#It is a tool. A very neat tool

[varsiathederg]

To my understanding, the primary problems don’t lie with the technology, but rather with the underlying aspects - the people using it and the sourcing of the data used within them.

Machine learning systems like those used for image generation can in theory be trained using large amounts of data that are ethically gathered with explicit permission given from the people who create the content. This, of course, isn’t how things happen, and as such it runs into a lot of issues with permissions and things coming out strikingly similar to source data.

The other key part I’d argue is a bad thing is the people using it, and their attitudes. Big megacorps want to use it to cut down on costs for people to do art for their marketing and the like and streamline things down until the creative process is as automated and person-free as possible, due to that reducing the required payments to creatives. The other big demographic is weird tech-fetishist types who think somehow that it ‘democratises art’ as if art was ever otherwise (at most you could argue there’s an element of social technocracy.. which is the case in basically any field, a person with experience and repute for their work in an area is going to be better to listen to than the person who’s got no experience), and that think that making art free is a broadly good thing - which there are arguments for and against. There are of course people who don’t think that it’s anything more than a silly fad or a way to easily conjure up a D&D character picture without having to shell out money they may not have and wait the potential weeks for the art to be done, which I don’t *really* have a problem with as they are far less institutional with their usage of it. ‘US Presidents play Minecraft’ is, while a little existentially horrifying, not inherently problematic.

Honestly, my main reason for being against machine learning image gen is because it feels like the wrong way to use the tech. The algorithms and methodology and such they use feel far more suited towards optimisation of something linear and/or objectively measurable. You can’t measure art, after all, so the algorithm has no clue whether what it has made is good or not beyond if it hits certain parameters, which is why ‘AI artists’ have to cycle their prompts so much before getting something good, like pulling on a slot machine. Optimising a process, however, has objective factors. Time, number of steps, relative difficulty or complexity.. These are things that it can easily be measured for and trained with until it starts optimising things down to levels a person may not be capable.

tl;dr the technology has good potential but it feels misused

horseshoe theory is real for AI art discourse because 100% of both the most fanatic haters and boosters of it have zero idea how it works or what it even does

[tollsoftheclockwerkbelle]

[mochinomnoms]

Man, why do people say that morays eels are the gangsters of the sea when the dolphins are 10 times more scary than morays eels 😖😖😖

It's cause they look visibly freaky, and technically they are dangerous creatures. Dolphins get a pass cause they look cute, but they are the demons of the sea and shouldn't get a pass

[writeouswriter]

CSP is actually so smooth and the fill tool, guys, the fill tool, you were really just letting me continue to go over every single edge in firealpaca every single time, you were really just letting me do that

[brittlebutch]

the scene where Wuvvy rips up the letter Rue wrote to Hob after the masquerade is actually super interesting to me because it feels like another moment that really highlights the difference in how Rue and Hob approach their courts -- both of them do feel a sense of alienation from these places and people, but it's also Starkly obvious that Rue is far more isolated in that than Hob is.

Hob and the other goblins stand at a distance from each other in how much they understand one another, but Hob also still clearly has people in his court that he trusts and depends on even in just minor ways, but this scene in particular really makes it feel like Rue only knows the people in their court to invite them to the Bloom. Even if they thought to hesitate before sending that letter with Wuvvy, it doesn't matter bc they truly don't have anyone else to ask.

[doodlingoat]

dumping some sheets on here because I am picking back up my drawing tablet woo :-00000

[celepeace]

Last call for homebrewing your 3DS!! I used this guide, which adapts to what your current software version is + your region (the method differs based on these things). It's very easy, all you need is 30 minutes to an hour of free time, a basic understanding of how file explorers work, an internet connection, and an SD card reader if your computer doesn't have an SD slot.

After today, it may become harder to homebrew your 3DS. It will probably not be impossible to do so after the eshop closes, but methods will likely change and there is no guarantee there will be another way available anytime soon.

[transfagore]

After the last fanfic, I realized that usually people's fantasies about priests usually involve being dominated by them and not the other way around, so writing Ryan with Ray was interesting.

[dravidious]

You're more amazing than 5am

Getting to the endgame of Trauma Team, and I gotta say, the difficulty has been nothing compared to Under the Knife. I haven't failed a single operation, and even the scoring system is fucked up; I made 4 mistakes on a level, and still got an S rank. You had to sell your soul for an A rank in UtK, but here they hand them out like halloween candy

[captainsweet]

I messed around and made a new pen and oh.. I love it so much it's perfect and everything I could ever want even though I tapped a few things and hoped for the best

[tea-tuesday]

this is the first time using a hobonichi weeks and i'm really enjoying it!! many a thoughts below......

