the lion share

@kaxpha for the Lost Lance!AU

I have a whole shit ton of headcannons about Blue and Lance for this AU and I honestly don’t know how much will match with what you already have so I’m going to put it under a cut.

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There’s been some talk about the amount of lines every character in RWBY has had over each volume, so I thought it’d be nice to put it into something visual for ease of use. The last chart is just the top 20 characters with the most lines, obviously there are more characters than that.

Some observations:

  • Volume 4 is the first volume where male characters have collectively had more lines than female characters. This has been an overall trend across the series however the swing was dramatic come vol 4
  • Ruby had the lion’s share of lines in volume 1 and 2 but tends get the same as other characters come volume 3 and 4.
  • Ruby, Weiss and Yang have had less lines every volume whilst other characters fluctuate depending on the plot.
  • Had it not been for Ruby’s monologue in the final episode of volume 4 she would have been in 3rd place for that volume.
  • Volume 2 is the only time that team RWBY has held all 4 top spots.
  • Father figures such as Qrow, Taiyang, Li and Ghira tend to speak more and have bigger roles than mothers like Kali, Raven and An.

A bit of background behind how these numbers came to be under the cut.

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Here’s how Donald Trump’s plan could hurt the middle class

Trump’s populist rhetoric helped him get elected. But the composition of Trump’s advisers and transition team suggest Trump is already singing a different tune about Wall Street now. Here’s how his key policies would hurt the middle class:

  • Trump’s tax plan gives the lion’s share of benefits to the rich. 
  • Trump could cut government programs that help people — like Medicaid.
  • Trump could scrap regulations that protect working folks, like the overtime rule.
  • Trump could weaken the agency that protects you from scammers.
  • Trump could make it easier for financial professionals to screw over their clients.

But there are ways we can fight it and stop Trump from hurting the middle class.


The daily sea of clouds that rushes up the valley in the Khumbu Himalaya towards the highest point on earth. Shot from the summit of Lobuche peak while acclimatizing for an ascent of Everest in order to document it from the Sherpa perspective. ~

These days many western climbers sleep on this safe neighboring peak while the Sherpas and other high altitude Nepali workers take the lions share of the risk carrying equipment up and down the dangerous Khumbu icefall.


Some of your may have already seen my guest comic “Bubble Trouble” for the Steven Universe comic either in print or online but I wanted to make an official post on here.  I included some bonus WIP pages: the final pencil lines and thumbnails.

As this was my first official comic, it was a bit of a learning experience, especially in editing and formatting.  I’m still learning about how I like to go about my watercolor comic process, like what order I layer the colors, how I make the panels etc.  

I thumbnailed this comic back in September and I think I’ve improved since.  I feel that in the end, if a comic has strong, clear posing/staging and a good flow, then that will shine through an exterior that could maybe use more polish.

I still haven’t figured out if rappers are objectively hot or it’s just because I love the genre and it brainwashes me into thinking so.

What keeps sticking out the most to me in Across The Universe every time I watch it, is the vulnerability Shiro displays here. Around the team, Shiro never shows weakness, never falters, never lets anyone believe they can’t make it. (Pidge’s impresson of tin can Shiro is exactly that: “We’ll get through this if we work together!”)

But around Keith, Shiro allows himself to be vulnerable, to need help. To admit that things are looking bad and getting worse by the minute, and he would really like Keith to hurry up because he’s not sure he can make it. (And he could. Technically, he could. He was the unchallenged Champion in the Galran arena of murder and horror and that doesn’t come without the lion’s share of fighting his way out of deadly corners; I do think even injured, he could fight off four beasts if he was there all alone and his life depended on it, or worse -if someone else’s life depended on it.)

But he does allow himself to need that help, to look weak and feel his confidence faltering and admit to Keith that he’s not dead yet but probably getting there, because he knows Keith doesn’t need his saving face. Keith knows him, knows he’s not indestructible, knows he’s not above failing. Keith has saved him once at his weakest, and here they are again.

It’s such a different dynamic at play here -Shiro practically throws his life away, gives it for granted to spare Matt, to buy Pidge time, to save Allura, but here… for once, Shiro’s sitting back and letting someone else come to his rescue, instead of offering to make some grand sacrifice for them. He’s scared, he doesn’t want to die (he really doesn’t, not here and not like this), but he’s willing to wait because he knows Keith will get him out of this, and he only fights back when he’s absolutely forced to, when he can’t wait anymore.

And still, Keith makes it and saves him in the nick of time, just like he knew Keith could. “I know what you’re capable of,” he’ll tell Keith much later on in the season, but he’s already been telling Keith that from this first moment here. From the moment when instead of putting on a brave face and pretending that “we’ll get through this!” he allows himself to sound scared, to sound tired and weak, and tells Keith “you better hurry up” instead.

It’s time for #TrilobiteTuesday! A number of locations that border Lake Erie in western New York State have long been noted for their exceptional Middle Devonian fauna. Reports regarding the area’s 385 million year-old crinoids, brachiopods, and bivalves date back nearly two centuries. Despite the attention those abundant fossils have long drawn from local residents, it is the unique trove of trilobites that can be found in either the area’s rich Windom Shale or Moscow formation limestone that has continually attracted a lion’s share of the acclaim. Both Eighteen Mile Creek, named for its distance from the Niagara River, and the nearby Penn-Dixie quarry are of particular paleontological interest due to their beautifully preserved examples of Eldredgeops (Phacops) rana rana. The specimen pictured here is Greenops barberi.

anonymous asked:

Sorry if this is a silly question, what's the difference between song writing and publishing credit? Like wouldn't a song they worked on give them song writing credit and then publishing credit because it was acutally published? I would assume you get song writing credit for writing it whether it gets made or not? And you get paid for that? I'm really sorry for this dumb question! And did you mean monetarily Louis gets the most money from these two sources?

A song’s royalties are split into three parts: performance (the artist), writer (the songwriters), and publisher (the people who license the song).

The artist gets nothing when a song is played on the radio or performed live, songwriters and publishers get all of that money, but when a song is sold or streamed, the artist gets the lion’s share of the money from a sale (or their record company does, but that’s another post).

Songwriters have publishing companies and they work about the same way that record labels work for artists. They promote the songwriter’s songs, collect and distribute the money earned from plays or sales, and if the songwriter is not self supporting already, they sign deals where the publisher gives them an advance on possible future sales.

Out of that advance, the publisher keeps the publishing rights to a song. This means they can license the song to an artist to perform it, or they can approve the use of the song in a commercial/tv show/movie/etc.

Established songwriters have their own publishing companies, so that they get both the songwriter share of a song and the publishing share and then they just pay a third-party company to collect royalties for them for a fee instead of giving them ownership.

As for Louis and Just Hold On, the songwriters on that song are split between PRS (who do not have public records), ASCAP, and BMI (who show ownership and splits but not all of them and not in the same way).  So, from what I can tell, Louis owns 37.5% of the song’s publishing and songwriting royalties, Steve has 30%, and the other three credited writers split the other 32.5%. It also looks like Steve and Louis evenly split the songwriting royalties, but Louis gets more in publishing (I won’t swear to this since some of the info is hidden, but that’s how it appears).

Performance royalties are probably split evenly between Steve and Louis, but I have no way of knowing that for certain.

Hope that answered your question.

Song: Lion’s Share
Artist: Sisyphus
Year: 2014
Why it’s Dope: A delicious bassline that gives the track a nice center, solid rapping from Serengeti that is intriguing and catchy, clear singing from Sufjan Stevens that adds another dimension to the track, and a cool song progression that takes the listener on a mini-adventure.

Made with SoundCloud

The series is as follows :

Mama Scully’s Party …. MorningUnderwearsMapsNachosFoul BallPromisesStayPhone CallsFlannel InterruptionAwakeningFriendly CompromisesScrabbleApart …  A Long WeekLightningMissing YouInterimStuffWaitingGoingHandsUnsteadyFearFastSlowRegardlessInto the DarkLightSurfboardsCurbsShowersBordersCanyonsSoakedIce CreamNever HappenedDeep SouthAlmostBlue-Suede ShoesUnwelcomeRemarkableStarsDoorbellsM&MsKneesHome


Eventually, but by no easy means, they finally spotted the sign declaring that San Diego was only 120 miles ahead of them. Mulder, who’d been doing the lions’ share of the driving that day, sighed in relief, “I honestly thought that maybe somebody somewhere who truly hated me kept moving the city further down the road. I swear, we’ve been four hours away for the last eight hours.”

Scully quietly handed him a red M&M from the big bag they’d bought at the last gas station, “thank you for driving so much.”

Popping the candy in his mouth, sucking on it instead of chewing immediately, “it’s all right. I’m gonna make you drive the whole way home so we’ll just call it even.”


Mulder smiled at her, talking around the rapidly melting chocolate in his mouth, “did you call your mom about sending the passports? I know you said you would yesterday but I don’t remember the call.”

“I did it while we were at the rest area. She’s going to send them to Tara’s parents house so they should be there in a few days at the latest.”

“Good. Can’t wait for tequila on the beach.”

“Did you bring the Speedo?”

Mulder nearly ran off the road, “um, what?”

How in the world did he not know that she knew about the Speedo? The whole damn Hoover building knew about the Speedo. Her mother, oddly, knew about the Speedo. “Your little red bathing suit that sends every female under the age of 80 into palpitations the moment you make your way to the pool.”

He was now as red as his Speedo, “I only wear it to do laps and nobody’s seen me in it … well, except for rat bastard and if he’s spreading rumors about my bathing suit, there’s a lot more wrong with him that we ever suspected.”

Scully grinned at him, this time offering blue and green candies, “it’s sort of an urban legend around the building. Apparently, there was a sighting in ’95 through a window and you’ve been the rage since then.”

Resting his elbow on the door, he leaned his head into his palm, “is that why people ask me if I’m using the pool whenever I use the elevator at the end of the hall?”


“Jesus, I’ll never be able to swim there again.” As he sailed through traffic at 70 miles an hour, something occurred to him, “you’ve never seen me in it, right?”

“No. No I haven’t.” This time, he got two yellows, one with a double peanut, “but we are going to the ocean so I have my hopes set high and my fingers crossed.”

He drove on is silence, eating M&M’s one by one as she grinned through the windshield, both forgetting for a moment the reason they were going to San Diego in the first place.


Mulder sprung for a beach-front hotel, complete with king-size bed, enough towels to satisfy even the most cotton-obsessed individual on the planet and a balcony that comfortably held two large chaise lounges and a table with inset cup holders for beverages from the complimentary liquor cabinet. Dumping bags on the small table, he watched Scully throw open the drapes and slide the glass door open, admitting an ocean breeze warm and caressing across his face.


Her voice sounded fainter, given she was already out on the balcony, “yeah?”

“Can we move here? I see absolutely no reason to ever go back to DC, except maybe so we can convince your mother, the ladies and the Gunmen to move out here with us.”

Strolling back in, she saw him now sprawled across the bed, “my mom and the ladies, maybe but the Gunmen could never live here. There’s too much light and not enough skulking, rain-soaked, eerily-lit angsty places for them to meet informants. Conspiracies don’t live in the sun, Mulder, they hide in the shadows. Haven’t they taught you anything in the last six years?”

“Apparently not. Glad someone’s been paying attention.”

Silently, they enjoyed the warmth until he sat up, wondering if he should break the happy mood filling the room but Scully, because she knew him better than he did, gave him a head-tilting study for a moment, then, “I’ll call in a minute. I didn’t want to try to schedule something when I wasn’t sure about when we’d arrive.”

Feeling that the happy mood was still somewhat intact, even after the whoosh of depressing thoughts that suddenly ran rampant through the room, “you’re okay so far. You haven’t had a headache or a nosebleed in three days.”

She refused to be cautiously optimistic. She’d been there enough times to know the crash would be devastating if she heard bad news, “nothing was constant at first last time, either.” Having enough of that conversation for the moment, she came over to the bed, taking his hand and pulling him up, “come on. I want to go eat fish tacos on the beach.”

“Don’t know that I’ve had a fish taco. Are they that good that you need one right now?”

“Most definitely. I also need to buy some sandals and a hat and a couple skirts.”

He didn’t even mind the prospect of shopping with her.

How in the world did he survive being so pathetically in love?


The shopping excursion wasn’t the worst thing in the world, especially when Scully emerged from the dressing room more than once asking him his opinion on skirts as well as several button-down, loose, flowing cottony shirts. He nearly told her she could dress in a paper bag and he’d be happy to look at her all day long but he bit his tongue and kept his comments to the friendly, I can’t tell you ‘I want to come in there and help you change’ variety.

Scully, however, wasn’t an idiot. She knew what looked good on her, what would make Mulder’s eyes widen and pupils dilate and how to settle things on her frame just right to show him the hint of a bra strap or a little more thigh than normal or to turn so her skirt would flare over the top of her ass with a little bounce.

She realized she would more than likely burn in hell or at least get a very long talk from some kind of ardent nun if and when she made it to heaven but right now, she felt good and she wasn’t going to stop.

Deciding that with her flowy skirt and her comfortable shoes and her neon pink sunglasses, with Mulder looking at her as if she were the first, last and only woman on Earth, it was time and she pulled out her phone, knowing this might be the only opportunity she could make her phone call without falling to pieces.


Mulder stood beside her in the shade of a palm tree along the edge of the cement walk bordering the beach, listening but not listening to her talk to her friend, describe her symptoms, book an appointment for the next day. Only when he felt the slide of her phone into his side cargo pocket did he return fully to firm ground, “10am?”


“Fish tacos?”

Linking her arm through his, “fish tacos.”

They strolled, they ate, they shed shoes and carried them while they wandered the edge of the waves. Anyone watching would have sighed and gotten jealous and commented to their companions about the stereotypically beautiful couple who didn’t have a care in the world. Little did they know that the mood, while still good between them, was descending rapidly into a dually depressing state. They both did their best, commenting on how good their walking dinner was, how warm the water seemed to be and making plans for swimming tomorrow after the appointment but the fear wouldn’t be kept at bay, seeping into the dips in conversation, nipping greedily at fleeting happiness until, even before the sun went down, Scully threw in the towel, taking Mulder’s hand in hers once again, “can we head back?”

“Of course.” Without need for explanation, he steered them towards the boardwalk, weaving amongst the couples and families, stopping her only to buy fudge and kettlecorn, tucking his wares under his arm so he wouldn’t have to let her go. They’d walked further than they thought and it took awhile before they were back at the hotel, padding quietly down the carpeted halls, the silence oppressive to their ears after the din of the outside world. Scully went immediately to the balcony, throwing the doors open wide and turning off the air conditioning, explaining to Mulder in sparse words that she needed the waves.

He understood.

They didn’t turn the lights on in the room as it darkened outside, enjoying the dim twilight from the balcony chaises. It wasn’t until it was completely dark that Scully called out to him, “Mulder? Are you still there?”

“Of course. Where else would I be?” When she didn’t answer, he rolled off his chair, walked on his knees the three feet to her, then climbed up beside her, scooting her over some so he fit comfortably, “where else would I be?”

Her eyes were closed, head straight up, facing the stars, “I don’t know. You were so far away and I couldn’t feel you anymore.”

“I was way over there. How did you feel me to begin with?”

“I feel you all the time, Mulder.”

Mouth at her temple, nose in her hair, “well, I’m right here now. No escaping me.”

“I don’t think I’d ever want to escape from you.”

“Even if you did, I’d come find you.”

The warm tear that trailed over his lips made him shut his eyes, wondering if there was anything else he could say to make it better. Before he could think of something, he heard her ask in a glass voice, delicate and shattering, “anywhere?”


“I’ll hold you to that.”

His resolve nearly broken, he moved his arm over her stomach, boldly slipping hand under shirt and over skin, fitting his fingers along the dips of her ribcage, cuddling her close, “I’m just going to focus on the holding, if you don’t mind.”

Turning her head sideways, her forehead skimmed his mouth as she inhaled the salty scent that clung to his neck, “I will never mind.”


She was gone when he woke up. Propping up on his elbows immediately, he looked around, hoping maybe she just shifted to the other chair. Instead he found an empty balcony as well as an empty hotel room, getting up to investigate once he could open his eyes fully. The sun was barely up, the sky still dark blue above the ocean while it gradiated to pinks and oranges as it moved over the building to the east. Wondering if maybe she disappeared to find breakfast, he happened to look across the deserted beach at a figure with fiery red hair walking slowly through the calm surf, kicking up splashes every so often, crouching to examine driftwood or shells or some small sea treasure before standing to move on a minute later.

Returning to the chaise, he sat against the back, legs stretched before him, arms crossed comfortable on his chest and he watched.

He also realized there had to be something to the whole feeling him thing she’d mentioned the night before, given suddenly, she stopped, turned her head in his direction, then waved before starting back in his direction. He watched her progress intently until she was directly in front, one floor down on the ground, looking up at him.

Mulder had stood a minute early and was leaning on the railing, greeting her with a grin, “morning.”

Turning a truly radiant smile on, “morning. Want to come down and get some breakfast?”

“I’ll meet you in three minutes. Wait right there.”

“Right here?”

“Right there.”

After finding her downstairs, in her exact spot, they collected fresh, homemade donuts from across the street and mugs of coffee at the café just opening up next door. Halfway through his second cruller, Scully reached across, combing her fingers through Mulder’s hair, “you forgot to try to make that lay down.”

“I did. This is what you get, so appreciate it and move on, woman.”

Leaving her hand on top of his head, she scratched lightly, pulling him towards her, “I appreciate, believe me.”


Regardless of how wonderful their easy breakfast was, they soon had to return to their room for showers, dressing, the hardness of the day bearing down as the clock inched towards departure time for the hospital. He could see her turning in on herself, getting quiet, getting pale, getting scared, the fear she had hidden from him for years now open to him as he’d never seen it before. She showed him everything with a simple twist of her knuckles, a single spring of her knee, a light biting of her bottom lip as he followed her directions to the appointment.