#i hope they enjoy it while it lasts

[d4ydream-girl]

seeing show only fans write luke imagines actually hurts my soul

[samwise1548]

Based off of a personal experience I had earlier last week. Sometimes I forget Christian holidays exist despite them being treated as the most important thing ever by the majority here. And I think Jon would do the same thing (I'm projecting).

------

[ID: A Magnus Archives comic featuring Timothy Stoker, Sasha James, and Jonathan Sims.

Tim is a light brown skinned, Puerto Rican man with bleached bangs, short brown hair and a mustache. He's wearing a light blue Hawaiian shirt with sharks on it that are each wearing a red Santa hat that matches the one on his own head. He's also wearing a green boa with bells around his neck.

Sasha is an black British woman with dreadlocks that are all bleached at the ends and yellow glasses. She's wearing antlers on her head, and a white and red knit sweater.

Jon is a brown man with short black and grey hair and rectangular glasses and a mustache. He's wearing a two piece navy blue suit, over a white shirt and black tie. He's holding a brown satchel.

Panel one) Tim and Sasha are waving goodbye to Jon as they leave. Tim says "'night, Jon. Happy holidays!" Sasha says "Don't stay too late. And have a happy holiday!" Jon, off to the side is in the middle of equipping his satchel.

Panel two) A close up of Jon and he finishes putting the satchels strap over his shoulder. He watches his colleagues leave off screen. There is a visual sound effect of the door closing.

Panel three) Jon let's go of his satchel and thinks to himself with a slightly confused and awkward ecpression, "Wait... What holiday is it this time?"

\End ID]

[hellishgayliath]

It is a shame children such as yourselves had to endure such hardships

You all did not deserve to have the weight of the world fall on your shoulders

[letsmcfreackingloseit]

So yes I have OF COURSE read @naffeclipse new fic Apex Polarity and yes, I AM OBSESSED!

So I decided to make a little comic of how I think their "first encounter" might have looked like from Eclipse's perspective.

I can't help but think about how alien and scary we most look to him (especially if there is a history of fasco hunting polar sirens in the past). With all that gear we look like emotionless beings, just observing and uncaring of this ice world. But then when y/n shows up and probably exudes this joy and wonder for his world + shows respect for the creatures and the environment??? Mmh yeah, I can see Eclipse falling for y/n, especially considering how alone he might be...

So yes, that's what I have for today! If you want to read the fic I'll link it right here. I can't recommend it enough, but as always, read the tags so you know what you're getting into! And lastly I also want to @themeeplord beacuse Eclipse's design is basically their design in my style (god I love their design so much, their character/creature designs are the BEST) so all the credit goes to them! Polar!Y/N is my design thou! ;P

Now if you'll excuse me, I'm going to go read the two latest chapters-

YIPPEE!!!

[lee-minhoe]

hanjitonin for @strayklds 💖 happy birthday!!!

[daniel-bruehl]

Daniel Brühl as BARON ZEMO The Falcon and The Winter Soldier | 1.03

[weizhiyuan]

Was not expecting to do a harp cover first thing in the morning but last twilight is just that powerful. Here’s my rendition of this OST based on what Day/Sea plays at the end of today’s ep :P

[viperwhispered]

Rest

Guess what? I've got more Jamil x reader for y'all. You can also find this on ao3. No warnings, just 866 words of kinda fluffy(?) caretaking stuff with gender-neutral reader.

At this point, you know Jamil’s schedule almost as well as he does. So, when you have the chance, you head to Scarabia’s kitchen, hoping to spend some time with Jamil while he and the other students prepare dinner. 

However, when you enter, it takes you but a moment to notice Jamil’s uncharacteristic fumbling and the tired look in his eyes. The way Jamil’s chopping the vegetables has you worried about him cutting himself with that knife he’s usually so adept with, and it seems it’s only force of habit that’s keeping him on track.

You frown, and when your eyes meet Jamil’s, you can already see him put his guard up.

So he knows what state he is in, huh? And still, here he is.

It seems Jamil is reading your thoughts, all of him telling you drop it before any words are even said.

At least he still lets you lean in and give a quick kiss to his cheek in greeting.

