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writing-whump · 8 months

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A wolf's heart

Continuation of this fic. Isaiah's is still sick, Matthew is helping him through the night. Contains a bit of emeto and chest pain.

Isaiah was in pain.

His chest felt tight for some days, but it kind of came and went, so he ignored it. That’s what you usually did with pain when you had a supernatural shadow taking it away. But this tightness was steady and hollow, like constant pressure under his breastbone and on his side and while it fluctuated during the day, it never quite went away.

It happened before. It actually happened often enough now Isaiah knew it came with too much raising and lowering his shadow for effect, and that it was becoming a weakness. A trademark way for his body to protest his shifting states. Or maybe longer lasting damage, a weak point he made to himself by his own hands.

He could accept that. But today was much worse. The tightness grew until it became a searing hot pain he was unable to ignore or think away. As if a white hot knife kept stabbing him into his heart, and the pain pulsed with his heartbeat, spreading to his jaw, neck, back, and arms. Traveling by nerve points, he guessed.

So Isaiah found himself at home, his white button up shirt sweated and clammy, heart pulsing with searing pain, short of breath and barely breathing. Not to mention his limbs felt like lead, pulling him with all the force of gravity down and every movement was a struggle. Changing positions was a gamble, because there was no logic in the pain spreading from his chest when he moved. And his mouth was flooding with these sour tastes and he was queasy without relief.

And the cherry on top? He couldn’t relax, because Matthew was there.

Currently watching him, fists helplessly clenched at his sides, a worried frown now etched on his forehead as if it could never go away.

Isaiah was sitting on the couch, legs spread out in front of him, leaning heavily against the backrest. Matthew stuffed pillows under his back, and the upright position helped a little, but Isaiah’s chest simply hurt, consistent and crushing and making his eyes close and open as he rode out each wave.

“Isaiah, what else can I do?” Matthew said, standing over him. He looked angry, but that was typical and Isaiah was learning to see the worry and concern hiding behind this particular furrow.

There was a bowl on Isaiah’s lap, because after three hours he wasn’t bringing up more aside bile, so Matthew gave up on the overbig trashbag.

But Isaiah found it quite reassuring, as a wave of pain crushed his chest and his breathing hitched. His stomach clenched in unison, not wanting to be left behind and soon enough bile shot up Isaiah’s throat. He went with the movements at this point, opening his mouth in time for the drool to drip down. The hot mouthful of the rest of his stomach lining splashed against the bowl. Matthew winced, stepping closer.

Isaiah panted and leaned his head back. The light of the living room stung his eyes, in stark contrast with the darkness behind the window. Was it midnight already? He wasn’t sure. His cheeks puffed out with a silent burp, which brought him no relief. Again.

He must have been dehydrating, because now a steady pounding in his temples joined the chorus of pain. But drinking anything, knowing his empty stomach was clenching and unclenching with force and any liquid would be taken as fuel was entirely unappetizing.

Isaiah felt Matthew’s gaze on him and cracked his eyes open. Matthew was peering into the bowl, but there was almost nothing to rinse out. The redhead sighed in frustration. “There must be something I can do, right?”

Isaiah cracked his eyes open and regarded him through the blurry film of his eyes. “Get me a bottle of water. I have small ones under the kitchen sink.” Better to have water close, if he decided to risk it. He didn’t mention a glass, cause he didn’t think he could hold one steadily, but a plastic bottle was easy to discard nearby.

Matthew shot out of the room immediately, happy to have something to do. They were both entirely bad at this. Matthew at taking care of someone, helpless, clumsy and clueless and Isaiah letting somebody assist him. Isaiah was used to suffering alone. That was the right way to bear pain, to handle it on your own, away from prying eyes sniffing at weaknesses. It was especially important for shadow wolves to look as strong as possible because their instincts made them attack. It was only natural.

So Isaiah was used to loneliness, even craved it at times like these. Having Matthew around, he had to bite back moans of pain, had to hold himself quiet as his body purged itself of every drop of nourishment or liquid, had to focus on breathing steadily, even though each breath added another jolt of pure hurt. He was just so tired. And he didn’t know what anyone could offer to lessen his discomfort. Years ago, maybe, he had taken care of his younger brother when he was sick - but they were boys and Isaiah hid from his father’s strictness, going behind his back to soothe the pain of the shadow he knew too well. He couldn’t turn away from Hector then. Maybe that’s why he couldn’t turn away from Matthew now.

The truth was, he pitied Matthew. With such a difficult personality an enormous shadow like his was a burden. Yes, Matthew could be strong, he could rival many of the packs in the city on his own, if he weren’t a danger to himself. His shadow was too big, eating at him, taking his concentration and willpower. That’s why Isaiah didn’t expect Matthew to figure out something was wrong with him, not to mention what. He expected him to be too busy focusing on himself, on his shadow. He didn’t consider Matthew capable of thinking, caring or putting things together. Didn’t expect to get attached, either.

Isaiah wasn’t looking for a pack. That he vehemently rejected, no matter what his father, his origin pack or his brother thought of the idea. He didn’t care how many people he would disappoint, how weird and alarming they found him, how risky he had made it for himself. This was his life and he was going to live it by his rules, not by the pack’s.

So he avoided enemies, rivals, equals - not that there were many running around. He didn’t let himself get dragged into their nets, working on the outside, bending the rules, testing his masks. But then Matthew came and Isaiah couldn’t stand idly without giving him a try. A chance.

