you don’t mind and please enjoy!❤️

Remember to stay home, stay safe and healthy ❤️

Your heart was pounding in your ears as your horse trotted through the forest. It was your first expedition into titan area and a new one at that. Your twin Eren Jeager was found to be a titan and is now under constant supervision by Levi and his squad. 

Since you were his sister, they kept you with him just in case you were a titan. Honestly in all this mess you worry for Mikasa and Armin. Of course Mikasa could handle herself but Armin was soft. Not in a bad way though, he was just more brains than brawn. 

“Y/N! Keep a level head“ called out Petra as she saw you drifting off 

“Yes ma’am!“ as you start to concentrate the ground starts to vibrate, and it wasn’t you group of horses it was something bigger. You turn and look over your shoulder, a titan coming at full speed from a distance.

“Eren it’s now or never“ Levi called out

meanwhile

Armin was going as fast as his horse could run. He knew he shouldn’t have split up from his group but see which direction that titan was going only made his more scared. He knew you were with Eren and he feared for your safety. Would he risk his life for you?

The answer would be yes, as reckless as it sounds, he would. Being with you guy since a young age, he’s grown up with you and has become attached. More to you than anyone, from how you were to what you are now. He’s watched you grow and become this amazing person that you are.

It was always a bit obvious to Mikasa and Eren that he had feelings for you. Although he hid them pretty well from you. By the time you joined Mikasa spoke to him and said it bluntly 

“tell her before it’s too late”

She meant either someone else asks you out and steals your heart or before you die on the battlefield. He didn’t want that to be today, he couldn’t let it. As he raced he heard yells of commands and lines being launched through the air. When he got there it was the sight he didn’t want to see.

You were smacked and sent through the air to a large tree. You body goes limp as you fall to your death, he races to catch you before more damage. He had caught you luckily but you were badly damaged. Multiple cuts and bruises forming on your skin.

He wanted to cry and shout out to the top of his lungs but that wouldn’t help right now. Levi had came running back one look at you and he knew they need to draw back. 

“Armin, take her back to the walls and make sure she gets the treatment she needs, now“ he commanded, Armin solutes quickly and turns his horse to take you back. He held on to you as his horse ran, he had some bandages and tried to stop some type of bleeding. 

You weakly open your eyes and groan at the dull aching in your back and head. 

“A-armin..“

“Hey! Good you’re awake, please just stay awake.“ He made sure to steer his horse for what seemed to be a faster rout to the walls. He didn’t want to think about it but he could tell....this wouldn’t end well. You were loosing blood and fast, not to mention you probably have a bunch of other injuries.

“Y/N..“ he said looking down at you “I...I’m just...I’m so happy you came into my life, it used to be so dark and miserable. You...you brightened it up like sunshine after the rain“ he felt his heart pang with heartbreak. Why did the world have to be so cruel and take away all beautiful things.

“A-armin..“ you tried to speak “You’re strong...y-you just don’t...believe that yet, please promise me“ you start to cough “P-promise me...that you’ll take everyone..to see the ocean“ you struggle to smile 

Tears fall down his face on to yours “I promise you..”

In the distance he could see a art stationed near the wall, he gave his horse a nudge to go faster. Your grip on him was starting to loosen and fall limp once again. 

“Y/N, Look at me!“ he said, he knew this was your final moment “Y/N..I Love You! I-I love you so much and I won’t be able to go on with out you, I-I can’t“ he poured out phis feelings bringing you into his embrace, his lips crashing into yours.

You kissed back but only for a few seconds as he felt your final breath against his skin. He made it to the cart but by his grim face, they knew they lost another. He climbs down from his horse, bringing you down with him. 

He hands your body to them 

“please, take care of her“ they could see the hurt and pain in his eyes. He not only lost a friend, he lost the love of his life, she slipped right through his fingers. 

TIME SKIP

A couple years have passed and things had moved on quickly. They regained the walls for humanity, Armin had finally seen the ocean. He even gain titan powers and was now the colossal titan. He had 13 years to live and wanted to make the most of it. Did he forget you even after everything that has happened? No, he could never.

He actually asked for you to be cremated and put into a small jar. He took the jar and buried it in the sand at the beach. He marked it with a gravestone to know where you’ll always lay. Whenever he would have time or especially for your birthday.

He would come and talk about whats been happening and other things he’s accomplish.Or he’ll simply revisit old memories from simpler times like when you were kids. The times you had off during your trainee days. Anything and everything that kept your memory alive. As said before he wants to make the most of his time from what he has left. 

He adopted a little girl who was in need of a home. He was paid well enough to support her and himself,so it was him and Y/N. He named her in honor of you.

“Hey Y/N, it me agai. And I’ve brought someone along. She needed a good hole so I took her in, I named her after you say hi” he motioned to the little girl and she waved her hand with a quiet hello.

You weren’t there physically but you were always with him.

I’m sorry this came out so bad....I could have done better but I still hope there is some part you liked.❤️

[notthatiwilleverwriteit]

Hiya. I've been noticing a large inequality in the amount of attention each 19 Days couple has been getting, specifically how the fandom seems to favour Tianshan over Zhanyi. I was wondering why you think this is, especially since Zhanyi is the more romantic couple and have been around a lot longer. Do you think there is any reason behind it in the narrative or do you think this speaks more to the fandom's nature?

Good afternoon, dear anon-san!

I feel like I’m starting every answer with this lately but I’m sorry it took me a while to get to your question. Thank you for your patience! One of the reasons why I took my time answering this is that your question was a bit different from what I usually get. I feel like whenever one talks about Fandom Discourse™, it requires a different kind of thinking hat than analyzing the story and characters themselves.

Also, before I get into this further I think I should remind you that all of this is coming from someone who’s OTP is Tianshan. I always try to include objectivity and keep my biases in check in my answers, but Tianshan is my personal disposition. Just something to keep in mind when it comes to my thoughts regarding hot potato topics like this one.

The  fandom rhetoric and discourse of Tianshan vs. Zhanyi

I think a good place to start is to take a step back and look at the overall rhetoric and discourse of this conversation. The way we talk about something and the kinds of words we use play an essential role in how the topic, in general, is seen. Words carry our attitudes and have the power to tint the nature and tone of the conversation.

Your ask is a good example. Words like “inequality”, “favor X over Y”, “more romantic”, and “been around a lot longer” carry on the discourse - a way of talking about something - that I have seen around quite a lot. That it’s unfair Zhanyi doesn’t get at least an equal amount of attention compared to Tianshan. That they are the first couple - the main couple - but now they have been taking the backseat for quite a while both in the fandom and comic itself. They’re also the more “romantic” couple which usually translates into “healthier”, so surely they should be more popular.

Now, I don’t know if you chose to put things in that way because it reflects your personal thoughts on the matter or for some other reason. And I suppose it doesn’t really matter. This part isn’t meant to point fingers at anyone - yourself included, dear anon-san - but rather discuss the nature of the conversation in general.

I want to address this aspect because I think this kind of rhetoric carries some misconceptions and counterproductive attitudes. There is no rule anywhere that says the first couple A)is entitled to the most love and appreciation of the fans or B)is the only main couple/focus the story can have. This isn’t about unfairness, inequality, or readers somehow owing anything to the first couple. I think we have passed the point of thinking 19 Days only has one main couple a long time ago.

Also, when it comes to Tianshan vs. Zhanyi, people are quick to be evaluative. In other words, to think one is somehow better than the other based on their own personal tastes and, in Tianshan’s case, morality. Just because Zhanyi is more “romantic” doesn’t mean it should appeal to the readers more than Tianshan. They are two completely different dynamics that appeal to people differently. And just because the one deemed more controversial is also the popular one doesn’t have to mean the fandom is somehow problematic.

All that being said, though, I don’t blame the Zhanyi fans. I understand their frustration and where it stems from. As a Tianshan shipper, it’s easy for me to get on my high horse and just tell them to deal with the shift in focus in the comic and that the Zhanyi tag is quite dry compared to Tianshan. I get all of that and I feel for you guys. I just really don’t agree with the usual arguments about fairness, being there first, and owing something. I understand those are probably the most convenient arguments to grasp and take your frustration out on. But they’re not based on some truths or principles of fiction like some people seem to think they are.

Is Tianshan more popular among the fans than Zhanyi? If so, why?

It’s difficult to say which ship has the most fans. There aren’t any records of such things, and I believe many of us are fans of both. But based on my experience, I think it’s safe to say Tianshan is at least more active. Many content creators and readers love both Tianshan and Zhanyi but are just more active with Tianshan for some reason. And active content creators and consumers feed new creators and attract even more consumers. For example, whenever both of the couples are featured in a chapter, a lot more Tianshan art based on it flows through my feed than Zhanyi. (Even if I check the tags.) So yes, I think it’s not completely baseless to assume Tianshan is the more popular one out of the two.

As to why that is, I can only speak for myself and draw some very tentative general conclusions based on that.

I think it mostly comes down to Tianshan being the kind of dynamic and MGS and HT being the kinds of characters that often appeal to people and attract their interest. A pushy seme who is devilishly mischevious but also has a dangerous mental switch that - when turned on - excites the readers. Under the seemingly carefree surface, he hides a traumatic past which he doesn’t want to reveal to anyone because it makes him vulnerable. The only exception who is trusted to get close enough to the seme emotionally is a reluctant blushing tsundere uke who loudly claims not to care but who occasionally shows affection in unexpected ways. And the uke’s misunderstood delinquent background combined with his responsible nature and devotion to his family invites us to feel protective of him. Both characters are quite heavy on the “hard exterior, soft/vulnerable interior” type. I think many of those tropes are often featured and very popular in boys love (BL) stories one way or another. 

I also feel like Tianshan as a relationship is more active and dynamic which inspires its content creators and sparks discussions. Both HT and MGS are developing as their relationship keeps developing. And in return, the development of their relationship drives their character development, and round and round it goes. Of course, the same can be said about Zhanyi, but it’s just... less, you know? Smaller in scale and big parts of it are already done.

Compared to that, Zhanyi is more static. Admittedly, they have had less “screentime” than Tianshan, but I’m somewhat struggling to see drastic changes in ZZX and JY’s characters in the future. As a couple and respective characters, ZZX and JY are lightyears ahead of Tianshan (and HT and MGS). But that also means they have already gone through some of the significant emotional turning points. It seems JY’s pending kidnapping is the biggest ever-looming plot point for them for now. But then again we already know they seem to pick up where they left off even after that, so... Is their endgame comfortable domestic bliss and ZZX getting more and more used to their relationship? Whereas Tianshan will probably always carry the theme of right vs. wrong and what it’s like to learn to trust and open up?

