#Opaque Plastic

[ryaninternational]

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[popfizzles]

Holdonholdon. So does Red have to drink alcohol to keep himself full, or can he drink whatever? If it's the former, does it affect him? :0

I think a common misconception would be that cup toons only consume the kind of liquid they normally hold.

Drinking daily water and regularly consuming varied foods doesn't make much of a change in their appearance. But, drinking lots and lots of one single thing CAN make a change!

I've done a few arts of Val changing what kind of drink is in her head; see these examples of Val as a hot cocoa and a rose champagne!

But things get a little more complicated with transparent cups like Boba and Mojito.

Since Boba is clear plastic and Mojito is glass, you can see right through them! Which means that drinking too much of one thing can make a HUGE change to their palette and appearance;

So transparent cups try to stick to what they know, to keep them looking familiar!

You can also notice that Mojito's "skin" is much thicker than Boba's, which means Mojito could probably get some carvings or decorations in place of tattoos!

[totally-not-an-awkward-okapi]

More stuff I definitely stole from Nickelodeon!

[catwouthats]

WIP/rough draft of the first page of The Extraordinarily Ordinary Adventures of Preston Lindsey fan comic

I’m practicing using my feather quill bc that shit makes such nice lines etc so this probably isn’t the final version.

Feather quill >>>> any other pen/inking tool imo

[lyraofthestarsss]

Throwback to December 2020 (Dsmp Tommy exile arc) where I made the ‘your tubbo’ compass out of an icebreakers container

[theswordwizard]

its absurd how increasingly common it is. i can perfectly understand having a gacha/box option at a discount for people who don't care, but let people just buy what they want. so many artist alley makers want to act like a big brand and copy whatever bullshit marketing scheme they see being done elsewhere to get a quick buck and its so embarrassing.

one of my least favorite things wrt individual artists selling mass-produced merch as business owners is when they start adopting fucking blind boxes/gacha as part of their business model. i'm sorry i just think that's a scumbag thing to do i know people like having fun opening surprise capsules and i think blind box options can be perfectly fine as a means of selling handmade or otherwise OOAK merch like leftovers/seconds from old lines. but i think designing shit specifically to sell to people who don't get a choice in what they're buying is kinda categorically evil to do as an artist.

i think it should be illegal for companies to sell blind box toys and shit but obviously that's never going to happen because the whole point of producing these things is to extract as much money as possible from collectors with bad impulse control (a demographic that makes up huge swathes of like anime convention attendees) but small artists love to talk a big game about how theyre like ~enriching the communities theyre part of with their work~. and then you're just going and adopting predatory marketing practices to try and make an extra buck off your fanbase lol. if you want to be a team player u can at least let the 16 year olds at your con table pick out which piece of plastic with an anime boy on it they're going to give you their allowance for. come on.

[topoftheshitpile]

i hate red i hate red i hate red

[ravenzer]

drinking water out of clear receptacles hits different

[yummyplastic]

Citrus beads

[daftpatience]

YEAH YEAY OKAY! here we go! welcome to i get to infodump about pens again, yay yippee!

what's the difference between ballpoints, rollerballs, and gel pens?

ballpoints, rollerballs, and gel pens all use a ball-socket mechanism that continuously coats itsself in ink as it rolls across a page. what makes them all different from each other is in the ink composition!!

ballpoint pens have an oil based ink paste. the ink is very thick & requires more pressure to write with, and can get kinda skippy as the tip gets dirty or clogged, but is able to stick to many more surfaces like receipts, plastic, really shitty paper, etc. it can be hard to wash out of things that you get it on, since it's more waterproof than other inks.

one of the neat things about this type of ink is that you're able to shade with it by varying pressure. lots of artists make great use of this!

hybrid or low viscosity ballpoint ink is often just ballpoint ink with an added lubricant to make it write smoother and flow better.

