#it just...doesn't end

[not-poignant]

it's the tenth and i've only written two chapters, i'm in trouble with the burnout again folks x.x

[lazylittledragon]

can't believe we're all adults being forced into the club penguin level of censorship in 2024

[coddda]

I wish we could have met in some other way.

Lawlight Week Day 2: Soulmates

If you saw me repost and re-edit this several times uh No you didn't </3

Still frames/Individual gifs:

If you know what every frame is from you get a free cookie. by the way

[serpentface]

Comparing livestock color-words.

Both the Chenahyeigi and Wardi languages are derived from peoples who have been pastoralists for millennia, and both have an absolute ton of words for livestock coloration.

Both languages have had at least some mutual influence for about a thousand years (to varying extents by dialect, depending on geography/trade connection) so you'll see similar or identical words crop up here and there.

THE WORDS:

Hneya - [hne:ʝɑ] or [hne:jɑ] (whether the ʝ sound is retained in speech and to what extent varies by dialect)

Straightforwardly refers to bright reddish-orange color, but is mostly used for animals rather than other orangeish things. The word Was probably influenced by an older form of the Wardi 'reyla', and absorbed with the introduction of orange colored cattle. It may have been merged with the Chenahyeigi '(h)ne', which is the root of several red color-related terms.

Reyla - [rejlɑ]

This is a Wardi word for most reddish-orange hues in general. When applied to livestock, it refers to solid orange coats without spotting/masks/notable countershading.

Fels akhri - [fels] [ɑ:khɾi]

Translates readily as 'storm cloud' (the 'storm' here specifies thunderstorms). When applied to livestock, it describes fur that is rich dark blue-gray with white guard hairs.

Aganne - [ɑgɑ:ne]

This doesn't actually translate to 'night sea' in a straightforward manner, but as a color word it's poetically associated with dark seas, at night or in storms. When used for livestock, it describes this coloration exclusively.

Woud et lleng - [woʊd] [ɛt] [ɬeŋk]

Woud is the word for rich moist soil specifically, lleng refers to laterite and its association with iron deposits. This phrase is used to describe livestock with dark brown heads and and orange-brown bodies.

Tsipanibe - [t͡sipɑnibe]

This would be more literally translated as 'ochred'. Many Wardi words with the -ibe stem from verbs or nouns modified to indicate that the subject matter has 'received' an action or concept. (Examples of such words are long-established linguistically, you can't just add '-ibe' to any noun or verb). This one takes the root 'tsipan' (ochre) and applies it to the subject matter (cattle coloration).

Livestock with a dark brown or black head and orange-brown body are given this description, the idea being that their bodies look like they've been painted in ochre. This word is extremely rare outside of this context (you would usually just say the full 'ochre-painted' to convey this idea for other things)

Drengh yipeg - [dɾeŋg(h) yɪpɛ:g]

This is pretty straightforwardly 'little moon'. Yipeg comes from the same root as the Wardi 'hippe' for 'small', while drengh refers to the appearance of the moons in the sky (rather than the gods they embody). It's used to describe small round white blaze marks.

Ipalen hamita - [ipɑlɛn (h)ɑmitə]

Straightforwardly 'star marked', used for small round white blaze marks. Wardi actually does have a 'moon marked' (ipalen amit) to describe round white blazes that entirely cover the animal's forehead.

Brinyavir - [bɾi:nʝɑvir] (ʝ is retained for this word in most dialects)

This one is not directly translatable, 'celestial' or 'heavenly' just function closely enough. The word conceptually relates to stars but most specifically describes a layer of sky in which the afterlife rests (brinyavir is part of the phrase I translate as 'celestial fields'). The cattle there are said to have these markings. The stars in the night sky are sometimes playfully described as the spots of these cattle (though not literally, in Chenahyeigi cosmology stars are spirit-inhabited bonfires lit along pathways through the heavens).

As a color word for livestock, brinyavir refers to this rare (I Think nonexistent irl) white-spotted black coloration, due to both resembling the stars and the cattle that are moved among them.