“Hello love. Do you still have a lot on your agenda for today?” you ask, keeping your tone low for at least some semblance of privacy in the busy kitchen.

“Nothing I can’t handle,” is the response you get.

Of course.

It takes a little more pestering before Jamil actually answers your question. Your lips purse. That list is far too long to your liking.

You take a moment to think, juggling your own plans and to-do list against the urgency of the things Jamil mentioned.

“Will Kalim be eating from that?” you ask, pointing at the food Jamil is preparing.

“Yes.”

“Alright, I won’t be touching that one, then. I’ve gotta do a few things but I’ll be back when you’re done here.”

“Don’t,” Jamil says with a glare, clearly aware of what you’re thinking.

Yet even his disapproving look doesn’t have the usual weight behind it.

“Yes. I will,” you say firmly, even as your heart curls inwards with another bout of concern.

Really, when did he get so tired?

And how did you not notice it earlier?

You leave the kitchen before Jamil can protest further, hurrying through the dorm corridors to find Kalim.

Soon you have an enthusiastic – and concerned – supporter for your plans. You have Kalim point out a few reliable Scarabia students to help with a few of the most urgent matters Jamil mentioned – cleaning up the common areas, delivering some paperwork to Crowley, preparing some dorm-wide notices – while you see to Kalim getting his school supplies in order for the following day. You even recruit a couple of third years to help Kalim with his homework.

You’ll see to the rest tomorrow – after all, you do also have a boyfriend to look after.

Your conversation over dinner can hardly be called anything else than an argument – despite Kalim’s best attempts at acting as a moderating force between you two. It is very tempting to ask Kalim to tell Jamil to take the rest of the day off – it’s not like Jamil would be willing to openly disobey a direct order. Still, you really don’t need to remind Jamil of his position on top of everything else that you’re already doing more or less against his wishes.

Eventually, however, Jamil’s had a square meal, the most urgent things on his to-do list are being taken care of, and you’ve managed to drag him to his bed.

“I really wish you wouldn’t push yourself so hard,” you murmur, your arms wrapped tightly around Jamil. You’re telling yourself you really do just want to cuddle, to offer some respite to Jamil. Still, there might also be a part of you worried that if you were to let go, he’d just jump up and get back to working himself to the bone.

Yet, for all his protestations, just the fact that you’ve gotten Jamil to lay down with you speaks volumes of his current exhaustion.

“I can’t just leave my duties, albi. You know this.”

“Making yourself too indispensable, is what you’re doing,” you protest.

Oh, you know it’s not so simple. Not with his background, not with all the expectations and assumptions.

But sometimes you really wish it would be.

Jamil merely scoffs in response to your words.

Still, it is undeniable that he is slowly beginning to relax in your arms, slowly bringing his head closer to yours. His eyes are starting to flutter, too.

“I will still need to help Kalim with his homework, at the very least.”

You wonder who he is trying to convince more, you or himself.

“Amin and Khalil are helping him. They’re basically top of their classes, aren’t they? I’m sure they’ve got it.”

Still, Jamil frowns.

You sigh. He really is not letting go, is he?

“Do you want me to go supervise?” you ask.

And leave you, unsaid yet hanging there right after your words.

“Don’t,” Jamil eventually says, the word barely more than a breath.

It seems he has accepted his fate.

You softly caress Jamil’s hair, listening to his softening breathing.

And when you wake up, wholly unaware of having been lulled to sleep in the first place, it’s to the lightest of touches from Jamil’s fingers.

Tagging @diodellet @twstgo @crystallizsch @jamilvapologist @jamilsimpno69 as per request If you'd like to be tagged for any future works, let me know!

[finleycannotdraw]

Goldenheart question. Who do you think proposes? Ballister or Ambrosius?

Bonus on how they would do it? ✌️🌈

OKAY SO. I thought about this for like five minutes. decided something. and then I changed my mind like five times. and then I was like “hmm. fic time”

I know you just asked for my thoughts but I hope you enjoy this!!

Ballister had a plan.

