i don't know if it makes sense but it was my favorite part

10

Here’s an attempt to demonstrate how i color skin.  it’s quite basic, but hopefully it will help anon, and anyone else who’s curious!  for anyone who doesn’t know i use manga studio ex 5.  please click on each image for the caption!

some basic tips:

1. don’t shade with grey or black.  it looks awful.  i go for purple/blue-ish hues for shadows.

2, vary your hues.  if you stay in the same part of the color wheel things look very flat and lifeless.  there are a million tutorials out there for this that show/explain it better than i ever could.  i don’t have any examples to link but they’re easy to find.

that’s sort of it, i hope this was helpful.  i’m crap at explaining things.  a new computer is on my list of things to get when i move, so hopefully i’ll be able to record speed paints and stream - seeing things live is better imo.

anonymous asked:

MMKAY this may sound weird but I'd //really like to see Shiro pilot Black again because he's a traumatized character, and as a traumatized person, the idea that you can be traumatized and still be a good leader is something really important for me to see. As much as I want to see Shiro have a rest and be happy, I don't agree with when people advocate for pushing him to the side and letting him 'have a break' and get better by staying out of the fights. Piloting is what makes Shiro happy. :/

i wasn’t going to discourse about this, but you’re making a really, really good point. my least favorite thing on this website is the idea that coddling is preferable to healing.

i don’t want to be harsh about it, but i hate this. if you’ve experienced trauma, a lot of the time the way to heal is to work through it and past it. it’s hard. it’s supposed to be hard. that’s what shiro is doing as a pilot. he’s found something to center himself in, something that gives him a sense of self-worth–this is canon.

it’s canon that he questions whether he can be part of voltron given what he’s been through, and it’s canon that a big part of keith’s relationship with him is keith constantly re-centering him and reminding him that he is worthy, and that he’ll always have someone there to fight for him:

like i know i joke about shiro needing a nap (which he does, he deserves that), but more than that he needs to know that he has a purpose. in canon, that’s how he deals with his ptsd. being a pilot isn’t just his coping mechanism–it’s how he’s healing. and despite what a good portion of tumblr likes to think and say, healing will always be preferable to coddling yourself and dwelling on it. i’m sorry, but i really strongly believe this and i absolutely hate that mentality.

and shiro is a great leader. he knows his team’s strengths, he keeps cool under pressure, he’s tireless, he watches out for everyone. he’s doing… //clenches fist. so so good. anyway, this a really valid argument for why he doesn’t just deserve to be the black paladin for his relationship with the black lion (which he does) but he’s really earned his spot as a leader and a part of this team.

Are we talking Stilinski house floor plans?

Because I saw this post and it inspired me to post my own idea of what the Stilinski house looks like. Ignoring the parts that don’t make any sense.


So here’s the exterior we’re given in 3B. I’m assuming this is the back of the house, since there’s no address or porch light, and no sidewalk anywhere. Just a sad concrete slab under the stoop.

I have issues with these side wings tacked on here because they don’t match up to what we’ve been shown of the inside. Also there’s a window in Stiles’ room, in this very scene, that would probably be partly inside the roof on the right.

There’s a garage that factors in here somewhere. We see it in season 2 when the Sheriff tells Stiles he’s been suspended, and it looks like it’s a two car garage. (It’s also a very nice brick, which doesn’t go with this siding shown, and I’m devastated about it, because I really love brick.) 

(Side note: Sheriff parks on the right, Stiles on the left.)

There’s a door out the back of the garage, not a square window, so in that exterior shot, it would be on the left side of the house. But it looks like you can see a bit of the house through the back door, so based off of this image below, it would be on the right.

Downstairs interior!

The only time we see this is in the first season, when the Sheriff seems to be set up working in the dining room. Which also has a couch and a television for some probably-lowkey-angsty reason.

But beyond that at the back of the house is the kitchen. There’s a window just visible through the doorway, so that is an exterior wall, and the little nook at the back fits with the back exit of the house. In the exterior shot, it doesn’t look deep enough to have counters, but since it does in the picture here, I’m assuming it’s a small mudroom, maybe has a washer and dryer.

Here we see that there’s a door out of the dining room to the left, next to the TV. 

The angle of the very ugly landscape painting makes it look like a hallway or a room leading straight out from the dining room, but that doesn’t make a whole lot of sense, because:

Another reason this dining/living room combo makes no sense is that there seems to be a front room behind the Sheriff below. And that side window means the attached garage on the left makes no sense; the window would be right in the middle of it.

So based on all of these pictures, and ignoring the parts that don’t make sense, my version of the downstairs interior is this:

I also threw in a breakfast table in the kitchen, which I assume is piled high with stuff so they can’t actually use it.

As for the upstairs, it’s a mess. We’ve only seen Stiles’ room and the hallway, and his room doesn’t actually match up with the back corner they put it in for the exterior shot in 3B.

In season 1, it seems to be at the top of the stairs. There’s been a couple scenes where the Sheriff is walking past from the left to right like he’s heading downstairs to leave for work, so the hallway extends past Stiles’ room, probably to a bathroom and the Sheriff’s room, maybe a guest room or office. 

I don’t know why that back wall of Stiles’ room doesn’t have a window, unless there’s a very long and thin bathroom at the top of the stairs. But this seems to be the layout of that corner of the upstairs:

But in the exterior shot from the beginning of 3B, it’s in the back corner of the upstairs, and the window on the left it looks like there’s another bedroom next to his. So Stiles’ room would open right into another bedroom, and the hallway doesn’t work anymore.

I’m assuming the difference has something to do with them moving production to California, maybe getting different people for some departments, losing sets or houses they shot in, but it’s very annoying. And I’m not even going to go into that bullshit standing in for the Stilinski house in 6A.

(There was a disturbing lack of fish in that house, and somehow I doubt that: A) he picked up fishing obsessively after Claudia died, B) Claudia didn’t allow any fish paraphernalia and the second she died, he hung up six fish on plaques, or C) somehow his fishing obsession is tied to Stiles being his son, because neither of them have ever mentioned it.)

(Though forced fishing trips are one of my favorite things in fic.) 

Blame the Distance (J.A)

Request - Can you do a Jack Cheating fanfic where he cheats on her when he’s in America and she lives and studies Law in University in London. They have a long distance relationship where they hardly see each other. I want it to be heartbreaking, which I know you can do☺️ I’m not sure if you would prefer the breakup to be over the phone or face to face but if it’s ftf then he should be the one meeting her in London. I kinda want her to move on from Jack like in the ‘Happier’ mv by Ed Sheeran. Thank you❤️
Warnings - heartbreak, angst, Cheating!Jack
A/N - THIS IS RUSHED I’M SORRY BUT IT’S ALSO OVER 6K WORDS LONG SO


“Jack!” You ecstatically grinned into the phone as you paced back and forth in your room.

“Hey, baby,” he chuckles. “Why do you sound like your mom just gave you no limit to your credit card?”

Keep reading

Waterside Jealousy

“Hiiii can you write someone where Shawn and his girlfriend are at the beach? Just kissing swimming laying around some guys watch her and Shawn realizes getting jealous watching the sunset just a little bit of everything 😩🔥😊”

A/N: finally an actual request yay. I tried to stay as close to what was requested, but i lowkey got carried away oOPs. thanks to the person who requested this u da real mvp, also thanks for 300+ notes on keep quiet???? that makes me feel more confident oh my god????
Rating: whatever is the opposite of PG bc this some fluff y'all
Requested? yeah

Word Count: 1K+


Summer was coming too close to an end and I don’t think my heart was taking it well. Although I favored autumn more, I was still enjoying soaking up the sunlight and sand between my toes every time I walked the beach. It was the reason I found myself sprawled out over a mandala wall mural that doubled as a beach blanket.

We’d been here since 11 AM, when the sun was high as ever, shining its happiness over every passerby on the land. It was 4:30PM now. I’d swam, basking in the salty waters, almost all damn day. I’d look like a raisin had I swam any longer. Shawn on the other hand, was having the time of his life. Him, Brian, and Ian were a few yards down, tossing a frisbee around and screaming like, well, exactly what they were, a bunch of boys. It was nice to watch him relax and just spend a little time to enjoy. Taking the time to observe him, I felt comfortable, at peace.

“You came to the beach…to read?” Shawn drawls, laying himself on the other half of my towel, resting his head on his hand. He turns on his side to meet my shielded eyes and raised eyebrows.

