#how they were only matters in that they were living in excess and revelry because there were no rules and Mom loved them best

[cain-e-brookman]

For the WIP Q&A Tag game: What are the fae in your world like?

Thank you for the ask!

They were life with no limits. Think Dionysian revelry to the nth degree. Beautiful and unchanging. The Order of the Fae were Elves, Faeries, Unseelies, and Nymphs. At the height of their Empire, the world moved for them, as they were able to command life like their goddess. If they needed an animal for slaughter, they made one to eat. If they needed another human to do a task, they brought one out from thin air. Until Uensine took over the role of Death, they could refill a human body with more life so it could continue on even after dying of exhaustion or starvation.

In terms of appearances, Elves were tall with sharp ears, thin bodies, and colorful skin. Faeries take more animal-like features, have wings, and are smaller than an elf, but larger than a human. Unseelies were humanoid, but by barest definition and are more....lovecraftian than the other Fae. Nymphs were the most plentiful. Wispy little spirits that were barely visible to the human eye.

[sodalitefully]

Testing, testing, seven and thirteen. Tumblr, get your shit together. Over. :P

I read you loud and clear, glad tumblr managed to figure its shit out! Thanks for the ask, here’s #13!

This is the intro to an AU I have outlined but may or may not continue: Werewolf!Duff and satyr!Slash unexpectedly develop a rather antagonistic companionship; seems appropriate since we were recently talking about satyrs in gnr AUs!  Duff thinks Slash is a sweet little faun but he gets more and more Dionysian as Duff gets to know him.  Since they don’t really interact in the part I have written, there’s also some highlights from the outline afterwards.

Consider “faun” the more modern word for any bipedal half-goat/-sheep/-deer creature, all of which are descended from the ancient Greek satyrs.  

~~~~~

Even for a werewolf, Duff was… unlucky.  He didn’t have a “true” wolf form like the werewolves of old, who transformed into huge, powerful beasts, beautiful wolves the size of horses, true kings of the forest.  Nor did he have especially good control over his transformations; when his skin itched and his blood burned, he could only hold off the urge to shift for so long, a night or two at most.  

This, unfortunately, meant that he had no choice but to move to the country.  Yuck.  Duff was made for nightlife and sleepless streets, not gravel roads and placid townspeople.  But if he stayed in Los Angeles, it was inevitable that someone would notice the beastly wolf-man prowling the streets of Hollywood, and things would take a sharp turn in the same direction as An American Werewolf In London.

This morning, Duff had woken up in his cozy new country home to the sound of birds chirping, the dappled sunlight streaming through his bedroom window, and the telltale ache of muscles his human body didn’t have.  The weather was gorgeous and the forest beyond his garden fence looked positively serene – it was the perfect day for a hunt.

Truthfully, Duff almost never killed his own prey.  Fresh steaks were enough to keep him fed, but there was something about roaming the forest, tracking its inhabitants, silently stalking a deer or a rabbit from the shadows... Hunting was just about the only thrill Duff could get out here, even if he let his prey escape in the end.

Before the sun even rose above the treetops, Duff was on four paws and enjoying the many scents and sounds of the forest as he trotted deeper into the wild.  He pounced at birds, sniffed at burrows, and allowed tangled deer trails to guide his way... until he stumbled upon something far more interesting: large hoof prints, accompanied by the scent of cut grass and lanolin.  

Duff had become aware of the population of fauns in “his” forest not long after moving in.  The cloven prints, the cropped foliage, and the stray tufts of wool were all dead giveaways.  Based on how close the flock occasionally strayed towards Duff’s home, he suspected that though he was aware of them, the fauns had no idea that a werewolf resided nearby – sheep weren’t so observant as wolves, after all.  Regardless, Duff gave the flock its space.  A lone wolf had no chance taking on a whole flock of fauns... That is, hypothetically, of course.

One lost sheep, however, was a different story.  

Enthralled by the unexpected opportunity, Duff crouched low to the ground and swiftly, silently followed the meandering path though the dense trees, deeper into the forest than he’d ever ventured before.

When Duff caught up to his quarry, the faun had stopped to sit on a felled log and pick a clod of dirt out of his hoof, unaware of the game he had unwittingly become a part of.  Duff was careful to remain hidden from view as he evaluated his prize:  The faun was bare except for the dark brown fleece on his legs and the matching curls on his head, long enough to brush his upper back and studded with dried leaves.  Two ridged black horns protruded through the curls, coiling in on themselves to form a complete spiral and gleaming wickedly when the faun tilted his head.  Those horns and the pair of pointed hooves, each the size of a man's fist, were the weapons that a wolf had to watch out for when dealing with fauns.  Not that Duff was worried – it was in a faun’s nature to run rather than fight, and Duff was eagerly looking forward to the chase.  

Too eagerly, perhaps.  Duff shifted in anticipation, and the faun’s velvet ear flicked in his direction.  The faun went stock-still, frozen like a bronze statue straight out of Ancient Rome, then turned his head and looked Duff dead in the eye.

The stillness shattered, the faun kicked up a spray of dirt as he darted back into the trees and Duff bolted after him like a horse out of the gates.  His heart pounded and his blood burned with the thrill of the hunt, he let out a joyful howl as his paws slammed into the damp soil.  He had the advantage of running on four legs instead of two, but the faun had a marginal head start and Duff’s awkward hybrid physiology wasn’t built for speed.  It was only a matter of time before Duff could no longer follow the dizzying path the faun wound between thick tree trunks, but when he finally lost sight of his prey’s kicking hooves and undocked tail for good, he couldn’t bring himself to be too disappointed.  Following the faun’s trail further could wait for another day; instead he turned around and contentedly trotted back home with his excess energy expended and his predatory instincts satisfied.

~~~~

Duff has a good heart, but he just doesn’t take Slash seriously and he acts like a jerk because of it.  He thinks Slash is just some sweet little woodland creature, so once Slash is reasonably confident that Duff isn’t going to eat him, he takes it upon himself to show Duff that a faun is just a pretty name for a satyr, and satyrs haven’t changed all that much since Ancient Greece.

