#best wall art calligraphy

[portals-and-spirits]

(Felicity: so this is really just the starter and I’ll reply from the Arson Murder Jaywalking Trio blog after)

Colin (and Argyros if she’s here) exit the portal through a dark wooden door with a simple brass knob into an odd-looking room. It’s square with each wall being about 15 feet long, but the most noticeable thing is that brass lines inlaid into the floor, corners, and ceiling split the room into four triangle-based quarters, with the one they’re currently standing in having a simple wooden floor, clean white wall, abstract wall art, fuzzy pastel green welcome mat, and wire coatrack, making it reminiscent of a cozy modern home. The quarter to their left has a much more antique vibe to it, the floor being wood in a different shade, and more worn looking, the patterned wallpaper being a faded magenta that blurred into the varied yet never too bright colors of the many, many photos pinned onto the wall around the door. There are pictures of beautiful scenes, snow fields, sunsets, forests, but there are no notable beings in them, no hints to the inhabitants of this strange little corner of the multiverse or the individual who must’ve taken them. Carved into the door on this wall are the words “If you’re seeing this, it means I’m home, feel free to come in if you can.” in a rough, simplistic writing, with a rolled-up scroll and pen pinned on top- if the scroll was unrolled, it would cover the writing. A creative way for visitors to leave messages to whoever lived here. The quarter directly across had a stone brick construction, with an archway full of blue light acting as the portal and a hanging tapestry of a clear sky and bright sun for a door. On the walls to its sides were beadwork hangings, depicting a starry night sky with a crescent moon and snowy owl flying about, and what appeared to be a mammoth made of ice playing about in the snow. Upon closer inspection, the snowy owl seemed to be made of snow as well. Next to the door is a tall flowerpot overflowing with crawling pink-flowered vines that have spread onto the floor and walls, and a small dresser with a pair of snow boots on top. The boots don’t look quite big enough for an adult, instead made for maybe an older child in their early teens. The wooden rafters holding up the upper walls and ceiling were decorated with preserved flowers of every kind, giving the room a pleasant herbal aroma. The final quarter, the one to their right, had a traditional Japanese theme, with woven floor mats and paper wall panels painted with cranes in a marsh and a few scattered lines of calligraphy. In a cylindrical frame in the corner are rolls of painted paper that could likely be used to swap out the designs on the walls. In the other corner is a discreetly hidden set of light switches disguised as a candle holder- the candle it held was only a fraction of the height of the stand and the lower portion could open to reveal the controls. The portal door is a sliding door that could’ve easily been mistaken for a wall panel if it weren’t ever-so-slightly open, a crack of white mist pouring through. In the middle of the room, over the intersecting divider lines, is a small table resembling a tall stool, being 3 feet tall with a circular top a bit more than 1 foot in diameter. On it is a singular file folder, the papers inside peeking out. Do they go through any of the doors? Do they check the file folder? Do they mess with the light switches or any of the other stuff in here?

"How fascinating..." Colin tilts his head, looking around the room. This was definitely a new and unfamiliar place. He decides to check the file folder; it's best to know what he can about this place and who's here before he investigates them directly.

"Seems familiar!" Argyros grins, looking around. She thinks for a moment, before skipping over and knocking on the door with the carved message.

"Is it a good idea to immediately start bothering people?" Colin asks lightheartedly, an eyebrow raised as he glances at Argyros.

"It'll be fiiine!" Argyros looks at Colin over her shoulder, eyes closing for a few moments as she grins.

[diejager]

wdyt of the idea of high society victorian cod characters cus i saw one glimpse of the idea and thought hmmm occult ghost and im praying we get it

I can’t believe I went google searching for this Drabble XD

PS. I wrote this before seeing @justadeadreaper ‘s AU!

The Past Cw: SLIGHT DARK, DUB-CON, spiritualism, occult, sex magic, smut, cunnilingus, fingering, oral sex, tell me if I missed any.

You’d heard from other women that the dark and mystery-shrouded man was one of the best spiritualists in England —if not the only man practicing the dark arts. You were warned through loose lips and gossiping whispered that he was a giant for your time, dressed in the finest silks a man could buy for himself and portrayed an aura of pride and excellence, holding an air of finesse and savagery in every words he spoke. You had your own expectations before you met him, fingers trembling as you wrote your letter, a grieving tear rolling down your powdered cheek.

You waited with bated breath and tense shoulders for his reply, and when a letter arrived, the little skull wax seal playing a part to your excitement, you ripped in open and settled in your desk in an unladylike manner. For a man you didn’t know, you couldn’t help but admire his calligraphy, the hand which he used to write was skilfully gentle, his words curled with a gracefulness you envied. In the black lettering, he gave you a date and location, touched by your plight, he invited you to his house in an unknown part of Manchester.

You rode out a few days early to meet him, being aware that he’d extended his invitation to a week long stay after your second exchange. He expressed his solemnity and sympathy towards you, promising that he’d be able to help you and you couldn’t be any happier to be able to let the past rest.

But your expectations of him fell the moment he greeted you at the wide mahogany doors of his house, he was broad and talks, a giant dressed in black. The cuffs and collar of his long coat were woven with silver roses and vines, gracing pant-clad thighs, thick and strong as a tree’s tough bark. He wore leather gloves - black as the rest of his attire - and a gem-clipped cravat stuffed under his black waist coat, buttons holding it to his sculpted chest and a flared end with silver intricacies, silver flowers and plants sown into the fabric. He was dressed beautifully, like a phantom of the opera, but when you gazed up, his dark eyes stared back, skin painted black and face hidden with a mask, a smooth skull stitched into the fabric of his cover.

He was a masterpiece in dark garments, handsome and mysterious when he ushered you in, the rumble of his voice making your body tingle, warmth filling your abdomen. He was a quiet man, eyes expressing more than words could, he had a gentle silence to him with tender and guiding hands, herding you to his seance room —or so you thought. There weren’t any tables, only plush cushions and soft-padded chairs in the dimly lit room, shadows dancing on the dark walls when he laid you down, coaxing you to relax under his care.

“I need you to relax,” he whispered, pressing his covered mouth you your forehead, brushing your locks off your sweaty skin, “do you trust me, love?”

You felt light-headed, mind dazed with the warmth and comfort he provided you, you choked down a sob, your voice dying in your throat. So you gave him a small nod, shuddering when his hands grazed up your hips to cradle your cheek, brushing away your stray tear.

“Good, close your eyes for me, yeah?”

Darkness embraced you with soothing calmness as he cradled you in his arms, feeling you up until his hands slipped under your petticoat, his calloused - when had he taken his gloves off? - fingers hooking the band of your lacy underwear. He spread your legs, hanging them over his wide shoulders, his hot breath hitting your sensitive mound. You flinched when he pressed his lips to your covered slit, burying his nose in your thick bush as he drew a calming pattern on your inner thighs.

