It’s pronounced the same way as Maeve, it just has an Irish spelling.
2) How long have I been drawing for?
As soon as I could hold a paintbrush I was painting. Both my parents are designers who went to art college so I was encouraged at a super young age.
3) Have you taken any art classes?
Yes, I chose art as one of my subjects all through secondary school (high school I guess is the closest thing), I also did an art class outside school for about 2-3 years but I eventually grew out of it and just wanted to do my own thing. And now I am in Limerick School of Art and Design studying Animation and Motion Design. However, I would still classify what I post on Tumblr/Instagram as self taught because that all came from me, not a teacher.
4) Biggest Inspirations
I’m so inspired by so many thing so it is basically whatever I find eye catching so that might be; People, art styles, colour palettes, compositions, lighting etc.
I have been a fan of both Tony DiTerlizzi and P.J. Lynch for as long as I can remember, with my mom working for Candlewick Press in MA when we lived in America we always had hundreds of children’s books growing up, but those two illustrators have always stuck out in my mind. But more recently I have become absolutely obsessed with Jim Kay, I have the illustrated versions of the two Harry Potter books that have come out and my illustrated version of A Monster Calls is breath-taking. I also have the most gorgeous version of The Boy in Striped Pyjamas that was illustrated by Oliver Jeffers.
Glen Keane, Ollie Johnson, Frank Thomas, Milt Kahl are all animation heroes in my opinion, but I have such a huge soft spot for the company Cartoon Saloon, who are an Irish based animation company who created ‘The Secret of Kells’ and 'Song of the Sea’, obviously because of Irish pride but also because I was lucky enough to go to the studio and meet all the lovely people there who were nothing but kind and supportive of my work.
Gustav Klimt is my favourite painter because of the emotion he is able to capture with such subtlety.. that’s what I want my drawings to show.
It really depends on the day, sometimes it can take an hour, sometimes a couple of days
6) What materials do I use?
For sketching I use lead pencils over 2B, drawing pens, markers, oil pastels, compressed charcoal and watercolour pencils - they tend to have the best pigmentation.
7) What Software do I use?
I draw with Photoshop, record speedpaints with OBS, and edit the videos with Premier Pro.
8) What tablet do I use
I use a Wacom Intuos tablet.
9) Do I take commissions and request?
I tend not to take requests, and I have in my blog description whether my commissions are open or not.
10) Can I repost your drawings?
Not on Tumblr, if you want to post them on Instagram/Twitter/Facebook/Pinterest just make sure you provide a link back to my Tumblr blog or my Instagram which is “meabhusd”
11) Can I make edits/colour in your drawings?
Yes of course, but once again, just link back to me.
12) Can I use your drawings as an avatar/header imagine?
Yes you can.
13) How old are you?
I was born on the 24th of April 1996
14) How do I create character designs
Well every time I read a book I will keep a notebook beside my bed to take down all the descriptions of the characters. Of course it is not enough to just have the physical descriptions of characters in my opinion. I always take into account the characters background/personality/settings etc. All of these elements contribute to a better and more interesting design. For example; if a character has a job working outside doing physical labour, they will probably have stronger bodies, more scars, freckles, sunburn or tans.
15) How do I make characters look more diverse?
Same-facing characters is one of the hardest habits to break and I struggled with it for such a long time! Still do. My advide would be to use references of multiple ethnicities first. After that you would be surprised how different a character can look if you change eyebrows, hairlines, jawlines, cheekbones, noses, lips and bodyweight. If you are relying on a different hairstyle to distinguish between each of your characters it wont work. Also adding features like scars/moles/freckles/facial hair can really make your characters unique.
16) Do I have any OCs?
Yes I do, though they are very under developed. I tend to be quite shy about posting about them because they are more personal than fanart, it’s almost intimate to me. They are under they tag 'meabhd’s ocs’.
17) Do you have any other blogs?
I have one for my college work @meabhd-art but it is very different to this one. Much more traditional work and a lot more abstract..
18) Why do I keep Anon asks off?
I have always been quite private and prefer when I feel like I’m talking to someone rather than a thing? I also have anxiety and it makes me nervous not knowing who is talking to me. I answer every single question, though I only publish them sometimes and I am more than happy to answer questions privately if you are not comfortable having a question published.
19) How do I get over art slumps?
Art slumps are so hard, like I’ve had my fair share of them! I find that they come from a place of repetition? So you keep drawing in the same format, or the same characters. So my advice is to change up and element of how you draw, it’s as easy as using a new brush of photoshop, but it will trigger a problem solving part of your brain that will try and adapt the new element to your style or whatever so it’s more interesting to draw.
– written by somebody who probably has no business writing it. ;) ❤
So my blog, overwatchuserboxes, was for some reason deactivated from Tumblr briefly last night/early this morning. I luckily heard back from Tumblr support staff after a while and, as you guys can probably tell, the blog is back up and running! :)
I can’t figure out if this was just a random mistake or if something else happened, but I’ve been over the Tumblr rules and guidelines and I’m confident I didn’t violate any of their terms. But in light of the recent influx of hatred and viciousness in my inbox related to some of the userboxes I have made on request, I instantly wondered if there was some sort of correlation. I don’t think there was, but the fact that I had the thought is ridiculous in itself!! So. Just a (slightly wordy, sorry) post from me re: ship hate and my ~feelings~ below, if you’d like to keep reading. If not, have a lovely day! ❤
Summary: Werewolf!Reader Story. Readers a young doctor and uses her skills to keep her condition hidden, until she transfers to the Enterprise and tries to deceive a certain grumpy Doctor
Bones x Reader
A/N: I used to write all the werewolf stories in all variants as a teenager. I always liked to go for the “dirty” kinda “yeah, i’m a thing, no, i don’t lose control, but it does come with it’s shortcomings” werewolf … I’ll expand on what it all means for our lovely Y/N while writing this. I hope you enjoy this as much as I do - please let me know what you think!
