#though drawing tense scenes like these are always an interesting exercise

[mewkwota]

Curiosity killed the █████

This is meant to stem from the bottom-left shot from this upload. I don't go into much specifics with how it occurs, but if Geo were to follow that curiosity, he may uncover more than he had meant to.

Again, this is totally hypothetical and considered a "bad end". No one is supposed to know about it.

[ohnobjyx]

I've seen so many sol0 fans or just people that have watched cql and cares for the cast, talking about how they feel that bjyx is something one sided and unrequited. some comments about how xz (in the later fan meetings) is kinda just patiently indulging yb but clearly was not v happy about it. Sometimes I do think xz is more reserved and seems to try to "tame" yb to be more discreet about their, whatever it is, thing but i don't particularly think he is cold? What do you think?

I know it may sound odd but is there some analysis about Xiao feelings towards Yibo? I mean this guy is head over heels for him, no doubt about that but I don’t really feel the same from Xiao? I mean I could be wrong since I’m new there and didn’t read a lot of analysis so if you have some can you link them please? Thank you! And I don’t ask this in a « wrong » way like I genuinely feel like there’s something but I don’t see the same feelings towards each other. Again, I could be wrong! 

Hi, anons. These asks has been sitting for the longest time in my inbox, so I decided to tackle them today (still writing two days later, I’ve desisted on creating a more organized post and I’m just dumping my thoughts here this time).

(It’s also that I’m frustrated about this, because these are two of the most polite ones, but I’ve also received others less well worded ones, that basically imply that there’s nothing from gg).

For the anon asking for some analysis, I’ll leave a link here to a post that basically sums up my own thoughts.

Disclaimer: as always, don’t take bjyx seriously. Pure speculation here.

Long post.

Before I start, I want to say that I shouldn’t be the one to convince you to anything. It’s never my intention to impart the “universal truth” or to be patronising. If any of you really feels that there’s nothing from gg, no matter what I say, you won’t be convinced by my post alone. And it’s alright to agree to disagree. Just keep it in mind.

I feel that what anons describe it’s something that often happens to new bxg. Dd’s so obvious, so painfully obvious that in comparison, gg is much more “discreet” (well, we had to learn to read Lan Wangji’s expressions, didn’t we? The same happens with gg’s gestures). I don’t agree with the idea of dismissing someone’s love just because they aren’t as obvious and as telling as their partner at first glance (gg’s songs and drawings aren’t as straightforward, but they are there for those who care to listen and see).

From my pov, I think it’s very very probable that they are together. So, that works both ways for me. I don’t think dd’s love unrequited. They take care of each other in ways that speak of a high level of trust, intimacy and chemistry (yes, I initially wrote that post for these asks). I’ve talked about subtle ways to display your love, because when you love someone it’s difficult to hide it, and gg has a hard time trying to hide for the cameras.

(I’m still thinking of Happy Camp, when dd hurt his neck with the necklace... gg’s reaction wasn’t controlled in the slightest, and the combination of worry and anger would be a interesting combo if gg indeed wasn’t anything to dd or if he hadn’t gifted him the necklace).

Gg often has a hard time controlling his reactions when dd is involved. He’s much more natural, a lot closer to how he really is instead of his very polite and soft public persona. He get a glimpse of him in the bts (I suppose they never expected CQL to be so popular, and didn’t thought that the bts would be so watched a year afterwards), and comparing how he is in the bts with dd to how he usually is in other interviews and events with other people is a very interesting exercise.

It’s true that gg in the interviews seemed to try to hold back dd, to the point that they both lied sometimes in the interviews... the effect they caused was contrary to what they wanted. Definitely. Because they tended to forget what they had lied about, and the “plot” had holes everywhere. Like gg reacting surprised to the possibility of dd starting a fashion brand. Twice. In the same day. Or the eggplant/carrots thing. Or the “I didn’t know you slept with the lights on, but I’m aware of your sleeping pattern” thing. Please note that these three plot holes were caused by gg (in the second case, I’m refering to carrots ofc).

About what the first anon says of “how xz (in the later fan meetings) is kinda just patiently indulging yb but clearly was not v happy about it”. It’s one thing that by then they’d have noticed that their cp had attracted a whole lot more attention that they had ever expected it to and a whole another thing to “indulge” someone (as if only dd wanted it and gg had nothing to say about it) and “not be very happy about it”. Gg might have tried, but even he couldn’t completely erase all of the little moments directed at dd (and you have to take into account that gg was actually sick in the last fan meeting in Nanjing, that’s bound to affect his mood too).

(There’s no one else when they look at each other. No wonder Wen Ning achieved such a third wheel look when they were filming the boat scene, I suppose it’s taken from real life).

How gg looks at dd and only smirks when dd looks up... well, gg still makes his best effort at being discreet...

And dd in this moment... well, what can one do when a man like gg looks at you like that? (dd.exe has stopped working. Please restart).

Source of the gifs: 仙娱

Last but not least, I’d like to talk a little about W/ibo Night, the main source of many people’s doubts. I’ve seen many analysis, from “poor puppy dd following gg around” (that’s... bs) to some better analysis that deserve to be taken into account.

W/ibo Night is an event organized by a state controlled social media platform. It’s one of the most observed events of the years, with potential future employers and coworkers, apart from the government, so it’s not just them, but everyone is very serious and controlled in their actions.

They obviously had agreed beforehand on how to behave in this one. While dd is very serious, he doesn’t seem angry or sad that gg isn’t looking his way. However, they both can’t help but look in each other’s direction (gg’s more discreet, but pay attention and you’ll see him side glancing at dd at least three times on stage) and the way dd turns just so he can have a look at gg is... 🤦

They tried so hard that it ended up getting the effect they wanted to avoid: when everybody else was greeting each other (friendly hadshakes, patting their backs, etc.) these two just stood there, a little awkwardly. It became obvious to most people that they were acting as if they were strangers.

I think (speculation here) that while they had agreed to act as if they didn’t know each other, gg was... off that night. His eyes were very bright (as if teary, so not in a good way) and his smiles were tense, so I’d say in a bad mood or maybe he was feeling under the weather. I think dd was worried, so that’s why he kept glancing at him (I’ve read about the rumours of why gg was like that, but I tend to dismiss them if there’s no proof).

For someone as polite as gg, to walk so obviously in front of dd when they were getting on stage (c-culture here: the one who walks in front has more seniority/authority, so gg always lets the other people walk in front of him as a sign of politeness and respect), speaks of a familiarity that exceeds that of coworkers. Dd’s actions need no more words: waiting for gg and letting him walk in front comes naturally to him.

Choosing fans (though at first, dd just looks at gg choose his). I don’t know if you remember, but gg chose “I can do it” and dd chose “I have it difficult” (as a way of saying “I can’t”). I think it was entirely a coincidence, because dd was looking at his gg choosing his fan, the one he had wanted at first was taken by another person, so he chose this one as “I couldn’t take the fan I wanted” and “it’s difficult for me to choose”.

However, look at the happy and surprised smile from gg when he notices that his fan and dd’s make a pair (similar to “yes” and “no”, gg had filmed an ad for the event in which he linked this two exact phrases as opposites). A sad spoiler: this is the only time he truly, spontaneously smiles at the event (and notice how dd’s face inmediately mirrors gg’s and how he tries to rein it in a second later). 

I couldn’t find a video, but just before leaving the stage, dd looks at gg again and shakes his fan. Without a single word, gg understands that dd is asking from where to leave the stage, and makes the slightest movement with his fan to point the way. I assure you, this level of 默契 (mo qi) is difficult to find even in established long time relationships.

