#maybe i just need to figure out how i'd personally like to go about the story from a literary perspective

[wombywoo]

i know you have probably been asked this so many times — but what brushes do you typically use? any helpful videos i can reference to get portraits and overall realism sketching down, maybe ones that you used starting out? or just.. tips overall?

artists like you and m0cktails really inspire me to try and pursue a different route with my art, one that was totally unexpected but pleasantly rewarding when i tried it out!!! you have a great eye for features and overall composition of a piece, i started being a fan due to your ghostsoap art but i honestly think ive started to like seeing your OCs too haha

please don’t feel pressured to answer i know i kind of asked a lot!!

Hey there! I've briefly reviewed some of the brushes I use in some posts here and here! For the most part, I stick to one standard brush, as well as the airbrush and some other 'effect' brushes as I need them. I'm a photoshop devotee, unfortunately 😔, so a lot of my process is futzing around with their admittedly stellar editing tools

Truthfully, I don't have any concrete tips or videos for this sort of thing. I started out as a pencil artist, doing more and more realistic portraits the better I got, and then eventually turned to digital art (a bit reluctantly) So a lot of that was just self-taught; finding my own way how to implement certain techniques, and amassing a foundation that would allow me to draw all the stuff in my brain, lol

As for advice--I'd say to learn how to evolve out of your comfort zone. It's good to know what type of style or subject matter you feel you're best at--this is a natural inclination most artists have, and it informs the pieces your mind wants to create. But try pushing the limits of what you think might be 'too tedious' or 'too advanced'. More often than not, the thing holding your art back is that gut instinct of 'I can't do this, so why bother trying'. I used to feel this way about hands (enemy of the state, confirmed) And yeah, the easy cop-out is to just shove them all in pockets or behind backs etc. But in learning how to overcome that obvious challenge, I grew to really appreciate the way a hand can shape a composition. In fact, I have to hand it to--💥 ✋

Anyway! My next bit of 'advice' would be to go absolutely bonkers nuts with references. Don't listen to any fraud or fool who says using references is cheating !!!!! They lie!!!!! I swear, my art only looks the way it does because I am a reference hound who spends hours and hours on google/pinterest/stock sites for the perfect angle of the perfect pose, just so I can relate it to the image I have in my head.

For realism--look at real stuff! This sounds dumb, but it helps. Start paying closer attention to people around you; their faces, the way the light accents certain things, unique features, etc. I'd suggest figure studies if that's something you're into (I don't do studies, personally, because I just jump into massive pieces and can't do anything simple 😅 welp) but it does help immensely to study humans in real life and try to translate that onto the page

So yeah. Tbh, the best method for improving art is to simply DO IT. And the fact that you're seeking out further advice and tips means that you have some motivation--so use it! Hope this helps <3

[peachhcs]

i also feel like mack and sammy are more similar and will and blarie are similar so the relationships between all of them are just adorable !

going more on will and blarie he also understands her for why she broke up with mack because he gets it especially with him breaking up with sammy

and of course sammy is definitely a sister to blarie

i totally agree. will and blaire will become really close and so will samy and mack. (also in my active era rn so send more requests in and ill answer!)

au masterlist

mack invited blaire and will over to hang out since he wanted them to get to know one another better because they were the two closest people in his life at the moment (besides his family). blaire was more than happy to hang out, especially because she really liked joe's little daughter, ayla. will had nothing better to do, so he made the drive over.

now they were sitting on the back steps of the porch watching mack run around with ayla and river in a game of what the little kids liked to call "tackle the hockey player." will opted out after being chased five times and blaire got a pass because the little two didn't wanna tackle her.

"they love him," blaire smiled watching her boyfriend run around and the kids were screaming his name.

"they really do. they for sure look up to him," will chuckled.

"i'm sure the marleau kids love you too," the dirty blonde said and the blonde smiled to himself. "yeah, they think i'm pretty cool i guess."

"you know mack talks about you a lot. if i didn't know any better, i'd assume you two were dating or something," blaire teased making both of them laugh.

"yeah, we really can't beat those allegations. he's a really cool person. it's cool you guys knew one another before this," will and blaire met each other's gazes.

"did he tell you that i thought he was super annoying and stuck up when he first came to shattuck?"

"i actually don't know a lot about you. mack kept it quiet," the blonde admitted.

"figures. well, my fourteen year old self never thought he was special or anything just because he played hockey. i thought all hockey players were stuck up, no offense," will laughed, "none taken."

"it wasn't until i actually talked to him that i finally realized maybe he wasn't as stuck up as i thought he was. his dedication was admirable and then we just kept hanging out more and more and then one thing led to another.." blaire blushed as her voice faded off. those days at shattuck seemed like so long ago.

"what made you guys break up?" will wondered not knowing how much of a touchy subject it still was. when blaire fell spent he quickly backtracked, "you don't have to tell me. i was just wondering."

"it was a lot of stuff, but i guess i kind of freaked when we were going to different school across the country. i thought he was gonna leave me or something and i wanted to save myself the hurt so i left before i could get hurt," the girl finally explained and will's chest burned hearing how similar that sounded to what happened to him and samy this past summer.

"i know that one a little too well.." the blonde mumbled making the figure skater snap her gaze to him. will stared at their shoes instead of meeting her glance.

"you do?"

"kind of, yeah. samy and i went through something similar. i freaked too i guess. i thought i couldn't be the boyfriend she needed being so far away. i broke up with her at the beginning of the summer and we didn't get back together until i moved to san jose. i get the feeling though. it's one that just consumes you until it's all you think about at night and you have to do something about it to stop thinking about it," will's head hung low. he hated thinking about this past summer and how much he hurt samy and himself thinking he was making the right choice.

blaire stared at him in disbelief though because he described perfectly the feeling she constantly thought about in the back of her mind and how she fought every bad thought she still had about not being good enough for mack and running when things got serious.

"you get it," the girl mumbled and will finally met her gaze. "i guess i get scared of people leaving all the time whenever i get close to them because my mom left and then my older brother just doesn't talk to me anymore," she added when the blonde didn't respond right away.

"i'm sorry. that sucks," he frowned.

"it's fine. i think i'm finally working through it and mack makes sure i know he won't just leave me like that," they looked back out at the brunette still running around with the littles.

"well, you definitely have a super cool boyfriend and now super cool best friend to the boyfriend, so i'm always here to talk about that stuff if you ever want to," will smiled softly making blaire smile back.

"thanks, will. that means a lot. i can't wait to get to know you more and your girlfriend. you two seem like really important people in mack's life," the blonde flushed.

