#Shana Wall

[ukdailymail]

Shana Wall crafts a 'Bloody Maria's' cocktail on a Sunday

[simplymakkari]

run sweetheart run (2020) + taking control

[infiniteglitterfall]

Need to get in the Rosh Hashanah mood?

So did I. But my YouTube playlist worked for me!

The last song is George Harrison's "Peace on Earth." I had some year where I was just extremely feeling this as a Rosh Hashanah song. I think someone here pointed out last year that Harrison was maybe in the process of converting to Judaism at the end of his life. I'll take it!

All of these are pretty old now; I'm open to additions and suggestions! The more upbeat and/or heartfelt, the better.

Also, I'm curious about whether anyone else ever mentally calls it "Roshie Hashoshie." Just me?

editing to add: if anyone wants queer services, Sha'ar Zahav is a queer shul (straights welcome too) that does a lot of hybrid and Zoom services. Here's their High Holy Days info.

You don't have to be a member to attend, but I assume membership is still "pay what you can including free." High Holy Days tickets are donation only, pay what you can; and I think if you choose "other amount" and put zero, it'll still let you through.

[loderlied]

old shana sketch. in a bathrobe for some reason?? idk man

[studio-jocandraw]

Pool Scene - from one of Ed Ruscha's photos for the Wall Street Journal Magazine Awards

[shanastoryteller]

Happy Spooks month Shana! Can I have a General Elric cont. specifically with a lil Royed pls

a continuation of 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11

Roy has endured far greater tortures for rewards significantly less sweet, but he dreads going over to the Elric residence.

He doesn't understand how they manage not to kill one another, falling on top of each other at work and then all going home together in one large cacophonous group of blonde soldiers. And Sciezka, usually at the back, rolling her eyes and nose buried in a book or file.

You'd think they'd get out all the chaos in the office.

Roy doesn't bother knocking. He can hear the shouting from outside, which means he'd have to give the door an Edward-level pounding to be heard over the ruckus. A quick array has the door swinging open on its hinges. which he refuses to feel bad about. He doesn't think the Elric or Tringham brothers even have keys.

There's an argument happening between Russel, Kahyal, and Fletcher. The living room is covered in alchemical equations, as always, although the wall gets alchemically cleaned and subsequently covered at least every other day, so he rarely sees the same set twice. He walks by the open study and sees Al and Sciezka sitting across from each other, each of them absorbed in their own book. He assumes the faint sounds of what he hopes is a blowtorch is Winry in her workshop.

He slips into Ed's room, some sort of complaint on his lips, but then he nearly swallows his tongue.

Ed's sitting on his bed, in only a tank top and boxers, pushed up enough so his golden thighs are on display. His hair is loose as it so rarely is and pulled over one shoulder. Most devastatingly, there's a pair thin wire reading glasses perched at the edge of his nose as he writes in notebook propped up in one knee.

It's unbecoming, what Edward does to him. It makes him feel new and fumbling and wanting.

"Took you long enough," Ed says, not lifting his gaze from his writing. "You going to stand there all night?"

Ed normally hates being interrupted, but when Roy knocks the notebook from his hands and pulls him up into a kiss, he only pulls Roy closer.

[finelinevogue]

love her stupid

summary - you are jealous of harry’s new bandmate, when you really don’t need to be

word count - ~1k

pairing - nonfamous!harry x reader

You didn’t think you really ever got jealous.

Not like this.

Sitting in your boyfriend’s room, alone whilst your boyfriend and his bandmates practiced downstairs, you never thought you’d be jealous of their new lead vocalist.

Your boyfriends band - Last Day on Earth - were in need of a female voice to better their music, and after many interviews for someone they came across Shana. She was a brilliant singer with just the right love for this kind of music - indie rock.

She was also out, most definitely, for your boyfriend.

You had come straight from the library to Harry’s house, hoping to spend the evening with your boyfriend.

When you arrived you heard them before you saw them. Harry and the band often practiced in his mum’s basement, as long as they were finished up by 10PM.