The first time Slash is in Duff’s house (unwillingly, after an injury) he’s completely convinced that Duff intends to eat him, he’s belligerent all the way there, he refuses to enter the kitchen for any reason, and he’s also afraid of Duff’s perfectly friendly dogs, to the point of scaling the furniture (and possibly Duff himself, being the tallest thing in the room) to get away from them.  After a few hours of not being eaten, he starts to reevaluate the situation and think of ways to assert himself to Duff.

Slash eventually lets Duff see his home in return, and it serves as one of Duff’s first glances at the true nature of his ovine neighbors.  The fauns’ home camp looks like if someone put a hippie commune and a frat house in a blender and dumped the resulting mess in a woodland meadow.  Incense sticks and red solo cups abound in equal measure, and there is little regard for privacy, private property, or clothing in general.  

Once their relationship progresses into something a little more intimate, Duff runs Slash a post-coital bath, he helps wash as Slash uses about a whole bottle of shampoo to lather up his hair and his fleece.  There’s never enough of the stuff back home, and he relishes the luxury of Duff’s cramped, outdated bathroom.  

When they first met, Slash would be livid every time Duff set off his flight response (werewolves being one of his few natural predators). It happens again when Axl, another wolf, pays Duff an unexpected visit and severely misunderstands the reason Slash happens to be in Duff’s living room.  “Duff, I just caught your dinner trying to escape out the back door.”  Slash is furious and also very shaken; for all his lack of sympathy, Duff feels guilty that he didn’t step in in time.

Tbh the thought process here was basically Slash>fluffy hair>sheep>sheep are basically goats>satyrs are associated with sex, drinking, and revelry>and so is slash… and then werewolf Duff just made sense.  

[askthecustodes]

The Tribune’s Return

Rewriting some old stuff in an attempt to reclaim it, so if this drabble looks familiar, its probably because it is.

An Ancient Tribune returns and is immediately thrust into combat again. A familiar face brings light back into his heart.

@ask-tribune-ra

Ten Thousand years. It tasted wrong on his tongue, the time fitting imperfectly into the recesses of his mind. He resisted the implications of it. While he understood that the passage of time in the warp was far different than its passage in realspace, to think that that many millennia had passed put a dread in his belly. How many of his comrades from that time remained? How long he had been gone was of no matter, only that Terra remained and the Golden were there to protect their liege lord. There was a sense of relief in coming home. A tension in his shoulders dissipated at the sight of Terra still standing.

His brothers met him and his sodality at the star port. The Adeptus Custodes were as resplendent as ever, their armor the iconic brilliant gold with red plumes. Red had replaced their black mourning shrouds; he would later learn of the return of Lord Guilliman’s plea to call the Golden back to the stars once more and Valoris’ plans to answer before the call was even made. For now he did not ask. They had no words for him or the Custodians that followed, for they could not have been more different in their streaked gold and bearing the tokens of thousands of battles against the forces of chaos. It was for the best, he mused. He had little patience for the decay he had seen during this journey home.

He kept his head high despite their suspicions. He remained unbent as they tested him and his companions for corruption. He did not blink when they told him he could not return to his previous position as Tribune. Still, the Captain General clasped his arm in the end. For the tedium of it, the Ancient once-Tribune understood well enough; there could be no doubt when if came to the safety of their King.

The Tribune had hoped for some time alone, to visit the Hall of Names and visit with friends long dead, and to learn of who had joined them. He had faced many daemons in the warp and in the webway, and they had told all sorts of stories- no doubt lies- about the horrid fates that had befallen his brothers and sisters. One name had recurred often, every story more grotesque than the last in its brutality and horror. Ra was not ignorant- ten thousand years of protecting the cradle world would have seen many, many losses, and those early days were no doubt a tremendous struggle. So he had made peace with their inevitable violent ends. He just had longed to know if her name really had found place in the endless honor rolls. He had dreamed of her in his few moments of rest, craved her gentle touch when they found some respite, wondered what she would think of him now.

But there was no time for such things just yet; orders came through immediately, that he and his kin would serve another shield captain and their company to handle an a chaos outbreak in a system adjoined to Sol. He accepted the assignment with a scowl, mustering his make-shift sodality to leave Terra once again. Their new partners remained aloof and afar. He bristled under their suspicions. It would take time for their brothers to accept them into the fold, but he didn’t have to like it.

He finally met with the shield captain of this unit. She was almost as tall as he, her armor a shade of a lighter gold than the traditional saturation of the main force. Amethyst eye lenses bored into his crimson red as he introduced himself. Her body language had been subtly hostile until he gave her his name. Then he swore there was a flicker of confusion in the way she shifted.

“Remove your helm, Ra.” There was something familiar in her cadence despite the vox wash of her helm.

Something prodded him to keep the sharp retort that came to mind unvoiced. Ra indulged her despite the objections of his companion. He looked many years older, and new scars lined his face. Long dreads were pulled back, and he needed a shave. He watched the shield captain before him carefully. She remained still for several seconds, before reaching for her own helm; the act silenced his companion. No other custodian outside the Captain General had done him that honor, for it was a symbol of fraternity among the Ten Thousand.

Ra could not keep the surprise from his face. She was exactly as he remembered her- ashen hair and piercing gray eyes, delicate cheekbones that swept to a gentle frown. Her brows were furrowed, as if she didn’t quite believe what she was seeing.

“Ra?” 

“Arturia…” Her name came like a oath from his lips. He closed the distance between them in a few quick steps, setting aside his helm to pull her into a tight embrace. “You yet live.”

The Custodians at her back swept their Guardian spears to aim at him, the unexpected behavior suggesting treachery. Ra’s companion replied in kind, not liking his odds but willing to protect the Tribune. Arturia raised a hand, wishing she could hide the tremor in it, before wrapping her arms around him. The trio lowered their weapons, but the tension remained.

