or accurate enough

wendycorduroy  asked:

i've been trying to phrase this in a way that doesnt sound condescending lmao. i saw u mention the rockets just look like ridiculously tall, and i thought that for a while too until i found out ash was like. slightly over 4 feet tall? so id have to see em together but honestly i think theyre decently average.

Oh yeah I heard that too~

I thiiiiink how I drew them was close enough to accurate? I was going off of my brother’s height and my own as a sort of reference. He stands at a solid 6ft and I’m like 5ft 3in roughly. The top of my head barely reaches the bottom of his chin. Ash would then be like 5in shorter than me meaning that the top of his head would reach around my brother’s shoulder or lower. Based on the anime, the twerps, seeeeemingly, are drawn at around the Rocket’s shoulders/chests most of the time (again, it’s pretty inconsistent). 

I made a little chart thing for myself before drawing LOL

So yeah! James is the tallest here standing at 6ft and everyone else kinda fell into place. Ash is accurately around 4ft10in!

7

Rules: Describe yourself using only the photos you have. Don’t search for new ones.

Tagged by @90s-shinee-aesthetic and @minnyhyuk! (I felt your pics on emotional levels, guys 😂)

Woohoo! I actually have a reaction pic folder in my photos so I was born ready for this tag 🤓 

Tagging: @puppycat-eyes @binsblush @solarkwan @vocalpmh @fluffyzelo @mintsugarmarktuan @daeminanalo @amohyunwoo You don’t have to do this if you don’t want to!

in the french version, during ‘belle’, gaston says ‘my little lefou.’ how cute is that?? makes it sadder when he shows his true colors at the end though :(

also in the gaston song, in the french version it’s significantly gayer…

and lefou says gaston has the body of apollo (greek god of beauty) & steel bicepts, and he calls him “my gaston” …..pls

Selmers! Everyone’s favourite bear poet from Night in the Woods. Well, she’s my favourite anyway. Not super detailed or anything, still getting back into it while my optic nerve is healing.

Dunno how well the NitW style translates into mine, but I hope this is accurate enough. o_o

Selmers belongs to Infinite Fall, art by me.

2

f*cking…. captivating……..

dirty little secret: i’m a bitch for mythology

*I’m not even kidding I was the only person at my school to take the only mythology class we had twice and I finished with a 100+% each semester.*

Living as a Liminal Space

Is this the way things have always been?
The question is always nestled in the back of your mind, smile carefully in place as you nod along with someone’s conversation. You don’t know who they are - their face feels familiar, but the list of remembered names in your mind is very small.
You stare at their cracked lips, trying to commit their words to memory. You wonder if they had ever used chapstick, and just as that thought bubbled to the surface, time slipped sideways. You awake from your dream to find seconds have passed, countless words lost in the haze of existing and you look up at the person speaking.
“I’m sorry,” you say, with that careful smile painted delicately across your face, “Could you repeat that?”
They do, but the words slide like quicksilver in and out of your ears, darting just long enough to hear, but not long enough to understand. You blink, trying to remember, but that moment is gone as if it had never happened. They are already talking about something else, addressing you by name, but their own name remains lost.
Conversations flow like a river around you, snatches of meaning caught here and there, but holding onto conversations is like trying to dam a stream with a bucket. You learn to scoop down as quickly as you can, snatching just enough context to divine meaning.

Is this the way things have always been?
The light bulb needs to be changed.
There are two bulbs, one broken, one not. The room is dim, but not so dim that it is untreadable. You see the light bulb, and it registers as something that Needs To Be Done. You look down to the warm mug in your hands, and consider that to change the bulb, you need to have your hands free.
And the thought is gone, the significance of room dimness lost as your thoughts fizz like static to wrap around the mug’s heat. You find the mug the next day, left on the corner of your desk, drained of coffee. The room’s dimness is remembered, but you should take care of that mug first, right? It could mold.
By the time you place the mug in the sink, your thoughts are already occupied by dish soaps and lipid breakdowns, and the bulb lies forgotten, nestled dead against the ceiling. 