“What happened to somethin’ about never judging my decisions?” I barely paid him mind as I flipped over to the next chapter of my book.

Shawn chuckles, drawing delicate lines and shapes across my lower back. “Not judging, just…observing.”

“Well, yes I did. Now stop observing me, it’s weird.” I hum, pressing my bookmark in between the pages and shutting it.
“It’s not weird, it should be a compliment. Isn’t that the type of thing girls usually like? Guys noticing the little things?”
“Yes, but that’s-Oh my god, Shawn-That’s not what we mean.” I laughed, leaving a quick kiss on his lips, feeling the curve of a smile make a short appearance.

“Come enjoy the water, eat some ice cream, hug a dolphin; Do something entertaining,Y/N..” I flick a bit sand towards him, watching him nearly fall onto his back attempting to avoid it. I try and stifle a laugh but fail drastically.

“I love you.” He sighs contently, pressing a kiss to my forehead as I scoot into his side. His arms hangs over my shoulders like the sun in sky, giving me a sense of warmth and contentment. “I love you more.” Moments like these were the important ones.
There’s 24 hours in a day. 24 hours to take the long way home, beat world records, get a new dog, learn a new recipe. The possibilities given to us in just a single day, is amazing. It’s a time to go on adventures and live every moment like it’s the last, or spend it the way you like best, no matter how simple that is.

Sitting here, in Shawn’s arms, listening to the waves crash into the shoreline, hearing the joyful laughter of kids running along the beach, a random song on the radio blasting all over the form of nature was one of my favorite ways to spend it. The location didn’t matter as much as who I was with. As long as he was at my side, I could have a good time no matter what.

I glance up, finding Shawn’s gaze solid as rock and set on something behind me. His jaw locked tight, chest heaving, fists clenched, told me that his anger was anything but tameable as of now. “What’s going on, babe?” A voice whistles behind me and I have to hold back the vomit I feel resting in my throat.
“Nothing with you, clearly.” I snap, pulling my sunglasses up into my hair.
“Wow, you’re even hotter without glasses on.” He snickered, crouching down to be eye level with me.God, this guy was sickening.
“It’s apparent that regardless of whether you wore them or not, you’d still be unappealing.”
“Ooh, fiesty.”
“Judging by your lack of respect, you must get turned down often, huh?” Shawn sneers beside me. I press my hand into his chest, knowing he’ll crack and break this guy’s skull at any given moment if he keeps pushing.
“Don’t talk about yourself like that, Lover Boy.”
“Says the guy who can’t ever get a girl. I’m sure you on the ones who’re evidently taken and far too out of your league.”
“It’s kind of obvious, he doesn’t have to go searching for women ‘cause he has the best one, isn’t it?” A slight smile rested itself on my lips. I think I loved when Shawn got sassy more than any other part. It was an amusing occurrence. It became even better when we did it together.

“So if you don’t mind, my girlfriend and I have something to do. Why don’t you go find your fucking mom and let her teach you how to approach a woman, yeah?”
“She’s not even all that anyways.” He huffs, standing back on his feet.
“But you were just trying to get me. Don’t be an emasculate asshole.” I didn’t bother resisting my urge to laugh as the guy stomped off bruised ego and all. His foot was completely emerged in sand with every step he took. He nearly slipped twice and it made it even funnier watching him faceplant the ground after the third time.
“I could’ve punched his goddamn face in.” He mumbles, his fingertips dancing along my backside. I press my finger against his cheek, taking his gaze off the douchebag that now walked out of view. His lips meet my own and a hum of appreciation from Shawn is swallowed between my lips.
“He’s not worth it, babe. Don’t even waste the time being upset. He’s not you so I don’t care.” In seconds, that breathtaking smile of his was plastered right back where it belongs.“Did I tell you how much I love you?”
“You may have mentioned it once or twice?” I grin, laying my head across his lap.
“Alright, clearly I’m doing a bad job at something.”

anonymous asked:

hi leda! did you see the jethan clip? what do you think?

Unpopular opinion apparently, but I thought it was fun as fuck. 

Aside from Stiles’ FBI bit, that scene was the best part of 6b so far, and it felt like earlier seasons before the show thought it was dark and gritty. They actually had fun with it, and now I really want a show about Jackson and Ethan arguing about everything while classical music plays in the background. Will they ever actually make it to one of the shows they’re constantly buying tickets to? Probably not! But they’re going to keep buying tickets just in case.

(I also fucking love when huge fights are going on and the characters only care about their furniture getting wrecked. That’s one of my favorite tropes and I relate to it so hard when I watch action movies where historic buildings are getting destroyed.)

(I also really fucking love classical music or ballads playing over very violent things, so that scene was targeting my exact demographic.)

Is the relationship a little out of left field? Sure, but it’s not completely outside the realm of possibility. Jackson always seemed just as concerned with being attractive to men as Stiles did, and it makes sense for Danny to have told Ethan, “Dude, you’re a werewolf and my best friend is going through some werewolf shit alone in London. Here’s his number. I’m going to MIT.” 

Also, I can’t wait to write these two bougie assholes into everything. @petals42 and I have already had a grand ole time coming up with fun bits based off this, including:

  • Jackson and Ethan My Fair Lady-ing werewolves who need help, getting them in control, classing them up a bit with lovingly snobby comments, and sending them on their way
  • Super snobby Jackson having to work with FBI Stiles whose life outside of work is a mess, and judging everything about his shitty and cheap apartment and belongings
  • Stiles’ apartment getting wrecked by the monster of the week and Jackson replacing his cheap IKEA stuff with really nice dishes and furniture, not because he’s nice, but because he knows that Stiles will be so fucking pissed about having to take care of them
  • Lydia studying abroad at Oxford, and on Sundays, she meets up with Jackson and Ethan to have brunch and they take the most obnoxiously bougie selfies they possibly can to send to Stiles just to annoy him
  • Sometimes they pop down to Paris to meet Isaac, and he’s bought a bourree specifically for these selfies because he knows how much Stiles will hate it
  • Stiles raising his eyebrows at Jackson, who glares back and says, “I’m bi.” Stiles nods and says, “Cool, me too.”

And one last bit that’s been bugging me: 

No, it’s not the bi Stiles everyone has been hoping for, but I don’t think it’s a bad thing if Colton’s experience with coming out influenced this part of Jackson. Dylan’s anxiety influenced Stiles’ character, they wrote his pillow into the show and everyone thought that was adorable. 

I don’t see it as a slight to his acting abilities, or blurring the line between character and real life. I see it as a nod to what he went through being in the closet while on the show, and how that affected him. I’m sure they talked over everything with him, made sure it was something he wanted to do, and if it gives the guy some closure on a difficult part of his life? Great! The show’s a genuine clusterfuck this season, might as well do one positive thing with it!

(Also this fandom has been insisting that Jackson’s bi as fuck ever since that scene where he was grinding on both Erica and Isaac, so I don’t know what the fuck we’re all complaining about here.)

pj2-445  asked:

1/? What if the humans' weird thing is having names for everyone and everything? One of my favorite alien races ever are the wraith from Stargate Atlantis, and the only ones we ever see adressed by names are the few that John Sheppard gave human names. On a few occasions John asked for the wraith's name first but never got a real answer, there's several popular theories about that but personally I think they just don't have names. They communicate tellepathically and their social structure is

2/? similar to ants and bees. It would make sense if they didn’t have names, not because individuals don’t matter - that appears to apply more to the drones than the rest - but because when communicating with each other it would make more sense to refer to one another not with a name but with a thought. like for example think of your best friend, how much information about them comes to mind in the time it would take for you to tell someone their name? If you communicated with thought you could

3/? show someone what they looked like, express how happy they make you and why, what kind of person they are, what they do for a living, what their hobbies are, what they like and dislike, all a lot faster than it would be to introduce them to someone they’ve never met. To a species like the wraith it’s easier to show who you are than take the time to say your name, they probably only speak out loud because it’s a tv show and they spend a lot of time around humans. Then we go giving them names,

4/? we name our ships, we name planets, we name cities and continents and groups of people, we ourselves usually have AT LEAST a first and last name and then it’s not uncommon to have a middle name or title or rank that is legally considered part of your name. There’s even a scene where Todd introduces another wraith to us simply as his second in command(who John later names Kenny) like they must be wondering why it’s not enough for us to just have a word for things and leave it at that.