"you could say that, yeah."

"guys, i'm getting tired. someone needs to sub in," mack called from the yard where he doubled over to catch his breath. ayla and river laughed at him.

"i don't know man, i'm pretty beat," will called back.

"maybe it's time we all head inside? i think we're all tired," blaire laughed and stood up. she watched mack convince the two that they should go inside and then they came running to the steps.

"that was rough," mack mumbled when he made it over.

"they're really good at tackling. that will be good for when they wanna send people in the boards," will joked.

"oh, i'm sure joe will love that," mack said and they all headed inside to see what else ayla and river wanted to do.

[brionysea]

if stranger things 5 comes out and they're like 'omg! the upside down has been a product of someone's dark and twisted mind this whole time! it's... WILL!' I'll immediately lose interest

[commanderjuni]

twirls my hair absentmindedly.... i know i say i'll use this character and that character as my commander but making one is genuinely so hard for me! U_U each time i think i got something figured out i end up going to another character or idea.. its a bit fustrating...

[keeps-ache]

little soup cans are some of the neatest things we have, wish there were more soup-can-like things in this world

[musical-chick-13]

.

[desperatecheesecubes]

See the mental unwellness in me is telling me that I should combine all the reading guides for the Young Justice crew together to get the true full YJ reading order, but I feel like that would just immediately become overwhelming. But I might do it anyway lmao.

[medicinemane]

The world is set on prescriptivism and... it doesn't jive with me

[ame-to-ame]

Rereading ayaka is in love with Hiroko senpai!!! Last time I read it I don't think it was finished/I didn't finish it but ack. Now I also want to be in love 😭😭😭

[snekdood]

bitches prolly out here psychoanalyzing my old art on behalf of my abuser to cushion their belief that im a Horrible Person but then dont see the irony when I point out the shitty things my abuser has drawn and how I see it as clear evidence of their mindset and beliefs (of what's okay to do and how to treat people) descending and pairing that along with everything else they've done and it paints a clear picture of how this person got to the point of thinking it was okay to abuse me the way they did and then the people looking for reasons to hate me through my art will act like "they're just drawings !!!" about their art. which one is it. does someones art say something about them or not? or does it only say something about them if you hate them?

[amaranthinespirit]

professor!simon riley ruining his goody-two shoes student cw: teacher-student relationship (all parties are of age) inspired by this post from @ebodebo

you were a good student, an eager to please college attendee that most people couldn't stand. studious and stupidly-smart, studies wise anyway.

most of your teachers liked you. how could they not? you reached the bar in their class, hell, you even raised it. but that couldn't be said about every class you took. you had this one professor who couldn't stand you, and you couldn't either.

professor riley was lazy in your eyes, he didn't give you, the class, enough, whether it was in terms of school work or personality, the daunting man was an enigma, and the epitome of gloom. perhaps he was suppressed with melancholy, but that wasn't your issue to deal with, you just wanted him to give a damn.

but maybe lazy wasn't the right word to label him as because he certainly wasn't, in terms of physique anyway. you shook your head at the thought, disgust crossing your face whenever you caught yourself thinking as such.

he wasn't lazy, professor riley knew his stuff, but you always had to do extra studying outside of his class to even understand the material. it was like you were teaching yourself, and that was not an easy feat.

it also didn't help that when you got one of your exams handed back to you, your eyes were sparked with anticipation as the paper landed on your desk, you couldn't wait to see-

a 69%?

how could this be? you studied meticulously for hours, combing through all the material you were sure was going on the test, but you got a 'd'?

your face was knit with confusion, brows furrowed deeply as you flipped through the pages. every single question marked right, did professor riley suffer from amnesia before grading your test? or rather, when putting the mark on the front page?

you were fuming, glaring up to see that wicked smirk pulling at his lips as your eyes locked. you felt more than petty loathing, more than just not standing him.

it was later, classes are out and no students lingered in the building, but professor riley's office hours remained open, and now you took advantage of it. you grasped your wrongfully marked exam tightly in your fist, creasing the paper under your palm as you stomped into his room.

there he sat, in the dark with only a dim lamp, hunched over his desk grading more papers, wrongfully marking them most likely. he heard the heavy footsteps and the echo that followed you, glancing up at you, a ghost of a smile cursing his lips.

he leaned back in his office chair, the hinges squeaking under his weight as he set down his fancy fountain pen, "evenin', unusual t'see ya durin' m'office hours, what can I do f'ya?" his voice was gruff, heavy with exhaustion and eyes in need of sleep as they trailed over your flushed face.

your body was flushed and radiated heat, chest slightly heaving from the walk over. it didn't help with his gaze on your figure, eyes basically scrutinizing you as you stood in front of his teacher's desk, "sir, i'd like to talk to you about the exam," you spoke through gritted teeth, looking down at him as you swallowed thickly.

you were looking for answers because certainly you found the right ones on your test, but for some reason, he fucked you over. but with the way his eyes seemed to linger, maybe he was looking for more.

though his eyes lit up in realization, a grin breaking out onto his lips as he hummed lowly, looking you over, "ah, yes, was there a specific question y'were lookin' to-"

before he could finish, you slammed the test down onto his desk, the bright red pen that displayed the grade glaring up at him. you acted without thinking, impulsive and brass.

your voice was raised, without a doubt, angry and hostile, "more like the whole damn test, a 68 percent?" you took a deep breath, chest heaving as you cross your arms against it, "i know i did better than a 'd', sir."

he merely scoffed, he couldn't believe the audacity you had to speak to your professor like that. he glanced down at the test before looking back up at you, his eyes betraying no emotion, not a hint of sympathy or kindness behind the amber of his iris, "yeah, y'did." he answered simply.

you looked to him with further confusion, eyes widening ever so slightly, "so why is my grade so low?"

"felt like you needed it." he shrugged it off so casually, it made your blood boil. his audacity to mark your test so low because he felt like it? no, no, felt like you needed it?

you scoffed in disbelief, taking a step towards his desk, "riley-"

he cut you off in correction, "professor. riley." he paused between the two simple words, heavy emphasis. you wouldn't let him see the falter in your expression at his firm correction show how his tone made your stomach twist and thighs clench.

"professor riley," you adhered to his corrections as you took another breath to calm yourself from more than just anger, eyes fluttering shut momentarily. "it's not fair! you can't just give me a bad grade because you feel like it!"

he watched as you raised your hands as you spoke, slapping back down to your thighs as his gaze followed your gestures, lingering at the bare skin of your legs.

you gulped at his heavy gaze, feeling your skin crawl where his eyes seem to linger, goosebumps rising along your even skin. he seemed to notice the way your thighs clenched together, your stiff posture uncomfortable and awkward, fingers flexing at your side.