One morning, neither bulb turns on, and you navigate the kitchen by the light of your cell phone before work.
That night, you use your cell phone again, because you’ve forgotten where the bulbs are, and need to get gas to get to the store.
The next night and the night after that, you ate early enough in the day that light bulbs weren’t needed, so the deadness never registered as a problem.
At the end of the week, your hunger draws you to the kitchen late in the evening, but it’s too late in the day to go to the store - they won’t be open.
When the problem of the bulb is not in front of you - is not making an active nuisance of itself, it’s like it doesn’t even exist.  
Nothing in this world exists, when it’s not in front of you. 

Is this the way things have always been?
“You’re so good at traveling!” your coworker said, “Aren’t you homesick?”
Belatedly, you realize that you’ve been away from home for a week and a half. Each day seems like an individual lifetime. They flow back-to-back never quite related, for all their similarities.
Like picking up a new novel every morning, each set of problems is unique to that situation.
Like picking up a new novel every morning, the previous book’s worries shed like water. They’re not here anymore, so they don’t matter.
“Do your parents know you’re in California?”
No, you think to yourself, I haven’t talked to them in months.
It’s not any malice or dislike that stops you from calling, and that’s what frightens you, a little.
You’d be happy talking to them, but you just…. Forgot.
Like all things, when they aren’t in front of you:
They just don’t seem to exist. 

Is this the way things have always been? 

“You know I was only joking!”
I didn’t, you think to yourself, forcing a titter of agreeable laughter.
Every word, unless emphasized deeply with emotive gestures and tonal changes, seems genuine. Flat-faced delivery of falsehoods always rings true to your ears. It takes effort to remember to parse out people’s wording - their delivery - and compare it against their previously stated opinions and choices.
It takes effort to remember to analyze again and again and again and again, until every conversation is a minefield of potential missteps, drawing close a handful of responses that could be interpreted a hundred different ways. At least with those, you can play along.
“How come you’re being so quiet?”
It’s exhausting to dance the dance of smalltalk, when your feet just seem unable to develop that muscle memory. So every conversation becomes mechanical, automatic, words filtering through keyword searches and tonal registers to find the ‘correct’ response that is both situationally appropriate, not emotionally hurtful, and hopefully accurate enough not to elicit guilt.
Like all automations, It doesn’t always work.
Like all machines, it doesn’t feel real.
The people of the world seem like a thousand NPCs, all demanding answers from an endless multiple-choice list of dialogue options. Humans become something like obsticals, and conversations like challenges, fights waged with memorized expressions and rote responses. You become accustomed to spitting back wisdom from books and television shows written by actual people, in the hopes that their words can make your forced empathy seem real.
None of it feels real. 

Is this the way things have always been?
“Do you have a crush on anyone?”
Should I?
Sexual and Romantic relationships burn brightly, all-consuming while they last. Obsessive is a word fit for the hungry hoarding of dragons, and the vicious consuming of ghosts.
It is an accurate adjective for your heart.
While things are here they are all that exist.
While things are elsewhere they may as well have never existed at all.
It applies to tasks,
To objects,
To people,
To relationships.
To your own emotions. 

Existence itself remains a fleeting experience of not-quite-real spaces. Each moment feeling the most important thing you’ve ever done, yet once that moment passed it leaves only the briefest of marks on your heart or memory. Often the memory slides away completely, leaving nothing but the memories of others, and whatever few pictures were taken.
Your self exists eternally on the outskirts of other peoples lives, recollection of what you’re like always reminded by pictures and stories told by friends. That perfect, careful smile painted delicately across your face slips to neutrality when alone.
You simply consume the world, experience it, and let it go again.
An eternal catch-and-release, where there is no fish more important than the one caught in your gaze NOW.

 Is this the way things have always been? 

Yes. 

And will always be. 

Your mind is a Liminal Space, and the world around you can only briefly visit. 

