The opening screen for the First Christmas If stories. I translated the text that accompanied the new images. As always, I am no expert translator, but this will give a good idea of what’s happening.

Code: Realize Silver Miracles promo translations.


Lupin: “Dear Miss Cardia. I will receive your smile soon. Gentleman Thief Arsene Lupin.

Lupin: Alright…! With this, we will gather information later, secure reply– ((pretty confident except the last bit.))

Lupin: –Well, wrong! It is not just an advertisement!

Roll up what I wrote and threw it in the wastebasket.

While scratching my head, I looked at the stationary again.

Even though it has been infrequent so far, I have sent letters to Wales.

Even so, today I cannot find the right words.

Lupin: Damn….. it is not coming at all, why is such an ordinary letter so difficult…

Lupin: If it is a preliminary announcement, it should be fairly short. Write down what you think…

When I try to write it, inevitably the pen gets dull.

Lupin: ……. it’s no use frowning, anyway think while writing something.

Then, I will write—



Van: When I think about it again….. it has been a long time since we left London.

Delly: Oh, yes. Even now it does not feel real.

Delly: until just yesterday, I can hardly feel I was really there. (??)

Delacroix’s expression and tone exudes just a little loneliness.

And that….surely I am the same.

Van: ……I wonder what they are doing these days.

Even though we are traveling through the U.K. We have not been back in London at all.

Report to Marquis of Renfield, meetings and negotiations with government officials.

But there were several opportunities to meet this half year.

However, Lupin’s Gang originally, was a gathering of free people with their respective purposes.

Apart from Fran with a clinic in Lower Town, there are many times everyone is gone somewhere….

Even if I return to London, it was a situation that I did not see much of the other friends.



—I cannot speak well.

Not only about myself, but also Fran’s each and every movement and words were much more anxious than usual.

Because I seem to be like that, it seems Fran does not calm down, he looked away from me.

Cardia: ……….

Fran: ………..

Cardia: Well, yes, I will make a cup of tea.

Cardia: Since washing the dishes is supposed to be done, I will call Finis.

Fran: —-! Wait!

Cardia: !

Fran grasped my arms firmly when I tried to leave to escape.

And with unprecedented force, Fran turned me around.

(((Translate says he "turned her over with unprecedented aggression.” That would be head explodingly OOC and this is definitely NOT that kind of story.)))

Fran: ……Do not call for Finis.

Fran: I want to talk to you alone. ………Cardia.



Impey: Okay, with this one! Well what shall we do next?

Lupin: Hey, Impey, I bought the requested ingredients–

Impey: Oh, Thank you Lupin! It has been super saved! (?)

Impey: Because I was wondering what to do without having to stop to go shopping–

Lupin: if delicious dishes come out, that is enough for me–

Lupin: This is a great amount. It will not be 8 servings. The preparation is also strangely fancy.

Impey: Well there is spirit too, because today is Christmas Eve!

Impey: And in a couple of hours! For the first time in awhile! My princess is coming!? I need to put in the extra effort! (((All good except the last sentence which is pretty much just a educated guess based on the context.)))

Lupin: Shall I just wake up with your usual meal….. (?)

Impey: Nonono! The dishes that are made for a man’s taste is a different motivation!

Anyway, that’s why.

Today, Christmas Eve, Lupin’s Gang is gathering after a long absence.

Fran chan is going to come soon, Van and Delly chan also will come in the afternoon.

And also from Cardia, “Scheduled to arrive at night” the letter had arrived.

……..By the way the moment I saw an answer, it goes without saying that I did a high five with Lupin and Saint chan.



Brilliant red and calm green.

Wrapping the contrasting colorful ribbon, the walls of the room will gradually color.

As soon as I started decorating the room, I answered two questions.

Hansel: That is…… are you calling Cardia and throwing a party?

Saint: Yes. As you know, the group is acting apart now.

Saint: So I thought that if I can get together for awhile– the day when everyone is likely to come…

Guinevere: December 24th….So it’s a Christmas party.

Guinevere: … is done, we never received permission from Omnibus to help. (??)

