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nerdy-emo-royal-dad · 4 years

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Voices of Silence

Based on THIS headcanon by @sidespromptblog

Warning/s: angst?

~~~~~

Janus was a master of disguise. Everyone knew that. He could capture any side almost perfectly, from the clothes, features, actions, and even down to their voices.

As far as the sides were concerned only Deceit had this ability, and Logan preferred it stayed that way.

The logical side had discovered he had the same gift as Janus quite late along Thomas’ life; well... partly. Where Deceit could mimic practically everything about anyone, Logan found that he could only do their voices.

After months of practice, he realized he could speak as the others’ better, more flawlessly, than a certain scaled aspect ever could.

Even with this marvelous discovery, Logic never made this skill known to the others. Aside from the confusion this would entail between him and Janus, there simply just wasn’t any reason for the embodiment of logic to posses or even use such an ability.

For years, he remained silent about this; focusing his attention on far more important skill sets like scheduling, research, databasing, and timekeeping; skills that were actually crucial to his role as Thomas’ sense of logic.

Eventually, it became as if he never had the ability to do that in the first place.

~~~

He remembers the first time it happened like it was yesterday. He was simply pointing out to Princey that pure originality was nearly impossible, only to be cut off by a loud and long shush coming from the royal side and Thomas himself.

It didn’t hurt. He didn’t even mind. Besides, it was daydream mode and Roman did in fact have all the creative liberty.

Needless to say he was still surprised when later in the day he found himself repeating those exact same shush sounds in his room. He had practically forgotten how it felt to copy another’s voice.

As he tested his long lost ability once again, he was reminded of the intriguing intricacies of the delicate art of voice mimicry.

It was fascinating how something as simple as “shh” could be so different for each person. He could feel the slight difference of Thomas’ and Roman’s very similar sounding expressions in his own vocal cords. He noticed how the minimal shifts in the movements of his own larynx made a large difference in enunciation, tone, pitch, and volume.

As a little secret, Logan decided he was going to hone this skill once more.

~~~

“You’re the least popular character, get over it.”

Logan did try not to think much about Anxiety’s little comment, but once left to his own accords it was quite hard to believe that those words didn’t sting.

Yet, he couldn’t help himself from repeating that exact line to the empty room in the exact same manor the anxious side did.

Again, and again.

Maybe he did it to practice? Maybe as a reminder to himself? Maybe to keep him in his spot?

Every repeat was like a slap to his face, but gradually the pain got more tolerable, until he became numb to the sentence; willing the pinch he felt in his chest away.

At least now his mimicry had a purpose.

~~~

It didn’t stop there.

There were much more incidents that followed after that.

“Shut your ever-flapping gobtalker.” “Oh, hush sub-astute teacher.” “Now is not a good time Logan.” “Shut up, Nerdy Wolverine.”

Every time he was thrown a phrase that stabbed at his chest he did the only thing he knew to wash away the pain.

He repeated it. Over and over, commanding his own vocal cords to produce sounds that weren’t his; he listened to every sentence with their voice until it couldn’t hurt him anymore.

And for the longest time, it stayed that way.

~~~

The viewers had been noticing that Logan had lost the energy he once had in earlier videos. He couldn’t blame them for pointing it out. It was true.

With how much he had to numb himself how could it not be?

On the bright side, he’d perfected the art because of it.

The very familiar voice of Thomas calling brought him back to the present.

“Logan? You looked really spaced out there for a second bud.”

“Apologies, I was merely recalling a research I was doing a while ago.”

It was a bit concerning how easily he could lie nowadays. Maybe Janus was rubbing off a bit more than he expected.

Speaking of him, Logan brought his attention back to Thomas and the others trying to recall a certain line the deceitful aspect had said in previous videos. Apparently this line they wanted to remember was crucial to the current predicament.

They mentioned something about a blindfold, and prizes, and,

Oh. Logan had a better memory than he thought.

Without any second thinking, and mostly because their bickering was getting on his nerves and he wanted to get this over with, he uttered the exact lines they were looking for.

“Life is like a piñata, and you want that stuff that makes you happy, right? Well, then in order to get that stuff you must attack the piñata, but you’re wearing a blindfold right now...”

Logan went on to recite Deceit’s point word for word.

Once finished he was met by everyone’s eyes locked on him with varying expressions on their faces; the most obvious being shock.

It wasn’t that Logic got Janus’ lines down without a single mistake, it was that he sounded exactly like him.

Not a few seconds later, his eyes widened in realization.

Before he could utter anything else, his ears received a rather loud question from Patton.

“Janus? Was that you the whole time?”

For a moment Logan wanted so badly to say yes, anything to get him out of there, but he lost his chance when the reptilian side appeared suddenly beside him, along with Remus popping up beside his twin as well.

“And I thought I was the only Lord of the Lies.”

“Uhm, hey? Since when could you do this?” “How could you not impart this with us?” “Do it again, teach!” “Logan, my logical side, how, what?” ”Oohh, imagine what that throat could do...” “You owe us an explanation, nerd.”

Suddenly Logan was bombarded with a mess of questions, statements, and requests. Suddenly there were just too many voices all at once.

It became harder to identify which were coming from them, which from his mouth, and which from his mind.

See, Logan had his reasons why he never wanted to show them; why he fought so hard to hide it, keep it under control, suppress it.

But with every passing second filled with increasing volumes, varying tones, intonations, pitches, all directed at him, he began to lose his oh so heavily guarded contro-

“Can you stop?!”

The silence that followed after Logan clasped a hand on his mouth went on for what felt like ages; every side with their own unreadable expressions on their faces, but none showed as much hurt in their eyes as Patton.

He recognized those words and that voice right away.

They were his... and the cardigan-clad aspect knew very well who those words were for.

Logan did not dare move his hands from where they sat covering his cursed lips.

He could feel his mind bringing back every sentence, every phrase, every moment of being silenced. He could feel his vocal cords contracting and relaxing, morphing and threatening to repeat every statement like he has always done.

In the spur of the moment, they could all but watch as Deceit forced Logic’s hand away from his lips; terrified but eager to know what the trembling side had stuck in his voice box .

Even he wasn’t prepared for what they heard that day.

“Oh hush sub-astute teacher.” ”This is a benched trial for you.” ”Shut your mouth or I’ll tear off your nipples and shove them up your nose.” “Shut your ever-flapping gobtalker.” “You’re the least popular character, get over it.”

It was Logan they could see talking, but it was always one of them they heard; and every time they did it felt like a stab to their own tongues.

Every statement was captured perfectly, from the volume to the tone to the emotions, to their unique vocal qualities; as if they were brought back to the very day it was uttered.

Their amazement at Logan’s perfected skill was quickly replaced by anger, despair, guilt, regret, and a whole myriad of other emotions bubbling up their throats.

“Logan...”

No one had a chance at another word when the logical side sank down with a face none of them have ever seen on him, and one they’ll never forget.

A red-eyed, tear-stained face...

With his lips clasped shut.

Staring at the empty space where logic once stood, every other entity in that room had the same thought on their minds.

So this is what it feels like to be silenced.

~~~~~

Taglist:

@pixalysparkelz-blog @cinquefoilelove @randomslasher @ladynikita @thestoryofme13 @fandomsandanythingelse @logicalspecs @asexual-trashbag @fandomsofrandom @moonlace @nyxwordsmith @emo-sanders-sides-loving-unicorn @freepaperie081 @irish-newzealand-idian-dutch @jughead-is-canonically-aroace @areyousirius-noheisdead @fandersides @sincerely-a-dork @lizziepopanime @emo-nightmare @justmeandmygayships

Heeeyyy! Should you not be tagged? Do ya wanna be tagged? Want a friend? Is something wrong? Hit me up!

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creepyscritches · 4 years

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I watched Netflix’s The Witcher and i kinda have no opinion on it lmao. Ive never played the games, can you please explain what happened in the show thats making you guys angry? I would really like to understand, thank you

I don't give a shit about the show. I want twn fans to leave me alone.

Right before the show released, someone I loved deeply died in what was ruled an accidental death. She was the only person I've genuinely loved like that and the grief is suffocating. I have not healed in the slightest.

Hanna (Scoot) and I shared hours together having fun and making deep dive inside jokes about the witcher. Most of my witcher art was made WITH HER. I only wanted to make witcher art for HER and to see her get so excited that another one of our ideas finally took form.

Seeing all that art after she died so suddenly feels like seeing a ghost. Everytime I see them, I have to remind myself that I will never share those conversations with her again bc there's some irrational hope that she just might call me again.

I asked for people to not bombard me with activity on witcher content and literally every single fan before the show released has respected that.

TWN fans flood me daily with like-spams and thoughtless asks/dms/comments over content that Hanna and I made together. Literally every day. I cannot find a moment without TWN fans biting my ankles. Geraskier + Jaskier accounts have been the worst in particular, and now I just am filled w reflexive hate when I see Geraskier/Jaskier users.

I've made several posts explaining WHY I don't want like-spams. They're everywhere and there's no way these TWN fans are missing them.

Since I block on sight at this point, I don't have a backlog of previous offenders, but heres one from this week that literally made me so furious I got nauseous.

The first post they interacted with on my blog WAS THE LAST PLEA I MADE ABOUT NOT FLOODING ME. THEY KNEW THE SITUATION.

You will have your dash shredded by this post bc I want you to understand a fraction of what I see daily.

The tags on the final reblog have me seeing red, I cannot understate how vicious I feel.

I don't give a fucking shit about the show.

I want TWN fans to leave me the fuck alone.

#creepy chatter #Just literally want yall to fuck off

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skidget · 4 years

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I keep putting the idea of talking about this off, naming names and such seeming petty and I didn't want to look petty. And like, yeah it is petty i guess, but it needs to be done. Not directly mentioning stuff and going out of my way to protect problematic people's privacy by leaving out names just allows bullshit to keep happening.

So, to begin, A heads up to anyone who stumbles upon this blog, as well as followers and people who pop in time to time: I've said this before and apparently I have to keep saying it since it's become apparent people haven't read shit last time.

If you refuse to acknowledge the fascism/nazi apologia, racism, pedophilia-leaning, abuse fetishizing, and other legitimate problems present in steven universe, then block me. I am sick to death of me reblogging all this info and good, well-thought-out criticism from fellow marginalized voices talking about these issues, only for my followers to completely ignore this and then suddenly get surprised and upset later on when it's brought up face-to-face chatting with people.

A few months ago, back in around October 2019, I was a part of the Neolodge discord. Around the time the steven universe movie came out, people were excited and it became apparent fast that there were many fans of the show on the neolodge.

Now, it's not my job to educate you, but know (especially based off of all the shit i've reblogged and wrote about it in the past) that the show is a downward spiral of fascism apologia (and NUMEROUS other problems), and since it's marketted towards children, this is extremely dangerous (add in our current political climate and fucking nazis and other fascists on the rise again and gaining more and more power and children are literally being put into cages! and you got yourself some fucking pro-grossness propaganda). The show legit makes me uncomfortable, and I'm not the only one. So, when wondering on the chat if anyone else was critical of the franchise, instead the chat suddenly sped up and i was swarmed by a bunch of anti-criticism fans who almost immediately -instead of reading my beginning attempts to elaborate on where i was coming from- posted over and over again that rebecca sugar is a marginalized voice and as such, immune to criticism, and how dare I insinuate a jewish woman of writing nazi apologia. You know, despite all the various jewish people who have come forward having beef with the show BECAUSE of the writing trying to make space nazis sympathetic.

It was a shitshow, and I realized that the chat was moving too fast for anyone to follow my responses, and also no one cared about whatever evidence i brought forward; instead I (a neurodivergent, mentally ill, pansexual aromantic woman, aka also a marginalized voice) was talked over and treated as if i ate babies. Obviously, I left the neolodge discord after that.

Not knowing who still followed my neopets art blog and who might be among the steven universe fans, members of the lodge, or just people who would rather not get involved, I made a post telling people to block me if they're not up for criticism of the show.

Fast forward MONTHS later to just the other week, and I see the neolodge has made a comeback on the neopets site itself. I still followed the creator of the neolodge, Hollis, aka hvmanbeing here on tumblr, knowing they weren't around at the time of my departure, and maybe they didn't know about it. This was an artist who I had defended in the past, and thought would be sympathetic/intolerant of bigotry etc. Sooooooo I asked if this was like, a rebooting of the neolodge, if it had any connection to the discord one. After airing my beefs and explaining the situation to Hollis privately, they... well...

Hollis refused to read and think about what i had said and the information i linked to, despite apparently going back in the discord chat and viewing the whole mess, where i had also laid out information to back up my observations. Instead, my voice talked over, my words and concerns discarded, I was treated as if I had committed some heinous act, and if i had changed as a person then maybe they might let me back in to the neolodge.

I didn’t. 1: I don’t recall anyone of the numerous users bombarding me every second mentioning their religion. Not to mention it doesn’t. matter. when, as I stated during the fiasco, and stated again and again: there are MORE jewish voices complaining about exactly what I have been complaining about. Not to mention, why didn’t anyone wonder where my religion lied? Did anyone pause to consider if I was jewish? No, of course not.

2: critiquing steven universe for its fascism apologia, racism, pedophilic implications, etc etc, is not calling its creator a nazi. Words mean things: look up apologia.

It’s funny that certain words are being thrown around that I had previously used to back up my points, with the intent of using them against me. The Neolodge is home to actual children/minors/underage people and most of the people in the incident were younger than 21. That is children. I was getting annoyed at young non-adults.

This was an artist i had confided in, that I had previously stood up for and supported, that I trusted. An artist that I freely followed and openly conversed with and who had obvious access to all my critiques beforehand (they had faved or commented on my neoblog before), but then threw it all back in my face with no prior warning.