"but I did, so what do you plan to do about it?" he cocks his head to the side, a silent challenge to you as your eyes narrow. he can't deny that you irk him, such a pretty little thing practically begging for validation, validation he didn't want to give you. he also can't deny the way he fucks his fat cock into his fist, aching and throbbing angrily at the thought of you.

before you can answer his question, he asks another, "d'you touch yer'self thinkin' abo'me, love?" his tone is sly like he's got the upper hand as he leans back casually, elbow propped on his desk.

the question stuns you, renders your english useless as your jaw falls open, looking at him in silence as you can do nothing but stutter hopelessly. though, you can't deny the subtle flutter of your pussy in your lacy underwear, clenching around nothing as slick drools from your slit.

the question grinds the gears in your head, puts you back to the many late nights with your fingers plunging into your drenched cunt, small fingers, imagining they were his lengthy, thick digits, only barely managing to graze that spongy spot deep in your pussy. his name, full of loathe, falling from your lips in a soft mewl as you cum, release coating your skin.

he merely chuckles at your stutters and zoned out gaze, "guess that answers it," his shoulders shake with his huffs of laughs that he disguised as unevens breath, "you're a good student, y'know that? surely, ya do, swee'eart, or ya wouldn't be 'ere."

neither of you speak for a second after his words, letting them hang in the air as it grows thick with tension, tension that's built up since the first day of classes. unbeknownst to each other, you'd been getting off to the idea of one another for weeks, channeling your hatred into self pleasure in a form of denial.

it's weird to finger yourself to the idea of your professor, but he's hot! he's tall, brooding and tatted with a thick accent, not to mention smart. but gross, he's your professor! decades older than you, surely, and not interested in a girl like you, his student, no less.

the tension further mounts, and he decides to speak up when he realizes you aren't going to say anything, still too stunned, "tell ya what, y'can earn yer grade back by givin' me a nice blo'job."

his words are blunt, turning your throat dry, but also making you salivate at the thought, your eyes subconsciously trailing down his button-up shirt down to his slacks. you gulp at the tightness that seems to pull at the material, bulging slightly at the seams.

you don't know what to say. you should say no, and you have no clue why you hadn't yet, why you hadn't turned and ran out the door at such disgusting words leaving your teacher's mouth, but you can't help but feel excited at the thought, oh it's so wrong, but so exhilarating.

still, you can't find the courage to accept the offer, no matter how much you wanted to raise your grade, so you stumble nervously over your words, "sir, I don't know-"

"you're such a goody-two shoes, no?" he asks, eyebrows lifted in confusion. you wouldn't call yourself a goody-two shoes if it was up to you, but you knew that's how others see you, and so does he. "so be a good girl and get on your knees," he finishes, big, veined hands slowly moving to his belt, unclasping it.

the sound fills the empty class, and suddenly your heart's in your throat, and your body's moving on its own. why are you listening to him? do you seriously crave validation so much? from your professor, no less.

"atta'girl," he cooed, gathering your hair in his large hand, wrapping the strands around his palm as he held your head firmly in front of him. he watches your nervous gaze, pretty doe eyes staring up at him with uncertainty. god, you really needed him to guide you, fuelled by guidance and praise. "put yer hands on'me, swee'eart."

your dainty hands slid up onto his knees, fingers drumming against his lower thigh in an anxious outlet. though, despite your uncertainty, you seemed to be guided by adrenaline, going off the hours of teacher-student porn you watched alone in your dorm room when your dorm mate was out.

tracing along the inner seams of his dark trousers, until you reached his crotch. you felt the way he twitched through the fabric at your unsure, naive touch, his bulge tightly straining against his pants.

you felt more confident the more you touched him, especially as his breaths started to get more laboured the higher up you touched and teased him, priding welling up in your chest that only encouraged you further. a sweet smirk on your face as you slowly unzipped his trousers, freeing him from the confines of the tight fabric.

you salivated at the sight, subconsciously biting your lip as you eyed the thick veins that decorated his pretty, pink cock. the sticky pre that coated his boxers, leaking and oozing from his angry tip. he was hard, and hung.

he chuckled breathlessly as the way your throat bobbed, no doubt a nervous gulp traveling down your esophagus as you eyed the size of him. you weren't even sure you could fit your lips around him, much less your weeping pussy that gushed at the sight.

"c'mon, love, 's not a starin' contest, is't?" he joked with a breathy huff, a rough finger caressing your cheek as he eased your gaze away from his engorged cock and back to his honey irises, "tha's betta', baby, keep lookin' a'me with those pre'ty eyes."

your fingers were tentative, sharp fingernails tracing his veins, pupils growing at the sharp inhale he sucked in through his teeth as you studied his cock. he loved your eyes on him, feeding into his ego as if it wasn't big already, gaining silent validation from a girl that fed on academic praise.

and the fact that your fingertips barely met when you wrapped your slender fingers around his thick cock, his self esteem growing exponentially at the sight and blood further rushed down south.

he groaned at your amateur movements, wrist stiff as your smooth palm felt a bit abrasive against his sensitive cock. god, you were so unpracticed and nervous, he just had to guide you, "spit on y'r hand, yeah, good girl," he cooed, his thumb careeming your bottom lip, spreading your saliva across the plush pink.

he couldn't help the satisfied hum at your now slick movements, the way your thumb caught the tip of his angry cock, smearing pre along the spongy head. his head thrown back at the tentative taste you took with your pretty tongue, not missing the small contortion of your features at the salty taste. if he knew he would get you on your knees for him, he would've eaten sweet fruits in advance.

but now he knows for the future, he'll keep his fridge stocked, and maybe slip you a few smoothies to make you that pinch more sweet for when he does get a taste of what's between your thighs.

you were sure you were doing a terrible job, no way any guy would be satisfied with the uneven strokes of your tongue on the underside of his cock, but regardless, professor riley praised endlessly, "yeah, tha'sit, baby," he tugged you closer, causing your lips to wrap around his girth snuggly.

you tried doing what you had seen in porn, but then again, you were too busy imagining the main guy as your professor that now had his cock stuffed in your mouth.

it was embarrassing, downright humiliating because it was so glaringly obvious that you were trying to please him, movements hasty and unnatural as you furthered down on his lengthy dick.

his cock inched further in your mouth, his spongy tip punching the back of your throat all too quickly. it caused tears to brim your eyes and you clenched them shut, sputtering on him as spit pooled from your lips. he pulled you gently back from his dick by your hair, noticing how you'd just frozen up when you couldn't breath with his dick shoved down your throat.