Asi inwetadi - [ɑsi in:wetɑ:di]

This directly means 'like night sky', and is applied to this coat pattern with a similar underlying logic- it looks like a starry night sky. You will often see asi (like/akin to) retained in place or animal names like this, and it is sometimes part of names for people (the name Asinya is derived from a contracted 'like the sun').

Ogriye - Chenahyeigi: [oʊ:gɾije] Wardi: [oʊgɾi:je]

This word is (or was) a way to say 'gravel' or 'gravelly' in both Chenahyeigi and Wardi, and is pronounced very similarly in both (with the only significant difference being emphasis)

In Chenahyeigi it is a loanword from the Wardi language family, most likely received in the exchange of cattle of this coloration. It is retained in general speech as a word for gravel, more specifically the adjective 'gravelly'.

The word is mostly obsolete in contemporary Wardi, speakers do not know it used to mean 'gravel' (though it sounds close enough to assume a connection, the word is 'ogri') and exclusively use it to describe this livestock coloration (one of the more common among Wardi native cattle).

---

Also here's some cow lore.

There's some fairly tremendous diversity in Wardi cattle herds, given they have genetic influence from at least two separate aurochs domestication events (also distant and negligibly minor influence from one instance of bison domestication) and from multiple relatively isolated domestic cattle populations. Present day herds within Wardi provincial territory near-ubiquitously have at least some ancestry from the kulustaig and the Burri tepang cattle.

The ancestors of the Wardi native cow have been in the region for at Least 5,000 years. Burri cattle Possibly could have had tiny, isolated introductions between 2500-3000 years ago (this is extremely unlikely, but maize Was probably introduced by seafaring proto-Burri peoples at this time) or at more recent points since, and the tepang was certainly introduced during Imperial Burri occupation. High quality cattle are also occasionally received in diplomacy with the present-day Different Entity that is the Burri Republic. The kulustaig cattle arrived with proto-Finnic migrants starting 1500 years ago, and is the biggest external genetic influence on Wardi herds. Small populations of Yuroma native cattle arrived with migrants 540 years ago, though these have been wholly absorbed into Wardi herds, with their biggest trace being genes for naturally polled horns. Some Finn cattle were extracted in the recent two decades of Wardi occupation, though not enough to have a noteworthy genetic impact on any herds.

Most of the cattle in this post show predominantly Wardi native cattle + kulustaig ancestry (this takes place in the Ephenni riverlands, where the ancestry of herds tends to be around 2:1). The one with the blaze has a delicate sloping muzzle that suggests Burri tepang ancestry, and also likely has a wild aurochs grandparent (the white ring around the nose is a telltale sign, as it usually vanishes within a few generations of introgression).

Diversity in color and coat pattern is culturally favored for Wardi cattle herds, and selective breeding for aesthetics is usually limited to the purpose of preserving unique coats. The average herd tends to be very colorful, though the one shown here is a bit of an outlier, the universe having mysteriously put in place perfect conditions to compare the words for a variety of coat patterns.

[eggbem]

It's April!

Y'know, it's strange; at this point, I've drawn a fair amount of Rise fanart. But I haven't ever actually drawn April yet! And that needed to change.

[bi-writes]

hi! i was thinking if you could write an older!boyfriend simon x reader BUT reader is john price's daughter so is kinda of a forbidden and secret relationship !!!! they've been dating for a long time now until john finds out !!!!!

18+

"how is she?"

"doing well, john. but you don't have to worry about her anymore, you know that right? she's not yours to worry about."

"she is mine. i know she's not..." john huffs. "she may not be blood, but she's mine, yeah? so when i ask 'ow she is, you tell me, kate. can we agree on that?"

"sure, john. she's in georgia. her russian got very good. if you want to know my honest opinion, i think she'll be one of my best."

"well...i wouldn't stand for anythin' less."