(((Guinevere’s statement is being really difficult for some reason. Something about receiving permission from Omnibus, but who and for what needs more context for me to clarify.)))

thestmagazine: This Sunday, @harrystyles gives his first ever solo, broadsheet interview to The Sunday Times Magazine with accompanying, exclusive portrait images shot by @maryamccartney To get a printed copy of this week’s magazine, pick up a copy at your nearest news retailer from Sunday. We also have a very limited number available to buy through the Amazon store which can be shipped internationally as well as to the UK

A woman must continually watch herself. She is almost continually accompanied by her own image of herself. Whilst she is walking across a room or whilst she is weeping at the death of her father, she can scarcely avoid envisaging herself walking or weeping. From earliest childhood she has been taught and persuaded to survey herself continually. And so she comes to consider the surveyor and the surveyed within her as the two constituent yet always distinct elements of her identity as a woman. She has to survey everything she is and everything she does because how she appears to men, is of crucial importance for what is normally thought of as the success of her life. Her own sense of being in herself is supplanted by a sense of being appreciated as herself by another….

One might simplify this by saying: men act and women appear. Men look at women. Women watch themselves being looked at. This determines not only most relations between men and women but also the relation of women to themselves. The surveyor of woman in herself is male: the surveyed female. Thus she turns herself into an object – and most particularly an object of vision: a sight.

—  John Berger, Ways of Seeing
To be born a woman has been to be born, within an allotted and confined space, into the keeping of men. The social presence of women has developed as a result of their ingenuity in living under such tutelage within such a limited space. But this has been at the cost of a woman’s self being split into two. A woman must continually watch herself. She is almost continually accompanied by her own image of herself. Whist she is walking across a room or whilst she is weeping at the death of her father, she can scarcely avoid envisaging herself walking or weeping. From earliest childhood she has been taught and persuaded to survey herself continually.
—  John Berger in Ways of Seeing

PSA (extended edition): Akaashi says he feels good watching Bokuto

Wow! Thanks to everyone who liked the Akaashi says he feels good watching Bokuto PSA! Tbh, I don’t usually bother with the raws since they are so hard to find, but I took a peek at some other lines from the ch244 and I am really baffled by these translations on the MS release. Plus I saw some questions in the tags so I wanted to add some extra context to my earlier PSA.

Regrettably, I don’t actually have the raw pages (if anyone can provide them, I’d be most thankful!) but a Japanese fan had the chapter all transcribed. Fingers crossed to its accuracy but, from what I’m seeing and the snippets they included, it looks solid. So let’s do this: Operation Overkill Of Four Lines of Dialogue, commence!

Konoha: 「赤葦、たまには木兎スルーしても良いんだからな?まあ復活してもらわないとマズい時もあるけど…」

“Akaashi, it’s fine to ignore Bokuto sometimes, you know? Well, if you don’t give us a Bokuto revival, we’re in for a bad time…”

Konoha here describes Bokuto’s revival with もらう, which is a verb used when receiving. Akaashi is effectively the one giving the team Bokuto at his peek, and Konoha is acknowledging that he is a recipient of this benefit. Unlike in the MS translation, Konoha shows none of that excessive teasing. There is also absolutely nothing here about Bokuto’s ego. This is a situation where MS is making Bokuto out to be worse/more troublesome than he actually is.

Akaashi: 「…俺が引き出せるのは木兎さんの力のほんの一部ですし それに


“… I can only draw out a mere portion of Bokuto-san’s strength, and besides

"it’s all because watching Bokuto-san play in top form feels really good.”

OK, OK, so I tried to spruce this up, I admit. I didn’t have the lead-in それに before so this is a cleaner version than the first PSA. I also overlooked とても like a dunce so there you have it: watching Bokuto makes Akaashi feel REALLY good! Also, grammar-wise, the basic rule of thumb is that は provides our topic marker, but while our topic here in the second half is “Bokuto in top form,” it is not the thing doing the action of seeing or feeling good. It is merely a reminder that Bokuto in top form is the point around which Akaashi’s efforts and feelings are being driven. So while perhaps Akaashi might mean others feel good watching as well, Akaashi is talking about himself with the emphasis on Bokuto’s performance.

