i-spent-an-hour-on-this

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There are so many things to talk about this chapter but I think the most important one is Hinata teaching Kageyama that it’s okay to be the king of the court and Karasuno agreeing with him.

Like this poor boy has been trying desperately to shake off that nickname for over a year because he associated it with bad memories of a time when he was selfish and mean (which is arguable because we all know he’s just a bad communicator and probably dealing with aspergers). but suddenly, in struts his rival/partner with a SWEATY USED TOWEL CROWN and he just plops that fucker on his head and tells him it’s okay to be a king, and that he doesn’t have to keep running from it.

AND LOOK HOW HAPPY HE IS.

LOOK HOW HAPPY MY BOY IS.

Karasuno is such a good team for many different reasons but the amount of love and support they have for each other despite their flaws is their greatest asset.

Okay so I’m gonna add my two cents here about art and the creation of art.

Art is a skill not a talent.

That’s it. It’s a skill, a trained skill, whether for fun or for vocation. It honestly upsets me when people are like, that artist is so talented. NO, they are skilled, they spent years and decades studying art and life and they practiced drawing and manipulating mediums to arrive at that one piece of artwork. That one piece is a culmination of DECADES worth of work.

For example, I don’t know jack-shit about cars beyond the necessary for a car owner, but you better believe that if I spent hours a day for a decade studying cars, reading about them, practicing on them, I’d probably be able to fix a car.

Art is the same and to call it a talent is the forget and discredit the insane amount of time and energy spent studying and perfecting ones craft.

I wanted to know if Leorio had more leggy than Kite, but unlike Gon and Leorio, Kite doesn’t have an official height, so I went overboard and spent an hour looking for reference and making calculations. The warping on the reference image is to account for the camera angling upward and Gon standing slightly in front of Kite.

IN CONCLUSION: Leorio is 1.25" taller, but has 1.25" less leggy and his body has 2.8% less leggy than Kite. Now you all know that Kite is exactly 64.67% leg- not 70%.

superbrony2010  asked:

So how did you and Vade meet? (As accidentally shippy as that sounded)

Actually this really cringy audition video I did back around when I had about 4k subs, I was looking for a sans and pap for underline and he just sorta showed up and we talked for a little bit professionally and then we spent literally 4 hours spamming memes at each other and then boom 

anonymous asked:

Does Darren even realize that the SK reunion at his rented house (staged to look like he lives there), was CALCULATED and A PLOY to get him to come to LA, as he was deliberately avoiding the beard since Elsie, but for two events in LA? Darren has already outgrown SK and see them only for weddings etc. For a smart guy, he never sees their CONS and the TRAPS that beard & Ricky set for him. She got you to spend time with her (and got her private cozy pics), didn't she? The joke's on you, Darren!

The whole thing is getting exhausting.  I keep thinking we are turning a corner, and then its the same shit, different day. It makes me sad that Darren literally had 48 hours in LA and it was spent with SK and his fake girlfriend.  The party was one thing, I was kind of ok with that (not really, but I could rationalize it). But the video of him dancing, with her now very well known laugh in the background, was the breaking point for me. The man is not even allowed to have lunch (or whatever meal) without her present?  Its out of control.  And clearly he is paying for his nearly 3 weeks of freedom.

I understand that perhaps having to play straight and having a beard is something he may feel like he needs to continue. And honestly I think he is still under contract and this is held against him and I do think Fox will hold him to that contract until the bitter end for fear of the repercussions when he does come out to both the network as well as their golden boy, Ryan.  

But we all know the primary reason she is still in his life is not the contract, is complete manipulation coupled with whatever power she has over him and Ricky.  

Because if the primary motive is to keep up the straight persona, he would  fire her (she certainly has committed more than her share of fireable offenses) and get a beard with with a little class. Someone he would be proud to take to events and to network with.  

Because at this point, she is absolutely bringing him down and is an embarrassment.  I know I have talked about this before but the Hamptons was the perfect example of exactly who she is and quite frankly, she is not a person I want him to be associated with, an entitled brat that has relied on mommy, daddy, and Darren for everything she has but acts like a elitist despite the fact that she not has earned it. 

I cannot tell you how many fans I have met, who could care less who he dates or whether he prefers to sleep with men or woman, but that absolutely cannot stand the woman he holds out to the world as his girlfriend. 