"john?"

that voice is music to him. he turns, taking his hat off, and he laughs, genuinely, when he sees you. his whole face lights up, and you make your way to him. it's been months since you've seen him in person--even though he makes you send him constant updates about what you're doing and where you are, you find yourself missing this man and the warmth he gives off whenever you are in his proximity.

he's always looked at you so kindly. he's always taken care of you. whenever you pick up the phone, he's always answered.

"'ello, bug."

he crushes you in a warm hug. he puts a hand on the back of your neck and holds you to his chest, and the tension in his shoulders deflates now that he has you with him.

"hi, john. miss me?"

"well...you were the only one with sense in my house."

"you live alone, john."

"aye."

he pours you a hot cup of tea before he makes you tell him all about your new posting. most of it is classified, and you tell him that, but his face lights up when you talk about the new skills you're learning and all the opportunities that kate is giving you. his face scrunches a little when you talk about the more dangerous ops, but john never has the same regard for his own life.

the mess hall gets busy once dinner time rolls around. his men were not expecting you, and that much is clear when they see their captain even enjoying a meal in public and not secluded in his office. you smile at his sergeants, but when your gaze lingers a little longer on the doors, johnny just nudges you with his elbow.

"miss the big guy?"

"what? no."

"he had a long night last night," he wiggles his eyebrows at gaz, who just laughs a little. "i might need to try the whole brooding, scary look LT has got on. attracts the most bonnie things, fuckin' christ."

your plate flies when you stab at your food too hard. the cutlery clatters as it hits the floor, and you jump a little, swallowing.

"are you alright, bug?"

"huh? yeah, oh...yeah, just...fucking clumsy. i...i'm gonna...find the toilet."

the blood is rushing in your ears as you make your way out. you're vibrating, hot inside, and you feel him before you see him, even in your anger.

when he pulls you into the shadow of a nearby supply closet, you swipe the blade out of your boot and hold it up against his throat. even through the mask, the blade bites, and he hisses as you hold him up against the wall there.

"don't fucking touch me," you snarl, and ghost's eyes are bright and alive as he holds his hands up defensively.

"wot--"

"and don't what me," you snap. "actually, don't fucking talk at all, you cheating, manipulative, british piece of shit--"

"look so pretty," he murmurs, tilting his head to the side. "did you do y'r hair, baby?"

"i will kill you."

"'s olright. last thing i see'll be you."

"i'm not fucking kidding, simon!"

he bends a little, tilting his head, and you breathe out through your nose as he leans his forehead against yours.

"reckon ya spoke t'johnny."

you scoff. "told me all about your winnings last night, lieutenant."

"was no winnings, love, don't be so fuckin' naïve." simon swipes at the handle of the blade, curling his gloved fingers around your wrist and forcing it away from him. "y'r just mad cause y'r cunt missed me."

"don't flatter yourself, asshole."

"so if i pull your knickers down right now, y'won't be drippin', swee'eart?"

"that's irrelevant."

"'s not. turn around and bend over."

simon's sorry, so he eats your pussy from behind. he gets down on his knees, and the crack of them satisfies you immensely, up until you feel his mouth between your cheeks, tongue slicking up your folds. you brace yourself against the wall, palms flat against the concrete as he puts two gloved hands against your ass and spreads you wide to fit himself nicely there. he hums, groans, makes you whine as he slurps obscenely into your cunt, laving at the drip of you until the taste of you floods his mouth.

"simon..." you whimper. "tell me i-it's not true."

he presses a wet kiss to your ass, biting it firm.

"'s not true, love. promise."

"fuck your promises," you sniffle. "you're a professional liar."

"tha' 'ow it's gonna be, innit? not gonna trust me? believe me?"

you rest your forehead against the cool wall, and the shadow of him envelopes you when he stands. he grunts a little as he gets to his feet. his big hands squeeze at the curve of your waist, and you close your eyes when you feel his breath against your neck.

"i'm sorry, simon."

"for wot?"

"i just...i like you so much. so much."

"come 'ere," he murmurs in your ear. he pulls your hips back, pressing your ass against his pelvis, and you dig your nails into the wall when you hear his belt buckle and zipper. "my pretty girl. my pretty, pretty girl."

"i missed you s-so much, simon."