Matthew came back with the small water bottle, sitting down on the edge of the couch. “Here, take this.” He looked him over worriedly, as if making a list of differences of Isaiah’s state before his one-minute absence. It pulled a corner of Isaiah’s mouth, watching that.

To his own surprise, Isaiah did believe Matthew. Masks were important for him, his suits, his apartment, even his personality - he had his roles and robes, illusions for everyone and every occasion. Illusions were crucial, more important than reality, because they could shape it. They had the potential to become it. People believed what they wanted to believe, what they wanted to make true. Isaiah always did just that - became one with the masks he wore, the ones he crafted and chose carefully according to impact and desired effect. He presented himself as he wanted to be until he became it.

Not Matthew though. Matthew wore his heart on his leather jacket, pinned down at the front. Volatile and impulsive? Sure. But never hiding, never controlling and suprisingly unapologetic about it. The base was anger and frustration, but he was living the range of all the rest as he discovered it.

Most people were just slaves to their desires, fears and instincts. Didn’t reflect or thing more ahead than the shortest way to pleasure, to self-interest and they usually weren’t even aware of this. They had a mask or two, not very well-crafted, using it to get what they wanted.

As Matthew studied him, helpless but concentrated, hands reaching out for a second, but not daring to touch all the way, Isaiah saw the earnestness. He had underestimated Matthew before and hard. Maybe Matt wasn’t just a pity case, someone to help find a better direction and discard. Maybe he could be someone even Isaiah could count on.

Matt uncapped the bottle and held it towards the sick man. Isaiah stared for a bit before slowly taking it, wincing slightly as his heart pulsed and blood rushed into his ears loudly. He took a small sip, savoring the cold water in his mouth before swallowing.

Matthew watched him like a hawk. “What else? Would human medication help? Tea? Air?”

Isaiah turned his head slightly, wanting to close the bottle, but Matt grabbed it out of his hands and closed it himself.

“...A cold compress. Take a clean towel… and dip it in water… and bring it over,” Isaiah instructed. His throat constricted and his chest freaking hurt and he was left breathless between the words, barely making them out.

Matt jumped into action immediately, taking record time to return, even with the faint noises of cursing and thumping of something from the bathroom. He got back, white towel in hand, question written on his face.

Isaiah sighed. “For my head. Just hand it over.” He wrapped the towel around his forehead and let it hang around his neck. The seeping cold felt soothing against his heated skin.

“You have a headache now too?” Matthew asked, rocking on his feet in surprise.

“Likely from all the vomiting. Don’t worry about it.”

“I’m not doing it right anyway,” Matthew grumbled, something small and sad in his voice, pacing the living room.

“You are doing fine. Don’t worry about it. And for hell’s sake, sit down.”

Matthew bit his lip, but sat down obediently beside the couch on the floor. Isaiah pushed the bowl away from his lap. His arms were so heavy and the movement shot out burning jolts into his arms. The black-haired man coughed, but despite the nausea swirling in his stomach with the sip of water, he was set on keeping it down.

His shirt was freaking stuck to his skin with sweat and grime and for the moment he felt good enough to realize it in full. He grimaced, but there was no way he was going to change his clothes. Not in front of Matthew. The suit jacket he gave up, but the shirt was his last line of defense, a reminder of dignity and the illusion of control. Of something not claimed by this ridiculous weakness. Who knew, maybe Matthew would realize soon this wasn’t just healing on its own, not all the way, as Isaiah claimed.

The suit pants were digging into his stomach though and it felt tender and puffed out now with that pathetic sip of water. He really really wished he could get rid of them.

“Isaiah? Zaya? Hey, man, talk to me.” Matthew patted his leg gently. Somehow all too tuned into his every move.

Isaiah hesitated. He just felt so tired and nauseated and his stomach freaking hurt, the pain radiating from his chest into his entire body. Damn these fucking clothes. “Could you…help me to my room?”

“You want to lie down? Sure, man, but won’t it be harder to breathe for you there? Though you wanted to sit…”

“Not-...” Isaiah had to take a deeper breath to finish, “that. I just want to change…” he tugged helplessly at his shirt, grey and splotchy.

Matthew stared at him for a long second before realization lit his eyes and he surged to his feet. “For real? And you are asking me that now? After almost 5 hours?! You should have just changed into something comfy right when we got here!”

Isaiah grimaced and hid half his face in his palm. Somehow he hoped Matthew would give up or Isaiah would find him a good excuse to leave, to send him somewhere, just anywhere, where he would have found a free moment to change properly.

“Okay. I see you are overthinking this. And I’m not thinking enough. So obvious. Damn it all.” Matthew stalked out of the living room. Isaiah lifted himself up in a panic, wanting to follow, but shifting on the couch made him gasp in pain and he fell back immediately.

Matthew returned not a few breath lengths later, shaking out a pair of pajama pants and a loose shirt. “Here. Don’t fucking get a heart attack for having to change in front of me. Hell.”

Isaiah braced himself and with closed eyes, panting for air, started to unbutton his shirt with shaky fingers. He guessed what would come next and he hated it. But Matthew only rolled his eyes, sitting on the edge of the couch beside him and leaning in to work on the buttons himself. He got him out of the shirt in no time, throwing it on the floor. Pants Isaiah could unzip just fine, thanks, but Matthew peeled them off of him.