The fire brewing in your core boiled, strong and coming forth in giant waves. It was unknown, a strange sensation that rocked you whole. He dragged his tongue up your wet hole, circling your blinking cunt and to your twitching clit, lifting the hood to have better access to your sensitive nerve. You shuddered and jerked with every touch, little mewls and whimpers slipping past your painted lips and graced his ears with your pretty sounds.

His tongue was skilled, nimble as he dove into you, pumping your tight cunt with his hot muscle, slurping up your slick and rolling your virgin clit with his thumb, rough and calloused, yet gentle with you. You squirmed and murmured incoherent words, something about it feeling weird, about your body burning and your mind lost to it, but he only coaxed you further, praising you for being so good and compliant for him.

“Good girl, telling me how good you feel,” he panted, diving back into your gummy walls, tongue brushing your softness before he replaced them with his strong and thick finger, plunging into you and hitting your sweet spot, “M name’s Ghost, love. Scream my name, yeah?”

His soft praises and talented fingers had you tipping over, the fire spilling over the edge with a blinding light. You cried out his name - is moniker - with mewls and gasps, arching beneath him and wrapped your legs tightly around his head as you came, gushing around his fingers. He slowly pumped his fingers, tongue lapping and drinking up your slick, gorging on your drooling cunt as if it were the sacred waters of the fountain of youth.

He left you limp and numb, lashes fluttering, peering at him with tired eyes, bathing in the adoring eyes of the spiritualist that made you come with his mouth and fingers alone —something new to you, a stranger in your heart and throbbing core. With his mask pulled over his tongue, mouth and chin still wet with your slick, he mumbled to you, tender words coaxing you to sit up for him.

“Reckon we get started, love?”

Taglist: @sae1kie @yeoldedumbslut @bvxygriimes @distracteddragoness @konigsblog @im-making-an-effort @daisychainsinknots @0alk0msan @danielle143 @dont-mind-me-just-existing-sadly @tuttifuckinfruttifriday @notspiders @brokenpieces-72 @petwifed @aldis-nuts @randominstake @cassiecasluciluce @hayleybarnesx

[redtsundere-writes]

Jinx | Sukuna Ryomen

mma fighter!sukuna ryomen x femalecoach!reader

Part 6. In My Hands.

Beginning. ← Previous | Next →

Sypnosis: Sukuna is a world champion with anger issues. It's believed by many that he is untrainable. Yeah, you can't train him, but you can dominate him. Contents: Fighting. Sukuna being Sukuna. female reader being dom. Jinx AU (the BL, not the character from lol) Warnings: Mentions and sexual harassment. Angst. Humiliation. Cursed words. Word Count: 3551 words. A/N: Hello peeps! This is a kind reminder that you need to fix your posture.

I still remember the terrible day when I met Naoya Zenin. Six years ago, my first coach told me that I had to expand my horizons if I wanted to reach my full potential, so he sent me to the top jiu jitsu gym in the country. This was before Team Black Gym even existed. The Zen’in dojo was a beautiful temple on the outskirts of traditional Kyoto. There were several satisfying zen gardens, tall bamboo stalks and small ponds with beautiful koi swimming around. I felt dirty stepping into such a pure and sacred place. 

I shyly walked into the dojo. I had taken off my shoes to step on the tatami, so I wouldn’t get it dirty. The place was packed with fighters training the same move at the same time on the count of an old man who was analyzing each one of them. The walls were decorated with display weapons, scrolls with calligraphy, flags, and symbols of martial arts. The sensei started a break as soon as his eyes landed on me. 

“Welcome, you must be the student Geto sent,” he said while his eyes analyzed my physique unabashedly. 

At that time I didn't have much muscle, and it was obvious that I was a beginner compared to them. Two years have barely passed since I started training jiu jitsu seriously to get into the UFC. I was sure he thought I was just a scrawny, innocent girl as well. 

“Thank you for letting me into your dojo. I promise I will do my best,” I said, bowing politely.

“You are not part of this dojo yet,” he corrected me. “I’ll test you to know if you really belong here,”  he explained serenely. 

My hands nervously tightened the strap of the gym bag across my body. I was used to facing off in national competitions, but this was different. I would have to fight someone from the Zen’in family, a professional who had probably practiced mixed martial arts since birth. Someone who was light years ahead of me in experience.

The sensei called out a blond boy with black tips, taller and more muscular than me. A very attractive boy, but that didn't matter now. Was I supposed to face a man? I had only faced women before, could I really beat him? In that case, I had to show off so I wouldn’t disappoint Geto. 

“Meet my son, Naoya. If you beat him, you can stay,” Naobito explained without further ado before he went to sit on a small cushion that was on a step at the back. 

“Nervous?” Naoya asked me as we stretched out in front of each other to start the fight. 

“I have never faced a man before,” I confessed. 

“Don't worry, I won't be so rough. Just for you,” he said with a smile. 

“Naoya, such behavior is unacceptable!” Naobito exclaimed in annoyance. 

“I'm sorry, I just can't hurt such a pretty girl,” Naoya smiled warmly without taking his eyes off me. 

I think it was the first time I felt my heart fluttering for a boy. That only made me even more nervous. Not only am I facing a boy for the first time, it would be the first time I would be facing a boy I like. So far he has only been kind and warm towards me. I wish he had stayed that way. 

“Please, give me your best. Make me try my hardest,” I asked him nicely. 

“I like your attitude,” He complimented me. My cheeks couldn't help blushing at that. 

After Naobito announced the start of the fight, Naoya went straight for my ribs with a kick. He was extremely agile and fast. I could barely dodge it on time. I knew this wouldn't be just like any other fight, this was the fight. All my confidence vanished with each jab that made my feet instinctively recoil. I was fast, but not fast enough to dodge every punch. 

I was a floor fighter by instinct, so my best strategy was to take him down. I contorted my body to try to apply a headlock, but he wouldn't let me. He was like a worm slipping through my fingers. As soon as he maneuvered to grab my wrists tightly, I knew I had made a big mistake. Naoya was also a floor fighter. Luck really wasn't on my side this time. 

We were two contortionists fighting for control of the situation. Time was a blurry concept, my limbs were screaming for a rest and my mind was arguing with my body that we had to resist if we wanted a place among the Zen’in. I would do everything in my power not to lose this fight. 

