#also they definitely use toned paper which i simply do not have

[raveartts]

[theysaidhush]

Kinktober Day 2: Inflation

Pairing: Song Mingi x (ImpliedVirgin?)Reader

Song Mini was a man of his words. When he said that he would do something, he did it, and was good at it. Whatever it was. If requested to write lyrics for a new song, you could see him thirty minute later bent over a sheet of paper -- or numerous, it usually depends on if he's feeling moody. When asked to teach a member a dance step -- because he wasn't just a good rapper, he was also an amazing dancer, one of the best alongside Yunho -- he was always giving his 1000%, not giving up until he was sure the step was executed perfectly. In short, he was determined to keep going on, no matter what, when or where.

You, on the other hand, were a bit more lenient on yourself -- you would not say idle. You weren't use to forge ahead and do everything in your capacity to achieve something. If you couldn't it, you would just blame yourself for being lazy, without actually doing anything to kill that laziness. You were an 'oh, too bad' type of person.

One moment of your shared life that could be uses to compare and contrast you and your boyfriend was a memory of a particular day -- you'd rather call that 'the memory of the meal' rather than 'the day I've been scolded like a child by my boyfriend'. It was your lunch break and you were hungry and tired, yet, out of laziness, you refused to go to the nearest store to buy yourself something to eat. There was also a day when you decided to simply let a salad bowl on the table because you couldn't fit it in the cupboard underneath your sink.

Now, Mingi was hellbent on teaching what perseverance is. To do things and actually finish them, to go extra length to get what you want. And he wanted to teach it to you in a pretty, sweet, and painful way.

"Mingi, 'won't fit..."

"Come on Princess, you can take it."

You open your eyes and tried to get a glimpse at your big, tall boyfriend, standing in all his glory between your legs. He was frowning, sweat dripping down his forehead and hair, his eyes looking down at your private parts. He glanced at you before turning his gaze back to your dripping cunt, stretched around the tip of his fat cock.

"Told you I would teach you to never give up." he said, bending over to kiss you on the cheek, before leaning back down. "A bit more. Close your eyes and breath."

You hastily nodded, the feeling of his thumb stroking your hip doing a good job helping you get your mind off the feeling of being ripped apart by your boyfriend's dick. He wasn't even half in, and yet you could still feel every inches of him gliding and pushing against your gummy walls. The tip was stroking everywhere and nowhere at the same time, opening your pussy up for the rest of his length.

"You're wet baby." he said in an almost mocking tone, watching your cum splash from your vagina -- from the previous two orgasms he gave you. He definitely know how to put his rap skills to use. He closed his eyes and pushed deeper, choosing to ignore your whines as they weren't alarming -- he was pleased to find out that you were quite vocal in bed.

Eventually, he managed to fit it all in you, and when pushing the last bit of him inside, he closed his eyes, which rolled to the back of his head which was thrown back in pure pleasure. "Yeah, good girl..."

He looked down at your face, torn between smiling and frowning at the sight of your eyelashes, beaded with unshed tears. You were such a sight. He almost felt bad, but then remember that he was doing this for your own good.

As soon as he thrusted out of you, only to come back forth, this time more easily, your grip on the sheets tighten, eyes rolling back to your skull. You whimpered and took fast and short breath, remembering your boyfriend of a small puppy who had a run in the forest.

"Ah- Doin' so good for me."

It didn't take you a long time to find pleasure in his torture, skin blushing and warm walls tightening around him. Just as you were about to finally let go and probably have one of the best orgasm of your life, Mingi, deep in you, stilled. You opened your eyes abruptly, panicked and despaired at the feeling of your orgasm failing away.

"Mingi~!"

He did not move one inch, eyes glued to what appeared to be your belly. You looked down to see what was interesting to the point of ruining your orgasm -- and make him stop, it was quite unusual for him to interrupt your private sessions like that, he wasn't a big fan of teasing and edging.

But even before seeing it, you felt it. Felt the way his big and clammy hands pressed on your stomach, making you feel him even more. You didn't not even know it was possible, but the feeling of his dick going in and out was real, and increased by a thousand. No wander he had trouble penetrating you, there wasn't enough space, even he was having trouble moving in and out of your cunt.

"Oh my-" he groaned, fastening his pace, taking his hand off your belly to properly look at the bulge on your stomach. And he came, on the spot.

You felt his hot and sticky sperm flood your womb, more and more, even when you thought that you milked him dry. He was shooting ropes after ropes of sperm and you felt like drowning in it. You felt full, felt the same feeling as when you drink too much water.

You both watched your lower belly inflate, taking an abnormal and yet pornographic size. The mere sight made you cum.

Needless to say that you were a bit more persistent in your actions.

[lifewithdavefarts]

DaveFarts - Episode 26 “Critical Stink” [Episode List] During a D&D session, Tim insists that he should be immune to poison damage. The gassy-as-usual Dave makes sure he’s gonna regret such request.

POV: Tim

Critical Stink

The evil Yuan-Ti general and his minions had us cornered: the humanoid snake turned out to be a bigger threat than our team expected. Radahm, our Rogue, managed to backstab one of the lesser enemies in front of us, who then bled to death mere minutes later. Ergg, the annoying wizard, quickly casted a defensive spell to protect us but the snake-like soldiers had weapons capable of undoing any form of magic (…something we never heard of before, in our years of adventures, but OK). 

I, the brave Paladin Desal, was our team’s last hope: I could attack our formidable foes with my mighty holy sword, getting closer to the general himself, whose venomous bite was just as dreaded as the blade of his mighty scimitar. Yet, I decided to go for it, I had nothing to fear, for The High One has granted me poison immunity many moons ago. This is why The Fate brought us here… why She brought me here.

It was all leading up to this.

I rush with all of my might towards the snake general, who noticed my deft movement, his long neck dodging my sword at the last second. He hissed back at me, his mouth going for my arm.

I felt his teeth piercing through my white armor, but once again, I had nothing to fear, for The High One has granted me poison immun-

“What do you mean I’m losing HP?!”

Me (Desal), Greg (Ergg) and Adam (Radahm) were having one of our D&D sessions, which are getting rarer given how busy we are. Dave was our DM for this Quest and… we didn’t really like where this was going. 

First, that whole bullshit with Yuan-Ti weapons undoing Greg’s magic (and magic in general apparently). Never heard of such thing nor we care, even though Dave found our shock quite delightful. And then -and this is more personal-, all of the sudden, my character stopped being immune to poison… because plot I guess!

“Dude!” I scolded Dave. “I thought we agreed on this like moo- I mean months ago.”

Adam and Greg backed me up, just because the wanted to dunk on Dave than anything else.

“Gentlemen.” our DM replied, in a mockingly formal tone. “…and Tim.” he turned to me and took a sip of his beer, then resumed talking. “What I told you back then was that The High One would grant Desal poison immunity in case you rolled a Nat 20 on a Defense Roll.”

I remained silent.

“And, I don’t know about you guys, but I don’t see a 20 anywhere on this table.”

The derisive sarcasm was just as annoying as it sounded, not even considering Dave being utterly wrong about this. If only I could find those papers where we actually took note of this…

“I’m with Tim on this one.” Greg said. “Also if he dies, our quest is basically over.”

“I guess we’re done then.” I said, referring more to the fact that Greg agreeing with me was basically a death sentence to any possibility of being right. “What about you, Adam?” I asked.

“Well, I got my share of EXP by backstabbing that snake guy, so I’m gonna try running away my next turn.” he snickered.

“Team of the year.” Dave commented, amused. 

“Disgusting.” Greg remarked.

“Wow the the True Neutral Rogue doing True Neutral things I’m such a bad player.” Adam replied.

“Hey! This is not about Adam’s admirable commitment to role-playing.” I pointed to our DM. “This is about Dave making up the rules.” 

“Here’s what I have to say about it.” 

Dave, who was wearing a brown hoodie and a pair of dark blue jeans, simply leaned a bit, the wooden chair he was sitting on cracking under his weight. One of my friend’s deafening farts soon followed, the wooden surface making it even louder. Not the first one my bro ripped during our D&D session (we were all high on beer and junk food, so gas was expected), but definitely one of the louder ones. While he still casually does it, I’m pretty sure, considering that evil smirk, that this one time he simply ripped one to, well, startle me, as he knows very well how awkward I (still) get whenever Dave is so chill about my fart kink.

“I guess a storm is getting closer.” Greg commented, after the 5 seconds blast ended.

Dave quickly snapped his fingers and pointed at him. “Good call. Let’s wrap it up.”

So our DM quickly made up that those Yuan-Tis that almost killed us are afraid of thunderstorms (ripping another thunder-fart to further prove his plot point) and thus they ran away, scared, leaving us there, licking our own wounds (almost literally, given Greg rolling a 4 when he attempted to heal us).

We survived, but that was pretty underwhelming.

“So Greg managed heal me, no more poison and shit like that.” I commented.

“I’m your DM: I decide if you get to survive tonight.” Dave reminded me, that annoying sarcastic smirk drawn on his face, fully aware of how annoying he was being.

But admittedly that’s part of the fun you know.

“Well that wasn’t fun at all guys, see you in about 6 months for our next session.” Adam said, as he got up and reached for his jacket. Greg did the same.

We had one last sip of beer together and then our friends left, leaving me and Dave alone at our place. It was late, about 1:00 AM, but also a Saturday.

As me and my bro/roommate tidied up the table we just finished playing on, he decided to keep making fun of my strategies.

“The first mistake was choosing the Paladin as your class, as I told you many moons ago.” he snickered.

“Says the Wizard enjoyer. Having fun casting shit from behind the trees?” 

“Yes, because I don’t get poisoned from there. Also, I’m more of a Bard you know.” 

“I shouldn’t get poisoned, you know it. But our DM got amnesia apparently.” 

Dave laughed, rolling his eyes. “Nat 20 on Defense Roll.” he spoke slowly. “Such a difficult concept to grasp!”

We sat once again at the now clean table, opened two more beers and we kept talking.

“Look, I’m not saying that you don’t remember it. But yes, you don’t remember it.”

“I don’t remember it.” Dave insisted. “Because it never happened.”

“Literally the only thing my character is going for is poison immunity.” I stated, perhaps exaggerating, but you get my point.

“Wow immunity against the worst damage type. Congratulations, Desal! You’re a Paladin, start summoning light pillars or some other gay shit!”

“Dave, we agreed on it. I DESERVE to be immune to poison.” I insisted.

“Fine.” my friend took a quick sip of beer. “All kinds of poison?”

