#John Ney Rieber

[hollyevolving]

First encounter with The Junkmother, before Brennan described her face, immediately called The Wobbly from The Books of Magic to mind.

I couldn't find an image of The Wobbly, but luckily I have a copy of The Lot, so I could take my own photo.

[balu8]

Books of Magic Annual #1

by John Ney Rieber,Mark Buckingham and Dick Giordano

DC/Vertigo

[smashedpages]

On this day in 1994, Tim Hunter's story continued from the Books of Magic miniseries into the Books of Magic ongoing series, as John Ney Rieber, Gary Amaro and Peter Gross told the further adventures of the original bespectacled young wizard.

[smillingcartoonist]

Books of Magic 21 #

I was remembering This comic these days, this one of my favorite bits of it, When Tim use his magic to turn himself into a cat to kinda stalk his girlfriend, and end up kinda sharing his mind with a cat !!!

[cryptocollectibles]

Vertigo Rave #1 (September 1994) by Vertigo / DC Comics

Written and drawn by various.

[braveasnouns]

"as though you could do this, and there could be any part of you that wasn't stained or dripping."

// David Levithan, how they met and other stories // John Ney Rieber, Captain America: the new deal // unable to find a source // Traci Brimhall, Vive, Vive //

(Becky Walker, Sweet Tooth season 3 in a nutshell)

[silveragelovechild]

I am sorry to hear that John Cassaday has died at the age of 52. He was best known for his work on the critically acclaimed Planetary with writer Warren Ellis, Astonishing X-Men with Joss Whedon, Captain America with John Ney Rieber, and Star Wars with Jason Aaron.

[recurring-polynya]

6 & 30 the writer’s asks

For 30 - who are your biggest writing influences?

6. Are there any fics from others you reread all the time?

My current one that I re-read the most is Chicken, by @bleachbleachbleach because I'm obsessed with it. It's a story about what it means to share your life with a person you love, good, bad, and smelling like a chicken coop, and it is very, very beautiful and I love it. (I re-read a lot of B3's other stories, too, but in a broader rotation)

I read all of @gizkasparadise 's Renruki stories habitually, but probably that which cannot be seen (Renji dies and Ichika looks for him) and Proposals and Paperwork (Renji wants to propose to Rukia but has to deal with Byakuya first) are my favorites.

I will also go diving thru @zabiume 's Works List whenever I want something nice to read, but I'd be lying if I didn't say that I end up on she's not afraid more often than not (Renruki go on a date)

It's kind of an undertaking, but I have re-read the Roots of Heaven by paperiuni (rated M), um, a lot of times. Rukia gets lost in another dimension after the war and Renji and Ichigo track her down. It is a masterpiece, maybe one of the finest pieces of fanfic I have ever read.

It's even more of an undertaking, but A Thin Red Line, the biggest and best Hisana Lived! AU by @afinepiece is also worth an annual re-read.

Once We Closed that Distance by todaslasmadrugadas is a great story where Renji tries to step back and just be a good friend to Rukia because he thinks she's in love with Ichigo (he's an idiot). The writing style is fantastic, and it is at turns sweet and funny and emotionally devastating.

Let the Rain Kiss You by Jetamors. Kira invites everyone to his beach house (I think Kira should have a beach house) and kinda regrets it but also kinda doesn't.

Stay by eosdawnaurora. (rated M) It's just the platonic ideal of a certain kind of Renruki fic-- they're at a Kuchiki party and they have some tension and then they have sex, and it all wraps up in 7k words, what else could you want?

The Curse of the Zanpakutou by c2t2. (rated E) This is THE Bad Rukongai story and while I am not raw enough to write stuff like this, it lurks at the back of my consciousness whenever I am writing Inuzuri stuff.

13 by @mothmckrakken is a Renruki try to figure stuff out after the war fic that is just cute and fun and nice and I haven't re-read it in a while which probably means it's time again.