I elbowed him in his exposed cheek in a window of opportunity. I took the chance to pin him against the floor, his arms were against his chest and he was kneeing me in the back. I thought I had won the fight, but I didn't consider my opponent's amazing flexibility. He wrapped his right leg around my abdomen and cornered me against his other leg, knocking me to the ground with the strength of his legs in an instant.

“Shit,” I gasped trying to regain control. 

Naoya, having both arms free, was tearing me apart with jabs coming right and left. He had me cornered against his body like a dangerous boa as he was beating me relentlessly. I could only cover my face so he wouldn't knock me out. I was trapped, there was nothing I could do. I hit his back three times to announce that I was giving up. Naoya stopped and pulled himself away from me completely. 

“Good fight,” he said with his voice cracking, tired as I was. 

Naoya offered me his hand to help me up. I snorted and took it kindly, I had to behave like a good loser. I think that was the moment I started to like him. Even though he was sweaty and slightly beaten, he still looked like a damn angel. His smile was intact, his hair was unruly tousled and his green eyes looked at me tenderly. 

“She got Zen’in on her, I like her,” Naoya said to his father after I thanked him for letting me fight him. 

“Yes, it's just what Geto promised me,” Naobito mentioned while scanning me, still. “I've seen enough, you start tomorrow,” he warned me before announcing to the others that the class would continue soon. “I did it!”, I thought excitedly with a big proud smile on my face. 

“Congratulations and welcome,” Naoya shook my hand again in celebration. “Do you by any chance like Chinese food?,” he asked me out of the blue. I looked at him curiously while he smiled at me. 

That damn fake and hypocritical smile glittered in Team Black's small meeting room. Sukuna and the rest of his team were analyzing Naoya's fights to plan a strategy for the big fight. I had dedicated myself to watch each of his fights closely since I escaped from Zen’in Gym, just to see how someone else would beat the smirk off his face, but all those hours were finally coming in handy. 

“We can see that he is a good floor fighter with high stamina,” Gojo explained as he looked at the textual analysis of his fights in the last three years.

12 wins with 4 losses, a great streak without a doubt. Long and defined arms, strong legs and a beastly stamina. Half of his fights have ended quickly because he has cornered them against his body and the others have been by judges decision. He was still a superb fighter and has only improved since I met him. 

“We should go to the floor. Give him some of his own medicine,” Gojo said without taking his eyes off the documents. 

“I disagree,” I said while watching the fight on the screen. Gojo looked at me as if I just kicked his dog.

“I agree with Gojo. Sukuna was able to beat Toji Fushiguro in the last fight, he has improved a lot in floor fighting thanks to you,” Nanami commented. 

“I'm not saying it because I don't believe that Sukuna can beat a floor fighter, he can, but we can't take it to the floor in this fight,” I explained. “Naoya has two types of opponents: weak and strong. He acts very differently depending on which one he fights. Last month’s visit wasn't just to annoy us, it was to see up close what he's going to face soon,” I argued. 

“And which type am I?” Sukuna asked me, raising his eyebrow with curiosity. 

“Strong,” I stated. “He has only faced opponents that he has declared as strong 3 times. Yuta Okkotsu, Toge Inumaki and Aoi Todo when he got the stupid idea to fight for the heavyweight belt.”

I had seen those three fights live on television. The satisfaction of watching him suffer in the cage was better than any orgasm I've ever had. I had been watching him from afar all this time, I knew him better than he knew himself. I knew exactly what I was talking about.

“The weak are the opponents he knows he can beat easily, that's why he goes to ground quickly. With the strong ones, he usually takes his time because he knows he has no chance of beating them and only relies on his incredible endurance,” I explained. 

“What exactly is your plan?” Gojo asked me, not convinced by my idea. 

“We have to tire him out. Keep boxing and avoid the floor. Get him out of his comfort zone,” I explained. 

“I don't think that's the best option,” the white-haired man answered. 

“She knows him better than all of us. We’ll stick with her plan,” Sukuna said determinedly. 

“Is he defending me?” I thought to my surprise. I didn't think he would do something like that. I assumed he would be on Gojo's side being his lifelong coach, but I think he noticed that this fight mattered more to me than to him. Sure, he wants to keep his belt, but I want to break his pride. He was fighting for honor, I was fighting for revenge. 

“I agree with her. Sukuna is a great boxer, and now he knows how to escape from the floor. He can tire him that way for the last rounds,” Yuuji commented. 

“Well, I think that settles it,” Nanami sighed looking at Gojo. 

We left the meeting room. Nanami and Gojo went back to the office, while Sukuna, Yuuji and I were going back to training. I already had a foolproof training plan in mind to get my champion in his best possible shape. I would do anything to see Naoya suffer live. 

“Thank you for defending me back there. I assure you that you won't regret it,” I promised Sukuna. 

“I didn't defend you, I just made a good decision,” Sukuna said without paying me much attention.

“Call it whatever. Thank you,” I smiled at him anyway.

He looked at me like he always did, cold and serious. Every day I felt that I was getting closer to him. We may not have been the best of friends, but Sukuna knew he could trust me completely. I was really proud to have progressed that way with him. 

“Let's train!” I exclaimed excitedly. 

“I'm sorry to interrupt you,” someone said behind Sukuna. It was the physiotherapist, Shoko. “It's time for your session,” she reminded us.

“That's right,” Sukuna checked the time on his phone. “You can go now. See you tomorrow,” he said goodbye before following Shoko to her office. 

Sometimes I was surprised how often Sukuna needed so many sessions with the physiotherapist. It was at least one every week. When I was fighting, I didn't need more than one session a month. Well, that was until I messed up my neck, in which case, I went three times a week. As soon as they entered the medical room, I turned to Yuuji. 

“Something wrong with him?” I asked curiously. 

“What are you talking about?” He asked me, confused. 

“Is Sukuna physically well? Why does he need so many sessions with the physio?” I clarified. 

“Don't worry about him. He's fine,” he said with a small blush running down his cheeks. 

“You're a bad liar, tell me what's wrong,” I asked him.

“Well, it's just he has… “sessions” with the physiotherapist. Do you know what I mean?” he asked. Yuuji said the word “sessions” with a wink. 

Is Sukuna fucking the physiotherapist? That made perfect sense. I knew there was a reason why she was the only woman in the gym before I arrived. I just couldn't see her being his type. Shoko was very pretty, but it seemed like she didn't put much effort into her appearance. She always wore the same clothes, plus she smoked a ton, so always reeked of cigarettes. 

“I would never have guessed it,” I commented. 

“Neither do I. It's hard to tell with him, though. He's never had a girlfriend or even dated,” Yuuji commented. 