he shushed you, cooing softly as he wiped a wad of saliva that bubbled at your lips, smearing it on your skin as it connected in a string back to him, "know my office 'ours don't last al'night, but surely, 's not'a race, yeah?" he cocks his head to the side, watching your bashful expression as you catch your breath, cheeks flushed and red, "take y'r time, baby, if 's too much, we'll revisit another time, hm?"

you swallow thickly. you didn't want to revisit this another time, you wanted it now. you had fantasized about him for months, even when you convinced yourself you were sick in the head for liking him. since the moment you caught a glance of him, he hadn't left your thoughts, merely convinced it was a behavior that sprung from loathing.

it didn't help that when you first locked eyes, you went back to your dorm and delved your fingers deep in your desperate cunt, clenching around yourself with the thought that they were his fingers instead of your dainty ones.

you just glared up at him indifferently, convinced you could handle it in any semblance of dignity, that you knew what you were doing after all—you didn't, but he didn't need to know. he did though.

he just barked out a harsh laugh, shoulders shaking as he shook his head. it made you want to recoil into a shell, like a hermit, or a turtle, somewhere safer than between his meaty thighs and in front of his meaty cock.

"you're so clueless, swee'eart," he calms down, his chest still rising and falling at an elevated pace, "i know ya'want to raise y'r test score, but bein' sloppy 'bout it isn't gonna help, yeah?" he speaks tauntingly, his tone coaxing and smooth.

he continued, "don't y'think a more thorough job will do the trick?" you hate that he's right. you hate that you have you spend any more time between the sanctuary of his toned legs, dusted with light blonde hairs that grew thicker near the base of his cock, though neatly trimmed, a stark contrast to his dark trousers as it sprouts out from beneath the material.

but he is the professor after all, let him teach you, yeah?

you let out a grumble through your lips, a deep frown remaining on your face as you return to his pretty, swollen cock, tentative licks along the veins as you stare into his eyes. you observe the way his lashes flutter, mumbling with your lips pressed to his sensitive skin, "i'll do it how i want." defiant, causing a rise of infuriated irritation to creep under his skin.

he growls. you just had to be a smartass about it. here he was, being so gentle, patient, and kind as well, for even allowing you to make up those 'lost' points, and all you do is bite back as if you don't want him just as much.

you squeak out as he tugs slightly at your hair, fist tightening in the strands. your eyes widen like a deer in headlights. frozen and doe eyed as you stare up at him, indifferent expression wiped from your face as his throbbing cock presses into your cheek. the warmth from his skin seeps into yours, the hand not in your hair holding the base of his dick, slapping it lightly back onto your face.

"be nice, yeah? i'm being s'generous to let y'make up these points in the firs' place," he gives a gentle nod of his head once, his expression firm and eyebrows raised as he studies you, "don't be a brat, doesn't suit you." with a final slap of his cock to your face, he loosens his grip and lets you go back to ministrations, patience returning now that you're back to the sweet and docile student you were a few minutes ago.

he hums pleasantly as you trace your pretty tongue along his veins once again, his calloused hand rough against your cheek as he smeared the saliva left from slapping his cock against your sweet face, rough enough to move and tug your face in different directions.

you just ignore his touches, lavishing on his cock as you kiss up and down his shaft, taking your time before you even attempt to wrap your lips around him again. either way, he seems to be enjoying the view, the tiny glimpse of your thighs twitching causes his to flex on either side of you.

soon, you have your swollen lips back around the tip of his drooling cock, still oozing gooey globes of pearly pre that tasted salty on your tongue. certainly an acquired taste, that is if you end up back between his meaty, muscular thighs, which you try to convince yourself you wouldn't be. this was a one-off thing, for your grades.

you aren't sure how you look in the moment, but you have a feeling you look a mess, hair frizzy, tousled and tangled around his fist, slurping on his cock with lewd sucks as drool drops to the ground with small splats. god, it really is filthy how ruined you already looked, such an innocent thing reduced to a professor-sucking whore.

his eyes stayed locked on yours, his pupils nearly blown completely as his iris is barely visible, replaced with a black void, or maybe his eyes are just that dark. you couldn't tell with your hazy vision staring back. your ears rang, but you didn't miss the way he sounded more desperate, increasingly vocal as you lavished his throbbing cock, reveling in the way it twitched against your pink tongue.

you only whined as he gently bucked his hips up against your face, cock pistoning to the back of your throat with light gags until you felt thick ropes of warm, creamy cum spill inside your throat, forcing you to swallow the salty substance.

it didn't dawn on you that you just gave your professor a blowjob until you pulled off his cock, positively ruined and lips coated thickly in saliva, now being layered with his spend as he rubs his cockhead against your lower lip. you looked frozen in shock at your actions, subconsciously licking the saltiness from your lips as you peered up at him, stroking himself a few more times for good measure, milking his release before storing his now satisfied cock back into his pants.

he just cradled your face after, pulling a handkerchief from one of his drawers to wipe your face and help you stand, cooing with praise as he did so. once you got back to your two feet, he handed over the cloth for you to tidy your appearance with, not taking notice when you slipped it into your back pocket.

your dainty fingers went to the first button of your cutesy blouse, only for embarrassment to creep up onto your face as you watched him shake his head, tsk'ing with a small huff as he spoke, "sorry, office hours ar'over, swee'eart, come see me t'morrow if ya need s'more clarification on yer grades," he pauses, a cocky smirk on his face as he glances up at you, his head tilted downwards now as he turns back to grading papers, "or if ya wan't'do more t'raise it..."

bastard.

[felassan]

David Gaider on Fenris, under a cut for length:

"Fenris. Now, DA2 is a story all on its own but I'm not going to go there other than to sum it up as "we had just over a year and a half to make this". It's why I only wrote one follower, Fenris, and although it'll make his fans mad: I probably shouldn't have. Let me explain. The way we'd approach making the followers is brainstorming a list of concepts covering first the array of gameplay classes (and sub-classes) and then making sure they each have some skin in the game when it came to the story's conflicts - ideally having characters on both sides of the major ones. Why? You can't make a player care about the world, but you can make them care about characters who care about the world. It's the easiest way to provide hooks into a conflict, outside of it knocking on the player's door. Heck, it's probably better than that. Players will burn the world for approval. After that, we'd decide things like romances/sexuality. Then the writers would pick who they'd write. I always let my writers pick first. I figured they do their best work when it's something they're inspired to write... and they got so few chances at ownership, I wanted to give it whenever I could It's why I (reluctantly) let Patrick wrest Cole from my grasp in DAI, a character I'd created in Asunder. It's also why I let Jennifer take Anders in DA2, who I'd started in Awakening. In this instance, it meant I was left with the angry elven warrior character who nobody else appeared to want."