This fiction is set in AOS
Warnings: None, really
„Lieutenant Y/L/N“, you said, handing over your PADD to the dark haired CMO. His eyes traced you shortly, then he grabbed your PADD, filing through it for a moment, and nodded. „Welcome aboard, Lieutenant. I’ll show you and our new nurses your quarters right away.“ He gave you your PADD back and started walking. For a lack of alternatives you trailed behind him. Not that he had prompted you to do so, but you got the undeniable feeling that he didn’t expect to have to. „You will be assigned to Beta Shift, as you’re a doctor, and we need one there“ he continued while striding through the Enterprise. „Medbay’s here. I’ll show you everything later. Nurse Wildner, Morgan, follow me.“ - you could tell the Doctor was the ‚no bullshit‘-type just by the look of him. He moved efficiently with some kind of permanent frown fixated on his face. You had heard of him of course. The famous Doctor McCoy, best friend to the even more famous Captain Kirk. The famous Enterprise. After you had left Starfleet Academy you had served three years on the USS Washington as an Assistant Doctor. You had applied to a position on the Enterprise just recently and it came as a surprise to you that you were not only considered but chosen.
Hi love, can u do a dean X reader where in a hunt the boys get save by a vampire (girl) and as the time went by dean falls in love her even do everything in his nature is telling him not to? and cloud you tag me please, thank u!
Author’s Note: Please, send in requests because I love reading them and I love writing them! If you would like to be tagged in my future fics and my Series Rewrite that is coming soon, let me know and I’ll add you!
Feedback is always appreciated
Tags at the bottom (if you wished to not be tagged, let me know and I’ll remove you)
You’ve been trailing him for weeks. You’d know that scent
anywhere. You were pulled in when he questioned you at a bar. You couldn’t
focus on anything other than that scent and his candy green apple eyes. He made
you forget who you were.
You only drank animal blood. Killing humans wasn’t who you
were and wasn’t who you ever wanted to be. You were turned into a vampire by
accident. These group of men thought you were someone else and turned you but
when they found out who you really were, they tossed you outside like trash.
They left you to die or to feed all on your own.
That first taste of human blood made your cold, dead heart
feel alive again but you hated hurting people. Before this, you had a life. You
had a family. You were a nurse, practicing to become a doctor one day. You
found joy in making others happier.
But your life was ripped away from you and you’ve never been
the same again. You can’t step foot in a hospital without growing your canines.
You weren’t a normal vampire. You were a special kind that
didn’t have a full set of sharp teeth that extended from your gums. Your
canines were the only ones that grew. You didn’t know why you were like this
but only a handful of people get them once turned.
Maybe that is why you were tossed out like trash. Those
vampires didn’t know what to do with you. It was said that your type of vampire
was very dangerous but they resided in other countries. You were the first of
your kind in the United States. You figured that a vampire migrated here, bit
you and then left after it was done.
You tried to control your thirst by drinking the blood of
animals when they were harmed or dying. You hated killing animals too but it
was better than humans.
But that all changed when you met him. Dean Winchester. You already knew who he was even before meeting
him. Every monster alive was to fear the Winchesters. You tried not to give
anything away as he questioned you and it seemed to work. He got the job done
and was out of town the next week.
And so were you.
You followed him all across the country, always staying a
few steps behind. You couldn’t give yourself away to him because he would kill
you without a second thought. But his scent was what kept the hunger down. He was
your medicine and he didn’t even know you.
You tried your best to get a motel room that was a few doors
down and drive a stolen car that was a few yards behind. You tried your best to
keep yourself hidden from him and it worked until one slip up. He caught you at
a bar when he was hanging with Sam.
He didn’t recognize you but if he did, he made no move to
let you know that. He flirted with you all night long and you so badly wanted
to take him home but you didn’t know what you would do if that happened. Sex
for a vampire was always great but it was so much more than that.
It would be more like you marking him as yours so that other
vampires would know he belonged to you. If he were to turn, that bond would get
stronger. But you couldn’t do that to him since you didn’t want to take his
life away like how you got yours taken.
A few steps along, Bucky caught up with me and matched my
stride. "I meant what I said. I’d still like to walk you home, even though
I’m not physically attached to your dog.“
"I’d really like that too.”
“So how did you get Frankie?” Bucky asks.
A laugh bubbles up at the thought of the memory; “My mother
thought it was time for me to ‘reclaim my independence’. So she brought me to
the rescue that trains guide dogs. I
thought we were going to lunch, but as soon as we got out of the car, the jig
was up. I heard the yapping and barking and I’m sure that if looks could kill,
we’d have had to host her wake.” I chuckle. “She begged me to just
think about it and meet some of the dogs.”
I rolled my eyes at the thought of it “but I had always been a
sucker for dogs, even before…” I trailed off.
Forth-Consecutive World Title For The Russian Super Star?
Yuri Altin-Plisetsky is the star of the ice, no one can question that. After dominating the Junior Division, he went on to become the first skater in male figure skating history to win the Grand Prix during his senior debut at merely age 15.
“Look at them in their ballet tights and pastel colors,” JJ said and lightly bumped Otabek’s shoulder as they stood in front of the giant window allowing them to look into Studio 3. They’d become friends eight months prior when JJ walked into Otabek, successfully spilling hot coffee down his shirt, in one of the hallways of the Ballet Academy where, as it turned out, they both worked as part time pianists accompanying the rehearsals and lessons. “You’d think they’re all innocent little souls, right? Pff, if only people knew what some of them get up to at night.”
Otabek’s limp body hung off the chair, his arms bound behind his back and secured to the wooden chair. There was absolute silence all around, a lone bulb attached to the ceiling flickering every once in a while, the air completely still. He moved slowly around the chair, dust swirling through the air as he walked, his hands hanging on his sides, his eyes carefully watching the unmoving body still completely unconscious.
“What’re you looking at, asshole?” a gruff voice asked ripping Otabek out of his thoughts. Until he spoke, Otabek hadn’t even realized that he’d been staring at him. His mother would’ve definitely reprimanded him for such rude behavior.
The guy, or maybe boy, it was hard to tell his age, sat up in a tree in the middle of the park, his long blond hair open and falling over his shoulders, his clothes loose but carefully color coordinated to fit the scenery around him. He looked almost ethereal with the sunlight hitting him just right, though the scowl on his face didn’t match that idea at all.
“It looks even fucking worse than on the pictures,” Yuri said as they walked into their new apartment in New York. “It almost looks exactly like that dumpster fire of an apartment you used to live in Moscow. Fuck.”
When Otabek was invited to fly to Ibiza to play at Pacha, he’d welcomed the opportunity with open arms. His friends only encouraged him more, said he needed the change of scenery and that it would help him move on. While he wasn’t too sure about the latter, the former was true.
As much as he loved the city, it held too many memories, just like his apartment. All his things were long gone, all traces faded, replaced by others, but Otabek could still feel Yuri’s presence even months later.
Protocol #173B2 Patient: Plisteksy, Yuri Age: 22 In treatment for: Post Traumatic Stress Disorder, Hallucinations Psychiatric: Victor Nikiforov Session #37.1 Plisetsky showed signs of distress upon entering my office in form of eye contact avoidance and fidgeting with a hair tie around his right wrist.
The Catherine Palace was abuzz that night in 1916 as Emperor Nikolai Plisetsky, father of the Russian Tsar, sat and watched as the numerous guests danced across the ballroom. It was a grand display of colors and smiling faces, beautiful music and delight. Chandeliers hung from the ceiling lit with thousands of lights, the walls decorated with rich wallpapers, ornaments and wide windows allowing for a look out onto the winter night’s sky.
It seems like I have a thing for opening stories with some sort of dialogue or an introductory paragraph to set the scene. But besides that, I don’t really see anything pattern wise, I think. Do you guys see anything? :)
It seems though like my titles seem to be usually somewhere either 1 to 3 words, or really damn long, 5+ words.
A lot of these are what I consider classic grimmichi fics. When I think of grimmichi I automatically think of some of these authors (you’ll probably be able to tell bc all their work will be listed) so if you’re new it works out well and if you’re not I hope you can find one you haven’t seen!
This is massive so it probably won’t be that hard
My favorites will be tagged with *
angst will be tagged with ! (like makes me cry a lot)
After being brutally attacked by a mythical creature, Captain Jaegerjaquez ends up with a very unlikely companion to keep him company while at sea. Unfortunately, it’s hard for an 8’ long merman to hide for long. One day, the loyal crew spots the monster that had injured their captain, following the ship and the man aboard, and take matters into their own hands.
Living in the middle of nowhere, Ichigo’s used to people dropping off their unwanted animals but as a man dares what no other before him has tried and succeeds, it isn’t a stray cat that’s left on Ichigo’s porch. Now the two are on the run, struggling against an organization that wants it’s soldier back. AU
Grimmjow and Ichigo run away together, but it’s not about the name they’ve made for themselves, nor the reputation they’ll leave behind. It’s not even about the money. It’s just them, young and in love and making the most of what they have. GrimmIchi. Inspired by the tale of Bonnie & Clyde. Rated for violent themes and character death.
“Hey guys, welcome to today’s episode!” You cheered in front of your camera. “Today I have a very special guest that a lot of you know and like. It’s my gross best friend, Calum Hood!” Calum jumped on the end of the bed beside you, giving the camera a smile and a peace sign.
“I am not gross!” Calum then exclaims, playfully shoving your shoulder. You were a very famous Youtuber who gained your subscribers legitimately. But Calum and the boys boosted your fame just a bit, which you didn’t mind. And it was awesome because Calum was almost always able to join you in your videos when you asked. “You’re the worst best friend, Y/N.”
“You love me!” You coo at him, cupping his cheeks as you shake his head side to side. You let go with a few giggles before turning back to the camera with a cheeky smile. “So I’ve brought Cal over because I wanted to do the boyfriend-does-my-makeup tag and didn’t have a boyfriend… So he was the next best thing.”
“Yay,” Calum says dryly, having you shove his shoulder to gain a chuckle from him. “The only highlight of this is the fact that you’re letting me mess with your face.”
“You can use this highlight as the highlight,” you joke, putting up your small container of highlight. Calum chuckles and takes it from you as you look back at the camera.
“But yeah, so Calum is gonna do my makeup,” you speak to the camera. As you go over a few of the rules about it, like not looking at a mirror while Calum does your makeup, he was playing with your hand. He kept wiggling your fingers one by one, seeming immensely amused by them. “Cal, what are you doing?” You say as you turn to smile at your best friend softly.
“Your fingers are small and soft,” Calum says quietly as he at you and gives you a cheeky smile. You poke his nose, causing him to blink quickly. That caused the both of you to have a fit of laughter before going back to the video that you were supposed to be doing. You lay out all your makeup on the bed, allowing Calum to look at all of them and become familiar with them all. It was amusing to see him pick up a few and study them.
“What’s this, Y/N?” Calum asks as he holds up a pretty fat, glass container.
“That’s concealer,” you tell him.
“What does it do?”
“Conceal my face,” you say, having him give you a playful glare as you giggled. “You put it on my face to cover blemishes and stuff. Or like, my dark eyes over here.” You gesture to the area right below your eyes, making Calum focus on that. But then those almond eyes stare into yours, making you blush a bit before you shook your head. “But yeah, it’s supposed to be my skin tone as well so it works.”
“Alright, well,” Calum says. “Let’s just put this all over your face.” Calum immediately went to work, having you two exchange jokes and conversation as you did so. It was for a video after all. But during this, you couldn’t help but feel something as Calum did your makeup. The way he would rub your jaw before pushing it lightly to apply contour. Or the way he looked into your eyes so many times while putting eye-shadow and eyeliner. And every time he finishes one part of the makeover, he would look at you with this face of… admiration rather than achievement. He’d say it’s looking amazing but is he talking about the makeup or you? Either way, your heart raced every time Calum did these things.
“Okay, let me just put this lipstick and we’ll be finished,” Calum comments as he looks through your lipstick. “I want a good color for your lips. You know, something that compliments everything.”
“Well, you’re the makeup artist right now,” you say, smiling at him. “Pick what you think is best.”
“Let’s just put this clear lipstick to make your lips shiny,” Calum says simply as he picks it up.
“Wait, what?” You tilted your head in confusion as Calum went to your lips and began to apply the clear gloss. “Why don’t you want to use any color? These mattes are super nice!”
Calum remained silent as he put the gloss on your lips. You watch as he carefully applied the clear gloss on your lips, making sure he doesn’t get anything outside of your lips. When he finishes, he closes the gloss and studies your face once more. Calum gives you a more… sad smile that usual. “You can look at yourself now,” he says quietly as he grabs your mirror and offers it to you.
