#I drew art for like 3 Halloween covers-- this being one of them

[ivanzplaid]

Soo in light of the new terrifier movie that just came out this month, can I request an Art the Clown x serial killer male reader who has some kind of bdsm kink? I was thinking something along the lines of Art and the reader end up catching each other killing and are covered in blood and kind of have this moment of "oh my god, let's fuck right now" and the reader gets completely railed. I have been looking everywhere for some Art x male reader and haven't been able to find anything so this would be amazing-

Happy Halloween 👋

oh my god yes yes yes, first of all i completely agree there are NO male readers for art which is awful, and id be more than happy to do this because i also am fully into the idea <3 youve just killed someone in a back alley and you get thr overwhelming feeling that someones watching you, and turning your head you see art, standing at thr entrance ( and exit ), admiring what youve done. he walks towards you slowly with a small smile, waving his fingers and eyebrows going up and down, and before you know it hes standing right infront of you, looking iver your body as youre just dumbfounded at the clown seducing you🫶 also!! happy halloween!

requests are open, masterlist is up!!

this is longer than i expected😭 i did not think i loved art that much but ig i do, so please request more of him if you like this!! not proofread, spelling errors are my bad but its halloween, also i wrote this in about 8 seperate parts so i am so sorry if it had a bad flow, i was jus on a roll LMFAO

Art the Clown x M! Serial Killer! Reader + BDSM | Avert Your Eyes to Me | NSFW

Warnings: NSFW, BDSM, Praise-ish, Violence/Murder Description, Language, Knife play, Fluff/Obsession at the end

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The chilling feeling of the wind that brushed against you didn't bring you down from the high that drugged you, your body jittered in place as your gaze fixated on the body of a stranger, laid silently, informally, in the quiet part of a back alleyway. Your breathing was calming down after the trouble you went through to just kill them, after they tackled you & punched, you watched them as their life was staked out, being dragged harshly from your switchblade, which was now tucked neatly between your waistband, peaking out slightly and revealing your skin.

If your gaze became heavier, you felt like you'd close your eyes. The body was magnetic, tonight was the first time you had time to just sit and look st your work, as you referred to it. Like an artist to their canvas, or a writer to their book, you were fixated on the corpse that sat there, it's not your fault that death was beauty.

A sigh came out as you lifted your wrist to check the time, it was 9:07, the sun set hours ago, and you had no plans. How eventful. You knew rigor mortis would set in, in roughly an hour or so from know, and it was a pain in the ass last time you waited that long. So with that, you bent down to gather the body up easily, and heave it elsewhere, so it wouldn't be the publics eyesore.

Tap. Tap. Tap

A trance became broken when you heard purposeful taps, and with your body hunched over carrying a body, you shot your head to the perpetrator. Unfortunately, no one was there, the streetlight was the only thing lit, and it revealed it was just you. Alone.

An uncomfortable feeling in your throat came up, and so your movements were rushed, trying to pull the body in its contorted figure closer to you to-

Tap. Tap. Tap

It's your mind, it's not real. Continue on with your work and dispose of the body before somebody-

Tap. Tap. Tap

With your attitude irritated, and your time being crunched from paranoia, you looked up.

"What the fuck is that noise.."

To your deepest displeasure, your eyes met with someone with time, somebody who stood no less than 8 feet from you, watching you quietly. Your body froze, everything was tight, as if you were being electrocuted.

Your eyes, even if stuck in place, drew in the sight. The person, rather dressed as a clown, mimicked your body, its- or rather his, head was tilted, and a small face was looking at you, a face you'd see in a Tom and Jerry cartoon, an over-exaggerated, shocked face.

The two of you stood silently, the silence being your cushion, because if he didn't talk, it wouldn't bring attention.

The look he had on was black and white, dressed almost as a terrifying mime, and to add to it, there was also blood splatter on him, from head to toe.

Your body was still holding onto your victim, hunched over in a pathetic attempt to seal what you've done. Yet, the clown stood there, staring at you, looking you into the eyes. There was no interest of what you've done.

You wanted to move, or speak, but it was as if all senses and abilities left you, everywhere was tense, and the weight of your body was holding you down, no attempt to move was successful. Somehow, it also seemed like this transferred to your eyes. While the clown stared you down, like a superior looking over the weak, you, timidly, peered back at him. The man was hypnotic, having you in a trance to keep your eyes on him. So even when the sound of footsteps became more apparent, the sight of the clown becoming even closer, you could only admire.

Eventually, he stood right before you. His head tilted down, leaving you transfixed on his face. The teeth in particular left you captivated. The shining white from them contrasted beautifully with the red that splattered on his cheek. It was intimidating, and inviting.

"What do you want, why are you here?"

A silky feeling came to your chin, and before your mouth could open to speak, a thumb pressed over your lips, while a finger kept your head tilted up. The clowns face configured a smile, slowly shaking its head while his fingers made circles on your lips.

You could've moved away, or stood up to escape. You could step away and make your way to your neighborhood, to your house, but the opposite happened. You sat there compliantly, eyes wide, and becoming more and more aroused, breathing getting heavier. He saw this as well.

While one hand occupied your face, another came down gently, grasping your shoulder before pushing you firmly to your knees, which buckled easily. A slight huff of air left you, and what replaced it was his thumb, sliding into your mouth and familiarizing itself.

Everything about your body felt warm now, the events making your dick twitch from under your pants. The thumb inside your mouth traveled further to the back of your mouth, following on your tongue.

The hold on your shoulder made its way up, stroking your neck, then stopping at the back of your head, taking a chunk of your hair with it, then pulling you closer to his waist. Your eyes broke contact first, peering to the bulge that stood out from the thin costume, then looking back up, just to see the clown nodding, thin eyebrows raised, amused.

You took the initiative that it mean to undo the costume, so your hands lifted to find a zipper, or anything to open to it. Quickly enough you found the zipper and began undoing it, before tugging at the boxers that stood between it. Your fingers felt cold against the pale skin that was revealed, and your ears picked up on the laughter the clown emitted, taunting you from your eagerness. When your eyes peered back up, the thumb in your mouth made you open wider, then putting the tip on your tongue, using his hand with your hair to guide you forward into taking it, your saliva acting as lubricant.

Even with the tight grip on the back of your hair, you became harder, whining from the sensation that went to your mouth. He made you keep eye contact, even when the pace quickened, and you could feel it hitting the back of your throat, with tears stinging your eyes, he wanted to see all of you below him.

Eyes-watering & a softened gaze seemed to make the clown before you more turned on, choking and gagging only made the pace quicker, his fingers massaging the back of your head as he pushed your face in, to his pelvis, then back to the tip. At one point, he left your head to furthest point on his dick, feeling your tongue and your mouth, forcing your head to stay still and face fuck him before pulling out of your mouth and cumming on your face, chest slightly heaving from the way drool was left on the side of your mouth, and the way his cum was spread across your pretty little face. Wiping some of it off with his thumb, he maneuvered it into your mouth, swirling it around your tongue so he could smile at you tasting him.

Moments of recovery had passed quickly for the clown, who soon became just as active as before. A hand reached towards the neck of your shirt, and grabbed a fist of it, using it as a leash to drag you down with him, leading you to his lap on the ground. A dim streetlight was lit 30 feet away, there was just enough light for you two to see eachother, but the man had no trouble finding the seams of your pants to guide down slowly, examining how your hips moved, and how much control he had over your pleasure.

He'd dictate when and what you experienced, because as soon as his fingers found the switchblade that you'd carelessly left in your pocket, his eyes went wide with discovery, yet his smile suggested he had other ideas besides wonder in mind. Fully taking your pants off, and throwing them aside,, he left your briefs on, and put a singular hand cupping your dick, which left a tent for his eyes only. With his other, now free hand, he let the blade rush out, and held it to your chest, then moving his hand to his own lips in a hushed manner. He wanted you to play a game with him, stay silent for him, like his good boy, with the imminent threat of your own knife, now being used against you.

Without warning, he began to rub his hands over your cock, eyeing the precum that was staining your underwear and giggling to himself. His hands would stroke you from over your boxers, watching you struggle to calm yourself with suppressed moans and whines, bucking yourself into his hand to get an ounce of pleasure. He knew you couldn't cum from this, but his amusement left you needy, and he wanted to have more fun.

The blade that was left idly against your throat had slight pressure to it when your groan slipped out, but you saw that his dick was standing up from the show you put on.

Soon enough, his fingers slid under the waistband and slide it down, and using the blade for better access, he cut the underwear so you wouldn't have to move off his lap. You now sat, exposed, on him. Your attempt to discreetly cover yourself was shot down as soon as one hand wrapped around your dick, staying still, with pre-cum drenching his hand. Slowly, he began to move his fingers up and down, spitting once onto it to have more lube before locking eye contact again.

He liked nothing more than seeing your body, even when being stroked, and pleasured, shrinking down from his confidence. He wants you to know that he has the control, he will abuse his powers as much, or as little, as he pleases. With this knowledge, he speeds up his strokes, leaving extra time to play with the tip, just to see your thighs twitch and body shift. He wont let you get close to cumming, until your on his dick of course. But by then, it'll be overstimulation.

His free hand sat still on your thigh, but he realized he'd still have to prep you for him after all. While his hand worked you teasingly, the other had you open for two finger, soaking them inside your mouth, just so he could spread your ass and slide them in slowly, causing a gasp-moan to leave you. The sensation of your hole being filled for the first time by him left you tight, but the moor and more his fingers began to work in and out of you had you weaker, leaning your head and arms over his neck while he worked you from both sides.

His fingers stretched you out more than you'd been before, he was eager to shove himself inside of you, but he restrained himself when he saw your face, toned red and pathetic from him fucking you with his fingers, and his handjob works.

At one point, you became silent, a small hum of deep breathing and whines, and your body tensed when his fingers scissored you & played your tip, he knew you were about to cum, but he wasn't ready for you to give up yet. In a singular motion, one finger went over the tip of your dick, and he stopped everything else. If he had to physically prevent you from cumming, just so he could let you cum over and over when he fucked you, so be it.

You slightly lifted your head to look at him, but he only shook his head, cupping your cheek.

Cool air made you sink deeper into him, holding onto his shoulders to keep yourself warm and for balance as he held his cock. You could feel his nose find its way to the crevice of your neck, before biting down to leave marks. The air pushed itself out of you when you felt his teeth, softly groaning and holding on tighter to him.

Before you had the chance to move again, when your body was relaxed from the bite, you felt the tip of his dick slide into you, stretching your hole, making sure he gets you all the way down on him, eventually having you sitting on his lap, stroking your face in his own ways of praise.

Your face that was previously stuck to his shoulder, was gracefully lifted off, chin tilted up in a vulnerable manner, avoiding eye contact with the man whos fingers held your chin firmly.

When you felt the movement beneath you, of him fucking you slowly, his dick sliding inside of you, the feeling of tightness before you can adjust to his size, your breathing sputtered. Eye contact felt shameful, you couldn't hide how much you were liking his paced thrusting, but when you felt the pressure being placed onto your neck, squeezing the sides and hitching your breathe, you looked right towards him.

Your eyes were met with a sadistic look, eyes widened with a closed smile, taunting you and how pathetic you looked. His fingers drummed along your neck, and your mind was trying to get through two things at once; his dick, which was now fucking inside of you even harder, having you move up and down to go deeper, and the hand wrapped around your throat, squeezing and softening to put you on edge.

The sounds that were trapped in your throat felt heavy, louder moans trying to escape were stopped by him, but the sound of skin on skin, becoming faster and more apparent made your body twitch, your thighs tensed around the mans waist, and your chest held in its breath to strangle out more pleasure.

For a few moments, it felt like it was just the two of you in the world you occupied. You'd completely lost memory of what lead you to this, the dick that was penetrating you had found your g-spot after a short period of time, and periods of ecstasy flashed your eyes, almost cumming from each hit. You may have been able to last a few more minutes, if you didn't feel a hand slip from your chest, sliding up the base of your cock, teasing you with unfulfilling strokes, before jerking you off as sensually as possible, with your drool falling down to his hand to fuck you with.

It was an overwhelming stimulation from your ass being pounded into, having no mercy to your body, or the aches you'd wake up, and the praise and dedication your cock was getting, being pleasantly stroked and rubbed quickly, satisfying your needs and begs for him.

The warmth in your body began to grow hotter, and when you came, spreading your cum all over his chest, he came in your ass, settling, almost pushing you down to secure your position on him. A sign of property and trust. He came in you, used you, and saw your body at your most vulnerable moments when you were pleading, bouncing on his dick. He thinks it's only fair you'd be his.

As your body sporadically moved, twitching uncontrollably from the overstimulation, he held you, mesmerized by the way your body, face, and voice could sound so perfect. You weren't going to leave him like the others did. After tonight, he'd truly be all you need, he'd make sure of it.

#art the clown #art the clown x reader #art the clown x male reader #art the clown x you #slasher #slasher x reader #reader x slasher #terrifier #terrifier 2 #hallows eve #slasher x you #slasher x male reader

[ipxakachi]

【Xandu】Disgrace of Society【Happy Halloween!】 

Extra frame of art that I thought would’ve been nice to add to the vid but was too late for

rip oh well

#HI HI friendo asked me to draw this last minute and honestly got too excited and drew a bit extra from what he initially asked for #HHHNNGH same one from the Persona Wake up get up get out there cover #gODDDDDD I LOVE HIS VOICEEEEE #ANd I love drawing in this style/these facial expressions #I know this isn't the most ideal genre of music for a lot of ppl but still thought i'd share incase there might be some who might enjoy #( ´ • ω •｀ ) #I had a lot of fun drawing this and I wanna do more #video #I drew art for like 3 Halloween covers-- this being one of them #in addition to editing a friends Halloween speedpaint + working on an animation assignment all in 48 hours #//lays down #i still need to draw for more #hah....havnt felt this productive in the longest time

[sevsnapeposts]

Snapetober Day 3: Pumpkin carving.

hello everyone. this took more than it should've, honestly, but here it is. i feel like a made a mistake somewhere on the translation but oh well. Sev POV btw. feel free to read it over in ao3 if you'd like, and also if you'd be kind enough, go give me some kudos over there. thanks, hope you enjoy~.

Day 3 - Pumpkin craving.

--

Severus had an incredible ability to carve pumpkins. Where it came from, he had no idea, but he was capable of making all kinds of faces and figures, from a classic malevolent pumpkin to minimal landscapes and human faces. The most impressive thing is that he did it without the use of a wand: Armed with a good knife and an occasional extra object, he carved the pumpkin in the most traditional way possible.

He knew of the existence of his gift since he was a child. He was 8, on the first Halloween for which his mother had gotten some money to decorate his room, in an attempt to give him some happiness. The woman had done this after they passed one of the most beautiful houses on the street, which had a lot of little lights and scary decorations, and she noticed the glint of longing in her little son's eyes.

So, Eileen had managed to get some pumpkins at the fruit stand a few blocks away. There were three of them, a bit ugly and old, as well as small, but that would be more than enough for her and her child.

Severus clearly remembered the expression of his mother, who had marveled when he, using the razor with great care, had perfectly copied the face of the largest pumpkin in that house. Eileen's face had lit up like never before, the usual melancholy and weariness of her fading completely. She had laughed, and hugged him, and she let him carve the other two pumpkins, keeping a close eye to avoid any accidents, even though Severus was more than capable of doing it without a hitch.

The little pumpkins didn’t make it to Halloween though, because three days later (and two days before that date), Tobias found them and smashed them in half, shouting in his drunkenness that in his house no one was going to celebrate those stupid festivities, nor have decorations, nor spend money or time on them.

Severus had cried himself to sleep.

When he met Lily, however, he again had the opportunity to demonstrate his art. Lily took all of the pumpkins to her house, and they all adorned the Evans' yard even after Halloween, only being removed when Christmas got close enough. She had been fascinated, and during her years at Hogwarts, when the time came, she would always get one or two for him to carve out some pretty ornaments and then take them to her bedroom. Even after the end of their friendship, as a kind of apology, tribute, or torture (he didn't know which of the three, honestly), Severus would make pumpkins with flowers and leave them lying around, never close enough to any of them.

After Lily's death, Severus hadn't carved one again.

At least until that day. October had just begun, and he was stuck in Malfoy Manor keeping Lucius company, who since the divorce complained that the mansion was "too big and empty." Severus thought he well deserved it, but he still appreciated him too much to refuse an explicit invitation to stay with him for that month, as a more than special guest.

Of course, Prue was there too. Severus couldn't understand how she had gotten through things so easily, how she was able to sit at the same table as the man who had caused her so much fear and so many nightmares; but if she was comfortable enough with him to agree to stay at his house, then he had no say in it.

In any case, Lucius hadn’t invited them just because he could: He also knew that this was the now young woman's favorite month, and therefore, he couldn’t give her a better gift than to let her spend all those dates without lifting a finger, with elves attending all her wishes and without any responsibility beyond taking one side or the other between the "very mature" arguments the two men had all the time.

Prue always sided with Severus, unless Lucius bribed her with chocolates.

Be that as it may, at the time, the trio were in the back garden of the mansion, where a heap of pumpkins of all sorts of sizes and shapes were being arranged by a couple of elves.

"Overdone as always", Severus said, sighing through his nose and rolling his eyes in mock annoyance. Lucius smiled at him, pleased as always to show off his ability to do whatever he pleased.

"I thought you might need a few to practice first", the blond replied.

"There are more than fifty", commented Prue, who was standing between them, holding hands with Severus.

Happens that, during breakfast, Lucius had brought up Severus' old custom with pumpkins. Prue proved she was very interested in it, as she had never imagined that he would have any artistic ability, and she had asked him to see some of his work. He was saying that it was not a big deal, and that he hadn’t touched a pumpkin for more than 19 years, and that there wasn’t even one there, when Lucius called his elves and sent them to buy "a few", declaring that he wouldn’t escape giving them a show and, incidentally, decorating the mansion.

Lucius was undoubtedly still fulfilling Prue's whims.

"Well, I suppose we can sit here whilst you slaughter a few vegetables”, purred the master of the manor. Just after he pronounced those words, one of the elves snapped its fingers, three chairs and two tall benches appearing near the trio. Lucius invited Prue to sit down while he handed Severus the "pumpkin killing tools," as the youngest of the three had called them. In return, he asked for his wand. “To avoid cheating. You always said it was manual”.

"And it is", Severus replied with annoyance, though he still held out his wand, which Lucius tucked into his coat. Then he went to sit in the chair next to Prue, who was watching them intently with those pretty eyes. Severus noticed that she was smiling slightly at him, and returned the gesture.

"I think an average pumpkin would be a good start", Lucius commented, crossing one leg over the other. Prue nodded, and the blond drew his own wand, pointing at a medium pumpkin, which floated up to the trio, hovering in the air in front of him. He used a simple incantation to empty the inside of the fruit, and Severus took it at last.

He would be lying if he said he wasn't a little nervous, but he still got to work on it.

Half an hour later, the first pumpkin was ready. It had a normal face, not very elaborate, and it smiled wickedly. Lucius scored it with a "not bad at all," as he stared at the fruit, head laying on Prue's shoulder (who had only stiffened a bit). Then they both asked him to do another.

And so, by the end of the day, almost all of the pumpkins had been carved. Severus had done most of them, his designs the prettiest and most striking for obvious reasons. He had even made a special one for his two companions: For Lucius, a pumpkin with a snake that wrapped itself around it and finally looked straight ahead with its fangs poking out; and for Prue, a pumpkin-cat of Lucifer.

The rest had been done mainly by Prue, who was encouraged to try after the fifth one. She had just carved funny and cute faces, although one of the pumpkins had been hidden away from everyone and she didn’t let them see it. Lucius scoffed saying that she sure had fucked it up and she didn't want to be humiliated, to which Prue threw an unused pumpkin at his head, making Severus laugh.

The blond ended up using the one that had been thrown at him to carve it himself, although halfway there he got despaired and used his wand to finish it. Severus called him a sore, dirty cheater.

In any case, by the time they went to bed a long time later, after having dinner and entertaining Prue with ghost stories, the entire mansion was already illuminated with the dim light emerging from within the pumpkins. Severus was proud of his creations, and terribly flattered that something he had made was displayed like a trophy for all to see.

His feeling of happiness increased much more when, coming out of the bathroom after taking a shower, he found the sweet scene that was seeing Prue asleep in the bed they shared, covered up to her nose and with her beautiful face totally relaxed, as it was only when she had a day that she had fully enjoyed. Next to her, leaning against the pillow that belonged to the man, was the pumpkin that she hadn’t let anyone see. Severus took it delicately and turned it, finding a carving of a cauldron from which a heart was emerging. Looking between the openings, he noticed that there was a piece of parchment inside of it, which he pulled out with the help of his long fingers.

"Thank you for teaching me how to carve pumpkins. I made this with you in mind. I love you."

That night, for the first time in over 30 years, Severus Snape slept not only with decorations in his room, but with a smile that persisted until dawn.

#snapetober #snapedom #snapetober 2021 #severus snape #severus x oc #snape x oc #pro snape #lucius malfoy #oc #original character #harry potter original character #harry potter fanfiction #fanfic

[foursideharmony]

Collateral Damage (Part 3)

Summary: Roman gets into trouble while questing in the Imagination. Rescue arrives, but will the rescuer be all right?

Word Count: 2,108

Relationship(s): Platonic LAMP, with some extra Prinxiety focus

Warnings: It's a whump/hurt/comfort fic, sooooo... hospital/clinic setting, some really disturbing imagery including fire and darkness and other unpleasantness, medical sutures, poison, illness, description of inflamed wounds, Remus mention, nightmare mention

Logan taped down the last bandage and stood back, admiring their handiwork. “There. I think we can put him to bed now.”

“He looks better already,” said Patton. “A little like a mummy, but I think he'd be okay with that. Remember that one Halloween?”

“Patton, that was Christmas Eve.”

“Oh. Right.”

Roman had begun visibly improving shortly after drinking his antidote, which made sense. His scratches remained a bit swollen, but the other two Sides had disinfected them, daubed them with ointment and patched them with gauze, and the prince was now resting peacefully and well on the road to recovery. Logan estimated thirty-six hours before his rapid recuperative powers (something they all enjoyed, as non-physical beings) brought him back to full health.

He waved the examination room away, transforming it into a small but pleasantly appointed hotel room, with Roman tucked into a full bed and a smaller cot alongside. Putting the Creative Side back in his own room would have been ideal, but they couldn't enter it from the common space without him being conscious to allow it.

“One of us should stay with him until he awakens naturally,” Logan said, “and I volunteer.”

“All right,” said Patton. “I'll look in on Virge after he's had a chance to rest up. And I'll keep an ear out for Thomas and let him know what's up if tries to call on us.”

“Excellent plan,” said Logan, changing from his medical garb into a simple combo of tee-shirt and sweatpants. He maneuvered onto the cot as Patton sank out and was soon dozing.

Fire. Fire and hot darkness and and pain, a dull yet insistent pain that was everywhere with no way to locate its source. And the fire was black fire, doing nothing to light up the oppressive, suffocating darkness. And the darkness was made of voices, too whispery quiet to be heard clearly yet at the same time so loud that they were like physical blows to his ears, inflicting more pain and more fire.

He couldn't move and he could barely breathe (the fire was somehow also water) and everything was wrong and everything hurt and he didn't understand why. There was no such thing as time—no past to remember in order to understand, no future to anticipate so he could plan—there was only an eternal present of pain and darkness. And fire.

~~~~~

Roman woke slowly, feeling unusually refreshed for a mere nap. It took him a moment to realize that no, it hadn't been a mere nap. His back was dreadfully sore at first, but the pain receded into the background as his awareness brightened, and he remembered.

He opened his eyes and glanced around as much as he could without moving just yet. A modest bedroom, furnished in subdued colors. Morning sunlight filtering in through medium-weight drapes over either a large double window or a sliding glass door. A framed piece of art on the wall, its image invisible behind the reflection of light on the glass cover. A bureau and a small television. So, a hotel room—not luxurious, but far from the worst place to be. He tried to sit up a little to take in more, but found himself hissing in pain as something twinged in the small of his back.

Suddenly Logan was there, standing up from wherever he had been and fumbling for his glasses on the bureau. “Roman? Are you awake? Is it morning?” He paused to yawn and change back into his daywear. “Don't try to get up too quickly or you'll pull on your sutures.”

“Sutures...” Roman repeated, easing himself up more carefully and reaching around his own back to feel the knobbly knots under the bandage. “Was it that bad?”

“Just in one spot. I put in two sutures to close up a laceration. I doubt you'll need them long.” He paused again, and cleared his throat. “How do you feel?”

“Well enough,” said Roman, just before his stomach rumbled. “Strike that—I'm starving. I don't suppose...I might get breakfast in bed?”

“Not from me, you won't. It should be safe for you to get up and walk as long as you're careful. Come on—Patton and Virgil will be very pleased to see you on the mend.”

“I owe Virgil, for sure,” Roman said. He swung his legs over the side of the bed and gingerly got to his feet. “These are nice pajamas; did you put me in these? I just need to make one little addition for the occasion.” He reached into the hem of his sleeve, like a magician doing a scarf trick, and drew out a swatch of gold-tinted chiffon which whipped around the shoulder opposite and knotted itself, creating an impromptu arm sling.

“Roman, that is entirely unnecessary. Your arm suffered only superficial damage.”

“It's for the 'recuperating hero' aesthetic. Let's go eat!”

~~~~~

Patton dumped an extra spoonful of sugar into his peppermint tea...yeah, it was that kind of morning. He was trying not to be morose, but it was tough going when the last he'd seen of his fellow Sides was Roman unconscious and Logan settling in for a bedside vigil. He wondered whether it was worth making breakfast, and for how many.