As for SK I used to think they were trying to help him.  But honestly at this point, I think many of them use him constantly.  They are sure to  post pictures and videos with either him or his beard whenever the opportunity arises, knowing that will get them attention to their IG or twitter. And this too is getting exhausting.

I am having a particularly bad morning. Overwhelmed with my own life and I’m sick on top of it.  So perhaps I am being a bit harsh, but honestly, everything here needs to be said.

Here is hoping that Darren has a plan and that there is an end in sight.  As I always say, he is too damn talented for this nonsense.   I honestly don’t know how much longer he will survive this charade or how much longer Chris will choose to remain if it continues. It is long past its expiration.

I've just spent the last 2 hours in the Archon's Forge with 7 other players

Intense doesn’t even begin to describe it.
And the LOOT!

More legendary engrams than I had room in my inventory.

Me 2 years ago wouldn’t have believed it possible…

Update: Scriniarii Archive file

The file is still where it was before ]


A list of changes:

  • Added a timeline of events that occurred on Reddit (and whatever I was given from Discord, since I can’t access the server myself).
  • Added the appropriate links to the timeline.
  • Adjusted the position of images in the analysis section of the post (which took more time to do, than it should have).
  • Removed the EDIT note.
  • The file is now 9 full pages long.

For @spatulaofday, inspired by Daughter- Medicine.

Sora stood in the middle of her friends as they prepared camp for the night. They wandered around her like she was a ghost. Goosebumps littered her skin like she was haunted, anyways. The sun had gone down hours ago and they were still struggling to make a fire to keep warm. Taichi was on his hands and knees fiddling with some kindling. He hadn’t spoken a word since he started trying to light it. Sora knew what he was thinking about, though. Agumon’s name hung heavy in the air like smoke from a fire he could have lit in an instant. 

Sora lost track of how many days they’d been without their partners. They landed in the digital world two days ago and immediately started searching for them. Some of the chosen’s hopes were high in the beginning, but Sora’d been feeling unusually pessimistic. She tracked her friends movements around her, barely able to decipher who was who from their silhouettes. They went about their tasks diligently. Everyone felt the difficulty of the work without their partners, but no one complained. The group was unusually silent. Back home, the quiet would have been softened by the sound of crickets. Here though, on a night that particularly struck everyone’s nerves, the quiet settled like stone or a broken bone put back in place. 

Jou coughed and slapped a hand over his mouth. Both the sounds were piercing. Taichi, who perhaps mistakenly believed he was low enough to the ground to be hidden in the shadows, dropped his kindling in frustration and clenched his fists. Sora felt herself take a half-step towards him, but she didn’t actually move. Her mind had willed her there but her body didn’t listen. Perhaps she truly was a ghost. No one had noticed her standing there. Being a ghost meant being a shell of one’s former self, and that’s exactly how Sora felt- empty. 

The digimon had fallen victim to the infection, but it had an adverse effect on the humans too. Everyone had aged. They were forced to mature overnight. A chunk of their already-waning innocence was sacrificed in exchange for some sort of mental stability to help process the erasure of their partners. As Sora looked on over each of her friend’s individual, silent struggles, she realized that there was nothing she could do. She’d run out of offerings. Her shoulders drooped and her arms shook. Wasn’t she the caretaker? Taichi’d said she’d become more motherly, but eventually all children grow up. Sora’s eyes filled to the brim with tears and she struggled to regulate her breathing. It was only a matter of time until someone noticed her emotions boiling over. The girl turned around and briskly left the group, her sights set on a riverbank just through the trees. As she grew more distant from her friends, Sora picked up her pace until she was practically running. She had just enough energy to hold her tears in until she was on the edge of the water, staring down at her reflection. She furrowed her brows at it and cried. If it weren’t for the light of the moon, the stranger in the water would’ve completely blended into the murkiness. 

Creases lined Sora’s forehead with worry. She crossed her arms over her chest and held herself tightly. A choked sigh. “What am I doing?”

“That’s funny,” A voice responded from behind her. Sora gasped and spun around, only to meet Yamato’s composed gaze. “I was about to ask you the same question.” He narrowed his eyes at her- a warning. He could already see through the wall she was frantically trying to build. 

