#imagine this is the continuation to the old doodle I posted earlier | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

ofmermaidstories · 3 years ago

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Hello!!!

Ahh I recently read the first chapter of 'The Sun God's Bride' and omgg I'm so sooooo excited!!!!! It looks like it's going to a fun and emotional journey!!!

I love your world building!! Its so realistic but fantastical?? Idk like it just seems sooo lovely, pls I wanna live there 😫🤲💖

I'm curious! When building a world what's your process?? Do you use references such as art and photography to build the world along with your own imagination?? I've noticed that you like to draw, do you draw concept art???

Also!! Pls I'm so in love with how you reference 'flower girl' in your work! Its such a cute and fun little nod to surrender!

Ahh I look forward to going along this journey with you!!! Super excited for the next chapter!!! 💖💖💖

Hello Anima!!!!!!

I want us to live in the Sun God world too. 😩 We could be temple brats, surely it’d be easy… swimming in pools and idk…. eating fruit, LOL. (Oh my gosh though LOL i’m…. so glad you like the florist references :’) IM SORRY GUYS, but that little joke/thread makes me way too happy so i’m just going to include it in everything LOL. like a multiverse theory — somewhere out there, a flower girl version of us is just living their best life, over and over again, falling in love a hundred different ways :’)))) )

But okay, to the crux of your ask — I like to make moodboards when starting a story!!!! I do this for everything, literally, not just fanfics (I made a moodboard for my friend’s and I’s summer trip last year LMAO no chill :’) ). But I have a weheartit account that’s like a million years old, so I use that to collect inspo. Basically, like, if I’ve decided to write something I generally know the feel of it, if that makes sense? So I use my moodboards as a way to pinpoint key visuals/feelings I wanna convey (or just for extra inspo!). Like, for instance, this is just some of the images I have saved under my Sun God board:

Not everything will make it into the final product that is the fic — but this is generally a good way to remind myself what I was trying to achieve LOL. They also have the added bonus of being the images I’ll use when I post about the chapter updates, here on tumbles!!! But as I continue to work on a story, I’ll keep adding to each board as needed — weeding out pictures that don’t work anymore, adding new ones. These are some of the latest ones for something (just like this):

My process for any kind of world building, whether it’s trying to create a fantasy world, or just expanding on a canon one is pretty much just to give myself visual keys!!! Like, I’ll make a few written notes of things in my initial outlining of stuff, but generally, I’ll know a story is sticking if I’ve driven to scribbling for it, or doing this collecting of inspo. Like, with the Todoroki x Reader fic I wanna do, after Deku’s, I’m currently in the “throw everything at the wall and see what sticks” stage:

So what I have currently is just…. flat-out inspo, Idea collecting. The earlier images I have for it are very ocean/sea based, because I started musing about this before I wrote The Widening Sky — so a lot of my oceany-inspo can be seen here, LOL, I dunno if the final product will be as…….. dependant, on the sea, for all that it starts off on a beach.

Doodling for the fics isn’t as common as it is when I’m working on something original — what I’ll draw instead, if I need to, are like, key details. So for example, this one here is — a rough idea of like, how I visualised the cove in The Widening Sky. A priestess/temple Sister sketch for a ceremony in The Sun God’s Bride. And some details from the outfits I’m going to force Y/N to wear in Chapter Four of something (just like this)! LOL

What I really like to draw is how I imagine the characters to look like — with fanfiction I don’t really need to do that, lmao, since most of our cast already exists, but I have drawn what I personally see the Readers as?? I’d never share those sketches though lmao, because I wouldn’t want anyone to like…. see that, instead of what they want. And it’s fun seeing other people’s interpretations!!!!

Saying all that, I guess the “world-building” process kind of looks like this, all together:

this is something I’ve compiled for the manuscript I currently have collecting dust lmao. Doodles, moodboard, mock covers because i’m vain LMAOOO dslkfjsdlkfjkldsfjkldsfj. I’ll have all these bits and pieces in their own folder!! they make me happy to look at ldfkjksdlfjkdlsj. I like having things in front of me, LOL.

whew this was longer than i intended dslkfjsdkljsdkljfkdlsfj i hope it was somehow enlightening??? basically — i just think of something, and then collect a bunch of pictures LOL. and if that fails, i’ll draw some. :’) Thank-you for asking me LOL, i had fun talking about my little visual aids — I’m excited for The Sun God’s Bride, too, and excited we’re starting out on it together. 💖🌷 Here’s to the adventure ahead. 🌅

#ofmermaidstories-asks #anima197 and the sunny days ahead ☀️🌷🌾#thank u for this ask anima i took great delight in answering it LOL #ofmermaidsdoodles #the sun god’s bride - fic #mer-spoils-everything

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littlestarofthewest · 5 years ago

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Title: Meeting Miss Morgan | Word Count: 3289 | Rating (for entire fic): 18+!!!

Pairing: Arthur Morgan x female OC | Chapter: 04 of 08 | Link to Masterlist

Arthur knows what he's doing is stupid. In fact, he is stupid. He got up even earlier than usual, taking care of the firewood. Julie prepares it most of the time, but when she briefly mentioned in conversation that she doesn't particularly like doing it, Arthur immediately had the urge to do it for her.

He likes to think that he's just trying to help out around the farm, but after the pencils and the whole trouble Arthur went through with Jasper, he can't pretend that what he's doing has nothing to do with Julie. Somehow he always ends up helping her in particular.

Ever since she kissed him on the cheek, she wanders around in his mind when he's not busy thinking about something else. Having the chance to hold her in his arms didn't make it any easier. In fact, he feels like he's years younger, even more of an idiot, and stupid enough to think that she might like him as more than a friend, if at all.

Julie's a nice person. Doing sweet things comes naturally to her, and has nothing to do with Arthur, but he still can't stop hoping. He's chopping wood and buys a new shirt like a changed man, as if he wasn't a killer, wanted outlaw, and complete failure.

Arthur finishes the last logs with a sigh, knowing full well that his day won't get any better. With some tools, he heads out to one end of Mr. Henderson's property, beginning the work that will probably take him the whole week, building a new fence.

On the one hand, it's a good thing that he can stay away from the stables for a while. That way, he at least can't embarrass himself in front of Julie. On the other hand, he has a lot of time to think.

For the last two days, he's been remembering his ride with Julie. They didn't talk much, but Julie kept smiling at Arthur, so abundantly happy that she was finally able to ride Jasper. It was a joy to watch her race over open fields, her blonde hair flying in the wind. She seemed to glow in a golden shine under the warm summer sun, so free and unburdened that watching her made Arthur's heart ache.

Fuelled with those memories, Arthur keeps working on the fence, trying to neither think back to his old life nor imagine the future. All that matters is hitching up posts, one after the other until the day is gone.

He makes good progress until he hears a rider approach. Arthur's heart drops when Julie rides up to him on Jasper. "Hello, Arthur."

Arthur tips his hat, pulling it deeper into his face. "Jules."

She hops off the horse and strides over to him with a bundle in her hand, her eyes wandering over the already finished fence. "Let me guess, you didn't take any breaks."

Arthur opens his mouth, but Julie shakes her head and takes his hammer away before throwing it into the grass. Then she grabs his hand and pulls him to the nearby woods, making him sit down on a fallen tree in the shadow of a few branches.

"I had time to make something to eat for you since the firewood was already done," Julie says, raising a single brow at Arthur while unpacking the bundle in her hand.

"Was it?" Arthur says, looking out over the farmland in front of them.

Julie pushes a bowl with stew into his hand and tops it off with a thick slice of bread. "It's cold but better than nothing."

"Thank you," Arthur says, although he's not sure how he's supposed to eat with butterflies in his stomach.

Julie is sitting way too close, her leg brushing against his. Arthur would move, but then he'd fall off the tree. Instead, he shovels a spoonful of stew into his mouth. That should keep Julie from asking him any questions.

"You know that you don't have to do everything, right?" she asks.

Arthur chews, but Julie keeps looking at him, waiting for an answer. He clears his throat, trying to come up with an excuse. "I don't mind the firewood. It's quiet work, relaxing. Just like building a fence."

"You must have had quite the excitement before when you actually like doing these boring things."

"Enough for a lifetime," Arthur says, knowing that he's avoiding her unspoken question. It's not fair to keep it a secret from Julie who he truly is, but the thought of her thinking less of him twists Arthur's stomach into knots.

He forces down more stew, and maybe Julie takes the hint or just wants for him to eat, but she stays quiet, looking up into the trees. They sit there until Arthur is done eating, and Julie fetches a bottle of water for him as well, scolding him for not bringing one along in the first place.

Arthur thanks her again, trying to put the bottle into his bag to bring it along. He curses when one side of the bag tears, and his journal drops to the ground. It falls open, and Arthur hurries to pick it up, but Julie is quicker than him. Her eyes grow big as she looks at the page, and Arthur's heart stops, thinking about the things he recently wrote about her.

"I thought you only wrote in this," Julie says, "I didn't know you were drawing, too."

"It's just silly little doodles," Arthur says, hoping that Julie won't turn the page.