“That damn personality is the problem,” I thought. Sukuna was a ridiculously attractive man. While I was researching workouts that I could implement into his training, it occurred to me to look up his name on the internet. The first thing that popped out at me was the cover he appeared on for Men’s Health magazine. He looked amazing in the skin-tight bathing suit they had put him in as he was getting out of a pool. The drips sliding down his abs, the tattoos decorating his sculpted body and his piercing gaze. My mouth dropped to the floor in shock. 

“But I guess he's got the girls going crazy,” I mumbled in envy. 

“Yeah, he was the school’s bad boy. They all wanted to date him,” Yuuji explained. 

I could imagine him arriving at high school on a motorcycle like a rebel, leather jacket and dark glasses. Posing like a real unattainable hunk out of a chick lit movie. The girls surrounding him as he walked through the halls, not paying attention to any of them. 

“But he was once a horny teenager, he must have liked someone,” I commented. 

“I don't remember any girls at our school that he liked, but he would blush every time Megan Fox was on screen when we watched Transformers. I'm sure it made him feel that way,” Yuuji said, trying not to laugh at the memory. 

“I don't blame him. Megan Fox made all of us feel a type of way.”

We both started laughing and then said goodbye. The drive home was quicker than I thought it would be. I started mentalizing everything I needed to do when I got to my apartment. Doing my laundry, planning this week's workout, prepping my lunches, doing the dishes… So my mind was entertained until I got to my building. 

I walked up the stairs slowly, tired from today's workout, until I reached the fifth floor. I walked through the halls to the rhythm of the song playing in my headphones. I was almost there. I was so happy to finally rest for a while, until I saw an obstacle in front of the door.

Naoya was standing in front of my apartment dressed in a suit and a small bouquet of my favorite flowers. “What the fuck is he doing here? How does he know I live here?” I wondered as I stopped in my tracks to remove my headphones. He quickly noticed my presence and smiled at me like the cynical fucker he is. 

“You're finally here, I still haven't learned your work schedule,” he said while scratching the back of his neck. 

“Have you been following me again?” I asked, upset as I approached him. 

“I just want to make sure you're okay, that's all,” he answered. “Look, I even brought you your favorite flowers.” 

Our fingers brushed as I took the bouquet. That simple touch made me remember moments that I wanted to bury in the graveyard of my memories. When we were a happy, loving, healthy couple, before he became an obsessed maniac. I threw the bouquet roughly at his feet in total rejection and slapped him across the face. 

“I don't want anything from you. Get the fuck out of here before I punch you for real,” I ordered him. 

“Why are you playing hard to get and cold?” He asked as if he really didn't know why. 

“Because when I was easy, you almost raped me!” I exclaimed without shame that someone else heard our argument, if this could be called one. Talking to Naoya was like talking to a wall. 

“It doesn't count as rape, you were my girlfriend,” he spat.

“You drugged me, asshole!” 

“Whatever, I already apologized for that a long time ago,” he said, downplaying the issue. 

“I don't care about your apology, why can't you understand that? It's one syllable, no, no, no! Shall I tell you in Spanish? ‘No!’” I shouted in annoyance. 

“I will do my best to make you forgive me and get back with me,” Naoya said as he came closer to me. I walked away at his pace. 

“And I will do everything I can to get you to stop bothering me,” I answered. 

“Oh yeah?” He challenged me. “Why don't we bet on it? Since we want different things.”

“I'd rather make a deal with the devil than with you,” I snorted. 

“If Sukuna wins, I'll stop bothering you forever and admit that I wanted to rape you,” he offered without hesitation. “Is he really so confident that he would win?” I was intrigued. 

“What if you win?” 

“You'll have to leave Team Black and join the Zen’in Clan again.” Well that was less bad than I thought, knowing his twisted mind. 

“Why do you want me to join the Zen’in Clan?” I was confused. 

“I know I can't force you to fall in love with me again, for God's sake I'm not a monster.” Cynical bastard. “So I thought that if we spend a lot of time together, as we used to do, you will want to come back to my arms,” he explained. 

“You're crazy,” I said. 

“It's a great deal,” he said. I just shook my head to ignore his proposal, waiting for him to just walk away before entering my apartment. “Or don't you have faith in Sukuna?” I hate to admit that felt like a slap across the face. 

“Sukuna is going to kick your ass,” I barked.

“Then let's bet if you're so sure,” Naoya offered me his hand to agree to enter the bet. 

“You better hold up your end of it,” I said as I accepted his handshake. 

“May the best man win,” he said before squeezing my hand to place a kiss on my knuckles. I pulled it away from him and wiped it on my sweatshirt. He picked up the bouquet from the floor and handed it to me. I reluctantly took it so he would get the hell out of here. 

“Go away,” I ordered. Naoya smiled at me and left the way he came. I followed him with my eyes until he was out of my sight. As he was about to take the stairs, he turned around. 

“Remember that luck is always on my side, beautiful,” he said with a wink. 

I used not to believe any of that before. I was sure that luck didn't exist and that the only thing that existed was unique opportunities. Believing in luck is for weaklings like Naoya who don't trust their body and abilities. That's what I thought until I met Sukuna. 

“Luck may not be on my side, but it is on Sukuna's,” I said, imitating his cynical smile. Naoya reciprocated and walked out of my sight. 

Quickly, I entered my apartment and closed the door behind me. I dropped my gym bag by the entrance to go to the window. “No way was I going to keep this,” I thought. I opened the kitchen window and threw out the bouquet of flowers as far as I could like a football. I slammed the window shut and leaned against it to take a deep breath. 

My pulse was racing. I felt anxiety invading my chest and my memories were rushing through my mind. I removed the scrunchie that held my hair in a ponytail to run my fingers through it in an attempt to calm myself. 

I sat down at my small dining room table and pulled out my notebook to begin planning this week's training. I pushed out the tip of the pen with a “click”. I tried to write the first day's name and it wouldn't release ink. I scratched the entire sheet, but the ink just wouldn't come out. 

“Fucking hell! I exclaimed in annoyance as I threw the pen across the apartment. 

Tears filled with anger and frustration began to roll down my cheeks. I pulled my hair as I cried over the notebook. I was sick of living in fear, of Naoya always knowing where I was, of him not understanding that I didn't want to go back to him. These false memories bombarding my mind every time I saw him made me mad. I had to end this. I had to finish him off no matter what. Yes, he would fight against Sukuna, but I must pull some strings behind the scenes to ensure our victory. 

Next →

Masterlist.

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Taglist: @maskedpacific @thepurpleempath @mazzd4 @charlie-xo

(Let me know if you want to get tagged on the next chapter! :)

[julaibib]

Is it permissible to hang Islamic calligraphy wall art in the home?