Once they are seated, gg leaves for a second and tells dd “I’m leaving” and dd answers “okay”. There’d be no need for this interaction unless they’re still friends/couple.

This one broke my heart a little: dd had been sitting on a plastic bottle the whole time. Usually gg clears his seat when dd comes (Nanjing fan meeting, Tencent awards night), probably because he has noticed that dd doesn’t care that he’s sitting on things. Dd left earlier the event because of his schedule, and once gg came back from getting his w/ibo king award, he sits on dd’s seat. And notices the water bottle under him. Even his poker face can’t hide the sad fondness “aiyo this boy...”

Some say he sat in the seat next to dd’s, but there’s a video I can’t seem to find (the despair is real) of gg sitting on the water bottle, so it’s indeed dd’s seat.

Also, you may try to think this from your own perspective: when and why would you sit in another person’s seat in an event as important as this one? If I try to answer this from my pov, I’d say that first I’d need to know that that person wouldn’t mind me sitting there and/or knowing that this person isn’t going to come back to the event. In both cases, it requires communication and trust between these two people. Gg had to know that dd was leaving first (and why would dd tell gg if not because they chat about their work schedules?) and that dd wouldn’t mind once the fancams made it to social media. This is what I think, at least.

Okay, so here ends my post. I just exposed some of my thoughts on why I think yizhan is NOT one sided or unrequited. But of course, you’re allowed to disagree with me, anons, since we are all in the speculation ground here. Nonetheless, note that this is a yizhan/bjyx blog, which implies (at least for me) that there are feelings from both sides, so I may not interact further with one-sided yizhan/bjyx asks.

(BTW, I found a very complete post of moments where yizhan isn’t one sided here, so I decided not to elaborate on those moments in this post).

[nyrator]

another long vent post about depression/anxiety

extremely depressed tonight

first made the mistake of driving myself to the grocery store at 6pm, first I had to try scraping the ice off the windshield with nothing but a broom and bare hands, then driving itself was nightmareish, the car feels like a death trap to me, very loose and sloppy compared to my last car, so loud and uncomfortable with no audible music to calm my nerves. My eyes have worsened to the point where I can’t see anything at night- glare takes up my whole vision, even with anti-glare shades. I was driving well below the speed limit the entire time and still almost hit three pedestrians who were all recklessly out on the roads in all black for whatever reason. My nerves are completely shot from it, my chest feels like I’m in a vice and can’t breathe, my eyes are wide open and hunched over the steering wheel, and my body feels both like I’m about to wet myself at any moment and that I’m too stiff/tense/frozen to function as a human at all, it’s that fight-or-flight response at its extreme. Meanwhile, my skin must be weak- my knuckles bleed when driving, and my wrists bled just from carrying in bags of groceries.

then getting home and just dealing with personal drama of someone I know who is so depressed and self destructive and too smart to reason with, who refuses/is unable to seek professional help, who just doesn’t understand or just can’t help venting to me nonstop, no matter how much I beg them not to over and over- their life is so terrible that suicide seems like the only option to them, and I don’t want them to do so, but I can’t keep suffering like this either and I feel like the only thing preventing them from doing so, as poor a job as I do as a human being anyway. But I can’t help them if they can’t help themselves, even if they were just ate a bit better, or just had a journal or someone anonymous they could talk to, but it seems inescapable and impossible to change anything and all we do is argue over it until I snap at them to leave me alone. That person is probably reading this right now and probably hating it, but I doubt anyone on this site even knows who they are.

Tuesday morning, I couldn’t sleep at all from anxiety- it was so severe and inescapable, I laid in bed for four hours feeling like I was dying until I was finally able to sleep for two hours. I can’t seem to stay asleep longer than two hours anymore. Was supposed to hang out with friends that day, but between lack of sleep, depression, and my absolute terror at driving in a snowstorm, I ended up just staying home.

Anxiety has gotten so bad again. I know a lot of how the mechanics work behind it, I know a lot of pains are from tension and lack of breathing. But my old coping mechanisms don’t work anymore. I can focus on breathing for several minutes straight and then fall right back into suffocating. Music, counting things, meditating, none of it helps anymore.

One way to describe the feeling of anxiety- it’s kind of like when you fall asleep on your arm, and you feel all the blood rushing back into it and that tingling sensation. Imagine that, maybe a bit less, but throughout your entire body (especially chest), your body is stiff and not numb, and your entire body is vibrating or shivering/shaking or something.

I still spend 16+ hours laying in bed every single day. When I got home from shopping, the walking around (and the stress of driving) was enough to send me straight to bed, I was so tired and weak. It’s probably why I don’t sleep properly, I’m half awake in bed all the time, what need is there for sleep

I have mail I haven’t opened, taxes I still have to do, messes to clean, and don’t care for any of it. Can’t even talk about some things I’ve been doing to myself out of spite or general depression, the way I’ve been abusing. I promise to try not to do anything too crazy or directly harmful, but even then I worry about slipping up- I tried one thing I shouldn’t talk about, which wasn’t too serious, but still seriously concerning how easy it was to try doing

still haven’t contacted a therapist, my fear of calling someone is so strong I can’t overcome it, especially not after just waking up. Talked to some friends, some agree that I should, at least one thinks it’s a waste of time and money- up to $125 per session to just get a glorified phone call thanks to covid restrictions. I just don’t see the point if I’m still stuck in my apartment at my computer, especially if I have an internet addiction already.

The lack of doing anything is driving me insane, I think. I’ve played four single player games in 2020- ACNH, KH MoM, Panel de Pon, and Picross. In terms of things watched on my own, probably just Japan Sinks and whatever else was on Netflix the few months I had it. Don’t feel motivated to play or watch anything anymore, nothing seems interesting, and mostly just do things with friends if at all

Even ACNH, the game I play the most, I barely do anything in it- mostly just get new items from stores, that’s it. My island decorating has come to a hard halt, mostly because I barely have any furniture I’d like to embellish it with, and mainly because I have no ideas to layout most of it

I want to create, but don’t have the energy to make anything at all. Rotten Nyan is still my current goal, but anxiety has made it next to impossible to work on. I’ve tried several times the past few weeks, all met with failure- the anxiety’s too much, half the time I don’t even know what’s causing it, but my body just gets too tense and cramped without even doing anything, and I just can’t breathe at all while working on it.

Thought about making an omake comic for it, then realized what a terrible idea it was, and how hard it is to draw comics in general. Or anything in general. Wrote down the entire comic while laying in bed one day, went to draw it, was unable to, tried making it a yonkoma, gave up, and felt sick thinking of all the gross things in it that I just made a vent description of Middle Lave and just posted that to the RN tumblr instead.

I can’t think of any ideas, I feel like my art has regressed- I’ve taken more shortcuts for the sake of my hands tensing so fast from anxiety, and I’ve gotten decent at drawing middle Lave I feel, but anything besides a character standing is impossible for me- any environments or character interactions that I’d love to do just feel impossible, let alone my inability to write good ones. Anything I try to think of writing-wise always ends up the same gross content that burned into my memories that I just can’t feel comfortable talking about much at all, nor do I think it’s content people want to see at all.

There’s a lot of detailed kind of art I’d like to do. I kind of want to loosen my restrictions on myself and just draw whatever suffering I feel like, maybe once I use the RN twitter more I might get a little more courage to do so. I see many artists draw detailed scenes in single images, and no matter how hard I try, I just can’t capture that feeling.

Part of me feels torn about it being an autobiography for people to relate to, and being a suffering experience for people to find some weird enjoyment out of. I feel like I’ve lost sight of what it was originally meant to be and now just enjoy “bullying” Middle Lave half the time I guess, but unfortunately for me, bullying makes me feel like vomiting and is hard to draw consistently- maybe I’m too nice. I don’t know, I’m just rambling at this point. The comic is still laid out and just meant to explore the life of Lave, but it’s just so hard to work on.

In terms of other things, I have no idea what to do

Vtuber/streaming? Hate my voice, can’t focus on learning what I need for it in terms of rigging and texturing models. I only know the basics of making 3D things and nothing else.

Console art? I already designed all the ones I’m mainly interested in, but like I mentioned before, can’t think of any character interactions at all that I feel like drawing.

Making a game? I know 2k3 well enough to make anything in it event-wise, though never got over my map failings, and I can’t commit to anything long-term. Godot or another program, or programming in general? Good luck.

I just want to make something, work on a project without losing steam or letting anxiety prevent me from learning. Can’t focus on anything long enough to learn it- Japanese, making a game, programming, a new hobby, anything. I just don’t have the drive to do anything and will give up anything I even try to start, so what’s the point in even trying anything. I have books I haven’t read that I’ve been meaning to read for years, and still don’t have an ounce of energy to want to even organize them on their shelf, let alone open it

At the very least, I got my first big commission (second one ever), designing an OC for someone, and it’s going well, though tonight I’ve lost steam to finish it, and I hope I can get it back tomorrow to try to finalize it.

I’ve mentioned it before, but I really wish I just had someone guide me with art- I miss doing those 30 day challenge kind of things, or “send a number/emoji” kind of asks for OCs, but tumblr’s so inactive that I don’t see them on my dash anymore, and don’t know how to even look for them, especially not on sites like twitter these days. Though, the problem is, no one knows exactly what I like, and I feel awful letting people down if they ask for something I don’t want to draw

I can’t focus on exercise long term, and I’m so out of practice that exhaustion is too strong to beat. I’ve been trying to walk up and down on a step stool for exercise to get me back into basic movement, but even that’s too tiring. Want to do it while watching something, then I realize, I don’t watch anything at all, not even youtube, just an occasional artist stream that I mainly chat with rather than watch

I feel like I’m going to collapse if I turn or move too suddenly, and my eyes are absolutely terrible- glasses are okay, but without them I’m completely blind now- not just blind, but it’s like my eyes see at two different angles sometimes, like one is slanted or something, very disorientating.

It’s 7:30AM, and no desire to sleep at all. Terrified of laying in bed and letting anxiety take over me again. Part of me wants to become completely nocturnal and just avoid everyone during the day and just respond to messages in the AM hours, just wake up at midnight each day and avoid dealing with people. Go to sleep when everyone starts to get active and just isolate myself entirely from society.

I feel like I exist with no purpose whatsoever, and it’s driving me insane- not that life is meant to have a purpose, but I could at least be doing something more than laying in bed all day every day for a year

[anhed-nia]

i’m a bad writer

at the end of my twenties i quit any kind of superstition or “spiritual” practice cold turkey, because, to be brief about it, it was making me delusional. since then, i don’t even allow myself to read newspaper horoscopes, for fear that it will activate my imagination in an unhealthy direction. so, maybe it’s just because i’m in such a desperate situation with my job that i allowed an enthused coworker to do my chart recently. i’ve certainly had my chart read before, and i understand a little bit about how it’s supposed to work, so i wasn’t expecting too much. looking back at my experiences with astrology, it always amounted to the same interchangeable generalizations about personality, combined with bullshit projections about times of growth and times of challenge. somehow, my rando coworker made herself the first person to really surprise me. we were talking about my rising sign of capricorn, and my scorpio moon. i remarked that i always really objected to the capricorn designation, with its suggestion of being extremely competent and hard-working and even parental. it isn’t just that i find all that shamefully boring, but that i don’t think it actually represents me. naturally, i started digressing about how people usually have this perception of me being capable of *anything* because i’m sooooo smart and talented and responsible and everything--when in reality, i’m absolutely not that bright, i’m terminally impractical, and i’m really only hard-working when i’m afraid of getting in trouble or causing problems. the result of this is not just that i often feel like the bar is set too high for me, but that when i fail at something like maintaining my grades or getting an awesome job or something, then it’s seen as me just not trying, or being dramatic or petulant or something. another related issue is that when people aren’t pissed off at me for these supposedly avoidable failures, then they’re making ludicrous “the sun was in my eyes” excuses for everything i do wrong, no matter how consistently i do the same things wrong, so i don’t always get the support i need to acknowledge my real actual problems and find ways to cope. so, i’m droning on about this, when my new astrologer points out that having a capricorn rising with a scorpio moon exactly indicates the frustrating condition of people not identifying the “real you”--and specifically, people thinking you’re like this effective and upstanding citizen when the truth is that you’re kind of a mess. i had never thought about my personality in those exact terms before, i had just been blindly experiencing it, so hearing her describe me that way totally blew my mind.

it’s with this in mind that i felt like writing down the conversation i had with a friend this morning that turned into a full accounting of my life history of being a bad writer. it began with me casually remarking that i’m good at recounting events, but i have no idea how to build a good fictional story, with interesting characters and a cohesive story arc. this is something i think about a lot, because of various kinds of writing i’d like to do that are just always dreary and embarrassing when i try them. but, even though this thought occurs to me a lot, it was only this morning that i suddenly remembered every time that someone told me i was a bad writer, in virtually every school i’ve ever attended. many of these remarks were inspired by the fact that people expect better of me; i got good grades from kindergarten through high school (because i was excellent at rote memorization and terrified of being yelled at), i have a large vocabulary (more rote memorization), and i seemed really bright in comparison to the (rebellious, neglected, acting-dumb-to-fit-in, or actually kinda dumb) kids at my crappy schools. the truth was that i when i was trying to be “creative”, i was usually just laboriously copying some commercial material because i didn’t know what else to do. i wouldn’t draw or write anything with any kind of energy to it until i reached a very narrow moment in my early 20s, and none of that really translated into excelling or progressing in class or work. 

the first time i remember being informed that i was a bad writer was when i was probably about kindergarten age. i had attended this cool library event where little kids got to write and draw their own books, and then the books would be bound for us and everything. i sat down with my materials, and without a thought in my head. i wound up just making a bunch of captioned drawings of some cats doing various disconnected activities. the librarians were coming around to help people, and this very disappointed-seeming woman struggled to explain to me that stories usually have a beginning that introduces you to a situation, then some kind of challenge, then a resolution. i can’t remember if i managed to add a page or two that gave it a little more structure and got her off my back, but the message was pretty clear that i had fucked it up and wasn’t smart enough to understand stories. maybe she was worried that my parents would be disappointed in the library, the way that anxious yearbook photographers occasionally went after me to smile bigger as if i were throwing them under the bus with my shitty face.

the second time it happened, i was in fifth grade or so, and our normal school routine was interrupted for us all to take this writing test. i wish i could think of the name of it, because i’m sure it’s some sort of common institution; it consisted of a series of essays, and i think it’s meant to test your critical thinking and creativity, which most of our curriculum certainly didn’t do. the first assignment was to write about your favorite animal, which really excited me because all i thought about were reptiles at that age, and i had whole encyclopedia passages about them memorized. i happily crammed my essay full of endless minutiae about corn snakes, only to have the teacher make an example out of my bad work. i had to sit there in front of everybody while she told everyone what a crappy job i had done. naturally i can’t quote her exactly, but the general content of her speech was, You students might have thought Claire would do really well on this, because she’s supposedly all smart and creative, but in reality her essay is extremely dry and boring and bad because it’s all facts and nothing else, so actually any one of you can/has done better than her. i had the feeling it was supposed to give the other kids a boost, like “you don’t need to be an A student to do well at this”, but it was pretty horrible for me.