i bought my 2025 hobonichi weeks planner a few weeks before it started so i decided to experiment with layouts and styles in the back for the last few weeks of 2024. you can really see the evolution from the week of Oct 28 to the week of Nov 18, e.g., how i went from one highlighter color (purple) to a whole system that i'll be carrying into 2025 :))) the colors i chose for the week of Nov 11 were so ugly that no one will be seeing that lolol. one issue is that i still don't know what to do with the empty page on the right side. i did a reflection on nyc one week but i'm not always in a reflective mode (i also do reflections on my life in my vent journal). i tried the alastair method but it usually takes me multiple weeks to complete a task. it was still helpful to see what i eventually need to do so i think the right side will be a very fluid system that changes based on my needs week-to-week. for now, i've been keeping an ongoing "interest log" and writing down quotes and poems that speak to me that week. i might implement a mini habit tracker too since i'm not great at maintaining my daily habits

my "aesthetic" goal for 2025 is for my planner to look as used and loved as possible! i'm not much of an artist nor a memory keeper (i have my 5-year planner for memory keeping) and i don't like keeping receipts but i made a better effort at preserving cute stickers and things from cafés and bookstores and other places (but only if i think they look good hahah). i also want my stickers and washi tape to look cohesive but it's a little hard for me because i operate on vibes (both artistically and generally) and never took any art classes or anything so idk if anything will look as "aesthetically pleasing" as i want it to. the only thing that saves me is my neat handwriting. but! my ultimate goal is to not be so hard on myself about how my planner looks since it's meant to be a functional tool. i do think i'm doing a good job on keeping it true to myself and my life 😎

anyway that was my ted talk and thank you if you made it this far!! qs for anyone who wants to answer: what is your 2025 lineup? are there any things you're bringing into 2025? what's your planner philosophy? i'd love to know !

[aardvaark]

the way the leverage team make a mess of nate’s apartment on multiple occasions is so much funnier when you consider that none of them are particularly messy people. in the pilot, hardison has a very nice apartment that he is clearly proud of & has kept very tidy. parker’s warehouse is almost disturbingly neat, her tools and weapons are kept clean & shiny and are laid out in perfect rows, her bed is made, her clothes and rappelling gear is hung up. eliot likes things done properly and certainly at least cares for his car’s cleanliness. idk about sophie, but she would at least know how to act neat for a grift, and she’d be aware of how a guest to supposed to treat their host’s home.

but they all put unwashed dishes in nate’s sink, do spur of the moment renovations, set up new gear in his living room, leave clothes/costumes, plans & random items strewn about the place, and even tear up his stuff without fixing it. i love it. his apartment is their playground. they half live here now. nate just needs to chill out and let them saw into his walls, geez calm downnnn. i know nate’s eye was twitching when he saw that parker’s warehouse was so perfect meanwhile there’s probably 5 bowls of unfinished cereal hidden in his house like a damn look-and-find puzzle

[goodomensandbadpress]

if anyones questioning my intelligence, i have spent literally every waking moment since making this blog wandering where the hell I recognise that guy In the dead poet society gifs that grace my dash regularly.

Its the house guy. the guy from house. the Watson character. Jim.

[leclerc-hs]

save a bull! - cl16

pairing: bull rider!charles leclerc x fem!reader summary: in which a city girl meets a cowboy OR charles finds himself infatuated with the visiting city girl warnings: language, NOT PROOFREAD, no smut (maybe in part 2 if y'all want smut), bad writing (sorry lol) word count: ~4.4k author's note: HI. did you miss me? i sure as FUCK missed y'all. so I started writing this MONTHS ago but then took a very long break from this website and writing. it might be very shitty so i apologize for that. it was originally going to be just 1 part but I found myself writing so much that I think 2 parts will be better in the end. PLEASE REACH OUT TO ME WITH ANY FEEDBACK. sorry if this sucks. love you all.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

“Will you please just consider it!” Abigail pleads beside you on the sidewalk, weaving through the bustling crowd with an effortless grace. The sun casts dappled shadows on the pavement, and the scent of street food mingles with the crisp urban air.

The city feels particularly relentless as you trudge along the crowded sidewalk, your third cup of coffee from the corner deli clutched in one hand, its steam mingling with the bustling street air. Your shoulders droop under the weight of fatigue, a stark contrast to the frenetic energy of the city around you. Each step towards your office tower feels heavier, as though the concrete beneath your feet has turned to lead.

The tall buildings loom overhead, their steel and glass facades glinting under the midday sun, but their gleam only seems to amplify the oppressive weight of your exhaustion. The vibrant hum of the city—a symphony of honking taxis, chattering pedestrians, and distant sirens—becomes a monotonous drone.

Your dress, once crisp and sharp, now feels more like a burden, its fabric slightly rumpled from a day spent at your desk.

“I can’t take that much time off of work,” You say, your voice tinged with frustration but softened by a hint of regret. You’re caught in that all-too-familiar tug of war between professional obligations and personal desires. You finally get the chance to turn your head to look at Abigail as you reach a crosswalk, blinking not to cross. You see the disappointment flicker in your friend’s eyes.

“I get it,” Abigail says, her voice steady and tinged with understanding, “I know how demanding your job is. But that doesn’t mean you can’t work from home. Or take personal time. I know you have that option.”

You chuckle softly, admiring her persistence to some degree. “You’re persistent, I’ll give you that.”

“When is the last time you even took a personal day.”

The answer was never. But she didn’t need to know that.

“Will you stop begging me every second of every day if I say yes?” You ask, half in jest but with a trace of genuine curiosity.

“Obviously,” she replies, her smile widening as she sees the shift in your stance.

The pedestrian light turns green, and as you start to cross the street, you take a deep breath, blinking to steady your thoughts. “Fine.”

Abigail’s face lights up with a victorious grin, her eyes sparkling with triumph. “Really?”

“Yes.”

-

Nestled amidst rolling green hills and expansive grasslands, Abigail’s small family farm is a picturesque retreat. The scene unfolds like a charming pastoral painting, with vibrant hues of green and wheat fields stretching out as far as the eye can see, interspersed with splashes of color from blooming wildflowers.