There is no harm in hanging some Qur'anic verses on the walls of the rooms or the library whether written on plastic or wooden frames provided they are in a place where no children can play with them. As for what some people do, i.e. hanging some Qur'anic verses in the front of their cars exposing them to dust, dirt and even impurities this is unlawful as Qur'an should be treated according to its High Status. On the other hand, we remind you that we do not advise people to hang Qur'anic verses in their houses as Qur'an is for worship and meditation on its meanings and miracles and learning lessons from its stories. Indeed, Qur'an was not revealed to be used as a decoration. Allah knows best.

[raphsmuneca]

Monster pt. 2 - Azrielle

• 18+ • Tmnt AU • Tmnt Bayverse • Aged 30 + • Folklore, Romance, Violence • Inspired by ROTTMNT

((I just wanna let my tumblrinas/inos know, idk where I'm going with this story, but I'll be writing in small pieces & maybe by part 4 things will make more sense.)) :) ♥️🫶🏼

𝓜𝓞𝓝𝓢𝓣𝓔𝓡 (𝓟𝓽. 2) - 𝓐𝔃𝓻𝓲𝓮𝓵𝓵𝓮

-> 𝓟𝓽. 1 𝓱𝓮𝓻𝓮! <- ⬅️ Part 1

✧༺♥༻✧ ✧༺♥༻✧ ✧༺♥༻✧ ✧༺♥༻✧

There was nothing subtle about Hell’s Deviant Point.

The yokai swam and flew throughout the expanse freely, like an overgrown swarm of creepy crawlers, with their wings and horns. Some of their faces made me want to crawl back into my shell, and others, were human-like and beautiful even. Like the mistress Azrielle Cyprus...

The Boss Master, Izael, was a fourteen-hundred year old, descendant of the sea monster yokai, and now the master of this demon realm. Izael had a twin brother, Izmael; known to the humans as Satan; who was spellbound by a beautiful sorceress, which is said to be responsible for his death. Izael swore in the name of his deceased brother to protect his wee one. The little girl ended up in her uncle’s loving palms and has been with him since. Izael, himself, fathered a daughter of his own, a sweet young yokai, Izamary; the reason for our alliance with the demons and Mikey’s broken heart.

I don’t know how much of the first part is true, but Mikey’s annoying weeping | can vouch for. He was a sucker for love and of all women to walk the earth, he fell for one that didn’t even share the same dimension. But, who was I to speak...

Although, he’d rescue the demon master’s daughter, Izamary nor Azrielle, were allowed to marry outside of their own kind. But somehow, Izael didn’t seem to mind so much our nearness around the young ladies...

Or so Donnie “noted.”

“Raphael-San? Is that you?”

An older, raspy and high pitched voice pulled me out of the deep trance. I looked down to meet the face of the ancient Boss Master, Izael. The short statured demon barely reached my knees. If power was rated by height, I’d say he was as strong as a flea. Hmm...

“That’s right. Unless there’s another wise ass around?”

The elder’s laughter hurt my internal ears.

“Well, well, my son! Please do enter! You bring me silly tales of the human world, I presume?”

The antiquated demon enjoyed stupid stories, mostly that of humans. He found the human species to be “brainless, idiotic, and amusing.”

“Sorry, not tonight. I came because I have some questions, and thought maybe you could help me by answering a few of them for me.”

Izael turned his neck slightly, eyeing me up and down as he did so. Suddenly, the atmosphere in the room changed, the air felt thick, and the servants close by stiffened in their positions. The master’s silence was disquieting, delaying me of my premature inquiries. He knew something, but from my opinion, it was best to let him keep doing the talking.

“I know what you’ve come for, Raphael. Why don’t you follow me to my dojo and we can continue talking there.” He eyed his servants in distaste. “Be gone! Now!” He shooed them, hitting a few of his men with his walking stick.

“You and dad sure do have a lot in common.” That earned me an ugly frown from the old man. He and Splinter were well acquainted, but just like dad, the demon master wasn’t fond of being compared to the other. Grumpy old men. Damn, I sure as hell hope to never end up like them...

Unlike our own, this dojo presented an impeccable atmosphere, with ancient Japanese calligraphy and art adorning the washi walls of the equilateral room. The furnishings showcased a palette of neutral colors, embodying pure zen. Notwithstanding it’s seemingly more confined nature compared to our lair, this space paradoxically felt more spacious and relaxing. For a human, this was hell. For me? Leoless heaven.

Don’t get me wrong, I don’t hate my brother. Far from it. I just wished he understood me sometimes. Fuck! I gotta stop looking around and get back to what I came here for...

Answers.

The demon master must’ve read my face, because immediately after taking his seat at the chabudai, he motioned for me to sit across from him.

“Come, Raphael-San. I have much to discuss with you.”From the deep frown on his face, I assume it’s not going to be a tete a teté among a host and his visitor. This was serious and I had an inkling the Boss Master Izael had the answers to my questions long before I decided to come here.

✧༺♥༻✧

…….

“I know I was framed, Izael! But just how the fuck am I gonna find this jerk face if I don’t know his name?”

We were less than fifteen minutes into our conversation, when the demon master claimed to know exactly who the true murderer of that innocent girl was. The flashbacks kept intruding, infuriating me more as the demon lord went on. I remember every detail…Her hand reaching out to me, pleadingly. She wasn’t supposed to be there. The blood. She was just an innocent bystander…

“She was just an innocent girl! Another foolish teen! Why was she even there?! AHHHH!!”

I smashed my fists against the wood of the chabudai. Glad I didn’t break it.

“Easy, my son. All will fall into place in due time.”

“Izael, you know I wouldn’t disrespect you like this, especially after you knighting me and my brothers and welcoming us into your realm. But, please, in the name of fuckery, give me the name of the man who drafted me into his scheme!”

There was pain in his voice as he spoke to me. I could read through the calm of his tone, and from the looks of it, this mystery wasn’t only mine to solve. Izael needed me as much as I needed him.

"The man you seek lives among your kind, but he is a full bred yokai. He disguises himself as a man. Now, you know that I cannot reach your world without penalty or suffering. I’ve been chained to this plane for many a century. There is a night crawler much like yourself, but with ill intent, that has a lead according to one of my henchmen. I didn’t bother to reach you because I knew well that you’d eventually come to me.”

A yokai that lives among my kind? A night crawler? A lead?

“Why didn’t your henchman come to me?!”

“All wealth of news that comes to my attention by one of mine in this realm must be kept here, Raphael-San. You know this. You are a Deviant Knight in this world. You know my rules, and let that be the last time you question my actions.”

The old man was becoming irate with my demanding attitude. What else was new? Keep your mouth shut, dumbass!

“Okay, old man. Just don’t micro dose the information. I’m running out of patience.”