5/5 As far as we know their queens don’t even have names, and they’re the ones in charge of their whole society. The only wraith we’ve seen that had a name before John came along was Ellia, a young queen raised in a cave by a human.

I like your theory. Yes, run with that.

motherofthecoven  asked:

Your writing is a god send (hehe). Could I possibly request some Icarus au angst? I don't know why but I want to see my favourite trio sad.

Apollo places one elegant finger in his book to mark the place and sighs softly as he looks over at where Icarus is napping on the couch, and Helios knows that Apollo’s picturing the kid dead.

It’s not as though it was some big secret that Icarus will die someday. To the contrary; the gods have known since the beginning – before the beginning, really. They’ve known, even before they were aware of Icarus’ reincarnation, that all mortals are now condemned to age and die. No more gifts of immortality for favorites. And to make it unquestionably final, even Zeus himself has followed this order.

At the time – this was a few decades after the spectacular debacle of the Trojan War – they’d all seen the sense in it, though a little sullenly. They had allowed the mortals to manipulate them into taking sides against each other, with consequences that had left a mark for quite a while.  So the gates had been shut forever after that – Ganymede was the last human to be immortalized.

There were other rules, about the limits of their interaction with humans, but most pertinent to Apollo at this moment is the rule about Dead Mortals.

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Some late mornings feel like they belong in romantic stories, full of dramatic confessions, heartache and breath-taking conclusions. This is not one of those mornings; instead, it’s a halcyon thing set on the summer cusp. While the air is warm and humid, the rain softly pattering over rooftops still holds a certain chill. A film of water makes the world look clean, windows and cars shimmering in the sun peeking in and out from behind clouds, golden rays reflecting against puddles nested in the cracks of New York streets.

 

The clock is nearing the 10 a.m. mark, when Alec transfers the last pancake onto the already high-stacked, indulgent plate. There’s also freshly cut strawberries and maple syrup alongside a French press full of freshly brewed coffee. The muted music from the radio melts into his skin as Alec hums along to random notes, bare feet quiet on the kitchen floor, his hair mussed up and his face a home to dark stubble that he didn’t bother with shaving.

 

As Alec pours the bitter-sweet coffee into two mugs, there are steps near the door, then a warm hand at his lower back and even warmer lips pressed into his shoulder. A shiver runs through his skin, leaving behind goosebumps all the way down his arms and his bare chest; previous hours come back to mind, images hazy like half-developed polaroid pictures.

 

It was much earlier when they woke up, skin against skin, tangled in thin sheets and in each other, a want thrumming in their veins. There was no rush – at first kisses slow and wet and deep, kisses that lit fires along Alec’s spine and made Magnus hum with delight, kisses that left their mouths tingling and red. Then, hands pressed against hipbones and heavy breathing laced with laughter as Alec shifted himself into Magnus’ lap; it felt so good, to have Magnus so close, to have his arms around his waist as they moved together, a slow and steady trickle of heady pleasure rolling through their bodies.

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bharatanatyamandballet  asked:

Hi!! I was just wondering - do you have any good andreil fic recommendations?? I ADORE lessons in cartography and wanted something like that. I'm sorry to bother you if you don't read FICS!!

i haven’t yet read lessons in cartography i’m sorry :( i’ve been told there aren’t any other fics quite like it but i’m still willing to make a list of andreil fics to recommend!! thanks to all my friends who gave me more recs

* a star just means i haven’t read it but it’s been recommended to me

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anonymous asked:

But you don't know Benedict.

Ah, now this is a topic I’ve been lucky enough to discuss with some dear mutuals over the years, so let me see if I can do an answer justice.

Of course, we can never know the man, not truly; that is only for the very lucky few that are a part of his life, his world.  But there is so much we can deduce of him, based upon his work, his words, his public deeds and behavior.  

If you look at his work alone, you see incredible natural talent that he has refined through dedication & physical and mental discipline; you see a love of the written & spoken word; and most especially you see a keen & compassionate understanding of the human condition–for how else could he bring such breathtaking truth to all of his characters?  Even the wicked ones, like Khan & Richard III–he makes us feel that even they have reasons for the things they do, often rooted in emotional/psychological pain.  Though the evil they do is no less evil, we can sympathize to some degree, with what brought them to that place.  In my lifetime I have seen no player more truly & more lovingly—in Shakespeare’s words—hold the mirror up to nature.

In interviews & public appearances, you find a humble, self-effacing man, a bright wit, & sense of humor generous enough to make himself as likely a target of jesting as anyone or anything else.  He values home, hearth, family, the environment, although he could easily give over to hedonism on his bank account. How many times do we see him wearing the same clothes, carrying that same blue water bottle on set, even brown bagging his lunches at times?Choices, I’m sure, that reflect his commitment to simplicity and to reduce his carbon footprint. Benedict’s charitable works have been well-recorded on this site, so I’m not going to research it, but when I run across a post about it, I’ll be sure to reblog for info’s sake.

I won’t speak at length about his personal relationships, except to say that’s a man who loves his wife thoroughly. It would frankly break my heart to learn he had the same feet of clay of so many other public figures & celebrities in this regard—what I see tells me he and Sophie have the real thing. And that he guards his little family’s privacy so jealously is further testament to that.

In short, (though this runs long) I trust my eyes & ears, and they tell me to trust in the public image that is clearly on view.  I see a man who gives as much positive energy to the world as he can, and embraces life with complete joie de vivre.  And as I believe in the human soul, I see a most spectacular one that shines luminously, not only enhancing his unique physical beauty, but reminding me that true good is possible in a world that is often quite selfish & mean.

I could probably go on with dozens of more examples, but let me just finish with one of my favorite photos of him, which for me reflects (I hope) a bit of what I’ve written here.

Thank you for your ask–it was a delight to answer! ❤❤❤

5

If you’ll only hold me tight…. Once upon a time I was falling in love, now I’m only falling apart. Once upon a time there was light in my life, now there’s only love in the dark. There’s nothing I can do- a total eclipse of the heart.

August 20th, 2017

According to the watch Pidge had, that was date. And according to her research, there would be an eclipse on Earth the next day. The first total eclipse in 99 years. If things went well, they could portal close enough to see it from the castle.

And after dinner, Lance was trying to psyche himself up to finally tell Keith how he felt. He was tired of holding in the emotions especially when Keith gave him such reassuring, soft smiles anytime Lance needed them most. Keith was a person who always had a scowl on his face if it was completely devoid of emotion. He was a person who only cared for people at a distance. He didn’t hug, he didn’t vocalize it, he didn’t show it.

But with Lance, he was different. Maybe it was in his head, maybe it was stupid, naïve optimism. But Keith had given him gentle smiles, offered comfort in the way he knew how, and protected him each time they had to fight. He was Keith’s right hand man, and his Korean crush didn’t seem to mind. He listened to Lance. He made sure Lance knew he was needed.

Ever since that talk in his room, Keith had been so different with Lance. Then Lance recognized the butterflies in his stomach when he heard Shiro telling Allura that Keith had offered to stay behind, returning the Black Lion, to help Coran. Lance knew Keith wasn’t close to Coran. Keith had done that for him. So he wouldn’t be the extra paladin. So he would still be needed. Keith lived for battle and he had offered to stay behind.

Ever since then, Lance only felt these emotions growing. With each smile that seemed especially for him, with each encouraging comment during training and after, with each chuckle and eye roll after Lance teased him lightly if only to keep up the familiar banter. He didn’t want to feed more hope into these feelings if Keith didn’t actually mean anything in those gestures. He had to at least let Keith know what he was beginning to feel before it caused problems instead of flowery, floaty feelings.

He kept pacing back and forth in the hallway trying to gather the courage to knock on his door. He fought fleets of Galra warriors, he fought mutated monsters sent after them, he defended the freaking universe. He could do this.

He couldn’t do this. He was a coward when it came to cute boys with galaxies for eyes and smiles that could melt icebergs as quickly as their glares could.

He shook his head, feeling a mixture of relief and disappointment, and he started walking away. Then he heard that familiar low voice with that pleasing rasp.

“Lance?” He froze and turned to face Keith. His hair was sticking to his forehead, his shirt different shades of black where the sweat soaked through it, and he was sporting a few new bruises. He had been training. “You okay?” Lance cleared his throat. There were too many ways to answer that question. “Hey. Seriously, what wrong?”