At the heart of the farm stands a quaint, cozy house, its charm amplified by a wraparound porch adorned with potted flowers. The house itself is a delightful mix of rustic and charming, with its whitewashed clapboard siding, and a steeply pitched roof. 

Adjacent to the house, a well-tended vegetable garden thrives, it’s neat rows of tomatoes, lettuce, and peppers bordered by a low wooden fence. A couple of well-worn garden tools lean against a small shed nearby, evidence of the daily care given.

Further out, a classic red barn structure where a white trimmed roof sits atop. The sounds of clucking hens and the occasional bray of donkey create a lively atmosphere. Near the barn, sits a small paddock with a couple of playful horses, their sleek coats gleaming in the sunlight. 

The fresh air of the farm is almost a sensory overload compared to the city’s fumes. Unlike the city’s dense cocktail of exhaust fumes, asphalt, and various street food vendors, the farm air is pure.

As you sit at the kitchen table, the warmth of the farmhouse envelops you. The rustic charm of the kitchen, with its large wooden table and mismatched chairs, is filled with the sounds of cheerful conversation and shared laughter.

Abigail stands at the center of the room, animatedly catches her family up on the latest happenings in her city life. Her eyes sparkle with excitement, her gestures lively and expressive. The tales of the city hustle almost seem foreign in this serene setting. 

Danny and Luke, her two older brothers, sit across from you at the table. Danny, with his sandy blond hair and easy-going demeanor, leans back in his chair, his face lit up with a relaxed smile. He listens attentively, occasionally interjecting with teasing remarks or playful banter. His presence is warm and reassuring. His wife, Gianna, sits beside him with a small baby boy on her lap.

Luke, on the other hand, exudes a quiet strength. His dark hair is neatly tousled, and his gaze is both thoughtful and amused. His demeanor calm yet engaged.

“It’s so nice to finally meet the girl who makes our Abigail so happy in the city,” Abigail’s mother continues, her voice carrying a note of heartfelt sincerity. “She’s always spoken so highly of you.”

You feel a flush of warmth at the compliment, a mix of gratitude and slight nervousness at the attention all on you. 

“Thank you so much for having me,” You smile softly. “I don’t know what I would do without Abigail in my life.”

With a playful glint in Danny’s eye, he chimes in, “I do.”

The room erupts in a chorus of laughter, the sound ringing out with genuine warmth and affection.

You decided right there you may just like it here a lot more than you thought.

-

The silk dress that adorned your body was utterly unsuitable for the rugged rodeo environment, but you didn’t really care. The delicate fabric, with its soft sheen and flowing lines, clashed vividly with the dusty, rough-and-tumble atmosphere of the rodeo.

As you moved through the arena, the contrast became more pronounced. The silk, while beautiful, struggled against the elements—dust from the arena settling onto the fabric, and the occasional splash of beer threatening to leave their mark. The sight of your delicate dress among the crowd of rugged cowboys and cowgirls in their jeans, boots, and plaid shirts drew curious glances.

But you didn’t care. You liked your clothes, the luxurious feel of the silk against your skin, the way it draped with effortless grace. The expensive fabric was a statement of your personal taste, and you embraced it fully, regardless of the setting.

“You could’ve borrowed some jeans, you know?” Abigail chirps beside you, her jeans mostly ripped and worn matched well with her cowboy boots. 

You shrug your shoulders in a noncommittal way. “I’m going to head to the bathroom before this starts. Grab me a drink?” 

“Duh. See you at the seats?” Abigail laughs before sauntering off towards a beer vendor. 

You stand still for a moment, observing Abigail and her brothers joking around as they stroll across the lively rodeo grounds. You can’t help but smile at their playful banter, you didn’t have growing up.

As you watch, lost in the charm of the moment, a rough shoulder unexpectedly collides with yours. The sudden contact jolts you out of your reverie, and you turn to see a burly cowboy in worn jeans and a dusty plaid shirt. 

You swore he was one of the hottest men you’ve ever seen in your life until he opened his big fat mouth.

“You lost?” He laughs, his green eyes bright and mischievous as he adjusts the hat on his head.

“Excuse me?” You reply, a mix of confusion and irritation threading through your voice.

“The city is a long way from here,” He drawls, the smirk on his lips widening with a hint of amusement.

The combination of his cheeky grin , the twinkle in his eye, and the dismissive tone ignites a flicker of anger within you. It feels like a mix of condescension and teasing that sends a sharp heat coursing through your veins. You roll your eyes, unable to hide your annoyance.

“Thanks for the information, jackass,” You snap, shoving past him with a forceful nudge. You march away with purpose, the silk of your dress swishing around your legs with each determined step.

Unbeknownst to you, as you walk away, he can’t help but turn his head to watch the sway of your hips in the thin, delicate fabric. His gaze lingers for a moment longer than necessary, a mixture of surprise and lingering admiration in his eyes as he takes in your retreating figure.

A hand lands firmly on his shoulder, and a voice calls out, “C’mon Charles, you need to get changed.” The words cut through his moment of distraction.

With a slight jolt, he snaps back to reality and glances over, meeting the eyes of his friend who is already gesturing towards the changing area. Reluctantly, he shifts his focus and starts to follow, his gaze now shifting into a more focused, practical demeanor.

