hear gallery

4

Star Wars: A New Hope /// The Wrong Jedi.

“Forgive me if I’m not optimistic. I thought I was part of that Order. But everyone except Anakin, has abandoned me. I’m not holding out much hope the Senate will treat me any better.”

This is one heartbreaking parallel, both daughters of Anakin Skywalker got themselves into a mess and only one of them got the help she needed from him. Ahoska Tano, Anakin’s former padawan and might as well be his first daughter. She met the Light side of him and became an important person in his life. She trusted him with her life and he did that same for her. When Ahsoka was falsely accused Anakin did everything he could. He never stopped. He made sure not one clone-trooper fire at her to “kill”. He made sure she had the best of attorneys *smirks*. He hunted down Asajj Ventress and finally apprehend the real culprit, Barriss Offee. Ahsoka met the kind caring person.

With Princess Leia however, most unfortunate for her, she met the Dark side of him, currently known as Darth Vader. Vader never knew he had a living child, let alone a daughter. His objective is to get the Princess to talk about the stolen data and he’d use any means necessary to get her to talk. The Princess met the cold-hearted killing machine.

Thoughts Regarding “Natural Talent”

Friendly reminder that natural talent ≠ effortless progression. There seems to be some confusion about this in the general occult community, particularly among beginners. I can only assume it stems from watching experienced practitioners go about their business seemingly without any effort.

Look, if someone tells you, “Wow, you have a lot of potential as an artist,” that’s great and you should be proud, but it does not mean you’re ready to display your work at a big New York gallery. If hearing that ruffles your feathers, you need to ask yourself why. It’s not a bad thing to nurture your seedling talents and emerge as a beautiful tree grown tall and leafy over many years.

For some reason, this concept ruffles a lot of feathers when it’s said that picking up your first tarot deck a month ago does not a professional diviner make. This doesn’t mean “don’t do readings.” By all means, please do.

The problem begins when someone presents themselves as an expert in a field they dipped a toe into last week, at the expense of those who earned their title. “Hah! It comes naturally to me,” they say smugly. “I don’t even know why people say this is hard work.”

As lovely as those five minutes of superiority may feel, you will be left empty if you skip over the hard work, the patience, and the determination that shapes an expert out of a witch, diviner, spirit worker, or any other like them over years of quiet trial and error; over countless nights of frustration and failure; over countless hours of try, try again until finally you taste success.

There is no shame in beginning. We all start somewhere. Just do yourself a favor and let yourself be a beginner. Make the journey. Be patient when things get hard. Never, never forget that natural talent ≠ effortless progression.

And finally, know this: the journey doesn’t end. Not unless you wish to grow stagnant in a pool of your own arrogance. Trust me, no matter who you are or what you’re doing, there’s always room for improvement. Always.

Thrawn - Story - The Unseen Web

Ras stared at the piece of artwork. He stared really hard. Nothing. There was nothing there. His brother had been chattering on about nonsensical similarities between pieces of artwork for the past hour. He had no idea where the boy was pulling this from. He turned from the flat-sculpt and scowled down at Raw, who’s rapid gestures and quick-fire sentences, directed at a number of pieces around the gallery - none of which looked very similar – were beginning to grate his patience.

Their small, local educational facility had scrapped together the funds to take the students of the town to the Ascendancy’s art museum in Csaplar itself. Ras was fascinated by the city. He’d never been anywhere so spectacular. This many people, all living and working together, ordering their lives toward a common goal, guided by grand principles of order and law, creating such wonderful buildings, establishing the groundwork for the next chapter of history, forming the beating heart of his people’s empire - this was awe-inspiring to him. This city, steeped in glory and honor - what he would give to live here, the seat of Chiss power, contributing to the vitality of the Ascendancy.

“ … and look! That one over there! It’s a different style, but you can tell the same people made it. But it’s so different; maybe they made these at two different times?” 

The majesty of the capital was evidently lost upon his younger brother, who had discovered in the museum a haven in which his idiosyncratic behavior could flourish.

Raw peered intently at the information screens. “Why do they say this one is ‘anonymous’? Does that mean they don’t know who made it? But how could they not know? Just look at it and then at the one back that way.” He pursed his lips and headed back to the other end of the gallery with persistence.