“Very well then. The night crawler I speak of is a vampire, who goes by the name of Nico De’ Jesus. He roams on your terrain as we speak. He is as greedy as he is bloodthirsty. He is the one who has told the story of the defeated terrapin in New York City. My henchman believes to recall the name of the maker of said terrapin’s misfortune after hearing Nico’s tale.”

“So there is someone else behind all this?! I fucking knew it! Agh!”

“There is. Vice.” The old man’s eyes twitched after speaking the name.

“Vice? And why would this “Vice” fella have it out for me? I’ve never heard of the guy before now.”

“Here’s the part you might find unpleasant. He wasn’t necessarily targeting you. To be more specific, he was seeking revenge on Michelangelo. You see, he is the brother of my daughter’s late fiancé, Joker. Or as his old crew liked to call him, Ace. Ace…Joker. Such ridiculous names. Anywho, I had placed an order for his execution. An order Michelangelo took upon himself to deliver, for the sake of my daughter’s safety.”

“Mikey?!”

My chest felt heavy, making it hard to breathe. The news was overwhelming. I had been trying to uncover the enemy who wanted to harm me, but Mikey’s sudden involvement was a shock. Throughout my life, I had been the one pursued, hated, and hunted. But my younger brother had never been in the line of fire. Not Mikey. Even with all the blood on his hands, Mikey never harmed anyone who was innocent. He was the least deserving of both punishment or cruelty of any kind. It all began to make sense…

“A brother for a brother.” My voice was hushed in disbelief. It was difficult to swallow. The only thing on my mind now was Mikey’s safety. Leo. Donnie. My brothers!

“My son, while I acknowledge your anger, I must make a most unpalatable request of you. I need the bold and audacious yokai…alive.”

This is no time for making requests. The old man must be losing his senses.

“Alive?! Forgive me, Izael, but have you gone mad?!”

Izael sighed now. He seemed agitated and at the same time, spent.

“Raphael, I need him here, do you understand? It is my judgement to make. He shall be punished under my court of law!”

I guess Izael had forgotten who I was. It was one thing to hunt disobedient yokai that brought harm to this world, but for a yokai to bring chaos into my world, to my life, to my brother’s life? No one was going to stop me from ridding both worlds of that demon! No, Izael. I'm sorry my friend, but this fuck face was mine to handle, and mine alone.

“Right.”

I got up to leave, but in less than a second, the demon master held a hand on my sai, stopping me from taking my leave.

“In order to make sure you follow my rules, Raphael, I’ll be sending someone with you. I do have eyes and ears in your world, but I need a voice of reason in my stead.”

Fuck! He’s onto me. Eh, who am I kidding? I’m a crappy liar.

“And just exactly who is this “voice of reason” that you speak of? And please don’t say it’s Silver Wing.”

A smirk formed on the demon’s face. In return, I gave him one of my shit eating ones. To think he could best me. Pfft!

“No, you belligerent beast! My niece, Azrielle, will be your guide.”

It felt like a frog had been lodged in my throat. I was so mouthy before and now I was tongue-tied! I had to take a moment before the air fought it’s way back into my lungs.

“Azrielle?”

“Yes. AZRIELLE!! Come child!” Izael called his beloved niece.

Her beautiful voice sung through the hallway just a few moments later. Azrielle, the princess mermaid yokai. Azrielle, the woman that haunted my dreams and kept me up at night. Azrielle....the reason I still had hope. Izael, you clever fuck. Silver Wing’s words rung true...

In this place, I really wasn’t the only monster.

✧༺♥༻✧ ✧༺♥༻✧ ✧༺♥༻✧ ✧༺♥༻✧

@the-cauldron-witch @ninnosaurus @iridescentflamingo @ferox-imagines @sophiacloud28 @milykins @adebauchedsloth @justalotoffanfiction @thepinkpanther83 @inspiredwriter @replicasey @akari180 @iheartchv @leosgirl82 @moonlightflower21 @imthegreenfairy86 @happymoonangel @thelaundrybitch @misty-angerose

• 𝓲𝓯 𝔂𝓸𝓾'𝓭 𝓵𝓲𝓴𝓮 𝓽𝓸 𝓫𝓮 𝓽𝓪𝓰𝓰𝓮𝓭/𝓾𝓷𝓽𝓪𝓰𝓰𝓮𝓭 𝓵𝓶𝓴! •

𝓡𝓮𝓫𝓵𝓸𝓰𝓼 𝓞𝓷𝓵𝔂! 𝓣𝓱𝓷𝔁𝔁 🫶🏼

[altschmerzes]

🌹🌹🌹 would absolutely LOVE if you had anything with Jamie and Sarah interacting... your version of sarah kent is everything to me <3

THANK YOUUUUU i really really love writing her, she's honestly one of my favourite elements of Most tl fics i write. characters like her, blank slates with a lot of possibility and just enough implication to be absolutely fascinating, are my kryptonite. i've got a whole fic about like. the evolving dynamic of her and jamie on the docket, and - of course - some stuff i'm SUPER hyped for coming up in wriggle up on dry land, which is where this is from. (far.... FAR ahead lmaooo)

it's. a bit long. (it's very long....) but hey y'all have waited a very long time for chapter nine so maybe we're all due some indulgence.

While Jamie has been in the house before several times, he hasn't put much effort into studying it before. There had always been something to do, some kind of point to hold his attention. Now, there's nothing. Even the sound is quiet and distant - just Sarah moving around in the other room. Left to his own devices, Jamie wanders and observes. There are medical textbooks crammed in next to kiddie stories on the shelves, all mashed together without any rhyme or reason. There are some art prints along one wall, mostly watercolours, along with a framed piece dotted with a border of flowers and calligraphied in a language he doesn't know - probably, he's gleaned through context clues, Hebrew. None of the furniture matches and somehow it all looks nice anyway. And then there's the part that brings Jamie to a stop entirely, his meandering footsteps halted in front of the far wall. The pictures.

It's not a large wall, but it's studded with enough framed photos to make it seem endless to Jamie as he takes in each one individually. In the least surprising turn of events imaginable, a great majority feature Phoebe. She is depicted as an infant, impossibly tiny and so fragile-looking Jamie is almost afraid even to look at the photo of her, and grows throughout into the age she is now. It would be no mystery to anyone who glanced at this wall what held the place of Sarah Kent's pride and joy. There's even a spectacularly hilarious picture of Roy wearing his baby niece on his chest in one of those little harness things, looking sternly at the camera. Jamie snickers at the sight of it, choosing to focus on that rather than in the small, hot ache he feels inside when he thinks too hard about the way Sarah looks at her daughter in the pictures of the two of them together.