"i know, love. quiet now. someone'll hear."

it's not the worst place you've fucked. you've snuck quickies in the rec room. behind the mess hall. met up in filthy gas station toilets, fallen into the backseat of a car in the parking lot of numerous military bases. even once, you deigned to suck his dick in his office, and you had to hide behind his couch when john came in to ask about an op.

john had a rule. his men were off-limits. he should've thought about that before he hired a man straight out of your wet dreams for his stupid fucking task force.

you're weak. and simon is a man.

inevitable.

you're a mile into pound-town when someone interrupts. simon is cock-deep inside of you, pelvis up against your ass, one hand braced around your throat and the other squeezing your ass. your eyes are rolled back into your head, and there's drooling coming out of your mouth. it's hot, disgusting, filthy to let him have you like this, but it's been weeks since you've seen him, and the phone calls aren't enough.

you love talking to him. you love when he talks to you. he'll never be annoying to you, you'll never get tired of him, but the distances hurts. you want simon to be all around you--inside of you, against you, his voice in your ear and his mouth against yours and his warmth your only sheet, but you can't bring yourself to do more than this.

you're too afraid of disappointing people. you're too scared of simon's rejection. if your relationship is nothing but fun, nothing but sex, you can pretend it isn't real, but you're just lying to yourself now.

you babble, and it sounds like love, but then the hallway light blinds you, and familiar blue eyes nearly kill you.

"jesus christ!"

simon puts his body in front of yours to cover you, using a harsh boot to kick the door closed. you squeak, covering your face with your hands, and you groan audibly as simon pants against your back.

"fuck--" you gasp. "oh...fuck, fuck, fuck!"

simon buries his face into the crook of your neck, laughing a little.

"bloody hell," he breathes. "reckon we're fucked, huh, love?"

"it's not funny, simon! we're in so much trouble!"

"well..." he squeezes your throat gently, tilting your head back. "could still finish. no sense in pretendin' now."

"you are not going to come when he's probably waiting for us outside."

"i'm balls deep in my favorite girl," simon mutters. "could come just fine. just say the word."

"you're disgusting."

"mmm..." simon squeezes your hips. "keep talkin'. i like when y'talk t'me like tha'."

"fucking asshole."

"yeah...yeah."

"you stupid, immature, unhinged pain in my ass--"

"fuck."

well.

you're definitely never leaving this room.

[queenerdloser]

that mark (very recently!) was so fucking pissed about helena using the wrong name for gemma that he went to immediately do experimental brain surgery as a giant fuck you and then DIDN'T anticipate his innie self getting pissed when he got helly's name wrong really underlines how much mark doesn't think his innie loves helly and also doesn't consider his innie to actually be him at all.

[egophiliac]

YO TREY CLOVER IS HERE !!!

TREY NOOOO you weren't supposed to look so cool, I was supposed to be able to save my keys for all the upcoming birthdays, how could you do this to me --

also hey. hey Trey. what's in that bowl.

[taonpest]

Sometimes being an artist is feeling like a baker seeing a chemist making the deadliest liquid in the world and wishing you could make the deadliest liquid as well but you're a baker, not a chemist, and then you feel like your bread is worthless

[lolli-popples]

Objectively funniest possible Life Series alliance would be BigB and Martyn.

They would be like "I guess we're allies now" and then they'd walk in opposite directions, build separate bases, and would be in the same room a total of 5 times, all of which being them doing an intro together.

They would also set the Life Series alliance record for "Most problems caused without facing any consequences."

Most solid team ever, you can't betray each other if you're never in the same room.

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

Vibes based grading system.

(for @epistemologys, who wanted some post-canon, teacher WWX)

[deadpoets]

DEAD POETS SOCIETY (1989) dir. Peter Weir

[prlssprfctn]

I was in silly little mood again.

[forgettable-au]

FORGETTABLE-AU (page 82-85)

THAT LAZYBONES!!

