cycle boots

Allura: What secrets? You’re SOOO predictable!

Zarkon: Predictable? PREDICTABLE? Oh, you call THIS predictable?

[pulls a lever that opens up an alligator pool beneath Allura]

Allura: Your alligators, yeah, mm-hmm. I was thinking about it on the way over…

Zarkon: [pulls another lever that reveals a hidden gun] What’s this? Boom! In your face.

Allura: Cliché!

Zarkon: No! Look! Watch!

[brings down a gauntlet of blades]

Allura: Juvenile!

[brings up a chainsaw]

Allura: Tacky!

Zarkon: OH, IT’S SO SCARY!

[unleashes a cycle of spiked boots]

Allura: Seen it!

Zarkon: [frantic] What’s this one do?’!

[unleashes a flamethrower]

Allura: Garish!

[Zarkon breaks down]

Allura: Okay, the spider’s new.

Zarkon: Spider?

[sees a spider hanging in front of Allura. Haggar just shrugs]

Zarkon: Uh… Uh, yes, the spyiiiiiider. Even the smallest bite from… “arachnis deathicus”… will instantly paralyze…

[Allura blows the spider into Zarkon’s eye]

Zarkon: AARGH! GET IT OFF! IT BIT ME!

Inktober Day 17! Inspired by one of my favorite parts of The Raven King by Maggie Stiefvater.

They were beautiful in a way that Ronan’s dreams could be, the way Cabeswater could be, only now he was awake. Somehow, without Ronan marking the moment, the schism between his waking life and dreaming life had begun to narrow.

How to write your book step 209

Rehash old ideas. 

 Is there an idea that you started to write out a while back but it just sort of bled out into nothing?  You never finished it, but it never really went away? It’s still there occasionally popping into your mind, even though you haven’t given it any real thought? It’s totally okay to use that idea. To open it back up. You could completely re write it.  You could incorporate it into whatever you are working on right now. It might not be the best idea  you’ve ever had, but on the other hand, it won’t go away so you might as well put it to use. 

Maybe you’ve completely forgotten about something and then one day you will be rummaging through your old stuff and find a story you wrote in primary school about you and your best friend of the time. Maybe it’s terrible. Maybe it should be left to rot under your bed. Or, maybe, it might be harboring brilliant secrets that one more rewrite will unleash. 

It’s okay to do the same thing over and over again. It’s okay to use the same ideas in different ways. You will get different results each time. Don’t be afraid to look back at your old writing. Just don’t get stuck there forever. 

Reuse, Reduce, Recycle, Rewrite.

Phébus. ca. 1899. Pal.

43 x 58 in./109.4 x 147.2 cm

Named after the Greek god in charge of driving the sun across the sky every day, Phébus motor vehicles operated out of Paris from 1899 through 1903. While eventually manufacturing voiturettes, it began with the much-heralded motorized tricycle shown in this poster. The figures are common characters in the commedia dell’arte, wherein Pierrot unsuccessfully seeks the affections of Columbine. Here, though, he has found a new love: Phébus.

3

I’ve been busy working on the next chapter of Fisheye Placebo and here’s a sneak peak of some of the scenes!

This is the warehouse turned greenhouse and art studio that Jen and her roommate lives in :D

Unlike my last video tutorial, the backgrounds in these are built in 3D first so that I can reuse it for multiple panels in the comic. I plan on doing a video tutorial on to integrate 3D into 2D backgrounds in the future, and maybe give a video tour of the place! There’s lots of silly things hidden in the models :p

things i would sell my soul for
  • the raven cycle as a netflix series
Thank Goblins For Green Skinny Jeans

Ben watched her. That wasn’t new, he was always watching her. He’d catch himself, eyes having zeroed on her in the most crowded court yards and school halls, and he would have to force himself to return his focus to his original task.

Her hair danced in the sunlight, having slowly returned to the rich purple he’d so missed. Looking back, he couldn’t understand what had driven her to trying to fit in with the princesses so hard. Then, again, he’d berated himself numerous times for not having reassured her how loved as she was.