rollerball pens use water based inks. fountain pens, felt tip pens*, and dip pens all usually use water based inks. because of this, rollerballs are very free flowing and rarely clog, but paper choice is more important and some folks can find them to be leaky or overly wet. the writing experience is not as glidey as a gel/ballpoint since the ink is not thick, but it doesn't need a heavy hand. rollerballs enjoy more colour options than ballpoints and can have very dark blacks, but aren't waterproof unless the ink is pigment based instead of dye based. *felt tip pens feel very different than any of the other pens on this list cause of the soft point, they put out ink in a very even and somewhat dry way, and can also use alcohol inks, like copic markers. alcohol inks soak very deep into the page and dry very fast, and blend very differently. i'm not as familiar with them!

gel pens use inks that are made of pigment suspended in a water based gel. these inks tend to be very thick and put out a wet line that takes a longer time to dry. gel pens are most likely to clog and skip due to this, since the ball is not as evenly coated in a substance so thick. gel pens do have the widest colour options and can be fully opaque (ie. pastels, whites, etc) but are often very frustrating as they clog up and get old and dried out.

as a bonus, true technical pens are a whole different kind of beast and have very specific standardized nib sizes and colours. cad software has largely replaced the need for extremely precise technical drawing, but artists still like pens like the rapidograph! they're made differently everywhere but generally, instead of a ball, there is a small tube of a precise diameter with a little wire inside it that controls the ink flow. they can't be held at a lot of angles and aren't as versatile as other pens, but they put down incredibly crisp lines.

yippee yay pens!! wahoo!!

[merrymorningofmay]

more appendages more jewelry babyyyy

due to a silly mistranslation from hebrew i have horns now

[captainfantasticalright]

Let’s talk about: safety glasses!

The ones Edwin is wearing are actually some of the very first models invented.

Since its beginning, circa 1880, protective safety eyewear has significantly evolved. The patented"eye protector" by P. Johnson used two layers of semi-opaque cloth to protect those working with fire (i.e., firemen, furnace-men) from the intensity that comes from bright lights.

Now it wasn’t until 1903 when French scientist Edouard Benedictus accidentally invented the safety glass. When climbing a ladder in his laboratory to grab reagents from a shelf, he clumsily knocked a glass flask to the floor and heard it shatter. But when he looked down, the pieces were still hung together due to a cellulose nitrate solution (liquid plastic) lining the inside of the glass flask.

Shortly after, when reading a story in the Paris newspaper about automobile accidents in which the drivers were getting seriously injured by shattered glass windshields, he thought of the liquid lining in the flask and decided to experiment. This experimentation eventually led to the creation of safety glass.

Around the same time, the United States was making its own discoveries. America's first optics teacher, Julius King, was growing concerned about industrial eye injuries, which led to his company setting up an industrial safety and eye protection department. Then in 1909, the Julius King Optical Company developed the first safety goggle in collaboration with American Optical. These safety goggles were called SANIGLAS.

Glasses continued evolving since then. Reason I wanted to delve a little bit into this is because the pattern is quite similar, if not the exact same as Crowley’s glasses!

Pretty interesting choice of eyewear.

[yazmarina]

not just a figure of speech (you got me down on my knees)

paul aron (f2) x gender neutral!reader

flirting with your teammate seemed a good enough idea, until a not-so-good qualifying tears down every ounce of restraint from your body.

warnings/notes: smut, friends to ???, oral sex, semi-public sex, lots of flirting

a/n: anj stop using lyrics as titles challenge failed. a short and sweet one in honor of our barcelona pole sitter! enjoy <3

"You're here early."

You look up from the monitor in front of you to see Paul walking into the Hitech tent, an easy smile on his lips. He takes the seat in front of you, gently nudging your foot under the table.

"Only because I wanted to see you as soon as I could," you respond. A grin makes its way to your face at the way Paul's cheeks immediately redden.

"Good one," Paul commends, nodding as he avoids your eyes.

"What? You're not happy to see me?" You ask, leaning over the table, peering closer at Paul.

Paul meets your gaze and you can see that the red tinge has reached down to his neck. You giggle, your own stomach bursting into butterflies as his eyes scan over your face.

"I'm always happy to see you, ________," Paul says, reaching over to pinch your cheek.

You lean into his touch, laying the entire side of your face against his hand. He briefly runs his thumb over your cheek, retracting his arm just as quick. You straighten in your seat, clearing your throat.