His dark eyebrows were furrowed, his eyes worried and a bright, beautiful violet color, surrounded by eyelashes that curled so elegantly it was unfair.

It was now or never.

“Could we talk?” Keith’s eyebrows twitched lower, and he nodded, gesturing to his room. “Um, actually, can we take a walk?” Keith stopped and stared at him before nodding again and turning, waiting for him to lead the way.

Lance started walking and swallowed the nausea building in his throat. He wasn’t sure how to start. He kept opening his mouth to talk only to completely hate the way whatever he was going to say would sound.

Once they’d reached the end of the hallway and turned, Keith spoke. “You’re freaking me out, Lance. Are you okay?”

“Don’t freak out,” he said, his voice shaking. “It’s nothing serious. And I don’t think it’s bad, I guess that up for interpretation, really. I just dunno where to start or how to say it without sounding stupid, you know and I-”

“Lance, you’re not stupid,” he interrupted with that gentle voice. Lance called it his serious voice. Keith had different tones for anything he said and Lance had managed to name each of them. His angry voice, his frustrated voice, his complacent voice, his tired voice, his sad voice-which was the same low voice but with a specific expression- and this one: his serious voice. A voice he’d started using with Lance more and more in place of angry or frustrated. It was his favorite.

“Lance, what is it?”

Lance blinked and brought himself back to reality, heaving a sigh. “I’m sorry, I’m probably making this out to be way more than it is. Just give me a moment, yeah?” Keith frowned and nodded.

They walked around, feet almost automatically walking toward the training room and past it to the hangar. Keith stayed quiet, waiting on Lance.

“Um. So first, I want to say thank you. Thank you for helping me especially when I feel like I’m not good enough or I don’t belong. I never really thought you’d be someone to help me with that, but… I mean I never thought I’d be flying a giant metal lion either.” He chuckled nervously and Keith’s lip quirked up slightly in that small, sweet smile that gave Lance butterflies. He cleared his throat and tried to use that smile to ground himself. “I really appreciate all of it.” They came to a stop in front of the lions. Lance looked at Blue sadly before turning to Red. Keith was looking at her too, but there wasn’t really any specific emotion in his face.

Lance gulped and licked his lips. “Look, we’re going to be out here for who knows how long. And we’re a team. So there shouldn’t be secrets right? I… I have to tell you something. I really don’t know how you’ll take it, okay? And I’m not expecting anything specific, I just have to tell you. I don’t want you to be angry, but… I guess I understand if you do get angry so-”

“Lance,” Keith said with a hand on his arm. “Breathe,” he encouraged. “What is it?”

He looked at him with concern, and Lance could feel the soft humming purr of his new lion in his head. He wondered if Keith could still hear her too. He couldn’t hear Blue. But Red seemed to be gently encouraging him. The purr was comforting, and Lance was filled with a distant calming emotion. It would be okay.

Lance took a breath, looked Keith in the eyes, and clenched his jaw. Then, in a single breath, he said, “I think I like you.”

There was no explosion. No burst of realization. No gasp, no look of disgust or joy. The only change on Keith’s face was a slight eyebrow raise, and the subtle parting of his lips. He never broke the eye contact.

“You're… not joking.” Lance pressed his lips together and shook his head slowly. “When you say ‘like,’ you mean….”

“A crush. Feelings. Romantic ones. Yeah,” he answered not really sure how to respond to this… unresponsive reaction.

“Oh.” He kept staring at Lance and the blush that spread across his cheeks spread so slowly, Lance almost didn’t notice. “That's… new. I’m not usually… um, likable I guess.” He finally looked away and Lance realized he could breathe. “Um… since when? Why?” He seemed so genuinely confused. Like the idea that Lance liked him wasn’t bizarre, but the fact that someone could was.

Lance felt a little less horrible and shrugged. “I can’t say for sure when. But… because of how much you care. Even if not in the most obvious ways, you just… you managed to make me feel like I mattered. And you’re inspiring. You’re dedicated and determined and you don’t just brush me off you know? Keith… I really admire you. From the way you’re ridiculously fearless and the way you stepped up to lead Voltron. It’s just…. I don’t know I just started getting all of these giddy feelings when I’d see you or when you’d smile at me the way do. I feel like I think clearer around you, I'm… better around you. But I’m also a mess.” He chuckled and shrugged. “I just really like being around you and the fact that I can talk to you without feeling stupid because you make sure I don't… feel that way.”

He looked up and saw Keith’s red face and wide eyes looking at him. “O-oh. Oh. Oh.” Lance gulped. Red, I might have broken him. He heard the low rumble of laughter in his head. Keith finally took a breath and managed to stammer out actual sentences. “I’ve kind of never been good with people. Relationships and stuff… it’s weird. Friendships, I mean. I just… I don’t really get the dynamic, you know, I’m used to being alone.”

Lance felt his heart sink, but he smiled and nudged him gently. “Hey. I told you; it’s cool, I don’t expect anything, I just wanted to tell you. Don’t think I’m trying to-”

“No, no, no,” Keith interrupted, waving his hands frantically. “I’m not saying…. I just mean…. I don’t think I’m the best person to get a crush on. But… this idea is… it feels, um, right? It just… makes sense.” Lance tilted his head in confusion and Keith gulped. “I mean… maybe I can learn. And maybe….”

Lance took a sudden breath, realizing what he meant. There was a chance? A possibility? Did Keith feel the same way? Could he?

Keith groaned and ran a hand through his hair. “Just give me a tick to string my thoughts into coherent sentences, okay? Here, come on.” He sat by Red’s paw and started chewing his nails. Lance sat in front of him awkwardly. “None of what I wanted to say came out right,” he breathed. He cleared his throat and sighed. “I’m still learning to take social cues and… I’m still learning to trust friends, and getting used to what it’s like to have friends. So it’s surprising to me that someone like you would like me.”

Lance frowned and scooted away slightly. “Someone like me?” he repeated.

Keith nodded. “Lance, you’re way more level-headed than me. You’re in touch with your emotions. You wear your heart on your sleeve and I… well I build walls around mine. I-I should be the one admiring you. And… um. Well I never really… thought about letting myself be interested in someone but maybe… I guess it kind of just clicked when the possibility of liking a guy came up. I…. Maybe with a little time or something, I-”

Lance placed a hand on his arm. “Hey Keith. Breathe,” he said with a smile. Keith smiled back at him, his cheeks dusted with red. “We’ll figure it out together, yeah?”

“That’d be nice,” he answered softly. “Thank you.”

“Yeah. Yeah, of course. Um…. Well, for now, I’m your right-hand man. You know that, right?”

Keith smiled and nodded. “Perfect. I’m going to go ahead and go to bed. I’m really tired,” he said with a light laugh.

Lance nodded and gestured for them to leave the hangar.

They’d barely made it one step out when the castle jostled, toppling them over and sirens rang in their ears. “What the-?”

“We’re getting attacked,” Keith realized, his voice dropping lower, his laughter gone. In its place a determined, angry expression. “Get your armor and your lion.” Lance nodded and raced off to tug on his armor. The original paladins really should have thought about making them a little more efficient.

He went to the red lion who had lost all the playful purrs and replaced with vicious, menacing growls. Lance went in, sitting at his pilot’s seat before flying her out of the castle. The black and blue lions were already out. Pidge and Hunk followed quickly after, and the particle barrier flew up around the castle, flickering after the damage it took to the system.

There were several Galra planes with ion blasters aimed toward them.

“We don’t have time to form Voltron,” Keith growled. “We have to knock out most of the defenses. If we can, try to pinpoint Lotor’s. If not, at least get rid of enough so Coran and Shiro can distract them long enough for us to form,” Keith commanded. His voice was certain, level, no rush, only determination.

“Roger that.”

“On it!”

“Sounds like a plan.”

“You got it.”

The lions spread out and a variety of colors began to paint the small part of the universe they were in. Blue, red, yellow, green, dark and light purple, white. All the beams and weapons shot across the sky creating a beautifully terrifying picture. The sounds of crashing metal, explosions, and weapons filled the silence. It was incredible to think that this was happening while the rest of the universe remained oblivious.

Pidge had taken a particularly hard hit, and Hunk spent half the time acting as her second armor while fending off his own Galran ships. Allura and Lance managed to work together to shoot down some of the Galras, but more took their place. Shiro and Coran were sending their own hits from the castle but it wouldn’t be long before the castle was surrounded by ion blasters and shot down if the paladins could make them retreat soon.