Her skinny jeans, neon green with spray paint stains and holes in scandalous places, encased her legs once more. Every now and again he’d considered asking her to wear a dress to school, but thought better of it. When she’d tried her Auradon chameleon act, he’d had to stay to his inner Beast more then once in regards to her silent admirers.

Her shirts were nicer, Evie had proclaimed that there was no room for debate on that front. Her hair was a day-to-day battle from what he could gather. Some days she would be radiant with her locks styled, envious eyes of lessor royals burning in her direction. Other days, it was wild and carefree in a way that would make his fingers itch to be buried in it and mess it that much more.

He liked her best in her combat boots, but foot wear was on a cycle. Mondays were boots, comfy, familiar and well loved. Tuesdays were for trendy ankle boots, not bad just not truly “Mal.” Wednesdays were warn chucks and those were slipped off at random intervals throughout the day. Evie was to be avoided at all costs on Wednesdays. Thursdays were heals, end of. Fridays, and these were the days when Evie barely made it to first period, Mal wore her combat boots, most threadbare pants and borderline distressed shirts and jackets.

Ben had to admit, if only to himself, that he enjoyed Fridays the most. She would simmer all day and was ready to snare anyone into a proverbial battle of wits. He would be spared her verbal tongue lashings in favour of more physical ones.

He had the whole ritual nearly perfected. He would lure her in after school with promises of strawberries and bad horror films. Then he would comment on the worst parts, the cheesy bits she adored. It worked so well, he had yet to officially see more then 15 minutes of any movie they endeavoured to watch.

If he had his way, if Mal didn’t get enjoyment out of making Evie happy, the princess wouldn’t get a say. His fairy would never wear more than her boots, her tattered and torn Isle clothes and a messy, thoroughly devil may care hair do. She would horrify everyone, every day, with holes in the most tantalising places.

Sadly, Mal adored Evie and the reverse was the same. Still, he lived for Fridays. Much like the one he was enduring now, which was moving agonisingly slow. Time seemed to almost move backwards every time his eyes landed on a particularly well placed hole just to the side of her left back pocket.

“Dude, get it together.” A Tourney ball whizzed passed his face. “Practice, your highness!”

It was then that the mischievous echo of her laughter faded from his mind and the sounds of the skirmish came crashing back. He grunted as a player body checked him and he landed flat on his back. Looking up, he watched as Jay came over to say something, but shook his head in defeat instead.

“You do know she’s practically my sister. Like, even if we shared blood we couldn’t be closer.” He didn’t bother helping the boy king up. “It’s just wrong, man.”

“What can I say? TGIF.” Ben had developed his own sort of ease since having ventured after her to the Isle. “The green pair are a personal favourite.”

“No. Just no.”

Even if he hadn’t already decided to be more candid with his affections, after cotillion he was different. He knew now, beyond all doubt and logic to the contrary, that she loved him. Truly loved him. She’d said so, then undid her own mother’s magic by proving it with a kiss.

He was tackled, again. That time by the surprising power house that was Carlos. The king groaned under the younger boy, wind knocked out of him and chest sore where his shoulder had hit.

Carlos was now the one standing over him, a merciless glint in his eye. “Let me guess, you’re offending by my open ogling of my girlfriend as well.”

“No.” The boy waved off Ben’s confusion. “That was because you requested another Tourney practice last minute. I was going to study with Jane tonight.”

Carlos chuckled darkly before jogging off to rejoin he fray. Ben lay on the ground for a time. He considered staying there for the rest of practice since he was entirely unable to focus on what was happening on the field due to the dark fairy in the stands.

“Oh! Has Bennyboo gotten a booboo?”

He waited for her to come into view above him. “I am being mightily abused by your brothers. Make them stop.”

She pursed her lips in consideration, kneeling over him with her hands on her knees. “Nah. I don’t think that’s wise. They seem pretty adamant about beating you up.” She gave him a once over and scrunched her nose in the adorable way that meant she was up to something. “Best to leave them at it.”