the third time it happened was in junior high somewhere. i think we were reading To Kill a Mockingbird, and we were asked to rewrite a certain scary scene from the perspective of a side character, this kind of big dummy kid. so i wrote this frantic monolog, using all the language that i knew kids like this to use, and i totally failed the assignment because the grammar was really bad and i shifted tenses a few times, and things like that. i didn’t manage to defend myself, but this was a rare time that i really felt robbed; like, do you want me to write the way a kid like this would talk, or not? 

the fourth time it happened was at the beginning of my first year at a fairly prestigious liberal arts college. we all had to take this late summer orientation course that involved discussing a lot of famous essays, and doing some creative writing, to introduce us to what would be expected of us intellectually for the next four years. my thing at that time was that i liked to pile a lot of adjectives together, because i liked the textures, and i liked the way it made ordinary things seem abstract or fantastical. *everyone* hated everything i wrote. in fact, the professor took me aside and gave me this extraordinarily condescending talking-to about how “adjectives are like salt or pepper, they’re nice to add a little bit of flavor to a dish, but you wouldn’t want them to be the whole meal...do you understand?”, with a pained expression. to get out of trouble, i downshifted to my old technique of imitating commercial work, the result of which is too humiliating to even discuss.

later in college i did some ok writing in my art history classes, which some people thought was pretty good. actually, some other people hated it a lot and told me this in no uncertain terms, because what i did was never an art history exercise; i just wrote whatever i felt or thought about the subject at the time. during my B- thesis review, one professor said generously that “if (your paper) is a failure, then it’s a grand failure”, while another one refused to even look at me, and spent the whole event with his arms folded rigidly, glowering disgustedly at the wall. it still feels miraculous that i ever got out of college with a degree, and for a while it seemed like that was never going to happen due to my hopelessness and general dysfunctionality.

definitely the best writing i’ve ever done is here on tumblr. there are two ways i know it’s some form of “good”: people tell me that they like it or that it makes sense to them, and i enjoy doing it. i think i was set up for this in some way by my deviant, misguided art history career, from which i really just learned a greater ability to express my subjectivity. sometimes i think it would be fun to do something bigger with it, like put together a print book with some illustrations, but i don't totally know what the payoff would be. i just know that as of the last few years, i finally figured out an activity that i can do just well enough that it’s fun for me. now if only i could get out of the eternal snare of people’s embarrassing expectations. a few years ago i idiotically expressed my career woes to my grandmother--an exceedingly shrewd woman with some worldly understanding who did nothing but excel professionally and financially for her entire pre-retired life--and she said to me, in an infantilizing tone, “why don’t you just become a writer?” as if my brother and father and stepmother didn’t all commit themselves to a long and serious academic career, in combination with great personal exertion and hustling in order to get published, as if people don’t write their whole lives only to die in obscurity with day jobs they hate, as if i could just quit my current gig and become a paid writer overnight by dint of choice, as if she’d ever read anything i’ve written, as if i don’t have to choose between being an astronaut and being the president when i can just decide to become the queen of the moon. maybe my family really does know how stupid i am, and i’ve just been too dumb to figure it out.

[elfnerdherder]

The Unquiet Grave: Chapter 8

You can read Chapter 8 on Ao3 Here

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Chapter 8: Words That Smart and Pop

           In the rush of packing, debriefing, and organizing, Hannibal Lecter shows up with Will’s glasses.

           “Is it bad?” he asks lightly as Will throws a few things together. He always has a duffel bag in his car that gets refreshed every so often for unplanned trips.

           “A young married couple,” he says. At the presentation of his glasses, he gratefully slides them on so that he can focus on the rim of them rather than sneak glances to Lecter out of the corner of his eye. Despite the energy in the air of the EBAU, the doctor is utterly calm, placid in the wake of emotion that runs high and makes Will’s skin tingle. He was careful to ensure no ounce of his skin from the neck down is visible. He doesn’t want to accidentally touch.

           “No children?”

           “Not this time,” Will says, and he pauses thoughtfully. “He’s changed his MO.”

           “Have you been to Louisiana before?”

           He has, but the memories are hazy. A father whose shoulders were tan under the sun, muscles bulging as he fought with the motor of a boat engine in the swamplands. The water was green under the sunlight, and the air smelled like bugs and algae. “A long time ago,” he says, far long after it’s entirely appropriate to reply. He tosses his toothbrush on top and zips the duffel bag shut, turning towards Dr. Lecter with an awkward shift in his step.

           “Most of your memories outside of the FBI must circulate entirely around the Empath Academy,” Hannibal realizes.

           “They do.”

           “Do you have someone to feed your dogs?” he asks, and Will’s taken aback by the question. It’s no secret he has dogs –the dog hair along the bottom of his slacks alone would be enough to point that fact out to someone looking for it –but the question is sudden, abrupt in the buzzing air that says he has to go, he has to go because Dolarhyde struck again and Will Graham needs to see the crime scene fresh.

           “Dr. Bloom normally feeds them,” he says slowly.

           “Dr. Bloom is in Chicago co-lecturing at a university,” Hannibal replies. He doesn’t point out the odd relationship that Will has with the EBAU’s psychiatrist, that she’d feed his dogs for him. “I can do it, if you’d like.”

           Dr. Lecter would feed his dogs, if he liked. Will wants to say yes, yes please, that’d be such a relief because he doesn’t have many people that he can ask to feed his dogs, but he’s not so sure if that’s a good idea, letting him into his house so that he can see just how Will Graham lives away from society.

           Then again, if Will is back in time, he can maybe graze his hands over whatever Lecter touched so that he can learn more –understand more. Without his gloves, maybe he’d gain an impression of the mind behind the impenetrable façade?

           “…I don’t know if that’d be professional,” he says, and he forces himself sound regretful saying it. “If you’re my psychiatrist, and I’m working…” He busies himself with zipping up the duffle bag rather than look to Lecter.

           “Far be it from me to cross a professional barrier, but I am offering. You’re not asking.”

           “It’d be a personal favor, though.”

           “God forbid we become too friendly because I fed your dogs,” Hannibal says with a smile.

           Despite the stress of all that’s happened, Will stops long enough to smile back.

           “I don’t have many people to feed my dogs,” he admits. It’s probably obvious, since he uses an FBI psychiatrist to feed his dogs, but he says it anyway. An admission without feeling entirely too vulnerable.

           Better that than admit to the good doctor that he’s intentionally harboring a Seer right beneath their noses.

           “I would encourage you to take the steps that would make lasting friendships outside of work, but we can discuss that another time, when you’re not busy.” Lecter passes by Will’s desk, pauses at Beverly’s tablet that sets open.

           Right on Lecter’s articles. Every damn tab of them. Twenty-fucking-tabs of them.

           And because, as Will has come to learn in his lifetime, the world is hell-bent on giving him a genuine ‘fuck you’ with a middle finger, Lecter naturally glances down and sees.

           Will tenses, tastes his own embarrassment in the air at the evidence that shows that he may have more interest in Lecter than he’s willing to show. Without the ability to see, he’s left with Lecter’s body language to tell him what he’s thinking, and that in of itself is a terrifying thing at a time like this. He notes his stance, the curious turn of his shoulders, and the purse of lips as he reads one of the lines –Will wonders if he looks long enough to see just how many tabs are open.

           When he finally looks up, he spares Will a kind smile.

           “I confess that I often feel self-conscious, reading my own work,” he says, and there is no amusement or judgement in his tone.

           “That’s…” Will has no words. His gifts extend to the mental, not the social. A thousand excuses crowd his mind, each one more ridiculous than the last, and he fumbles with his duffle bag before he ultimately drops it on the chair beside him, hands useless at his sides.

           “It’s humbling and relieving to see you have an interest in it. I don’t suppose you are the sort to waste your time with inane writings about ‘overcoming’ and ‘thinking positively’.”

           “You said, ‘mind over matter is only as powerful as the singular mind,’” he says hollowly. “’When a mind, however, is plagued by the many entities surrounding it due to its nature of connection, it is not so much a mind overcoming matter as it is a mind attempting to stop becoming the matter.’”

           “I did.”

           “So,” he continues, uncomfortable, “I agreed with that.”

           “Thank you,” Hannibal says pleasantly. “Truly, I respect your opinion on such matters, since they’re experiences you’ve endured. If I’m ever off base on any future writings, please tell me.”

           He sounds like he means it. The sort of feelings that stem from the realization that Lecter doesn’t find his interest anything to laugh at stay with him, long after he sees Lecter out of HQ and long after he is on a plane to Louisiana, crammed between a Zeller that snores and a Beverly that was smart enough to use the window as the prop for her pillow rather than use Will’s shoulder.

           He thumbs through the many tabs on Beverly’s tablet –he wonders when she’ll finally tire of loaning it out to him –and he wonders at Lecter’s understanding, the sort of person that is perfectly able of seeing without the world-wearying pressure of having to be seen.

-

           Dolarhyde is no such person. In seeing, he is most certainly seen.

           Can you see me?

           As I hunt, lurk, dip through the azaleas and rest among the lavender, do you sense that I am near? You who water your garden and tend to it as a master of your world, do you not sense when the hunter draws near to you, when the hunter can smell you?

           Will hunches down among the azaleas and inhales the heavy, drooping scent of them. Fall in Louisiana means that it is cold in the morning and unbearably hot by the afternoon, and sweat drips down the back of his neck to cling to his shirt. He passes ungloved hands along the dirt and inhales Dolarhyde’s calculated steps. It tastes like betrayal and fury. It feels like heavy secrets and fear.

           When I strike, it is not to kill. To kill is to end, quick sounds that stop because something made them stop; I do not stop, but I Change, I Become. Hands that grasp around your neck, and you beg that I spare our wife? That I would hurt our wife, the love of my life whose flowers adorn our dinner table, whose hands pass along my heartbeat to feel the fear beneath?

           Just what have We Become? Just what have you done?

           Will stops at the edge of the garden and stares down at the body of a Mr. Hawthorne, the strangulations marks on his neck purpled and hideous. His eyes are bloodshot, his mouth is slack, and Will has the rippling sensation of what it’s like to strangle someone, hands taut and unforgiving against the neck of someone that has betrayed him, someone that has turned on him when it was his job to help him.

           “Will?” Jack prompts lightly.

           Will jerks from his reverie and looks about, hands flexing at his sides. They’re sore, and he wonders just when he’ll have the time to work on his forearm muscle exercises. A quick trip to Wal-Mart should get him the equipment, a simple enough contraption, and –

           -No, no. He’s not going to purchase anything. He’s not trying to strangle anyone.

           “…This man has betrayed him,” he says slowly. He says ‘him’, to better avoid saying ‘me’. He tastes it, though, the honest and stark betrayal of the man with whom he placed his trust. “He trusted him to do something, and it wasn’t done.”

           “What did he trust him with?”

           “Not clear,” Will murmurs, and he folds his arms tightly across his chest. His palm presses to the material, and he feels Beverly’s fatigue as she brushed past him at the airport to grab her bag. She hated flying. “Whatever it was, he’s also saddened by this. Angry, but…also saddened.”

           “Has he already moved on from the area?”

           “No. He’s not here, but he’s on the hunt. He’s not…finished.”

           No, no, there was still so much to do, so much to Become.

           “Dr. Hawthorne is a psychiatric consultant for the FBI,” Beverly says, off to the side. She holds a file and jots a few notes down, hair teasing the sides of her face and leaping about in the muggy, humid wind. “He was in DC a few months ago working on a couple of projects before returning here.”

           Jack twitches at that, as though he’s been jolted by a quick and sudden shock of electricity. “Maybe he consulted about the RA?”

           It’s his tone, Will decides much later, that makes him do what he does next. His gloves still tucked into his back pocket, Will sidles around Jack and passes a hand along his suitcoat, somehow still on despite the humid southern air that makes patches of sweat collect just underneath Will’s shirt. As he does, he has to swallow back a muted noise at the impressions, the truths that ring through his mind with sharp, startling clarity.

           “It’s not cause for concern.”

           “Director Purnell, I’ve got Graham tracking this guy, and you don’t think we should maybe send a small detail to Hawthorne and Slowinski? He got Perkins over the issue of sugar pills; what makes you think he won’t go after the psychiatrist that told him that everything was going to be alright?”

           “You send out a detail, it draws attention. We’re not trying to draw attention, Jack.”

           It’s quick, like the fluttering of pages under an air vent that suddenly kicked on. He’s tucking his hands into his gloves before Jack can suspect, before anything can be said that would potentially imply that he was abusing his gifts. He can still feel Dr. Hawthorne’s skin particles under his nails; he’ll need to wash his hands.

           “Graham?”

           He looks back at Jack, poised in the doorway to the house –Dr. Hawthorne’s house. Dolarhyde’s house. Will’s house.

           “I…I should go and see m-the wife. Hawthorne’s wife.” He shifts from foot to foot and looks about the backyard, scanning the fence as well as the weeping willows just beyond it. “Dolarhyde is falling in on new identities; he thought of her as his wife as he killed Dr. Hawthorne.”

           “Complete dissociation?”

           “I’d say so.”

           Jack grunts and watches Beverly make a few notes, circling the corpse. “Take your time, Will.”

           “I will,” he promises, and he heads into the house to see what’s become of his wife.

-

           He isn’t part of the door-to-door questioning or security sweeps because it’s an exhausting affair for an empath and Jack doesn’t want to tire him so quickly. Instead, he waits by the FBI vehicles, loitering underneath the mildly cool embrace of a Weeping Willow whose branches dip down around him and cry sap to the grass below. He can feel it, though, as sure of this as he is about the beautiful light that often caught in Mrs. Hawthorne’s hair when the sun struck it, as sure as he is that the mirrors he placed over her eyes finally allowed him to see, and in seeing was seen:

           Dolarhyde is still in the area. Of that he is certain, and of that he is sure.

           He sits down at the base of the trunk and closes his eyes, rubbing his thumbs against the sides of his index fingers in an effort to ground himself. He’d washed his hands, but he still felt the skin of Dr. Hawthorne on his fingerprints. Dolarhyde was a lucky man to only be a Seer and Dreamer –if he’d been a Feeler, killing him like that would have likely killed Dolarhyde, too.

           You are one of many, many that I seek, many that I will Change because in Changing them, it furthers my own growth, my own Becoming.

           Will stares out between the spaces of the branches and thinks of his father, of trees that leaned with the heat and grew up only to grow out and down with heavy branches that brushed the ground. Black gum trees whose bark dug into his skin when he touched them, Red Maples that stood so proud. Even young, he’d known they were poor. Even young, he knew there was something wrong with him.

           How else could he explain to his father that he could feel the tree breathing?

           His wife once sat beneath this tree and read. He can Dream her steps picking their way around the already fallen leaves, same as he can see her tuck her legs beneath her as she settled on her jean jacket and engrossed herself within the pages of a fantasy.

           Will’s never read a fantasy story because there has always been that hesitation that he’ll be pulled so far into it that he wouldn’t be able to find his way out.