In addition, Akaashi isn’t disregarding Konoha’s suggestion, he’s acknowledging it but then countering it with something positive about Bokuto. This is reminiscent to how Akaashi handled talking about Bokuto to Tsukishima at the BBQ. To perhaps make this translation even clearer, Akaashi is saying: I guess I could ignore Bokuto-san since I only do a little bit to draw out his strength, but I get the pleasure of feeling really good whenever I see Bokuto-san perform at his best (so I might as well keep at it). And then, of course, we have Akaashi’s expressions accompanying these two lines. First, he looks down and thoughtful. Second, he’s looking up and smiling. This is a very good and personal moment, and I’d like to thank Furudate for this gift.

There is still absolutely nothing here in regards to any highlight reels.

Friendly reminder also that Akaashi refers to himself as 俺, which is a very masculine pronoun as compared to the more general, politer 僕.

Sarukui: 「それ本人に言えば?」

“What if you told him?”

This is a simple conditional statement but with no assumptions attached. That is the nature of ~ ば. I might go as far as to say it has a blissful, ‘if you told him, what’s the worse that could happen?’ kind of attitude. It’s really basic but Sarukui is being chill and open minded. There’s no sign of aggression or forwardness akin to, ‘say that to his face.’

Konoha: 「ダメだダメだ!調子に乗りすぎる!」

“No, no way! He’d get too carried away!”

Konoha is the opposite of chill. He flings out his arm to stop them physically and verbally from pursuing this line of thought. 調子 means one’s condition or tone, so it’s probably safe go with Bokuto’s emotions. To help us in figuring out Konoha’s big concern, the image accompanying this scene shows a Bokuto radiating light, smiling huge, and looking like he’s about to fly. Or go supernova. But dare I say this looks like extreme, overwhelming happiness? So not only is this not presented as an egotistical moment where Bokuto’s ‘huge head would probably explode,’ (MS sure does love to throw in Bokuto’s mystical ego at every opportunity) Konoha does not say anything to that effect.

Well there you have it! I’m not a perfect translator by any means but I love these owls and they deserve to be handled with TLC what with their rare appearances–appearances which I hope increase from here on out!

thestmagazine: This Sunday, @harrystyles gives his first ever solo, broadsheet interview to The Sunday Times Magazine with accompanying, exclusive portrait images shot by @maryamccartney To get a printed copy of this week’s magazine, pick up a copy at your nearest news retailer from Sunday. We also have a very limited number available to buy through the Amazon store which can be shipped internationally as well as to the Uk . . . . . . Styling by @harry_lambert Grooming by @louteasdale .Harry wears a bespoke suit and waistcoat by @_charlesjeffrey and @rokeratelier boots. .

Large Roman Recumbent Doe Statue, 1st Century AD

A large bronze statue of a reclining doe, legs tucked under the body, head held up and with ears back; hole to the back for attachment of separate statue. 16.7 kg, 49cm (19 ¼").

The statue may have been a decorative piece for the garden of a villa, as is seen in similar examples from Pompeii, Herculaneum and the surrounding area of Vesuvius. The doe was also sacred to both Diana, goddess of the moon; statues of the goddess accompanied by deer were common, and they were also shown accompanying the cult image of Diana from the temple at Ephesus. The deer was also sacred to Juno Caelestis, consort to the eastern deity Jupiter Dolichenus, and she is shown standing on the back of a deer on votive reliefs and statues, such as that from Corbridge on Hadrian’s Wall.

By the time Tim saw the window, he knew something was wrong. He’d left it unlatched — that’s how he snuck in and out for patrol— but it was open now, intentionally cracked. He wasn’t sure what that meant, so he came in quietly, holding his staff in front of him. His TV was on. That meant he was safe, right? Assassins didn’t watch the Food Network while they waited for their target to come home.
Tim rounded the corner into his living room and sighed. Yeah, apparently some of them did— Jason was standing over his coffee table, folding a stack of laundry.
“Oh hey,” he said, dropping another shirt on his pile. “You’re home.”
For a few seconds, Tim could only stare. Yes? He was home? His home. Definitely not Jason’s. It was four in the morning.
“What are you doing here?”
“My dryer broke.”
Tim held open his apartment door. “Leave.”