Ras felt his eyes roll involuntarily. “Raw, get back here. We’re already behind the group. My friends are at least two rooms ahead of us, and father told me to not to let you out of my sight.”

“But can’t you see? They’re wrong. I thought the people who made this exhibit were supposed to be experts. Where can I find them? They should know they got it wrong so they can fix it.”

“That’s right; they’re experts. You’re not. New get moving before we lose sight of the group.”

“But just look …”

Ras put a hand on the nape of his brother’s neck and steered him without compromise toward the dwindling student group. 

But then Raw halted and craned his neck out from beneath his older brother’s hand. He was looking up at Ras with that strange, grim gravity that little children possess when they are taking themselves very, very seriously. “I said to look. When you see, you’ll understand why it’s important.”

“I have looked!” Ras’ temper escaped his control and flared out at his brother. “There isn’t anything to see. Do you hear me? Nothing. I don’t know what it is you think you’re looking at, but it isn’t there.”

Raw locked eyes with him. “How can you not see the patterns? They are right there.” A slim finger shot out to direct Ras’ gaze precisely at the flat-sculpt.

“I told you,” Ras snarled, lowering his voice so others in the gallery wouldn’t hear, “you’re claiming to see things that aren’t there. No one else sees them. If other people saw them, they would have fixed the exhibit like you said. So there. You’re imagining things. Now move.”

Raw stared at him a moment longer, then his eyes flickered to the sculpt, then to another painting. When they returned to Ras’ face, the determination had faltered. “Other people say they can’t see either. I just thought you might be different.”

“I’m not the one who’s different.”

Ras regretted the impulsive words as soon as they left his lips.

Raw’s eyes widened momentarily and then slid away. His head dropped and his narrow shoulders drew together in a wilt of defeat.

When Ras begin his brisk strides towards the group, his brother fell into step behind him.

.    .   .

“Are you awake?”

“Unhh … what the …” Ras was caught momentarily in the limbo between dreams and wakefulness as his sluggish body surged with an adrenaline that demanded alertness. “Yeah. Yes. Um. What are you doing in here?”

Red eyes burned at him through the darkness.        

The voice that answered was quiet and small, but oddly taunt. “I was afraid. I’m sorry.”

Ras rubbed at his eyes and passed his fingers over the light sensor, emerging the room into an unobtrusive glow. He looked at his young brother, standing beside the bed, posture folded up in a way not so different from how it had remained the rest of the day at the museum. “What is it? A dream?”

Those red eyes tightened momentarily. “No. I wasn’t asleep. It wasn’t a dream that made me afraid. It was something I thought.”

Oh, here we go again … his brother had a bad habit of thinking more than was good for him, especially at such a young age. There would be plenty of time for thinking later in life, but Raw seemed intent upon getting a head-start. He sighed and let his head fall back against his pillow, gaze locked on the ceiling. “Alright, tell me.”

The silence of hesitation. Then, “I see patterns that other people don’t, right?”

A hiss of a sigh. I thought we were done with this. “Yes.”        

A deeper silence than before.

Softly, “So, if no one else sees them, how do I know they are real?”

“That’s just it. You don’t. You’re imagining things. We all do that when we’re children. You’ve got to grow out of it.”

The voice, indignant, straightens like a reed after the wind has gone, “I Know what imagining is. I know what pretending is. This isn’t those things. This is seeing, the way you are seeing the ceiling right now. It’s real.”

And then the voice bends once more, before a new, powerful gust, “But you said the things I see aren’t real. To me they look just as real as everything else. I don’t invent them. I couldn’t make them go away when I tried. I tried today. They were still there . . .

… if the patterns aren’t real, what if nothing I see is?”

Ras knotted his eyebrows in a frown at the ceiling. “What?”

“If I can’t tell what’s actual and what’s not, maybe everything is just, something that’s not there.”

The frown deepens. “That’s ridiculous.”

“No. It doesn’t make me ridiculous. It makes me frightened.”

“I don’t understand what you’re talking about.”

A very small whisper answers, “Are you real?”

With a wrench Ras sat up and looked at his brother, who was staring at him with wide eyes, fingers wired white-knuckle against the fabric of the sheet, face pulled tight against some kind of rising panic Ras could see working its way up knotted throat muscles towards the jaw and ridged eyelids.

He suppressed the unsettlement in his own gut and tried to sound reassuring. “Of course. Of course I’m real. You’ve known me your whole life. You don’t have to worry about that. Don’t be silly.”