"It should have been my first clue that something was up. The second was how the artists had zero clue what to do with him. The art concepts were all over the place - from mages to crows to... well, even weirder. No matter how hard I tried to explain the idea, the artists simply didn't seem to get it Does this mean he was a bad character? Not exactly. Just an idea that probably deserved some re-examining. You can tell when an idea has a certain spark, and part of that is being easy to communicate. Sadly, there wasn't time for any re-examining even if it'd occurred to me. And it didn't, not yet. If it had, if I had time, maybe I'd have re-booted him as a templar. Someone pro-templar rather than anti-mage, who could give a personal hook into Meredith and give the templars some badly-needed humanity. But this falls into the shoulda-woulda-coulda category. I had a follower to write. Quickly. I struggled, at first. It was hard to get away from "Fenris hates everything, all the time". It felt very one-note, and I didn't know where to take him. My third clue, I guess. I also wasn't sure if I was the right person to write a former slave. I did know that couldn't be the center of his story. I did know trauma, however. How it can eat you up. How the hate and resentment is like drinking poison and hoping the other person dies. How it can infect your relationships. Fenris's trauma isn't my trauma, obviously, but here I dipped into a more personal part of myself than I'd ever done before."

"It gave me the center of his story I was missing, but wow was it uncomfortable. In a good way, maybe. I likely wouldn't have, if I hadn't been so desperate. In a way, I think DA2 had some of our best writing *because* of the timeline. It was raw, with little time to sand down the interesting parts. I wouldn't have done the "Fenris doesn't talk to you for three years" thing if I'd known we were going to cut all the reactivity initially planned for the time jumps. When that call was made, I campaigned to cut the jumps to a year, but there was no time for the revisions it'd need. So, um. Awkward. I used to get asked where the name came from, and I... don't remember? Obviously it's derived from Fenrir, but I don't recall why we picked that. Someone pointed at Fenris the Feared from Joe Abercrombie's books... and I did read them, so maybe the name lodged in my head? Wouldn't be the first time. Casting Fenris turned out to be easy. He was the first time I requested a specific VA and got him. (The other times were Merrill and then Solas, my two "I want these specific Welsh actors, please".) Why? OK, if you must know, I'd played a bit of Final Fantasy XII. I heard Balthier. "Yes, that." 😅 And Gideon Emery was a delight, as it turned out. Consummate professional, and that lovely gravel in his voice... good god. Bite the knuckles. There was a struggle to find the voice at the outset where I did my best not to say "just pls do Balthier" but he found Fenris on his own and it was amazing. Overall, Fenris turned out better than he had any right to, considering the rocky start. He had a lot of soul, a vulnerability forged by pain that struck a chord with a lot of players, and I'm glad. Do I regret anything? Probably having him live in a corpse-filled mansion that would never update. That's a hindsight thing, though, as again the cut to reactivity over the time jumps came late. Outside of that, maybe letting the player give him back to Danarius? Poor shock value and a waste of resources because almost nobody took the option. Good evil options are ones that are tempting to take. And the lyrium tattoos. Interesting concept, but they're probably why you'll never see Fenris in a future DA. He requires a custom body, and the tattoos make that expensive. It's why I put Fenris in my 4th DA novel - the cancelled one. Don't fret, though. He died in it, so this way he lives on. 😉"

[source thread]

User: "Wait wait how does he die in [the cancelled novel]??" David Gaider: "Gloriously, after taking up a cause he didn't believe in at first but then made his own, one that allowed him to rediscover what it meant to be elven." [source] David Gaider: "I’m not sorry about the novel cancellation. I’m the one who cancelled it. I am kinda sad we couldn’t make it work, though. Considering it was after I left the DA team, it would have been my final DA hurrah." [source] David Gaider: "From my perspective, it was kind of "well if you're never going to use him again, let me at least give him a proper send off" and the story required a glorious death... but I get that's not the story his biggest fans would want (which is Hawke + Fenris 4ever), so it's just as well." [source]

User: "You all did some incredible work with such a tight deadline" David Gaider: "I'm of the opinion that even if we'd had only another six months to bake, DA2 would be remembered as a classic and not either a flawed gem or underbaked sequel, depending on who you ask." [source]

David Gaider: "Just to clarify the "they're probably why you'll never see Fenris" thing, as it's spawned commentary: 1. It's the reasoning as was explained to me back then. 2. Obviously, if Bio *really* wanted to, they'd find a way around it. But it was a complication that meant he couldn't be included casually." [source]

[queenkatluv]

Impersonations

Hi, Kat here! Usually, I don't interact in the community openly. I do scroll through Tumblr, YT comments, Discord, etc whenever I get the time, just because I love to see how people feel about the series/episodes/characters. I'm no stranger to people pretending to be me/Davis/Reed on other socials. There's not much I can really do about it but spread the word and hope people will figure it out on their own! But what really surprised me was a certain account on TikTok. I won't be spreading the account as I don't want to ignite anything, though it would be relatively easy to find them once I describe the material they are posting. Someone has been impersonating Davis, not correcting people who think it's the real them (from what I can see in their comment section) and post sexually graphic material. Some of their comments are...questionable, some of them seeming to be sexually directed at minors or myself. Implying things such as 'liking them young' or finding sex toys in my bedroom. This in of itself is very worrying, and I would like to let people know that Davis DOES NOT HAVE ALTERNATIVE ACCOUNTS! SAME WITH ME! The fact that there are some people under the impression that Davis would behave like this is upsetting, and we have tried reporting this account/specific videos but have had no success. Hence why I'm trying to spread the word to not believe everything you see online! I'd also like to take a moment to be real here. I understand that as a person with a following online, I have no control over what people say about me or do with my pictures/persona in private. But the amount of accounts that I believe belong to minors openly sexualizing me is really disturbing to me. I realize there's not much I can do about that, and in all honesty I don't mind characters I portray to be sexualized (as long as they are adults) but it's very different when it's ME, MY FACE people are sexualizing. Maybe that's something I need to get used to as a micro influencer (haha) but it makes me uncomfortable. This is not me calling anyone out (aside from that one TikTok account owner, I hope you read this and kindly either stop or clarify you aren't Davis/it's a strange joke) but I want to let people know my boundaries. Thanks for reading! I'll go back to lurking!

