epic earrings

jalapeno--business  asked:

So whenever I read trc, I'm always overwhelmed by this almost pathological desire to experience the same feelings of wonder and beauty and magic that you describe in the series. Yes, I understand that there is no sentient, magical forest to discover, and no sleeping king that I can search for, but I still have this urge to have similar feelings and experiences in my life. So how do you experience a similar kind of magic and wonder that you describe in your books, in everyday life?

Dear jalapeno–business,

Are you listening closely?

As an author, I travel a lot. At one point, I was on the road one day out of every three — planes, hotels, rental cars. There’s a rhythm to it, like running up a very long flight of stairs. You figure out how many stairs you can take in a jump, and how to breathe-in-breathe-out to keep from wasting your lungs, and you learn how to tell when you have to stop to rest your knees or you just won’t make it to the top. 

The airports and the planes and the people can all start to seem the same after awhile, if you’re looking at them wrong. If you let them. Anything in life can sound ordinary if that’s all you’re listening for.

Back in 2014, I was in a Texas airport. The night had that glittering senseless jitter to it that happens when you’re tired but going home, finally going home. I was early for my flight and sitting several gates away from my real gate, listening to music. A young man sat down two seats away. Ordinarily, tired and occupied with the peculiar every-day magic of the music in my headphones, I wouldn’t have noticed him, but a moment later, a phone rang. He asked if it was mine; it wasn’t. Someone had forgotten it on the seat between us. 

We both looked at it.

It rang again for someone who didn’t know to pick up, and then he took it away to one of the United desks for them to give it to someone who would listen. He didn’t return.

Two hours later, I went to my real gate to board. Full flight. Everyone was checking and double-checking their seat assignments as they defended their right to aisles and windows. When my seatmate settled himself next to me, I looked up, and it was the guy from the waiting area. He had a tilt to his chin that telegraphed that he thought he was hot shit and a grin that said he recognized me. 

“Hey.”

“Hey.”

We laughed ruefully and applied our headphones — we both knew the routine of polite air travel. But the agreeable tingle of the coincidence still ate at me, and I could tell it ate at him, too, because after a few moments, he offered me a truffle from his bag. I told him I couldn’t take it because of my allergies, but the headphones came off. We started to talk.

And he was a big talker. He was cocky. A surgical resident. He told me how he loved the hell out of taking internal organs out of people. He described how he listened to sixty-minute epic soundtracks in his ear buds while he removed appendixes and gallbladders, kidneys and stones. He told me of watching Dateline by himself at the end of seventy and eighty hour work weeks, and he told me about his Hyundai, which I made fun of. Confidentially, he whispered to me about a surgeon he knew who had the goal of removing every gallbladder in Texas. Two hours into the flight, the conversation tilted toward spirituality. He’s hot shit, he confessed, and works hard, but he sometimes wonders if he’s allowed to want to be successful, or if that makes him a bad person. Because he’s working a lot of hours in a week, and he’s tired, but he’s pretty sure that he’s hot shit, but maybe that’s not allowed.

I was watching him fumble his fingers over each other. He was scratching a hole in his own palm.

And all at once there was a phone in my head, and it was ringing just for me. 

“One of your parents has obsessive-compulsive disorder,” I told him. “Maybe both.”

The shimmering grin slipped. “How did you know? How could you know that?” 

I asked him if he was getting treatment for it.

He said, “No, no, I’m over it. How could you know that?”

Because in a foggy way, that phone was still ringing between us, and now, I recognized the number.

I said, “Don’t kill yourself.”

He replied, “No way,” and then he started to cry. 

The shit-eating grin had vanished. He told me how he’d made up his mind that he didn’t want to make it to 35. He’d researched all the ways to make sure he didn’t. Over the next hour, I told him about my OCD, and how I thought his uncertainty over wanting to be successful but also wanting to be humble was a function of his OCD’s spiritual obsession. That he wasn’t over OCD, that you never were, but that his agony didn’t have to be a real thing. He could be both humble and successful. It wasn’t against the rules of goodness to be proud of what you’d done, as long as you were doing things for the right reasons. I told him how once I bought a race car, but I’d given it away to someone who could use the money, because I realized I was only racing to look sexy in a car, and not because it was really making me happy. 