He loved Ambrosius. Of course he did. He’d loved him when they were classmates at the Institute, loved him when they snuck onto the roof at night to talk, loved him when they became knights, and loved him when the wall came down. He’d loved him for as long as he could remember, so of course he loved him when he looked up from his crossword puzzle and saw Ambrosius dancing in the kitchen, wearing a pair of Ballister’s pajama pants, holding a pancake batter-covered spatula and looking more carefree than he’d looked in months.

He’d marry Ambrosius in a heartbeat. He’d get on a train right then and elope with him if he asked, but he thought his partner deserved something bigger, something romantic, something grand and joyful after all of the stress and responsibility he’d been shouldering since the Director’s demise.

Hence, The Plan.

Nimona had been… mostly helpful. Ballister approached her one afternoon, after Ambrosius had left for work, and sat down across from her. Since the three of them had moved into an apartment together, Nimona had gotten much more comfortable relaxing, which warmed Ballister’s heart.

“What’s up, boss?”

“I want to ask Ambrosius—” he began, and Nimona sat up straight, immediately invested.

“To marry you?” she exclaimed. “Yes. Do it. Why haven’t you done it already.”

Ballister blinked. “I thought you’d be more hesitant about this,” he said slowly. “You used to hate him.”

Nimona waved her hand dismissively. “Ehhh. The past is the past, and all that jazz. Speaking of jazz—”

“No.”

“Ugh, whatever. You don’t even know what I was going to say.”

“I didn’t need to.”

“You’re horrible. Anyway, I hated him when all I knew about him was that he cut off your arm. That was before I’d lived with you guys for a year. And it would be pretty hypocritical of me not to be open to changing my opinions about somebody. He makes you happy. You should totally marry him.”

Ballister smiled. “Thank you, Nimona.”

She scoffed affectionately. “Sure, boss.”

And a plan—namely, The Plan, which was the whole point—formed.

Nimona and Ballister flew all over the city looking for parks and possible activities, such as restaurants or shows. Most people had gotten fairly used to the pair of them flying around, Nimona sprouting wings and carrying Ballister above the streets, so they didn’t worry about staying out of sight.

If Ambrosius noticed or thought it was suspicious that Nimona and Ballister constantly went out together and didn’t talk to him about any of it, he didn’t comment. The three of them still had their movie nights and game nights, and Nimona and Ambrosius still had their terrifyingly intense card games (War, Go Fish, Crazy Eights, and several games Ballister had never heard of) that Ballister was forbidden from joining, so altogether not much had changed.

One thing that did change, though, was how often he paused, watched Ambrosius do something completely ordinary, and thought ‘I want to marry this man.’ It happened more and more with each passing day, until Ballister very nearly proposed to him when he walked into the apartment and found Ambrosius standing with his feet on two separate chairs, about three feet apart, holding a collection of colorful paper streamers above his head while Nimona, in the form of a small monkey, perched on the top of his head and put them in place on the wall.

Ballister stared at them for a long moment before he said, very confusedly: “There wasn’t a more efficient way to do this?”

Ambrosius and Nimona turned at the same time, both looking quite delighted despite their precarious position atop the chairs.

“We’re just mixing it up!” they both replied. Ballister looked around. The living room was covered in party decorations and newspaper, and Ballister thought he’d never seen more glitter in his life. He pictured Ambrosius buying a basket full of glitter for whatever party Nimona was planning on throwing, and wouldn’t have been surprised if his heart actually melted.

“What’s the occasion?” he asked.

“I asked Nimona when her birthday was,” Ambrosius explained. “She said she didn’t have one.”

“And if I do, I don’t remember when it is,” Nimona added. Ambrosius threw his hands out to the sides in an emphasizing gesture.

“Which means she’s never had a birthday party,” he continued. “So we decided that today’s her birthday and we’re having a party.”

“Which is just going to be like a normal night except with decorations,” Nimona said. “The glitter was Goldilocks’ idea.”

Ballister raised his eyebrows, and Ambrosius shrugged unabashedly, then turned back to finish putting up the streamers.

Marry me, Ballister thought.