“Hello, love!�� Anne had coddled you on the way in, taking your jacket from you and hanging it up in her under-stairs cupboard like you were part of the family.

“How are you, Anne?” You asked.

“Doing alright, love, yeah. You?” She pointed towards the kettle. “Cuppa?”

“Oh, no thanks. Just gonna see H if that’s okay?”

“Of course. He’s downstairs with Mitch, Tyler, Pauli and Shana.”

“S-Shana?” You questioned, pulling the sleeves of Harry’s sweatshirt over your hands and crossing your arms over your chest.

“Yes. She’s the bands new lead singer. Bit pitchy if you ask me, but it’s not my band.” Anne shrugged her shoulder and continued making herself a tea.

“Is Sarah here?”

“Yes, she is actually. Mitch is giving her a ride home I think.” Anne said, because apparently she was more clued up on your friends than you were.

“Okay.” You nodded, smiling. “Think I’m just gonna go to Harry’s room for a bit. If that’s okay?”

“Do what you want, Y/N. This house is as much yours as it is ours.”

You thanked Anne and walked up to Harry’s room.

Harry’s room was very stereotypical for a guy going through college. He had his bed with blur bedsheets and duvet. His posters on his walls from famous movies and concerts he liked. His bookshelf filled with Tolkein and Pratchett. His drum set in the corner of the room and his desk in another.

You threw your tote bag to the floor by the door and jumped onto his bed, before laying down.

His whole room smelt of him, obviously, and you absolutely loved it. He smelt so warm and musky. He smelt homely and comforting.

And after a long day studying, that was just what you needed.

You took out your phone and pulled up your text messages.

To Harry: in your room xx

To Harry: just going to lay here for a bit, then i’ll come say hi to you and the band xx

It took you a while to build up the energy to speak to people, especially after a long day studying. Your social battery took a long time to charge up and then drained almost instantly after one use, much like your old(ish) iphone.

You pulled out Harry’s Nintendo Switch and loaded up a new Mario Kart game.

Even though it was Harry’s Switch, you used it much more than he did. Harry much rather prefers his PC for gaming. A lot of the time he’ll game whilst you read, both of your sitting in comfortable silence as you enjoy being in each others presence.

Your phone pinged when you finished scrolling through Instagram.

From Harry: I’ll be up in 5 x

You didn’t expect Harry to stop practicing with his band, especially not for you, but it made your heart swell knowing he cared about you so much as to stop band practice for a little bit so he could see you.

A day apart from each other was too long. You had even packed your toothbrush today with the hope Harry would be okay with you staying over.

You pulled out Harry’s plaid pyjama bottoms from underneath his pillow, stepped out of your uncomfortable jeans and put on his pyjamas. It was a sigh of relief and comfort when you put them on.

You won your game on the Switch with a whispered cheer just as Harry walked into his room.

“Hey, you.” He smiled.

“Harry!” You cheered, dropping the Switch to greet him.

You sat up on his bed, coming to kneel at the edge of his bed with your arms out. He walked over to you and into your awaiting arms, linking his own around your neck and giving the top of your head a couple of kisses.

You hummed in comfort as you took in his homely smell.

You squeezed him a little tighter before letting him go. You moved back just a bit rested your chin on his chest, looking up at him from an unflattering angle.

“You okay?” He smiled down at you, double chins only making him look prettier.

“Mhm.” You tiredly smiled.

“How was the library?”

“Boring. Missed my study buddy.”

“Oh, I’m sorry baby.”

“Kiss? To make it up to me?”

Harry laughed, “Of course.”

He leant down slowly and you tilted your head to the side to let him have room. You captured his lips with yours, softly. It was a slow and soft kiss. Intimate and loving.

You pulled away, only for Harry to chase your lips back to his kissing you again. You smiled into the kiss, before giving him what he was clearly craving; You.

You reached up a hand from around him to bring up to his cheeks and squish them, so his lips could break away from yours.

“Oi, piss off.” Harry sounded silly at he spoke with your fingers squishing his cheeks.

You giggled, letting him go completely, before sitting back on your heels and smiling up at him.

Harry ended up resting his palms on the bed either side of you, bending down to your head height to speak to you.