-

Finally settled into your seat, far too close to the metal fence for your liking, and smothered between Abigail and Luke, you feel yourself relax as Luke places a tall boy can of beer in your hand, the wet condensation soaking your hand. 

“Hope you can handle a beer,” Luke states, a smile on his lips. “It’s all they had left.”

You bring the can of beer to your lips slowly, savoring the crisp, cool sensation as you take a smooth sip. With a playful glint in your eye, you send a wink in Luke’s direction. “I promise I can handle a beer,” you say with a teasing smile.

Luke’s eyes crinkle at the corners with amusement, and he lets out a hearty chuckle. He lifts his own beer in a casual salute, the gesture accompanied by a nod of approval. As he takes a sip, the cool amber liquid reflecting the warm light of the evening, he meets your gaze with a grin that mirrors your playful confidence.

“So how does this work?” You ask, turning your full attention to Luke while Abigail and Danny are engrossed in their own conversation on the other side of you.

Luke raises an eyebrow in curiosity. “How does what work?” 

You gesture broadly with your hands, waving them in animated circles as you take in the bustling rodeo arena before you. “This,” you say, trying to encompass the entire scene with your sweeping motions.

As if gaining a sense of clarity, the corners of Luke’s lips tug upward. “Why don’t you just watch and find out? It’s about to start.”

You turn your head back to the dirt ring, feeling the adrenaline of the moment as you witness a big brown bull in the chute. Its snorts are visible through the gaps in the metal fences, each exhalation a cloud of steam in the crisp air.

A handsome cowboy, his broad shoulders accentuated by a fitted vest, mounts the bull with practiced ease. He glances up with a confident, almost cocky grin that makes your heart race even faster. Your gaze follows every move he makes, captivated by the way he balances on the bull’s massive back as the gate swings open.

The bull bursts into action, hooves flying and muscles rippling as it twists and bucks in an attempt to throw the rider off. The scene is a whirlwind of motion and raw power—an exhilarating display of skill and bravery. It’s almost surreal, the sheer intensity of the bull’s movements and the cowboy’s unflinching composure.

As the bull spins in tight circle, you glance over to the timer mounted on the fence. The seconds tick away, each moment bringing the eight-second mark closer. When the buzzer finally sounds, signaling the end of the ride, the cowboy springs off the bull with an effortless grace. He tosses a hand in the air, his expression nonchalant as if the wild ride was nothing more than a casual stroll.

The crowd erupts in cheers and applause, their excitement palpable as they all stand up with shouts.

You turn your head back towards Luke, one of the biggest smiles on your face as you meet his eyes in pure astonishment. 

“How about it?” Luke chimes in, taking yet another chug of his beer.

“This is insane!” You take another sip as well.

-

Charles lived for bull riding. It was more than just a passion—it was his livelihood. The cowboy lifestyle, with its raw, untamed essence, had shaped almost every aspect of his existence. 

To him, the bull was not just an animal but a formidable partner in a high-stakes dance of power and control. Two things Charles always loved to have. Every successful ride was a testament to his skill and courage, a dance with danger that left him both exhilarated and humbled. Like this ride. Right now.

He throws his hand in the air, the rush of pure adrenaline coursing through his veins. The feel of the dirt beneath his boots, the deafening roar of the crowd, and an impressive score of 91, was enough to send him shouting in joy. He let his eyes wander the crowd around him, taking it all in like he always loves to do. He livesfor the attention.

So, when he notices a familiar woman seated right before the metal fence, paying little to no attention to the dirt ring, he can’t help but feel just a little annoyed.

He also can’t help but feel more annoyed when he takes notice of that silk fabric again, immediately remembering when he bumped into your frame mere moments ago. Your cherry lips and silky-smooth hair flash into his mind. For a second, he almost forgets the fact that he’s standing in the middle of a dirt ring.

He can’t quite shake the memory of your demeanor and the way you seemed detached from the rodeo’s thrilling chaos. The way you could care less about who he was. It’s a curious juxtaposition against the fervor of the crowd and the adrenaline that still courses through him.

One thing about Charles was that he wanted attention, yes. But right now, he only wanted yours. With that unshakable desire in mind, he strides confidently toward where you’re seated. The metal fences between you both form a barrier, but that doesn’t deter him.

As he approaches, the crowd senses a shift in the energy and falls into an anticipatory hush. Their collective gaze shifts to you and Charles, creating a palpable focus on the interaction.

Charles, his presence commanding and confident, slips his hat through the gap in the metal fence, offering it to you with a smirk. The hat, wide brimmed and well worn, represents a piece of his world.

“To help you fit in better.” His tone a mix of challenge and amusement.

Without waiting for a response, he turns on his heel and finally saunters off, his gait relaxed yet purposeful. 

-

“What just happened?” Abigail smacks your arm, the one not jolding the hat, as you walk side by side. Her brothers loom behind you, their presence adding to the charged atmosphere of the moment. “Why did Charles fucking Leclerc just give you, his hat?”

You glance at the hat, a bemused expression on your face. “That guy is a total dick is what just happened.”

Abigail’s eyes widen, her excitement barely contained. “What do you mean!” She practically shouts, her voice a mix of disbelief and thrill. “He’s like famous here. Every girl probably hates you right now.”

“Why?” You ask, genuinely puzzled.

“Are you blind?” Abigail’s voice now full sheer joy. “The dude is practically sex on fucking legs. And he’s one of the best bull riders around!”

You look back at the hat again, it suddenly feels heavier in the grasp of your fingertips. “Charles Leclerc is a big deal around here. And he just gave you, his hat. That’s a huge deal.”

You roll your eyes, trying to ignore the slight flush of embarrassment creeping up your neck. “Well, it doesn’t change the fact that he was a jackass earlier. But I guess it’s good to know he’s a big deal around here.”

Abigail bursts into laughter. “You really are something else.”

-

The narrow aisles of the tiny market, with their cramped and cluttered shelves, had you aimlessly strolling in circles. The items on your list—given to you by Abigail’s mom—seemed to elude your every turn. The overhead lights cast a harsh glare on the disorganized assortment of product, making it difficult to find what you needed. You stood there, your eyes narrowing in annoyance, at the crumpled list clutched in your hand.

“Need some help, sweetheart?”

The sound of the deep, velvety voice was enough to draw your attention away from the list. You turned to see Charles standing not even a few feet away, a smirk playing on his lips as he leaned casually against a shelf. His eyes, green as ever, created a swirl of butterflies in the pit of your stomach.

Although you were known for your stubbornness, often digging your heels in even when it wasn’t your best interest, you had to admit you were out of your depth in the tiny market. There were no signs. No directory.

“Depends,” you reply, the hint of a playful challenge in your voice. Charles raises his eyebrows, a silent prompt for you to elaborate further.

“If you call me city girl even once,” you continue, your tone firm but light-hearted, “I’ll knock you right out.”

The challenge is met with a shit-eating grin, so wide on Charles’s face that it seems almost infectious. His cheeks stretch into an exuberant smile, his eyes sparkling with amusement. And it takes him one step, and one stretch of his arm, to snag that grocery list right out of your dainty fingertips.

-

“You’re cute when you’re real mad, y’know?” He drawls, placing the groceries into the bed of the pick-up truck you borrowed from Abigail’s family.

“I’m not mad.”

“You’re right.” He says, placing the final bag into the truck and leaning against the frame of it with an arm propped up. “You’re just cute.”

“Don’t call me that.”

Charles doesn’t miss the subtle flush the tints the apples of your cheeks with a delicate shade of red. The reaction stirs a flutter in his chest, almost like an addiction that he never wants to stop. 

You’re undeniably cute, with an effortlessly enchanting beauty that makes it difficult to look away. A magnetic pull that Charles just can’t shake. It’s almost as if he’s addicted to getting a reaction out of you. 

-

It’s been days of settling into the rhythm of farm life—enjoying family dinners filmed with hearty laughter and home-cooked meals, gathering around late-night fires that crackle and warm against the cool night air, and rolling up your sleeves to help with daily chores.

Even had a few more run-in's with the famous bull riding man himself. He was sweet, but you couldn't help but feel at complete unease around him. Not in a bad way, but in a my heart won't stop pounding against my rib cage kind of way.

Like when he covered you in his flannel at the latest bonfire, taming the rising goosebumps along your body.

"I don't need this, y'know?"

"Sweetheart, you're cold. Just wear the damn thing."

Or when you bumped into him at one of the farmer's markets and it took no hesitation for him to grab all of your purchases out from under your arm.

"What are you doing?"

"What does it look like I'm doin?"

"Stealing my stuff"

His laugh shot butterflies right into your stomach. "You're something else, sweetheart."

You make a point to be as involved as possible, driven by the genuine desire to contribute and make a sense of responsibility. 

“Should we hit up Rusty Spur’s tonight?” Abigail asks from beside you, her voice light and relaxed as she stands wrapped in a fluffy robe, freshly showered. She’s casually brushing her long, damp hair, the strands falling in soft waves around her shoulders.

“What’s Rusty Spur’s” you ask, leaning over the bathroom sink for a closer look as you apply your last coat of mascara, adding the finishing touch to your makeup.

“The bar,” she replies nonchalantly, her tone suggesting it’s a place she frequents often. “I think we need a night out.”

You glance at her through the mirror, a smile spreading across your face at the prospect of a night out. 

“Yes.”

-

Rusty Spur’s was the kind of country bar that instantly feels like home, even if you’ve never been there before.

As you step inside, the scent of aged wood, spilled beer, and a hint of smoky warmth greets you. The place is packed. 

The flimsy spaghetti straps of your short white dress dig into the skin of your shoulders, their delicate fabric offering little support. Despite its ethereal look, the dress feels unexpectedly snug against your skin. The soft white fabric sways with each step you take as you slip your body in between the crowds of people.

Abigail leads you to a cozy corner of the bar. Almost instantly, a bartender approaches, his familiarity with Abigail evident in the easy smile and warm greeting he offers.

You can’t help but notice just how easy on the eyes he is. He’s dressed, like almost every guy in this bar, in snug jeans and a flannel shirt with the sleeves rolled up, revealing strong forearms. His casual yet confident demeanor, coupled with the slight scruff on his beard and his easygoing smile, makes him stand out in the dimly lit bar. 

Within the span of five minutes, a chilled, neck-bottled beer is placed gently into your hand. Taking in the view of the crowd, which is large but not overwhelmingly so, you scan the faces around you. As your gaze moves across the room, no one stands out as particularly familiar—until your eyes land on a table not too far away.