Within the next week, he had everything figured out. He’d looked at the weather for the next few days, planned where they’d go and when, and had even bought a ring, which he’d hidden in his extra pair of running shoes and shoved under the bed. If Ambrosius noticed that Ballister seemed extra nervous or more likely to become agitated if he spent too long in the bedroom by himself, he didn’t comment.

So yes. Ballister had a plan, and it was much more concrete than ‘something something something, we win’. He didn’t have a script, but he had just about everything else. Nothing could possibly get in his way now.

Or so he thought.

One night—there was nothing particularly special about it; they’d had dinner with Nimona, danced and laughed while cleaning the kitchen, and kissed while getting ready for bed—Ballister and Ambrosius were snuggled up together under their blankets. Ballister’s prosthetic arm was hanging from its charger on the wall, so he couldn’t hold Ambrosius as close as he would’ve liked, but the blond knight was lying with his head on Ballister’s shoulder, which gave him room to wrap his left arm around his partner’s back.

Ambrosius moved to tangle his legs with Ballister’s and gave his middle a squeeze, causing Ballister to smile up at the dark ceiling. If he paid attention, he could hear quiet music through the walls from Nimona’s room, and the moon was shining brightly through the window. Ballister carded his fingers through Ambrosius’ hair and breathed deeply.

Ambrosius, after several minutes, pushed himself up onto his elbow so that he could see Ballister’s face. Ballister’s arm slid naturally to rest around his waist, and he wished he had his prosthetic so that he could tap Ambrosius on the nose. Whenever he did so, Ambrosius’ face would scrunch up in the most adorable way possible, and Ballister had no choice but to kiss him.

“Hey,” Ambrosius whispered, as though Ballister hadn’t already been giving him his full attention.

“Hi,” he said in the same quiet tone, and matched Ambrosius’ answering smile. They bumped their noses together and giggled, and Ambrosius flopped to the side, landing on his own pillow. Ballister freed his arm and laced their fingers together, and Ambrosius brought their joined hands to his lips, then rested them on his chest and stroked Ballister’s hand with his thumb.

“Bal?” he said, tilting his head to the side to look into Ballister’s eyes, which he was quite honestly struggling to keep open.

“Hm?”

“Will you marry me?” Ambrosius asked softly, simply, his gaze full of love, exactly the way Ballister had been fighting the urge to ask him for weeks.

“Oh, come on!” he exclaimed, and got out of bed to grab the ring box from his shoe, forgetting that Ambrosius had no idea what he was doing until he sat up, looking worried.

“Bal?” he said again, this time much more guarded. “I’m sorry, what—”

“I was going to propose to you!” Ballister interrupted, opened the box, and shoved it towards his gobsmacked partner, who stared at it in utter shock before looking back to Ballister’s eyes. “I had a plan! And it wasn’t ‘something something something, we win’!”

Ambrosius’ eyes were shiny. “Was it more like, ‘something something something, marry me?’”

Ballister laughed surprisedly and leaned over to plant a kiss on Ambrosius’ lips. “Yes,” he said. “Well, no. I didn’t have a speech.”

“Hence the something-something-something,” Ambrosius teased. “You know, you never answered my—”

“Yes, good Gloreth, yes, I’ll marry you,” Ballister interrupted again. “Though I think you could’ve inferred that from learning that I was going to ask you the same question.”

Ambrosius laughed tearfully, and Ballister kissed him again.

“I’m not taking your last name, though,” he added moments later. “As funny as it is.”

“Nimona would kill you,” Ambrosius agreed. “So would I, probably. I don’t want to keep my last name either. It made for some good jokes, but other than that—”

“Well, Boldheart is nice, but it wasn’t my birth name. You know the Queen gave it to me at the ceremony because somebody—probably the Director—said that Blackheart sounded too dark for a knight?”

“Right,” Ambrosius mused. “What should we do, then?”

“We could combine our last names,” Ballister suggested. “We could be Ambrosius and Ballister—”

“Goldenheart,” Ambrosius finished, and wrapped his arms around Ballister, shaking with laughter, tears, and joy. “I love it.”

“I love you,” Ballister told him, and there was very little talking for the rest of the night.