So if you’re like me, and don’t put up with bullshit, and refuse to lie down and let bigotry get further footholds into western culture and be lauded for it, consider staying away from the neolodge and users like hollis and synthaphone (one of the people who swarmed me and the only one with a username i can remember/recognised); don’t make my mistake i guess.

it’s also really telling how when i put up that board the other day trying to bring attention to stolen art in the hopes of having it removed, the neolodge board, previously being dead and at the bottom of the page, was bumped up by hollis in an attempt to bury the board i was trying to remember to maintain, but that’s a story for another time.

#neotag #figured i should tag it anyways #loooooong post #neolodge #at this point if you're still involved with the neolodge?#stay away from me then #the fact i've gotten wind this isn't the first time the founders have attempted to bully people for non-reasons #and bigotry?#yeah

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topicroulette · 4 years

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All or Nothing in Kaiji: Ultimate Survivor

Although, I personally wouldn’t consider myself the biggest risk-taker, the idea of gambling never fails to fascinate me. You probably already knew that though (I mean you did peep the title of the blog, right?) The idea of letting chance decide your fate with the probability of winning big to essentially change your life is exciting. I mean, anyone who considers themselves a dreamer would agree, even if the odds of winning seem slim to none. I mean, I am not a gambler myself because I would probably be a sore loser if I lost anything of importance to me (especially money) due to the odds of uncontrollable luck. However, I still find the concept endearing so I often find myself searching for tv series and movies with a plot revolving around this idea. I managed to come across the hidden gem of an anime titled, Kaiji: The Ultimate Survivor is an anime catered toward younger adults and older centered around the plot of the extreme misfortunes of gambling.

The fictional story focuses on Kaiji Ito, an apathetic, yet entitled millennial who is barely staying afloat of poverty with a minimum wage job. Due to the country being in recession, our protagonist is unable to maintain a steady paying job and slowly declines into debt. Suddenly, young Kaiji is paid a visit from a debt collector named Endo. Unable to pay back the money he owes, Kaiji is forced to make a decision between two options; to spend ten years repaying his debt doing physical labor or to board a gambling ship in order repay his debt in that single night. What if you were granted a single opportunity that could lift you up out of your sinking life, clearing away all accumulated debt in the matter of a few measly hours? Becoming consistently bombarded with peer pressure from Endo, Kaiji ultimately boards the ship unaware of the full disclosure what the cruise ship entails. The ship is ran by a secret organization where people who are in similar situations of debt are provided with large sums of borrowed money to gamble in a series of competitive games but with the hidden risk of falling into consequences more fatal than debt itself; enslavement as a worker for the underground organization or even resulting into their death. The series quickly goes south, turning in to into a matter of survival for the main character as he must engage in psychological warfare amongst desperate antagonists who are willing to do whatever it takes to win.

One of my favorite aspects of the show is that the unlike most typical anime or psychological dramas, the protagonist does not have any sort of invincibility in his situations or “plot armor” that you would expect in most anime or television series. Kaiji Ito is not some extraordinary person with magical abilities or does not even have substantial gambling skills. He is just like you and me. It is almost as if his odds of winning most of his matches are 50/50 because it is almost impossible to guess the outcomes. The only thing that gives him an edge versus the other competitors is his ability to deeply analyze his situations assessing his odds and try to read his opponents bluffs. As a viewer you come to sympathize with the protagonist giving it his all to win and survive. It almost started to feel like I was immersed in the show, cheering him on as if his victories and losses were my own. The soundtrack alone is enough to get your heart pumping with its intense, horror-like sound while literally whispering the Japanese onomatopoeia for uneasy frequently in your ear. Now I know it’s long overdue but it is probably time that we address the elephant in the room: the art style. I understand that the bizarre art style and unpleasant character designs may cause any viewers to refuse to watch the show strictly because of it. The art style is extremely controversial amongst anime and manga fans, but I personally believe the style is fitting for the dramatic, emotional scenes paired with the gritty atmosphere and characters the show has to offer.

Kaiji: The Ultimate Survivor will always be considered a supreme gambling anime that knows how to engage its audience directly into its physiological warfare. The animated show manages to engross the triumphant highs of success and the depressing emptiness of failure within gambling. It manages to appeal to emotions and nerves that I never would expect an animated series to do so at my age as a young adult. It managed to take me on a rollercoaster of emotions that comes with gambling that gamblers at heart such as myself crave… without having to pay the realistic consequences of being dealt a losing hand.

#kaiji

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anonymous-cy-666 · 4 years

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Holy fuck, I’m in love!

This is something small that I did for my friend on our discord server. It’s inspired by a prompt and also by how we came to meet, a while back. It can be read as platonic or romantic LAMP! I hope you like it! Small disclaimer, there are some swear words in this so if this isn’t your thing... you won’t like most of what I write.

--------------------------------------------- For Virgil Dharke, it had all started a couple of months ago. He had been hanging out on Tumblr on a sleepless night, as he usually did when his roommates were in the apartment, and he didn’t want to bother them by turning on the TV in the living room when he had stumbled onto an ask blog.

Ask blogs weren’t usually his things. He didn’t want to try to find questions that would further the plot without putting the author in a bad spot or risk sending boring questions that would only be answered out of pity. But, he liked the drawing of this particular author, so he decided to read what was currently out and forget about it after that. After all, it was only two AM and, he didn’t have anything to do the day after. He had checked at least 10 times earlier to be sure that he absolutely didn’t have anything to do tomorrow. And, in a couple of hours, he had read everything that the blog had to offer him.

But instead of closing the blog and going back to Youtube to see if anything new had come out since he had last stalked his favourite Youtubers, he got out his graphic tablet and started drawing one of the side characters that had been presented on the ask blog. His hand was itching with a familiar sensation. As soon as he had started being engaged within the plot, he hadn’t been able to help himself but wonder how he would personally draw certain characters. How he could think of other clothes that would fit them or how he could put them in other situations. He didn’t stop until he was sure it was perfect. Then, he went on his own account and published the picture, too tired to overthink it and fell back into his bed. The next day, when he woke up and immediately grabbed his phone, he was greeted by a notification. The author of the Tumblr blog had reblogged his picture and suddenly, he was bombarded by comments and notes. He, of course, immediately went over to Janus’ room to panic. Since then, he had become a known figure on the ask blog. Whenever there was an update, people knew that Virgil or, as he was known then, PanicAtTheAnxiety would soon be posting something too. This was something that Virgil had grown comfortable with. After all, if he fucked up monumentally, he only had to disappear from the internet in a couple of weeks, no one would remember him because anyway, he wasn’t that important after all. But then, the author had decided to create a Discord server for anyone who wanted to discuss the universe with other people and the author themselves!

This, this had again, made Virgil race to Janus’ room. Of course, he wanted to talk about some of his favourite character with people other than Janus who was always critiquing the intelligence of some of the main character and Remus who always turned everything into a possible gory or horny scenario. But, what if people didn’t like him? What if they thought that he was boring? What if they saw the way that he typed when he wasn’t trying to be professional and, they didn’t want to talk to him anymore? What if they mocked him? What if it was all just a joke to make fun of him and there wasn’t even a discord server in the first place? Seeing the man going down in a spiral of anxiety, Janus just took the phone from his hands and made him join the server. That way, he would have no other choice than at least say hi to everyone before panicking again. Which he did and immediately got overwhelmed by comments on his fan art. Soon, Virgil had grown comfortable with the discord server. After getting to know them, he could now, almost, confidently say that most of the people within it weren’t so bad. He would even dare to say that he was considering some of them his friends. Now, instead of spending sleepless nights, scrolling through Tumblr, he would spend them talking with the people within the server. Well, mostly three people within it. First of them was Patton. He had been quickly nicknamed the dad of the server. He was always there to remind everyone to eat, sleep and drink enough water during their day. He also seemed to be easily offended at the use of ‘’potty language’’, so Virgil did his best to not swear too much when he knew that the man was connected. Talking to him was always like snuggling up a blanket.

Second of them was Logan. When he wasn’t busy question the logic of the characters actions, he was always there to debate with Virgil about whatever subject he pleased. For Logan, the problem with the existence with Mothman wasn’t the fact that almost no one had ever seen him, but that he couldn’t understand how the DNA of a moth and a human could merge together to form a living breathing being. Talking to him was always a breath of fresh air.

Third of them was Roman. He… He had been hard to get along with at the start. Even if they had similar passions, they never seemed to see eye to eye on anything. They were always arguing in the server, only stopping because they didn’t want to hurt their friends. Well, this had been until Virgil had discovered that Remus was Roman’s twin brother. Then, they had seen eye to eye on at least one thing; that Remus could be a such a pain sometimes. After that, their arguing match had somehow turned into friendly debating where they could say to one another if the other had gone too far. Talking to him was always like walking on embers without getting burned.

So, when it had all gone downhill, he should have known that it would have been because of Remus.

Virgil’s first mistake was that he had been sitting in the living room of his, Janus’ and Remus’ apartment with his wireless headphones on.

His second mistake was that he had been listening to his music with the volume a little too high up, so he couldn’t hear Remus returning from his nightly shift at the small venue that he worked at. His third mistake was that he was grinning like an idiot while texting Roman, Logan and Patton. Well, Roman, Logan and Patton were talking in the vocal chat and, they were texting him at the same time. That had, on more than one occasion, told him that he was free to join them if he wanted to, but he had refused. He… didn’t want to break what they had established with each other. So, he had been texting them when a hand had suddenly grabbed his phone. He blinked and jerked his head up, squinting at Remus who was looking at him with a mischievous smile on his lips. He had barely time to notice that the music had stopped playing in his ears when a calm voice reached his ears: ‘’....Virgil?’’ The anxious man immediately squawked and jumped on Remus to try to reach his phone again. Remus, being the tallest out of the two of them, kept his phone out of reach while starting to laugh pretty loudly. The same voice that had spoken directly into his ears a couple of seconds ago spoke again, still in that calmed manner: ‘’Ah, it seems that Remus has decided to steal Virgil’s phone. Perhaps he hasn’t noticed that the vocal chat option has been turned on.’’ This comment only caused Virgil’s determination to grow bigger and bigger while another voice responded in a worried manner: ‘’Oh no, that’s terrible! I don’t want to hear my dark son’s voice if he doesn’t want us to hear it? Do you think we should leave the chat?’’ ‘’Don’t worry, padre! I’ll call Remus to tell him to knock it off!’’ Trying to not concentrate too much on guessing whose voice belonged to who, Virgil finally managed to grab his phone and ran off into his room. He knew Remus wouldn’t follow him there. They had established that no one could enter someone else’s room without being specifically told that they could at this exact moment and this was one of the rare rules that Remus wouldn’t break by respect for his other two roommates. Once safe, he sat on his bed and bit his lips. He could close the voice chat and confirm in the chat what had happened, or… He muted his microphone, still leaving his headphones working perfectly, before typing in the conversation: ‘’Sorry guys, Remus was being a dick again’’

A shocked gasp that clearly came from Patton resonated in his headphones. ‘’Virgil! You shouldn’t text such things!’’ ‘’Sorry, popstar, forgot’’

There was, again a small silence, before the same calm voice that spoke first was heard again: ‘’Are you sure that you want to stay in the Voice call? Not that I want to imply that I don’t want you here, because I do enjoy your company, but you seemed certain of your decision to not hearing us talk.’’

This was definitely Logan. There was a certain drawl to his voice that Virgil immediately associated with the way that Logan texted. Finally, the last voice spoke up in a loud manner that seemed to be a family thing with the Princes:

‘’Yeah, emo! I thought you were too scared to hear our voices and fall head over heels for us!’’ Virgil snorted a bit. ‘’I changed my mind.

Plus, y’all have really nice voices

Except Roman, who’s surprised?’’

There were some giggles and an immediate undignified squawk from Roman and suddenly, everything was back to normal. Except, maybe, for the fact that Virgil had now beautiful voices in his mind of each of his precious friend. It stayed like that for weeks. Virgil would come on the Voice chat, but would only respond by typing. Sure, sometimes, it could be inconvenient, but he didn’t want to speak out loud. After all, he still wasn’t a hundred percent sure if they would understand the way that he pronounced his vowels. Or how his th sometimes sounded like s or t. They all seemed to like him so much. He couldn’t ruin that by talking like an idiot.

He was sure that he had a pretty strong resolve, but slowly, small comments by small comments, his determination to stay quiet seemed to falter. Even if they didn’t seem to do that intentionally, but they would sometimes make comment about how they imagined what his voice sounded like from the very short sounds that they had heard him let out when Remus would sneak up on him, himself being in the voice chat to let them hear his voice. Patton had even once told him in private messages that if it was that he was uncomfortable because he didn’t want other people that he didn’t know that much to pop up while he was talking, they could always another server to help him feel safe. And after all that, and a lot of night rambling about it to Janus, he decided to talk in the VC. It wouldn’t kill him, right?

It was a pretty quiet night when he finally decided to put his plan in action. There weren’t a lot of people active on the server that night and Logan, Roman and Patton seemed to be the only one that were talking about something else than the blog, so no one would interrupt them. He took a bight breath, before pressing send on the message that had been waiting on his screen for about 30 minutes. ‘’I have made a decision guys. I’m gonna unmute tonight.’’