[inbabylontheywept]

Weird Grandpa Dale Story #1

The day started with me digging up cactus. Grandpa Dale had a weird beef with cactuses, bad enough to pay me 10 cents for every pound I turned in. Looking back at it, I think they offended him because they could exist without his consent: They didn't need his water, they didn't need his fertilizer, and they certainly didn't need his permission. 

And that, he simply could not abide. 

Grandpa Dale had been doing something weird that whole morning. I knew because I'd been able to watch him since sunrise. Every time I took a break from digging cactus to look back at the house, I saw him doing something with the gopher holes. 

That made me nervous. Things never went well when he started messing with the gophers.  Earlier that month he'd tried gassing them out, and all he got from that effort was nasty looking blisters up both arms. He almost never complained about anything, but he griped all day about how bad those blisters hurt. When his wife suggested that he go to the hospital he said No, what am I gonna tell them? That my trench got overrun? They wouldn't buy that. They'd think I was cooking meth. 

Which was funny to hear, but also, true, and also, enough for me to know better than to get involved in future gopher battles. 

Which is to admit that I did get involved. But I should've known better. A few hours in, he invited me over, gave me a cold soda, and showed me what he had set up: Two camping chairs, a wicked sharp shovel, a car battery, and a long length of copper wire leading to a pit he'd dug in the middle of the yard. Told me that if I stayed a bit and took a break, cooled down there with a soda in the shade, I'd see something amazing. I asked him if there was even a chance I could get hurt by this "something amazing", and he said "no," which I knew was a bald faced lie. But I believed him because I wanted to believe him. Because I wanted to know what he'd done, and I wanted to sit there in the shade with my grandpa. I also figured, hey, maybe getting gassed taught him a lesson. 

(Never, ever assume that the kind of person willing to break out chemical weapons against gophers is capable of being taught a lesson.) 

So I sat down in my chair and he beamed at that. He loved having an audience. Then I watched him lean forward and tap the ends of the wire against the battery terminals.

And that's where everything went wrong.  

The first thing that hit me was the yard itself. Little bits of sand and grit flying fast enough to hit my skin and bite. It took a year and change for all the little bits to work their way out. But I didn't even feel it at the time, because of what happened after. 

I genuinely think he'd imagined the gophers getting launched out of the holes, disoriented but alive. I think that shovel was there to finish them off afterwards. Which also would've been traumatizing, but probably less so than watching each of those cute little gopher holes projectile vomit bloody piles of tattered critter all over the lawn. 

Which, spoiler alert, is exactly what happened. The sky fell down, and the ground flew up, and the gophers found themselves with nowhere to go. So they did the next best thing and went a little bit everywhere.

I don't think it was actually silent afterwards, but I couldn't hear shit. There was just this long, ringing period of us looking at each other, then the meat piles, then the lawn crater, then the big buckled section of yard that looked oddly like Rockies just behind us, then back to each other. 

I think I did that two or three times before I felt my shoulders start to shake a little. I was crying. Felt weird to cry and not be able to hear it. Like a tic almost, or the way your body seizes up right before you puke. 

And then I looked at his face, and I saw him mouth a single soundless word: 

Shit.

[cjlouwho]

“Tommy!” Eddie cheered, lifting his drink toward the sky as he spotted his friend walking toward him. “Whatcha doin' here, Man?”

“Figured I'd stop by and see how you were doing, Bud,” Tommy replied. He gave Eddie a pat on the back as he sat down in the empty seat next to him. “You come here alone?”

“Mhm. Needed ta get out. House's too quiet.”

“How long have you been here?”

“Too long,” the bartender interrupted as he walked by. “Was about to cut him off. I already took his keys.”

Eddie's eyebrows furrowed, looking around the bar counter. “Hey! You took my keys.”

“I got him,” Tommy said, giving the bartender a nod. “I gotta say, at least you're talking better than you're texting. I was worried.”

Eddie's face scrunched up in confusion. “Huh? I never did texted you.”

“Oh, I beg to differ.” Tommy fished his phone out of his jacket pocket and went to his messages. “'Buuuuuuuck, lezz drink, Buddy.' Then five minutes later, 'Bruck, why rn't you at bar? I waiting.' A good two minutes after that you sent me your location with an angry emoji. Then, and this is my personal favorite, 'Loser too busy kissy kissy with Tummy to be a friendship.'”

"Huh. Thought I was textin' Buck.”

“Yeah, I pieced that together.”

“So where's Buck if you're not kissy kissy?” Eddie asked, his final drink sloshing over his fingers as he attempted to bring it to his lips.

Tommy took the drink from Eddie and set it back on the counter. “Evan is watching Jee overnight so Howie and Maddie can have a night away. So, you wanna talk about whatever's bothering you? I mean, I could take a guess, but...”

“Nah. No, no, nope. I wanna,” Eddie pulled at the collar of his shirt. “Lessgo karaoke, Tomboy-”

“We're not calling me that.”

“I wanna sing to the rooftops,” Eddie continued, his words slurring more and more with each sentence. “I wanna. I wanna be, you know, be free, Tommy. I don't have a rea-,” he hiccuped, “reason to get back home.”

“Really? Seems like that's exactly where you need to be right now.”

Eddie's eyes widened, like he'd thought of the best idea in the entire world. “Let's go to Peeping Tom! That's your name!”

“Peeping Tom is a gay bar, Eddie.”

“I don judge.”

“A very kinky, fully nude gay bar,” Tommy clarified.

Eddie squinted, deep in thought. “No karaoke?”

“No karaoke.”

“Well, then were we go? Don't say home!”

“Home.”

“Ugh,” Eddie groaned, allowing Tommy to wrap an arm around his back and help him up. “You're like a no- no fun dad. Wish I'd texted fun dad.”

Tommy gripped onto Eddie tighter as he stumbled while taking a step. He sighed. “Maybe next time.”

*****

When Eddie woke up the next morning it was to a pounding headache and blinding sunlight coming through his window. He was nauseous and his mouth tasted like a mixture of gasoline and mouthwash.

He laid there for a few minutes, trying to figure out what happened that made him feel so unbelievably ill.

After a few failed attempts, he finally rolled out of bed and made his way into the kitchen to fix himself some coffee.

He froze when he walked through the door to see Tommy sitting there, reading the newspaper.

“Good... morning?” Eddie started, confused.

Tommy set the paper down. “Morning. Sleep well?”

“I- I think so, I guess. It's a little blurry.”

Tommy hummed. “Not surprising. Coffee just finished, if you want some. Your couch is not comfortable, by the way.”

“Buck's never complained.”

“Yeah, well, he's easier to please than I am.”