The engineers and strategists around you don't even bat an eye at the exchange, or even if they had noticed, they've grown too accustomed to your and Paul's teasing, a habit both of you picked up towards the start of the season as a way to get around the awkward tension you two had as new teammates.

You'd tell him he looked handsome as he entered the room and he'd blush and return the compliment. You'd always follow it up with a hearty laugh, brushing it off as friendly banter whenever someone asked.

It's always been this way. And every time you thought it would go somewhere, when the pause and smile between cheeky compliments gets too long, or when hands wander during hugs, Paul would always turn away, distancing himself from you until you inevitably gravitate back toward each other.

You feel like it's something, something that you should probably talk about with Paul, or at least address. But what would you say? What is this?

"Track walk in ten, guys."

You jolt out of your thoughts, everyone around you already packing up to head to the track. You catch Paul's eyes again and he grins, rising from his seat before holding out a hand to you.

You take it without much thought, eventually snaking your arm around his, grip firm on his bicep. If people didn't know better, they'd think the two of you were stepping out for a date.

"I'm excited," you admit, peering up at Paul as the two of you exit the tent. "The track's great. Aren't you excited?"

Paul nods. "I am. Might be in for a win, finally."

You beam, squeezing his arm. "That's my guy."

You miss the way Paul's eyes practically shimmer as he gazes down at you.

-

"P fucking five," Paul curses under his breath, dropping his helmet with a loud clatter to the floor.

You listen and pause just outside his driver's room, the thin, opaque flap of plastic separating him from the rest of the team tent. You know better than to interrupt a driver in the throes of a bad qualifying result but as a teammate and his friend, you know that Paul would never dare lash out at you even if he was upset.

So you call out to him.

"Paul?"

You flinch back when he pulls back the cover of his room. His hair is disheveled, his eyes somber. Paul's frown softens when he sees you and he immediately widens the opening to his room.

You step in, fidgeting with the sleeves of your fireproof as Paul zips the canvas flap shut.

"I...," you begin, not really sure what to say. Paul avoids your eyes, messing around with some stuff on his massage table but you know he wasn't really doing anything of note.

Maybe it was a mistake to come in at all.

"Can you just...," Paul begins, straightening up, still unable to look directly at you.

You wait patiently for him to formulate his words, your own fingers twisting into the fabric of your race suit.

"I should leave, I'm sorr–"

"...stay here."

You blink, Paul's words registering in your brain half a second late. He finally looks at you, eyebrows creased.

"Don't leave," Paul says. "I said you could stay."

You exhale, finally letting yourself relax. Paul seems to mirror your demeanor because he finally slumps against the massage table, head hanging low as he stares at the floor.

You shuffle uncertainly forward, coming into Paul's line of sight. He's looking at you with this hurt look in his eyes, one you've never seen before. It's jarring, slightly unnerving, the way your teammate is being so vulnerable in front of you right now.

"A lot can be done from P5," you assure Paul. "I'm down in 11th."

"I'll reward you if you get a podium," you continue with a soft laugh, trying to lighten the mood, not really meaning whatever it is you're saying.

Paul raises his eyebrows, a hint of a smile gracing his lips.

"Reward me with what?" he asks, sliding backward to sit on the massage table.

You feel a violent blush settle on your cheeks as your brain finally catches up with your mouth.

"With dinner, Paul. I'll treat you to dinner," you deadpan, rolling your eyes.

Paul chuckles, leaning back on his hands, gaze unwavering as he continues to stare at you.

Your hand flies up to your neck, a nervous habit as you realize just how hard Paul is staring. Clearing your throat, you seem to snap Paul out of his trance, eyes blinking as he refocuses on your face.

"What do you want me to do, then?" You ask, trying to steer the awkwardness away.

Paul gives you a look and squares his jaw, a teasing glint in his eyes.

He jerks his chin inward, prompting you to realize that he's saying, 'Come here'. You swallow, stepping closer, breath hitching as you watch Paul part his legs. Your mouth falls open when it dawns on you just how close he wants you.

His hand reaches out tentatively, fingertips brushing gently against your arm. You let him tug you closer, closer, and closer still, until you're situated between his legs. With him sitting, you're nearly the same height. You can feel his breath on your face. He's within kissing distance.

