#trying to learn more about visual development

[housemdork]

house md rewatch: 2x05, "daddy's boy"

motorcycles, lying, daddy issues, and gay people.

i'd completely forgotten that house's parents much such an early appearance! i spend too much time revisiting 5x04, i guess. overall, i enjoyed this one for the intrigue it built toward information about house's parents (which we expertly get so little of) and for a very definitive glimpse into house and wilson, the season 2 version. but like i said above, i can't believe how sidelined the patient and his father are in this one; the kid dies! for house's character development, of course.

i'm gonna break form and talk about house and wilson first (the gay people in question) because we get motorcycles, dinner dates, and evil little games all in one (which tie back to the larger theme i'll get to). look at their color synergy!

let's bullet point this part of my recap. and pretend for now that the loan was necessary for house to acquire the motorcycle:

wilson loaned house $5k. this already seems like an exceptionally stupid decision, yet later on, he reveals that he never even expected to get it back. point 1 for needing neediness.

house md unique symbolic use of vehicles (and the hilson roadtrip motif) is very apparent and interesting here. by driving a motorcycle, house is both subverting ableist expectations and experiencing freedom. but, here, that freedom is contingent on wilson's loan, which complicates things.

in the distant, microscopic background of this episode, wilson's marriage is collapsing: "you'd rather have dinner with your wife?" "yes, i would...if she were speaking to me." "unlike her, i can make it worth your while." "fine." push comes to shove, the other shoe drops, etc. in a few episodes, but this is another example of wilson flocking to house (the reliable trainwreck) when he needs A Fix.

in conclusion, this loan/dinner arrangement (a total farce, btw) is associating freedom with a necessary breaking of heteronormativity. for wilson, marriage is excessively transactional, yet this exchange with house is a net-negative for him on all superficial accounts. as we'll find later, they're actual equals in how they've been lying to each other.

i like how they represent this equality visually, too, house with the fruits of the $5k loan and wilson with the vestige of house's mobility:

LATER, all of this meta becomes somewhat undone when we learn that the only reason why house really wanted to go to dinner was to avoid his parents, that he didn't need the $5k loan and was only testing wilson's attachment to him, and that wilson lies to house just as much as the inverse. i adore this scene, you guys.

i think it's natural for audiences to assume, at first, that wilson would be hurt by the fact that the $5k loan wasn't necessary, but his real takeaway is way funnier and more deranged than that: "you're trying to objectively measure how much i value our friendship?" (my notes say "here we go" after that line). wilson is more so fascinated by house's motives, and we, the viewers, get an inside look into how these 2 operate: it's always a game.

the way they dissect this game is what sets this conversation apart from the remainder of the episode, as well as the show's longstanding theme of lying. house confesses to the lie; wilson reveals that he only cares because he wants to know more about house and his family; house acknowledges that, had wilson just left well enough alone, they both would have stayed happy. this is quite exactly how one would describe a "typical" (cynical) marriage; lying so the other one isn't harmed or inconvenienced. this realization hits wilson like a ton of bricks:

this is where i'll circle back to the episode at large. the transparency between wilson and house is what the other characters cannot figure out; only wilson seems aware of the novelty of their arrangement here. 2x05 asks the following questions about it's central theme of "lying":

can we love the people we lie to?

if the truth is hurtful, should we say it to our loved ones?

what should remain unspoken between loved ones?

can we love unconditionally?

because it's house md, we don't get a singular answer, just myriad versions of potential answers. the patient, carnell hall, and his father, ken hall, seem incapable of telling one another the truth unless certain death hangs over their heads. as the episode continues, it gets increasingly difficult to stand their lies, but when it's revealed that a gift ken gave carnell is what's killing him (a radioactive piece of metal from ken's scrapyard), there's no doubting the love between them:

ken bold-face lies to carnell that he'll be okay, but nobody could ever doubt this decision in good conscience. so sure, we can love those we lie to, but does this imply that ken and carnell needed conditions to love?

we can look to house and his parents for the opposite scenario (and, for argument's sake, i'm only working with the info we get from 2x05 regarding john house). earlier, house claimed that parents "lie to us because they love us" in the pejorative. while ken and carnell avoid each other, john and blythe house are dead-set on visiting house before they leave on their trip. they don't afford him any privacy, invade the precious environment that is PPTH, and something really nasty gets said along the way:

"last i checked, you still have 2 legs. you know what you're problem is, greg? you just don't know how lucky you are."

thanks, john (what's up with dads named john being the worst @ supernatural?)

john is unabashedly honest with house (not that what he's saying is true; they are just his honest feelings) and nothing good comes of this. it's hard to imagine that john loves his son, especially not with the way he looks down his nose at him, and seems so repulsed by his son using a cane. after the entire episode insists that house endures his parents company for just a little while, 2x05 abruptly recants - maybe it's not worth the truth; maybe the truth isn't kind, and ought to have been concealed. maybe we need some conditions to love here.

i'm gonna give wilson some flowers here - i think he makes up the murky grey area between these 2 extremes in 2x05. house deeply values transparency in most cases, but not all. he understandably would have preferred his dad to keep that ableist remark to himself. in that moment, unconditional love would have sufficed. someone who loves unconditionally would not have felt so compelled to drop that bomb. someone who loves unconditionally wouldn't even feel the need to lie like ken hall. they would live and let live. they would lie about the superficial and cherish the deeper parts.

i offer, again, house handing wilson his cane:

but what really drives home this point about wilson for me is he and cameron's subplot in 2x05. when they figure out why house wants to go to dinner with wilson so badly, they concoct a scheme to force house and his parents together, along with the chance to tag along and do some psychoanalysis.

however! when cameron realizes the delicacy of the situation between house and his parents, she, too, recants. she forgoes her chance to get an inside look at house and "how he got this way." she decides to not answer the first and second questions i posited earlier. she errs on the side of the unconditional. however house got "that way" is not necessarily her business.

and this is exactly why she's rewarded with information from him.

"thank you for not eating...my dad's just like you. not the caring till your eyes pop out part. just the insane moral compass that won't let you lie to anybody about anything."

in house's purview, cameron may just stand in the true middle of honesty and lying when it comes to someone's capacity to love. she can care enough to back up the demands of her moral compass. this doesn't make it sustainable, however, and i think this is one of the main reasons house and cameron remain so incompatible. she seems confused by the remark, touched and a little bit haunted, because part of the comment is a compliment, while the other, the association with john house, certainly is not.

it helps, then, that wilson is house's broken moral compass that only points correctly a few times in a year (i think i left an identical comment in the tags of one of my recaps).

my final comment is totally separate from the other parts of the episode. i just have to mention that chase telling ken hall that carnell isn't going to make it is the second time i've cried this rewatch...and the first was when chase hugged his dad, rowan, back in 1x13. idk what they put in this blonde australian doctor but it's certainly working on me. it's certainly significant that the son with deceased father (chase) is the one to tell a current father that his son is soon to be deceased, especially since their relationship is on the rocks.

[hollisartsblog]

Bill did nothing wrong, he just wanted a human puppet! But I don't think Stanford was aware of that...

[hanaaria]

creating a new dnd character is so fun like what the fuck

[hargreeves-duncan]

Can I request five x reader (takes place in s2) where reader (five’s partner) gets sent to Dallas around a year before five comes and after he does and reader sees him, she immediately tackles him on the spot and gives him many kisses. Maybe reader manages to work at a casino too

a/n: thank you so much for your request! i haven’t written in a while so i'd love to hear your thoughts, enjoy!!

summary: it's been far too long since you've seen your boyfriend - he learns that the affectionate way.

warnings: n/a

word count: 1.4k

visual is for vibes only, reader’s appearance is nondescript!

You had to hand it to yourself, for someone who’d known next to nothing about life in the 1960s, you’d adapted pretty well. In no time at all, you’d managed to land yourself a job as a waitress in a casino. A very good one. It seemed in this timeline, Jack Ruby thought a casino would be a better investment than a night club - and for your part, you couldn’t say that he was wrong, nor could you complain.

The hours were long, but the pay was good enough and the other girls had taken you in as one of their own. You quickly began to excel. Strolling between the tables and flashing smiles was easy, second nature even. You developed the wit and charisma to charm the casino’s patrons without second thought, which meant you got more drinks served, more loyal customers and bigger tips to go along with them. 

Most nights the new life you’d built for yourself was more than enough but sometimes, no matter how hard you tried, you couldn’t help but yearn for what had come before - who had come before.

There was always a dull ache in your chest whenever you caught a fleeting glimpse of a lone, brown-haired man at one of the tables. In those moments, you could never stop yourself from believing for a slither of a second that Five had made it and he’d come right back to you.

You’d waited for him in that dingy, old alley for two weeks straight, because you knew that Five would never abandon his family like that. That something must’ve gone wrong, but it was okay because he’d come back and everything would be fine. That was what you told yourself. You were so sure he’d show up and solve everything in an instant, because that was what he always did. And when he hadn’t, it had almost destroyed you.

The first few months were gruelling, taking your first steps in the new world had taken a while. Grieving Five had taken longer. The obvious truth was staring you in the face. A year without contact from him or any of the other Hargreeves siblings? The probability was that you were the only one who had survived.

It was a truth that you were reluctant to admit, even now. One that led you to where you are today, starting yet another night shift, beside the casino’s bar, to serve a particularly rowdy Friday night crowd of patrons.

As you begin to set up, Mary-Anne, one of the other waitresses on shift, sidles up to you. Her honey-blonde curls bouncing around her ears as she leans against the bar. Trying to stifle her laugh, in her southern drawl, she says, “Has he tried talking to you yet?”

You raise an eyebrow at her, tilting your head to the side, “Has who tried talking to me yet?”

Her grin grows wider as she gestures to a table on the far corner of the room, laughing, “That little boy. Haven’t I said a million times that we oughta get tighter on the security in this place?”

She sighs, resting her hands on her hips, “I went over to him - trying to tell him that we don’t allow minors in here - and what’d he do?”

Deciding to humour her, you smile, looking down at her, “I’ve got no idea, tell me.”

She scoffs, shaking her head as she smiles, “He told me that he more than knew his way around place a place like this and that I had nothing to worry about with him. Can you imagine having the nerve like that at his age?”

The thought made you laugh. It reminded you of Five. His haggard temper in the body of his younger self always seemed to shock people in the very same way. You paused. It couldn’t be him, couldn’t it? You must be jumping to conclusions. After all this time, it’d make no sense if he was here now and yet…

“He said that?” You ask, eyebrows furrowing as you glance between the table and Mary-Anne. You squint, trying to see if you could recognise him.

A part of you felt silly and girlish for still holding out hope but this kid’s description was just too similar and besides, you were a teenager again, you were allowed to be lovesick and entirely delusional. It was practically your god-given right.

Mary-Anne nodded, loading her tray up with drinks of all shapes and sizes to cover her half of the room, “He did.”

Your eyes were locked onto the distant table, practically pleading for the kid to just turn around and let your hopes down already. Still, all that greeted you was the back of his head and the green fuzz of the poker table in front of him.

When you didn’t tear your eyes away, Mary-Anne looked you up and down, her baby blue eyes swimming with concern, “You alright there?”

Looking back at her, you sigh, already pent up at the possibility of Five being so close, “Yeah, I just… What did he look like?” You ask tentatively, biting your rouge-tinted, bottom lip between your teeth.

Mary-Anne hums in thought as she loads your tray for you, “Gosh, I don’t know - he had dark hair, was wearing a suit. It had the funniest, little emblem on it.” She says, tapping her chest in place of where it would’ve been.

Your eyes widen in shock and excitement as you process her words, “An umbrella! It was an umbrella, wasn’t it?”

Mary-Anne grins, giggling, “It was… how’d you know that?”

You couldn’t even answer her. You were already starting to tremble and hyperventilate, entirely overcome with nerves and joy and pure, unbridled excitement all at once. A year of being apart and now he was no more than a few strides away. Your smile brightens up like no other.

You slip your tray from over your head and place it down on the bar as you say, “Hey, cover for me, would you? I’ll be two seconds.”

Without waiting for her answer, you dash across the room - a flurry of giddiness bubbling up inside of you the closer you get. You tousle your hair and straighten your uniform, anything to keep your anxious fingers busy and to better yourself for something you’ve waited for for far too long.

Hearing heels coming towards him again, Five sighs in frustration and turns around in his chair, “Lady, I already told you-“

The breath feels like it’s been stolen from your throat as he turns to face you. It’s really, truly him. Your boyfriend is right there in front of you and you’ve never felt more relief than in this moment.

“Y/N.”

You’re not sure if you want to cry or scream or simply just take him in for the first time all over again. As you look over him, his piercing gaze, his dark hair and the freckle on his right cheek that you can’t count the number of times you’ve kissed, your eyes can’t help but be drawn to his lips.

God, how you’ve missed the feeling of them. You barely have time to think about what you’re doing before you’re cupping his face and pressing your lips against his once more, savouring every part of him in a way you’d never thought to before.

Your hands trail over every callous in his skin, memorising him with your fingertips, and as you pull back, Five’s gaze softens like nothing else as he smirks, “Hello, you.”