“I probably look like a monster,” you joke, ensuring your viewers enjoyment. But you couldn’t help but think about Calum and his choice in not putting on any lipstick with color. As you look into the mirror, though, you were shocked: Calum did really well. “Holy shit.”
“What? Is something wrong?” Calum began, suddenly frantic.
“N-no!” You reassure, still studying your face. “It’s just that… you did my makeup really well. Like scarily well. My fucking eyeliner is perfect on both eyes, what the fuck!”
“I think the eyebrows could’ve been better though,” Calum says with a frown. You look at them and completely disagree.
“They’re on fleek, Calum, I promise,” you say, putting down the mirror while giving Calum a smile. He flashes you a cheeky smile in return. You began to really adore the crinkles that occur by his eyes when he smiles. He can light up the night with his smile. But you realize you have a video to do and quickly break the gaze.
“So yeah, let me give you guys a good look at me,” you say with a smile as you put your face at the camera. You move your head so they can get a good look at both of your sides, forehead, and chin. “Let me know in the comments if you’d hire Calum as your makeup artist.”
“Yeah, I need a job!” Calum says with an enthusiastic face. “I’m leaving the band to pursue my real dreams of being a universal makeup artist.”
“I’m so done,” you giggle as you shake your head your best friend. You then recall your lips and look at Calum with a quizzical stare. “I’m serious though! Why didn’t you use any colored lipstick?”
“Well…” Calum dragged, looking shyly at you. His chubby cheeks begin to tint pink as he stared at you. “Your lips were already such a beautiful color. So I didn’t feel the need to cover it up. Instead, I just wanted to highlight them with a shine,” Calum says quietly. You found him going closer to you as he spoke, making you blush but unable to move away. “They’ve always been so lovely.” He goes closer, with his hands landing on the bed, staying on both sides of your waist. “And so plump and soft.” Calum begins to whisper as you felt his breath on your lips. “And kissable.” He breathes, his lips finally clashing on yours, giving you a brief and gentle kiss. He pulls away quickly, with the two of you sharing very red faces.
“I…” you begin, attemping to think of what to say. But the situation made you speechless and your mind was racing. You swore that your heart was going to run out of your heart and win a rely race.
“S-sorry, Y/N, I don’t know what came over me–”
“Do it again,” you whisper as you grab his shirt and pull him to you. His lips attach themselves on yours once more, having him instantly ease into the lip. You were melting, finally feeling those plump, pink lips you’ve want to kiss since you met him. His taste was splendid, with the flavors of cookies and pizza. You were instantly hooked, addicted to his lips and kissing him. Calum then pulls away shyly.
“What’s wrong?” You whisper, afraid that you’ve done something wrong.
“The camera is still on,” Calum says softly, having the both of you turn around to see the bright dot of red flicker at the both of you.
“Fucking hell,” you groan as you go and turn off the camera. Once you did, you go back on the bed and stare at Calum. He bites his bottom lip, staring at you with adoration. Grabbing the neck of his shirt teasingly, you pull him close enough to have his lips one inch away from you. “Now,” you breathe,” where were we?”
“Right here,” Calum says seductively as he finally places your lips on yours to have another loving kiss.
Ooo Calum the makeup artist. tbh I think he’d be pretty good if someone gave him a chance.
- phil brings up kids over dinner one night, startling dan
so much that he chokes on his wine for a few seconds. it’s surprising; between
the two of them, dan’s usually the one to discuss domesticities like that.
“kids? are you sure?” phil’s smile is hesitant, but there’s an excitement in
his eyes that’s contagious. “yeah, i think i am. a little dan junior running
around might be fun.” dan rolls his eyes
even as happiness surges through his heart. “ok , first of all, we are not
calling him that.” the next morning, phil wakes up to a surrogate agency flyer
taped to the coffee pot, with an appointment date scrawled on the bottom in
dan’s messy script.
-once they decide on a surrogate, dan insists that phil be
the one to send in his DNA. he claims it’s because he doesn’t want their child
to have his proneness to existential crises, but it’s really because the
cerulean shade of phil’s eyes is a genetic miracle that must be continued.
- they spitball baby names to each other on a constant
basis, going so far as to attach a dry erase board on the refrigerator to keep
track of all their options. “winston” tops the list, courtesy of phil. there’s
also “delia”, “elizabeth", “christopher", and many more, gathered
from childhood memories or favorite books and movies or even heard in passing
as they walked through town. “child susan” is crossed out several times, as is
“phan”. dan takes baby names very seriously, thank you very much.
-phil’s room gets remodeled into a nursery, filled with toys
and clothes that arrive in boxes under dan’s name. he makes sure to order from
both the “girls” and “boys” section from harrod’s - there’s no way in hell he’s
going to let gender roles affect his kid.
Finally we have reached the ball!! (I had to watch the dance scene so many times and pause it every so often so I could translate it as accurately as I could! I am now confident I could do that routine in my sleep) And chapter 10 wow this has kinda become a monster whoops. I think I’ve decided that I will post a new chapter each Monday I don’t know why but mondays have been the days I’ve been uploading on and I’m a sucker for routine, it gives me a deadline in a odd way! Anyway enjoy xx
rules: in a text post, list 10 books that have stayed with you in some way. don’t take but a few minutes, and don’t think too hard– they don’t have to be the “right” or “great” works, just the ones that have touched you. tag 10 friends, including me, so i’ll see your list. make sure you let your friends know you’ve tagged them!
these are not in any particular order, and I’ve read most of them years ago. I’m just listing stuff I remembered enjoying about them, and I might have a different opinion if I read them now
The Blue Sword - Robin McKinley (I love… ;__; the desert, the adventure, the magic, the escapism)
Reaper Man - Terry Pratchett (this book hit me right where I lived right when I needed it most, I cried my body weight in water tears)
The Last Unicorn - Peter S. Beagle (a book too good for me to entirely understand how good every part of it is, and I need to reread it, the language, the huge metaphors, the beautyyyyy)
The Left Hand of Darkness - Ursula K. Le Guin (that image of the two of them desperately surviving the journey over the glacier, the empathy that comes with close proximity, the worldbuilding and gender stuff)
Time of the Twins (series) - Margaret Weis (the actual original shitty wizard (who wants to become a god) trainwreck series, the first book’s interactions between Raistlin and Crysania being ODDLY SIZZLING to teenage me, Raistlin teleporting Tass into a duck pond, the absolute wreck that I was at the end of the third book, the terror and helplessness of wizards vs. gods, CRYSANIA WHO NEVER DESERVED ANY OF THIS BULLSHIT, you really can’t stop people you love from making horrible shitty abusive decisions, but you can and will survive it and the sky will be blue again)
The Darkangel - Meredith Ann Pierce (the removed, fairy tale tone. the fantasy/fairy tale story built on an intriguing sci-fi base that is never fully explained (they live on a terraformed moon, but it’s a detail you can totally miss), the actual awful-acting and horrifying, terrible monster love interest, the herione’s selfless weaving with threads of golden empathetic love, the journey, the quiet strange tone of the whole book, the eerie lion automaton in the middle of the desert, the ending)
Meditations (transl. Gregory Hays) – Marcus Aurelius (“the mind without passions is a fortress. no place is more secure. once we take refuge there we are safe forever”- Marcus effing saving my life during one of my darkest depression episodes, the interest level involved in reading a Roman Emperor’s private notes to himself that he never meant to be published)
The Dragonbone Chair - Tad Williams (the beauty, otherworldliness, and unknowable-ness of the elves in this series hasn’t been matched by another one that I’ve read, the main character is so dynamic, the coolness factor, the sense of helplessness and real danger against impossible odds, the rage-inducing villains, the worldbuilding, the world travel, the magic, goddamn it, I still love it)
Anne McCaffrey dragon/psychic books - (an author who coasted almost entirely on the coolness of the concepts she came up with…. Really tough to read now because of sexism and other various issues, but those story concepts will stay with you for a super long time. dragons… and teleportation and shit)
The Best of All Possible Worlds - Karen Lord (I have never wanted two characters to kiss more, ever in my entire life, in all of my life. Also a fucking godsend to read after playing the Solas romance in Inquisition, since it has so many of the same themes. The last remnants of an endangered people (and the reactions to that new reality), the horrifying implications of the psychic power use, the careful consent, the friends(colleagues)-to-lovers, thank you so much for reccing it to me bones. I just straight-up buy whatever bones tells me to, and I’ve never regretted it)
anti naruhina, anti sasusaku, anti Hinata, anti Sakura (for sasusaku), anti Kishi, anti the last, anti ending.
I am sorry if the anti tags show up in pro tags I don’t know how they did. My bad. Sorry.
This rant is mostly about my personal struggle with wanting to become a published author and my own feelings about this whole mess on a personal level. I just want to write it down and get it off my chest. It isn’t really a whole rant against things, but it kinda is kinda isn’t. Idk. Not expecting anyone to read this so this is more for therapeutic reasons.
Keep in mind most of this is opinionon how characters should be developed and the like.
I found this art on the official Undertale page, here.
Undertale is special. Everything about Undertale is special. It tries to be this way, and it succeeds, left-and-right eschewing bland genre traditions. I don’t do any spoiler dodging or whatever, so please play this game to your heart’s content before watching. And for Undertale, what constitutes the moment you should stop playing turns out to be an important question.
DISCLAIMER: I watched this film on about 1 hour of sleep, so I am not even remotely confident that these notes are accurate! :( I actually feel really awful for not liking the film more than I did, so I would probably like to rewatch the film to get a clearer grasp of things.
I doubt I’ve noticed anything that everyone else hasn’t pointed out before, but let’s start with the things I liked:
-Hiccup’s mom is fantastic and I want her life! She had a fantastic intro and some of that imagery was insane! In a good way!
-There was a lot of really well-observed cat animation on Toothless, as with the first movie.
-I liked that they were able to slow down and give us a long, quiet acting scene between Hiccup and Astrid. I bought their relationship in a way I really didn’t in the first film.
-It was cool how Astrid got to be the leader of the group for a bit!
-I still have this huge crush on Jay Baruchel’s weird Canadian parrot voice. It’s so weird and jarring and I love it so much.
After the tragedy comes the math. I was twenty-seven weeks and four days pregnant when my daughter was stillborn at the end of May, which means I should have been thirty-two weeks and five days pregnant today. Our doctors are performing their own mysterious calculations to determine the probability of this particular thing—non-compaction cardiomyopathy, is what it is called—happening in future pregnancies. It could be twenty-five percent. It could be less than one. Hopeful math: my grandmothers had fifteen children between them; my mother had three; I have twenty-eight first cousins. There are losses in my family but even factoring those it all adds up to a rosy picture of health, fertility, loud Thanksgivings. Call this nightmare pure bad luck and try again. Resentful math: we come home from the hospital on the day they tell us we’re going to lose her, and the Duggar molestation story has broken. Josh Duggar has four children; his terrible parents have nineteen. There are bad parents everywhere, parents who abuse and brainwash and neglect, and all of them seem to have housefuls of children. We do not get this one. This one we wanted without a shred of ambivalence. There are pregnant women everywhere; there are babies everywhere. Too many to count, but none of them mine. This last is the most dangerous math, the least helpful, the kind I work the hardest to avoid doing.
I’ve been practicing what I will have to say to the people who don’t know yet, the people who knew I was pregnant and will wonder why, a little too soon, I’m not anymore. My hairdresser. My college professors who saw me in April. The nice man at the corner bodega who just a couple of weeks before it happened asked, “Are you…?” and then made a wide arc over his stomach with his hands, and was so sincerely happy when I confirmed I was. At some point, to someone, I’m going to have to explain. “We lost the baby” is the accepted euphemism but such an inadequate descriptor of what we went through. It sounds vague and a little careless, like we stopped paying attention, like we briefly lost sight of her and then she was gone. At the point we were at when we lost the baby, “we lost the baby” means we’d already acquired a crib, a car seat, a onesie covered in foxes. An infant thermometer. A hardcover copy of Madeline. At the point we were at when we lost the baby, “we lost the baby” means I had no choice but to give birth to her, to feel contractions, to push. All the usual trappings of childbirth and none of the rewards. At the end, we did not hear her cry. At the end, it was just over.
Isn’t this depressing?