“Yes.” I said, satisfied. 

“…even poison gas?” Dave said, a faint smirk appearing on his face.

“Well yes of course, especially pois- I know where this is going.” I glanced at him, unimpressed.

Indeed, Dave laughed and once again leaned, another loud blast erupting from his jeans-clad ass, the wooden chair under him enduring that powerful flatulence like a silent hero. 5 more seconds of farting and he was done.

“You g-gotta admit…” I said, bravely, almost shaking for how embarrassed I was. “That’s one type of poison I’m definitely immune to.” I joked, I tried to.

“Shut up.” Dave replied, chill as usual about my fetish. “You’re tough, I’ll give you that, but Tim…” he put his hand on my shoulder, being hilariously serious about all of this. “We’re talking about my farts: one of these days you’re gonna die because of me.” 

He finished that short speech by effortlessly ripping one more quick 2 seconds rip, faking a sad expression, as if I truly was risking my life. I managed to laugh, my boner however almost hitting the table for how good those farts were, a faint smell reaching my nostrils as well.

“Come on. Let me have this at least. Poison immunity in real life!” I kept joking.

Dave looked at me, with a smirk, then turned his attention to a D20 dice we left on the table and reached for it. 

“You know…” he started talking in a tone of voice that made me think this whole thing turned into a business deal for some reason. “I can grant you your precious poison immunity… if you pass the test…”.

He was fiddling with the dice, now looking back at me. 

“Let me guess: another rule you just made up.” I said.

“Not at all! I forced you through this test so many times lately… but tonight I decide if you actually passed it.” he laughed.

I had no idea what he was talking about. Or rather, pretended not to.

“I don’t understand. Are you planning some kind of challenge?”

“Sort of. I’ll just show you how it’s going to work.”

He passed the dice to me and I just stared at it for a few seconds.

“Roll the dice, Tim.” he said, with a smirk.

I played along and mindlessly let the dice fall on the table. It rolled for a few instants and then I read the number facing up out loud. “Meh, that’s a 4. I’m just like Greg.”

In response to what I just said, Dave snapped his finger to gain my attention. As I turned to him, he leaned once again and a thunderous fart echoed in the empty living room, easily surpassing the sounds coming from the TV across the room, the wooden surface of the chair he was destroying with his gas greatly increasing the loudness of the already powerful rip.

The blast lasted around 5 seconds and… that wasn’t rocket science, I knew where this was going now. I was speechless, I had no idea Dave would even think something like this. 

“No.” I simply said, shaking my head, embarrassed. 

I stood up, leaving the dice on the table, ignoring the fact that my friend could clearly see the tent I pitched through my blue sweatpants and walked towards the couch, as I kept repeating “No”, each time my bro laughing more and more.

“Scared, Desal?” he promptly asked. 

“No!” I took a big breath, turning back to my bud still sitting at the head of the table, his eyes glued on me, his smug smirk still drawn on his face. “It’s just… come on man… I don’t want to… of course I…”

Dave stood up and walked towards me, without losing that smile, now looking a bit more chill. “You know you don’t have to worry about this, not with me, right?” he simply asked, and I knew exactly what he meant.

“Alright…” I said. “I’ll do your dumb test.”

He laughed. “This also counts as me getting my revenge for, you know, you doubting my DM skills.” 

I figured I’d just give up: Dave was gonna blast me either way, and I deeply appreciated how he wanted to make sure that no, I had nothing to worry about, he knows I have this kink, he knows I was gonna like this… but that wasn’t going to stop him from torturing me with his well-known blasts. A “revenge”, as he calls it. 

Truth to be told, as much as my boner tells you other wise… I do have my limits, and my friend’s farts sounded very nasty tonight, fueled by hours of beers and low-quality food. What made it so dangerous (and hot) is that Dave is well aware of his skills, so he knew that this was indeed going to be a test.

My bro sat on the couch and nodded at me, as if what was going to happen was completely normal, so I sat next to him. 

“So… roll for initiative?” he joked, handing the dice back to me. 

“I hate you so much.” I replied. Dave just never ceases to amaze me though.

I let the dice roll on the small table in front of us, as Dave took a sip of his beer. We both watched it bounce around for a few moments, until it stopped, a big 7 facing up. 

The fart I heard when I rolled a 4 was already impressive so… how is a 7 going to sound like? My roommate seemed to read my mind since he elbowed me, smug smile and all.

I clumsily tried to ask how, well, he was going to face-fart me this time. “What do you want me to… you k-know.”

Dave simply put the beer on the table, right next to the dice and, still silent, simply stood up, towering over me, my face already aligned with his sagging denim ass. He stepped in front of me and reached for my head, planting it on that warm ass, still stinky for all the previous farts he ripped, a faint scent of rotten pizza greeting my nose. He held my face there for a few seconds, in silence, as if he wanted me to, well, enjoy that the leftovers of his previous rips.

But now, finally, the test has officially begun: a big fart engulfed my face, my friend barely needing to push it out, ripping that blast almost effortlessly. He firmly held my head in there, as if I was going to move it away, which obviously wasn’t going to happen.

And yet, Dave keeping my face into his roaring butt, letting me take big whiffs, was always a great bonus: whether he did that because he knew my kinky ass would like it or not… I just didn’t know, but I was ok with it nonetheless… as long as he was okay with me.

He raised his left leg a bit, letting his ass roar even louder. 

The impressive flatulence lasted 9 seconds: just beautiful, but I knew this wasn’t the worst (best?) my bud was going to hit me with tonight.

Dave let my head go, turned around to stare down at me, and laughed a bit. He then sat back next to me, as if nothing gross and weird happened.

“This is how you get poison gas immunity: you gotta train those nostrils first.”

“I hate you so much.” I repeated myself, as I took a sip of his beer.

He patted my shoulder in response. “No worries, your training will resume soon.”

I reached for that cursed D20 once again and fiddled with it a bit, before going for another roll.

“How long is this test going to last?” I genuinely asked, with a hint of sarcasm.

“We’ll see.” he winked at me, while looking at something on his smartphone.

Still deciding on whether I was or not the luckiest man in the world because I have a friend like him, I went for another roll, the D20 once again bouncing on the small table in front of us. Admittedly, I sighed in relief when I saw a 2.

“Remind me to never take you to Las Vegas…” Dave commented.

Since it was 2, my bro simply spread his long legs, showing off his sagging jeans in the process, and ripped a short (but still loud, despite being muffled by the couch) toot. Small for Dave’s standards, not even 4 seconds long, but still a nice sounding fart overall.

Not that I wasn’t aware of his skills, but the fact that those were all natural, back-to-back, was almost fascinating to me. Fetish or not, I wish I had such powers.

“Still pretty impressive for a 2, I gotta say.” I said, getting more comfortable with openly acknowledging Dave’s talent. 

My roommate chuckled in response. “Such a kinky bitch.” he joked.

As my way to challenge him after that ridiculous fart, I quickly went for another roll. The dice spun for a moment until it revealed the number at the top spot, which immediately made me swallow my pride: a 16.

“Looks like you’re gonna get your ass kicked, Paladin.”

“You better shut up or I’m gonna kick yours.”

“With what? Your nose?”

As Dave (rightfully) made fun of me, he stood up once again, this time on the couch, towering over me even more than before (he had no shoes anymore, only a pair of sweaty socks).

“Just… just do it.” I simply said, horny, my heart racing fast.

Amused, my friend managed to directly sit on my head, as if I was a stool. 

“You really want me to k-kill me?”

“I’m your FM: I decide if you get to survive tonight.”

I remained silent. “FM…?”

“FM dude.” Dave kept talking, still sitting on me, as if this was such a natural way to talk to each other. “FM!”

“I don’t get it.”

“Too much blood rushing down your cock, fine.” he said, knowing exactly how true that statement was. “I’ll give you a hint then.”

Treating me like the wooden chair he soiled with his gas, Dave leaned a bit, as he pushed the next rip out… but after a few seconds nothing came out. 

“I’m brewing a big one, give me a moment.”

And we just remained there, silent, the stench of his ass almost forming a fog around me, the rough surface of his sagging jeans brushing through my hair. I heard Dave laughing, fully aware how weird that scene must have looked.

“Alright, here it comes for real. Ready?”

He didn’t even wait for an answer as an earthquake shook my skull, making my body shake down to my knees. The vibration literally made some drops of pre-cum leak out of my penis, further proof of my friend’s incredible powers. The fart, needless to say, was so loud it almost made me deaf: I wasn’t made of wood, but the sound of Dave’s blast bounced off the top of my head quite nicely, sounding like a loud, low-pitched chainsaw.

21 seconds. 21 fucking seconds. All natural, all as disgusting as it sounds. I didn’t even need to sniff as I was probably trapped in an invisible bubble of gas.

Finally, after wiggling his ass a bit so my hair would completely absorb that fart, Dave stood up, ripping a couple of small toots while doing so, and sat back where he was. He looked at me with a smirk, but couldn’t help but laugh noticing me startled facial expression.

I’ll just never get used to this.

“FM… Fart Master… Fuck you.” I said, shaking my head.

“If it's any consolation… you almost earned that immunity you wished for.”

This is all just a dumb kinky game for him. I couldn’t be happier, but also holy shit, the thin line between kink and torture was getting blurry with a friend like him.

“Just say that I earned it. It’s late, we’re both tired.” I tried to end this, not that I wasn’t enjoying it but come on, I couldn’t force my straight bud to do, well, this, even though it was his idea to begin with. 

“Fine. One last roll.” he agreed.

I shook the dice in my fist for a few seconds before finally letting it fall one last time on the table. It bounced a couple of times, I could feel the tension rising.

And finally…

No.

No fucking way.

There’s no way this wasn’t scripted somehow.

“Uhhh… Dave?” I dared to turn to him. He was already laughing.

A Nat 20, a fucking Nat 20, something that I always crave during our D&D sessions, but this fucking dice decided that a FART session was more important apparently.

“That’s gonna be a critical hit, Tim.” Dave stated, standing up again.

“No way you got that much gas already.” I bravely said.

My friend laughed again, that usual smirk drawn on his face.

“I’m just gonna blast you on command for a bit.”

The fact that he said that sentence so naturally made me leak a bit more.

“uhhh… thanks?” I said, my brain now completely devoid of any blood.

“Yeah sure, just lie down so I can put an end to this test.” I obeyed. “And also to your face, obviously.” he added, pointing down at me.