His hands reach out to cup your face, gazing over you as if he’s not entirely sure that you’re real. After all your time apart, you’re not sure either. You smile, nodding, “It’s me. It’s you. You’re here, you’re really here!”

You cup his face in return and you can’t help but press another kiss to his lips. He smiles fondly as you do. And so you kiss him again… and again on his cheek… and on his freckle… his chin… his forehead. Everywhere your lips can reach, you press them.

After a moment, he laughs weakly and reaches up to pull your hands away from his face and intertwines them with his own fingers instead, “Okay, love.” He says chasteningly, “Let’s calm down there, shall we?”

Your smile grows shyer as you right yourself, “Sorry.” You say, brushing your hair away from your face.

He shakes his head, brushing your hair back for you and then guiding you by the waist to the seat beside him, “No, don’t be sorry. Don’t ever be sorry. Believe me, I’m just as happy to see you. Really.”

It’s him who initiates the kiss this time. He’s soft, delicate almost, in the way that he kisses you, as if each movement of his lips is a new way of giving all of his love to you and promising that he won’t ever let you out of his sights again.

[literaryvein-reblogs]

Writing Notes: Detailed Settings

A detailed setting draws your readers into the world you’ve built, allowing them to inhabit the storyline. Learn the core elements of setting, and apply them to your own writing.

How to Create a Vivid Setting for Your Story

Writing vividly is all about evoking clear imagery and detail in the mind of the reader. Here’s how to create a richly textured world for your story:

Use place to your advantage. Place denotes both geographical location and immediate surroundings. A story that unfolds in the hurried chaos of New York is not the same if transplanted to an isolated island in the Pacific. A scene that takes place in a cramped room shifts when it occurs in a vast forest.

Make use of time. Time in setting can be expressed as a time of day, a season or time of year, or a historical time period. Seasonal changes—the advent of winter, a blistering summer—might provide life or death stakes; historical periods define the behavior of all the characters operating within your fictional world.

Show the world through your characters’ eyes. Try to reveal the world as the characters interact with it, since the most resonant setting descriptions are the ones that come somewhat altered through the lens of an individual. If you’re writing historical fiction, for example, you may be pulling from a real place or time. Snippets of accuracy can give palpable energy to your prose. As with anything that requires lots of research, knowing what to include can be a balancing act: too much detail, and the reader is overwhelmed.

Be aware of how setting affects emotions. Allow setting to influence your characters’ actions and moods. Otherwise, they and the world they live in will come across as static and lacking nuance. The lives of humans—or mythical creatures living in fantasy worlds—are intimately tied to setting.

Exercises for Writing Vivid Settings

Try these writing exercises to develop a strong story setting and see where it takes your narrative:

Visit a real-world location you’ve never been to before. This can be an actual place from a setting you’ve chosen or simply a place near you that you find interesting. When you first arrive at the location, don’t record or photograph or write anything down, just spend some time absorbing it through your senses. Pay attention to the things that strike you most. Go home later and write a description of the place. Remember to include the sensory details—what it felt and smelled and sounded like.

Select an important location from your novel or short story. This could be anything—a public building, a business, a famous landmark, a landscape, or someone’s house. Now choose two characters from your story and write a short paragraph describing how they might react to the setting. Explore different points of view of your chosen place.

Choose places and write them on index cards. Organize them according to how you think a story should unfold at those locations. Would it make more sense for your characters to move from one theme to another (e.g. from religious buildings to scientific ones)? What’s the most efficient way to organize them? Would a random route be more interesting?

Focus on memorable details. Keep the details grounded in a character’s sensory experience. Everyone probably knows what a tree looks like, so if you’re describing one, tell the reader what makes it different or why it’s important from your character’s point of view. You’ll want to let your reader know what it feels like for the character, what it sounds and smells and tastes like. No matter what kind of world you’re creating, this technique can bring more vividness to your writing.

On an unlined sheet of paper, create a map of your world. Pay attention to detail: Even the smallest moments can help you visualize a world more clearly. Show landscape features like mountains and lakes and roads; mark cities if you have them, and note regions and counties, too. Try to match the feel of your setting. If it’s a magical world, show features pertaining to this—a dark magician’s fortress, for example.

Source ⚜ More: Notes & References ⚜ Writing Resources PDFs

[seth-whumps]

Any tips for writing the scenes you don't want to write to get to the scenes you do want to write?

Writing When It Sucks: A Quickstart Guide to the Scenes That Hate You Personally

by seth-whumps / sethlost

So, you've got a thousand-word gap between the good scenes, and you've gotta fill it with something. We've all been there—that one sentence in the outline, filling you with irreversible dread—but don’t lose hope. We do have some solutions! I've got three pieces of advice for this situation:

-> Skip The Hard Parts

-> Check Your Variables

-> Change It Up

Long post ahead, folks—you’ve been warned!

Let's start easy, with—

AVOIDANCE

Don't force yourself to write the parts you hate! If it's a scene that's not your thing, just... skip it! If you think it's boring, chances are your readers will feel it, too. If you'd skip it, they'd skip it. Famous authors do this alllllll the time. Don't deny yourself the privilege.

Remember, you don’t have to write chronologically. Write the good parts when you want to write them.

You gotta get to December? Skip to it.

You have a long ass captivity scene you don't want to bore yourself with? Skip it.

Does this scene just inspire you to stop writing forever? SKIP IT.

Now, I hear you. "But if I do that with every scene that troubles me, I'll have hardly any scenes at all!"

If it sucks, hit da bricks, as we Tumblrinas say.

Welcome to writing. It sucks. However, I'll let you in on the best tip I have ever learned from Reddit Dot Com—

CHECK YOUR VARIABLES

Your story, whether big or small, is built from several puzzle pieces! We'll call these your Story Variables. They can include:

Physical:

-> Heroes - your main people!

-> Villains - you’ve gotta have an antagonist somewhere, yknow?

-> Setting/Genre - solarpunk? ancient Arthurian myth? literally just New York City?

-> Locations - home base, headquarters, the villain’s lair, high school, etc

Narrative:

-> Main plot - getting the hero from point A to Z

-> Sideplots - character development, romance, betrayal and redemption arcs

-> Motivations - what do your characters want? what does your setting want?

-> Ending - where is it all going towards?

Audience:

-> Morals/messages - what’s the point of the story? what are you discussing or exploring throughout?

-> Metaphors - what’s the language you’re using to paint a picture?

-> Emotions - and the language you’re using to invoke a feeling?

-> Satisfaction - do you want your audience to feel satisfied? do you not? where and why?

If you're stuck on a scene, you may have an underdeveloped variable, or a missing one altogether. You can fix this by interrogating the absolute hell out of your story. Here's a few questions to get you started:

Do you know your ending? Is this scene guiding you towards it?

What emotions are you trying to portray? Where can you show that in this scene?

Where's your current location? Are you using it as a character in your story?

What drives your heroes? Your villains? How can you make them more obvious?

Are you considering your side plots and character development arcs?

You might be saying, "But wait! I'm only writing a little thing! I don't have the time/energy to think about all that!"

Is this scene contributing to the satisfaction of your story?

That's okay! I hear you. But it's not hopeless. I've still got something to help—

CHANGING IT UP

Hobbyists work in styles. It's hard to develop one, and often it comes from years of practice and study, but there's a way you can streamline it to your advantage. Think of it this way:

-> If you don't like drawing noses, change the way you draw them.

-> If your crocheting tools don't feel right, find ones that suit you.

-> If a chord on the guitar is too difficult, use an alternate fingering.

NEWS FLASH: it's the same for writing.

Physical movements? Blocking? You might be having trouble visualizing what the scene needs to contain.

If something isn't working, you have every ability to do it differently. There's very little right and wrong, here. Don't confine yourself to one generalized "type" of writing--branch out until you find what works for you. Let's start by thinking about what you're struggling on.

Draw the layout of your location. Use random pieces to represent your characters. Play dolls.

Keep it simple. Write exactly what happens, no more and no less.

Another post on Tumblr blew up, advising you to try writing the scene with only dialogue, and adding the actions later.

Emotional weight? Prose? This one's tricky, but I've got some advice regardless.

Change your sentence structure. Focus on the rhythm of the words. Worry less about grammar, and pay attention to the picture, the painting, the music.

Or, in opposition, write it exactly like it is. Come back to prose it up once you've got the scene skeletonized.

Organization? The actual, nitty-gritty content of the scene? Think about what the purpose of the scene is, then consider the following.

What's your moral/metaphor? Thread it throughout. Come back to it often. This'll tie up the story into something cohesive and cinematic.

Start with a bullet point list of everything you want to include. Think of details, interactions, and movements. Spam as many as you can think of, until you've got a substantial list of meat and seasoning you can sprinkle in as necessary.

Check in on your variables. Where does the scene need to end? What's the most convoluted path it could take to get there?

Introduce a new variable. Treat everything like a character in the story. Is the location an old building? Have it collapse. Is the ending too close for comfort? Drive the story in the opposite direction.

Most of all, mess around. Do what comes naturally, and if something isn't working, do it differently until it does. Writing is fun, despite everything about writing--so workshop it until it's fun again.

Whoops! That got very long. I hope this helps at least a bit, and if you've got any questions at all, Anon, feel free to ask! I'm sorry for the wait on this ask, by the way. I wanted to give it justice.

I'd be happy to go more in depth on anything mentioned here. I love talking through my thought processes while writing.

And as a disclaimer, none of what is said here is law. It's just what I've gathered through practice, and through following incredible people. There's no rules! Do what feels right!

Anyway! Thanks for reading, folks. See you in the next one [salutes]

Seth, signing off!

dividers by @/saradika-graphics, link in pinned post

[whoopsyeahokay]

Fifty Seven

summary: prompt fill. between 1982 and 1983, Wally meets and falls completely head over heels for a girl who changes everything. his biggest fan, his greatest love. you. (request)

pairing: Wally Clark x fem!reader

warnings: fluff. AU - pre-canon. dorks falling in love. author doesn't know American football. total disregard for canon lore. HEA.

bon reading, frens

___________________________🏈

Fifty Seven

It was gradual, how things developed between you and Wally. Slow and peripheral at first. Then, like a confetti cannon—pop💥—instant, exciting; a pocket of fresh air in a dense smog. And it was all thanks to Wally's best friend, Rodney.

See, Wally was a baseball guy. Had planned to continue being a baseball guy through high school. He was an excellent pitcher with an impressive BA, and his mama had been over-the-top supportive for Wally to join the team—believed in him so much that she'd even strongarmed Coach Burns to let Wally try out for varsity.

But Rodney? Had wanted to join the football team. And Wally had wanted to do everything with his inseparable since birth best buddy, so he'd found himself donning a helmet and nailing technical drills like it was paint-by-numbers. Obviously, he'd made the team. Had started winning games, gained popularity and praise and attention from girls. Had fast become Coach's MVP only to, in sophomore year, be transferred to the varsity team. Go Devils!

That'd meant training longer, playing harder, and receiving interested elevator-looks from the hottest chicks in school. Seniors who'd graduated out of the awkwardness of puberty and had learned how to flaunt their curves. Don't worry, Rodney had been along for the ride, built like a brick shithouse and equally as formidable on the field, and he'd kept Wally humble.

Not that he'd needed to, because the thing about attention was the more Wally got, the less he was seen.

Yeah, he was the star receiver, the guy whose name everyone knew. But...that was about all they knew about him. People summed him up to the number on his jersey. Shallow. Detached. The girls he took on dates wanted the infamy of having made out with him—"he's such a fantabulous kisser,"—and the guys admired the hell out of him, clapped his back and handed him beers, but no one expressed an interest in peeling back flesh and bone to see what made Wally tick.

Wally wasn't lonely; he had Rodney and Don and Keith. BFFs since kindergarten who gave a real shit about him. It was just that, if people approached him to ask questions, he wanted it to feel less like an interview and more like a connection. Small talk was exhausting.

He'd been contemplating this when you'd first popped onto his radar. Shooting hoops in the gym at lunch to brood over his latest failed effort with a girl—Sarah Miller from History—when, oh shit, look out!, you'd walked through the door the second Wally had decided to unleash his frustration by whipping the ball at the wall. He'd overcompensated. The ball had curved to the left. Smack, you'd taken it square in the head.

Somehow, you hadn't been hurt, though the sound had convinced Wally you should've had a bruise blossoming on the area of impact. He'd run over, eyes wide in panic, visually checking you over to ensure he hadn't concussed you.

He'd rubbed the back of his neck nervously, "Are you okay?"

"Oh yeah," You'd grinned, friendly, not even a little bit upset, "Happens more than you think." Which would've raised flags if Wally hadn't been preoccupied by how your proximity smelled like summer.

After a moment of uncertainty, Wally had stuck out his hand and introduced himself, "I'm Wally Clark. I, uh... I'm better at football." He'd felt like an idiot five seconds later when you'd merrily declared:

"I know," still smiling like he hadn't just thoroughly embarrassed himself. "You always feint left." Then, in general consideration, "I'm surprised no one's figured that out yet."