Roy is in plenty of other photos too. There are a few snapshots of a boy and a girl with the same dark, curly hair, and one that Jamie immediately recognizes as the day that Chelsea won the Champions League, Sarah's arms around her brother's waist and twin elated grins on their faces. A woman with various brightly-framed pairs of glasses that Jamie vaguely recognizes is in almost as many photos as Roy. He squints at a picture of her and Sarah asleep on a couch together with identical posture and matching doctor's scrubs until he places her as Sarah's best friend, Maggie Something-or-Other. There are a few other friends, some coworkers, a group shot of Phoebe's class and one of Roy's team, and then...

Jamie's mouth is dry and his ears feel hot as he stands in Sarah Kent's house and stares at his own face. Because Jamie is up on that wall, too, in two very recent pictures. One of them is posed, from the day Richmond was promoted. He's standing with Roy, tucked tight into the man's side under his arm. They're both smiling, bits of red and blue confetti in their hair, eerily reminiscent of the Champions League picture of the Kent siblings together. The other framed photo is candid - Jamie crouched in the grass and looking seriously down at something, Phoebe craning her neck as she scrutinizes the same spot on the ground, her hands braced on Jamie's shoulder as she stands beside him.

There had been a beetle in the grass. Jamie remembers it clearly now that he sees the picture. She had come running over demanding his attention and telling him that he needed to come at once because there was a strange bug and she needed him to see it. He can still close his eyes and feel the fidgety press of her hands on his shoulder, the way she'd leaned the entirety of her small weight against him without a thought to whether he was sturdy enough to keep her standing. It was a really nice day. Oh, it was a little too cold and the wind kept picking up and slowing down at random and he'd slept poorly the night before and been tired, but it was a really nice day.

The beetle in the grass with its iridescent, shiny shell. Phoebe's warm little fingers, digging into his shoulder. She'd insisted on holding Jamie's hand on the walk back to Roy's house.

Sarah's footsteps are loud enough on the creaky wooden floor that, as lost in thought as he is, Jamie isn't startled by her presence when she arrives behind him. They're both quiet for a moment, studying the wall of photos.

"I'm up there," Jamie eventually says. It's a silly, stupid thing to say, but his throat feels thick and his hands are tingling a little bit and there's nothing else in his head.

"Yeah," Sarah agrees. "I can swap 'em out if you want. If you don't like those ones, I mean, you can have Roy send me some you do like."

That was... not the problem. Not the question.

"But I..." The rest of the sentence falls away, gone before Jamie can even figure out what it was going to be. She knows who he is. She knows his name and his history and how long it's been since she met him. It's not as if the pictures just appeared there one day. Sarah had done this on purpose. She had printed photos of Jamie and framed them and hung them up along with all the others of her daughter and her brother and her best mate.

With a sudden burst of impulsive drive, Jamie turns sharply to the side and wraps his arms around Sarah. He presses his face into her shoulder and breathes deeply, wrestling with the burning at the backs of his eyes and the catch in his breath. Sarah is shorter than him by just enough to notice, but when she hugs him back, he feels young and small. There are a dozen different things he wants to say - about how they're nice pictures, she can keep them up there forever as far as Jamie is concerned, about how hard it is to believe that any of this is happening at all - but he can't piece together any of them. From the way she just stands there with him, though, one of her hands running lightly up and down his back, he gets the idea that he doesn't need to say any of it. That Sarah already knows.

[armoreddragon]

how did you first get into making this stuff? do you enjoy it?

There's a lot of possible answers here.

For a couple years after college, I worked at a laser engraving and cutting shop. Leather was a material we knew we could cut, but nobody ever asked for it, so I looked up some basic info and put together some masks as demo pieces. Then I got fired for unrelated reasons, but decided to keep going with the masks on my own. A decade later, I’m still going.

I've always enjoyed making things. The focused calm of working a craft, the challenge of finding the problems that need solving, followed by the satisfaction of holding in your hands something that hadn't exited before. It’s hard to beat that feeling. If you haven’t done it for a while, I highly recommend making a habit of it.

Sometime in college I realized that if I kept making things just for myself, I would eventually run out of both space in my closet and money in my bank account. So I took the best photos I could of what I had, and started posting it up on Etsy.

In high school ceramics class, I had an idea to try and make a flexible dragon skin out of little bits of clay, all glazed differently. I had no idea how to do this. A friend of mine was like "Yo it sounds like you want to look up how to make chainmail for that." She was right.

I work in architecture by day, and the decision to do that was unrelated but definitely related to my crafting obsession. Designing a kitchen, a café, a house, takes months or years of work, most of which is tedious details like picking tile patterns or looking up exactly what order to layer different sealant tapes to make sure the walls are watertight. Designing a crafting project gives me a creative outlet that is immediate. I can sit down for an afternoon and take an idea from a sketch on trace paper, to a final mask formed up out of leather. There's an excitement to that. A reminder that, yes, I can make cool stuff quickly, without needing to sink two years into a project.

For a while I worked to teach myself to draw. I managed to get pretty decent at sketching from life, with a moderate understanding of anatomy and perspective. I liked art, so I thought I wanted to make art. But I struggled with it. If I was drawing something from my imagination, no matter how well I managed to put the lines down on the paper, I would ultimately look at it and just be sad that it didn't exist in the real world. So eventually I gave up on the drawing part, and focused on the part I seemed to actually care about.

I can't envision a version of myself that doesn't make things. I think on some fundamental level, I measure my worth as a person based on what I put forth into the world. I don't know what else to do.

When you decide to turn a hobby into a business, it of course takes some of the delight away. It's no longer something you do when you want to relax and have some fun. It becomes an obligation, to make and ship orders on time, to pack up your stuff and bring it to craft fairs, to track your expenses and file your taxes, to stay on top of the constantly changing social media landscape. But it also lights a fire under your ass. You can't just keep making the same thing you made three years ago–you have to keep making new stuff, keep improving your techniques, keep reaching for new ideas that have never been made before. You lose some of the joy, but you gain a lot of satisfaction.

All through my childhood I filled my closet with little handicrafts kits, that I got as gifts or that caught my eye when following my dad to the art store. Calligraphy, wood carving, weaving looms, boondoggles, spirographs, knitting, crochet, fancy nautical knots, sculpey, and more that I can't remember. After all those different things, I’m so glad that I found a couple specific crafts that really grabbed me, that take enough work to develop expertise, that have expansive enough applications and possibilities, that I could devote a decade or more of my time to focusing on them.

I’d been interested in the furry fandom ever since little fantasy reading teenager me tried looking for stories where the dragons were the main characters, and I found people online who were doing just that. There’s a powerful do-it-yourself attitude that’s baked into the core of the fandom: The world isn’t giving us the art that we want, so we’re going to make it ourselves. I keep having ideas for things that I want, that don’t exist yet. If I want them to exist, I have to be the one to make them.