Then he actually helped him put the pajama shirt on. Thankfully it had no buttons, just loose black cotton with short sleeves. The pants could have been an awkward moment, except Matthew was so matter-of-fact and irritable Isaiah didn’t dare to protest. The wave of relief at having his comfortable fresh pajamas on was indescribable. Isaiah didn’t realize what a giant difference even such a small thing made when everything hurt.

His stomach was churning, but with much less urgency. Isaiah got his towel back against his head and leaned back again. Matt stayed beside him, his shoulder almost touching his, grumbling. Isaiah let his eyes fall shut. Despite the crushing weight on his chest and the tremors in his limbs, he hoped for sleep, Matthew’s shoulder just an inch away, if he leaned against it.

#emeto #sickfic #emetophilia #hurt/comfort #vomiting #whump writing #emeto writing #werwolf #bromance #comfort #werewolf wip #my writing #this is coming in quick #couldn't wait to write this once I got the idea #enjoy the first look into Isaiah's pov :D #Isaiah

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kingofthewilderwest · 2 years

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DreamWorks Dragons: The Nine Realms liveblog S2 E1 Uniconned

It’s going to be a unicorn dragon isn’t it.

Okay look. That thing’s face is creepy. Whenever you try to babyify something, it turns out looking bad to me. Overbig eyes in front of face, bulbous skull, etc. Not cute. Though I do like the concept of a unicorn dragon, including the bubble horn where the bubbles are prolly filled with inflammatory gases. That’s fun.

Okay so learning more about Jun’s family. That’s cool. Glad some characters have siblings here (and we know a vague hint of where her dad is). But. Her brother is like...... if a really lame, reject wannabe Elvis Presley went gothpunk. I’m already not liking him.

Yeah I really don’t like him. Reminds me of this kid in elementary who was the worst-behaved kid in class. Every teacher every year told his mom he was a capital B Buttocks. But because he acted like a darling around his mommy, she didn’t believe the feedback. Ever. Frustrating as farting butts.

There’s one thing I like about him, though: his eyes were designed the right color. Aka: Design 101.

You know they’re not going to be brave enough to do it, but the unicorn dragon should bond with Eugene and he becomes obsessed with it and he joins Dragon Club.

Also I’ve decided I’m interpreting this entire episode as an analog to Leela meeting Nibbler. I MEAN COME ON. **NIBBLES**

Them both acting like there’s tons going on when it’s just a few crumbs on the counter and vicinity is hilarious.

I have never hated a dragon as I do Nibbles. It’s the design.

The scream isn’t that scary or bizarre. It’s just like. A wolf howl.

I do appreciate they’re letting Jun be weird, tho.

D’Angelo’s obsession with rules is adorable. Also him pulling a sneaker out of the trash and smelling it. Yes. That’s what I do everyday, too.

I’m sorry words like “bubble blast” are hard to take seriously. Are we in My Little Pony?

This convo about “Have you ever done something you regretted?” is too shallow of dialogue for what it should be and what their reactions are.

Eugene: I always knew you’d follow me to the dark side. Jun, ominously: How could I help myself? Pfffft.

Raiding a storage closet is not a big rebellious gesture. C’monnnnnnnnnnn, writers. Don’t water this down. Let him actually be delinquent.

You could almost say the Loops make him... [eyebrow wiggles] ...loopy

Okay, now that’s a banshee screech. That’s better than the earlier one.

The entire time Jun obsesses over the dragon and D’Angelo gets offended, I’m like, “YOU GO, D, YOU GO.”

That “something” coming up from the fissure is going to be like mom or a ton of them.

Oh look, it’s a ton of them.

Okay the ridiculous music and the ridiculous circus of dragons is good chaos. (Also, ever since they introduced that weird music, I was thinking, “Does this belong in HTTYD or UT?”)

Alex is forever best character

I adore how they combine their bubbles together

The Ultimate Bubble Bomb

I mean, are we going to talk about, “Wild animals can take care of themselves?”

Eugene is where he belongs. Keep him there.

#TNR #The Nine Realms #DreamWorks Dragons #httyd #How to Train Your Dragon #blabbing Haddock

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somanywords · 2 years

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ALSO OMG YES WEIGHTED BLANKET FOR STEVE octopus man yesss he's killing it

honestly i'm ready to give him everything. he gets a duvet and a fuzzy blanket and a overbig hoodie and five hugs and maybe a kiss too for good luck

#asks #turtle steverogers #mikey #oatmeal man #steve rogers

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1984-in-newspeak · 2 years

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One-Paragraph 2

Hall smelled of cooked cabbage and old tearful minirugs. At one end colorful poster, overbig for indoor show, tacked to wall. Showed onewise doubleplusbig face, plusmetre wide: manface halfunclose 45, heavyful blackful moustache and unsmoothwise attractful features. Winston shoed to stairs. Unuse try lift. Bestful time halfunworking, nowtime electricity unpowered light-time. Part economicful push Hate Week-wise. Flat seven stairlevels up, and Winston, thirty-nine and varicose ulcer above right ankle, staired slowwise, resting multitimes on path. All level poleful lift-shaft poster with doubleplusbig face seened from wall. Picture made to see eyes move, place move. BB SEE YOU, picture-word read.