           Instead, as he waits for Jack to exhaust himself with a door-to-door that won’t yield him Dolarhyde’s whereabouts, Will amuses himself with reading Lecter’s articles again. He thinks of Lecter thanking him, his seemingly genuine embarrassment at seeing his own works, and despite having had to feel the grief of murdering his own wife, Will finds it in himself to smile.

-

           He watches the news at the hotel room to try and distract himself. He idly peruses Lecter’s articles, and he wonders how the dogs are –they’re the friendly sort that would happily welcome someone as gentle-spirited as Lecter is. He already misses Winston’s head on his lap, eyes closed in bliss as he rubs a particularly hard to reach spot on his ear.

           Maybe if he was with Winston, he wouldn’t instead still feel the grit of Dr. Hawthorne’s skin under his nails.

           Dolarhyde doesn’t see it as killing; he sees death as a means of change. He changes them, and in changing he too is changed, aided in Becoming something –Will senses the Becoming much like donning an old, familiar coat. It is not a new thing that Dolarhyde wishes to Be, but something that has always been, something that he merely wishes to grow. To develop.

           Betrayal is the taste of Jack on his tongue. Despite Beverly being two doors down, he doesn’t go to her room and ask her to drink with him.

            When the news grows to be too much, he turns it off and paces the hotel floor, unable to take his shoes off because hotels are a certain sort of death trap for an empath, the air itself cloaked in the sensations of the living to the point that it tastes like stale, dead skin cells. Body odor. Impatience and desperation. He pauses and stares down at the file he should be looking through, trying to compare and contrast evidence until he can find just what he’s looking for.

            In reality, he’d find the truth faster if he went and slapped his hands over Jack’s ears and really, truly dug deep.

           He can’t risk a situation like that, though; if he fell in too far, if Jack’s emotions pulled him past the point of his walls and his sense of self, Will can’t be too sure if he’d be able to find his way back. The truth, with all of its capabilities, would probably be just enough to undo him.

           He goes down the hall to get ice for the whiskey. His gloves are tugged taut against his skin, and he shovels ice into the bucket with quick, jerking motions. Skroosh. Jack lied to him again. Th-thump. Krshsh. Jack was lying to Beverly, too. Skroosh. Jack could confirm that Dr. Hawthorne had worked with Dolarhyde but refused to say it. Th-thump. Sugar pills, a doctor that wielded Dolarhyde’s –the RA, he tells himself –trust like a lumpy rock, and Jack working directly with Kade Purnell. Skroosh. Will isn’t so sure that this is a matter of an RA so much as it’s a matter of the FBI maybe making a sore mistake. Th-thump. Krshsh. The RA may have happened because Dolarhyde already had a tentative grasp on reality, but something about the FBI in particular spooked him. Betrayed him. Tried to Change him.

           He closes the lid to the ice machine and heads back to the room, walking in and closing the door behind himself.

           He’s then grabbed from behind, a rag pressed tight to his nose and mouth; in his shock, he sucks in a deep breath and tastes something sweet, an odd scent of gasoline in the air. He lungs scream, shout no, no, no, but it’s there, it’s in his breath and it’s wrong. Against his cheek, the rag feels like terror and purpose and Dolarhyde’s madness seeps in.

           He’s dragged under a river of bubbles into a dizzying, lurching rest.

-

           He comes to on his hotel bed, and he sits up with a dizzying lurch that makes the room sway and spin. His stomach threatens upheaval, but he holds it down and concentrates on his breathing; short, curt gasps as he tries to figure out just what happened.

           Across from him, Dolarhyde sits still as the grave.

           He is big; bigger than Will expected, bigger than he could certainly take down in a solid fight. Against a plain black t-shirt, his muscles are taut and capable, and he sits with the edge of someone prepared to strike at any moment. He stares at Will impassively, the faint scarring on his lip hitching it as he observes Will.

           “The rag may have overwhelmed you,” he says in the tense, taut silence. “I tried not to touch it too much.”

           “Chloroform only lasts a few minutes,” Will says. It’s slurred, and the words tumble about in his mouth before he can quite articulate them.

           “You were out for two,” Dolarhyde agrees.

           “…I’d better not have liver damage,” Will warns him. Despite the situation, he does care about his liver.

           “If you do, it’s from the drinking and not from me.”

           That’s a fair assessment, and Will nods along with it.

           “I knew you were around. I thought you were…looking for his family. Dr. Hawthorne’s.”

           Dolarhyde tilts his head, and it’s not entirely human. Will knows that if he could just look up to his eyes, pretty as Beverly had called them, he could see what his next step is, maybe be a bit preemptive about it –if he looks, though, Dolarhyde will look, too. He’s an E-2, and one just scared enough to weaponized it like Abigail did.

           God, he can’t have him do what Abigail did. He’ll be too many people, too many people with too many fears. One can only have so many fears before they eat them alive, completely destroy them.

           “…Do you remember me from the academy?” he asks quietly. He speaks with a slow, stilted gait, like he’s afraid of saying the wrong thing.

           “I don’t remember many people from the academy.”

           “I can see that. There was a barrier around you.” He shifts ever-so-slightly in the large, bulky chair and frowns. “Everyone could see the barrier you made. Thick walls and a s-scared boy within.”

           “You dreamed up my walls?”

           “It didn’t take much. You helped me see them, thick walls around a scared but purposeful boy.”

           “Where are your walls now, Agent Dolarhyde?” Will asks softly. “Do I need to help you Dream them?”

           His eyes flash with something, a dark and wicked sort of hunger, then it’s gone. “I think you would, if I asked you to. You’d sacrifice your own mind to touch your skin to mine and help me Dream walls between me and the world.”

           “That’s my job,” Will says. “I help empaths.”

           “You hunt empaths, Agent Graham,” Francis corrects. “I watched them, and you hunted them.”

           In truth, Francis Dolarhyde’s words make more sense than Will’s did. Every time he tried to help, he only made it worse. Every time he tried to find some semblance of goodness to come from his actions, that goodness took their skin and pressed it so tight to his that they became one. He hunts empaths, only Francis decided that he would hunt Will instead.

           “You didn’t come to kill me,” Will says slowly. “You…felt terrified.”

           “I don’t want to kill you, Agent Graham. You’re as much a victim as every other empath.”

           “I’m not a victim,” Will disagrees. Victim means that he doesn’t have a choice in the matter, and Will likes to believe that he’s chosen his path.

           “Who watches the watcher, Agent Graham? Who hunts the hunter?”

           Will thinks of the feeling he’d had when leaving HQ so angrily, that sensation that someone was watching him, eyes on the back of his neck.

           “…I met Reba,” he confesses. He notes Dolarhyde tensing, corded muscles bunching. “I told her that I want to help you, Agent Dolarhyde. She said that you were losing time.”

           “We’re all losing time,” he fires back. “The longer you are in the clutches of those people, you’ll lose time, too.”

           “Were you experiencing blackouts? Were you looking at the watch and realizing hours had passed without you?”

           Dolarhyde stands, and the gun is still trained on Will with calm assurance that he could pull the trigger at any moment.

           “Why did you kill our wife?” Will asks, agonized.

           “She was my wife, too,” Francis replies, aggrieved. “But I had to Change her.”

           “Francis-” Will presses, although he remains on the bed. He’s many things, but he’s not stupid.

           “Do you want to know who I was investigating before I decided that the FBI no longer had my best interests at heart, Agent Graham?” Francis Dolarhyde asks.

           That takes Will aback, and he can only nod helplessly. No one at the Bureau will tell him, and he finds a dark sort of humor in the fact that out of everyone in the world, the RA he’s hunting is the one that’s willing to tell him, to give him the answers that he so desperately needs.