The voice was pinched now, like something raw was clinging inside. “But, I can’t tell the difference between what you say is real and what you say isn’t. So how do I know …” a catch in the throat prohibited further sounds from escaping. A crimson light glinted in the eye, and transformed into a pale blue shard as an eyelid snapped shut against it.

Ras swung his legs over the side of the bed and pulled his brother up beside him.

“Do you know about the mineral spider?”

Raw rubbed his eye. “ . . .um, the what?”

“Mineral spider. It’s a creature that spends its entire life among the glowing rainbow mineral caverns of the equatorial caves, very far from here. It’s blind. But it lives off of the prey it catches in the many-colored webs it weaves of mineral fibers. Scientists have found that these fibers possess values in beautiful color spectrums that we can perceive, and appreciate. But the creatures that create them have no eyes at all. They think they live in darkness, just feeling their way around, but in reality there exists the most spectacular, ordered color all around them.”

“Okay.”

“What I’m trying to say is, maybe, it isn’t so much that you see things that aren’t there;  it’s more like you see things that are there, but which the rest of us are blind to. The colors and webs are a part of reality. But if you tried to tell that to the blind spiders, they wouldn’t believe you.”

Raw was silent and still for a long time, legs hanging from the edge of the bed, hands in his lap, eyes gazing unseeing through his knee-caps.

Finally, “So, you’re real, and the patterns, and everything else are real, just because I see these things? And maybe I see more than you do, but I could never prove that I’m right on your grounds, could I?”

“Well, I guess not.”

“No. If what I see is real, then it must work somehow. Whatever I see, I should be able to trace it back into a reality that everyone else accepts.”

“Umm…”

“The spider knows the web exists when it feels it has caught its prey, even though it never sees the web, it experiences the causal relationship facilitated by the web, between the spider and its prey – it understands that there is a third factor operating in a specific way, in order for its reality to exist as it does, even though it doesn’t perceive the factor, it knows that it necessarily must be.”

“Yes, all right, I see know.”

Raw leaned against Ras’ arm. “’I’m less afraid now. Thank you.”

.    .   .

Thrawn sat in his meditation room, the tangible darkness licking the still air around him.

“You cannot see. But I can. I see your defeat, like many arms surrounding you, in a cold embrace.”

An invisible web. Now, I am the sightless spider. What have I woven? What is this trap of my own making, that others can see but to which I am blind? What are the patterns I cannot perceive? Can I escape my own unseen reality?

Written on Skin

Originally posted by sarcastilecki

Summary: Everyone is born with the first words their soulmate will say to them tattooed on their wrist. 

A/N: This is also my (late) Christmas present for @quiddy-writes. (I hope you like it Katie. 


Sorry for almost killing you.

When Y/N was born, those were the words printed on her wrist. That sentence is what the universe said would be the first words her soulmate ever says to her. Her parents, of course, were more than a little concerned.

Y/N, on the other hand, couldn’t wait to find out who this person is (possible danger aside). The whole idea of soulmates was always fascinating, and she longed to find hers.

****

What the hell is going on?

Sam slightly resented the words printed on his wrist. Though undeniably unique, he never heard the end of it from his brother Dean.

Keep reading

On Board

‘I’m here.’

The text was sent to Joe’s cousin, Jimmy, seeing as he would be the one to pick me up from the airport. We had a grand plan of me surprising Joe at a Smackdown taping until my flight got delayed by eight hours. This put a damper on things, but that didn’t mean I didn’t want to show my man some love. Within the few weeks since we had last seen each other, I had found out that I was pregnant. Because we had begun trying for a baby not too long ago, I know this would be a welcome surprise to him. With all the stress that he goes through physically and mentally on a daily basis, I couldn’t wait to give him one more thing to be happy about.  

After getting to baggage claim, I sent Jimmy another text to let him know where I would be waiting before retrieving my one checked bag.

Jimmy was already waiting for me when I walked out, and I noticed that Trinity was in the car too. Not surprising, they are a married couple.

Once I greeted them both, we packed up my bags and got in the car and were on our way to the hotel that most of the roster were staying in.

“So,” Trinity began, “I know that you missed Roman and all, but what made you really decide to make the trip?” She turned around in her seat to look over at me with a sly smile. “I can keep a secret.”