"I can think of a few things," Paul finally says, his hand dropping from your arm down to your waist.

"Hey," you blurt out. Paul flinches and jerks his hand back, the amusement in his face replaced with genuine worry.

"Only if you want to, of course, I mean I wasn't suggesting anything that's–"

"Paul."

He pauses, eyes wide, as if scared he'd offended you somehow.

You realize that this is it. This is what it all boils down to. All that teasing and tentative touches have come to this.

"The reward only comes after the podium," you remind him.

Paul lets out a relieved laugh, both his hands now snaking around your waist. He holds you firmly in place, tilting his head to the side as if studying every inch of your face.

"A good luck charm, then?"

Your face breaks out into a grin, your own palms creeping up Paul's firm thighs. His bottom lip slips between his teeth as he watches you tug his race suit further down.

"I was thinking a kiss, but if you wanna do that, I'm not gonna stop you," Paul comments, nudging you teasingly.

"Would you prefer a kiss over me blowing you?" You ask, knuckles brushing against Paul's bulge.

Paul shakes his head.

He lifts his hips up for a second, allowing you to pull his suit all the way off, along with his bottom fireproofs and underwear.

You gasp softly as you're met with Paul's length.

"Surprised?" Paul questions, guiding your hand to it. You wrap your fingers around and give an experimental squeeze.

Paul groans, throwing his head back. He stiffens even more in your hold.

"Not at all," you answer, dropping to your knees in one graceful swoop.

"You're just as I imagined," you admit.

You lick a long stripe from the base of Paul's cock to the tip, swirling once over his head before spitting on it. Paul shivers above you, mouth hanging open.

"Fuck," he mutters softly. "You've thought about this?"

"Mhm," you confirm, wrapping your lips around him fully.

You feel a harsh tug at your scalp and you whine as Paul threads and twists his fingers in your hair. You retaliate by sinking lower around him, stopping only when you feel his tip against the back of your throat.

"Holy shit," he whispers, pulling your head back so he could peer into your eyes.

"Make it quick," Paul warns, tightening his hold on your hair even more. "Debrief is starting soon."

You don't have to be told twice as you pull back all the way before sinking forward again. You set up a rhythm, swirling your tongue over the tip every once and again, teeth lightly grazing his length as you come back down.

Paul clamps a hand over his mouth, not trusting himself to keep quiet, not with the way you're kneeling in front of him right now, his dick down your throat. He has a vice grip on your hair, sending your own arousal down between your legs.

You speed up when you hear voices just outside Paul's driver room, aware that a thin piece of plastic is the only thing separating the rest of the team and the image of their two drivers in the middle of a scandalous act.

As if reading your thoughts, Paul snickers, raising his eyebrows as you look up at him.

"They'd freak if they saw you like this," Paul taunts. "The second in the championship blowing the championship lead?"

You pinch Paul's thigh and he curses, laughing breathlessly right after.

"Okay, okay, sorry baby," Paul croons, loosening his grip on your hair.

You pull off him, panting, your hair in a sorry state.

"You've annoyed me now," you warn with a smirk. "You can use your own hand to finish the job."

Paul pouts. "Hey, now. I said I'm sorry."

"I know," you say. "If you can cum in the next two minutes, I'll let you do it inside my mouth."

"Fuck," Paul mutters, his hand already starting to pump along his length.

You snicker, laying your head on Paul's thigh while your palm strokes the other.

"Come on, Paul," you coax sweetly. "I'll give you more later if you can get that podium."

Paul grunts, speeding up even more. He eyes you darkly and you simply smile, digging your nails into the flesh of his thigh.

"Open," is all he says and you obey immediately, straightening up, your tongue sticking out as you anticipate Paul's release.

You yelp as you feel Paul nudge your head forward, his cock sliding into your mouth as it twitches, spurting hot cum straight down your throat. You swallow immediately, gagging slightly when you feel even more landing on your tongue.

You gasp as you pull away, some of the leftover dribbling down your chin. You swipe it off with your thumb, licking it clean, laughing as Paul slumps backward.

"Shit," Paul concludes, chest still heaving from the effort.

You pull yourself up, legs trembling slightly from the strain of kneeling for so long. Paul eyes you as you smooth your hair down, wiping at your face with the back of your hand in case you missed any trace of him.

"No podium, no sex," you remind him, leaning down to leave a kiss on his cheek.

You move to pull away but Paul tugs you back down, your feet stumbling over each other. You start to protest but all words die on your tongue when you feel Paul seal his lips firmly over yours.

"You should have just said that at the beginning of this weekend," Paul jokes, laughing when he feels you smack him on the arm.

-

"Well, would you look at that?"

You chew on your bottom lip to stop yourself from smiling as Paul approaches you, his 1st place trophy tucked under his arm. He glances at it momentarily before looking back at you.

"That's a podium," Paul points out, looking at you expectantly.

You shake your head, but the smile finally breaks loose on your face.

"Room 807. Come by before you go out and celebrate."

Paul snickers, leaning in briefly to kiss your cheek this time.

"Are you kidding? You're coming to celebrate with me," Paul declares over his shoulder, sauntering off.

"Double celebration, baby!"

[foone]

Giggling, I lead you to the bedroom. I kiss you deeply, and say I've got something special for us to play with. You lie on the bed, and I walk over to a desk on the side of the room, which features some strange boxy shapes under an opaque plastic covering.

I pull it off, and press some power buttons. There's a low hum as it turns on, a beep, and some light clicking. Finally, it's ready. I grab the mouse, double click an icon, and the Packard Bell 386 comes to life.

Microsoft Paintbrush for Windows 3.1 loads.

"I'm gonna draw a spaceship and then it'll be your turn."

[cindycybergalau]

Catch up

[vixensbrainrotts]

Same old, same old — Sanzu Haruchiyo

Content: Angst to fluff

Tropes: bonten! Sanzu

Warnings: drugs and their aftermath, needles, cursing, (slight) description of wounds, crying, yelling

Summary: Can you really handle this again? Should you really handle this again?

Vixen's two cents: I have strayed from my typical hyper fluff for this one and I dont know how to feel about it, please let me know. I thought shortly about making this super angsty (I had a different ending in mind) so lmk if you'd like to see the 'bad' ending to this too! Im still looking for moots so please message me, I promise im not so scary. Also, REQUESTS ARE OPEN if you have any ideas for me! now enjoy...

When Sanzu comes into your shared high-top flat, he‘s loud. He stumbles over his own feet, curses loudly when his Jacket won’t come off his arms, and runs into the door that stands half-open to the kitchen- livingroom. You’re sitting at the kitchen island when he comes to you, and something about his entrance and the way his pace is erratic and a tad too fast to seem relaxed makes you a little wary. Something is off, you can feel it radiating off of him.

„Hey, you alright?“ you ask innocently enough, trying to look into his eyes but he won’t return your gaze. Instead he just reaches down into the lining of his suit and pulls out a slim packet, slamming it onto the marble in front of you before going past you. „I don’t want to talk about it.“ he hisses as he heads towards the master bedroom.

You‘re confused, and you try to call out after him but he doesn’t respond, so instead you shift your eyes to the item Sanzu had placed before you. It’s a small, dark grey opaque plastic baggy, and it seems to whisper to you in intrigue. You reach for it, carefully peeling back one layer of the tight wraps.

What greets you inside isnt shocking, but disappointing.

Three small syringes, all slim, and notably empty, glint in the lighting, sharp tips sparkling with a metallic, glitter like shine. You sharply inhale, covering the tips with the plastic again to hide them from view. Clutching the packet tightly you stand to rush after Sanzu, who you assume is now in the bedroom.

„Haru?“ you hate the way your voice breaks. You’re supposed to be the strong one, the one who can handle these types of situations. „Haru!“ you call out to him again when you see him disappear into the bathroom, lock clicking when the door falls shut behind him. You lay your hand on the door to the bathroom with the hand thats holding the packet, and the noise the syringes make when they clink against the door makes you cringe. „Open the door baby, please. I promise im not mad at you or anything but please just open the door!” You cry out to him, softly rapping against the door with your hand.