There, seated with a group of friends, is Charles. His presence is unmistakable. Even from a distance, he exudes a charismatic confidence, the kind that draws attention without even trying. He’s relaxed in his posture, laughing and engaging with his companions, the flannel from earlier now swapped for a casual shirt. 

“Wanna dance?” Abigail chimes in your ear, her beer already half gone in the span of a minute.

-

It was almost as if Charles could feel your presence without even seeing you. The dim light of the bar cast flickering shadows. He leaned back against the worn leather of his chair, his senses heightened.

You found yourself completely immersed in the music, your body moving almost involuntary as your shoes glide smoothly across the weathered wooden floor. You’re not exactly sure when it happened, but your body eventually became pressed up against a random guy you’ve only just met on the dance floor. His presence both surprising and pleasant. He’s cute—definitely cute. His hands are gentle on your waist, guiding you through the steps with a natural rhythm. 

He twirls you effortlessly around, guiding your movement with a deft touch that brings a burst of joy. As you complete the spin, you find yourself facing him once more, his eyes twinkling down at you.

With a playful flourish, he slips his cowboy hat onto your head. You can feel the subtle press of the brim against your forehead, much too big for your head. You tilt your head back and laugh, the sound a melodic blend of joy and unrestrained happiness woven into the music. 

In this embrace, everything seems to align perfectly—the rhythm of the music, the warmth of the body, and the whimsical charm of the cowboy hat resting lightly atop your head.

“Do you want t-” The words began to leave the man’s lips, but they were abruptly cut off as a firm muscled arm shoved him away from your embrace. The unexpected force sent him stumbling back, surprise flashing across his face and yours.

The man recovered his footing, confusion turning into indignation as he glared at the one who interrupted. Charles. Meanwhile, you stood your ground, heart racing, caught between the thrill of the moment and unexpected clash.

If looks could kill.

“Dude, what the fuck?”

Large fingers reach for the brim of the hat atop your head, snatching it right off before Charles shoves it back into the man’s chest. “Don’t ever put a hat on her head again.” 

His voice was rough and terse, cutting through the ambient noise like a blade. “Let’s go,” He says, not giving the man or you a chance to react. In an instant, his fingers snake around your wrist, pulling you away from the dance floor and into the shadows of a secluded table ticked into the corner of the bar.

The abrupt shift caught you off guard, and your heart raced as he led you through the sea of bodies. The air between you was thick with unspoken words as he tucks you between him and the edge of the table. His grip on your wrist loosens, but his proximity is too close.

“What the hell was that?” Your senses heightened as your eyes locked onto his. The usual light green of his irises, often warm and inviting, was now obscured by a much darker hue, swirling with intensity and something primal. 

His gaze was pointed, sharp, and unyielding. You sensed a storm brewing behind those darkened eyes, and the air around you crackled with anticipation. 

“He put his hat on you, sweetheart.” You scoff almost instantly, bubbling anger simmers in your chest as you let out a soft laugh over the situation.

“Really?” You throw your head back for a mere second as the laugh pushes past your throat. “You shoved him over a hat?”

His eyes remain narrowed, the amusement that might have danced there moments ago, no longer present. “Do you even know what that means?” He presses, his voice low and intense as he leans into your ear, the weight of his words hanging between you.

“What a hat means?” Confusion flickers across your features. The question so out of place, and yet the gravity of his tone suggests otherwise.

Before you can grasp the implications, you felt his fingers sneak their way to you, warmth and firmness splayed along your waist. The contact sent a jolt of awareness through you, igniting the tension the crackled in the air. It was a possessive gesture. 

His gaze never wavers, and the connection between you deepens.

“You wear that hat; you ride that cowboy.”

For a moment, you freeze. 

“And in no fucking world, would I let you wear anyone’s but mine.”

[adorkastock]

So I don't know who to ask about this, and since it's your profession, I figured you'd know most! I like to use Magic Poser to help me draw my characters' poses, but I feel like I always wind up altering the proportions to fit the models rather than my style without meaning to just because I'm drawing what I'm looking at. It feels less like looking at a reference and more copying a picture, and it makes me feel really bad, like I'm cheating at art. Do you have any thoughts or word of advice on this? I'd greatly appreciate it. Thanks!

Hey Nonnie! Hmmm there's I feel like kind of two questions here. One, using Magic Poser or any other legit reference to make your art is not cheating. It's just using a tool the way it's meant to be used (as a reference). There's nothing at all wrong with that. ♥ However, if you are getting Not The Results You Want from this process that's another issue entirely. So, two: what do I do if the art I'm making from reference doesn't look like *my* art? If you find that working from a reference is changing your style in ways you don't like, I have suggestions: 1) do a sketch from the reference just like you normally would in whatever style comes out naturally using the reference 2) look at the drawing you did and put the reference away 3) draw another drawing from the drawing you did but try to make adjustments towards the stylization you prefer (your first drawing is your reference for your second) OR, if your brain will do this for you: 3b) after sketching from the reference (maybe a few times for good measure) put the reference away completely and try to draw the pose from memory* and see what happens. If you think you're overly reliant on references to the point you think it's holding you back then you can start to wean yourself off of them but doing more and more drawing without them. Maybe start with a 20min warm-up on my Sketch App drawing a bunch of poses really fast from reference, then pull up a new pose, look at it, and try to draw it without checking back in at all. Honestly the best way to get to a style you like is to just draw A LOT. Draw lots of different ways. Mess around with line weight and shapes. Make things swish, make them pointy, make lines that cross over a lot, make a mess, make it neat, keep going. Do a lot of drawing and investigate what feels and looks right to you. And if a tool isn't serving your goals, you can let it go. It might be hard at first but you will find your way. ♥ * Side note: I have aphantasia which means I don't have head pictures. If I look at a reference and walk into the other room, I am not going to be able to replicated it very well from memory. That being said, if I sketch a pose over and over and over a bunch I will retain it somehow, somewhere (I don't know how brains work). The next time I go to draw that pose it will be easier. Just popping this in here in case you have the same trouble.