[BEGINNING] [PREVIOUS] [CONTINUE]

[starry-bi-sky]

im being hit with The Visions again

the Vision this time is a "homeless danny in gotham" au except its pre-robin Batman again because im on a batdad kick. --------------------

Danny finds a car.

Which-- isn't, like, anything super interesting or impressive. It's Gotham, it's a big city. There's cars on every corner, can't throw a stick without hitting one somewhere. And then setting off the alarm.

But-! It's a car, and it's past midnight-- or he thinks it might be past midnight, it's late enough to be. He doesn't have a watch and he left his phone at Vlad's; asshole put a tracker on it after the last time Danny ran off.

It's been over a month since, it's a new record -- last time it took just over two weeks for Vlad to find him and drag him back to the mansion. This time, Danny ran further. Left the state and everything. See how long it takes Vlad to find him now, hah.

People go missing all the time in Gotham.

Anyways-- there's a car, and it's midnight, and it's parked in an alleyway. Danny would've called it invisible with the way he pretty much trips over it, phasing through the wall of the building beside it and not watching where he's going, but it's not. So he doesn't.

Danny runs into the hood and nearly faceplants right into the darn thing with an 'oomph', hands catching himself on the metal as a flash of irritation flashes hot through his gut. It doesn't hurt or anything, but getting the wind knocked out of you sucks always, and he's tired and hungry, and as a result not in the best state of mind.

He's just about to sink his foot into the side of the wheel -- it wouldn't do anything, he's not that big of an asshole, but it's the principle -- when he stops.

Danny pauses.

He takes a step back, holding his hands out 'n' everything, and examines the car. He squints, trying to get his eyes to adjust to the darkness, considering the closest streetlight is twenty feet that way and positioned in a way that none of the light is hitting it.

Danny would not call himself a car guy. He doesn't think he counts, considering his size and lack of everything. But, but, he knows his way around a few cars, and he had an old obsession with older models when he was little that kinda petered out of existence after his accident. Had a bunch of little car models sitting on one of his shelves back in Amity, and Dad offered to get his hands on an old car for the two of them to fix up together so it'd be ready for Danny when he got his license.

...Anyways.

Point is: Danny can appreciate an old car, and this car has an older -- albeit obviously modified, if the matte paneling and plated wheels meant anything -- look to it. That kind of flat top went out of style years ago, and it's got this kinda rectangular look Danny doesn't see often these days on modern cars.

Other than the electrical cars, but he doesn't think those count. That's boxy, not rectangular.

Danny frowns, tilts his hands down, and leans back further as if that will let him get a better look at this thing. "...What model is this?" He mutters, it's hard to tell in this lighting.

Wait, he should see if there's anyone in the car. It's not running or anything, and nobody's come out to yell at him -- or shoot him -- but, still. People are crazy in Gotham, crazier than they've ever been in Amity. The last thing he needs to do is piss off some guy from the mob.

Danny peers into the window and-- there's no window, okay. Well, no window, and no driver. Some idiot left their car unprotected and without windows, in Gotham?

He pulls on the door handle just to be annoying -- it doesn't budge. Okay, maybe not that stupid. Especially since Danny didn't even see it until he was quite literally running into it.

So. Not that stupid.

Danny looks around warily, pulling his hoodie around him tighter, and then starts circling the car slowly. Like a vulture. No license plate; shocker. Hear how shocked he is? Clutching his pearls right now.

"Reinforced bumper. Cool." he says, er- whispers, really, quiet enough that it doesn't even echo. Danny squats in front of the car and runs his hands over the -- what, should he even call this a bumper? It's bigger than his head, and it's covering the grille. He picks at these... things on the side that remind him of leather straps. Probably to keep this bumper up? Like a ratchet strap?

Danny leans back until his butt hits the ground and he can sit back properly, propping himself up on his hands -- maybe not a good idea. There's probably broken glass somewhere here and he doesn't wanna pick shards out of his palms, again. It's like popping the world's most annoying zit depending on if it gets under the skin.

(He could always just phase them out, but the picking gives him something to do. It doesn't hurt that much.)

Eh. It'll be fine.