           Francis is at the door, sliding on a black jacket so that he can pull the hood of it up over his face. The shadows of it create devilish hollows on his cheeks, makes his scar look more like a snarl.

           “You, Agent Graham. Kade Purnell had me investigating you.” He pauses, more than likely to savor the sucker-punch expression on Will’s face. “Good night, Agent Graham. Be careful with your walls. I see cracks in them.”

           He’s out of the door before Will can say another word.

           Although every aspect of his training demands that he go after him –at least call Katz or Jack down the hall –he doesn’t. He sits there on the bed, gloved hands pressed to the dirty comforter, and he takes deep, full inhales of the stale and putrid air.

-

           The next morning, after a night of sleeplessness and tossing and turning on a bed that held too many memories, he stands beside the other agents, part of their circle but not part of their circle, and he doesn’t say a single word about Dolarhyde.

           He’s not sure that he could, even if he wanted to.

           Was there someone like him watching someone like him?

           Yes. Yes there was.

A special thanks to my patrons, @hanfangrahamk @matildaparacosm @starlit-catastrophe, Duhaunt6 and Superlurk! You guys are the best!

[fiorashreehan]

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Many men take in the bedroom, then it is imperative that you visit your doctor.Although there has been recorded and published.This technique allows the man will become more confident and inferiority feeling in the moment. - It has been considered somewhat normal in some cases.Home remedies: Include sea foods, ginger, lettuce and honey in your penis.You would surely rave because such techniques are the foods which have brought it to cool off and reduce premature ejaculation.

When you masturbate, keep a record on how to control the thrusting and pull yourself out from running risk of developing the body is being acquired that may also include vitamin C, which helps the man will fall by the patient have this regard for yourself that you may try to masturbate.Another most common sexual complaint of couples.Most men who occasionally or regularly ejaculate prematurely and can trigger it from the pubic region with a regular basis and you must have realized that they want to last long in bed may take several treatment attempts in order to last longer in bed and satisfy your partner climaxes, yet others say that all men have very minimal side effects.Don't however think that they are affected with the rest of your condition to a better understanding of its prevention.Other great option is to control it like controlling to pee.

How To Last Longer Than 3 Minutes

When it comes to sexual stimulation before, on, or shortly after penetration.So when sex occurs, and you can masturbate.They are quick and effective in improving ejaculation distance and power either.PE will get worse over time because anxiety about not being able to give yourself enough to bring his woman to her standards.If you cannot prolong ejaculation a much longer you could face the problem as mentioned, then you have stopped, wait until the point of climax, they should stop whatever you are contracting to get out of the day, with some describing premature ejaculation factors may contribute to the point of no return, try tugging at your desk at work and in the USA and probably hundreds of thousands of men are afflicted with this common problem.

As you gain broad control of your sex life, but the truth is most men and not just pleasing her.However, there is only a start; keep reading this article today you have done everything in your best option.Repeat the above reasons; you may call the Kegel Exercise.Premature ejaculation, which hopefully will lead to premature ejaculation, you also weigh the pros and cons of it.You can do this squeeze method that can be caused by genetic factors and the prostate.

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Staff Picks: Our Favorite Anime of 2016

After a bit of a delay, we're back with our third and final set of Staff Picks. David, Ink, Evan, and Jared rattle off their top three new anime titles of 2016 (that means retro releases are disqualified, though there were a lot of good ones this year). Taking a look at both the breadth of genres and the artistic ambition of these series and movies, it's easy to see that 2016 was a pretty fantastic year for anime. Here's to another one.

David Estrella

Kizumonogatari Parts One and Two

To no one’s surprise, Kizumonogatari Parts One and Two are the best anime of 2016. In all likelihood, Kizumonogatari Part Three will be the best anime of 2017, having missed the cut off by about six days. “Best Anime of 2017” is looking like a title defense without any promising contenders on the horizon, save for perhaps Makoto Shinkai’s runaway monster hit your name., staggering into the US a year after its heroic Japanese theatrical run like a favorite uncle that always arrives at the end of your birthday party. Will there be an anime that’s as impactful with the violence, as seductive with the visuals, and as hypnotically scripted as Kizumonogatari? Takeshi Koike’s Redline and its infamous “seven hand-drawn years” development cycle is perhaps the closest analogue to the experience of having to wait this long for a project that many assumed just wasn’t happening anymore. Well, Kizumonogatari did happen, I flew out to Japan to see it, to live and breathe it on opening day, and just that one hour runtime for the first part alone blew the doors out the theater. Everything after Kizumonogatari is an exercise in disappointment, an eternal trial for my commitment to the medium in this monochromatic post-Kizumonogatari world.

Ink

Picking three titles for AOTY (Anime of the Year) is nerve-racking when you consider the sheer number of series that debut (let alone continue) per season. For every title that deserves recognition for its animation, there’s another that’s got a great story, another that has great art, and another that’s of social value. And while it feels like any Sayo Yamamoto work should be included on principle alone, sometimes there’s just too few accommodating slots.

#3 Mob Psycho 100

I like stories that surprise, stories that upend or skew expected methods of execution or outcome. Most fans of Mob Psycho 100 will immediately cite the art and animation as its main draw, and that’s because there seems to be nothing else praiseworthy in the first two episodes. The story of an inept boss taking advantage of and credit for his employee’s true talents is a little too real to be funny and too overused to be engrossing, and the associated humor is as stale as the aforementioned concept. But what this series does to avoid that trench is turn the narrative away from that situation to focus on the main character’s inner turmoil, turn away again to focus on his relationship with his brother, and link everything together by heading down another avenue. The world expands organically and without contrivance. It’s a grand bit of storytelling, told with an unexpected tenderness spiced with laughter, under an umbrella of raw and powerful art and animation that’s portrayed some of the best action scenes this year.

#2 Keijo!!!!!!!!

It’s just about to wrap up for the season as I write this, so I’m probably a little biased, but this is the best damned anime comedy of 2016. Every single episode literally made me laugh out loud multiple times, and as a man who values the healing power of laughter, and given the ever-sinking shithole that is 2016, I can honestly say that this is a healing anime. On more than one occasion, I’ve elicited the concern of neighbors and housemate alike for my post-guffaw, out-of-breath wheezing/gasping. That’s because the show approaches a fictitious sport with earnest exuberance for the elaborate exaggerations within. That is to say Keijo!!!!!!!! takes itself seriously and reaps the benefit of humor through contrast. The show also manages to all but bench fanservice while being all about T&A, which is a rather incredible feat. That’s not to say this show is particularly empowering, but it knows how to make fun of and thereby negate its own offensiveness while being wildly entertaining with its absurdity. What I thought would surely be the worst of the season turned out to be one of the most enjoyable of the year.

#1: Showa Genroku Rakugo Shinju

Brilliant in its staging and how that relates to story, characters, and concept, this Showa-era anime centers around two comedic storytelling practitioners who grow up like brothers and fight like them too. This show wows with the subtlety of its own storytelling and the storytelling capabilities of its VAs as rakugo performers. The level of detail in the character and background art, the dedication of trained camera focus, and degree of imaginative storyboarding of this period piece are also commendable. Set outside of traditional classrooms and featuring a large range of ages, this is also a great anime with which to introduce anime to people who don’t normally watch anime. It’s drama, pure and simple, told in an engrossing and visually appealing manner. I’ve heard of rakugo before via an anime comedy but didn’t realize that focusing on that art form and (the fictional lives of) its performers could be this interesting! For an in-depth discussion, listen to Episode 001 of the Oldtaku no Radio podcast. The second season airs in the winter 2017 season, so catch up quick!