#1984 george orwell #newspeak

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twinicegiantorbiters · 2 years

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huge beast chomping up all the SUVs and overbig pickups with her terrifying bite and smashing all the big houses and wide roads flat with its powerful limbs and excreting all the warm gooey steel over the new space into railways

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the-rat-plays-games · 2 years

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RAGNOR YVERA Ragnor, daughter of Yvar and Svera, first pup born in Blutothinn. Born: Year 1. Mate: Lydiya Litters: 3 pups, all lost. Siblings: Yvthildr Yvera, Ansgar Yvyda, Kvozhe Yvar-Greymane

“Now, you won’t see all that I have to lose - - all I’ve lost, in the fight to protect it. (I wanna break these bones ‘till they’re better.)” Sleeping At Last - “Eight”

“And it said: ‘Follow me down, to the valley below- moonlight is bleeding from out of your s o u l.’” Porcupine Tree - “Lazarus”

Yvar and Svera were, despite it all, not quite ready to be parents. They were both anxious, and Yvar stared into the darkness of her mine, listening to Euldis’ voice lap across the whimpering noises of her firstborn children. The pups squirmed at Svera. Three in number, then. Yvar knew what she had to do: the Evermother demands sacrifice. Ragnor will never know how Yvar looked at her first. She will never know how Yvar hesitated before picking the second-born, the middle child, to lay upon the altar and dedicate to Euldis, to send to the world beyond. Yvar agonized over what she had done. The purpose was clear, however: if Yvar herself gave the sacrifice, then no wolf could say she did not know the pain of loss. Ragnor, overbig and every bit her mothers’ intrepid daughter, got herself into trouble time and time again as a pup. She narrowly avoided death at the hooves of a caribou, but the kill, made by Kvatch, brought food for a week. Still, Ragnor caught herself staring at the colors of sunsets. By day, she trained at Yvar’s side. She learned to kill. To strike where bones broke best. By night, Ragnor gazed at fireflies. She watched the moss glow, deep in the heart of Blutothinn’s lands, where the mine-paths stretched impossibly. When Ragnor met Lydiya, it was inauspicious: they met eyes through a bush of berries as Ragnor quietly gathered materials for dyes. Lydiya did not meet her as Ragnor, the brutish firstborn; she met Ragnor, the quiet, awkward artist. Along came Lydiya’s brothers, and Ragnor was overjoyed to bring the three wolves, all her age, back to her family, her pack-- -- but it was not to be. The quartet lost the brothers. A bear, driven mad, took the boys apart. Ragnor took Lydiya to a quiet place, where nobody would find them. She mourned there, with Lydiya, and by the time the duo came back in the pack’s sight, the bond between them had changed. Shortly after Lydiya’s adulthood ceremony (which was only three days after Ragnor’s), they were wed. But Ragnor, for all her size-- -- she had not been meant to be a mother, she’d say, later, to hide the pain of loss. Three pups. Three dead, gone in the night, to the coughing-sickness. Only Lydiya saw her anguish. Only Lydiya saw the rage, saw the way Ragnor tore into her own forelegs, spattered her blood across the den floor. Only Lydiya sees Ragnor stare into the middle distance, sometimes, watching the pups that nobody else can see. That night, Ragnor swore she would never pray to Euldis again. Not if Euldis took her pups. The evermother, Ragnor snarled, could be damned. When the Redboar mercenaries came, Ragnor fought alongside the others. She witnessed Helka break, torn apart by a dozen jaws, fighting to the last for the pups that she so loved. Ragnor saw her packmates slaughtered. When Adalbard Redboar summoned a spirit to finish the job, Ragnor acted faster than any of her pack did. The first-born of Blutothinn forgot her fury at Euldis as she charged down the death-shade. Fang met spectral bone in a sea of blood and breaking bodies and splitting skin. Blutothinn’s thinning numbers crashed against Redboar again. A final time. The mountain shook. Bled. Stones fell from the ceiling. And- Down in the under-dark, where the Blutothinn pack grew thin and bone-sharp, keening, hungry, Ragnor died. The spirit took her between the ribs with tusks made of smooth dark stone. They fell, together, into the bottomless depths of the deepest mine-shafts. Ragnor felt the break of her back -- though none but Lydiya know that Ragnor felt every fading heart-beat, in the end. They found her, a mangled mess of fur and bone, beneath a boulder. But once the boulder was moved, she slowly stitched back together -- -- or, well. Close enough. What she saw, nobody knows. But Lydiya knows that her faith is back, and stronger than ever. ( She also knows Ragnor can no longer feel pain. A secret, from the warrior-artist to her wife. A blessing, to a dead woman.)

#c: ragnor #wolvden #blutothinn #c: yvar #c: kvatch #c: svera #c: lydiya

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nzzdfhddh · 3 years

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and when shots fall, they appear capable

Aparte factores como que Ricky y Peko llegan fundidos sieeempre al 4 Cuarto. Y me parece que somos bastante los que nos quedamos (sin dudarlo) con la temporada de Calde

duci alkalmi ruha

hasta ahora. Por cierto, Ricky es practicamente el mejor asistiendo. No dieron la nike hypervenom all black talla. Creo que estás malinterpretando el mensaje. No digo que el Chacho no tenga calidad, que la tiene, o que no haya hecho partidazos. Boston's problem is it cannot create any easy baskets. The Celtics work overtime to score, and when shots fall, they appear capable. When they don't, they don't have any other options. Pero lo ponéis como si fuese un Toney Douglas. El foro no le da palos. Se los doy yo XD. Tiene su gracia. Los primeros cinco minutos. Porque por mucho que eso del matriarcado vasco pantaloni elisabetta franchi saldinos parezca estupendo, está claro que los hijos de esta aspirante que también se presentaron, pero no entraron estarán encantados de perderla de vista durante unas semanas. Las lesiones se han cebado con la franquicia de dorado y púrpura y los rumores de tirar la temporada y 'tankear' empiezan a dominar la actualidad informativa. Dejen pasar estos 2 meses y medio, recupérenlo con la máxima tranquilidad, apuntalen el próximo draft y para el ao que viene con un joven jugón, un Kobe totalmente recuperado y lo que se pueda conseguir en la agencia libre empezamos a andar. Lo q no sé es si intentarán hacer algún trade x pau, en donde aparte de "mejorar"

puma avid fusefit mid

su posición en el draft, pues obtengan alguna ronda y/o jugadores diadora focicipő de futuro. Ten en cuenta, que estamos hablando de un base espa cuantos conoces que hayan llegado a la NBA?? poquitos. Y si ademas le incluyes que es de los mejores jugadores de su equipo y que ha llegado muy alto en el ranking de tiros libres. Es de los mejores jugadores de la historia de Espa y lo que le queda por jugar! otra cosita. Es como si dijeras porque una banda cobra % de las ganancias percibidas cuando esta bajo el apadrinamiento de una discografica. Y porque el arte lo pone la banda la discografica lo promociona. Los deportistas son el show mismo. En fin, no merece la pena dedicarte ni un segundo m Te dejo solo con tu amargura. Jajajjaa. Ves como intentas descalificar? amargura tiene quien entra en un foro sin animo de participar, solo con la intenci de provocar y ofender y sin hacer ning otro tipo de aportaci Es lo que se suele conocer como troll. Javier Lacunza, alero de 19 aos y 2,03 m., vive con ilusión y optimismo su segundo ao en Florida Atlantic University, en la que el espaol Jorge Sanz es director de operaciones de baloncesto. El navarro del Sagrado Corazón, apadrinado en su aventura en vans giniss la NCAA por AGM Sports, tuvo un papel muy importante en el triunfo 86 51 de los 'Owls' ante Ave Maria University. 11 puntos (3/4 en triples) y 5 rebotes en 12 minutos sobre la cancha fueron los esperanzadores números de Lacunza.. Una vez más el alero LeBron James se encargó de liderar el ataque de los Heat, que se impusieron 93 83 a los Raptors en el duelo de líderes de división de la Conferencia Este. 'King' James aportó 32 puntos (11 20, 1 6, 9 11), 8 asistencias y 7 rebotes que lo dejaron al frente de todas las facetas del biciclete rusesti vechijuego de los Heat (51 22), que ganaron el tercer partido consecutivo. Chris Bosh aportó 18 puntos y 4 rebotes, mientras que Chris Andersen fue el sexto jugador al conseguir 13 tantos (5 5, 0 0, 3 3), siete rebotes y puso dos tapones. Along the way they also found each other. Citizen. Leroux, who holds dual citizenship, made her national team debut in 2011 and earned winner medals at the 2012 Olympics and 2015 Women

riduzione dvi hdmi amazon

World Cup. La rotación ahora ha mejorado mucho porque hemos traspasado gente mini melissa picole vidropor fin, que era lo que decíamos. Han salido dos jugadores, y aunque ha llegado Prince, ese ya no va a entrar en la rotación. Ya están hablando de cortarle, y lo mismo pasa con Nelson (solo su player option para el ao que viene le ha frenado la mano a Ainge). Ya empieza a entrar Young en la rotación, se tendrá que repartir con Crowder pero ganará minutos. En cuanto a Olynyk, ya sé que no va a ser ningún crack, pero a mí me parece aprovechable de segunda unidad. A mí Noel me da miedo porque me parece que es de lesión fácil. Dos triples del francés Antoine Diot golpearon a una defensa azulgrana que vigiló la línea de pase, pero la velocidad de los locales les permitió llevar la iniciativa, 12 10 (min. 5). El Valencia Basket falló cinco tiros libres consecutivos que permitieron que el Baskonia cogiera la primera ventaja destacable del primer cuarto (16 11), ventaja que pudo mantener hasta el final asalto gracias a las segundas opciones

zapatillas estilo valentino

que le proporcionó el rebote ofensivo y a un triple de Rodrigue Beaubois que cerró el periodo (21 16).. Y muchas veces el cambió se dio cuando el equipo pasaba de la ABA a la NBA, y en algún caso cuando se mudaban, y esto último no ocurrió a menudo. Se podría incluir también a los Hawks, el cambio no es significativo ya que fueron los Blackhawks. Los Washington Wizards pasaron de ser Bullets a Wizads sin cambiar de ciudad. Declared for the draft last week, took a photo of Andrew Bynum pained reaction to seeing Gasol embarrassed yet again. North Carolina star forward John Henson, who declared for the draft last week, took a photo of Andrew Bynum's pained reaction to seeing Gasol embarrassed yet again. Only time will tell if Henson finds things quite so funny when he's facing Griffin next season.. He did so again tonight by scoring a fantastic goal against his longtime national team teammate Tim Howard. It was his second of two goals for the Sounders against Rapids and it was simply glorious. He latched onto a booted ball up the field, let it bounce overBig League StewLogan Morrison is not happy Gary Sanchez is in the Home Run DerbyA player who has never been invited to the Home Run Derby has some hot opinions about who should be allowed to participate in the event.