With one knee propped up, Danny looks the front up and down, and furrows his brows. The style kinda reminds him of a dodger, especially with the placement and style of the headlights. He plants his hands on the concrete -- hissing when he feels something cut into his palms, ow, there's that glass he was talking about -- and leans down to look under the car.

Hm, nothing jutting out that much. Looks pretty normal. Good space between the bottom and the ground.

He gets up and circles the side again, brushing whatever pebbles or glass that could've stuck into his skin off. He's really curious about where the owner got matte plating for it, or if it's just a wrap. The silhouette's definitely sixties or seventies; too angular for the eighties and fifties.

...There's no one here, Danny looks around again just to make sure, cranes his ears to catch anything. Nope, just the typical quiet rumbling of Gotham's underbelly. It kinda reminds him of Amity, or-- no. No, it reminds him of the quiet groan of the Zone.

That's far more comforting, he thinks. Danny's never really liked Amity all that much.

Back to the car: there's no one around, so Danny folds his arms against the side of the door and sticks his head inside the window. No keys in the ignition, should've figured.

Not like Danny was planning on stealing the car anyways -- anyone capable of modifying a car into this kinda beast -- or paying someone to modify -- was not someone he wanted to piss off. Danny's an orphan, not stupid.

Ignore the fact that he's got his head stuck through the window. The interior isn't anything interesting, but the seats are made of leather, which is nice. Must be a pain in the summer or winter, but leather is cool, and gets stains out better than cloth.

No stick shift though, he's a little disappointed.

Danny presses his mouth into a line and then slants it, humming in the back of his throat. Honestly, he's kinda tempted to crawl in and go to sleep. The leather seats look really inviting, and he's been sleeping on the ground or on park benches for weeks, and the car is really well hidden. No need to worry about being kidnapped.

But, it still belongs to someone. And they're probably using it for something shady. They'll come back for it eventually, so he should get this gawking over with anyways.

And, and-- and. He wants to get a look at that fucking engine. 'Cause holy shit!

Danny pulls his head out of the window and half-dances over to the back, his hand curling around one of the bars as a grin spreads across his face. Now, Danny hates Christmas, but this, this is like it came early and good for once.

"You could smuggle moonshine with this thing," Danny says to himself, grinning ear to ear and running his hands over the edge of the metal. The car is too conspicuous for backroads driving, but the engine, wow. What a thing of beauty.

One of Auntie's friends would probably know what engine it is -- or what type of engine it's based off of, it could very well be a bunch of different engines frankenstein'd together. Danny doesn't recognize it.

Which means it could be illegal. Again, what a shocker. In Gotham? He's clutching his pearls.

Fully satisfied with himself, Danny dances around to the front again and holds his hands out. He makes an 'L' with both hands and shuts one eye, getting the car within the frame of his fingers like he's about to take a picture.

"I rate you," Danny makes a camera shutter sound and mimics taking a photo, "one cool fuckin' car."

"Thank you."

Danny doesn't scream. He does not. He's taught himself better since ghosts started popping up in Amity, and honestly he deserves some credit for that considering they only started popping up over half a year ago.

He does, however, gasp. And he gasps hard, the type that has a high chance of giving you the hiccups afterwards; the painful, chest-thumping kind. Danny slams both hands over his mouth and stumbles backwards, eyes wide and his heart kicking into the fifth gear in his ears.

Bleeding out from the shadows is a man entirely drenched in black, Danny can hardly make out his silhouette and barely catches the white glints of his eyes. Fear like a prey animal burns in his lungs, wild and rabid, Danny has half a mind to bolt.

His ghost sense didn't go off, which might just be the most terrifying thing.

The man doesn't move any more than a step, just enough that Danny can barely see him, but he can feel him watching him. Shit. Shit. He should've never stuck around.

His hands are still over his mouth, Danny, shaking, flutters them open, "How-- h-- how--" he wheezes, "how long have you been standing there?"

[rikan-oo]

I had trouble finding the right words to describe what exactly I like in SY and SJ until now

So, my favorite Shen dynamics:

Alternatively: