#mango studies

[alexistudies]

friday, july 19th 2024

i know i haven't been super active on here but i promise, i HAVE been studying!! hahah. especially because shortly after i was safe from catching COVID from a lab mate, I caught COVID. But we're all good now. Testing negative, no more symptoms.

While being locked away in my apartment, I actually started reading more papers which is a habit I'm trying to build for my second year. I will have comps at the end of my second year and i want to be prepared. I also took the leap of faith and started diving into some big data by trying to organize it to do the analyses I need to do. I also started teaching myself the analyses I need to do by taking some notes and watching tutorials LOL.

some exciting academic things coming up:

alzheimer's assoc conference in Philly in a week-ish

returning to lab for data collections

finalizing some things for this administrative supplement

I'm more active on my studygram these days so catch me there: lexthephdstudent

[lairde-lampblack]

hands you sun and moon hands you sun and moon hands you

[madbuns]

Baby I~~ need you-

Frames under the cut

[its-a-me-mango]

the two fan that were meant to be jokes but didnt end up being serious

Guys is it possible for a 1920's mad scientist girly and a 2020's TV head to be friends? (it is not)

[quiverymango]

The Sillies

Feel free to use any of these without credit. Go spread the silliness :)

[madbunsy]

Kya

[starry-mang0s]

Anatomy studies

[coyoteworks]

MARTch, day 8— food. I've been a bit homesick so I drew mango & sticky rice with coconut milk :)

[mango-peach-strawberry]

Oh yeah I never mentioned it here but the Spanish version of Uprising is so fun. They name drop all kinds of Greek mythology (off the top of my head I remember them mentioning: Morpheus, Olympus, Tartarus, nyphms, and other things) and the nicknames the characters give to one another are pretty different.

I was translating a bit of the Spanish version in the 25 Years discord for funsies and was pleasantly surprised by the changes made in the localization!

[igcse-bioworld]

We are all in this together!!

[voidsumbrella]

did some studies of nazca pottery animal designs/motifs

everyone everywhere has always wanted to draw a little critter

[alexistudies]

april 22

gave feedback on my lab mate's qualifying exam and i'm so proud :') can't believe that's going to be me in a few years lol

so this coming week is going to be my last week of academic work here at purdue. i'm going to finish my paper and submit it, then take my final exam on wednesday or thursday, then i'm DONE. after that? its just lab for the rest of april and may :))

my time at purdue is coming to an end AHHH can't wait to get out of here i do not like indiana

[mangofresca]

terracotta

“You’re doing it again.” Portugal blinks slowly, eyes drifting across the bar and back to the singer from where he had caught Romano gawking at him—seemingly trying and obviously failing at a poor attempt at subtly. They’re supposed to be enjoying the music, tucked away into the winding recesses of Alfama’s narrow, cobbled streets, but all Portugal can feel is the burn of eyes on his face, his heartbeat loud in his own ears.

“Doing what?” Romano snaps, voice grumbling as he half hides behind the wine glass he brings to his mouth, dark enough to stain his lips mulberry and plum. His eyes snap back to the hazily lit stage, even as the tips of his ears turn pink.

“Staring.”

Romano scoffs. “I’m not–”

Combative, always so combative. Portugal lets himself lean closer, voice soft beneath mournful melodies of fado and fate and a longing echoed across glistening terracotta. “I’ve seen the way you look at me when you think I won’t notice.”

Hard not to notice, he thinks, curiously lingering on remembrances of met gazes and flushed cheeks, of hazel eyes that flash bright before they duck away from him, avoidant. Most of the time, he’s content to act as if he’s oblivious, dozy and somnolent as he blinks his gaze to Romano’s direction, knowing before he does so that Romano will flush cerise and twist himself like he’s coincidentally glancing around the room, a happenstance of fleeting eye contact and bristled barely-acknowledgement.

Romano’s nice when he’s embarrassed. Handsome. Portugal sips his Sagres.

Romano’s lips are pressed tightly together, and he watches Portugal through wisps of his bangs and the corners of his periphery, his tone an abrasive mixture of defensive and abashed. “What way?”

Portugal tilts his head, considering. He’s never named it before, that look that crosses Romano’s face when he thinks no one is watching him; it’s something quiet, speculative, fascinated, almost, like he doesn’t know what to do with himself, like the notion of it makes him feel giddy, amused, happy. Portugal has seen the way Romano’s lips curve—just barely, just enough to be the clandestine essence of something—into the tiniest grin, a peaceful reverence to him that makes him look riant, strikingly so. Portugal has only seen that smile in short, transient moments across meetings, when their eyes lock and Romano hesitates, faltering for just a second too long before he steels himself again, frowning at nothing and everything as he keeps his head down and eyes averted.

It’s enough for Portugal to have memorized it, an expression that’s charming in its ephemerality, an endearing reminder that Romano isn’t nearly as inconspicuous as he thinks he is. Gentle, Portugal muses, it’s gentle. Sweet, even. Like the way a child looks at their first schoolyard crush. The way newlyweds smile at each other during their first dance.

The way he looks at Romano.

Toda panela tem sua tampa. Portugal hums, not bothering to keep the amusement from his voice. “Like I’m the lid to your pot.”*

He half expects a rebuke, some vicious joke tinged with the blood of a sharp tongue and a sharper ego. He expects pride, blustering denial, the hiss of furious abnegation.

Instead, he gets a silence so loud that it almost makes his ears ring, Romano too preoccupied with fiddling with the stem of his wine glass to notice the rise in Portugal’s eyebrows.

“So…you noticed?” Romano’s tone is so bitter, so self-deprecating and scornful that it takes Portugal by surprise, more so than the admittance itself. He can’t fathom why Romano looks so miserable, like he’s furious with himself over feeling, over caring.

Portugal bites back a frown, and he asks, simply, “Why?”

Romano says something, so quiet that Portugal doesn’t hear it at first beneath the meandering melancholy of his people's music.

He leans in closer, enough for Romano to tense, for Romano’s bangs to brush Portugal’s forehead. “O quê?”

Romano’s hands are fists on the table. Portugal finds him so, so interesting. “I said,” he hisses, tone caustic despite the tremor of nerves, “I–  Fuck, I think I’m in love with you, okay, asshole? I’m in love with you.”

Romano ducks his head, scoffing and swearing to himself like he’s the butt of a joke no one made, and Portugal watches curiously as Romano refuses to meet his eyes, refuses to even look in the vicinity of his direction, cheeks cherry and eyebrows furrowed.

Part of him had expected, dumbly, for the sky to open up and swallow him whole, for lightning to strike and for the world to split, for him to feel rattled or shocked or surprised. Instead, much to Portugal’s lazy delight, he only feels pleased, affectionate, fond.

He wonders, briefly, why it is Romano is so self-loathing, whether it’s the concept of being in love or of being in love with Portugal or of being caught being in love with Portugal. Portugal isn’t sure, but he knows well enough that now is not the time to ask.

Portugal grins and lets his hand slide across Romano’s wrist and over his fist, tugging until white knuckles open to a palm that feels hot against his own. Romano blinks owlishly at him, and Portugal brushes his lips against the corner of a mouth that’s been stained dark by red wine and bitter insecurity and the sweet shadows of his bars and his music, but that feels just as soft, just as warm.

Portugal doesn’t mind warm.

He himself is the same, after all.

*Toda panela tem sua tampa—a common Portuguese saying, meaning “every pot has its lid,” as in everyone has someone who fits them, who is suited for them.

[ahomeforwisters]

based on this post by @yennasun (sorry for the random tag, i figured i should since you were the one who came up with this prompt 😅):

@hakureiryuu thank you so much for directing me to this, this was super fun and rewarding to write :D hope i was able to deliver!

[pile-of-trashley]

did more dessert studies and then forgot to post them literally anywhere haha i'm so good at remember :)

also here's a timelapse of the mango sticky rice one for fun (not a full timelapse because i kind of forgot the feature existed in CSP until i was like halfway through the drawing):

[sk3l3t0n444]

how are people scared of bats :(