I’m not saying either storyline is inherently better than the other because it comes down to everyone’s personal taste and interests. But I could see why Tianshan could attract more readers.

Personally, as much as I adore and root for Zhanyi, I’m more pulled towards Tianshan’s dynamic and MGS’s character. They’re more to my taste and where my interests usually tend to lie. As a content creator, they inspire me more. I feel like Tianshan, MGS, and HT have more complex layers for me to explore. But I’m also sure many Zhanyi shippers would argue otherwise.

So, the narrative of the story or the nature of the fandom? I think it’s a combination of both. And on top of that, it’s different for everyone, so one should be careful about making broad assumptions. One thing is for sure, though: it’s not somehow wrong to have preferences. You don’t have to feel obligated to like something or guilty about liking what you like. It’s unfortunate there’s been a lull in the Zhanyi story and neck of the fandom, but it’s not fair to take it out on the Tianshan fans. 19 Days’ fandom doesn’t have the burden of big ship wars, so please, let’s not create them for nothing. Both Tianshan and Zhanyi are obviously the endgame relationships, so there’s no reason to worry either of is going to be left behind. 

Thank you for your very interesting question, dear anon-san! I’ve been wanting to talk about this, actually, so I’m glad you gave me this nudge.

Also, I want to take this opportunity to wish a happy, healthy, safe, and successful new year to you dear anon-san, all my followers, and anyone reading this post!

[heartslogos]

newfragile yellows [987]

By the time Cassandra finally arrives at the Lavellan estate Bull feels like he’s ready to crawl out of his own skin with tension. Lord and Lady Lavellan have long done the same, practically abandoning their house to the mercies of the Archon’s puppets within. Every chance he gets Lord Lavellan retreats to the grounds to hide and stalk and vent his frustration out on the landscape. Lady Lavellan has turned disappearance into an art form.

Mahanon is the only one stubbornly sticking out, though parts of his old blood can’t help but leak through.

Aedan and Ellana spend every day like some sort of picture in the worst of ways. Oh, they’re certainly a picture perfect couple. But fuck, they make Bull want to vomit looking at them.

They take walks around the lake, they go for horse rides across the grounds, they sit in the drawing room and play instruments or read from books in the library. Ellana has an embroidery hoop and while Bull’s only see her at it once or twice he’s fairly certain she’s embroidering a copy of the Archon’s crest.

At the present Bull has Mahanon distracting Aedan by taking him on a very, very long horse ride across the grounds and then bringing him up to one of the sitting rooms for tea or an afternoon refreshment.

It was surprisingly easy to get Aedan to agree. Or maybe that’s what they’ve been made ino. Creatures that agree.

Cassandra looks just as haggard as Bull feels, impossibly, and shoulders straight past him into the house.

“Which room?” She asks, sword already drawn and burning bright with the particular powers of the Templar and Seeker order as she strides up the stairs.

“You’ll know it when you feel it,” Bull answers. “Busy schedule?”

She shoots him a dirty look over her shoulder.

“Thank you,” he says with as much earnest sincerity as he thinks they can both handle right now.

Casandra nods briskly, stopping in front of the sitting room Sylaise and Solas had spent the entire week working on warding and enchanting before reluctantly having to leave to assist the other elders in trying to contain the chaos of the other elven houses. Bull can see the outline of blue around her irises as she examines the magic, picking it apart and deciding how to best approach it without destroying the work already done.

“How did you get her inside?” Cassandra asks.

“You can sense her from out here?”

She shakes her head. “I cannot sense her at all. It is more like — it is as though someone has painted part of a landscape perfectly black. It is an absence that I cannot help but notice.”

Bull slowly nods. The description sounds close to what he was feeling whenever he looked at either Aedan or Ellana.

He moves past Cassandra to open the door when she breathes in slow and nods at him.

He enters and sees Ellana sitting in the only chair in the room. Before Solas had left he’d promised Bull that he would get Ellana into he room.

“Ah, the Iron Bull was it?” She says this every time she sees him. As though she doesn’t remember. It could be that, it could be her being willful. “There’s something very particular about this chair. I can’t seem to stand back up. If you would be so kind as to assist me?”

Bull moves forward and sits in the chair immediately in front of hers while Cassandra slides around to stand behind her, sword ready. Bull nods and Cassandra jabs her sword downwards, right on top of the invisible rune Sylaise traced onto the floor. The rune activates, triggering all the other runes and sigils and spells forming a containment circle.

Ellana looks startled, but not alarmed. Cassandra’s mouth moves quickly, chanting the words for incantation for Nullification at the same time she pours energy into the containment circle.

Bull leans forward when Ellana tries to turn to look. “Ellana. I’m not going to hurt you.”

“Alright,” Ellana says, turning back towards him, still smiling. “That’s splendid to know. But could you please help me out of this chair? That would be ever so wonderful.”

“Ellana, I’m going to ask you some questions. Your family is very worried about you.” Bull starts to pull power into his voice as he slides away from the Iron Bull back into the man he was years and years ago. How easily his mind puts him back into this place, this space.

“Oh dear, that’s awful. Whatever are they worried for?” Ellana asks, sounding well and truly worried.

“Ellana, when you were away, did any of the staff at the academy hurt you?”

Ellana gasps, a wounded sound, like his question has shocked her delicate sensibilities. “Of course not! The Archon only employs the most splendid and well respected people.”

Ellana’s hands, on the arms of the chair, are straining to try and push herself up.

“When you were at the academy did anyone cast some sort of spell over you?”

Ellana’s arms jerk, and he can see her really, really, really trying to pry herself out of the chair. But she isn’t moving. Her arms are tense, and he can see tendons and veins rising with ugly exertion that defies the bland pleasantness of her face.

“Of course not. That would be awful. You shouldn’t use magic on people. It’s very rude and uncouth. The Archon disapproves of such uncivilized behavior.”

Bull pushes more power into his voice. The circle pulses. He can feel it waver, just for a moment, as Ellana’s eyes dart down to her hands.

“I am not uncivilized,” she says, though there’s a sort of edge to her voice that Bull hasn’t heard the entire time she’s been here in the sense that she’s hasn’t had any sort of edge to her anything. “I’m a lady. I’m obedient. I’m quite docile and gentle. You’ll see that I’m very tame. I’m not like the other savages.”

Bull’s eye narrows. The edge of her paper face is peeling back, just a little. He needs to snag it in the right way.

“Of course you’re a lady. You’re Lady Ellana of house Lavellan. The Archon can’t take that from you.”

Ellana’s eyes dart to him, and the smile is starting to slip. He can see just a little of the whites around her eyes as she continues to try and rip herself up and out and away.

“I do not think I like your questions,” she says. She grunts as her head suddenly bows, shoulders shaking as she tries to free herself. Over her head Bull sees Cassandra’s brow furrow in concentration as she works on keeping the spells together and on track.

“I don’t think I like your answers,” the Iron Bull replies. Bull pulls more power, pushing for truth rather than responses this time. It’s been so long since he’s done this, it’s making him tired too fast, but something in it feels — right. “Ellana — “

He hears a grinding sound, low and grating as Ellana rocks in the chair that remains firmly in place as she starts to well and truly try and thrash her way out of its magic.

There’s a sharp keening noise as Ellana shakes her head, dark hair coming loose.

“Ellana. Tell me what happened. What did the Archon do?"

“Took,” Ellana bites out, eyes darting away from Bull’s as she struggles to free herself. The word itself seems to take a toll on the rapidly eroding mask that was on her. She looks afraid of the word that Bull managed to get out of her.

“Took? He took something from you?”

Ellana shakes her head, eyes closing shut as she presses her lips together. He can see her jaw clenching, every muscle in her body tightening as if that could help her right now.

“What did he take from you Ellana?”

There’s a sharp crackle of energy as the circle wavers again, the entire room seeming to groan with the tremendous loud of magic it’s being forced to bear and bear witness to. Cassandra’s grip on her sword tightens as she struggles to maintain the containment spell. But when Bull looks at her she nods for him to continue.

Bull repeats, firmer and with every ounce of power he has, “What did he take from you, Ellana?”

Ellana’s head bows lower. Bull can see the bones of her hands raising underneath her skin as her fingers grip the armrests of the chair. Her nails shake, shiver, and finally puncture through the upholstery. The fabric rips as she curls her talons.

Her dark, shiny hair slides over her face free from the elegant updo she’d pinned it into earlier, as she shoulders hunch, back contorting as she curls forward straining against the magic holding her in place.

The grinding sound persists. Bull tries to see past her hair and catches sight of something — at last — familiar.

Black, thick, and almost gleaming with magic, blood drops from somewhere on her face and stains the simple cloth of her skirt.

One drop. Another. Several more. A rush of it.

Lavellan blood. Old blood. Magic blood.

The grinding sound grows louder. And louder. More furious with every passing heartbeat.

“What did they take from you?”

Agonizingly slowly Ellana lifts her head and through the strands of her hair he sees a flash of the animal, the wild, the violent thing he’s narrowly dodged the past few days. The thing that’s been hatefully straining against the veneer, waiting for a chance to escape and hurt.

The gnashing, he realizes, as Ellana lifts her head to to meet his gaze, is her teeth.

Her long, pointed, black blood coated teeth.

Her eyes, almost entirely white with fury, lock onto him as she snarls out through the grinding of bone —

“They took my teeth.”

And with a radiant, absolutely devastating, scream, Ellana lunges straight through Cassandra’s containment circle.

[waterparchive]

Sex, Spongebob and sweaty hands: Inside the wild world of Waterparks fanfiction

By Marianne Eloise

Waterparks have a devout and imaginative fanbase – so asking them for fanfiction might seem like a recipe for chaos. But that's exactly what vocalist Awsten Knight has done with his podcast, Slumber Party

(May 1, 2020)

When I call Waterparks frontman Awsten Knight at 1pm, he hasn’t been awake for long. Since we spoke in February, the pandemic has changed things for everyone. Unsurprisingly, he’s a little less busy than usual.

Despite a familiar-sounding “descent into madness”, Knight’s getting through quarantine the same way as all of us: jigsaw puzzles, Animal Crossing and weighing up subscribing to streaming services. “It feels so wasteful. I was like, man, am I buying a fourth streaming thing? Per month? That seems irresponsible. Eh, fuck it. I’m home,” he laughs.

He’s also been doing DIY – namely deciding where to put his vision boards: “My place is very spacious and clean and the walls are white. I get nervous about putting too many things on the wall.”

Meanwhile, many of Waterparks' fans have been keeping themselves occupied with the latest season of Awsten’s podcast, Slumber Party. The premise is as ingenious as it is cringeworthy: Awsten and his friend Travis Riddle read out Waterparks fanfiction and rate it.

Travis, who Awsten calls a “grammar dude”, is a writer and editor with the credentials to give thorough feedback. Now in its third season, the podcast’s submissions are often erotic, making for awkward reading for its star. Even the PG ones make him shudder: “It’s literally Waterparks fanfiction. That is so gross and weird!” he laughs.

Awsten was innocent to the concept entirely until 2015, when he naively tweeted, 'I hope someday someone writes weird sexual fanfic about me and SpongeBob. That's what I want. These are my goals.'

“Someone wrote the most graphic thing about Spongebob in half an hour, and I was like – ‘never mind!’ That was my intro into fanfic,” he says.

Awsten’s fans often struggle with boundaries, and it seems counterintuitive for him to dip his toe into the murky pool of fanfic. But the idea originally came from him and Travis wanting to do something together: “The very first idea was to read the fanfiction and then talk about it and the validity of it and whether or not it could happen – which usually it couldn’t,” he laughs.

The current season was recorded last year, which Awsten is grateful for: “It’s already a struggle to keep your head right at home, he says. "If I had to read fanfiction all day, I wouldn’t be good!”

For season three, they’ve moved up in the world from Awsten’s bedroom to a set-up in a suite with a fireplace in Beverly Hills. He’s proud of the show’s quality, but ever the perfectionist, he’s looking to ramp it up: “I want to be like, on a horse in the next one,” he suggests – before adding that there’s the matter of financing a fleet of horses to think about. We brainstorm ways to get his Patreon subscribers to pay for it: “We will say your name while we’re on the horse and send you a video!”

He’s laughing, but there’s every chance he might go for it.

I ask Awsten whether he has a favourite submission. “No. Fanfic sucks, I hate it all, it’s all bad, I have no favourites,” he jokes, adding that what he does have is a handful of very least things he's received.

“There’s one where it was me but from every era with all these different colours of hair and then we all fuck each other," he says. "It was really weird. I hated that. I hate all the gross ones where they go over the top."

But his least favourite genre is slash, wherein he and his bandmates hook up: “There’s a lot of weird ones where Geoff and I are banging. I don’t like the ones where Geoff and I are banging, because he has sweaty hands in real life. If I’m getting hurt or Geoff is getting sweaty with his hands on me, then I don’t like those.”

There is something he can stand, though, which is stories with a paranormal twist. “They’ve had demonic stuff happen, there have been fairies, there have been magical horses. There have been a few possessions. They definitely get weird with it.” He adds that this season, they’re leaning into the paranormal with a spooky episode. “The ones that stick with me, the ones I like the most, are the paranormal ones. The haunted ones. There’s an episode in this season that’s not out yet where it’s all the scary ones and we turn out the lights and make it spooky”.

While some of his dedicated fans can be aggressive, many of them are creative in their adoration. Opening the floodgates to reams of fanfiction seems like a recipe for chaos. At first, Awsten and Travis sourced the stories themselves, but after creating an inbox for the podcast, they noticed a shift in the content. “In the next season when they knew they could submit stories, it was a skyrocket of insane, nasty stuff. They were just trying to be shocking so they could get on. We let a few of them go, but not all, because we didn’t want it all to be like: ‘and THEN he put his dick in a pencil sharpener!’”

In recent months, Awsten has been trying to stay offline, both to mitigate the negativity and avoid internalising too much input on his music: “If you tweeted or made songs or art or whatever for your most sensitive followers, you would have the most shitty, bland work ever,” he says. "That’s another reason to just stay away and focus on the reason they’re supposed to be there in the first place – which is what you make.

"Some people say they’ll like it either way, and I’m like, on the off chance they hate it, I want it to at least be something I really love, so I can be like, well, I like it.”

There’s one band in particular whose approach to focusing on their own goals Awsten admires: “Sometimes I wonder if certain things will get liked more in the future. Like the way when Folie à Deux, the Fall Out Boy album, came out, everyone just fucking hated it, but it’s so good,” he says. “But they don’t look back on their past like it’s their glory days, they’re moving forward and I love that. It would be so easy for them to spoon feed people Cork Tree over and over, but if they had done that, where would they be right now? It doesn’t feel trend-chasing, and I really appreciate that.”

He’s quick, however, to not draw too many comparisons: “We’re definitely not Fall Out Boy level so we’re not big enough to be hated that much,” he laughs.

Even when he’s not reading their fanfiction, Awsten has to manage his band’s relationship with a passionate fandom who often express their obsession inappropriately. When he’s so often on the receiving end of adoration, it’s easy to forget that he’s a fan himself. One upcoming episode of Slumber Party, which Awsten calls his “most difficult” to film, will feature Joel Madden of Good Charlotte.

“It’s not cute, because we always have fanfiction of the guests," he says. "It was the weirdest thing ever. I respect him so much. Trying to get him to read that, I was like...uhh.” His discomfort is genuine, and he jokes that whenever someone he admires follows him, he gets “self-conscious” and posts less dumb stuff.

It’s a gentle reminder that no matter how many fans someone has, they’re likely also a fan of someone they admire in a way that makes them feel awkward – it’s just a matter of whether they choose to log off or write fanfiction about it.

Stream Awsten and Travis’s Slumber Party podcast on Patreon

[contrabandhothead]

Heyy! Could I get a ship? I have long blonde hair and light brown/green eyes. I’m about 5’3( I know, super small). my favorite things to do are; reading, photography, painting, writing, fitness and singing. I also ride horses sometimes. I’m really shy until you get to know me! After that I basically don’t shut up if I feel comfortable around someone. When I really like someone, I get way too shy or just hide it. I love good conversations and I love to help people whenever I can. Thank u🖤

Magneto

Pat Christenson

i know he’s a background character BUT LET ME LIVE MY LIFE IN PEACE I LOVE HIM 

aNywaYS-

*cult chanting* height difference height difference HEIGHT DIFFERENCE-

first off 

this man 

he’s like a whole head taller than you 

so you know what that means 

FOREHEAD KISSES AWW YEAH BABY

this man gives forehead kisses instead of pecks(i don’t make the rules)

definitely uses forehead kisses as a way to say “good luck” and “stay safe”, especially when you guys are splitting up for an attack and you don’t have nearly enough time to say goodbye 

thinks every song from oklahoma is a lullaby

like EVERY song 

this man... if he was living in today’s world not only would he be an art major, but he’d definitely be a theatre kid 

sings you oklahoma songs as you both fall asleep in your foxhole 

has one of those low and deep voices 

it sounds so smooth

draws you all the time, especially when you’re not paying attention and you guys have a long ride to some god forsaken part of Europe 

his sketchbook is full of pages depicting you 

draw me like one of your french girls Pat

when he visits your family, he definitely spends at least 30 minutes gossiping with your grandmother

he might be a gossip but he’s pure at heart

dates that you both definitely do that are really cheesy and you’d probably find on a vsco account: paint portraits of each other 

it actually turned out really well, you both hung each other’s portraits up in the living room 

goes on a morning run with you every day 

edits your writing whenever you ask 

will 100% be down for having a concert in your kitchen whenever your favorite song comes on 

you both know all the lyrics

i feel like you guys live in a cottage????

cottagecore aesthetic to the max

you guys have 2 horses that you ride at least once every other day 

Pat’s actually really fond of animals 

his horse is named Picasso and yours is named after your favorite writer

in your free time, you both like to volunteer at your local soup kitchen 

what a wholesome couple 

ok but listen 

Pat Christenson but put him in a hairnet and make him look like a lunch lady as he hands out food 

always makes sure you’re comfortable at parties

makes sure to strike up conversations with people that he knows you’re fond of (he just wants you to have a good time and feel okay) 

how you two met (we love storylines in this household) 

you were one of the replacements in Easy Co. 

luckily enough for you, you were accepted into the original crowd quickly 

they enjoyed your quiet demeanor and how you didn’t act like you owned the place

you eventually began to open up to a few of them 

if someone were to find you, they’d most likely spot you with: Momma Lip,  Doc Roe, and Johnny Martin

you and Christenson weren’t particularily close when you first joined Easy 

he didn’t have a very approachable exterior

and let’s be fr here 

he can be kind of a dick sometimes 

you just didn’t feel comfortable with him

so there’s no way you’d go out of your way to open up to him and let him see your louder side 

for the most part it was just you chilling with Martin

now, though you weren’t really interested in even knowing Christenson at all, Christenson had had his eyes on you since you joined Easy 

he thought you were pretty, smart, and he liked the way your eyes lit up whenever you and Roe were in deep conversation 

he wanted to get to know you, he really did

but every time he tried to approach you it just didn’t work out

either his nerves got the best of him or one of your friends was dragging you away to do something else

so all he really did was admirer you from afar 

now... listen 

to you, he’s just kinda weird 

like you got creeped out sometimes because you’d catch him staring at you and he’d just act like it’s nothing??? and never mention it???

he never stared at you like you were a piece of meat though, which you were grateful for (some of the guys were creepy af)

but you were also like “??? you got a problem buddy???” 

he did not have a problem 

he was just drawing you 

like a lot 

he was known to draw in his freetime and had sketched quite a few of the other men

you knew this, of course

you had just never put two and two together that he was drawing you 

now Pat is like a school girl 

he would put like hearts n’ shit all around his sketches of you (real subtle man) 

one day, when you, Roe, Luz, and Christenson were helping unload a truck, Christenson’s sketchbook fell out of his pocket

he clearly didn’t know because he was still carrying the boxes away 

you had readjusted the box in your hands to reach down and pick up the small notebook 

you planned to give it back to him as soon as you got rid of these boxes 

setting down the crate, your curiousity got the better of you 

you knew that you probably shouldn’t be looking through it and that it was private, but just one glance couldn’t hurt 

you cracked it open after quickly swiveling your head in all directions to make sure no one was around 

a few sketches of Luz, some of Shifty, you, you, you, more you, you 

you but with hearts around your head 

at first it was creepy but it became more endearing as you found his journal entries 

quickly skimming through them, you read about how he struggled to find his place among the men at first but had grown to make close friends 

and how he wished to talk to you but found you unapproachable and unattainable 

he stated that he never wished to make you uncomfortable, so if you didn’t want to talk to him, he would respect your wishes 

quickly snapping the binding of the journal shut, you hurried off to find Christenson 

you knew that you’d have to step out of your comfort zone and be the first to extend the olive branch 

I’m so sorry this took so long! I’ve really been getting more requests than I expected. I hope you enjoyed this, have a lovely day!❤︎

[himluv]

Love Birds

Belatedly, day 7 of 14 Days of Dragon Age Lovers. I hope you enjoy it!

This was ridiculous. She was a grown woman, not some lovestruck teenager. The idea of her… well, whatever Solas was to her, coming to her quarters shouldn’t make her stomach all aflutter. And yet, here she was, nervously fawning over her room to make sure it was clean and tidy before he saw it.

Even though they were just going to make a mess of it anyway.

The knock on her bedroom door startled Riallan, and she had to remind herself not to skip down the stairs. She opened the door to reveal Solas in his leggings and the sleeveless undershirt he wore beneath his tunic. His arms were full of paint supplies.

“Oh!” She said. “Let me help you.” She took a handful of brushes and a jar of paint as she held the door for him.

“Thank you, Ria.”

She climbed the stairs after him, nearly colliding with him as he’d paused at the top. He stared at the bare expanse of stone over her canopy bed.

He glanced down at her. “You’re right. It needs a mural.” He continued into her room, depositing the paints on her desk. “The question is, what would you like?”

She’d thought a lot about what should decorate her quarters. All over Skyhold Dalish banners and flags proclaimed her allegiance, her origins, and hopefully her future. The throne told of her power, a reminder of the magic that coursed through he veins. But nothing spoke of who she was in this moment. Of the world as she saw it each morning. Of who she’d become.

Inquisitor.

“I have an idea,” she said and led him to the hidden ladder that led up to the little alcove above her bed. It took a couple trips to get all their supplies up there, but once they did she told him her plan and he smiled.

“Perfect.” He opened a jar full of black paint, the smell sharp and acrid. Nothing like the bright, clean scent of plaster in the rotunda. “A simpler design is best for learning.”

He handed her a thick brush, and suddenly she was so nervous. She didn’t know how to paint, and her drawings as a child were crude, even if Deshanna loved them. She was not an artist, but Solas was. She would only mess up whatever beautiful thing he set out to create.

“I don’t know what to do,” she said, the brush hanging in the air between them.

“I know, vhenan.” He smiled. “That’s why I am going to teach you.” He picked out a similar brush and dipped it in the paint, slowly scraping the excess off on the edges of the jar.

“What if I’m bad at it?”

He snorted. “You will be,” he said. “All beginners are. That is the nature of art.” He settled his gaze on her, and Riallan felt flushed and soothed all at once. “All that matters, if you truly wish to create, is that you do not give up.”

“Well, I’m nothing if not stubborn,” she said, and dipped her brush into the black paint.

“So I noticed.” He smirked and put his brush to the stone.

Riallan watched him, analyzed the motion of his wrist and how his fingers cradled the brush. He went slow, conscious of her eyes on him, but kept his eyes on his work as she struggled to imitate him. How did he hold the brush so easily? It was as if it was all his hands had ever known, the tool a natural extension of his arm. His strokes were bold and confident, easy and assured. She would never be able to emulate his broad swathes of color.

But once she pressed bristles to stone all her anxiety melted away. The scratch of the horse hair on the stone, the way it vibrated up through her fingers, was so satisfying. It focused her mind and fascinated her attention as her ever-seeking curiosity catalogued the new information.

“Good, vhenan,” Solas said. He leaned closer to her, his hand taking hers and guiding it up the wall in a long stroke. “Like this.” His breath on her neck made her shiver and they both went still.

A moment, a heartbeat, a breath. The pause felt longer, but Solas didn’t move, didn’t release her hand.

“You’re blushing,” he said.

Which of course only made her blush worse. She’d made no secret of her desire for him; she was ready whenever he decided he was. But the waiting was slowly killing her. And now he was in her quarters, his hand warm on hers, his breath on her neck and a flash of heat ignited deep in her belly. All she could think of was that her bed was so close.

She cleared her throat. “You were saying?”

He gave her a knowing smile, but said nothing more about her obvious state. Solas showed her a few different techniques, his chest pressed to her back as he guided her hand. And then his mouth pressed to her neck.

Riallan stiffened against him before tilting her head back to rest on his shoulder. She bit her lip and tried to stifle the moan building low in her throat. Perhaps if she was quiet he wouldn’t think to stop.

“You’re making a mess, vhenan,” he said, his lips brushing the sensitive skin just behind her ear.

Sure enough, the brush dangled from her fingers, black paint dripping onto the floor of the loft. His chuckle in her ear ignited something in her, something frustrated and playful and daring. Before she could overthink it, or talk herself out of it, Riallan took the brush and pushed it into his face, leaving a black streak of paint down his cheek.

Solas blinked at her, stunned. She laughed but the sound trailed off when she saw the mischievous glint in his eyes.

She brandished her brush in defense. “Don’t.”

He dipped two fingers into the jar of black paint as a slow grin claimed his face. He was suddenly predatory, his eyes consuming her every move with the heat of his gaze. She was riveted by the sight of him, playful and yet so hungry for her.

It made her an easy target.

She shrieked as cold paint flicked onto her face and he laughed, a rich sound she still marveled at. His laughter was so rare, she cherished every instance.

And so the game was on, and they smeared paint over the floor, wall, and each other until they laughed and shouted themselves breathless. Until she’d thrown herself at him and proclaimed herself the winner because she ended up on top.

Solas cupped her face in both hands, the black paint everywhere, and kissed her.

“So much for the mural,” she said when they broke apart.

He glanced at the wall, then looked back at her, his thumb tracing her lip. “We will simply have to work on it another day.”

She hummed her approval of the idea as she dipped down to kiss him again. She was happy for any excuse to bring him to her room, even one so flimsy as painting a mural.

Though, explaining the mess would be difficult. But that was a worry for later. For now she would happily be distracted by his kisses.

[miles3855]

The Tracker

Sam Paxton rode his horse slowly into the alley. It was a beautiful clear day in April, the grass lush and thick under the horse's hooves, the sun already high in the purest of blue skies. But there was nothing but sadness in Sam's heart, for this day he would have to kill a young man he liked and admired.

Adam Corbett, the man Sam hunted, had turned twenty-one only the month before, and seemed even younger with his innocent blue eyes, clean-shaven face and curly, shoulder-length brown hair. Adding to his youthful appearance was his incurable habit of kicking off his boots wherever and whenever he could, and traipsing around in his sock feet. Some of the men on Old Man McCune's ranch ragged him for it, called him the Barefoot Boy, but Sam--the ranch foreman--never did.

The ribbing was mostly good-natured, for Adam was the best-liked hand on the ranch, kind and friendly as well as superbly skilled. In his twenty years as a cowboy Sam had never seen a man so young who was such a good hand at riding, roping, breaking broncos, and doing whatever came to hand. Adam was even more popular with the ladies than the me, and that more than anything was what had gotten Billy McCune's blood up.

Billy McCune was a rat. There was no other way to put it. Four times Billy had gunned down men and claimed self-defense. Because, conveniently, there were never any witnesses, and because Old Man McCune. Billy's father, was the richest man in the territory, Billy had always got off scot-free

Billy wanted to make Adam the fifth notch in his gun. But Billy, an incorrigible drunk, misjudged his man fatally.

It had been only last evening, at the Georgia Belle saloon. Adam was at a table, boots off as usual, and one of the saloon girls--one Adam and Billy both favored--was rubbing Adam's white-socked feet and making sweet talk to him. Billy, a full bottle of whiskey in his gut, stood up suddenly, called Adam a pansy, said his feet were stinking up the place, and ordered him to draw.

But Adam, who was better at most things than Billy, was also a faster draw and a better shot--even sitting at a table with his stockinged feet in a girl's lap. Also, Adam wasn't a heavy drinker.

The sheriff hadn't even bothered to arrest Adam; more than a dozen witnesses swore it was self-defense, and anyway everyone loved Adam and hated Billy. Everyone except Old Man McCune. Billy had been his only child, and the old man was as mean as Billy and even more ruthless. Adam didn't have to be told even once to get out of town as soon as he could get his boots on and mount a horse.

The old man, as soon as he had heard of Billy's death, had presented Sam with a proposition: a flat five thousand dollars to go out alone, hunt Adam down, and kill him. If Sam didn't agree, he would hire a posse from out of town to kill Adam--and they would be considerably less delicate about Adam's feelings.

The old man accomplished several things with this proposition. He knew Sam was over a thousand dollars in debt from poker games at the Georgia Belle, so he couldn't rightly refuse such a lucrative offer. He also knew Sam was particularly fond of Adam, so there was the double motive of testing Sam's loyalty and sadism at forcing Sam to kill a buddy.

Sam, for his own part, not only desperately needed the money, but also knew that if he didn't take the old man's offer, there would be an even larger bounty on his own head.

As he rode along that morning, Sam thought bitterly that McCune could have sent a heifer from his herd to find Adam, as difficult as the job would be. Adam--for all his skill with a gun--had a trusting, naïve nature, and knew nothing of outlaws' tricks. It would be pathetically easy to find Adam, if not necessarily to outdraw him.

And, sure enough, Adam was right where Adam thought he would be. There was a hillside in the valley that sloped gently to the river, where a small grove of live oaks and a tiny mountain stream flowing through. This was Adam's secret place, of which only Sam knew.

Adam's horse was tethered to one of the oaks, grazing peacefully. Adam himself was sprawled under the tree, fast asleep, his hat over his eyes. His six-gun was to his right, his boots to his left, and one white-socked foot was crossed over the other.

Sam felt cold disgust at the sight of Adam sleeping. Didn't he realize the sort of danger he faced? But with that came a feeling of unbearable sadness. Adam was so innocent of heart--he couldn't conceive of a world where his best friend would be coming to kill him.

Sam rode up softly. The horses nickered at each other, but Adam didn't wake. Sam dismounted, tethered his own horse, and walked over to Adam, gun in hand. Sam loathed the thought of shooting any man, even one he hated, who was asleep, or had his boots off. Neither of these would happen to Adam!

He knelt at Adam's stockinged feet; the outline of Adam's toes was sharp and perfect on his stocking soles. Same tickled Adam's foot with the gun barrel.

Adam woke with a start and sat upright, reaching for his gun. Sam fired at the gun, hitting it, knocking it out of Adam's reach. Adam stared at Sam, flushed, not speaking.

Sam stared back at Adam, pointing the gun at his head, cocking the trigger. "You know the rules, Adam," he said, his voice trembling. "You knew the old man would send somebody after you, and when you think about it, it was an act of kindness he sent me. And you know if I don't kill you, he'll kill me."

After the initial shock, Adam looked less fearful than hurt, like a little boy who had been betrayed. Tears started to leak from his eyes, but his gaze was steady, and he did not speak.

"Come on, Adam," Sam said, his voice not unkind. "Pull your boots on, and stand up. I won't shoot you sittin' on the ground."

Adam continued to stare at Sam silently. His face, though tears were streaming down it, was brave and resolute.

"Stand up, Adam!" Sam said, more roughly. "Get your boots on!"