Tim wasn’t sure why his apartment smelled like baking bread, until he walked into his kitchen. The kitchen was a mess. There were ingredients lying across his counters, flour on his floor, pots in the sink, and an idiot in a leather jacket standing in front of his oven. Jason barely looked up from his mixing bowl when the door swung open.
“I… wanted cornbread?” Jason shrugged. “Sometimes this just happens.” He emptied his bowl into a cast-iron skillet and pulled open the oven.
“How did you get in here?”
“Fire escape.”
“Great,” Tim sighed. He pushed a jug of milk, a carton of eggs, and a can of salt aside so he could sit on the counter. “There’s no way anybody heard that.” Did he even have eggs? He was pretty sure he’d finished his eggs last week. Did Jason bring his own? Would he get to keep the extras?
“Yeah, the girl in 3C thinks your floor is haunted. I heard her say so when I was climbing past her blacony.”
“If only.”
“You are being haunted,” Jason reminded him. “I’m a ghost.”
Tim emptied a handful of salt into his hand and threw it across the kitchen. “Then get your ghostly ass out of my kitchen.”

Tim wasn’t totally surprised to find Jason in his dining room (sitting at the table, doing a crossword), but he was curious.
“I locked all my windows.”
“I came in through the basement.” Jason took his pen out of his mouth and pointed it at Tim. “Nice lair, by the way.”
“You broke through the laser grid?”
“Entered a 21 digit code.”
“And said a randomly generated phrase,” Tim finished, “in an exact imitation of my voice?”
“Actually, I phoned a friend.” Jason gestured vaguely behind him, and at that precise moment, Tim noticed a pair of green boots poking over the back of his couch.
“Drake,” said the voice behind them.
“Oh god.” Tim turned back to Jason. “So you taught Damian how to break into my apartment.”
“In my defense, we both know that he can and probably has done it by himself.”
“Wednesday,” Damian confirmed. “The manor ran out of bagels.”
Tim ducked into the kitchen to check what had been his bagel supply, but was now an empty cabinet. “Out!” he yelled. “Both of you.”

Tim was bleeding, splattering red over his windowsill and his carpet. He could barely walk— the bullet in his knee was making it hard. The bullet in his side wasn’t helping either. He staggered over the window frame and fell, colliding with a wall on his way down.
“Shit.” His vision was starting to spin, but he could make out a figure coming down his hallway. Jason? Yeah. Jason was frozen in his doorway, staring at him with wide eyes.
“Are you just gonna stand there??” Tim pulled his face away from the floor. “Help?”
He didn’t remember much after that.

Tim didn’t like sunrises. They were pretty, sure, but they meant he’d stayed out too late. He climbed through his window, yawning, and turned to collapse on his bed, only to find that there was already someone in it.
“Are you serious?” he muttered. It was Jason. Again.
“Whatever,” he decided. Tim pulled a spare key from his drawer and tucked it into Jason’s discarded jacket. If he was going to show up at all hours, he might as well use the door. Anyway, Tim was tired of upgrading his security every week.
He grabbed a blanket from the bottom of the bed and went to crash on the couch.

for anon :)

Someone to Stay - AU

Previous chapters

Chapter 10

Your heart is worth it.

Claire’s heart sank and stuttered as she stared at the ceiling in the gloom. Her shades were pulled down, allowing only a minimum of light to seep through the edges. Her fists were clenched tightly at her side, legs tangled in the sheets. 

So this is what heartbreak felt like. Fault lines with jagged edges carved into her chest. Dry heaving sobs, her eyes burning and red. So much worse than before. That hadn’t been heartbreak. This… this felt like the loss of life itself.

Her hair—the lovely, wild curls he had claimed to adore—were damp and plastered to her face. Tears had dried over and over in shiny silver tracks, sliding down her cheeks, across her temples, or onto her pillow as she tried unsuccessfully to sleep.

Joe had taken her home after the initial shock, where she had just sat on the couch. Her right hand had scrunched up the newspaper until it was  blurred and the strangled crying had begun. Joe had made her tea which had sat sullen and cold on the table. And so had she. Wrapped in her robe, she hadn’t attended classes or work, Joe calling in sick for her.

He knew. The unimaginable bastard had known from the beginning – she had been betrayed once. And she, stupid and foolish and trusting, had fallen for another liar. Again.

Her mind was weary and exhausted from going round and round in circles; dissecting every word, every kiss, every touch. Wondering if she had imagined it all—the gentleness of his hands, calloused and warm on her body. The gleam in his sapphire eyes when he looked at her…

Tha gaol agam ort.