I think that's...enough? (I also have my favorite smuts, but that's embarassing)

For 30 - who are your biggest writing influences?

I think my single most obvious writing influence is Terry Pratchett, but here is a list of formative influences on my writing, which I decided to consider from all media categories. These are not necessarily endorsements, just things that rotted my brain into its current state, in rough order of appearance:

Sideways Stories from Wayside School, by Louis Sacher

E. B. White (I wouldn't have thought this until I re-read Trumpet of the Swan and Charlotte's Web to my kids and it was like...hmmmm)

The Prydain Chronicles, by Lloyd Alexander

Mercedes Lackey, particularly the Valdemar books (sorry to everyone who has to find this out, but my shinigami-zanpakutou relationship comes directly from the magical psychic horses. I hate this as much as you do)

Sierra On-Line point and click adventure games, incl. the Quest for Glory series and the Gabriel Knight games

The X-Man fanfiction community of the late 1990s

Grendel by John Gardner

Takahashi Rumiko's Ranma 1/2

Vision of Escaflowne

The melange of Neil Gaiman/Flash Girls/Emma Bull/Boiled in Lead/Tori Amos/Ellen Datlow Fantasy anthology all us 90s urban fantasy girlies were incredibly sauced on

Rosencrantz and Guildenstern are Dead by Tom Stoppard

Princess Mononoke

The honors English 101 class I took on romantic novels

Angela Carter, whom I discovered through the above

Books of Magic, by John Ney Rieber

Ursula K. LeGuin, primarily the Earthsea books

Kishiro Yukito's Gunnm/Battle Angel Alita

The Japanese film course I took in college

Garth Nix's Old Kingdom novels

Naomi Novik

Bleach, obvs

Infinite Jest, by David Foster Wallace (don't at me I got real mixed feelings about him but I read it twice and it rearranged my brain)

the-toast.net

The Haunting of Hill House and We Have Always Lived in the Castle by Shirley Jackson

N.K. Jemison, primarily the Broken Earth trilogy and the Hundred Thousand Kingdoms which I'm still not sure I liked, but I sure do think about a lot

Annihilation by Jeff VanderMeer (book only, and only the 1st one)

Jane Austen (spent 40 years trying not to be a P&P girlie but turns out maybe I am a P&P girlie)

I'm sure there are others, but I think that list is long and embarrassing enough.

[daydreamerdrew]

—

As I was reading I really liked Chuck Austen’s issues, and thought that John Ney Rieber’s were just ok. I imagine any writer would have struggled to change course after 9/11, but I wasn’t particularly into his voice for Steve.

Both are credited for the first issue of “Ice,” and then just Austen is for the rest of the issues, but I assume Rieber did some uncredited plotting for the whole thing. I had really liked “Ice,” so I’m glad to know that Rieber deserves some of the credit for it, but I imagine that Austen’s writing, with his voice for Steve, did a lot of the work to sell me on the concept.

It makes sense that “Ice” was originally intended as an out-of-continuity book, given the revelations it made about Steve’s origin. It did not feel to me that what that arc began was properly concluded, and I was disappointed to see him go, but it doesn’t seem to me that Austen was actually intended to stay on the book for longer than that. The subsequent arc is its own self-contained story by a different writer, and what follows that is a new writer going in a new direction, again with apparent 9/11 influences, with no mention of what was revealed in “Extremists” and “Ice.”

I suppose in an ideal world for me “Ice” would have been an out-of-continuity book, so that it could conclude its story and take its unique concepts to their fruition, written by both Rieber and Austen. I wonder if Rieber has ever said how that story was originally supposed to end.