“You’re alive…” She whispered and, like a dam breaking, she wept. “You’re alive…”

He laughed, tears welling up in his own eyes at the relief and joy that threatened to overwhelm him. “As do you.”

“I thought you lost.” She mumbled, tightening her grasp on him.

He nuzzled her ear, breathing in the scent of her. “I know.”

“Honored Watchman.”  One of the Custodians called her attention. “We break from the warp soon.”

“Hm.” She was slow to disengage from Ra, her hands lingering on him. “Yes. I must brief you on the coming assault. Come.”

She led him into the ship’s strategium and walked him through the planned assault, detailing the information given to them by spies and scouts. She was different here, but she had ten thousand years to grow into leadership and planning. Ten thousand years of experience against a varied host of foes. He envied her in a way; there was little sense in his time in the webway or in the warp. No battles to plan. No assaults to map out. Simply skirmish after skirmish after skirmish. Rhyme and reason were absent in the Immaterium. It was hard to know how many he would have at his side, much less what he would be fighting until they made contact. He watched her as she brought up maps and explained assault vectors and gave warnings. She couldn’t have been more beautiful to him. A sharp mind, careful in how she spent the lives of those who followed her. There was a precision she had lacked when he had last seen her- but she had been more wild then, more instinctive. Time had changed him too; he idly wondered if the new her would still as fiercely love the new him.

“Your thoughts are elsewhere, Tribune.” She interrupted his reverie.

He rolled his eyes, his gaze sweeping from her to the map and back again. “I am not a tribune any longer, but I am appraised. My men will be ready at their strike point.”

Her eyes searched his for a bit longer than a standard moment, her expression tight. “When you are done briefing your men, return to me. We have much to catch up on.”

He nodded to her, amused at how comfortably she gave him orders, and touched her arm. “As you wish, Honored Watchman.” He drawled her title, but she could not quite tell if he was mocking her, or emphasizing the difference between them.

Arturia gave no more words as he donned his helm and left the strategium. A hollowness collected in her chest in his wake. Their completion of this mission could not come soon enough.

The population had fallen to the hold of chaos cults, and the doomscryers were certain that their leader would pose a threat to Terra if allowed to escape. Arturia had volunteered for the role, and few could deny her it- since her first time among the companions, she found herself speaking with the Emmisaries Imperatus and taken in. Her King spoke to her on more than one occasion of the millennia, whispering as he done in life, brushing her mind and expressing His will. He told her to be there, that she had more purpose there than she could guess.

A shield company in addition to a warhost of Imperial Fists and guardsmen seemed excessive, but at the sight of the blighted planet, Arturia conceded perhaps it was not the most unreasonable. The surface looked not unlike old Terran artists depictions of Hell. Monsters of a multitude of variations lumbered among their zealous cult followers as they screamed for their patron gods. Arturia looked on impassively as the first sodalities made planetfall. She would follow with her own sodality, though she wondered if she would have the opportunity to see him, to fight by his side once again.

Ra was among the first on the ground, his sodality eager to wet their blades and prove their mettle once again to their brethren. They waded in, fighting as one unit as they broke the waves of chaos. There was a sense of revelry among them; to be in the service of their Emperor, doing what they had done for ten millennia, seemed almost like a dream.

Within hours they had narrowed down the location of the cult leader, deep within the hive city. Arturia led her shield company, her silver and gold armor stained with blood and gore, outriders feeding them information from their screaming hit and run passes overhead. She took no pleasure in every kill, for there were hundreds falling to her blade, and hundreds yet to go. Mortal or daemon, it mattered not.

The streets down which they walked bore the marks of the cults defilement. Their patron God’s symbols were smeared in blood or scratched by whatever was handy on every wall still standing. Bodies littered the streets, either willing sacrifices or unwilling citizens resisting the initial uprising it was impossible to tell. Smoke turned the air acrid, fires still burning where ritual fires lost control or Kataphraktoi gunners found more than their mark. Black billowed from buildings. Arturia was grateful for the air filter in her helm; the smell of burning flesh and putrid waste where sewage lines had broken made her want to gag.

Ahead was a cathedral, towering high above the surrounding structures. What once depicted the city’s dedication to the Throne World featured broken stone and shattered stained glass, mangled bodies of the planet’s defense force, and defaced frescos with proclamations to chaos gods. The sodality strode toward the gigantic wooden doors, taking the parade-wide stairs two at a time.

Another sodality came up on their right flank. In her peripheral she almost took them to be more daemons until she spotted the armor beneath their patchwork fixes. She picked out the tell-tale marks that separated him from his kin. 

“Arturia.” His voice purred over the vox. “After you.”

A part of her loathed how her name in his mouth evoked so much longing nostalgia in her; in the years that followed his disappearance, she struggled to make sense of the tremendous losses from that time and had put away the part of her that had loved so personally and freely. She gave him a nod, refocusing on the task at hand. There would be time for making peace again after their duties were seen to. Duty first.

It took the strength of several of the Custodians to pull the great doors open, the hinges automated system nothing but smoldering ruin. The rest of the two squads stood aside, their weapons ready.

Even with the windows smashed in, the light of the outside only reached in a few feet. There was an exchange of glances between Arturia’s sodality; impatient, Ra’s sodality moved forward as a single flock, crouching low as if they were on the prowl. Ra looked to Arturia, though she didn’t quite guess what his expression might be before he slipped into the inky blackness after them. This was not the way of the Custodians, but from what she had watched, these were now an entity all her own.

Her sodality followed behind, their formation and posture less of hunting animals and more of primed warriors. The black fouled their sensors; none of their helmet viewer modes showed anything helpful. A Custodian was not reliant on sight alone however, and they were quick to make contact. The bark of bolter fire and the crackle of power weapons mingled with the shrieking cries and heavy footfalls of daemons. Arturia couldn’t get a gauge on numbers, but it seemed as if more than a small fighting force had been ready and waiting for them. What was chilling most of all, was not the warcries of the monstrosities they were fighting, but the equally ferocious roars coming from their returned brethren. It left the Emissary unsettled.