[mrskokushibo]

Sweetness

Mitsuri x fem!reader x Obanai

Warnings: Sex, Smut, NSFW, MDNI, 18+, Slight girl on girl action, Threesome

Summary: The atmosphere of a warm and sunny day at the start of spring permeates this short and hot smut. You get interrupted in your chores, but honestly, the distraction is exactly what your deprived body needs.

Masterlist

The otherwise so neat garden beds outside the Butterfly Mansion were in need of some pruning. As you were squatting and pulling out the freshly sprouted weeds, your efforts were accompanied by the gentle buzzing of bees collecting nectar from the delicate, first flowers of spring, and by the chirping of industrious little birds. The air was balmy, but not yet hot enough for you to brake in sweat, thus you were very comfortable and worked through the entire length of the garden bed without much effort.

Suddenly, there was a fluttery sound above you and as you looked up, two forest pigeons landed, one by one on a branch in the tree. The male was performing the courting dance routine, spreading his wide fan-like tail in an attempt to attract the female. You smiled to yourself at the ways of nature and proceeded to put away the gardening tools in the shed. As you washed your hands in the outdoor basin, you remembered to check on the laundry drying on the line on the other side of the courtyard.

You took your time strolling across the lawn to the clotheslines, the washing fluttering in the breeze, creating an opaque filter for the bright sunlight. It was already dry, the smell of freshly washed cotton overpowering the spring scents momentarily. You began the meticulous process of folding each and every sheet neatly and putting it down in the laundry hamper. It took a while, but you did not mind as it gave you time to savor the surrounding for a while longer.

Ready at last, you picked up the basket and began to walk toward the front door. As you looked up to the Sakura tree near the doorway, the two pigeons were now mating, the soft rustle of feathers and quiet guttural sounds accompanying the quick and ferocious ravage. You shook your head and smiled again.

The sweet scent of the spring air lingered on the linen now so neatly folded in the laundry basket that you were carrying. You sniffed the bedsheets, enjoying the fresh smell, and walked into the building closing the door behind you using one leg. The place was so quiet and clean, only a few dust particles were hovering in the ray of sunlight coming in through a side window. Other than that, it was spotless. Every time you had the Butterfly Mansion to yourself, you cleaned up and organized everything the way you wanted it to be. You took great pride in your unnoticed work. It did not bother you that you stayed in the shadows servicing the flamboyant, excentric hashiras, and demon slayers. You knew your effort provided them with a safe and cozy environment to recuperate and heal after their dangerous missions.

As you were walking through the long corridor, on your way to the storage room, you could not help but notice an open door at the very end of it. No one was supposed to be here at this time of day and you were told that the Hashira would all be out on missions this week. You slowed your footsteps and made them light and as silent as possible. But as you began nearing the room, quiet, muffled sounds were reaching your ears. At first, you thought that maybe the window was open and it was bird- and animal sounds that were coming in from the outside. And that maybe the opened window was what caused a draft that made an unlocked door fling undone. The closer you got though, the more you realised what these sounds were. You could now make out whispers and an occasional high-pitched giggle, blended with quiet moans and deep, raspy grunts… The sounds of, yes… sex…

Since you were quite unsatiated lately due to your lonely existence, your body began to react in that familiar and dizzying way. You quietened your steps even further and continued your advance toward the source of the lewd noises. It was now entirely obvious what was going on in that room and you began to make out familiar voices. Putting down the basket quietly on the floor, you decided to sneak up to the door and peek in. *Just a little peek* you told yourself. You did not want to be nosy, but at the same time, the urge to see what was going on was too strong, now that you were beginning to get aroused.

As you reached your destination, you could easily hide behind the half-open door and watch unnoticed, and there, on the bed were Mitsuri and Obanai, going at it like two rabbits. She was on her back, flushed cheeks, eyes closed, and moaning in pleasure, with Obanai between her legs humping away and eliciting deep grunts. He was squeezing her large and plump breasts and you could see how he was licking them and sucking on the erect little nipples adorning the two luscious and perfectly round plump mounds.

‘Oh, yes, baby. Suck them…just like that. This feels so good…’

‘You know how much I love these tits, my love. Just touching them makes me hard.’

He then whispered something inaudible in her ear, causing her to blush even more and giggle.

‘Well, make me come and then maybe I will let you put your cock between them. I wouldn’t mind some cum on my face.’

She giggled again and he grunted speeding up his pace.

Your panties were soaked now from this performance and your hand moved almost instinctively to touch yourself. At first, you were rubbing through the fabric, but soon enough, that was not enough and you moved them aside and began rubbing yourself between your folds, making your way to your now very stimulated clit.