[tired-truffle]

Yet Broken Still You Breathe

An AlistairxOC fic

Chapter Word Count: 3.6k

Part 23/50

"blood on your hands, they say. as though it stops there; at your wrist, like a glove. as though you could do this, and there could be any part of you that wasn't stained or dripping." - John Ney Rieber

Masterlist

With tensions running high in Orzammar, the group had little time for revelry or respite - Darcy’s promise of drink would have to wait. The city was embroiled in political turmoil and only the Maker knew why a City Elf Warden and his strange companions had been chosen for this daunting task, and even He seemed uncertain of their chances for success. They’d trudged through the winding streets, past huddled crowds and angry protests, the weight of their mission hanging heavily on their shoulders. A faint smell of burning embers wafted through the air, signalling that danger lurked around every corner. But despite the odds stacked against them, they’d pressed on with determination and so much blood on their hands.

Gwen hadn’t thought the Deep Roads would be easy, especially not after the nightmare she’d had while huddled in that cave. The Archdemon’s threat lurked above her like an anvil ready to fall, not only to crush her, but those around her as well. She knew the dangers and horrors that awaited them - Darkspawn lurking in every shadow, ancient structures on the brink of collapse, and scarce places to rest or find safety. Leliana and Morrigan had stayed behind in Orzammar to handle political unrest, leaving Gwen and the rest of the party to navigate the treacherous depths in search of Branka, a paragon they needed to support their chosen Dwarven prince. Like every other faction they had approached for aid, they had denied Darcy’s Grey Warden treaty, claiming that their own pressing issues took precedence over any alliances. Despite her limited knowledge of how these treaties worked, even she was pretty sure that saying ‘maybe later’ wasn’t an option. How Darcy continued to keep polite conversation with any of the leaders they met with was beyond Gwen, but that was just one of the many reasons why Darcy led this quest and not her. 

As the group descended into the Deep Roads, Gwen's mind yearned for the familiar politics and intrigues of the land above. Here, the Calling was amplified to a deafening level, like the incessant beat of a war drum drawing closer and closer until it exploded into a full-scale battle inside her skull. The pressure in her head was relentless, a blazing ferocity that made her want to take her daggers and drive them between her eye and brow bone in a desperate attempt to find relief. Instead, she settled for pinching the bridge of her nose and waiving off her companions' concerned looks. They had little time for questioning anyway, as they were either fighting for their lives or too exhausted to form coherent speech. The air around them was thick with the stench of death and decay, every step felt like trudging through heavy mud, every breath filled with dust and despair. It was a never-ending cycle of struggle and survival in these depths, amplifying the already overwhelming pressure in Gwen's head.

Gwen's head throbbed with a relentless, grinding pain as she tried to focus on the conversation between Darcy and Alistair and the Legion of the Dead. Each word felt like a hammer striking against her skull, blurring her vision and making it difficult to maintain steady breathing. She should have known this would happen, but she couldn't bring herself to request to be left behind - the Archdemon had warned her, but she was too much of a coward to speak up. Faking an illness seemed like the only option, but she had no idea how to convincingly do so in front of Wynne, who could easily heal any injury. And telling them the truth was out of the question. She had hoped that Wynne's potions would be enough to ward off the worst effects, but as they delved deeper into the depths, the whispers became deafening screams that seemed to control her every move. How much farther could Branka have gone? How could anyone bear this dreadful place?

Wynne’s gentle touch on her elbow had her returning to the present, all of her companions' eyes on her, “We should rest before we continue.”

“I’m fine,” Gwen's retort emerged from her lips in a sharp bite, but it quickly lost its force when she caught sight of Wynne's arched brow stare, withering under the mage’s gaze. Her eyes darted away, unable to meet the penetrating intensity of Wynne's discerning gaze. The weight of judgment hung heavy in the air, making Gwen feel small and vulnerable. “Sorry,” she grumbled, kicking at the loose rocks beneath her feet.

“A quick rest could do us all some good.” Darcy interrupted what was sure to be a harsh reprimand, and brought his rations out from his pack. The party had little to say as they tucked into the dry food that dissolved like sand in their mouths. They were too hungry to care. 

