my wrong steps

3

TENDOU WEEK Day five // Rivalry // OTP

“The only time I’ll ever despair is when I won’t be able to play volleyball anymore.” - Kageyama Tobio

It is the future. I’m living my life to the fullest, having enjoyed every second of my retirement. I sit back in my reclined high class series alpha PC red/black gaming chair custom designed with logos of previous works I once dedicated my life to. In my hand I swirl a cup of watered down Kubanskaya with slices of pineapple, honeydew melon, cantaloupe, ice, and a couple of grapes that I have yet to realize are not Seedless. I watch the world outside my 4K window, which is really not a window but a very good TV. My kids, now grown, suddenly enter the room, uneasy and a little confused and distraught. I ask what is wrong. My daughter steps forward with her custom Horde/Zerg inspired design inscribed on her tablet she got on her birthday, and turns it to show me a picture I had not seen in many long years. “Dad, what’s Warlords of Draenor?” she asks me. I gape. I drop my drink, but the cup does not shatter, as it was in one of my four plastic limited edition World of Warcraft cups I have treasured for many long years. My only failure. My only regret. Warlords of Draenor. The one thing I never thought I would have to explain. I thought the expansions that followed it would help people forget. My children stare at me expectantly. My spilled drink has attracted ants. My TV shut off. My daughter’s tablet’s screen timer has timed out and the screen is dark now. I sit back in my seat with a sigh, but the reinforced nylon base that is supposed to hold me up has had enough of my foolery, and it snaps, and I fall into my spilled drink. My grapes are not seedless.

yoonbum isn’t crying out of fear in this frame like we have seen him do before. He just sits on the ground after rejection. This frame breaks me, because i relate. 

This type of crying is reflecting years of loneliness, being and outcast, depression, mental illness, little to no self love. Bum crying here, is after rejection, of being treated like he is unworthy, and for people to not care. He is blatantly pushed to the ground like he is some underserving creep. This kind of crying i have experienced a lot in my life. Of course bum is in a worse situation so his crying is probably more stress filled.

But in this frame i see myself a lot: The lonely outkast kid, who so desperately wants to be part of something with someone, so much that people being kind once can make love appear in their head out of the blue. The child who is rejected again and again, constantly and forever reaffirmed that he is not welcome, that he is gross and disgusting and wrong. His tiredness, his stress, his hopelessness. He is in this frame sensing that there might not be another alternative outcome; nobody wants to save the loner with poor social skills.

It’s no explosive crying, but it’s the rawest most heartfelt of them. There he sits, rejected again. I see myself in that and it breaks my fucking heart to at any point acknowledge these feelings myself. 

What an amazing artist koogi is, to convey this exact emotion of hopelessness and real raw sadness. 

crimes

one, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, nine, nine, nine…

By the time the Impala’s carved a path out of New York, the sun’s setting. Dean’s not really leaning on the accelerator. There are problems up ahead, yeah, and they’re big ones—but everything urgent in him sits in the sleeping hulk of his brother, silent and slumped on the other side of the bench. Everything else just pales in comparison.

Pennsylvania’s blurring into Ohio and Ezekiel hasn’t said a word, not since they got into the car. Sam just looks like he’s sleeping, curled up with his forehead against the window, and he’s never going to be small again but sometimes he fakes it pretty well. Dean keeps glancing over. Feels like he’s looking at Sam more than at the road, and hell. Who can blame him. He’d be touching Sam, too, if he thought he could get away with it, but he doesn’t want to wake Sammy up. Or—or Ezekiel, maybe. Whichever. He doesn’t have the radio on, or a tape, and he’s coasting along I-90 at an easy seventy-five, nothing but the sound of the engine and the highway wind. It’d be peaceful, if he weren’t sick to his stomach.

His face still hurts, a little, under the new whole skin. Ezekiel healed him, the tiniest glow of white-fire magic so that Sam wouldn’t suspect anything. Dean wasn’t hurt in the church, after all. Not like Sam was. Dean tightens his hands on the steering wheel. Wouldn’t do to have Sam suspect, Ezekiel had said, and Dean had gone along because—because, Christ, what the hell else can he do.

He’s going to have nightmares about that church. About Sam’s too-skinny face, the hollows under his shocked-open eyes. The blood slipping dark to the rotting sacred floorboards and Sam empty-handed, looking at Dean like—isn’t it obvious? Glowing on the inside while he peeled himself open, bloody wet and mutilated, gleaming white-gold lighting up the tears streaking down. And then—even after, after Dean kissed him careful, wrapped up his split palm and brought him in close. After the fall, after he dragged a half-comatose Crowley out and shoved him into the damn trunk. That drive, with Sam shuddering fly-stung in pain, moaning, collapsed over and into himself like just being alive hurt, and nothing Dean could do—that was a nightmare, all on its own. He tried holding onto Sam’s hand, just so Sammy could maybe ground himself, but Sam flinched, said stop, stop it hurts with his voice cracked right down the middle. Nothing for it but to put the pedal to the floorboard and drive with the sour taste of Sam’s looming death lingering at the back of his tongue, ignoring the horrific lightshow all around and hoping a hospital could provide some kind of miracle, if heaven couldn’t.