Someone must have found the source of the smoke, because sensors chirped with acquired targets and the thick clouds began to dissipate, revealing the sheer breadth of the host about them. The sodalities were surrounded by slavering fangs, monstrous blades both biological and metal, and leathered flesh. Most of the cultists had already fallen to the Custodian’s whirling dervish of blades, but hordes of daemons took their places without hesitation. Their footing was getting all the more challenging with how they simply threw themselves upon the Custodians.

With the cleared smoke, Arturia spotted their target standing at the balcony to one side of the chapel. His outline shimmered, giving away the presence of a shield generator on his person. She seethed, annoyed she could not simply put a bolt round up there and be done with it.

“Target spotted, top left balcony. Be advised: Personal shield generator.” She hadn’t finished her last phrase before one of the returned had turned and did just what she knew would not work. The shell exploded a foot from the balding man, the force knocking him from his feet, but he was otherwise unharmed. He gathered himself up, and vanished from their line of sight. Arturia scowled, a Terran curse tumbling from her lips. “We’re losing time here. Angreth, Lionel, Oceanus, Grist, prepare to break off. Everyone else, clear a path for them.” Her sodality shifted towards the arched doorways on the far side of the chapel. With the help of Ra and his team, the red cloaked Custodians disappeared after their prey. The remaining Custodians’ circle tightened with the loss, and their foes pressed in closer.

Arturia didn’t fit into their flow of combat, leaving her mostly to fend for herself. Not that it bothered her any- it was the tradition of most of the Custodes divisions that they be singular in their fighting style. The Tribune and his men however, deviated from that doctrine, fighting in unity almost as astartes did. That style had evidently evolved with their time in the warp, making it just that much harder for her to follow.

The fighting had called the attention of other foes. A booming laugh called their attention to the great doors at the back of the chapel. The whole doorway was taken up by its bulk. It surveyed them with milky white pupiless eyes, its lipless maw curled into a vicious smile.

“Y̴o̶u̴r̷ ̴s̶k̷u̶l̸l̴s̵ ̶w̴i̴l̶l̸ ̶b̶e̷ ̵a̸ ̵n̶i̵c̴e̷ ̶e̶d̸i̷t̸i̴o̴n̷ ̶t̸o̶ ̵t̶h̴e̸ ̴T̸h̸r��o̵n̸e̷ ̷o̷f̷ ̷K̷h̷o��r̴n̷e̷“

Its voice was a gutteral sound, barely understandable. Arturia sneered back, fearless in the face of a chosen monster of Khorne. She cut through the daemons between her and the daemon, her blade moving at lightning speed. He laughed again, bringing forward his massive axe to meet her.

They still had dozens of daemons to kill before they could effectively join their sister-custodian. Ra grit his teeth; his men had faced such entities of the warp before, and were well adept at killing them, and while he was impressed that she thought she could take it, there was a tightening in his chest. She would not be the first if she were to fall.

Arturia was as strong as she was quick, dodging and slicing as she bounced around it, irritating the lumbering daemon. Its size seemed a detriment, its barbed body almost impossibly muscley. But with every cut, every drop of spilled blood, its rage and its speed grew, and soon she was struggling to outpace it.

Ra ripped his spear from the last of the horde that had assailed them, and looked up to see how the Shield Captain yet fared. Time slowed for a moment as he watched her Guardian Spear get knocked wide, and the spiked end of its axe surging towards her. It punched through her chestplate, the force knocking the air from her lungs. Pain bloomed immediately, drowning out feeling the myriad of other punctures and breaks in her armor. She might have screamed if there wasn’t blood bubbling up her throat. Weak hands grabbed at the haft of the axe the now lifted her into the air.

“Arturia!” Ra roared, equal parts wide eyed and furious. He charged the monstrosity, his Guardian Spear alive with a corona of crackling energy. It snarled at him, flinging her towards him with a whip of his axe. Arturia tumbled across the floor, blood spattering the floor in her wake. Ra jumped over her in his charge, his sodality following in his wake.

She watched as they descended together, united in their direction and purpose. One defended another as they fired their adrathic destructor on it. The others cut deep through it’s thick hide, earning unearthly screams. At some point she closed her eyes, focusing on the gaping hole in her ribs. Blood was collecting in her mouth, making it impossible to breathe without filling the inside of her helm. She couldn’t let herself fall into a healing sleep without at least removing it, but she couldn’t right herself enough to get at her seals.

Then she felt arms pulling her up, the vox whispering her name. Her broken fingers fumbled for the seals on her helmet. Ra gently pushed her hands away and relieved her of the cover. Blood made the air release sputter. She spat blood and gasped. Her good lung was struggling to keep up with the needs of her body.

“Finish- the mission.” She urged. “Su- support my- sodality-”

“My men are on it.” He tried to sooth her, cradling the broken Custodian to his chest.

“Med-evac’s- on its- way.” Every word was effort. She grimaced, baring her blood slicked teeth. “Go.”

“Stop talking, Arturia.”

She smacked his chestplate with her mangled gauntlet and tried to pull herself out of his grasp.

He held her fast. “Stubborn woman; stop this.” Arturia peered into his crimson eye lenses, her eyes narrow, but relaxed against him, her expression softening. He smiled under his helm, recognizing the relinquishing of control. “If you need to sleep, sleep. Just stay with me, okay?”