Claire also wondered if that feeling would ever go away—that of being punched in the stomach, of a vise pressing on her sternum relentlessly and wouldn’t let her breathe properly since yesterday. The rage that snagged and clawed at her insides. A hand that was slowly but surely squeezing the life and blood from her heart. 

When she had gotten home last evening, supported by Joe up the stairs and through the apartment door, her mobile had rung. Without even pausing to see who was calling, she had thrown the phone at the wall. The screen had cracked and the phone lay there lifeless. Blessedly silent. No doubt she had been receiving calls and texts from many people – including him. But what was there to say?

Giving up on sleep, she struggled to her feet and wrapped a duvet around her shoulders. Padding slowly through the apartment, she saw the newspaper still spread on her small kitchen table. Like poking a bruise to see if it still hurt, Claire had practically memorized the image that accompanied the offending article. 

His red hair was perfectly rumpled, and he was wearing that damnable leather jacket. She was a petite blonde bombshell, stylish and indefinably French. They had been photographed walking down the street, sunglasses obscuring their eyes, holding hands. Lead singer of The Clan and the famous Parisian songstress were spotted canoodling in a popular Edinburgh restaurant, it said. The two had previously dated in 2012 and seem to have rekindled their romance. Whatever happened to Claire Beauchamp – was there trouble in paradise?


Eyeing the newspaper askance (but why don’t you throw it out then?) she gave the table a wide berth and opened the fridge. There was not much inside however, except some expired milk, wrinkled apples, and a wedge of cheese. Her stomach gurgled in protest; she decided to test if it would keep down some toast.

And then the intercom buzzer rang.

Claire dropped the blanket, hands shaking. It had to be Joe. He had understood her need for space and privacy to grieve, and knew her mobile was not available. She glanced at the phone—still on the floor, useless. The buzzer rang again.

She pressed the button and through the static crackle heard his voice. “Claire, please, I—”

She took the finger off the button and backed into stove. It couldn’t be. He was cavorting in Edinburgh with Annalise-what’s-her-face. Her heart slammed away in the vicinity of her throat, fear and anxiety and fury swelling inside. Shit, what if he got in? He had an emergency key, as she had one to his London flat. Would he use it? 

Of course not, he respects you, doesn’t he? a voice in her head piped up. No, he doesn’t; he cheated on me verra publicly with a French trollop, so shut up, Claire retorted. 

This inner monologue was interrupted by the strident intercom once more. Claire wouldn’t let him in. She couldn’t. But like the time she heard the song for the girl with the whiskey eyes, again her heart of its own volition propelled her forward and she pressed the button– but said nothing.

“Claire, I ken ye can hear me. I ken ye can.” His voice tore her quietly to pieces. “I want 5 minutes and then—”

“Do you need to get in, dearie?” Old Mrs. Fitz from the second story was apparently on her way out. 

“Sassenach, I’m coming up. Thank ye, ma’am.” Shit, shit—she had let him in. Fuck! 

Her fist pounded the wall next to the intercom and she ran frantically toward the door. She could hear the thump of booted feet on the old stairwell, and she braced her hands against the door. Childish, but her feeling of righteous anger was stronger than logic at the moment. The bolt was locked, the chain in place.


Muffled by the wood between them, he stood beyond the door. There was no clinking of keys, no rattle of knob. She rested her forehead on the smooth, cool surface; her heart simultaneously skipped a beat at the knowledge he was here and unspeakable sorrow choked her words.

“Please.” His own voice sounded strangled and out of breath. “That picture isn’t what ye think, it was—”

“No,” she croaked, breaking through the tears. “I listened to you and every word out of your mouth was a lie. I should have known. You and me—” 

Mo nighean donn, that lass and I—we used to date, yes, but years ago. I havena seen her since, and that picture, it was meant to spite me. The only truth is here, between us. Always… tha gaol agam ort.”


She reached around her neck. Her fingers fumbled for the clasp of the chain that bore his ring, and exasperated, she yanked at it. The chain broke and lay crumpled in her palm with the cabochon ruby nestled in the middle.