"That's the whole farm from the viewpoint up on that ridge," Julie says with wonder in her voice. She moves a few steps before turning around, holding the journal up against the horizon. "Arthur, that's incredible. Where did you learn to draw like this?"

"My pa," Arthur begins, realizing too late that he was thinking about Hosea and horrible guilt consumes him.

"Your father was an artist?"

"No, what I meant was that he gave me my first journal when I was 15," Arthur says, the memory weighing heavy on him. "I've been trying to draw whatever I saw since then."

"Well, then he's a good father. You're really talented," Julie says. She closes the journal with such care as if it was a precious relic before handing it over. "I've meant to draw a few places around here, but somehow I never get around to it."

"How come?" Arthur asks, wishing he could see some of Julie's drawings.

"Mrs. Henderson would say I work too much," Julie sighs, "and Mr. Henderson is always concerned about me. A young woman alone on the road? Better not. There's a beautiful pond up in those woods, but there's a road going past with many travelers and stagecoaches, so there are sometimes bandits in the woods as well. Mr. Henderson would kill me if I went there on my own."

"He's not wrong," Arthur says. He met enough outlaws in his time who went far beyond thieving and killing. Some of them were so bad, you wished they would have killed their victims. "There are some bad people out there."

Julie studies Arthur for a moment as if to ask if he's one of them, but then she walks over to Jasper. "I better let you work now, or Mr. Henderson will have my head for distracting you."

"Thank you for the food," Arthur says again. After all, he can't tell Julie that she's already distracting him anyway.

"Somebody has to take care of you," Julie says with a smile before riding off, leaving Arthur with a warm feeling in his chest.

------

The next morning, Arthur walks out of his cabin, finding a fresh water bottle and a tightly wrapped package in front of his door. He doesn't have to look inside to know what it is. Julie must have gotten up even earlier than usual to prepare some food for him. Arthur picks it up, finding a little note tucked into one of the folds. It says, "Take some breaks."

Smiling, Arthur puts the package in his saddlebag and rides out to continue his work on the fence. This time, he doesn't mind those thoughts of Julie dance around in his head. He can't change her as much as he can't change himself, so he might as well enjoy her kindness, no matter how undeserved it might be.

When noon comes around, Arthur takes Julie's advice to have a break. He unpacks the food package, finding cold roast, bread, and berries. Sitting in the shadow of a huge tree, Arthur savors his meal. Somehow, it tastes so much better than anything he's ever eaten before. He's about to pack up when he finds a piece of paper sticking out from under his plate.

Arthur pulls it out, his eyes growing wide. It's a drawing of him on the Mustang riding up to the stables. Despite sketching other people all the time, Arthur has never seen a picture of himself. It's like looking into the mirror, and he's impressed how well Julie can draw.

Wondering why Julie picked this specific scene, Arthur's stomach does a little summersault when he remembers what happened right afterward. Closing his eyes, Arthur can imagine how Julie's touch felt on his skin, but then he quickly gets up. He can't risk to drift off into these kinds of phantasies.

Instead, Arthur carefully folds up the drawing and puts it in his breast pocket before riding out to town. Mr. Henderson asked him to run some errands, and he might be able to find a little thank you gift for Julie. At least that's what Arthur thought.

He's done with Mr. Henderson's business in no time, but even after an hour, Arthur can't find anything to give to Julie. He can't exactly gift her a sack of rice, but at the same time, anything more personal could give her the wrong - or worse - the right idea about Arthur's growing feelings for her. In the end, he decides that a heartfelt thank you has to do.

On his way back, Arthur has another idea, though. He's on the road Julie talked about the day before, so Arthur steers his horse into the trees to find the pond. It takes him a little going back and forth, but he knows what Julie has been talking about once he sees it.

It's a beautiful place with high trees and lots of flowers that surround the small body of water. Birds are singing, and when Arthur comes closer, a few deer quickly jump away and disappear. Letting his horse roam free, Arthur walks around the pond two times to find the right spot before settling down with his journal.

Usually, Arthur's quick with his drawings. He always had other things to do or was with someone who didn't appreciate him taking forever to sketch an abandoned church or oddly shaped tree. Today, Arthur takes his time. He tries to capture how the sun sparkles on the water, and painstakingly draws all the single petals on most of the flowers. He only rushes to finish the picture when the sun begins to set.

Looking at his finished work in the dim light, Arthur remembers Julie's words about him being talented, and for the first time in a long while, he feels proud about something that he did. Folding the paper as carefully as possible, he puts it to Julie's drawing in his pocket and hurries back to the farm so he won't miss dinner.

At the house, Julie greets him with a lovely smile, and Arthur's heart skips a beat once again. Thinking about giving her the drawing later makes him so nervous he can barely follow the conversation. When they're done eating, Julie heads outside to play her guitar, and Mr. Henderson holds Arthur back to talk about work.

Arthur nods along until Mr. Henderson finally gives him free. Outside, Arthur finds Julie sitting on the steps that lead up to the door. Her guitar is lying next to her, but she's not playing.

"No music tonight?" Arthur asks.

"I felt like watching the stars," Julie says before turning to Arthur and patting the floor next to her. "Come sit with me."

Arthur swallows a lump in his throat, feeling like he might pass out. He can't remember the last time he's been so nervous. For a moment, he thinks about making up an excuse to go, but his feet act on their own, carrying him all too willingly over to Julie. He sits down next to her, leaving generous space between them, but Julie scoots closer, pointing into the sky.

"I love that one," she says, and Arthur follows the line of her outstretched arm to a big star that shines particularly bright.

"It's pretty," Arthur says, looking at Julie. She turns her head, and he tries desperately to come up with something else to say. "Thank you for the food. And the drawing. You're way more talented than I am."

Julie's cheeks gain a little color, and she waves her hand. "Like you said, just silly little drabbles."

Arthur thinks about the picture in his breast pocket, and it takes all his courage to take it out and hand it to Julie. "I thought about what you said when I was heading back from town. You probably could have done a better job, though."

Julie unfolds the paper and gasps before staring at Arthur. "You drew the pond?"

"I gave it a shot," Arthur says, rubbing his neck. Now that Julie is looking at it, he begins to see mistakes he didn't notice before, and he feels he should have taken more time to get the picture right.

"It's beautiful," Julie says, her eyes wandering over the page. "The details in the flowers. The water. This must have taken you forever."

Arthur shrugs. "Maybe when I'm done with the fence, we can ride up there together, and you can draw it yourself. Or any of the other places you wanted to draw."

Julie looks back up at Arthur, a shine in her eyes that makes his skin tickle. "You would do that?"

Arthur's not quite sure how they ended up so close to each other, and he knows he should just say yes, or maybe nod, but he's always been an idiot. "For you," he says, his voice almost giving out on him.

He moves even closer to Julie, knowing full well that he shouldn't. She opens her mouth as if to say something, but then she leans in, and Arthur closes the distance between them, his lips brushing against Julie's. Arthur's heart feels like it might jump out of his chest any second, and he wants nothing more than to hold Julie close, but then the door screeches behind them.

They move apart as if hit by lightning, and only seconds later, Mrs. Henderson comes out of the house. "Aren't you going to play, Julie? I really feel like-"

She stops herself when her eyes fall on the paper in Julie's hand. "Oh, my dear, that's lovely. When did you draw that?"

Julie throws a quick glance over to Arthur before handing the drawing to Mrs. Henderson. "I didn't. Arthur drew it today."

Mrs. Henderson's mouth falls open, and she looks back and forth between Arthur and the drawing. "Well, look at you, Mr. Morgan. Aren't you full of surprises? Who knows what else we might find the longer you stay with us."

She can't know it, but her words cut deep, and Arthur gets to his feet. "I think I better go to sleep. I want to get an early start on that fence."

"You two make quite the couple," Mrs. Henderson sighs, running a hand over Julie's hair. "The name, the drawing, and nothing but work in your heads. The two of you really need to have some fun for a change."

Julie lets out a muffled noise, and Arthur wishes he could just melt into the ground. Instead, he taps his hat. "Goodnight."

He turns around, walking away so quickly that he doesn't know if the two women respond. Arthur's whole body seems to fill up with rage, and he wishes he could give himself a good beating.

When he left the gang, Arthur swore that he's done with making stupid mistakes, yet here he is, well on his way to hurt a nice, young woman, and maybe ruining more lives. The surprises he's filled with are danger, sorrow, and regret. Neither Julie nor the Henderson's deserve any of that. If he wants to stay, he has to get himself under control.

--------

Pretending to be busy with the fence, Arthur manages to stay away from Julie for two days, and then he jumps at the chance when Mr. Henderson asks him to bring one of the horses he sold to its buyer. That way, he gets to stay away for three more days, trying to sort out his feelings.

At first, he goes with booze but concludes that that's just one more mistake, considering how he behaves when drunk. The trouble is that Arthur can't sleep when he's sober. He's tossing and turning, only drifting off for a few minutes before waking up in a cold sweat, guilt consuming him over and over again.

By the time Arthur gets back to the farm, he's so tired he can barely walk straight and doesn't remember the last time he ate. Still, he brings his horse into the stable, doing his best to take care of it. It's already dark, and Arthur hoped he could sneak into his cabin without anybody noticing. Of course, he has no such luck.