There came a soft sound from the stairwell, and then Logan's unmistakable imperious tones. “Descend slowly. Don't disturb your dressings.”

“I know how to walk down stairs, Logan.”

And just like that, Patton's morning was 100% better.

“KIDDO!” he bubbled, his sock-clad feet slipping on the kitchen linoleum as he hastened to meet Roman. “Look at you, almost all better! Wait, what happened to your arm? I thought...”

“Aesthetics,” Logan said flatly.

“So it's safe to hug him?” Patton said, not even waiting before sweeping Roman into a joyful embrace. “Anyway, we should have a special breakfast to celebrate your recovery! We can make it together! You two do me a favor and get out the stuff, and I'll go wake Virgil!” He all but leapt up the stairs, buoyed by relief and delight.

Patton and Virgil had an understanding. Patton was allowed to enter Virgil's room without specific permission under the following circumstances: 1) He was reasonably certain that Virgil was in there, 2) He was entering for the purpose of either gently waking him up or rescuing him from a presumed panic spiral, 3) He knocked first anyway and announced his intention to enter, giving Virgil a chance to deny him if it was a bad time.

Patton knocked on Virgil's door. “Virge? Kiddo? Roman's up and he's doing great! We're gonna make breakfast together.”

There was no response, so he rapped again, said “I'm coming in,” and did so.

And just like that, Patton's morning was 100% worse.

“Logan!” he blurted before he had even processed the entirety of the scene. “LOGAN!”

There was a crash of dropped dishes from the kitchen, followed by the rapid rhythm of someone charging up the stairs. Logan appeared in the doorway, his jaw dropping.

Virgil sprawled fully clothed on his bed—pale, trembling, panting, whimpering. His eyes, open a crack, were rolled back until only the bloodshot sclera were visible. The sheets around him were damp with perspiration. Patton repeatedly reached a shaking hand toward his face to offer comfort, but pulled back every time, unsure whether he should make contact. “What do we do?” he pleaded. “What's wrong with him?”

“I can't say without more information,” Logan confessed. “But it looks like—”

“It's the poison,” Roman said, having just arrived. “That's what it does without the antidote. It's one of my brother's favorite dirty tricks, so I know all about it. But I don't understand; he wasn't wounded! Unless...”

He shrugged out of his bogus sling and gently lifted Virgil's left hand, undid the zipper on the sleeve cuff, and turned down the fabric. Two punctures, one larger and deeper than the other, were revealed in the soft, pale skin on the underside of the Anxious Side's wrist. The flesh around them was horribly swollen and red, with inflamed blood vessels visible through the skin, radiating out from the wounds.

“The thorns penetrated after all,” Roman said. “It must have been so slight that he didn't notice at the time. The poison takes time to fully kick in.”

“Oh, Virgil,” said Patton, finally overcoming his hesitancy and ruffling Virgil's sweat-drenched hair. Virgil flinched away from the touch, his head thrashing back and forth until he finally flopped over entirely, facing away from them, and curled up into the fetal position. “He's burning up,” Patton said, following Virgil to the other side of the bed. “Roman, do you have any more of that antidote? Please say yes.”

Roman rubbed a hand over his face. “It's too late for that. There's about a two-hour window. After that, the only thing to do is ride it out. It's not going to be a good time for any of us, Virgil least of all...but he will make a full recovery. Remus doesn't go in for lethal stuff, on the grounds that dead people can't pay him attention.”

“He's not wrong in that. Roman, you have suffered the full effects of the poison before?” said Logan.

Roman nodded.

“Please tell me whatever you can about it. It may help advise a course of action for treating Virgil's symptoms until his system purges the toxin.”

“Nightmares,” Roman said softly. “He'll be knocked out for a couple days, and the fever will give him fever-dreams...bad enough, right? Now try to picture fever-dreams designed by my brother. Better yet, don't.”

Logan adjusted his glasses. “Would reducing the fever alleviate the visions?”

Roman shrugged. “Maybe? It can't hurt.”

“I'll set up some cold compresses,” said Patton, rising from his kneeling position. “And we should move him. This is no place for a sickbed. You two are already showing some under-eye smudge.”

“I do find myself becoming increasingly unsettled,” said Logan. “Thank you for spotting that, Patton.”

“I volunteer my room,” said Roman. “The atmosphere of pleasant fantasies should help to combat the nightmares.”

“You two work on that, then,” said Logan. “I will inform Thomas so that it doesn't catch him off guard if Virgil's suffering spills over onto him. In fact, he may be able to counter it from his end.”