It’s hot out, which Harry should’ve expected, but it was still a welcoming change from drizzly London, the sun warming his skin. He stepped out the plane, nearly tripping down the stairs with his long boots skimming the ground, ready to exchange for flip-flops, or, even better, no shoes at all. The rest of his band were standing near the rental cars, talking and laughing while slowly stripping from the heavy layers, layers needed in cold England, but no longer needed in sunny tropics.

“It’s hot as fuck,” his love’s airy voice came from the top of the staircase, and he turned to see his boy squinting at the sun, already changed into cargo shorts and a tank top, sunglasses tucked into his collar, his golden skin seeming to come to life, “And bright too. Can someone turn down the sun?” He complained, gracefully coming down the stairs to latch himself against Harry’s side.

“Lou, you have sunglasses on you right now,” Harry teased, rolling his eyes as he took the glasses and slowly slipped them on Louis’ face, kissing his crinkled nose, “That better?”

Louis nodded, smiling with his head tilted up, “Much,” and brings their lips together softly, a bare trace of kisses to come.

“You all done?” Mitch called to them, breaking their bubble as they look over and see the full band watching them with fond eyes and silly grins, “Some of us want to actually get to the bungalow,”

Louis looked back to Harry, leaning up to wrap his arms around the taller boys neck and pull him into a quick kiss, a mere peck, “Ready, love?”

Harry returned the embrace, arms wrapped around his waist, and pressed their foreheads together, “With you by my side? Always.”


~~~


“Did you really make a proper English fry-up when we’re over 4,000 miles from London, and in the middle of a Caribbean paradise?” Louis asked, slowly pulling himself up from where he was spread eagle over their bed, the silk sheets pooling around his waist.

Harry sat down on the bed, across from Louis so they could make faces at each other while eating, and set the tray between them, “The past few days all we’ve had for breakfast is fruit, with the occasional bagel. Thought you could use something greasy,” Harry reasoned.

“Greasier than me, you mean?” Louis replied, taking a huge bite of his eggs, eyes nearly rolling back in his head, “Fuck, forgot how good this is. You fed the rest of the band, right?” He asked, always one to care about others.

“You’re not greasy, love. Just glowing,” Harry shot back, giggling at the pale pink coloring the other man’s cheeks, dodging the piece of bacon lobbed at him, “And yes, I fed the others, can’t have my band starve,” he grinned, and Louis laughed in response, his eyes crinkling up at the corners, a trait Harry was so helplessly in love with.

The two sat in relative silence, eating their breakfast and occasionally sticking their tongues out at each other, sharing giggles while the rest of the band move around the house, the sounds of showers being turned on and off, shouts and laughter. Louis finished his food, and pushed back against the headboard watching Harry slowly eat the rest of his eggs, “What are our plans for the day?” He asked, losing patience after ten seconds of watching him eat.

Harry smiled, and pushed away his plate, standing up to stretch, “Well, I know everyone wants to go swimming, so definitely that first,” he tapped his bottom lip, before breaking into a mischievous smirk, Louis getting a flashback of the 16 year old boy he fell in love with, “Sex On the Beach?” He propositioned with a wink, making Louis laugh.

“The act or the drink?” Louis waggled his eyebrows, both of them bursting into loud laughter when there was an unmistakable retching sound from behind their bedroom door.

“Quit being nosy, Sarah!” Harry yelled, banging on the door, tears in his eyes, smile so bright Louis’ heart felt like it was being clenched, “C’mon, Lou, let’s get dressed,” Harry pulled the smaller man out of bed, Louis feeling no insecurity being naked in front of his lover, twirling him around until they were at their joint dresser, and rifling through the top drawer, “Blue or green?” He asked, holding up two different colored trunks, but with the same striped pattern.

Louis crossed his arms, and gave Harry a look, one he was famous for, a tilt to his hip and one eyebrow raised, “What do you think?” He responded, smiling brightly when he’s handed the green pair, quickly sliding them on and wiggling to fit, laughing as Harry does the same, his long Bambi legs being as difficult as usual.

“Race to the beach?” Harry propositioned, stretching out his legs, and Louis nodded, “Alright, we’ll start at the back door, when I say go, no cheating,” he wagged his finger, and Louis rolled his eyes, but agreed to his terms. As soon as their bedroom door was opened, he shot off like a rocket, laughing at the pounding footsteps of Harry chasing after him.

A few hours passed, and Louis had sand everywhere, his skin was warm and a tad pink looking, a signal for more sunscreen, and his hair was full of salt, but fluffy. He was leaned back, pressed into Harry’s arms, sitting between his legs, as they watched the water, “I’d say today was productive,” Harry said, breaking the silence. Louis tilted his head back to look up at Harry’s face.

“We didn't​ write anything, nor record anything, we just sat on the beach,” Louis pointed out, wondering what Harry meant by “productive”.

“Yeah, but,” he leaned down and kisses Louis’ forehead, “I spent it all with you.” The smaller man cuddled back between his lover’s legs, and closed his eyes, feeling the steady rise and fall of the broad chest beneath him, hearing Harry start to hum something familiar sounding, after a few seconds of this, Louis spoke up.

“Are you really humming If I Could Fly at me?” He asked, without opening his eyes, a small smile forming on his face as Harry’s chest starts to shake with laughter.

“Something like that,” he answered, hooking his chin on Louis’ shoulder, “I’m home to you, aren’t I?” Louis giggled sleepily, his voice already starting to sound warmer and gravelly, “I’m gonna miss you,” Harry confessed quietly, tracing slow lazy circles onto the soft skin underneath his fingertips, and Louis swallowed past the lump in his throat, determined for his voice to not choke up.

“A week and a half, Haz,” he tried to speak reassuringly, “We can last that, yeah?” Harry made a low hum sound in the back of his throat, before sighing lightly, the rush of cold hair giving Louis goosebumps.

“I believe,” he started slow, “That we can last forever.” His voice no longer timid at saying something so deep and intimate, knowing for sure that Louis felt the exact same. Their grips tightened around each other, and they laid like that, watching the sun disappear below the horizon, a calmness in the air.


~~~


Harry is running off of four hours of sleep, and it’s become noticeable in his song-writing, the theme drifting more towards melancholy, and longing, and breaking free. He also was checking his phone obsessively, something he promised he wouldn’t do the entire time here, vowing to not even turn the thing on. But it felt like as soon as Louis left, his phone never left his hand, waiting for something, a text, a tweet, a selfie on Instagram, just anything so he could remember what his boy felt like.

“H, it’s been four days,” Mitch called him out, after the 20th pause in recording for grown man to race to his phone, “You can’t make it four days without him?”

Harry knew it was meant as a light ribbing, but it hit all the same, that he really can’t last four days without his baby, “I miss him,” he pouted, “I just wish he were back here with me, with us. He deserves a vacation.”

“And he’ll get one once he’s back, H.” Mitch cut in, “Your boy will be back in your arms, you’ll be in your safe area, where you can hide from everything, and spend the time together.” He looked up from where he was doodling on their notebook, smiling kindly, “Won’t that be lovely?”

Harry nodded, knowing Mitch was right, and that he should calm down and wait for Louis to return to him. Pulling the notebook towards him, Harry carefully penned, under the already written words, “We’ve got to get away,” and looked back up to see his guitarist with a sparkle in his eye, and they shared a quick nod, like an unspoken word between the two.

After eight days, Harry was pretty sure his new band hated him. He had penned out quite a few songs in the past few days, some good enough to make the album, but all the same theme. Loneliness, heartbreak, lost love, soulmates, being caged. And they were only words on paper, no actual music for accompaniment.

“Harry, please, two more days,” Clare begged him, “Just two more days, and he’ll be back, you can make it.”

He put his head in his hands, dragging his hands through his hair, nails scratching his scalp, “I’m sorry, I’m not usually like this,” Harry apologized, not looking up, “God, I’m pathetic,” he cursed himself, looking up in shock when she hit his arm.

“You are not pathetic, Harold,” she chided him, before smiling, “You are in love. You want your boy here because this is your first solo album, you want him to be here for the adventure, the creation. This album’s a huge part of you, and so is he, so of course you want the two to share a time slot,” she spoke simply, explaining in such an easy way, that it felt like the gears of Harry’s brain just clicked back into place, and started to whirl.

“You’re right,” he said quietly, “Oh, my god, you’re right!” He jumped up from the kitchen table, kissed her on the cheek, and raced down the hall, slamming into the recording studio, surprising Mitch out of his seat where he was casually strumming, “I need a guitar, and a pen.” He ordered, and Mitch looked surprised for a second, before getting a steely look in his eye.

“Damn right, you do,” he grinned, and Harry felt the tug at his own lips.

It’s day ten, nearly day eleven, and Harry was laying in bed alone. The last time he talked to Louis was two days ago, where he just had to call and tell his boy all about the new song they were recording, a song about New York and talking to walls, and Louis was excitedly shouting back into the phone. The two giggled like children, and hanging up was the most difficult thing, but they knew that in two more days there would be a reunion, and that’s all the encouragement they needed to get back to their schedules.

Only now, it was nearly midnight, and Harry was still in a half empty bed. Louis didn’t give a specific time on when he was going to be back, just that it was probably going to be late. The band had tried to convince Harry to stay up and watch a movie with them, a cheesy rom-com knowing how much it would entice him, but he denied, instead choosing to stare at his ceiling and wait. The window was open, and the rushing of waves had lulled him into a near sleeping state, the air slowly cooling the later it got into the night, crickets chirping and sounding like they were on his windowsill.

“Harry! Get outta bed, we need you!” One of the members (Harry was so sleepy he couldn’t remember whose voice it was) yelled from the front room, making him groan and slowly pull himself from the bed, ready to stomp out and throw a tantrum at them for interrupting his near-nap.

He threw open the door, opening his mouth to yell back, when a body collided into him, nearly knocking him to the floor. The smell of sunshine and cologne filled his nostrils, and he felt his eyes almost instantly tear up, which he quickly tried to blink away as he wrapped his arms around the small curvy body he knows almost as well as his own, “They may need you, but I need you more,” Louis’ raspy voice felt like music to his ears, a gentle laugh escaping his mouth as watery blue eyes met his, “Are you crying? Come on, it’s not that big of a deal.” Louis teased, knowing full well his own eyes were wet. Harry ran his fingers across the slight bags under his lover’s eyes, wiping away the tears and kissing him softly on the mouth.