The few seconds before Roman finished saying what he was saying and, they went up to read what he had sent them felt like hours, but the excited squeals that Patton made after reading it suddenly made it feel like it was worth it. ‘’Are you sure, kiddo? We wouldn’t want to pressure you into anything that you don’t want.’’ ‘’Yeah, I’m sure’’ ‘’Well then…’’ There were a few seconds of silence before Patton, soon joined by Roman, started chanting: ‘’Unmute! Unmute! Unmute! Unmute!’’ ‘’Could you stop chanting this ridiculous thing? This is clearly stressful for Virgil, we wouldn’t want to put any more pressure on him.’’ The voices all went deadly silent as Virgil pressed a trembling finger on his screen to unmute his microphone. He bit his lips, not knowing what to say, after all those months of pure silence. ‘’Virgil, it is okay if you do not wish to speak. I understand that you are uncomfortable with that idea and if you wish for more time, we will gladly give it to you.’’ Virgil took a big breath before saying in a quiet voice: ‘’No, it’s okay.’’ There was a moment of quiet before a loud thump resonated from one of the boys’ microphone and, they heard Roman screaming, away from his mic but still very clearly: ‘’Holy fuck, I’m in love!’’ Patton laughed a bit. ‘’I wouldn’t have said it like this, kiddo, but I agree with you! You have such a pretty voice, Virgil!!’’ ‘’Ah yes, it is indeed, quite pleasing to hear your voice… Will you do us the honour of letting us hear it again?’’ And, it was with a face burning from embarrassment and a heart getting slowly bigger and bigger with joy and a feeling that he didn’t quite understand yet, that Virgil slowly created himself a new normal.

#ts patton #ts logan #ts roman #ts virgil #ts deceit #ts janus #ts remus

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thirstyforbishiesimagines · 5 years

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Hi there I found your blog and absolutely love your work. May I request a eugene proposing to reader or him finding out she's pregnant. I think both would be super sweet

Why not have both? 😊 Eugene is a tiny bit out of character but I wanted him to be sweet in this. Hope you like it @winged-reaper and cheers for the request! ❤️

p.s. i heart bnha ❣

Can’t Wait to See You - Eugene x Reader

* original art from @bubbelteechan (go check out their blog! so much talent!)

Word Count: 1,317 { second edit }

Fluff

[ Can’t wait to see you! ]

You stared at the yellow sticky note on your front door and smiled curiously.

What’s he up to?

It had been a month since arriving at the Safe Zone and you’ve settled in your temporary home with Eugene. You had just come back from the Medical Ward and couldn’t wait to let him know about your news.

“Eugene! I’m home!”

You placed your belongings on the kitchen bench looking for the blonde and spotted another sticky note on the fridge.

[ Hungry? I got you a snack! ]

You giggled to yourself and found a frosted cupcake with rainbow confetti on top. You grabbed the naughty little treat and took a bite.

“Mmm…” You rolled your eyes in ecstasy as the delicious sugary cake melted in your mouth. Satisfied, you began your search for your boyfriend.

He’s probably taking a nap.

“Eugene?”

The bedroom was empty except for a cute little plushie sitting neatly on your bed. You picked it up, fawning over the stuffed duck. It had a little black cap on which instantly reminded you of that time you both played with the claw machine. You sat down on the bed and cuddled the toy, reminiscing on those bittersweet memories.

Where could he be?

You soon noticed red writing on the en suite mirror and frowned. Still holding onto the duck, you made your way to the bathroom and saw that Eugene had used your lipstick to draw a large heart and a note.

[ Come meet me at the lake. You know which one x ]

“I know you’re being cute and all, but why this one?” You observed the mess he made and let out a forlorn sigh.

You can’t let this get you down!

Shaking off the irritated feeling, you perked yourself up and smiled at his inscription. You’re not one to be materialistic and decided that this would not dampen your mood. Giving the toy a quick hug goodbye, you got yourself ready and headed out the door to meet Eugene.

Arriving at the lake, you found the blonde male napping at your usual meeting place with his cap over his eyes; arms folded over his chest, his hoodie resting on top of his head.

You gave him a little poke on the shoulder to wake him up.

“Took you long enough?” He yawned, “Man, I got so tired from waiting!” After stretching his arms, Eugene tipped his cap up - his lethargic amber orbs gazing up at you. Hands on your hips you scoffed, rolling your eyes in the process. You leant down and gave him a quick kiss on his lips, “Hello to you too!”

He yanked at your wrist, making you fall into his lap.

“Hi.” Smiling mischievously, Eugene tucked your hair behind your ear and then drew you into a tender kiss; his lips, breathtaking and always swoon worthy. You wrapped your arms around his neck allowing him to dominate you. Eventually you pulled away, humming lightly from his passionate greeting. You cupped your palm over his warm cheek, fixated on his adoring eyes.

“I have something to…” You had both spoke in unison.

Surprised by the unexpected words, you giggled. Eugene, slightly intrigued, urged you to go first.

“Ok… So, I went to see the resident doctor today.” Your boyfriend watched you intently and you suddenly felt nervous. Various scenarios bombarded your mind as you didn’t really think of the possibility that he may not be too thrilled with the news. You began fidgeting with the hem of your top, uncertain of how to continue.

“Don’t tell me you’re pregnant?” It was a rhetorical question with a hint of sarcasm but when Eugene saw your disheartened expression, his smile disappeared from his face. “Are you serious?”

“Well… We have a lot of unprotected sex, Eugene.” You avoided his gaze and inhaled deeply, attempting to calm your racing heart and emotions.

“Hey…” Eugene stroked your cheek with the back of his fingers, guiding you to look his way. You bit your lower lip anxiously and peered at him; his eyes were soft and apologetic. “I’m sorry. That was pretty dumb of me to blurt out.”

You burrowed into his neck, unable to stop the flood of tears streaming down your face. Eugene held you tight, combing his fingers through your hair soothingly. You were excited to tell him…

Maybe this was a mistake?

“What do you… What do you want to do?” You sobbed, trembling in his arms.

Eugene continued to comfort you silently, staring listlessly towards the beautifully serene lake. Several minutes had passed until he finally spoke. “We only just met several months ago but it feels like I’ve known you my whole life.”

Gingerly, you glanced up at him; his eyes smiling affectionately, a crooked smile plastered on his boyish face. Eugene gazed into your (e/c) eyes longingly, wiping your tears with his sleeve.

“I can’t imagine a life without you, (Y/N). When everything goes back to normal, I want to become a performer… I want you there with me and to always be by my side… I want to be there for you too.”

He rubbed your belly gently in a circular motion. You placed your hand on top of his; the corner of your lips curling up into a tiny smile.

“This is an unexpected detour towards my dream…” Eugene leaned his forehead against yours, his amber irises sparkling with endearment, “But having a family with you was also apart of that dream. It just came a little bit earlier than expected!”

Laughing softly together, you felt the anxiety dissipate off your aching chest.

“Definitely, a surprise…” Closing your eyes, you nuzzled his nose with your own.

Eugene drew closer, brushing his lips against yours. His warm breath tickling your skin gently.

“Since we’re on the subject of surprises… (Y/N)?”

“Hmm?” You didn’t know what to anticipate… His question or his kiss… You were yearning for the latter and he soon fulfilled your desire. Eugene captured your lips in a pleasurable, heated kiss. He traced his tongue along the inside of you upper lip and you welcomed it with your own.

“Mother of our little jelly bean…” Eugene panted between each kiss; his grip holding your head in place, the other still resting on your tummy.

“Jelly bean?” You giggled at the cute nickname as you continued to lavish passionately with his lips.

He pulled away ever so slightly, his chest heaving with happiness, “Will you marry me?”

Eugene fished through his jacket pocket and presented a small round container; just like the ones that you win out of a vending or claw machine. Your eyes were wide with bewildered excitement as you opened the plastic case. Inside was a dazzling silver ring and you clasped your hand over your mouth in sheer disbelief; happy tears rolling down your flushed cheeks.

“I’ve had this for a while.” He propped his head on your shoulder watching you with keen eyes. “I hope you like it… I was planning on getting a better one when I land a proper job and all…”

“Eugene…” You were breathless, overjoyed. You glided your fingertip over the shimmering band adoringly and then shot a look of astonishment at him. He beamed in return.

“I love you, (Y/N). From the moment I met you, I wanted to get to know you more and more. It may not have seemed that way to begin with but I did. You’re kind, caring and just, beautiful. How could I have not fallen for you. And now, finding out that we have a baby on the way, it only makes this day more special.” He eyed the ring and then back at you, earnestly. “So… is it a yes?”

You were smiling from ear to ear, over the moon from his confession.

“Father of our jelly bean, YES!”

A/N: Thank you again @bubbelteechan for letting us use your art for this cute little fic. It just fits the theme perfectly! ❤️

x mod bambi

#dangerous fellows #dangerous fellows eugene #dfel #dfel eugene #fluff #dangerous fellows otome #dangerous fellows blog #eugene #eugene x reader #character x reader #reader fanfiction #fanfic #fanfic blog #fanfiction #otome #request #dangerousfellows

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trinkerichi · 4 years

Text

feeling conflicted again uughh. long art ramble, kinda ns.fw mention under the cut

ive been drawing furry commissions for extra spending money lately cuz those ppl are LOADED and very generous about it. So ive been making cutesy chibi YCH bases!

but it’s the same problem i get EVERYWHERE else and im getting followed constantly by ppl like babyfurs and other fetishes like that (i cant tell if most of them are nsfw but its all uncomf to me) and sometimes i check the ppl who commission me and sometimes i dont. ive been very clear that i dont draw stuff like diapers or specifically fetish characters and so far everyone’s respected that, but i dont KNOW for sure yknow? And its been making me feel guilty because I know my art appeals to them. I draw cute stuff like care bears and chibis cuz its a comfort to me and I’ve been very openly against it being used for fetish stuff in the past.. But idk if ive just become used to it or what because I barely react when i see someone like that is interacting with my stuff now. It still BOTHERS me but i just expect it at this point. (And the last time i very openly stated how much it bothered me I was bombarded with shock porn in response so thats a thing.)

I just. I like that im making a bit of spending money by drawing chibi characters hugging stuffed animals and sleeping on pastel clouds, cuz thats the stuff i do best! But every so often i just feel horrible like I’m allowing my art to be associated with a fetish for babyish stuff. But even when i turn down a commissioner whos OVERTLY like that I STILL feel guilty for even HAVING an art style that attracts that kinda person! And I KNOW it’s not my fault! I developed the style I have with the intention of making it innocent and cheerful! But it feels... like I cant see it that way ever again.. I once had a week where I took requests to draw baby characters and I later deleted most of them because I was suddenly paranoid someone would assume I was a ddlg artist or something. That’s a worry I STILL have!

And this was a problem WAY before I started taking furry commissions by the way. I was accidentally tricked into fetish rps when i was still a minor and only used tumblr. And a few of the first commissions I ever did were for ppl who I later found out had secret abdl or baby pokemon porn blogs. The situation is actually a lot better now since I can lay out my terms and know when to deny people.

Ugh I dunno. I saw a younger friend earlier dealing with the same exact thing and just felt so bad for them... but at the same time felt guilty because I half feel like me continuing to draw stuff that I know attracts fetishists is Encouraging them???

Being an artist with an online presence is such a weird thing... All of this because I like drawing and think babies are cute... I hate how normalized all of this is. It can be really damaging to someone who’s just trying to make regular content...

#trinket rambles

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theangrypokemaniac · 4 years

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@its-whitetomorrow

I appreciate that you take the time out of your day to read my witterings, and respond to them in detail, but I'm somewhat intellectually limited and it takes a while to write an answer.

The final one is a bit of a problem. The original post is long, your bit is long, and my addition is probably twice both put together.

Did you know Tumblr has a limit: no more than two hundred and fifty text blocks per post? I discovered this from experience, unsurprisingly.

I think the only solution is to split it across several posts.

I wasn't going to say anything, but I suppose I should.

I started this blog last May, to relieve the boredom of my main embarrassment, whose only likes (all three of them) were from porn bots.

It wasn't even meant to be about Pokémon. I'd left the fandom years previously. It was odds and ends, but I happened to find a few silly screen shots so wrote a couple of joke remarks, not expecting a ripple of interest.

Within a couple of hours I got more notes than t'other's managed even to this day. I had the idea this was where I was more at home, so I started taking it seriously.

My pseudonym was just daft thing I'd made up previously, to reflect that, whilst still in love with old days, I'm not exactly pleased with how it's gone.

I thought it might stand out as memorable, plus I like acronyms, so it affords me the opportunity to call myself 'T.A.P.'

In the early days the focus was on the 'maniac' aspect. Anger as a description didn't fit at all. The farther back you go, the more stupid and clownish it gets. It's not been like this all the way through!

Seriously, it used to be an entertainment blog, designed to make people laugh. It's all ages: no swearing, no porn, nothing to put anyone off.

(This post under discussion contains the only profanity I've ever deployed. I thought saving it up might add some oomph.)

I mean it, it's was all light-hearted ridicule. Every so often, there would be a slightly cutting remark, but mild compared to now.

Then, last September, someone I spoke to regularly, who assured me we were friends, suddenly cut off all contact.

At first I wasn't aware of it, but by October it became too glaring a silence to ignore.

I thought rifts started because of massive disagreements, but as far as I remembered our last exchange ended normally.

I found out by accident that the reason for it was because I am repugnant and morally inferior and so swollen with my own ego that the existence of others doesn't register. Instead they are but soulless droids built to worship the great T.A.P. mollusc.

Well that was news to me. I had no idea I came across like that. As far as I knew, I was on my best behaviour when we interacted.

I was polite. I tried to be ingratiate myself. I kept talk to the fandom. I didn't pry. I attempted humour when the opportunity arose.

I thought I'd done all I could to be liked, but apparently I hadn't. It was a revolting experience for them, for all of saying they loved me and I was 'honey'.

It really, really, really got to me, and the feeling hasn't abated, if anything it's worse.

As I said, I don't know what I did wrong, and because I don't, I can't mend my ways. If I am this repellant waste of flesh I'd like to change, but if I'm not told my offence, what am I meant to do?

If what I thought was the best I could be wasn't good enough, and instead was so sickening I don't deserve their presence, then I have no idea how to interact with people.

Maybe every time I respond to someone, thinking I'm at worst, civil, is really grotesque conceit, because my arrogance is so extreme I'm not even aware it's there. In my head it sounds normal.

