#and here's my usual wednesday post

[illiana-mystery]

Him. 🤩

[nanihirunkits]

Saint. What? Thank you. We are friends. It’s not a big deal.

HIGH SCHOOL FRENEMY | EP3

[quinn-pop]

mtdd week day 1 - sworn partners

can you tell i like drawing fluff

[aurorangen]

Hi here's an update: I'm in Malaysia / Hong Kong for the next month to see my family, so posts will be here and there. I think I will post postcard legacy + tjolc. It all depends on my mood and what I want to make at the time as currently, I have no stuff in advance 🫣

[pricetagged]

WIP Weds.

thanks, @pricegouge and @stellewriites for tagging me in WIP Wednesday. I see a ton of people already tagged so i'm not sure who else to mention?? open tags to anyone i guess.

Here are some snippets of things (one hopefully going live this week!!) also an idea that's free to a good home

melrose (bare)

[...]“Well, that’s the thing, isn’t it. You said he grabbed your hip and that you see him in and around your train route. There’s not much to follow-up with here. Unless you want to make another report.” “No-I,” an image stained your mind, pitch black and iniquitous. A great black blob seeping across the slate of your mind. You imagined submitting a complaint, imagined them reviewing the grainy CCTV footage to see you placid and starry-eyed as he fingered your open mouth. That same mouth that twisted and hesitated in the station now. “You know what? Never mind.” Time ticked on as if through treacle. Slow and syrupy, you felt trapped in monotony and unable to shake the feeling of something dripping down your spine. After the Christmas card you started to see him more and more. Just flashes here and there – a man on the other side of the platform; a mohawk in the city crowd; a pair of bright blue eyes peering at you from the bushes outside. That one scared you the most, heart seizing and strangling the air from your chest until the headlights from a passing car reflected in its gaze. Just eye-shine. Tapetum lucidum, the tapestry of light that blanketed the retina in a crystalline coverlet. Likely a neighbour’s cat or some other nocturnal creature. Creature of the night[...]

rabbit's paw

[...] and he'd been perfect. Scarily perfect, actually. You leaned into it, dived into the swirling waters and trusted that you'd stay afloat. Normally you weren't so careless, so optimistic. You'd spend the first few weeks of any relationship stalking through their social media with the steady focus of a predatory animal, ready to shrink back into the undergrowth at the signs of danger. Of a challenge you didn't want to meet: something stupid or cruel or uncomfortable. But his accounts were clean. Private, even, with a few shots of his gorgeous face, his sisters, his boys. The Taskforce 141. They were the reason for your current nerves, and for the bouquet brightening up your coffee table. You drummed your thumbs against the screen of your mobile. Kyle's last message was imprinted, seared on to your sclera. Even when you closed your eyes you could see it in negative, letters and numbers glowing behind your lids. >>Don't forget, babe. Friday, I'll pick you up at 18.30. >>Can't wait to see you, gorgeous. The comfortable, swirling waters of the past few months seemed to slosh around you, speeding up. Rationally, you knew that this was the next step. If you were getting serious about each other, it made sense to meet those with whom he was closest. You'd heard about them already, seen the images. Honestly, you should probably thank them for having watched Kyle's back on the field these past years. But the animal instincts built up through years of disappointment reared their head. You tried to shake it off, remembering the dating advice that your best friend quoted back at you each time you came with another tale of narcissistic financiers, ghosting, and men who stared at your tits more than your eyes: "No creeps, no incels, no alpha bros, no layabouts, no men who aren't as good as you." Fuck it. Kyle wasn’t any of the above. You took a deep breath and surrendered to the waves. << Can't wait! See you then x

tbc

He kicked at you, big leather boot rending dust and gravel into snow that swirled around and made you choke. You coughed, dry grit turning to paste in your blood-slick throat and cracked lips. "Should just leave ya. Not much reward goin' for ya," He knelt down, blocking out the cruel sun with his crueler body. [...] "Looks like y'got what was coming. Should just leave you here, keep the wolves fed."

[end0r4]

Wednesday, American Gods: The Bone Orchard s01e01

[ofpd]