Finally grateful for the wide and drafty crack under the door, she knelt and slipped the ring and chain through it. She heard him gasp and then a soft chink as he picked it up. A beat and a deep breath.

“Claire, I would never hurt you. Please, believe me,” he implored. 

“I did,” Claire whispered. “Not anymore.”

She had crawled back to the bedroom and finally slept for hours and hours.

Claire wasn’t aware of when he had left, but when she peeked under the door, there was no one there. No note either, nothing. The lack of food eventually got to her. Debating her choices, phone-less, she decided she had to leave the apartment to shop for groceries. Just around the corner. Then maybe e-mail her teachers. Get a bit of studying done. Stop thinking, stop feeling. 

Gathering strength she didn’t know was there, she dressed warmly and ambled over to the corner shop. No one talked to her, or even looked at her. Claire clutched her bags and trekked back to the building. And someone was waiting on the steps this time.

Tall, but not tall enough to be him. She hated to admit it to herself; her heart pounded, but it was Joe who turned around.

“Lady Jane! Finally! I’ve been here for fifteen minutes. Are you alright?” He took the bags from her while she fumbled for her key. 

“I will be,” Claire said grimly, “I promise. Come in.”

Joe helped her put the groceries away, watching her warily all the time. Claire finally exhaled in exasperation.

“Joe, what is it?” She leaned against the counter and waited expectantly.

“He came to see me at the hospital yesterday,” Joe said simply; he also seemed to know instinctively not to say that name.

Claire crossed her arms defensively. “He came here, too. I refused to see him.”

“I did not. I wanted to hear what he had to say—explain himself. You are my friend, Lady Jane, and it hurts me to see you suffer.”

“I don’t want to hear more lies, Joe. Twice in less than a year… I think it’s more than enough.”

“He put his sister on the phone for me. Jenny?” Joe sat at the kitchen table and gestured for Claire to do the same.

“Yes. What does she have to do with this?” Claire asked resignedly, plopping down on the chair.

“She said to tell you, it’s not in her brother’s nature to lie,” Joe said carefully. He pulled a newspaper clipping from the pocket of his coat and set it in front of her. It was from a different publication, where The Clan’s PR denied the relationship between their lead singer and Annalise de Marillac. 

“Please. Celebrities do this all the time. Damage control.” She ran her hand through her hair, tired of excuses.

“She also pointed out something in the picture that doesn’t fit. Did you look at it, really look? Beyond the obvious, I mean. Fucking gossip rags will do anything for money.” Joe stood up and pulled the old newspaper towards them. Wrinkled, but otherwise clear. He smoothed it out. “Here. See?”

Joe tapped at the right hand, swinging beside him. The left, enveloped in Annalise’s grip; Claire deliberately covered up the girl’s face. But the right hand… her breath caught in her throat. 

“It can be a bit troublesome when playing guitar,” he had said.

He was a left-handed guitar player. His right hand was always bare to enable him to press down on the strings and twist to play all the chords freely. 

He—Jamie—was wearing the ring in the picture. 

Rumours About Rumours, or: The Kent Parson Meta That Nobody Asked For

As is well-documented by this point, I’m a hopeless fan of @omgcheckplease, to the point where a gay hockey comic has turned me into an actual fan of ice hockey, dear god, I’ve become invested in a sport that’s barely even fucking played in my country, what is this even?? Naturally, this means I follow a few CP-heavy blogs on tumblr, and recently I’ve noticed a few people expressing confusion about why so many people like Kent Parson, given the fact that, canonically, his big introduction involves him being goddamn awful to Jack.

Now: straight off the bat – and I’m saying this, obviously, as someone who finds Kent Parson a fascinating character – I want to acknowledge that fandom, as a general entity, is heavily biased towards white guys. It’s one of those raindrop-in-a-storm problems where, at an individual level, everyone is entitled to their own personal preferences (always bearing in mind that said preferences can be influenced, either consciously or unconsciously, by cultural bias), but where the cumulative, collective effect of those choices amplifies the effects of cultural bias. It would therefore be disingenuous to deny that, whatever my thoughts on or interest in Kent as a character, there’s still a collective issue with how much more attention he often receives than more canonically prominent – and non-assholish – POC characters like Ransom, Chowder, Nursey and Lardo.