Eddie was too hungover for this. He had so many questions, but for some reason the first one out of his mouth was: “Where'd you put my shoes?”

“In your closet.”

He grabbed himself a cup for some coffee. “My keys?”

“We have to go pick them up at the bar today, along with your car, obviously.”

“You didn't close my curtains last night. Woke up thinking I was being interrogated by Ice T.”

Tommy sighed, leaning back in his seat. “'Thank you so much for getting me home safely, Tommy. Did it hurt your back having to drag me into the house while I belted out Bohemian Rhapsody at the top of my lungs?'” He stood, walking over to Eddie and taking the coffee out of his hand, drinking a big sip. “Thank you for asking, Eddie. I think my back will be okay, but my ears will never recover.”

Eddie rolled his eyes, turning to fix himself another cup. “Thank you for getting me home safely, Tommy. I appreciate it.”

“Mhm. No problem.” Tommy returned to his seat and Eddie joined him at the table. They sat in silence for a couple minutes, taking small sips of their drinks.

Eventually, Tommy set his cup down a little harder than normal, getting Eddie's attention with the clinking sound. “Wanna talk about it?”

“About what? How your coffee tastes like cigarette sludge?”

“I'll take that as a no then.” Tommy checked his watch. “The bar doesn't open until three. Want me to stop by and pick you up then?”

Eddie shook his head. “I can just get an Uber, Man, thanks though.”

“Of course. I'll, uh, let you recover.” Tommy stood and went to leave, checking his pocket for his keys and phone.

As he neared the door, Eddie spoke. “Wait,” he said. Tommy turned back to face him.

“Yeah?”

“Why'd you sleep on my couch?”

“You're my friend,” he answered simply. “You drank a lot. Wanted to make sure you were okay.” He took a step back toward the table. “Are you okay?”

Eddie cradled the mug in his hands, watching the steam rise from the cup. “You don't... How long has it been? Since you talked to your dad?”

Okay, so Tommy wasn't leaving then.

He came to the table and sat down, taking a moment to think about Eddie's question. “About six years, I think.”

“What did he do?” He looked over at Tommy. “To make you stop talking to him, I mean. Unless you don't wanna get into it. In fact, forget it, I shouldn't-”

“Eddie, it's fine,” Tommy assured him. “I don't mind.”

“Okay,” Eddie nodded, sitting up straighter. “So? What happened?”

“It wasn't just one thing,” Tommy explained. “It was a lifetime of things. He's... He's not a good man. I think the catalyst was about a year after I came out. I hadn't been home in awhile, so I decided to drive to his place one weekend. When he answered the door he said, 'What the hell are you doing here?' I told him I was coming to see him and he said, 'What's the damn point in that?' I thought about it for a second and realized that was a good question, so I turned around, got in my car, and left. Never looked back.” Eddie seemed to be contemplating his words, and Tommy could tell where this was going. “It's not the same thing, Eddie,” he said, beating Eddie to it.

“What if he doesn't come back? What I did, Tommy, it wasn't... It was bad.”

“You made a mistake.”

“I cheated on my girlfriend with a doppelganger of his mom, Tommy, and he caught me.”

“Granted, it was a big mistake,” Tommy deadpanned. “But, still a mistake. He'll come around. You gotta give him time.”

“People keep telling me that,” Eddie replied with an eye roll. “That he'll come around. But it's been months of nothing. And it seems like no matter what I do, it's not enough.”

“You're trying.”

Eddie huffed. “I'm not sure getting drunk alone at a bar is trying.”

“I think it shows you care, Eddie. And, yeah, that shouldn't become a habit, but you're allowed to be upset. You're allowed to hurt. You made a mistake, but you're a good dad and Christopher knows that. He will come around.”

“And if he doesn't?” Eddie asked, staring over at Tommy.

“Then you keep trying,” Tommy replied. “You never stop trying. Keep being there, keep sending him letters and getting him on Facetime. Go for a visit. Send him texts. I'm not saying you gotta smother him, but never let him forget that you're there. That's the biggest mistake you could ever make.”

“Yeah,” Eddie took a deep breath. “Yeah, you're right. I just... I gotta keep it up. Let him know I'm here, whenever he's ready.”

“Exactly.”

Eddie looked over at the clock on his stove, 11:32 staring back at him. He had no idea he'd slept so long. “Why don't you call Buck, see if he wants to come over and watch a game? Then you can drive me to my car.”

“Oh, you want me to call Evan? Don't you mean fun dad?” Tommy asked, eying Eddie.

It took him a minute, but the memory came back to him. “I did say that, didn't I?”

“You did,” Tommy confirmed. “Which I'm very offended by, by the way. I'm fun!”

Eddie sighed, his head drooping down. “I know you are.”

“I introduced you to karaoke trivia. I've flown you to Vegas.”

“I remember.”

“I never tried to seriously injure you in the name of love.”

“Which I'm very grateful for.”

“I don't have control issues when I have a clipboard in my hand.”

“Are you just gonna keep listing reasons why you're fun?”

“I once shoved three cupcakes in my mouth at once! Nearly choked to death, but Evan whacked me on the back and everything went down just fine.”

Eddie stood with his mug in hand, pointing toward the living room, “I'm gonna go to the couch. Get more comfortable.”

Tommy followed behind, pulling out his phone to call Buck. “I'll let Evan tell you who bowled a 230 last week. Hint: it was me!”

[kedreeva]

Okay so, I don't think I've spoken of the saga here yet but! Gather round. I shall tell you a long story about the bird I just acquired and why she is VERY IMPORTANT.

At the beginning of last fall, I started looking into quail genetics a little more, because I got tired of not being able to sex my Celadon quail by their feathers. Originally I thought I could kill 2 birds (ok maybe more) with 1 stone and order nice jumbo wild type (which MANY places advertised as wild type jumbo) hatching eggs, and this would help me put some size on the Celadons (jumbo) while also making them feather sexable (wild type). Perfect!

But then I come to find out that pretty much all jumbo lines are jumbo BROWNS, as in they all have the sex linked brown (SLB) gene. So, I was a little confused and a LOT annoyed because I wanted to work specifically with the wild type color/pattern. No mutations just straight, plain wild type.

And EVERYWHERE I looked - major production hatcheries, private breeders through websites, Facebook groups, local swaps, craigslist, e v e r y w h e r e -

People ONLY had SLB.

This spring I came across a video showing about the differences between SLB and wild type and I figured if the person who made it can tell, maybe she will have some. So I looked her up (not in a stalker way, her farm name was stamped on the video and took me to the website), and what luck! She was in Michigan! Upper Michigan, so still a hike, but not California, y'know?