As she turned her head, she caught a glimpse of Alistair's intense gaze fixed on her. His lips parted as if he wanted to say something, but she chose to ignore him. With a weary sigh, he resigned himself to his exhaustion and shook his head in defeat. She knew he would try again later, his determination unyielding like the setting sun. How terribly irritating.

They continued to fight their way deeper, the whispers getting louder and louder, urging her to keep shredding, keep killing until there was nothing left. They followed a crazed dwarf and Gwen failed to see the wisdom in that decision, but they were all just desperate to get to the end of this gruelling trek. Rest would have to wait until they were dead or had completed their quest - turning back now was not an option.

“I hesitate to ask how you are doing considering you almost bit Wynne’s head off earlier,” Alistair said quietly as they rounded corner after corner in a long, tight tunnel, “but you look awful.”

Gwen didn’t mean to glare, but furrowing her brow and squinting her eyes helped with the headache, or at least she told herself it did, and Alistair realized in a panic the insult he had accidentally slung her way.

“I-I mean not that you’re bad looking normally, just that you look bad now,” He cringed as the words left his mouth, his exhaustion destroying what little filter he possessed in the first place, “but not cause you’re unattractive or anything, because you are attractive, to loads of people I’m sure, like as a general concept and completely unrelated to any personal feelings. Not that I have them, just that you look tired and clearly your head hurts and has been hurting this entire trip and I’m worried about you and I’m going to stop talking now. Yup, shutting up.”

Gwen could barely process what he said, but her mind unhelpfully stuck on one part of his rambling, “You think I’m… attractive?”

A light pink blush spread up from his neck, like a blooming rose, and gradually crept up to the tips of his ears, turning them a delicate shade of pink. Gwen couldn't help but smile at the sight, wondering if she should try to make him blush more often - it was horribly adorable. His mouth opened and closed in quick succession as he struggled to find the right words, his cheeks now resembling ripe strawberries. A soft snort escaped from somewhere behind them, likely Darcy's doing, which only caused his blush to deepen even further.

He was spared from having to answer when an ear-splitting roar tore through the group, filling them with a primal fear that sent shivers down their spines. Gwen had never experienced such pure, unadulterated terror before; it felt like her very bones were vibrating with the force of the sound. The air itself seemed to quiver in response, as if even nature itself recognized the danger in that menacing roar. Her heart seized in her chest but she didn’t falter, honing her still blurry vision on the grotesque figure before them. 

The creature was enormous, easily taller than both Sten and Alistair combined, sitting at the back of the cavern as though it was a part of the very ground itself. Its pinkish flesh hung in rolls over its immense body, with at least five pairs of breasts visible. Long, black tentacles sprouted from its back, whipping the ground below with warning strikes. Its head was shaped like a worm, merging seamlessly with its chest and protruding into a sharp brow. The flesh of its mouth pulled back to reveal rows of gnashing teeth, salivating in anticipation for its next meal. If Gwen was a monster, then this thing was something else entirely, it was something beyond comprehension - something that defied all known names and instilled pure fear in those who beheld it. 

“A Broodmother,” Alistair breathed, hefting his shield into place. The name sent a chill down Gwen’s spine as she unsheathed her daggers. This thing had to die, it was evil incarnate, and it did not belong in this world. 

“Let’s kill this ugly thing,” Darcy smiled, twisting his sharp features into a predatory grin. The party needed no further prompting and together they surged forward. 

As the Broodmother fixed its dark, unblinking gaze on her, Gwen felt as if she had swallowed a brick. Her throat constricted, making it difficult to breathe as a sense of foreboding filled her lungs and made her choke. The Broodmother let out a piercing shriek and Gwen was engulfed in a suffocating sense of horror, like a thick veil that settled around her and blocked out all light and hope.