(Sidenote: as part of various race-oriented meta about CP, I’ve seen it pointed out that, in fanworks, the POC characters are most often romantically paired with white characters rather than other POC, and that this is a worthy point of investigation and criticism. I agree on both counts, but also feel that, in this specific instance, it’s important to note that, in canon, all the POC characters are primarily – either romantically or platonically – paired with another white character, and that these pairings dominate their appearances in the strip. (Ransom and Holster, Chowder and Farmer (or Chowder and Bitty, platonically), Nursey and Dex, Lardo and Shitty.) So while that doesn’t excuse the comparative lack of creative licence taken in moving beyond those pairings, as is common fanwriting practice, it does explain their existence as a non-trivial narrative baseline. ANYWAY.)

As to why Kent himself is interesting - well. There are, I think, two main reasons for this:

1: He’s Jack’s most significant ex; and

2: He’s presented as an antagonist.

If only the latter point was true, then I’d be much less inclined to invest in him emotionally. What matters is the fact that, despite all the wonderful shipping opportunities afforded by CP, Kent is one of only three (thus far) canonically queer characters – and not only that, he has an existing, complicated backstory with Jack, which therefore connects him emotionally to both Jack and Bitty. Any canon-compliant take on Jack’s romantic history must therefore feature Kent, and with that particular speculative door cracked open, it’s natural to wonder about Kent’s version of events.

Which is where my personal interest in Kent comes in. Because Jack Zimmermann, despite being our noble hockey hero and the protagonist’s love interest, is, by his own admission, an unreliable narrator of his own emotions. And as Jack’s narration is the only insight we get into his and Kent’s relationships, it’s not unreasonable to wonder what we’re missing out on – to say nothing of the possibility that Jack, historically, might not have been great for Kent.

Are you sitting comfortably? Then we’ll begin.

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Book Review: Bruce Campbell's Hail to the Chin: Further Confessions of a B Movie Actor

In 2002, Bruce Campbell - who needs no introduction to horror fans - released his first memoir, If Chins Could Kill: Confessions of a B Movie Actor. The best-selling autobiography details his arduous journey to becoming a cult actor, with a heavy focus on the beloved Evil Dead franchise and the knowledge of low budget filmmaking he acquired along the way. In the 15 years since the book’s released, Campbell has continued to traverse his way through the Hollywood system, including a supporting role on the hit show Burn Notice and returning to the Evil Dead universe with Ash vs Evil Dead.

Needless to say, Campbell has garnered more than enough life experiences to fill a second memoir. Hail to the Chin: Further Confessions of a B Movie Actor chronicles the last decade and a half of Campbell’s life, from movies to TV, from Hollywood to independent, from conventions to home life. Unlike his first book, Campbell shares the byline with Craig Sanborn. Campbell lovingly refers to the co-author as his “indentured artist,” as Sanborn handles all of Campbell’s graphic art needs - including many of the images that accompany the text in the book. A longtime friend and collaborator, Sanborn is the perfect person to help put the actor’s storied career to paper.

Keep reading

Work the the UK paperback edition of Course of Love by Alain de Botton

I feel so thankful to have drawn for this and happy to see my images accompany de Botton’s insight into human relationships. Here’s one of my my favorite passages: 

What makes people good communicators is, in essence, an ability not to be fazed by the more problematic or offbeat aspects of their own characters. They can contemplate their anger, their sexuality, and their unpopular, awkward, or unfashionable opinions without losing confidence or collapsing into self-disgust. They can speak clearly because they have managed to develop a priceless sense of their own acceptability. They like themselves well enough to believe that they are worthy of, and can win, the goodwill of others if only they have the wherewithal to present themselves with the right degree of patience and imagination.