“Come watch us play?” He asked politely, kissing your cheek.

“But Shana’s there.” You looked down, suddenly finding your fingers far more interesting. You messed with the ring on your finger that was actually Harry’s. The one he’d given to you one random night together, to show you how much he loved you.

“She is.”

“Yeah.” You said, not knowing how to articulate what you meant.

“She’s nice.” Harry added.

“I bet she is.” You huffed, when you had no reason to.

“She’s a good vocalist too, which is the only reason she’s here.”

“How good?” You looked up at him.

“Good enough that her girlfriend recommended her to us.” Harry smirked, knowing he got you there.

“Oh. Cool.”

Harry quickly kissed your forehead before standing up to normal height. “C’mon Little Miss Jealous.”

He held out a hand for you. You took it and he helped to pull you off the bed. He pulled you close to him so you chest hit his with a soft collision.

“Hey.” He spoke to get your attention. You tilted your head up to look at him through starry eyes.

“Hm?”

“I love you.”

You smiled, “Love you too.”

“Who loves me?” He asked for you to be clearer.

“I do.”

“Good. Wouldn’t want you to be anyone else.”

Harry always knew what to say, even when you were being unnecessarily mardy. There was no reason for you to be jealous for Shana, but sometimes you got in your own head too much.

Harry was always there to coax you out of your head though, working through your jealousy until you knew there was no reason.

He always validated you, but he also always reassured you.

“Okay. We can go now.” You nodded more confidently.

“Ready to watch me with heart eyes, baby?” Harry smirked.

“Always do, baby. Can you play ‘Love Her Stupid’?” You gave him puppy eyes.

“Think that’s a great idea, love.”

••••

(bonus)

You made it downstairs with Harry.

You found yourself walking in behind Harry, who went straight to the cookie cupboard.

His mum hit his hand before he could grab the whole packet.

“You can have one, mister. Dinner will be ready soon.” Anne said.

You laughed as Harry groaned and tilted his head back in frustration. His craving for biscuits was a serious one. One that you joked about with him all the time.

“Y/N, tell him he needs to cut down on the biscuits.” Anne tapped Harry’s stomach.

Harry was toned, don’t get anyone wrong, but he also had a little bit of chub there when he wanted. You loved how he didn’t take his body too seriously, but also didn’t neglect himself.

“I do tell him. He just doesn’t listen.”

“Listen to your girlfriend H, otherwise you’ll bloody lose her.” Anne lectured him.

“Lose her?” Harry scoffed. “Y/N’s obsessed with me.”

“In your dreams.” You rolled your eyes, but realistically what he said was the truth. You were obsessed and you were okay with that.

[fishing-lesbian-catgirl]

are the arknights girls gijinkas of their names or are they just named like that

Uhh kind of neither. Arknights girls choose an operator code name for themselves when they join Rhodes Island. Some choose their actual names and are just named that, which means you can have an operator named Dorothy Franks choose Dorothy, but you can also have an operator named Olivia Silence choose Silence. Why is her last name Silence? Not important. Other people choose things that are thematically appropriate for who they are, construction worker Shana Moleman also works in combat as a defender who carries a big shield and acts as a wall to protect people behind her, so she choose the name Cement. There are all sorts of reasons to choose the names they do, Pudding choose Pudding because her new boss that was flirting with her called her Pudding and she just thought it was a nickname. The in universe animal/monster-girl race that is on Manticore’s medical record is just “Manticore”. Every character is different

This is to say that the people who design Arknights operators have their own reasons for choosing their names. For Asbestos’s case she is a salamander girl, her role in a team is tanking magical damage that is often in the form of fire. Salamanders used to be thought to be made from fire, as when they set logs that they were sleeping in on fire they would scurry out of the flames, this connection between salamanders and fire went on for a long time and also inspired things like charmander from Pokemon. Because salamanders were thought to be connected to fire or even fireproof, when the soft, fibrous, and extremely fireproof material asbestos was discovered it became known as “salamander wool”. Asbestos the material is toxic and carcinogenic, Asbestos the character exists in a world where there is a somewhat common terminal illness called oripathy that is essentially a magic rock cancer, people tend to be very afraid of the infected as its grants them increased ability to do powerful magic and when the disease kills them their body spreads infectious particles everywhere around them. Asbestos the character is one of the infected, and she’s also a toxic asshole who has only one friend because she’s very abrasive and rude to basically everyone and likes to be alone. All of the things about asbestos the material fit perfectly in the package of Asbestos the character. She’s a fire-proof, flamethrower-wielding, magic resistant magic tank, who has cancer, has the potential to spread cancer, has a toxic personality, and is a salamander girl. While in canon it seems there’s just an extremely fitting hazardous material that she named herself off of, in reality her name was likely decided early in her design to make all the elements of her fit together perfectly

Sorry that’s probably a longer answer than you wanted lol

[mikkeneko]

Last line meme

rules: in a new post, show the last line you wrote (or drew) and tag as many people as there are words (or as many as you feel like).

Tagged for this (by special invitation, even!) by @faux-fires.

Life at the Shatterdome went on. Society might be collapsing around the globe, but within the walls of Cang Qiong the graveyard shift still gave way to the morning shift, meals still had to be made, the floors still had to be cleaned, and the technicians in the PR department still argued over which was the best background music to use for their latest "we're keeping up the fight!" propaganda broadcast.

Who to tag for this? I did just bother ceru and shana, so how about... @benevolenterrancy and @artingstarvist?

[stargazerdaisy]

I was tagged by my favoritest @orlissa and she's fascinating. Luckily, I've collected things from other people.

I tag @abedsmessedupmeta, @firstdegreefangirl, @incognito-princess, @shana-rosee, @kyliafanfiction

I might even post a picture of the object that gets the most votes.

[screencapshd]

SHANAE: Corner.

AVA: Are we just yelling out things we see now? Walls, floor, huge mess of food!

[lyzanewe]

I fucking love you.

I fucking love you.

I fucking love you.

I won't let capitalism and a shitty flat get in the way of our love.

I want you to be the happiest and bring a smile on your face every single day.

Thanks so much for being so freaking patient with my slow ass brain.

Losing you would be so fucking devastating. It would mean that I failed at making you feel loved and comfy, I could not handle it.

Just give us a little time, to get that new home, our comfy little polycule all together, some new healthy habits, I'll give you the best treatment you've ever got, you deserve it so much.

Thank you so much for being part of my life, you're a fucking ray of sunshine for me and everyone else around. I sincerely wish I would be able to do stupid cringe jokes less and show way much how I love you, sorry so much for being a slow learner.

Also so sorry if this wall of text looks deconstructed and weird and confusing, writing it out of my guts at 1AM.

I sincerely wish to be better and better and better for you, to constantly progress, to truly give you the love and affection you so fucking deserve. Thank you for being so patient about this.

Never change, you're the best. Love you, Shana. ❤️

[mybeingthere]

Thinking of all the gifted folk artists who produced art to help them to get through difficult times, to reflect their rich inner life, to tell spiritual stories and to make their surroundings beautiful, we must remember Afia Zecharia.

And Shana Tova to all the Jewish friends!

"Afia Zecharia arrived to Israel from the Jewish community in Yemen.

They say that she was born in 1905 in the province of Abyan opposite Somalia, although nobody knows for sure.

She was married at the age of 10. Since childhood, she worked painting the walls of a "palace" of the local lord. In her young eyes, it was a magnificent palace but in the presence of the lord, she had to hide her Jewishness.

In 1949 during the well-known Ethiopian Jews repatriation to Israel, Afia arrived in Shlomi in the north of Israel near Lebanon.

Afia, her husband and 7 children got a big two-story house with almond trees in the garden. Around the house grew plum trees, pecans, pomegranates, apricots, fig trees, so it looked like a corner of paradise.

Afia's husband, jealous and possessive, forbade her to paint the walls of the house and she suffered in silence. She was a beautiful woman, heavily made up and wearing heavy Yemeni jewellry as well as heady and strong oriental perfumes.