Sora lied through her teeth anyways- not for her gain, but for his. He didn’t need to worry more than he already was. “I’m thirsty,” she said, shocked by how unfamiliar her own voice sounded. She motioned towards the water, “I came to get a drink.” 

Yamato leaned up against the tree next to him and crossed his arms, an indicator that he wasn’t going to leave. He knew when people needed space and he knew when people only wanted space. Sometimes there was a huge difference. Sora used to be able to trick him, much like he used to be able to trick the rest of his friends, but not anymore. “So drink.”

Sora bit her lip and averted her eyes. Perhaps she could have, but her throat was already clogged with tears. If she drank anymore she probably would have choked. He’d caught her, and Yamato remained silent as Sora came to the realization on her own. Her eyes welled up once more- she couldn’t even protect him from her own unnecessary burden. Who was she?

Sora raised her head but couldn’t bring herself to look Yamato in the eyes. They stood a good ten feet apart from each other yet Sora already felt him under her skin. He studied her movements- the way her body shook, the way her knees buckled. He dashed forward and was there to catch her before her legs had even given out. Still, he remained silent. If he was going to get anywhere with Sora he knew that she would need to guide the conversation. For being such an emotionally intelligent person, discussing her own emotions never came easy. This was a way to give her back some control. 

Not too long ago, Sora’d been the one to tell Meiko it was okay to cry. That’s why she was there. Now though, with her head buried into Yamato’s chest much like Meiko’s was buried into hers, Yamato reassured her of the same thing with a single, soft glance. The tears came and Sora stopped trying to force her composure. She cried out, her shoulders heaved, all-the-while Yamato rubbed his hand in circles on her back. His other hand held the back of her head, pulling her in closer to him. After awhile Sora could feel his shirt growing damp. Still, he stayed and soothed her. It took a few minutes of this before Sora finally spoke up.

“Who am I?” she asked quietly, her voice muffled. 

Yamato frowned. He didn’t understand what she meant. He dropped his hand from the back of her head so she could lean back and look at him. Sora figured she must’ve looked like a mess from the way Yamato’s eyes glazed over with worry, the way his mouth gaped open. She wiped her face with her sleeve and went on, her breathing beginning to steady.

“What’s my purpose now? What good can I do? How can I assure everyone things will be okay if I don’t even believe it myself?”

Yamato narrowed his eyes again and leaned in towards her. “Sor- we’ve talked about this before. You can’t put all that responsibility on yourself. It’s not healthy. You know that.” He paused momentarily and swallowed. “We know that.”

Sora appreciated his words, but they didn’t make her feel better. “I- I know nothing will cheer everyone up right now,” she clarified, “but I don’t know if I’d be doing it for them. I t-think I’d be doing it for me. I need to try. It needs to be genuine. How can I respect myself if I don’t?” 

The last bit caught Yamato off-guard. He cocked his head inquisitively- an unspoken “why”?

“I- I don’t feel good if I can’t be helpful.” Sora went on, her eyes beginning to well up again. Her cheeks, which were already chaffed and red, tensed once more as she tried to stop herself from crying. “I didn’t notice it until Piyomon…” she paused, choosing her words carefully, “disappeared.” The girl looked dissatisfied with the choice anyways, but went on. “I spent so much time caring for her. It was like an outlet. She was always around, always clinging to me. And now everyone else is acting so mature. I can’t help but wonder what my purpose is. I feel-”

“Empty.” Yamato finished her sentence for her, but this time he was the one to avert his gaze. He leaned back and dug his hands into the sand, his eyes locked on a random spot out over the river. 

Sora, her voice small and shaky, finally finished her explanation. “No one needs me.” 

Yamato snapped his gaze back towards Sora and locked his eyes on her. She was looking somewhere else. Her knees were now pulled into her chest, her arms wrapped around them to hold herself together. He furrowed his brow. If Sora had been looking at him, he suspected she would have thought he looked frustrated with her. That wasn’t the case, though. He was frustrated with himself. How had he allowed her to drift into this mindset? Sora, who always put others before herself, who was always warm, who everyone always relied on for reassurance and stability and love, should have been the last person to say something like that. It signaled that he needed to try harder. Yamato sighed and stared at the girl, perhaps too intently judging from the way her eyes narrowed with concern once she felt his gaze on her. 

“That’s not true.” He said, his voice low. Sora was now the one frowning. Yamato straightened himself up and reached out to grab one of her hands. He squeezed it and ran his thumb over her skin. It was soft, like the way he’d smile when Sora would fall asleep on his shoulder while watching movies at his apartment. He probably didn’t thank her enough for those moments- the moments that made him feel whole. 

Yamato could feel himself getting flustered. He wanted to look down at the ground but he resisted the urge. This was too important. As he gathered the courage to speak, Sora stared back at him confusedly. His eyes were glistening, and she couldn’t quite tell if it was the way the moon lit them up or his own emotions overwhelming him. Finally, he said it.

“I need you.” 

Sora’s heart began to race. Perhaps she wouldn’t normally react that way to three very simple words, but coming from Yamato, they meant so much. He watched her carefully for her reaction, like he was worried she would suddenly turn on him and reject such a confession. The boy only looked relieved when she smiled, and squeezed his hand in return. 

The two of them sat on the riverbank for awhile. Sora leaned her head on his shoulder and drifted in and out of light sleep. In such a strange time, she felt like she was home. Yamato eventually noticed the scent of smoke. Taichi must have gotten a fire going. He nudged Sora gently, and she muttered something inaudible in her sleep. He smiled at her, softly, and pushed a strand of stray hair out of her face. It looked like they’d be staying there for a little while longer.

Over the sound of the rushing river and the bustling leaves, Yamato’s ears tuned into another, more distant sound. It was high pitched. Perhaps if he wasn’t musically inclined he wouldn’t have noticed it. What was it? He looked downstream.

“A whistle?”

When i first started my after school writing class there was this asshole in the organization who looked over my curriculum and basically just insulted it a ton. He told me that I was treating the kids like they were idiots, “they already know what a protagonist and antagonist is, don’t treat them like kids, you’re seriously gonna spend a whole week devoted to that?”

He’s Not With Us anymore (uwu). I was told by my boss to go with the original curriculum and ignore him - his job had nothing to do with class curriculum and he was out of line with his criticism. Well, today I had the class on protagonists and antagonists. Guess what? No one knew what they were. No one. We spent the entire hour just talking about what they were. And that’s not an insult to the kids! I know these terms are complicated and I don’t mind teaching them; that’s what I’m here for! But holy shit did it feel good that the lesson was so successful and taught them so much after having to deal with that jerk lmao

anonymous asked:

Are you in theatre in college? What's it like? Actress has always been a secret fantasy of mine but I'm so shy and introverted...

Well it’s honestly a lot of work.

In the past twenty four hours I have spent 14 hours acting/ working/ performing our current production - five of those hours being consecutive. Seven of them were sleeping, which gives me three hours for homework, showering, eating, etc. but not consecutively, just scattered throughout the day. 

And yes it’s stressful, learning all the lines, the blocking, the costuming, makeup, lights, especially when you’re trying to learn three to four different plays at once. 

And all the stress makes me physically sick, and the hours are so long, every day the same thing. 

And actors complain a lot. 

We do, I know we do, we all know we do. But we’re honestly so proud of everything we put into this show. 

You have to love it, because if you don’t then you’re crazy - who would want to put up with all of this if you don’t love it? It has to be something you have a passion for - especially if you want to make a career out of it because you have to be so strong to be an actor.

You’re rejected on a day-to-day basis, have to put up with judgment and criticism from people who have “real jobs”, you’re told that this is a pipe dream, you work on a low salary  but it’s really not impossible. I always tell myself that I am not a victim, and if they can do it, I can do it. There is no reason why I can’t do something someone else did - because I’m just as much of a human being as they are with just as much opportunity.  But there is a quote that my Acting Coach has posted in his room, 

“Actors commit their entire lives, everything to that role, that line, that laugh. And in that moment, that fragment of a second, they are closer to truth, god, and magic than another person will ever get in their entire lifetime.”

I have this journal that I write down inspirational, and acting related things to keep me always motivated. And I’ll put down some of the ones that are most important to me: 

“Culture, imagination, memory, travel, personal identity.”

“The hardest thing to listen to is your instincts, your personal, human intuition. It always whispers, never shouts. You have to listen everyday.” 

“Never stop pushing, stretching, growing. Never get comfortable. Never get cynical.”