I narrowed my eyes at her. “Why do I feel like you already know the answer to that question?” I turned my glare to Jimmy. “Jon, you know I only told you the news in the first place so you could help me out. Now, you’re spreading the word to everyone like a magazine!”

“Aye, you know there’s no secrets between us. As a married person, you should know better.”

“Well, she is keeping a secret from Roman,” Trinity pointed out.

“You’re right, Trin. I don’t want that bad juice on our marriage.”

Rolling my eyes, I pretended to be busy on my phone. As they continued to talk as if I wasn’t there, I texted my husband. After shows when they had more free time, I know he usually went out for drinks with some of the other guys. Hopefully, he would still be out, but it had already been a few hours.

‘Hey babe.’ I didn’t get a notification for at least ten minutes. Instead of a text, I received a phone call from him. Because I didn’t want him to hear the peanut gallery in the front, I declined the call.

After two more rejected calls, I finally received a text back. ‘Where are you?’

‘Where are you?’ I retorted.

‘With Dean’ was his reply. Of course, the two of them would be drinking buddies till their last days. I didn’t get to reply to him because we were arriving at the hotel, but I was thankful that my prayers of him not being in his room at the moment were answered.

Jon and Trin accompanied me to Joe’s room. As he went to hand me the keycard, Trinity pulled at Jon’s arm. “Make sure you don’t stay holed up the whole time. I want to see you too, y’know.”

I pulled her in for a hug, then gave one to Jon. “Thank you guys so much for the help. I can’t make promises, but I really appreciate all that you did.”

As they walked off, Trin turned around again. “Congratulations, girl! I’m happy for you.”

Before I could put the keycard into the slot, the door opened. There, stood my shirtless husband with glazed eyes and his hair out of its usual bun. Shocked by his sudden appearance, there wasn’t much I could do when picked me up and locked our lips in a heated kiss. One arm supported my back while the other closed the door. We didn’t make it far, with him pushing me up against a wall near the door. Heavy breaths were heard within the space between us as I kissed him back. Seeing him again almost made me momentarily forget what exactly it was that I wanted to tell him. His back was smooth as I rubbed it, his hair somewhat falling in between our faces.

When he palmed my breast, I let out a moan that seemed to spur him on enough to lead us to the bed. He set me down, breaking the kiss during the process. “What are you doing here?”

“Surprise,” I let out weakly. Still panting, I pulled him towards me again. “What happened to Dean?”

“I was at the bar downstairs and when you didn’t answer my calls, I came back up.” He adjusted us so that I was laying on top of him. He began to trace shapes onto my back, and I knew that I had to get the news out soon.

“Were you mad?” I began to kiss his chest and looked up at him for an answer.

“Don’t look at me like that.” He sat up and began to kiss me again, but I hopped off of his lap before it could get too heated again. The reminder of the news that I had to tell him was the cold water I needed to ignore what we were previously doing. “Where are you going?”

Making my way to my carry on, I opened it and searched for the box I had packed in it before I left. The plane ride seemed to have shifted some stuff around, so it was a while before I found. “There was another reason for my visit,” I told him as I made my way over to him with the box in hand.

“Does this have to do with why Trinity was telling you congratulations?”

From the expectant look on his face, I could tell that he possibly had an idea of what the other reason was. I bit my lip as I just handed him the box. Inside it was a pregnancy test, with ‘pregnant’ written in the indicator box.

He opened it, dropping the lid on the bed as he pulled out the test. He remained quiet for a moment before I noticed a few tears trailing down his cheeks. He looked up at me, eyes red. “Thank you so much for coming out here. It’s so much better to get this in person.”

Crouching down next to his seated form, I hugged him before giving him a kiss on the cheek. “We both needed this, and I wouldn’t have wanted any other way to have been able to tell you.”

Slipping his hand under my shirt, he rested his palm on my flat belly. With his career, I knew that this journey wasn’t going to be an easy one, but I wouldn’t rather have it with anyone else than the man I loved.

5

suho’s letter really touched my heart. even though he is under-appreciated he still loves us with his whole heart. It hurts to hear that his own gallery lacked fans when he visited but the gallery in itself showed how much we adore him.

we have one heck of a leader ; Kim Junmyeon.