She had projects in mind...

When her husband died she resumed her painting, starting like a little Yemeni girl, where she was interrupted, but this time using car paint. She painted only indoors, at night, when no one was watching her. Afia Zecharia was over 80 years old.

She said angels came down and helped her. Her neighbors heard her talking to herself or maybe to the angels ...

Little by little, from floor to ceiling, every inch has been covered! Even in her 90s she climbed on the table to paint the ceiling.

Afia often bought dolls at a market and decorated them as to Yemeni brides.

Her work, beyond inspiration from her homeland, has a feel of the aboriginal paintings, each symbol having a meaning known only to insiders.

Her neighbors say she died in 2002 at age 96 and her granddaughter says she was 104."

After many administrative battles, the municipality finally agreed to preserve the house and work of Afia Zecharia. (Retold from Le Naaba)

https://www-ayeletbar-co-il.translate.goog/%d7%91%d7%99...

[frostdemigod]

They mentioned Shana in the Ambience Synesthesia video! At around 1:03:37!

TWIST INFINITYYYYYY

YOU DRIVE ME INSANEEEE

HIT HARD A BROKEN WALL

You got my hopes up for a second I genuinely cannot lie 😭😭😭😭😭

I THOUGHT I GOT MORE CRUMBS LMAOOOO

[silverjetsystm]

@positivelybeastly sent 🍯🍎 for our muses to share apples and honey | Accepting.

Moon Kni.ght is used to working on call. Night shift only. This whole 24 and 7 sitch is older than this whole gig. Ol’ Lockley don’t mean Cap’s black ops squad. We’d been busy the last two days. Me and Grant split Rosh Hashanah down the middle. Mr. Reform takes day 1 and I take day 2. Sometimes Spector does Tashlich.

Lockley. Clarify.

Tossing bird seed at the water for our sins is a revolving door--

Not that one, though I’m sure they appreciate you playfully reducing our prac--

Right, right. For those of you playing along at home, Jews are Jews. Reform is just as – what do the kids say now, ‘valid’?

I don’t know. It’s not like we can text anyone.

As Orthodox an’ Conservative an’ Reconstructionist and ya get the point. I gotta elbow Wall Street. Sign of affection.

Start over.

Oyyyyyyy. Okay.

Moon Kni.ght is used to working on call but not on teams. Not in the morning. Better?

I’m taking you off narration.

Putz. Spector’s gonna leave things out.

Cut.

Take 3. Roll sound, roll camera.

Action.

Shir Hama'aloth. A crescent helicopter lands in the hanger floating above the water.

White glider-cape vaguely catching monitor light glow, Moon Kni.ght stumbles into the Quincarrier proper clutching a stuffed paper bag. “Morning,” he rasps. He hopes.

Pleasantly happy to see him? Commander Rogers wished him “Shana tovah.”

Moon Kni.ght paused. Half-open silver-teal eyes glance over the Commander’s face to a blessedly monitor-free wall. What could be one potentially determining how genuine the Commander was, it was really that prompt providing context for the last

Number of days he had been out. The paper bag. The hangover. Nedda’s tooth aching, gut churning note he peeked at and recoiled like she was retiring.

“Thanks. There’s,” holds up the paper bag, cape shining, Breakfast? Brunch? “Leftovers.”

Ant Man gives him a weird look as he passes by to the too big to be a break room, too small to be a cafeteria chow situation.

Valkyrie’s talking about apples in the distance. Cup of strong coffee in one glove, half full bag in the other, white tactical boots follow a path he knows is becoming predictable, knows everyone knows he’s becoming predictable (paranoid) to Han- McC- Hank’s lab. Boots know where they’re going is the point. Scowling, wracking his brain if (fine) Hank sticks to his lab because of work, avoidance of the others, or some other reason. Could be anything. Not his business. Right?

“Not my business,” he mutters into his lid. Just like the heartbeat stutters when the double doors open automatically, revealing Hank, peering through a microscope. Side profiles are easier to stare. Learning expressions. Seeing the whole face instead of Moon Kni.ght, Spector, intensely eyeballing.