The three of them nodded to each other, and they got to it.

~~~~~

It was a day and a half before Virgil woke up.

Roman had been watching him, as usual—it was his room, after all, and by concentrating he could modulate the atmosphere to produce only the sweetest and most beautiful of ideas, though he could only hope they were filtering through to Virgil's lowered awareness. He was changing the cold compress, which was a bit trickier than just removing one wet washcloth and replacing it with another, cooler one, because the delirium had Virgil recoiling almost violently when anything touched his head or face. The way to calm him, they (actually Patton) had discovered by accident, was to pick up his hand and gently massage the pad of his thumb.

Roman was in the midst of this process when Virgil's hand abruptly tightened on his, and then the Anxious Side's eyes flew open and he let out a brief, barking yell.

“It's all right!” Roman said on reflex. “It's just me, Virgil, I'm right here and you're safe. You're safe. You're safe, Emo the Frownfish.”

“P-Princey...?” Virgil said, his voice barely a squeak.

“Yeah,” said Roman. “We're taking care of you. You'll be okay.”

“D...d...don...”

“Don't what?”

“Leave. Don't leave. Please.”

Roman had been planning to go inform the other two that Virgil was awake, but after a plea like that, it was completely off the table. They would find out sooner or later. “I won't,” he said softly, squeezing the hand he was still holding.

There was a long pause while Virgil sank back into the pillow, whimpering.

“I know,” Roman said. “It hurts. It'll stop hurting pretty soon now that you're awake.”

Another pause, and then Virgil said, “Have you really been here this whole time?”

“We took turns, actually. But I'm glad I'm here now, so I can thank you properly for rescuing me the other day. You were my hero, Virgil. The least I can do is be yours for a little while.”

“Sap,” Virgil muttered, proving that he was going to be all right.

The End

Taglist:

@today-only-happens-once    

@hitmewiththatfanart33    

@maryann-draws  

@ghosttb0y    

@raygelkitty

@theladyoffangorn

@justanothernerdyfandomblog

@imbadatnames8d

@soupspam

@4-s-shadowlink    

@ifsomebodyhadsomegarlicbread   

@lizluvscupcakes    

@soupgromlin    

@volde-post-mortem

#sanders sides #fanfiction #lamp/calm #prinxiety #collateral damage

[2due-the-anteka]

Whipstaff Manor Hotel

Man, it's good to be back :> I haven't written a fanfic in forever and I wanted to make something small and special for Halloween! Always been a big fan of the Casper movie from 1995, pretty much grew up with it, and I recently rewatched having a blast x3 A little idea crawled in my head and wanted to write something out of it. I hope you enjoy this little journey! Don't forget to be spooky and have fun in such a dark time

I also kind of want to return to my previous Legend of Zelda fanfic, Tears of Light and Blood, I'm surprised there are people still following it and I'm sorry I stopped so abruptly. I never stopped thinking about it and I have few ideas for it.

I’ll post the next chapters on my AO3 account

Thank you once again and see you soon :3

==========================================

Many years have passed since Dr. Harvey and his daughter moved in Whipstaff manor, many things have changed...

Whipstaff Manor Hotel is today a famous themed hotel with a long list of bookings. One day, right before Halloween, three weird singers appear in town and things couldn't get any crazier. Three mysterious characters will drive ghosts nuts and one of them holds a long forgotten secret.

==========================================

PROLOGUE

“Absolutely not!”

Kat crossed her arms, puffing out her cheeks annoyed, glaring back at the tall ghost. “You sure have a thick head for being transparent...” Before he could add a nasty comment, she cut him off, “This place is a sinkhole and you all well know! We can no longer sustain it, we’ll be forced to move and you guys will return haunting a decaying, sad, old castle. Humiliating, wouldn’t it be? Fun over for who knows how long.”

Stretch scoffed, but his brothers looked pretty concerned at the thought of not being able to tease Doc and their new target, Angus, ever again.

“We have workers ready to go, it’s just 5 rooms on a floor, you have the whole manor for yourself and the underground will be locked up.”

“You’ll bring more skinbags in this household! Consider yourself lucky we accepted him and his servers already!” He pointed at the young man behind her.

Kat “Didn’t look like a sacrifice, you immediately took a like on poor Angus, teasing him and treating him like a punching bag all day long!”

Angus gulped, but he walked closer, gently holding Kat by her shoulders. “I-I might have an idea.” It took all his courage to not wince under the ghost’s glare. “We already planned it to be a themed hotel… you three could help us with special effects… you know… people could get here to be scared.”

Kat looked at her fiancée with a mix of confusion and interest, that was something she didn’t think about, though she wasn’t sure the ghost would accept-

A big grin appeared on Stretch’s face. “Go on.”

==========================================

NEWSPAPER

        It was a rare calm evening at Whipstaff Hotel, cold and windy, perfect for some peaceful newspaper reading on a favourite sofa… or so was what a tall lanky ghost believed. A way too cheerful red-haired girl was sitting on his lap, covering most of the pages. The 12 year old was focused on her drawing and using him as a pencil holder, stabbing his ectoplasm with a dozens of coloured pencils. She even thoughtfully picked a few colours, placing back others in his torso and arms, to then return to her art.

Stretch though didn’t mind that one bit, he silently allowed her to invade his space and held her pencils without thoughts. Thing was, he had a big soft spot for Vivian and her younger brother, Edward. Everyone in the manor knew that, but hell could freeze over before the hot headed ghost would say it out loud.

“This or this?” She suddenly asked, showing him two pencils of similar colours. To him, honestly, those looked exactly the same… He nodded randomly at one and observed her thinking about it. “Yeah, you’re right.” She stabbed him with the rejected one and returned to colouring the dragon she drew that very afternoon. She was a big fan of those beasts, dinosaurs and cats, and also of weird pocket-creatures things, her room was filled with drawings and plushies of those. She’s been a bad influence on Casper in a very short time.

Suddenly a light knock on the open door. “I knew I’d find you here.” Kat smiled, crossing her arms.

Stretch quickly let all the pencils drop to the floor, much to Vivian’s dismay, before she could say hi to her mother. “Take her, if you please.” He hissed without looking at Kat. Vivian groaned hopping off to collect her things, to then silently snicker as she saw a ghostly tail secretly helping out.

“Come on, Vivi, time for bed, leave the grouch alone.” Kat walked in and leaned against the table, trying to peek at the front page of the newspaper. “What weird stories has the town got to say today?”

Vivian got her items and whispered a gentle “Good night of fright, Uncle Stretch.” The ghost gave her a half smile before she left and resumed being with his usual pissed frown. “Same things from yesterday.”

“A-ha…” Kat quickly snatched the page from his grip, peeling it from the rest of the newspaper, happily reading through the titles. He gave her a glacial glare, but nothing more, giving the pages a whip to fix them. “Another sighting of the supposedly giant snake-ghost,” she snorted, “this morning at dawn nearby the main park. And it comes with a dark, blurry as heck photo, haha, classic.”

“Not a co-worker, that for sure. Probably some stupid prank of a stupid fleshbag.”

“Such a disgrace to your kind’s reputation.” She chuckled and went on. “Acrobatic trio of singers conquers everybody’s awe with improvised shows down the streets. - Who on Earth writes these articles…? - The trio, formed by…ah…” She stopped sharply and Stretch raised an eyebrow at her.

“Been wanting to update you, by the way, somebody booked the suite for a whole week. Got a call a couple of hours ago.” She looked at him, well knowing she got his attention. He quickly showed a great interested, proudly showing a malicious grin. “They requested extra scares.” Kat neatly folded the page, showing him the picture of the singing trio, tapping it with a finger.

Stretch’s shrieking laughter echoed in the whole castle as he snatched the page and dashed off after his brothers, leaving the room in a tornado of papers.

Kat smiled satisfied holding the collar of her sweater.

Screams of guests soon filled the dark corridors of the mansion.

#Casper #fanfic #casper fanfic #halloween adventures #spooky #scary #years later #modern setting #creepy characters

[tofuart]

Starting in the fog and finishing in the tropics

During the last few months I have worked on a new piece in my Post-Folk Art Series.   The finished piece is a large (48”x67) site specific work for my friends’ home in Puerto Vallarta, Mexico.  To avoid the complexities involved with shipping large artwork to Mexico, the piece needed to be finished on site.  I have just spent about three weeks in a luxurious villa, making art, gazing at the Pacific and being fed incredible food.  Sometimes an artist needs to make sacrifices.  

The project began in San Francisco.  First, I estimated the quantity for each different size of squares and circles of painted paper that would be required.  I always over-estimate to give me added flexibility.   The scale of this piece required a spreadsheet to track all the quantities needed.

With a set of numbers, I was ready to begin painting paper.  The palette reflects the setting.  In Puerto Vallarta, hills shrouded in tropical jungle come right down to the edge of the city.   That jungle was my inspiration.

After all the paper was painted, it was time to start cutting squares in sizes from an half inch to 3 inches.  To cut perfect circles, I use a series of punches.   I needed nearly 2,400 three-quarter inch circles, as well as quantities of circles that were 1.5, 2 and 2.5 inches, plus thousands of small dots made with hole punches.   I am greatly indebted to the artist Dorothy Yuki.  Dorothy came over one afternoon with her Provo Craft cutters and helped me punch out most of the circles.

When I was packing up art supplies for my trip, I realized the paper circles and squares would need to stay with me in my carry-on luggage.  Those thousands of pieces represented more than 100 hours’ worth of effort.  I could not allow them to be lost in transit.

Arriving in Mexico I found the large the board waiting for me.  The next step was to find a paint store and then get a few coats of color on the edges and surface.  I always use a basic, interior latex house paint. There is no need for expensive acrylics.

With the board now prepped, it was time to set up my workspace.  A large table was protected with plastic and drop cloths and the big board was laid out.  It was time to draw a grid for a guide and get to work.

Over the next ten days I spent many hours gluing and fitting the squares, and then adding the layers of the circles.  Fans kept me cool with temperatures in the 90s.  The humidity is intense, but it slowed the drying down just enough to give me a bit more flexibility.  The climate does make a difference.  In San Francisco, I typically need to wash caked glue off my hands about every 15 minutes, where in Puerto Vallarta I could go for half-an-hour.  It really is that humid.

As I was working, an Important holiday was approaching.  Día de los Muertos was on my mind.  In the evenings I would go down in to town to see the ofrendas that were being installed as the day drew near.  Even Puerto Vallarta’s Halloween celebration has most kids in Day of the Dead-themed costumes, and if not that, a costume with a scary theme.  Imagine two year old little girls dressed as vampires instead of princesses.  The night of November 2nd included a parade and dance performance by youth groups in folk costumes with a Día de los Muertos twist.  

Back home in San Francisco, I always set up my own more elaborate ofrenda. In Mexico, I stuck to some simple candles and some rather pungent marigolds in the tropical heat.  As I sat at the table with the big piece of art spread out in front of me, I began to recall memories of my great-grandmother and her sisters around a similar big piece of art.  For them it was one of the many quilts they worked on.  Patterns from quilts and other textiles have influenced my work for more than 20 years.  Assembling a large, colorful, patterned piece felt like I was coming full circle — all the more appropriate at a time we remember our ancestors.  

As I got towards the end of the project, I realized that I had underestimated the amount of glue I would need.  My preferred choice, GAC 100, was not available.  I found one small shop in Puerto Vallarta with art supplies.  Their best option is a glue called Resistol 850.  Fortunately, it worked well for my purposes.  I liked it so much, I returned to buy an additional bottle to bring home to California.

There was one other complication.  A harsh Mexican art critic forced me to cover up the piece each night with a drop cloth.  It was one of the resident geckos who had a tendency to climb up in the rafters and aim gecko poo at my art.  Tempting as it might be to make a nod to Chris Ofili and include a bit of gecko poo, none ended up in the final artwork.  But the tropics being the tropics, there are a few small insects embedded for all time in the acrylic varnish that coats the artwork.   The insects can only add authenticity to a piece titled La Selva (The Jungle).

#art #mixed media #painting #collage #artistic process #california #san francisco #jungle #mexico #jalisco #puerto vallarta #tofuart #artists on tumblr

[auroreswritings]

Day 3 is for... Pumpkin! Some cute, everyday stuff at the agency because they all deserve a break sometimes.

This was very fun to write and I like how it turned out, hopefully you’ll like it too!

Find it on AO3!

The Carving Contest

              “-You can set the last ones on this table, Kenji.” Kunikida was gesturing at the blond boy, guiding him to one of the agency’s desks. The teenager let go of his cargo on the table in front of him, careful not to drop anything on the floor. One of the pumpkins rolled to the edge but stopped before falling, almost magically remaining on the table.

              Halloween was in just a few days, and the detectives had decided to decorate the agency for the occasion. Fake spider webs were hanging all around, with a giant plushy spider hiding in one of the room’s corners, a few ghosts and bats were swinging from the ceiling, and even a skeleton had been placed at the entrance to greet customers. All that was left now was carving some pumpkins and placing them on windowsills and desks and the agency would be perfectly spooky. Kenji had suggested turning the carving assignment into a contest to see who would carve the best pumpkin, and Fukazawa had agreed; he knew his detectives needed a little break from their work, and as such he had even promised a bag of sweets to whoever could win the challenge, to inspire them further. This only had for effect to give Ranpo maximum motivation, and he probably was now the most excited out of all the detectives, his determination slowly rubbing on all of his coworkers. Rules had been set: each detective would be allowed a maximum of two pumpkins, with three hours to let their genius speak; Haruno and Naomi would be the judges. Now, orange, beige and green vegetables of different sizes were piling on a desk, already hollowed out and waiting to be carved in. All the detectives were at their desks, waiting for the signal to start. Most of them were sporting a resolute look on their face, ready to give their all to win the challenge and the sweets. Even Dazai had a somewhat serious look on his face; he seemed to have been pumped up by the idea of doing some handiwork, or was just in a good mood because Halloween was, after all, a celebration around death.

              As Naomi and Haruno announced the beginning of the challenge, all the people around the room almost ran to the pile of pumpkins, trying to get the ones they had set their eyes on before someone else could take them away. They all started to get to work, drawing their designs and preparing their knives and other tools. Some had wondered if leaving Dazai to handle such sharp objects was a good idea, but he didn’t seem to try and attempt anything close to suicide, at least not for now. Of course, he had cracked a joke or two on the matter, but he was now deeply in thoughts, eyes glued to the squashes lying on his desk.

              All detectives were busy, trying to finish their artworks in the imparted time. Things had started with a lot of movement and excitement, but now it all had quieted down a bit. They were now about 2 hours in the contest, and not much could be heard anymore, almost everybody being way to absorbed with what they were doing to bother talking or looking around. Almost everybody, because Atsushi was just sitting there, elbow on his desk, cheek pressed on his hand. He didn’t really know what to carve next. He had already done a regular jack-o’-lantern in one of the bigger pumpkins and was now left with a very small squash, and his mind couldn’t come up with a design small enough to grace it in a way that would give him a chance to win the contest. He let his eyes wander around the room: all the other detectives were busy working on their works of art. Ranpo had carved all kinds of candies around his first pumpkin and was now working on the outline of an intricate design mixing up ghosts of all forms, while Yosano was busy carving up some scarily accurate organs on her tall, orange squash. Kyouka had managed to carve in a dog chasing after a couple of cute rabbits and was now carefully trying to slice some spider webs in a small kabocha squash, Kenji had sculpted a cow’s face with its bell and was halfway through the carving of a cute house spirit in a butternut squash. Kunikida had extremely carefully etched some bats above a caldron and had now set himself to the difficult task of representing a vampire’s face on his second cucurbit, and Tanizaki had done a simple jack-o’-lantern as well, which Atsushi thought looked a lot better than his, and was now left with one of the smaller squashes, outlining some cats on it. Even Dazai was done with his first pumpkin and was starting carving through the second one. Atsushi took a better look at his mentor’s first squash. To his surprise, he recognized the design right away. On one side was sliced in the outline and details of a tiger, while the other side was sporting a rather simple portrait, just a weirdly cut mop of hair with the outline of a face, all of which looked extremely familiar.

              “-Hum… Dazai? Is it me you caved in your pumpkin?

              -Oh, yes, I thought it’d be cute to have a tiny weretiger sitting on my desk.” The taller man hadn’t taken his eyes off his squash, letting his explanation out in the air with a somewhat detached tone, as if this was the most normal thing in the world to say.

             However, this wasn’t normal for Atsushi. The younger man’s face flushed at the words, he stuttered a little before falling silent. He was extremely touched by the man’s gesture; he hadn’t expected this at all. He wasn’t used to people being nice to him or even just thinking about him, so having his mentor be inspired by him to decorate his pumpkin in this contest was shaking him up a little. Dazai was focused on his work, seemingly not paying attention to the younger man. In reality, he had been sending side glances his way since the beginning of their carving duty, waiting for the tiger’s reaction to the little him sculpted in the squash. The tall man was not disappointed. He knew Atsushi would get flustered by the gesture, and seeing him all red in the face and unable to speak properly was always a funny and heartwarming sight. He had gotten attached to his junior, and he liked seeing him happy as he knew the poor man hadn’t had an easy life up until now. Pleased with the weretiger’s reaction, Dazai put his attention back to his current work, hands carving up some weird, possibly poisonous mushrooms in his other squash. After some time, Atsushi regained his composure, and with a determined look on his face, he grabbed his pen and drew on his last pumpkin, quickly getting back into the contest before it ended.

                “-Time’s up everyone!” Naomi’s voice boomed after a while, the loud ring of an alarm echoing with her words. “Put your tools down, time’s up! Please set your pumpkins at the front of your desks, the judges will now examine them.” She tried to appear as serious as possible, but she couldn’t hide the excitement and playfulness in her voice. All the detectives started getting their pieces of art ready, cleaning up their desks and tools to give their pumpkins all the highlights they deserved. Fukuzawa was standing in a corner of the room, caring gaze set on his fellow detectives, ready to hand out the prize. Naomi and Haruno started walking around the desks, carefully examining their coworkers’ creations. Silence fell around the room, tension rising as the girls did their inspecting. Small hums of approval could be heard from them from time to time. When they reached Atsushi’s desk, they stopped, confused looks on their faces.

              “-Hum… Atsushi? What is this?” Haruno pointed at the tiny pumpkin the weretiger had styled last. He had carved some rectangular eyes and a smirking mouth, and had rolled some bandages around the squash, covering a good chuck of it in white fabric. His ears became bright red and he tried covering his face with his hands.

              “-I-I-I… I tried to make a Dazai pumpkin…” his voice was shaking a little. He knew he wasn’t the most skilled at drawing or other artsy things, but he thought he had made it obvious that this was his mentor he had represented. Naomi let out a small, amused huff and moved on to Dazai’s table.

              After having carefully inspected all the pumpkins, Naomi and Haruno exchanged a glance and without any discussion, Haruno declared:

              “-We have a winner! You all did very well, I was very surprised by the creativity you all had, and all of these pumpkins look great. However, only one of you can be number one. I’ll let Naomi announce the result.” All eyes were set on said girl, waiting expectantly.

              “-The result is obvious, the winner is… Big brother!” Naomi jumped on her brother to hug him as she screamed his name. All the detectives looked at each other with confused looks, while Tanizaki was trying to get his sister away from him. Haruno went and grabbed her, clearing her throat.

              “-I knew this would happen.” She let out a sigh. “I’m sorry Junichirou, but you’re not our winner, I think Naomi just got a little carried away. The real winner actually is… Dazai! Your little Atsushi is so cute, it had to be number one.” As she said this, Fukuzawa approached and gave the detective his prize, a big bag of sweets. Dazai accepted his trophy, a little surprised he had won. Ranpo was eyeing the bag, looking almost devastated. The tall man turned to him.

              “-Well, well, looks like I’ll be gorging myself on candies, my dear Ranpo. Maybe I’ll think of you and share some, if you’re nice enough.” He winked at the older detective, mischievous smile on his lips. Ranpo huffed in response, crossing his arms in frustration at Dazai’s playful teasing. Setting the bag of sweets on his desk, Dazai couldn’t help but notice Atsushi’s demeanor. He was sitting again, head down, eyes fixed on the table.

              The weretiger still felt a little ashamed. He really thought it would be a good idea to make a Dazai pumpkin, he even thought it’d be funny to have a squash covered in bandages, but apparently no one liked it. Dazai’s Atsushi pumpkin had won the contest, yet no one seemed to care for the one had had done, even if it was in a similar vein. Sad thoughts of that sort were creeping in his mind, and he brought his hands to his face again. Suddenly he felt something on his head. Looking up, he realized Dazai was gently petting his hair, a soft smile on his lips.

              “-Don’t worry, Atsushi, it doesn’t really matter if none of the others like it. I like it a lot, this little guy looks like my twin brother.” His eyes were glinting with joy. He knew Atsushi had done his best, and he was immensely moved by what he did. Of course his pumpkin looked a little weird, the eyes weren’t exactly the same size and the cuts were a little wobbly, but Dazai knew the weretiger put his heart in this little piece of art, and that was all that mattered.

#dazatsuhalloweenweek #dazatsuhalloween #dazatsu halloween week #dazatsu halloween week 2019 #Bungou Stray Dogs #BSD #Dazai Osamu #Osamu Dazai #Dazai #BSD Dazai #Nakajima Atsushi #Atsushi Nakajima #Atsushi #BSD Atsushi #Dazai x Atsushi #dazatsu #dazushi #Pumpkin Carving #Pumpkin #Prompts #The Carving Contest #My Writing

[tasharii]

Your Colors: Ch.1.

A/N: I was hoping for this to be a oneshot, but it got out of hand very quickly, and became a full, multi-chapter fic. This is for @writingcroissant ‘s 2k challenge. I picked the Artist AU, and ran with it. 

I also couldn’t help but create the mood board that you see. Gotta love visual inspiration! I might make one themed for every chapter, not sure yet. This is my first fanfiction ever, so please let me know what you think. I’ll update the warnings with every chapter if something changes.

Summary:  Art was the one good thing between college, work, and the grey minutes in-between. Sometimes, it felt like she wasn’t alive at all. Just drifting. When she joined her new art class, she never expected to start experiencing everything in an entirely new light. All thanks to him. Or: Where Bucky Barnes gets more than he bargained from his new drawing partner.

Pairing: Reader x Bucky Barnes

Word Count: 11.5K

Rating: Mature

Warnings: Language, violence, attempted assault

Masterlist

Chapter 1  Chapter 2  Chapter 3  Chapter 4  Chapter 5  Chapter 6  Chapter 7  Chapter 8  Chapter 9  Chapter 10   Chapter 11  Chapter 12  Chapter 13

****

A cool draft of air pricked goosebumps up across her skin, and she suppressed the urge to shiver. One wrong movement would break her pose. The floral duvet under her was soft, but her knees were starting to ache from holding the position for so long. Her hands were curled against the tops of her thighs, as if she just rose up to kneel on her bed. Y/N’s head was tilted just a little, her hair pulled over one shoulder, facial expression calm. It was hard to stay that way, though. She could feel his eyes on her like blinding sunshine.

The lighting was controlled by mismatched lamps, keeping it consistent and gentle, almost intimate. Three lights were situated around her bed. One by the headboard behind her, another standalone closer, above her head to the left, and the last was further away on a chair in front of her. All the ceiling lights were switched off, and the windows were covered. It was just enough light to keep her bedroom area illuminated, but the rest of the apartment was coated in inky shadows.

Even with the heat on high, the loose, sheer long sleeve blouse she wore wasn’t quite warm enough. Goosebumps crawled up her bare thighs, disappearing underneath her jean shorts. Y/N’s studio apartment always ran on the edge of nippy. The stained tan carpet couldn’t block out the chill. The mass of tall windows on her back wall, across from the door, loved to let the fall air creep in. At least the windows gave a beautiful view of New York’s sparkling skyline. Being on the 14th floor did have some perks.

“You’re frowning again.” His voice broke through her train of thought. It made her shoulders tense up to her ears before she forced them back down. Subtly she flexed her fingers in and out of fists, trying to shake the anxiety. “Do you need a break?”

Y/N let out a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding “No, I’m alright.” She peaked at him from just within her peripheral vision. He was drawing her from a 3-quarter view, a little lower rather than straight on. A chair had been pulled over from her living-room area, and he lounged back in it. One foot propped up on a stool; other on his knee. His large sketchpad rested on his lap, and tucked up close to his face. Pale blue eyes focused on her with such intensity she felt another flush crawl from her chest down to her toes and up to her ears. This was one part of life drawing that she could never quite get used to.

His eyes drifted over her body, taking in every single detail. First trailing across the waves in her hair, then he paused on her lips, passed down to her torso, arms, legs, and lastly he focused on the paper. Bottom lip tucked underneath his teeth, he scraped against the page in small fluid strokes. The rasping of charcoal eased some of the heat that sparked across her skin. Then he looked up again, loose strands of hair falling across his forehead.

Bucky met her eyes for a couple seconds. Her heartbeat picked up again at being caught staring. Then he dropped his charcoal back down into its open case on the end table beside his chair. He let his socked feet down. Placed his sketchpad on the stool and rubbed at the black smudges on his fingers “I think I’m done anyway. I wanna get a drink real quick, then I’ll pose for you.” He wiped the smudges on his jeans as he stood up.

‘Oh thank god’  Y/N thought, then fell back onto her butt, rolling into a sitting position. Stretching her arms above her head, she cracked her back. As she rolled her stiff joints, she listened for Bucky’s footsteps. The light flicked on for her corned off kitchen area. It was all the way on the other side of the apartment, but she heard the fridge door open without one single footstep. He was so damn quiet. Like a ghost. Maybe it was just because of the carpet.

“Can you get me a coke?” She called, scooting to sit on the edge of the bed and then standing. Tingles trailed down her legs, feet asleep, and she awkwardly shook them off. With a couple bouncing steps she went over to the stool. Y/N didn’t dare touch it, didn’t want to smear any of his strokes. Instead, she just moved over so she could peer down at his latest masterpiece.

It had taken him a little over 30 minutes to draw her. Bucky always, somehow, made her look far more beautiful than any mirror had ever done for her. Her hair looked wavy and graceful as it framed her face, and she appeared to be deep in thought. As if she was captured in the moment between deciding to do something and moving into action. Y/N wished she could say that he drew her wrong, made her look like someone else. A girl far more elegant and pretty than her, but it would be an insult to his skill. Bucky captured her truer to herself than anyone else in the world. It was like he saw inside of her. Saw what she was made of and brought it to the surface.

Somehow, he did it every single time.

This was the fourth time he had been over for an art homework session. Probably drawn her upwards of thirty times now between all the impression sketches, and various timed drawings. Always in charcoal. Always with beautiful accuracy.

“What do you think?” Y/N felt something cold and damp brush her arm. She jumped a little bit and whipped around to glare at Bucky for spooking her. He was standing a good foot away, but his arm had stretched out to offer her the canned soda.

Snatching the drink from him, she took a couple calming breaths, and ignored his small smirk “I think this one’s your best so far. You’re getting better with the lighting.”

Now that she was aware of him, he took another step closer. Unconsciously, his right arm brushed hers as he tilted his head, eyeing the drawing critically “Still can’t get your damn nose right.”

“Got a problem with it?” She teased, sipping on her drink and studying the illustration. Honestly, she didn’t notice anything wrong with it. Her 2D nose looked about as accurate as the rest of her. Curling her bare toes into the carpet, she noticed the feeling had finally come back to them.

Bucky glanced up at her and scowled accusingly “Ya, it’s disproportionate to your face.” The light from the lamp on the chair accented his pout, deepening the dimple under his lip.

Y/N couldn’t help the bubble of laughter that came out of her. It was such an absurd, random comment. Still, she pressed her lips and eyebrows down. Tried to be offended. After all, he was insulting her “Excuse me. I think my nose is the best part of my face! You’re the one with a butt chin!” Her voice trembled over her own words. Then she giggled a little harder as his sulking deepened and he rubbed at his chin, shaking his head.

“Now who’s being rude?” His pout finally lifted to a small smile, and he brought his coke to his mouth, swallowing. “I think next time I want you laying on the bed. Think you can let your head hang upside down for 30 minutes?” He caught her gaze, eyebrows raised. She tried to ignore him saying anything about laying on a bed. There was a mischievous spark in his eye that made her stomach flip.

“If I pass out it’s your fault.” She warned, jabbing a finger at him threateningly. He smiled a smidge more at her before backing up and going to sit his drink down on her desk. Every smile he gave her felt like a surprise, and she couldn’t quite believe how much had changed in such a short period of time.

Things were getting easier with him. It had taken a good two weeks, seeing each other twice a week in their mutual art class, and then twice outside of class to work on the homework. Y/N knew he would be tough. She could tell that from ‘Hello’. Just hadn’t properly estimated how difficult.

 In the beginning, he barely talked beyond adjustments to her pose, and comments on her anatomical errors. Never rudely. Definitely blunt, but his voice was soft, and he helped her after critiquing her. She had thought he was irritated every time he came to her apartment to work. Thought she annoyed him whenever she sat next to him in class. It made her anxiety relentlessly torment her like the devil it was.