In truth, the reality grows more manageable by the day. Life begins to feel normal—good, even. I read books, laugh with my husband, drink wine, obsessively mainline the first two seasons of The X-Files. I look forward to trips, pets, the tattoo I’m going to get to remember her by. Most of the time the thing that sets me off is not what I’m feeling, but my perception of what someone else must think I’m feeling. The other day I sat in my favorite café drinking iced chai in the sun, writing a very good scene in my novel, texting my friends, listening to my favorite lil skater bro barista sing the mail song from Blue’s Clues to a bewildered postal worker. I spent the whole day happy and then I thought about myself suddenly from the perspective of someone else, someone who knows what I’m going through, and I thought, “What a fucking nightmare this is that I’m living.” Burst into tears, had to go home. I have this wretched vision of myself as others must currently see me—as the nucleus of all sorrow, the person to whom Bad Things happen. My body the site of the catastrophe. It’s mostly imagined, this vision, but for some it’s true. Some people edge politely away from my grief; they don’t talk about it because they don’t know how to, or they don’t want to. Or they think that by talking about it, they’ll remind me it exists. I can’t blame them because I’ve done the same thing in the past—treated grief as a disease we have to quarantine, lest we all become infected. But that’s not how it is: it’s far easier for me to talk about the pain than to pretend (for my own sake or anyone else’s) that I’m not feeling it. It makes me feel like a human being, rather than some kind of rabid Grief Monster, set loose from my long captivity on Trauma Island. I’m stupidly grateful to everyone who has acknowledged it, especially the ones who keep acknowledging it in various heartfelt ways. The ones who send orchids and chocolates and lasagnas, who text pictures of their dogs every damn day. Who bring over soup and wine and sympathy; who arrange for us weekends in the woods. The ones who call and keep calling even when I don’t pick up, the ones who text every few days just to ask how I’m feeling and don’t really expect an answer.
When I was pregnant I felt this wonderful sisterhood with mothers and mothers-to-be—the network of shared experience, of stray bits of advice and flippant warnings, all of it couched in immense love. Shades of life to come. You too shall be this happy, is what they seemed to say. When my daughter died, the coin flipped, and the other sisterhood appeared: the Dark Sisterhood. The Sisterhood of Sadness. These women tell stories of infertility and stillbirths, multiple miscarriages, babies wanted badly but not gotten, and the babies that followed those babies. It’s hard to convey how much this club means to me, even as I wish never to have joined it in the first place. I want to become the elegant witchy queen of the Dark Sisterhood, the woman who will never again in times of other people’s tragedy say, “Let me know if there’s anything I can do,” and then disappear into the ether. I want to be the one who says “What a fucking nightmare this is that you’re living” and then sticks around for everything that follows, the misery and the agonizing dullness of the misery, the dark thread of humor that lies under so much of it.
(A lot of what’s happened these last five weeks is funny to me now, was funny to me even as it was happening, but I suspect very few outside this bubble of grief would find it funny. What seems tragicomic to me is probably to most tragitragic and so I’m trying to be discerning in whom I share it with, to not come across as totally glib. Is this anecdote glib?: My body knew that I had given birth but it did not know that my baby was not alive, and so it still produced milk for her. I woke up at five a.m. a few days after the birth—the morning my parents and in-laws were due to fly in—and realized it had started. I started googling ways to stop the flow of milk that I desperately wanted to feed to my desperately wanted daughter, but very little of the advice is for people in my situation and thus takes the cheerful tone of, “Just keep nursing your baby!” I was compiling this depressing list of remedies when a notification popped up from Twitter. Someone had read my book and hated it and tagged me to their 140-character review. “Christian-bashing at its worst!” Ice packs sports bras frozen cabbage leaves. “I hated the writing even more than the content!” Watch for redness heat could be an infection. Is this funny? It seems really funny to me, as well as being a pretty good lesson in why you should maybe refrain from tagging authors to your bad reviews of their books.)
I don’t know what to tell you. The truth is that for twenty-eight years I’ve gotten everything I’ve ever wanted: wonderful parents and wonderful brothers, European travels, mental and physical health, a sunny apartment full of books, the career of my dreams. The constant, devoted, empowering love of a man I love so much: love strong enough by far to sustain this. For twenty-eight years my luck has been so good that it never even occurred to me that one single horrific stroke of bad fortune could separate me forever from the person I have always been. That I might continue to resemble her in most significant ways, even in the overwhelming happiness that continues to flood nearly every corner of my life, but that I’m just not her anymore. I’m her, with an asterisk. This feeling, such as it is, is going to fade. In time there will be children and dogs and many responsibilities, and the surreal hysteria of my current reality will have dissipated, will have become just a memory of a time I once had to live through, (hopefully) the worst time. But I know there will be moments—Christmas mornings or summer afternoons, completely average weekday evenings—in which I look around at the family we’ll make and realize that she’s not there, that she never was. It’s the fact around which we’ll have to build the rest of our life together, hoping that the life we build is enough that her absence resonates slightly less than everyone else’s presence.
I think for now what I miss most is just the imperfect joy of anticipating her. I’ll never comb her hair or teach her to tie her shoes; I’ll never attend her high school graduation. I’ll never know what her laugh sounds like. That list is endless and endlessly painful, so it’s easier to focus on the shorter one—the list of everything I know for sure. I know the soft weight of her tiny body on my chest in our first and only hours together. I know what she looked like in my husband’s arms. The length of her fingers, the shape of her nose. I know her name, her biological sex. How much I loved her. My daughter. I know that before she died her ears had developed to the point where she could hear the outside world, and I know then that she must have heard a lot of long, happy conversations about what our lives would be like once she arrived; and loud music; and so much laughter. I know that for a time towards the end she would move when I moved, wake when I woke. That I’d open my eyes in the morning, one day closer to meeting her, and she would kick before I even had the chance to stir. As if to say good morning to me. As if she had any concept of what “good” or “morning” were. Any concept of who I was. As if to say, see you soon.
Hi! So this has been bugging me for awhile but do you think dean hides parts of his personality from Sam? Like for example when he geeks over things he would look at Sam and shut his mouth(Sin City?) and when he sings all out of love I think? Or with Donnie and the cake things? Like he wants to do this stuff but he feels like Sam wouldn't approve or something so he becomes this macho man again? Sorry for this horrible worded question, i just wanted to know if I'm the only one who feels this way!
Yeah, that feels like a pretty fundamental part of Dean’s personality - not just that he has a load of extra layers but that he keeps them from Sam as best he can. You’re far from the only one to think that!
What gets me is that Sam is present for a great deal of these instances but never seems to put it all together properly - he still reacts in surprise when Dean willingly betrays his surface layer in front of him. :P
There was a lot of discussion of this over season 10 because the most regular plot thread was Dean’s unravelling personality and, increasingly, Sam’s fears about that as the driving force to the end of season awfulness… I’ll never find easy links because it was a season-long discussion and it’s all thrown into my gargantuan Dean tag or my episode tags which run to like 20 pages of posts on average by this point, but after pretty much every episode the meta community would tear into what happened with Dean’s yo-yoing characterisation and usually how Sam related to it. (I’m tagging this swiftie!Dean and Dean vs cake if you want to go through those tags on my blog for the best examples from season 10 :P)
10x09 stands out in my memory not so much for general Dean characterisation, but because of the discussion of the story that they told Cas about Dean going to that club and getting drugged, and how Sam seemed to have a completely different idea of the emotional tone of the story because of their respective ages at the time. To stay in depressing John Winchester territory, in Bad Boys in season 9, Dean describes how Sam never found out about him going to Sonny’s as “the story became the story” - whatever John said at the time to explain why Dean dropped off the radar ended up being what Sam thought was true literally until the subject came up by chance in season 9 so he could otherwise have never found out. Jumping way back, in the Christmas episode in season 3 we see where tiny Dean eventually tells baby Sam (okay they were like 8 and 12 or something :P) about monsters being real, which is the most obvious example of keeping an aspect of their life hidden from Sam for years and years.
Generally Dean seems to hide the bigger stuff from Sam, to protect him physically (from monsters) or emotionally (from how terrible it was growing up hunting monsters) and that’s just spiralled on as his mindset through their whole lives, where Dean has a sort of duty, as he feels, to protect Sam from everything: within that is the sense that his hyper masculine surface layer is that of the protective big brother, and so cracks in that aren’t just revealing his own weakness (which, in his head, would extend to random things that are girly or sissy or whatever and betray that tough shell like music choice or food or, uh, certain delicate items of clothing, not just serious emotional stuff - basically anything that would generically be deemed unmanly by more judgemental society) but actively threatening Sam just because his shell is his role as a protector, not just for his own personal feelings, and so if it cracks it might not be strong enough or what is required to protect Sam. (I’m not saying this actually has any use in protecting Sam, just that this seems to be how Dean knows to do it and how he copes when Sam needs protecting - by giving over his very self to this role.)
He also has to let Sam know that he is the tough protector who can be trusted to look after him and keep him alive as an ongoing life-long hang up from their childhood and so it’s more important that Sam knows he’s this tough guy, and so Dean screens his own behaviour in front of Sam probably more than anyone except for he would have with John. A great deal of this also, aside from the more obvious comments literally about needing to protect him, comes across in projecting his own insecurities on Sam - all those times he’s teased him for being girly. It sort of is meant, I guess from Dean’s POV, to suggest he is more manly than all that and to sort of assert himself as tougher than Sam blah blah… My mental image of Dean in a lot of situations is him as a bird with the feathers all puffed up hopping around a bigger bird which is completely uninterested in paying any mind to his display of pretending to be the bigger bird. :P
This is also related to how we get the general impression Dean often will act more normally away from Sam or towards other people, and often why there seems to be a focus on Dean bonding with other characters more than Sam - new characters with fresh dynamics show Dean acting differently from how he would with Sam and let us see him in different light and frequently more relaxed moods. There are multiple points in the show where Dean is stressed from looking after Sam during particular spikes in Sam-related issues where Dean will crack open around someone else, even if it’s just, say, skipping out for a drink and getting some other form of human interaction away from Sam so that he can express how stressed he is, as he would never tell Sam that looking after him is a burden.
When it comes to opening up to Sam, though… Those gifsets with parallels where Dean is telling Sam to shut up/get in the car/shut up and get in the car when confronted with past love interests/”CasDean” are funny as a surface comparison, but Dean’s using the same reaction to Sam about women he was canonically romantically connected to where there wouldn’t technically be anything interesting to deny: even when there’s understandable emotion in the situation, he’ll chase Sam off from talking about it, and while we point out Dean is the greatest source of chick flick moments on the show, he is still the one always policing if they have emotional conversations where he can, and making big decisions to unload emotional things. For example, I recently watched Children Shouldn’t Play with Dead Things, and Dean spends the entire episode (plus the preceding stretch of season 2) being clawed up by the probability of John’s deal, but even when Sam confronts him for being emotionally erratic in the middle of the episode he won’t talk it through. It’s only at the very end when they’re miles down the road (and in a different set of clothes so it could honestly be days later :P) he abruptly pulls over at a scenic spot on the side of the road to open up with his suspicions that he was brought back from the dead at the cost of John’s life. He only goes further to admit it was probably a demon deal in Crossroads Blues - again, they both had obviously contemplated the eventuality, but Dean would not discuss it until the case got overwhelming with the idea and it had to be discussed.
But Dean can also be a nerd upfront to Sam, when things seem less stressful. For example of two of his grander nerdy moments, he enjoyed dressing up and embracing being a dork in front of Sam in both Frontierland and LARP and the Real Girl, and, all things considered, mid season 6 and 8 were some of their less stressful times where nothing was actively wrong with Sam (he had the wall up against his hell visions and his soul back at that point in season 6, and the foreshadowing for the end of season 6 was only starting to sneak in around the edges and not yet something they had a great deal of cause to worry about. The LARP episode is in a pretty quiet stretch of plot right before they find the bunker and a few episodes away from Sam taking up the trials). In these cases goofing off and indulging his own interests and pleasures wasn’t dangerous or destabilising their power dynamic, which in times of stress, is much more emphasised as they go into a sort of survival mode of relating to each other, and they were acting more like normal brothers. Also from my rewatch, Hell House is the most dorky of dorky brother episodes, and comes right after Shadow, a stressful John-related episode but after which they voluntarily stop looking for him, and they’re sort of on vacation at that point, waiting for his say-so to rejoin the main plot, and so they get a goofy episode where they’re not emotionally beholden to the main plot in the same way on season 1′s much smaller scale, and I don’t think it’s a coincidence it’s one of the few times they really just screw around acting like completely normal brothers who just happen to get tangled up in paranormal happenings.