Of course, Keith had noticed and apparently decided to dive headfirst. Lance saw his lion speeding toward Lotor’s main battleship, the jaw blade slicing through any ship that came toward him and ducking any blasts shot his way.

“Keith! What are you doing?” Lance shouted into the comm.

“I’m cutting the head off this hydra,” he answered, his voice tight and angry.

“It’s dangerous to go al-”

“I’m already here, Lance,” Keith interrupted. “Keep fighting. All of you.”

Lance could barely keep himself focused knowing Keith was heading right into the belly of the beast. Suddenly he was knocked aside and Allura shot an ice ray at two enemy ships that had aimed at Lance. “Focus, Lance,” she chided.

“Someone has to help Keith,” he said.

“What?” she nearly shrieked. But Lance was already starting for Lotor and the black lion.

Come on, Red. I know you can do this.

Red seemed to snarl in response, moving quicker and smoother, dodging blasts, nearly controlling Lance’s body as he shot his magma beam until they reached the platform of Lotor’s ship. He was horrified to see Keith wasn’t even in his lion anymore.

“Keith what are you doing?” he shouted, not bothering to be subtle. “Get in your lion!”

“I’m in,” he answered softly. He was sneaking in. But did he really think Lotor wouldn’t know he was there? “He’s in range…. It would help if I had my sharpshooter, you know?”

Lance felt terror grip his throat. Too close, he was too close to danger. “Keith,” he said firmly. “Don’t do this. Get back in the lion.”

“Lance, I have a chance to end this. I’m taking it. Are you helping or-” There was a series of noises that none of the paladins knew what to make of.

“Keith?” Pidge shouted. “You there?”

“Are you okay, Keith?” Allura asked, her voice calm, but Lance knew her well enough to know her face would be panicked.

“Coran, Shiro, can you pick up his vitals?” Lance asked in a panic.

“He’s there. They must have knocked the helmet off, but he’s okay. I got his heartbeat on the system,” Shiro said.

“He’s surrounded by five Galra,” Coran added.

Lance growled under his breath and grit his teeth. “I told him,” he muttered as he left his lion.

“Lance what are you doing, dude?” Hunk shouted. “We can’t have you in danger too, get back in!”

“Sorry, big guy. He’d do the same if I was in there. I’m pulling him out by the ear,” he promised.

“Be careful, Lance,” Pidge warned before grunting, possibly in response to another attack. “Hunk!”

Lance shut them out and dipped into the ship, noting that there was a severe lack of security. He slinked through hallways, heart pounding like hummingbird wings. “Guys, can I get a location?” he whispered into his comm.

“Two more hallways down, turn right, second opening. It’s the control room,” Coran answered. “Have your shield up, my boy.”

“Got it,” Lance answered, sprinting closer. There were no guards. No cameras. No trip wires or booby traps.

Then he heard it. The fighting, the lack of mercy, the painful screams that made Lance’s blood freeze. He raced into the room, in time to shoot at a large Galra with tufts on the side of her head before she could get a hold of Keith. Keith looked over in surprise and seemed relieved when he saw Lance.

“I told you-!” Lance cut off when he saw another Galra, this one cloaked, coming toward him. There were no facial features- no eyes, no mouth, no nose. He stepped back and tripped over something. He felt a gentle pressure on his chest and opened his eyes. A cat. It was a cat.

Before he could shove it off, the blank faced Galra leapt onto him, hand clutching his throat without mercy.

He heard a growl, and he could see Keith in his peripheral vision. His blade was a blur, his body agile, moving where it had to, light as he jumped and turned and kicked. Lance gripped the Galra’s wrist and  thrust his elbow up to hit her in the chin, causing her to jump back. Lance aimed his blaster at her, scowling as sher tilted her head, and the cat hissed and flicked its tail.

“Move!” Keith shouted, gripping his arm and dragging him back as a beam blasted the ground where he’d been standing.

“If you’d listened to me, this wouldn’t be happening!”

“But I didn’t and it is, you really want to have this argument now?” he snapped, as he stood back to back with him, eyeing the Galra generals. There was a pink one with colorful markings and a childish smile standing in front of Lance. She didn’t look Galran at all. Not like the others. In fact, Lance could imagine himself trying to hit on to her if they’d met on a different planet.

“They brought two of the kitties!” she said happily. As if there wasn’t a full-blown battle underway.

“I thought so,” a deep, musical voice purred. Lance let his eyes drift where he saw movement, his hand tensing around the trigger of his blaster. He saw a Galran with stark white hair and yellow eyes with purple irises like Keith’s and an angular face. Lotor.

He seemed so calm, so at ease.

“Can we kill them yet?” the one with tufts growled. “I want the tall one,” she snarled, baring her teeth.

“Patience,” Lotor said almost lazily. “Narti. Bring the lions aboard.” The cloaked one slinked away.

“You take two I take two?” Lance whispered. He heard Keith huff in response. Then he heard an angry shriek as Keith lunged forward and brought his blade down on a human-esque Galra. The only thing that showed she was Galra was her skin tone and the ridges on her head. The violent one lunged at Lance, but he managed to duck and roll out of the way, coming up on one knee to shoot, the force of the blow throwing her against Lotor.

“Oh, you’re cute!” the pink one said, flipping him upside down with the strange tail growing out of her head like a fleshy ponytail. Then she threw him against the wall.

“Lance!” Keith shouted. He shoved the Galra aside and started for the pink one who danced around him with a musical laugh, moving as quickly as Keith. Lance pulled himself up and shot at the other Galra. Lotor scowled as the taller one blocked the hits with a large piece of metal.

“Let’s go!” he snapped. “We have the lions. These two are useless.” The pink one managed a graceful backflip back towards Lotor, leaving Keith breathless as he glared. “Acxa. Make sure the fleets pull back. We can get the other lions another day.” The humanoid one nodded and slipped away, casting a final glare at them, reminding Lance of Keith.

As the metal started coming down, Lance shot again, shoving the unsuspecting Galra back. She growled, but Lance kept his blaster levelled with his eyes, ready to shoot again.

Lotor scowled and looked at them with contempt. “I’m feeling generous, paladins. Leave. Your services are no longer needed.” He smirked and turned away as if the fact that both Lance and Keith had weapons meant nothing to him. The other two followed.

As much as Lance wanted to go after them, he knew it would be futile. They could barely fight them off last time when they were all together and now Lotor was there too. He gripped Keith’s arm and tugged him. “Let’s go. We’ll figure out how to get the lions back,” he said. He had to call for one of the others to come get them and take them back to the Castle of Lions.

Then Lotor’s voice echoed through the control room. “Oh, and Zethrid? Get the bayards.”

Just like that the Galra was on them, all growls and angry hits, tossing Lance aside like a rag doll as she wretched the blaster from his hands. He saw spots in his vision for a few seconds before he could process Keith shouting his name again.

When his sight refocused, he saw Keith slicing his blade down, pushing Zethrid’s growling figure back, back, back. She lifted the blaster, but that was a long range weapon. Keith was fighting too close, moving too quickly.

Lance heard more commotion, heard more fighting. Had the others come to help? One had called back the other fleets. The paladins were free to help. Maybe they could still win.

Lance saw the blue blast fill the room before he heard it. He turned, shrieking for Keith in a panic, stumbling forward to find him. Then he heard a defiant yell and the sound of a blade being impaled. There was an angry roar and Lance saw Keith’s blade shoved into Zethrid’s side. She shoved him back, hitting him with the butt of the blaster before stumbling away, panting for breath.

“Keith? Keith!” Lance shouted. Half of him wanted to hug Keith, and half of him wanted to yank him by the ear. But the second he saw him still standing, he decided to go with the former. He struggle to get onto his feet and threw his arms around Keith, pulling him in tightly as he was flooded with relief. His limbs began to shake from the adrenaline coursing through him. “Oh thank God you’re okay.”

“L-Lance?” he croaked.

“I’m right here,” he said. Keith’s arms came around him, then he slumped, and Lance staggered before he could regain his grip. “Keith?”

“That blaster hurts so quiznacking much,” he wheezed. His eyes were glazed over, struggling to focus on Lance. Lance’s eyes went wide and he let them trail down. The white armor at his chest was smeared with crimson blood. Blood that kept flowing out from the the black nylon just under the slope of the armor, glistening in the most sickening way as it pulsed out of him. He had been hit too close.