Last Friday, though, she finally started to pick up on his dry humor. It was only small comments here and there. Little quips about the poses she made him do, or her obnoxiously loud neighbors. When she fed into it, he made more. Now he was beginning to smile easier. She eventually asked him about his brooding, while sketching him sitting in a chair. Bucky had cracked up. A full body laugh that took up her entire apartment. Between snorts he explained that his friends said he had a ‘killer resting bitch face’. It was one of their inside jokes. He was sorry if he gave her the wrong idea. All his waving hands, gesturing as he spoke, completely ruined her sketch. There was no getting him back into the same position. It was worth it.

These days, she wondered why she ever thought he was scary.

“Got any plans for Halloween?” Y/N asked, turning her drink in her hands. The holiday fell on a Wednesday this year, so most parties were scheduled the Saturday after. That was only a week away.

Bucky smeared the condensation of his can across his right fingers, rubbing at the leftover charcoal dust. The small of his back leaned against her desk as he thought about it. Charcoal had managed to get all the way down to his wrist. His thumb brushed over his fingertips and then he rubbed them again on his jeans. There were smudged stains on the faded blue now, next to his side pocket. He didn’t seem to care.

She tried to stop staring, looking back down at his drawing right as he glanced back up to answer. “Probably gonna go to my friend’s party. Maybe scare the kids that dare ring his doorbell.” He gave a wicked smirk. Then clapped his hands together, rubbing them conspiratorially. The sound was muted by his glove and had a dull ring from the metal underneath.

“Like you need to give more poor people nightmares from your ugly mug.” She teased. Well that answered her question. She thought maybe she could invite him to go with her and her friends to club Hydra. Obviously, he would be spending time with his friends. Friends she didn’t have any idea about.

“Oh ha ha.” Bucky rolled his eyes with exaggerated, sarcastic laughter. “So! Where do you want me and my ugly mug?” He asked, arms spread wide in mock invitation.

“Don’t pout. At least you don’t have to buy a costume.” Y/N continued. He didn’t even bless her with a response. Just pinned his grey eyes at her a bit more.

Slowly, she walked over to sit her own drink down beside his, lips pressed together. Peering around the room, she crossed her arms in thought. Finally, she nodded her chin towards the window sill. It was her middle, largest window. The one that opened to her fire escape. The sill doubled as a seat and had a couple cushions already laid out on it.

“Open the blinds and lean against it.” It was getting to be later afternoon, so the light should be pouring in the window without the blinds blocking it. As he pushed off from the desk, Bucky knocked his shoulder playfully against hers. She hesitated back for just a second, watching him stroll easily across her apartment. Honestly, she hadn’t realized that he never touched her before until he started to. It wasn’t like he touched her all the time now, but something told her it was significant that he did at all.

With a shake of her head, Y/N followed Bucky over to the window and let him push aside the pale blue curtains. Then he tugged the blinds up, turned and rested back against the window, arms crossed. He didn’t completely sit down onto the sill. Instead he sat on the very edge, using his legs to support him. It wasn’t a very comfortable position, but it was visually dynamic.

“This good?” He tilted his head and studied her curiously. He was wearing a black hoodie, left hand covered with a glove. His hair was easily brushed back from his face, shorter on the sides. Stubble covered his cheeks, but he still had a boyish charm to him, even with the small smudges of rings under his stark blue eyes.

She knew what was under his glove. It wasn’t like Bucky insisted on hiding his metal arm, but he did go out of his way to keep it covered as much as possible. Sometimes in class he would shed his jacket, long sleeves underneath it, but then he would roll up the sleeves to wash his right hand. He would remove the glove to keep it from getting wet. Didn’t usually even flinch whenever anyone looked, surprised, but no one asked. Prosthetics were rare, but not unheard of considering the war. Metal prosthetics were rarer, only Stark Industries made them, and they were ungodly expensive.

However, in all the sessions they had drawing each other, she hadn’t drawn him without his arm covered in some way. He had drawn her in various stages of undress: dresses, skirts, shorts, jackets, and even a sports bra once. Y/N had a feeling that this would be what she would use for her final Figure Drawing project. If he just didn’t have his jacket on. Maybe she could finally capture the essence of him that she had missed every time.

“One second.” She stated quickly, stepping back and flitting around her apartment. First, she turned off all the lamps over near her bed. Then she walked around the wide bookshelf that separated her bed from the living-room area and turned off the kitchen light beyond that. There was enough light pouring in from the window for her to draw by. Plus, having only one light source made the shadows he created deeper.

Having all that done, she steeled herself, debating a moment longer. It wouldn’t hurt to ask would it? She picked at the edges of her sheer sleeves, they covered down to her fingers. Bucky tracked the movement with his eyes. He really did have artist habits. Sometimes she wondered if he ever missed anything. Any small detail.

“Do you think you could take off your hoodie?” She quickly asked, a little hesitantly. Just throw it out there. Despite the anxiety, she tried to be as casual about it as she could.

Bucky’s eyes widened just a fraction before he gave a smooth smile and furrowed his eyebrows “You trying to defile my honor?” He chuckled teasingly, giving her an obvious once-over, then tutted with a click of his tongue “I didn’t take you for that kinda girl!” He tucked his hands into the pockets of his jacket and reclined back a bit more. The light made pieces of his hair shine copper.

She scoffed “Oh you wish Barnes.” Then she shook her head, staring up at the high vaulted ceiling. Why did this difficult man had to be her muse?

“I just think the lighting and pose would look better without your dark ass jacket casting one big mass of shadows.” She jabbed a finger at it and stared at him stubbornly. She didn’t mention that his metallic arm would also look beautiful in the golden light of the sunset, but she figured he would come to that conclusion on his own.

“I’m wearing a tank top underneath this.” He stated, joking demeanor becoming subdued with his statement, voice softening. Bucky didn’t turn his gaze away from her. Slouched down like he was, she managed to stand at his height. Her bare toes were nearly touching his. The length of his stretched legs kept her a good arm’s length away. Bucky always seemed to have a bubble that he rarely let anyone in. People walked around him with a wide breadth. Y/N supposed he could be intimidating. Especially in moments like this. Where his eyes unwaveringly bore into hers, and he dropped his charming, dry humor. A joke wasn’t anywhere to be found.

“That’s fine by me.” She finally replied, clearing her throat from where it had become filled with sand. Honestly, she didn’t know Bucky all that well. They spent upwards of 10 hours a week together, working on the same class, bonding over art, but she still didn’t really know him. She knew he was a veteran, he was casually vague about that if the arm didn’t tip anyone off. Their art teacher, Ramsey, was also a veteran, and liked to talk about it with Bucky. Probably a sense of comradery. She knew his favorite medium was acrylic, and he worked at The Rosalie Bakery. That was about it, though, and all that stuff was pretty damn superficial.

As he kept his stare locked with hers for a few heartbeats longer than comfortable, she began to wonder if maybe she pushed too far. It was obvious he was a private guy. Maybe he was embarrassed about it. Maybe he didn’t want it captured forever down on paper. She was just about to back off when his right hand moved up to the zipper of his hoodie. Her eyes immediately tracked the movement. It rested below his chest, already partially down. The sound of the zipper broke the silence, louder than the clunking of her apartments central air.

“Alright, but good fucking luck drawing this hunk of metal. I swear shading it is gonna be a bitch for you.” Bucky groused, and she took a soft breath before smiling encouragingly with a flash of teeth.

“I think I can handle it.”

He tossed the jacket to the floor, and then rolled his shoulder a little. The wife beater didn’t hide much of anything. Y/N could see the thick jagged scars from where the metal ended, and his skin began. There was intricate paneling and the plates hissed a little as they shifted in response to him moving. His flesh fingers plucked the ends of the glove off, and then dropped it down on top of his jacket.

It only took two seconds for her trained eyes to devour every detail before she hurried to grab her sketchpad and standing easel. She wanted to draw him at eye level, just from the side closer to his metal arm. The light refracted, multicolored, across the silver. It was just as stunning as she thought it would be. “Can you just prop your left elbow up above your head? Ya like that. Now tilt your head towards me. Good. And relax.” She spoke quickly, already starting to block in shapes.

“Whatever you say Picasso.” Bucky rolled his eyes before relaxing his face, and he watched her draw.

Normally, she would tell him to look somewhere else. Maybe down, or up above her, but not this time. This time it was perfect that he was challenging her. Challenging the viewer. Daring them to look at him. Daring them to stare.

Y/N felt her heartbeat pick up, and she brushed the charcoal across her page, suddenly caught in a drawing fever. She could feel excitement sparking her fingers as she drew him. This was why she wanted him to be her partner.

When Ramsey told them that they would have a partner for the length of their class, she had panicked at first. Their partner was supposed to critic them, help them, and work their projects together. It was a lot to ask from someone, especially when most people in the class didn’t have a degree hanging on their performance. This was an extracurricular class for her, outside of her college, hosted by the Brooklyn Museum. It was meant for wanna-be-artists, but most of them weren’t being graded like her. At the end of the class their work would be hosted in an exhibit at the museum.

All her teachers would be coming to that show, and Ramsey was supposed to write weekly updates about her. Y/N didn’t like group projects to begin with. Most people just didn’t work well together, and she had high standards for herself. Besides, she only recognized a couple other people in the class from her college, but she didn’t truly know anyone.

As everyone started to pair off, being smart and probably taking the class with a friend, she glanced around the room. Twisted in her chair, observing as people laughed and started mulling over the syllabus together. She finally spotted him. He hadn’t moved from his drafting desk, hadn’t even looked up from his worn sketchbook. She noticed how people glanced at him, but then kept moving, looking for other options. He was beautiful. Intimidating. She wanted to draw him right then and there. It wasn’t anything new. Sometimes people just inspired her. Something about them made her itch to draw them. To capture their being onto a page.

So, she approached him. He slowly glanced up at her. Took in her position beside his desk with nothing else than a glare. Stubbornly not letting that deter her, she gave a small wave and the best smile she could muster under such uncomfortable circumstances “Hey I’m Y/N.”

“James.”

“You still have 20 minutes left. You can take your time.” Bucky chuckled, watching as her hand slowed for the first time since she started “I’m not going anywhere Y/N.”

It had taken the entire first week for her to make him laugh. Another week after that before the smiles came easier. The sad part was she had actively been trying. Of course, when he did laugh, she hadn’t tried. In the middle of rearranging the still life they were working with, she fumbled. She accidentally knocked her hip into the edge of her cheap end table when turning away. Managed to catch the flower vase, but at the cost of it spilling down the front of her shirt. At least it was on her, and not her camera. That same day, he had told her to call him Bucky instead of James.

He laughed a lot more since then.

Hearing her name made her fully give him her attention. Cars honked from far down below, and the shuffle of New York played like subdued background music. “You’ve got charcoal on your face.” He informed her. A smirk curled up one side of his lips, and his eyes danced in the fading auburn light behind him.

She wiped at her forehead, brushing back her hair. From the grin on his face, she probably only made it worse. She sent eye daggers at him “Shut up and get back to brooding.”

He pressed his lips together, trying to contain his smile. “Yes ma’am.” After that, she noticed that his shoulders were a little more relaxed. His breathing was deeper, and his gaze had softened. However, his eyes never stopped daring her to look.

**** 

Halloween was one of her favorite holidays. It was thrilling to get to pretend to be someone else. To have the opportunity to dress in whatever made her feel good without getting slut shamed for it. She had very few chances to act like a kid anymore, being in college, and having the adult responsibilities of a young woman living on her own. So, when her friends invited her to a Halloween party at the club Hydra she didn’t hesitate to agree. It wasn’t often that she drank, even less often that she partied.

The press of bodies made it difficult to get off the dance floor. She slowly weaved her way, slipping under arms and sliding through all the usual grinding. Her hair stuck to the nap of her neck, and she felt damp sweat on the small of her back. Leather was not a breathable fabric. It clung like a second jet black skin down her limbs and stretched across her breasts. As she stumbled, at last, out of the crowd, near the bar, she took in a muggy breath. The air tasted like various perfumes, and sweet smoke. Fog machines curled smoke around her feet and made the air hazy. Desperate, she unzipped her clingy jacket down a bit. Now she was showing an indecent amount of cleavage, only a pushup bra under the jacket, but at least it was cooler.

Time was drifting past 1 a.m., and she wanted to try to be home by 3. That way she could still be coherent when Bucky came over to work at 11. Multicolored strobe lights flashed overhead, giving everything a heady, surreal atmosphere. The music was so loud that she could feel it vibrating in her bones, across her heart. It mixed well with the slight buzz of alcohol making her skin tingle, and muscles loose. Her feet hurt from dancing so much, and she still had a throbbing bite mark on her neck. A gift from a guy dressed as a vampire who got a little too in character.

Finally, she made it into the bathroom, there wasn’t a line. The club was huge, and expensive. It managed to surprisingly be equipped with enough bathrooms to serve all its drunk, debauched guests. She leaned heavily against the porcelain sink, splashing some cool water onto the back of her neck. After a couple of calm breaths, she felt the last of the artificial fog leave her lungs. Peering up she stretched her neck to the side, checking to see if the vampire managed to bruise her. Thank god he didn’t.

Y/N’s makeup was smudged, making her sharp Black Widow look a little dirty. Her lipstick smeared around her mouth, and her smoky eyeliner ringed her bright eyes. Somehow, she got glitter across her cheekbones and chest. She hadn’t even worn glitter. Still, it managed to work with the leather, so she didn’t mind too much. Standing up straight, she dampened a paper towel and dabbed it under her eyes. Wanted to clean herself up just a little bit before she faced anyone again. Grabbing her lipstick from one of her many pockets she reapplied the scarlet, and then, satisfied, pulled out her phone.

Back facing the mirror, she leaned against the sink. Focused on her phone, she enjoyed the slight draft of cool air that dried the sweat on her chest. The music still crept in from outside, but it was the first minute in a solid 5 hours that she could hear her own thoughts.

First, she tried to call Gabby, who had drove them there. Gabby was always nailed to her phone and very reliable. It rang a few times, but eventually went to voicemail. Y/N left a quick message. Let her know that she wanted to head out soon, and to get back to her. They had agreed that they would stay no later than 1:30 a.m. at most. It was creeping towards that time.

Then she called Whitney, but the call was instantly rejected. She raised her eyebrows and hung up without leaving a message. Instead she went to text her. The buzzing of the florescent lights was starting to give her a headache. She jumped a little when a group of girls came into the bathroom, talking way too loudly. Probably still deaf from the base. The music followed in after them until the door swung closed again. Some remix of This Is Halloween. They barely glanced at her as they went about doing their business, checking their makeup and going into the stalls.

Y/N stepped back and out of the way of the sinks. She leaned against the other wall beside the trashcan. Her feet were starting to ache in her knee-high boots; so, she shifted her weight from one to the other, easing some of the pressure.

Y/N: Hey! Just wanted to knw if you’ve seen Gabs?

It took Whitney a couple minutes to text back. Minutes that went by gruelingly slow. The girls had all left by the time her phone vibrated in her hands.

Whitney: No idea! Srry about the call. I met a guy!  She followed that up with several winky faces and hearts.

Whitney: Let her know I don’t need a ride tho. Probably won’t make it home. Thnx!

That one was emphasized with some kisses and winky faces.

Y/N could tell when a conversation was over, so she tried to call Gabby again. It ended with the same result. She sent her a couple texts, but to no avail. Just more radio silence.

Buzz sufficiently tampered, she let Gabby know she was getting a cab. She stared up at the glass dome light about her head and groaned loudly in frustration. Then she pocketed her phone back in the pouch attached to her utility belt. She patted at her thigh pocket where she had her wallet, only to come up with nothing. Y/N patted down her hip pockets, and then back pockets. A bubble of panic started to rise from her stomach. She frowned, going for her bra, and then rechecking every single pocket she had.

Twice.

Then a third time.

No wallet. No goddamn wallet. She tried to think of where she could have left it, but it had been an hour since her last drink. There was no way she had left it at the bar.

Then she had gone to dance some more, and finally ended up here in the bathroom.

Somewhere between then and now her wallet had escaped.

Son of a bitch. She raked a rough hand through her hair. It probably looked wild in a crazy witch sort of way now. The mirror across from her confirmed her theory. Wild hair aside; ok, she could handle this. Maybe they had it at the bar. Maybe she dropped it, and someone gave it to the bartender. People were still nice like that.

With a rush of adrenaline fueling her steps, she shoved out of the bathroom and hurried to the bar. This couldn’t be happening.

It wasn’t at the bar.

The bartender helpfully informed her that they had been having a pick-pocket problem. Followed that up with a shrug and infuriating expression of pity.

Gave her a free shot of vodka for her troubles.

Dejected, it took her another 10 minutes to wind her way through the crowd. 10 long minutes to make it out of the maze of the outrageously huge club. She couldn’t help but feel pissed. All around abandoned by her friends. Robbed. She just wanted to do was go home, take a shower, and then collapse into her warm bed.

The frigid November wind only aided in agitating her more. The club was on a corner lot, and she walked a few paces away from the entrance. There were throngs of people still going into the club, and then stumbling masses making their way out of it. She waited on the edge of the sidewalk, watching as the headlights of the cars flashed by in blurs of color. She could see her breath in the wind and cursed her skin-tight leather jacket for not being warmer. The heat from the club abandoned her more every single time a gust of air pushed her to the side.

Luckily, she could feel the vodka coiling in her stomach, spreading numb warmth through her veins. It also managed to calm her down, guiding her from the edge of crying. She bit her lip and slumped against a lamp post.

A taxi started to pull over for her, and she let out a groan of frustration as she waved them on. No point in wasting the poor guy’s time. Renewed tears of frustration pricked her eyes as she tried to figure out who she could call. Her two best friends with cars had already outright deserted her ass. She pulled out her phone and started clicking through all her contacts. Rubbing at her fingers against the phone as she went. The light of her phone made her wince, and the harsh street light reflected white off her leather sleeves. No one else she knew drove.

No one except…

She hovered her thumb over Bucky’s name. He was probably still at his friend’s right now. If not there, likely passed out in some corner. They weren’t that close, and this would seriously be putting him out.

But she was desperate.

Y/N pressed the phone to her ear as it started to ring. Again, and again… and oh god he wouldn’t answer and he was going to wake up to a random call from an indecent hour and no explanation…

“Hello?”

“Bucky!” She uttered his name with an embarrassing amount of relief. Immediately she took a step away from the post, too nervous to stand still.

“Hey uh… are you alright?” He asked slowly, voice deeper over the phone. At least he sounded like he hadn’t been sleeping, or drunk. What if he was actually busy? What if he was _busy _with someone? She could just make out the sound of music over the line, and laughter.

“I’m not interrupting anything am I?” She ignored his question in favor of asking one of her own. What if she just interrupted a hookup? Accidentally cock blocked him? The thought made her a little queasy, and her free arm crossed protectively over herself.

“Oh no, um just at Steve’s party.” She pursed her lips, looking up at the sky.  Couldn’t make out any of the stars thanks to the city that never sleeps. Steve. He had never mentioned Steve before. Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea after all. She didn’t even know the names of his real friends.

He seemed hesitant when she didn’t say anything right away. Vodka was making its way through her. Her brain felt a bit slow “Is there anything that I can do for ya? Not that I don’t appreciate random calls or anything, but…” Bucky trailed off, waiting for her to finish the sentence for him.

The question made her straighten back up and scrub a hand over her face, suddenly remembering her awkward situation “I don’t want to put you out but… Well I’m kinda stuck at club Hydra. Without money, or a ride. Do ya think maybe you could give me a lift home? If you can’t it’s ok I can figure something else out. Promise I’ll pay you back though!” Her lipstick had smeared over her palm. She wiped it off on her thigh distractedly.

There were a few long beats of silence. The only way she knew he was still on the line was by the intermittent bursts of background laughter. Finally, she heard Bucky let out a sigh that made the speaker crackle “I’m not even going to ask. I can be there in 10 if you don’t mind riding on my bike.”

“No that’s fine!” No, she didn’t mind the idea of riding on the back of his bike at all. It sounded like the best thing ever. A great way to pick up her shitty night. “Are you sure though? I don’t want to make you leave your party.”

She could hear some shuffling, and it sounded like Bucky was talking to someone, but she couldn’t make out any of his words. When his voice came back he was a bit louder “Nah it’s alright. Starting to die out anyway.”

“You’re not drunk, are you?” Y/N suddenly asked, a bit concerned. Mostly not even for herself.

Bucky snorted a laugh “No I’m not drunk. Would never dream of risking my bike like that.” A screen door slammed over the phone, and he cursed. Something about stupid weather and stupid damsels in distress. She opted to ignore him.

“I was more worried about you than the bike, but I’ll take what I can get.” She paced around her small bit of sidewalk. It felt like there might be snow in the air. Above the buildings she wondered if the clouds were gearing up for it, thick and heavy.

“Shouldn’t worry ‘bout me, but thanks anyway.” There was a jingling of keys, and then a roaring crackle over the speaker that made her jerk the phone away from her ear. He must have started his bike.

To compensate she spoke up a bit louder “Thank you so much. I’m already outside. Can’t miss me. I’m in all leather.”

Bucky laughed a little, but it was distorted from the motorcycle “It’s Halloween weekend. I don’t think you’re the only girl out there sportin’ all leather.” Before she could defend her entirely unique leather get-up, he finished “But I’m sure you’ll stand out anyway. See ya in a bit.” Then he hung up.

The next 5 minutes passed agonizingly slow. She huddled herself up against a rough brick wall, thankful that she was wearing pants. Even if the leather was thin. She didn’t want to go back into the club, and chance missing Bucky. Besides, it was only 10 minutes. She could handle that. Her phone stayed pressed close to her face as she flipped through Tumblr, attempting to keep her mind off the howling wind. It bit at her fingers, and pink nose.

At first, she didn’t notice. There was always a background rush of voices on the streets, along with cars, and horns. City noises. A lot of the louder voices were guys, shouting obscenities at no one in particular. Even when she had been cat called a few times, it never amounted to anything.  Usually she just kept walking or flipped them off, then kept walking.

“Hey sweetheart why you all by yourself?” She glanced up from her phone, wondering what poor girl was getting harassed and if maybe she should do something.

Then she realized that poor girl was her.

Too stunned to say anything, she kept quiet. The guys were leering at her from down the sidewalk. Probably coming from the club. There were five, all in various costumes, and all likely in various states of intoxication. The ringleader stood in the front, backed up by two other big guys, the fatter one was in a basketball jersey, the other a pirate’s hat with a ruby feather. They were all tall, but not quite as tall as Bucky. Not many guys were.

When she didn’t respond, the ringleader stepped closer to her little ball of light. She stood underneath a streetlamp light. The post was positioned on the other side of the sidewalk, next to the street, but its illumination reached her against the wall. It felt like the safest place. Not that Hydra was located on a shady street, but it was late at night, or early in the morning. She was a girl. It was also Halloween. Now she was starting to wonder if the light was more like a beacon for all the goddamn scumbags of the world.

“Wanna keep us company?” He continued, a wide smirk making his teeth flash in the headlights of a car “We can warm you up real nice.”

Discount Jack Sparrow chuckled from beside him “You make one damn hot Black Widow. I’d love to see what’s under your leather.” She felt his eyes on her cleavage even if she couldn’t see him clearly in the shadows. Suddenly she wanted to zip her top back up, but she didn’t dare give him the goddamn satisfaction of appearing embarrassed.

Up to this point she was far too amazed at the blatant sexual harassment heading her way to say anything. That comment jarred her into standing up straighter, trying to appear bigger than she was. Then she glared at them “Fat chance asshole. Leave me alone.” She bristled more when they just laughed at her and felt her stomach drop. This wasn’t good.

If she screamed it wouldn’t do much. It was Halloween. People were screaming everywhere. Plus, in a city, one scream just disappeared like smoke among all the other noises. There wasn’t anyone around paying any attention. The main bustle was over at the club, but she was far away from it now. Went to wait next to a parking garage a distance away so Bucky would have an easier time spotting her. A huge building filled with cars, not people. Sure, there were cars going by, but no one gave a shit what happened outside the nice tinted glass of their ride.

To her left, yards away, the fluorescent lights of Hydra’s sign flashed mockingly at her. To her right the street was deserted, the parking garage was huge enough that it took up the sidewalk till it hooked around the other corner several yards away. In front of her the street flowed like an impassable, steady river of cars. The neanderthals blocked her from heading back to the safety of Hydra.

It would be a lucky day if anyone paid her any attention at all.

“Aw you even talk like her. Why don’t we play a little?” The ringleader stepped into her circle of light now. Contaminating it. She pressed further back against the brick behind her “I’ll be the Hulk, and you can be my little Widow.” He had greasy dark hair, pushed back from his long pale face, the brim of a scuffed top hat hooded his dark eyes. He was toned underneath his circus coat, she could tell by the way it hugged his chest. A literal evil ringmaster. How ironic. Probably not even all that ugly when that sneer didn’t stretch his face. Probably one of those guys that didn’t take no for an answer, even in a setting much nicer than this.

As they crowded closer in, she could smell the alcohol on them. Alcohol, and pot. Not that substances are any excuse, but it made her spine tingle with adrenaline. Substances just made people get angrier faster and hit harder.

Without even responding, she bolted, or tried. Lunged to the right. Maybe if she made it to the end of the block she could go across the crosswalk. Across the street there were restaurants, and people. She made it all of five steps before a hand caught her wrist and wrenched her back. Involuntarily, she stumbled into Ringleader’s chest. His other arm snaked around her waist, crushing her there as she tried to wiggle away.

She screamed then.

Whether she believed it would help or not. It was just a natural damn response. Fear sliced down her spine and beat the wail out of her.

His hand left her wrist and covered her mouth. Circus Freak’s palm tasted dirty when she tried to bite, but he just pressed harder. His thumb wrapped over her nose. She could barely breathe.

“Shut the fuck up.” He tugged her back, making her stumble with him, and then took her out of the light all together. The lamp flickered and hummed, above her head. She watched it get smaller. He dragged her over towards the opening of the car garage. It gaped at her like the ominous jaws of a monster. If she went in there, she might never come out.

Even if she did, she might not be able to put herself back together. Not for a second time.

Y/N tried letting herself go dead weight, but he just grunted and pulled her harder. Ringleader’s arm was an iron bar. It dug into and bruised her ribs. Her jacket hiked up from the squirming, and suddenly his grimy hand was squeezing her bare side. Heartbeat spiking, she scratched at his arms, kicked at his legs, started to buck back. Her feet didn’t connect with more than his shins, but at least he cursed. Blood welled up under her nails, and as she squirmed his hand started to slip. She fought with everything she had in her. Finally, he let go of her mouth to contain her arms.

“Grab the goddamn slut’s legs!” He demanded, voice rough from too many smokes. Hands caught her wrists in a bruising vice. He tugged them up above her head.

Fatty in the ball jersey did as ordered. He bent over and grabbed her thighs, lifting them off the ground. Couldn’t get a solid hold with her bucking. He managed to keep her calves lifted, and she used his support to push off. With all her strength, she brought up one foot when he pushed closer to her. She got in one good, hard kick into his snarling face. The heel of her boot cracked him right in the nose. Snapped his head back and he let out a surprised wail. A wave of gratification swept her chest. She even smiled a little, past the tears that smeared her mascara.

It didn’t last long. Jersey held his flooding nose with his left hand and stammered “You bitch!” The rage in his voice tremored through his muscles. He brought back his big meaty hand and landed a stinging backhand across her face. Bastard had a hulking ring on his finger. The jewel caught on her cheekbone and tore into her skin. Her ears started to ring, and glowing halos of light danced in her eyes when she blinked. The force split her lip and she tasted blood.

At least his nose looked broken, blood splattering across his stupid purple jersey. She hoped the stain never came out.

In slapping her, he let go of her feet, so she started trying to kick again. She kicked despite the throbbing through her skull. Kicked despite the ringing in her ears. Despite the hands that constricted her. Bruised her.

Still, it wasn’t really going anywhere. She pegged another guy with devil horns in the middle of his chest. He caught her feet, wrapped them under one of his arms, and constrained her. They started shuffling closer to the entrance, and she started to scream again. Her shoulders ached from bearing all her weight, and she stared up at Ringleader. His breath stank of alcohol when he stared down at her with a chilling grin.

That was when she heard a distinctive skid of tires on the sidewalk.

“What the fuck?” One of the others, he had on a very ironic Superman getup, muttered as headlights blinded her. The guys were circled around the front of her, Ringleader binding her arms above her head from behind, Devil Horns holding her feet in front of her. Dirty Superman and Pirate Hat flanked her sides. All of them turned to gape as the lights turned off, and the sound of boots against sidewalk stalked towards them.