“Why do you insist on torturing me?”

“Well,” and here she sighed heavily and fell to the ground beside him. “We usually study and then watch movies on Fridays. Who was it that called for practice tonight?”

“I had a budget meeting yesterday and then mom wouldn’t let me get out of family dinner.” She snickered beside him, but wiggled closer to hug herself to his arm. “I really tried to make it.”

“So, the team practiced last night, without you.” He felt her rest her head on his padded shoulder then continue, “and, again, tonight with you. Now, who should Carlos and Jay be mad at?”

“Royal accountants?”

She slapped his chest, right where Carlos’ shoulder had dug in. “Nope! Why don’t you do the team, and yourself, a favour. Call the practice to a close and then maybe, just maybe, I’ll let you snuggle while we watch Camp Gorefest 5.”

He heaved himself up, then aided her. Putting a little more effort into it than necessary, he gathered her up in his arms. She resisted, half heartedly, before settling against him and wrapping her arms around his middle.

“You’ll let me snuggle? Your the one who burrows into my side like a kitten.”

Her eyes flashed dangerously and she lifted her upper lip in an adorable snarl. “I’m not a kitten. I’m a dragon. I’m fierce.”

He smirked, but managed to take her by surprise with a quick dip of his head. She leaned in further, meeting his enthusiasm. As they kissed, he heard the pleasant sound of her delicate hum of approval.

Then, another sound reached his ears and he thrust his arm out. He felt the ball hit his glove but merely shook his hand before returning it to her waist. She squeaked and tried to disengage but he merely tightened his arms.

After a few minutes of inappropriate affection, they broke apart. He happily moved his attentions to her neck. To his amusement she moaned, but managed to gain enough of her faculties to push him away.

“Okay, little Benny Foo Foo, down boy.” He took a deep breath and loosened his grip. “End this madness and maybe we can continue indulging that little beast you have inside.”

He was sure his eyes were darker than black with the prospect. “You are the smartest person I know.”

She scrunched up her nose, again, making him lean in subconsciously. She laughed, a wonderful sound that made his heart swell, and moved away. She tapped his nose playfully.

“Nope. Not until you call this nonsense to a close.”

He tried to keep her close, but she skilfully extracted herself. She tossed him a cheeky wink over shoulder before sauntering away. Taking a deep breath, he turned away from the stands where she had rejoined Evie and Jane.

Across the field, with varying degrees of chagrins, the team was gathered. As he moved forward, he could see the clear signs of expectation on the faces of Jay, Carlos and Lonnie. Certain they had been the snitches.

“Who planned that?”

The groups faces dropped as they all looked at each other. No one was prepared to fess up. He took one last considering look to the girls, to Mal, in the stands.

“Everyone take a lap.”

A collective groan of disgust rose from the group. “No complaining. Winners don’t complain.”

Resigned to their fate, the all began a lacklustre shuffle toward the trail in the woods. Satisfied, Ben tore of his gloves and began walking to the stands. The sour look brightened on Mal’s face and she leisurely made her way out of the stands to meet him.

“Wait. Ben?”

He slung an arm over his girlfriends shoulders and waved. “Take a lap!”

With that, the couple made their way off the Tourney field and to Beast’s castle. Of all the things he’d picked up, all the newly discovered tendencies and habits he knew drove Mal up a wall, his awakened devious ones were her favourite.

He would later blame her green skinny jeans. Jay would blame his beat down the following practice on them, too. Carlos simply demanded practice never happened on Fridays, ever again. He agreed, but kept to himself that Mal had made unequivocal arguments on subject already.

Of course, the fairy couldn’t let him off that easy. In a rare show of slight remorse, she informed him she planned on being present every practice from that point on. She was unashamedly pleased he was still going to have the minor problem of constantly staring at her. She made him anti concussion mints to balance it out.

[fic] Nerve and Knowledge

I promised @amindamazed I would publish a thing if she signed up for Holmestice. Here is a thing. Perhaps just a snippet of something larger, perhaps not. Whump and melodrama, all the way down.