Lance fell to his knees, cradling Keith gently and shook his head. “No, no, no. You’re gonna be okay, okay? Focus on me. Look at me. Look at me.” Keith’s violet eyes flickered to him, blinking rapidly. Lance was vaguely aware of the fighting happening outside the room. “The others are here. They’ll be here soon okay, just hold on. Keith, talk to me. Please.”

“It- hurts,” he choked, his face contorting, his body spasming in Lance’s arms. His eyes stayed on him. “Ev-everything hurts.” He gasped for air and coughed, causing blood to sputter out and dribble down the corner of his mouth. “I-I should’ve… li-listened to you.”

“Yeah, you think so?” Lance answered, his voice weak and breaking as he held Keith. “It’s okay. We’ll patch you up and put you in a healing pod and then when you’re out, I’m going to hound you for this. I’ll put you in time out and everything. You’re officially grounded.” Keith’s mouth quirked, but instead of sending butterflies through Lance, it caused terrified goosebumps. His eyes were too distant. The blood was bright against his pale, sweaty face. Lance gulped and held him tighter. “Then we’ll go see the eclipse. We can sit together. Drink space juice and watch and pretend none of this ever happened,” he continued with a soft, weak voice. He wasn’t sure he believed himself.

“Sounds… like… a date,” he breathed. His breaths were short and his grip was losing strength as he clung to Lance. The words made a half sob, half laugh bubble up in Lance and he pressed his forehead to Keith’s. “Take care of Red for me,” he mumbled.

“W-what? Keith? No, no, no, Keith, wake up,” Lance said, shaking him. Keith winced, but his eyes fluttered open. “Don’t fall asleep. Don’t you dare, Mullet. We’re in the middle of battle, you can’t fall asleep. I swear I’ll start calling you Sleeping Beauty if you dare fall asleep on me.”

Keith smiled weakly, his fingers twitching as they gripped Lance’s arm. “As long as you wake me up,” he whispered, shutting his eyes.

“No, Keith. Open your eyes. Open your eyes, come on,” he insisted. Keith did, but it was obvious he was struggling. His gaze focused on the ceiling as his eyes watered and more blood seeped from his mouth. “Keith, come on,” Lance moaned.

“I-I don’t… I don’t feel anything any-anymore,” he gasped.

“Keith, stay with me. Stay awake, okay?” Lance whimpered. Keith’s breaths slowed, his eyes fluttering before they turned blank, slightly cross-eyed as his head lolled to the side.

“No!”

He shook Keith almost violently. “Come back! Come back, come back, come back!” he pleaded. “No, no, no!” he wailed, pulling Keith closer, sobbing into his hair as his limp body rested against him. Lance placed his lips to his icy, sweaty forehead, sobbing, hands shaking as he caressed him, begging him to wake up, to come back.

He heard the rush of footsteps, heard the gasps, the shriek that must have come from Pidge, but he couldn’t bring himself to lift his head from where it remained buried in the crook of his neck, covered by that stupid, adorable mullet. Keith had been his rival. Then he became his leader. Then his friend. He became one of the few friends Lance could trust completely. And now he was gone.

No more smiles. No more varying tones of voice. No more galaxy eyes reading him like an open book. No more maybes, no more hope, no more….

dmaherr  asked:

Why don't the adult versions in IT(the book) not remember what happened to them as kids

Accidental double negative, I’m guessing :) as to why Bill, Bev, Ben, Eddie, Richie, and poor Stan don’t remember the deadlights until Mike, the one who stayed, calls them all to tell them the murders have started again and to ask them to come home like they promised they would, home to Derry, home to the killing floor, to fight It once more…there are several reasons why, which tie into the multiple interwoven narrative layers upon which It is built. 

The first is sheer trauma. As kids, the main characters were hunted by a shapeshifting monster preying on their worst fears. They faced death, again and again; they spent some of the most formative days of their lives mired in horror. As such, after escaping Derry, they shoved what they’d seen to the farthest corners of their brains, where it lay in wait. Part of what makes It work despite the bloated overreach and some truly terrible storytelling choices (the preteen gangbang being only the most infamous) is the focus throughout on traumatic remembering, on skeletons crawling out of closets. Our heroes basically have PTSD; they have repressed their memories of It in order to cope, and Mike’s calls bring them back to the light. All six of them suffer for it, but Stan suffers the most. He was both the most rigid and brittle of the Losers’ Club and the one who understood best the nature of what they were fighting (it’s later revealed that he was the only one of them who realized as a child that It was female and could bear progeny). Remembering that, being called back into that, is more than Stan can bear. It shatters his sense of a proper ordered universe, and he kills himself rather than face that. Throughout It, King emphasizes the primal power of the kind of “children as prey” fairytale on which he’s riffing. In this case, the monster in the basement is so traumatizing that Stan chooses the abyss. “It,” then, comes to signify that thing you’re trying to forget, that part of yourself and your past that you’ve buried, that thing, that it, forever in the back of your thoughts and the corner of your eye. I would go so far as to argue that King built It around drip-by-drip traumatic flashbacks in part to evoke what abuse victims go through: the agony of remembering, bit by bit, what was done to you when you were alone and afraid. 

The second layer is the strong sense that these six made an unconscious deal with the devil–they sold out their memories, and made out like gangbusters. Mike quietly notes that the six who left turned out far more financially and professionally successful than him, the one who stayed in Derry and (thus) held onto his memories. When he calls them, they’re forced to acknowledge how much of their adult lives flow from the childhood they can’t consciously remember. Bill, a popular horror author (and a transparent stand-in for King himself), realizes that all along he’s been writing about Georgie, his little brother who was killed by It in the book’s iconic opening scene. It’s only when Bev and Eddie are called home that they really face down the undeniable truth that they married their father and mother, respectively. (That’s pretty reductive in execution, but it fits the theme well.) Stan’s been riding a spooky wave of luck for years, recalling only deep deep down why that might be (“the turtle couldn’t help us”). Ben’s a hotshot young architect who shed all those pounds, but he also swiped the look of his controversial new communications tower from the design of the Derry Public Library, his refuge as a lonely child. He’s rich and famous and handsome, and yet he keeps flying west because he’s so afraid of the darkness catching up to him, not because he remembers what’s waiting in the shadows but because he doesn’t. After Mike calls Richie, the latter notes in a daze how terrifyingly easy it would be to tear up everything he’s accomplished since leaving Derry. They are so very fragile, these American dreams of ours, and they’re rooted in nightmares. 

Indeed, the third layer goes beyond the personal to the political. As King has a one-off character note early on, It is Derry. “Somehow, It got inside.” The monster has been feeding on and encouraging the town’s worst instincts for years, happily soaking in the violence whether it’s motivated by racism or homophobia or bloodthirsty revenge. This is where Mike, my favorite character in the book (by a notch above Stan the Man), takes center stage. As the town librarian, he devotes himself to unearthing Derry’s singularly ugly history, and it is he who discovers the pattern of It. Every generation, It emerges to take Its toll; Derry is its “private game reserve.” As Mike asks: “can an entire town be haunted?” This is something arguably even more traumatic for our heroes than the memories of It Itself: the terrible revelation that the adults were in on it. In this way, King ties the fall-into-knowledge central to stories about the dark side of small-town Americana (per Blue Velvet: “I’m seeing something that was always hidden”) into his beloved monster-movie pulp. 

Finally, we get to what the titular entity actually is: a cosmic predator from beyond spacetime, thirsting for meat flavored with fear, using glamours to project images of Itself as whatever Its victims fear most. It’s easy to mock such LSD-soaked Lovecraftian lore as overblown, and it definitely is that. But it resonates with all those other layers. Lovecraftian horror drives mortals mad, which dovetails with the trauma and repression our heroes undergo. The idea of an ancient monster that everyone knows is there but no one wants to talk about, even as it inflicts its wounds on the next generation, is an apt metaphor for all variety of social ills, many of which King addresses directly. There are multiple kinds of horror struggling for the spotlight in It, from abuse to bigotry to the Eater of Worlds variety. What makes the book interesting–if also more than a little silly–is the author’s insistence that all these kinds of horror are linked. That’s why our heroes can’t remember It: not only because the movie monster turned out to be real, but because It was far worse than the movies suggested, and It’s wearing your father’s face. 