Apparently I have a lot to say on this. :P
But yeah, all the little instances through the show where Dean gets excited by something or likes someone because they capture his nerdy interest or any number of things, Sam is usually right there, and Dean will check his reaction against him every time, even if it’s just a subtle glance. Even the Taylor Swift thing I borrowed a gif for up there, Dean glances over at Sam first, and then clearly decides to carry on listening to Shake It Off despite Sam’s presence, making an active decision to embrace it in relation to Sam’s presence.
TBH I think this is the million-dollar question that needs to be answered by the end of the series, or there will have been no point to the thing.
(I think Harris tried for this in Hannibal; it was one of the aspects he couldn’t quite execute on, because the information wasn’t presented to the reader in the right order. But the TV series spends a lot of time painting the picture of this middle-aged dude who slowly comes to the realization that his self-satisfied clockwork life — the “long winter of his heart” per Harris — is untenable and has to be jettisoned. From the moment Hannibal meets Will and Abigail he’s destabilized, and careens/will continue to careen from unstable position to unstable position (various Xanatos gambits, escapes, psychiatric jail) all the while mostly believing he’s on top of things, but really he’s not. And has to accept he’s not. And by the end has to either die or arrive at some sort of wisdom, presumably.
Can a cannibalistic serial killer arrive at wisdom? It’s an interesting question, isn’t it? That would be my pick for what to ask Fuller and cast, if you’re still taking down a list. XD
EDIT — I just realized I saved something else you wrote, days back, about Bedelia realizing before Hannibal himself does that Will is capable of influencing him — probably with the intent of writing out the above. I have more to say about Bedelia specifically in relation to this but it’s on the order of headcanon.)
(Starting a new post for this; don’t want our convo to ruin the lovely aesthetics of the gifmaker’s work. Here’s the post with the original tags if anyone wants context.)
Hannibal and change; can he? has he? will he? Taken as a whole, it’s the million dollar question. And to be honest the prospect of getting an answer TERRIFIES me. Because what does it mean for the moral universe of Hannibal if Hannibal himself can change?
I think Harris failed with this, for sure. It’s not only that he put the information out in the wrong order, retconning RD and SOTL willy-nilly in his later works, but also he cheated. He invented information in the later books to make Hannibal vulnerable, to instill him with the capacity for change for the sole purpose of enacting those changes at the end of the novel Hannibal.
Hannibal started out an unfathomable monster behind bars, all-knowing and all-mocking, who teased us with glimpses of his humanity, empathy, even compassion, but those glimpses were mysterious, not to be wholly understood or trusted. He could be helpful, as he was throughout SOTL with Clarice, but we could never be sure of his reasons for helping her. All we knew was that we liked Clarice, and apparently Hannibal liked her too, and maybe his reasons for liking her were similar to ours.
But then came Hannibal and Hannibal Rising, and suddenly Harris was point-blank telling us why Hannibal likes Clarice, and that reason was Mischa. Harris invented a tragic history for Hannibal so that Clarice might speak directly to his damaged heart. Suddenly Hannibal’s relationship with Clarice wasn’t only with Clarice–it was with his past, with his failure to protect his little sister. As a reader who loved Clarice for Clarice’s own good qualities, I was disappointed by this. I felt Hannibal was missing the point of Clarice. In RD and SOTL this man had perceived so much, he seemed capable of staring directly into a person’s soul. But in the later novels it turns out that when he was staring at Clarice he was only staring at his own damage, at the specter of Mischa. But of course, Clarice is a stronger personality than Hannibal anticipates, and by the end of Hannibal she has managed to replace Mischa, not by becoming Mischa, but by insisting on her own personhood. When Hannibal finally acknowledges that Clarice is not, and can never be, Mischa, Hannibal is finally able to set his damage aside, to heal, to change.
But had Mischa not been introduced at the beginning of Hannibal then Hannibal would never have been able to change in the first place. So for me, that’s cheating in a big way. Harris stacked the deck so that he could give the character an apotheosis – and a happy ending.
But the television show is doing a great job of walking the tightrope of Hannibal and change. Because Hannibal has been vulnerable from the very beginning. (As Bedelia implies in my earlier tags barfing you mentioned…) As you said, Hannibal’s connection to Will proves Hannibal capable of some kind of change. Before Will, he was self-sufficient. He was lonely but it didn’t bother him; he knew he was alone because he was unique, and Hannibal took a lot of pride in being unique. And he used that superiority to manipulate other lesser mortals, to help them live their lives (or die their deaths) in ways he deemed fit.
But then he meets Will. And Will is his equal. Hannibal isn’t alone because he is unique–he isn’t unique any more. And that revelation threatens to destabilize his whole comfortable existence in Baltimore. The long winter of his heart begins to thaw and buds come bursting forth. He becomes someone willing to stake his life and liberty on a friendship. He learns to trust, to share, to need. I suspect that once he is separated from Will, once that outlet for understanding and companionship is gone, Hannibal will find it harder to be alone. Because this time he isn’t alone because he’s unique. He’s alone because Will rejected him.
This opens up a lot of new avenues for the show to explore. Curiosity used to be Hannibal’s prime motivation. But now he has a new motivation: hurt. And hurt has got to be the most human and dangerous of motivators. Like you said, from here on in Hannibal might believe he’s on top of things–but boy is he not! And chances are he’ll continue down that slippery slope, playing more and more desperate gambits in the hope of either winning Will back to him or punishing Will further. And all of those gambits will probably fail. Poor sad cannibal! Will he ever resolve this need for friendship? Will he ever find companionship and understanding from an equal?
I don’t know if wisdom or redemption is in Hannibal’s future. I don’t know if he’s capable of attaining such things. But the fact that he is capable of change does imply that there is more out there for him than he realizes. So much of his own methodology is based on his perceived superiority and uniqueness. He controls the lives of other people because he can, because he knows better than they do. But now his uniqueness has been disproven, and his superiority might be crumbling, and where does that leave him? Can Hannibal still do what he does, when with every act he proves that he is no better than the people he consumes?