"Arthur?" Julie asks behind him, and Arthur does his best to stand up straight when he turns around to her.

"Yes, it's me. I just got back."

Julie takes a step closer, worry in her eyes. "Are you alright?"

"Just a little tired," Arthur says with a forced smile. "It's been a long ride."

He's not sure if he actually sways at those words, but it sure feels that way. Julie comes even closer, studying his face. "A little tired? You're dead on your feet. What's wrong?"

Arthur knows that he won't get out of this so quickly, so he shrugs. "Haven't slept well for the last few days. I'll be fine."

He waits for Julie to scold him, but she just takes his hand and leads him into the next empty stall. It's filled with fresh hay, and Julie forces him to sit down. "I'll be right back," she says, her voice low.

Arthur wishes he could go, but he's not sure he could get up on his feet before Julie's back. Instead, he shrugs out of his jacket and puts it behind his head like a makeshift pillow. He's staring at the wall on the other side when Julie appears in front of him. She puts a blanket over him and then sits down with her guitar on her legs.

"What are you doing?" Arthur asks, but Julie only shakes her head.

"Just close your eyes."

She starts playing, and Arthur does as she says. He's nervous with her closeby, and he wants to apologize, but he's not sure how to even get the words out. "I'm sorry, Jules," he finally manages to say.

"Sleep, Arthur," Julie says, her voice warm and comfortable like the blanket over him. "You'll be fine."

It takes a while until Arthur can focus on the music, but then a nice heavy feeling settles in his stomach, the notes carrying him over into a better world, a world where he doesn't have to apologize for liking someone.

#my writing

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shealwaysreads · 5 years ago

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Writing’s On the Wall

A little something inspired by THIS pic that @jeldenil shared on the Drarry Discord Server - hilarious lines contributed by her and @hogwartsfemme 🙌

Betaed by the lovely @malenkayacherepakha and cheered by the sweet @drarryruinedme7 ❤️

Drarry | 2586 words | Harry POV, Auror cadets Harry & Draco, graffiti, gratuitous use of the ‘just out the shower’ image

Summary: In which the Auror department is surprisingly artistic, Draco is still an overdramatic shit, Harry still makes the most of any trouble that finds him, and getting horizontal is the solution to everyone's problems.

Also available on AO3

The first time Harry ever noticed graffiti that referenced him had been in the Quidditch locker rooms at Hogwarts. He had been pretty sure it was Draco or one of his cronies that had slipped into the Gryffindor area and spelled miniature Dementors to appear whenever someone walked past the blank game-play board. Oliver Wood had cursed and spluttered when he realised they had erased his intricate diagrams and game-plans, fiercely complaining to McGonagall.

Some of the highlights while he was at Hogwarts had been during the Triwizard Tournament - there had suddenly been loads of graffiti about him. None of it complimentary until he’d completed the first challenge, admittedly. “POTTER STINKS” had flashed across every toilet door in the castle in a lurid, flashing green for three weeks before Filch managed to convince Professor Flitwick to help him remove the charms.

Then a tiny doodle of him and a dragon appeared in an alcove on the way to the History of Magic classroom. Complete with glowing dragon flames it showed Harry and the Horntail flying a wild and cartoonish circuit around a sketchy Hogwarts, their endless chase looping every minute or so. It was probably Dean’s handiwork, the lines confident and skillful even though it was charmed onto rough stone walls - and his practice with art charms had come a long way since his first Quidditch banner. Within a week it had been scratched through though, a proud ��CEDRIC’S THE BEST’ scrawled over it.

After the war, he saw it more regularly. The mark of the Deathly Hallows spelled onto walls, scratched into bar tables. Sometimes a cheeky ‘If HP sees this and wants a good time, Floo me!’ with addresses charmed underneath. It made trips to pub bathrooms, usually home of the more lurid examples of graffiti, an embarrassing trial sometimes - his friends always welcomed ammunition for their endless teasing.

Thankfully, he wasn't the only one targeted by renegade artists and overzealous fans. Ron had flushed beetroot red (clashing horribly with his hair) for a full half hour after seeing a particularly explicit suggestion about himself scrawled in muggle pen across the wall in the Leaky Cauldron. Harry had cackled all the way back to their tabled and regaled Hermione, Neville, Seamus, and Dean with the details while Ron hid behind his pint.

He was pleased when he joined the Auror Cadets and nobody seemed to be star-struck. Their tutors were strict but fair. Even Draco Malfoy wasn’t up to his old schoolboy tricks. It appeared that his attitude had matured just as well as the rest of him.

On too many occasions to count Harry caught himself appreciating just how well Draco filled out his cadet uniform, especially the clinging material of their work-out gear which left less to the imagination than he thought he should be subjected to at work...while still desperately wanting to see more.

The only issue Harry had with his cohort of fellow cadets, and even some of the wider Auror staff, was the giggling. He knew it wasn't to do with his ‘man who lived twice’ reputation because they’d made a point of pairing him with an Auror in his sixties for sparring classes during his first month of training. He’d had his arse absolutely handed to him during class after class for four solid weeks, and that had quelled any potential hero worship before it could start.

No. This was the kind of giggling that made you think people were talking about you. He walked into the break room and was immediately on edge as three fellow cadets started sniggering into their tea cups, going silent as soon as he turned around and made eye contact. And it happened when Draco joined sessions too. Not to mention the sly looks and excited mutterings that broke out whenever he and Draco were paired together in classes or for fieldwork.

It was driving Harry mad. That morning in duelling practice he had been partnered with Draco to fight against another pair of cadets, learning how to effectively work offensive and defensive spells while working in a pair - just like they would once they were full Aurors. He had been surprised earlier in the year at how well he and Draco worked together when fighting, but on reflection realised they knew each other’s duelling style so well from attacking each other that it sort of made sense.

Thankfully it was Friday, and the day was done. He and Draco had been on clear-up duty, packing away the cushioned mats and returning the sparring room back to its blank slate, ready for the first class on Monday. So it was just the two of them in the changing rooms, showering before heading home.

Ordinarily Harry would have just skipped out and headed home for a shower in the comfort of his own place, but he’d promised to meet his friends at the Leaky and only had half an hour before he was due to get the first round in.

With just him and Draco in the shower rooms it was actually peaceful, no sounds but the rush of water, no laughing cadets making Harry feel like he must have something on his face. Other than the obvious of course.

Just as he was drying off, thoughts of beer and a big basket of chips filling his mind, Harry’s peace was rudely interrupted.

“POTTER!” Draco barked. “ Explain yourself!”

Harry hurried to wrap his towel around his waist, and padded out to the main changing area to see what he was being accused of. Even the sight of Draco, his own towel riding low on slim hips, his hair still dripping water onto his surprisingly broad chest, didn't distract Harry from the sheer horror induced by the entire wall of graffiti he found.

There was the usual house pride slogans, the Hufflepuffs perhaps not so surprisingly prolific taggers given their famous loyalty. There was even a Deathly Hallows icon - a remnant from those first months post-war when Harry saw them everywhere. Some clever bugger had even charmed a big marker quill to stick to the wall - so anyone wanting to add their own touch to the wall wouldn't find themselves without a writing implement.

But the pièce de résistance was the two feet tall portrait someone had drawn of him and Draco together. As in. Carnally. It didn’t have quite the artistic flair of Dean’s magical moving paintings, but mini-Harry and mini-Draco didn’t seem to let that hold them back - both of them looking over their shoulders with surprised expressions while they continued rocking and thrusting together. With gusto.

Harry felt a hot flush creeping up his neck, and it was only half from embarrassment. His fellow cadets’ laughter and meaningful glances between him and Draco suddenly made sense. Clearly the whole bloody lot of them were in on it - given the number of different handwriting styles decorating the wall.

Draco was similarly pink, points of colour high on his cheekbones giving away his emotional state - just like when he got angry at school. If Harry wasn't sure Draco was about to launch into a full blown rant he might even have taken a moment to admire the way his rage made his eyes so bright. But an angry Draco was a long-winded Draco, and the pub was calling Harry.

“Clearly I didn’t bloody do this, Malfoy.” He gestured at the layers of writing and doodles. “This is the whole fucking team at it. Look! I’m not a Hufflepuff am I?!”

A scoff was his only response. Then Draco pointed out the ‘I need HP like a grindylow needs water’ tag, and raised one pointed eyebrow meaningfully at Harry.

“I think this smacks of your usual ego actually, even if you did seem to have gotten over that recently. And look - isn’t that your abysmal handwriting?!”

Harry peered at the word Draco was pointing at.

“What the fuck is ‘drarry’ though? I definitely didn’t write that. I don’t even know that spell.”

Draco rolled his eyes so hard Harry was surprised they didn’t fall out of his head. So overdramatic.

“It’s clearly a fucking portmanteau, Potter, you absolute idiot. Anyway. Aren’t we ignoring the elephant in the room here? They’ve drawn us fucking for Merlin’s sake - in our place of work! ”

Draco was working himself up to high dudgeon now, and Harry couldn’t exactly blame him. It was inappropriate. But it was also pretty funny. And frankly, from his perspective, he couldn’t blame the rest of their class for getting a bit carried away. He knew he must have contributed to whatever idea they had of the two of them together, with the way his eyes lingered on Draco’s arse so regularly. Even so, they should probably talk to the head of the Cadet teaching team, get this all sorted out before it spilled into a more public forum.

But winding Draco up had been one of Harry’s specialty subjects up to this point in his life, and far more fun than resisting Imperio or defeating Dark Lords, so he decided to indulge himself. Even if he ended up late for pub night. Or with a black eye.

“You’re right, you know. This is wrong.” He paused for a moment, taking in Draco’s approving nod before gleefully marching on to turn it into a thunderous glare. “Who said you get to top?”

A strangled noise escaped Draco’s open mouth, his brows twisted with frustration. Harry tried to keep his soaring satisfaction hidden, loving the play of emotions over Draco’s usually calm face. There was just something about seeing him get all flustered that made Harry feel the same way he did when he reached out to grab the snitch. Elated.

“ That’s what you take issue with?”

He was even gesturing with his hands now. Elegant fingers pointed angrily at their twins on the wall - still merrily copulating - while the other hand gripped the knot holding his towel up. Harry couldn’t help but drop his gaze for a moment, imagining what he might see if he annoyed Draco enough for him to let go of that towel for a moment.

Ever the hopeful Gryffindor, Harry leant forward and grabbed the marker quill. He grinned at Draco before drawing a big arrow pointing at their doodled likenesses, then wrote in bold letters ‘OK BUT HARRY TOPS’. He drew back and watched as Draco read his addition to the wall, waiting for the inevitable bomb to go off. This was better than sparring.

“There. I fixed it.”

But instead of an explosion of the poshest invective he’d ever had the pleasure of hearing - Draco’s command of archaic swear words was genuinely one of the highlights of their working together - Harry watched as Draco fell silent. His eyes were wide as he stared at what Harry had written, the spots of pink high on his cheekbones blooming into a flush that travelled down his neck and even onto his chest.

And now Harry was looking at his nipples. Fuck.

When he managed to drag his treacherous eyes away from those pert, pink, perfectly lickable buds he found Draco’s sharp gaze trained fully on his face. This didn’t bode well.

“You...fixed it? ‘Okay but Harry tops’ is you fixing it? That was the only part of this whole thing-” he gestured wildly at the wall. “That’s the only bit you have an issue with? Not the whole. Drarry thing. Seriously?”

He actually sounded almost plaintive. Harry suddenly regretted taking the piss, even if he hadn’t exactly lied at any point in this little melodrama.

“Um. Well. Obviously we should talk to Auror Lessing about it, it’s not fair that they’re doing this just to us. But. Well. I’m not offended people might think of us together I guess?” He shrugged his shoulders and nodded at their graffiti counterparts. “They look like they’re enjoying it anyway!”

Draco’s eyes narrowed as he watched Harry huff a nervous laugh. He advanced one step toward Harry, and Harry couldn’t help but notice the way his body still glittered with droplets of water from his shower. Couldn’t help thinking about what a pleasant way to spend some time it would be to lick each one of them. He hauled his thoughts back from that treacherous direction; his towel didn’t hide much and it definitely wouldn’t hide a very work-inappropriate stiffy.

“They do look like they’re having fun, don’t they.” Draco murmured.

Harry swallowed hard at the deep timbre of his voice.

“ That Harry doesn’t seem to be too disappointed to be on the receiving end. Shame it’s not an accurate reflection of reality.”

All thoughts of propriety flew out of Harry’s mind at that. Draco sodding Malfoy was flirting with him. Undeniably. Could a bit of embarrassing graffiti really be the thing that pushed them beyond the weird tension they’d had since eighth year?

“Well. Um.” He cleared his throat. “It’s just the assumption really. Probably because I’m shorter than you. But I’m pretty, um, versatile. And, ah, height difference doesn’t matter much in bed, I find.”

For the span of a heartbeat Harry feared he’d misread the situation, overstepped the mark. But then a wicked grin grew on Draco’s face and he knew he’d hit just the right spot. He stepped closer still, making Harry tilt his head up slightly to maintain their eye contact.

The small space between them filled with heat, and Harry felt like if he breathed in deeply enough their chests might even touch. He wondered if Draco was still holding his towel so tightly, but didn’t dare look down, didn’t want to break this moment stretching between them.

“I agree Potter. Very unfair of them to pigeon-hole you. They should know better by now.” He raised an eyebrow, challenge in every line of his face. “I was thinking of skipping pub night this evening in favour of a hot bath and a curry. But, as you’re feeling so versatile I’m happy to be flexible too. How about I join you and the rest of the motley crew for the obligatory Friday night pint, and then you join me for food?”

Harry felt his mouth drop open, shocked Draco had been the one of them to finally come out and say it so boldly. Draco just leaned closer still, his breath hot against Harry’s ear as he whispered, sending a corresponding shiver of excitement down his spine.

“I reckon we can test out your height difference theory, I’m sure my sofa would do the trick too - if you want to demonstrate for me?”

The image that conjured in Harry’s mind was enough to make him snap his mouth shut and stifle a groan of desire. He reached out to finally touch Draco, and closed the tiny distance between them to kiss him fully on the mouth. A broad palm at his waist, gripping tightly, pulled a gasp out of him. He dragged himself away from Draco’s mouth with difficulty, already panting slightly.

“Fuck pub night, get dressed. Last one to the apparition point is paying for the curry.”

With that Harry dashed across the room to pull his trousers on, grinning as he watched Draco wrangle his own on over still damp legs. He couldn’t wait to see what this mutual competitive spirit would create outside of the quidditch pitch or duelling ring, but he was sure it would be absolutely worth the tongue-lashing he’d get from Ron for ditching the sacred Friday night drinks for Draco.

Tagging @tedahfromtayla @maesterchill @tomoewantsdolls

#drarry #draco/harry #draco x harry #drarry fic rec #drarry squad #things to read #isobel writes #my fic #mine #auror!harry #auror!draco #kinda-sorta #graffiti

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mrpotatobrown · 6 years ago

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73. DREAMS come true

3... 2... 1... Blast Off! And the drawing’s Done. I’m most of all happy with how fast I doodled it out using Microsoft’s free ‘Notebook’ drawing/writing software on my Tablet, and that’s truly down to the app’s accessibility. Could I have used more powerful sketching software? Yes. Would it have resulted in a better drawing? Probably. But trying to juggle layers in Sketchbook or fight with the insufferable clunkiness of Photoshop is just something I don’t enjoy facing, and so I’ll stick to my quick simple doodles. And I’m happy with that.

Because making it all result oriented can sometimes destroy the enjoyment of the process, (not that I’m saying a result isn’t important, rather the journey is equally crucial) and I openly admit that I sketch away on Notebook because I enjoy it for many of the same reasons I adore writing: It’s the fastest way to get my ideas down.

Throughout my entire childhood, my imagination was fast and fickle, Ideas rushing in faster than I could output them, which resulted in a short attention span on any projects that took longer than, well, a sit-down. And so when a tool pops up that allows me to get ideas down faster, which potentially cuts out that “Photoshop” middleman, it ALWAYS draws my attention, especially if it yields the same high-end results.

But, as a filmmaker who wants to dabble in music, Game design and anything and everything, these tools seldom pop up. Sure, everything’s most certainly become more user-friendly, especially with such game engines like ‘Unity’ and ‘Unreal 4′ now becoming freely accessible, cutting out a lot of Dev. time/hurdles. But these advancements have never articulated in the form of tools that make animating, game design, music and everything in-between feel as intuitive as the sketch I did above on my Tablet or the essay I’m plonking out on my keyboard as we speak (or read).��

Until recently, most notably announcements of an upcoming Tool made at the last Electronic Entertainment Expo (E3).

But let us jump back a moment for there’s an origin to this great new tool; an earlier iteration that’s celebrating it’s Ten-year anniversary right now, a birthday I’m personally celebrating with the way it changed games/creativity forever. I know that sounds hyperbole, but trust me when I say this comes from the most Sincere place in my heart, a heart that yearned throughout my entire childhood as I stuck together simple stick men levels in Alien Hominid (Ps2, 2004) or laid out cookie cutter racetracks in RC Revenge Pro (Ps2, 2000) for the game I speak of next brought that childlike wonder back into my heart. I’m speaking of the warm, fuzzy, ambitious and very successful:

Released Ten years ago by Media Molecule (also known as Mm), a small team compiled of such visionaries like Alex Evans and Mark Healy which was founded in 2006*, their first outing on Ps3 from a distance looks like a simple fabric styled platformer. But sown (excuse the pun) deep into the fabric (sorry) of its very roots were creative ideas that grew larger than life.

* 2006 also being the year they released ‘Rag Doll Kung Fu’ which was the first third-party game to be distributed on Steam. Their progressive thinking was there from the start.

