I’ve been working on this for several days now and can’t really see it anymore (it’s like saying a word until it loses its meaning). Soooo, out of the nest it goes *boot* Not sure where this current trend of black/near-black backgrounds with bits of glowy pure color is coming from. Ah well, hope y’all enjoy.

pandamonium411 asked:

I can totally see Ganondorf finding himself examining Zelda when he thinks she's not looking, puzzling over how she can be so unlike other Hylians, and wondering what exactly it is about her that fascinates him so. Zelda knows, however, and starts occasionally taking his hand or giving it a squeeze from across the table. I think she'd start to like his hands--so strong, yet they're nothing but gentle to her.

This. THIS is good stuff. I’m gonna definitely have this kind of interaction between them later in the zelgan comic.

Like, he feels like he’s trying to remember something really important that happened between them a long, long time ago, but he just can’t quite grasp it. Also, I like the idea that his attachment to her would frustrate him to no end while simultaneously be a delightful puzzle. Ah! Inner Conflict! How I adore it so.

And when she gets more comfortable around him I could see her giving him supportive gestures like that. (Also, big strong hands are possibly the sexiest damn thing on the planet ever, so I like the idea of her liking them too.)

At first I could see her giving him suspicious/challenging looks back. Letting him know that she’s aware of his attempt to study her and she’s not gonna let down her guard for one MILLISECOND.

…. but back to thinking about Ganondorf’s hands though…. ah yes. his Lovely lovely hands. *happy dreams*

Bir tek senin çocuğunu doğurmak istedim. Ah Diego’m.. Bu paramparça rahmimden nefret ettim, bebeğimizi tutamayınca. Söküp atmak istedim rahmimi. Sana çocuk doğurmayı beceremeyen bir organı taşımak yük oldu bana.
Kanlar içinde kaldığımda beyaz çarşaflar üzerinde, bana nasıl acıyarak baktığını gördüm. Nasıl korktuğunu, ölmemden. Sırf bundan ölmedim ben Diegom. Sen acı çekme diye. Ve beni terk ettiğinde, o kanlar içinde kaldığım günkü acı dolu bakışlarına sığınarak, acılı mektuplar yazdım sana. Çaresizlik kokan, kadınlık onurumu ayaklar altına aldığım mektuplar yazdım. Bana acı ve geri dön istedim. Buna bile razıydım sevgilim.

Senin çirkin olduğunu söyleyen annemden nefret ettim. Sana benim gibi bakamayan herkesten. Senin güzelliğini görememelerini anlayamadım hiç…

Kurbağa sevgilim, Diego’m… Bana dünyanın en büyük acısını yaşattın sen. Gün be gün öldüm seni sevmeye başladığım ilk andan itibaren.

Ama sevgilim, bir daha gelseydim dünyaya yine seni severdim… Canlı canlı çürüyeceğimi bilerek!

Frida Kahlo’dan Diego Rivera’ya..

Got7's Junior talks about his acting in 'My Love Eundong'

Article: ‘Eundong-ah’ Got7 Junior, “I didn’t want to be embarrassed playing Joo Jin Mo’s child role”

Source: X Sports News via Naver

1. [+3,170, -37] He’s the model rookie. Good mindset but I mostly like that he’s a good actor too.

2. [+2,842, -38] His scenes were short but teen Hyun Soo left the most lasting impression on me… and now reading this interview, I see that he’s humble as well. I wish to see more of his acting.

3. [+2,446, -27] His acting was great! Started watching 'Eundong’ after falling for Junior ㅎㅎ

4. [+2,055, -22] Natural acting and really pulled off the emotional bits as well~ A rising star to look forward to~

5. [+339, -2] Realized now that his stage name is Junior because his name is Park Jin Young

6. [+337, -1] His acting left an impression. I even had to look up who this actor was because I was that curious.

7. [+329, -1] Probably wouldn’t have continued watching the drama if not for Junior-ssi. He really set the drama off to a good start.

8. [+321, -0] He’s not your traditional handsome face but like Kim Soo Hyun in “Will it snow on Christmas”, he has a type of charm that makes you fall for him bit by bit


anonymous asked:

Do you recommend any dmmd art blogs?????

I have so many recommendations, it’s gonna be a long list! 

Some blogs are multifandom but the art is a+++!

Humour du mardi matin
  • — J'ai du Tragédie dans la tête bordel
  • — Ah bah c'est triste
  • — C'est une vraie tragédie oui
  • — ...
  • — (☞゚ヮ゚)☞
  • — [râle d'indignation mâtinée d'amusement]

I know some Muslims have a solemn observance during these days to mark the martyrdom of Ali ibn Abi Talib, and seeing people post about that reminded me of a story we learned while I was studying Islamic and Middle Eastern history in university. The moral of the story had a deep impact on me, even though I may not be a Muslim, and had an impact on the way I view things.