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daily-rayless · 4 years

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20 Years of Art

2000

(OC / Celes from Final Fantasy 6 / OC / OC)

The influence of Final Fantasy 6, off of the Anthology collection, and Yoshitaka Amano caused a significant shift in my art, leading my human figures to be very slender, graceful, and frequently pale. Most of it was of women, some of it was of horses, and by then I was very self-consciously starting to draw men. I mostly worked in pencils and colored pencils. Faces were oval with high hairlines and long, sharp, narrow noses. Also note my evident fear of mouth-seams and lower eyelids. I was pretty terrible at coloring, often feeling that coloring one of my sketches ruined all the nice linework.

2001

(Quistis from Final Fantasy 8 / Rosa from Final Fantasy 4? / Schala from Chrono Trigger / Dark Knight OC from Final Fantasy 4)

This is where more anime influences came in, and I consciously took on a semi-anime, semi-realistic (in my own mind) style. My ideal of beauty was overbig eyes, overlong nose, and oversmall mouth, and I stuck to it pretty relentlessly. Trying to figure out shadows and face structure. Still bad at coloring. I was incredibly proud of that charcoal picture. Was also going through my mandatory Dark 'n Edgy phase, with a big helping of Phantom of the Opera, Sarah Brightman, and my attempts at designing supercool clothes, many of which I wouldn't have actually worn, even given the opportunity.

2002

(Me trying to recreate “Flaming June” / OC, who incidentally looks almost exactly like Sarah Brightman and whose diadem was bodily lifted from a Jodi Lee painting / angsty symbolic wet chain lady / OC)

Deep in the Dark 'n Edgy. Faces are still very heavily made-up, with big lashes, defined upper eyelids, and dark lips. Trying very hard to be a good artist though, have high expectations for the future. I was so proud of that final pose and worked so hard on it. Lined paper? So not a problem. Besides, how else am I supposed to draw during class? A sketchbook would've been even more obvious than the incredibly obvious I already was. I'm able to listen while drawing pretty reliably, and I did manage to take detailed notes while doodling, so at least I had that going for me.

2003

(Celes / OC / OC / Hermes-inspired wing lady)

I was focusing (at least some of the time) on backgrounds and trying to make my work detailed and polished. Coloring is still hopeless. Often when I colored, I would go super light, even when I was using dark or intense colors. It would give my pictures a sort of faint, half-assed hazy look. I remember an art teacher urging me to use more color, but I probably resisted because I knew that way lay total destruction. I'm sorry, well-meaning art teacher. You are unversed in the ways of my pencils. I have killed too many sketches to take those kinds of risks.

2004

(Rosa? / Meliara from Crown Duel / willow-dress lady / Geddoe and Queen from Suikoden 3)

See the Meliara picture? That's supposed to be a night scene in a forest. Front-lit by blazing firelight. I was too afraid to make the colors darker. This is dark enough, okay? Anyway, this year, along with being utterly obsessed with Suikoden 3 and Crown Duel, I was letting my art head in a more realistic direction...

2005

(OC / Queen / Queen / part of Zetta and Salome from Makai Kingdom; I remember deliberately copying those swoopy Ss from one of my friends’ handwriting. Wishes ended up being the first longform fanfic I posted online.)

...that really flourished this year. It's not actually realism, but I made a point to give my characters, especially the women, more realistic bodies. Faces are very round in this period, often with soft features. Noses are prominent. I'm also, finally, using more vibrant colors. I probably got my first Prismacolor pencils around this time. I also got some really cheap markers, but had no idea how to use them so mostly stuck to pencils.

2006

(All OCs)

I look back on this as a good year. I was learning better coloring techniques. (Bold colors! Press that pencil down! Okay, I still had much to learn.) I got an Elfwood gallery while the site was doing its slow mosey into oblivion. But that was an important step, not just looking at other people's art online, but putting my own up as well. There were downsides though. I began to feel more insecure – or maybe more realistic? – about my art, on this site with so many highly talented artists. Still, 2006 is a good year. It was a lot of fun, and I learned a lot.

2007

(vampire and hunter / Fleur from Harry Potter / OC / Avril from Wild Arms 5)

The year of Fleur Delacour. This is when I was writing Kindred. I think it was because I was trying to depict Fleur as distinctly non-human that my art shifted away from that more realistic style. Fleur, and my other figures, became very tall and slender. The anime DNA is still there though. For a long time, I felt the lying-down picture of Fleur was my best work.

2008

(Revya and Gig from Soul Nomad / my attempts at being “abstract” / OC / OC)

This was the year of Soul Nomad and, towards the end, Tales of the Abyss. Unsurprisingly, the anime influences start moving back to the fore. The eyes are becoming larger again, the features a bit more angular and stylized, mouths are shrinking. I'm still desperately trying to figure out markers and wondering why it's so darn hard (I don't try to educate myself, I just flail), but I was proud of that blue OC picture. It made me feel like I was getting somewhere. 2008 is when I started my deviantART gallery, right when everyone else was moving on to Tumblr.

2009

(teacup lady / Persona 4 noir-style comic / Revya / OC)

Then Persona 4 hit. Shigenori Soejima was a huge influence in this period, especially in eyes and faces. Pupils, chins, and jawlines shrink, eyelashes are sparse and stylized, noses are simplified. 2008 and 2009 are about as pure anime as I've ever gotten. Meanwhile, I'm really exited about my dA gallery and trying lots of different combinations of media. I'm super active on dA and FFN at this point, writing Elysion and then a slew of shorter Persona fics.