When morning came, they headed into the kitchen in their pajamas and found Nimona already up, sitting at the table with her headphones on. She appeared to be drawing—likely another action scene with herself as a large animal with Ballister and/or Ambrosius as her murderous accomplice—and didn’t look up as they entered.

“Morning, Nim,” Ambrosius said as he made his way to the coffee machine.

“Goldilocks.” She acknowledged him with a nod, then raised her eyebrows. “Sleep well?”

Ballister held his crossword puzzle up and hid his face behind it while Ambrosius nearly dropped the coffee pot. They both knew that Nimona was over a thousand years old and there was probably very little she hadn’t seen, and even less she wasn’t aware of, but she was so good at acting like a teenager that it was quite easy to forget. She watched their awkward reactions and snickered, but her eyes widened as her attention zeroed in on something on or beside Ambrosius’ hand.

“So, who snapped first?” she asked pleasantly, a wide grin forming on her face.

“Me,” Ambrosius admitted without turning around. “Wait. Who snapped first? You knew he was planning—”

“You knew he was—” Ballister began too, and they both stopped and stared at each other.

Nimona just burst out laughing.

[qwakque]

short scarabia animation because why not LOL

song is lovegod by sarah kingsley

[khaire-traveler]

Hermes is the exhausted traveler who spent almost a full twenty four hours traveling from one place to the next. He drags his feet along the floor as he lugs his overstuffed suitcase of souvenirs behind him then immediately perks up when he sees the time and rushes to make his next flight.

Hermes is the excited tourist who struggled to save thousands of dollars for the chance to visit another country that they've admired for so long. He zips around from place to place, stopping to take photos of the gorgeous sights he may never see again, and he dives in head first at any opportunity to participate in or witness cultural traditions.

Hermes is the newly-wed groom who enthusiastically jumped on his flight with his spouse for his first honeymoon. He tenderly holds hands with his lover, resting their heads on one another, as they both stare, wide-eyed, at a strikingly clear sky populated with glistening stars and makes a wish as he mistakes a satellite for a comet.

Hermes is the single father who desperately needed a vacation but couldn't find a babysitter in time. He smiles contently as he lounges on a beach chair, soaking up the sun, and watches his two girls pretending to be sea monsters in the ocean's waters a few feet away.

Hermes is the college frat boy who travelled to the beach a couple cities away for his spring break vacation. He chugs down another glass of beer and belts out karaoke with his best friend to the song I Wanna Dance With Somebody by Whitney Houston at 3am, likely annoying their neighbors in the hotel room next door.

Hermes is the fragile old man who finally got the chance to return to his home country after years of having no choice but to live abroad. He smiles nostalgically at the small town he grew up in, sipping at a cup of coffee as he sits in an old café he used to visit often, admiring the scenery and feeling torn about how much things have changed in his absence.

Hermes is the anxious student who managed to get an opportunity studying abroad with their school. He nervously examines the map of the metro lines and stations, attempting to catch a metro back to his temporary housing after a full day of wandering the city and being too afraid to ask a stranger for directions.

Hermes is the young boy who took his first plane ride alone to visit his dad after the separation. He shyly converses with the nice lady seated next to him on the plane, sharing very little information but enjoying the company regardless.

Hermes takes the form of all travellers. His spirit journeys with us as we travel by plane, car, bus, or train. He waits in line for the metro ticket by our sides, he rocks out to our favorite songs with us in our cars, he squeezes our hands during the turbulence on the plane, he stares out the bus window with us as we listen to headphones.

Hermes is the spirit of The Traveller, and on every trip we take, every journey we embark on, every first step on the road of life, he wishes us safe travels.

[itsjaywalkers]

i will take the sun in my mouth

jegulus | explicit | 33k | for my beloved @imdamagecontrol <3

Regulus is nothing if not a liar. And a really damn good one at that. Or he tries to be, at least. You see, making mistake after mistake isn't as easy if you don't have a certain amount of delusion. How do you think he manages to stay on that stupid branch until it breaks each time? Of course, it doesn't really work with Sirius, because his brother has always been able to see right through him. And as luck would have it, James Potter also appears to be somewhat of an exception.

[mitchmotch]

i was commissioned by @achinga to draw vash and milly! they're so silly :)

[lisondraws]

The Interlude. A renowned and reclusive playwright pays a visit backstage.

[marmastry]

Like a slow-acting poison

[kithtaehyung]

⬛️ WEBSITE MOCKUPS : RKIVE.ORG ⬛️

“When we went abroad, we stayed in our hotel rooms except when we were working. The only places I could go then were museums. The art galleries full of Monets or Van Goghs were always crowded, but when I visited one weekday morning and had them mostly to myself, I had a eureka moment—an artist who’d passed away 100 years ago was communicating directly with a boy from Korea. I was so envious. From then on, I began seeking out and learning about Korean painters.” — HAPPY NAMJOON DAY! ; 940912 ; CLICK FOR HQ. twt | ig 

Note: rkive and gallery walk gifs may take a bit to load, and look best on desktop. Note 2: To learn more about all of the artwork and artists showcased, click below. 

When The Year 2000 Comes (2019), by YANG HAEGUE, the avant-garde of Korean art.  “She is an accomplished and international artist. She notably represented Korea at the Venice Biennale in 2009 and participated to the prestigious dOCUMENTA (13) in Kassel in 2012. In her works, which flirt with conceptual art, she explores myths and stories, that touch on the universal. She appropriates them through sculptures, installations, performances, and video.”  

From Point (1976), by LEE UFAN, Korean Zen Art. “He is a Korean artist known worldwide for his paintings depicting the mark of a brush whose color fades… Yet his practice goes far beyond that! He creates performances, sculptures and installations, which always question a certain “state of being.” He is influenced by Zen and Asian philosophy, but has also drawn heavily on Western thought. Among his favorite subjects: observing the intimate, conflicting or poetic relationship between natural and artificial elements.” 

Brushstrokes-Diagram (2015), by SONG HYUN-SOOK, Korean and Western art.  “With her, each brushstroke tells a story, a journey. She weaves links between Korean art and Western art. On the one hand, it expresses that almost meditative state of concentration that exists in the art of calligraphy. On the other hand, she uses tempera, a typically European oil painting technique, to create patterns that immerse the viewer in reality and the present moment.” 

Drawing, Charcoal on paper, 65 x 50 cm (2014) and Issu de feu Charcoal on canvas, 100 x 81 cm, (2000), by LEE BAE, the Soulages of Korean Art. “A Korean abstract artist. Like Soulages, for whom black is a color, he explores the almost infinite possibilities of black. He sinks into the abyss of darkness. Until recently, he mainly used charred materials to paint his canvases. In doing so, he offered a powerful metaphor for the cycle of life.” 

Écriture No.160523 (2016), by PARK SEO-BO, Korean abstraction. “One of the best known Korean artists. He is emblematic of the monochrome Dansaekhwa movement. A current that synthesizes the traditional Korean spirit and Western abstraction. In a way, he is very close to minimalist artists, choosing neutral tones to highlight components and fabrics.” 

Mat 61 × 81 #19-17 (2019), by SUKI SEOKYEONG KANG, contemporary art.  “Born in 1977, this Korean artist is one of the biggest names of the art market. Her work is mostly inspired by her own philosophical research and reflection on space and our place in it. She uses sculpture, installation, and performance to explore these ideas. Her works were presented, among others, in the Venice and Shanghai Biennales.” 

Untitled (1966), by CHOI WOOK-KYUNG, the outcast.  “Wook-kyung Choi (1940-1985) is an outcast in the history of contemporary Korean art. She is an abstract painter. But most Korean abstract painters shine in Dansaekhwa: the Korean monochrome. She, on the contrary, is mainly influenced by expressionism. Brutally, instinctively, aggressively, she throws the colors on the canvas. She seeks to immerse herself in the moment, and to create true, pure, expressive forms. Thus, it plays a capital role for the diversity of Korean abstract art.”

Thank you for your interest in these artists and this passion project! All of the website information (other than the artist bio on the Artist Spotlight page) is fictional. Happy Joonie Day 2022, and let’s continue to support him and all the fantastic Korean artists out there. 

SRC: one, two, three