A semi passes by and he glances down. Accidentally let the speed drop to sixty. If Sam were awake he’d be getting no end of crap for it. He drags a hand down his face and tries to focus. The sun’s really down, now, and they’ll be coming up on Cleveland soon. They’re headed back west, back toward the bunker, but he’s not really driving with anywhere in mind. He tries to think when he slept last and it’s kind of a blur, but he doesn’t want to stop. Can’t imagine sleeping before Sam wakes up. Can’t chance that this, Sam up and living, could be a dream.

All he wants is Sam. He chances a look over and Sam’s still sleeping, his face healed-up and soft in the passing headlights, even if he still looks wrung-out. Nearly hurts, to look at him, and Dean refocuses on the road, dashed yellow line skimming past and disappearing under the dark hulk of the car. So familiar, and not enough to distract him. He just doesn’t—he doesn’t understand how it got so wrong. The year’s been rough, no doubt about it. He knows that some things got said that maybe shouldn’t’ve, and that’s on him. It was just… hard, when he got back. Hard to talk, hard even to touch without flinching, and there were all those nights of not sleeping, of turning to fighting because it was easier, and it turns out it was doing something to Sam.

He forgot. For all Sam surges ahead, does whatever he wants, for all that Dean’s been on his back for the kid for over fifteen years now, for what feels like his whole life, sometimes Sammy’s nothing more than his little brother. Picks up shit Dean never meant to say and holds it close, tucked under his big heart, long past when Dean’s forgotten whatever fight they had that prompted it. Stores up words and uses them like knives, to cut himself to ribbons. Like it’s ever been what Dean says that matters.

He remembers, though. He made Sam a promise, in the church, but Sam made him a promise, too. All the way back, months ago. That first trial. Sam promised that they’d make it to the end, together, and Dean—well, he bought in. Deep down inside, he believed Sam. Believed that no matter what kind of day it came to when they finally had to cash in their chips, they’d be doing it together. It’s been hard, these last months, no doubt about it. Hard on Sam, and hard on Dean, too, but—he remembers that night, in the girl’s room at that stupid ranch. No matter how freaked and worried he’d been, there was Sam’s big hand wrapped around the back of his neck, conviction lighting him up, his thumb dragging over Dean’s jaw, making Dean meet his eyes. There’s light at the end of the tunnel, he’d said, half a smile on his face, a dimple curving into his cheek. Dean can remember it like it was yesterday, and he’d believed it. If only he’d been able to convince Sam that his belief was true.

Sign says Cleveland’s coming up in forty miles and he shifts in his seat, dry-eyed and aching. He’s still nauseous over the choice he made. About the light that’s lurking, wrapped around his little brother’s soul. He’s going to have to lie to Sam, for who knows how long, and that guilt’s already sitting heavy in his chest. Well, it can take a number. They made each other promises. To be together. Hell came long ago and Dean feels like he’s about to drown in the high water, but that doesn’t matter. No matter what, he’s going to look after Sam. Going to do his damn job. Keep his promise. Maybe the light at the end of the tunnel’s going to turn out to be hellfire, but they’re still going to get there, side by side. One way or another.

(read on AO3)

4

Woo Hee said that if he is Baek Ah, then she is Zhong Ji Kee, referring to an ancient story. In that story, Zhong Ji Kee chanced upon Baek Ah when he was playing his instrument by a river, and complimented him with a poem. They became sworn brothers, in an another word, see each other as soulmate. They agreed to meet at the same place again during the next mid-autumn festival. However, when Baek Ah was at the same river a year after, he found out that Zhong Ji Kee passed away. He was so sadden that he did not touch his instrument again, as he believed the only person who understood him was no longer around. (x)

2

colton absolutely crushing granlund after breaking his stick

scarves-the-boy  asked:

do you have any tutorials on how you shade skin so well? or have you posted your brush settings (assuming you use SAI which is a long shot but whatever) which would also be really helpful. feel free to answer this publicly if i'm just another doof who didn't read your faq closely enough and it would help others to avoid bothering you with the same question, i just really like how you shade skin and have trouble with that particular area of digital art. thanks in advance.