So I wrote a thing in response to this post.  It makes a few specific references and really only makes sense if you look at that first, but I didn’t want to add this on by reblogging because 1) I don’t want to start an argument or anything (though I think I’ve kept it civil, it’s just a different opinion, I just like to really examine each point and why I disagree okay) and 2) it’s over 1500 words SO

Basically the post is about how Harry should have become the Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher, and I respectfully disagree and here’s why

I have a fricking midterm tomorrow what am I doing

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anonymous asked:

How would the chocobros (especially Ignis and Gladio if you don't want to do all of them) react if their new s/o had a daughter (like 5-6 y/o) that she raised on her own and she only introduces them when she's 100% sure she can trust them. I'm sorry if this doesn't make sense, English isn't my first language

I left Noct out bc I have a scenario I’ve already written that’s similar (it is with a fem!s/o though so if you want a gender neutral one just lemme know)

Ignis

  • Honestly when you tell him he’ll kinda be awestruck because raising a child is not easy, so he’ll admire you for that, especially because you were doing so on your own
  • He’ll ask you a lot about both raising your daughter and what she’s like
    • Asking about why you didn’t tell him earlier will probably be saved for a later discussion
  • He definitely won’t ask if he can meet her right off the bat – not because he doesn’t want to meet her but because he’d feel kind of awkward if he asked right away?  Largely because he believes it’d be intrusive of him as he’d not known about your daughter’s existence until a few minutes prior
  • Once he does meet your little girl he’ll be instantly taken with her as when he comes to visit for the first time she’s wearing a small apron that says “kiss the cook” and attempting to make a small pizza
    • she’s a fellow cook, how could Ignis not love her I mean c’mon
    • You actually fall in love with Ignis a little more because he immediately comes over to the kitchen and asks if there’s anything he can do to help the little chef
      • your daughter, ever the social butterfly, immediately gives him half of the dough to start rolling out
    • You all end the night covered in flower, stomach full with homemade mini pizzas

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anonymous asked:

Hi, I'm in love with your blog! Question: I spend a lot of time planning my story, however I'm stuck because I don't know if I should narrate it by third-person omniscient or first-person. What are the pros and cons of each type of narrator? I would like to have three people as the protagonists, but it's also my first novel so...

Thank you!

Now this is a struggle that I know particularly well. It’s a debate I often have with my own stories. There’s always one that will work with your particular story the best, but sometimes it’s a really close call. 

Let’s compare the two.

First Person:

Pros:

  • It’s natural: For a lot of writers, using the first person is the easiest way to tell a story, just because it’s what we do in our daily lives. We don’t say “The anonymous asker- who is myself- sent a question the other day,” we say “I sent a question on anon the other day.”
  • Your narrating character has a unique voice: Most well-developed characters will often have their own way of talking that is different from the voices of your other characters or from your own voice. Using first person means that you can play around a lot more with the language. 
  • VIP Tropes: Like with the other perspectives, there are special tropes or tricks that you can only do with this perspective, such as the Unreliable Narrator and more. 
  • Front Row Seats to the Angst: One of my favorite parts about using first person is the ability to really tap into the main character’s emotions. Characters can directly state how they are feeling and why, which actually very much helps readers relate to or understand them.
  • Empathy and Understanding: Basically like the point above, but more specifically, it can help the reader understand decisions that might otherwise seem strange, immoral, etc

Cons:

  • Limitations: The most obvious downside is that the story is now limited to only the scenes in which your character is present, which can limit things such as your additional character arcs, etc.
  • Tinted Glasses: Because things are only seen through your character’s perspective, the details they provide are therefore tinted by their thoughts and opinions.
  • Lack of outside perspective: You don’t always know what the other characters think of the main character, because the main character is only perceiving the details of their interactions based off of what they think of themselves. Again, a colored perspective, but this time involving interactions. 
  • Poetry sounds a little weird: Most people don’t really talk like that. You say “the wind was like, biting cold today”, not “the wind bit like a sharpened blade grazing the skin.” If your character says the latter, I am a little concerned and befuddled by them. 

Third Person Omniscient: 

Pros:

  • You don’t have to use their voice: If you don’t like to use your characters’ voice, congrats, you don’t have to. You can now write with your own Special Writer Voice.
  • Details: Because third person is no longer limited to that which your character can sense, you can bring a bunch of random details that people tend not to actually notice, which means all that poetic stuff can now be included. That means you can now say the thing about the wind.
  • In fact, all the descriptions get a lot more posh. One of the other problems with first person is that your main character probably won’t be very well described unless they have a cheesy Mirror Scene or something, and as I also mentioned, you have little idea about what the other characters think of MC. In third person, that all opens up.
  • You can play around behind closed doors: Once again, since you are no longer reliant upon what your character can sense, you can now track other characters and their goings-on. That means the reader now gets to be privy to all the secrets, betrayals, and other private interactions between the other characters. This is particularly good if you have multiple character arcs to keep track of. 
  • Mindreading: You can now dive a little bit into everyone’s minds to see how they think or feel. Granted, you don’t get to know anyone as especially well as you come to know the first person MC, but now everyone has the same level of empathy, and bonus, without the “tinted glasses” of the MC.

Cons: 

Basically, everything you gained in first person is lost in third person.

  • Mindreading 2: You know everybody, but only kind of. 
  • Empathy gaps: It becomes a lot harder to establish an emotional connection from reader to character. When you cannot relate directly to the character’s feelings, it takes a lot more work on the writer’s part to make them care. 
  • Confusion: True, you now have more opportunity for moving around settings and perspectives, but sometimes, with so much to keep track of, it can be disorienting if you don’t balance all of your scene changes and movements. 

It may seem like there are a lot less disadvantages, but the whole-emotional disconnect thing is a lot more significant than it seems.

How do we know which one to use? Well, it’s hard to say sometimes. One way that modern writers have developed these days to get around a few of the disadvantages of the first person is to have multiple main characters, and alternate between their perspectives. In that way, you get multiple views, opinions, etc.

Of course, that presents its own problems as well. For one, if a reader doesn’t like a particular perspective, they’ll be tempted to skip their chapters, and for another, it can sometimes be difficult determining which scenes should be narrated by whom, just as examples.

Upon looking at the advantages and disadvantages, think of what best serves your particular story. As I frequently advise, when in doubt, try it out. Sometimes I start in third but then find that the characters are begging to tell it themselves. Other times, they are incredibly grudging and unwilling to speak.

With consideration, you might be able to figure out just by the obvious pros and cons which option is best suited for your story. If not, that’s okay. Try a chapter either way and see what conveys the correct flow.

It’s a rather important decision to make, and sometimes it takes a lot of writing it one way and then changing your mind thousands and thousands of words in, but ultimately, finding the right way is imperative.

Best of luck to you, and I hope this helps you sort it out a little easier :)

~Penemue

anonymous asked:

regarding your analysis of C&L: you mentioned that you don't connect with it as much because it is a more general account of grief, while ACL@M has it's own explicit narrative. comparing Twin Fantasy and Teens of Denial, could you say that your own art has moved in the direction of C&L? TF has a very clear narrative that is relatable in a much deeper way than ToD because it tells a specific, personal story. i love both albums, but your analysis aligns with my feelings about your project.

I’ve seen the term “relatability” thrown around a lot in conversations where people compare, usually in a disappointed tone of voice, ToD with TF. I can’t say I really know what it means. I wrote Denial in the same way that I’ve written every album I’ve made since Twin Fantasy: I’ve started with personal experiences, and attempted to tie them together with more universal sentiments, to create a work with a coherent conceptual arc that stands as something larger than myself. I’ve never written an album like ACL@M. Twin Fantasy was every bit an attempt to create something universal as Denial was; I specifically remember writing Bodys to be an anthem, something people could sing along to with no knowledge of me or my “story”. This was mixed with more diaristic elements elsewhere, obviously, but only inasmuch as it serviced the record as an independent object for it to be diaristic. I’ve never felt that the most important thing on a record is to “tell my story”. That’s not what art is about to me; that’s not how the art that is important to me has affected me. I think every record I’ve made does tell a story, but it is only mine in the sense that my name is on the credits. 

Denial is created in the exact same manner, to the exact same proposed end; it’s a diaristic work of art. Songs like “Drugs With Friends” are specific and personal in a way that I shouldn’t really have to point out. The album tells a story just as TF does, propelled by its musical and conceptual structure, and by repeated motifs and images. The mirroring of song titles, the splitting of sides into “Hometown Hero” and “Cosmic Hero”, the recurring image of being “split in two” - these are not random upcroppings any more than the images and patterns on Twin Fantasy are random. I structured them in a very specific way, to create a specific unfolding of meaning. 