Wally had stared at you in surprise, "I mean... I do what feels right in the moment."

You'd raised your hands, "I'm just saying, your recovery's weak on your left backfoot, so you might wanna switch it up soon."

Wally had crashed through a gamut of emotions in under a second, beginning with insecurity and ending in shockawe. Because you'd noticed something. And, okay, yes, it'd been jersey-number related, but it hadn't been how well he filled out his uniform.

"You come to the games?" He'd wondered as he'd valiantly ignored how his stomach had started to feel squirmy.

You'd nodded, "You're fun to watch." And you'd said it so...casually. Like it'd been part of the Split River High zeitgeist: The stadium became a sardine can because Number 57, Wally Clark, was fun to watch.

"So, I guess you're gonna be there tomorrow?" He'd asked, the seed of an unfamiliar sense of intrigue planted. He'd watched you tilt your head, watched your eyes light up when you'd smiled. Wally had felt his cheeks heat and his eyes go soppy in response.

"That's the plan, Stan," You'd gleefully confirmed.

That'd been where it'd all started.

You and he hadn't become friends or anything like that, but Wally had felt a connection. Like you and he had clicked. From then on, he'd sought you out in the crowd at every game. Where's Waldo between plays. You'd never been in the same place twice, and as soon as he'd find you, you'd hold up a poster-board boasting a glittery '57' in school blue, and cheer him on with gusto.

It'd swiftly become Wally's favorite part of playing football.

Tonight, Wally was mid-search, batting away Rodney's reminder that the team planned to hit Max's Diner after the game, win or lose, when Number 36, Matt Wilson, advised, "Dude, don't interrupt. It's like a good-luck ritual at this point."

Rodney frowned, "What're talking about?"

Even Wally broke his concentration and swiveled his head to look at Matt in confusion.

With a snort, Matt pointed out, "Clark always looks for the girl, finds her, then plays harder than ever and we win the game. He's been doing it for weeks." He shrugged, "I mean, whatever works, right?"

He did? Huh. He guessed he did...

"You got a girlfriend and didn't say anything?" Rodney accused, a little hurt. "Ouch."

"It's not like that," Wally assured him, though he felt his cheeks flush and his lips curve into a dopey smile.

Rodney studied Wally for a moment and then, "Alright, my man, what's her name?" A big, teasing grin on his face.

Wally opened his mouth to answer before he realized, shit, he actually had no idea. You hadn't given him your name the afternoon he'd accidentally pelted you with a basketball.

"You're not serious." Rodney said flatly, "you don't even know her name?" while Matt slapped his knee and crowed.

Wally was about to defend himself when, just over Rodney's shoulder, there you were, gaze already on him. His insides instantly went gooey, broad smile stretched across his face, and Rodney leveled him with an unimpressed look that Wally refused to acknowledge.

"For the love of God, ask for her name." Rodney commanded before he stuck his mouthguard between his teeth.

The whistle blew and the game continued.

The Devils won.

‗•‗

Taking Rodney's suggestion was somewhat harder than Wally had anticipated. He just couldn't bring himself to do it, nerves piqued whenever he caught sight of you in the hall. He wasn't a nervous guy—Wally was a big, brave boy, thank you very much—but something about you made him stutter and overthink and, aaah, what would he even say!? Hey, thanks for coming to watch me play after I hit you in the face. Also, what's your name, girl who I share a new, ongoing at-game tradition?

Lame.

He needed more information. ✨A r e a s o n✨. Some unavoidable situation wherein Wally had to go up to you that didn't insist upon itself. Or he could actually be a big, brave boy and just say hi as casually as you'd told Wally he was fun to watch.

Between the last game and the next, Wally began gathering facts from a distance (while Rodney's gaze burned a hole into the side of Wally's head).

He learned that you sat with a group of sophomores in the cafeteria, laughing along yet not interjecting, comfortable giving the stage to your friends. Being a year below him explained why Wally hadn't noticed you before, but since that fateful day in the gym, he hadn't been able to stop noticing you.

You were quiet, though not in a shy way. You often spent time in the library—or, rather, you were always in the library when Wally happened to be, nose in a book on the windowsill. You stepped aside to let people go through a door first, and smiled at everyone; and on Mondays and Thursdays your fingers and jeans were smeared with charcoal from your Art class.

Your clothes changed, but your shoes didn't. Beat up Converse you clearly loved to death. You carried around a Sony walkman like the one Keith had, headphones on in the mornings and around your neck in the afternoons. Wally wanted to know what music you listened to.

Truth be told, he wanted to know a lot of things. Like your favorite movie and what you did in your spare time. If you went to parties or preferred to stay home and play boardgames (he wouldn't mind trading a sticky ping-pong ball for a Monopoly shoe). Were you strictly a cassette girl or did you listen to vinyl, too? Bike or license? Star Trek or Star Wars? Tom or Jerry?

God, Wally had it bad. He wanted to know everything. Every detail.

And, finally, after several failed attempts to muster the courage to cold approach you, ✨a r e a s o n✨ fell into Wally's lap and he decided it was now or never.

Practice had just ended. He was loose and warm and in a good mood, and after saying goodbye to the guys on the field, he turned and saw you sitting alone on the bleachers. Headphones on like a headband, the earpieces behind your ears. You scribbled in a notebook, tongue peeking out of the corner of your mouth, clearly 100% focused on whatever you were working on.

Wally's eyes softened and his heartbeat sped up. You were adorable.

Clearing his throat to announce himself, he climbed the bleachers and shuffled across the middle bench to take a seat beside you.

"Hey," He smiled, broad and hopefully not too eager.

Your head lifted and you smiled back.

Wally melted inside.

"Hi, Wally Clark," You said as you closed your notebook and shifted to give him your full attention. "Not practicing your free throws today?" You teased with a glint in your eye.

Wally ducked his head as he chuckled, "Nah, not today. I decided to leave that to the professionals."

"Mm, yeah, that might be for the best," And then, fixing him with a cheeky grin, "You know, if dodgeball ever becomes a recognized sport, you should totally join a team."

Wally pressed his lips together, doing his best to hide how big his smile would be otherwise, before he glanced at you with a raised brow, "Oh. So, you're funny?"

You giggled like sweet melody, "Let's call it observant."

He released his smile, heart fluttering in his chest, eyes flickering across your face to take in every detail. There was something in him—a magnet behind his ribs—that drew Wally toward you. He couldn't explain it. Barely knew you enough to label it as more than attraction, but it was more. His gaze dipped to your lips, traced the shape of your smile, then skirted back up to meet your eyes.

"Alright, let's call it observant." He agreed, his smile somehow widening.

After a moment of comfortable silence, "Your feints are getting better," you commented, "I can't predict which way you're gonna go anymore."

And he positively preened; spine straight, chest puffed out, proud to have earned your admiration. Maybe that's what'd always been missing. He'd never had to work for it, everyone throwing themselves at his feet just for a split second of his attention. Wally had always been approached, never had to do the approaching.

Was that the thrill of the chase?

No. Of course not. You weren't the deer to his crosshairs. But he had to admit, it was nice that he could trust you weren't talking to him to get something out of it. Which is probably why, before he could stop himself, Wally blurted:

"Do you wanna hang out tomorrow?"

You seemed surprised, brows shooting up. Still, your smile remained and, with a chuckle, you nodded, "That would be nice." And then, eyes narrowing, "Nowhere that involves you having to throw things, though, right?"

Hand to his heart, "I'll save it for the field," Wally promised, suddenly feeling giddy and overwhelmed. He had to resist the urge to bite his lip in excitement. Raked his fingers through his hair and glanced bashfully away to compose himself.

"Very appreciated." You bumped your shoulder against his arm.

The brief contact ignited a thousand butterflies to take flight in his belly. He stood, gathered his sports bag and beamed down at you. You looked back, all cute and sweet and appearing nowhere near as affected as Wally felt which made him feel a little silly for the intensity of his body's reactions to you.

"How about the arcade...around 3?" He suggested, putting as much confidence behind his words as he could.

After a moment's thought, "Can we make it in the evening? Say around 6?" You asked.

"Yeah," Wally replied, "Yeah, we can make it 6." He took a couple of backward steps, "I can pick you up at your place."

You shook your head, "I'll meet you there."

"Great, it's a date," He nearly choked when he registered what he'd said, face absolutely flaming, though he didn't take it back. He almost tripped over his own feet when you didn't correct him.

Instead, all you said was, "Can't wait."

You didn't see it—God, he hoped you didn't see it—but as soon as he was off the bleachers and a good enough distance away, Wally fist pumped, practically vibrating out of his skin. Holy crap, he was going on a date with you! He was going to spend time with you, get to know you, connect with you the way he'd always wanted to connect with someone outside of Rodney, Don, and Keith.

It was only when he was in his car and on his way home to shower that he realized he still didn't know your name.

He could hear Rodney's eyeroll from there.

‗•‗

You'd noticed Wally from the start. It was difficult not to, the guy a high-rise human, towering over most of the student body. But, it wasn't just his physical presence. Nor was it how good he was at attracting attention on and off the field with his exuberance and abundance of energy.

It was the moments between the jokes he made with his friends. Between performing for the crowd when he led the Devils to victory. The somber, introspective moments he thought he had to himself. And he did, for the most part. You'd never meant to intrude. It just so happened that he often used the same spaces you did to find peace.

You weren't surprised that he hadn't noticed you before he'd lodged a basketball at your head. Few people did. Not bitterly; that was just simply how things had befallen you and you'd learned to adjust. In fact, you had approximately two people you considered close and had realized that was more than enough. Still, you enjoyed meeting people where you could. They were fascinating. And, these days, none were so fascinating as Wally Clark.

He had hands that swallowed whatever they held; a smile that brightened a room; and eyes that made your skin tingle, their gaze soulful and heavy whenever they landed on you at his games like a prize. You craved those eyes on you, a flower to sunlight, and were excited beyond measure that you'd have them all to yourself for a night.

When he'd asked you out, it'd taken everything in your power not to kick your feet and giggle in delight. Be cool, you'd told yourself, acting as though you hadn't been daydreaming about Wally Clark since you'd first heard his name in the halls. What you wouldn't have given to spend more of Saturday with him, but things were somewhat strange for you, and you'd had to shave the hours down.

As restrictive as it was, you were only able to go out when the town was sleepier. The streets less crowded, the energy laggard; the shadows darker and the moon visible. You had hard rules to follow, but after sundown, you had freedom you didn't otherwise have. You could sneak out unnoticed and do as you pleased so long as you were back before sunrise.

It sucked, but it was what it was and there was nothing you could do about it, so you'd set the time for your date with Wally later and hoped you'd be satisfied with the hours you and he did get to be together.

When you arrived at the arcade, Wally was already there, leaning against the exterior wall, hands shoved in his pockets, his expression transforming from teen mag sultry to puppy bright when he caught sight of you. Don't squeal, don't squeal, don't squeal—you did great, kid—you waved sweetly and took measured steps toward him, matching his expression with a happy one of your own.

"Hey, you made it," Wally said as if he'd been worried you'd flake.

"Like I'd miss the chance to kick your ass at Space Invaders." You scoffed, hands on your hips as you pinned him with a challenging look.

Wally laughed and the sound when straight to your chest, settled between your ribs, and you knew your eyes were likely doing something dreamy and dazed. If he noticed, he didn't comment; held out his arm like a gentleman and escorted you inside.

You did, in fact, kick his ass at Space Invaders.

‗•‗

Whatever, you may have beaten him at Space Invaders, but Wally wiped the floor with you at Time Pilot. To further impress you with his skills, he won you a prize from the claw crane. Overlooking the fact that it'd taken several coins and a lot of cursing, Wally felt like the king of the world having handed over a plastic ball stuffed with enough raffle tickets that you could take home a plastic necklace.

He looked for any and every opportunity to touch you; grazed the back of his hand across yours, then, bolder, squeezed you into his side as you and he moved between machines. Just as you were about to beat his score at Pac Man, he grabbed you around the waist and spun you away from the control panel, watching in triumph when the monitor announced Game Over and Wally's score beat yours by more points than you could come back from.

You shrieked and giggled when he slung you over his shoulder to carry you to the new air hockey table. You sprung into his arms when he defended your honor at the foosball table against another pair of patrons. By the end of the night, he had your hand in his, fingers laced, as he walked you home.

It'd been the most fun he'd had in—God—forever. Yeah, he hung out with the guys, went camping and played videogames and did things. Always busy, always entertained. Or, rather, he did the entertaining. A constant performance to keep people interested. Tonight, with you, it'd been different. He was relaxed, completely at ease, feeling like himself for the first time in too many years. His chest felt lighter.

When you and he reached your house, not too far from the arcade, you stopped and positioned yourself to face him, beautiful smile on your face that softened under his gaze. He didn't want tonight to end. Wished it could go on through tomorrow and the next day and the one after that.

"This was a lot of fun, Wally," You murmured as you stepped closer, bottom lip caught between your teeth in a way that made his heartrate spike and his head foggy.

He nodded, "Yeah," and lifted a hand to trail his fingertips along the slope of your jaw, "I wanna do it again, like, now."