It'd be too easy to scoff that they were the one with the problem, but, given all the arguments that happen in life, it can't always be someone else's fault. It's got to be you at least once.

They obviously think they were justified, so who's to say they weren't?

You may say not to let it worry me, that I should just get over it, and you'd be totally right. Being bothered makes me feel pathetic and petty on top of the rest, but this is me you're talking to, not a sane person. Self-hatred is more instinctive to me than breathing.

I always dwell on the negative. If one hundred people were assembled, ninety-nine of whom declared me the most wonderful being ever to live, and one remarked I wasn't all that special, it's him I'd remember.

It's called ghosting because that's what happens. There comes a moment when you accept that, no, it's over, rejected again, and it's like realising I'd died, and had been gone for a while.

Except I hadn't noticed the process, so I was always dead in a way, and they spoke to the silvery silhouette left behind, until that too dispersed into untraceable nothingness. Again, the silence is my fault for dying, not theirs.

I feel there's no point in messaging anyone, because I'll only disgust them too. Some blogs encourage contact, and when I see it I always think:

Yeah, but they don't mean YOU.

If it's another person I already spoke to, I can't shut up. I bombard them with text in the hope they know I don't think they're a menial droid. Every one I immediately regret, and wish I could take back, because that will irritate them until I'm just a sad, nagging past.

The Ghost-Maker used to reblog 99% of my work. This dropped to nothing overnight, so not only am I worthless, but so is everything I do.

Posts G.M. didn't like got 0-5 notes. Ones they did had 20+. Many a time, it took their reblog for anyone else to notice.

It was like others used that blog as a filter to pull the fool's gold from the murk of this one. Once their favour evaporated, so did a lot of the goodwill from elsewhere, so it's was as if Tumblr agreed I was scum.

Saying that above just shows they were right, because it takes one smug bastard to believe their existence registers with anyone else.

Please don't think I'm demanding likes, that my stuff deserves them, although as I'm arrogant I am. It's just that 99% to 0% is a bit of a fall.

Up til then, I held back much of what I thought about the current state of the anime, as they liked it, but now I have no reason to stop.

If I'm to be accused of all these vices I might as well have them. I'm dead, so who cares what I say? No one listens to a ghost.

It's not that I'm unconcerned if I upset anyone, it's just the truth that I don't matter enough for what I write to be valued enough to offend.

As a ghost, I think of this blog as invisible. It's there, but not really, so how can anyone mind?

Incidentally, the first week I was here I got blocked by someone who hates all fans from the Nineties. I don't care about that, as they sound like a cretin, and I'd have to be defective to gain their approval.

I just want to say I find that moronic. I don't hate new fans at all. I wouldn't block someone because we disagreed.

Blocking denies people access to your blog, stating they don't deserve your ART. That's arrogant to me.

Blocker likes Ghost-Maker, but...

Ever since around October, I've progressively become angrier and angrier. Whenever I'm here or Pokémon enters my head, it just reminds that I'm pond slime, about the most crude, malformed half-life freak you can envision.

I don't like being here anymore. I keep intending to leave, the site and the fandom, and set fire to it all before I go, wipe away the slug trail to spare people's stomachs.

I kept quiet until now, but holding it in just made it more intense. If I may describe myself in ridiculously flattering terms, I feel like a shaken champagne bottle, but the cork is welded in, so the only option is for the glass to shatter.

If anyone's reading this, wondering where the fun went, well this is why I flipped. The red mist won't clear. I can't see beyond it.

I won't name Ghost-Maker, because I don't want to start anything, plus most will take their side. They may see this as they still rifle round these parts occasionally for posts that aren't mine.

Well done, Ghostie. You're the lucky one. We'll never meet and you haven't seen me. Pity the poor sods I've encountered. There must be vomit trails across the land provoked by my vile condition. I wasn't aware of this until you let me in on the secret.

There's an English television presenter called Caroline Flack. She killed herself yesterday and everyone loved her. I feel guilty that I'm alive and she's not.

#Pokémon #Tumblr

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dpillustrations · 5 years

Text

Game of Thrones Season 8 Episode 5: A Discourse on Communication and Storytelling (Part 1)

“The poet must stir souls, not nurture idolaters." - Andrei Tarkovsky

I feel compelled to talk about the latest episode of Game of Thrones. The reason I feel drawn to speak is twofold, because I am an artist and I love Art. It is my passion and my life’s work, and I am most particularly passionate about the Art of Cinema, which includes series and television shows. Entertainment, for the lack of a better word, although it is so much deeper than that word implies. It is my desire to see Art thrive in our culture, and more importantly I want to see our culture thrive because of its Art.

For this reason I would like to draw a valuable and crucial lesson from what has happened with HBO’s Game of Thrones and Weiss and Benioff’s series. I will not be addressing the story through technical criticism. I believe there are people more qualified than I to address those issues as I am not a storyteller (in the traditional sense) or screenwriter, so I will not be addressing story structure and development. What I will be focusing on is communication and storytelling themselves as well as the fundamental worldview that has poisoned this series and why the finale was false in every sense of the word and did not ring true in most of our hearts.

I will begin by asking you, my readers,

How do we tell stories?

Again, this is not about story structure and mechanics, but I’m talking about the very act of telling stories, which is, at its essence, communication. So in other words, I am asking, how do we communicate? There are multiple ways in which we communicate, but I want us to consider the very essence of communication and the how and why it is done. I am communicating to you right now through this blog post by arranging commonly understood words (English language) in a specific manner (grammar and syntax) through which I am communicating ideas. I am communicating for the purpose of transferring information that exists in my mind to your mind, desiring that there would be understanding between us. I would not start speaking to you, an English speaker, in another language not known between us and neither would I suddenly abandon sentence structure – the jumped white over rabbit box the – that is nonsense, is it not? It would be pointless and worthless to communicate with you in any other way than by commonly understood rules and structures of communication that exist between us. So, communication’s goal is understanding, we communicate to be heard. Communication is a forward moving action. We don’t want to stagnate or regress, but to progress in deeper knowledge and establish a connection between us. Now considering we are talking about a television series, let us lay out the commonly understood structures of communication through that medium:

- Language, through firstly the written, then secondly, spoken (by actors) word.

- Visuals which include: Composition (i.e. how a shot is framed) - What is actually in the frame (what is shown to us as the audience vs what is NOT shown to us), and Scene transitions (i.e. editing).

- Music

- Sound

With these fundamental elements is a story told through the moving pictures. Now if you will notice, storytelling through the Cinematic Arts is significantly more complex than communication done simply through words alone or images alone. There are layers and layers and layers of text and subtext through word, actor performance, sound, music, imagery, etc. It is mindbogglingly complex, yet at its core it is still working towards that very simple (though not easy) goal as any other form of communication, which is understanding.

Why do we want to be understood? We desire understanding because we hold a conviction that whatever it is we are communicating will be beneficial and/or necessary for the one hearing in order that something may be accomplished. Whether we are communicating something evil, “I hate you.” or something good, “I love you.”, whether positively or negatively, we are trying to give to our fellow person something that person can then take, process, and react to. We communicate at work to accomplish tasks. We communicate with our loved ones to develop deeper connections. We communicate from our emotional needs. We communicate in order to learn. There is an endless amount of reasons why we are communicating, but they all are done for that one goal - understanding which produces a desired reaction and achieves a purpose.

Storytelling, then, as a means of communication, is being told for a reason. It is communicating information and ideas that it might be understood by its audience and then provoke a reaction from said audience. We do not communicate from the vacuum or into the vacuum. We do not tell stories from the vacuum or into the vacuum. Therefore, story has meaning.

Bond of Union by M.C. Escher.

With this understanding, then, we now see that the fundamental elements of storytelling that I laid out above all have meaning. In every nuance of an actor’s performance, in the arrangement of words, in the notes of the music, in every aspect of a framed image, all these variables contain layers and layers of meaning. You cannot escape it. You are bombarded by it by every moving moment. The storyteller is speaking, and we the audience are listening.

Then we react.

Now, I am not going to go into the psychological and philosophical complexities of actually communicating successfully in any given situation, because we know that our perceptions play a key role in it. How you perceive the world is different than how I perceive the world, and so there are, unfortunately, so many ways in which communication can break down between us because of subjective experience. And if there is a communication medium that is very much made up of subjective experience, it is that of Art and Story. So, I am not going to go into the nuances because I want to focus on analyzing the literal communication structure of the Game of Thrones Season 8 episode 5 and lay out a case for its utter failure at communication which follows in its failure of story which then follows to its failure of being meaningful Art in any way at all.

Daenerys Stormborn

For the sake of time, yours and mine, I am only going to focus on Daenerys’ character and how she was treated in this episode because she is probably the most crucial point, being one of the main characters after all. In the episode we see her fully succumb to her Targaryen blood, going full “Mad King”, as she takes out all her rage and sense of betrayal in not being loved by the people of Westeros on the inhabitants of King’s Landing, laying waste to all the innocent people through fire and blood.

Now, Weiss and Benioff, as well as many Game of Thrones fans, say that this was inevitable, that Daenerys was always going down this route from the beginning, but the argument I am making is that that is just not true. At the very least this fact was not communicated to us successfully through the 7 seasons we have been watching, and I shall make my case as follows by using two scenes (for the sake of brevity) which outright contradicts this character conclusion.

Season 1 finale Episode 10 Fire and Blood

You know the moment I am going to bring up very well, that powerful and moving climax when Daenerys steps into her husband’s pyre and comes out with three newborn dragons. She is Daenerys the Unburnt, Mother of Dragons.

Why was this scene communicated to us as part of the story?

Remember as I just laid out above about the fundamental elements of storytelling, i.e. word, imagery, sound, music, etc - each element is strung and woven together for a purpose. What is this scene’s purpose?

I am going to rewind time back to this moment, we yet do not know what is going to come next in this story, but we are solely focusing on how this finale made us feel. How we reacted to what it was communicating. Of course, it makes sense, does it not, to study this finale within the context of what had come before within the first season? We can’t understand the end of the sentence unless we know the beginning. We must listen to the beginning, middle, and end of said communication because if we stop in the middle of our listening, we will be missing crucial information and communication will break down. There would be no understanding, no meaning, and therefore nothing gained.

We have now just established, then, how we understand.

Through context.

Context is how all elements are arranged in conjunction and relation with each other so as to convey meaning. You cannot just focus on one element, pick out one word in a sentence, pick out one scene, you need all the elements in order to effectively communicate and achieved your desire goal of understanding.

Okay, so what is this scene’s context?

We were introduced to Daernerys and her brother as the last surviving members of House Targaryen (or so we thought at this time). They have been exiled because of Robert’s Rebellion which overthrew the Mad King from the Iron Throne. So essentially, our protagonist starts out in a very low station. She is the “underdog”, and it is extremely low, as her brother is vicious and cruel towards her and she is treated no better than cattle to be sold off. Viserys makes a deal with Khal Drogo as means of gaining an army to take back the throne, and Daenerys is given to him marriage. Being Khal Drogo’s wife certainly doesn’t make our heroine’s life any better as she is forced in a traumatic sexual encounter with her new husband and she is miserable through the strain of travel, and there really isn’t any sign that Khal Drogo even cares about Daenerys and her brother’s purpose of regaining what they had lost. Yet as the story progresses we see Daenerys begin to work her way up. She learns to communicate with her husband and they even end up falling love, she gets pregnant (which culturally speaking is one of the highest and noblest functions for women), and she becomes empowered, able to stand up to Viserys and his cruelty. Our heroine finds her voice. She even successfully eats a horse’s heart, which for the Dothraki is an honorable feat and promises great things for her unborn child. Even at some point Drogo gets rid of her brother, so she is freed from his life long abuse. Things are looking up as Daenerys finds herself in an honorable and secure station in life. However, it isn’t long before calamity strikes again when Drogo becomes sick from an infected wound. Daenerys puts her trust in a slave woman captured by the Dothraki to try and help her husband, but things go from the frying pan into the fire when the woman betrays Daenerys using blood magic and is responsible for both the death of Drogo and their child.

Now rewinding back again, we were also introduced to Daenery’s dragon eggs which were given to her as a wedding gift at the beginning of her story. Dragons no longer exist, if they even did exist, so they are more ceremonial than real. However, Daenerys is drawn to these eggs, which seem to be inert stones, because of her Targaryen blood. She sees something within these eggs that encourages her to press on, to remember who she is. They represent hope for our heroine. And this story element has stayed with us through the entire season. It is only now, at the finale, though, that we see their true significance when in her despair, Daenerys takes her dragon eggs and sets fire to her dead husband, and then steps into the fire herself.

The next morning she is Mother of Dragons.

The reason I took the time to outline the events of the plot was to show you how the elements built on one another. How did they make you feel? How did you react to them? What did this story as laid out through words, Emilia Clarke’s acting, imagery, composition, sound, and music communicate to you? What did it mean? Did we not feel triumphant? Did we not feel wonder and hope? Did not all those elements strung together express suffering, perseverance, and transcendence? Did we not empathize deeply with Daenerys and her struggles? Did we not weep with her? Did we not cheer with her? I mean just look at our pop culture surrounding Game of Thrones – the endless amount of merchandise with “The Mother of Dragons” on it and what “Khaleesi” meant to us as fans. (We even named our children “Khaleesi” and “Daenerys”!) Why? What did her story fundamentally move within us that we reacted in such an ardent way? If we were supposed to understand from the beginning that she was only a psychotic murderer, then why did she inspire such affection within us? Did we not instead fall in love with a strong and deep feeling woman who held onto a dream and persevered through some of the worst possible atrocities in order to realize that dream in a more profound way than she could have possibly imagined?

If Daenerys was always destined to be the series’ tragic villain, then why did we fall in love with her as the series’ savior?

My own art piece Take What is Mine! Weiss and Benioff want us to believe that she was always meant to “take what was hers” through “fire and blood” very literally, but look at the title of the 10th episode of Season 1: Fire and Blood. How was the concept of fire and blood actually used in this scene? Through loss and sacrifice, yes, but then, - new life. She lost her husband and her child, but she gained a miracle, this supernatural event, three dragons. The impossible made possible. Life. Not death.

Season 5 Episode 8 Hardhome

For a non-book scene, this was such an excellently written and performed scene. I loved watching it so much. It was the meeting we were all waiting to have happen. However, we must once again consider the context. At this point of the story we have shifted to Tyrion’s point of view, but I use this scene as an example of what Daenerys means to Tyrion’s personal narrative.

“So here we sit, two terrible children, of two terrible fathers.” Tyrion’s place in the story is not unlike what Daenerys’ was at the beginning of season 1. He is in a very low place. He too has been exiled, a runaway who was accused and sentenced with murdering King Joffery, but an actual killer of his own father. Having been an outcast in society and within his own family, is now literally an outcast and he comes to Daenerys seeking a reason to live. He comes to Daenerys for hope.

We know of the mistakes Daenerys has made at this point, but we also know the wisdom she has exhibited from the advice of others. We have seen her passion for justice and setting slaves free, but we have also seen her mercilessness and her heavy hand of power. In this scene Tyrion points out both of these aspects of Daenerys, but he tells her that he came to see if she was the “right kind of terrible”, someone who could still maintain order and give stability to a kingdom. In the context of this scene, as we look at Daenerys through Tyrion’s eyes, we are in no way meant to see her as mad or cruel, but a deeply flawed, volatile, passionate, and noble woman. She is human, as all the characters of this show have been, neither wholly pure nor wholly evil. Yet it is her dream that sets her apart from the rest of the candidates for the throne, a dream that speaks to Tyrion in his lowest moment and inspires him.

Daenerys: Lannister, Targaryen, Baratheon, Stark, Tyrell they're all just spokes on a wheel. This ones on top, then that ones on top and on and on it spins crushing those on the ground.

Tyrion: It's a beautiful dream, stopping the wheel. You're not the first person who's ever dreamt it.

Daenerys: I'm not going to stop the wheel, I'm going to break the wheel.

A bold, powerful, and inspiring proclamation! Daenerys wants to stop “the game of thrones”, the petty squabbling of houses and vying for power. She wants to unite the kingdom under one ruler and bring about a better world for it. We believe her. Why? Because Tyrion believes her. Tyrion is also a dreamer just as much as Daenerys, he also values a better world. Are we to believe then that instead of this moment being a turning point for Tyrion, as it was clearly shown to be within its context, of him finally finding a promise and a hope of achieving something better than what has been, that it was actually all just a lie? Tyrion going from a terrible state to an even worse state: Delusion?

Where in this scene or in the rest of their scenes together was it indicated that Tyrion was delusional? In the elements - dialogue, acting, scene composition, the things shown to us in the frame, etc. In all those parts where was this feeling and concept conveyed to us to make a “delusional Tyrion” make sense?

It simply wasn’t, because he isn’t.

Do you see my argument? If Weiss and Benioff meant to communicate that Daenerys was “Mad King Targaryen” then why doesn’t her character conlusion make cohesive sense with these scenes? Taken in all of its elements, in its entire context, why isn’t this communicated perfectly and without question? Daenerys is one of the most crucial players in the Game of Thrones, her and Jon sharing prominence in the stories unfolding, shouldn’t we all, then, be in agreement on the meaning of the conclusion of her story?

Yet instead what Season 8 Episode 5 communicates is in direct conflict with the rest of the show and what it was communicating from the first. However, this episode isn’t the only place of conflict, there has been other moments in the show which showed this kind of disingenuous storytelling (Stannis and his burning his daughter Shireen is a good example this problem happening early on). Even the first half of Season 8 is in direct thematic conflict with the last half of season 8. Somewhere communication broke down terribly, and it simply isn’t enough for someone to point out this moment or that moment as proving Daenerys was always meant to end this way. ALL aspects of the show are communicating something to us, and so ALL aspects of the show must be taken into account and expected to be coherently saying the same thing as revealed by its whole. When we lay out Game of Thrones in all its seasons and its many elements it should be communicating “Daenerys Mad Queen”, but I have just proved that it wasn’t.

If you, my reader, truly believe this was Daenerys’ fate all along, then I ask you in earnest (in the spirit of communication and the desire for understanding) how do these scenes and the seasons they were contained in that I have just outlined above fit within that context of that narrative?

I have now come to the end of first half of my argument. The final question I would like to leave with you before closing is: what exactly is the end of Season 8 communicating? I hope that you and I can thoughtfully study this further. Thank you so much for reading and listening.

#game of thrones #game of thrones season 8 #The Bells #GOT #GOT 8x05 #daenerys targaryen #tyrion lannister #analysis #my thoughts

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ghoulboyboos · 6 years

Note

Prompt for your amazing blog which I only just discovered and are now in love with: Ghoulboys being domestic and soft unknowingly and when someone points it out, they either 1) freak out and try to deny it/ avoid each other until someone else like locks them in a room or something or 2) carry on being soft and make it “official” but don’t tell anyone so someone is like “why don’t you just date already” and they’re like “we are, haven’t you noticed?”

Oh god nonny you are too much!

On top of that, letme use this moment to mention that if you’re a boy in a close andin any way physical relationship with another boy, that doesn’thave to be a “gay” thing (But if it is it’salso chill ofc.) . Before I transitioned, I cuddled with myfemale friends all the time and we didn’t end up lusting after oneanother, neither with me as a girl nor a guy. It’s fine if you wantto hug your male friends or have any physical contact for them.Humans are made to seek out that kind of stuff.

That being said (lol), this is absolutely going to be gay, becauseI’m queer AF and need this kind of stuff in the world.

Thereare a lot of things that show that Shane and Ryan are best friends.Their banter is one of them, evenif it gets a little harsh once in a while.Sometimes, a fewof their fans get a little concerned sometimes and leave questionsabout if the two of them really are friends. But just as often, thereis a fan of the show laughing and talking about all the times theyargue and banter with theirfriends in a manner that would make someone on the outside questionif theirfriendship was true.Whether it’s Ryan or Shane who finds the message first, both theghoulfriends will end up giggling about it at some point. They neverquestion their friendship and dedication to each other. It isn’tjust Unsolved or the “kernelhead” solidarity. Ryan feels saferwhen Shane is with him on location. Shane feels more energized whenRyan is around him whenever they work. It’s the trust that comeswith knowing someone a long time that helps them chill out.

Theyare comfortable with each other.

Theydon’t quite notice yet,that some people think they might be “too” comfortable.

One night, Shane and Ryan are out at a bar with some colleagues. Ryanasks if it’s cool to invite a couple of people he knows, because hegets a text message asking about a good location to spend Saturdaynight. Everyone encourages him to invite his friends over and half anhour later, four people wander into the bar, looking a little lostuntil they spot Ryan. Introductions are made and Ryan, Shane andtheir colleagues shift at the table to make room for the peoplejoining them. It gets a bit cramped in the corner booth and Shaneuntangles his arm from where it’s squished and throws it over theback of the seat, right behind Ryan’s shoulders. Nobody who issober enough to check sees any indication that Ryan is uncomfortable.The arm eventually settles around his shoulders, holding him upwardsafter Ryan nearly falls into him, obviously drunk.

Shane shakes him awake and laughs when Ryan grumbles at him.

“I think the little guy had enough. What do you say, Ryan? Wanna gohome?”

Ryan opens his eyes a little and glares at him, but eventually, thelook softens and he closes his eyes and nods. Shane chuckles and letsgo of him to pull out his wallet and put some money on the table.People shift around and vacate the bench so Shane can slip out, onehand holding onto Ryan’s wrist until Ryan stands, a little wobbly.Shane pulls him against his shoulder and waves at everyone stillsitting.

“That was fun, we should do that again!” He jostles Ryan ever soslightly. “Ryan, say goodnight to everyone.”

Ryan works his eyes open and gives a smile and a half-hearted waveand Shane chuckles. He nods to the table before turning and pullingRyan along. His arm stays around the shorter man, maneuvering themsafely out of the bar.

One of Ryan’s friends turns to TJ. He looks a little confused.

“I didn’t know Ryan was dating… Shane was his name, right?”

TJ takes a sip from his drink and shrugs.

“He isn’t, to my knowledge.”

The other man raises an eyebrow and looks after the two. Then heshrugs as well and returns to the conversation on the table.

Taco Tuesday means that Ryan spends his entire break eating, becausehe adores tacos. It also means, that he’s usually not that hungryon Wednesday, suffering from a “food-hangover”, as he calls it.Ryan has been poking at his mac’n’cheese for the last fiveminutes, not really eating much. He mostly pushes the food around onhis plate. Jen takes a sip from her coke and shakes her head.

“Ryan you look like a toddler, stop that.”

She snorts as he gives her a playful look and scoops some of thegooey pasta on his fork, pretending to catapult it in her direction.

“I said stop acting like a toddler, jeez!” She giggles andlooks up.

“Shane! Help me! Ryan wants to bombard me with cheese and noodles!”

“Well we can’t have that.” Shane says, clearly amused. He haswalked over, possibly curious what the fuss was about. “Food wasteis a terrible crime.”

Ryan shuffles to the side so Shane can sit next to him. He’s onlycarrying his water bottle.

“Do you want the rest of my food?” Ryan asks as a greeting.

“Sure.” Shane reaches out for the plate, but Ryan suddenlyhesitates.

“It probably got my saliva in there, though, now that I think aboutit.”

Shane snorts.

“I don’t care, Ryan. I’m cool with soft germs.” With that, hepulls Ryan’s plate in front of him, picks a fork out of the cup onthe table and shovels a bite into his mouth. Ryan looks at him,shaking his head, but he is smiling.

Jen lifts an eyebrow, looking between the boys. When Ryan catches herstaring, she pretends to zone out.

Kelsey I. thinks that Shane is probably one of the weirdest people atBuzzfeed and that’s saying something. At the same time, he isreally funny so hanging out with him during the break is a lot offun. He is trying to explain to her what the hell is happening in theHot Daga at the moment, but she still doesn’t understand how thehell he even ended up writing a story about anthropomorphic food inspace.

“You know what, let’s just sit down in the lounge and I’ll showyou season one and you can tell me what you think.

“Isn’t that all part of your postmortems? Are you going to skipthrough a bunch of videos now?”

Shane laughs.

“Oh no, don’t worry. Someone on Youtube has made a mastercut ofthe complete seasons.”

Kelsey blinks. She wants to ask why the hell someone would dosomething like that, but it’s Youtube and there are weirdercompilations out there. So instead she just says:

“Of course someone has.”

The lounge is almost empty, except for Ryan who is leafing through astack of papers, probably a script, considering he is holding a redpen, ready to mark things on the page. He is sitting with his back tothe armrest of one of the sofas and his legs stretched out over allthe seats and he doesn’t look up when they enter. However, whenShane gets closer to him, he pulls his legs up to his chest and makesroom. Shane sits down without a comment and reaches out to pullRyan’s legs on his lap. Ryan doesn’t even look up and simplystretches out over Shane’s legs. Shane doesn’t address it in theleast, he simply pulls out his phone and looks to his right. There isa two-seater, perfect for Kelsey to sit down and watch the stupidanimation on his phone… and she is wondering why he didn’t justsit down there. She looks between him and Ryan and can’tquite hold back a little smirk. He looks up, clearly confused why shestopped in her tracks. She gives a little, meaningful nod towardsRyan and he glances over, looks back at her and… frowns. As if hedoesn’t get what she is insinuating.

Kelsey decides it’s none of her business in the end, even thoughshe’s curious. She sits down on the two-seater and allows Shane toshow her the madness that is the Hot Daga.

Snow on location is always a hazard. The crew has to take care ofboth their equipment and themselves, driving required extra care andwalking through a forest could get a little dangerous sometimes.

They are not filming at the moment. Mark has enough shots of themtaking in the landscape and they are all cold and want to get to theactual location as quickly as possible. Shane rubs his hands togetherto keep them warm. He keeps teasing Ryan, who takes the cold muchworse than him and Ryan snaps back about the snootiness ofMidwesteners, when he suddenly slips. Shane grabs his wrist andhoists him up, preventing Ryan from slamming into the ground. Ryanfinds his footing again, blushes a little because of the surprisedyelp he let out and pats himself down. Shane is laughing, but stillasks if Ryan is okay.

They don’t dawdle for long. Once Ryan is sure he found his footingagain, they press on. Shane is still holding onto Ryan, his graspslowly migrating to hold hands with the shorter man. Ryan doesn’tseem to mind, he even entwines their fingers as they walk on.

Behind them, TJ tilts his head to the side in confusion. Mark shootshim a questioning glance and TJ shrugs, not sure if he should commenton it. He doesn’t.

Ryan drops on Shane’s couch and kicks his feet up on the coffeetable. He grabs the controller of Shane’s PS4 and enters hispassword without even having to ask. While Netflix loads up, hescrolls through instagram, eyes widening at some of the fanart he hasbeen tagged it.

“Holy Shit Shane, we got some really talented fans. There is somuch!”

Shane carries a bowl of popcorn into the living room and sits downnext to Ryan, glancing over his shoulder.

“Oh yeah. Hey, I think I know this artist.”

He points at a take on “Demon!Shane”, which depicts him withblack eyes and the shadow of something big, winged and horned behindhim. Ryan chuckles and double taps the piece.

“I have to make a new fan art appreciation post, soon.” He musesand Shane hums in agreement.

“Hey, want to take a selfie to send them some good vibes?”

“Sure!”

They shuffle closer together. Shane puts an arm around Ryan and holdsup a thumbs up while Ryan leans his head against Shane’s so theyboth fit in frame. They take the picture of both of them squishedtogether on the couch, smiling widely and Ryan posts it with acaption:

“Hanging out with the one and only @shanemadej for movie night andthe ghoulfriend and I got distracted by looking at all the amazingart you guys are creating! Keep being awesome, we really appreciateyour support!”

He locks his phone and drops it on the table in favor of grabbing thecontroller and picking the movie. Shane sinks in the couch and kicksup his feet as well. Two pairs of legs stretch out in front of them.Shane’s arm hasn’t moved from around Ryan’s shoulder and onceRyan puts the controller aside and places the bowl of popcorn on hislap, he settles into it.

They don’t see the amounts of heart eye emojis and screaming theirinsta has until the movie is over.

“Ryan… uh, can I ask you something personal?”

Ryan is sitting next to Steven and they went for coffee on theirbreak. He shoots him a suspicious look that drags from the tips ofhis hair down to his shoes and back up again. Steven almost laughs.

“Sure..?” Ryan sounds very careful.

“Are you and Shane… a thing?”

“A thing.” Ryan repeats, deadpan. “Like, what thing?”

Steven huffs.

“You know what I mean. Are you two dating?”

Ryan groans and rolls his eyes.

“Not you, too. People keep asking me that. Why do people always askme that?”

Steven makes a face. It looks like he’s a bit done with Ryan’sshit.

“I don’t know. Maybe because you hold hands? Share food? Go hometogether when one of you is drunk?”

“How do you even know all this stuff?” Ryan says, a littleincredulous.

Steven just shrugs. “I don’t know, people. People talk.”

“Apparently they do…” Ryan rolls his eyes. “But no, we’renot a thing.”

Steven shoots him a look and Ryan sputters.

“I’m not lying to you, Steven!”

“I didn’t say that! I just- you guys go on movie dates-”

“They’re not dates. We both love movies and watching aloneis boring!”

“You walk around holding hands-”

“So do you and Jen sometimes and nobody asks if you are dating.”

Steven sighs.

“You know what? Maybe it was stupid of me. Forget it.”

“Already forgotten.” Ryan huffs and pulls out his phone.

He’s lying.

He can’t forget it now.

“Shane?”

“Hm?”

Shane looks up from the book he’s been reading. He is lying on hisbed with his head in Ryan’s lap. Ryan is sitting on the mattress,legs crossed and scrolling through social media. His hand is inShane’s hair, occasionally scratching the scalp.

“Are we… dating?”

Shane closes his book and looks up at him.

“Not to my knowledge.”

“Oh good.”

Shane frowns a little and Ryan laughs.

“Not- Not like good, I would hate to date you, just like…people asked me if we were and I assumed we aren’t.”

“No, Ryan. We aren’t dating. If we were, I would actually takeyou to restaurants, not head for the nearest Drive-thru.”

Ryan pouts.

“But I like fast-food.”

“Well then.” Shane says, opening his book again to find the pagehe stopped at. “Then, I guess, we’re kind of dating. Maybe?”

Ryan frowns at the air in front of him.

“Maybe?!” He echoes. “I think we should know if we are or not.”

Shane closes his book again. He sits up and Ryan’s hand drops outof his hair. Shane shuffles around till he’s sitting and facingRyan.

“Do you want to? Date, I mean.”

Ryan pauses and thinks.

“Not just… because people think we are, right?”

“No.” Shane chuckles and puts his book away. “I’m askingbecause I like you. And I think we would be a great couple.”

“Really?” Ryan asks, not sure if he’s surprised or not.

Shane shrugs.

“If you don’t want to, that’s fine. But… I kind of want to,if I’m honest.”

“Huh.” Ryan says, blinking. He thinks for a moment, with Shanepatiently waiting in front of him. Then-

“You know what? I like the idea.”

Shane smiles.

“Alright.” He says softly. “I guess that means we’re datingnow.”

Ryan laughs. “What, just like that?”

“Sure.” Shane shrugs. “What else is there to decide you’redating?”

Ryan eyes him up and down for a moment.

“Well, I guess we could try and kiss, for a start?”

Shane smiles.

“I’m into that.”

Ryan’s face splits into a grin.

“Cool.”

Shane shifts a bit till he sits right next to Ryan, their hipstouching. He places a hand on the back of Ryan’s neck and Ryan putsa hand on Shane’s knee as he’s pulled in. They meet in themiddle, their eyes slipping shut as they kiss and one of them makes asoft humming noise before they part.

“Shane?”

“Hm?”

“Let’s not tell the others just yet. I want to…”

“See them squirm?”

Ryan throws his head back and laughs. The sight causes Shane towheeze and drop to his side, propped up on one elbow. Once Ryan hashimself under control again, he leans in and braces himself over theother man’s body.

“Yeah. I kinda want to see them try and figure it out for a while.Is that too mean?”

Shane chuckles and rolls on his back, Ryan moving with him until he’sbracketing Shane with his arms.

“Never. I love it.” Shane admits with a slightly sadisticgrin and Ryan grins back, tongue pocking out between his teeth.

“Alright!” He says and leans down to kiss Shane again. Shane humsand smiles into the kiss, wrapping his arms around Ryan.

They post to instagram that night, with the single goal to mess withpeople. Ryan is sitting on Shane’s bed, legs crossed and lookingrelaxed and surprisingly chill for having a plush figure of one ofthe Hot Daga characters on his lap. Shane is taking the picture,sitting on the floor in front of his bed, with his back leaningagainst it. He gives an enthusiastic thumbs up.

The caption reads: “We got em!”

Not even a third of the comments address the issue of Ryanappreciating the Hot Daga. The reactions are occupied with differentthings. Including the very visible hickey on Ryan’s neck.

#shyan #Anonymous #ask #skeptic believer #domestic shyan

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fanatical-san · 6 years

Note

Omg 6, 22 or 24 for Drarry - I can’t decide which one as I think they’d all be amazing, so I’ll leave it up to you! :)

I have spent a day writing these, so I apologise if the quality’s really low. Fasting doesn’t really help, either XD

I answered 24 here for another person here, so you can go read it (AO3 version here). I answered six for you as a separate post here (and there’s also an AO3 version). And finally, here’s twenty two (which is also available on AO3): “Sorry.You’re the first person I’ve spoken to in ten years.” I’ve called the piece ‘Herbal Tea’. Yep, it’s one of those.

And yes, I answered them all, because I couldn’t help myself. A massive shoutout to @skarhead and @jostaart, though, because I trawled through their brilliant blogs for inspiration, and these three drarry fics are the result. Whilst they’re based on the prompt, not particular artwork, @skarhead and @jostaart was crucial for bringing my ideas to life! And um, I got a little carried away with this one, so some of it’s under a cut. I hope you enjoy it, and that it’s not completely boring. Here goes:

The November air is chilly, although the temperature isn’treally anything new to Harry, living in Britain. There’s something distinctlydifferent about it to October, though, and he takes a moment to pause andbreathe it in. He’s been doing that more and more; taking a moment to pause. Heneeds it nowadays, especially; ever since declining the position of Head Aurorand resigning completely, the press has been swarming around him insistently,which is a feat considering how much they regularly pester him about thecontinued absence of any romantic relationship. Hermione does her best to keepthem away, but it’s his problem to deal with, and deal with it he does.

Self-care is something he’s been neglecting for years now,trying to stay above everyone else’sstandards rather than his own. He should’ve been able to move on from the war,but his Mind Healer tells him that by throwing himself into the path of theDark Arts for a living, he’s been forcing himself to hang on to those toxicmemories. Well, not anymore, and he feels no obligation to explain it to anyoneapart from his friends and family, who wholeheartedly agree with him. At leasthe’s done that right.

Harry is rudely yanked out of his thoughts by someonerunning into him, full force. The weight of the person topples him over, andHarry is ready to give them a piece of his mind, before he looks up at a facethat, whilst having matured since he saw it last, is still shockingly familiar.

“…Malfoy?!” Ifthere was one person that would not have been found in Muggle Manchester, ofall places, it would be Draco Malfoy. Not only because Malfoy Manor was inWiltshire, and not even because he was in a Muggle area rather than a wizardingarea, but because Malfoy hadn’t been seenfor years. Most people assumed that he’d either remained reclusive within hisown house, or that he’d moved. Some hoped that he’d been dealt with, Harrybeing the polar opposite; he’d tried to find Malfoy multiple times, and forvarious reasons, with no success. He’d stopped himself from searching MalfoyManor, because it would’ve looked obsessive, and Ron and Hermione were alreadyworried for him.

And now, here he is, on top of Harry, looking terrified. Heclutches Harry’s jacket, and blurts:

“Potter, I know you hate me, but I will pay you whatever youwant to just get me out of here.” Hisvoice is rough and hoarse, and he seems more surprised than Harry is at hearingthose words. Harry wants to ask more, but at that moment, he hears the firstyell.

Malfoy’s crystal grey eyes look desperately into Harry’s,and something in him compels him to wrap one arm around the platinum blonde andDisapparate – straight to his house, which is under the Fidelius Charm. There’sno turning back now; Malfoy knows the location of his home.

Speaking of Malfoy, the man is passed out on his sofa. Hishair is expertly ruffled, and falls in waves around his angular face. He’slean; too lean, as if he hasn’t been eating well. Whilst he wears designerclothes (Muggle, strangely enough), it’s apparent that he’s been wearing themfor too long.

As dishevelled as he is, Malfoy still manages to look…angelic, almost, which is unsettling,because Malfoy is not an angel in any way. He decides to leave him for now,although questions are buzzing about his mind. Harry knows from experience thatit’s never a good idea to dwell on such thoughts, or to bombard a person withquestions after they’ve passed out.

Harry instead decides to make some hot drinks. Luna showedhim a wonderful recipe for various herbal teas that work different calmingeffects into a person, so Harry begins brewing a certain tea that has specialsoothing properties. Harry loses himself in the rhythm of stirring and addingingredients, to the extent that he doesn’t notice Malfoy until the blonde isstanding next to him. He says nothing, choosing to let Malfoy speak when he’scomfortable to.

It’s a surreal situation; standing in a cosy kitchen, thepeaceful aroma of herbal tea filling the air, with Malfoy by his side. It’s notunwelcome, though; Harry finds that he doesn’t mind the company. Malfoy clearshis throat.

“You may possibly have the most uncomfortable couch I’ve ever crashed on, Potter.” His voice isweak, but his tone strong, and Harry is briefly reminded of a darker time, andthe words, ‘I can’t be sure’. Hepushes it from his mind, and addresses Malfoy.

“Nice to see you haven’t changed, Malfoy.” He says itquietly, but Malfoy freezes at the words for a second, before replying.

“Sorry. You’re the first person I’ve spoken to in tenyears.” Harry drops the spoon, startled; he’s not expecting to hear that at all. Malfoy deftly catches thespoon, though, and takes over brewing. “That’s quite an advanced magical tearecipe you’re making, Potter,” he says absentmindedly. “Consider me impressed.”

Harry still hasn’t quite absorbed the information, and heknows it’s a bad idea to ask, but he does it nonetheless.

“Malfoy…what do you mean, first person you’ve spoken to inten years?” Harry speaks slowly and hesitantly, not sure how Malfoy is going toreact. The blonde simply scoffs.

“Potter, I’m not an injured kitten. You don’t need to usethat tone with me.”

“Sorry.”

“You’re still doing it.”

“Sorry?” Harry doesn’t want to overstep his boundaries; heneeds to avoid Malfoy closing off. The kitchen is quiet for a minute or so, thesilence broken only by the soft swish of the tea being stirred.

“Thanks, though,”Malfoy says after a while, his voice softer than before. “for helping me getout of there. But I don’t want you to treat me like a trauma victim.”

Harry doesn’t know if it’s right to respond, so he doesn’t,but gets two mugs out of the cupboard. Malfoy pours the drinks, appearingrelaxed, but Harry doesn’t believe that he’s just suddenly alright.

“Yeah, okay. But I’m not going to tell anyone anything youtell me. What you say here stays here, I swear. So, try to trust me, even ifit’s only for now. Please.” Malfoy sighs.

“Do you have a better place to talk?”

Snowflakes fall lightly, and lights twinkle in the distanceas he and Malfoy sip their hot drinks out on the balcony.

The balcony is one of the perks of Harry’s home, one hewasn’t quite expecting. It’s spacious, and with a few waterproof charms,warming charms, as well as a few select beanbags, it’s become one of hisfavourite spots in the house.

“And I just stopped trying. There were so many people afterme. I would stay over at Blaise’s, or Pansy’s, or Greg’s, never sayinganything, but they were probably the only reason I survived. It was never safeenough, though; I had to keep moving constantly.”

“The DMLE got rid of all the members, though; we trackedthem all down. It was a major investigation at the time.” Malfoy laughsbitterly.

“The Aurors got rid of the main body. They had hired peopleto carry out their dirty work for them. As you know, some of the leaders werein too high a position to have each target killed personally. The people afterme were some of those employees, still intent on revenge.” Harry groans,frustrated.

“This is a whole other issue. How many were there?” Malfoy’slooking out over the other buildings, and something about the sight draws Harryto him.

“About thirty-five,” he says. Harry can’t believe thatMalfoy was able to survive that many trained killers after him especially. He’sabout to reply, when Malfoy continues. “I don’t blame them. I can’t beforgiven.”

“Malfoy-”

“Draco. Call meDraco. We aren’t kids anymore.”

“Draco,” Harry corrects himself, turning to face himproperly. “the people hunting down ex Death Eaters are the ones in the wrong.It’s the kind of behaviour that started a war in the first place. And I forgaveyou years ago; you are most definitelycapable of being forgiven, but you have to forgive yourself first. No-one else can do that for you.”

Draco chuckles.

“When did you become so sappy, Potter?” Harry rolls hiseyes. Of course Draco isn’t going to take it seriously. These are words comingfrom him after all.

“If I get to call you Draco, you get to call me Harry.”Draco shoots him a pointed look.

“Fine then, Harry;where is this all coming from? Younger you probably would’ve told me that Iabsolutely can’t be forgiven and thatI’m being pathetic. What changed?”

“I grew up,” Harry answers seriously.

“You mean you grew older.You’re still really freaking short,” Draco teases.

“Shut up,” Harrygrumbles in response, but he’s smiling.

“Are you sure about this?” Draco asks sceptically, surveyingthe room. It’s well furnished, with an ensuite and all. A king-sized bed stands proudly in the centre, with lusciousred curtains surrounding the four-poster bed.

“Draco, Narcissa wantsyou to stay with me. I’m not going to say no to her. And besides, now that youaren’t as bigoted, you’re actually a decent person.” Draco sighs in defeat,answering back nonetheless.

“Since when were youso chummy with my mother?” heretorts. But Draco full well knows that this is the safest place for him. Hismother was brave enough to approach the Saviourof the Wizarding World, of all people, and who’s Draco to say no to somerefuge?

Plus, Harry himself is a bonus. Gone is the scrawny,righteous kid that Draco always despised. He’s not actually grown that muchtaller, but it suits him. Years of Auror work have served him well, buildingsome muscle and defining his jawline, and Draco has found himself staring moretimes than he’s comfortable with.

“Are you really going to throw a fuss about this?” Harry asks with an eyebrowraised, and Draco smiles sweetly.

“Of course not, oh Saviour.” Harry punches him in the armlightly.

“I’ve told you not to call me that, Ferret.”

“Whatever you say, GoldenBoy.”

“Prat.”

“Scarhead.”

“Are you two really bickering at this age?” Narcissa says, appearing from the stairs. “Anyonewould’ve thought you two were still schoolboys. Now,” she says, addressingDraco, “are you all settled in?”

“Yes, Mother,” Draco replies, earning a look from Harry.Narcissa doesn’t seem to notice this when she turns to him.

“Please tell me if he causes any sort of trouble. I know howpicky he can be.” Draco splutters.

“Mother!” Narcissa only smiles knowingly at her son,sweeping him into a hug.

“You know I love you, Draco. Stay safe for me, darling.”Draco hugs her back for a long moment, flooded by how much he’s missed her. Shepulls back and looks at him. “You’re safe; Harry Potter is looking after you.”

And aren’t those just the words that he never imagined hewould hear?

The first time Harry wakes up next to Draco is over a monthlater, on Christmas Day. Well, wake upis relative term. It’s much more accurate to say that he’s forced awake by aparticularly grouchy Draco yelling in his ear. He opens his eyes blearily tofind that he’s lying on Draco’s chest, arms wrapped out around him. Harry turnsa bright red and scrambles back, embarrassed and confused.

“Draco? What are you doing in my bed?” Draco’s cheeks becomea matching shade of red.

“You forgot to put up those Silencing Charms last night.” Oh shit. “You were screaming, and I cameto wake you up, but you, uh…you seemed to want me to stay. So I did.”

If the ground could just open up and swallow him, that wouldbe wonderful.

“Yeah, um…sorry about that.” Draco rolls his eyes.

“Don’t fucking apologise, Harry; it was my own decision.”Harry tries to respond, but ends up yawning, making Draco smile a little.

“What time is it, anyway?” Harry asks, rubbing his eyes inan attempt to feel more awake. It doesn’t work.

“Six a.m.,” Draco replies smoothly.

“What?! Why the hell would you wake me up so early,Draco?” Harry complains, but Draco simply leaves the room. Harry follows him,demanding an explanation. They end up in the living room together, where Dracopoints to a present under the tree that Harry is certain wasn’t there before.It’s addressed to him. Harry hesitantly picks it up.

“I don’t know if you’re waiting for next Christmas,” Dracodrawls, “but I’d recommend you open it.” Harry doesn’t say anything, butcarefully pulls the ribbon off, and not-so-delicately gets rid of the wrappingpaper. Inside is a perfectly sculpted crystal snow globe, with two miniaturefigures inside it, sitting on a balcony and sipping drinks. Harry stares at it,transfixed.

“Here,” Draco says, gently twisting a key on the side of theglobe. Soft music begins to play, and the figures rotate slowly.

“Draco,” Harry breathes. “It’s…it’s gorgeous. You didn’t have to…”

“I thought it would look good on the mantelpiece,” heresponds simply, placing it there himself. He turns back to Harry, trying togauge Harry’s next move. “Well…Merry Christm-oof!” Harry tackles him to the ground in a bearhug, and they staylike that, until Harry pulls back slightly.

“I don’t know about you, but I’m frankly still knackered.Wanna get some more sleep?” Draco grins at him in a way that makes Harry’sheart clench ever-so-slightly.

He doesn’t know whatit is exactly, but Harry does knowthat this is the beginning of something great.

As they go back to bed, comfortable in each other’s embrace,snowflakes begin to fall softly outside, just like on the very first day thatthe universe threw Harry and Draco back together.

Yes, it was fricking long. Hope you liked it, though! Have a lovely day

#drarry #harry potter #draco malfoy #drarry fluff #sharing a bed #living together #hurt/comfort #narcissa malfoy #fic requests #jay writes fics

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make-it-chibi · 6 years

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Fall of Tumblr? (Update)

Yo, so I haven’t properly been in this hellsite for some time and just occasionally come in to reblog stuff and post art, but with the literal dumpster fire we’re in I think I should give an update on what’s gonna happen to this blog (my artblog will have its separate post) after Dec. 17th. OOTD Pictures: I haven’t posted OOTD pictures in a very loooong time, months, maybe getting close to a year soon. Why is that? Instagram is much easier for me to post my OOTD pics, it does get some reach, likes and even comments. Plus IG for me is where I basically dump the pictures I like and you can see some peeks of my personal life. But mostly, it is just my personal IG for fashion and share my outfits and follow others who have a similar style and alternative people. So with that said, I will NOT be posting anymore OOTD pictures in here, especially after this shitstorm and how Tumblr fucked over adult content creators and us artists. If you want to see my outfits and pics, the link to my IG will be below this and sorry if you initially followed me for fashion but got bombarded with shitposts. It’s final and I don’t care what anybody says, my fashion/outfit pics stays in IG. LINK: https://www.instagram.com/make_it_chibi_closet/ Where to Find My Art: As some of you may know, I do have an artblog here on Tumblr by the name of “make-it-chibi-art” but now that again, Tumblr fucked us artists and there’s a huge migration going on (mostly to Twitter and/or Newgrounds), I will post my art Instagram here where you can see my latest artwork. I tend to disappear there too but after Dec. 17th I’ll try to be as most active as possible when I have the time. Since we’re scrambling to find a new art platform to share our works, for now that is the only place where you can see my art. (I would share my Twitter but it’s my personal one and my art gets overshadowed by all my shit posts lol). LINK: https://www.instagram.com/make_it_chibi_art/ *NOTE: The rest related to my art will be in a separate post in my artblog that I will reblog here so my followers here can see too.* Will I Leave Tumblr? The question is up in the air, but for now even after Dec. 17th, I will remain here but not as active as I used to (as you guys can see), I will shitpost and reblog whatever it’s still saved from the flags but don’t be surprised if my account suddenly disappears now that those bots have even nuked accounts too. Lots of my favorite artists are moving platforms and leaving this one behind, but there are some that will still stay but of course won’t have as much of their all content compared to before, and that’s alright. So no, I won’t close this account nor artblog but I won’t be as active neither, I’ll basically be like a ghost just liking and reblogging stuff until the site decides to shut down (or try to redeem themselves, which the damage is done and is way far from repair). So that is all I’m gonna say about what awaits this account, it’s really annoying that Tumblr never listened to us nor cared/did anything about the p*rn bots and cp we have been reporting for years. But now that Apple cut them off, they want back in ‘cause money and of course had to set literally everything on fire and ban adult content, fucking us over and even flagging literally everything, including their own “new safe/improved space” post lmao. But yeah, will it suck if I lost all my follows after all these years? Yeah I will, plus thanks to Tumblr I met two best friends but luckily we have other ways to talk so fuck you Tumblr, thanks for fucking us over. You will not be missed lmao.

#update #tumblr purge #seriously fuck this site lmfao

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sketchesofsam · 6 years

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The Illustration Master Class - A First Timer's Journal

This is a long blog post. It's mostly for my own purposes, but also for those who want an in-depth look at what being at the IMC is like. I have some pointers for first timers, things you might not think of and things to consider in advance. They'll be at the end of the article. I want to thank Dave Palumbo for allowing me to use a couple of his amazing photos too, he's a talented SOB.

probably won't forget the moment my Facebook messages suddenly started pinging off. 'Congrats Sam!' 'Hey Sam, you won!' I distinctly remember thinking, hmm, what did I win? Did I enter another twitter giveaway or something? Then someone followed up with 'you won the scholarship!' It took me a moment. Then the chat I was in the middle of with my other half suddenly filled with lots of expletives and capitals on my end. Holy shit. I'd won the Muddy Colors scholarship to the IMC, something that had been a long-term wish of mine since I'd found out about it 5 or 6 years prior but hadn't ever had the funds to attend. So to find out that my entry to their scholarship program - through the generous donations of the Muddy Colors Patreon - submitted on a 'what have I got to lose' mentality that was still shadowed by the fuzzy sting of not getting into Spectrum, had scored me the full cost of the course. I'd honestly forgotten I'd applied. Let that be a lesson to those of you who hold back on submitting to things, especially the things that are free. It's always worth a punt.

So what's it like to go to the IMC? I can tell you that winning the scholarship made the pre-IMC thumbnail assignment a lot more stressful than if I'd paid for it. The weight of imagining disappointing the people who had seen my work and voted for it - artistic heroes of mine - was pretty heavy. It made me feel like I couldn't just go and do the same thing I'd always done, even if it had won me the scholarship. Before I started drawing, I reconsidered my influences. I'd started a secret pinterest board a few months back simply called 'Ho Fuck That's Good.' Stuff that gave me a gut punch when I looked at it. I spent a lot of time looking at those images and a lot of the others I had pinned. I stopped paying attention to work that I simply found technically impressive, that had awesome composition or great values. I looked for what moved me. Why it moved me. I started making notes about themes I found compelling or that cropped up a lot in my own work. I decided I wasn't going to do just a straight up realistic narrative Whaler Girl piece, I was going to try and make my own work be more like that which moved me. A risky, and perhaps somewhat dumb move, given those same realistic, narrative images had won me the scholarship.

We were asked to provide 4 or 5 thumbnails, either of our own choosing, or from an assignment provided, such as an illustration to accompany a short story, the likes of which are often published on Tor.com. With themes like duality, death, grief and love in relationships crowding my brain, I created a lot of thumbnails. I wasn't going to take the first 3 or 4 that came out. I did about 20 in total and narrowed it down to the 6 I felt most attached to. Some of them even had hints back to The Whaler Girl in a very asbtract way. They'd come out better than I'd hoped for and I could see a tiny glimpse of the sort of painting I might get out of it. It made me excited to put them in front of my chosen faculty member.

We were asked to pick a top 5 from the vertiable smorgasbord of faculty. That was hard. It turned out that most people got grouped with their top pick and that dictated who the other faculty were that would give you feedback. I suspect my pick would have surprised a few people. Kent Williams was actually the instructor I was least familiar with, but researching his work, especially his most recent work, it hit the same kind of buttons that my inspiration board had. His work felt emotionally personal and while I knew I didn't want to necessarily paint like he did, I felt he might be able to give good feedback on how to tap into that sense of the personal. Perhaps someone who could help keep me on track with the first wibbly steps I was taking with my own work. I count myself lucky to have landed in the group with Rebecca, Kent and Tara (McPherson).

I wanted to make a good first impression, but there were so many approaches to the dreaded 'crit day'. Some folks brought only one or two finished colour thumbs, some folks just had small, traditionally drawn thumbnails, occasionally done on arrival the night before. Some brought photo mockups of the exact piece they wanted to work on. All approaches got good feedback. I'd been forewarned that crit day could be rough, but I think the Studio 201 guys were pretty chill. I did peek my head in on the other two rooms briefly. Donato, Greg Ruth and Scott Fischer were all highly animated and I've been told often argued with each other's feedback. Dan Dos Santos, Irene Gallo and Greg Manchess were part of the group that, from chatting to folks, seemed to get the most direct feedback.

I was a little surprised when there was no tracing paper used during my crit. All three faculty members responded favourably to what had been my favourite thumbnail, despite its weirdness. No direct suggestions other than resolving the shapes in my minimal, non-figurative space (that minor bit of feedback would come to haunt me by The Thursday of DOOM, but I'll get to that later). Inspirations like Inka Essenhigh, Hope Gangloff and Dorothea Tanning were thrown my way, I loved all three for very different reasons. It was safe to say inspiration was running high and I had a tonne of positive energy to run with.

I felt like I was well prepped going into the IMC, but I wasn't. Choosing to go full traditional when having to fly internationally was a pain. I didn't have a lot of the stuff I needed and had to rely on the infinite kindness of my fellow students and faculty to see me through. Stephen, Annie, Chris, Julia, you were all lovely, I can't thank you enough.