ok so im not sure that this is articulate for ppl who aren't calendarheads like me but the jewish and islamic calendars are both calendars in which a year is 12 lunar cycles, and the difference is that the jewish calendar has leap months whereas the islamic calendar does not. so every 2/3 years, the jewish calendar actually has 13 months, and so each time there's a leap month, the jewish and islamic months become out-of-sync by one month. the jewish leap months are timed so that the calendar is in accordance with the metonic cycle (the way that the lunar and solar cycles always align in the same way they did 19 years previously). which is to say, since the jewish calendar was standardized, there have been cycles of 19 years wherein there is a leap month during the 3rd, 6th, 8th, 11th, 14th, 17th, and 19th years (sidenote—you can find what year we are in the cycle by dividing the jewish year by 19 and taking the remainder. for example, this year is 5783, and 5783/19=304r7, so it's the 7th year in the cycle, and not a leap year). but last year was the 6th year in the cycle—it was a leap year. so, it shifted the jewish calendar wrt the islamic calendar, and it put the month nissan (the month in which passover is celebrated) in alignment with the month of ramadan. this year, ramadan and nissan will stay in alignment. and next year, the 8th year in the cycle, ramadan will be in alignment with the leap month itself, which is inserted before nissan. so, it'll take 12 more jewish leap years before nissan and ramadan co-occur (if you look closely, you'll notice that it takes 33 years for 12 jewish leap years to occur, and you might recognize 33 as the number of years it takes for the islamic calendar to fully cycle around the gregorian calendar. which, of course, is not a coincidence!). as you can see, most of the gaps between leap years are 3 years long, but at the current part of the cycle, it's 2 years long. ANYWAY all this is to say that if it were a 3-year gap rn we'd be able to reuse that he is risen/he is not/he is off-limits until sunset meme for 3 years instead of just 2. sad.

[mell0bee]

yall really liked this scene last wip wednesday so here have another little bit of it

edit: heres the link :]

[daz4i]

well it's been awhile since i last reached a point of crying from pain - less from the actual pain itself and more the frustration over it not going away - but it's nice to see that things always reach the point of me leaning on the wall in the shower half screaming half groaning bc what else do i even have left to do abt this shit.

[illiana-mystery]

On Wednesdays, we serve looks...

[shivunin]

WIP Whenever

Tagged by: @daggerbeanart and @ndostairlyrium. Thanks for the tags! I've been off on the other side of the country for the last week, but here's some of what I was working on before I left:

This was absurd, and she was making no sense. Hawke pressed her face into her knees with a muffled groan, and Sebastian sat in silence for a time. She couldn’t stand to look at him; why couldn’t she just handle it herself? Why couldn’t she just—

“I miss my friend,” she said at last, and she was crying, curse it; she should’ve just stayed home and gotten drunk in her room last night. The headache would have been just as monstrous, but at least she wouldn’t be sitting here now, having this conversation. 

“I couldn’t do it,” Sebastian said, breaking her from her thoughts. Hawke lifted her head and scraped the tears from her cheeks. 

“Stop, I mean,” he said after a moment. “It’s why my family stepped in. I had thought…well. At the time, I cannot say I was thinking much of anything. But I believe now that I wanted them to care what I was doing, even if they despised me for it. I wanted to…matter, and I could not see how else to manage it. If they had not sent me away, Hawke, I do not think I could have stopped on my own.”

“Oh,” she said; inarticulate, but at least she’d stopped crying. “I…don’t think that the Chantry is the answer for me.”

“No,” he said, and his solemn expression lifted somewhat. “I cannot imagine dedicating yourself to the Chantry would suit you.” 

Hawke laughed, just a little, but it nudged her back from the brink. She sighed when she was done, watching the shadows scatter over the road ahead. 

“I don’t know what to do,” she confessed. “I always know what to do, but this is—I can’t look at him without wanting to leave and the thought of staying away makes me sick. The Rose…helped at first, but it’s only made everything worse now. I can’t forget, I can’t undo it, and I can’t seem to move past it. So—what do I do? And please, Sebastian, don’t tell me to ask the Maker. If he’s sent any answers, I haven’t heard them.” 

Sebastian half-smiled at the words. 

“Perhaps He has already sent you His aid,” he told her. “I am here, am I not? You have many friends who care about you, Hawke. Let us help.”

I think most of the people I usually tag have been tagged, but please consider this a tag if you have something you'd like to share!

[vampiremourning]

sometimes disability aids are things you would expect them to be, sometimes its a collective giving-in & soliciting the help of a professional organizer to tackle the massive piles of Stuff crowding the house.

[todayisafridaynight]

DID YOU MISS THE EXAM... Either way I can believe in that superstition for a sec I'm so sorry 😭😭😭

NONO I TOOK IT. BARELY. I BARELY TOOK IT. I JUST THOUGHT CLASS WAS GOING TO BE NORMAL BUT NOPE <3<3<3

[katytheinspiredworkaholic]

WIP Wednesday

The Muses (temp title)

Summary: none this time, this is the first page (or two) of the first chapter. Enjoy it in all it’s raw un-edited glory.

Tags: original work, LGBTQA+ Fiction, Adventure, Literary

---

There is someone standing in front of his painting.

Smack dab, front and center, doused in the specialized ambient lighting of the Museum gallery, and completely blocking the elegant depiction of Venus grappling at the form of her retreating Adonis. There are over 36,000 paintings and sculptures in the Chicago Institute of Fine Arts on-campus Museum, aka: The Williams Museum, and only one that Min needs in that very moment. His painting. The interruption stalls him completely in his tracks, fumbling for what to do next beyond stand there and wait. Patiently. Impatiently. But quietly, all the same. Pretending he isn’t about to vibrate out of his skin in anxious earnest to get to work on his— 

Okay, so it isn’t his painting. Technically, it is Peter Paul Rubens’, and has been since 1635. But with how much time Min had spent looking at every single brush stroke and color blend on the intricate oil painting, then it might as well have his name on the placard. 

Reserved for: Kim, Min-Su, Graduate Student of Museum Art Restoration and Conservation. 

He bet he could get Amora to make him a sign that looks official. Or at least official enough to grant him access when such a situation comes up like this.

It seems a legitimate feat that this guy is blocking so much of his view. The painting is over seven feet wide and six feet tall, not counting the frame, and yet this spectator hasn’t budged. Long limbs rooted and starched white blonde hair striking such an abysmal contrast to the painting itself the juxtaposition is jarring. Rubens’ painting, delicate figures with such smooth flowing detail it defies reality, tries desperately to be seen around the man’s silhouette. Calling to Min, begging him to find another angle to experience it from. To see the whole story the 17th century painter portrayed within the picture, and Min swallows back a whine of frustration. I’m trying, he thinks to it’s judgmental stare, but this guy clearly isn’t done observing the peice yet.

His own paint set and portable easel grow heavy in Min’s hands the longer he stands there, shifting on his feet by the open archway to the galley. The Baroque masterpiece (suitably) titled Venus and Adonis gets it’s own room in the gallery, with a few mildly interesting pieces lining the rooms surrounding it from the same period. It’s on loan to the collegiate museum from the MET, thanks to one very ambitious proposal from Ms. Amora Maria Ramos (and the best best friend Min-Su could ever ask for), and such an exquisite honor must have it’s own four walls and special lighting. Sadly, this means people tend to linger longer — wanting to give the art it’s due time and appreciation. 

But after the first ten or twelve minutes, Min can feel his very molecules beginning to get antsy.

It’s almost rude, honestly. Min is on a deadline, and he’s so close to finishing his study and final oil pieces for his Midterms and mock thesis proposal that he can practically taste the top marks he’ll receive for his efforts. It tastes like oil and and turpentine between his teeth. Probably from biting his nails, he realizes, as his impatience starts to peak and his restlessness becomes impossible to overcome. Yes, it’s a gorgeous painting, but for the love of God this man needs to move on. 

If he were less polite, Min would just step up next to the man and start to set up his easel and paints. The presence of peer pressure and propriety convincing the man to scoot over and allow someone with an agenda to actually continue their progression. But there’s something about this man that keeps Min at bay ten yards back. He should have nothing to fear, the other man is young(ish) like himself — but without the air of a college student. His stance and demeanor makes him come across as if he should not be disturbed, and Min chews on his lip as he looks around to see if anyone else in the vicinity might be a braver soul than he. Where was Amora when he needed her? She would have no problem approaching a stranger in the gallery, she does it all the time. Part of her curatorial work hours she serves the museum curation department there, working nearly seven days a week for free just to garner as much experience as possible. 

His impatience and nervousness from the whole situation finally breaks when Min looks at his watch to see it has been nearly twenty minutes that he’s been waiting. Twenty. Sharp flares of annoyance bristle at his nerves, giving way to a silent fuming that can’t be contained, and with a stubborn jut of his chin Min finally steps further into the room. But still a good fifteen feet back from the painting. Lays down his tarp, his easel, and begins to mix up his paints. If this man wasn’t going to move — then congratulations to him: he’s going to now be featured as a study in depth and line in Min’s painting that day.

...tbc

[whimsyprinx]

I love watching people play games so much ugh

[datheetjoella]

You Make Everything Okay

Author: DatHeetJoella Fandom: Free! Pairing: MakoHaru Rating: M Summary: Unlike most people, Haruka wasn’t very eager to meet his soulmate. Half of the reason was his inexplicable infatuation with a stranger he saw on the train every morning, the other half was the words that were imprinted on his skin; the first words his soulmate would say to him. They were… ominous.

When Haruka’s absent-mindedness got him into trouble, he had to deal with the unforeseen - but not at all unpleasant - consequences. Or, how getting involved in a car accident became the best thing that ever happened to Haruka.

Word count: 6,838 (total: 189,573) Chapter: 30/32 Chapter summary: As the days pass by without Makoto by his side, loneliness and despair build inside Haruka. He reluctantly turns to an expert for advice.

------------------------------

Chapter 30: This is Not Okay

Seven forty-three on Friday night, Haruka put down the varnish and admired his handiwork. After hours of neck pain, cramped fingers and a sore back spread out over several days, the sculpture was finished.

The relief and satisfaction that washed over him by far exceeded the contentment he felt about the portrait he made for Mr. Tachibana. While he’d poured his all into that drawing too, this sculpture was something special. It symbolised his undying love for Makoto and to convey those feelings, he might as well have ripped out his heart, sliced off a sliver and merged it into the wood along the inside of the orca’s belly. He’d been creating art for well over a decade, but never before had a single piece held so much of his essence, pure and earnest.

Read more on AO3!