#but it doesn't

[helloelicia]

Vegetables by Sergej Sologub (2024, oil on linen)

[reasonsforhope]

Literally begging anyone who can vote in US elections to vote, and to vote against Trump. Which means voting for Harris, not abstaining or voting third party.

My family actually did move here from an authoritarian country, where voting literally didn't matter, they literally did throw out your vote, and they literally did assassinate citizens who spoke out against them.

We would all very much like to keep living in a country where those things are not the case!

You know, the same things that Trump and his stooges have openly said they want to do. And two of the main propaganda lines for why people in the US shouldn't vote, which is a lie.

Voting matters. The parties are not the same.

And make sure to vote in down-ballot races!!!

And like. The fact that voting matters in the US is a very real reason for hope. It is something you should genuinely appreciate. We can make a difference.

And a lot of people risked their lives or even died to earn that right, and it's a right not everyone has.

[arthur-lesters-left-eyebrow]

I think if Arthur and John ever did get permanently separated they'd keep up the ours and wes. I don't think it'd be limited to just Arthur's body. John's body, unlived in by Arthur, would be included too. He has one of their stomachs.

[jabberwick]

YOUR PAPER STYLE IS SO COOL???!!?! WRAAAGHADIGJFJSG HOW DO YOU DO IT HOW DID YOU COME UP WITH IT PLS 🙏

oh haha, thank you

The short answer is that I wanted to bring a sense of dimension and tactility to my work, the long answer is:

It was mostly just time and experimentation. I've played a lot with papery themes over the years, as I like how stylized-yet-dimensional origami can be. For my own work, i try to avoid a "flat" style- i want shapes to be stylized, but also present and weighted in 3D space. I like art that feels tactile and has a "touchable" feeling to it.

Cardboard and ribbons were a lot of what i tried to emulate early on

While not always emulating it 1 for 1, I took a lot of inspiration from how faces are folded in origami and cardboard sculptures:

This just kinda developed and evolved over time. Some of my early stuff leans into it more, and then some of my later stuff leans into it less. I think developing a style causes a lot of eb and flow as you learn to navigate it and move towards your goals. I got into abstracting faces, bodies and colours more and more, but paused sometimes to do realism studies.

Paper, cardboard and ribbons has just kinda been a touchstone that i repeatedly return to

I think it really kicked off as i found my rhythm in scrapbook-style work. It felt like the missing piece. It'd been something i did for years prior but I thought of it only through the lens of journal utility. As I unlocked the idea of it as art, the paper facet of my work just kinda fell into place.

Its something that im keen to just lean into and go really ham on now. As my aesthetic has become more papery, I wanted my characters to fit within it, and resemble paper as well- something i want to lean into and experiment with more and more. I feel like the puzzle is mostly complete and I get to just have fun within the boundaries of it.

I think if you want to develop a bold style, the thing that holds you back most is uncertainty about it. You can't really do things by halves or be shy in your decisions. You gotta go whole hog and do it with your chest. You'll make awkward stuff you don't like sometimes! And then that will inform your future decisions and you'll improve and grow.

[mezzodical]

having favorite istasha songs is like. ok you know how there's that post that's like if the only art that existed were still shots of a guy eating pizza eventually people would develop strong opinions about which ones were the best frames. sometimes i worry it's like that

[totallynormalnotreally]

Shane really, really, honest to God didn’t mean for this to happen. It’s just. Well. Why give him the A if it isn’t going to mean anything? Coming off his Rookie of the Year win, Shane had foolishly believed that things would be different. He had believed that the guys would listen to him, and that the passive-aggressive racist comments would simmer down, and things would be better. Theriault had handed him the A and shaken his hand and Shane, like an idiot, had believed that it meant something.

Cooper had been captain for a long time, and he had been on the Metros for even longer. Long enough to watch the team go from routinely making the playoffs, to a years-long drought. Was it really unreasonable for Shane to assume that Cooper would want to build the team back up? Maybe. Maybe it was, because every single time Shane had put forward an idea or a suggestion he had been mocked at worst, ignored at best.

It was infuriating, but still. 

This wasn’t supposed to happen.

If Cooper had just listened, for once, then this wouldn’t have happened.

Shane had gone out to dinner with his parents after an embarrassing game in Ottawa, tied 0-0 until the second round of OT when Ottawa had managed to get in a lucky shot. 

“You really need to assert yourself more,” Shane’s mom had said, “they made you alternate captain for a reason. I don’t want you to waste this opportunity. A lot of kids are looking up to you and-”

“I know, I know, mom,” Shane had cut her off before she could really get going with all the ways that Shane’s personal failures would inevitably have repercussions for the entire Asian diaspora. It wasn’t the time for that. Especially not after Shane had tried to assert himself, only to be all but laughed out of the room.

The worst part is that watching the game, Shane was sure that his plan would have worked. If only they had listened.

At the end of the day, though, it’s not like management didn’t have faith in him. They did; they gave him the A.

That’s just one of the reasons that this didn’t need to happen.

There are others. Many, many others.

Management had believed in Shane for months, the guys in the room didn’t dislike him in any special way, and so it had been easy for Shane to see what the problem was. Cooper. For whatever reason, Cooper just didn’t like him. Didn’t trust him. 

Shane had gone to the man’s house with a six pack of beers and a plan to make everything right. Clear the air, move past whatever problem Cooper had with him, and go home. That was the plan. 

Shane really, honestly, genuinely, didn’t mean for this to happen.

He had walked up the driveway of his captain’s house fully ready to bury whatever hatchet he might find inside.

Hah.

Cooper had opened the door with a confused little “Hollander? What the fuck?”

The speech Shane had carefully planned out in his head went out the window.

He stepped into the house before turning around to face the older man. “Do you hate me, or do you just love losing?” he asked. 

Cooper’s face went through a multitude of emotions in a very short span of time. 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said.

“Fuck that,” Shane had scoffed, “you absolutely do. Every time I have a half decent idea, you mock me like I’m a fucking idiot.”

“Look, Hollander,” Cooper sighs, “sometimes, when you’ve been at this for as long as I have, you reach a point of clarity.” Cooper runs a hand through his hair. “You look at this game, and what it’s done to your body, and what the rest of your life looks like, and you realize, it’s not great.” 

What the fuck? Shane hadn’t understood. Not right away.

“You can’t tell me you’re tanking our playoff chances because you’re, what, wanting to retire?” he asks incredulously. 

Cooper shakes his head. “No. No, not that. I just… my body isn’t going to last forever. They can’t pay me enough to make this all worth it. For my family, I have to, you know.”

“No,” Shane says coldly, “I don’t know.”

The only thing he could have imagined Cooper admitting to was intentionally throwing the games. For money, maybe. Maybe he was betting against them, and then ensuring they lost. 

What he had actually said was worse.

“I make sure we don’t run the most dangerous plays. Especially against teams with strong enforcers. I can’t risk getting hurt. My wife, she’s pregnant, and-”

“Hold on,” Shane says, deathly calm, “are you telling me that you’re throwing games because you’re scared?”

“If you had a wife, you would understand.” 

“No I wouldn’t,” Shane replies, and this might be the angriest he’s ever been. “What the hell are you thinking? Does management know you’re doing this? Do you even realize how insane this is?” Shane takes a step closer to his captain. “You are the leader of an original six team, and you really thought you could get away with just not trying your best?”

Cooper had probably realized at around that point that Shane had not been the right choice of confidant for this particular secret.

“Hollander-”

“No. I don’t-”

“Hollander, you can’t tell anyone,” Cooper’s scared, now. Just a bit. Shane can see it in his eyes.

“Why not? If I do, they’ll demote you and maybe we can actually start winning shit.”

“There is more to living than just wining fucking hockey games!” Cooper shouts, the words exploding out of him, “My God, kid, I’ve got a year or two left until I retire. You’ve got your whole career, can’t you just-”

Then, before he can stop himself, Shane is moving. He walks forward, pushing Cooper until the man is pinned against his own front door. He dresses his forearm against his captain’s neck to keep him there. “There is nothing,” Shane bites out, “more important than hockey. If you only have a year left, you should be making the most of it, not giving up like some sick dog waiting to be put down.”

“Kid-”

“I’m not a fucking child, Cooper.”

Shane presses his captain into the door as the other man struggles in his hold. He isn’t thinking, not really. Not beyond the sheer indignation at Cooper’s acceptance of mediocrity.

So, it wasn’t supposed to happen, but here they are.

At some point, they’ve passed the point of no return. Somewhere between Shane’s arrival in this home, and the increasingly panicked fighting of the older man against Shane’s youthful strength, a line had been crossed. 

Cooper’s eyes are too wild, now, his face too blue, for them to  ever go back from this.

If Shane lets this end any other way, Cooper will tell management, and Shane will lose his A, and maybe even be put on waivers. He’ll lose everything. He can’t lose everything. He can’t, and so he doesn’t  let up, and he keeps pushing. 

Cooper’s nails claw at his arms and face, but Shane doesn’t let up. He can’t afford to. He’s come too far to quit now.

The man goes limp, eventually, and Shane really didn’t mean for this to happen, but it has, and there’s only one way to go from here: onwards.

It’s easier than Shane would have thought, getting the body in the trunk of his car. He drives north for a while, until he’s half way out of gas.

It’s like being on ice, a little bit. Shane doesn’t think about what any of his limbs are doing, just the overall picture. Just the goal.

He already has a shovel in his car, because he’s a safe guy like that. You never know when you might need one. 

The section of woods he chooses is nice. Calm. Peaceful. Cooper will be okay here. Nobody will bother him.

Shane makes sure that the final resting place is prepared with love and care, because even if the man was an absolute traitor, he deserves that. Everyone does. 

He makes something of a pillow using leaves from nearby trees, and tosses the body in the hole. 

By the time the sun starts to rise, Shane is almost home again. He stops for a coffee and tips twenty-four dollars at the drive through. 

At home, he showers off the dirt and grime, paying special attention to the beds of his nails.

He hadn’t meant for any of this to happen, but maybe it’ll be a good thing. Maybe, without Cooper in the room, people will finally listen to him. 

Maybe he’ll be made captain.

Wouldn’t that be something - captain before the end of his second season. Captain before Rozanov. That’s the stuff of dreams.

Cooper doesn’t make it to practice that afternoon. 

“That’s weird,” Shane says to Theriault, “I hope he’s okay.”

[millilps]

*wears the most dysphoria inducing pj in my closet* ow why am I feeling dysphoric :(