2010

(Minako from Persona 3: Portable / concept-art-version Minako / lady with dragon ferret thing / other lady with dragon ferret thing)

I'm still drawing with a lot of Soejima influences. Additionally, bodies are becoming even longer, taller, thinner, and bendier. Some of them look absurd to me now. On the other hand, a lot of pictures from this period have a nice elegance to them. I was still using colored pencils a fair bit, but more clumsy markers are showing up. Persona 3: Portable came out, and this is when I was writing Death and Ker.

2011

(mask lady / hat lady / Archaya, Duphaston, and Iryth from Eternal Poison / symbolic autumn lady and her winter baby)

Midway through this year, I hit a breakthrough when I got my first set of Copics – and skin tones, no less. Even though I was still flailing, I was so thrilled with my results. That Eternal Poison picture left me enormously proud, as did the mother and child one. My style hasn't changed all that much, but it's starting to feel less extreme. The focus on big eyes and tiny little mouths remains.

2012

(Elza from Suikoden 2 / Daryl and Setzer from Final Fantasy 6 / Killey and Lorelai from Suikoden 2 / Lyssa, Greek goddess of madness)

This is the year of Elza. Lots of delicate sketches of this lovely scarred lady, and lots of colored pictures too. I've definitely shifted away from pencils towards markers. The Daryl and Setzer one was an attempt to use both, and I was very happy with it. These pictures show their age, but there's still a lot here I like. Mouths are larger too. However, my online activity was starting to lag.

2013

(Rydia from Final Fantasy 4 / Nia from Infinite Space / the prophet and Schala / Argos and Io from Greek mythology)

The mid-2010s weren't entirely great for me, marked with a lot of frustration and discontent. And that definitely carried over to my art, making me feel very disappointed with myself. There was lots of marker work this year. Probably the standout picture is Argos and Io. This is also when I played through all three routes of Fate/Extra, and my art was suddenly full of Hakuno and Emiya.

2014

(Minako / butterfly lady / Marta and Tenebrae from Tales of Symphonia 2 / Elza)

Looking at it now, this was a good year. Lots of nice marker art. The butterfly one was a big step up for me in terms of coloring. The Marta and Tenebrae has a really cool stylized look to it. But I was becoming less enthusiastic about sharing my art with others. I started to post less and less.

2015

(evil Hakuno and Emiya from the Fate series / Mitsuru from Persona 3 / half moon cookie lady / Hakuno)

I barely posted anything this year, though I was still drawing a ton. As far as making strides, this is one of my better years. Coloring will never be my strong suit, but it's a lot more fun, and it looks a lot better. It's almost entirely marker-work at this point. Despite my, er, angst, a lot of people are smiling this year.

2016

(OC / doodle lady / Luna from Roman mythology / hair bow lady)

At this point, it's feeling too recent for me to really see what's changed. I did a fair bit of eraserless work. One problem I still have – and, yes, it involves coloring my pictures – is losing some of the image's personality after I've inked it and erased the initial pencil work. The picture's still there, but not as nuanced as it originally was. The results often feel stiff to me. Doing the first linework in ink, or not inking at all, allows me to keep that sensitive, spontaneous quality. Luna and the bow and doodle ladies were done without erasers. Another thing I did a lot this year was fill backgrounds with busy shapes and colors, which is a trend I’m still following today.

2017

(flapper and dog / Alcyone and Ceyx from Greek mythology / flower hair lady / Kida from Atlantis)

Not a good year. Not that the art is bad, there just isn't a lot of it, and what there is often isn't very finished. I was still mostly dark online, wondering if I should take down my dA gallery. Drawing and knowing I wasn't going to post something took off some of the pressure of my own expectations, but I was still unhappy.

2018

(Altera from the Fate series / Elizabeth Bathory from the Fate series / OC / Aranea from Final Fantasy 15)

This was a really important year for me. I wrote a novel I'm really proud of, and it's done a lot to give me confidence and a sense of creative direction. I also decided that after New Years, I was going to start a Tumblr gallery...just as everyone who was still on the site was jumping off of it. Much of my 2018 work is still sketchy and unfinished, but I also think it's loosening up some. It feels less stiff than the stuff from the middle of the decade.

2019

(Aloy from Horizon Zero Dawn / medievaly lady / Red from Transistor / Red)

The year of Supergiant Games, which led me to focus more on bright saturated colors. It's really hard for me to analyze these objectively. Coloring is better? I worked more on details? I used my metallic gel pens a ton and did shape-cluttered backgrounds? These aren't new things, but I think they paid off okay. I'm more at peace with my level of ability, I've finished more complicated works, and I crawled out of my den and started posting regularly online again. So that's all good. Curious to see what the art looks like in twenty more years.

#art progression #20 years of art #2000-2019 #i'm not tagging all the characters #this is a terribly long post #and shouldn't clutter up too many search results #thank you if you read the whole thing #i apologize for typos #art meme #art summary

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hoodgrind · 3 years

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sheerfreesia007 · 3 years

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Ha! Your message made me laugh! That temperature is an average warm day here at the moment! We’ve still got the shorts and flipflop brigade out in that weather too 🤣🥼

Oooh yeah after having 80 degree humid weather to suddenly drop into the 60s is cold for us. Plus I think our bodies get so used to the hot weather it kinda shocks us when it goes lower.

I think I'm gonna look into getting one those overbig knit sweaters they always look warm and comfy.