Night Terrors

Pairing: Sam x Reader 
Characters: Sam, Reader 
Warnings: nightmares, fluff
Word count: 1114
Tag list: @amanda-teaches @myplaceofthingsilove @spectaculicious @bambinovak @writingthingsisdifficult @aliensdeservebetter @spnfanficpond @amanda-teaches @myplaceofthingsilove@evyiione @mogaruke@aliensdeservebetter@27bmm@craving-cas @spnfanficpond@amanda-teaches  @myplaceofthingsilove  @spectaculicious@bambinovak @bambinovak@writingthingsisdifficult@padackles2010 @mamaredd123@milkymilky-cocopuff @iwantthedean@zeppo-in-a-trenchcoat @spntrista @d-s-winchester@just-another-busy-fangirl@winchesterprincessbride@waywardjoy@supernaturalyobsessed@whywhydoyouwantmetosaymyname@sandlee44@fangirl1802@kittenofdoomage @evyiione @winchestersmut@purgatoan@mogaruke @therewillbeblood @megansescape @taste-of-dean@leatherwhiskeycoffeeplaid  @scarlet-soldier-in-an-impala@deathtonormalcy56@wildfirewinchester @notnaturalanahi@jensen-jarpad@impalaimagining@fangirlextraordinaire@itseverythingilike@jesspfly@lovekittykat21@mysteriouslyme81@mrswhozeewhatsis@aiaranradnay@supernatural-jackles@girl-next-door-writes@spnsasha@27bmm@spnfanficpond @amanda-teaches@myplaceofthingsilove@spectaculicious@bambinovak@writingthingsisdifficult@spn-imagines-to-feel@spn-ficfanatic@cleverdame@saxxxology@jensen-jarpad @keepcalmandcarryondean dancingpanda137
Summary: The reader has nightmares and decides to go to Sam’s bed instead of her own one night. 

Originally posted by frozen-delight

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Rato Macchendranath Temple. Nepal. 1850.

This monumental work, one of the largest Nepalese scroll paintings (paubha) in the world, depicts the temple of Rato Macchendranath in the ancient kingdom of Patan in the Kathmandu Valley. In the center of the composition sits the Red Lord, known as either Rato Macchendranath or Red Padmapani Avalokiteshvara. In the registers above are scenes from the life story of Buddha Shakyamuni, accompanied by images of Hindu gods receiving his teachings. The many patrons and devotees are arranged in rows across the bottom registers, each in a pose of worship and wearing clothes of the time period. They are each identified by inscription

The Fake RWBY Volume 4 or Writing Issues and Pacing

Volume 4 of RWBY ended. We saw our favorite team being split through entire world and embarking onto journeys in entirely different continents, interacting with different characters. Yet for the scope the Volume 4 undertook, There’s a surprising lack of substance. Or Should I say, surprising lack of NEW substance.

Now many who followed my posts might have an inkling of thought on why I chose Ruby with the map as a opener picture to this post. Whether you do or not, let me tell you a tale about Volume 4, the Volume that as far as Narrative and Characters are concerned could as well not exist. In fact if we look from character point of view it literally does not exist. Why?

A long wall of text accompanied by images, charts and schemes waits you after the cut.

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fuckshanedalton  asked:

Hi Josh, are the Van Buren design documents a good format to copy for other games, or has the process of area design changed heavily since then? Thanks.

In retrospect, the Van Buren area design documents are massively overwritten, in some cases by a factor of 10.  Since at least Fallout: New Vegas, we try to keep our area design documents in the 8-12 page range.  I just did a brief skim of some Fallout: New Vegas ADDs.  Novac: 12 pages.  Primm: 13 pages.  Black Mountain: 13 pages.  Vault 3: 10 pages.  Camp McCarran: 16 pages.

Here’s what we covered in the F:NV ADDs:

* Abstract - General overview of what the area is about.
* Locations -  A labeled blockout render with descriptions (2-4 sentences each) of individual sub-locations and reference images.
* Quests - List of A and B priority quests with 2-5 sentence summaries of what they will be.
* Characters - List of A and B priority characters with 1-10 sentence descriptions + reference images, when necessary.
* Art Assets - List of new/unique props, buildings, animations, and visual effects needed for the area.  Descriptions are minimal, sometimes accompanied by reference images.
* Audio Assets - Sound and music needed.  Again, minimally-described and sometimes accompanied by reference.

Persona 5 Maniax Favorite Phantom Thief Poll

Ok so the result is already out for public view. I still want to upload the image that accompanied with it in the P5 Maniax Comic. I’ll upload the illustrations in the comic later

1. Hero - 691 
2. Makoto - 346
3. Yusuke - 244
4. Futaba - 213
5. Morgana - 135
6. Haru - 117
7. Ann - 70
8. Ryuji - 64