I told him he didn’t have to worry about looking sexy in a Hyundai, though, and he replied that he would look sexy in anything, and then he cried a little more. 

Everyone else in the plane was asleep, but we were wide awake.

When we got off the plane in Virginia, the surgical resident gave me an awkward side-hug, and he wiped his face. Then he dug in his bag for the wrapper from his truffle. As the other travelers shuffled past us sleepily, he pressed it into my hand. He didn’t want to give me his name, he said, but he wanted something for me to remember so that when we ran into each other again in 15 years, I’d know who he was.

After we’d parted ways, I turned my phone off airplane mode, and a text came in that had been sent while I was in the air. It was from the person I’d given the race car to. I hadn’t heard from him in nearly six months. The text said only: thank u maggie i have such a hppy life bc of u

Magic.

You have to be listening closely. Phones are ringing all over the world, and sometimes they look like magical forests, and sometimes they look like race cars, and sometimes they look like surgical residents.

urs,

Stiefvater

<*Oo^o°*~ Servamp/Dranganronpa Crossover ! ~*°o^oO*>

There it is !
Sakuya wearing Rantaro’s clothes =v=)b 
~ Amami Sakuyaaaaa ! ~

I was really impressed that there is somebody in the Anime/Manga world who looks like Sakuya in so many ways! ( striped shirt, green hair + one side’s hair is longer than the other,…)
I don’t exactly remember when I first saw this guy on Instagram…
 - months ago… some fanarts… *flashbacks*.
But I was like “ dayuuuum ! a Danganronpa-Sakkun !! ( *o*) ”
and now after playing Danganronpa 1 and 2 (-almost ) AND knowing that V3 has been released recently  - I KNEW I HAD TO DRAW HIM. 
@servampfanarts once drew a crossover of them too btw, even with Hinata/Mahiru >w>)/ !

Ok, it’s not exactly Rantaro here, and I’ll definitely draw him individually one day  - but Sakkun is more important v.v)! mhmhm ~
In the meantime of coloring this piece I was like “ shiiiiet, this could’ve been a cool thing if Rantaro is there too - DAMN ! can’t draw the epic earrings on Sakuya thx to the perspective…! F*CK :M ”
UUuuHhHuUHhHH ( TuT)
Nevertheless I’m glad this is finally done ( yesterday night of drawing 8h straight and struggling what to do with the bg again ) aaand most importantly
hope you like it (*3*)9!

How Team DW Delivered: WEAT Edition

Bill Potts is dead. I will not forgive Steven for that. I have cried for two hours straight. I am determined not to be held back now. 

Team DW delivered. The writing was phenomenal. The directing was phenomenal. The acting was, in my opinion, BAFTA. Just look at these scenes.

This one… (Michelle and John in each other’s faces. It almost looked like they about collide into each other. Neither broke eye contact.)

Doctor is asking for Bill… (This is pure Peter in front of a camera. He is in front of a camera and probably looking at tennis ball sticking above the camera. Peter’s face is full to bursting here.)

Missy frustrated… (Michelle sighing. Slow and deep. Remember, Missy is in murderous rage mode in this moment. Michelle’s skin is a tad red because she’s angry.)

Horrified Missy… (Michelle’s eyes have gone MEGA and no more ruddy complexion. Look above for reference.)

Nardole being overprotective of the Doctor (just like River would have been if she were there). Pulling him back because the Doctor keeps trying to get into the Cyberman’s face… (Matt gently tugs at Peter’s arm. Peter is still looking at the tennis ball. Peter’s face emotes and completely destroys me. Peter is thinking like the Doctor. He knows Bill is dead. He is asking because he is hoping she might be alive. He is so emotional here, so he hasn’t considered she might be a Cyberman.)