Once again, as if it was something completely mundane, Dave waited for me to lie down, so he could simply sit directly on my face, treating my head as part of the couch. Then, he just sat down on me as he said, the sagging jeans-clad asscheeks basically devouring my face. I couldn’t see anything but some details of the seams and textures of my friend’s jeans; at the same time, I felt the warmness, the stench, the sweat, all at once. I was used to my bro blasting me up close and personal, but this time it felt particularly overwhelming.

He wasn’t crushing me (I’m sure he was doing his best not to), but that doesn’t mean that I couldn’t feel most of his weight all over my face. As his ass was resting on my nose, he put one leg on the table in front of the couch and leaned a bit, so he could ease some gas out… or rather in. 

As promised, Dave was gonna fart-face me on command for the critical hit. He masterfully sucked some air in, showing off his skills smoothly. I knew this was gonna be a fucking fart concert. I was both horny and scared, because my bro is indeed the Fart Master, as he bragged earlier.

His ass stopped making noises, a sign that what came in was going to be blasted out soon.

“I mean… all of this to earn something you had all along. What a thirsty bitch.”

I heard Dave say, playfully mockin- wait what? All along? But I didn’t have time to say anything back because of the loud fart that pierced through my eyes and ears. It sounded a bit more “airy” than his previous ones, given that it was on command, but oddly enough it’s like there was a mix of natural gas in there as well: the stench of spoiled beer definitely helped prove it.

The fart lasted 11 seconds, way “shorter” than the previous ones, but as I said, this was gonna be a concert, so as soon as the first blast ended, Dave started sucked air in again, faster than before, as another ass-thunder quickly went down my throat, loud and proud as my friend does them.

Basically, this concert was gonna be one long ass fart with many interruptions.

This one was more of a series of 7 loud long rips ripped back-to-back, lasting about 3 seconds each. It was insane: it was like somebody was shooting at my face point blank with a fucking shotgun.

At this point I started to wonder whether Dave knew I was still there, as he kept ripping farts as if there wasn’t anyone lying under his ass.

Now he was sitting full-weight on me, almost making me fuse with the couch. He spread his legs wide again, as much as his sagging jeans allowed him to, so he could easily release an impressive, meaty, loud, almost wet rip all over that sweaty mess that used to be my face. Now that’s definitely a mix of natural and on-command, and the fact it was slightly wet only made the smell burn my nostrils even more.

This one fart didn’t want to end instead, my bro’s ass roared all over my face like one of those beasts we fought earlier during our D&D session. A display of cocky, disgusting manliness I’ll never get used to, given how skilled Dave is.

Finally, after around 20 seconds, his ass went silent again. I heard Dave whistle in relief.

“You ok down there bro?” I managed to heard him say. So he does know I’m still here!

He got up just a bit, his ass hovering (or rather, looming) over me, just enough to let me slip out of that gas chamber. I sat back to my place as he let his ass sit on the couch again, this time without having me under it. I managed to give a quick look at my friend, who had this silly smile on his face. He was visibly disgusted, but also oddly amused.

“Than-“ but he cut me off.

“You know, you totally earned your poison immunity bro.” he paused for a few seconds. “I mean… that’s what I’d say if you didn’t already have one all along.”

Oh, right. “What the fuck does that mean…?” I asked, sounding a bit more rude than I wanted to.

Dave laughed. “I actually found our conversation from months ago.” he showed his phone to me. “This is the part where we agreed on your immunity, but I forgot.” He chuckled.

I skimmed through the messages and, indeed, I was right.

“You sick bastard.” I sneered at him.

He found it hilarious. I found it… well, I too thought that it was hilariously hot as fuck, but I had to fulfil my role of being a pain in the ass.

“So you just wanted to torture me.”

“Not at first.” he admitted. “Then again, it’s not like I need an excuse to blast you, right?” he then said, winking at me. “Plus, I’m a Bard, I can make music with everything.” he then added, patting his ass.

I just didn’t know what to say, so I did what every mighty Paladin would have done: I simply stood up, not caring about my very visible, damp, huge boner, and went beating my meat in the bathroom upstairs.

Honestly, if Dave took his role of DM as seriously as his role of being my FM, our D&D sessions would go much more smoothly.

The End

[marshymeds]

Intentionally Pathetic?

Description: Shang Qinghua falls asleep at his desk and Mobei Jun carries him to his room. Eepy fluff; (also posted on ao3 @marshymeds)

Nothing could have prepared Shang Qinghua for the workload that awaited him after being reinstated as An Ding Peak Lord. He had never considered himself particularly gifted in logistics or civil affairs, but he could write well enough and he had played the role to the satisfaction of the System. How could he have guessed that everyone else that would fill his place during his tenure as a fugitive was worse at finances and organization than a three year old child?

And what was worse; Mobei Jun had been particularly rude to him after the whole ‘saving him from falling to his death’ thing. Each day had borne an entirely new cadre of tortures. Shang Qinghua wasn’t sure he could take much more. He certainly wouldn’t be saving anyone out of the goodness of his own heart again anytime soon—was this the thanks he got? Complete disrespect even from his favorite OCs.

He sighed deeply and thumped his forehead down onto his arm, exasperated. Nomatter how long he wrote, the stacks of paperwork on the desk never seemed to get shorter. He envied whatever Cucumber-bro was doing at the moment. Probably off fishing with Bing-ge, living the highlife in a quaint lakeside cottage, eating a nice meal with no worries in sight…

Shang Qinghua’s eyes felt heavy as he pulled his head up once more, staring down at the blurry calligraphy on the page before him. He could really go for a warm bowl of ramen about now.

Mobei Jun used no courtesies when entering the room. He simply opened the door abruptly, stepping inside without regard for the inhabitant as he had always done. “I require your assistance.”

Silence.

When the usual startled exclamation didn���t come, Mobei Jun cocked an eyebrow at the figure hunched over the desk on the opposite end of the room. Maybe he’d been too quiet.

“I require your assistance,” he repeated. “Come.”

Still more silence.

He stepped over, annoyance flickering across his face. Was he ignoring him? The man had been incensed that morning, going on about how “no one respects their elders anymore” and “is there no one on An Ding Peak that knows how to properly file taxes??”, only bolstered by the usual round of beatings throughout their daily interactions, but Mobei Jun hadn’t expected the mood to carry over. It never had. He had certainly never willfully ignored him before.

“Qinghua,” he said flatly as he stood next to him now, his tone betraying a cold indifference as well as annoyance. It was entirely intentional.

But he paused as he stared down at him.

Shang Qinghua’s eyes were tightly closed, his cheek pressed firmly against the sheet of paper on which he had been writing. His hand still loosely gripped a brush. The writing was sloppy and trailed off towards the end, resulting in several blotchy stains of ink across the bottom half of the page.

Over the past several years, Mobei Jun had long since learned that Shang Qinghua slept like the dead. There was no use in shaking his shoulder—nothing short of whacking him upside the head would rouse him if he were truly asleep. Thus, there was no harm in leaning closer to look at him.

The peak lord’s mouth was parted slightly, a smudge of ink on his cheek from where he had apparently rested his face down onto fresh calligraphy. His breaths were slow and quiet. Peaceful. Definitely asleep.

Mobei Jun had to wonder if this was intentional. He couldn’t help but think back to that conversation several years ago, as he often did, and consider that Shang Qinghua was putting himself in a position on purpose. To appear vulnerable and weak. To be pathetic.

As Mobei Jun stared down at Shang Qinghua his fingers curled and his chest felt tight. He had to admit it worked.

He pulled his eyes away and stood up again, glancing back at the door. The matter wasn’t important enough to wake him. He would just come back in the morning.

He began to step away and quickly wavered. When had he ever cared whether something was important enough to warrant dragging Qinghua from his sleep?

With that startling thought in mind, Mobei Jun could no longer step out of the room. He quickly turned back to the man at the desk, chest still tight, and weighed the frustration over in his mind. This wasn’t worth it.

Mobei Jun reached down to him, but instead of smacking him, shouting or otherwise violently rousing him from his sleep, he found himself carefully lifting Shang Qinghua from his seat at the desk and into his arms. As he lifted his face a much larger smear of ink was revealed across his left cheek.

The tightness spread from Mobei Jun’s chest and up into his throat. He didn’t understand what sort of illness had managed to overtake him, but it was uncomfortable and he didn’t want any part of it. He didn’t understand how Luo Binghe dealt with this. His half-mortal side must have given him some sort of immunity. In any case, asking him about this was a nonstarter.

Mobei Jun still found himself reaching a hand down to brush at the ink with his thumb. Shang Qinghua’s skin was warm, and under the young demon lord’s icy fingers he flinched away, his face scrunching up slightly in his sleep. The warmth from his face made his fingers tingle and burn slightly, urging his chest to tighten further.

For a brief moment Mobei Jun considered dropping Shang Qinghua to the floor, but he gritted his teeth and shook his dark sleeve over his hand, using the cuff of his robe to gently rub at the mark on his cheek. The ink smudged around but ultimately didn’t budge.

Shang Qinghua really was warm. Mobei Jun could feel the heat through his sleeves as he stood next to the desk, still holding him in his arms. His heart beat faster.

Bed. Right, a bed. Forget the ink. What was he, a maid? He was the heir to the Mobei clan, not Shang Qinghua’s mother. He could bring him to bed, but he needn’t wash his face for him.

The halls were empty even at this time of night. Disciples had no reason to venture into their peak lord’s quarters even if they stayed up late into the night doing paperwork. It occurred to Mobei Jun that he rarely saw anyone visit the An Ding Peak Lord on anything but official business.

He glanced at the man in his arms, but Shang Qinghua had nestled himself comfortably into the demon’s arms, his face pressed into his robes, still entirely unconscious. Pathetic.

Mobei kicked the bedroom door open unceremoniously.

It was here that Mobei Jun ran into a problem. He often took the peak lord’s bed, but he had just brought Shang Qinghua from his study to bring him to bed. Where was he going to put him if he himself would take the bed?

The birds outside were the first indications that morning had come. Shang Qinghua kept his eyes closed, indulging in the quiet birdsong as long as he could before he would inevitably have to rise and begin the day. Although he felt a bit chilly, he could feel a warm ray of sun on his cheek peeking in from the window. When he finally opened his eyes he blinked lightly, momentarily blinded by that thin ray.

He froze.

The face not two inches from his own was sharp and defined, and dreadfully familiar.

Shang Qinghua nearly fell backwards off the bed in an attempt to get away. Had he crawled into bed with Mobei Jun in his sleep? He hadn’t done that in several years now.

Just as his feet touched the floor the demon stirred, eyes cracking open to stare at him blearily in the dim morning light. If he only raised his hand to lightly rub his eye he might look like a child.

Already so early and Shang Qinghua had done something wrong. Mobei Jun had never reacted well to having his sleep space invaded. Maybe he hadn’t noticed?

“M-my king, I ah…uh…H-how did you sleep?”

“Mn.” he grunted, brushing dark strands of raven black hair from his forehead.

Shang Qinghua stood there in tense silence as Mobei Jun sat up slowly, looking somewhat the image of a cat rising from a long nap, stretching and pulling the blankets away from his legs.

“You fell asleep working.”

Shang Qinghua loosened, glad to know that he hadn’t suddenly developed a gap in his memory. But the implications quickly made him tense again, sneaking an awkward glance back at his companion.

Mobei Jun’s eyes narrowed. “What?” he asked flatly.

“Did…you bring me to bed…?”

The look emanating from the demon heir’s was enough to freeze any man’s heart.

“O-of course not,” Shang Qinghua said quickly, answering his own question. “I’m sorry my king, I wasn’t thinking,”

Mobei Jun’s expression softened at that, then hardened, then softened again. The array of colors glinting in his eyes made Shang Qinghua wary.

“Is…there something wrong?”

There was silence for a moment.

Mobei Jun turned away. “You…kick in your sleep.”

________

[missjenca]

#hilariously enough!; I also imagined Satellite having a Local Hand Commmunication!#Love that we over lap on some thoughts here#this has a lot of some of the things I'd rotated in getting Yusei through a panic attack or just days too much like Bad Times#yell at me to post those

As per your tags, consider this me yelling at you to post about this because I genuinely would like to hear it, pLEASE, I live for this kind of thing, lol

Aye aye! Thankie for the reminder, lemme cook that up, big posr style.

So, Yusei is absolutely not walking away from the plot of 5Ds without being a lil bit fucked up. And while Satellite has given him the ability to simply say 'I will put my nose straight through the grindstone and ignore what is happening to me' (for better or for worse), he also has friends that think it important to help him out.

Leo, our wonderful ball of sunshine, can clock immediately when Yusei is in a certain kind of funk that he can handle. He calls it 'Old Paper White' or 'New Paper White' (if Yusei's freaked out enough to go pale). 'Old Paper White' means that Leo can generally goad Yusei into a duel on the work bench, and bemoan his loss in a way to get Yusei to focus on tips and assistance and generally just Big Brothering Leo until he relaxes. 'New Paper' is trickier, because it's probably a deuling related nightmare at the cause. Which means it's time for different games, be it activity books or putting together plastic models together. Leo would definitely enjoy the Duel Monsters Counterpart of Gunpla, and I think Yusei would find the gentle rhythm of 'Snip piece, connect piece' soothing.

Luna's tactics are fairly similar, though with a different approach. She's armed with fidgit toys and puzzles and big long words and her big wide eyes. She'll word tasks very specifically as 'can you help me with this' or 'can you do this for me', and generally weaponises her Baby Sister Status for his benefit. Because it leans on Yusei's 'Can and Will Do Anything For His Friends' part of his will power, she can get him to focus on small tasks like getting to a safe place or solving a rubix cube until he's calmer.

Crow has been spending years knowing the exact balance of 'filling silence' and 'engaging questions' for Yusei to steady himself to. Crow knows all the gossip, what friends are where, interesting mechanical news, all the safe topics. Crow also knows the exact tone of voice to use that signals that nothing is happening, because it's a very different and specific tone of voice to 'we're pretending to be unaware of cops/gangs/attackers' from back when they were younger. He's also totally clued in to what Yusei's different levels on non-verbal answers or non-answers mean, so he can focus on Yusei without focusing *so much* on Yusei that it stresses him out.

Aki's learned the exact levels and kinds of white noise helps Yusei out. Too much or the wrong sounds and he gets over-stimmed or stressed out, too little makes him anxious because actual silence means something bad is about to happen. She also uses a few meditation techniques with him; she may have learned them at Arcadia, but she controls what she knows now. They're both at least a little fond of it; panic attacks or nightmares aren't something that you can fight physically, but this is almost close. Aki's also the one most on top of making sure he takes a painkiller and eats something afterwards, because he always gets a huge headache from being so tense, and he *will* try and just work through it if left to his own devices.

Jack's the only person who can safely goad Yusei into hitting him without Yusei getting *too* wrapped up in being guilty about it. It's very much not a 'Jack deserves to be hurt' thing, but that it's equal measures of that Jack's Always Gonna Do What He Wants and years of Jack-To-Yusei wordless communication between the two of them. He asks for it because he can take it and Yusei can't. It's a Rivals Thing:tm:. It also helps when Crow rolls his eyes and tells Jack off about it like nothing happened. If they can hit a duel, great, but if we're at the bottom option, Jack is of course the one who knows how to be callous to be kind.

[allie-leth]

So I've read a majority of the cass review now, and it definitely feels... weird? But that also could be that I'm not in research circles and the way in which things were expressed is simply a culture difference. However, I did find a lot of odd conclusions that seemed contradictory and a few items they used as a reference were generally extremely poor quality, such as the anonymous social-media shared survey on detransitioning. It felt like they were more critical of studies that produced pro-trans studies than of those that produced findings that agreed with their conclusions, but this may have been my own biases, so it's hard to say. It does repeatedly seem to associate that being trans is associated with mental health issues without much contextual references to the fact that living the trans experience being one that can cause those issues, and while it mentioned that dutch reports showed a lower incidence of comorbidities, it entirely failed to mention the culture differences that would result in trans youth in a more accepting area having fewer mental health issues, which... Idk, that feels worth mentioning in a section devoted to discussing the occurrence of gender dysphoria in youth and its high relation to mental health issues. It claimed that trans youth have a normal suicide rate 'when accounting for comorbidities," but only lightly discusses the source of those in relation to being trans. It also seemed weirdly highly focused on trans men, expressing over and over about how their numbers are increasing in extremely high numbers, but when information is compared to trans women, the numbers are relatively equal, so it's more about the amount of recent trans men than about the total numbers which feels weird. In some ways it does encourage better practices going forward, it's not wrong in the idea that transition is a really rough period for people, and mental health should be a standard practice of care alongside it, but it states that the mental health issues should be addressed prior to receiving any care, which feels particularly weird given its omission to the possible reasons for dutch comorbidities being so much lower as that has genuinely large implications for the rest of the fucking paper. It did seem weirdly obsessed with the ability of trans men to give birth, I'm not sure what's up with that. Also learned that according to a study in 2011, autism made me gay, and they also had a chart about how social media causes depression, which I'll share below because it seems so simplistic as to be funny.

Do understand that this isn't my field, while I'm somewhat knowledgeable on the topic, I wouldn't take my interpretations as fact because I just do not have the experience to fully interpret the tone and content of this report. If you know anyone who does, I'd love to hear their take on it. In trying to understand this report originally I went to news sources, and that was a fucking mistake, but I did get to hear some politician fear mongering about "Nearly 5000 trans youth this year!" (13-18) so I spent a few seconds to look up the total UK population 13-18, and it's ~3.65m, making this about .1% of the youth population in the UK. For context, on any given night, roughly 3500 UK youth experience unaccompanied homelessness.

[unexpectedbrickattack]

Ngl I'm kind of dillydallying around my own SDV fixation and i'd KILL to see what your brain is doing to this game like i for one would eat up dat stuff UP . . .

I love the way this is phrased; genuinely 😭💖 like im a force of nature tearing through any new interest like its made of wet tissue paper 💥💥💥

I thought about it some more and i will (eventually) make an sdv blog. Its going to be a mess having all my interests on one dashboard (im lazy and i dont want to sign in and out all the time for diff accounts lol) but i need sdv stuff in sight or ill explode. For now tho i will ramble about random hcs rattling around in my brain

- The valley is FULL of magic, but not alot of Magical Beings that utilize that magic. If the residents of pelican town knew more about magic, there would be alot more wizards than just. The Wizard.

- Everyone in pelican town has some kind of latent magic, or at the very least, an affinity or sensitivity to magic. I like to think that magic builds in very secluded corners of their world and the area including (and surrounding) pelican town is simply one of those places.

-(sorry, i am just obsessed with Places and Magic) I like the idea of your farmer being drawn to pelican town bc they have a bit of magic in them. The letter is just A Letter, but it is the desire to see this town that makes them leave their old life behind. I am obsessed w the idea that the magic in the farmer craves the valley bc it sees the valley as its home, and by extension, the farmer sees the valley as their home. The people of pelican town rarely leave bc the magic in them sees the valley as their home always. The biggest examples of this are Kent, Demetrius, Evelyn, Emily and Shane. The huge exceptions to this (still workin on it) are lewis and sebastian; lewis bc i see him as a normal, non-magical being trying to wrangle the weirdness of this town, and sebastian bc his feelings of isolation and not being understood propels him to crave the world outside of the valley. (That changes a bit if u befriend him/romance him)

-(shane is weird bc hes super depressed and lonely but his happiness comes from his new ‘ragtag family’ (his words) and his very Not Normal chickens. The animals of the valley love him bc he loves them and he becomes tied to the valley bc of it. Marnie has always loved the animals of the valley and some of the love they had for her definitely rubbed off onto shane, who very openly admits he loves the chickens 💙)

-I wasnt very fond of the idea of purple=magic but i think that was bc i often saw it as a way to tie-in the wizard and abigail. I am still trying to get through the friendships for everyone but rn it doesnt feel like theres any connection between them (and caroline). But. I do like the idea of odd, unnatural colors coming through bc of magic. Alex and Pierre having normal brown hair; Haley and Sam being true blondes. BUT. Shane and Jas having purple-ish hair. Emily and Caroline have blue toned hair. Even vincent have pinkish hair 🥺💖 (and dare i say….sebastian with purple/black hair like shane 👀…maybe he has more magic in him than hed like to believe). Abigail doesnt count bc from what ive seen, Caroline laments about her daughters dyed hair. “When she was younger it used to be chestnut brown” which…awww she took after her dad lol.

- LAST THING. This is not an hc i am just mad about this. I cannot believe the game doesnt allow u to befriend Marlon. What the fuck. What the fuck !!! I love him!!! I want to be friends w the chill monster slayer! Im a monster slayer too!!! Let me give him gifts !!! Fuck ! 😭😭😭💥💥💥💥 Also. I know how to write old man yaoi. They shouldve let me do a romance path for willy, clint and marlon. And the wizard i guess but someone already did that. Linus doesnt count bc hes ascended the need for human romance; hes one w nature (read. aroace). And we (linus and willy and the farmer) already co-raise leo so that counts for something i think 🤔

[delopsia]

do not ask me how this relates to picking a bottle out of the ocean and shaking a bouquet of these 🌹out if it, but the floytts wanted me to tell you that they’re going on a roadtrip for your birthday, but they need a little help planning it…

🛻💕🚙

ok, so who’s driving the most, and whose vehicle are they taking?

you kind of touched on this in my this / that ask lmao, so i feel like it’ll be rhett but...

who has over packed? who has under packed? 

my money is on rhett because he’s a cute little outfit repeater lmao like, depending on how long they’re gone he’s probably got a couple pairs of jeans and boots, a few hoodies, buttery soft t-shirts (that he knows will rotate between the three of them), flannels, and thermals—all in one suitcase with so much room to spare. reader and robby are like, “baby, what the hell?”

who sleeps the most between destinations? who, for whatever reason, can hardly sleep at all? 

who tries to read, and who warns them against it lest they get motion sick? 

you also touched on robby getting carsick if he rides in the backseat in my this / that ask! and! i remember your “rhett gets motion sick on the hay ride” headcanon which makes me think that he needs to sit facing forward in / on a moving vehicle (or horse?) or things start spinning and his belly starts swooping in a bad way 😬 so that makes me think reader is almost never leaving the back seat lmao 

and what about gas station snacks? do they do a grocery run and pre-pack, or when they stop for gas, is rhett like “hold my beer, cutie pies!” 😉 and goes on a delightfully wild but efficient rampage through the convenience store and comes out with an actually pretty damn good haul featuring his own old favorites but also things robby and reader have mentioned liking—as well as a couple things they didn’t even know they’d like?

reader and rhett do almost heatedly rock paper scissor for the last cow tail before robby takes it from the bag at a deserted intersection, rips it in half, takes a bite from both halves and then hands them the remaining pieces. they grumble quietly to themselves but savor the rest of the sweet treat until they come to another station…

*whispers* my preferred car snacks used to be combos (hard pretzels with cheese inside) + strawberry kiwi gatorade, and fudge stripes + sour cream and onion chips. what are / were yours?

who’s tryna stop off at any and all roadside attractions, small towns, and vintage diners? ARE THEY GETTING THOSE WESTERN PHOTOS TAKEN? y’know, the ones where you dress up and they take your photo with the sepia toned filter over it

do the spend any of their nights camping along the trip? maybe sleeping cuddled up snug under the stars in the truck bed? or are they trying to stay in affordable but safe hotels to be able to explore towns and cities along the way?

Birthday road trips?? Oh my god 🥹 🌹 Join my Birthday Bouquet Event! 💐

They're most likely taking a rental or Reader's car because those household trucks do not get good gas mileage at all. Nor is there a whole lot of room in those tiny backseats 🥴that was a lesson Rhett and Bobby learned while hauling stuff from Wyoming when they first moved.

Rhett's definitely doing most of the driving; he does best on those long stretches of highway. Bob comes in when they're getting off on exits and navigating unfamiliar streets. He may drive like a smell, but at least he isn't going to miss every turn like Rhett will. It's a gamble if the Reader will ever get behind the wheel because those boys will get motion sick if nobody is careful.

Rhett can handle sitting in the back, so long as he takes a pill to keep the nausea at bay, but Bobby simply cannot make it work. He absolutely has to be glued to the passenger or driver seat. But he also tends to just? Forget? How prone he is to getting nauseous? Reader and Rhett get onto him so much for trying to read and watch things on his phone because, without fail, they're gonna have to make an emergency pit stop.

The ratty blanket in the trunk isn't for warmth; it's so that Bob can lay flat on the ground and gather his bearings.

Bobby is also the one who has, somehow, overpacked.

You would think he'd be the best at it, considering the whole 'six months away on an aircraft carrier' thing, but alas. He's the one using his body weight to hold his suitcase closed while he fiddles with the zipper 😒 Bobby strikes me as someone who rolls all of his clothes to conserve space. He simply doesn't realize that the extra space made him think he under-packed.

Rhett was clever enough to realize that Bobby packed enough for the both of them combined. Why should he pack a bunch of stuff when he can steal from Bob? He's got:

Ten pairs of socks (he put half the damn drawer in there),

Five of his comfy T-shirts

Four pairs of jeans

Three flannels

Three hoodies (one for each of them to wear),

One pair of boots

And one pair of sneakers

It's not even folded; he's just shoved it all in there and called it a day.

The Reader is the only one who packed accordingly. You know...an outfit for every day, including something formal in the event they go out to a nice restaurant. And here, they thought they were overdoing it with the spare outfits.

Everyone packed at separate times, so nobody knew the situation until they got to the first hotel room. Rhett could have sized down a bag. Meanwhile, the recoil on Bob's tightly bound suitcase could have killed him 🙄

Rhett is not a traveler in the slightest; this whole new bed thing has him wide awake nearly every night. But he'll sleep like a baby on the last night of their stay. It's a genuine curse. Bobby used to be the same way, but he managed to get over it after his first deployment. Everyone in this household is jealous of how quickly Bob can fall asleep.

Bob certainly made an effort to pre-pack snacks, but the problem is that sometimes you get on the road and you're just not in the mood for what you brought. He put together some mini fruit bowls and baked some treats to go in the cooler, and a household shopping trip brought home a bunch of different snacks, but it's hard to resist grabbing things from the gas station.

If Rhett is allowed to shop on his own whilst Bob messes with the gas, then he'll come back with all sorts of things. Beef jerky, two variants of Chex mix, popcorn, mini cheesecakes, donuts, three various bags of candy (including Bob's beloved gummy worms), and that's just the pre-packaged stuff.

The other bag in his hand is full of potato wedges, fried chicken, pizza slices, beef and bean burritos, fried okra, hot dogs, and, if the gas station had it, fried catfish. He's wrangled a whole damn meal in the span of like ten minutes. And while it sounds like a lot (because it is) Robby is the household vacuum cleaner.

Wildly, Bob was somewhat afraid of the burrito because? The damn thing has been deep-fried? But in five minutes, it's gone. Even he's a little surprised.

I cannot BELIEVE you said one of your preferred snacks used to be combos. I used to love the pizza ones, but one way or another, I got a horribly expired bag of them and haven't been able to touch them since. It's been ten years, and the sight of the bag still makes me shiver 😭 My go-to's lean toward Smartfood white cheddar popcorn, Hershey's almond chocolate bars, and a Pepsi. I might grab a slim Jim if my options are limited, but the texture of those sometimes squick me out...

All three are scrambling to stop at every roadside attraction that they see. Rhett wants to see this little town they use to film old westerns. The Reader just found an absurd "world largest ___" attraction that they're now dying to see. Robby has been thinking about that historical diner for the past 27 miles. But they also want to stop in the town on their itinerary, and it's just so! Much! The trip winds up taking horribly long because they didn't anticipate finding so much to do.

The Western photos are a scheme hatched by Bob and Reader; Rhett hardly realizes he's been roped into it until the lady at the desk whips out a camera. "Really? Cowboys don't even dress like this🙄" but begrudgingly goes with it. He already looks the part, aside from the logo on his jacket.

And that's the exact reason why, on the way back, Rhett finally wins his argument on camping for a night. They already have half the setup, and nobody realized until midway through the trip that he packed the damn camping gear. It's only fair, considering he had to sit on a fake horse for one of those photos. They're practically set with all the snacks stored up in the back seat.

Rhett may not have slept well in the comfy, five-star hotel beds, but he's snug as a bug on the squeaky air mattress. He doesn't even need a pillow; his head is nestled on the Reader's belly, Bobby's playing with his hair, and he's gone.

He is also unwittingly involved in a second photoshoot. They manage to get about six different hats on him before he rolls over and away from the cameras 📸

[bluegekk0]

Not an ask for your AU but your drawing process. I have a few questions on how you do art and I would like to take notes as I would like to improve my art.

-how do you make your art so soft? I feel like every time I attempt it, it looks blurry.

-usually what dimensions are your images? I feel like, again, some of my art is blurry and I know part of the reason why is some of my art is blurry.

-usually what color background do you draw with? In your WIP of the Grimm art it seemed like you drew with a grey background while with some of the other arts you drew with a warmer background. Is it simply based on the mood.

That's all of the drawing questions I can think off the top of my mind now.

i'll be more than glad to talk about this! though forgive me if the explanation is a bit over the place, i'm not the best at describing my process since to me it kind of just happens haha

to answer the first question, i think it's a combination of the right kinds of shapes (rounder shapes tend to look more soft, even if the linework itself isn't) and the brush i use for my lines. it's the default mechanical pencil brush in clip studio paint, one that has a pretty low density and requires me to draw over a line multiple times if i want it to be thick. that definitely helps with making the overall picture softer, since the less "important" or inner lines aren't as pronounced. i also color the inner parts of the lineart to make it blend in a bit nicer (which also gives the whole thing a paper cutout kind of vibe, i think)

since you mentioned that your art often ends up being blurry, i'll touch up on the canvas dimensions since from my experience it impacts this aspect quite a lot. i draw on very big canvases, the default one is often 4000px in either dimension. it's definitely a bit overkill, but i'm used to drawing with a large brush size. i often end up downscaling it later to save up on storage (and whenever tumblr cries about the file size being too big), and i always make sure to use the "hard edges" interpolation method, as it keeps the lineart crispy and pencil like

as for the background, i start with a gray one since i find it to be very easy on the eyes. sometimes i leave it as it is, especially if it fits the overall color palette, but recently i started changing the tone to a warmer one, most often a muted brown. plus it adds a little bit of color to the whole piece

lastly, it's not part of the question, but a big part of the final piece is the paper texture i overlay on top. to get the best result, i put it on a linear burn layer mode with low opacity. it gives the whole drawing a more pencil or canvas like appearance, and it adds some texture to help it appear less flat. another thing i started doing recently, which i think is the most noticeable on the tone of color i use for grimm's neck fluff, is that i color it with a modified mechanical pencil brush with randomized color hues per stroke. i quite like the effect even if it's very subtle most of the time

[daffodilfool]

Re: Music and Intelligence

Before I start there's a couple things I need to get out of the way.

First off, this is a "follow up" of sorts to an old tumblr post of mine which you can find here. Feel free to read it if you're interested, just know that I wrote it on a whim without really doing any research. Since writing the post I decided to write a paper on the subject for school, and I now know a lot more about the subject than I did back then.

I am also still by no means a professional biologist, nor an expert in any of the stuff I'll be talking about. I am a biology student, an artist, and an autist extraordinaire writing a post on tumblr. Take everything I say with a grain of salt if not two.

With that said,

I. What is Music?

That's a good fucking question, and if I'm going to be completely honest, we don't fucking know. It may seem obvious but the fact is whatever you think is the answer, someone else will disagree with you. What is and what isn't music is entirely subjective, and what you may think is music, someone else might just hear noise, and vice versa. But it's still a question we need to answer in order to continue, after all you cant find something when you don't know what you're looking for.

To spare you the boring part, for the purposes of this discussion music will be defined as an abstract form of verbal and / or instrumental communication based around the use of one or more "musical qualities" such as rhythm, melody, tone colour and pitch.

This definition is the result of a lot of discussions between me, my supervisors, my friends and my family, and is based in various scientific bases such as mathematics, history and neurology, as well as common consensus. But I won't bore you with the details.

II. How is Music?

Unless you are famed composer Ludwig van Beethoven, you might have noticed that when you listen to music, you tend to do so with your ears. Your ears are however not the part of you that process the music, the ears simply turn sound waves into electrical signals through a series of bones that groove it silly style to compress a liquid that tickles some incredibly sensitive hairs that send out electrical impulses in response. Got that? No? Doesn't matter. What's important is the ear converts sound waves into electrical signals that the brain is capable of processing.

So how does the brain process music? Well for most sounds it's more or less fairly straight forwards; as the electrical impulses from the ear reach the brain, the temporal lobe (located just behind the temples) snatches up that signal and compares that signal with your memories in the hippocampus (the memory center, located inside the temporal lobe) in order to deduce what you heard, as well as comparing signals with the opposite temporal lobe to deduce where the sound came from. If the temporal lobe recognises a sound as being speech, that info is sent to the frontal lobe for processing and back again.

Music, however, is not so simple. While the first pass is similar to processing speech, by the time the signal has reached the frontal lobe the temporal lobe has begun sending out signals about the musical qualities to most other parts of the brain as well. Most notably the amygdala (responsible for emotion) and the parietal lobe (responsible for processing touch, spacial awareness and the somatosensory system) are sent into overdrive in order to process the emotional and rhythmic aspects of music and processing them as your own, hence why listening to music has such a strong emotional and sensory effect.

The brain is complex, and truthfully we don't know exactly how it works. After all, "If the human brain were so simple that we could understand it, we would be so simple that we couldn't." But what we do know is that processing music is no simple task, in fact it is incredibly energy intensive, seemingly wasting resources in an already incredibly power hungry organ.

So of course that begs the question:

III-a. Why is Music?

This is where it gets a little more speculative. Truth is we don't know, and we likely never will. Unfortunately I can't give you a 100% true "this is how it happened" set in stone answer, but what I CAN give you is my best educated guess, and let you think about it in the mean time.

I've read dozens of papers on the origins of music and the origins of intelligence, but not a single one of them mention what, to me, seems like an obvious link between the two, aside from the occasional conclusion that music is an evolutionary hiccup and a side effect of intelligence. But I'd argue that not only is music not an evolutionary hiccup, but rather an integral part in the development of intelligence.

Music undeniably influences the brain in a massive way, but the exact amount is highly debated. Some are thoroughly convinced that music has the power to make people more intelligent, others believe music has no more influence over the brain than any other sound. There are plenty studies supporting both stances and an equal amount contradicting them. So where do I stand?

Intelligence is not one monolithic concept, but rather a series of cognitive skills that interact and interface with each other and the world around us. Problem solving, logic, emotional intelligence, spacial intelligence, linguistics, and creativity, to name a few, are all kinds of intelligence, all of which can be trained. While music isn't some magical spell capable of just cranking up these cognitive skills, it does serve as an effective medium through which one can easily train several of these skills all at once, by virtue of engaging the entire brain, ESPECIALLY (but not exclusively) in the context of learning an instrument.

Learning an instrument is difficult and a large reason as to why is exactly because it engages so many aspects of the brain. Playing an instrument requires spacial awareness to know where to play, it requires problem solving to know how to play, it requires emotional intelligence to know what to play. It engages nearly every aspect of intelligence, and the ability to train all these facets simultaneously allows them to build off each other, paired with the fact that you're already training several skills in the same time as you would train one, comes together to form an intelligence greater than the sum of learning each skill individually.

III-b. Why Music?

The observant among you may have noticed that I've been talking a lot about "intelligence" in that last section, but I never bothered to define it, why is that? Simply put, I can't, I don't think it's possible. Intelligence is such a vast nebulous concept that no one definition of it would be just or even somewhat accurate, but going forwards I'll be talking about sapience specifically, often defined as the ability to feel and understand emotions as well as the ability to do complex problem solving. Good? Good.

Humans are the only sapient species on earth, that we know of for sure, at least. That isn't to say there aren't other potential candidates for sapience, because there absolutely are animals straddling the line of what we would consider sapient. So what animals are the most likely to be sapient? Well it's commonly agreed upon that us, chimps, elephants, cetaceans, corvids, parrots, and octopi make that list, but what you may notice is that besides our shared intelligence, we actually have very little in common otherwise: body shape, phyla, behavior, diets, environments, etc.

But the one thing that we all have in common besides our intelligence, also just happens to be a trait only observed in this seemingly random selection of animals: the ability to understand music. If music were an evolutionary hiccup, a mere coincidence in our development, surely it would not be a trait shared only by sapient animals, nearly all of which evolved their sapience separately.

So why do music and sapience seem to be mutually inclusive? Well, what is "intelligence" really if not the ability to take in and replicate knowledge? The more efficiently you are able to communicate a concept, and the more efficiently you're able to store and apply said concept, the more intelligent you are. It just happens that art is the most information dense form of communication, and music happens to be one that nearly everyone is capable of creating using no outside tools whatsoever.

Music is a universal language, one so deeply ingrained within us that it overpowers even the spoken language of modern day. Though it may have started as simple monotone calls to simply alert your next of kin of your presence, a la cicadas, the ability to parse that information efficiently would clear up more space to communicate more complex ideas, and over the span of hundreds of thousands of years, if not millions, those simple calls began communicating progressively more complex ideas, until eventually you would end up with what we now today know as full blown music. Remember what I said earlier about music being an effective learning medium? Yeah, imagine that except over the span of eons.

That, I believe, is why music is.

[werechampions]

Been thinking about this for literal months and don't know how to put it all together in a cohesive way so here's some stream of consciousness that hopefully will come together in the end.

Simone's ambitions are fascinating to me because we see glimpses of that in her in background moments and offhand lines. She's a "rising star in the comp lit department" at a local college/university, and sure that could be chalked up to schmoozing at a fundraiser, but it at least shows that Simone is in academia which is a pretty elite field in itself. It's the kind of position that takes years of extra education + strong networking and it's definitely one that requires sustained ambition for an extended period.

That said, Simone's career is usually the one taking the back seat to Tai's. I generally write it as though Simone carried Sammy (largely based on features + skin tone, but also because nothing about Tai indicates she's willing to take a break from her career to go through a pregnancy). They're going to fundraisers for Tai's work, but they don't really talk about Simone's career. Even in Tai's mind, much of Simone's value comes not from her ambitions and career, but from her role as Sammy's mother/Tai's wife. Simone is the one handling parent-teacher conferences, picking Sammy up from school, finding a therapist for him, and so on.

If you look closely, Simone made just as strategic a decision in marrying Tai as Tai did in marrying her. On paper, Tai was perfect. They had shared experiences as black lesbians with aspirations to change the world. In another world, they might have even been competitors, but Simone found it more strategic to join forces with Tai. I can imagine the two of them when they first met, in college/grad school, when they're young and have very few responsibilities, and are able to have big dreams about where they would be in 20 years. And how that conversation changes throughout their relationship. How Tai's platform becomes their platform, until it's hard to distinguish whose ideas are whose. For Simone, it made more sense to join forces with Tai rather than try to compete when the cards are already stacked against them as independent black queer women. Simone made that conscious decision and in doing so, knew it would mean playing a specific role, and playing it flawlessly for the world. On that front, Simone went into her marriage with her eyes wide open. She was happy to play dutiful wife and doting mother as long as it meant she also got her little slice of the pie.

Not to say that their entire marriage is a sham. Tai and Simone genuinely do love each other and fifteen years of marriage is nothing to scoff at. But there are a lot of things that they simply never discussed (Tai's time in the Wilderness being chief among them) and that plays a key role in why things fall apart. They spend fifteen years in lock-step, kind of just knowing instinctively what the other was thinking, but once they're out of sync, they don't know how to talk to each other and realign.

Despite Simone being less outwardly ambitious, it's a testament to how well Tai knows her because she's able to subtly use those ambitions that she knows Simone has, in their conversations. Whenever issues about the election comes up, Tai is the first to voice that this is their dream, not just hers. She's reminding her that they're in this together. She does this in an even subtler fashion when they're talking about Sammy not being able to make friends. Tai "very casually" mentions that maybe they should have sent him to private school, which forces Simone to counter and voice that public education is a cornerstone of Tai's campaign. (I put 'very casually' in quotes bc Tawny does this great thing with her face where she is definitely looking for Simone's reaction and idk if it's intentional or not but it looks shady af). As the educator, I can imagine that "cornerstone" is more Simone's baby and Tai knows that.

As things fall apart and really cross the point of no return (imo that's with Biscuit), I think it makes sense that Simone is done done without much hope of reconciliation. Part of it is definitely wanting to protect herself and Sammy and make sure that Tai gets the help that she needs. She still loves Tai, even if their marriage is over. But part of it is also Simone recognizing that Tai is going down and she doesn't want to be anywhere near her when she does. She can beg Tai to get help as much as she wants, but ultimately can't force her to. She's ready to cut her losses and get out of there and there's definitely some selfishness involved on her end.

[fastcardotmp3]

hey there dot, what would you say your process is for mapping out scenes? I'm writing my first work and I've rewritten it all like 12 times ;-;

hey there anon, that's so exciting! I'm so excited for you! ❤️

I'm certainly not an expert (nor a teacher) but I can definitely try to offer a little bit of guidance via my own experience/ perspective!

Gonna put it below the cut because I know I'm talky and annoying about this stuff (I'm sorry I just get EXCITED and also I'm putting off my own proofreading and outlining shh don't worry about it):

I think for me there's a pretty even balance between planning ahead and going with the flow when I'm writing, particularly with something of the longer variety since it's not always possible to plan out every single detail ahead of time.

But what I do like to have (and which actually fills in a pretty significant outline just by thinking about how to bridge the gaps) is by knowing, in movie terms, the three major beats: Opening, Midpoint, and Final Shot.

A lot of my writing process is visual, and I tend to "watch" scenes or transitions between them in my head before I ever put pen to paper, so I like to start with the question of what's the first thing we see? What sets the tone or offers something telling about our protagonist or simply raises a question we're gonna answer later on?

It's a really fun thing to change up too story to story, like in SEFS we open in the literal middle of a sex scene (introducing a FWB relationship right off the bat without having to do a bunch of exposition) while in Metamorphoses it opens with an internal conflict between Eddie and Kas (a pretty literal expression of what the rest of the story is gonna be about)

I approach the Midpoint as usually some sort of turning point or moment of change or revelation or simply a subtle shift in the wind that will direct us closer towards the final point. It doesn't have to be the exact middle (and don't stress if it isn't) but it really does tend to fall there even without planning for it (the Thanksgiving chapter in SEFS really does act as a Midpoint, and that entire fic was so stream of consciousness that when I went to check what chapter it was I was genuinely surprised it was 8 of 16, but stories really do just tell you what to do sometimes fjsakdlfj)

And then the Final Shot! If this were a movie, where would we fade to black before the credits roll? What's the last image or bit of dialogue or introspection you want to leave your reader with? I don't usually have this one all that detailed in my head, but just having a sense of the tone you want to end on can be incredibly helpful. Like I didn't know I would end up writing a time-skip epilogue for Metamorphoses when I was in the planning stage, but I knew how far Eddie was going to get mentally and emotionally. I knew what his healing looked like and what his relationships looked like

I think all in all, I personally am just someone that needs something to write towards which defines a lot of my out-of-order sort of process. I write a few major chunks of stuff and fill in the gaps because it's easier to look ahead and see something real on the page than the Empty Void that a blank page can sometimes feel like.

And that's what having a few beats worked out really does help when the page is still blank right there at the start! It gives you a sense of structure without making it feel like there's no room to change your mind as you go! You can add in more beats in between the Big Three if you want more structure or for something shorter take out the Midpoint altogether and just work from beginning to end, and even if your story is just one scene, there are beats to be found within it that can help lead the way!

but it's just nice to have a little bit of proof on the page with you that Past You had a story they wanted to tell in their head even if that story changes or moves along the way <3

That's a lot more than you probably wanted out of me, but I honestly could talk about writing all day so my bad and I hope this helped whether by giving you an idea of what you would like to try or definitely not try fjalkdsj

At the end of the day, the more you write the more natural this stuff will become and the more clear it will be when it's time to stop rewriting and set the thing free, as frustrating as I know that is to hear. but for what it's worth there's very little that feels as good as finishing a story when it felt impossible or solving a gap in your story when it just wasn't clicking.

Trust yourself! It's your story, so it's all in you no matter how you choose to go about it, you just gotta find it

Good writing to you anon <3

[instantartific]

ও Neon J Headcanons

Ooh, I got a dollar in my pocket! // So, turn the music up and get it poppin'!

I'm tryna have some fun before I die slow- // So, all that really matters is tonight!~

♡

Note: the majority of these headcanons have to do with Neon being disabled one way or another, but some delve into the results of his (unresolved) trauma in the war, including phantom pain to poor mental health.

Neon isn't actually his name. It's what he was referred to back when he was a soldier. Out of respect to his brothers, he keeps the nickname alive. "J" is just his middle initial. Anyone who knew his actual name from him directly is long dead or plain ol' gone. A background check isn't exactly that difficult to work out, though, seeing the, er... y'know. Every surgery.

While his radar is definitely better than nothing, it isn't exactly great. His ability to actually see detail in anything he looks at depends greatly on how far out the signal is being sent and how he personally feels that day.

On a good day, he can actually somewhat see the outlines of the pens and papers lying on his desk, and can even write if he feels like it. On a bad day, it's almost completely dark and all he can tell is that he's facing a solid roughly shorter than his waist.

That being said, what is shown on his display isn't exactly what he's seeing. It's his interpretation of the information that he's gathering from the environment around him. People can completely disappear from his vision while still being close enough to be 'seen'; on the flip side, people can show up on his radar that don't actually exist.

He surprisingly relies on hearing a lot. He can track and identify people from how fast they walk, how they carry their weight, if they drag their feet, all before they start talking. He's around 1010 enough that he can identify them by walk alone.

Let alone having to rely solely on tone to identify emotion.

Memorization is essentially key in every aspect of his life. Which is a big reason why touching shit without asking, AND not putting it back where he knows it is? Single easiest way to royally piss him off, obviously outside of insulting his kids. Insulting his kids is the fastest way to make a very, very strong enemy.

Second easiest way is stairs. Goddamn stairs. Rin or one of the other boys have to help him with any set of stairs outside of the ones in the mansion. They announce when he's coming up to a set of stairs, count his steps, and announce when he's on solid ground. He has eaten shit cause of foreign sets of stairs so many times.

Outside of the boys, he uses a retractable walking cane to get around areas he's unfamiliar with, or if there's just too many people around in general. While his focus is directed on people moving around him, the cane keeps him from walking into things lower than his focus is set.

This cane is also 100% used as an impromptu weapon, if the need be. If you really think he's afraid to hurt someone just because he's trying to change now, you'll be solely mistaken. He's just much less trigger happy these days and would never cause harm for no reason. Self defense for himself or anyone he cares about does not count towards this.

He has absolutely caught one of the boys slipping and calling him 'Captain Whack-a-Mole'. He appreciated the effort to be PG.

He experiences phantom limb almost constantly. This usually isn't an issue, but if he's really out of it, he'll forget to actually move his physical body (swearing up and down that he moved his, well- original one instead. The sensation of moving his nerves is still very much there, and it's different from the sensation of moving the mech.)

He's not foreign to experiencing phantom pain from this as well. And with the inability to take any "pain killers", placebo or otherwise, he simply has to go through the torture with little to nothing to alleviate it outside of putting pressure on the area.

The more the phantom limb acts up, the more likely he is to be seen limping or using the cane to walk rather than feel where he's going. He makes an effort to keep it as subtle as he can, but there's only so much he can hide without being able to see what it looks like.

He wears two rings on his right hand: one black band on the pointer, and one gold band on the ring. Both simple, both relatively unassuming. But if he feels alright, he'll share that the gold band was his father's promise ring to his mother. And the black one is one in mourning them both. What can he say, he's sentimental.

He never really received help after the war, actually. He was primarily on his own. Just dumped off after his entire life had been stripped of him. That's the main reason why he chose to start repurposing those war bots. He'd never say this out loud, but he... initially just wanted someone to talk to again.

He considers himself to be anything but a good man, and will get uncomfortable if called anything like a hero. He feels that he's done a lot of bad things, and he now wants to improve himself and do better as a person, but he still holds a lot of past guilt.

And hearing distorted, off-sounding voices were easier than organic ones for a long time, even if they couldn't put up good conversation. At first, that is. Over time, though, he found that they were capable of far more than he first expected. And damn him for being sentimental, but he got attached.

He would have performed his own music himself, if it wasn't for the fact that being recorded (and not knowing who does and doesn't know what) makes him extremely paranoid. He's anything but shy, and certainly knows what he's doing, he just hates the thought of someone being able to see him without him knowing.

His greatest guilt and greatest regret is unintentionally programming 1010 to care more about their fans' love than their own lives.

[imthetoocleverfox]

A Beginner Navigating in The World of Art.

Hello dear, reader! I hope you're having a fine day, I hope you enjoy this little art blog I made hehe.😊

Art comes in all shapes and sizes, and it has different meanings for everyone, for some, art is through visuals like drawing, painting, and sculpting, and for others, art is through acting, music, and literature. Though they all have one thing in common, art can be therapeutic and can ease one's mind.

I found solace in art, it was a skill I wanted to master. Art became my ground zero, whenever I feel overwhelmed with joy or sadness.

"Grasp" (Graphite on paper) - Christine Tequin

A Self-taught Artist

"I am an artist, my hair is rarely tamed and sometimes I sleep till noon." -Nikki Rowe

My name is Christine, I am a self-taught artist, currently based in Davao City. I am definitely not an expert or a professional. I just draw and sketch like most people, I practice and draw from time to time.

I started drawing probably because my father was one--an artist. I admired him, he can draw anything; people, objects, animals, and plants, and he could even draw plans for buildings and houses. No, he is not an architect, nor he is an engineer, he simply had talent. Both my parents were very supportive, they encourage me to draw, and bought me my first watercolor set.

And so that was how it began, at first, I would have my Papa draw a subject, and then afterward I would try and trace it with wax paper and an ordinary Mongol no. 2 pencil, I would color it and then my Mama would paste it on our wall.😄

A quick color study on warm and cold tones (watercolor on paper)

-Christine Tequin

Behind the Sketch Pad

I do art or drawing as a hobby, a pleasure I enjoy doing. People think of it as a talent, but I don't consider it as a natural talent, why? Well, my drawing skills didn't just magically appeared overnight, I had to teach myself how to draw, how to shade, and how to sketch here and there. Though my father taught me all the basics, the truth is I'm still learning, and I'm still having a hard time each time I pick up a pencil and a piece of paper.

And I hope through this blog post, I might as well enlighten everyone who thinks drawing or art is easy. Even those well-known artists struggle too, especially the part where you doubt yourself: whether you're good enough or you just draw really bad.

Doing art should be a creative process, where you can create and draw and color whatever you like. Yet, the pressure of wanting it to look good and be perfect can hinder you. I experienced that all the time, each and every time I draw and paint there's always that feeling of wanting perfection; striving for perfection isn't something bad. But it kills creativity as well, so, I learned to always trust the process so that in the end it will all come together. It is repetitive though, like a never-ending cycle. Here is an artwork I did that took me a week to draw because of it:

ps. I did not finished it.😂😂😂

"Elderly" (Graphite and Charcoal on paper) (Unfinished) - Christine Tequin

A Paper, A Pencil and A Brush

Personally, I opted to use graphite and charcoal as my main medium because it is easy to work with, plus, everything is gray-scale so I didn't have to worry about what color palette I am using. Graphite and charcoal is a dry medium which means it is convenient and portable, I can carry it around anywhere, it also helped me with the values and proportions of my reference photo or subjects.

Study on proportions (Graphite on paper)

I don't have a preference when it comes to picking my subjects/reference. Whatever I draw just depends on my mood, if I'm up to drawing portraits then portraits it is, or if I wanted to sketch body parts such as eyes, mouth, nose, and torso, to practice. I also draw book characters, like how I reimagined them, or celebrities, random people's photos I find on Pinterest. Pinterest is one of my sources for reference photos.

Hand and eye sketches (Graphite on paper)

"Sun summoner" from the book Shadow and Bone (left)

"Hermione" from The Harry Potter Series (right)

ps. I'm also a bookworm and I'm a Potterhead👓⚡

My style in drawing isn't at all defined or restricted, though I particularly like realism. I haven't tried other styles of art yet so, I wouldn't say my style now is my absolute favorite. Just like Picasso, he tried or did a lot of art styles during his lifetime and it made his work stand out.

"Pond" (Watercolor on paper) "Sherlock" (Pen on paper)

- Christine Tequin

Back to The Drawing Board

When it comes to drawing, it is a constant trial and error. In between unsuccessful sketches, drawings, and attempted portraits. There will be instances where you'll see those pages in your sketchbook and the immediate reaction would be cringing😂 probably due to the fact that it looks weird or maybe you just didn't like the outcome. But thanks to those unfinished drawings, I learned to do things differently such as little hacks to save myself some time or techniques.

As you can see, all my drawings and artwork in this blog post aren't the best. And that's why I want to do more art, do more drawings and paintings, so I could grow and improve.

I am looking forward though, maybe five years from now who knows, I might have my very own room dedicated to my art.

“I dream my painting and I paint my dream.”

― Vincent Willem van Gogh

Photo from Pinterest.

Thank you for reading, please comment your thoughts about this post. Feel free to critique haha.😁

[eviltext]

i went to a local art gallery the other day! it deserves a good long chatty post so here it is !

so this gallery is riiiight in the middle of the busiest part of town, aka the main road, so it's really accessible and approachable for locals and tourists alike. it's dedicated to the work of a local family of artists: Irina Lebedeva, a widow who works on quilts, her late husband Mikhail who made sculptures from found objects and graphic art, and their son Dmitriy who is a ceramic artist.

the building itself has a history that goes wayy back. built in the first quarter of the 1800s to serve as a protestant church (chapel?) for a wealthy merchant's wife, it's one of the oldest in town (among those that were built for people to actually live in). it was later sold a couple of times and seemed to be the hottest venue for balls and socialite gatherings. they retained the house's inital floorplan, keeping their changes minimal and mostly purely for function, allowing it to serve as kind of a blank canvas for the art displayed inside. i have mixed feelings on this decision. sure, i love old houses and their charm, but i'm not too fond of the old staircase that's severely eroded. a nice detail they kept functional was all the old vents and a quaint little balcony with a view:

however the bare brick walls don't work too well with the quilts (i keep trying to type tapestries and correct myself. they're quilts.). bare brick is kind of a busy backdrop for the bold and bright fabrics.

moving on to the artworks themselves, the quilts are stunning to look at. they were made by Irina Lebedeva, who has been making fabric art since she was a kid who locked herself up in her parents' closet with scissors. by about 12 she made clothes for herself and her dolls. her quilts are colorful, heavily patterned and very masterfully made. most have an abstract geometric pattern,

others tell a story (cell division and night city lights were my favorite)

or showcase a scene. and some of them are huuuge! the sizes range from about the size of a large pillowcase to around the size of a door frame.

Irina Lebedeva is a remarkably skilled artist and craftswoman who still continues to work to this day.

her late husband Mikhail is also an artist in his own right, though his works are a bit more grounded and familiar to gallery goers (?). it's stated on the information stands that he made sculptures from found objects like old screws and buttons and such. i wasn't able to find a lot of these on display apart from this horse:

most of his works featured in the gallery are very quaint depictions of the town and its people. old houses, a busy market, churches, fountains and cozy little nooks in the town's underbelly. these are done in a charming graphic style on toned paper.

it really makes me want to pick up some charcoal and the wad of packing paper i used for plen-air sketching some years ago. well, someday i'll do it! it's interesting to note that both he and his wife are alumni of the college i studied at!

their son Dmitriy is a ceramic artist, and his work has a special place in my heart as i'm aiming to be one as well.

he works with red clay and uses primarily traditional techniques. these not only yield a whimsical and cute look to his sculptures, but serve to keep these ancient practices alive for longer. among the techniques he uses are milking and blackening for finishing, apart from the usual glaze or burnishing. most of the sculptures he has on display are also whistles! this is also part of a traditional local craft.

what i like about applied arts is that they are allowed to let go of the snobbism and elitism or fine art. they're also very approachable to the general public. the bulk of applied artists come from a humble upbringing. also the sculptures can be silly and funny-looking!

one of my favorites from these is the little guy #8, which is simply named "beast" <- pretty on the nose lol that is definitely a beast.

the centerpiece of the gallery is a sculpture group by Irina Lebedeva, which depicts many of the most instantly recognizable buildings in town.

any local would be able to tell you what most, if not all of these buildings are! we have the old round mosque and minaret, the big orthodox cathedral in town, most of the old merchant mansions, the old market with its thick columns are all cherished parts of the town's image. of course, they aren't really arranged this way in real life. but this composition serves as like a bite sized look into the history of the town.

what's also a sweet touch is that this gallery is a venue for many master-classes and art lessons! i really love that this project continues this recent trend of leaning into the approachable artistic aspect of the town's identity. as a gallery it's open to the public only a few days a week, but when it is, it's extremely affordable and accessible to most of the townspeople. however it's not wheelchair accessible. being located on the second floor of the building, access is blocked by the aforementioned eroded staircase. but all in all, it's a sweet little spot to go and shield yourself from the town's bustle if you don't really have anything to do. and if you catch it open.

[writing-through-wonderland]

You're Okay

Original | Fandom NSFW | SFW

Fandom: Attack on Titan Pairing: LeviAckermanxReader Warnings: None really. Mostly angst with a bit of fluff for good measure.

----------

One Shot: You and Levi always work side by side on every single mission. But during the last one you two were involved in, you injured your ankle, forcing you to stay behind for the latest reconnaissance beyond the walls. You had to wait on bated breath for the Scouts to return and now that they have, Levi has papers to fill out.

----------

One whole day. They had been one whole day late to return. If you hadn’t been nursing an injured ankle you surely would have spent the entire time pacing yours and Levi’s quarters. You had no doubt in your lovers skills in combat, but nothing beyond the walls was certain and anything could have happened. But now he and the Scouts had returned.

You were laying in bed, trying to sleep. Trying to remain as silent as possible. There were currently only two sounds in the room. The first was the sound of the pocket watch on the bed side table, ticking away. The second was that of a pen scratching on paper. The last thing you wanted to do was become a third sound.

It had to be at least 2 AM and yet Levi was still awake at his desk, pouring over reports about the most recent excursion, making sure to review each one and add his signature in all the right places. He had been doing this since his return around noon the previous day. His forehead was resting in his hand and you could easily make out his sharp features thanks to the flicker of the oil lamp next to him. The stress on his face broke your heart. You knew what those missions were like and you knew that having to review the events so soon after returning was absolute torture. You also knew the value of rest.

But Levi always put his duties first. Something he had been trying to work on lately. He cared about his job, but he also cared about you. However, given that the mission had gone so far off course there were extra reports to review this time. You were trying your best to be understanding, but you had missed him. To say sleeping alone had been a struggle was a massive understatement, and now that he was back all you wanted was to cuddle into his side and simply enjoy his presence so close to you.

As carefully as you could you rolled onto your side so you were no longer facing him, trying to keep the blankets from ruffling audibly. An exasperated sigh from behind you told you that your attempt had been unsuccessful.

“Sorry,” you said softly, biting your lip immediately after speaking. As if more noise was going to help him.

“S’fine,” was all you heard in response.

A few minutes went by and you still couldn’t keep your eyes closed for more than a couple of seconds at a time. You couldn’t do this.

“Levi…” you began cautiously. “Are you planning on coming to bed? It’s… definitely quite late.”

Another sigh.

“Y/N I have to finish this and you know it. Just get some sleep.” He was trying not to sound harsh. He knew you had missed him and of course he had missed you. He wanted nothing more than to join you. And you knew it too. Which emboldened you to speak again.

“Levi, please,” you said, voice a little clearer this time. You rolled over to face him and sat up, the blankets falling to your lap. “I know you have to do that but you’ve been at it for a while. I was really worried about everyone. Really worried about you. I’m sure the Commander would understand if it took a little longer than usual. Actually he probably expects it.”

Levi cringed and put the pen down on the desk, using a little more force than he had intended, but still not quite slamming it.

“Y/N please let me just… I have to get through this… Go to sleep.” This time his tone was noticeably stern and it hurt. Maybe he hadn’t missed you as much as you had thought. No. He did. He just had to get this done. Still, shouldn’t he put you first now and again now that you were romantically involved? It wasn’t as if no one knew about it. You two weren’t keeping it a secret. Surely they would understand.

“Levi I-“

“SLEEP!”

The outburst thoroughly surprised you. You gasped and clutched the blankets to your chest.

“I’m sorry,” you mumbled and laid back down, again so you weren’t facing him. There were tears threatening to spill now. This wasn’t like him at all. The mission must have been worse than you realized. You clamped your hand over your mouth to silence any noises you might make while crying.

But then you heard something else. The scrape of the chair on the floor, followed by slow footsteps. Next the mattress behind you dipped. You glanced over your shoulder to see Levi sitting on the edge of the bed.

“No, I am.” He sighed and slumped over. “This was a bad one. One of the worst I’ve seen.”

You sat back up and scooted closer to him. “Levi…” You muttered, rubbing his back gently. “That’s why you need to take a break from those reports. You need to recuperate mentally and physically first. Reliving all of that immediately after returning isn’t healthy. Come on just lay down.” This time your encouragement was enough to do the trick. He kicked off his boots and climbed under the blankets, resting his head on your chest as you leaned back against the headboard. You put your arms around him and it broke your heart again to realize he was shaking. You held him tighter.

“I don’t want to talk about it…” He whispered and you shook your head.

“You don’t have to.” His hand slid up to cling to your night shirt and he buried his face in your shoulder. You could tell he was trying to hold back tears. “It’s okay, Levi. You’re home now. I’m here. I’ve got you.” At your words his body tensed and he curled into you, his grip tightening as if he were afraid you would disappear. His tears began to soak the fabric of your shirt and you rested your cheek on the top of his head.

“You’re okay Levi. Try not to worry. I’m not going anywhere…”