“Be a risk taker. Don’t just get a family, earn a living then die.”

“Be prepared for disappointment, failure, pain, set backs, defeat– but in it I will realize I have greatness inside of me. I am not a victim.” 

I know this is long, I just get so passionate when I talk about this stuff.

I keep telling you, anon, about all the struggle and bad with in the art, but I’ll end this long answer off with why we do it. Aside from the family-bond you make with your company, troupe, cast, etc… It’s about what you give. 

We, as human beings, want to give to the world - whether it’s through sports, medicine, businesses, or art. I give through my art form. For some people acting is about what you get from it, but in my opinion that’s a terrible reason to love it. To love fame, and compliments, and recognition isn’t why I do it. I do it because I love it. 

And it gives nothing back to me. I don’t expect for it to give anything back to me. I get happiness from myself by loving it but I don’t expect Rehearsal to rub my back at night and say “Hey, I’m sorry I kept you up so late, you should sleep in tomorrow.” Because that’s not love. It’s the same with people. 

When you love someone or something it’s all you to them, none of it is them to you. Just because this person doesn’t love you does not mean that you do not love them. 

And the moment that you love something, expecting to get something back - you don’t love that thing anymore.  I can’t say, “Rehearsal, you should give me the night off because I’ve invested so much time into you and look at all I have done for you.” That’s not love. That’s entitlement.

You do it to give. That’s this phenomenon called love. 

Submitted by @iamthe-badwolf2213:  

“let’s go with page number 513 and line number 7″

“And I would go home at the end of every day exhausted but content – fulfilled.”

At this moment, Feyre is imagining a possible future with Rhys: opening an art studio in Velaris, coming home to him every day… And she realizes that’s the life she wants. 


The lesson was supposed to start ten minutes ago. 

I hated being late, but didn’t usually have many (if any) patrons at 9:00 a.m. on Tuesdays. I kept the class on my schedule, though, just in case. Most had other things to attend to; or, if not, preferred sleep to painting lessons. More often than not, I spent the hour alone. I had come to enjoy the solitary Tuesday mornings, and used the time to create new lesson plans or paint without a certain High Lord staring over my shoulder to offer commentary.

Half of my toast still hung from my mouth as I rushed into the classroom, arms full of paints and brushes, hair flying everywhere. I was probably a sight to behold, considering the paint smudges and the half-eaten breakfast still between my teeth.

I wouldn’t have to worry about finishing my toast, though. As soon as I kicked the door closed behind me, it dropped from my mouth to the floor. 

Amren, Mor, Cassian and Azriel were all sitting in the front row of the classroom. They were bickering loudly about their seating arrangements, though Amren seemed perfectly happy to sit at the edge of the row and pick at her nails. 

Once they noticed me, they quieted and smiled like toddlers. 

“Good morning,” I said, wishing I had a free hand to smooth my hair or pick my toast up from the floor.

“We’ve come to finally learn how to paint,” said Mor, just as Cassian said, “We’ve come to bother you.”

“I see.” The paints in my arms threatened to follow the toast to floor, so I walked to the front of the room to set them out on the table. This would be an interesting hour, though a part of me had been looking forward to solitude.

Amren looked toward the example painting of a lazy sunset propped up next to me and said, “I’m not painting that.” 

I rolled my eyes, about to retort, when she continued. “Can we paint something more interesting? Something like, oh…” She picked at her thumb absently. “Something like a portrait of Tamlin, but what he would look like after I beheaded him.”

Amren had become oddly fixated on Tamlin’s demise after I had escaped from my stint as Rhys’s Spring Court mole. I wondered if she realized that, to the untrained eye, it seemed that she was almost protective of me. That she cared. 

Cassian gave a vicious smile at Amren’s suggestion, while Mor giggled mischievously. Azriel didn’t seem phased. 

“Fine,” I breathed. Maybe imagining Tamlin’s disembodied head would even cheer me up a bit. It would certainly be Rhys’s favorite painting. 

I set about planning the painting – Retribution, I’d call it – and pulled my hair into a loose bun. 

“I hope you have a lot of red paint,” Amren crooned. “It won’t be a clean cut.”



Send me a random page number (1-624) and line number (1-32) and I’ll post the corresponding line from ACOMAF along with a headcanon or writing blurb related to that line! :)