so when food is too salty we might say "打死卖盐的" basically meaning "did you beat the salt merchant to death" but one time in an attempt to be a little polite and a little funny to the chef (my mother) i said "……是不是又跟卖盐的有矛盾了" meaning "are you... having a dispute with the salt merchant again" and now it's a whole thing in my family
anyway point being there has been another altercation with the salt merchant
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why do i keep seeing whole videos on advice for artfight from “veterans” or whatever. here’s all the advice you need:
you don’t need to draw every day
you don’t need to fully render every drawing, sketches still count and the person receiving it will still love it
you don’t need a fully polished ref sheet for every single character, having a basic one or even just a colour palette along with whatever other art you’ve done works fine in most cases
you don’t need to draw a fully rendered piece every single day do not burn yourself out or injure yourself for funny little internet points good lord
boom done there’s your 15 minute video
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so when straight people ask me why I say I’m “queer” or “gay” instead of sharing my actual identity as a panromantic demisexual non-binary sapphic queer I just tell them “ok look, when you’re talking to someone who isn’t local and they ask you where you’re from and you either say the name of the largest city nearby or ‘town name, suburb of large nearby city’ so they can get some geographical context of where you’re located right, bc they’re probably not going to know the name of the little town you actually live in.”
but if you’re talking to a local you can say the name of your actual town bc they have a greater chance of knowing where/what that is.
ok well when I’m talking to a straight person I start with queer bc chances are they aren’t as familiar with the context of all the little towns in that big queer city and need gps (gay positioning system) to find me.
if I’m talking to another queer person and I say I live in a suburb of gay city in a town called panromantic on the demisexual side of the tracks which is in the county of queer and I live off the intersection of non-binary and sapphic, they’d probably be able to find me with little to no problems, make sense?
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You look up from your book to see your husband standing over the bassinet with his arms crossed, his brow raising as he looks down inside of it with a tiny scowl. He stays like that for about a minute. You sit up in your shared bed, then call out to him. “Ryo.”
“Hm.” He doesn’t look up.
“May I ask what you are doing?”
“The little brat is staring,” Sukuna says matter-of-factly. “I am simply staring at her in return.”
Inside of the bassinet, your baby daughter coos. Her scarlet eyes—exactly like her father’s—glitter with interest. You hear her giggle, and you scoff lightly and return your gaze to your book. “She thinks you’re playing a game.”
“I am doing no such thing.”
You flip a page. “Put a hand over your face for a few seconds.” He doesn’t respond, but you know he listens. “M’kay, now lift.” There’s silence for a few seconds, then your daughter bursts into a fit of giggles.
Sukuna rolls his eyes. “I do not understand what is so entertaining about that.” When you look up again, you see that he’s covering his face again, then revealing himself to get the same reaction from the baby.
“It’s called peek-a-boo. It’s a game most babies love to play.”
The little princess babbles as she lifts her arms up, and Sukuna tilts his head. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
You snicker. “One: You’ll figure out what she’s saying the more you talk with her. Two: She wants you to pick her up.”
He sighs dramatically, then reaches into the bassinet to pick up the small girl. Though she has her father’s eyes, she has your hair, the shape of your nose, and your ears. She also has your fearlessness, because she smiles directly in the face of the king of curses. Now at his eye level, she reaches her arms towards him excitedly. “What is it now, you brat? I’m already carrying you.”
He looks over at you in question, and your smile grows. “She wants to touch your face,” you say.
“Why?”
“Because she’s a baby, and she’s curious.”
Sukuna pulls her closer, and once in range, his daughter lays her tiny hands against his marked face. She giggles more, and you can see his eyes soften. “Hmph. You have your mother’s smile.”
— — — —
The next morning, you walk into the kitchen where you hear Sukuna speaking with someone. When he turns to the side, you see your daughter nestled in the crook of one of his muscular arms, staring up at him as he concluded whatever story he was telling her.
“...At the end of the battle, only I remained. Victory was mine.”
The baby babbles excitedly, and Sukuna scoffs. “Ha, you will do no such thing. How do you expect to join me in battle when you aren’t even a year old, brat?”
Her face scrunches in what looks like annoyance, and she repeats to him what he taught her the night before. “Hmph.”
You burst into laughter, and Sukuna raises a brow at the little girl in his arms. “Great. Your mother’s smile, and her attitude.”
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