So I shot her an email and explained that I was looking for WT and that her site said she bred them and that people could do local pickup. She responded yeah she's totally got a bunch! And I said great, I'm also in Michigan, albeit far away, but I don't mind driving 7+ hours each way, because I really need actual, trusted WT for sure birds for my celadon project, can I come pick them up?

Cue the most frankly bizarre email chain in my short life. As soon as I mentioned that I was going to drive, or perhaps that I had a genetics plan in place, she got super sketchy and started saying how she hadn't really paid as close attention to SLB vs. WT, that it mattered less than she thought it would when she started, that I shouldn't focus on that either, and also that "fawn celadon is practically unheard of" in the hobby and "you should focus on a clean Tibetan because it's hard to find without roux in it) implying that I should concentrate on those things instead. And concluded by telling me if I really want WT, to contact this other person (why happens to be someone I can't stand). It all sounded VERY much like she didn't have wild type males, after all, and had thought I didn't know the difference so it wouldn't actually matter. But, it does. It actually matters a lot to me.

So I messaged back to say, well, I don't want to do any of those things, I specifically want to work with this set of genetics and you said you have them so I shouldn't have to go to anyone else??

And then she went radio silent for a week. I kind of figured I'd called a bluff, and that she was one of dozens of people I'd contacted who'd said they had WT only to find out they had SLB. I get that it's difficult to see the difference, but this particular person was the president of the American Coturnix Breeders Association or whatever (found out it's actually just a club formed by her and her friends a year ago, so not as impressive as it sounds, considering they don't actually DO anything- no putting on shows, no newsletters, no certifications, no public breeder directory, no finished SOP, nada), so I kind of expected she should know what she's talking about, if anyone does.

Eventually, after a week, she responded that she had been judging at a county fair, but she had a few heterozygous males (WT het roux, which is fine) and she could set a hatch for me for more if I wanted to come at the end of the month, but she's in WI now, not MI. I said sure, since where she was in WI was actually closer than where she'd been in the UP, and we arranged date/time.

The day of, my neighbor friend, Jude, comes with me for company/keeping me awake through the 15 hours driving round trip. It's a pleasant enough drive. We arrived at a cutesy little house on the edge of town that looks like anyone's house in a neighborhood, with a spacious lawn. The person meets us and takes me around the side of the house to a 6x6x1.5 or so chicken tractor, where she's got some male coturnix. She pulls the available males for me to look through and... fam, they ALL looked SLB, to me.

Now, she swore to me up and down that they couldn't be anything except WT het for roux, because of the way she is breeding them. But I've put these birds next to my SLB males and if I didn't have my males banded, I would not ever have told the difference between them. I still picked up 4 of them, because I will give it a go- worst case, I can produce plain Roux hens/plain Roux males for use in breeding later, best case they do actually produce WT hens and they just LOOK SLB and I have to figure out what the differences are. I don't want to leave without seeing her hens, which she has told me are all WT (which is why the males HAVE to be het for it), and she takes me back. Now the hens, the hens are easy to see the difference. White bellies first of all, but the chest feathers are also wildly different! The shafts are white, the dot around the shaft is dark, ringed in red, ringed in white. On an SLB, the shafts aren't white, it's just a black dot surrounded in a red feather, and the belly is all red/buff/cream, not white.

This is what an SLB hen looks like:

So I take a nice long look to memorize the color, and thank her for showing me and meeting, and we head back home.

I do fecals when I get home because all of the males are VERY thin, no meat on them at all, and since she said she'd been feeding Purina (garbage for fowl feeds), I figured that was why, but no- HUGE coccidia loads in all of them. So I treated them and got them on a better feed. They immediately began putting on meat, and they're find now.

The rest of this summer, I have spent going to local bird swaps and inspecting all of the quail I could find, hoping to find one (1) actual wild-type phenotype bird. Hundreds and hundreds of birds, I have pawed through them all, being super obnoxious to the owners I'm sure, holding and inspecting males. I found ONE suspected WT male (and this is a HUGE "suspected," he could very well be SLB with low red expression). I compared him when I got home and I'm doubting myself still, so I don't know if I will ever actually pair him with the SLB hens or if I'll just wait til I have a roux set.

Regardless, it's been a dry season for getting what I want. It's been a dry YEAR. Yesterday was another swap and more hundreds of quail and me pawing through all of them.

Until.

My eyes landed upon.... her.

If you've only lived in an area that has american crows and not ravens, you find yourself wondering if crows are ravens. You see a big crow and you think wow! maybe that is a raven! It could be a crow, but it's seems bigger so maybe it's a raven. But, if you take a trip to a place with ravens, and you see one for the first time, you realize that there is no question, when you see a raven. When you see a raven in person, there's no question and not only is there no question, you wonder how you could ever have thought a crow was a raven. It's laughable, while looking at the raven.

That's how finding this bird felt. I'd been picking up every SLB hen and going maybe this is actually WT? It could be SLB but maybe it's WT? But the second I laid eyes on her in the middle of a pack of SLB with some mixed colors, I knew I was looking at WT hen, and I can't imagine how I ever thought maybe an SLB hen was WT.

Here's a better photo of her chest and belly (she's beat UP from her previous home, the back of her head and most of her rump are plucked clean from males). You can see the white shafts and the white belly.

And some other pics of her, showing the grey-brown on her side and back- VERY different than the SLB hens

I can't express how stoked I am about this bird. This is the first time after a LOT of effort and time, that I have felt confident I am holding the bird I want.

She's also the indicator that I have a LOT of work ahead of me.

My end goal is to have birds that look like her, weigh 12-14oz, and lay large, blue eggs. I have birds that lay large, blue eggs, I have birds that weigh 12-14oz live weigh, and now I have at least 1 bird that looks like her, which means I can make more that look like her. The first step is cleaning the color mutations out of the celadon line without losing the celadon eggs. This is going to be a bit of a nightmare, BUT, I have a friend helping me out with getting a few celadons that are either WT or SLB (I'm guessing SLB all things considered) to start the work with. I will work over the winter to get a few more actual WT birds here, and to start crossing out the celadons with the SLB jumbos to clean out the other feather color mutations. Once I'm down to just SLB and celadon for mutations, I can clean the SLB out with the WT and roux lines.

This project will likely take me a good 2 years, maybe 3, to complete and then test breed to ensure I haven't lost the celadon gene and I don't have any hidden recessives lingering about. But just having the fucking materials to do it all on hand now is a huge step forward from where I was when I decided to start the project.