but since i worked on for hours

what javascript people think coding is: i was trying to make a box expand and collapse for nearly and hour and it turns out i’d forgotten to type 1 (one) symbol and now im crying at midnight clicking a box over and over again because it finally works

what actual coding is:  trying to install and build the thing that allows for the box drawing functionality in the first place but failing because you’re missing a dependency that hasn’t been updated since 1992

anonymous asked:

One for the child AU! A scenario of Reiji, Laito, Kou, and Ayato helping and taking care of their own mom if she was sick? Love your blog by the way, keep up the great work! :)

Admin Mawile: o(`・∀・´)○ Thank you!! 


-You really weren’t that sick.

It was just a small cold that you could tell you’d recover from in days, but Reiji hadn’t stopped worrying and fussing over you since you first laid down. 

Between tea that was far too sweet (you suspected he’d spilled the sugar again) and three strange concoctions you hoped were edible, he hadn’t left you alone for nearly six hours now. 

“This one will definitely fix it! I’ve perfected the recipe this time!”

Offering another foul looking paste, he looked so sure of himself that you couldn’t bear to say no. 


-He was still watching you. 

You were only a little bit sick, and were only laying down to deal with a rather annoying headache, but you’d felt tiny eyes on you the entire time. 

Laito had brushed off your illness with a smile, happily advising you to get lots of rest and promising to behave while you slept, but he hadn’t moved from your doorway yet, still staring intently at your resting form. 

As much as you wanted to get up and reassure him, you knew it wouldn’t help.

So you pretended not to notice his worry, sparing the poor boy’s ego while you could. If that was what made him feel better, you could put up with it. 


-It seemed like he thought you were going to die. 

Despite hours of insistence that it was just a minor cold, Kou had been fussing over you for hours, scarcely leaving your side. 

It was probably some kind of misguided attempt to “repay” you for taking care of him, but he really was doing everything he could, from bringing you drinks and medicine to adjusting your blankets every few minutes. 

“Thank you, cute, you’re doing wonderfully.”

Even your quiet praise was enough to make his face light up, obviously proud of being able to be useful to you. 


-“It’s just a little cold, honey. If I sleep I’ll be fine.”

Despite your reassurances, Ayato didn’t loo convinced. He was still staring miserably at you, face scrunched up in worry. 

He squirmed closer, burying his face in your side, ignoring your previous warnings of catching your illness. One tiny fist clenched tightly in your blanket, and you could feel warm breath on your stomach. 

“… . I’ll protect you.”

It was a flimsy excuse to disguise his own worry, but you accepted it, pulling his small body closer and silently agreeing. 

I love this prompt because Combeferre getting sick at work in the hospital?? Sign me the hell up! For the fantastic @its-a-goddamn-heartbreak !

Combeferre’s been battling a headache since he got up for work this morning, but with flu season hitting full force, he can’t afford a day off, not with three doctors already out with the damned illness.

He’s treating the day almost as trial and error, but five hours into his shift, and he’s struggling. He’s chilled to the bone, but his face is burning. His headache has been consistent, and his limbs are heavy, making walking feel like a challenging task.

He’s still torn on whether or not he should call it a day, but when a patient expresses concern about his pale complexion right before he sags against the wall as a harsh coughing fit tears up his throat, he has his decision made for him when the patient pages for help and Joly comes in.

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I’m so immeasurably proud of BTS, so much so that there aren’t enough words in the English language for me to accurately convey. No one has won the Top Social Media Artist Award since  JB when the Award was first introduced - and yet here are our boys from all the way in South Korea, defying all odds and crowning themselves with the title. If that isn’t telling of their undevoted love for their work and especially the fans then I don’t know what else could be. Us fans were able to grant them this with our perseverance; but THEY were the ones who truly worked hard into the late hours whilst practicing and rehearsing to get to where they are now. I know that this is only one in the many prestigious achievements that they’ll win, because this is truly the beginning of their journey.

I love you, BTS, and I’m so incredibly honoured to have watched you grow from the young aspiring idols way back when who were told they wouldn’t succeed to the grown men you are today.

Half an Hour to Save the World

After sitting in the conference room since I arrived at work this morning, I’m finally back at my desk, with a half-hour window to post this before heading into town. A co-worker is leaving today, so we’re all trooping off to a local pub for lunch together. Saying our goodbyes.

He’s off to California for three months with some friends to throw himself to the wolves - they have acquired Y-Combinator funding for the development of an app, and will be living in San Francisco while building it. I question how much they really want it, because why the hell would you live in the most expensive city in the country when you could live half an hour away for half the cost? Because they want to party. That’s why.

I don’t think they have any clue how hard the start-ups on the west coast are willing to work to “make it”. If they don’t have that ethic at the outset… I just wonder.

So - I will go out to lunch today and keep my mouth shut.

Twenty minutes left now.

I have no work assigned today, but will be getting on a train tomorrow morning and heading into Central London for a tech event. It’s kind of a jolly really, except for the hour in the middle of the day marked as “networking”. If I have to listen to some project manager spouting acronyms at me over cold coffee, I might do something silly.

Expect photos of train platforms.

i just finished my most recent piece!! this one is called “two oracles”!! 

it’s been a while since i’ve been able to really paint - i moved to a new apartment last month, got sick, and also took on extra hours at work. i finally had a second last night tho to knock this one out… im really really pleased with how it came out! 

also: this piece and my oni girl piece are available as giclee prints on my etsy shop!! 

anonymous asked:

Re: /post/158381040312/how-many-asks-do-you-usually-have-like-it Google sheet of doom? I am Intrigued™

Ah, yes.  The Google Sheet of Doom.  Basically, where we make sure none of our asks get lost, and where I (Mod Ash) give “friendly reminders” to everyone to write dammit

That’s basically what it looks like - scoreboard up at the top, glow-y asks telling us which ones have been there for Too Damn Long, color-coded names making sure we all know who’s doing what.  Took a couple hours to get all the code working, but hey, it’s worked near-perfectly ever since it was created!  (There are about sixty rows down below that aren’t shown b/c my computer screen just isn’t that tall.)

~Mod Ash

Hey guys! Since im working only 10 hours this week, I figured opening 3 traditional commission slots would be a nice boost to my bank account.


1) ONLY 3 slots will be available for this commission set! I am mailing all of them out together to save myself time since the post office isnt super close.

2) Each picture will be mailed out to the commissioner with an included small letter written by myself. (Not pictured: I use scrapbook paper behind each picture)You can order more than one drawing if you’ve reserved a slot, but I’ll only do bust shots/waist up drawings for this set! 

3) The 3 slots will only be open this week (5/21/17 - 5/28/17), so if you’d like a drawing from me, please let me know sooner than later!

Paypal only please!





I’m so sore. My arms don’t want to work anymore. My neck doesn’t want to move. I have bruises inner thighs and the palms of my hands, especially the left, which I use to write. I got soaked this morning throughout the 7 hours of practice. But it’s all worth it, because GUESS WHO FUCKIN FINALLY GOT HER MOTORCYCLE CERTIFICATION

If anyone has any ideas about illness/injury and motorcycles together, please send them in to commemorate this momentous occasion (AKA something I’ve been waiting for since I was 4 years old.)

spasticchipmunkhuman  asked:

Ray/Lily + "Your math is wrong."

Ray stepped away from the whiteboard and capped his marker. “I think I’ve got it. We should get the others and tell them about this.”

“Sure, but one thing,” Lily stepped forward. “Your math is wrong.”

“No,” Ray shook his head. “It can’t be. I checked as I was writing it.”

“Well, there’s still a mistake,” Lily held out her hand. “May I?”

Ray suppressed a yawn. They’d been working on the formulas for hours since Mick and Amaya first brought them the data for the latest mission. Apparently the things they were fighting had once been human, except they didn’t outwardly look human anymore. There had to be some way to reverse what had been done to the. Neither were willing to give up until they found a way.

“I thought you had a marker?” Ray frowned, remembering earlier how she’d been working on some of the formulas too with her own marker.

Lily’s nose scrunched up as she rubbed her eyes. “I think I left it in the kitchen when we last took a break.”

“When was that again?” Ray asked, racking his brain for when they had last left the room.

“I don’t remember,” Lily murmured.

Gideon spoke up then. “You were last in the kitchen approximately five hours and seven minutes ago, and that was only to get coffee. I would advise both of you to take time to eat and sleep now in order to properly execute your work.”

“When we’ve finished,” Ray said, passing Lily the marker. 

“Yeah,” she agreed as she started out on correcting the error in Ray’s formulas. “This is just it. We’ve got all our math ironed out-”

“I’m sorry, Dr. Stein and Dr. Palmer,” the AI lamented. “But the two of you are both incorrect in your calculations.”

The taller of the two geniuses groaned. “Seriously?”

“I strongly advise both of you to rest and recharge before attempting any more on this,” Gideon sounded stern now. “Otherwise I will have the crew make sure you do.”

Lily groaned and sat down on the floor. “Fine, Gideon.”

Ray nodded and looked at her. “How about I get us some food and we eat in here?”

“I can come with you,” Lily yawned, starting to stand up.

“Don’t worry,” Ray shook his head. “I’ve got it. And I’ll get your marker while I’m at it.”


people seem to have trouble understanding why i’m an anti-capitalist, so i’m going to try and put it into simple, real-life terms.

i work at a restaurant. i make $12 an hour, plus tips. minimum wage where i live is relatively high for my country - the national minimum wage is $7.25/hr, and has not been raised since 2009. before taxes, working full time, my yearly income is about $22,000 a year. ($25,000 if you count tips)

at my job, we sell various dishes, with an average price of about $10-$15. we get printouts every week detailing how much money we made that week; in one week, our restaurant makes about $30,000. (one of our other locations actually makes this much on a daily basis!)

i’m not going to go into details, but after the costs of production (payroll for employees, rent for the building, maintenance, and wholesale food purchasing) are accounted for, the restaurant makes an estimated profit of $20,000 per week.

this profit goes directly to the owner, who does not work at this location. the owner of my restaurant has actually been on vacation for a few months, but still profits from the restaurant, because they own it. i have met the owner exactly twice in my year of working here.

to put this into perspective, the owner of this restaurant earns in 2 days what they pay me in one year. and that’s just from this single location - the owner has several other restaurants, all of which make more money than the one i work at. this ends up resulting in the owner having an estimated net worth of tens of millions of dollars, even after accounting for the payroll for every single worker in their employ.

now, i have to ask you: does the owner of my restaurant deserve this income? did they earn it? did their labor result in this value being created?

the naive answer would be “yes”; the owner purchased the location and arranged for the raw ingredients to be delivered, did they not?

the actual answer is “no”. the owner may have used their initial capital to start the location, but the profit is a result of my labor, and the labor of my co-workers.

the owner purchases rice at a very low bulk price of about 25 cents a pound. i cook the rice, and within a few minutes, that pound of rice is suddenly worth about $30. the owner did not create this value, i did. the owner simply provided the initial capital investment required to start the process.

what needs to be understood here is that capitalists do not create value. they use the labor of their employees to create value, and then take the excess profit and keep it.

what needs to be understood is that capitalists accrue income by already HAVING money. the owner of my restaurant was only able to get this far because they started off, from the very beginning, with enough money to purchase a building, purchase food in bulk, and hire hundreds of employees.

that is to say: the rich get richer, and they do so by exploiting the labor of the poor.

the owner of my restaurant could afford to triple the income of every single person in their employee if they felt like it, but this would mean that they were generating less profit for themselves, so they do not.

the owner of my restaurant pays me the current minimum wage of my area, because to them, i am not a person. i am an investment. i am an asset. i am a means to create more money. 

when you are paid minimum wage, the message your boss is sending you is this: “legally, if i could pay you less, i would.”

every capitalist on the planet exploits their workers for their own gain. every capitalist, even the small business owners, forces people to stay in poverty so that the capitalist can profit.

some unlucky kiddos :’)


“That’s brilliant, and I’m not just saying that because of the massive blood loss! …But maybe we should try it on Rohan, first.”

(The text in the first panel reads “take care.”)

The last(?) in a series of comics about stands and friends etc.  Also the last thing left in my scraps folder dating back to–yikes!–September. Time for new ideas!!

Anyone who knows me could tell you I’m no kind of artist. However, as a professional project manager, I frequently work with artists, and one of the most frequent challenges we end up dealing with is lost work due to technical issues, unforeseen circumstances, or just plain carelessness. I’ve seen projects that have lost dozens, in some cases literally hundreds of hours due to lost or damaged artwork needing to be redone - which isn’t great news for either a budget or a timeline!

Of course, this is an even bigger issue for artists who are working solo, since you typically won’t have anything to fall back on when things go south. Lost or damaged art may set back a big project’s timeline, but when you’re working for yourself, it can be an absolute show-stopper; most solo projects that suffer significant lost work never recover at all. So here’s a basic disaster mitigation and recovery plan that anybody with a working computer can set up:

1. Sign up for a Google account if you don’t already have one. The free version gets you 15GB of storage, which should be more than enough for your current projects unless you’re working with ungodly huge files; if you are, the 100GB version is only like twenty bucks a year.

2. Download and install the Google Drive sync client - I believe they’re calling it “Drive Everywhere” these days.

3. Set up a special folder on your hard drive that you’re going to keep all of your working files in, and point the sync client at that folder.

4. Configure your art program to autosave every 20 minutes or so. How exactly you do this will vary depending on the program you’re using - you can Google for instructions easily enough.

Blam. Now you have continuously updated offsite backups; hard drive crashes, lost media, or even - heaven forfend - stolen equipment will no longer wipe out your work in progress.

Plus, go into the web console for your Google Drive and right-click a file. See that menu option that says “Manage Versions”? That’s right: Google Drive keeps separate copies of every individual version of the file that’s ever existed (or for the past 30 days, if you’re using the free version). Unwittingly saved over your lineart two hours ago? Working file irrecoverably corrupted because your questionably legal copy of Photoshop barfed? No problem: just walk backwards through your version history until you find a version that’s still good.

Now, this is by no stretch of the imagination a particularly robust offsite backup and version management scheme - I’d certainly recommend additional measures for anyone who’s doing digital art as their regular paying gig - but it’s better than nothing, and it has the benefits that a. it requires no particular expertise to set up, and b. it’s free.

The night starts with a big, spicy Philly cheese steak. It’s about 6pm. I’ve been wanting to try the cheese steak from this corny, 50’s retro place for a long time. I gobble down the big greasy bowl of meat, hot sauce, and cheese, then head to the coffee shop for my weekly draw group. A little after I get home, about 10pm, a stomach ache comes on. “Damn, guess spicy foods are out.” I’ve been getting stomach aches every time I have spicy Thai or hot wings. I google search about spice pain- possible stomach ulcer? “I guess I have been stressed lately, but no more than usual I don’t think…” File under “Will investigate further later.“ According to the comments on this health website, a glass of milk will help. Gulp one down, go to bed.

Wrestle to sleep for about an hour. Realize the ache is just over the required pain threshold to keep you from sleeping. Do some work on my comic, more tired, but stomach worse. Will play batman until I fall asleep. I feel like I’m just running in circles… How many times have I failed this mission? Batman, batman, stomach now hurts too bad to enjoy an active task like video games. Deliriously tired. Would be great to sleep through the rest of this abdominal temper tantrum. Try the old “hot shower will make you sleep” trick. Take some Pepto-Bismol, and some generic acetaminophen. Out of the shower, hurts to walk around now, and to lie down. Guess I’ll have to wait it out with my eyes open. Call and leave my Doc a message, maybe will get a spot in there tomorrow. Need to get that ulcer discovered… Time to enjoy a passive task like watching TV. Breaking Bad feels like the right mixture of funny and painful, just like me and my burning spice belly. Damn, I can’t even enjoy that part where during Hank’s interrogation of that meth head, Wendy, she accuses Hank of trying to buy sexual services from her on behalf of an underage “football player” (a misunderstanding involving Walter Jr. from a few episodes before). Oh hell. Time to look up what time emergency medical clinics open. Guess I’ll have to pay out of pocket since I can’t wait for my Doc tomorrow.  It’s about 4am now. Earliest clinic opens at 8. Now hungry again, but can’t eat what with all the pain. One hour down. Man, this is really starting to hurt. Can I really wait 3 more hours? Sitting is starting to hurt as much as lying and standing. And I’m still not enjoying TV. Okay, I’ve come to a decision…. 

“Hey, Kayla, my stomach still hurts, I’m thinking about driving to the ER, do you wanna come?” “Oh! Ya, sure. What time is it?” “It’s 5:30”. I  call the hospital “Hey, I’ve had a pretty bad stomach ache all night, I’m thinking of coming by.” Operator: *long pause* “Haha, well, okay! We’re open all night, so just come on in.” 

Driving with a stomach ache is not so bad, because you’re already hunched over. Wish Kayla could drive, but she doesn’t really know how, probably would have a panic attack and would definitely crash. Interesting that they have ER parking, I wonder how many ER patients drive themselves here… All bodily positions hurt my insides now, signing in to this place sucks. Give Kayla half the paperwork to fill out, glad she’s here, or this would be really boring. Man, they sure take a long time for someone trying to get into an empty emergency room… Signing in with a nurse, she ask me my height and I say “ ‘5’’8”, but I notice she puts down “ ‘5’’7”… They want to look at my pee, they always want to see my pee. I pee, no blood, so whatever that tells them means I’m getting an ultrasound first. Then a young nurse named Ken, a cool Asian dude with screws through both ears, squirts so much morphine into my IV that I lean back and audibly say “oh my god.” I feel it ripple like a shock wave from my arm down to the ends of my body. My belly is feeling alright now. 

The ultrasound technician tells me that babies are the least common thing she uses ultrasounds for. My joke has fallen flat. Back in the room, the doctor and his manila folder tell me “Good news! No gallstones, there are kidney stones inside your kidneys, but since they are inside, you shouldn’t be feeling the pain from those.” “Wait, does that mean I have to pee those stones out at some poin–” It is not discussed again. Seeing that neither organ has the appropriate stones, Doc would “rather not expose me to more radiation than necessary” and is working on discharging me. But, “I won’t leave here without a diagnosis.” 

In I go to the CT scan tube. That hot squish of contrast dye spreading through my veins. “Okay, we’re moving you into a room upstairs.” Says a hippy technician. Upstairs in my sweet and swanky single with couch, a person I’m pretty sure is just a businessman disguised in medical scrubs types on a computer. He takes down my answers to what seem like pre-surgery questions. “Do you have anybody specific on file in the event you are medically unable to yield consent  for yourself?” This, combined fact that they won’t feed me, makes me wonder what it is I’m going into surgery for. I saw this same thing about a year and a half ago with the whole brain debacle, but that’s a story for another time. Several medical people dip in, sprinkle breadcrumbs of information; it’s like a game show challenge that combines a scavenger hunt with a jigsaw puzzle. You have to gather the pieces of information from their hiding places, then assemble them in the correct order to reveal an answer. A tech comes in and spoils the game, “You seem to have a lot of questions, so I just want to make sure, you know you have appendicitis right? We’re about to take it out.” “Thank god,” I think. “It’s not the spicy foods. Spicy foods are still in.” Downstairs, in pre-op, I complain to my plain-clothes surgeon about how analog tests like pressing on my stomach are remarkably inaccurate, since a doctor’s subjective interpretation of my poor description of say, “the pain is slightly higher” can rule out appendicitis, the same appendicitis that a machine might spot an hour later. I tell him that I almost got sent home. My surgeon tells me he’s been doing analogue tests for 30 years, and not to worry about it. I start to tell him how “my deadpan reaction to pain also causes a lot of people to misdiagnose me, that a lot of people laugh when I describe how I’m in pai–”, but he walks away in the middle to get dressed for surgery. The operating room has big TVs and lights, it looks like a set, and I consider the possibility of fake hospitals as the anesthesia takes the wheel.

In the recovery area, the nurse tells me how big, inflamed appendixes can be agitated by spicy foods, foods high in fat, and dense foods like heavy cheese. I see an image of a spotlit cheese steak appear in a black void. Nurse feeds me ice chips and tells me she craves ice chips when she’s dehydrated. I suggest that she only craves ice chips because she works in a hospital, that ice chips are too unsatisfying a thing to crave at random, and that most people would just crave water. She agrees. Back upstairs in my room, it is now 8pm, and it has been 26 hours since I’ve eaten. I’ve been hydrated only through IV’s. The driest mouth and the clearest pee. Because the lingering anesthetic can cause nausea and vomiting, they will only give me jello. I go nuts on the jello. They continue to give me every jello I ask for, one at a time, like a test. Way past where I though the cutoff point would be, the nurse tells me “That’s it! There’s no more jello! You ate all the jello on this floor.” You’re damn right I did, you’re damn right….


Starry Trans Keith Icons requested by Anonymous

Like/Reblog if you’re using

Credit isn’t necessary, but appreciated

Requests are open/Hmu if you want a different color

He’s been acting like this for well over an hour (I got back from work to find him acting like this so I don’t know how long he’s been like this)

I’m pretty concerned, especially since he just struck at himself too and it seems to be getting more violent. If you know what’s going on please let me know!

EDIT: thank you to those who revealed that he is perfectly okay and is, in fact, just… touching himself

Combat Medic Waifu <3

A quick few hours sketch practice with reference help from Kyrie. Her girls make me fall in love, do check her out!

I want to take a break from drawing doods and I haven’t been drawing any girlies in forever. Although Im mostly a mercy main I almost never draw her much. X’D But hell yeah the new skin and hairstyle is so hellaaaaaaa prettehhhhh. Although im slightly sad I din manage to get her in game skin. D:  

P.S: Edited her a bit cux I realised I overlooked some flaws while rushing her out. :P

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