8

@muenchmax: Connecting Sweeping Landscapes Through a Melody of Line and Color

To see more of Max’s captivating landscape photography, follow @muenchmax on Instagram.

(This interview was conducted in German.)

A gentle melody echoes across the still, crisp landscapes of German photographer and pianist Maximilian Münch (@muenchmax) and, if you look and listen closely, you can almost hear it. In a gallery as carefully composed as a musical arrangement, the 23-year-old intentionally uses line and color to connect each spectacular vista: rock spurs point toward the horizon in an adjacent image, and treetops melt into a lake’s surface in another. Based in Berlin, but frequently traveling to European destinations and abroad, Max says, “With every picture I put down a small composition on paper, a new note that will somehow lead me to the next — wherever this may be.”

You know what…fuck it. I am in a mood and really don’t give a rats ass at the moment. Doubt I will give a rats ass tomorrow either.

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I don’t give any fucks either, Newt.

If anyone reads this and decides they have an issue with what I have said or decides that they are going to make some comment about how how I am just some bitter asshole because someone else is more popular than I am or some other shit like that let me direct you to my unfollow button where you can use it. Here, I took a screenshot of it in case someone needs a road map. Just mouse over my username and it’s right there. Seriously, you aren’t going to hurt my feelings.

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A set of poses was brought to my attention that are nothing less that total shite work. I won’t name who did them or point them out specifically because that isn’t who I am. Maybe the person just started making poses and needs (a lot of) practice. I am willing to give someone the benefit of the doubt. Then again they just may be slack and do sloppy work and really don’t care because people are going to eat up whatever it is they make because they are popular (I really don’t know if said person is popular or not) or whatever reason.

We are talking obviously twisted joints and body parts being positioned in ways people don’t even move unless they have broken bones, and even if they could move that way they wouldn’t unless they were at a party, drunk, and wanted to freak out people like that one person we all know who can do freaky shit with their eyeballs and eyelids. Hell, I wrote a tutorial on how to prevent twisting up joints like they belong on a balloon animal. Obviously someone didn’t get that memo or chose not to learn from someone else’s learning process (translated: mistakes).

I do not, for the life of me, understand why said post and poses got the number of notes that it did while other people who go through the trouble of making sure everything is just right don’t even get half of those notes? Yea, yea, yea. I hear the peanut gallery now mumbling stuff about how I am whining that I don’t get that number of notes or some other crap on my stuff. Bite me. I look at popularity on the internet the same way I look at 80’s hair bands who used to brag they were big in Japan. It’s a joke. I left the high school popularity mentality when I left high school. Didn’t give a shit that I wasn’t the popular kid in school don’t give a shit that I am not the popular kid on the internet.

This has to do with accepting substandard work. People are just so freaking excited to have new stuff for their game they don’t care that it’s crap work. If you went to the store and bought something substandard you would be returning it. If you went to a restaurant and ordered something that isn’t up to par you would complain and send it back. Why the hell aren’t CC creators held to the same standard? Afraid to bite the hand that feeds? Afraid you will chase of creators where they won’t make stuff any more? Personally, if I fuck something up I want to know where I can fix it. Being told that I screwed the pooch on something and need to go back and correct it makes me a better CC creator. I learn from my mistakes, or at least I try to. I am sure others want to know when they fuck up, when their stuff isn’t good enough. Then again I am sure that there are others that want everyone to kiss their ass and tell them how wonderful they are and will go sit and cry in a corner if someone doesn’t like their stuff.

It all really makes me wonder why I even bother sharing things that I make, things that I go through the pains to make sure are as close to perfect as possible before release, when the standard of what people are willing to accept, what people want and prefer, is so much lower than what I, and so many others, provide.

What the hell is wrong with you people? I realize that making poses is the easy (as opposed to meshing clothes) and cool thing to make but for the love of all that is holy, ask other people to test your stuff and tell you what is wrong with it before release. Ask for feedback. Some of these mistakes are obvious, unless you are blind. 

Yea, I know the “If you don’t like it don’t download it” rule applies, and I won’t download this stuff. I have also deleted a lot of stuff from my game that has looked like total crap in game because people decided to take preview pictures and/or edit pictures where mistakes can’t be seen. It pisses me off not just as a creator but as someone who downloads other peoples stuff to use. 

UGH!

People, please, go back and reassess your Sim life and what you want and expect from it.