She stumbled as the piercing shriek of the Broodmother reverberated through her head, causing her legs to buckle and her ears to ring. Any other sounds were drowned out by the deafening roar. Her head felt like it was being crushed from within, as if a small creature was clawing its way out. She clutched at her temples, trying to suppress the soundless scream that threatened to escape her throat. Despite her blurry vision, she could make out Wynne running slowly as though time was crawling still, her hand stretched with the telltale signs of her green healing magic. 

Run! She wanted to scream at the mage, Get away from me, don’t let me hurt you! 

But the words would not come out as she screamed and screamed and- 

It took her place, the beast within, that surged through her veins, thrashing and clawing for a way free. And it had found it, in the form of the Broodmother’s call. With a low crouch, it leapt in response, a feral snarl echoing from its throat as the scent of blood filled the air. Its eyes blazed with an untamed hunger, ready to embrace the wildness that coursed through its being.

The human running towards it came to a halt, aged as she was, she was no stranger to a beast’s hungry look. It could see the fear in her eyes, her face contorting in alarm. The creature's eyes gleamed with malice as it hungrily surveyed its prey, taking in every detail of the woman's face contorted in alarm. Its stomach rumbled with anticipation, eager to sink its teeth into fresh meat. The other four members of the human’s party were completely engrossed in their battle with the Broodmother, unaware that their powerful mage had stopped channelling healing energy and launching spells at the screeching monster.

The mage planted her feet firmly on the ground, her body tensed with determination and a fierce focus in her eyes, and something buried deep inside the creature wanted to sob. “Gwen, I have no desire to cause you harm, but I also will not allow myself to be harmed by you. I do not believe you would want that either.”

The beast barely registered the woman's words, its mind consumed by the alluring warmth of her blood. The creature stalked towards the human, its muscles coiled and ready to pounce. She raised her staff, magic swirling around her as she prepared a spell. "Please, Gwen, you know me; Wynne, the one who provides you potions for your headaches. You must fight this!" she pleaded.

The creature let out a guttural snarl and leapt, claws outstretched towards the mage's throat. The mage - Wynne according to her desperate pleas - thrust her staff forward, a blast of icy magic hitting the creature square in the chest. It howled in pain, skidding backwards across the ground. Wynne took the opportunity to retreat several paces, putting more distance between them.

"Don’t make me do this," Wynne said, her voice steady but laced with sadness. The creature scrambled to its feet, shaking off the lingering chill. Anger boiled within it at being denied its prey. With a screech, it charged again, swiping and snapping its jaws - though the bandana covering its face frustratingly getting in the way, it was unaware of how to remove it. It would simply have to bite through it. Wynne managed to evade the attacks, firing off spells to keep the creature at bay. Blasts of fire and stone battered the creature, singing its flesh.

It refused to give up, consumed by ravenous hunger. The creature feinted left and then leapt right, yet Wynne knew she was no match for its fury. With a perfectly timed attack to the chest, causing the creature to stumble back a few steps, she took the small moment to her advantage and ran towards the centre of the fight, “Alistair!” She called, “Gwen needs your help!”

A large man in full plate armour swung around - Alistair, if the mage was to be believed, though the creature cared little for the names of the soon-to-be dead - dodging a tentacle as it slammed the ground beside him, “What-“ he started, but then his gaze landed on where the creature was shaking itself from the sting of magic and turning towards its fleeing prey with a low growl. His eyes widened, a mixture of surprise and fear flickering in their depths. His lips parted, forming the shape of the name Wynne had called it, before any sound could escape them. The creature faltered, its chest squeezing uncomfortably, swallowing a cry that tried to push past its lips.

In an instant, he was moving towards it, as if compelled by some unseen force. But before he could reach the creature, Darcy's swift movements pushed him out of harm's way from a menacing tentacle attack.

“Go, but be careful,” A dark-haired elf commanded, one worried glance spared for to the creature before he returned to the fight at hand. 

It shook itself from its momentary stupor, snarling as it lunged at its new target. Alistair rolled out of the way just in time, raising his shield as he regained his footing, his sword discarded.