[dutchemily]

7/17: Royal Museum

Today’s trip to the Royal Museum of Fine Arts of Belgium was actually comprised of three separate museums. The first museum, the Oldmasters Museum, was a detailed glimpse into the maestros of Belgian seventeenth-century art. This golden period of art had three well-known artists, one of them being Pieter Bruegel the Elder. His painting, The Fight Between Carnival and Lent, is a prime example of the type of art he is known for today. Carnival is an age old celebration right before Lent, the Christian holiday that is known for fasting and giving up objects of desire. Because of this month of fasting, there is a huge celebration of carnival right before to indulge in all the excess and “sin” that must be forgone right after. The fight that broke out would most likely be because of all the raucous revelry that would be taking place during Carnival. This celebration would make it very easy for the simplest party to get out of hand because all rules and order were off.

What Bruegel does is rather unusual for his time, both for subject matter and how he depicts it. Many people are dressed up in costumes, masks, or hats for this party. The celebration is in full flow, with some men crawling around on the ground and others riding a huge barrel of sustenance. This is a stark contrast to the religious paintings that were characteristic for this time. With his paintings, Bruegel introduced humanism and social commentary into his art, as the reading “Introduction: My Mostly Flat Country” A. De Vries talks about the impact of Bruegel’s art on Belgian culture. His large paintings of ordinary lives going about their day-to-day business have given him great acclaim, each face in the picture is drawn with great detail to depict the varying emotions that are felt during Carnival, including anger, inebriation, and just general confusion.

Bruegel’s art shows a glimpse into the lives of the common people, which made him a very popular artist. He revolutionized how artists choose their subjects and the messages that can lie behind them. For example, this particular painting is a commentary on the human condition and our gluttony. In the midst of all this revelry, there is only chaos and disagreements with objects strewn everywhere. When the painting is looked at from a distance, there is only a large, frivolous hubbub that can be seen. The impact that Bruegel’s new style and subject had on later artists paves way for a more broad and vibrant scene of art.

[illeity]

Winter 2017 Anime Awards!

(From the ones I actually watched.)

Best Overall: 3-gatsu no Lion/ March Comes in like a Lion

Into the light.

With consistent quality during the second part despite a shift in focus, perfectly managed tone that never leads to excess sentimentality or overt levity, and a story that ebbs and flows with such grace that it melts metaphor and direct description like an impressionist painting, Chica Umino's March Comes in Like a Lion remains the top spot for two consecutive seasons for the simple reason that it tells a rich story of individuals and making meaning.

In the first part, it introduces shogi professional, sometimes student, and introvert Rei Kiriyama and the facets of his life, particularly his close ties with the Kawamoto siblings. At the beginning of Part 2, Rei hugs the youngest Kawamoto sibling, Momo, and says that he has personal and professional matters to deal. While he sees the Kawamoto family as comfort and healing, he understands that he can't come running to them each time. With a major tournament upcoming he stops visiting them and the narrative shifts to the lives of the Shogi players that he plays against. With their own dreams and regrets, he becomes an observer of their lives as he compares it against his own, not to pass judgement on his failings, but to see the possibilities there is to life and to recognize that in the end, there are no bad guys, just people driven by very different motivations and showing how they cope with the consequences of a lifetime of choices.

With another season later in the year and a two-part live action movie currently showing in Japan, the series deserves all the accolades it gets. And if you're ever in the market for something substantial, with a deep, beating heart, this is your anime.

Best Drama: Youjo Senki, The Saga of Tanya the Evil

What is a god to an non-believer?

Tanya von Degurechaff is the fiercest, deadliest, and most cunning soldier of the Empire (Not-Germany) as they wage the first World War (Until it becomes muddled when they introduce a Panzerkampfwagen IV.). She's also under thirteen years old and is hated by God, or a god.

Why is that?

The god sees Tanya has such little faith in him and has therefore cursed her: Should she die a death that is not natural, she will be taken off the wheel of reincarnation and sent to hell.

But why a kid? And why so much hatred for an individual?

While these questions are answered to an extent, the most important thing to consider is that these driving forces are what sets up Tanya as she is placed in conflict for most of the war as she struggles to survive. She puts in as many legal means as possible to leave the war, only to have her end up on the front lines anyway, whether by her own fault, or by divine intervention.

As she leaves a trail of bodies, her actions reverberate throughout the war as everyone slowly pushes down into a black hole, no matter who is winning. And as with the nature of war, there are no heroes, only murderers.

Best Comedy: Kono Subarashii Sekai ni Shukufuku o!

"This anime is like every insane D&D story I have ever heard." -henlp

The second season of Konosuba! continues the adventures of Satou Kazuma as he is pulled from the real world into a fantasy world where RPG game mechanics exist in reality. He's accompanied by a Goddess who drinks too much and wastes her skill points on party tricks, a Wizard who knows only one spell (and collapses after every use), and a Crusader who can tank, but cannot hit any living thing with her sword (not out of principle, she just can't hit at all). Also, that Crusader is a masochist.

"Insane and crazy" is the proper descriptor for the way the series is plotted, as comedic plot points are introduced and escalated versions of those plot points are put to use later on. The characters are made aware that they are in the mess they are in because of the solution that resolved a previous conflict made ample fuel for another. "It gets worse" is another descriptor as they are battered by bad luck and only somehow manage to escape as even their most competent moments are displays of excellence borne out of their utter stupidity. It's a show that's shameless enough to throw everything at a wall to make you laugh, and most of the time, what they throw in, sticks.

Honorable Mention: Kobayashi-san Chi no Maid Dragon

The Lion falls in love with the Mouse.

Miss Kobayashi is a Systems Engineer who, after a night of drunken revelry, somehow saves the life of a dragon, Tohru. Still drunk, she invites the Dragon back to her apartment, and into her life.

Unlike Konosuba! which fills narrative space with ever increasing, crazy humor, Miss Kobayashi's strength is mixing in the fantastical elements with the mundane, to create the comedy or the heart-warming plots, something that Gabriel DropOut only marginally succeeded in doing.

All throughout are discussions on the comfort between partners and the lives of people from vastly different backgrounds. It's about love and growing into it, even though we've largely been on autopilot. It's about the surprise we get when we realize to what degree people can love us for.

Best Cute Girl Anime: Demi-chan wa Kataritai, Interview with Monster Girls

Science, Folklore, and Free Hugs

Almost all Cute Girl Anime narratives occur within a casting closed system, that is, primary and secondary characters are all girls and they play off their antics onto each other and whatever conflict they find themselves in. So this is a very special case where the Primary female characters shine in their characterization with the aid of a Primary male character, Takahashi Tetsuo, Biology teacher, Demi-Human Researcher, and member of the pantheon of the "Greatest Teachers in Fiction".

So for the girls, we have Takanashi Hikari, vampire, Machi Kyouko, dullahan, Elsa, Kusakabi Yuki, a snow woman, and Satou Sakie, succubus and Math teacher.

The daily motions of these monster girls is already interesting enough, but a subtle beauty comes from the setting and the way the plot is crafted with a keen eye for science and human foibles.

The world-building is present but hardly emphasized, and shows how the world accommodates the Demi-Humans and their special needs. Vampires get blood packs subsidized by the government, Succubi get visits from Demi-Human agencies to check up on how well they're adjusting to their environment, and the rest are treated not so much because they're demi-humans, but how they are as people. Kusakabe Yuki, for instance, is seen as cold by a few of her peers, but never attribute her nature as a snow woman to be the cause.

The science part is interesting, because several chapters detail efforts by Takahashi trying to explain the physiology of the Demi-Humans, drawing on folklore for insight and the scientific method to explain "how" they function, without asking "why". In Magical Realism, whys have never been the point anyway.

And so we have a Cute Girl anime that stands above and beyond what is generally expected of the genre. By having the willingness to introduce other characters in the mix, we experience something a bit more different in how humor is constructed and how conflict is resolved. True to its efforts to ground itself through science, the warmth comes off even more genuine and realistic.

Best Sci-Fi/ Fantasy: Little Witch Academia

Better than Harry Potter.

What started off as a crowd-funded film about a young girl aspring to become a great witch, has turned into a full-blown series as it should have from the start. It carries with it all the trademarks of Trigger: Stark and clean character design, slick animation, and a wild ride of a story. Whereas previous works were about killer clothes and literal shared experiences, this one is a straight-forward romp into the realm of fantasy.

Except, while the premise is straight-forward, the execution has all the majesty and scope of an epic tightly-knit inside the trappings of what is essentially a coming-of-age, high school story. Add a pinch of the ever classic industry versus magic trope, excellent characters and well-realized relationships, and you have something that only ever appears plain and overdone.

Best Girl: Tsukinose Vignette April from Gabriel DropOut

No good or evil, only kawaii.

I have reached the conclusion that in the world of Gabriel DropOut, the one reason neither Heaven nor Hell have made any greater stride against the other is not because of balance, but rather because both are equally inept.

That being said, Tsukinose Vignette April, a demon from Hell, is the worst kind of inept but the also the best kind of character to be best girl: Kind, disciplined, being the one person responsible enough to go over to Gabriel's home to wake her up for school, scared of horror movies, and just... angelic. Compound her difficulty with being the only straight man in a comedy quartet gives her the patience of a saint.

Some people, like Gabriel, could never grasp the responsibility of being a divine being. For Vignette, she was just unlucky enough to not have been born to a role she's a natural in: that of a normal human being.

Best OP: "Shadow and Truth" by ONE III NOTES from ACCA: 13-Territory Inspection Dept.

"It's never really what it seems."

In the latest of slice-of-life/ food/ mystery anime is ACCA: 13-Territory Inspection Dept, where Otus tries to do his job as inspector in what is ostensibly a Fascist state that is under rumors of a coup.

Of course, the general goal of any good OP is to draw the viewer into the show and communicate what they'll come to expect from it. And for a show with such style and class it's masterful to pick a song that blends hip-hop and jazz as the vocalists rap about the hazy nature of truth as people play games with relationships and politics into each other.

The striking visuals complement the song nicely, with shots of the various characters shifting in and out of blur and limiting visuals to white, black, and one more color for every scene to evoke a unique feel for every single character and teasing the role they'll play in the show.

Best ED: "Los! Los! Los!" by Aoi Yūki from Youjo Senki, Saga of Tanya the Evil

Bedenke, dass du sterben musst.

An ode to madness and bloodlust, Los! Los! Los! (German for "Come on! Come on! Come on!") is a war speech in song form with very simple visuals: Shots of Tanya's face in various states of anger/ madness, a battlefield, and a few illustrations by the Light Novel's artist, Neichiru. How and when they're shown is where the song melds and gains greater power.

The angry/ mad face and the battlefield are shown and interchange with each other to follow the beat of the song during the chorus, which are commands in German to attack, take cover, or stand in attention.

Neichiru's illustrations take over during the verses, which celebrates war, the joys of taking away life, and surrendering your own life to your country, which the song sees as a great achievement, good enough to reach heaven for by building dead bodies one atop another.

Listening to the full song is recommended , as it expands on the nihilism even further, calling for those who advocate peace as weaklings and calling for ceaseless violence and depravity akin more to Heaven rather than Hell.

For its dark and horrifying thesis (sung with the voice of a young girl), the song would not be out of place in a battlefield setting where you know there is no way out, so you might as well go and fight and relish every drop of blood spilled, whether your own, or your opponents.

[gilstrad-sanbox]

In the ranks of the vampires, blood is always thicker than water. While it is the fountain that which flows through them and keeps their new life akindle, it is also beyond the symbol of the pact that they share as it is the pact itself. All vampires are connected through their progenitors, their makers, and the sires that they have surrendered their loyalty to in exchange of their vampiric nature. But while siring is just as simple as an exchange of blood, every vampire is beholden by rules that they adhere to not because they are submissive, it’s just that the rules ensure their survival – after all what is the use of the eternal life of pleasure and indulgence when one shall fall too quick and too easy? And so as vampires have come and go in the lands of Gilstrad, it is known that four vampire clans reign supreme and all of them have had their own territories within the mountains of Storvoss. But lately, there have been a rumors spreading around about a new clan is slowly growing in number, something that might threaten the balance that these three ancient progenitors have been striving to keep.

THE BLOODLINE OF THE MARQUIS GRIMALDI

The Grimaldus as everyone know them collectively, is the biggest and oldest vampire clan in Gilstrad and thus the most prestigious. Some say that it was because of their aggressive siring of humans from noble blood lines that have garnered this reputable esteem, though some say that it was more because of the fact that they weren’t picky; which in the end have proven beneficial to them since among all the clans, it is known that they have kinsmen throughout the lands that it is rumored that there are Grimaldusmen among the nobles of Highhost. But the most interesting rumor about the vampire clan is that their population has blurred the visibility of leadership. It is very much a natural course of socialization that there are little groups and factions within the clan and killing each other wasn’t unheard of. But still, the line remains unbroken because in truth, no one knows who the main progenitor is. Little was known of the real Grimaldi line and the marches that they own under their name. Some say that maybe it was a cover so no one would know his real identity since even the vampires say that the Marquis probably lives in the Foglands instead of their main stronghold of Zargossa. Either way, he seems to take pleasure in the politics between his ranks just as much as how the mere mention of the Grimaldus name brings a chill down the spine within every men and women in Gilstrad. Their bloodline is known for having greater mastery in glamer that the old vampires of the Grimaldi line can put a whole group under their mind’s power, even have a hypnotic hold on their victims forever.

THE BLOODLINE OF IVANOV MARKOSHA

If anyone has bolstered the reputation of the Storvoss Mountains, it would probably be the marauding vampires of the Markoshan line. With their grip very much firm in the lands of the Chasm and Ceresza, they are known for attacking caravans and even small villages with such boldness due to their greater talent in mastering the discipline of vampiric levitation. It is known that they have tapped onto their form of swarming bats to make them grow actual wings on their backs. It is with this talent that there are desolate mountain-castles that people take caution of riding along by in fear that they are Markoshan strongholds.

THE BLOODLINE OF KATARINA FEROVNAREN

Indulgence and luxury are the things that the Ferovnarens are known for as no one throws a party like the Great Lady Katarina – which was ironic as legend has it that Katarina was a woman with great devotion to the Cathedral that was enough to spur her into becoming a nun. But she went missing one night in the very confines of the convent, never to be seen again – until that red full moon some years after her disappearance, already turned into the monster that she is today. The Shadow Lady’s influence is quite bold as she was the one who conquered Balwar and the Fallen Lands around it. But her grip is stronger within Gleamring and Ortensia, doing business to fund her lavish parties that sometimes turn into darker and more carnal fairs of blood revelry. Though for the unchosen nobles, they attest to such mysterious balls as so grand and indulgent – that while some go out of their way to take part in it in hopes that they get turned, most just come to it to experience such a sophisticatedly excessive affair. Some say that in Draav, her throne room is nothing but a giant pool of blood that which everyone can take part in as if it was some sacred yet celebratory communion with her. And while her masques and balls that the unknowing nobles close off to the public and even to the eyes of the Cathedral serve as their effective cover, they are also known for their elusiveness even in the streets as the bat isn’t just the only animal that they can turn into. The Ferovnaren elders can also turn into a cat, a wolf, a snake, and rat.

THE BLOODLINE OF ALEXANDRAS DEGUILLE

They are the reason why some people think that there are only three vampire clans that are keeping the balance of their politics within their ranks as the Alkerion vampires take no interest in such endeavors. What they do like to take part in, is business and endeavors of the coin. In a way, among the clans, they are the most ingrained within human society – so much that it is rumored that Alexandras himself is rooted in the very core of Gahvol and that he is actually the one who owns the whole enterprise of the blood trade. Some say that it was because Alexandras’ human life was spent at seas as he was a pirate captain with a stout reputation and now he couldn’t just part with it even in his transcendence into who he is now. It’s also rumored that he and his clan are the ones in the Cliff and they take pleasure into hunting down settlements and caravans that think that they are already safe from harm. They even creep up to Ordhovh and Reislach to indulge in these whims. It is probably with this skill in blending in or in Alexandras’ seafaring nature that had made the bloodline master a fine skill in transfiguration: the mist form.

THE BLOODLINE OF THE EXALTED

The new bloods. The Bloodline of the Exalted is a new clan of vampires of unknown origin, much more an unknown stronghold. But they have made their presence known with their own brand of aggressive attacks on the human population; a kind of massacre that leaves the dead piled up or skewered in spears or posts. Some say that these vampires have a connection to an infernal to which they have offered their devotion in exchange of such a nature, and the dead that they feed from are ceremonial offerings to empower the demonic deity. The Cathedral seemed convinced as no new vampire clan would be so bold unless they have a backing of such kind. And the already established vampire clans are not too keen on such reckless and arrogant group of vampires either. The story that is closest to the truth is that their paramount elder offered his whole bloodline for the power that the vampires have as he is too proud to be turned and end up to be subservient to his progenitor. And while his whole clan was either perished or turned into vampires themselves, there are rumors that the very last of his blood is living in Gilstrad with an oath to hunt them all down.

THE UNCLANNED

The Unclanned are a kind of vampires that have succumbed to the transition’s monstrous side that they have turned into it themselves: they have no agelessness as their skin turns white and wrinkled like leather. Their hair turns white as well until they fall, their ears turn pointy while their claws grow longer and their teeth turn into a row of jagged fangs. They completely abhor the light and their free will ebbs away along with the talents that come with being a vampire until they become merely cowered husks of who or what they once were. They only know hunger. They only know the need to feed over and over that they cannot share their blood for someone else to change. No one really knows how the Unclanned has come about – some say that it was because they lost their progenitor either by the hands of the Cathedral or by another vampire and such a thing have severed their lineage to the clan and made them lose their grip on their nature while some say that they were traitor vampires who pledged allegiance to a demon, only to turn into such macabre vision.