"No." Adam's voice was calmer than Sam's. Always a handsome boy, he looked angelically beautiful at that moment.

"I won't kill you like this, damn it! You can either die with your boots on like a man, or in your sock feet like a pansy-ass!"

"I've lived with my boots off, and I'll die with 'em off," Ada said, sitting at the base of the tree, his voice quiet but hard. 'If you're goin' to kill me, kill me like you found me!"

"Stand UP! Get 'em ON!"

Adam gazed at Sam, blinking back tears. Softly, he began to speak. "Our Father, Who art in Heaven, hallowed be Thy name...:

Sam was in a blind fury. Not know or caring what he was doing, he dropped his gun, still kneeling, grabbed one of Adam's boots, and tried to force it on the wrong foot. "GET YOUR BOOTS ON, DAMN YOU!" he yelled. Adam tried to pull his foot away, screaming with rage.

Sam lost his grip on Adam's boot, which plopped to the ground. Sam stared wildly at Adam's foot, the strong young toes flailing in the soft white sock. The sock seemed brand-new and clean. Everything about Adam seemed brand-new and clean, even when he did the dirtiest jobs at the ranch, like mucking out the stables or pulling a calf from a mudhole.

Sam wondered why, all of a sudden, his vision was blurring. Staring at Adam's foot in his hands, he stroked it gently, then kissed it.

Adam stopped struggling; he now began to sob audibly. Sam caressed the foot, gently kissing each toe, breathing in the faint smell of dried sweat. Adam felt Sam's handlebar mustache tickle his toes, and involuntarily let out a gasp of pleasure through his tears.

The other hands at the McCune ranch had always laughed at Adam's sock feet, but Sam had always found them endearing; now they seemed considerably more than that. Feeling the warm flesh and wiggling toes through the sock, Sam suddenly felt a wave of emotion like he hadn't felt since a girl had known back in Arkansas, a girl who died...

Still kneeling, Sam dropped Adam's foot and buried his face in his hands. He realized he could no more kill Adam than himself--knowing full well that to let Adam live was the same thing as killing himself. This was still racing through his brain when he heard two guns click above his head...

Adam stood over him, pointing his own gun and Sam's straight at Sam's head.

"Now YOUR boots," he snarled. "YOURS."

Sam stared horrified at Adam as he forced Sam to a supine position on the ground. Laying down one of the guns, he ripped the boots from Sam's feet and threw them as far as he could.

Sam's socks were gray, with white heels and toes, and extremely sweaty from the morning-long nervous tension of the man who wore them. Adam picked up the other gun and, with a look of near hatred on his face, began to tickle each of Sam's stockinged feet with the gun barrels, jut as Sam had done to him. This went on for several minutes while Sam watched silently, fear and excitement mingling in his heart.

Then Adam threw down the guns and started to kiss, lick and sniff Sam's feet as if he were trying to devour them. Sam, like Adam, let out a moan of pleasure, feeling the boy's handsome face and lips against his stocking soles.

Adam put Sam's stockinged toes in his mouth, and sucked. Sam, now nearly deranged with fear and desire, thought Adam was trying to suck his toenails out.

Then Adam dropped Sam's feet, grabbed Sam's face in both hands, and kissed him passionately, full on the lips. The two men tumbled through the grass in each other's arms, kissing each other as hard as they could, fumbling for each other's trouser buttons. Within a minute each had the other's manhood in his hand, and within two they had both come, their spunk billowing onto the grass.

They lay in each other's arms for several minutes, their pants still unbuttoned, each one's stocking feet rubbing against the other's. They stared into each other's eyes, crying, confused, relied, and unshakably in love.

After a while Sam sat up and wiped his eyes with his sleeve. Finally calm--for he know now what he had to do--he looked at Adam, smiling. "We got to finish our business here," he said.

He buttoned his pants, then stood up and went to get his boots, which Adam had flung about thirty feet apart. Adam watched him, sitting cross-legged like a small child, one stockinged foot crossed over the other.

Sam picket up his gun and reholstered it. "Can you stay here tonight?" he asked.

"Yeah, I guess so."

Sam looked down at Adam tenderly. "We got to make this look right," he said. "The old man wants proof you're dead. I think he'll take it as proof if I give him your horse, gun and boots."

Adam stared back gravely. "He's goin' to want more proof than that," he said. "He's goin' to want my corpse, or a piece of it."

Sam shook his head. "A man don't give up his horse and boots--and certainly not his gun--unless he's dead," he said. "The old man knows that better than anyone." He picked up Adam's gun and boots and carried them over to Adam's saddlebags.

"Anything you want out of these?" he asked.

"My Bible," Adam said. "Also two pair of socks I got in there, and I'd appreciate my bedroll. I ain't got no money."

Sam took the Bible and socks out of the bags, then stuffed in the boots and gun. He took the bedroll from Adam's horse and brought everything over to Adam, who laid them on the ground. Sam then walked over to his own saddlebags and pulled out a box of hardtack, some strips of beef jerky, and a box of shotgun bullets. He pulled the rifle out of his saddle holster, and brought everything again over to Adam.

"The old man won't know I'm missin' my rifle," he said. "You may need it. I don't think anyone will come after you, but you never know."

Adam stood up. He took the rifle and other things over to the base of the tree. Then he embraced Sam and gave him an ardent kiss, his stockinged toes rubbing against Sam's booted foot.

"The old man promised me five thousand dollars to kill you," Sam said. "He didn't tell nobly else, so I figure you're probably safe tonight. I've known the old man twenty years now, and though I know he's an evil bastard, I also know he'll give me the full five thousand, and he won't tell no one about the bounty till I come back.

"The jerky and hardtack ain't much, but they'll last you till tomorrow sundown, which is when I'll be back." He stopped to wipe his brow; the noon sun was warmer than he anticipated. "You also have water from the stream, of course. The grove is just big enough for you to hide in if anyone comes by, and you also got the rifle. God forbid you have to use it. Don't light a fire tonight; put your blanket around you if it gets cold, and put on the extry socks too." He looked down at Adam's feet. "You goin' to be all right here? Alone all night in your stockin' feet?"

"Beats dyin' with my boots on!" Adam smiled, a full, radiant smile showing his even white teeth. Seeing the boy smile, Sam felt weak with love. He could barely open his mouth to finish what he had to say.

"Even after I pay my debts at the saloon, we'll have enough left over for a little spread of our own, far away from here. When I get back, I can walk the horse with you on it to the next town over, where we can buy you a new horse and boots--and a steak, 'cause you're goin' to be starvin'."

"Just so long as the steak ain't as tough as the boots!" Adam laughed, the first time that morning, and Sam thrilled to hear that familiar, welcome sound.

"I'll be back tomorrow, and then, God is my witness, we ain't never goin' to be parted again." They kissed once more. Sam gently lowered Adam to the ground, and once more kissed the boy's sock feet, now sweaty and wet from exertion. He kissed each toe slowly and tenderly, stroking the arches as he did so. Then he gently tickled each sole, and rejoiced in the boy's laughter.

"On second thought, I don't think I'll buy you boots after all," Sam said. "I'll buy you a hundred pair of socks, and keep you sockfooted forever."

"That'd suit me fine!" Adam said.

Sam rode off with Adam's horse in tow. it hurt him more than anything had hurt him in his life to leave the boy alone on the hillside, but he had to do it for Adam's sake.

Sam turned around one more time, and Adam was there, laughing and waving. "God is good to me," Adam though as he waved. "He brought me Sam, and He'll watch over us both." The noon sun was delightfully warm on his face, and the long grass tickled his stockinged feet. Yes, he though, everything will be fine.

[peace-coast-island]

Diary of a Junebug

Sandwiches and charming little huts 

Walking the trails of Charm Villa is like stepping into a bright, colorful, and cute notepad. Rolling hills with vibrant green grass and colorful flowers scattered all over. On the tops of the hills are rustic and whimsical little cottages and huts, as well as shops, cafes, and a library. Take a picture and you’d think it was from a stationery set!

After sleeping in until around eleven we met up with Gutsy and Livvy at Coffee Studios for a tour of Charm Villa. Gutsy’s a college friend of Daisy Jane who just moved to the village a few months ago. Livvy’s her niece - first cousin once removed - and she and Jack - her dad/Gutsy’s cousin - own Coffee Studios. The cafe was founded by Gutsy and Jack’s grandma, then it was passed down to Jack’s mom, and after she retired her son and granddaughter now run the place.

The cafe’s best known for their sandwiches and every few months they set up a contest for a new sandwich to add to the menu. Livvy was the one who started that tradition and it got popular so it stuck. Guess what today happened to be? While Lolly, Pancetti, Biskit, and Lyman prepped for the contest, the rest of us hung around the village before meeting back around 3 for the contest.

I’ve only met Gutsy a handful of times over the years and she always leaves an impression. The name Gutsy - short for Augusta - fits her to a T. She said that she never thought her impulsiveness and wild imagination would make her a good detective and yet there she was solving crimes and saving the day. Gutsy really does remind me a lot about Jamie, except a lot more extroverted and bold. Honestly, I’m surprised that they haven’t crossed paths yet.

So far Gutsy’s enjoying the peaceful village life. It’s a huge change of pace compared to her old life. Gutsy grew up in a boarding house that also ran a stable so her life revolved around horses since forever. Her father died when she was seventeen, opening up a can of worms that led to her getting tangled up with an embezzling scheme that he was involved in and indirectly caused his death. After exposing the crime, Gutsy joined a task force dedicated to investigating crimes relating to shady underground practices involving horses like racing and such. 

Daisy Jane and Gutsy met in college when they became roommates. At the time Gutsy was considering studying to be a veterinarian but ended up dropping out a year later because the task force was starting to take over her life. In retrospect, the whole being a vet thing wasn’t meant to be for her.

Being a detective was an unexpected turn for Gutsy, one that no one saw coming - and yet, at the time, it made sense. For a while, she felt that she found her calling, especially after being betrayed by what her dad and his friends had done. Maybe, in a way, she was trying to absolve him of his misdeeds. Solving mysteries and working with horses, what else can she ask for?

But then around last year things went sour. Investigating crimes has its dangers, which Gutsy knows all too well. She can handle being a target, but when loved ones are in the line of fire, that’s where she draws the line. The birth of her daughter Lulu led to Gutsy reevaluating her life choices. Eventually she decided that it was time to move on and give Lulu a stable childhood.

That’s why she decided to settle in Charm Villa. Other than her cousins and a small handful of relatives, Gutsy doesn’t have much family. With Lulu to take care of, a journey of self discovery was out of the question so she opted to stick close to family for practical reasons. With Livvy in college and only coming home every other weekend and Jack having experience as a young single parent as well as needing help with the cafe, Gutsy knew she and Lulu would be in good hands. 