You chuckled, and when did your lips get so close to his? "You just wanna try and beat my Donkey Kong score." You accused, breath hitching when the tip of his nose grazed your cheek.

Wally couldn't refute that, but didn't want to, his mind already on other things. Better things. Things like—his lips brushed yours, soft and gentle at first, testing the waters, and when you gasped so prettily, he pressed in. Kissed you slow, his hand climbing to rest on the back of your head to angle you just right. The kiss let in and took out, over and over, until Wally was breathless and dizzy.

He kept you there, one hand trailing down your side to your hip, the other tangling in your hair, for what felt like hours though it must've only been several minutes. He couldn't let go. Couldn't stop. Your tongue against his the most incredible thing he'd ever tasted.

But, eventually, you had to pull away, "It's late."

He kissed you one more time for the road, watched you stealthily maneuver around the side of your house and disappear around the corner, probably to sneak back into your room before anyone realized you'd been gone. Something about the fact that you'd risked getting in trouble for him thrilled Wally.

Once you were out of sight, Wally turned in the direction of home, an obvious bounce in his step as he replayed the night—the kiss, how your lips had yielded under his—on a loop.

Again, it wasn't until much later that he remembered he still hadn't asked for your name.

Fuck.

‗•‗

In typical 1980s fashion, this movie had a montage that Wally revisited almost obsessively. Sure, things had progressed rather quickly between you and him; one minute you were the stranger he viciously—but not on purpose!—attacked with a ball, and the next you were every thought, desire, emotion, response Wally was capable of.

After sundown, like hoodlums, he took you to the roller rink and skated on legs made of Jell-O because you insisted you needed his limbs to support your stilted efforts. Except, as soon as a single-digit child cried his frustration, there you were, a professional ballerina on wheels, teaching the child how to balance and move. You weren't even sheepish when you fessed up to the ruse.

"I like how it feels," You said simply, shrugged, and tucked yourself into Wally's side to prove the point, "You feel safe."

Yeah, Wally couldn't argue to save his life, addicted to how you felt in his arms as much as you seemed drawn to be there. You and he danced under the colored lights, spun and chased and discoed like divas, deliberately falling into each other at every chance. Wally didn't complain when you brought him to the ground with you after a miscalculated dip.

Days later, you and he jumped and screamed along to live music (the lyrics all totally wrong, but the melody right), crashing bodies pressing you together. Halfway through the concert, the surrounding mania receded as he rocked you gently, kissed you with meaning in the eye of a mosh pit; squawked when you poked his side to tickle him and then booked it through the crowd for an impromptu, wild game of hide-n-seek.

An empty movie theater for a screening of last year's horror films. Popcorn missiles thrown when he dared suggest Halloween was better than My Bloody Valentine. Finger to his lips, his hand firm around yours, crouched as he led you into another theater after the first movie. Four altogether, most of them ignored in favor of making out in the back row until an usher kicked you and Wally out for inappropriate behavior.

Heads close, toes pointed toward opposite walls, listening to Nebraska in a patch of moonlight on Wally's bedroom floor after a grueling week of exams and Wally's mama nagging him to get fitted for new skates before hockey season. He turned his head, admired your profile, lashes fanned on the arches of peach-blushed cheeks. His heart fluttered and his eyes softened as he watched you doze to the music. Between Used Cars and Open All Night, Wally propped himself on an elbow and kissed you upside-down. Chuckled when you nipped his chin and retaliated by adjusting his position, pinning you beneath his body, and kissing you senseless.

Throughout it all, you never missed a game, football or hockey or lacrosse. You'd put an end to the scavenger hunt, now a pillar of motivation—front row, center—and waved that glittery poster with an enthusiasm that outshone his mama's. The new arrangement made it easier for Wally, sweaty and hot, to leap over the barrier and lift and twirl you after each victory. Or, alternatively, for you to hurdle into his arms to comfort and reassure him after each loss.

Over the summer, Wally reminisced fondly on his junior year and everything you and he had done together. He missed you, a deep ache in his heart while your family apparently traveled for the months between school years. You wrote letters and used payphones to speak to him every Wednesday and Saturday, and it helped sustain him until you returned, but, God, he couldn't wait to see you again. To have you cuddled against him on the couch or in his lap on the bleachers at lunch or under him in his bed.

He craved you like a bad habit. Your scent, your touch, your taste. The soft affection you and he traded; lips stamped to a shoulder, fingers carding through each other's hair. How Wally held you, arm banded around your chest, hand under your chin to angle your face up so he could kiss you from behind.

Soon, he reminded himself. Three more days and he'd have his girl at his side again.

His girl whose name continued to elude him.

‗•‗

The night of the '83 Homecoming game, Wally felt a dread unlike he'd ever felt before. A lump of lead in his stomach. He had you in his lap. Light, gentle brushes of his lips memorized the shape of your neck and jaw, his arms tight around you, as you helped distract him from his uncharacteristic pre-game nerves.

"I'll be right there, Wally Clark," You promised with a sweet smile.

And you were. In the seat beside his mama when the crack of bone echoed across the stadium like thunder.

He spent the following weeks oscillating between grief and rage, too consumed by the confusion and fear and loss of his own life to find the strength to seek you out. He didn't want to know how you handled it. Him. His no-longer-thereness. If you were as deeply sad as he was or if you could move on and make it through. Wally didn't think he could handle it if he saw you smile again if he wasn't responsible for it.

Eventually, though, he couldn't deny it anymore. Had to see you. That magnetic pull led him to find you outside, basking in the December sun, no jacket, laying across the middle bench on the bleachers that overlooked the field behind the school.

He climbed up and took a quiet seat beside you. You didn't look any different. Serene, in fact, as you lay there, your notebook rested on the bench above. Wally sighed heavily, traced the air around your cheek as his breath choked and his heart shattered. He had so much he wanted to say to you, but didn't know where to begin—I miss you, I wish I didn't die, I need to hold you again. Sentiments that didn't make a difference anymore. He gazed at your notebook and wondered if you'd written anything about him.

And then, to his surprise:

"I was wondering how long it would take before you'd come find me."

His eyes whipped to you and he saw you staring upside-down at him, neck craned back slightly and a warm grin on your face.

"Y-you can see me!?" Wally gaped as you sat up and scooched closer to him.

"Of course I can." You said so easily that Wally had to think for a second if he was supposed to understand how it was possible. No one else had been able to see him, hear him, feel him.

"...how?"

You giggled, the sound a boon to his despairing soul, "Being dead isn't so bad, you know. I mean, it sucks, but you get used to it pretty quick." Taking his hand in yours, fingers laced, "And, when the memory of you starts to fade, you start to absorb the insane amount of teen angst." You snorted at something Wally assumed was supposed to be funny. "Makes you solid for awhile. You'll even be able leave the school at night which I'd consider something to look forward to, no?"

"I guess," Wally wheezed as his brain tried desperately to catch up to what was happening. He stared at you, bewildered, lost, hopeful, elated, "You're dead?" One, two beats, "You were dead the whole time?"

You smiled and nodded, leaned away from him to hold out your other hand for him to shake. That's when he heard it for the first time, your name, the syllables like angelic melody to his ears. You added, "Class of '57. Nice to meet you."

"But...I walked you home. I saw your house."

"You saw a house." You corrected.

He couldn't believe it. You were dead. You were like Wally. You were with Wally.

Without hesitation, Wally scooped you into his arms and kissed you like he'd wanted to since he'd risen from his body. He soaked up all the comfort and reassurance and love you offered with your lips. The idea of eternity no longer seemed so permanent and awful if you were in it.

You pulled away just enough to bump the tip of your nose against his, that smile he adored melting every worry and fear that'd followed him off the field.

"So, how do you wanna spend your afterlife, Wally Clark? We could play dodgeball now that you know you can't actually hurt me."

He felt a grin form, wide and joyful, and answered, "However you want." After a soft lull that Wally used to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear and cup your cheek, "I just wanna spend it with you." His girl, whose name he would treasure forever in his heart.

🏈___________fin.____________

also on AO3!

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if you enjoyed this, you may also enjoy Cuddle Bug.

fluff. smut lite. a flashfic exploration of Wally's inability to be anything but a plural image when you're within reach. aka: he's codependent as fuck and neither you nor he care.

[starry-bi-sky]

a half-ghost--? no- no wait, that's a changeling. that's even worse.

so i'd like to preface this by saying this stems from me going entirely off the rails thinking about tales of the passerine-- which is frankly quite on brand for me to think of one au, and then develop it so far left ways that it makes another au entirely.

bUT. Context! Danny's ancestors sometime before they immigrated to America had a fae marry into the family. This had its Side Effects. Naturally. The Fentonnightengale responsible for this charmed a fae thanks to their swagless nature and awkward demeanor, so instead of getting eaten the fae thought it was cute instead. The fae marrying into the family had an affinity for music, but that kinda repressed itself by accident -- blame the salem witch trials.

By the time Danny is born, the fae blood has become so latent that it really doesn't show up anymore other than the Fentons Eccentricity and obsession with the supernatural (a latent desire to return home to the fae realm - aka infinite realms). There's an unnatural charm surrounding the fenton that really only creeps almost every human within a visual radius, and Danny is no exception.

hoWEVEr. the accident that turned danny into a halfa in one timeline did no such thing in this one -- it just reactivated his latent fae blood, and reactivated it with a fervor. Effectively turning Danny from a human into a changeling.

Danny just thinks at first that he's a half-ghost -- only to realize later on from Clockwork that he's not one at all. He's very much fae -- which is a wild discovery for Danny to make. It also means his rogues are quite a bit more intimidated by him. Fae are above ghosts in the Infinite Realm Creature Hierarchy, no matter how powerful they are. A fae can still Steal the name of a ghost, so Danny's rogues are rather skittish/unsure around Danny until they realize he doesn't know he's a changeling -- after that, many of them vow to try and keep it secret amongst themselves.

Danny's 'ghost' form is rather birdlike, and in human form his appearance warps to match his comfortability. When he's alone with his friends he starts taking on unnatural features. -- his blue-green eyes brighten and his pupils elongate, his teeth sharpen, and his ears grow longer and animal-like. His hair softens to be more feathery, his nails sharpen. In general he takes on more 'bird-ish' features. At school, around his parents, and when he's stressed, tense, or scared, he looks completely human -- an instinctual survival mechanism.

As a ghost, he has large, pretty wings that gradient from black to dark purple-blue, with a shimmer across the feathers that resembles the aurora borealis. His limbs elongate, his legs becoming bird-like and his talons grow on both his feet and nails. His ears vaguely resemble a rabbit's, although they don't flop down like one. All his teeth sharpen. Razor sharp chompers, capable of biting through bone. His eyes take on a greenish-hue, but otherwise remain the same color, albeit his sclera becomes blue-ish and his pupils become diamond-shaped and white. Rings of seafoam blue circle around his iris, creating a reflective sheen. He makes chirping, creaking noises, and when he speaks there's a faint overlap that is very enchanting.

Overall he's rather beautiful in a terrifyingly inhuman way, its hard to take your eyes off him. He has a lot of feathers. He's very drawn to singing and music in general, and gets into music sometime after his accident. He likes flutes/ocarinas/woodwinds the most, followed shortly after by strings, and then piano. He also slowly loses the ability to lie -- which is really annoying and also terrifying until he learns how to reword himself and become a better wordsmith.

SInce this stemmed from an older brother dpdc au, its gonna stay an older brother dpdc au alsfh. i'll just get to the dpxdc part in another post since i wanted to get this off my chest first

[pi-creates]

I can’t stop being upset about Veilguard’s writing, and apparently the only way I can get it out of my thoughts is to put it down in words, so here we go…

I’m frustrated, I’m upset, and the longer I think about the way this game was written, the more problems present themselves… and I bloody hate that. It feels like a first draft writing effort, and every time I’m reminded that this game was in development for so many years, I cannot fathom this being the end result. Dragon Age 2 had 16 months of development, and it feels more cohesive and put together writing-wise. I can see the years of polish in the visuals, but the spectacle of the game doesn’t blind me to all the problems in the writing.

Naturally, these are personal opinions, I am genuinely thrilled for people who have played the game and enjoyed it – I wish I could be there enjoying it with you – but clearly these things get under my skin more and spoil the experience for me when they aren’t problems for you. And I also acknowledge there are genuine good parts of the game which I enjoy, but those moments aren’t enough to overshadow the negative experiences that irk me.

And because this post has apparently gotten away from me… I’m gonna put some headings to summarise the problems I’m having, because otherwise this is just a massive rant with no structure.

Show me things, stop just telling it to me.

So much of the game feels like writer’s notes where they put “what the player should take away from this scene” and instead of being creative with how they do that, they just say it verbatim. My immersion in this game was being broken by the game reminding me it’s a video game – which yes, I know it is, but I want to be invested in this world and feel like I’m part of it.

Varric and the game’s own pop-up system is the main problem that’s consistent through the whole game – constantly dropping narration or mission summary where they have zero problem dropping exposition on us and/or spoiling future content. Forget letting me explore these things and reach my own conclusions, the game is going to make sure I know exactly the interpretation I’m meant to have for every moment.