THE SANGUARSBANE

The Sanguarsbane are not vampires nor are they affiliated to the Cathedral or any other provincial ruling power. They are just a group of humans who took it upon themselves to do one thing: to rid the lands of Gilstrad of the vampires. They are proficient fighters and survivalists who have all been trained by the ones who came before them and they all usually converge in their lodges that are in each archpriory of the city – though it is known that their main grounds are somewhere in Bardelven as it is near the northern regions but at the same time, still teeming with the living wood. No one knows how they work, or their chain of command, but with their mission to kill those who prey on blood, no one really cares either. As long as they kill a threat to the lands, no matter how specific, it’s better than nothing.

Jonathan Wickham is one of the Sanguarsbane and while he’s not the leader, he is one of their most elite.

Radomir ‘Reid’ Abramas is a vampire hunter with a rather twisted past as he is the last blood of the paramount progenitor of the Exalted. The both of them might be apart by many generations and Reid has already been a descendant of such a diluted bloodline, but as the vampire offered his whole line to his quest of power, Reid is still part of the curse and it was something that he could not deny as the darkness of it has left a fragment that manifests a monstrous transformation that sometimes occurs in his hand. He has now made it a mission to find this ancestor of his in hopes of ending the curse once and for all.

[takebackthedream]

Fat Cat Tuesday: A Commemoration of CEO Excess by Leo Gerard

Fat Tuesday is Mardi Gras, a day of revelry, gluttony, intoxication and showers of shiny plastic beads. It is the party to end all parties because it’s followed by Ash Wednesday, when Lenten sacrifices commence.

Fat Cat Tuesday is the day – Jan. 2, 2018 – on which the boards of directors of America’s biggest corporations handed their CEOs more money than those same CEOs would deign to pay their workers for an entire year of labor, 260 days.

It was a day of revelry, gluttony and private jets for CEOs and worthless shiny plastic beads for workers.

The occasion is commemorated in Britain as well. There, though, it took CEOs three days to accrue more compensation than the total annual wages of the typical worker.

That’s because American CEO pay takes the cake – and we’re not talking Mardi Gras King Cake containing a tiny plastic baby Jesus figure because no Son of God would be associated with U.S. CEOs’ sinfully gluttonous pay packages.

The average pay of Fortune 500 CEOs – a gobsmacking $14.3 million – is four times that of top executives at comparable sized corporations worldwide, according to a study by Bloomberg analysts.

And it’s 265 times what the median U.S. worker earns ­– enabling U.S. CEOs to rake in more cash for one day at the office than the median worker gets for laboring an entire year.

Here’s how it breaks down: The typical CEO at a Fortune 500 corporation got $53,846 for showing up at the office on Tuesday, Jan. 2, 2018. The median American received $44,668 for working the entire year of 2017.

For one day on the job, those fat cats were awarded $9,178 more than all the wages a typical American earned over an entire year. That $9,178 is one fifth of an average worker’s annual earnings.

Given that, it’s no surprise that America holds another dubious distinction: it’s the country with the most cavernous pay gorge between fat cats and typical workers.

It doesn’t have to be that way. In Norway, the top CEOs average $1.28 million in compensation, meaning they earn 20 times what that country’s typical worker does ­ – not 265 times. And yet, somehow, Norwegians attract talented executives to run their companies.

Germany, a country respected worldwide for its success in manufacturing and exporting, manages to find executives willing to work for only 174 times the pay of the country’s average worker.

In addition, in America, workers who mess up get fired, but not CEOs.

Disney CEO Bob Iger is one of those CEOs living in paycheck fantasyland, taking home $37.7 million.  He’s trying to buy 21st Century Fox Inc.’s entertainment assets for Disney. Even if he fails, he’ll get a $27 million bonus. That’s $27 million for a fiasco. It’s a guaranteed bonus of wonderland proportions. Golly gee willikers, Mickey!

Disney has $37.7 million sitting around to give Iger, but charged its theme park workers for costumes. That meant 16,339 Disney Park Donald Ducks and Buzz Lightyears earned less than the federal minimum wage of $7.25 an hour, a violation of federal law. The U.S. Labor Department ordered Disney to repay them $3.8 million.

Looks like Disney tried to get solid gold Mouseketeer ears for Iger out of the hides of its lowest-paid workers. Now that’s goofy.

Non-CEO American workers have been stuck with nothing but shiny plastic beads for decades as their wages stagnated. But the fat cats at the top got more no matter how badly they performed.

Take Goodyear’s CEO Richard J. Kramer. The company hasn’t lost money over the past several years, but its performance has been less than notable. Despite that, the board of directors, for which Kramer is chair, keeps bumping up his compensation. It rose from $17 million in 2012 to nearly $20 million in 2016.

Three extra million over four years. It would take the median worker 67 years to earn the $3 million that the board of directors handed Kramer for mediocre accomplishments.

U.S. Steel Corp. has struggled in recent years, cancelling a planned new headquarters building in Pittsburgh after suffering losses of $1.5 billion in 2015. That year, former CEO Mario Longhi’s compensation dropped 35 percent. Still, the board of directors paid the now-retired CEO $8.6 million for losing $1.5 billion. That takes some steel cojones.

As part of the Dodd-Frank Wall Street Reform and Consumer Protection Act of 2010, the Securities and Exchange Commission issued rules requiring public corporations to begin reporting this year the ratio between the CEO’s compensation and the pay of its median worker.

That’s nice. Really. The more depressing information workers can get about pay grabs by their bosses the better.

More effective in actually dealing with the problem, however, is what the Labour Party in Britain is proposing. If elected to power there, Labour says it would tax excessive CEO pay and disqualify from bidding on government contracts all corporations with CEO-to-worker pay ratios of more than 20 to 1, which is the current pay ratio in Norway.

That’s what America needs so workers receive a fair share of the wealth that their labor creates – in other words, significantly more than shiny plastic beads.