Mitsuri was moaning louder now and within minutes, she climaxed, arching her back, causing her magnificent rack to bounce up a little. Obanai was not ready yet and he straddled her torso and positioned himself just beneath her breasts.

‘You promised’

He kissed her pouting mouth and squeezed her breast with his thighs, placing his cock between them, it was as if it got swallowed by them. He then began pumping and groaning loudly.

‘Fuuuuck…they feel good. I will not last long like this. Lick my tip, baby’

She stretched out her delicious little tongue and like a kitten lapping up milk, she was lapping up the precum on the tip of his cock whenever it was emerging from between the large tits.

‘I’m coming…oooh!’ He grunted and thick ropes of cum shot all over her neck and face.

You too were too aroused to hold back and came with a loud moan. And this was when they noticed their spectator.

‘What the fuck, I thought you said we were alone’ Obanai hissed, talking to Mitsuri, but looking annoyed in your direction.

‘No, dear, don’t be mad at her. We are the ones at fault here.’

She giggled and smiled at you.

‘Did you like what you saw?’

She tilted her head sweetly and you could not help, but think what an adorable person she really was.

‘You know, why don’t you join us? I feel like fucking some more.’

She turned to Obanai: ‘What do you say? Would you like some more? And think, fucking two girls instead of one. What a treat, hey?’

He mumbled something, but clearly, the temptation was taking the better of him, as you could see his cock already getting hard again.

‘All right, whatever you wish for, my sunshine.’ They kissed and Mitsuri stretched out a hand to you.

‘Come over, darling. Do not be shy. This will be fun.’ She smiled at you as you began walking over to her.

It was as if you were an insect lured in by the sweetness of honey, everything about Mitsuri oozed femininity and gentleness, it was as if she emanated a rosy aura that made your senses tingle and sing. Your slow, cautious footsteps at last placed you right next to her, touching her small, but surprisingly strong hand, you found yourself placing a kiss on her moist lips. It was as if you were in contact with a freshly bloomed rose, still moist with morning dew.

She began helping you to remove your clothes and very soon you were just as naked as the other two occupants of the room. Your eyes were fixated on her breast and she noticed.

‘Don’t be shy, sweetie. Touch them’

And without any more encouragement, you placed your hand on her roundness and began stroking and squeezing, causing her to moan a little. You continued to kiss, your tongues slowly finding each other and nudging gently between the softness of feminine lips. You could feel her hand slide down your belly, down to your sex, beginning to rub gently, with soft small movements. You did not want to leave her unattended and began to reciprocate the action.

The sweetness of it all was indescribable. A pleasure only comparable to biting into a plump, freshly made Sakura mochi or taking a cool bath after a hot day. There was heat too, a passion of a different kind, a wish for more, and a will to give. The lack of masculine aggression in the softness of both your actions and the pure and unadulterated lust for her touch was making your body almost limp. Your juices were streaming down your legs and you were both drowning in each other and in your arousal. You were getting very close to crossing over the line leading to the peaks of pleasure when you were interrupted by Obanai clearing his throat. He was obviously watching, engulfed in his own neediness, as you turned around, you could see him seated at the end of the futon, stroking his painfully hard cock.

Mitsuri looked at him with a smile, her hands still on your nipple and between your legs:

‘Oh, sorry Obi, we are neglecting you. How about you lie down and let us both take care of you.’

He did not wait and lay down flat lazily, while Mitsuri gave you another lewd kiss and directed you to where his head was.

‘How about we ride him... I take the cock and you take his face.’

You nodded and both of you took your respective positions facing each other. He groaned deeply as Mitsuri sank herself down on his hardness, her sweet high-pitched moaning making you want to touch her even more. She began riding him at a slow and gentle pace, her breasts bouncing only slightly. You were not fully seated on Obanai’s face yet, but that changed quickly when a pair of rough, strong hands grabbed your hips and pulled you down on his lips and stretched out tongue, that in an experienced manner found its way straight into your sopping wet pussy. You moaned now too as he was licking and swirling his tongue in and out of your opening.

‘Move a bit for me. You will have some more friction like that.’

You could hear him speak through the wet licking noises, his voice muffled by your cunt pressing on his mouth.

You began grinding your hips back and forth on his mouth, and sure enough, you started to feel so much more. As you worked out a good rhythm your attention went back to Mitsuri, who leaned into you, pressing her breasts against yours, the impossibly luscious softness against your own multiplied the pleasurable sensations and you began to caress her breasts and play with her nipples.

She reciprocated and soon you added the softest of kisses to the already so lustful actions. You felt on the edge of consciousness. Your core began to clench achingly and a few more bucks of your hips and you were squirting all over Obanai’s face while squealing noisily. As you kept riding out your high by continued grinding your hips on his mouth, you intensified your nipple action on Mitsuri’s breast. She could barely hold back and a moment later climaxed with a loud moan. The two of you were panting heavily, chests heaving and flushed cheeks covered with sweat. In the meantime, Obanai kept pumping into Mitsuri and as she kept kissing you, he threw a strong sloppy thrust into her and came with a quiet growl.

The three of you were now lying down, spent from your activities.

‘Well, that was quaint.’ Mitsuri giggled.

‘We should so do this more often, don’t you think?’

You could not help but agree. You nodded and closed your eyes, listening to the sweet sounds of spring coming through the window.

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