It is said that during the Battle of Khandaq (5 AH - 627 CE, also known in English as the Battle of the Trench), when the Meccan Quraysh laid seige on Yathrib (now Madina) with the intent to stop the Prophet Muhammad from spreading his message in the early days of Islam, Ali ibn Abi Talib was fighting a man called Amr bin Abdawud.

The battle grew fierce, and Ali ibn Abi Talib was about to kill Amr bin Abdawud, when Amr spat on his face. At that moment he dropped his sword and left the battlefield.

Why? Because in the moments after he was spat on, his mind became focussed on fighting to avenge the insult he just faced, not for the greater purpose of the battle- to protect Yathrib, and the Prophet’s message. He returned to the battlefield only when he regained composure and fought with his mind set on the greater goal.

This really made me analyze how we go about our lives and why we do what we do? Are we doing things for ourself, and for our own ego? Or are we doing them for the greater good?

I apologies if this post was intrusive, but I just wanted to share the notes i found a few days ago. :) Hope your fasting is going well.


it was “she just put heart eyes under our pics suckers” before it was “pull up on yo’ wacks with a mac fully loaded ah” lmao

Motivi per cui non sarò mai ricca:
  • fregancazzo dei soldi
  • voglio candidarmi per un lavoretto di 150 ore all’università e sto già valutando come spendere l’intero compenso
  • tutti i miei risparmi ammontano a quattro centesimi (due monete da uno e una da due)
  • quando qualcuno mi fa notare la supermacchina/superbarca di qualche riccone, riesco a pensare solo “ah…che bel colore”
  • quando qualcuno mi fa notare una casa meravigliosa e spudoratamente da benestanti, riesco a pensare solo “ah…che bello, ha la cucina esposta ad est e una stupenda bougainvillea”
  • quando qualcuno mi fa notare come qualche baldo giovine sia assolutamente più affascinante grazie al suo portafoglio a fisarmonica, riesco a pensare solo “ah…ma utilizza piuttosto che come disgiuntivo”
  • quando Dio distribuiva il senso del risparmio io ero al gabinetto
  • quando Dio distribuiva il senso dell’investimento io ero andata a mangiare il gelato (doppia panna, nutella e yogurt)
  • quando qualcuno mi fa notare come i reporter non siano conosciuti per essere ricchi sfondati, anzi che spesso fanno la fame per anni senza smettere di viaggiare nei posti più pericolosi della terra, riesco a pensare solo “ah…ma io voglio andare in Laos”
  • continuo a misurare l’ammontare di ricchezza in goleador
"Shaykh" Ali Jum'ah : he was my teacher...

Shaykh Ali Jum'ah was my teacher, 25 years ago. I have always respected his knowledge and profound critical thinking. Today when I see him supporting the dictators (Mubarak and Sissi), turning a blind eye to autocracy and corruption, issuing criminal fatâwâ justifying torture and the killing of innocent people, I cannot remain silent. He went on blaming the Muslim Brothers for confusing religion and politics while he is the first to instrumentalize religion to support dictatorial political regimes!

Is this knowledge? Is this Sufism? Can useful knowledge and sincere sufism be real when every single Islamic principle has been betrayed? Is it possible to be “a shaykh” without the slightest courage to speak the truth? I respected his knowledge, he lost my respect. As well as all these so called “shuyûkh”, “ulamâ”, “mawlâna”, “imâms”… those who love titles but do not bear the burden of the status, those who pray for the dictators,those who remain silent when innocent people are jailed, tortured and killed. They may wear the cloth, they do not bear the light.

I cannot keep silent as it is becoming more and more clear that those so called “enlightened ulamâ” are the objective allies of the most crazy trends in the Muslim world today. Their blinding cowardice is a mirror within which the blind violent extremists are proving the world how courageous they are.

Time to speak up… as the problem of the “silent majority” is first and foremost its silence.

anonymous asked:

I seen a thing you wrote the other day about soulmates and sparks and idk, it seemed cute, could you do like a Jily thing for it?

I’d be lying if I said that I didn’t write that piece with Jily in mind, nonnie, so thank you for this request! The link to the original post is here, if anyone’s interested.