While she finds herself much happier and less stressed in Charm Villa, Gutsy does miss being around horses. As far as she knows, the nearest stable is about two hours away so she hasn’t had a chance to visit yet. Maybe when Lulu’s a little older, she says. For now, Gutsy and horses are taking a long break. 

The way she describes it is like a close relationship that has gone a bit too codependent. All her life she grew up surrounded by horses so she related to them more than people. Her views on the family she grew up with, especially her dad, have been clouded in recent years. When she put together the pieces, she didn’t want to believe it, but at the same time, it all made sense. While being a detective gave her a sense of purpose, it also showed Gutsy how deceiving people can be. She always - and still - find horses more trusting than people, so in a way she relied on them as a crutch. Do it for the horses - that was her mantra whenever she tackled a case that would push her limits. Then that led to her letting the task force take over her life to the point that she had nothing outside of that. 

Eventually it got to the point where all she cared about was getting the truth out. Right and wrong, black and white, collateral damage was unfortunate but it didn’t matter as long as what’s done is done. As a result, Gutsy ended up burning a lot of bridges, which in turn made her question if she did more harm than good.

Lulu was her wake up call, the one who turned Gutsy’s life upside down and forced her to reevaluate her future. Being a parent wasn’t in the cards for her but in the end she made her choice. While the idea of raising a kid is still terrifying for her, so far it seems to be the best thing to happen to her. After spending most of her life jumping headfirst into danger and chasing thrills, Gusty realized the weight of her actions and how one can’t always jump to conclusions or make poor judgements just to get ahead of everyone else.

Maybe it’s another attempt to right her dad’s wrongs - that’s still something she struggles with - but Charm Villa, the cafe, Lulu, her cousins, it’s been doing her a lot of good. There’s still a lot that Gutsy’s uncertain about, but getting herself out of a bad place is a good first step. After everything she’s been through, I hope she finds that peace of mind she deserves. From the looks of it, I think she’s finding her way.

Around 1:30 we headed back to the cafe to help set up for the sandwich contest. When we were done, we had time to kill so Jack and Livvy gave us a tour of the kitchen. Then we made lattes and bread, which was a lot of fun. By the time we were able to master latte art, it was time for the contest to begin!

Candy Fruit Sando by Lolly A super sweet take on the cute Japanese fruit sandwiches! To kick things up a notch, the fruits are coated with a sugary syrup for an extra crunch! Fresh ripe fruit candied to perfection, freshly whipped cream that feels like eating a cloud and a soft and pillowy brioche to tie it all together - it’s the perfect addition to any bento box! Rod - Candied fruit?! Genius! 9/10 Snooty - I just wanna take pictures of it and make my friends jealous over how pretty it looks! 10/10 Sylvana - Strawberries and cream are a winning combo! 8/10 Audie - Aesthetic and yummy - that’s a win for me! 9/10

Spa Day Sandwich by Pancetti In need of shaking up your skin care routine? No need to swap out your face mask or moisturizer when you can have a sandwich instead! All the freshest veggies guaranteed to give you a healthy glow like cucumbers and seaweed seasoned with a zesty citrus glaze on a slice of lightly toasted pumpernickel. Snooty - My skin’s already feeling great! 7/10 Sylvana - This kinda reminds me of a salad, but in sandwich form! 6/10 Audie - This was definitely inspired by a spa! 6/10 Rod - Skip the moisturizer, go for the sandwich! 7/10

The Ultimate Dessert Sandwich! by Biskit What happens when you mash a pie, cake, and pudding into one? Well, we’re about to find out with this sandwich! The bread’s kinda like a pie crust/brioche hybrid and the sauce is a rich caramel custard. In between are thin slices of red velvet cake, blueberry-ginger pie filling, and slices of yellow cake. Sylvana - If this doesn’t satisfy your sweet tooth, I don’t know what will! 8/10 Audie - Talk about indulgent! 6/10 Rod - Perfect for a cheat day after an intense workout - but only in moderation! 7/10 Snooty - Are you sure this is a sandwich? 5/10

Take a Bite of Nature! by Lyman Need a palate cleanser after having too many sweets or processed foods? Nothing like fresh organic veggies to put your body back in balance! Green, leafy veggies, rustic roots, and crisp, sweet fruit on sprouted bread - all the flavors of nature in one tasty package! Audie - Crunch, crunch, crunch! 7/10 Rod - I wonder if this will make a good post-workout shake… 7/10 Snooty - Turn the bread into croutons and add some dressing and it’s a rustic salad! 8/10 Sylvana - This is probably better than some of the stuff they sell at health food stores 7/10

[365daysofsasuhina]

[ 365 Days of SasuHina || Day Sixty: Candle ] [ Uchiha Sasuke, Hyūga Hinata ] [ SasuHina ] [ Verse: River Runs Deep ] [ AO3 Link ]

He’s not sure what to make of the light when he sees it.

Traveling by night isn’t ideal, but...it’s the only option he’s left with. In unfamiliar territory, separated from his band, Sasuke is left wandering the woods after dark. The stars, at least, can guide him whenever he finds a gap in the foliage...and the mist. They were meant to cross the mountains to the lands north...but the trek has proven perilous. Even before he lost his way, they’d suffered losses. Horses breaking legs in the uneven and shifting ground, others wandering out into the vapor. One man even tumbled back down the mountain, too fast to grab and falling too far to have survived.

...but he knows where to end up to find them again. It’s just a matter of getting there.

Descending into a valley between several of the peaks, doing his best to navigate through the fog, he comes up short as the land suddenly evens out. Some kind of...plateau? A few cautious steps reveal an outline in the gloom...a building of some kind?

A few steps more, and he sees the lights.

Candles. Dozens of them. Lanterns, too...the light revealing this isn’t just any building: it’s a shrine. But what on earth is a shrine doing this far up in the mountains?

Hand on his blade’s hilt, Sasuke silently makes his way around toward the entrance. Through a gap in the stone, a tree grows, littered with ema. A chōzubachi fills from a slow dribble of water along the slope, overflowing to run along a small canal and off the plateau to the rest of the mountain. And within, he can hear a single voice softly singing a song of prayer.

...it almost doesn’t feel real.

Wary of trickster kami, he makes his way forward, cleansing himself before stepping into the mouth of the shrine.

Above him, a depiction of a great serpent dragon coils and bears its fangs: a protector deity. A mizuchi: water spirit. Looking over the shrine, Sasuke doesn’t notice the air go quiet, or the figure carefully approaching him.

“...who are you?”

Startling, he half-draws his katana out of reflex. But the only threat he finds is a miko bearing yet another candle. Pale eyes look to him warily, but she doesn’t retreat. For now, he doesn’t answer.

“...you’re an outsider. How did you find this place? Where did you come from?”

Looking to her just as suspiciously, Sasuke slowly sheathes his blade. “...I come from the south. My clan and I were moving north...but I got separated. Wound up here. I don’t mean you any harm.”

Her gaze flickers to his weapon.

“...can you tell me where I am?”

“...no. You should not be here. It’s forbidden.”

“I’ll leave, believe me - I just don’t know how to get over the mountains from here. Please, I -”

Outside, a hiss like a geyser sounds, and he spins toward it, hand back to his hilt.

“...don’t move.” Giving him a glance, the miko moves around him and outside, disappearing into the mist until the light from her candle fades.

Not relinquishing his grip, Sasuke waits.

Minutes pass in silence, and he doesn’t dare disobey. He’s never heard a sound like that before - even now, the hairs on the rear of his neck stand on end. Something’s out there...but what?

Then, blessedly, the light returns.

The miko steps up toward him, still looking wary but a bit less tense. “...she will allow your trespass.”

“She?”

“Our guardian kami. She commands you be given rest in the village, and then guided through to the other side of the peaks come morning. But only if you give your word you will never return.”

Wait...an actual spirit spoke to this woman? Sasuke’s superstitious, sure - better to be cautious. But he’s not a true believer like some others he knows. “...who is this kami?”

“The spirit of the valley’s river. Few are permitted to see her, fewer still to speak to her. I alone act as her voice to the humans. Count yourself lucky she doesn’t seek your life. Take this bargain, stranger.”

Well, he had no intent to find this place anyway, let alone stay. “...fine. I’ll do as asked. All I care about is getting back to my kinsmen.”

“...this way.”

They leave the shrine behind, and take a winding path down to the valley floor, peppered with torī gates that make him shiver. Whatever this place is...it’s certainly strange. Magic or not, holy or not...he’ll be glad to leave it.

She leads him with her candle to the belly of the vale, and it’s then he can see through the fog: houses, and roads. All nestled between the tall peaks he and his kin have struggled to cross.

Though mostly asleep for the night, a few stragglers look to him warily, clearly able to mark him as an outsider.

“None carry weapons here. You make them nervous.”

“I can hardly disarm myself,” he counters. “I’m a samurai, not a farmer.”

“Such arts are not practiced here. It is not necessary. Carry your blade, but be mindful what it means.”

Eventually they reach a modest home, and she leads him inside. “You may sleep here. Come morning, a guide will take you to the end of the valley. From there...you will be on your own. Never come back.”

Before she can leave, however...Sasuke takes her wrist. Her grip on the candle wavers, spilling hot wax along her skin.

“...what is this place?”

“None of your concern.”

“Then who are you?”

“...you may call me Hinata. I am the miko of the shrine you invaded.”

“It wasn’t my intent!”

“Then you should be all the more eager to leave in the morning.”

They stare at each other, dark and light eyes flickering in search of more.

“...you really think you spoke to a god?”

“I know I did. It is she who keeps us safe. And it is by your grace she allows you passage. She could have ordered you killed.”

“And who here, in a place without swords, would kill a swordsman?”

“She would. With tooth and claw. Then, perhaps, you would believe.”

Still looking wholly unconvinced, he lets her go. “...and if I ever do come back?”

“I suspect she will act. Strangers are not permitted here...strangers bring misfortune.”

“Then how did your people get here?”

“...we were chosen. Abandoned by those around us...and taken in by the god.” Hinata looks to him thoughtfully. “...that may be why she spared you.”

“I wasn’t abandoned. I got lost.”

The miko offers no reply. Instead, she simply tells him, “...rest. You’ve a long journey ahead of you.” A tug tries to free her wrist, but he has one more question.

“...and will I see you before I go?”

“No. I will be attending my duties. Instead, I will wish you good fortune now...and warn you one last time: do not come back.” She frees her arm, giving him a small bow before leaving him to his devices.

Watching her go, Sasuke considers the space. Spartan, but nothing to sneeze at. Though rural and antiquated, this place seems well-kept...wherever, and whatever it is.

Abandoning his gear, he takes to the bedroll, sleeping a few hours before the sun rises.

Another person of pale eyes takes him from the house north. Neither make attempts at conversation until they arrive.

“Follow that path. Do not waver from it, or the mist will swallow you.”

“Duly noted,” the Uchiha replies gruffly. Doing as told, he takes several paces before looking back.

They’re gone.

Part of him wonders if this was all nothing but a fever dream: an illusion cast by the fog addling his senses. But the memory of the miko doesn’t fade.

Despite her warning...he can’t help but feel he’ll see her again.

     This...isn't really want I want this to be, but it's late and I don't have time for a do-over OTL      This is meant to be in a verse technically centered around an RPC of mine, but...I adapted it a bit for this prompt. The theme kinda left me without any ideas for my typical verses, so we have this instead. I'm...really not sure I like it. It feels rushed, but I had a long day and lost track of time, so...less to work with OTL      Anyway, that's all for tonight. Hopefully tomorrow will be better ^^; Either way, thanks for reading~

[10000badframes]

Why I Left Music

To understand why I left music, you've got to start with why and how I got into music.

When I was little, I was deaf, and when my hearing was restored, it came back in stages. I would listen, rapt, to a My First Symphony tape as the sections of the orchestra were introduced one by one, and as time went on, each became more intelligible. High pitches were easier to discern, so the flute stood out like a beam of light in the darkness. What's more, I was surrounded by music on a daily basis. My dad is a wildly creative and intuitive musician, proficient on a number of instruments, my mother and brother sang beautifully, and my sister had been singing and playing violin from an early age. We sang as a family at home and at church, and I was in choir and handbell choir from my earliest memories on. I don't remember not being able to read music.   I started with piano, and moved to flute once my arms were long enough for the starter headjoint, in about fourth grade. My first teacher was the principle flute player with the Rochester Philharmonic, and when I moved to Iowa, I learned from the principal of the Des Moines Symphony. Both teachers made the smart move of throwing repertoire at me which was much more advanced than the usual stuff at my level, and because I didn't know it was supposed to be hard, I rocketed forward at a feverish pace. I continued with choir and handbell choir, and as my skill became more evident, I added youth orchestra, honor band, and pit orchestras, and that was just after school. During school I was in marching band, concert band, jazz band, and orchestra. I attended elite months-long summer camps for the nation's best young musicians. I competed regularly, and at one point was considered to be one of the top three musicians in my age bracket in the country. My first tattoo was of a treble clef. As a shy child in a talented family, I was pleased to have found my talent, the thing I didn't have to work very hard at in order to achieve great things. I rested my self-confidence on that talent, and when opportunities came up to show it off, I didn't turn them down. Nobody forced me to do any of the activities above; it came with a built-in social life and plentiful affirmation, so I almost never paused to think about whether or not this was something I actually wanted to do forever. It was simply assumed, as inherent a fact of life as the sunrise.   I probably should have known it wasn't for me when practicing was boring; almost unbearable. I heard about people enjoying practicing, and assumed that they were lying in order to look good. I would avoid it however I could, and did pretty well regardless. I loved ensemble work because I loved music, but listening to myself for hours on end, however good the result was, was miserable. At the worst of times, I assumed that my hatred of practicing meant that I was lazy and undisciplined, inherently a bad artist, and probably a bad person. I heard talk about 'flow state,' and how it made the time fly. Having never achieved it, I assumed that it was a lie. Since I'd specialized to such a high degree, music was the only course to follow in college. The culture surrounding classical music then became much more evident, divorced as it was from my little Midwestern fishbowl. I learned about the way I was expected to present my gender, and was pressured by my teacher to grow out my pixie cut out of concern that I wasn't feminine enough to be a flute player. I learned about the ingrained gender divide, and how child-bearing was considered the knell of doom for female musicians. I learned that I was one of thousands of young musicians all competing for the same handful of jobs, which could wait for perfection to walk through the door as the market was so flooded. I learned that blind auditions don't mask your gender if the judges can hear you inhale. Most depressing of all, I learned that my chances of getting an orchestral job - the only thing which I enjoyed about being a musician - were so small as to be statistically impossible. I would have to join the military, become a teacher, or quit. At first, I quit. Two years into my bachelor's degree at a prestigious school, I quit, leaving my family and community reeling in shock. They had all invested faith, time, and money in my dream of being a musician, and I had thrown it away. To them, it appeared to be an impulsive, flaky, and selfish decision to make, flying in the face of every opportunity I'd been given. To me, I was trying to stand up for myself. I was lost, depressed, occasionally suicidal, and suffering from ulcers. I was still battling the notion that I was lazy and undisciplined, and now everyone I knew saw me in the worst possible light. I leaned into my new failure status, and piled bad choices on top of bad choices, embarrassing myself and my family. Years later, when I had leveled out somewhat and come to terms with the fact that I needed a bachelor's degree in order to be taken seriously on the job market, I wanted to do anything except for music. I enrolled in a community college and took math, science, and art courses, the latter having been a hobby of mine since I was young. I'd been drawing cartoons to put in my boyfriend's lunch for years, and in my drawing and painting classes, I honed the skill. When the time came to transfer my credits to the state college, the majority of my post-high school credits were in art and music. I applied at the state's art school, and was turned down. My financial reality became clear; in order to get a bachelor's degree in under three years, the majority of my transferrable credits were in music, so to music I had to return. I was accepted at the music school, and went back to rehearsals, practicing, and competing. It was much the same as the last time, in ways both good and bad, with the notable difference that this time I was resigned to the impossibility of it all. Whenever people said they'd had a satisfying practice session, I lied through my teeth and said I had, too. I incurred my debt, got my degree, and left with zero intention of pursuing a master's, surfing a new wave of disappointment from teachers and my community alike. The shambling zombie of my career ambitions followed me when I moved to New York City due to my husband's job, and I paid hundreds of dollars for lessons from eminent professionals at Juilliard and the New York Philharmonic. I took masterclasses, invested in new equipment, and auditioned. Nothing substantial ever came from it, as the statistics had foretold. I watched my classmates move into the military and teaching, with a lucky few going on to teach at the collegiate level, and even fewer achieving a performance career. I practiced, and hated every minute. Then, at my breaking point, I watched Monsters University. It's such a weird way to switch gears. People took a number of things away from their experience of MU; mine was the message that you can be amazing at something and still never hope to make a career of it. What you have to do when you've faced up to that truth is to find what you loved about the career you thought you were going to have and apply it somewhere else. Adapt. Something better might be waiting. I thought about how live music is being replaced with synthesized music and orchestras are dying across the nation. I looked at my dusty art portfolio. There were dozens of animators in that credits sequence after MU, I thought. There are two flutes in every orchestra. The next day, I sat down with my husband at lunch, and said, "let's move to California. I want to be a 3D animator." This was surprising coming from me; I'd only ever reluctantly taken to digital media, and barely knew how to use Photoshop. My reasoning was that if I wanted to be at the forefront of a growing industry, and if I re-trained in animation, I would have a better chance of getting work than I had now (there was nowhere to go but up in that respect.) There would be more opportunities for both of us out in California, where his company had a major office, and where several prominent studios were housed. He agreed immediately, and got me The Illusion of Life for my 29th birthday. Maya is a hell of a tough program at the best of times. It has a mind of its own, and even when everything is running smoothly, you have to contend with such gauntlets as the graph editor (a mathematical representation of motion over time.) You know what you want the characters to do, but you have to use this thorny, labyrinthine program to do it, and I've cried many tears of frustration over it. You are responsible for every single movement, every blink, every shrug, every breath. It is dizzyingly easy to mess up, and impossibly, sixteen-dimensionally complicated. And yet. Flow state, that thing I thought was a lie? I found it. It was about six months in, while I was still wrestling with the program. I was grappling with the reality that I'm not naturally good at this, that my talent lies elsewhere, and any progress I make in this quarter will come from elbow grease alone. I was making adjustments to a scene, and realized that four hours had passed unnoticed. I felt energized and satisfied. I craved more. At thirty, I found out that I wasn't lazy and undisciplined, that I didn't hate hard work, that I wasn't a terrible person - I was just very, very good at something I didn't truly want to do. Now, I struggle and weep and sink weeks and months into seconds worth of footage, and I love it. Wild horses couldn't keep me away.

[mysterioustransmissions]

My favorite comics of 2017

Keeping with my new tradition of posting this list super late, here, on the last day of 2018, is my best comics of 2017 list. I can offer excuses -- my wife and I remodeled our house and welcomed our first child into the world this year, and I’m also unfailingly lazy -- but 2017 was also a killer year for comics, making this a bit larger of an undertaking than usual. Both Koyama Press and co-publishers Retrofit Comics and Big Planet Comics had absolutely stacked lineups. You’ll see them listed as publisher for many entries below.

I always struggle with how to order this list. I got serious about organizing my comics collection in 2018, and am running into the same problem. There, I’m thinking of dividing it into two -- a single-author section organized by author name (which ends up being mostly minicomics and graphic novels), and a multiple-author section organized by title (which ends up being mostly traditional-sized comics). Here, I’m essentially doing that same thing, but mixing them together; some entries are by title, and some author name.

Comics I especially enjoyed are marked with an *.

Allison, Matthew; Cankor: Calamity of Challenge #2 and #3 (self-published).

Berserker 1, edited by edited by Tom Oldham and Jamie Sutcliffe (Breakdown Press). There was a lot of anticipation and very specific expectations placed on this book ahead of its release, but no one seemed to walk away from the finished product satisfied. But it’s got a killer cover, great production design, and strips by some of the best cartoonists going. I hope Breakdown does another one.

* Booth, Tara; How to be Alive (Retrofit Comics & Big Planet Comics). One of the funniest books I’ve ever read. Booth’s drawings are a riot to look at, that the gags are also great is pure gravy. About as big as crossover hits get in my house. (I.e., my wife also loved it.)

Cardini, William; Tales From the Hyperverse (Retrofit Comics and Big Planet Comics). Cardini’s sci-fi world is made bigger and more engaging by the rapid-fire pace of this short story collection. His wild experimentation with color is always an inspiration.

Corben, Richard; Shadows on the Grave #1 - #8 (Dark Horse Comics). Not my favorite of Corben’s late-period Dark Horse horror books, but there’s plenty to enjoy. I was stunned by the sheer efficiency of the storytelling -- there are entire stories told with a single image and a few word balloons. A lot of these books sport great covers, issue #1 here, seen at the link for this entry, is one of the best.