Somehow, Y/N knew who it was before she even heard him speak or saw his face. Her entire body sagged in relief, and she strained her neck to try and see.

“Bucky!” She screamed, but then Ringleader cut her off. He jostled her to hold her wrists in one hand, covering her mouth with the other. Devil horns dropped her feet, and she barely kept from falling like a stone. Ringleader tugged her up and back against him.

The others huddled away from Bucky when he got closer. She could just make out his face in the street lights, and his expression made her freeze. His eyes were as cold as winter. Face stony to match. He stood up at all his height, more menacing than ever before, and had yet to utter a single word.

Didn’t really have to. His body language said it all.

Ringleader must have been too stupid to listen “Hey buddy. I suggest you move along. Nothin’ to see here. Our friend was just about to show us a good time. Weren’t ya?” He spoke down to her, shaking her a little. Y/N let out a shriek of rage, clawing at his arm, ripping up more skin beneath his sleeve. He squeezed her mouth tighter, cutting off her air all together. Tears blurred her vision, streaks already staining her cheeks. She couldn’t remember when exactly she started crying. Her lungs burned as she fought to breathe through his skin.

Bucky’s fists clenched at his sides, one covered by a glove. Sporting a leather jacket, white t-shirt, black jeans, and heavy boots he looked almost like John Travolta from Grease. Styled hair and everything. Would have made her weak in the knees in any other situation. Currently, she was struggling to breathe for entirely different reasons.

When he took a threatening step forward, her band of assholes stepped back. A gust of wind ruffled everyone’s hair, and she noticed little white flakes reflecting in the street lamp behind Bucky. Crystals caught in his hair, and she wondered why the universe made tonight the first snow fall.

A heavy silence hung thick in the air. She slapped progressively harder at Ringleader’s hand until he let her breathe again. By then her head was getting light. He still insisted on keeping his hand over her mouth. She sucked air in through her nose. The smell of cigarettes encased her, clogging the air.

Bucky’s eyes met hers across the tense darkness, and she could feel his worry without any words. It reflected in his blue eyes. Spoke through the small crease in his brow, and tense set of his mouth. Finally, though, he did speak up. His words dominated over the cars in the street and boomed across the sidewalk. Slowly, he stared down every single person with a deadly sort of calm.

“I suggest you douchebags let her go. Right now. If you want to walk away from here tonight.” His voice wavered just a bit in pent up rage. She tracked that rage across the stiffness of his shoulders and the clenching of his fists. Distantly she wondered how much damage he could do with a metal fist helping him. How many people had he made bleed with it during the war.

She watched a shudder pass through the spines of everyone standing there. The frost coming off him even made the tips of her fingers prickle. She squeezed her captor’s hand tighter, trying to pry it back off her mouth. He didn’t budge.

Stupidity, and pride always prevail. Ringleader laughed, and the movement jostled her. Her shoes scraped against the side walk as he tugged her up, making her stand on her tiptoes. The position strained her neck, and made her thighs burn. She arched her back to keep from pressing against him more than he made her. “Again, you should really leave before you piss me off. It’s five against one pal, can’t you count?”

Bucky smirked, but it was a bitter, piercing expression “I think you should count again.” Confusion passed through her for only a half of a second.

Then he charged. So fast she almost missed it. Pulling back his flesh hand he decked the nearest guy straight in the nose. It was Ironic Superman. The blow was so vicious she heard the crack from where she was a yard away. Superman’s head violently snapped to the left. His body followed it all the way to the ground. He didn’t move.  

“Four.” It made her heart jump in her throat when Bucky’s voice rang over the scuffle.

Bucky didn’t stop there. He spun just in time for Pirate to throw a wide fist towards his head. It was like he knew the blow was coming. Bucky ducked down. Dipped to the left. Then he stood straight, so damn light on his feet. Pirate stumbled past him, having displaced too much of his weight. Then he sloppily caught himself and faced Bucky angrily. Didn’t waste a second to attack again. Bucky was waiting. He slid just far enough to the right to let the blow go over his shoulder.

Pirate fell against his chest, and Bucky used the momentum to his favor. He caught his shoulders. Then used the downward momentum to drive his knee straight up into the guy’s chest. The feather fell from his hat as he let out all the air in his lungs. Bucky then drove his elbow into the back of his head before dropping him like a stone. The pirate hat landed in the gutter off the sidewalk.

“Three.”

Y/N held her breath. All of Bucky’s movements were so precise. No energy was wasted. He was proficient in every step. It was terrifying. He was beautifully deadly.

Devil Horns charged at Bucky with a roar. He was shorter, but stout as a rock. His fists flew fast enough that Bucky had to block them with his arms. One of the punches thrust straight for Bucky’s nose. He caught the blow with his left hand. Devil Horns tried to yank back and grunted at the strain. She thought she saw Bucky smirk, but then he blurred again. With a wide swing, he spun Devil and drove him face first into the awaiting concrete. The man’s forehead hit it with a hard thud. He stumbled back three steps. Bucky grabbed the back of his head and smacked it against the brick wall a second time.

He slumped to the ground after that. Horns all askew. Blood dripped down from his hairline, mouth slack.

“Two.”

Bucky turned on fatty, who already had a shirt soaked in blood from her. He was holding onto his nose and panting loudly through his mouth in terror. All Buck had to do was take one challenging step forward. Jersey immediately booked it. He passed Bucky and ran straight into traffic. Seemed like he would much rather be hit by a car. Cars honked at him and skidded to a stop to keep from killing his ass. He just kept going. Skipped past the cars, and then disappeared around a corner across the street.

“One.”

She could feel the rage trembling through Circus Freak. A span of silence stretched between them as her captor debated on what to do.

With a whip, he flung her to the side, making fall hard onto the sidewalk. Her elbow smarted when it caught her deadweight, making her cry out in pain. Then she scuffled up as quick as she could, scooting back and out of the way. Y/N felt small down on the side walk, pressed back against the wall. Two goliaths fought it out in front of her.

Bucky dodged back as her attacker threw a fist. He dipped to the left. Weaved out of the way to the right. He narrowly avoided Ringleader’s punches. She wondered why he was being on the defensive more now. At least, she wondered until she caught the glint of the butterfly knife in Ringleader’s hand.

He knocked the knife out of the way and landed a solid punch on the guy’s jaw. It didn’t stop him, though. He just swung harder, faster. Fueled by rage and hurt pride. He crowded Bucky back until he was a step from the street. Cars whizzed by, and it seemed Ringleader wanted to shove Bucky under one of them. A semi-truck barreled down towards them, and she saw the heel of his shoe slip.

“Bucky!” She screamed in warning and his head whipped towards her. He stepped forward, towards her and away from the street. Distracted, she saw the flash of the blade before he did. Ringleader finally landed a sharp slice across his chest. She let out a sharp scream. Blood stained his white shirt. Bucky didn’t even wince. In fact, he didn’t react at all.

As Ringleader swung for a second swipe, he caught the guy’s arm in his left hand. His face carefully blank. Like he hadn’t been cut at all. He forced Ringleader back two steps and loomed over him. His mouth was set hard, and his silver eyes were the embodiment of winter.

Ringleader tugged, trying to get free. He swung loosely with his non-dominant hand, but Bucky caught that fist too. Then he squeezed. Only with his left hand. She watched at the man’s knees started to wobble under him. He dropped the blade with a clatter. Then he screamed.

“What the fuck?! Let me go you psycho! You’re gonna break­—” She luckily didn’t hear the crack of his bones. It was obvious in his wail, though. He kept going down until he was on his knees. Bucky let go of his non-dominant hand. Still kept his agonizing hold with his left.

Ringleader clawed at Bucky’s gloved hand with his free one. He tried to get free like a fox caught in a bear trap. Yanked so hard that she was surprised he didn’t dislocate his shoulder. The snow came down harder now. It caught on the brim of his top hat where it had fallen near his legs, making it almost grey. Bucky’s hair had come free from its pomade. It fell in his face as he stooped down to glare at the squirming man.

He wasn’t speaking. Wasn’t flinching when the man tried to pry the metal fingers off him. It was like he wasn’t there at all. Like his mind had checked out, and left behind a ghost.

“I’m sorry! Please man! Let me go!” His voice broke as he started to sob.

Y/N scrambled to her feet. Bucky wasn’t stopping. He already broke the guy’s hand. Yet he kept squeezing. The man was howling now, begging. Seemed like he might have even pissed himself. She took a couple steps towards them, hesitant at first. Bucky didn’t even seem to notice her anymore. He scared her like this. Terrified her to her very bones. She reached out a hand, but her feet were lead. Then Bucky brought back his flesh hand, ready to punch Ringleader again.

“Bucky!” She shouted, forcing herself to move. It took her just three easy steps to get beside him. She grabbed his fist in the air. Wasn’t strong enough to make it come down from its position, but she tugged anyway. Practically draped herself against him, holding his arm where it hung in the air next to her head “Stop! Stop it.” She spoke louder at first, but then softened her tone when she felt him freeze. He didn’t look at her. Just glared down at her attacker. “I’m ok. I’m alright now. Let him go. Please.” The muscles in his arm eased up just enough. She gently guided his flesh hand down, uncurling his fist. She pried at his fingers until his fist relaxed minutely.

“Y-ya man. L-listen to your girl you should j-just- Fuck!!” Bucky had started releasing his grip on the guy’s wrist, but the moment he started blabbering he squeezed again. A growl rumbled in his throat, like the guy personally offended him by breathing.

“Buck!” Y/N chastised him, reaching over and touching his metal hand. Probably for the very first time if she thought about it. She could feel it underneath the glove, harder than bone, and cold even through the material. “Please, let’s just go. He can’t hurt me anymore.” Probably wouldn’t hurt anyone anymore for a long time.

Bucky finally let go at her touch. He shoved Ringleader’s arm away like it disgusted him. Didn’t stop glowering at him, though. Still wouldn’t look at her. The man collapsed into a heap onto the sidewalk. His broken wrist was already blue, swollen, and bent wrong. It made her nauseous, so she stared back at Bucky’s face instead.

Ringleader scraped himself up after a minute and started to run away. Scrambled past the parking garage, down the snow dusted sidewalk. Shoes skidded a couple times, and his pants leg did have a noticeable damp spot. His arm was cradled to his chest. Only a yard away, he turned his head, coat bustling in the wind “Your dog’s a fucking psycho! Should keep him on a goddamn leash!” Then he jogged faster, letting his words disappear behind him. Like the coward he was.

Bucky tried to lunge after him. His muscles bunched under her hand as he snarled. She stepped in front of him just a second before he could start the chase. Y/N pressed herself to him, hands flat on his chest. The blood from his wound was hot against her hands, but she barely noticed. Too focused on blocking his path. Peering up at him, she realized that her eye had started to swell shut. He didn’t shove her out of the way. In fact, he finally looked down at her. It was like her action had finally broken him out of the fog he was in.

As they stared at each other for several long minutes, the defeated attackers slowly roused. One by one the other members of the group scraped themselves off the sidewalk. None of them were dead thank god. They quickly fled too. Silently, though. She barely paid them any attention. It was still snowing hard, and she watched as flakes caught in his eyelashes. Headlights cast shifting shadows around them. Wrestling like demons at their feet. She couldn’t help but question what demons Bucky kept locked inside of his head. Only demons could make someone fight as desperately as he just did.

Slowly, afraid of startling him, she reached up and touched his cheek. She cupped his face in her hands and studied him seriously “Are you alright?” Her thumb brushed over his bruised jaw. It did dawn on her that it was ironic for her to be asking him if he was alright. After everything that had happened. She did it anyway. He seemed to have lost himself during the fight. His eyes were focusing from somewhere far away. She couldn’t believe she just watched him break someone’s hand without flinching. With the adrenaline wearing off, she wanted to cry all over again.

Bucky blinked once. Then twice. He swallowed and grimaced. His flesh hand gently touched her left. His longer fingers cupped over hers. It was so warm. She could feel the calluses on his palms as he slowly guided her hand away. He didn’t touch her with his metal one, but she dropped her hand anyway. It was obvious he was uncomfortable with her touching him like that. She left small smudges of blood on his cheek.

“I’m fine. Are you ok?” He brought his right hand up and touched the side of her face. She winced, realizing that her cheek was still on fire. Her lip felt tender too when her tongue tested the dried blood.

“Why do guys always managed to hit a girl right across the cheekbone?” She asked, trying to make a joke but it landed flat. He didn’t even try to smile. His thumb brushed across her lip, and she grimaced, looking away. Ringleader’s hat was still on the ground right by her foot. She stepped on it, grinding it into the snow. When she moved her foot away, it inflated like a crumbled accordion. She thought maybe Bucky did snort at that. It was too quiet for her to be sure.

“God I’m a mess.” The words babbled out of her past the buzzing in her ears. She glanced down at herself. One knee was ripped open and so was her elbow, both were bleeding. Her jacket had come unzipped down to her ribs, leaving everything showing. Y/N brought her hand up to zip it back, but her fingers were shaking too much to get a good grip. Her breaths started to come in faster as she got more, and more frustrated. Her fingers were numb and clumsy.

Bucky’s hand came up and he covered her own, taking the damned thing. He slowly closed her jacket back up to her collarbones. She had never in her life been more grateful for such a simple action. His thumb stroked her collar just once, leaving a hot trail behind. Then his hands fell away.

Before she could find the words to thank him, her eyes caught the sheen of red on his chest “Y-You’re hurt, and b-bleeding a lot and you’re asking me if I’m ok?” She gave a hysterical laugh, tears already escaping her eyes again. They stung the cut the guy left on her cheekbone. Her hands shook as she brought them up. She wanted to get a better look at the cut. What if he needed stitches? What if he got a scar cause of her? Cause she distracted him like an idiot?

“I-I’m so sorry. I sh-shouldn’t have yelled. I was just so scared and—"

Bucky’s eyes widened, and he quickly brought up his arms. The motion cut off her babbling, uncontrollable apology. He tugged her into an enveloping, hard hug. She tried to protest as he pressed her against his wound, but then his chest rumbled as he started to talk. Her ear was trapped against his collarbone above the wound. It was the most comforting sound she had ever heard “I’m ok doll. Promise. It doesn’t hurt that much. Trust me, I’ve had worse.” He shushed her when she tried to speak “Believe me. Much worse.” Then he squeezed her shoulder lightly and rubbed. The metal hand he just used to crush someone’s arm rubbed hers with more tenderness than she had experienced in a very long time.

Somehow, it didn’t bother her at all.

Finally, once her shoulders stopped shaking and her gross sniffling died down, he pulled back. Bucky held her just a bit away, his hands still rubbing her shoulders. He reached up and wiped at her chin, grimacing. He gave a very weak, sheepish smile “Sorry, I got blood on your…” He trailed off, gesturing to her face. She just shrugged, too tired to care. There were a lot of things smeared on her face. Besides, she got blood on his too. Just didn’t even have the energy to tell him. When he noticed his left hand was still touching her, he dropped it down.

Y/N sniffed, trying to clear her nose. The cold snowy air hurt her lungs. Then she rubbed at her face as much as she could stand. Her eye felt tender and wouldn’t stop blurring.  Probably smudging tears, blood, and makeup all together. Then she spoke up, voice a bit rough “I don’t mind it.”

He raised his eyebrows at her, tilting his head a little. Confused. She shivered as a gust of wind caught her. Now that the adrenaline had passed, she was so frosty her teeth were starting to chatter. Still, she tried to elaborate “Y-Your metal arm doesn’t bother me.”

Bucky stared at her critically and then shook his head, as if she were ridiculous “Let’s get you home.” He sighed, wrapping an arm over her shoulders, his right one. The snow had covered any traces of a fight taking place at all. It was already sticking to the street, forming muddy tracks from the tires. He tucked her into his side where it was warm, under his jacket. Now that she had a calm minute, she enjoyed the way his smell enveloped her.

“I’m s-serious!” She still couldn’t stop shivering “It’s just another p-part of you. A-And I like y-you.” She glared up at him, trying to drill in her honesty with her eyes.

Bucky only stopped to consider at her after they reached his bike. He let her go and dusted the snow off the seat. Then he grabbed a helmet, offering it to her quietly. She was just about to speak up again when he finally whispered, “Thank you.” If she hadn’t been looking at him, she thought the words might have been stolen by the loud gust of wind.

There wasn’t much else she could say to that. So, she put on her silver helmet, and climbed onto the bike behind him. He shrugged out of his leather jacket, revealing a black unzipped hoodie underneath. He shoved his jacket into her hands, and she shrugged it on quietly, grateful. Everything ached too much for her to argue.

Bucky clasped on his own helmet and revved up the bike. When it jumped to life underneath her, she quickly wrapped her arms around his waist, stuffing them into the pockets of his jacket when the wind bit at her fingers. At least the helmet kept her ears warm. She thought she felt Bucky chuckle underneath her when she gripped tighter. He pulled on a second glove, zipped up his jacket, and then smoothly merged into the nighttime traffic.

The drive home wasn’t as wonderful as she thought it would be. Not after everything that just happened. Still, it was beautiful. He weaved through the cars with a precise control, that was definitely dangerous. It reminded her a little of how he fought. Daring, and proficient.

At lot of the time he passed cars without any legal right-of-way at all. Bucky went as fast as he could, and she wondered if he was running from something. Running from the demons she couldn’t see that nipped at his heels. Y/N never felt in harms way, though. If anything, he made her feel like they were flying. Like the bike was gliding up off the ground whenever she wasn’t looking. Colors blurred past her. Paint smudges on a canvas, outlined in charcoal. She bunched the fabric of Bucky’s jacket in her hands and turned her forehead to press against the broad of his back.

He covered her hand with his right one. Slipped it into the pocket and laced them together. His skin was warm on top of hers. Wistfully, she imagined he still had charcoal on his fingers. That the charcoal would smudged across her skin and stain it forever. Leaving a mark that would remind her he was there. Even when he wasn’t.

Next Chapter

#bucky x reader #bucky barns x reader #marvel #fanfiction #slow burn #au #alternate universe #artist au #angst #bucky barns fanfiction #fluff #romance #love hurts #tori2k #writing challenge #marvel fanfiction #james bucky barnes #tashariiwriting

[cardboard-moon]

40 Things You Never Wanted To Know About Me

You probably already know me decently well or else you wouldn’t be reading this, so instead of rehashing the basic (boring) “getting to know me” questions I dug a little deeper and asked myself about what’s really important. Here is the result: 40 Things You Never Wanted To Know About Me. Enjoy!

1. What Parks and Rec character am I?

While I could argue for almost everyone on the show I’m probably most like Ben Wyatt: a white, brunette, and sad man who eats soup alone on a park bench (minus his love of math and rollerskate kink)

2: Top 5 books?

To Kill a Mockingbird, The Secret History, A Prayer for Owen Meany, The Help, 11/22/63

3: Top 5 movies?

Chinatown, Star Wars, Rear Window, National Treasure (nick cage can be good in small doses ok) and Nancy Drew (2007)

4: Top 5 shows?

Parks and Rec, B99, That 70′s Show, Mad Men, Arrested Development

5: Top 10 most iconic vines?

1) Chris is that a weed/Mary is that a police

2) Hi My Name is Trey I have A Basketball Game Tomorrow

3) Rebecca It’s Not What You Think

4) The one where the girl is just hitting elmo with a baseball bat

5) Anything Kermit but esp. the one where he falls off the building

6) You Know This Boy Got His Free Taco

7) 2 Bros Chillin in the Hot Tub

8) Waelcom to my Keeetchen we have bananis and avocadis

9) Whoever Threw That Paper Your Mom’s A Hoe

10) i spilled lipstick in your valentino bag (yOU SPILLED WHAHULAUG LIPSTICK IN MY VALENTINE WHITE BAG)

6: Where do I see myself in 21 years?

One of my dreams in life is to marry the heir to a prestigious winery out in wine country. I have a vision of myself at 39, waking up at 10 AM on a tuesday and standing on my private balcony in my state-of-the-art spanish stucco villa. i am drinking a chardonnay despite the early hour whilst i observe my grape empire in my silk negligee. the only event planned for the day is a portrait sitting for my rottweilers (4 of them), for which i have arranged spaces in the family’s private art gallery. i am aging well despite the harsh california sun and my partner and i have a trip to tuscany planned for the fall. it’s a charmed life and i never tire of eating grapes  

7: Top 5 favorite cryptids

1) Nessie (Nessie is a true lady I believe in her)

2) Mothman (not real)/ el chupacabra (possibly real)

3) the kraken (definitely real)

4) Bigfoot (not real but a legend anyways)

5) the yeti (real only in russia)

8: Do I Believe in Ghosts

It’s a complicated topic and of course we will likely never know for sure but the short answer is yes. in my opinion though, what ghosts are is the important question: are they really the dead coming back to haunt the earth? are they just manifestations of energy that the mind interprets into recognizable shapes? hallucinations? or is it wish fulfillment and the reduction of tensions on a heavy conscience? our brains are capable of powerful things, but it begs the question as to whether if a human desperately wants something to be true does the human mind have the power to make it true? c. s. lewis mentioned once that he never understood the ghost debate since, given that ghosts are real, they have no real power over us or anything interesting to say. but i believe that just goes to show how the mystery is far often more important than the solution.

9: Best/Worst Month of the Year

Best: May/November (spring/fall in full swing, holidays, time off school, great atmosphere) Worst: August (too dang hot & start of school)

10: What is one of my embarrassing secrets

I didn’t learn how to tie my shoes until I was nine (velcro ftw)

11: What is my Dream Date

We go cryptid hunting in the woods and have a picnic in the dark; you supply dogs for entertainment and guardianship purposes, i supply drinks and the cryptozoological myths we are chasing. Afterwards we get gelato

12: Top 3 Presidents

(this is based solely on arbitrary opinion not policies) 1) Barry Obama 2) Lincoln  3) Millard Fillmore (his name is funny) 

Honorable mention: jimmy carter (he was the only noncorrupt man in office for like 30 years before barry)

13: Top 3 Vice Presidents

1) John Adams, if nothing else but for the drama this man caused 2) Walter Mondale 3) the big boy JB 

Honorable Mention: Nichard Rixon

14: Top 3 Secretaries of State

1) Madeline Albright 2) Henry Clay 3) Elihu P. Washburn 

(note: secretaries of state have the funniest names, like Hamilton Fish (1869-1877) rest easy Mr. Fish)

15: Worst Activity they make you do in middle school PE

Middle school P.E. is the worst in general but I’m going to say either grading you on your shotput skills (?) or BMI (??) or just the tuesday run in general (luther kids know)

16: Top 4 Worst Scents

1) Washing a knife covered in peanut butter 2) Really cheap perfume that they sell in checkout lines at convenience stores 3) Olives 4) organic deodorant

17: Top 7 Conspiracy Theories

1) The Denver Airport is an underground military fallout shelter designed to protect the 1% from nuclear warfare

2) A Roman pope adjusted the Gregorian calendar so that his reign would fall on 1000 AD so we’re actually living in the year 1783

3) Paul McCartney is dead and was replaced prior to the Seargant Pepper album by a lookalike named Billy Shears

4) The state of Wyoming is a myth

5) Avril Lavigne died and was replaced back in the early 00’s

6) The Titanic sank because too many people went back in time to prevent it from sinking

7) Not to be cliche George Bush and the military-industrial complex orchestrated the 9/11 attacks (jet fuel can’t melt steel beams and all that)

18: Inside jokes with myself

I’m not usually a “gamer” but every year without fail someone introduces me to a game exactly at finals time and I get hooked and it ruins my gpa and study habits. This year it’s Stardew Valley, last year it was Dream Daddy and the year before that it was undertale and I blame Jojo for absolutely all of it bc they are usually the instigator. Anyway, every year I joke with myself about what game will derail my grades this year

19: Top 5 Worst Tactile Sensations

1) Putting tights or leggings on wet, hairy legs post-shower

2) Running fingernails along cardboard

3) Sweating in a turtleneck

4) Having wet, salty hair after swimming that drips down onto your back and makes the top of your shirt damp

5) Reaching into a bag of grapes and only finding really soft, slimy ones

20: Best Cat I’ve ever encountered

One time my friend and I were leaving Romancing the Bean and walking back to her car and the fattest, fluffiest, softest ginger cat I’ve ever seen came trotting up to us and flopped over at our feet. He was such a good boy!!! And so friendly with strangers!! He was very well groomed and just wanted some love, and whenever we stopped petting him he would jump up onto our legs and leave little wet paw prints everywhere, I wanted to kidnap him

21: Best dog I’ve ever encountered

All of them

22: Best squirrel I’ve ever encountered

My dad has befriended a squirrel named Nutty that likes to sneak into his office when the door’s open and steals peanuts. if the door is closed he’ll bang on it and scream until we acknowledge him

23: If I were a furry what would my fursona be

I do not know because I am not a furry. HOWEVER someone who is well-versed in furry matters told me once that I would be one of those long, nervous dogs like a greyhound maybe and tbh I could see it

24: Favorite/Least Favorite Disneyland Rides

My favorite has always been haunted mansion, except for the halloween season when it’s nightmare before christmas and then it’s thunder mountain. I just love the outside atmosphere of the house bc I’m a slut for that southern gothic architecture style. Worst is splash mountain because there’s no seatbelt and LOGICALLY i know I don’t need one but it doesn’t stop me from having a panic attack every time I get on and we go up the big hill as I worry about being flung from the toboggan across the park

25: Least favorite restaurant within 10 mile radius of my house

I live over by Porto’s so I am #blessed to be surrounded by some really dope food. However there is a hipster place a couple of blocks over in Toluca Lake that only serves bizarre food like fried chicken in maple syrup with waffle fries and it’s surprisingly bland, so the lack of taste combines with how expensive it is probably makes it the worst (it’s also forgettable bc I can’t even remember its name)

26: Rank of JBHS history department according to how good of a parent they would be

9.Mr. Bixler - I have never had this man so I can’t say shit. NA/10

8. Ms. Snowden - I’ve never had her either but I’ve heard enough about her between Burroughs and Luther to know that this woman is kind of scary, intimidating and uptight, all things I personally do not desire in a parent. 2/10

7. Mr. Hatch - I love Scott Hatch but he is a tremendous mess of a man. Judging by his wife’s instagram photos his idea of parenting is taking naps while cuddling his children and letting his wife do the rest of the hard work. Plus he seems like the type to be too wrapped up in his own melodrama and too busy hangin out with his best friend Edward Frankenbush playing Xbox to pay much attention to his kids. However, he did skip the first day of school to take his daughter to kindergarten so he gets points for that. 4/10

6. Mr. Lee - Mr. Lee is a very respectable guy who seems like he does a very good job providing for his family. He’s ranked as middle of the road because he’s a naturally private person so I can’t speak to his parenting tactics or personality much, however the few stories he shared about his daughter were very cute and he does the typical teacher/parent things like making her his screensaver on his computer. Overall, a very quality dad and man, 6.5/10

5. Mr. Fitz - Kyle Fitzgerald is similarly a mess of a man, but the difference between him and Scott Hatch is that he seems to make an investment in his kid. He always talks about current events in terms of what idiocy his poor daughter will have to put up with which shows his devotion to her well-being and survival in a confusing world. Also he brought her in to go swimming once while I was working at Verdugo and I got to see them having a great time on the splash pad and it warmed my heart. Great dad 7/10

4. Mr. Piper - Richard Piper is such a good father but in a detached way. He loves talking about his son and wife just as much as he loves talking about planes. The real kicker? When he talks about taking his son ON planes and geeking out over history together. He also asked all of his classes for people looking for tutoring work when his son was struggling in math which is so cute. Good guy Rick gets an 8/10.

2. (tie) Mr. Frankenbush and Ms. Hacker - Ed and Jan are both beautiful people. I know Ms. Hacker is #divisive but I personally am a big fan and would die to have her guidance in my daily life. She’s always interested in what’s going on in people’s lives and sure she’s definitely chaotic but it’s a loving chaos that’s only looking to help other people. I’ve not had the pleasure of having Mr. Frankenbush but he always is hanging out with his son Joey and they love coming to the Burroughs pool and playing water polo together; they spend a lot of time together since his wife works so much and they have such a buddy friendship. Both of these lovely people are super devoted and invested in the youth and would make great parents. 9/10

1. Mr. Clark - A god. We don’t deserve this man and I can’t sing his praises enough. Were were all lucky enough to be Greg’s children I don’t think evil would exist in the world. 11/10

27: Worst book I read for school

Hands down Tale of Two Cities since it’s the only one I’ve never finished. Dickens just doesn’t do it for me I guess plus I get really tired of the one dimensional characters and how much he romanticizes Lucy

28: Favorite little-known tidbit of history

When Richard Nixon went to Soviet Russia as Eisenhower’s VP during the cold war his secret service agents detected higher than usual amounts of radiation coming from Nixon’s hotel room, so they started talking loudly about it bc they knew the Soviets had planted buds and were listening. Within like an hour the radiation had vanished and they never heard anything about it again so man Soviet’s ain’t sly

29: 5 Places in Burbank That Are Definitely Haunted

1. Coral Cafe for obvious reasons, look up the ghost on youtube

2. The View seems like it would have some kind of el chupacabra-esque creature prowling around, maybe a mountain lion hybrid

3. Fry’s Electronics

4. The abandoned train station under the bridge

5. The LA river by the equestrian center

30: Rank of all the AP classes i took in order of entertainment value

9) AP Bio: I liked bio but the class wasn’t very entertaining. There’s not a lot of humor in bacteria and cells, and Mr. Van Loo is much more of a calming than a humorous and chaotic presence, so overall it takes the hit as the least entertaining class.

8) AP Stats: Math is similarly not very entertaining, but Mrs. Hollingshed’s erratic personality gives it the edge over Bio. Definitely more humorous than expected of a math class.

7) AP Econ: I bombed econ and business/money isn’t very entertaining but Jan Hacker made it so thanks to her chaos (love her though).

6) AP Euro: European history is incredibly iconic because, spoiler alert, Europeans are idiots and historically speaking everything that can go wrong, will go wrong. I just wish I remember it since I think idiot sophomore Lily slept through most of the class so needless to say I didn’t soak up much of the entertainment value. If it were up to me I’d take it over again and maybe stay awake this time.