The first time it happens is at some point in fifth year, and it’s one of the events that riles Lily’s hatred of James and augments his crush on her, so that it builds to the crescendo when they meet at the lake a month or so later.
Lily’s in a rush - when is she not? - and she’s hastening across the common room, pushing through the throng, with her belongings cluttered in her arms and in her bag. She doesn’t notice when one of her papers, her quill, or her textbook drop from the mess in her hands or the jumble on her back.
But James does.
Which is odd, considering that he’s talking animatedly to a bunch of flustered, gushing girls. Perhaps it’s because Sirius is there, firing witty remarks and using his undeniable charm. Perhaps it’s because it’s Lily, and James always notices Lily.
He steps on the quill, catches the book, snatches the paper out of the air.
And, with a yelled, ‘Oi, Evans!’, he summons her attention.
She turns and glares, but when she realizes what he’s holding, she backtracks, bounding down the stairs, and moving to take her belongings with a, ‘Thanks, Potter.’, however grudging.
He hands over her stuff.
Their fingers touch.
And it sends a shockwave through James that settles in his stomach and sends a shiver down Lily’s spine, and for him, it’s a cool sensation, like the metal of Sirius’s lighter, and for her, it’s the burn of a sparkler.
But it only lasts a second, and it was barely even there.
However, it’s enough for them to both look at each other for a drawn-out moment, confused, frozen, and utterly enraptured.
But then James utters some snide remark, and Lily huffs and retreats back up the stairs, and Sirius slaps James on the back and says, ‘Bad luck, mate.’.
The second time it happens, it’s slightly worse.
They’re walking down the hallway - James is with Pete; Lily’s with Mary - and neither of them are paying much attention to where they’re going, because, 'Honestly, Pete, I should’ve called it sooner!’, and 'For Merlin’s sake, Mare, just ditch him, already - ’
Lily’s shoulder grazes against James’s arm, and sparks ignite on impact.
'Watch where you’re going, Evans.’
'Sod off, Potter.’
But they’re both left rubbing the spot where they met, and wondering at the sparks that were in the hallway, and they aren’t the only ones.
Mary blames the light in the hallway, and Pete blames it on the reflection of James’s lenses.
Neither of them say a word.
James blames his poor eyesight, and makes a mental note to clean his glasses. He doesn’t.
Lily blames her decision to stay up until the wee hours of the morning playing chess with Sirius. She does it the next night, anyway.
Either way, they both rub their eyes and keep moving.
The third time is later on in Sixth Year, and things are picking up speed.
They’re more comfortable with each other, now, and it’s punches in the arm (Lily to James), an elbow rested on the shoulder (James to Lily), and leaning against the other’s frame on the couch in front the fire (both of them). It’s passing the jam at breakfast, handing out task sheets in class, 'Hey, have you got a spare quill I could borrow?’, and ’D'you happen to have the copy of the Charms textbook? Seems I’ve misplaced mine…’.
But why are they asking each other?
Why don’t they ask Remus, or Dorcas?
They have a small idea. And they deny it with a burning passion. The same passion, coincidentally, that they feel towards each other.
And the same passion that occurs when they touch.
Because, no matter what it is, sparks are flying.
And it’s getting harder to cover up.
By the time James is standing close to her in Potions, perhaps a little too close, and his thigh brushes against her hip, Lily has to adjust the flame on her cauldron, and double-check her potion, because it’s definitely not supposed to be spitting at this stage, and James, I think you’re going to have to give me a moment to make sure I’ve added the right ingredients, and woah, Evans, you seem to be losing your touch, because if it’s bad enough for Lily to be doubting her potion skills, then something must be seriously wrong.
When they depart at Kings’ Cross at the end of Sixth Year, James engulfs Lily in a hug, and passers’-by think that the wheels of the train are still shooting sparks, even though the Hogwarts Express is stationary.
In reality, Lily’s heart is reeling and spewing out light like a Catherine Wheel, and there’s a bonfire raging inside of James’s chest.
Thank goodness that the hug doesn’t last for longer, although they dare not admit that they both wish it had.
They come back to school, and their feelings are smothered almost as fiercely as the sight of the sparks when they sit next to each other in the Great Hall at breakfast. They put in down to the fact that it’s a sunny day, and blame the enchanted ceiling.
But, when James’s lips brush hesitantly against Lily’s for the first time, it’s like the world has gone up in flames.
And when she kisses him back, and they press into each other with so much longing, so much longing, the world burns down around them, because it’s just them, lost in the middle of the blaze.
Lily sees sparks embedded in her fingernails when she runs them along James’s skin, and he sees fireworks exploding behind his eyes when he kisses her, cupping her face and tangling his fingers in her hair, the hair that resembles the fire raging outside the window.
And when she fingers the hemline of his jeans, and he begins to lift her shirt up, it’s almost as though it’s New Year’s Eve.
When they become intertwined, they’re lost, scalded, consumed by the blaze that is each other, as the world rains down in sparks of gold.
And the glow of Lily’s skin, or the beam on James’s face when they appear the next day, holding hands, is partly attributed to what they did the night before, and has something to do with the fact that the fire has been kindled to glowing embers within the confines of their flesh.
And there’s something about the way that war rages on outside that could be compared to the sparks that issue when they kiss, the bonfire that goes up when they dance, the brilliant sunset painted with the colours of their souls on their wedding day.
They focus on their own fire to ignore the one they battle against.
Because the war is a blaze, and it’s strong, and it’s relentless. It cannot be stopped.
But it’s nothing compared to the fire within them.

anonymous asked: