Really Cool Tutorial About Drawing (and How Not To Draw) East Asian Eyes From @_ket2 On Twitter That

every word out of guillermo del toro’s mouth is the most hardcore thing i’ve ever heard and he says it all so casually like he doesn’t even realize how much of a gothic visionary he is 

Armour with bling!

She’s singing Rasputin!

(https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=SYnVYJDxu2Q)

“See you in ‘84!” — Wonder Woman 1984 digital poster

Devil John 10 - Love

Fandom: Sherlock

Rating: Explicit

Excerpt:

“You weren't always honest with me, Sherlock.”

“About what?”

“About you. In fact, it seems to me that we could have saved ourselves a lot of grief if you had simply been a little more honest about your feelings from the beginning.”

“Me? I should have been more honest?”

“Yes. You've had feelings for me as someone who was more than just a flatmate for... I think a very long time now, and yet you never said anything to me about it.

“I've had a lot of time to think, and it seems that you and I are compatible as sexual partners as well as business partners, and if you had just confessed your feelings before Mary and all of the rest of this had come along, then we could have avoided so much of the problems that we went through.”

“Oh really? Is that all?”

“No. You've always projected this ...image of yourself. This way that you want the world to see you, and because caring about me didn't fit in your plans, you repressed those feelings, pretending like you didn't feel any desire for me. But I could tell how you felt. I saw the way that you looked at me. How you were jealous of me. But whenever I tried to mention those sorts of feelings, you would shut me down. Despite the fact that I killed for you, that I've died for you even, I was never quite good enough for you to admit to wanting. I know it's too late to change the past, but I can't help thinking that if things were different, if you hadn't loved your image of yourself more than you loved me, then we wouldn't have had to settle for this fractured half-life that we're living now.”

Sherlock took a sip of his scotch and smiled crookedly before lifting his hand to touch his head. “I had to check to see if their was a name on my forehead, because everything you just said….that's exactly how I would have described you, John.”

on AO3

Buster Keaton gifs for all your fandom needs

When a WIP ends on an angsty cliffhanger:

When you didn’t realize you were reading deathfic:

When you keep reading even after realizing it’s deathfic:

When you remember that embarrassing thing you said 12 years ago:

When there’s something that everyone else loves that squicks you out:

When Tumblr is full of fanwank and you have no idea what’s going on:

When someone leaves a bitchy comment on your fic:

When someone leaves a lovely comment on your fic:

When AO3 won’t let you leave more kudos:

When your favorite author posts a new fic:

When it’s 3am and your favorite author posts a new fic:

I just renewed me & Minimaximus’ health insurance thru Healthcare.gov and it was sooooo flippin easy. The website is even better than last year.

You still have until 15 December 2018 to check it out if you haven’t already.

The PSA brought to you by a happily insured Ralf. 

Crowley, the Bentley, and Soho at night

Just loved to do this!

Bon week-end tout le monde

Bisous, Mireille

What it’s like to have Coronavirus (Covid-19).

Connor Reed, a 25-year-old expat from Llandudno in North Wales, has worked in a school in Wuhan, China, for almost a year. In November he became the first British man to catch the coronavirus.

Day 1 — Monday November 25: I have a cold. I’m sneezing and my eyes are a bit bleary. It isn’t bad enough to keep me off work. I arrived in this country to teach English as a foreign language — but now I’m a manager at a school in Wuhan, the city in central China where I have lived for the past seven months.

I speak Mandarin well, and the job is interesting. My cold shouldn’t be very contagious, so I have no qualms about going to work. And I live alone, so I’m not likely to give it to anyone. There hasn’t been anything in the news here about viruses. I have no cause for concern. It’s just a sniffle.

Day 2: I have a sore throat. Remembering what my mum used to do when I was a child, I mix myself a mug of honey in hot water. It does the trick.

Day 3: I don’t smoke and I hardly ever drink. But it’s important to me to get over this cold quickly, so that I can stay healthy for work. For medicinal purposes only, I put a splash of whisky in my honey drink. I think it’s called a ‘hot toddy’.

Day 4: I slept like a baby last night. Chinese whisky is evidently a cure for all known ailments. I have another hot toddy in the evening.

Day 5: I’m over my cold. It really wasn’t anything.

Day 7: I spoke too soon. I feel dreadful. This is no longer just a cold. I ache all over, my head is thumping, my eyes are burning, my throat is constricted. The cold has travelled down to my chest and I have a hacking cough.

This is flu, and it’s going to take more than a mug of hot honey, with or without the magic whisky ingredient, to make me feel better.

The symptoms hit me this afternoon like a train and, unless there’s an overnight miracle, I will not be going to work tomorrow. It’s not just that I feel so ill — I really don’t want to give this flu to any of my colleagues.

Day 8: I won’t be in work today. I’ve warned them I’ll probably be off all week. Even my bones are aching. It’s hard to imagine I’m going to get over this soon.

Even getting out of bed hurts. I am propped up on pillows, watching TV and trying not to cough too much because it is painful.

Day 9: Even the kitten hanging around my apartment seems to be feeling under the weather. It isn’t its usual lively self, and when I put down food it doesn’t want to eat. I don’t blame it – I’ve lost my appetite too.

Day 10: I’m still running a temperature. I’ve finished the quarter-bottle of whisky, and I don’t feel well enough to go out and get any more. It doesn’t matter: I don’t think hot toddies were making much difference.

Day 11: Suddenly, I’m feeling better, physically at least. The flu has lifted. But the poor kitten has died. I don’t know whether it had what I’ve got, or whether cats can even get human flu. I feel miserable.

Day 12: I’ve had a relapse. Just as I thought the flu was getting better, it has come back with a vengeance. My breathing is laboured. Just getting up and going to the bathroom leaves me panting and exhausted. I’m sweating, burning up, dizzy and shivering. The television is on but I can’t make sense of it. This is a nightmare.

By the afternoon, I feel like I am suffocating. I have never been this ill in my life. I can’t take more than sips of air and, when I breathe out, my lungs sound like a paper bag being crumpled up. This isn’t right. I need to see a doctor. But if I call the emergency services, I’ll have to pay for the ambulance call-out myself. That’s going to cost a fortune. I’m ill, but I don’t think I’m dying — am I?

Surely I can survive a taxi journey. I decide to go to Zhongnan University Hospital because there are plenty of foreign doctors there, studying. It isn’t rational but, in my feverish state, I want to see a British doctor. My Mandarin is pretty good, so I have no language problem when I call the taxi. It’s a 20-minute ride. As soon as I get there, a doctor diagnoses pneumonia. So that’s why my lungs are making that noise. I am sent for a battery of tests lasting six hours.

Day 13: I arrived back at my apartment late yesterday evening. The doctor prescribed antibiotics for the pneumonia but I’m reluctant to take them — I’m worried that my body will become resistant to the drugs and, if I ever get really ill and need them, they won’t work. I prefer to beat this with traditional remedies if I can.

It helps, simply knowing that this is pneumonia. I’m only 25 and generally healthy: I tell myself there’s no reason for alarm. I have some Tiger Balm. It’s like Vick’s vapour rub on steroids. I pour some into a bowl of hot water and sit with a towel over my head, inhaling the fumes. I’m going ‘old school’. And I’ve still got the antibiotics in reserve if I need them.

Day 14: Boil a kettle. Add Tiger Balm. Towel over head. Breathe for an hour. Repeat.

Day 15: All the days are now blurring into one.

Day 16: I phone my mother in Australia. There was no point in calling her before now — she’d only worry and try to jump on a plane. That wouldn’t work: it takes an age to get a visitor’s visa to China. I’m glad to hear her voice, even if I can’t do much more than croak, ‘Mum, I feel so ill.’

Day 17: I am feeling slightly better, but I don’t want to get my hopes up yet. I’ve been here before.

Day 18: My lungs no longer sound like bundles of broken twigs.

Day 19: I am well enough to stagger out of doors to get more Tiger Balm. My nose has cleared enough to smell what my neighbours are cooking, and I think I might have an appetite for the first time in nearly two weeks.

Day 22: I was hoping to be back at work today but no such luck. The pneumonia has gone — but now I ache as if I’ve been run over by a steamroller. My sinuses are agony, and my eardrums feel ready to pop. I know I shouldn’t but I’m massaging my inner ear with cotton buds, trying to take the pain away.

Day 24: Hallelujah! I think I’m better. Who knew flu could be as horrible as that, though?

Day 36: A tip-off from a friend sends me hurrying to the shops. Apparently, the Chinese officials are concerned about a new virus that is taking hold in the city. There are rumours about a curfew or travel restrictions. I know what this will mean — panic buying in the shops. I need to stock up on essentials before everyone else does.

Day 37: The rumours were right. Everyone is being told to stay indoors. From what I’ve heard, the virus is like a nasty dose of flu that can cause pneumonia. Well, that sounds familiar.

Day 52: A notification from the hospital informs me that I was infected with the Wuhan coronavirus. I suppose I should be pleased that I can’t catch it again — I’m immune now.

However, I must still wear my face mask like everyone else if I leave the apartment, or risk arrest. The Chinese authorities are being very thorough about trying to contain the virus.

Day 67: The whole world has now heard about coronavirus. I’ve told a few friends about it, via Facebook, and somehow the news got out to the media.

My local paper back in Llandudno, North Wales, has been in touch with me. Maybe I caught the coronavirus at the fish market.

It’s a great place to get food on a budget, a part of the real Wuhan that ordinary Chinese people use every day, and I regularly do my shopping there.

Since the outbreak became international news, I’ve seen hysterical reports (especially in the U.S. media) that exotic meats such as bat and even koala are on sale at the fish market. I’ve never seen that.

The only slightly weird sight I’ve seen is the whole pig and lamb carcasses for sale, with their heads on.

Day 72 — Tuesday, February 4: It seems the newspapers think it’s terrific that I tried to cure myself with hot toddies.

I attempt to explain that I had no idea at the time what was wrong with me — but that isn’t what they want to hear.

The headline in the New York Post says, ‘UK teacher claims he beat coronavirus with hot whisky and honey.’

I wish it had been that easy.

Devil John

Chapter 6 - Whiskey

Fandom:Sherlock

Rating: Explicit

Excerpt:

“She's leaving us, Harriet. Too good for the likes of us, I guess.” His mother smiles, one of those sad smiles that are meant to reassure, but never do. “At least I have you to depend on, Love. You won't leave me, will you John? Come here.”

She opens her arms and wraps them around him careful to hold her cigarette hand out, so she doesn't burn him. John reaches his left hand around to pat her back as she rests her head against his shirt. A moment later, he feels it grow damp from her tears.

“Don't let this happen to you, Johnny. Find yourself a good gentle wife to settle down with. One that doesn't drink or smoke too much. Then maybe your kids won't hate you and run off.”

“Mum, Harry doesn't hate you.”

“It's all right if she does. I don't blame her for it. And when you finally leave, I won't blame you either.”

John wraps both arms around his mother and holds her tight. “I'm not leaving, Mum. I won't abandon you, not ever.”

“My loyal John. Some girl is going to love that about you. My best, my brightest son.” She kisses his arm. Then everything fades and they are on the grey plane again.

John covers his face with his hands. How long had it been since he had even thought about his mother.

continued on AO3