5) AP Lit: Lit was just as much challenging and intimidating as it was entertaining, so it balances out. Mrs. Caluya is notably iconic and the books we read were all pretty interesting so it gets a high vote from me.

3) (tie) Gov/APUSH: History is always entertaining in my eyes since people do stupid things out of pettiness. These two tie for different reasons: Mr. Piper is a great teacher and that mock trial we did for the industrial age was great, but the subject was also extremely entertaining overall. I loved reading about how John Adams made making fun of him illegal. Gov was mostly just entertaining because of Mr. Hatch and how salty his is about the government. His sarcastic comments about how corrupt everything is gave life to an otherwise pretty lifeless subject.

2) AP Lang: aka the class with no curriculum, or the Kuglen Hour. I love Mr. Kuglen so much and he is responsible for 99% of the amusement in the class. I somehow learned how to be a better writer by listening to him complain about Trump and everything else under the sun for an hour every day so it was well worth it. Also who doesn’t like a class where you read Dave Sedaris for homework?

1) AP Psych: Without question, this is the epitome of entertainment. Psychology is just a mishmash of people trying to figure out why humans are as stupid as we are and why we do dumb things. Add in all the iconic psychologists and history and a class led by salty Mr. Hatch and you have a recipe for an entertaining year.

31: Top 5 Iconic JBHS teachers that I NEVER had (no particular order)

Mr. Peebles: A quirky man who I would have loved were I any good at math whatsoever

Mr. Arakelian: Band kids hate him but the stories I hear are so frickin iconic that I wish I could be an honorary band kid for a day and see the horror firsthand. If you have Arakelian stories please send them my way I’d love to hear about your pain

Mr. Frankenbush: A sad boi who everyone should get to experience and I regret never having.

Dr. Madooglu: He was so kind to me after the failed anti-trump lunchtime protest last year and he didn’t even know me. I wish I could’ve experienced him as a teacher.

Mr. Clark: The man, the myth, the legend

32: List of some iconic swim horror stories

Charlie breaking his hand after he lost a race and punched the gutter as hard as he could

Some idiot JV boys smearing poop all over the Burbank High locker room

The entire JV team getting Burroughs swim banned from Islands

Me almost passing out at the Los Amigos meet last year after I didn’t eat or sleep all day

Everyone always feigning illness or injury to get out of swimming the 4x100 relay

Getting in trouble for watching boys volleyball practice instead of doing the weight room sets

Every. Single. 5AM morning practice before school.

When coach martin finally figured out how periods work and suddenly we couldn’t use that as an excuse for not swimming anymore

33: What Office Character Would I Be

A mix between Angela, Oscar, and Kelly (we love our dramatic icons)

34: #1 Thing I’d Bring With Me to a Desert Island

Castaway for instructional purposes

35: What Would I call my memoir

Schadenfreude

36: 7 Best Buzzfeed Unsolved Episodes (no particular order)

This is one of my favorite shows so these are my recommendations:

1. 3 Horrifying Cases of Ghosts and Demons - one of the very first and best episodes; a 45-minute special where the Boys investigate the Winchester house in San Francisco, the Island of the Dolls in Mexico, and the Sallie House in Kansas

2. The Strange Disappearance of D. B. Cooper - A man going by the name of Dan Cooper hijacked a plane, demanded money and passage to Mexico, and then at some point jumped out of the plane and was never seen again. To this day no one knows his identity or his fate despite some of the ransom money turning up in a river somewhere.

3. The Haunted Halls of Waverly Hills Hospital - Ryan and Shane explore an abandoned asylum in Pennsylvania and some creepy stuff ensues. One of the best supernatural episodes

4. The Thrilling Gardner Museum Heist - An almost hilarious story (with reenactments!) about a seriously inept security guard and the loss of some of the world’s most beloved paintings. This was one of the first episodes after they started making money and the production quality is off the charts 

5. The Scandalous Murder of William Desmond Taylor - Another excellent reenactment story about one of Hollywood’s first and biggest scandals, the suspicious murder of a leading film producer.

6. The Enigmatic Death of the Isdal Woman - A woman’s body was found suspiciously burned in the European wilderness and no one knows who she is or how exactly she was killed. Watch if you like espionage!

7. The Strange Killing of Ken Rex McElroy - An entire town seemingly rose up to murder a douchey, violent pedophile. One of the only episodes that’s actually happy?

37: 6 Things I would Have Changed About High School

1. Definitely would have joined yearbook as soon as I could

2. Wouldn’t have forced myself to swim for all 4 years; if the passion’s gone then you shouldn’t force it. It’s just a sign that you need to move on to better things

3. I would’ve taken more AP’s and maybe tried another stem ap class. I’ve always been self-conscious about how bad I am at math, but I’ve gotten a little better over the years and instead of being too afraid to challenge myself I would’ve liked to see how I could do and prove myself.

4. Worrying less about grades!! I killed myself over my grades for like three years and then I just kind of let myself go. I would have let myself have who knows how many more hours of sleep and taken the L on a couple of assignments; I’m still learning that my health is more important than perfection.

5. Meeting the right people! I wouldn’t have restricted myself to a few friends and would have branched out more by joinng stuff like JSA. It sucks meeting the right people your senior year and realizing that I was hanging out with the wrong people this whole time.

6. Spanish instead of French.

38: What Would I Name My Farm Animals if I had A Farm

I’d definitely name them all after female Shakespearian characters. My cows would be Hippolyta and Titania from Midsummer, my horse would be Desdemona from Othello, my chickens would be Gonereil, Regan, and Cordelia from King Lear and my goat would be named Gertrude from Hamlet

39: Most Useless Talent I Have

I have a really strong internal clock so when I don’t think about it too hard and guess intuitively I can usually predict how much time has passed/what time it is without looking at a clock. It’s really only useful for estimating how much time I wasted standing in the shower staring at the wall

40: Top Regret After Writing This:

Writing this instead of studying for my econ test in seven hours.

Thanks for reading!

#writer's project #thanks jen for assigning this i had fun

[inikavulpixelreviews]

Let’s Talk About Pokemon - Gen 3 Recap

Throughout the Gen 1 years and most of Gen 2's, Pokemon had a dominant grasp on the world of children's entertainment. By the time the excitement of Pokemon's first expansion pack in the form of Gold and Silver had died down, Pokemon's popularity had considerably deflated. Maybe a harsh exaggeration; we are of course between the 21st and 22nd years of Pokemon's ongoing history with it still running pretty strong after all. But after Gen 1 and 2, Gen 3 had a lot to prove. Was Pokemon more than just a fluke?

Gen 3 ended up taking a lot of mixed reception from returning fans. Gen 2 had introduced plenty of features, namely a day and night cycle and ingame events that happen based on the time of day. Gen 3 had done away with these, which led to raised eyebrows. And not only this, but Gen 3's Pokemon left a bad taste in the fandom's mouth. And it's likely because the manner of designing Pokemon had changed for Gen 3. Gen 1 and 2 had a considerably smaller team of Pokemon designers compared to these days. Gen 3 notably expanded the team, so it'd make sense that Gen 3 feels like something of an experimental period, with large numbers of the designs taking Pokemon into a different direction in terms of art style. Just take a good look at some of the more visually distinct Pokemon in this lineup. A lot of them like Slakoth, Pelipper, and Shedinja are really toying with the Pokemon art style to see what they can and can’t get away with.

And I'm sure another part of it is the GBA lifting a lot of limitations from the Gameboy games. Lots more colors, more intricate designs thanks to the bigger sprites. And with such a sharp turn in art style like that, it's sure to lose a few people along the way. And as much as I like Gen 3, I can admit there's plenty of Pokemon in there that look like they lacked the polish of some other Generations. What I can give it credit for is that, I feel there was a lot more effort put into these Pokemon here than ever was in Gen 2. If Gen 3's short on anything, it's definitely not character. I only need one hand to count the Pokemon that are mostly lacking in character. Even some of the designs I dislike have personality to them.

And I'd say that's definitely the strength of having a bigger team of designers for something like Pokemon. There's a lot of variety to pick from, so people of all tastes have something to latch onto. I can look at a good 95% of these Pokemon and see what someone may see in them, why someone may tell me Spinda, Nosepass, or even Barboach of all things is their favorite Pokemon. It definitely put forth a good show for newcomers and old fans alike. It may have suffered here and there, but I'll easily take “usually great, occasionally stumbles” for the nice, super-varied bunch of monsters we got out of it.

Top 10 Favorites of Gen 3:

Since I didn't really have a neat place in the first few paragraphs to put this, I'll just say it here. Gen 3, of all the childhood Pokemon games, is the Generation I have the most nostalgic value for. I drew most of the Pokemon here over and over again because I was so madly in love with them. Heck, I think this was the Generation where the very first shimmerings of my Topaz and Amethyst Fakemon started to pop up, because Gen 3′s had a lot of influence on my monster design style as I started to develop to like making my own monsters.

It was tough trying to narrow things down to just 10. But here it is. It had to be Latias on top. It's about all my dragon-aesthetics in one Pokemon. Somehow. Sceptile's my man. And I couldn't not have Shedinja in here. Shedinja's a creativity highlight for the entire series, man. As somebody who’s made a hobby out of creating Fakemon myself, I’m eternally left jealous I’ll never come up with something as genius as Shedinja.

Favorites so far:

Oh my, uhhhh. Rip Gen 2, I guess. Yeah, Gen 3 made a much bigger dent in this than Gen 2 did, huh? I know that isn't saying much since I've said Gen 2's a bit “meh” for me, but still.

Given two of those Pokemon have a lot of nostalgic value to me; Latias and Sceptile, it's maybe no surprise they wound up finally dethroning 2nd place Ninetales.

Bottom 10 Least Favorites of Gen 3:

Yeah, I'm not too surprised with which Pokemon I harshed on this generation. I about expected to not find a lot that I personally like about any of these. I'll grant, Grumpig-onwards, my biggest problem is their designs are just a little meh.

Least Favorites so far:

Hey, we finally bumped off all the Pokemon that were just “meh” to me! That's still plenty of Gen 1's Pokemon in there though. We'll see how much that changes the later we go on.

The Cutest:

Again, no surprises here. Whenever something was exceptionally cute, I did my best to point it the hell out.

The Coolest/Most Badass:

Not too tough a contest, but Gen 3's still left me spoiled for choice here. Honorable mentions out to Salamence, Kyogre, and all three Regis.

The Prettiest:

Yeah, a bit of overlap, but oh well. Absol's DeviantArt: The Pokemon, so it can get away with being both badass and “pretty.”

The Spookiest:

Yeeees. YEEEES. YEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEESSSS.

I’m 13 days late but I do NOT even care

God. FINALLY. There's enough Pokemon of this flavor to justify having this category! I love me some Halloween aesthetic, and Pokemon of this category are gonna be ones that scratch that itch the most. And boy do Shedinja, Duskull, and Cacturne alone got me covered just by themselves. Then there's the other three! Hell... yes. Honorable mentions out to Sableye, Mawile, and Claydol.

Most Creative:

More like the Shedinja awards, am I right? But for real, this was actually a pretty tough pick. There's a bunch of Pokemon that are just plain out there, it's hard to just narrow them down to just 6.

Weirdest/Most Unique:

So I put some of them here as honorable mentions.

I still can't get over Tropius though. What the hell.

Most Forgettable:

Not that any of these are that bad really. Just, a lot of them lack a thing or two that lets them stand out.

Most Under-Appreciated:

Okay, I swear, last time Shedinja's gonna be on here. But yeah, there's plenty of Pokemon in this Generation that attract all sorts of ire. And others that are overlooked but just plain deserve a little more praise than they usually get. Then there's Luvdisc. I really don't care for Luvdisc all that much but. Man, so much hate for such an inoffensive Pokemon.

Summing Up Gen 3 in 6 Pokemon:

There's plenty of Pokemon from Gen 3 that have a lot more exotic color schemes than the previous generations. There's plenty of “animal but badassified” types like Blaziken and Armaldo. Then there's the occasional oddball like Tropius or Gulpin thrown in that are just plain weird, but fun that they're weird. All combining for an overall tropical feel. Perhaps Armaldo's interchangeable for Kecleon.

My Gen 3 Team:

Okay, this is when I start to remember my teams a lot more vividly. And I guess it helps that Gen 3 is also very nostalgic for me, let alone this was the very first time I bothered to level up all my Pokemon to Level 100. (How many double-A batteries have I murdered in cold blood to do that? The world may never know.) Honorable Mention to Metagross and Latias. They were “Team members”, but only in the postgame, since that's the only part where you can get them.

And then there's my Alpha Sapphire team. Yeah, it's kinda filled with Pokemon that only get good in the long haul, like Milotic and Flygon. But boy getting them was worth it. I enjoyed finally getting to use a Milotic after having admired its design for so long.

The “Better than Their Evolutions” Club:

Yeah, it just feels like there's more of these this Generation than most. At least enough to where the prevo is notably better than the evo.

...And that's it for Gen 3! The between-generation break might be on the extended side. Personal things, and some may have noticed tumblr went and broke my archive page. So I gotta sit down and fix that at some point, preferably before I start Gen 4. Until then!

[Archive]

#Pokemon #Gen 3 #Hoenn #Generation 3 #Pokemon Reviews

[disappearingground]

Jenny Lewis Escapes the Void

Pitchfork March 21, 2019

After a turbulent childhood and two decades of brilliantly vulnerable songs, the L.A. idol has finally arrived at something like happiness.

By Jenn Pelly

Jenny Lewis and I are in her brown Volvo, idling outside her childhood home. On a Tuesday afternoon in Los Angeles’ San Fernando Valley, we are two blocks from Van Nuys Middle School, where Lewis once sang “Killing Me Softly” in a talent show and got suspended for flashing a peace sign in a class photo (it was mistaken for a gang symbol). We are walking distance from what used to be a Sam Goody record store on Van Nuys Boulevard, where Lewis once bought a life-changing tape of De La Soul’s 3 Feet High and Rising, stoking her obsession with magnetic wordplay, as well as her first Bright Eyes CD, Fevers and Mirrors, which she quickly shared with the three men in her burgeoning indie band, Rilo Kiley, in the early 2000s.

We are not far from the bar where Lewis’ older sister, Leslie, sings in a cover band every Saturday, following in the tradition of their parents, who sang covers in a Las Vegas lounge act called Love’s Way in the 1970s. And that strip-mall pub is just across from the movie theater where Lewis and her mother once conspired to steal a cardboard cutout of Lewis’ 13-year-old self—a souvenir from when, as one of the busiest child actors of her generation, she starred alongside Fred Savage in the 1989 video game flick The Wizard.

Lewis left the Valley alone when she was 16 and vowed to never go back. “That was my number one goal: just to get out,” she tells me now, at 43. But on the occasion of her fourth solo record, On the Line, I asked for a tour of her past life, and here we are—Lewis in a royal blue jumpsuit, with electric blue sneakers and eyeliner to match; me, staring up at the rainbow of buttons fastened to the sun visor of her passenger seat, a collage that includes Bob Dylan, a peace sign, and a hot-orange sad face.

From the driver’s seat, behind her oversized shades, Lewis mentions the Bob Marley blacklight poster that once hung in her Van Nuys bedroom, and I imagine the scores of teenage bedroom walls that have made space for her own iconic image through the years. Lewis’ catalog of cleverly morbid, storytelling songs with Rilo Kiley and the Watson Twins ushered a generation of young listeners through suburban ennui and personal becoming—like a wise older sister we could visit on our iPods, offering an example of how to do something smart and cool with your sadness and your solitude.

In the mid-2000s, Lewis was like an indie rock Joni Mitchell for the soul-bearing Livejournal era, or an emo Dylan, the poet laureate of AIM away messages. Words—some cryptic, some elegant, some brutally, achingly direct—burst from the edges of her diaristic songs, with a dash of Didion-esque deadpan for good measure. It’s no surprise that Lewis’ earliest bedroom recordings were just Casio beats and what she describes as “raps.” Lewis was the first feminine voice I ever encountered leading a band outside the mainstream, with a sound that initially befuddled my ears because it was, in that overwhelmingly male indie era, so rare: a woman’s plainspoken voice.

Cruising around L.A. together, my mind maps the California of her lyrics. What does it mean for the palm trees to “bow their heads”? What becomes of the cheating, California-bound man in Rilo Kiley’s filmic “Does He Love You”—the soulful rave-up where Lewis belted the heroic mantra, “I am flawed if I’m not free!”? But my most pressing question, the one I must ask Lewis: Is California still “a recipe for a black hole,” as she sang on 2001’s “Pictures of Success”? “I guess it’s all the void,” she tells me straight. “It’s not really geographical. That’s what you find out on your adventures. It doesn’t really matter where you go. You accompany yourself there.”

The main destination of our Van Nuys excursion is the small ranch home of Lewis’ youth—or rather, homes, as there are two, practically adjacent. It’s a little complicated, I learn, as are many things with Lewis’ upbringing.

Lewis was born in Vegas on Elvis Presley’s birthday. In 1976, her parents and sister were living out of suitcases on the road, playing Carpenters and Sonny and Cher songs at casinos like the Sands, the Mint, and the Tropicana. “My mom was so pregnant but she would not miss a show,” recalls Leslie, who was 8 at the time. “Jenny would be kicking her on stage, and I remember seeing my mom flinch. I think that was Jenny saying, ‘Let me out, I want to sing!’”

Soon after Lewis was born, her parents divorced, and her father, Eddie Gordon, left the family and continued his career as one of the world’s leading harmonica virtuosos. Lewis’ mother, Linda, moved back to her native Los Angeles, working three jobs to rebuild a life with her daughters. At 2-and-a-half years old, Lewis was discovered by the powerful Hollywood agent Iris Burton (a young Drew Barrymore and the Olsen Twins were among her clients) after the toddler spontaneously wandered over to her table in a restaurant.

When Lewis was 5, she was already supporting Leslie and their mom with her commercial and TV acting, and they bought their humble first home, the one we’re visiting. “But we always used to dream about the house on the corner,” Lewis says, slowly circling the block, “so then my mom bought that house, too.” It’s two doors down, looks pretty similar—why dream of it? “Because it was right there,” Lewis says, “and it was nicer than the one we had!” (A 1992 L.A. Times headline dubbed Lewis “A Teen-Age Actress With 3 Mortgages”—she owned a townhouse in North Hollywood by then as well—calling her “the youngest member of the United Homeowners Association.”) “I know it’s confusing,” Lewis says. “This is part of the simulation; this is craziness. Why did we also want that house?” She erupts into a cackle. “None of this makes any fucking sense.”

In life as in her songs, Lewis is a consummate storyteller, mindful of how tiny details make a great tale. In the car, for instance, she tells me about the time she played Lucille Ball’s granddaughter on the notoriously bad 1986 sitcom “Life With Lucy.” It was the last show Lucy ever starred in, and it was canceled before the first season even finished. The mood was blue, but a wrap party was still planned, and Lewis’ mother convinced Lucy to have the gathering at their little house in Van Nuys. “So Lucy rolled up with her two dogs,” Lewis remembers. “She walked in the front door, looked around, and said, ‘What a dump!’”

Lewis’ mother typically attracted fascinating characters to the house—like the producers of the TV special “Circus of the Stars,” who trained Lewis in trapeze; or “Fantasy Island” star Hervé Villechaize, who came over for a scammy “Pyramid Party”; or The Exorcist writer William Peter Blatty. One year on Halloween, at the recommendation of the family’s illusionist friend—who, according to Leslie, levitated Jenny in their house—her mother invited over Ghostbusters star Dan Aykroyd’s brother Peter, who was himself a real-life ghost buster. Peter planned to “check out the levels” of the house.

Intrigued by the Lewis’ paranormal investigation, the local news showed up. Back then, Lewis was hanging out with fellow child actors Sarah Gilbert, Toby Maguire, and Leonardo DiCaprio—who also came through to scope things out. Recalling the ghost-busting scene, Lewis says, “They came over and set up their vague, infrared equipment and they captured some sort of reading coming down the hallway and going into my childhood bedroom.”

I ask Lewis if the ghostbusters’ findings felt accurate. “Well, totally,” she says. “Something was going on. We always had weird vibes in the house. Very dark vibes.”

In person, Lewis’ temperament is one of constant cheer. She radiates positivity, takes bong rips in her kitchen, says “dope” and “vibe” often. This sunny disposition is occasionally punctuated by looks of deep, welling concern for others—as if she is on the brink of tears for humanity. Still, she calls herself a “total skeptic,” and tells me that show business trained her, early on, to master the art of getting along. “I didn’t ever wanna be one of the dicks on set—like in a family situation, where one person can really fuck up Thanksgiving,” she says, before veering into more existential territory. “We all know we’re careening towards the end of humanity. I just wanna do my work and hang out with my people.”

It’s only later, while sipping Modelos at the dining room table of her quaint ranch house in the hills of Studio City, that Lewis reveals the source of her childhood home’s “dark vibes” was her mother’s lifelong heroin addiction. “It is painful to go back there,” Lewis tells me. “I get a weird feeling. I don’t know if the ghostbusters could have detected it, but there was some kind of energy that was not conducive to survival. So when I left, I left.”

“My mom was an addict my entire life, and it was a fucking rollercoaster,” she continues. “It lent itself to some amazing situations, but it was manic as fuck, and there were drugs constantly. It’s a lifestyle, and it’s a community to grow up around. I feel grateful for having been witness to some pretty outrageous human behavior from a young age. Nothing really shocks me.”

Leslie attests to their complicated home environment, and recalls “stepping over people trying to find my books to go to school.” She became a mother figure to Jenny, taking her little sister to school on her bicycle and making sure she did her homework. Leslie was just a teenager when she put it together that their mother was pushing Jenny’s acting money into buying drugs and, ultimately, selling them. “It was a terrible realization for both Jenny and I to have,” Leslie says. “I give our mom a lot of credit for being resourceful prior to that. We probably wouldn’t be talking to you today if she hadn’t been so inventive and so diligent. But it escalated.”

When Jenny quit acting in her early 20s, Leslie wasn’t surprised. “I remember her finally having the burden lifted off her shoulders, that she didn’t need to support our mom anymore, and she didn’t need to be told what to do anymore—she was free,” Leslie says. “Her agents were calling me, asking ‘What the hell’s going on? We’re booking her in all this stuff.’ It was a big deal for her to walk away. But she had to do it. I think she didn’t want to be saying other people’s words anymore.” Leslie recalls the bubbly dialogue Lewis would have to recite on screen and adds, “That’s just not where she was at in her life.”

Focusing on her own words, Lewis arrived instead at death, disease, loneliness, deflated dreams. Rilo Kiley’s 2002 breakthrough The Execution of All Things opens with a hushed monologue from Lewis about the melting ground. On the title track, she sings genially of a will to “murder what matters to you most and move on to your neighbors and kids.” Disguised by twee album art, Rilo Kiley created an indie rock uncanny valley, a sweet-sung pop moroseness of Morrissey-like proportions.

The centerpiece of Execution is a gritted-teeth fight song called “A Better Son/Daughter.” It bursts from a music-box twinkle to a monumental marching-band wallop, from a depressed paralysis to refurbished self-worth, from “your mother […] calling you insane and high, swearing it’s different this time” to “not giving in to the cries and wails of the Valley below.” In the past, Lewis has rarely discussed how her own biography fits into her songs, but the sense of hard-earned triumph and conviction powering this particular song is unequivocal. When I ask what might have inspired its climax—“But the lows are so extreme/That the good seems fucking cheap”—she simply remarks, “I mean everything I say.”

In 2006, Lewis wrote the fablistic title ballad of her solo masterpiece, Rabbit Fur Coat, to convey the feeling of her story—a mother waitressing on welfare in the Valley, the promise of a working child, a fortune that fades—if not the concrete details, which, she says, don’t really matter. But the haunting “Rabbit Fur Coat” laid her mythology bare. “I became a hundred-thousand-dollar kid/When I was old enough to realize/Wiped the dust from my mother’s eyes,” Lewis sings, the last line quivering into a moment of piercing a capella. “Is all this for that rabbit fur coat?”

I ask Lewis where she thinks her optimism comes from, and she just says “survival.” This summarizes an equation of emotional resilience that more women than not are tasked with solving young. “Jenny has basically been on her own her entire life,” says her best friend, the musician Morgan Nagler. “She’s the definition of buoyant.”

It’s hard to imagine rock in 2019 without Lewis’ radical honesty, without her hyper-lyrical mix of the sweet and the sinister. “In the early 2000s, the really big indie artists were Bright Eyes and Death Cab for Cutie, and Jenny was one of the only women fronting that kind of music,” says Katie Crutchfield, aka Waxahatchee. “But in the next generation after that in indie music, there are so many women. How could she not have been a huge part of that?”

Crutchfield, now an indie figurehead in her own right, says no songwriter has directly influenced her more than Lewis. When she was still a 20-year-old punk living in Alabama, Crutchfield got the cover of The Execution of All Things tattooed prominently on her arm. Lewis’ odd, poppy, poetic songs had a musicality she hadn’t found in punk, but they still spoke to her as an outcast.

Seeing Rilo Kiley play for the first time—at a Birmingham venue she would go on to play herself—was a watershed moment. Crutchfield and her two sisters stood front row center, sang every word, and cried. “It was so huge to see a woman on stage holding a guitar, being powerful but still very feminine,” Crutchfield says. “That was my first foray into seeing that as a possibility for myself.” She recalls the exact outfit Lewis wore that night: red leather skirt, knee socks, T-shirt tucked in, and “a belt that was like a ruler—something you would see on a teacher.”

When Eva Hendricks, singer of sugarrushing New York pop-rock band Charly Bliss, was still in high school, she would spend days writing Lewis’ lyrics in her notebooks over and over, becoming attuned to the virtues of unsparing openness in songwriting. “Listening to that music unlocked something I otherwise wouldn’t have been able to understand about myself,” says Hendricks, who also appreciated how Lewis never downplayed her femininity. She distinctly recalls going to a Lewis record signing around 2014’s The Voyager: “I waited in line and when it got to be my turn, the only thing I could think to say was, ‘I can’t believe that your voice is coming out of a real human being.’”

Harmony Tividad, of Girlpool, was 12 the first time she heard Rilo Kiley, and calls Execution’s “The Good That Won’t Come Out” one of her favorite songs of all time. “That song is more like a diary entry, and vulnerable in this way that feels like a secret,” Tividad says. The unvarnished album opener peaks with Lewis speak-singing, “You say I choose sadness, that it never once has chosen me/Maybe you’re right.”

“I was a really emotional, awkward young person and felt kind of socially trapped,” Tividad, now 23, reflects. “I was a freak. And that song is about exploring all of this stuff inside of yourself that you can’t really show people. It’s about isolation, which I have felt a lot. This music was a soundtrack to that recalibration of personhood. It was very integral in me developing a sense of self.”

Lewis has resided in the quiet show-biz neighborhood of Studio City—which she refers to as “Stud City”—for 11 years. She mentions that her current home is still, technically, located in the Valley, and shoots me a conspiratorial look: “Don’t tell anyone.” There are retro-looking landlines all around the house (cell service is poor), and eye-catching vintage Christmas bulbs strung in the kitchen window. The house was previously owned by the late Disney animator Art Stevens, who worked on Fantasia and Peter Pan. Standing amid dozens of plants in the little green room at the heart of her home, sipping a coconut La Croix, Lewis enthuses about Mort Garson’s obscure 1976 electronic record, called Mother Earth’s Plantasia. The whole place has an air of magic.

Its infrastructure has been unchanged for decades, which stuck out to a location scout for Quentin Tarantino’s upcoming Charles Manson film, who knocked on the door one day and asked to take some photos. He did not return, but his business card is on Lewis’ refrigerator, alongside one from legendary songwriter Van Dyke Parks, and a Bob Dylan backstage pass. The fridge is mostly covered with hospital stickers from when Lewis was visiting her mom, who died of cancer in 2017, and inspired her new song “Little White Dove.”

The other big change in Lewis’ life was the dissolution of her 12-year relationship with singer-songwriter Jonathan Rice—after which, to shake up the energy of the house, Lewis’ friend and photographer Autumn de Wilde painted the walls of her bedroom a striking shade of rose. Directly outside the door is a life-size photo of her best friend Morgan, and the window of her bedroom, spanning the right wall, looks out to a built-in pool. The sill holds carefully arranged objects: ruby slippers, her passport, a candle, a plethora of sunglasses, and a violet notebook labeled “Lewis homework for On the Line.”

Talking with Lewis, the despairing elephant in the room is Ryan Adams, who played on the album. Two weeks before we meet, Adams was accused of sexual misconduct and emotional manipulation from musician Phoebe Bridgers, his ex-wife Mandy Moore, and others, including a woman who was allegedly 14 at the time, prompting a criminal investigation by the FBI. “The allegations are so serious and shocking and really fucked up, and I was so sad on so many levels when I heard,” Lewis tells me. “I hate that he’s on this album, but you can’t rewrite how things went. We started the record together two years ago, and he worked on it—we were in the studio for five days. Then he pretty much bounced, and I had to finish the album by myself.”

“This is part of my lifelong catalog,” Lewis continues. “The album is an extension of that thing that started back at my mom’s house—I had to save myself and my music, and get away from the toxicity. Ultimately, it’s me and my songs. I began in my bedroom with a tape recorder, and it was like my own fantasy world. I’ve taken all these weird turns in my life—with mostly men, sometimes women—but I feel like I’m finally back to that place, which is autonomy.”

Though On the Line features an impressive array of players—Beck, Rolling Stones producer Don Was, Dylan drummer Jim Keltner, literally Ringo Starr—the album marks the first time Lewis has penned an album of songs solo, without co-writers, since Rabbit Fur Coat. “I’m not fully myself when I’m co-writing,” Lewis admits, describing a directness to the songs she’s penned with men, like Rilo Kiley’s “Portions for Foxes,” as opposed to songs she’s written alone, like “Silver Lining.” “With the songs I’ve co-written, it’s almost as if there’s a trimming of the emotional, rambling, poetic hysteria, which is where I live when I’m writing by myself,” Lewis says. “I don’t think of songs structurally. It’s a feeling, and I’m chasing the feeling.”