And it’s so damn frequent, I feel like they don’t think I’m paying attention and therefore need to constantly poke me with reminders instead of trusting me to reach my own conclusions. Do they not trust me to have an attention span long enough to go on a walk with Davrin without reminding me at the end of the walk that I did that?

To add to that problem, I absolutely hate how the writing just has people know things – they shouldn’t know this, they shouldn’t be talking to us about this, all evidence points to them not being able to know or be ok discussing this, but for some reason they do.

The Veil Jumpers suddenly just know how to translate and interact with ancient elven artifacts, ignore how the Dalish have been trying to do that since the fall of the Dales (and realistically, even before that) and their efforts over those hundreds of years were a scrap, a pittance of what could be known. But I guess the Veil Jumpers are just better than those hundreds of years in the few years they’ve been active.

Oh, and the scary reputation of the Dalish is just gone? These people just go to the elves they have deemed “savages” because they simply know these ones have good intentions? This world has been established as very untrusting of the intentions of other groups, but that’s simply gone now for this one – I wish I was shown how this started in some way instead of just being told it’s chill now.

And don’t get me started on Strife and Irelin and their seemingly endless knowledge that they shouldn’t have. I read the comics, I get that they’d probably know about the Dreadwolf and have a vested interest in learning more once that particular bit of information was revealed to them – but they somehow also just know about the mask Cyrian is wearing? They know it will influence him but not control his will? Why do you know this with no doubt whatsoever?

Why can’t these things just be presented as theories? Or give us something to find and reference where that information comes from? I want to learn things without just having characters tell me things they know.

And overall, I hate how this game decides to just exposition dump information on us, then we sit around and talk about the exposition dump – it’s overwhelming in magnitude. It feels like such a passive way to have us engage with everything, and this is supposed to be an interactive experience. Instead of being force-fed exposition in big chunks, drip feed details, let us put the puzzle together, let us gather and discuss what we learn with multiple interpretations like the RPG this is meant to be.

And this exposition problem also ruins the stakes in the game for me. Personal interpretation, probably, but the stakes in this game feel artificially inflated to me via having characters constantly tell Rook they are going up against the biggest threat ever. We bring in past heroes of the series to reiterate that, how they think we’re up against worse things than they faced… and I don’t feel that. Telling me constantly how hopeless things are, but every obstacle ends up being overcome relatively easily and without great losses… no, I don’t feel the stakes are real.

Oh, and hearing the talk of how all of Thedas is in trouble, there is so much destruction and only Rook can save them… why don’t you find a way to show me that? Because I’m not feeling that, I’m not seeing it, and I’m starting to think the Inquisitor is making stuff up so Rook doesn’t ask them to get involved again when they’re so busy.

This is a lore problem in the series…

Plot holes and wonky lore can happen, it’s not surprising… especially when there are three games prior to this as well as several books, comics, and other branches of the universe. There have been inconsistencies since the start, and a lot of it doesn’t matter – I don’t care if the second moon is forgotten about, the moon not being there isn’t going to make a problem with the way the story is told since that moon is never something elaborated upon in the plot.

This game though… it has problem that are both related to information in this game not being consistent with previous games, and information within its own contained plot contradicting itself.

I’m not going to beat the dead horse of “this isn’t how the previous games did it/explained it”, people who played the previous games are aware, I don’t see a point of elaborating in detail all the instances of this. Just take some dot points of the one’s I noticed:

The Crows are a horrifying organisation that are suddenly presented wholesome

The Qun offering to rehabilitate Karash is horrifying and it’s presented wholesome

Slaves are meant to be everywhere in Tevinter, but we don’t see that

Racism is supposed to be rampant in Tevinter (and other nations, but particularly here for any non-human), and we also don’t see that

Handling pure lyrium is fine now (unless you’re Harding)

Adult Dalish without vallaslin (Elgar’nan’s captives)

Fenharel’s agents are just gone now – as are all signs of mass elven exodus from cities

Solas’ opinion on blood magic is suddenly negative instead of neutral

Spirits dying is given the same weight as people dying

Flemeth…….just everything about Flemeth and Morrigan

Re-write of the after credits scene in Inquisition to recontextualise the Flemeth and Solas interaction

Isabela’s attitude towards Shathann sending Taash away without their knowledge (the comics make me doubt she’d be cool with this)

Non-Dalish elves knowing things about ancient elves and elven language

Blight sickness and how darkspawn are “born” (some leeway for this one since the blight is overall just different in this one, but it does feel less interesting this way)

Morrigan naming the Crossroads in lieu of the true name being lost to time, but everyone uses the term now

Crossroads looking different through elven eyes

You can’t just make people be magic/not magic (me side-eyeing Illario and his random ability to do magic now)

This is a contained problem in this game…

What troubles me more is the inconsistencies within the same game… that isn’t just deciding “this is how it works now in this iteration”, this is a problem that they wrote into existing, then either didn’t notice or didn’t resolve appropriately. And granted, some of these things aren’t inherently plot holes, but when you put certain aspects under inspection, it doesn’t make things look good.

For starters… I have to talk about Varric. Or more accurately, not-Varric.

I’m under the impression that not-Varric is simply Rook’s memory of Varric being projected for them. I personally don’t think there’s some extra level of Solas interference in what Rook is seeing moment to moment… and I feel the need to state that because Rook’s memory cannot conjure up information that Rook doesn’t know.

So why does not-Varric point out that the ritual dagger is the dagger from DA2?

Rook could not recognise it, there is absolutely no reason for Rook to even theorise that – so not-Varric should not be able to impart this knowledge to Rook. And what makes this worse for me, aside from being an impossible situation as the plot presents it, is that this observation doesn’t matter in the slightest. They put this backstory to the McGuffin Dagger and I don’t know why since all it does is create a plot hole. The only purpose I can see for this moment existing at all is to bolster the illusion that not-Varric is real and trying to help with the cause in whatever way possible.

Then there are other issues with Varric not being alive which makes other character’s lack of talking about him feel awful. Like, it’s not natural the way people avoid mentioning him when it would be very appropriate to do so – and I understand that to an extent, the game’s gotta game – they want to surprise us and therefore the characters aren’t going to blatantly give the surprise away early. But the Inquisitor doesn’t ask after him at all? Doesn’t mention how Kirkwall is coping now that the viscount is dead? Dorian doesn’t say anything after learning Varric found Solas in his city and then died? Isabela has nothing to say about Varric until after the illusion is broken for Rook?

It makes it feel like Varric’s friends (aside from Harding, the only person who seems to actively mourn him at the start of the game) don’t give two shits that he’s gone.

That’s not even accounting for how characters don’t bother to check in with Rook who is constantly talking with the companions about their various issues of mourning, hearing voices or apparitions, and just checking in with them overall – but none of that is seemingly reciprocated.

Frankly, this makes me feel awful. I feel awful for Varric being seen as so disposable that his friends don’t mention him or his absence. I feel awful for Rook who is apparently not worth the direct effort that they offer others.

And I try to think of how a new player to this series would feel about all of this – because Varric was just some guy who walked us through a tutorial in this game. Most of our time with him is fake, any connection I saw form between Rook and Varric in this game isn’t real – but then Rook mourns Varric more than he mourns the companions we have spent most of the game with.

I don’t like it.

And I don’t like the utilisation of returning characters. Morrigan, or as she’s utilised in this game deus-ex-Morrigan, has a new view of Flemeth and therefore she will take on Mythal’s soul fragment so she can again swoop in and save the day by handing us the means to get a reconciliation type ending… it couldn’t be something that characters in this game figure out, just have a returning character provide us with the magic solution. Also ignore how the whole reason Morrigan was afraid of her mother in the DAO and DAI was that her body would get taken over by her spirit… but I guess that doesn’t happen now. We can just create new rules for this iteration because it’s easier to tell the story this way.

Solas is also just… I’m so upset by what was done with him. He was a character in DAI who told half-truths or lied by omission, leaving others to assume false information without him actually saying it – it was never just blatant lies to take advantage of others. And his motivations were about restoration of something he felt he had robbed the world, it was about righting what he viewed as a mistake which lead to such a cascade of problems that he needed to somehow rectify it. Whether you agree with his point of view or his desires doesn’t matter, his principles remain the same in terms of what motivates him.

Then this game happens and he’s just a liar constantly, and not even a clever one if you can apparently just trick him up with a “woopsie, this isn’t the real dagger”, and he also apparently has no insight into the idea that Rook would anticipate that.

They make him act like the worst interpretation someone could have of him, the thing he actively was trying to tell us was a false interpretation in DAI and the comics. But history was written and remembered by those who experienced the negative outcomes of his choices, and they remembered that as the greatest evil in comparison to what else could have been. But apparently in this game, that’s the truth now. His motivation is about his desires and he cares nothing for the people who has hurt or will be hurt. But it’s ok, because just as easily as his motivation changed between DAI and Veilguard, it will be changed again at end game if you listen to deus-ex-Morrigan.

Then there are smaller things, but things that really would have been caught if someone was just paying a little bit of attention…

Like Harding and Emmrich going camping in Fereldan… which if we’re to believe the things the Inquisitor was saying about Southern Thedas, I don’t think you’re going to have a fun trip. But I’m glad they’re able to find some time for a vacation while the refugees are getting blighted all over.

Or Rook actively saying “I should talk to Varric” directly in front of characters in the lead up to end-game, and those characters choosing to completely ignore that.

Or in Neve’s companion story, Aelia deciding to interrogate the witness to the red lyrium deal right next to where it happened. She didn’t need to be in the area, she was puppetting the smuggler, and she clearly has insight into what the person is seeing and doing while puppetting them. So I guess she’s just there so we can figure out she was involved.

Or the game telling us that Anaris need Cyrian to perform rituals for him since Anaris doesn’t have a physical body to do them himself… except he apparently doesn’t because he can kill Cyrian when he disobeys. I still would like to know if Cyrian ever died originally, by the way, and if so how he’s back and seemingly normal – this game likes to answer big lore questions like it’s nothing, but they just gloss over details like this.

Or how in Emmrich’s missions, Manfred’s spirit dies and can just be brought back to life… so I guess spirits dying means nothing if they can be brought back with their memory and personality intact. So that Solas flashback where we were supposed to be appalled that spirits died? Apparently there was nothing lost there, someone just needs to revive them and they can carry on as normal.

Or how the rewrite of DAI’s ending cutscene implies that Solas killed Flemeth/Mythal… before he had the power to do so since the whole reason he has been able to do anything in this game is because he absorbed her amassed power. So Flemeth/Mythal would have to let her power go willingly since Solas should not be able to forcibly take it, but clearly, she didn’t since the dialogue we’re given is her being reluctant. Solas apparently has the power he needs to do things when the plot demands it, but also no power when the plot demands it (aka, when Rook needs to prove they’re better than him).

Or the crew making a fake Ritual dagger near end game. For no reason whatsoever. They just decided to do that knowing it would only be a prop, but they had no plans that even involved a prop at that point – so they just did this because the plot told them they had to.

And speaking of that Ritual dagger… all the old elves want that dagger for one reason of another, but they never seem to try to get it when they can, or they don’t seem too concerned when it’s not in their grip anymore. Solas doesn’t try to hold onto it after Varric gets stabbed. Elgar’nan doesn’t try to pick it up after it kills Ghilan’nain, in spite of him knowing it’s the one thing that can kill him… nope, just leave it there and peace out.

Or my personal most hated thing – Isseya and her stupid motivation making no sense.

I cannot fathom the logic of having Isseya, a warden who was forced to blight griffons, who came to resent this order as she watched the griffons go mad, made it her mission to safeguard a clutch of eggs, takes the blight from the eggs into herself while using magic to put the eggs into status, then goes off to her calling which doesn’t actually end in her death… and somehow, 400 years later, she’s decided that since those eggs have hatched and the griffons are healthy and unblighted, the thing she wanted, but they’re in the hands of wardens which she doesn’t really like, so now she’s gonna go get those griffons to blight them.

Literally doing the thing that made her so mad at the wardens. Because she wants to save the griffons from the wardens and their cruelty… by repeating it… I just… this is nonsense.

If she’s capable of articulating that she’s mad at the wardens for their cruelty to the griffons, then she shouldn’t be repeating it thinking she’s saving the griffons. If she was just keeping the griffons captive to keep them away from the wardens, then I could buy that, but adding the element of her wanting to blight them just makes this nonsensical.

Oh and never talk the First Warden down – it will make the final scenes with Isseya even worse if he tells you about the feather from her griffon and show it to her. Because I don’t even think Isseya dies in that variant of the cutscene, she just says sorry and rolls on the floor while I guess Rook and Davrin let the griffons out…

Who is Rook?

Usually, in a game like this, choices are what make us feel like an active participant in the world. It helps us build up our own character and determine how/why they behave the way they do, and also how the world around them is shaped by the consequences of those moments.

But this game feels so stripped of choice, especially choice which is any way related to morality or priorities that aren’t standard ‘Hero traits’. Rook will always do the right thing, they can’t be motivated by personal desires, excitement, monetary gain, fame, etc…. and when Rook is forced to make a choice, there is no option which would be looked at as unreasonable by companions. They might give us an approval/disapproval pop up, but it never really feels like Rook is capable of being incompatible with anyone, they will always be seen as justified in companion’s eyes. And to me, this makes Rook as the game presents them incredibly bland.

Most of Rook’s unique characterisation happens in the character creator – the game gives us minimal chances to expand or form a personality for Rook that is significantly different from any other person who plays the game. We do the heavy lifting here, we transpose qualities on Rook because the game won’t give us meaningful opportunities to do that.

And not only do I feel like the game lacks choices that would help us define Rook, it lacks decisions that make me feel like I’m having any impact on the world overall. I can defend Minrathous or I can defend Treviso… this is the one choice we make which seems to actually shape the world we play in.

And it doesn’t even come up as something Rook can regret in the sequence about regrets… Rook apparently is faced with only regrets that are the result of other people’s decisions to volunteer to do something. But the one thing where Rook actually has to actively choose something, something they are actually responsible for the suffering on the side they don’t defend… that isn’t something they can regret.

What the hell is that supposed to mean? Surely, if Rook should regret anything it should be the thing they feel direct responsibility for, no? But Rook doesn’t. Because Rook doesn’t regret anything they do, because they aren’t written with choices that they can regret since they aren’t seen as responsible for negative outcomes.

Honestly, that sequence might as well have been about mourning or sadness rather than regret, because Rook has to be upset at the loss of companions, we don’t get to influence that. But Rook isn’t regretful – that’s how they get out – but I can’t help but wonder why they didn’t then make us able to actively regret the legitimate choices we make, rather than feeling regret for our companions deciding to risk themselves.

Rook feels like an outside observer to everything that happens around them. They are the mediator, the sounding board, the magic-8-ball for decision making when companions need a push because they’re stuck. Sure, they do things, but for an RPG the way they go about things feels so linear.

And on another note… why is Rook seen as important? They start championing Varric’s cause in his absence, they want to stop the veil coming down and that starts with stopping Solas, then stopping Elgar’nan and Ghilan’nain. But to the outside observer, Rook is just some guy who says they are on an important missions, and they really need to speak with all these important leaders of factions – just trust them, I’m sure the First Warden is happy to make time for a meeting. And also the First Talon of the Crows, I’m sure they are fine with just some foreign person saying they need to meet your leader.

What I’m trying to get at is that Rook has no title, your group isn’t given any proper title or status which these people can look at and assume Rook is being truthful, trustworthy, or even worth their time. No one has any reason to hear Rook out, but in this game, they either just do, or they don’t and it’s because they’re actually a bad guy.

But Rook is no one special. They realistically shouldn’t be trusted like they are, they should absolutely be struggling to be taken seriously by others but it’s portrayed as unfair when that does happen. But they’re the protagonist, and it’s like everyone in the world simply knows that. I want Rook to struggle, I want them to grow and prove themselves, but it feels like we skip passed that to get straight to the fantasy of being in charge and considered fit for that role. 

Pacing and feeling like something was missing…

The start and ending throw a lot at us and expect us to keep on running – but then the middle portion of the game suffers due to the companions putting a stop sign on the plot so you can do their companion quests. And they aren’t shy about telling you “you need to stop and do our quests or we’ll be distracted at end game”… and again, thank you game for explaining game mechanics to me.

I was going to complete character quests, because if I care about the characters of course I’m going to do that. Having to actually pause the plot and have the characters explain to you that you have to care… I don’t know how to explain this, but it immediately took me out of the fragile immersion I was trying to get into. It makes me upset with the companions for reasons I can’t put into words. Maybe it’s because in one fell swoop it made me see them as checklists to be completed instead of people I wanted to know? I’m not sure, if someone had a similar reaction to this moment and has a better explanation, I would love to be enlightened on what it is that makes me so uncomfortable about this.

But I digress, the problem here is that the plot grinds to a halt. We stop doing things which feel like we’re advancing our plan of stopping the big baddies, we just kind of patter around and make sure our companions feel ok. And most of those missions to help our companions aren’t connected to the enemy we’re facing… Aelia, Anaris, Hezenkoss, Illario, The Dragon King, Isseya – they aren’t agents of the big baddies, they are just enemies that pop up at the same time as the big baddies are around, and are therefore making the situation worse.

So yes, we’re still doing stuff, but it feels like fluff. It feels like a detour while we just hope the world doesn’t burn while we stop to go on another picnic.

This is something that happens in a lot of games, the urgency isn’t real because you can stop progressing plot to go for a long walk if you want to – but in none of the other games did it feel so blatant to me. I still felt like most of the little tasks in the interim of plot advancement were at least advancing the cause in little ways… I don’t feel that with a lot of the things that happen in the middle of the game. It just becomes about companion missions; the bad guys will wait until we sort that out, the blight will stop advancing so we can have family dinners and go for walks.

And I really don’t know how to explain this, but it feels like something is missing in how the story progresses. Like extra things were meant to be happening and they are just not there. Maybe this is another part of how the game often just tells me things that happen in scene transitions, or it’s me really wishing there were more actual plot advancing missions in the middle of the game.

This problem I think also is most evident in the romances. Veilguard seems to take its romance pacing more from the Mass Effect games than the previous Dragon Age games – and while it was acceptable in Mass Effect to have very few romance scenes, and predominantly only having one big scene which culminates at end game, but suddenly introducing it in this series makes it feel like a huge downgrade from previous instalments.

It feels like we’re missing things, we’re given banters by companions commenting on the progress of our relationship and our partner can talk about how close they feel to our Rook – we’re given the impression our relationship is strong and established midway through the game. But with how strong the characters talk, it feels like we should have experienced so many more interactions with our partner to substantiate that.

For comparisons sake, in DAI if you enter a romance prior to going to the Winter Palace, you get romantic dialogue with your partner if they’re present, you get a dance, you get to feel like you’re in a relationship as it’s developing into something deeper. You get more interactions as the game goes on, moving from spoken interest, kisses, and intimacy (in most cases). It’s a slow build, and let’s you feel the build up by giving you glimpses of each step as the relationship develops, and then letting you just experience being in the relationship.

This game feels like it gives us the bare minimum in actual content, but has characters talk about how established the relationship is. The heavy lifting is again left to us to interpret all these blank spaces and fill in how this relationship is developing. The problem isn’t inherently with what the game gives us, it's what it doesn’t.

It lets us choose a relationship in the middle of the game, then it doesn’t give us all the progression – rather it gives us the minimal amount of snippets to meet the checklist of “they express interest, they mutually agree to be in a relationship, the relationship is consummated physically”. Sure, we can continue to pick flirt/love based dialogues, but it doesn’t feel nearly as strong as the banters seem to be telling us it is. And over all, we can go a very long time between each progression point.

I love this franchise, and I so desperately wanted to like this instalment… and instead I feel hollow.

[evercelle]

I've always been impressed by your ability to analyse media. Your understanding of characters, dynamics, themes have always blew me away, and it's even more impressive how you always find ways to communicate it so elegantly in your artworks. And being able to pick up on these complexities seems to have made engaging with media extra fulfilling for you.

I love seeing this kind of literary depth in fandoms, but I have the media literacy of a brick and have always had to rely on other people's analyses or takes to even begin understanding on that level. I was wondering if you know how you do it, or how anyone can learn to do it really.

btw thank you for always making such lovely art, hope you have a nice and fun year.

close reading is a skill, and like any skill it's something you can develop with effort!! the more you engage and think about a piece of work (and libraries of works) the more you'll get out of it

analysis at its core is inquiry and evaluation... when you're engaging the text ("text" here meaning the work itself whether it's literal text, artwork, movies, games, etc.) try breaking down ur thoughts:

what does the text want to say? -> what does the work want to accomplish? does it instill a narrative, a message, a feeling? teach a lesson? does it ask you a question? does it set up and fulfill or subvert expectations?

how does the text say it? -> what literary/visual techniques did the creator use to convey #1? what were you told versus what were you shown? what was implied vs explicated? does the work favor certain types of techniques or recurring motifs? are they aligned with specific characters or moments or themes?

how did you receive it? -> did the text succeed in conveying #1 via #2 to you? did it hit the mark, and to what degree? if it didn't: why not? if there's disparity between what the text seems to want to say and what you got from it--why and how?

there's so much more to analysis (e.g., for example, applying this framework to a text in context to history, or current events, or the genre; accounting for bias, on the part of the author or the reader; etc. etc.), but as a basic framework this might help to think about the text in large scale (the work as a whole) and then narrow it down (breakdown an arc in the story--a specific character's story--an individual moment in the story--etc).

i also think it's important to sit with a text and formulate ur own initial thoughts on it first before looking for other people's opinions! then you can read others' analysis too to see where it aligns or diverts from yours, what you agree or disagree with, what takeaways might change or enhance your own reading of the text. and then you can get RIGHTEOUSLY indignant when they dont understand ur blorbo the way you do

sorry for textwall HAHA but the more you practice close reading, the easier it gets to identify tropes and literary & artistic devices, and as your mental catalog expands, i think it'll become more fun to identify, compare and contrast what works/stories really resonate for you...! it's wonderful as a creator too, because you can reverse engineer that framework when you're telling your own stories ✨

[pucksandpower]

Lessons in Anatomy

Charles Leclerc x medical student!Reader

Summary: studying can be hard … good thing your boyfriend is more than happy to let you get some hands-on experience

You let out a heavy sigh as you flip through the anatomy textbook in front of you. As a first year medical student, you’ve been spending most late nights recently trying to memorize every muscle, nerve, and blood vessel in the human body.

Lately you’ve been completely absorbed in learning about the upper limbs — the shoulders, arms, hands and fingers — and it’s all starting to blend together.

Closing the textbook, you stand up and stretch your arms above your head, feeling the pull in your deltoids and biceps. You’ve read so much about the muscles, it might help to actually palpate and feel where they are on your own body.

You lift your right arm out to the side until it’s parallel with the floor, palm facing down. Gently, you place your left hand on your right deltoid and feel the round contour of the muscle. You trace your fingertips along the borders, visualizing how the muscle attaches on the humerus bone.

“What are you doing?”

You jump at the sound of your boyfriend’s voice behind you. Lost in thought, you didn’t hear him come home.

“Oh, I’m just, uh, palpating my deltoid muscle,” you say sheepishly as you drop your arm back to your side. “Trying to get a feel for where the muscles actually are.”

Charles grins, his bright green eyes twinkling with amusement at finding you in such an odd pose. “My talented girlfriend, always studying so hard,” he says.

You can’t help but smile back at him. The two of you met in school years ago, long before Charles became an F1 driver and your life became a whirlwind of travel, media attention, and hardly getting to see each other when coupled with your own studies. Moments like this — relaxed, easy, normal — have become few and far between.

Charles walks over to you and surprises you by taking your hand and placing it onto his upper arm.

“Here, feel mine instead so you don’t have to contort yourself,” he offers. “I’ll be your anatomy model.”

You laugh lightly and begin palpating the hard, defined muscles of his arm through his thin t-shirt. You locate the boundaries of his deltoid, impressed by the athletic development.

“Very nice delts,” you say teasingly.

“Why thank you, I work out sometimes,” Charles replies with a cheeky wink.

You roll your eyes but can’t hide your smile. His playful arrogance is one of the things you love most about him.

Slowly, you map out the contours of his shoulder, mentally labeling the muscles — supraspinatus, infraspinatus, teres minor. Charles watches your focused expression with affection.

“How’s it going so far?” He asks. “Am I a good model?”

“Mmhmm,” you murmur absently, engrossed in your exploration.

You move down his arm, wrapping your hands gently around his biceps. You note the two distinct heads of the muscle.

“Can you flex for me?” You ask professionally.

Charles obliges, flexing his bicep and causing it to bulge up under your hands.

“Excellent, thank you,” you say, impressed by the muscle definition. Your fingers drift down his arm to his forearm, tracing the brachioradialis.

You are hyperaware of Charles’ eyes following your every movement. There’s an intimacy to having your hands on him like this that makes your heart beat faster. You try to remain focused, but with him standing so close, his warmth radiating onto you, it’s difficult to think clinically.

When you take his hand in yours, turning it palm up to examine the tendons along his wrist and fingers, you’re struck by its elegant beauty.

His hands may spend most days encased in racing gloves, but they still hold such graceful strength and capability. You find yourself tenderly tracing along the lines of his palm, the indentation at the base of each finger.

You look up to see Charles watching you, his expression soft and affectionate. Impulsively, you lift his hand to your lips and place a kiss along his knuckles. His eyes widen slightly in surprise before he smiles.

“I don’t think that’s part of the medical curriculum,” he says, his voice low.

You grin. “Just conducting some independent research.”

Charles lifts his other hand to lightly trace his fingertips along your jawline, leaving a trail of tingles along your skin.

“Well in that case, I think you need to continue your in-depth examination,” he murmurs.