The articulation of these ideologies can be best expressed through Mark Healy’s early foray into game development when he programmed titles for the Commodore 64 (Console, 1982, also known as C64). The C64 was the Guinness Record champion for most units sold at 10-17 million units, a record laid to rest with future consoles such as PS2 hitting over 155 Million. Yet, in recent interviews, Mark has spoken of those open source tools that allowed him to create with relative ease, and how as future consoles rolled out into people's homes which ended up selling more and more with each passing generation, that accessibility to create was lost. I mention the word ‘accessibility’ like a broken record because that’s the very word Media Molecule seem to have as their unofficial modus operandi. It’s their very soul!

And it was this very soul that was poured into their 2008 juggernaut, Little Big Planet (Also known as LBP), which was teased far earlier than it’s release (to my impatient frustration); I saw the announcement perhaps a year before, the game post-phoned, but I had a taste of the potential and it was the only thing my heart called out for every day leading up to its release*. Finally, a game that gave me the tools to make my very own games.

* This part was actually true. Extreme? Sure, but I was stuck on an Farm growing up so it was the light in my tunnel.

The Puzzle Platformer’s official slogan was “Play, Create, Share”, basically boiling down to a Gaming Youtube with the tools ready built in. Here’s a cute 10-year-old trailer that best expressed this warm fun collaborative charm and it’s progressive stance on creativity (as well as one of the funkiest Game soundtracks from recent memory). You could make levels with ease, publish, get “views” (in this case, plays) and “likes” (expressed through Hearts) and then surf Mm’s servers to play other's creations. The first worry expressed by Critic’s was that no one would want to make levels, but Youtube as a creative platform was already the monolith of proof that this was not the case; people wanted creative output, and once the game was released with Metacritic scores averaging around 95% the Game sold well and the coMmunity was born.

The creative tools were easy to grasp but hard to master, the layers of ways to utilise them for more complicated contraptions and professionally polished levels took time to learn; fumbling around to mediocre results might draw you to the conclusion that quality couldn’t be obtained, but Mm cleverly put those anxieties to rest by including a campaign that was built exclusively with those very same tools. You had no excuse apart from “lack of practice”, and this pushed the coMmunity to make all kinds of contraptions from Mm’s physics-based engine, including someone building a fully functioning Calculator (the Creator even allowing you to fly around Jet-pack style to see how complicated the mechanisms were; turns out, very).

LBP 2 built on that success, implementing a new refined tool called ‘Logic’ (among other improvements) which was an array of different microchips with simple functions that could be wired together to essentially ‘code’ objects to do your bidding. It was deceptively simple and never bogged down the ease that was at the heart of LBP’s Creative tool-set. The step up between games showed up past ‘peak’ coMmunity created inventions (namely the previously mentioned calculator) as bare-bones in what you could achieve with this new instalment.

I poured hours into these games, playing every LBP sequel; the future iterations were handled well by Sumo Digital (LBP 3) and Tarsier Studios, Double Eleven and XDev (LBP Vita). Mm also produced the Bafta-winning Vita/Ps4 Tearaway which I’m part way through now, enjoying endlessly in an attempt to fill the void till their next highly anticipated game.

For once again they’ve teased a pipeline title which the public await with bated breath; their next instalment in their Creative franchise (and the very reason I’m writing this article) doesn’t just build on their previous efforts of community-based tools but fully realises them. They finally made what I and many others have always wanted, a Gaming engine with the ease of drawing; a level creator that’s as simple as me typing on this keyboard; the true Youtube of gaming:

I love the LBP franchise a whole lot (still play it now), but whatever I built always felt a construct of ‘LBP’; the most approachable expressive tools I’ve ever used still restricted by the 2.5D realm of Sackboy’s recognisably cloth based world, and while you could creatively open up the borders to reveal new perspectives and ways to make games there was always the nagging feeling that you weren’t truly making YOUR game, you were making a game for Mm. This wasn’t their fault, and it’s not like you could point at any other accessible tool to exemplify these faults, because Mm was leading the charge, and still are. But this upcoming release of their new title aptly named Dreams (Beta 2018, full release TBA) shows with ease that Mm doesn’t just continue to lead this push forward, but are doing so with such an extent as to potentially shake up the gaming industry; for you truly are now making YOUR game.

Strong words are easily backed up with results I’ll show further down, but the final hurdle on their next instalment’s success isn’t just the quality or function of the final output (which Mm shows with confidence on their near-weekly streams and collaborations with other gaming developers via Twitch/Youtube) but with how the market will react to it, or if they even will react at all considering a relatively quiet reception in the wake of AAA games like Red Dead 2 and other heavyweights.

But before we discuss that further, speaking of a game like this with mere words doesn’t really do Dreams justice. I’ve watched nearly every video they’ve released across this last year so here are, in my opinion, the videos that best exemplify what their upcoming game/tool has to offer:

Trailer (TGA 2017 Trailer), which is the shortest of the bunch, quickly highlighting the general feel and look of Dreams.

Game Informer’s playthrough of campaign levels, which is fantastically demoed by Veteran Mm founder and C64 programmer Mark Healey.

A run through of fun bite-sized levels made by their team, showing off the astounding variety and how each level flows into the next like a Youtube playlist.

And should you choose to watch only one of these videos, choose this next one; Game Informer’s Rapid-Fire Q sesh (with other Mm Founder Alex Evans), which isn’t just informative but should also be commended as creative and engaging journalism at it’s finest, running at the speed of a scripted TomSka Sketch* (It should be noted that Game Informer has been hitting it out of the park over the last month with their fun and insightful cover of Dreams).

* ’TomSka’: a popular Youtuber, famous for the ASDF Cartoon sketches and his fast and frentic comedic sketches. He’s done much, and with such a consistently recognisable style and tone across all projects it could be argued he’s an auteur, which excites me greatly that Youtube can own such a phrase and that ‘auteur’ could also translate to the users on Dreams (the platform I indulgently want to be referenced coining the term ‘Youtube of Gaming’. I’ll stop saying it when everyone else starts.)

TL;DR to sum up those clips: Dream’s works. Not just in regards to it building on LBP in every conceivable way (especially in being fully 3 dimensional) but also being easier to use, with motion controls utilised to essentially free-mould the level around you, and the jump between creative and playing being even more seamless; I was previously going to link three individual videos, title-ing them ‘PLAY’, ‘CREATE’ and ‘SHARE’ respectively, knowing there are such videos that focus on each aspect out there (shown at this year’s E3), but the Videos linked above demonstrate far clearer how the boundaries between those three different worlds are getting harder and harder to define; less “Play, create, share” and more “placrehare”... which isn’t as catchy but you get the idea.

Above: Picture of the Mm Team taken by Game Informer during their visit.

Everything about this game covers all aspects of game creation, even in terms of building a CV the defines your best skills (Animator, Modeler, Musician etc.) and then allowing you to allocate different roles to different creators (if you so wish). Objects/characters/music/levels etc. can be shared and remixed, creating a library of never-ending stock objects which either help fill in your weaknesses or set up a foundation to build on. Everything is built around a coMmunity which is so heartwarming considering an industry which, much like the film industry, is very clicky and “who you know”.

To prove how Mm appose this, and help highlight their deep-set sincerity, online creators from some of the finest levels on LBP were later hired by Mm to work in their company on future projects based on how well they grasped the tools. Mm recognised them for their talents and allowed these artists to flourish, artists who may have never broken into their dream profession without that much-needed step up.

This harks back to that phrase I’m trying to coin: “A Youtube of Gaming”. Film-making has gotten far more approachable over the last 10 years with equipment becoming progressively more affordable and every PC/MAC coming pre-loaded with editing software. The ability to share with ease online has helped many Video creators land roles in the industry or even create their own*.

* Youtube channels FreddieW (now named Rocketjump) and Corridor Digital (founded by Niko and Sam) springing to mind; their effects driven action/comedic shorts is what made many even consider film-making as an option (they even put out free tutorials/BTS) and their channels frequently collaborate with each other, other channels and even known names (Smosh, Key and Peele, and Jimmy Kimmel to name a few).

And so this is what makes Dreams so special; a chance to lower down the industries’ impenetrable defences and highlight player’s hidden talents with a tool that’s grown beyond ‘making levels for Mm’s games’ and matured (while retaining its essential charm) into a fully fledged game engine*.

* Many of you might think I’m counting eggs before they’ve hatched; understandable, but even if the game came out as a mere shadow of it’s intentions (which at this lately developed stage I doubt considering their showcases), the idea is already there. With VR and motion controls improving across all platforms there will doubtlessly be an imitator who can pick up where they left, improving from their failures. Failures I believe unlikely due to Mm’s track record of achievement and future support (they’re very involved with their CoMmunity, hence why I’ve placed a Mm in every use of the word CoMmunity (not my idea btw, Mm do this themselves)).

But more importantly than this future engine’s apparent depth is it’s accessibility, which cleans the slate of any straight up coding (LBP’s ’Logic’ is still there in spirit), rubs away clunky creation and puts all the tools under one roof with a platform to share and collaborate on. An infinite world of infinite creations that you can join your friends to play, Sofa sharing or online, streaming through playlists or creating, new content or remixed, in infinite combinations with infinite flexibility with an accessibility that has been unheard of until this game/engine.

Above: Front Cover Mm did for Game Informer’s November issue, which was created entirely within Dreams.

Which brings me to why I’m writing this article. I’m not writing extensively of the tools you can use, I’m linking other journalists’ work and mostly speaking of Mm’s past and what their new game could mean; so what’s the function of this? Well, as mentioned earlier, their success on something so CoMmunity led will be based on how the CoMmunity utilise it, which first and foremost means they need a CoMmunity to start with. And as also mentioned earlier, I think the reception for this game is relatively quiet compared to larger AAA games; this feels wrong to me in so many ways, as Dreams with the right support could literally shake up the gaming industry and influx a new wave of creative talent, showcasing an entourage of new ideas; a French New Wave of Games but, well, British (at least in origin). And I want this to be heard. I’m writing this article because I want to support them, in an attempt to build awareness. Because I want them to succeed. For their success will change so much in so many innovative ways.

When I saw all this beautiful creative potential oozing from their E3 trailers earlier this year something inside me changed. It wasn’t a new feeling, not at all, rather a familiar one; one I missed. It was that childlike wonder I had so long ago; that awe and glee when I watched the announcement trailer for LBP; the many days I sat scribbling and doodling on the floor as a child in those long stretched out Summer holidays; those 3 hour long GCSE English Language exams where I would write out whatever story popped into my head (honestly, only exam I ever enjoyed). Those are some of the happiest days of my life: pure unchained creativity with seamless tools.

Finally, those days are returning. Finally, I can be a child once more. And hopefully, so can you <3

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galaxy-koi-art · 6 years ago

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Okay so!! Apparently I wanted to doodle a lot more than usual today. I covered about two pages, most of it is DnD art.

To spare most from the length of this post, I’ll describe everything below the cut.

The first page was mostly from before I met up with the DM, so the newer NPCs and Wall had my initial ideas about their designs. I kind of wish I had numbered these, now that I think about it. It would make it easier to talk about. All of the notes beside the characters are notes I got when I spoke to our DM today between classes.

Going from top to bottom, left to right:

1) Mainly notes to myself in the top right corner. However, see that third note on the list? That’s right! I’m trying to push towards a Halloween date for Draft 2’s completion. It still won’t be done, as I’ll have to go through a final edit, but it should be readable.

2) The first doodle of Korst that I did. She’s a gnoll of unknown class, and she’s a sweetheart. Of course, unfortunately, she’s now been thrown into a very heated flirting war between Cynthia and Paddy, with her in the middle. Yes, this is the gnoll I mentioned earlier today.

3) Jim Bean (yes, named after the alcohol...) is a gnome who was originally a part of the bandit group. However, after being defeated and interrogated, Cynthia let him into the crew. He’s good at making traps and wields a large gun.

4) Cynthia talking/flirting with Korst. The two of them reminisced about the war that happened years ago, and Cynthia did everything she could to help Korst’s remaining group, who fled from Dren to escape his plans. It’s two buff, thirty-year-old women! And as I found out later, Korst is most likely much taller than Cynthia. :3

5) Notes on Dren, the bandit captain.

6) The whole bottom section of the page is from the session last night. Our group actually LARPed this part of the session, and it was really fun. I even got out my longsword for it. We interrogated Jim Bean on what he knew about the bandit group’s plans, and he gave us a decent amount of information. Wall (the one PC I don’t really talk about much, whoops) held him back while everyone else threatened him. I imagine Roth was just making the “Then Perish” face the entire time while Poth continued his reign of being the most terrifying member of the crew.

We took a picture of the LARP hilarity that happened, and I used myself as a pose reference for Cynthia in this doodle.

The second page was mainly for the second round of designs. I’m still unsure on Wall’s design, but I feel confident about the others. I also quickly doodled a not-great bongo cat and myself.

Also, this is what I’m referring to on this page when I mean my hair is becoming a lion’s mane:

#iotath’s unrest #dren iotath’s unrest #korst iotath’s unrest #jim iotath’s unrest #wall 0421 #cynthia featherstone #roth philious #galaxy talks #I’M SORRY FOR THE LONG POST BUT THERE WAS A LOT I HAD TO EXPLAIN

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theladyofdeath · 7 years ago

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Kings and Queens {Chapter 15}

Summary: A Throne of Glass AU inspired by the Breakfast Club (1985). Five students come together for Saturday detention, and realize they are not all that different. You can read previous chapters here.

Author’s Note: Our story has come to an end. An epilogue will be posted soon, but this is the last chapter. I hope you all have enjoyed this story as it wraps up. I would love to know what you think! :) Thank you for reading, friends.

Aedion

2:30 p.m.

My lips were numb.

Lysandra tasted of coffee and smoke, a flavor I didn’t know I craved until I spent an hour pressing my mouth against hers. Aelin and Rowan had gone off while Dorian was hard at work on the essay we had to turn in to Maeve at the end of the day, and I had poured my heart out to her. She had her doubts, and I understood, but I couldn’t walk away without the girl I had spent so long pining after, thinking she was too good to be true.

But she wasn’t. She was real. And she was there, with me, leaning her head against my shoulder and doodling in her notebook.

“Come to my party tonight.”

The pencil being held strategically in between her fingers halted. “Tonight?”

“Yeah,” I replied, casually. “You should come. Stay with me for a little bit…”

She wouldn’t look at me, but I could see the wheels turning. “I don’t know.”

I nodded, trying not to push too hard, trying not to sound too eager. “Come whenever. The house will be full, but I’ll most likely be on the porch or in the backyard. If you don’t want to come to the party, you could come after. Or before. Or tomorrow. Or –“

I stopped when she began to laugh, the sweet melody filling the air. “I’ll try.”

“You’ll try?”

“To come to the party,” she shrugged. “At some point. Maybe.”

“If you’re trying to play hard to get….There’s no need. You’ve already got me wrapped around your finger.”

Smiling, she leaned up to kiss me on the cheek before something caught her eye behind me. “She doesn’t look too good.”

Aelin was leaning against the bannister of the second floor, her head in her hands. Something must have changed in my expression, because Lysandra moved. “Go check on her.”

Earlier today, I would have thought that she would have said anything directed toward Aelin with malice, or hatred, or judgement….But, she said it with a soft smile, nudging me in her direction.

As I approached the staircase, I looked around for Rowan, but he was nowhere to be found. They had been gone for a while. If he did something to her….

I quickened my pace.

“Aelin? Aelin.”

But when she looked up at me, she was smiling. Glowing. Her cheeks were rosy, her hair that had been down earlier now in a knot on the top of her head.

I froze a few feet away. Blinked. Raised my eyebrows and crossed my arms as I observed her tank top that was wrinkled, the lip gloss that had been wiped – no, kissed – away. “Mother’s tits.”

“Watch your language,” she laughed, but her heart wasn’t in it. Her mind was somewhere else, with him, wherever he was. “It’s not what it looks like.”

“You two fucked,” I whispered, telling her exactly what I thought it looked like.

The blush in her ivory cheeks deepened, but she didn’t deny it.

Shaking my head, I couldn’t help but grin. “The criminal of Havilliard High. I never would have guessed.”

“He’s not who people think he is,” she said, her eyes distant. “He’s….” She shook her head, finally meeting my gaze. “He’s amazing, Aedion.”

I could tell that she meant it. I could tell that she felt like she was on top of the world. That she was happy. “You’ve known him for a long time.”

“It’s a long story,” she replied, simply.

“I expect to hear it sometime.”

“Maybe tonight. I’ll come over early to help set up.”

Leaning against the railing beside her, I gave her arm a nudge. “I’m happy for you.”

And I noticed her eyeing Lysandra as she smiled a smile that I had not seen on Aelin for quite some time. “You’ve got a lot to tell me, too.”

Yes, I did. “Do you think that lives can change in just one day?”

She continued to watch Lysandra, calculating something that she wouldn’t say out loud. “Yes. Yes, I do.”

Rowan appeared then, and Aelin’s back straightened. He had walked into the clearing, carrying an old, dusty copy of Pride and Prejudice, his messy, silver hair hidden by his hood.

But his face was perfectly visible, and he looked like a stranger. He didn’t look dangerous, or daunting, or bitter. Instead, he found Aelin and smiled. He actually smiled. There was a glint in his dark, green eyes that said more than I wanted to know about what had happened between the two of them only moments before.

“I’m going to puke.”

Aelin barked a laugh, a sound that had become foreign coming from her. And when I looked at her, I couldn’t help but laugh along.

Dorian

3:00 p.m.

I had written the essay five times, tossing each attempt in the garbage.

The others had gone off to do gods knows what, but I didn’t mind. I had encouraged them to do so.

I had a lot I wanted to say, a lot I thought Headmistress Maeve should know about what had happened during that long day in detention.

The clock chimed three, so I took a deep breath and made one final attempt.

I forced myself to forget the technicalities. I did not write formally, as my father had trained me to do with every essay. I did not write with an academic mindset, as I had a thousand times before. I wrote from my heart, and I wrote what was on my mind.

And as I read over the finished product, I did not regret it.

Then, as I read it aloud to my peers, and tears filled Aelin Galathynius’ eyes, I knew I had done what was right by them, and by me.

A quarter until four finally rolled around, and the room which had been far too tense this morning was now…..easy. Relaxed. Calm.

Aelin and Rowan were whispering in one another’s ears, and whatever Rowan had been saying....it was making Aelin blush. Two people who I would have never imagined would end up together now looked unbreakable. I wonder what would happen when Monday came.

Aedion and Lysandra were sitting side by side, doodling on opposite sides of the same notepad. I didn’t even know Aedion Ashryver could possibly be interested in art. That morning, I hadn’t known anything about any of those people.

By the time four came, I felt like I knew them as well as I knew myself.

Although, I was still trying to figure out who myself was. But I think I was getting pretty close.

The door was thrown open, and we all froze. We had all gotten so comfortable that we forgot she was nearby.

We had forgotten we were being punished.

Maeve’s dark eyes narrowed as she entered, keeping the door propped open before her. She did not look pleased. She did not look anything. She looked exhausted, permanently exhausted.

“You may leave your essay on the table. Other than that, you are dismissed. I will follow up on Monday.”

We didn’t argue. Before she could say anything else, we left as quickly as we could.

After quickly gathering my belongings - my books, sweater, backpack, laptop - I followed the others out of the door, and into the school.

I wish I could have seen Maeve’s face as she read what I wrote.

The snow was still coming down in clumps, a frozen chill still making our skin tingle as we entered the great outdoors.

We stood together, for a moment, in silence on the steps of the school.

“What now?” Lysandra asked the question we were all thinking.

“We move forward,” Aelin said, simply, with a smile in the other girl’s direction.

Which she surprisingly returned.

“I’ll see you all tonight,” Aedion asked, without actually asking.

No one protested.

I didn’t know how I was going to get there. I didn’t have a car, and my father sure wasn’t going to let me go. As if he noticed my discomfort, Aedion cleared his throat. “Do you want a ride? Why don’t you come hang out for a little while.”

“Oh,” I hesitated, “No, I couldn’t possibly –“

“Dorian,” Aedion smiled, making me stop, easing my anxiety. “It’s up to you, but if you want your freedom…..Let us help you.”

They all stepped closer to me, huddling around the kid that they never would have given a second look at eight hours earlier.

And I even surprised myself when I said, “Okay.”

Then, I prayed we could get the hell out of there before my father showed up to get me.

Aedion seemed pleased as he clapped me on the shoulder. “Alright. Let’s go. Aelin?”

“I’ll catch up later,” she promised, her hand sliding into Rowan’s. “We’ll see you tonight.”

Aelin shrugged on her coat as the couple walked away, climbing into a big, black truck that must have belonged to Rowan. I caught him lean over the middle seat to kiss her before starting the engine.

He didn’t even look like the same person. He had been changed, had gained a piece of his soul that he had been missing.

Maybe we all had.

My companion turned to Lysandra, and held out his hand. “A ride?”

“I’ll walk,” she grinned, tossing her bag over her shoulder, lazily. “I don’t mind the snow. Besides, I have to leave you wanting more.”

“I do love a tease.”

She rolled her eyes. “I’ll see you tonight.”

Some of the tension seemed to fade from Aedion’s posture as he smiled. “Good.”

He watched her walk away, watched her thick, leather combat books trudge through the snow, her long, dark hair blowing in the breeze, until she disappeared around the corner.

“Ready, Havilliard?” Aedion asked, gesturing toward an old jeep parked in the front row.

“Yes,” I spat out, before I could change my mind.

My heart was beating rapidly. This was it. The first time I would disobey, displease, my father, on purpose. I was excited, I was ready, I felt courageous, but I also felt like I was about to dive into a shark infested pool.

I was going to vomit. Or pass out. Maybe both.

“Hey,” Aedion lowered his voice as we began our walk. “We’re here for you, you know that? We’ll protect you. Or, support you while you protect yourself.”

He believed in me, I realized. This guy, who was only recently a stranger, believed in me. He may not know everything about my life, but he believed in me.

They all did. And that was more than I could say of anybody else.

“Thank you,” I said, and meant it.

We got into his jeep, and pulled out of the parking space just as my father pulled into the parking lot. I kept my chin held high, and my back up straight, as I caught his eye.

I would never forget his face as he saw me through the passenger side’s window, and watched us drive away.

Dear Headmistress Maeve,

You wanted us to write an essay. You wanted us to tell you why we deserved to be here, in detention. You wanted us to punish ourselves, to make you feel better, to tell you that you were right for trapping us in this room for eight hours.

Well, I’m afraid we cannot do that.

We don’t deserve to be in here, because we are not bad kids. We don’t deserve to be here, because we are misunderstood. We are all fighting a battle that you know nothing about, and I will not let you feel like you’ve done the right thing by throwing us in here based on pure judgement.

There is so much about us that you don’t know. That no one does.

With that being said.....thank you.

Thank you for putting us here, trapping us in this room with each other. Eight hours ago, I knew nothing about my peers, and they knew nothing about me. We were nothing more than a brain, a jock, a princess, a criminal, and a basket case. But now? We are friends. Now? It does not matter where we have come from. It only matters where we are going.

What did I learn today, from this wild ride through detention? We all have value. High school is a shit show. People judge, and hate, and do anything they can to make the time go faster. But at the end of the day, it’s pointless. Everything I have learned thus far within these walls have gotten me nowhere.

But what I have learned today in detention will change my life.

You see, Headmistress, the world will always see us as they want to see us, and we will never be able to please everyone. Including you. Each one of us has our own strengths, and our own weaknesses. Each one of us is a brain, a jock, a princess, a criminal, and a basket case. We don’t care how the world sees us. We don’t care how you see us. And we sure as hell aren’t going to convince you of who we are by writing an essay.

We know who we are.

And we are not ashamed. Not anymore.

Sincerely yours,

The Kings and Queens of Havilliard High

youtube

^ Kings and Queens - 30 Seconds to Mars

I hope you all enjoyed. :) Epilogue coming soon.

@bigbangt1963 @throne-of-ashes-and-beauty @sarah-akhavan@gcarroll@kortanna@nightquart @notjustanyoldfangirl @superhuman-imagines@iwouldtrusthagridwithmylife@callmeladytypewriter@saybell1994@2-bookmaster-2 @eye-of-elena @shadowsinger-fireheart@inejcalmarekaz@viridiantopaz @books-are-friends-not-objects@raven-the-dark-titan@theantisocialbookworm310@whydoyoucareaboutmyusername

#kings and queens #throne of glass #fanfic #fanfiction #fic #my writing #rowaelin #rowan #aelin #dorian #lysaedion #lysandra #aedion #final chapter #chapter 15

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bigyack-com · 5 years ago

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The Quarantine Diaries - The New York Times