"Gwen, I know you're in there," he said, blocking a swipe of the creature's sharp nails with his shield. "You have to fight this. Don't let it control you!"

The creature let out an inhuman shriek, charging forward and slamming its body into Alistair’s shield. He dug in his heels, bracing against the impact. With a grunt of effort, he shoved back, pushing the creature away. It stumbled but quickly righted itself, circling around for another attack.

Alistair kept his eyes fixed on the creature. "You're stronger than this darkness," he called out. "I believe in you, Gwen. Come back to us...come back to me."

For a moment, the creature hesitated, a spasm seeming to pass through it, something about the man’s tone making it impossible to obey the command to kill. Alistair seized the opening, diving around its back before rushing forward and grabbing it, trapping its arms in a firm embrace. But the creature refused to yield, trashing against him, howling and snapping, but Alistair held fast despite the blows raining against his armour.

It was relentless, so consumed by bloodlust that it felt no pain as it battered its feet against the unyielding metal. All it wanted was to consume, devour, and it would not be denied.

“Gwen, stop, you’re going to hurt yourself,” Alistair begged, his voice cracking. That was what he was worried about? It getting hurt because it was trying to kick him to death. Of course he was, this was Alistair, he was self-sacrificing and it had always worried her the lengths he would go to ensure the safety of others.

Flickers of memory flashed through its consciousness - this man, his warm eyes and ready smile, the kinship and camaraderie they once shared. The kicking and thrashing slowed as it struggled to make sense of these fragments.

With a massive effort, he lifted the creature off its feet during its moment of uncertainty. It writhed, trying to break free, but Alistair had the advantage of size and strength.

He bore it to the ground, using his weight to pin it in place. His large hands grasped its wrists, digging into the dirt floor, and his shins pressed into the meaty muscles of the backs its thighs. It bucked and twisted, its inhuman screams echoing across the battlefield.

No! The blood-rage screamed inside it. This man is prey! But the memories persisted, drowning out the fury. Laughter around a campfire, back to back in battle, cold hands against her stomach... Gwen. That was its name. Gwen. And this man, she cared deeply for him. Loved him even. The revelation shocked the creature into stillness. For a moment, the corruption loosened its grip on Gwen's mind.

“Stop fighting me and tell me what to do to help you,” his voice was strained with exhaustion as he bent close to her ear. “Please. I need you to tell me what’s wrong, I know you don’t trust me but I need you to just this once.”

Didn’t trust him? Surely he knew that she did, she’d fought at his side countless times, told him things she’d never willingly told anyone else, how could she not trust him? Yet as she lay there, her body thrashing like that of a bull trying to buck off its rider, she came to the profound realization: She had never truly opened up to him, never willingly shared her deepest thoughts and fears. Instead, she had kept him at arm's length, pushing him away whenever he tried to dive deeper into her mind and soul - she’d snap at him or leave the conversation altogether. And now, as the words of hurt spilled from his mouth, she couldn't decide which was worse - the possibility of him hating her for what she couldn't change, or the guilt of leaving him out in the cold with no understanding of who she truly was.

“Alistair…” she croaked, her jerking becoming disjointed as she tried to control it, a renewed vigour alighting in her soul. She did trust him, more than she had trusted anyone in years, and she needed him to know, needed him to feel it. And if she made it out of here alive, she would tell him herself. 

“Gwen,” Alistair’s grip spasmed when she spoke, but he held on firm. “What’s going on?” 

She did not have the words to explain, her mouth remaining firmly uncooperative, “It’s okay…” she tried again, but couldn’t finish before her teeth started to snap as her neck craned back trying to bite him. Her mind may have begun to return to her, but her body was still firmly under the Broodmother’s control.

He leaned back to avoid her attack, but continued to hold her tight, “I don’t know about you, but where I come from we don’t usually try to tear our friends apart in uncontrollable bursts of rage.” 

She could give him that one, it was a fair assessment after all.