Here comes my first time serious tutorial ever LOL , I’m not sure if this would help  ( my english is kinda suck ) but hope it won’t make you confused  !

ps. sorry for late reply

i have a job interview on friday for a job i’m not so sure about….it’s a call center one, so basically 8 hours of people yelling at me. it pays a bit more than my current job, but idk if the added stress + more of a pain of a commute is really worth it :/

My friends from home and I have this journal we pass around while we’re at college to keep up with all the “gossip” in our lives. I haven’t had it since last June, and I just wrote a summary of this past year. And it was harder than expected. 

2

Sooooooo…. I guess the horse really likes the smell of new comics and is a total nerd.  xD  (I know this is pathfinding shit, but it totally looks like she’s all up on the comics!)

I think she wants Steve Texas dead.  :/

And uhhhh…..

She REALLY liked this speaker.  And I don’t have thought bubbles on, and ordinarily I would think this was kind of a fluke, but uh……

She started legit grooving to whatever the fuck they were piping in?

Fuck that she’s clipping through the door, alright?

THAT’S HER FUCKIN’ SONG!

anonymous asked:

Hey, it's me again. I'm the kid that asked about the guides. I guess I need some tips on Manolo because he always kinda looks deeply when I draw him and my poor notebooks running out of pages. Maybe a quick guide? I just need like the suit and guitar. I can do his head fine.

Ah jeez…I feel like I’m the last person to be asking about when it comes to drawing Manolo.

Just so we’re all on the same page (especially for those who haven’t seen Book of Life yet), the way how I draw Manolo is FAR more simple and organic compared to how he looks in the movie. I draw a more simplified version so I can draw him quicker (and so I don’t feel like needing a nap after drawing him in a single panel); that way, anytime he’s in a comic, I can get the comic done in a more timely manner. I’m not being paid to make these comics, so why add the extra stress to make sure all the pins are in the right place?

So, yeah. I can’t really give out any useful pointers on the suit. Only that Manolo’s bullfighting uniform is actually pretty close to what a traditional bullfighting uniform looks like.

The uniforms will vary in design, but some of the basic elements are still in place. I’m not really sure how closely you’re trying to get every detail, so I would recommend researching reference on Manolo’s suit as much as you can. Reference images are your friends (especially for something as busy as a bullfighting outfit).

For the guitar, it’s pretty much made out of cylinders and rectangles.

Guitars are curvy, but they also have a lot of edges. I also listed the names of the different parts of the guitar. I thought of 2 ways to kind of explain the shape of the guitar, and I found it kind of looked like a peanut, with the base being more oval-shaped than the top. Also, for the strings, be careful when placing them down. Make sure that they follow perspective, but aren’t too close together or far apart. Leave enough room so all 6 strings (that’s how many are on Manolo’s guitar) will fit evenly on the saddle of the guitar. And yes. The saddle on Manolo’s guitar looks like a mustache. Very important detail. XD

Anyways, that’s all I got. I’m sorry I don’t have a whole lot, but I hope this was able to help. ^^;

Play Me A Song, Write Me A Story

alternative title was ‘i’m aggressively aromantic but i tried really hard to write this and it actually turned out okay so I’m proud of it probably’ but that didn’t quite have the same ring to it

Genre: FLUFF, teacher AU

Word Count: 12.5k wow @ me

A/N: This was supposed to be under 8k but then I got too invested in the little world I wrote and then I really wanted to postpone writing my other fic above 10k (coming soon I promise) and so this was born.

Summary: Dan is an English teacher who loves words but doesn’t quite love his job, and Phil is the new band conductor/music teacher with bright blue eyes that Dan loves to describe.Their friendship blossoms instantly, despite both of them wanting more right from the start. 

Keep reading

Will not draw full body, nsfw, gore; I can reject a request, if i don’t feel comfortable with it. Will draw HQ!!, YWPD for sure, might accept original characters.

Payment: Paypal

You should contact me via e-mail (tumblekitmakes.art@gmail.com) with your preferences and/or any questions on the subject.

Reblog, please :)

——-

Oh, Someone doesn’t like cosplay.

I mean, you could have fun just wearing the uniform I guess.

Yeah man. There’s nothing wrong with just being yourself in uniform. It’s so easy!

Wow! Here I am in this outfit! No way someone could ever mistake me as dressing as a member of the band at a convention due to my hair resembling a certain guitarist or anything! I am totally original and myself and am walking around as myself, only I’m wearing an Aquabats costume! Whoa dude!

However, if I

then OH NO!!!

LOOK AT ME! I’M TRYING VERY HARD TO BE EAGLEBONES! I’M TERRIBLE!

Haha no.

I don’t even know where that original comment was posted. Someone just tweeted it, so I’m adding my two cents. Don’t tell other cadets what to do. We can cosplay if we want to. It’s not like we’re running around claiming to be the guys. It’s fun, so we’re gonna keep doing it. We still act like ourselves and we all have our cadet selves, but there’s nothing wrong with dressing up for fun, so step off.