Hahahaha! I'm so used to wearing sandals all the time it's a nice change when I wear my little boots for work.

#sheer answers

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allovertheworldblog · 5 years

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Mar Del Plata

I heard about Mar del Plata in my Rough Guide guidebook.

It described the place as the seaside resort of Argentina. I imagined a kind of Mediteranian resort along the lines of one of the Spanish Costas or maybe even The Riviera.

But of course there’s only one Riviera and there’s only one Mar del Plata.

Mar del Plata is where people from Buenos Aires and further afield go for a holiday. It’s set on the Atlantic ocean, five-hours drive from Buenos Aires, or a one-hour flight away.

I was travelling there on Holy Thursday. As I was leaving BA I was worried that I wouldn’t be getting in to Mar del Plata until pretty late at night and that I didn’t have a hostel booked.

I had no access to the internet so I texted my brother in Dublin to see if he could book one for me. He texted me back asking if this was an April Fool’s Joke, as it was April 1st. I assured it wasn’t and he booked a hostel for me.

The bus bound for Mar del Plata left an hour late, so got into the recently built bus terminal in Mar del Plata around 11pm. I queue for a taxi and get one after a couple of minutes. The taxi driver takes me to the road I ask him to bring me to but he doesn’t know the hostel. I pay him the $7 odd pesos taxi fare and walk down the road to find the hostel.

Eventually I find the hostel and check in. The guy in the hostel can’t find my reservation, I tell him my brother booked it on the internet. My brother had booked a twin room but the guy puts me into a 6-person dorm.

Four of the other beds are occupied by American students who are down from Buenos Aires on a weekend off. The other bed is occupied by a young guy from Buenos Aires. His friend is in another dorm. The pair of them are like Bill & Ted, or Wayne and Garth, not quite Rosencrantz and Guildenstern.

Almost from the start I got a bad feeling about the hostel, so I decided I wouldn’t eat there and would spend as little time as possible there.

It’s around 23.30 but I decide to go for a walk. I go to see the sea, at 11.30 at night!, just to get out of the hostel. I walk down to see the sea. The change in temperature between Buenos Aires of a few hours earlier and Mar del Plata is noticible, even though it’s after 11 at night.

There’s a cold wind blowing in from the Atlantic. I walk down to see what I can see of Mar del Plata. Not much is the verdict. It’s unfair to judge a place that you haven’t seen but I seem to have my mind made up. The delayed bus trip, the terrible hostel and the cold are all forcing me to make my mind up about Mar del Plata, even before I’ve seen it.

Next morning is Good Friday. As I’ve decided to spend all day out of the hostel I get ready, apply suncream, get my camera and I’m off. First off is breakfast. Havanna, a coffee shop that started up in Mar del Plata in 1947 and is now well known in Buenos Aires has a big shop and cafe beside the hostel on the sea front.

I go there for breakfast. I have tea, some medialunas dulce or sweet sticky small croissants and an alfajor a small cake biscuit that Havanna say they developed although I guess its been around for ages.

After breakfast I went to explore Mar del Plata to see if I’d judged it unfairly. I found a supermarket where I bought my lunch. Later still not exactly in love with Mar del Plata I went back to the bus station where I arrived the night before to enquire into busses back to Buenos Aires. I bought a ticket the following day for the 23.30 bus to BA. I figured if I bought a late night bus ticket I could sleep on the bus and wouldn’t need a hostel for a night. I viewed it as a saving.

I went back to the coast to see something of the place. Meanwhile the weather picked up a bit, but the temperature was still down. Walking along the coast looking at all the cars parked by the footpath I was again surprised at how old looking some of them were. Cars from my childhood, some I remembered the Renault Fuego, the Fiat 128, some I’d never heard of, particularly Ford Falcons by the bucket load.

Later walking along the coastal footpath I came across a Bedford motorhome, I never knew such a thing were possible.

Later in the afternoon I sit at a cafe and drink a beer on the pedestrianised street just off the coast. It gets so cold that I have to sit inside after a while.

At the end of the day I go to check out the casino and stick around there for an hour or so. The place is packed with holdiaymakers, but it can cope with big numbers. The building is a 1990’s uninspiring design from the outside. It’s in the style of a chateau and a palace all at the same time. There is a mirror building beside it which houses a hotel.

Inside the casino, the room is overbig, with a coffered ceiling that feels as if the roof is down almost on top of you, by the fact that the pattern is repeated over such an expanse.

I look around but decide to stick to the slot machines. In the end I win $140AR, after putting about $30AR into the machines. I decide to quit while I’m ahead.

I go for a hamburger. I queue at a fast food counter and order a hamburger and a 7up. I take them and walk over to the sea wall. I sit there and watch the blue Quilmes sign on the side of the boardwalk as it lights up. The blue sign lights up in order, ‘q’ then 'u’, then 'i’, then 'l’, it seems to miss the 'e’ each time and then it’s the turn of the ’s’. Then all the lights all go out and it starts again, 'q’, 'u’ etc, each time just missing the 'e’.

I finish my hamburger and walk back to the hostel. On my way back I see another of the peculiarities of Mar del Plata, the midnight fishermen of Mar del Plata. Along the small seawall are men in buttoned up jackets with their fishing rods cast into the Atlantic. Some are chatting to each other, some have their wife or girlfriend with them to keep them company or provide sustenance.

I feel at the end of the day that I find Mar del Plata an alright kind of place.

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