“Knock me out,” she growled through clenched teeth. A sharp, guttural cry was torn from her lips as she felt like her brain was being squeezed by a pair of clawed hands. Her vision blurred into a bright white haze and her stomach twisted with nauseating churns. The pain was unbearable, like knives stabbing relentlessly at her mind. She could feel every nerve in her body on edge, screaming for relief. Her fingers dug into the ground as she fought to stay sane, but it felt like she was being dragged into an endless abyss of agony.

“No!” He shouted, startled, his eyes wide with horror. “I couldn’t, I can't… I don’t want to hurt you.” 

“Just do it!” She screamed at him as beads of sweat rolled into her eyes, “I’ll kill you, I’ll kill everyone here if you don’t stop me!” 

“You won’t.” His voice cut through the air like a sharpened blade, each word spoken with unwavering determination. Gwen couldn't help but admire his unbreakable resolve, yet she was too exhausted to muster any of her own. She felt drained and hollow, like a dried-out husk on the verge of collapsing. Her bones ached and her mind buzzed with fatigue, leaving her unable to summon even a flicker of strength.

“Please, Alistair,” she sobbed, feeling tears slip down her cheeks, her shoulder shaking with effort, “I can’t fight it anymore.”

He hesitated, and a growl slithered past her tongue as she scrunched at the waist, before launching herself towards his wrist with her covered teeth. 

With a yelp of surprise, Alistair pulled his hand away. He was quickly losing ground and he muttered a curse under his breath as she wrenched her other arm free. He reached for his shield, and her body reacted of its own accord, desperate to escape. 

“I’m sorry, Gwen.” Alistair’s face was awash in agony as Gwen's body writhed uncontrollably, her hands clawing at the dirt in a desperate attempt to escape from where he still pinned her legs. But her struggle was short-lived, ending with a sharp blow to the back of her skull from the face of his shield. In an instant, she was gone, disappearing from the world before her head even made contact with the ground. All that remained was Alistair's anguished cry, echoing through the blood-soaked cavern.

Next Chapter

A/N: Sorry for the little cliffhanger! I'm excited for the next chapter, should be posted Saturday or Sunday :)

[watsondcsj]

Today's Chores, Homework, and Fortnite comic book recommendation is Transformers / G.I. Joe by John Ney Rieber and Jae Lee

[balu8]

The Books of Faerie: Molly's Story

by John Ney Rieber: Hermann Mejia; Alex Sinclair

Cover by Charles Vess

DC/Vertigo

[smillingcartoonist]

Books of Magic 25 #

I was reading this issue again because I was thinking about it recently, and I really like the use of colors in this pages, the first is a flashback to Tim’s Childhood, back when his mother was still alive, the following is the present where he is on a very low point in his life (And is not gonna be the first !!!) and I like how the colors evoke the emotions of the scene, bright light colors reminiscente the innocence of childhood and more dark drab colors in the other, creating a more sad and depressing mood !!

Books of Magic is an amazing series, despite all of it’s problem (It there is a lot) but stuff like this I Think it makes it special, I think I might read it again !! just because my interest in new comics is kinda non existing right now !!

[windex-for-blood]

Sure, but I want to see him in the backdrop of storylines that were outright political. What would he have done in John Ney Rieber's Knights series, with all the 9/11 commentary? Where would he he go in Brubaker's work, with all the deep-seated distrust going on? Ta-Nehisi Coates, would have more to say on that subject than I ever could.

It's hard to understate how terrifying the idea of a superhero prosecuting "disturbing the peace" is.

A masked man with high tech weaponry bringing down the hammer on minorities and teenagers trying to spend their time in public spaces. It's chilling, honestly. Captain America 422

[cryptocollectibles]

Mythos The Final Tour #1 (December 1996) by Vertigo / DC Comics

Written by John Ney Rieber, drawn by Gary Amaro and Peter Gross, cover by Rick Berry.

[marginalia-6]

Tell Me, Dark.