My Tuesday started with James Gurney sat at my breakfast table. That was surreal but awesome. He and his wife Jeanette are as lovely two people as you could hope to meet, full of insight and always taking notes. The previous day's lecture on photo reference was flowing through my mind and I dreaded having to ask fellow students. My figures were both nudes and that wasn't something I was comfortable with, though I thought perhaps I could take individual legs and arms and use a little online ref to fill in the rest. I wish I'd drummed up the courage to ask my fellow students, but that particular social step eluded me the whole week. I spent the day instead with many sheets of tracing paper, figuring out What marks were what. I had discussions with Greg Ruth and Donato Giancola about how to find those shapes and make them fit in my piece. You have to figure out who to listen to, and whose advice to stash for a later date. You get bombarded with advice if you go in as open-minded as I did. I'd thrown myself into a pool I should have been paddling in first, pretty much at the very public deep end. I'll admit I found ways to put off getting to painting, as it was only the 2nd oil painting I'd done in the last 20 years and the company I had in the room was stellar and a little overwhelming. Eventually, I chose to redraw via a grid so I could edit as I went along and I used some reference I shot of my own limbs to help flesh the drawing out. I left Tuesday feeling reasonably positive about the work.

Wednesday was a full day with faculty feedback, up to the first 5 pm lecture. Dan Dos Santos, who is perfectly lovely, but also very honest with feedback, stopped by my easel. Overall, very complimentary, he pulled me on a bit of weird anatomy, that after using a lot more photo ref with the rest of the piece, had begun to stand out. He suggested I grab Rebecca after our discussion. I'd responded best to her feedback, as she seemed to understand what I was trying to do, so I grabbed her after lunch. She immediately told me the leg and anatomy I'd had in the thumbnail had been working, and that if I liked the weirdness (which I did) to go weird with the rest of the piece to make the leg fit. Literally the opposite of Dan's feedback. Feedback is such a personal thing, every instructor has their own view of art and own journey. I'd probably tried to take a little bit of everyone who'd stopped by and given feedback and every little bit had nudged me slightly off the course I'd intended to take. Dan's feedback was spot on, if I'd been after something with a solid grounding in realism, but I wasn't. I was after an emotional feeling rather than muscles that looked like they fit where they were supposed to go. Rebecca suggested I just print the thumbnail out, mount it to masonite and paint on that. But resolve my shapes first.

That led me to ask Tara for advice and after some back and forth, I thought I knew where I was going, and decided rather than be tied to the values I'd got in the thumbnail to start with, I'd trace down the printed thumbnail and resolve my shapes. All went well, I got the drawing on the board, and aware of the ever-ticking clock and my ability to get feedback on my painting process, I was keen to get started the following day.

I nick-named Thursday 'Thursday of DOOOOOOOM' in my sketchbook notes. With that many 'O's'. It started well, with my sketch on my illustration board, I figured I'd use acrylic underpainting to speed up the process, then seal with matte medium and start on top in oils. I'd brought a lovely lime green and violet with me, my underpainting was done in warm purple-reds as a counterpoint, and I was winging it. It felt good. I stepped away for a bit before lunch and came back after to the horror of a C-shaped warped board. A brand I'd not used before, I hadn't been heavy with it at all. I threw some matte medium on the back in the hopes it would pull itself out of the curve, but it only stiffened. I think panic set in at this point, I knew there was no point in doing more on the board, but I'd been stubborn over mounting the printouts I'd done. Old dog, new tricks and all that.

Distraught, I knew I had no choice. I slunk off to the back of the studio and tried not to blub my eyes out as I tried a totally new method of mounting with less than perfect tools. Flustered, my hair constantly got stuck in the medium, making me even more panicked that the whole thing would be a disaster and that I'd missed the last supply run and would have to face the very public shame of asking someone for actual help. If there's one thing I hate, it's not being self-sufficient. My fellow students would have happily helped out, but shame is a pretty powerful emotion, it tends to rule what you do. I prayed the mounted paper wouldn't need a 2nd sheet mounting on the back to counter the drawing mounted on the front. At best, in the blazing sun, this stuff would take a couple of hours to dry to the point I could paint on it. The wind did its best to prevent me from stacking the board outside and in my hours of deepest bleakness, I figured that maybe if it blew over into the dirt and insects, I'd say fuck it and make them part of the fucking thing too. It was also at this point I realised the printouts had cropped the two thumbnails I'd chosen to work with, altering their composition drastically. My own dumb fault for not setting the page size up properly in the printer. One more shame I'd suck up and live with. I wish I'd asked for help. I think knowing the pieces weren't what I'd initially intended broke my ability to give them my full attention and killed my mojo for the next couple of days. My anxiety rats, as Rebecca delightfully referred to them, were in full swing.

While I waited for it to dry, I headed back into the studio and mentioned to Rebecca I'd given in with the curved board and mounted the thumbnail and would she have a look over what I'd chosen to do with the background. Rebecca is gracious and lovely and patiently listens to me explain what I've done. Then she points to some of the graphic elements I'd put in and gently says that they still feel too literal and forced, that the motifs I choose should be something I relate to closely and that it doesn't quite live up to the right hand, figurative side of the painting. I suggest a couple of other ideas, feeling a scrabbling panic bulding in me, only to hear her tell me everything still feels too literal. My logic brain knows she's right, but after a distraught morning, I'm clasping at any straw I have to salvage the situation. I don't know if it showed, and she saw that I was struggling with it or if it was just honest feedback for the moment, but at that point, she looked at me and said 'maybe this piece is a step too far for you right now, maybe you should do the other piece, if that's something that's more comfortable for you.' I think I agreed with her, nodded and extolled the virtues of taking a step back into my comfort zone, getting a painting I knew how to do done was a good thing, yes? But damn if that wasn't a kick to the gut at that very moment.

She was absolutely right, though. I'd throw myself into a deep pool, with people who were olympic athletes at diving its depths, and in the course of a week expected to be able to at least dive a good distance with them. I'd been able to get my head underwater with my well-planned thumbnails, but in this overwhelming, information packed, inspiring, public test of artistic mettle, I'd punched above my depth, so to speak. Trying to shift gears artistically when you have your own space and the time to find your journey is one thing, I don't know if it can be done in a week, no matter how much amazing input you get from your artistic heroes. Chris, Erin, Annie, I'm sorry if my energy those next 48 hours was a bummer, it wasn't a place I was familiar with being.

Kent Williams came to the rescue of my very bruised ego that evening with a talk about his personal journey through art. Indirectly, seeing the bredth and depth of his work over such a long time span, I confess to feeling a little idiotic that I'd expected to be able to make that leap in a week. Every faculty member who gave a talk like that had shown me that their journeys were long, and often fraught with failed ventures or periods of doing artistic things they didn't want to. I left the lecture with my tail between my legs, but a renewed sense that I would do my best with the hand I'd given myself. I did a couple of colour studies that evening, traditionally, inspired by seeing James Gurney's master studies in his lecture. I loved doing them, and wish I'd had more time to do more. But I found a piece online that had a palette I liked and did a couple of explorations of a similar theme. I finally, finally, 4 days into the escapade, managed to put down some oil paint.

Friday and Saturday I painted as much as I could, but tentatively, I was making marks I'd never made before. I listened to the feedback being given around me and let anyone who wanted to stop and give me feedback, do so. I'm not sure I actively asked for it. I struggled as the ladies around me with their amazinly characterful pieces drew the attention of everyone who went past. I wondered if I was so far off the mark and weird that no one knew what to say about my piece. Maybe it was so bland that they couldn't praise or crit it. In retrospect, I recognise that my mood and lack of decent sleep was tinting my mood heavily, and I suspect I was giving off the same vibe, which is enough to make folks give you a bit of a wide berth.

The theme of finding your niche and doing what you love came up in more than one lecture over those days. I went to bed at 2 am both nights, in an attempt to get as much done as I could. I socialised a little more, realising that was as much a part of the experience as the painting. If not more. I'm hugely thankful for the bonds I forged during that week, something I couldn't have done at home, no matter how much I painted. Those bonds were worth much more to me than the painting I half finished. I think I came to accept that what I wanted to do was going to be a journey that needed a little longer than a week to take. I wish there had been more 'round table' lectures with all the faculty, seeing them interact together on the business lecture was amazing.

Sunday was chill. I'd had the intention of painting more, but clearing up took a while, and I felt good being relaxed. So I socialised more instead. Our final lecture with Donato was the perfect note to end the experience on and the open house was a chance to take in everyone's work, the standard of which was amazing. After a super tasty mexican dinner and strawberry margherita, the bar beckoned. After drawing I don't know how much hentai in people's sketchbooks and getting a badass Bill Nighy sketch from the awesome Bud Cook in my own sketchbook, alongside the weirdest pseudonyms and animal drawings ever, I crashed and burned as being under the influence after a week of mental stress and lack of sleep took its toll on me. Conan, thank you for making sure I got back safely that night, I really appreciate it, I suspect I'd have passed out in a dark corner of the bar otherwise. Sad I missed out on the late night partying that ensued, but damn, did I need that night's sleep.

So there's one woman's view of what it's like to go to the IMC, to throw yourself at the mercy of the faculty and your own desires. To fail and not deal with it well, to realise that the painting was never the important thing. IMC was amazing. I can only hope this gives those of you who haven't been a teensy insight. I'm not going to cover what the lectures were or what faculty shared with us, that's a very specific IMC experience, that you really have to go to appreciate. I will say I am hugely thankful to Dan, Rebecca and all of those on Muddy Colors who made that experience real for me. It has enriched me in ways I suspect I'll only realise as my journey continues. Thank you to everyone who gave me kind words and praise and to those who tried to guide me on my way. If ever the opportunity arises for you to attend, I would say grab it with both hands and run with it. Even if your experience doesn't run as profound as mine, and it simply lets you have some time to paint whatever the hell you want, being in a huge room full of people going through the same thing is well worth the price, not to mention watching faculty paint in real time is invaluable.

So, what if you've taken that leap, some months from now and you're going to the IMC? Here's a few pointers from someone who thought they were prepared and was woefully not.

1 - THE DORMS Are basic AF. I was somewhat prepared, but when the FAQ says the beds are firm, they mean it. Think springs wrapped in a bit of plastic tarp. The sheets are functional, but the blanket looked like someone had put used dog bedding through a shredder and mushed it out into a rectangle. I bought a spare blanket at the CVS store, cause no way was that thing touching my skin. I may be a little sensitive though. I affectionately referred to the whole set up as my prison bed, cause honestly, that's all I could think of. If you can bring your own bedding, I'd recommend it.

The dorm bathrooms are gender neutral, which means anyone can use them. I was fine with it, but it's odd the first time you wander into the bathroom and find the opposite sex brushing their teeth. I never had any problems taking a shower, though, they were pretty quiet.

Morris Pratt Dorm was definitely the more social, I was very thankful to be on the 3rd floor, as a light sleeper, the partying into the wee hours would have kept me awake had I been on the lower floors. The box fans helped with white noise, but the doors are all pretty heavy, so unless folks are very delicate with how they close them, expect some noise. I found the box fan enough without the AC, even when it got pretty warm on the last couple of days.

2 - FOOD. Having never been to a large educational establishment in the US, I wasn't sure what to expect with the food. Would I have to venture into Amherst to find healthy stuff, would there be much choice? The food was surprisingly decent. It's still a large facility, so it's never going to be amazing restaurant quality, but there were a few choices every day and a well-stocked salad bar. They even had a soft serve ice cream machine, that I managed to avoid until Sunday. I'm not a coffee drinker, but I had it on good authority that the coffee in the dining hall wasn't great. It might be an idea to bring a drinks container with you, as mealtimes are the only time you can get drinks on campus, outside of water fountains. Amherst is only a 10-minute walk down the road, though.

3 - ART SUPPLIES AND STUDIO SAFETY. I brought paints, brushes and surfaces with me, with the knowledge I'd ordered a couple extra things for while I was there and that there was a supply run. If you work on specific surfaces, it's best to bring those with, Michael's wasn't super well stocked, and more speciality things like large clayboard weren't available. A lot of people bring extras and are happy to share, thankfully. I would have brought more old rags or kitchen towels and some tape. People often used walls to tape up thumbnails or other pieces of art.

The university runs a very strict number of safety policies surrounding paints, water and mediums. Bring some lidded jars with you for mediums and water. Everything has to be labelled clearly and remained closed when not in use. Even water used for rinsing acrylic and watercolours. All have to be disposed of carefully too. Same with anything you wipe paint or mediums on, so using something a bit more disposable like kitchen towel might do you better. They ask you to cover your oil paints when not in use, though that can be with a simple piece of palette paper.

If you choose an easel, if you have space for a little extra table, you'll likely make good use of it. The chairs they supply are also very basic and not comfortable for long periods, so bringing a cushion is definitely a good idea. Oh, and they say the studio opens at 8 am on Monday but I got there at 8 am and a lot of the spaces had already been taken, so if you want prime real estate, get there early!

4 - SELF PROMOTION This sounds like a no-brainer. I brought business cards for the faculty and my portfolio review with Irene Gallo. I thought I'd sorted my work out reasonably well, but actually, my website would have been a better place to show off my work. I also wish I'd brought a physical portfolio to leave out for students and faculty to flick through, perhaps an example of finished work that was either nicely printed if I was doing digital, or one of my traditional pieces. The latter is tricky when flying. My business cards were on the pricey side so I wish I'd had some decent postcards or stickers, printed for the open studio, where folks were picking stuff up. You never know who's going to pick one up! The internet can be spotty in the building, so unless you have some 4G going on, it can be tricky to show off folios digitally.

You might also be lucky enough to score a second portfolio review if the guests have enough time, I am so glad I could put my work in front of WotC's Jeremy Jarvis. It cheered my Saturday up no end! Make sure you check the lists when they go up and bag your second spot early. And don't puss out.

5 - DON'T BE AFRAID TO ASK FOR HELP I'm stubborn and British, so asking for help is the worst, but everyone there will gladly help you out if they can. Especially the assistant team, Daneen, Julia and Stephen and the 'honored easels' who've been in your situation. Take advantage of them, they are all lovely people.

And that sums it up! An amazing, tiring, exhausting, mentally demanding, inspiring, overwhelming experience that I wouldn't change for the world. I hope to repeat it in the next year or two. I count myself lucky to be part of the alumni and perhaps if you're reading this, I might see you there too.

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