The cover of On the Line is a close-up of Lewis’ chest in an ornate blue gown. She chose the snapshot intuitively, from a pile of Polaroids taken by de Wilde, and only later recognized it as a deep homage to her mom, who once dressed similarly in Vegas and had an identical mole between her breasts. “Over the years I’ve become more comfortable in my skin,” Lewis says. “It’s funny to feel good in your skin when it’s not quite as tight as it used to be.”

With her voice sounding more refined than ever, On the Line finds Lewis singing about getting head in a black Corvette, feeling “wicked,” and—on the devastatingly delicate “Taffy”—sending nudes to a lover she knows will leave. “There’s a lot of fantasy in my songs,” Lewis tells me. “Sadly, I don’t get that much action. I should have gotten more.” She says she has always written about sex as “character projection,” but when she did so on Rilo Kiley’s final album, 2007’s Under the Black Light, it polarized fans. Lewis recalls one journalist who made a flow chart claiming to correlate the declining quality of the band’s music and the shrinking size of her hot pants. “It was so puritanical,” she says. But as the borders between the underground, mainstream, and genre have broken down, the artists who Lewis inspired are continuing to make space for more expansive expressions of sexuality.

The new record’s sound is warm and sleek, and when Lewis says she listened primarily to Kanye’s recent work while mixing it, I recall yet another wacky tale she shared with me at her house: Once, circa 2008, Lewis chanced upon Kanye at an airport. He played her a cut from 808s and Heartbreaks, and she played him her sprawling psych-rock triptych “The Next Messiah.”

Listening to On the Line, I find myself fixated on “Wasted Youth,” which uses a jaunty piano arrangement to deliver its neatly bleak refrain: “I wasted my youth on a poppy.” Lewis then slyly draws a line from the drugs to our numbing daily realities. When she sings, “Everybody knows we’re in trouble/Doo doo doo doo doo/Candy Crush,” I can feel my phone festering in my palm.

“I feel like that song is more about Candy Crush than heroin, if that’s even fucking possible,” Lewis says. “That’s the fuckin’ end: Candy Crush. It’s terrifying. I feel like my brain has been taken over by one of those weird fungi that grow out of the head of an ant in the rainforest. It’s like we’re spracked out on our Instagrams. It makes me feel like shit even talking about it.”

By the bridge, however, Lewis offers a blunt jolt of hope: “We’re all here, then we’re gone/Do something while your heart is thumping!” That’s a surprisingly heartening sentiment from a songwriter who has referred to herself as “a walking corpse,” who once made a springy emo anthem entitled “Jenny, You’re Barely Alive.”

“I’m in my 40s and something has shifted,” she says, when I ask what she does these days to help herself through. “Maybe you’re more aware of your own mortality, and have the balls to walk away from things, and be untethered, and do the reflection and the hard work—getting your ass out of bed and walking a couple miles, going to the gym, talking to a therapist.”

Lewis says her relationships with her female friends have deepened profoundly in recent years. “Maybe this is what we’re picking up on: the collective consciousness,” she says. “Women are talking to one another more. Reaching out to my girlfriends has helped me through these lessons that keep coming up. It’s the same lesson, where I’m like, ‘How am I in this situation with this fucking person that’s crazy… again? Why am I here and why have I stayed this long?’ And then my girlfriends are there to go: ‘Get the fuck out of there!’” (She is clear that this is not about her relationship with Rice, but rather about other romantic and working partnerships.)

I tell Lewis that these get-me-out predicaments remind me of her own song, “Godspeed,” from 2008’s Acid Tongue, which I had been revisiting quite a bit lately—a golden-hour piano ballad from one woman to another, a paean to “keep the lighthouse in sight,” to get “up and out of his house,” because “no man should treat you like he do.” “I wrote that for my friend,” Lewis says. “But maybe I wrote it for myself now.”

By the end of my time at Lewis’ house, the sun has set and we’re sitting in near total darkness, save for the neon pink glow of one of her many landlines. “You have to make a choice to be happy, or try to be,” Lewis insists. “Sometimes that involves moving away from people that you love, or that hurt you, or that are toxic. You have to find your bliss in life, right?”

I almost can’t believe that the same woman who provided me with my personal millennial-burnout anthems is asking me about unfettered joy—the artist who wrote the lyrics “I do this thing where I think I’m real sick, but I won’t go to the doctor to find out about it” and “I’m a modern girl but I fold in half so easily when I put myself in the picture of success” and “It must be nice to finish when you’re dead.” But I nod; it’s true.

#publication: pitchfork #album: on the line #year: 2019 #person: sister #mention: childhood #song: pictures of success #mention: california #mention: childhood house #mention: parent's band #mention: father #mention: child acting #person: lucille ball #mention: drug addiction #mention: heroin #song: rabbit fur coat #person: morgan #person: katie crutchfield #song: the good that won't come out #mention: home #mention: mother's death #song: little white dove #mention: autonomy #mention: songwriting #mention: collaboration #mention: cover art #mention: sex #song: wasted youth #song: godspeed #mention: optimism

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[VICTON] Cold As Ice

Listen.. I fuc-look at me-I fuckin-LOOK AT ME IN MY EYES-I fucking love bad boy aus A little Hanse (HELL YEAH) scenario based off of this post  I had loads of fun writing this, so I hope you all have fun reading it  Genre: Fluff  Word count: 3,484 Feedback is always appreciated, Thank u and goodnight

Contrary to popular belief, you are not a scaredy cat. Sure, you can barely make it through haunted houses during Halloween time, but isn’t everyone like that? And of course, rollercoasters were entirely out of the question, but so what? Lots of people are afraid of rollercoasters. Arachnophobia is one of the most common fears. Clowns can be unsettling to everyone. You’re not scared of the dark; it’s just the uncertainty that not being able to see presents that you dislike. You most definitely are not a scaredy cat.

However, there is something that will never cease to have your knees buckling, to have you shaking in your boots. Well, more like someone. It’s not secret that you have a pure, unhinged and unadulterated fear of none other than Do Hanse. He’s your average macho man crossed with 1980’s bad boy rebellion. Throw an ice cold attitude and foul mouth on top, and you’ve got a concoction of all the right things to have you trembling every time he draws near. You’ve crossed paths with this Do Hanse far too many times for your liking.

The first time you ever saw him was in your junior year. Hanse had just transferred to your rather prestigious academy of the arts (which, frankly, he had no business attending). It happened one fateful Wednesday; you were late for class and busy rushing down the now empty hallway, books held tightly to your chest. You rounded a corner entirely way too fast and crashed right into him on his leisurely way to a class that, now that you think about it, you’re sure he never even attended. Your books tumbled to the ground, and he only offered an irritated, “watch it!” as you scrambled to pick them up. You stood, countless apologies falling from your lips and that was when you locked eyes. His eyes were narrowed, his stare sending an ice cold shiver down your spine. You hadn’t ever seen eyes like that before, and you found something-you’re not sure what- so utterly captivating in those deep brown eyes. You’ll never admit to it aloud, but you still do. You sputtered, mumbling out another timidly rushed apology as you took a bow, subsequently and inadvertently headbutting his chest. Hanse only clicked his tongue, forcefully pushing past you as if you were in his way, even though he knew full well he could have easily stepped aside and continued on.

Needless to say, the experience had your skin crawling, your teeth chattering in fear as you eventually made it to class.

Much to your dismay, you had soon come to find that the tough guy you had met in the halls was the newest addition to your literature class. Almost immediately, he was sent to detention for mouthing off to the teacher, and you rarely saw him in class because of it. It wasn’t uncommon to hear about Do Hanse’s Latest Rumble, whether it be through the grapevine or through the victims themselves. He absolutely was not the type of boy you wanted to mess with, and within the first month of his attendance at his new school, you easily learned one thing: Stay Away From Do Hanse. Which, of course, was easier said than done. You shared only one class with him, but it seemed as though he would follow you everywhere you went. You knew better, of course. He couldn’t have actually been following you, right? No, of course not. That’d be weird.

Weird, however, was perhaps the number one descriptor when talking to Hanse’s friends. They didn’t see him as the scary guy he is, but rather a misunderstood soul with a troubled past who had been wronged by society. Halfway through the semester, you had come to learn that Hanse lived alone rather than with his parents. Not only did he live alone, but he was notorious for being branded the Kid That No One Wanted. It was through Seungsik, your mutual friend, that you’d learned Hanse grew up without his parents to guide him. The court system at the time was anything but just, so he easily became lost amidst a slew of foster homes and misplaced adoption papers. A tragic story, in all reality, but Hanse wasn’t exactly at the top of your charity list.

The times when Hanse was absent were those you both cherished and loathed. One instance, in particular, Hanse was put out of commission for nearly two weeks; a result of a scuffle that hadn’t turned out in his favor. He spent his time away from school in the hospital, and when he returned he was covered in bruises and bandages. Your chest ached every time you caught a glimpse of the scratches on his face, or his swollen lip. He looked absolutely pitiful like that, and, were it not for the icy glare that pierced through your defenses still plastered on his face, you would have felt sorry for him.

As fate would have it, you found yourself intently listening to yet another story of Do Hanse roughing it up with someone he didn’t like. The details were missing, but the gist of the situation was that apparently some guy in the drama club had looked at Hanse in what was, unfortunately, the wrong way. Given that, Hanse supposedly snapped and knocked the guy’s teeth in. It was a story that, regardless of its legitimacy, chilled you to the bone.

From then on you had made it your top priority to avoid the boy with the charmingly stone like stare at all costs. Every time he drew near, you went far. You did your absolute best to keep yourself off the radar of Do Hanse, and it had worked. Now, Hanse of course, didn’t like it one bit. A secret, so taboo that only his most trusted friends know, was that macho man Do Hanse had the hots for a girl in his literature class. Chan, his partner in crime, though admittedly less aggressive, demanded details. Hanse’s lips turned up into a devilish smile that would surely have you weak in the knees, and he casually threw out your name to his group of friends. “Y/N? The girl who placed first in the poetry reading? I know her!” Seungsik excitedly exclaimed, and Hanse’s face fell in an instant. His ears grew hot and embarrassment laced his tone as he confirmed that yes, you were the one he had his eyes on. Unfortunately for him, though, he never got the opportunity to see you after his hospital discharge.

You had successfully managed to get through the entirety of your second semester without crossing paths with Do Hanse, but, luck was never really on your side. Which brings you to now, the first day of your senior year. Your teacher, Mr. Han, has aged gracefully, evident in the gray that now tints a number of dark strands of hair, the silver dollar making its appearance known on the back of his head. He’s a sweet old man, one who’s endlessly patient with his students, who’s maybe a bit too passionate about Western Literature. Never in your 3 years as his student has he wronged you, but that’s changed now. It’s a new year, after all. Due to some new policies, it’s now mandatory that Mr. Han provide a seating chart to all his classes. Although it’s something so trivial, Mr. Han is adamant on enforcing the new rule. The new seating chart is posted on the whiteboard at the front of the room. Your eyes scan the piece of paper, searching for your name and when you find it, your stomach sinks and you curse to any and every God there is. You are sat next to none other than Mr. Macho Man himself, Do Hanse. As luck would have it, Hanse happens to be absent on this very important first day of school. Typical of him. You’re thanking the Gods you condemned only moments ago as you plop down in your seat. When class is over, you’ll politely request a change of seats. Mr. Han has never refused a request of yours before, why would he now?

You soon come to realize that Mr. Han would definitely refuse your request for a seat change, his firm, “I don’t make the rules.” leaving a lasting impression in your mind. You don’t have time to think of a solution, however; you’re next class is math, and you need to be on your A Game if you don’t want to fall behind. Of course! You’ll just skip class tomorrow! Easy. Simple. Perfect fix. Mr. Han had said earlier in the period that tomorrow would be a repeat lesson for those who couldn’t make it. It’s a great idea, you muse.

Tomorrow comes and goes, and now it’s Wednesday, and you’re treading the halls alongside two of your good friends. They greet you with warm smiles. “Hey, did you guys see Hanse in class yesterday?” You question. Your friends both nod. “Well, did he say anything about being sat next to me?” “Not really. I don’t think he cares, honestly.” One of them says. You breathe a sigh of relief, though your nerves are quickly back in place as you glance through the classroom window. Hanse is already in his seat with his earphones in. Your friends enter the class and take their rightful seats towards the front of the room while you linger just outside the door, taking the chance to hype yourself up, to calm your nerves. You smack yourself gently on the cheek, a newfound determination as you march into the classroom.

“Newfound determination” doesn’t do much. You get to your seat, pausing a brief moment to assess Hanse’s attitude before you hesitantly take your seat. Hanse is fiddling on his phone, paying you no mind, yet you feel yourself tremble simply at his presence. “Stop shaking.” He says cooly, causing you to straighten in your seat immediately. A noise of surprise leaves your throat. In the next moment, Hanse is ripping his earbuds from his ears, tossing them unceremoniously onto his desk. You avert your gaze, trying to look at anything but him as your fingers timidly play with the hem of your skirt. He leans over the desk, peering over at you. You brave a glance at him. The jacket of his uniform is unbuttoned, a black t-shirt draped loosely across his torso. He’s got his legs crossed, and you can see the bright fire engine red of his shoes. It’s a blatant violation of the school’s dress code, and you hide yourself in the thought of him being potentially being caught and sent to detention on the first day of school. That would be a shame, too, since the look suits him so well. Hanse himself is quite handsome, though you’ll never admit to it. His voice, low and smooth and cool, breaks through your thoughts. “Shit, am I that scary?” He asks with a chuckle that has no right making your heart flutter, and his tone is laced with amusement. His lips are quirked up into a smile that, given any other circumstance, would take your breath away. You can’t find the courage to respond, and at this, Hanse leans back in his chair. He clears his throat, then his voice, demanding, resonating just loudly enough to be heard among the murmurs of students, sounds throughout the classroom. “You all have three fucking seconds to get your asses out of here!” And then they’re scattering like roaches, all out of their seats in a matter of seconds. You get up to leave as well, wanting desperately to be rid of this situation, but a hand on your wrist stops you. Hanse’s grip is firm, unrelenting, yet it’s far gentler than you would have ever thought him capable of.

“Not you. Sit down.” And then he’s pulling you back into your seat. You’ve no choice but to look at him now. “It’s just you and me now, little flower, so I’ll ask you again,” He says, and his voice is much softer this time, barely above a whisper as he repeats his question from earlier. “Am I really that scary?” You’re blushing, your face is burning because his face is so close, far too close for your liking and his eyes are searching yours almost desperately for an answer. You nod. That grin is back, and your heart skips a beat because he’s handsome, far too handsome and he has absolutely no business looking so good and he has no right to be having this effect on you. “Why?” He continues to pry. You can’t possibly answer him, the weight of his gaze like dozens of stones on your chest. Hanse leans back in his chair, his ringed finger tapping on the desk and sending a sharp tang through the room. “You know, I can count to three-” “You hurt people!” You blurt out, effectively cutting him off and causing his eyes to widen the slightest bit. “Yeah? What of it?” He presses. The amusement is gone from his tone. “Is it so bad to hurt people that have hurt you first?” “You sent a kid to the nurse’s office just for looking at you!” You exclaim, as if it were the simplest concept to understand. Hanse looks taken aback, blinking a few times. “That’s why you’re scared of me?” He asks, “Some shitty fucking rumours?” His voice rises a bit, causing you to avert your gaze. You nod when he demands an answer. You can hear him shuffling, snatching his headphones from the desk and rising from his seat. “Fuck’s sake, you’re just like everyone else.” He’s marching out of the classroom, but he stops and turns to you before leaving, “I don’t care how you do it, but I want that seat empty by tomorrow. Got it?” The iciness of his stare causes gooseflesh to prickle your skin, and the hardness of his voice has returned. Class goes by without him after that. The following day, you’re sat in the cafeteria telling Seungsik about your experience as you idly push the food around on your tray. Literature is your next class, and your gut twists into a mess of nerves. “Listen, Y/N, I know it may sound hard to believe, but Hanse is pretty infatuated with you. I think it broke his heart to find that you believed all those rumors about him.” Seungsik speaks softly, sensing that this is a topic to tread lightly. “That kid that he sent to the infirmary? He only got tangled up with Hanse because he kept running his mouth; said that Hanse wasn’t nearly as tough and scary as everyone thought he was. And if there’s anything you need to know about Hanse, Y/N, it’s that he hates lies and he always has a point to prove.” “That doesn’t excuse it, Seungsik!” You reply. “I know it doesn’t, but hear me out. Hanse has always had this wall built up around him. He’s like a hawk, and if anyone threatens to break that wall, he doesn’t hesitate to put them in their place. He’s really not a bad person. He just doesn’t… He really only has me and the rest of the guys. And trust me when I say, he really likes you. He’s always going on and on about how kind and honest you are, because he’s never seen that in a girl before, you know.” You don’t respond, instead choosing to mull over Seungsik’s words. “Look, all I’m saying is that even though it may not seem like it, you really hurt him yesterday. And yes,” he interjects before you get the chance to throw in a snarky response. “He can hurt. You didn’t hear it from me, but he’s actually as fragile as precious china.”

That can’t possibly be true. Hanse got his feelings hurt? Impossible. Hanse doesn’t have feelings.

Hanse is absent from school for the rest of the week, and, ego be damned, you’re mildly upset that you don’t get to see him. You had taken Seungsik’s words to heart, and are now intent on apologizing to Hanse, no matter how mortifying it might be. Aside from that, you can’t sweep the knowledge that Do Hanse likes you under the rug. The boy is absurdly good looking, and he’s eons out of your league. It’s no secret that he has plenty of girls falling at his feet, charmed into oblivion by his bad boy persona, so why does he like you, of all people? You consider yourself to be painfully average when compared with other girls at your school.

It’s been a week and a half since you’ve seen Hanse, and that was long enough for you to whip yourself into shape. You’re dead set on apologizing to him. Plus, you’ve unfortunately (or fortunately?) developed a hopeless crush on the boy. You hear from Seungsik that today is the day to expect Hanse back at school, and with his friend’s help, you’re able to pinpoint the exact station at which he catches the train to school. You wake up extra early, and throw on the tiniest bit of makeup (not because you want to impress Hanse or anything. No, definitely not.) before you’re out the door. You’re across the street, trying your best to peer over the cars speeding by in hopes that you’ll catch sight of him. The streetlight overhead turns red, and the oncoming traffic screeches to a halt, and that’s when you catch sight of the boy you’ve been unable to stop thinking about for the past week.

“Do Hanse!” You yell out, mustering up all your might. You book it across the street, determined to make it to him before the light turns green. He turns to see you as you’re dashing into the road, maneuvering between cars, and his eyes widen. You make it to his side just as the light turns green; the traffic picks back up as quickly as it stopped. Hanse fixes you with a glare, spitting out a, “What do you want?” You straighten your figure. Hanse is not much taller than you, but you feel so utterly small under his watchful eyes. Now is not the time for cowardice, though. “I’m sorry.” Are the first words out of your mouth. Hanse doesn’t seem to be effected, so you continue before he gets to brush you off. “I’m sorry for believing stupid rumors. I talked with Seungsik and I now realize that what I believed wasn’t what really happened and I realize that it hurt you and that wasn’t my intent so I’m here to apologize.” As you speak, you don’t notice how Hanse’s gaze morphs into one of surprise and adoration. You’re still rambling when a pair of calloused hands grabs your face and then his lips are on yours and he’s kissing you and oh God, Hanse is kissing you. His lips are soft against yours and you can taste his mint flavored lip balm as he puts ages of pent up emotions into the kiss, and your heart speeds up and your eyes flutter shut because you enjoy the feeling of Hanse’s lips against your own far more than you should. When he breaks away from you, his eyes are the size of saucers, and his cheeks are a flushed a bright crimson, the embarrassment of his action settling over his shoulders. “Do Hanse, do you like me?” You ask, determination lacing your words. Hanse chuckles, his eyes wandering for a moment before they meet yours. “Yeah, I do.” He says nonchalantly, a stark contrast to the sheepish grin on his face. His expression morphs into one of surprise and frustration, though, only mere seconds after. “But what the fuck is with you, running into the road like that! Are you crazy?! You could have been hit!” This causes you to laugh, a smile stretching from ear to ear as you toss your head back. “I’ll have you know that I like you too. Not that you were wondering.” You say, folding your arms across your chest and jutting your lower lip out in a pout that has Hanse struggling to stay standing. “And uhh, the light was red, by the way.” At this, Hanse’s ears burn with embarrassment, and he clicks his tongue. The train pulls into the station just as he loops his arm around your shoulder, what you initially think to be a sweet gesture, only to shriek out a “hey!” when he puts you into a haphazard headlock. “Shut it.” He barks, but unlike before, there’s no malice in his words. He leads you onto the train like that, and you smile to yourself.

Do Hanse might be foul mouthed with an icy stare, but he most definitely is not a bad boy.

#im so on board for bad boy aus #especially when u apply it to boys that are so sweet theyll give u cavities #aka do hanse #as always this isn't edited so excuse any error #victon #victon scenarios #victon imagines #hanse #do hanse scenario #hanse imagine #kpop #kpop scenarios #kpop imagines #victon hanse #y'all its like #half past midnight #im going to post this and then im off to bed #froggi writes

[iesorno]

As promised, we’ve got part two of our two-fer from the team bringing Department of the Peculiar – Goes Pop to Kickstarter RIGHT NOW. This time artist Robert Wells. Part one of the two-fer featured Rol Hirst, writer of DotP.

Rob’s been on zine love before, so this makes him our first returning interviewee for the site (stealing the position at the last moment from someone else that I was slow to respond to!!).

DotP 2 page – pencils

DotP 2 page – inked

He seems to be constantly busy drawing something and collaborating with creators whose work I enjoy, which is how I came across his work in the first place. He has really strong chops when it comes to drawing and designing characters and a lovely turn in understated snipe, so that’s been a bonus – as well as being lovely to chat to.

You can buy from him here, check out some free downloads of DotP here and back it here, and socially follow him on    twitter     instagram     or facebook

DotP 2 Heroes? stretch goal!!

  Over to you Rob – tell us a bit about yourself and your tastes

Can you tell us a bit about the first creator whose work you recognised?

The first comic creator was John Byrne. I remember thinking that the art in X-Men, which he was still drawing at the time, looked similar to the art in a Marvel Premiere two-parter featuring Ant-Man (#47 and #48), then I noticed the credits in a comic for the first time and realised that people actually drew these things.

Marvel Premiere-47-48

Outside of comics, I was about to give the same answer as Rol (Hirst – writer of Department of the Peculiar – see interview here) and say Stephen King, as I’ve read quite a lot of his books (probably less than half of them but that’s still a lot). Then I remembered that when I was a kid, I really liked James Bond films and that I read a lot of Ian Fleming’s James Bond books (and some written by other people) when I was at secondary school. That was probably the first time I ever saw a film or TV series and then went and on to discover the source material, which was often quite different. (I have no interest in James Bond at all now.)

James Bond covers

Which creators do you remember first copying?

Maybe John Byrne but I probably copied things out of comics before that not knowing the names of the artists I was copying.

  More generally I’d say Charles Bukowski, whose work I probably wouldn’t enjoy much at all now and may even find quite offensive, but I liked it a lot when I was in my early-20s. ‘Copied’ may be an exaggeration but around the time I was reading a lot of his stuff I started going to a writers’ workshop to improve my writing and in the couple of years I was going there I wrote a lot of semi-autobiographical short stories that often involved a lot of drinking.

Charles Bukowski covers

Who was the creator that you first thought ‘I’m going to be as good as you!’?

I don’t know how to answer that really. I’ve hoped to be as good as a lot of creators, but I don’t know that I’ve ever thought that I would be as good as someone, not even artists whose work I dislike. I’ve certainly seen a lot of art that’s made me think ‘I could do better than that’ but that’s generally the work of amateurs who I wouldn’t be able to name. Art I tend to dislike in professional comics I usually dislike because it’s bland or conforms to some dull house style (I’m thinking of a lot of DC comics from a decade or more ago) but even then the artists involved probably have a better grasp of anatomy and better basic drawing skills than me, they are just working to tough deadlines and drawing characters who have to be drawn in a certain way.

  Which creator or creators do you currently find most inspiring?

Cult of Luna – Mariner with Julie Christmas

Sean Phillips, who I still can’t believe I was cheeky enough to ask to do a pin-up for DOTP Goes POP! #1 after he told me he liked my book. Not only did he agree, he even posted me the original art.

Other than that, I can’t think of one particular example right now but like Rol I love Better Call Saul and watch a lot of TV in general, particularly US TV, and I’m sure that influences my storytelling. I also listen to a lot of music – particularly metal – while I’m drawing and that really helps me to switch off and lose myself in my work.

  Which creators do you most often think about?

Jaime Hernandez = Love and Rockets

For comics it’s Jaime Hernandez. He was already great when I discovered Love and Rockets in 1986/1987 but he has somehow kept getting better. I often go for long periods without engaging with his work at all (I haven’t bought any issues of the current Love and Rockets series yet and because I rarely get to visit good comic shops, I haven’t even seen them) but I always pick up the collections and come back to it eventually.

More generally? Now I will say Stephen King, even if what I’m usually thinking is just: ‘Bloody hell, he’s somehow written three more huge books since the last one I read, and I still haven’t read at least 20 of the ones I picked up in charity shops a decade or more ago!’

  Can you name the first three creative peers that come into your head and tell a little bit about why?

Rol, Paul Rainey (who encouraged me to start drawing comics again at a time when I had almost given up on it), and Martin Eden (who I exchange long emails with very regularly).

Paul Rainey – Thunder Brother Special -cover

Martin Eden – Zeros

                      Finally, can you tell us a bit about your recent work and yourself?

I’m 51, married, no kids, two dogs. I live in Kent. I self-published my first comic in 1991, when I was 22, published a handful of other comics in the ‘90s, didn’t do much at all in the 2000s, but got back into it big-time in the 2010s, when I was in my early-40s. It’s only since I did my graphic novel (which even I didn’t think I’d actually finish when I started it) that I feel like I’ve developed any confidence and really got going. I’d be happy for everything I did before that point, along with the years I wasted doing things other than drawing, to be stricken from the record. I write and draw but now I seem to be mostly drawing and I’m quite enjoying collaborating with other people on comics for a change.

  I’m currently working on Department of the Peculiar Goes POP! #2 (just finishing off a 3-page back-up strip but the rest is done)

  About to start drawing a 6-page sci-fi strip, written by Paul Duncan, for The ’77 #3

  Malty Heave #2 (with Phil Elliott). I have written most of my story for this horror-themed issue, which will probably be out for Halloween now, but Phil and I have both been distracted by other things and haven’t really got going with drawing it yet (although Phil has drawn at least two pages of his strip).

  Thank you very much for taking the time to fill this out and let us into your mind.

  all art copyright and trademark it’s respective owners.

content copyright iestyn pettigrew 2020

    as promised - we have @RobertDWells as 2 of the two-fer with @rolhirst up now on https://zinelove.wordpress.com/ he seems to know people - so there's a lot of links took ages, so please click them all #comics #minicomics #music #funny As promised, we’ve got part two of our two-fer from the team bringing Department of the Peculiar – Goes Pop to Kickstarter RIGHT NOW…

#comics #interview #music

[gaiabros]

Short on time? Head on over to our ELECTROWEEN Mixes page where we have created an archive for all of our ELECTROWEEN productions. There you will find our latest 2019 mixes to stream and download. If you like what we’ve been creating, please subscribe to GAIA BROS to receive news and announcements about forthcoming projects and articles.

You read that right, ladies and gents. 2019 marks the decisive end to a decade of Halloween-inspired, pop culture infused music productions, which have been in production since the series’ humble beginnings back in Fall 2009. Right off the bat, you may have a question or two popping up. Why is ELECTROWEEN ending on its decade milestone 2019 mix? Will there be more EDM mixes coming in the future?

Grab a beer and find a cozy seat, then come back and join us for the details. Story time, kids!

Setting The Stage: First Mention of the Series’ End

Before jumping into ELECTROWEEN 2019 details, I need to spend a little time establishing some relevant details from a year ago.

Last Fall, shortly after we had released ELECTROWEEN 2018, I flew down to San Diego to visit Matt and his girlfriend Jessica for the weekend of Halloween. We saw the Halloween movie reboot, carved up some pumpkins, dropped by Tatsu Ramen in L.A. for some delicious bowls of noodles, and drove up to Universal Studios Hollywood for their Halloween Horror Nights (in particular, to check out the Stranger Things attraction). We had a wonderful time together.

Pumpkin carvings by Scott, Matt and Jessica

It was during this visit when I announced to Matt that 2019 would mark the final year for the ELECTROWEEN series, ending a solid run of releases spanning our 20s to our early 30s. It has become a cherished tradition… something we’ve always looked forward to with the start of each new calendar year. ELECTROWEEN is Halloween for us, and a token of our years of friendship and love for the arts, electronic dance music, cult video games and films. In short, it is the summation of everything we love, and have come to love. This was bittersweet to talk about, but in the end it’s for the right reasons.