Your pulse quickens as his fingers trail down your neck and along your collarbone. Gently, he turns you around so your back is to him and sweeps your hair over one shoulder. You shiver pleasantly at the feeling of his hands gliding along the slopes of your shoulders.

“It’s important to know the trapezius muscle,” he says close to your ear. His fingers skim down from the base of your neck, tracing the borders of the trapezius down toward your shoulder blades. You close your eyes, focusing on the sensation.

“Mmm yes, very important,” you breathe.

His hands span across your upper back, gently kneading into the muscle. You let out an appreciative sigh, the tension you’ve been carrying in your back dissolving under his touch.

Charles places a kiss to the curve of your neck as his hands work their way down your spine, counting each vertebrae.

“The vertebral column is quite elegant, don’t you think?” He murmurs against your skin. You hum in agreement, eyes still closed.

When his hands come to rest just above your waist, your breath catches in anticipation. His touch is driving you crazy but you don’t want him to stop.

Slowly, he slides his hands around your waist to your stomach, splaying his fingers possessively across your abdomen. He pulls your back against his chest until no space remains between you.

“How am I doing as your study partner?” He asks, nuzzling into the crook of your neck.

“Mmm, top of the class,” you reply a little breathlessly.

He grins against your skin. “Maybe we should move this study session somewhere more comfortable.”

You turn around to face him, draping your arms lazily around his neck. “I’ll have to clear my schedule. My boyfriend’s this really busy, important Formula 1 driver, you know.”

Charles smiles, leaning in close until his nose brushes yours. “I think he can make time for you.”

He closes the remaining distance, bringing his mouth to yours in a kiss that curls your toes. You melt into him, all thoughts of anatomy and studying dissolving from your mind.

In this moment, it’s just the two of you, wrapped up in each other. The chaos of life fades away and you’re reminded why you endure the challenges of his demanding career.

Because at the end of the day, you have this — your love, steadfast and true. The rest of the world falls away and you’re home.

[sightseertrespasser]

Lore dump! Lore dump! Lore dump!

You! Anonymous asker! You shall be my excuse to infodump on the Mentor System.

So, Cybertronians do not have children.

A “newborn” mech emerged straight from the Hotspot has the body of a fully realized adult, the mental capacity of an adult and the base instincts of a feral raccoon.

A mech that’s existed for about two minutes has all the information it can possibly acquire within two minutes. Which mostly amounts to rolling around on the ground and becoming acquainted with such novel concepts as gravity, vision, sound and other forms of sensory input.

Eventually, the newly sparked Hot Spot mech will start putting two and two together and figure out that the ground isn’t moving around at random and that the changes in visual data is directly affected by how they’re flailing about.

After a couple days of this, most mechs have usually figured out “walking.”

A new spark only really has three guiding structures of information already in their heads: Pain is Bad, Energon is Fuel, Knowledge is Good.

They don’t know what the hell any of that means right away but it quickly falls under “you’ll know it when you see it.”

Hot Spot mechs start off with basically no knowledge at emergence and have to learn how to do everything. One thing that MASSIVELY speeds up the learning process is if the mech is lucky enough to find other, more experienced mechs.

At this sort of larval mental stage, the only form of communication that doesn’t need to be directly taught are EM fields. So, when a new spark runs into any mechs for the first time, if any of them send out any kind of Positive EMF, it’s going to cause that New Spark to latch on the that particular person pretty hard. From their grand perspective at a whopping total of three days old, this is literally the nicest thing that’s ever happened to them.

From there, whoever decided to be nice to the still feral mech that’s actively trying to lick any open wounds is now responsible for their well being.

Good news is that the newly appointed Mentor can get the new spark up to speed on things like language and basic survival pretty quickly, especially using stuff like data packets.

On modern day Cybertron, collecting newly formed mechs for education and socialization is a standardized process and a very well compensated one at that. A mech who places themselves in such positions are referred to as Mentors. It’s a very serious position since the mentor can have a significant impact on how a new spark develops as a person.

Within the totalitarian regime of the Functionalists, early developmental control is an even bigger deal, as Hotspots, or Forged mechs automatically have a higher social standing than Cold Constructed mechs. In turn, meaning they will have far more influence in society later on.

Some groups of mechs, such as various guilds or tower socialites will want those who show the most promise to join and bolster their ranks. Granting more allies in the long run without having to make peace with old enemies.

Most Hot Spots just end up joining general society however. Even with standardization, it’s extremely difficult for a mentor to have more ward than one at a time. Since they literally don’t know anything, but have the mental and physical capabilities of a fully developed mech, new sparks have to watched 24/7 and don’t do well without constant interaction.

You know how toddlers have a “Why?” Phase? It’s like that, except the toddler will become extremely distraught if you take a break, it can turn into a helicopter and it doesn’t know that flying into power lines is bad because you haven’t explained that concept to them yet.

Mentorship is not for everyone. Unlike humans who have a healthy dose of “aw, they’re so stupid!” happy brain chemicals that tell us this is Cute, and Cybertronians, Do Not Have That Benefit. Instead going “Oh god they’re so stupid.” Repeatedly. And without reward.

Basically, a good mentor has the patience of a saint.

So what’s mentorship like for Cold Constructs?

Pretty different!

For starters, Cold Constructs come online with a lot of pre-downloaded data packets. Mostly stuff like language packs, instructions on how not to accidentally blow themselves up and other commonly referenced information.

The Functionalists have three big W’s covered: Where are you, What are you and Why do you exist?

In the case of a CC Praxian Enforcer, everyone of them comes online knowing they were created in and for the city of Praxus. They are an Enforcer and what they were created to enforce was the law.

So! You’ve got fully functional Cold Construct with all the updates. They’re instantly ready to be released into society. Right?

Right?

Wishful thinking is a fools trade for sensibility.

As it happens, language packets can’t effectively cover culture. And no amount of instruction manuals is gonna replace practical experience. Any job you’ve ever worked, you’ve undoubtedly learned the difference between what you’re told to do, and what’s the best way to actually do it.

That’s not even touching on How To Interact With Other People. Society is constantly shifting, slang evolves and social dynamics shift. The rate of updates necessary would have to be constant and every mech made beforehand would be working with defunct data.

Not to mention, personalities are still random upon coming online. The Functionalists can try very hard to encourage or punish certain behaviors, but short of Shadowplay, there’s no real method of control that works beyond an individual scale.

Ultimately, the best solution to making sure their Cold Constructs are actually capable of interacting with society semi-normally is going back to the Mentor system. Depending on what they were built for, a new Cold Construct will be assigned to a mentor of the same function. So a construction-based mech gets assigned to a senior construction worker, a cargo mech goes to a more experienced cargo mech, and so on.

Because CC’s are built to order, there’s no social capital to get from mentoring them as they’ll be joining the given demographics rank’s regardless. So, mentoring CC’s is a lot more like showing the new guy the ropes.

Sometimes there’s a monetary bonus, sometimes a CC just gets randomly assigned to a senior enough mech without compensation. Volunteers are always welcome.

In the case of Prowl and Smokescreen, at their original precinct, there was effectively a hazard pay and special living quarters for anyone who signed up to be a mentor and Smokescreen figured “I see people mentor all the time. Looks easy and I get a bigger habsuite. I can deal with rooming with a temporary dumbass.”

And then he got Prowl. Who came with all of his Prowlness, and Prowled all over the place.

At first, Smokescreen thought he lucked the fuck out, because almost immediately after Prowl started up with the existential questions, Smokescreen sat him down and taught Prowl how to do research and figure out stuff on his own. The mentorship was effectively on autopilot. All Prowl had to do was follow Smokescreen around like a silent shadow at work and observe what wasn’t written in databases.

Job done.

And then Prowl had to talk to someone who wasn’t Smokescreen.

And that person did not like how Prowl spoke to them.

And Prowl got so confused and frustrated that Tac-net crashed for the first time.

Giving Smokescreen the very cold wake-up call that he was the only person who understood how Prowl communicated. Because he assumed Prowl would figure it out talking to other people on his own.

Throw in the health issues related to Tac-net and Smokescreen had the very real paradigm shift that he was now not only responsible for another persons wellbeing, but the single person who could support him anymore.

Ever since then, Smokescreen has tried fairly hard to teach Prowl how to be a person, which pretty much amounts to how to be like him. Life happens outside of work, most laws are hypocritical, and stop caring so much damnit.

But you can’t control someone’s baseline personality. So eventually, Smokescreen stopped trying to argue with Prowl, and just started working with how he was as a person.

Traditionally, mentors and their wards live in fairly close proximity, and the mentor is legally responsible for their ward until the dynamic is dissolved. Cybertronians are very social by nature, so it’s fairly common for mentors to remain apart of their former wards social circle for a long time.

In the case of Smokescreen and Prowl, due in part to the smaller age gap and general unpreparedness, their relationship is far less like a typical Teacher - Student relationship and far more like a Older Brother Who Knows How To Skip School To Go To The Club and Younger Brother Who Should Not Be Brought Along To The Club relationship.

Add in Bluestreak to the mix and you’ve got an almost functional person between the two of them Mentoring him.

Youngest Brother Who Was Clearly Raised By Their Older Brothers And Is Destroying At Darts In The Club.

[lover-of-mine]

hang onnn is eddie’s shirt/jacket/whatever blue? are they wearing blue and green in that scene? is that….. something? 😅

Okay, so, first, blue and green buddie. (Blue and Green Masterpost here, it was written mid s7 but it does explain the use of the combo in excruciating detail if you're up for it)

Buddie has 6 explicitly blue and green scenes (when I say explicit, I mean they have a top that is blue or green, in this house the coding counts for every element of the scene, but this exercise doesn't need it). 613 when they are discussing Buck's math powers, 617 when they are leaving the station and discussing the fact that Chim should propose, 704 at the hangar, 706 at dispatch, the street where Chim was and the wedding (I'm counting this as one scene because it's the same outfit), 805 when they are discussing the boils at the loft, and the hotshots scene in 808.

One thing you will notice is that Eddie is always green and Buck is always blue. Which makes sense. Except for the hangar (that has a few different rules at play considering the black jacket for Eddie and the red hoodie for Buck) those are not scenes that have any major developments for their relationship. The blue and green doesn't have to be Something, it's mostly about creating visual unity, since blue and green are analogous colors, which means they are right next to each other in the color wheel, and that's a color scheme used to create a harmonious look, it's about cohesion, bathena also wears the combo very casually, but madney does tend to have big changes happening in those colors, you can read more on masterpost.

Buddie is casual with the combo. Big changes with them tend to happen in blue and yellow, same happens with henren, you can read about that here (this post is very deranged tho).

But Eddie is a green character, Buck is a blue one, that makes sense.

Now though? We have the inversion of colors.

I feel like I made the fact that Buck being in green means something is wrong very clear (I will link my original post about that here because I feel like it's more detailed than the one that also explains the Eddie and maroon thing), and yes, that forest green color that we nicknamed the breakup green is part of something going wrong in his life, even if the breakups are meant to be, they're never fun.

But something about other instances he wears green (times that are not explicitly about his love life falling apart), those being the 316 arc where he's trying to fix Red, the coma dream, the cemetery scene, and the gym scene in 705, have a bigger problem that Buck is not dealing with. (There's also 707 when he burns the lasagna but I remembered it editing this and I don't want to add the image here, that scene has different rules because of the blue apron tho).

The thing with Red is about his fear of ending up alone, the coma dream is about him learning to do it for himself, the cemetery scene is about him not dealing with the way dying made him feel, the gym is about him not being ready to tell Eddie how he feels. But they all have Buck running around trying to ignore the source of the issue. He makes Red about himself, he tries to fix Maddie and Bobby before finally accepting that he needs to decide to leave the coma, "I feel like she sees me", talking around what he wants because he can't make himself say what he means at the gym.

Funny enough the cemetery scene and the gym scene are blue and green coded, because of Buck's green jacket and the blue elements around Eddie. And before you @ me with the fact that I'm using the sky being blue as proof, the sky is only blue behind Eddie, you can check the scene, they desaturated the sky behind Buck.

But anyway, there's an overall theme of Buck being misguided. Even surrounding some of the breakups, he's in green hiding from Taylor at Eddie's because he doesn't want to face it, he is asking Tommy to move in a desperate move to pretend their connection is more than it is. It's almost Buck going overboard to keep things in, because let's face it, this dude has no clue how to process a big emotion in a healthy way.

As for Eddie with blue, it's not a common color on him, but it is a color we see him in enough outside the uniform. That seems to be a denim jacket, and we discussed Eddie in denim a LOT this past few months lol, but I keep coming back to these 2. Deciding to move to LA and giving up the truck to have the chance to fix his relationship with Chris.

Granted that's a lot lighter than the one in the still. I just like the Eddie breaking free trying to move forward aspect of those 2 scenes.

That color is a lot closer to the blue of their uniforms, and the only comparable Eddie outfit I can think of is 701 locker room.

@stagefoureddiediaz talks about this in her meta of disconnected, but there's also the way that they use this shade of blue to keep Eddie connected to LA. It's a similar tone to the uniform, it's an outfit you expect Eddie to wear in LA in a way that the plaid flannels aren't, so maybe there's something there too.