In response you hear him yell “Go away”, and his voice is hoarse- he’s crying - he’s ashamed. Sighing, you cradle your head in your hands, thinking that maybe you can talk him out of it, but you hear the tap of the tub start running- probably to drown you out. “Haru baby we can talk about this, please turn off the water and open the door.” You try to reach him again but it’s useless.

“Go away y/n!” He roars and you can hear him start to strip, clothes being pulled and thrown into the floor. “I’m not leaving you alone Haru! Not when you’re like this!” You pound on the door this time, expressing your urgency to him clearly. On the other side of the door the haste ends, a sniffle reaching your ears over the noise of the running water.

“And I can let you see me like this!” His voice is smaller, weaker than you have ever heard him, and it breaks you. “I’ve seen you at worse baby, and you and I both know it’s better if you’d let me in.”

There are a few paces of relative silence, only the rush of water marking the passing of time. Then you hear another wet sniffle and a sigh, and you hear him slowly coming towards the door, and you step back a little.

Your grip tightens around the packet still in your hands when you hear the lock click open, and you swore you felt yourself go lightheaded for a second out of relief when the door finally opened.

Sanzu reveals himself, and he looks like a mess and a half. Eyes red, from crying and the drugs alike, hair falling and jutting out in messy strands from where it sat in the short pony, shirtless, and as you let your eyes drift down his exposed skin, you saw the hitches. His elbows were bloody and bruised from the injections, and tiny little veins raked the surfaces nearby.

His dress shirt lay bundled up in a forgotten heap on the floor not too far from the bathtub. The water was still running and it was annoying you. With a sigh you reached your empty hand up to him, cursing yourself when he flinched back a little.

You looked at his eyes, but he wouldn't return the gaze. Disappointed, you took the step forward on your own, laying your hand on his chest and pushing him into the bathroom, allowing yourself entry. Your hand traced down his arm, and when it reached his hand, you held it tightly, turning to face him when you walked past him, and puling him along further into the room.

You tugged him to the closed toilet seat, half-forcing him to sit before you, and he let you, slumping down onto the porcelain weakly. You turned shortly, wanting to go and turn off the still-open faucet, but a weak grip held you back.

Turning to look at Sanzu, you heard him mumble something, but the noise was shrouded by the running water. "What was that, love?"

"Dont let go." his voice was frail as he croaked it weakly, and your heart broke a little.

Sighing, you leaned your body towards the tub, reaching the tap and shutting it off, careful not to accidentally let his hand slip from yours. Once done, you straightened yourself and faced him again, walking over to stand between his legs.

"Baby?" he said, eyes only half open, "are you-" his voice got caught in his throat, but you knew what he wanted to ask.

are you mad at me?

are you disappointed?

are you leaving me?

are you out of your mind for staying with me after I've gone to rehab twice and relapsed again, and again, and again?

are you sending me back to rehab?

A million questions lie unanswered between the two of you, and you choose to leave it that way as you guide his hand to rest on your waist, laying your own hands on his shoulders. You look into his tired eyes for a moment before pulling him forward to rest his head on your stomach.

Tracing his back and shoulders, you trail your hands up the back of his neck, scratching the nape a little before traveling up to the ponytail, pulling the holder out of his hair, and letting it fall open. You rake your hands through the sweaty strands, not caring about the grease.

You lean down to press a kiss against his head, hands now holding his jaw and you turn him to face you. "Im here for you, ok? I dont care what happens, I have your back. Always." you press another kiss to his forehead. "Through thick and thin, through good and bad." You kiss his jaw. "I love you baby, and nothing is going to stop me from loving you, not even yourself." Your fingers trace his cheekbones and lay your forehead on his, letting your eyes close.

"Allow me to love you all the way, please. Don't try and run when things get hard like this again, it's not good for either of us." you whisper, and you feel his breath hitch against your face.

His fingers curl around your waist, and you let him breath into you, and when you hear a weak whimper you straighten yourself again, pulling him into you again, letting him cry as you hold his head.

Looking at the wall you count the tiles. Blankly you hold your lovers head and think.

things will get better. things are better.