“I just missed you,” he explained, pulling back to rest their foreheads together. Louis grinned widely at him, his eyes crinkling, and they kissed again, ignoring the cheers from the living room.


~~~


“You’re a messy drunk, Harold. I’m not going to clean up after you if you make a mess,” Louis warned, his boy already a little buzzed, his voice lower and warmer, dimples on permanent prominent display. The band had decided after nearly two months of recording, they wanted to get massively drunk and throw a bonfire on the beach, inviting some of the local friends they made. A whole bottle of tequila later, they were all dancing in the sand, running away from the waves and screaming when the water touched their ankles.

“You’ll still take care of me, and yoooooou know it” Harry drawled, giggling when Louis shook his head with a fake exasperated sigh.

“The things I do for you,” he teased, lacing their fingers together and using his shoulder as an armrest.

“Can we go swimming?” Harry asked after a few seconds, looking down at Louis with his bright green eyes that were hard to say no to.

“Sure, baby,” Louis gave in, “Just take off your shirt so it doesn’t get wet,” he instructed, laughing when Harry nodded solemnly, but started to slowly strip while wiggling his hips, which Louis copied, till both their shirts were in a pile at their feet, the two left only in their swim trunks. They raced toward the sea, always a competition, attracting the attention of their friends, who quickly followed after, till it was just a large group of adults splashing each other, the moon reflecting off the water, leaving everything shiny and radiant. Distantly, Louis heard one of the girls shrieking as she was carted over and dropped in the freezing water, still in her dress, “You fucker!” She yelled at the guy, presumably her boyfriend from the way he was looking at her, but she spoke with no malice, and quickly was overcome with giggles, everyone joining in, as the waves crashed around them.

“Let’s all get warm by the fire!” Sarah called, to everyone’s agreement, and quickly they all fled the cold water and sped over to where their fire was roaring, sparks flickering towards the sky.

“Now my dress is all wet,” the girl frowned, and Louis turned to see Harry holding out his own shirt and pants to her, a small grin on his face.

“Switch!” He laughed, and the girl didn’t hesitate to pull off her dress and hand it over, accepting the large shirt and pulling it on, wrapping her arms around herself.

“Harry, you’re huge, I don’t think that dress is gonna fit you…” Louis told him hesitantly, watching as he pulled the collar over his head, looking vaguely tangled.

His green eyes popped out, fire dancing in his eyes, “Don’t be ridiculous, it’ll fit like a glove,” he tugged, slipping his arms through the sleeves, and pulling the fabric down till it just barely reached his mid-thigh, “See? Perfect!” Harry exclaimed, smiling at everybody’s cheers, doing a little twirl to show off.

“If you say so, love,” Louis shook his head lightly, knowing that the dress was probably going to split sometime tonight and they’d have to buy the poor girl a new one.

“Everyone! Pick up your shot glasses, because I propose a toast!” Mitch’s voice boomed, making everyone scramble to grab their glasses from where they were left on towels, while Mitch walked around pouring a bit of vodka, that he got from God knows where, into each little cup, before going back to his original spot and holding his drink forward, “To new friends!” He cheered.

“To making memories!” Sarah interjected, earning a cheer herself.

“To making this album,” Harry spoke up, voice quiet and smile kind.

Louis leaned forward, gathering the attention on himself, “And to Harry Styles,” he spoke firmly, looking at his boy, hoping to convey all the love, pride, and adoration he could with only one look.

“To Harry Styles!” Everyone chorused back, and Louis saw the fire reflecting off the tears forming in Harry’s eyes, as they all clinked their glasses together.

The two pulled each other close, an arm wrapped around their bodies, fitting as they were always meant to, always supposed to. “To home,” Harry said quietly, a toast meant only for LouisandHarry.

“To home,” Louis repeated, and they clinked their glasses together, a beautiful sound on a beautiful night.

Performance Unit in fanfics

Hoshi: is a dancer and or owns a dancing studio; that friend who likes to get wasted and party all night long; but actually only wants love; kinda lonely; has rich parents (?); jihoon’s annoying friend; kinda chilidish;  is actually very responsible despite of his personality

Jun: always related to minghao; wonwoo’s bff; works with him in a cafe; sometimes a bartender; works a lot; flirty; sexy lil shit; smooth af; smarter than he looks; is a big softie when it comes to minghao; only wants the best for his friends; misses his family in china; works with hoshi in his studio

The8: Minggu’s roommate and best friend; the one who knows what he is doing; tells mingyu what to do; sassy af; will drag you if he had to; loves his friends; has a mysterious back story; was in a mafia group; wants to start a new life in korea; likes to hide his emotions; will judge you

Dino: the high schooler or freshman in college aus; is often paired with nobody; everbody’s lil bro; everyone wants to take care of him; is a good maknae; will do anything for his hyungs; lives with vernon; dances with hoshi; enthusiastic lil baby; always passionate; has hoshi as his mentor; tries to sneak into parties; runs away from home and or has problems with his parents

A visual guide to @chronicolicity‘s ‘Resistance is built on hope’ - Virginie ‘Jyn’ Erso.


i wanted to make something cool and accurate but i made this instead (with dumb princess diaries and deadpool references i know forgive me)

anyway this fic is superflicious wonderful amazing and everybody needs to read it and send love to the author (also much love to @runakvaed and this flawless edit without whom id never have discovered it) 

The swallow is one of my favorite parts in vore. c:

I always wanted to do a swallow pic that looks like it came from a medical diagram…okay, probably not fully medically accurate but close enough. c:

I didn’t really feel like doing the full shading job on this, so I figured I’ll just keep it flattish-colored. Lazy, I know. X’D

Drawn while suffering from artist block, girl is nobody in particular. She just…is. :P

ENJOYYY