#long live the queue

[synchros]

[Image ID: A horizontally oriented digital painting of Overlord from the IDW 2005 Transformers comics. It is set in a dark room with red lighting and chains hanging from the ceiling in the background and foreground. He is reclining with a smug expression on a table covered in energon. /.End ID]

get a load of this asshole, someone tell him to get off the table

[thisismeracing]

Charles + medical au(?) + Fluff comfort

Medical | CL16

⸺ Charles misses you and he won't measure efforts to see you. ✓ mentions of injury.

⁕ one word, a thousand stories blurb night (closed) ⁕ my masterlist and my taglist

It was a slow day at the clinic, much like every Wednesday, you come to notice. You were super tired from the routine you've come to get used to, early classes during the morning, then study sessions to get your studies done before rushing to the hospital three times a week, the other three days you went to the clinic, an opportunity you got with a friend to experience a bit more of the medical field.

And though it was great for your grad life, it was actually hard for your love life.

You've been dating Charles for almost two years now, and he was always very supportive of your career, much like you were with his. He would make time, and plan cute dates whenever you were together and free at the same time, and when your school would let you, he would fly you to be by his side.

With the added internship at the clinic, it got harder, and you haven't seen each other for almost a month now. He was busy with racing, Ferrari meetings publicity stuff, and you were busy with school and internship.

So Charles decided to surprise you at the clinic where you were working that Wednesday after he got some days off. With the help of Pierre, he faked an injury to get there and find you. He had everything planned perfectly, he only forgot that you weren't the only person working there, and he found himself too deep on his lie back down.

That's how he found himself in the small individual side of the emergency room waiting for a doctor to collect his blood and run some exams. If Pierre was there he would be laughing his ass off at the fact that Charles was about to let someone have his blood taken, just for the sake of his surprise.

Thank goodness though, he didn't have to get that far, because you were the intern assigned to take his blood, and the second you turned the corner and saw the mop of chocolate hair your eyes went wide.

"Omg, Sharl, are you okay?" you ran to his side in the blink of an eye, holding his face between your hands and frantically looking for signs of sickness.

Charles gave you a toothy grin, "surprise!"

"What do you mean surprise?"

"I mean surprise, as in surprendre!"

"I-" you dropped your hold on him to put your hands on your hips, attentively looking at your boyfriend.

"Don't be mad. I just wanted to surprise you," he smiled. "And I talked with your boss, she just forgot to tell the guy at the reception and the nurse that it was a fake sickness, they almost drew my blood and ran tests on me," he ranted and Yn laughed.

"You're lucky I love you and missed you like crazy," you whispered before smashing your lips together in a loving kiss.

Charles held you close finally feeling at home after a month away form you.

― ⋆🪩 VOICEMAIL: I hope you like it babesss <3 Don't forget to reblog and leave me a comment *mwah*

[tiny-librarian]

In any case it seems that Maria Theresa had expected a daughter. One of her courtiers, Count Dietrichstein, wagered against her that the new baby would be a boy. When the appearance of a girl, said to be as like her mother as two drops of water, meant that he had lost the bet, the Count has a small porcelain figure made of himself, on his knees, proffering verses by Metastasio to Maria Theresa. He may have lost his wager but if the new-born augusta figlia resembled her mother, then all the world would have gained.

Marie Antoinette: The Journey - Antonia Fraser

[voidcat]

— the maker, far away and the muse, ardent

characters: endo yamato, you

notes: this is more in the style of my typical dazai content so iykyk. artist!reader, gender neutral pronouns used. small picture of dorian gray reference. a mini post explaining my vision for this fic basically

Drawing Endo Yamato is a tricky feat.

Despite his simple looks, you realize there are more details to him that meets the eye. Sharp edges and curves, eyes and lashes that cut through, wavy locks of hair that fall with an order to itself.

It is difficult but so is to create. That’s the thing with art, and that’s what you love about it until the very end.

No matter how hard, how detailed something is, no matter how long it’ll take you to reach that level of skill required to make it, it is never impossible.

And so you sit back and keep observing him, smoothing out the page before you, you sharpen your pencil.

Despite the numerous pages adorned with his face, you’ve never spoken with Endo Yamato, not even once. Nor did you feel the need to.

Does god often seek an audience with their followers, does a nature artist eat the apple even after days of mold has accumulated— does everyone kill the thing they love? Or do they just leave it be, to their happiness or misery.

To you he is nothing more than a pretty face, beautiful features and an impressive body, one he uses as his own canvas, recording his life and feelings onto his skin permanently.

Endo Yamato never sits still, as if offering a challenge to you. Another thing that helps you in the long run, your pen begins to hasten, your sketch line improves and you begin to remember and transfer every small detail of a millisecond to paper without breaking a sweat.

It begins piece by piece, part by part. When one thing proves difficult to grasp, you have no choice but to dissect it one by one.

You begin with his structure, how he carries himself and his body. You have confidence in your figure drawing but it takes something extra to show off his pride and nose high up attitude in his posture. You don’t know Endo Yamato all that much but you know enough that you don’t like him or his kind at all.

Then comes the face, the edge of his jaw and the softness to his cheeks despite coming off as thin. It’s the details that prove the real challenge. When drawn apart, be it his eyes or the hooked nose, you’re good. Yet the way they have been placed on his face, you have to remake the dough figurine over and over again. His hair proves a great distraction, you’d suppose it is the real source of your problems. It hides everything characteristic to him, every small detail, the arch of his brows, the wrinkles on his face when he smiles or furrows them, the angle of his nose and how the bridge comes down, the light in his eyes though they are absent majority of the time.

You sketch over and over, the pencil glides off the pages. You change the materials but the subject remains the same. Noticeable changes begin to appear after some time. You’ve lost for how long you’ve been drawing, but it comes natural now.

So you switch up the medium, and try the process from the start with watercolors. The uncontrollable nature of the medium met with the difficult subject growing familiar on your muscles perfectly.

Too perfectly in fact, as you are lost in the thrill of it, that you don’t even notice how time passes nor the shift in scenery unless it contradicts your paintings— and you’re slouching over the papers once more, face contracting in focus as shadows disturb your view and lighting.

When you steal a glance above, you’re met with not a cloud but none other than Endo Yamato himself.

Hands shoved deep in his pockets and his confident yet relaxed posture, he glances down at you and the papers, wearing a smug smile the whole time.

You wait for a moment of breath then divert your attention back to the work before you, adding shadows currently.

You hear him let out a slight grunt, and maybe you’d see his expression shift into something of surprise too, were you to be carefully watching.

“It’s sublime knowing I have a fan.” He says, still not stepping one step to the side, adamant on blocking the light apparently.

His words register far too late for you, you let out a hum at first, “hmm… oh?” The sound fades into surprise on your end, “ah, no, you see-“

You dip the brush into water and to the shades of blue and purple, mixing and lightening the amount of paint on the brush. 

A tapping of feet brings you down to earth and reminds you for once you are not alone in your leisure time of painting.

“Ah… sorry.” You say more as an apology for forgetting he was right there up until a second, “it’s nothing like that.”

Your words take him out like a chain of inconveniences following one after another, building up until you’ve lost your temper.

You don’t notice this either, focus solely on perfecting the shading, calling it another painting done and complete.

To Endo, your nonchalance is odd to say the least. Here he stands, the subject of your attention for many a while now, from what he has seen, and you don’t seem to care one bit. Or is it the paper that is holier than him? Or is this another, albeit looser case of Takiishi, not caring for the people but for their reflections, their end products, what comes out of them and the hand that crafts them into something bigger, brighter.

Along the lines Endo Yamato says to you, you do catch something like ‘having the real thing before you already.’ An enlightenment perhaps, a revelation you didn’t need nor asked for.

So he is a charmer, you think, or tries to be. Considering the things at hand it’s the former most likely— walking up to you without a care in the world as if you’ve interacted before. It takes some sort of confidence, as most charmers carry with them. He is just not trying it to the fullest with you, but is it because he thinks he already holds a part of you in his hand, you’re unsure.

In the short timeframe of thinking over a man you couldn’t care any less, you notice your brush staggering, slowing down. Any more and the drops of water will be too much for the paper, ruining all your hard work on this completely.

“So… listen,” you begin, cutting off whatever he was saying. “If you don’t have anything important to say, would you mind-“ 

You wait and wait for him to catch on. Instead met with empty eyes looking at you with not a single clue inside that brain of his, you let out a sigh.

“The light at this hour is very good and you’re making me lose it minute by minute right now.”

Endo looks at you, in disbelief again. Not the reaction he was expecting and definitely not the words he expected to hear. And compared to how quiet and just shy you sounded up until the last sentence— that last demand, all that timid nature of you dispelled within a second. 

Deflated, he admits his defeat for the time being and leaves, stealing one last glance at the paper.

As the man leaves, you watch his back for a bit, waiting for your brush to dry.

Odd, you think. 

What did he really expect you to do or say? 

You may not know Endo Yamato but all you’ve observed is more than enough to deem him as weird. You are somewhat aware he is filled with burning passion down to his very being but that’s just not who you are as an artist.

The views people have on you, and by extension, on artists has always been far fetched from what you’ve seen.

Must art always be loud and intense, waging war upon any heart that gazes at it? Should you too be destructive and heavy— not all artists see their subject like Basil to Dorian, not all art is an all consuming fire, an endless devotion, a declaration of war. Art can be natural and gentle, like a breeze, like a stream of river.  Love can be accepting and gentle, unifying and kind with the familiarity it brings, the comfort hidden in the routine, as he fails to see.

By the time the painting has come to an end, darkness has fallen. Endo Yamato has already left, and the sunlight soon after him. The sky begins to darken, purple spreads of paint among the clouds. You turn the page and leave today in the past, crossing another thing off the list and moving on.

[backtonormallife]

All that flying time for 45 minutes. Looks like his every move is escorted.

[lubble-underscore]

you can pry the tbm scars headcanon from my cold, dead hands

[drachonia]

if i had a nickel for everytime I liked the socialite twin with emotional constipation, i'd have two nickels.

which ain't a lot but its weird it happened twice.

[aesthetic-solar-space]

Why I can't seem to finish the Six of Crows Duology

If you don't want spoilers look away - even just little ones

Six of Crows is one of those books I adore so so much but that I have a hard time continuing because of the ending - it's so impactful and jarring at times that every time I go, I need a mini break between books and then it's been two years so you reread the first one and guess what? the same thing happens. I love the book don't get me wrong, and I have solid knowledge I will love the second one but it just hasn't happened.

If you have tips leave them below and then to leave you with a question, Have you read Six of Crows? what about Crooked Kingdom?

[msfangirlgonewild]

Original characters from Dune Part Two

[teenwolfedit]

[starryrosebud]

@targaryensource Targaryen Week 2023 || Day 1: Favourite Targaryens- Daenerys Targaryen, Aegon i Targaryen, Rhaegar Targaryen and Rhaenys Targaryen❤️

[tiny-librarian]

On this day in history, August 12th, two thousand and fifty four years ago, Cleopatra VII, the last active ruler of Ancient Egypt, committed suicide.

Eleven days previously, her husband Marc Antony had already done the same. The couple had been engaged in a civil war against Octavian, the great nephew of Julius Caesar who had been declared his legal heir. During the final battle in Alexandria, Antony suffered serious desertions among his troops and lost the fight. Upon his return, he falsely heard Cleopatra had killed herself and fell on his sword.

After Antony’s death, Octavian arrived in Egypt and effectively took Cleopatra and her children by Antony prisoner. She had sent her eldest son Caesarion, her only living child with Caesar, away for his own safety. She knew that Octavian planned for her to march in chains behind his chariot during his triumph parade, and would very likely have her killed afterwards. Rather than suffer such humiliations and indignity, she chose to take her own life.

Popular history and mythology leads us to believe that she was killed by inducing an asp to bite her, after having locked herself in her mausoleum with her two handmaidens. However, many modern scholars believe that she instead took a mixture of poisons, since the venom of an asp does not cause a quick or painless death. Octavian and his men found her too late to do anything, Cleopatra was already dead and one handmaiden, Iras, was nearly dead on the floor. The second, Charmian, was straightening the Queen’s diadem. According to legend, one of the men asked if this was well done of her mistress, and she shot back “Very well done, as befitting the descendant of so many noble Kings,“ before collapsing and dying herself.

Upon her death, Octavian honoured Cleopatra’s wish to be buried in her mausoleum at Antony’s side. He took her children with Antony, the twins Cleopatra Selene and Alexander Helios, along with their younger brother, Ptolemy Philadelphus, to Rome with him as prisoners of sorts. They were fated to march in his triumph parade in their mother’s place, the chains so heavy they could hardly walk. After this they were given to Octavian’s sister Octavia, who had been Antony’s third wife, to look after.

Cleopatra’s son with Caesar, Caesarion, was nominally sole ruler of Egypt after his mother’s death. Eleven days after her suicide, he was found after being lured back to Alexandria under false pretenses of being allowed to rule in his mother’s place. Octavian ordered his murder, on advice that “Two Caesar were too many.”

With Cleopatra’s death, and Caesarion’s subsequent murder, the rule of the Ptolemaic Dynasty came to an end and Egypt became a mere Roman Province.

[voidcat]

At the beginning it was Narumi's impulsive and impatient ass that'd rush to any yamazon order he sees delivered to the base and grab them all for himself before checking for the possibility that some of them might not be his...

But after one too many times getting scolded by your, getting his ear pulled or getting into a heated argument with you- right in front of many people no less- He sees the fruit garden of an opportunity as it is, and decides to use it for his advantage.

Especially when the orders /are/ delivered to his person by accident.

Who can blame the poor delivery guys though? They are giving the boxes to him by muscle memory at this point- sick of coming back to the base doors day after day and always the same darn name on the papers: Narumi Gen

Meanwhile Narumi enjoys seeing the growing frustration on your person when the telltale message of "orders delivered" has arrived yet there is nothing in sight. Some orders have you worried more than the others, piquing his interest and going as far as to try his chances every once in a while when he's feeling bold: "Oh? You want these so badly? Then beg"

(It results with a hardcover book of yours meeting with the crown of his head every single time. Always a different book and the current one always heavier than the previous...)

[backtonormallife]

John Singer Sargent at Boston's MFA review

It was awesome. Definitely one of the top ten shows I've ever seen. It was put together so well, from the wallpaper to having THE ACTUAL DRESSES FROM THE PAINTINGS IN THE EXHBIT.

Everyone knows ...

But did you know Sargent did this?

I saw the above painting (and others) and gasped. This was so not what I was used to.

Did I mention that they had the actual dresses from the pictures?

Had to include a pink dress for @betweenfrocksandbooks. 10/10 would absolutely recommend Fashioned by Sargent if you are in Boston, MA, USA. It runs until January 15, 2024.

[unrealiminal]

the fluorescence buzzes behind the eyes

[drachonia]

sometimes i get the violent urge to sketch a character-

today ellis was that sacrifice.