Darrow, Geoff; The Shaolin Cowboy: Who’ll Stop the Reign? #1 - #4 with Dave Stewart (Dark Horse Comics). I was so bowled over by the experience of buying Shemp Buffet monthly that I initially scoffed at Cowboy’s return to more traditional narrative, but it turned out to be no less wild and no loss at all.

Davis, Eleanor; Libby’s Dad (Retrofit Comics & Big Planet Comics) and You & a Bike & a Road (Koyama Press). You & a Bike & a Road does something that’s often attempted and rarely successful -- it beats the audience down so it can then lift them up higher. Its success is due in no small part from its origin as a real-life journal. The visceral and emotional pain Davis feels on her journey is sincerely felt, and the lack of cynicism the storytelling choices are made with allow the reader to feel it whole cloth. And listen; it certainly doesn’t hurt that Davis is an amazing narrative storyteller besides -- Libby’s Dad is no less affecting.

DeForge, Michael; mini kuš! #43 'Meat Locker' (kuš!). I sleep on DeForge. I take him for granted. I feel like I’m not the only one? I see some excitement when his books come out, but no discussion. Blame it on the high volume and opaque nature of his work, the dearth of comics reviewers, and me, obviously. Also obviously, whenever something of his does find its way to my hands, I’m never sorry.

Estrada, Inés; Alienation #3 - #6 (self-published). The bundled version of this series, seen at the link for this entry, has the coolest book packaging I’ve ever seen in my life.

Expansion by Matt Sheean and Malachi Ward (AdHouse Books). I didn’t like this nearly as much as this same team’s previous Ancestor (due no doubt to its earlier and improvised creation), but damn, what a cover.

* Forsman, Chuck; Slasher #1 - #4 (Floating World Comics). I’d say the majority of my interest in Forsman’s work is in seeing how he presents his it and steers his career -- he’s among the best there is at that. Slasher is his first work I strongly connected with. It digs deep and gets wilder and wilder.

Ferrick, Margot; Yours (2dcloud). I’m a simpleton, so I was surprised at how deeply I was able to be moved by something this abstract. As always, grabbing 2dcloud’s whole line on Kickstarter expands my horizons and makes me a better reader.

Foster-Dimino, Sophia; Sex Fantasy (Koyama Press). I’ve actually only read the minis of this. This collection has the one I’m missing, plus some new material, but I love Sex Fantasy. It’s like a perpetual motion machine for thought -- you can just think about it forever.

Fricas, Katie; Art Fan (self-published). One of those things you dream of happening at a show -- picked this up at MICE not knowing anything about it, and was delighted by the artwork and knocked out by the “reviews of trippy art events”; particularly the first, about Duke Riley’s Fly by Night.

* Friebert, Noel; WEIRD6 (self-published), SPINE: I’ll Still Watch (Bred Press), Old Ground (Koyama Press). Sometimes when I have a fever, I can’t break loose of a single, circular thought -- I have the same thought over and over, only to realize once the fever’s broken that it was barely coherent. Friebert’s newer, decompressed work is like that. You turn page after page, and nothing happens. It’s the same characters still doing and saying the same things, again and again. You turn the pages faster and faster, almost in a panic, hoping to break the cycle and resolve the unease before you. But it’s no use.

* gg; I’m Not Here (Koyama Press), Valley (kuš!). I’m Not Here is one of a few books I recommended to people who were enjoying season 3 of Twin Peaks at the time. It doesn’t convey information so much as emotion, and rewards as much thought as you want to put into it.

* Hankiewicz, John; Education (Fantagraphics Books). I loved this so much I only read a few pages a night to make it last. Michael DeForge once called Noel Freibert an “astronaut” -- that applies to Hankiewicz also. No one’s ever done anything like this before, and if we didn’t have Hankiewicz I don’t think anyone ever would. Bringing poetry and modern dance (!!) into the language of comics, this was another book I recommended to watchers of season 3 of Twin Peaks -- you don’t understand the story by connecting facts, you understand it by connecting emotions.

* Hanselmann, Simon; Portrait, XMP-165 (self-published). XMP-165 was the first big payoff of the longform nature of Megg and Mogg, and it destroyed me. Also released this year was Doujinshi, Cold Cube Press’ gorgeous re-release of a Japanese Megg and Mogg fan comic.

Harkam, Sammy; Crickets #6 (The Commonwealth Comics Company). People talk about how good this book is, and I agree, but I’m not sure I could tell you why.

Haven, Eric; Vague Tales (Fantagraphics Books).

Hernandez, Gilbert and Jaime ; Love & Rockets Vol. IV #2, #3 (Fantagraphics). I made the terrible error after Love Bunglers to trade wait Locas, and for whatever reason they haven’t released one since. So I was way behind when this started coming out, but I bought and read it anyway. I initially found the story to be light, but I eventually realized I had a free ComiXology trial and caught up. It’s as great as ever.

Ito, Junji; Dissolving Classroom (Vertical, Inc.), Shiver: Junji Ito Selected Stories, and Tomie: Complete Deluxe Edition (Viz Media). Tomie may have come out in 2016 actually? I describe it to people as being about a beautiful woman who stands around until some total lech of a man inevitably murders her, then she comes back and annihilates him in the most unpleasant manner possible. Repeat ad infinitum. I don’t think the text 100% supports my reading, but that’s what it means to me.

Landry, Tyler; Shit and Piss (Retrofit Comics). The ephemeral, disjointed nature the single issue format served this story better, but it’s still extremely rad.

Loup, Celine; The Man Who Came Down the Attic Stairs (self-published).

Marcus, Ben; Crisis Zone 3rd Edition (Bred Press).

Mignolaverse and John Arcudi; Dead Inside #3 by Arcudi, Toni Fejzula, and Andre May, Lobster Johnson: The Pirate’s Ghost #1 - #3 by Arcudi and Tonci Zonjic, Hellboy: Into the Silent Sea by Gary Gianni, Mike Mignola, and Dave Stewart (Dark Horse Comics). Ignoring a few years in college when I was a lapsed comics reader, I’ve bought every Mignolaverse comic since I was about 13. That loyalty has slowly eroded over the last half decade about. I’m not alone in thinking the Arcudi-Davis run is one of the greatest of all time, and that the books started to go downhill after Guy Davis left. Beyond the departure of Davis, there are a few reasons for that, in my view.

First was the decision soon after to expand the line’s offerings. Doubling the line’s output and bringing in (inevitably) inferior creative teams was a no-win proposition for readers. Who wants more of something not as good?

Second, I think that Arcudi, a great writer, has shifted his focus from tightly-plotted five issue arcs to series-spanning character arcs. While I’m guessing this reads great in big chunks, it doesn’t spread out month to month, some months out of the year. I’m looking forward to a big re-read of everything after B.P.R.D. wraps in a few months, to see if this theory holds. Lobster Johnson: The Pirate’s Ghost came close to standing on its own, but was still rife with moments that I can only assume were big character payoffs because I didn’t remember enough to know. (Especially cool covers by Zonjic on these issues.) However, the non-Mignolaverse title Dead Inside offered the type of visceral, plot-based payoff his B.P.R.D. run with Davis hooked me with. I hadn’t been this thrilled by an Arcudi book since Killing Ground.

But third, and worst of all, has been the addition of writer Chris Roberson, whose books read like updates to the Mignolaverse Wiki. (The Visitor: How and Why He Stayed was okay, but pretty much solely due to Paul Grist’s fun art and layouts.)

I’m staying aboard the main B.P.R.D. book as it races to the finish line, and will continue to buy anything Arcudi writes, which seems to be mostly these Lobster Johnson comics. (Although even that’s looking increasingly, and sadly, unlikely to continue: https://twitter.com/ArcudiJohn/status/1075086925436874753) And I’ll certainly buy any more of these very sporadically-released Hellboy OGNs, like Into the Silent Sea, they decide to release -- the only real non-Mignola drawn Hellboy books anymore.

* Milburn, Lane; CORRIDORS (self-published). Sits comfortably next to Inflated Head Zone by Zach Hazard Vaupen, one of my favorite comics. They both forsake straightforward narrative in favor of theme-driven emotional impressionism, and do it with horror. This is catnip to me, and something I aspire to (although I’m far too boring to achieve it).

* Mirror Mirror II, edited by Sean T. Collins and Julia Gfrörer (2dcloud).

Now: The New Comics Anthology #1, edited by Eric Reynolds (Fantagraphics Books).

* Providence #12 by Jacen Burrows, Juan Rodriguez, and Alan Moore (Avatar Press). It came out months after, but it’s a safe bet Moore wrote this before Trump got elected, right? A more accurate depiction of the shell-shock of being thrust into a post-facts world I haven’t seen.

Roberts, Keiler; Sunburning (Koyama Press). Another big crossover hit in my house.

* Shiga, Jason; Demon Volumes 2, 3, and 4 (First Second). Demon became a book I wouldn’t stop showing to anyone who would listen. Like Gina Wynbrandt’s Someone Please Have Sex With Me, its hook transcends the normal comics reading audience -- you can show it to anyone and they get it right away. Specifically I would show people this amazing video https://youtu.be/NRxCTeM5pyU, which would clue them into what Shiga does enough to get them to read Demon. Demon has a story, but it’s more about rules -- establishing them and playfully subverting them with a level of inventiveness that regularly leaves you in awe.

* Terrell, Jake; Extended Play (2dcloud). This delightful book took me completely by surprise, an experience made possible by 2dcloud’s subscription model.

Tomasso, Rich; She Wolf: Black Baptism #1 - #4, Spy Seal: The Corten-Steel Phoenix #1 - #4 (Image Comics). The end of this second series of She Wolf approached the same hostile disregard for what came before as the end of Tomasso’s previous series, Dark Corridor. But where Dark Corridor acted on that impulse by simply burning it all down, She Wolf has enough respect at least to replace what came before by pivoting into a completely different comic. The freedom this affords the plot to dart in unpredictable directions is exhilarating. And it’s fun and beautifully laid out and designed, as always with Tomasso.

Tran, Thu; Dust Pam (Peow). Gorgeous!

Vaupen, Zach Hazard; Combed Clap of Thunder (Retrofit Comics and Big Planet Comics).

* Willumsen, Connor; Anti-Gone (Koyama Press). The part where the protagonists drive their boat past a window with a dog in it rewired my comics-making brain forever. This was another comic I only read a few pages of a night to make it last longer, and also recommended to friends of mine who were enjoying season three of Twin Peaks -- the plot is obfuscated in a similar way.

Yanow, Sophie; What is a Glacier? (Retrofit Comics and Big Planet Comics).

Yokoyama, Yuichi; Iceland (Retrofit Comics). Another comic I recommended to Twin Peaks season three fans. Similar to the residents of the Red Room, the characters seem truly of another world, their motivations and actions incomprehensible to us.