Please tell me-- Mask rolled to the bridge of his nose, cracked lips turn up on his stubble face, a bend to his tone attempting-to-be-casual, “Hungry?” I can’t take it all home. It’ll rot. Go stale.

Regardless, he sits at the table, unpacking the bag. Honeycrisp and green apples. Plastic honey dipper container, almost half full. “Neighbors have bees. They like clover,” he mutters. Half of fluffy torn challah, round for the chag. Small fancy cheeses, half and quarter moon assortments.

“I didn’t make this,” he adds, brows rising in his shadowed mask when opening the large salad container – roasted aubergines with yogurt tahini, pomegranate jewels. "My housekeeper slash cook" She thinks I'll starve. She treats my job like I'm trying to make friends at the office. No, he doesn't want to sound pathetic in front of Hank. Not when they've had an accord.

"Goes all out for holidays." A wan smile, a nod. Maybe that's what happened. Not everything is Nedda's cooking.

He makes a plate from the spread for two. Crescent darts turn red-gold and green apples into slices, honey drizzled off to the side. Another pause. Cape carefully folded, he sets it aside, white mask, gloves, and gauntlets joining it. Tired brown eyes blink, are rubbed, stretching his left side’s scars tissue.

Didn’t want to make a mess. He almost convinces himself, still sipping glances at Hank’s feline face, soft blue fur, tracing clawed hands. Adam’s apple bobs, he inhales pine and musk. Covers with a sip of coffee.

Maybe this year will be sweeter. Sweet like Hank’s eyes, like his cat-like mouth he keeps glancing at. Sweet like honey, the crunch of apple dipped that doesn’t fill him.

[shanastoryteller]

Happy Valentines Day Shana! I need some Merlin, either Lord de Bois or Ygraine Time travel continuation up to you ❤️❤️

a continuation of 1 2 3

His first duty as a manservant is at dinner and literally his only job is to stand by the wall and refill Arthur's goblet.

It's a family dinner held in Arthur's father's rooms rather than the great hall where various knights and nobles eat. When the eldest Lord de Bois walks in he sees Merlin standing there and frowns. "Who are you?"

Merlin opens his mouth and nothing comes out.

"Arthur's keeping him hostage," says a low, amused voice, and he looks over to see the younger - oh, this is stupid. Agravaine drops into a chair at the table and begins picking at the grapes. "He really has to stop doing that. It's such an unseemly habit."

He's not being held hostage!

Is he?

"Elyan isn't a hostage," Tristan says, exasperated. "Did he find you in the woods too?"

It takes Merlin a moment to realize he's speaking to him, but he still can't make any sound come out of his suddenly dry mouth.

"Ealdor," Agravaine says, amused. "You did tell him to deal with it himself."

The door opens and Arthur enters, Amabel's hand in his. "Talking about me while I'm not around?" He picks Amebel up and drops her into Agravaine's lap, who rabidly needs to readjust to keep the bowl of grapes from spilling everywhere "Where's my aunt? You don't have the time to gossip about me when she's around."

"Gossiping about you is our favorite pastime," Agravaine says, settling his daughter with one hand and pushing away the bowl from her reaching fingers with another.

"Arthur, who is this?" Tristan demands. It's odd seeing them next to each other - they share blue eyes and blonde hair but not much more than that. Arthur must take after his mother.

"Merlin," he says. "He's my new servant."

Tristan's eyebrows push together. "You hate having a personal servant."

"This one is useless," he says and Merlin's ears burn. "He's absent the most annoying qualities of properly trained servants."

He has no idea what that means.

"Okay," Tristan says slowly. "But why is he here?"

Actually, that's a good question. He's the only servant in the room. But Elyan had said -

"So that when he fumbles and spills a pitcher of wine on me, it's not in front of the whole castle."

"Hey!" he protests then pales. The pitcher does suddenly feel unexpectedly heavy.

Agravaine's lips twitch. "He speaks."

Tristan now looks just amused as his brother. "Oh, I see. Well, you do like a project."

Merlin's not sure if being a project is better than being a hostage.