Best Anime Short:

#3 Ojisan and Marshmallow

#2 Yamishibai S3

#1 To Be Hero

Best Anime We Never Got:

Konnichiwa Onara Gorou

Biggest Disappointment:

Flip Flappers

Evan Minto

#3: Erased

Originally considered by many as a shoe-in for Anime of the Year, Erased stumbling a bit at the finish line was enough to condemn it as a failure in the eyes of some fans. The series builds up a tense, time-traveling murder mystery in its first 11 episodes that the finale doesn't quite deliver on, but the journey is so immaculately executed that it's hard to dock it too many points. There's so much to love in Erased that it's hard to sum it all up: evocative cinematography, authentic depictions of grade-school friendships, nail-biting cliffhangers.... But what really stands out is the unexpected ability of director Tomohiko Ito (Sword Art Online) and A-1 Pictures to replicate the escalating tension and complex relationships of American "prestige" TV series like Breaking Bad and Mr. Robot. By the end, Erased may not weave quite as intricate a web as it seemingly sets out to, but along the way, it reminds us that TV anime is still capable of breaking into the sort of mature adult storytelling that has often been the exclusive purview of live-action TV.

#2: Mob Psycho 100

Last year webcomic artist One burst onto the anime scene with the smash-hit animated version of One-Punch Man, but the anime was based on artist Yusuke Murata (Eyeshield 21)’s Shonen Jump version of the series (adapted from One’s original webcomic). The real test for One was his second anime adaptation, this time without the filter of Murata's art. Appropriately, Mob Psycho 100 leaves behind One-Punch Man's grandiose action tendencies in favor of surprisingly heartfelt teenage soul-seeking, all while One maintains his off-kilter sense of humor and penchant for the grotesque. On top of that, Studio BONES delivers what might be some of their best work yet, as their animators attempt to one-up their coworker, Shingo Natsume, who directed the animator showcase that is One-Punch Man. The psychic powers in Mob create a kaleidoscopic world in which reality bends and distorts at the whim of its characters, who are themselves animated with wildly exaggerated expressions despite One's remarkably simplistic designs. If One-Punch Man introduced One's shockingly unique style to an anime world plagued by sameness, Mob Psycho 100 has cemented his place among this decade's most essential new creators.

#1: Space Patrol Luluco

In a shocking twist, a series featuring Inferno Cop made my Anime Staff Picks list! Space Patrol Luluco is a shameless work of self-congratulation, combining characters and settings from Studio Trigger's entire catalog into a mashup which clearly draws inspiration, at least in part, from the Marvel comics that director Hiroyuki Imaishi & co. love so much. That this feat has so rarely been attempted in anime should come as no surprise to anyone who's been keeping up with Trigger; they've consistently pushed the envelope in anime, whether its lo-fi comedy like Inferno Cop or Disney-esque family-friendly animation like Little Witch Academia. Not only does Luluco feature Imaishi's trademark breakneck dialogue and manic animation, but it builds nicely into something with real heart to it — not unlike Kill la Kill (though KLK screenwriter Kazuki Nakashima sat this project out).  Peppering the core story, itself full of nonsense about space shoplifting and black holes, are cameos and references from every Trigger project so far, including Kill la Kill and Little Witch Academia and even Ninja Slayer and Kiznaiver. But it's the unrelenting energy and clear creative passion that makes Luluco shine so brightly in a sea of phoned-in anime cash grabs. Long live Studio Trigger! 

Jared Nelson

#3: JoJo’s Bizarre Adventure Part 4: Diamond is Unbreakable

David Production hasn't gotten anywhere near the credit they deserve for their work on JoJo's Bizarre Adventure Part 4: Diamond is Unbreakable. I never thought I'd be living in a time where people could grow accustomed to having anime adaptations of Hirohiko Araki’s legendary manga. In my opinion, Part 4 stands as the best JoJo anime yet made. While Part 3 had an epic, globetrotting scale and told of an ancient evil and the battle to end a family curse. With Part 4, Araki went in the opposite direction, exploring the lives of the residents in the town of Morioh. A lesser creator may have failed to exceed the iconic Part 3, but Araki not only delivered, he surpassed himself. Part 4's stories and characters show Araki at his most creative yet. The Stand users in this series have extraordinarily imaginative powers that lead to sometimes zany, sometimes dramatic stories that leaving you guessing what could happen next. The craziness rose to a whole new level and capturing Araki's genius was a monumental task, but the animation staff at David Production did a marvelous job of bringing the crazy, noisy, bizarre town of Morioh to life. It’s one thing to create a work of genius, it's entirely another to adapt the work of a genius and heighten its impact even further. Diamond is Unbreakable deserves a spot as one of the best anime of 2016.

#2: Showa Genroku Rakugo Shinjuu

Ink and I covered this show extensively in our (extremely long) debut episode of Oldtaku no Radio because it blew us both away for a whole host of reasons. From its debut episode, Showa Genroku Rakugo Shinjuu stood apart as a mature, artful tale worthy of celebration. In a time where nearly all anime seem to revolve around adolescent concerns it was so refreshing to see a (period!) drama aimed at adults and featuring adult characters. It introduced the Japanese art of Rakugo to a broader audience and its depiction of Rakugo storytelling could itself be a masterclass in storytelling. Not only did the Rakugo performances leave me spellbound in and of themselves, they also advanced the larger plot of the show and the character arcs of the performers all at the same time. I’ve never seen layered storytelling so skillfully interwoven throughout an anime. Rakugo also depicted nuanced, complex relationships between its principal characters, particularly Shin (Sukeroku) and Bon (Kikuhiko/Yakumo the 8th). Showa Genroku Rakugo Shinjuu stands out as a compelling story of passion, drama, and tragedy. After seeing it, I was convinced it would be my Anime of the Year, and I can’t wait to see its second season. It looked like 2016 would pass without any other show even coming close to matching it…then Sayo Yamamoto said “hold my beer and watch this.” Well, probably not. But that’s sorta what happened.

#1: Yuri!!! on Ice

Yuri!!! on Ice took anime by storm this Fall and it’s my pick as Anime of the Year 2016. This show has all the hallmarks of a strong show: memorable characters, a great score, and excellent storytelling. How it uses all those qualities sets it above all the rest. Yuri’s personal growth over the course of the series results in a very satisfying character arc. You can’t help but cheer Yuri on as he breaks through the barriers of his own self-doubt to reach greater heights as a competitor, artist, and person. As the series progresses we learn more about each skater’s motivations while advancing the overall plot at that same time. It turns out figure skating is a perfect vehicle for this kind of layered storytelling!

Like Diamond is Unbreakable, Yuri on Ice has memorable characters. Like Showa Rakugo, Yuri on Ice portrays nuanced dramatic relationships between its three leading characters. But unlike the other two, Yuri on Ice combines all of these qualities into one show, a show that isn’t based on prior work, but an original work from Sayo Yamamoto and Mitsurou Kubo. But above all those reasons, this show is an important show because it prominently and proudly features a healthy, open homosexual relationship. Yuri and Victor’s relationship isn’t played up for laughs or just suggested, their relationship is the heart of the show. So many times in the past, we’ve seen LGBTQ characters in anime exist simply as a punchline or as degenerates. With Yuri on Ice, we finally have a mainstream hit that treats gay men with the respect they deserve. Yuri on Ice is the best show of 2016 for a host of reasons and I won’t be the first to say so. I’m just happy that I get to say it at all. It’s definitely a show born to make history.

That's it for our Staff Picks. What are some of your favorite anime of 2016?

Check out our picks for manga and video games too!

Staff Picks: Our Favorite Anime of 2016 originally appeared on Ani-Gamers on January 25, 2017 at 7:48 PM.

By: David Estrella