Before the end of life as we knew it, Ady, an 8-year-old who lives in the Bay Area of San Francisco, read a biography of Anne Frank.When she realized that she, too, was living through what would soon become history, Ady started keeping her own diary. In one early entry, she recorded that the judging for her county’s science fair would be conducted over the phone, rather than in person. “Not ‘fair’!!” she wrote. “Har, har, very funny.”When Santa Cruz County enacted a shelter-in-place order on March 16, she again picked up her pen.“I’m REALY scared!” she wrote. “Did you know this is getting so bad that I have to go my clarinet lessons on the cumputer!!”As the coronavirus continues to spread and confine people largely to their homes, many are filling pages with their experiences of living through a pandemic. Their diaries are told in words and pictures: pantry inventories, window views, questions about the future, concerns about the present. Taken together, the pages tell the story of an anxious, claustrophobic world on pause.“You can say anything you want, no matter what, and nobody can judge you,” Ady said in a phone interview earlier this month, speaking about her diary. “No one says, ‘scaredy-cat.’”When future historians look to write the story of life during coronavirus, these first-person accounts may prove useful.“Diaries and correspondences are a gold standard,” said Jane Kamensky, a professor of American History at Harvard University and the faculty director of the Schlesinger Library at the Radcliffe Institute. “They’re among the best evidence we have of people’s inner worlds.” History isn’t usually told by the bigwigs of the era, even if they are some of its main characters. Instead, it is often reconstructed from snapshots of ordinary lives. A handwritten recipe. A letter written by a soldier at the front. A drawing of a kitchen sink. One of the most famous works of academic history — “A Midwife’s Tale,” by Laurel Thatcher Ulrich — came from the diary kept by a woman living in Maine from 1785 to 1812. It won a Pulitzer Prize.“The personal that is presented in diaries gives us the truth of the era,” said Carole Ione Lewis, a diarist and the author of “Pride of Family: Four Generations of American Women of Color,” which she wrote using her relatives’ diaries.Today’s journals convey the shared experience of life in isolation. Some diarists record statistics: the number of infections, the number of deaths. Others keep diaries that are part shopping list, part doodle pad. Unidentified phone numbers are scratched out in the margins of punctuation-less pages filled with the frustration of being separated from family and friends. Among these accounts, anxiety is the constant.Deb Monti, a 22-year-old painter, was in Valencia, Spain, when the country went on lockdown. Confined to her apartment, she painted what she could see from her window. “I’m looking at other people who are now trying to live their daily lives on these tiny balconies,” she said. Now back in Pittsburgh, where she grew up, Ms. Monti is self-isolating in her childhood bedroom. “You look at this painting of a person looking out a window and you think, like, ‘Oh, how romantic. This person is able to just daydream,’” she said. “But for me, it’s so all of a sudden. It makes me feel so suffocated and restrained.”For some visual diarists, making new work has been a way to stay connected with other artists in isolation.In Manila, before the outbreak, Patricia Joyce V. Salarzon, a 27-year-old production editor, would meet her friends to draw outside. Now they all agree to sketch at the same time, just to feel like they are together.Timothy Hannem, an illustration artist in Paris, made a template for people to fill in and post on social media using the hashtag #coronamaison: corona house. A well-known illustrator, Pénélope Bagieu, shared the drawing with her Twitter followers. They will each draw their own ideal place to be quarantined, she wrote. Within a few days, hundreds of people had uploaded their own imagined interiors, with cats and plants and books. They started a website, too, as a landing pad for the project.Together, the drawings make for a fantastical house, with rooms created by many, many hands.About two weeks ago, Anna Temkina, a professor of public health and gender at the European University at St. Petersburg, realized she was living through what sociologists refer to as “emergent moment.” “It is a moment when new rules begin to develop, but they are not yet clear,” Dr. Temkina, 59, said. “Sociologically, this was absolutely great.”She has started project called “the virus diaries,” part of a broader effort by the university to study quarantine’s effect on daily life.“Saturday — a normal crowd out and about,” she wrote. “I don’t notice any increased caution. People are walking without distancing; two military men shake hands; a man and woman my age greet each other with a kiss.”In the early days of the outbreak, Annie Armstrong, a 24-year-old writer in Brooklyn, went home to Atlanta. Now her diary is filled with questions about her career, how to find meaning in her life, what she really wants. “I really feel like I’m witnessing the fall of the empire,” she wrote. “I’m already mourning this whole little life I made for myself in New York.”Kari Stevenson, a 34-year-old high school librarian who lives near Colorado Springs, Colo., started keeping her own quarantine journal. Writing soothes a nervous ache in her stomach, she said, even when the subject matter is anxiety provoking. “The grocery stores are feeling the strain + shortening hours,” Ms. Stevenson wrote in a recent entry. “I am starting to worry our 14 day supply might not be enough.”The day before public schools closed in Boston, Ari Zimmet asked his middle school students to draw how they were feeling. Normally, Mr. Zimmet, 25, teaches woodworking. But he remembered how one art professor, in college, opened up her classroom for discussion and sketching after the 2016 election. He wanted to make room for his middle school students to do the same.As they drew, many seemed unaffected. But one student, a boy, drew frantically. With blue and orange lines, he made frenzied marks as stick figures fell from the sky.“He didn’t articulate his feelings, and he almost never does,” Mr. Zimmet said. “But it was like he was constructing this whole narrative with the path that his Cray-pas was taking.”That these accounts are recorded on paper is crucial to their longevity. “People think the internet is going to be permanent, but we’re already starting to lose things that were committed to bits and bytes,” said Shane Landrum, who holds a doctorate in American history from Brandeis University. “Even with the danger of your house burning down with all your written records inside, I still think paper is valuable as a practice,” Dr. Landrum said.The weight of a personal diary is familiar to Frank Herron, a 67-year-old book publisher who lives in Winchester, Mass. He has studied the journals his great-aunt kept in the early 20th century. In one entry, she wrote about seeing Austrian royalty from a tailor’s window. “The procession was like a fairy tale,” she wrote on June 14, 1900. “I never expect to see such a fine one again anywhere.” She was right. In a few years, in a few more diary entries, World War I would start. A few years later, the Austro-Hungarian empire would fall. “What makes history is people who write some stuff or keep some pictures,” Mr. Herron said. “This is how we communicate across centuries.”Daniel A. Kipnis translated Anna Temkina’s diary entry from the original Russian. Read the full article

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itsallaboutemotions · 5 years ago

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My Anxiety about Forever

If you are reading this, either you are that sick Mark Aquino from the future who wanted to reminisce about his past feelings on this blog again or you are another good stalker redirected here from his main social media accounts or you are an old friend who knows that this blog is where all his guards are down and vulnerable for you to know him further, judge him, criticize him to make your life more satisfying because you can read that a human is in his lower form than you are right now, or you were redirected from a random search from google or any other search website that pinged some word or phrase or topic related to what you are looking for.

Well, I just want to write about this awful feeling of emptiness again. I remorse the fact that the first blog post I have written with this idea or feeling I am again to discuss has been taken down permanently via the downfall of a website called Multiply, along with all the movie and restaurant reviews I have wholeheartedly discussed and star-rated there since around 2007-2008.

Forever is a delusional plague that have killed or at least numbed the hearts of people. If you have read the first blog post I was telling you earlier, you can see that the attachment I was referring to there was with my closest friends, because I was a virgin back then. I have known for a fact that all moments are fleeting. I am well aware of the impermanence of everything and everyone we have or see or feel. I know this is too pessimistic for you to read, but as they say, truth hurts. If this was a normal conversation, many people may debate with me and I may lose my case, but I am always the winner and king of all what I am writing, however imperfect or grammatically-challenging they are. Ohh God, I missed this feeling of letting out my emotions in writing. This is freedom. And I haven’t felt this for a very long time, maybe because I was too preoccupied with my hopeless romantic life or my occupational pastime or my unending parties and sex and everything that comes with them.

If I was to psychologically assess myself in this blog post as I was reading what I just wrote before this sentence, I can classify this as a disturbance called flight of ideas, an acute symptom of one of my patients with Bipolar Disorder in her Manic episodes during our Psychiatric Ward exposure during our Nursing Internship back in college in Baguio General Hospital. HAHA

Back to the main topic, Forever. Spiritually speaking, if we are to believe in a higher being that you may call God, Allah, Lord, Universe, Supreme being or any name you would like to call Him/Her/That/It/Whomever/Whatever, then forever have to be true. Faith has a different perspective in explaining all questions unanswered by our fickle minds. Magic Word: Believe.

And that’s where I can’t stop this questioning about forever. I have been Agnostic for a very long time, a belief or non-belief that they may or may not be a higher being. I just got a quote from a TV series I was watching earlier that “For you to believe, you have to not believe.” It was explained further that the continuous doubt and search for answers define the faith we have, and they sort of strengthen them. Well for now, I have been loving some Buddhist principles and the books have taught me some of the relaxation techniques I have been using for years. Magic Word: Presence.

Maybe this anxiety or depression I am having is being too attached with the past or future again. I am here where I am, not anywhere else but here. Rainy season, I’m on my third day at home bingeing on Netflix. For 3 days, I have just had one stick of cig yesterday. I had my daily dose of a cup of oats for breakfast, veggies for lunch and light dinner. Hydrating with glasses of lukewarm water. No, these “happened” already earlier. What is “happening” right now at this very moment I am writing this sentence is I am typing everything on my laptop Notes app while watching an LGBT-themed movie in Cinema One with my parents. And now, my father is pressuring me again to procreate and have a child instead of adopting many like my uncle did. And I am trying to ignore and hear nothing as I type this very thing I am typing right now. And I saw how my mom tried to silence my father with a poke and told him she is trying to watch the movie. This movie is starred by my crush Paulo Avelino, Derek Ramsay and Bea Alonzo. Just searched, it’s “Kasal”. I think I need to rewatch this on my own as I haven’t started it and I am still trying to ignore the movie while my parents are watching this with me in our room. Can you imagine my situation as the only gay son they have? I can only imagine how they would react if I shared to them upfront all my partying, sexplorations and those relationships I had for a decade of meeting guys. Now, my father is trying to foretell the ending of the movie, and then relating it again to our family. While in the marriage scene, he was telling my mom about how unfortunate that he may not witness my two brothers get married because he would really like to wear a suit in those occasions. And he sang with the background song that goes “nang nakita kita sa tagpuan ni Bathala, may kinang sa mata na di maintindihan..” And I was just interrupted by my niece who convinced me into watching with her some youtube videos in my laptop like “Baa Baa Black Sheep” which she danced with like a zumba video, and “Everything about Doodles” where we had a short sweet moment discussing about food personified with doodle animation which looks simple and fascinating for a non-animator like me. Lost my feeling of depression on a whim. Thanks Presence and family.

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captainpachacho-blog · 6 years ago

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Why SEO 2019 Had Been So Popular Till Now?

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A successful SEO effort demands to move beyond building joyful to rank on highly researched keywords and should have the heavy focus on providing solutions for genres of unique inquiries that many people might research by voice. Learn the particular strategy behind great SEO, which includes keyword planning, content optimization, hyperlink building, and SEO for e-commerce, local search, and mobile viewers. Search engine optimization or SEO will be the simple process of making sure a website can be discovered in search engines for terms and phrases relevant to exactly what the site is providing. SEO's basic importance comes from the particular fact that most users show strong search dominance — that will will be, search is the main method people go places on the particular Internet. 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Google's punishing methods probably class pages as some thing akin to a poor UX if they meet certain detectable criteria e. g. lack associated with reputation or old-school SEO stuff such as keyword stuffing a site.

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