The real difference between these two albums is content. Twin Fantasy is a romance; Teens of Denial is a bildungsroman. Most people will prefer a romance over a bildungsroman, as it speaks to a more essential aspect of humanity. I can’t protest this, and I feel the same way - I think romance is inherently a stronger genre, being (presumably) about two people instead of one. Denial is by no means one of my favorite records. I wrote it during a period in my life where I was not feeling a lot of love. Its tone and content reflect that. I made it because that’s what I do - records have always marked the various phases of my life, and I needed to get out of this one, so I needed to make a record. I think it is what it is, and it’s good for what it is, and other people without a lot of love in their lives might relate to it more strongly than anything else I could have created. If you can’t relate, then consider yourself lucky, and consider checking out one of my many other albums on other subjects.

I think, though, that the reason that a vague term like “relatability” has been selected as appropriate in driving this discourse is that the discourse is based more on how the album was promoted than what the album actually is, when you sit down and listen to it. When we’d wrapped up the record and I was discussing with our publicist what the best approach would be for promoting it, I sent her a track-by-track breakdown of the album, explaining the overarching narrative, and how each song fit in context. Ultimately, we decided to leave this aspect of the record unspoken in promotional material, and focus instead on the strength of the songs as individual works. Thus, the narrative that subsequently built up around the album was about its songs, their accessibility, their potential as works of mass consumption. I had assumed, perhaps blithely, that people who preferred concept records to pop songs, who sought meaning through the building of ideas through a record rather than an immediate emotional release provided by an explicit turn of phrase, would encounter the album on their own time, listen to it while reading the lyrics, and discover that it did, in fact, function on this level as well. I underestimated the power of promotional narrative to influence people’s beliefs about what a thing actually is. This is an idea that has always haunted me, because I don’t speak through press releases, I speak through my art. Most artists do. A press release is something designed to get people to look at art - it should, under no circumstances, be able to replace the art, to override its meaning through memetic repetition. (This is also a large part of what bothered me with C&L; I was tired of seeing people trying to interpret lines like “You checked your texts while I masturbated” under an unshakeable assumption that it must be about his mother’s death.) You must not allow the world to convince you to consume art like this. Art so rarely falls into your lap unannounced, but you must make the effort to pretend as such each time you enter a work; forget what you know about the artist, what you’ve heard other people say about the work, and try to experience it as direct communication. That is the only way you will be able to understand the art as it was intended to be understood.

Sith Culture

In my feeble attempt to bring a bit more into worldbuilding and storytelling, I shall tackle a bunch of little things within Sith Pureblood culture.

I had to add the “read more” cause it’s looooonng……

Disclaimer: Please note there will be things on here that I don’t agree or condone when applied to ~REAL LIFE~.
(it should be obvious, but this is tumblr so i gotta say this)

Keep reading

anonymous asked:

Hi! I don't know if you take prompts but I have one if you want: that scene in season 10 where Mulder sees Scully sleeping but instead he hears her muttering his name and realizes she still loves him maybe? :)

Thank you for this prompt, anon :) I hope you enjoy! Set, of course, in Mulder And Scully Meet The Were-Monster.

He knows he shouldn’t be here, shouldn’t be doing this. Watching Scully through a hole in the wall like a creep. It’s highly questionable, he knows; actually it’s downright objectionable. Yet, he can’t make himself look away, can’t even convince himself it’s wrong. His feet are frozen to the spot, his eyes glued to her sleeping form. Why do you like to watch me sleep, Mulder? She asked him once. Just a regular morning, a Saturday maybe. Sleeping together, waking up next to each other, was still new, not yet a daily occurrence. He is fairly certain that he grinned at her then, because in those early days he was always grinning. Sheepishly, he confessed to her that this wasn’t the first time, far from it. I’ve always watched you sleep, Scully. You fall asleep all the time in cars, in planes and yes, once at the office. His admission rendered her speechless. When she remained quiet, her expression unreadable in the dim light of the morning, in the yet unknown territory between friendship and romance, he had mentally packed his bags, accepted defeat. Then she put on a smile, so genuine and real he can still recall it today, take it out like an old, not quite faded picture. She leaned over, kissed his cheek. Thank you for always watching over me, she whispered into his ear, forgiving him, and giving him permission.

That was over a decade ago, he realizes, blinking. He misses this. Misses being allowed into every aspect of her life. He is no longer there when she falls asleep reading. Who picks up her glasses? The book or the folder? When they slide down as she sinks further and further away into slumber. There could be someone else, he figures, blinking again, slower. Someone she is afraid to mention. Someone who waits for her while she’s out chasing monsters with her spooky ex. How would she explain it, he wonders. Sorry, my former life caught up with me. But no. They may not live together right now, and she might stumble over words like home and husband, but they’re still them. They’re still connected. For eternity. He’ll wait as long as it takes for her to come back. To him, to their life.

Whatever they are though, it doesn’t make this right. Does it? Part of him wants to throw caution to the wind; wants to forget everything that’s going on around here, around them. Just walk into her room and join her there on the bed. Feel her warm form next to him. Listen to the gentle rhythm of her breathing. Be with her. She still sticks to one side of the bed; he does, too. The memory of her, her ghost, remains with him in their bed. Anywhere he sleeps, really. He tried sleeping on the couch like he used to do. Mulder could have lived with the pain in his back and the stiffness in his arms. But even there, on their old couch, he misses her. He averts his eyes now for a moment, saving the image of her sleeping to his memory. These days it’s all he’s got; his memories his greatest treasures. As wrong as it may be, he has to look again. Just one more time. He’s never been patient, has never been able to wait or give up. Scully would attest to that. So he allows himself one last glance.

“Hmmm.” That’s Scully. Still unaware, still sleeping peacefully. Mulder has no idea how long he’s been standing here watching her. To him it seems like mere seconds, but it has to have been minutes. Many, many minutes.

“Mul… Mulder.” She sighs his name audibly, happily even. There is no mistaking it. He’s heard her utter his name in countless variations. As a yell, as a question, sometimes as an accusation. Or as a moan. It doesn’t matter to him how she says it as long as she does. His name on her lips is one of his favorite sounds.

“Mulder, hmmm, yeah.” He doesn’t dare to guess what she’s dreaming about. But a sense of jealousy towards his dream alter ego spreads inside his chest.

“Love… you.” While it’s not a confession, nothing he hasn’t known before, he wishes he had not been intruding. She’s been trying so hard to keep her distance, to push him back out into the real world without her. Her hope that he would learn to swim again and not be drowned by his thoughts, by his depression. Without her as his anchor, he needs to stay afloat by himself. And he manages. He sometimes misses a beat, chokes and spits, but he’s coming closer to the shore.

Mulder wants to hear her say these words, but he wants her to know she said them. Look at him and whisper them against his lips like she used to do. With some difficulty, he finally tears himself away. He’s seen enough, heard too much. In a few moments he will knock at her door, wake her up. Tell her what he’s found out, take her away from this creepy place. They won’t share a hotel room wherever they end up. They’re not there yet. He knows that she hasn’t given up on him, on them. The knowledge puts confidence in his steps, in his smile. No, he should not have watched her sleep. No, he should not have heard her mumble his name, her confession. But he’s glad he did. He’s going to keep this secret to himself until she’s ready to share it with him.

One of my least favorite things about the Gorillaz fandom is how so many people are like “we want less hip hop!!! too much collaboration!!! more Damon plz’

like.. …. . the whole point is to let other artists with various perspectives and backgrounds speak and Albarn is just orchestrating it and adding his flavor so it’s cohesive………..

Maybe if you’re asking for less hip hop………………….just stop listening to Gorillaz expecting that because it won’t ever happen……??? (Exception being The Fall, if you count it )

Everyone’s entitled to an opinion but it just makes no sense??? They can’t all be 19-2000 or Feel Good Inc with the rap edited out (yeah I’ve fucking seen this requested and done, people love to edit the rap parts out of Gorillaz songs smfh) like sorry you’re 12 and listen to Twenty One Pilots on repeat and nothing else and the hip hop collabs are too radical for you but Damon Albarn doesn’t care!!!!!!!