Okay, this is a lot of information, what does it mean for the both of them? Well, realistically, since they don't have big movements in blue and green, not much. BUT I talked about how the combo is about creating visual unity, there's a chance that is the goal, placing them as a unity, partners, because 613, we see bathena and madney in blue and green after seeing Buck and Eddie in it, so it ends up connecting them.

The same way that the couples, including Buck and Tommy (granted in a less obvious way than the rest of them, since the combo tends to be matchy matchy and Tommy in navy and Buck in mint doesn't really match, there's also the fact that Buck is actively matching Eddie, but that's a whole other post), are in blue and green in the same scene 706. (Maddie and Chim are blue and green in different ways throughout the episode, again, details in the masterpost).

So my current bet is that they'll have their own arcs, Eddie with his feelings about not being there and moving forward and maybe even back to LA, and Buck struggling with his own feelings while he tries to be a stabilizing presence for the rest of the team, because Bobby asked that of him and because he's Buck and he wasn't inside the lab, so that boy will feel like he's not allowed his feelings. And that maybe we will see other couples in blue and green, to create that connection in the same way as 613 and 706.

Anyway, this got long as hell, hope it makes sense, if you read this, I love you 🫶

[nightcolorz]

I would love to hear your thoughts on autistic Armand, if you haven’t already spoke about this! Imo he’s very autsitic coded, and it’s very precious to me as an autistic iwtv fan :]

OMG!!! RUNS AROUND. Yes lmao I talk about this a lot actually it is one of my favorite Armand things to meta about bcus I’m also autistic and he is my special interest🙏I was trying to find some of the stuff I’ve written about autistic Armand but tumblrs search engine makes it near impossible to find anything so I gave up 😭, but believe me they r out there. Even tho I talk about this a lot I would love love love to talk about it some more for u anon because I can never get enough of armandtism.

I first figured Armand was autistic when I was reading the vampire Lestat because when he is first introduced he is completely non verbal and only communicates through the mind gift. through further explanation it’s very much implied that he does this because he finds putting his thoughts into words hard and he considers just projecting them into peoples brains much easier. Armand speaks out loud for the first time like more than halfway through the book, and lestat is surprised to hear him lol. This is super autistic I feel like that’s obvious 🙏 it’s basically the vampire power equivalent of using a non verbal communication device. Armand having trouble with connecting with people, understanding how to “fit in”, and talking r prevailing parts of his character throughout the whole series (not just tvl) which solidified my headcanon into basically a canon fact in my mind lol.

When Armand is first introduced in iwtv his strangeness is chalked up to his vampirism, but it’s soon revealed throughout tvl and qotd that Armand is considered a strange outcast by other vampires. The things he struggles with r unique to him and r not representative of vampires in general. His otherness/strangeness can also not be chalked up to his trauma or his age turned because Armand was also an outcast as a young child. It’s described in the vampire Armand that Armand was not understood by his parents or his community because he was obsessed with and freakishly good at painting. His community interprets his unusualness as a sign of some divine intervention, the priests believe he is a saint or a prophet sent to earth, even at times saying things implying that he is “not human”. Unusually high quickly developing skill in childhood is an autistic trait, as is hyper fixation on an activity/topic that becomes a core identity factor and prevailing obsession. The affects of Armand’s trauma only worsen the severity of his autistic traits. C-ptsd and autism often overlap and coexist in autistic people who were traumatized in childhood, which seems to be Armand’s case.

in queen of the damned Armand is at his peak autistic lol, I feel like this is when most book readers gain that head canon. The Devils minion chapter revolves around Armand using Daniel as a guide to help him learn how to be “normal” and to blend in to the modern age. Armand can’t seem to figure out how to blend in on his own because he is unable to understand social norms of any time period enough to integrate himself into society. Armand is in love with technology and what most would consider monotonous sensory experiences. He stares at his own reflection for hours, he loves kitchen appliances and watching ingredients whir in blenders, cameras, he watches the same movie over and over again and never gets bored of it. The way Armand fixates on technology really reminds me of how a lot of autistic people played as children. He enjoys repetitive, sensory behaviors over “fun”. For Armand this means watching the same things repeatedly, which is a form of visual stimming. There r moments where Armand is trying to understand his world, but is so blind to what he is trying to understand that he goes about his discoveries wrong. Such as in qotd when he tries to interrogate strangers to gain information on societal norms but he only gets uncomfortable glances. Armand is desperate to understand and to connect but he is consistently inherently alienated, whether it be from humanity or from other vampires or from himself.

Armand also can not process his memories comprehendingly. This is part trauma part autism, but autism is def a factor. Because of his repressed trauma induced memory loss Armand finds it difficult to talk about himself to people. This is worsened by Armand being unable to comprehend the aspects of story telling that he needs to be able to tell people about his life. Armand explains to Daniel that he vividly remembers small details, such as dates and weather, but he could not tell Daniel what “things were like” because he “doesn’t know what that means”. Literal thinking, the inability to grasp vague, fiction based concepts like narratives and metaphor, and strict fixation on minor details like numbers, are all autistic traits!

Armand also struggles heavily with emotional regulation. He is described as often having intense and extreme meltdowns where he cries and screams and breaks things. Armand is easily bothered, in tva he mentions that he covers his ears when he is overwhelmed. The vampire Armand begins actually with Armand becoming overwhelmed in public and trying to escape to an attic so that he can be alone in silence. Armand copes with his intense emotions by putting on a mask of neutrality. He is often described as expressionless and blank, uncanny. But this is a mask, and when Armand can no longer mask and his disguise lapses his facial expressions r described by lestat as being so over the top and emotional that they are disturbing and weird. Over the top unnatural facial expressions as well as blank unreadable ones are both autistic traits. For Armand he is naturally overly emotive to the point of being considered horrifying, and he hides this by taking the opposite extreme. Either way, either expression Armand puts on causes him to be socially outcast.

Armand often describes feeling like there is something wrong with him that causes him to be isolated from others and he’s not sure what it is. In prince lestat he tells Gregory that he doesn’t know why it’s so hard for him to have relationships when other vampires are fully capable of doing that. In the vampire Armand he explains to David that he’s crazy because his mind isn’t built right and his senses are tripled so he shouldn’t bother trying to understand him. I rlly relate to this as someone who felt like I was from another dimension as a child bcus i didn’t know the unspoken life rules everyone else did.

Armand is often treated like a child by the other vampires and assumed to be emotionally immature and too fragile and insane to be helpful. Armand says in the vampire Armand that he doesn’t consider himself an adult because he can’t function like one. This could be due to the age he was turned, but it’s shown to us that characters like Benji and even to an extent Claudia r able to self regulate and function appropriately despite being turned even younger then Armand was.

in conclusion, book Armand is an autistic person who was never given proper support or understanding because the environment and the time period he was born in decided to alienate him further rather then work to help him socialize and learn appropriate skills, and because of the necessities he has been deprived of and the horrible trauma he endured Armand is never able to learn to function in the way he was likely capable of. this recessive quality in pair with his autism caused Armand it be unable to cope or self regulate or learn ways to understand himself since he wasn’t given a chance to in his formative years. He’s a great representative of what many autistic people who experienced intense child abuse experience.

Im rlly happy with the shows portrayal with Armand so far partly because he is omg, so autistic. Show Armand shares so many of book Armand’s autistic traits. inability to understand himself or others, fixation on small details but inability to understand the big picture, etc. even his iPad is autistic asf! My ipad is my comfort item that I carry around with me to self sooth, and this is def the vibe Armand’s iPad gives me in the show. Even assads performance is autistic! He is able to play Armand masking and Armand unmasking, the stilted expressions he gives and the blank stares, the uncomprehending earnestness. AGHHHH!! Assad stims with his fingers when Armand is nervous too which is just an amazing touch. I hope the show explores Armand’s autism, because that would literally be a dream come true. Even still, for now I’m satisfied.

thank u so so much anon for the ask this made me so happy 🙏❤️ autistic Armand means so much to me and has gotten me though some tough times. Understanding and analyzing Armand helps me understand myself better and feel more comfortable with how I am. Earlier this year I gave myself a concussion because I was harmfully stimming during a meltdown, and while I was in the emergency room I was holding the vampire Armand and imaging that he would relate to what I was going through. So yeah he is very special to me too! And once again it makes me so so happy that u got me to talk some about it. I hope this was coherent or interesting lol I felt like I was all over the place

[thatgirlwbraids]

the summer revamp

as the weather gets warmer, I want to start focusing on both my outer and inner reality, nurturing the outer and taking care and being grateful of it will just manifest more love and abundance in your life . so lets first start with the inner world because it reflects in your outer world eventually .

inner world, the 4d

nurture your inner world, as we are all aware the outer world eventually catches up to your inner world . so if you want love , start feeling loved within just forget about the outer world start feeling what you really want within, you don’t want your desire you want what it makes you feel, whatever you want give it to yourself within .

the ways I will be practicing manifestation are in the following ways

listening to edward art and morebeing everyday

practicing the art of conscious decisions

SATS

meditating to edward art, 10 minutes every morning or night

switching up my mental diet and practicing self concept affirmations

mirror work as thought by morebeing

visualizing n mental dieting through desired visuals, this has always worked for me

subliminals

journaling, scripting & inner work and shadow work now & then

reading up on some manifestation books

outer world, the 3d

some things I would like to do this summer, since i’m starting uni soon I really want to lock in and learn alot and improve myself and comeback as a better version of myself with better habits easing into adulthood .

developing a morning routine

sleeping early before 11pm

eating healthy and nourishing food high in protein , with a focus on gut health and skin foods

drinking lots of green tea and lemon water

drinking 2-3 L of water a day

studying and making nutritious recipes

cooking all my meals myself and buying groceries and keeping healthy food around, there are no restrictions tho .

fixing my eating habits & having a healthier relationship with food .

tracking my calories & intermittent fasting & practicing portion control

having a good self care routine skin, body & hair care , smelling really good and having soft skin

daily weekly and monthly maintenance routine

looking very presentable, through makeup ( we are avoiding but we need to learn a bit ) and nails and fashion

reading a lot of non- fiction self improvement books

replacing screen time with fiction books

keeping of instagram through deactivating, tiktok is not really a problem for me

avoiding makeup

10k steps everyday

going to the gym 3x a week

keeping my screen time below 3 hours

learning soft skills, like driving and excel

working on my knowledge and getting 2 hours of deep work everyday, consistently

working on my discipline and consistency

keep up with my social skills

upload on my tumblr, Pinterest and youtube consistently

work on my financial knowledge and reading stuff that interest me

reading up on news

spending more time with my friends and family and planning more outings .

want to start journaling and shadow work and tap into my inner work and start healing spiritually

watching more inspiring youtube videos and creating Pinterest boards

becoming super confident in myself through affirmations & manifesting

taking it slow and not putting too much pressure on myself always start small, it really works .

reminder

something i would like to remind you guys on is no matter how much you try to change yourself on the outside but you never feel full on the inside through inner work and healing you will never be satisfied on the outside, therefore work on both but focus on the inside trust me when on your outside your trying your best to keep a happy environment and your grateful, kind and your working on nurturing and building a beautiful garden within to your liking you will be successful both ways and your inner world will eventually reflect too as long as your consistently nurturing with what you like .

[teaboot]

Hi, I'm certain this is a question answered on like a million places on the internet but i really couldn't find one, how does one start to learn to draw

Like sure practice is good but i do not know a single thing about drawing, like, kindergarten level

So what resources should i use to actually get to a point where practicing has any sense

All practice makes sense, the value of the practice just depends on what skills you hope to develop!

And when I teach art, I typically go one of two ways: Art for fun, and art for mastery.

Art for fun is easy, but limited. You can learn what looks pretty and how to imitate pretty things, and enjoy yourself and have a good time. Art for fun focuses on techniques and materials and step-by-step recipes, I'd say, more than cognition.

Art for mastery is hard, and slow, but far more versatile. It's less about your hands and more about your brain, and how you perceive visual input. You have to break down and understand the assumptions you make when you see things so you can rebuild your understanding of what you see in a way that translates to paper.

I made a longass post with examples of exercises you can try here

And the funny thing is, those "kindergarden" skills will REMAIN valuable- once you CAN draw photorealistic images, doing loose and simple doodles is a fantastic exercise, too!

But for now, a few small tips:

Draw real objects from real life. It will hone your skills better and faster than copying 2d images.

When you draw, try not to look at your hands. Glancing is fine, but try to reduce how often you do it.

Dont draw the object, draw what you SEE. This will make sense the more you practice.

Use references, don't just draw from your imagination. If you draw from enough references, eventually your understanding of things will get to the point where your imagination will have enough grounding in realistic concepts to be believable. It'll fill in gaps you aren't yet aware of and teach you how to research what you need on your own. This is how you develop an eye to identify and correct flaws in your own work, and be your own teacher.

Do the boring ass practice shit. Just do it. It sucks and most folks hate it but it will help

Hold onto the first shitty awful attempts you hate to look at because they will make you feel so good when you feel discouraged later and need a reminder of how far you've come