The rationale behind this decision is, for the most part, straight-forward. Since jump starting my DJ hobby back in 2006, I have released over 30 studio production mixes, manned two radio shows ([OuteR HeaveN] and PLURALITY at WSNC Radio), and performed countless live DJ sets at house parties, bars and private events.

In many ways, I’ve exhausted myself from the art form and feel a burning need to start creating my own music, rather than curating the works of others as I’ve done for the majority of my adult years. But also, life has happened, too.

Other Happenings That Have Influenced This Decision

During the same weekend I visited Matt last October, I simultaneously released my second album, Gravitational Waves, for my chillsynth project Gravity Mission. The album took three years to envision, create and release (collaborating remotely for the entire process) after a six year dry spell from our initial 2012 debut Before The Spoken Word. I came to realize the creative process was deeply rewarding and allowed me to evolve artistically in ways I had not previously imagined. In a real sense, it showed me that the barriers to creating music only exist in my head, and that changing course at any time is entirely possible.

Gravity Mission’s Gravitational Waves album (released October 26, 2018)

Lastly, life changes have been a considerable factor, often left out of the picture here on GAIA BROS. Having moved eight times since the release of my initial 2009 mix, I’ve been feeling the need to get more serious about putting down roots, connecting to a single place and getting acquainted with my local community. After my wife and I bought our first home in 2017, I started switching gears and pursuing other interests, including gardening, foraging, craft beer, table top gaming, GM’ing and traveling. It’s been a wonderful past few years, but a lot to handle. Thus I’ve had to make some tough decisions and learn to be more realistic with my time commitments.

“Tell Us About ELECTROWEEN 2019 Already, Please!”

Whew! Thanks for hanging in here for the entire reason why you’re reading this post! Let’s jump right into ELECTROWEEN 2019 — its inception, influences and more.

As the crown jewel in this decade long saga, ELECTROWEEN 2019 needed to be fantastically epic in a way that other mixes couldn’t be. It needed flair, funk and spirit on all levels. But most importantly, it absolutely HAD to be a fun reminder of why we started doing this whole thing in the first place. Returning full circle to our beginnings was key.

Where it all began: ELECTROWEEN 2009 (released October 16, 2009)

I began by looking back on our early mixes and questioning why we fell in love with the concept of merging EDM tracks and jack-o’-lantern heads together. We were creating something different, something bold — a novel form of expression that did not yet exist in the world. Several tracks started to stand out, and they were always the ones that jacked our bodies in ways unlike anything else. That’s when the realization struck: our final mixes for the ELECTROWEEN series needed to be celebratory and sentimental, using tracks with massive swing and vibe that pulse with uplifting energy and emotion.

This led to months of heavy Spotify rotations and research, ultimately pointing to the spiritual successor of the 70s: Nu Disco! A long time fan of Daft Punk, their French house discography was a great starting place for finding similar artists and classics. What originally felt like a monumental undertaking quickly became a super synthesized formula for hot disco beats and flashing synths, and the energy continued to pick up from there!

September Reunion in Portland, Oregon

A few weeks back, Matt flew up to Portland to celebrate the end of the ELECTROWEEN series. We GAIA BROS reunited over glorious moments of food, drink and beats at home, while foraging in the woods for Chanterelles, and driving out to the coast. Matt and I carved up our pumpkin helmets for the last time and fully embraced the defining characteristic of our early mixes.

For the first time in seven years, we embarked on a photoshoot with gold and silver capes in search of Portland’s most aesthetically gratifying street art. Some gloomy weather rolled in, but we ended up working with the rainfall to leverage its luminous quality for the end product. Below is a gallery of the final images processed from the shoot, which we have included within the download files for the 2019 mixes. Continue on after the gallery for liner notes and the final cover art designs created especially for the occasion!

VII’s Decade Celebration Mix Liner Notes

From Scott: My tenth and final mix for the ELECTROWEEN series touches on the things most sentimental to me. It is everything I have to give, and everything I could ever say, in a timeframe just short of an hour and a half. This is the longest production I’ve created to date, and looking back on it, I never wanted a single moment of it to end. The mix embodies the essence of the long and wholesome nights spent with close friends and loved ones… those irreplaceable times that will forever shine in our minds and hearts.

My 2019 mix is divided up into three seamlessly transitioning acts: a soaring and lofty Halloween introduction at-length (VG OST and Synthwave), an all night long celebration (Nu Disco), and finally a sincere and heartfelt closure, painting a pensive mood with vulnerable feelings of love, melancholy and, ultimately, acceptance.

Samples from Bloodstained: Ritual of the Night are most prevalently stitched in between tracks. I completely fell in love with this game upon its release this past summer. Matt and I have patiently waited four years for this game, as we were original backers from the April 2015 Kickstarter campaign. It’s clear that Koji Igarashi and Michiru Yamane have put their souls into this beautiful masterwork. I also drew samples from other favorites including Metal Gear Solid 3: Snake Eater, Game of Thrones, and 300, which all have their own places within the narrative of this work.

Having ventured into the darkness (perhaps a little too long) in years past, I’ve found my way back to the grooves that bring the “feel good” vibes in spades. I should note here that initially I had started working on this mix back in March 2019 in order to get a head start on the final mix concept. With that said, I am extremely satisfied with the end product. The coin design illustration I created for the cover art came together effortlessly based on the passion encompassing this special time. The whole process has been cathartic on a deep level. I’m grateful for these ten years of ELECTROWEEN and will always take them with me into whatever comes next. Special thanks goes to Matt for believing in this project and being a great collaborator, my wife Lindsey for her support and encouragement, and David for listening and being a loyal fan all these years.

Loveless’ Decade Celebration Mix Liner Notes

From Matt: OHHHHH MAN! Has it been a decade already? Where did all the time fly? I was just a wee lad yesterday bumping to Scott’s mixes and now I’m a seasoned vet of the Halloween variety. Tonight I am going to see Lana Del Rey with my girlfriend which will be a great cap on the end of ELECTROWEEN. Lana’s moody and melodic music is of a bygone era. She really evokes the spirit of ELECTROWEEN (side note: thank you to Jessica, my aforementioned girlfriend, for introducing Lana to me). This year I open with an instrumental and a remix of her first big hit, Video Games. A song that reminds me of a few weekends ago when I visited Scott.

We went mushroom foraging and shot the ELECTROWEEN liner photos. We haven’t shot photos like that since 2012 and it was amazing. The rain followed us every spot we went that day, brightening up all the colors. It was a tough shoot, but well worth the results.

We also went to a retro video game bar in Portland. There, we found the Sega Genesis version of TMNT: Hyperstone Heist. I haven’t played that game since I was in grade school and it was an incredible moment to share with Scott. The song “Video Games” evokes a simpler time with a tinge of melancholy. I think I’ll always pair this experience and that song together.

ELECTROWEEN is coming to an end. As I type that, my heart hurts. When Scott and I spoke about it earlier this year, it bothered me. I wasn’t upset with the decision, but ELECTROWEEN has become an integral part of who I am. However, it is important to move on and hone our passions. You cannot be married to every creative thing you do, and ELECTROWEEN has come to a fitting end. I think Scott and I will take everything we learned over the years and make something truly magical and different in 2020.

As for my mix, this year it was more personal. I skipped many of the video game pleasantries that have made up ELECTROWEEN’s previous iterations. I tried to throw in all styles of music we’ve used in the past 10 years and kept the overall mix more funky and positive. Halloween is for mischief after all!

In 2019 Loveless (my DJ persona) is locked away in a mental institution and the key is thrown away. This, of course, is the end of ELECTROWEEN and Loveless’ fate is uncertain, but you always gotta leave the end open for a sequel. Thank you to everyone who has listened to these mixes over the years. It has been a labor of love that I wouldn’t have traded for anything else. From now until the end of time the crisp Autumn air will always feel like ELECTROWEEN to me.

Thanks For Listening and Being A Part of ELECTROWEEN!

We sincerely hope that you enjoy the ELECTROWEEN 2019 mixes while testing out some of your best moves this Halloween season. Whether this is the first mix you’ve listened to of ours or your tenth, we want to thank you for being a part of our community and keeping the spirit of Halloween alive. ELECTROWEEN has been one of the most meaningful projects of our entire lives, and it will always be here, preserved in time. The mixes will continue to be available on GAIA BROS well into the future; feel free to dive back in any time.

The era of ELECTROWEEN officially ends here, and a new one begins. What is to come, no one can know for sure…

—

I’d like to close this significant chapter of our lives with a special quote:

“Don’t ask what the world needs. Ask what makes you come alive and go do it. Because what the world needs is more people who have come alive.” – Howard Thurman

Peace, Love, Unity and Respect — forever and always. ❤

VII (Scott Werley) and Loveless (Matt Konop)

The End of an Era: Celebrating 10 Years of ELECTROWEEN Mixes #electroween #halloween #mixes Short on time? Head on over to our ELECTROWEEN Mixes page where we have created an archive for all of our ELECTROWEEN productions.

#2019 #Celebration #ELECTROWEEN #Gaming #Halloween #Mixes #Nu Disco #Synthwave #VG OST

[obsidianarchives]

Black Woman Creator: Briana Lawrence

As an author, freelance writer, and cosplayer, Briana Lawrence is working to get her works out into the world. Whether it’s creating a fantastical universe, writing articles pertaining to social issues in the geek community, or putting together fun scripts for WatchMojo.com, Briana is out to be the best “WRITTER” she can be. You can find her work at www.magnifiquenoir.com. We spoke with Briana about her inspirations and being a creator.

Black Girls Create: What do you create?

I’m that Black girl whose muses attack her in the shower, so she can create fantastical worlds where plus size Black women create exploding baked goods and hurl them at monsters who spout out derogatory comments about their size. Loosely translated, it means I’m a writer. I also do a lot of freelance writing for various websites where I combine geekdom with diversity, representation, and social justice.

BGC: Why do you create?

I’ve always wanted to write. I’m not quite sure what started it, but I know it’s something I’ve always been interested in. Growing up, I was really into cartoons, anime, video games, and some comic books. I was a certified geek. One of the things I loved is how through all the fantasy, the stories were basically about everyday people like you and me. The things we faced on a daily basis had been turned into these cool, out of these world tales, you know? Coming of age stories, but with magic. Dealing with discrimination, but with mutant superpowers. As I got older, writing became a way to express myself and tackle the issues of the world (and within myself) through creativity. By sharing it, I hope to inspire others and encourage them to believe in themselves.

BGC: How did you get into cosplay? How is it connected to your writing?

I discovered cosplay back in 2002 when I went to my very first anime convention: Anime Central (ACEN). I pretty much assumed it was Halloween, but for adults who were into nerd culture, so to me it was the greatest thing I’d ever seen! I started cosplaying in 2004 and would go to maybe one or two conventions a year, but now, with my books out, I go to as many shows as possible and usually have a different costume each day. In 2017, my partner and I did around 25 conventions and events, and I cosplayed at almost all of them.

Cosplay has helped me come out of my shell in ways I never expected. I was pretty much the quiet fat girl who wore hats to cover her hair and put on as much clothing as possible because, “Ew, no one wants to see that.” But something about portraying the characters I loved and altering the looks into styles I was comfortable with made me feel more confident in myself. I talk a lot about loving yourself, and that leaks into my writing with the characters I create. It also made me feel more confident about having Black women headline my work. When it comes to the world of fiction and the genres I’m into, Black women usually aren’t the main characters, so I assumed that I had to focus on white characters. As I put myself out there more with cosplay, I decided to do the same with my writing, and work to create the characters who represented who I was.

BGC: What is your favorite thing about fandom?

The sense of community within it. I know it has its ups and downs like every other community out there, but when you find your people, and get that love and support from them, it’s amazing. People within fan communities have this way of coming together, and it’s incredible. I’ve met some of the most important people in my life through fandom, including my partner of 16 years!

Fandom is also where I got introduced to queer content in a positive light, which was important when I came out. It was kinda hard to explore queerness when most forms of media didn’t touch the LGBTQ community back in 2001, so having a space where people wrote stories about queer characters and drew art of couples that wasn’t purely tragic was a big deal to me. The rest of the world may not have caught on, but fans did.

BGC: Who is your audience?

Everyone of all ages, especially those who are used to being underrepresented. The amount of, “Oh hey that’s me,” I hear when people see my work is really encouraging, and that’s something I set out to do.

BGC: Who/what inspired you to do what you do? Who/what continues to inspire you?

My older brother, most definitely, was a very good influence. He passed away when I was 13, but I’d like to think that he’s watching me and cheering me on as I go on this writing journey of book publishing and geekdom. My mom is also extremely encouraging. She reads and shares everything I do, and was the one who said, “I told you so,” when I FINALLY decided to pursue writing full-time. Then there’s my partner, who I bounce ideas off of. She really helps me flesh things out and is always supporting my work.

I also have some wonderful friends who really inspire me to keep going, not just because they support me, but because I watch them pursue their own dreams and seeing them succeed inspires me to go out there and do my best. And anyone who’s ever felt like they haven’t been represented properly encourages me to get my stuff out there, so they can have something to look at. I’m trying to create the kinds of stories that I wanted to see when I was younger.

BGC: Why is it important as a Black person to create?

For me, it’s how I get my story out there. As a queer woman of color, I know content that puts me smack on the front cover is rare, so I decided to do something about it. On top of getting my stories out there, I think Black creators inspire each other. Seeing one of us out here encourages more of us to take those steps. I think Black Panther is a good, recent example of this. With the success of that movie, other Black creators are like, “Oh wow, maybe I can do this!” Even with the attempted backlash, the overwhelming success and positivity with it spoke to so many of us. As a creator who is constantly told what does and does not sell, seeing a diverse work break the, “White is the default,” mold has affected future creators out there. As much as I want my work to speak to the audience, I really hope there’s another Black, queer creator who sees the book and decides that they can do this, too.

BGC: How do you balance creating with the rest of your life?

Since writing is my full-time career, I try to have a set schedule for when I write. Typically, I work in the morning, and I have an office space in my house that is just for the writing I do (or any other work I do, like trying to book shows to go to, and things like that). I also keep an up-to-date calendar to remind me of what has to get done, whether it’s an article or setting aside some time to work on one of my books.

I try my best to have the outside of the office be for non-work-related things, like playing video games, or watching whatever series I’m into... but muses tend to hit whenever they want, so having a phone I can take notes on is vital. My partner and I also have at least one day dedicated to not working at all, so we might go catch a movie or go hang out somewhere, or just hang out in the living room doing anything BUT work. We hold each other accountable for getting work done AND knowing when to relax and unwind. Bath bombs and comic books have been a godsend.

BGC: Advice for young creators/ones just starting?

For one thing, I want to say good job on taking that first step, because a lot of people don’t even get that far. That deserves praise. Now, don’t stress about publishing and all of that, not yet, the first thing you must do is get the story written. Once that’s done, you can look into publishing or whatever it is you want to do with your work. Also, it’s just as important to get yourself out there as it is to get your work out there. People want to do more than follow your work, they want to follow you, as a person. They want a glimpse at who you are.

If you’re a creator who is part of a marginalized group, I know there are a lot of detractors out there. This is gonna be difficult to do, but: Tune. Them. Out! Surround yourself with positive voices. Think about the moment when you finally felt like something properly represented you and keep that in your mind as you set out to create that same experience for someone else. And don’t be afraid to be proud of your accomplishments. Reward yourself and celebrate what you do. I look forward to seeing what you put out into the world.

BGC: Any future projects?

I have three! They are:

magnifiqueNOIR Book Two: You Are Magical

The second book in my Black, queer, magical girl series. In this installment, the girls (Galactic Purple, Cosmic Green, and Radical Rainbow) are trying to figure out who the mysterious Prism Pink is while learning about the previous group of magical girls from two decades ago... while balancing holiday season and college finals.

Page Turner: Hunters Book 3

The third book in my urban fantasy series with my partner. After the events of the second book, the Hunters (a group that hunts down demons to keep their city safe and unaware of the dangers that lurk in the shadows) set off to London in their ongoing quest to uncover the secrets of the Storyteller (a mythical being who can read your entire life like a book and change it anyway he wants) and prevent that power from going into the wrong hands.

Untitled Cosplay Comic

A comic I hope to have published that’s an anthology of shorts. Each story will tackle issues within the community such as slut-shaming, body-shaming, racism, and more. I’m currently writing the script, and when it’s done, I’ll be looking to collaborate with artists the same way I did with magnifiqueNOIR back in 2017.

Find Briana’s work here:

Autographed Copies of magnifiqueNOIR Book One: I Am Magical

Kindle Copies of magnifiqueNOIR Book One: I Am Magical

Autographed Copies of Hunters Book One: Seeking the Storyteller

Autographed Copies of Hunters Book Two: Beneath the Chapter

Kindle Copies of Hunters Book One: Seeking the Storyteller

Kindle Copies of Hunters Book Two: Beneath the Chapter

#Black Woman Creator #Comics #writer

[toddmichaelrogers]

Letter to You

At an abandoned lot Meagen pulled out a picture, which she had glued onto a card. In the picture it was the two of us looking six years younger; though her face is covered in a raggedy cloth elephant mask, and mine is wearing a home-cut eye mask with a cigarette hanging out of my mouth. In the picture (though it is hard to tell) it is also two nights before Halloween, and we are spending our last night just as friends.

Inside the card it said happy anniversary.

*

Zach and I spent the last month mixing the EFFORTS EP. We kind of have an unspoken rule that the weirder the idea, the more we should pursue it. That’s kind of how the EP started as 3 songs and ended up being just 1 long track. If we a have a genre, I would have to call it ‘Spook Punk’.

It should be debilitating working on so many different music projects, but at this point, they're all feeding into one another. It’s taken the pressure off of my so-called perfectionism; something that has nearly threatened to destroy me at all times. (I wasn’t even meant to be writing a blog today. I came to the library to ‘fix’ the next Spell Saga deck--and was surprised to find nothing wrong with the thing. I’m getting better at catching myself.)

I can’t tell you how many times Zach has had to put up with me asking if we can “redo” a vocal. Our most this is a single song, May You Absorb All Evil took almost two years to get finished because I am a fucking idiot. But it’s done now, because Zach spent weeks fixing and mixing it through a giant board.

It’s on the EP, along with some other songs that I felt worked well as a warning. And that’s really how I’m choosing to think about the whole thing--our EP is a warning to those who are not prepared to hear 33 years of pent-up frustration. It was not fun growing up in a musical family without knowing I could do it. (A reverse Potter/Dursleys scenario, I can assure you).

I am the muggle. That’s a good song title.

But it was equally horrendous spending two decades in a city known to the rest of the world as “Music City”. Every person here looks and sounds the same. Everyone born here thinks they are chosen/deserving/special, or they just showed up from the midwest hoping some other band would find them (and their talent) like a black hole pulls in light.

Making art to get fucked or get attention makes me feel like I’ve just witnessed an assault in some parking lot. I want to break windows and arms and scream at people. “Don’t ever come back to my wal-mart!” but this is music city, and everyone around me is assaulting each other in a circle jerk while I just stand there wondering if someone’s going to help me carry these groceries. “You are ruining Black Friday!” I might scream, or “you are ruining the basis of the very institution you are attempting to crawl down into.”

I mean, make that money. But fuck.

Anyway the EFFORTS EP “May You Absorb All Evil” will be released in the (season to be determined) of next year. The full length album “I Bought You a Coffin” is already recorded and will follow shortly thereafter.

*

One of my other projects, Beset., is nearly finished with the DEMOS for our first LP “There Are Places They Can Get You.” You can actually listen to some of those HERE.

The Weapon and I try to get to these every Monday, so by year’s end we should be ready to start recording the actual tracks. We just need to fix this latest one--we did that thing where you start recording ideas before ever playing a finished song, and you end up with a mess--but hopefully “We Brought Weapons” will shine as bright as the others once we crack it.

And I’m really excited about the only song we haven’t recorded, “Make Peace With The Promise of Failure”. Not only is this the first thing he has brought to me first on guitar without me showing him lyric, but the chorus is fucking amazing (he thinks it’s a bridge, but I got a reallllll good feelin’ on this one).

*

Geoffrey W. Osborne and I are trying to finish and release the first ever DAMNSEL & THE EUTH GROUP EP for a New Year’s Day release. Which is a fitting day actually, as the last song on the album is called “Baby New Year”, something I wrote while listening to an old keyboard piece of his.

when I conquer death

when I have nothing left

I was Baby New Year

I was Baby New Year

so drink and be of cheer

good times were never here

middle of the road

new teeth and broken bones

I’ve known every fear

the end is almost near

when I mend my bones

they will call me home

I was Baby New Year

I was Baby New Year

That’s something about Geoffrey’s playing that I like, it’s easy for me to write lyrics to it. We did the same thing on the EFFORTS EP with a little interstitial song called Ringtone Money.

How we gonna leave

When we don’t know where to go

I got that ringtone money

And it sounds like solid gold

When you look at me

You look like you saw a ghost

How we gonna leave

When we don’t know where to go

For me, writing lyrics or changing something at the last minute is one of the best parts about making things. It’s like pushing a piece into a puzzle quickly while the puzzle is being framed. We did it again for a weird hidden track on the May You Absorb All Evil EP

wait another minute

I’ll get my revolver

you can be a skeleton

just give me a holler

*

I have one more musical project now. So far it’s just a name, an album title, and some demos. Also I made a cover because that’s how I do ma shit.

*

Meagen’s out of town for Thanksgiving. I spent the entire day playing Spell Saga and it meant something to me. Four years ago I was lost and sore; I had just failed to get the game funded on Kickstarter. I felt a sense of real shame about the whole thing. Like I had returned from a war I had single handedly lost. Maybe that’s insensitive. But after a year of planning the thing it was a real blow. So to be holding the prototypes four years later and playing through it one final time before it goes to print was really special.

But wait--you ask. Didn’t the Kickstarter succeed a year later, in the year of our lord 2014--and haven’t the cards been printed and are even now waiting in a Hong Kong warehouse?!

Yes.

But it’s been three years, so I took my own money and printed the next Deck so everyone could have it for free (Spell Saga is a game of multiple decks, like chapters in a book). Also I redid the packaging, because I am, in the end, a perfectionist.

So I spent all day playing through Deck 2: The Forest, making sure no problems could be seen upon them cards. And next week I tell the good people of Panda Game Manufacturing to go for it, set that shit to print. Here is a lot of pics I took of the play through.

*

Making things often means you are filled to the tips-of-your-toes with a sort of psychic horror--the unending logic that you are doing your best to prove on a chalkboard in front of the entire world that only you can solve an equation that proves you yourself are a fucking hack.

I often stare off into the distance like a farmer hearing a gunshot in a world where only he and his daughter were left alive.

The other day I was struck by the sort of thinking that makes all those bad thoughts go away.

My deepest concern was that while playing through Deck Two, I had a problem. Most of the cards I drew were of no use to me. Now, if you design a game, and while playing it, you DON’T use most of the pieces, that is a fucking issue. Except...because I am ME...and by that I mean WEIRD (see any paragraph above) this is not useful play test information. 

I don’t play games well. In fact, if someone plays against me in a game--even one that I MADE, I am bound to lose. The one exception I can even remember is winning a round of dat classic Mario Party at Cousin Lauren’s apartment, three years ago, while she was busy illustrating the very cards I was now concerned about.

Anyway, I stepped out of the shower the other morning and finally pinpointed what was causing the astral sand to be pulled out from beneath my feet--what the current was that I was stuck thinking about:

In Deck One: The Highlands the cards are meant to each do a specific thing, almost on their own. Some are necessary and some are fun, but they each sort of help you in their own weird way. In Deck Two: The Forest, this is different. There are several cards that need to be combined for the rules or effect of them to take place. That means a lot of time you’re left with a bunch of random pieces you don’t care about<-----my concern. Now, if I was GOOD at games, I would play with the cards I was dealt, instead of stubbornly waiting for the ones that I want. I know that. I understand it. And though that knowledge does not help me play any better (for I am indeed stubborn) It does help me tremendously while designing. Because I can imagine how other people will play, and how they will react to the pieces I have given them. In this instance, with us about to go to print and there being NOTHING I can change too drastically (the game is, after all, designed, and the deck itself was already redesigned almost entirely from the digital PnP version we released three years ago), I was definitely feeling a bit shaky. Until I stepped out of that shower, and realized the solution lay in how I treated the next part of the game, Deck Three: The Caves.

I won’t go into it further. But playing that DECK is going to feel REAL GOOD.

*

I will not talk about my day job--which is a night job. But the hours are horrendous, and I see myself now as a chain anchored to my home and swinging in a circle until I can destroy everything or fly off into space.

My childhood was not as bad as some, and it was worse than others. I chose then to believe I was suffering, so what difference is it if I’m now working hard to make art generated by those younger woes? Life continues.

*

The Novel.

I didn’t start playing music until i was 30 years old. But The Novel I started even years before that continues to surprise me more than anything else.

It is a terrible cost, a novel.

I fear it will continue to consume me, like a star going supernova in my head and eating up all the time I could spend on other ideas. And I fear that I would let it.

I have been sober for about eight months now. And I often feel okay about it, but the desire is there; a nasty trick of the mind that makes me feel like I was never an addict, and that it would really be something, almost a performance piece really, if I drank now in front of those that know me as a ‘survivor of The Thirst’. I wake up from dreams where I drink and can’t stop, and that disappointment I feel upon waking is pretty much the battery of my unexpected willpower. But I feel that desire, and I feel it with the novel as well. Destroy Everything and let it wither in ruin, so i might survive. And most days I kneel down and say “yes. Of course.” and “nothing matters but the ten year slow motion orgasm of making you.”

I had decided after years of start-stopping a second draft to just Do The God Damn Thing. I started on New Year’s Day 2016 and rewrote from the beginning to what I hoped was the end. But I got lost. A lot. I got stuck redoing the same things over and over again. Parts of the story changed. Good. Now it was a 2.5 draft, right? That’s fine. It’s for the best.

But I continued in my toil. And time passed. After a year I resigned myself to whatever life the novel would let me live; often sneaking away for just an hour a day before or between some grueling job or errand of adulthood.

This past Summer something clicked. It was that thing that always happens, where I’m worried about something until I realize only I can fix it, and the worry was only me being smart. Less a warning and more like a ...pre...answer?

I wrote a new beginning to the story that night I think. Clicking in the dim light of the living room like someone who had just discovered words. This led to other unexpected turns in the story...a brand new sixty page interlude in the middle of the thing...a whole section of plot points and chapters was also added--things and moments I had culled from a side story written years ago that I felt sort of circled the novel. Now it was part of it. Everything began to take shape into something that...I started writing this story in some form or another a decade ago, and the shape it became was something Unknown.

Then I kept getting stuck again--still moving forward I became unable to push through the white snow of blank expanse before me.

The whisper that was not a warning was there again. I would have to break the entire rule of the rewrite, and go back to the beginning and start over (madness) and not only this, I would have to change the entire tyle I was writing in (horror).

But I did it.

I looked at my life and it’s work and realized I was not writing the way I wanted to--the way I was meant to. I was living and dying in the predefined alignments of those who had come before me. Nothing I make is normal, why should my writing be any different.

I went back to the beginning and began a process which has led to work I truly feel terrified and sure of. What more could I ask?

Now the cards are going to print somewhere in Hong Kong.

I will have four separate recording projects throughout December.

The novel continues and will be finished sometime next year.

And I don’t think Meagen and I have ever been better.

I cannot enjoy any of it. Not the way I believe someone should. I am not normal. My enjoyment comes from everything spinning, and the sound of myself whispering a thousand little would-be-warnings as I navigate through it all.

And I have become good at it, maybe. I have done this a long time. I have mastered the act of handling some shit. And now it’s time for a new sort of thing. The plates and whispers are starting to combine into something else, and there is a something Unknown on the horizon...

Unknown but for a name: SUB(URBAN)HEATHEN.

-mE.