Joan hadn’t even shut the garden door when Sherlock came pummeling down the stairs. “Watson, thank god you’re here, Gregson tried to pull me off the case. Claims I’m compromised by our partnership, acting as if I’m some besotted–” At the bottom of the stairs, Sherlock swung around the newel post and his eyes finally landed on her.

He stopped, uncertain. He frowned, and then he twitched, his head jerking to the side as he visibly pushed aside some thought. He twitched again.

Joan grimaced, suddenly exhausted. This was a mistake. She should have gone straight to the station. This would have been easier with pexiglass.

As abruptly as he had stopped, Sherlock was moving toward her again, urgent, his hands reaching for her. “You shouldn’t have come here, this is the first place Gregson will look for you. I have a bolt-hole near the bridge, you can go there for now.”

She stared at him, incredulous laughter bubbling up in her throat, the sound stopping him in his tracks. She had expected denial, protests, even rage, but it had taken him only six seconds to accept the fact of Joan Watson, Murderess, and move on to practical matters. Six seconds. What had he known about her, that she had not? She reached into her pocket for her phone as something in her died keening.

“What are you doing?” he hissed.

Keep reading

anonymous asked:

So the other guy who lost half his size who was in most of the shows with you said he did a lot of "firsts" since he lost weight I was curious what was one of your "firsts" when you started/lost weight?

Mike! He was such an honor to meet and sooo fun to hang out with. His story is amazing!

Here are some of my firsts: 

  • Ran 5 miles non-stop (when i was at about 230 pounds)
  • Starting instructing zumba (certified at 220, started teaching my own class at 180)
  • Started teaching other classes: boot camp, cycling, total body conditioning. 
  • Completed Insanity
  • Completed Asylum 
  • felt comfortable being picked up and sitting on Dre’s lap without feeling like i was crushing him
  • ran 6 miles non-stop (last thanks giving)
  • wearing a crop top (at 135 pounds)
  • Ran 7 miles  non-stop (this thanksgiving) running is NOT My thing, it’s not a physically battle, it’s a mental struggle because i find it to be boring. lol
  • bikini for the first time on my honey moon
  • first run in a sports bra and shorts
  • Started Crossfit 
  • Did a hand stand
  • got my belly button pierced 

brightfieldnotes  asked:

This is pure curiosity, and I'm sorry if you've addressed it before, but as a US author why did you make the decision to use British terms in Raven Cycle books?. E.g., car boot and mobile phone. As a Scottish girl (with Irish family) who grew up with a lot of American pop culture and now lives in England I found it really interesting as my vocabulary is all over the place. Do you use those terms yourself or was it just artistic choice while writing?

I’m afraid the answer is quite boring in terms of the book: if you’re reading a book published by Scholastic UK, the editorial team there anglicises the entire manuscript as soon as they get it. So there is one version of THE RAVEN BOYS published in the U.S. with cell phones and colors, and one version of THE RAVEN BOYS in the UK with mobiles and colours. That said, I grew up with Anglophile/ Celtophile parents, so we grew up watching House of Commons (thrilling stuff … erm) and Fawlty Towers and Blackadder and driving old Land Rovers and playing Celtic music. Mostly I grew up not knowing the difference between the two cultures, and then I hit the outside world and was surprised.

Point being that I am well versed in boot and squiffy and twee and how to pronounce Leicestershire, but that is not at all why the book looks like it does.

ALSO. There was a debate over the nickname Blue gave Gansey in book one: President Cell Phone. Originally the UK edition changed it to President Mobile Phone. I protested vigorously — although the text was supposed to be anglicised to make it easier for British readers, the story still took place in the U.S., so I said that Blue, as an American, would call Gansey ‘President Cell Phone’. I got my way, but there are still a couple of weird slips in the dialog when I read the UK version. American kids saying “meter” instead of “yard” and things like that. 

ETA: you might still have a President Mobile Phone in your UK copy — I didn’t catch it until the final, so it is not until the next printing that he reverted to President Cell phone.