the less that i find

I find writing gore based horror to be rather difficult. It’s hard to truly, viscerally terrify an audience without a truly excellent description; nothing is less scary than poorly described gore. I find that less is more with these sorts of things; the real key is not necessarily long paragraphs of graphic description, but carefully selected details that evoke empathetic pain in the reader. If the reader is able to visualize easily the horror being inflicted, it is much more effective than them having to spend precious more seconds deciphering the imagery you’re describing. Simple, almost childlike descriptions I find, to me, are more effective in sheer tonal dissonance–describing the gruesome as mundane seems to evoke more fear in this regard, or so I’ve seen.

Given that the sheer mental image of a man touching/kissing/fucking a woman is enough to trigger intrusive thoughts of me in the woman’s place and make me feel anxious and nauseous and completely violated, I typically find that the less I’m forced to think about a man’s attraction to women or a woman’s attraction to men, the better.

Too bad MOGAI Tumblr loves to actively rebel against this concept by shouting from the rooftops about how m/w attracted a character is as often as possible, and that they proudly consider themselves to be sticking it to the oppressive LGs when they do this. :)

9

everyone in harry potter is a poc: hannah abbot (x)

A pink faced girl with a white headscarf stumbled out of the line, put on the hat, which fell right down over her eyes, and sat down. ‘HUFFLEPUFF!’ shouted the hat. The table on the right cheered and clapped as Hannah went to sit down at the Hufflepuff table; the ghost of the Fat Friar waving merrily at her.

Benedict Cumberbatch as Christopher Tietjens, Parade’s End.

Black Conté Pastel Pencil on Strathmore Pastel Paper (teinte crème)

I also used a 0 size Taper Point Firm Colour Shaper instead of a paper stump for smaller areas shading and blending. It’s incredibly precise and flexible, glad I found it :-)

Thank for looking! Here are some of my tags, just in case…

Art Tag

Society6

Redbubble

You’re the story I tell when the wind asks about my love for sunsets, the punctuation I erase when our reflections sink into the shore. How does every sign we construct explain how some people are meant to fall in love, but aren’t meant to be together? how new constellations form every time I whisper your name, but the night still drinks the caffeine we left at our feet? I just wanted to be the owner of the galaxies dripping from your eyes, the piece you could live without when our hands are grasping for the leaves falling short of a title we’re still rearranging. The less we talk, the more words mean. The less we smile, the more I find your laughter in every six string song. On my best days, I’m just a breath away from you, but sometimes, I just need a little help getting out of my head. Or when I need to get off the bed, some words push us towards insanity– if you were ever mad at me, would you speak your thoughts? If you ever fell in love with me? Would you tell me? If you wanted to know something unusual– I’ve got you. I enjoy the oddness of questions. Like how it sends us on a quest for the truthful answers midway. I don’t like acronyms because the shortness of letters can never compare to the shortness in my breathing when it comes to the lines of oh my god, you’re beautiful tonight. The less we smile, the more I find your atmosphere most needed– some laughter controls the bleeding, some lovers control the weather, and some nights I need both. Some nights I seem to choke on my regrets, it’s never dinnertime when you’ve got so much on your mind. It’s never writing if you’ve done nothing right. You’re always wrong if you start crying in the middle of a song that triggered certain feelings that you shouldn’t be having. you’re always spacing out whenever the commas start to show how many mistakes you’ve made, how many mistakes it took for you to finally get it, how many apologies it took for you to be forgiven, how many I love you’s were needed for someone to feel like you loved them and not just for the sake of not being alone, how many nights you had to spend living in a dead memory of won’t you stay with me for another hour, how many oceans you had to cry before you realized people sink with you every time you damage them, how many volcanoes you became because stress makes smoking this much easier, how many pills you had to take to forget a name, how many nights you stayed high because shower thoughts brought you back to the razors, how many mornings you spent fucked up because of one fuck up, how many years you’ll toss away to find yourself, how many weeks it’ll take to rewire your brain after a breakup, how many days it’ll take to unfeel everything, how many hours it’ll take to unlove a feeling, how many seconds it’ll take to get it right, how many commas you’ll keep count of to not lose yourself tonight, and how many times you’ll leave yourself in the palms of others instead of your own. if I’m ever on my last dollar, if I’m ever on my last heartbeat, if I’m ever at the end of the line, if I ever forget about you, if I never loved you, if I ever destroyed myself to recreate myself, if I ever feel good enough to get over this depression, if I ever stop and stare into the middle of nowhere and if I never return to who I used to be– remember that this life will cut like a very thin knife into your ribs in search for another comma for another run-on sentence that should not have happened because you always loved to make mistakes without a proper ending or a period to your era of impressional impressions to impress no one in particular you can have all of my mistakes you can have all of my errors you can have all of this red ink to scribble all over this poem you can have my life and call it death to the last day when we’ll never meet again.
—  The Ate & The Bunso

It’s… it’s beautiful. Twice x BTS dank collab. 

The Various Flanderizations of Matsuno Ichimatsu

so I’ve noticed that there are…a couple of issues with the way ichi is portrayed in fan works (and by that I mean he’s flanderized – which means to take one single trait of a character and to exaggerate it until it consumes their entire character – or he’s given an out-of-character portrayal altogether), and this post is here to address those issues as well as cover ways on how to give him a more accurate portrayal reminiscent of the character in the show!

do note that I am in no way trying to boss anyone around on how to portray ichi – you are free to portray him however you wish, and I totally get it if you want to explore all the different ways to do so. on the other hand, if you do want to heed my advice because you find him particularly hard to figure out (and trust me, he is), by all means, go ahead! this is partly for myself, too, as I’m writing an ichi-centric fic and want to have some sort of reference to guide me through.

Keep reading

5

Danny Miller ♡o。(๑◕ฺ‿◕ฺ๑)。o♡

Sophia looks so grown up, I can’t take it😭

Otherwise Engaged

A fluffy drabble for OTP Day, with much kudos and credit to @otterandterrier for coming up with the idea for said rad holiday!


To be honest, the events of the last half-hour were something of a blur to Ron Weasley.

He had asked, she had tackled him, there had been a fair amount of snogging (on the floor, where they landed), there had been some laughter and a few tears, quite a bit more snogging, and then her overflowing excitement and need to talk about the engagement had dragged them up to their current position on the sofa in their flat: him, still experiencing the aftershocks of deeply-desired success, and her, mind and mouth running a mile a minute with eager planning.

She said yes. SHE SAID YES. To me. Ron Weasley. Actual Ron bloody Weasley. For forever!

The wonderful, almost-improbable chorus seemed to be running in a loop in his head, pushing out any other rational thought. Of course, he hadn’t expected her to say no, exactly, but… still. The release of several months of compounded nerves - and the warm, sweet-smelling lapful of freshly-minted fiancée - made it fairly hard to focus and he forced himself to pay better attention.

“Maybe I should call them?” Hermione was saying. “But it’d be so much more fun to tell them in person! It is getting late, though, and they usually turn in early. We could go over tomorrow, before going to the Burrow,” she chattered happily.

Ron’s face already felt sore from the amount of smiling he had done in the past thirty minutes, and watching Hermione’s enthusiasm was doing nothing to relieve it. “Yeah, definitely we can. But just so you know, I’ve already told them.”

Hermione looked up at him in confusion. “What? How?”

“No, I mean talked with them before. Before I asked you,” Ron clarified.

 Hermione stared at him. “You did?” she asked blankly.

“Well, yeah. Not to ask permission or anything,” he explained hastily, trying desperately to remember, through his happy haze, the particulars of several heated diatribes he had heard Hermione deliver to various unsuspecting and ill-advised individuals who had tried to condescendingly educate her on “traditional” wizarding family values. “I know you’re your own person and you’re not anyone’s, er, cattle.

“Chattel,” she corrected instinctively. “But actually, it amounts to about this same thing.”

“Right. Anyway, your parents. They’ve been pretty good about… well, about us, and about me, considering. My family already considers you family, and I thought your parents should know that they’d be family, too. I wanted them to know what was going on and, uh, hopefully be happy about it,” he finished uneasily as she continued to stare. Oh sweet Merlin’s pants, he knew he wasn’t completely up on muggle customs - had he committed some kind of inexcusable blunder? “Was that mphfk…”

Any further temporizing was forcefully cut off by Hermione’s lips, applied forcefully in one of his very favorite ways. She pulled back after a few moments, still gripping the front of his shirt tightly in her balled fists.

“You wanted my parents to feel included; you know how much that means to me,” she said wonderingly, looking at him with watery eyes. “And you remember what I said to that miserable harpy!”

“‘Course I do. She looked like she swallowed a dungbomb, it was wicked.” He eyed her carefully. “So that was an OK thing to do?”

“More than OK. It was lovely.”

Ron barked out a laugh. “Actually, it was bloody terrifying,”

Hermione smiled at him knowingly. “So,” she began archly, “do I get the pleasure of announcing this at all, or does everyone else already know?”

“Well, George knows, because he saw the ring box. Long story,” he added darkly. Hermione lips twitched at the look on his face. “And I might have mentioned it to Harry. But they only knew it was going to happen eventually. They didn’t know about it happening now.”

“Harry!” she exclaimed, jumping up and tugging on his arm. “We’ve got to tell Harry first. I think he and Ginny were going out tonight, do you think they’re home?

Ron tipped his head back and forth exaggeratedly, pretending to consider. “Mmmm, maybe. You know Ginny likes to drag him out dancing. Better give it a bit, just to make sure.” He let Hermione pull him up, wrapping his arms around her body tightly. ”In the meantime, I think we’ve got a bit more celebrating to do, if you’d care to follow me?” he asked, inclining his head toward their bedroom and wiggling his eyebrows suggestively.

Hermione shook her head at his cheesiness, but the smile she gave him was genuine. “Yes, I will.”

Ron grinned. “I’m never going to get tired of hearing you say that.”

I encourage you, in 2017, to find a community. Find a space where you can communicate with others, in person, for real substantial social interaction. In this increasingly individualistic society, more and more studies are connecting how self centered our society is with people feeling more depressed and having lives that feel less fulfilling. So if possible, I encourage you to step out, and find a community. I know it’s easier said than done. But commit to trying. Isolation is a dangerous thing.