Hope on their faces. It only lasts a second… (Again, Peter and Matt speaking to us through their emotions. Like them, we remain hopeful. Any second now. Bill Potts will say “Doctor! Nardie!” from the hall behind them.)

Only to hear, “I am Bill Potts.”

Missy wondering how he figured out she was Missy. (Michelle acting her socks off. She has an inexplicable expression. Michelle thinking like Missy: “Will Missy be bad or will Missy be good?” John plays it calm and charming. He changes the mood. Asks for a kiss… Don’t think too much into it. He’s asking for cheek kisses. It’s a social rite. A way of greeting friends. He’s asking Missy for it because he wants her to realize that they’re on the same team. Of course, John plays that line in a devious way.)

“Bill?” The Doctor blinks… (Peter and the Scottish blend of emotions on his face.)

The Doctor wants to know. (Peter’s trying to suppress the Doctor’s emotions.) Missy interrupts. (Michelle playing it casual.) Doctor half listening, half recoiling. (Emotional eyebrow action.)

Missy smiling or not smiling… (Again, everyone expects Michelle to be bad and smile. Except she does something with her face. Blink and you’ll miss it. She’s leaving room for doubt there.)

Doctor tries to process what Missy is saying. (PETER!!! He’s pulling a reverse Clara because his pupils are dilated one second when talking to Missy and then narrows when looking at CyberBill. Uh, I hate calling her that.)

(Can’t see it here as nicely but Peter’s eyes dilate completely when as hears the John’s voice. It’s a voice he recognizes. But he can’t say friend or foe yet.)

Doctor recognizes the voice. (Peter exhales so sharply. It sounds like he’s the only one drawing breath.)

The Master answers… (Let’s give John some credit. I have never been able to process the calmer version of his Master. He sounds genuinely terrifying without needing to do bezerk things.)

The eyes… (This is what the Doctor looks like when he’s terrified. Note Peter’s constricted pupils… He resents this Master. He’s thinking “You died. You died. Why are you here? What have you done?)

"You’ve met the ex?” (Michelle killing us with her inexplicable expression again. She is smiling. But it’s also not a full smile. The one where her mouth is opened wide and the corners of her lips seem to reach for the ears.)

Epic shot. (Um, I’m terrified to say anything about these frames. So, no comment.)

(Peter didn’t move his face the whole time John and Michelle were talking.)

“I waited for you,” said CyberBill. (John looking smug. Michelle pulling a Missy face, as if to say, “Ouch, Doctor. She waited for you.” 

(Peter has completely left us. Pure Doctor now. Pure pained expression.)

The tear that broke every Whovian’s heart. Bill is dead. (Pearl Mackie, there are no words.)

Ear Biscuits with Epic Lloyd!

Our special guest on Ear Biscuits this week is… Epic Lloyd!

Lloyd Ahlquist, known internet-wide as Epic Lloyd and the co-creator of one of YouTube’s most popular series, Epic Rap Battles of History, joins Rhett & Link this week to discuss his transformation from a gymnast and athlete to an improv comedian and rapper, how he met the love of his life on tour, and what ERB fans have to look forward to in the very near future.

Check it on iTunes.

Check it on SoundCloud.

Check it on Stitcher. 

‘I brought a disguise,’ said Laurent.

‘A disguise,’ said Damen.

There was no place to change into a disguise, and there was little besides that could be done about Laurent’s telltale yellow hair. And Laurent was empty handed.

Until he drew something delicate and glittering out of a fold in his clothing. Damen stared at him.

Laurent said, ‘After you.’

Damen opened his mouth. Closed it. He put his hand on the inn door, and pushed it open.

Laurent followed him, after a moment spent affixing the long hanging sapphires of Nicaise’s earring to his own ear.

Prince’s Gambit - C. S. Pacat