My dad was a photographer, and I spent many childhood afternoons with him in his darkroom in the basement, delightedly washing negatives, turning them gently over in their canisters of chemicals, sitting still in the dark as Dad unspooled the sensitive film, squinting in the red light as the projected images magically re-emerged on the clean white paper. What could be more amazing, more normal, more right, than having your own little space to work such magic for yourself.

In about 2008 or 9 I ordered my first batch of metal scales, with the idea of trying to make a dragon tail in time for Halloween. It took probably a couple weeks to figure out how to make it, and within a week I had thought of how to do it better and disassembled the entire thing. By the 3rd or 4th time I'd rebuilt it, I thought that it was probably good enough that I wouldn't feel embarrassed to post it online and see if someone might want to buy it.

Of course I love working on these things I make. But I don't think that's exactly why I make them.

[theink-stainedfolk]

Character Profile Tag

Thank you for the tag @willtheweaver

Here is my intelligent but dumb in love, Rafael Huang Rui

---

Name: Rafael Huang Rui

Age: 26

Sex: Male

Species: Human

Appearance: Huang Rui is a striking figure, with delicate yet masculine features that make him stand out, even in the bustling city of Suzhou. Standing at about 5'9", he has a slender yet refined build that reflects his scholarly nature more than physical labor. His skin is fair, a result of spending much of his time indoors, studying or teaching, rather than toiling under the sun. His hair, jet black and straight, falls just past his shoulders, often tied back in a simple yet elegant manner, highlighting his high cheekbones and sharp jawline. His almond-shaped eyes are a warm shade of brown, filled with intelligence and a quiet intensity that commands attention. Huang Rui typically wears modest but fine hanfu, favoring lighter, earthy tones such as soft greens and browns that reflect his connection to nature and simplicity. His presence exudes calmness, though there is a subtle strength in the way he carries himself.

Occupation: English teacher and aspiring novelist.

Family: His father is a respected government official, working in the local administration. His mother passed away when he was younger, and he has an older brother who runs the family’s trading business.

Pets: None, though he has a fondness for birds and often leaves out food for the sparrows outside his window.

Best friend: Shen Yi, though their relationship is complex, as Shen is more of a dangerous ally than a typical friend.

Describe their Room: Huang Rui's room is a perfect reflection of his orderly and scholarly mind. The scent of ink and aged paper fills the air, as books and scrolls line the wooden shelves along one wall. The desk, positioned near a large window that lets in natural light, is cluttered with half-finished manuscripts, ink pots, and brushes, giving a glimpse into his creative process. His bed, simple and neatly made, rests against the opposite wall, draped in soft, earth-toned linens. There are a few personal touches—like the small jade ornament his mother gave him before her passing, which he keeps on his bedside table, and a delicate bonsai tree sitting near the window, which he carefully tends to each morning. The room is a quiet sanctuary, where chaos is kept at bay, allowing his mind the space to explore ideas and stories.

Items in their purse/bag: A small notebook for writing down ideas or observations, An ink brush and portable inkstone, A silk handkerchief, A few coins, A book of poetry, Dried tea leaves

Hobbies: Writing and reading, Practicing calligraphy, Tea ceremony, Tending to his bonsai tree, Strolling through the countryside

Favourite sport: He doesn’t participate in physical sports often but enjoys watching the graceful movements of martial arts performances.

Abilities/talents/powers: Mastery of languages, particularly English and Mandarin, Exceptional writer and poet, Skilled in calligraphy, Strategic thinker, with a talent for diplomacy, Basic knowledge of self-defense, though he rarely uses it

Relationships: His family, particularly his father, have high expectations of him. His connection with Shen Yi is complicated by their unusual arrangement, mixing trust, tension, and fascination.

Fears: Failing to live up to his family’s expectations, Being manipulated or losing control of his own life, Seeing his written works used in dangerous or unintended ways

Faults: Overthinks situations, leading to indecision

Tends to withdraw emotionally, making him hard to read

Can be overly idealistic, not always seeing the darker side of things

Good points: Intelligent and well-read

Thoughtful and empathetic, especially to those he cares about

Dedicated to his craft and the pursuit of knowledge

Honorable, values integrity

What they want more than anything else: Huang Rui seeks creative freedom and the ability to write stories that impact people’s lives, without having to bend to the expectations of his family or society. Inwardly, he also yearns for a deep, meaningful connection with someone who truly understands him.

---

I'll tag @finickyfelix @leahnardo-da-veggie @illarian-rambling @winglesswriter @paeliae-occasionally

@the-golden-comet @thecomfywriter @roarintheheavens @drchenquill @wyked-ao3 @the-inkwell-variable

[legrandefungus]

Another piece of art I commissioned!

This one's for my fella Torbern! And I actually have some writing I did for this one too!

I commissioned it from @nyanbinarymischief! Go check out their work!

Write and write, the experiment I have at the moment is just as interesting as the last four. And this one is on my body! I've already did a bit of testing on a different dragon. Ahh, no good in putting it off much longer, participants in my tests have been a bit rare lately.

A scribble and a jot, a scratching noise and the smell of charred scales. Just like all the others performed on himself, it is painless, but still with the notification in his mind that there would be. He hummed a little tune as he wrote, the letters incomprehensible to all but himself, lost to the artwork found in his maddened calligraphy.

𝙵𝙾𝚁 𝚃𝙷𝙴 𝚂𝙿𝙰𝙲𝙴 𝙲𝙾𝙽𝚃𝙰𝙸𝙽𝙴𝙳 𝚆𝙸𝚃𝙷𝙸𝙽 𝚃𝙷𝙴𝚂𝙴 𝙻𝙴𝚃𝚃𝙴𝚁𝚂 𝙰𝙽𝙳 𝙰 𝚅𝙰𝚁𝙸𝙰𝙱𝙻𝙴 𝚂𝙿𝙰𝙲𝙴 𝙱𝙴𝚃𝚆𝙴𝙴𝙽 𝚃𝚆𝙾 𝙰𝙽𝙳 𝚂𝙴𝚅𝙴𝙽 𝙵𝙴𝙴𝚃 𝙵𝚁𝙾𝙼 𝚃𝙷𝙴 𝙴𝙿𝙸𝙲𝙴𝙽𝚃𝙴𝚁: 𝙸𝙵 𝚃𝙷𝙴 𝙰𝚁𝙴𝙰 𝙸𝚂 𝚂𝚃𝚁𝚄𝙲𝙺 𝙱𝚈 𝙰𝙽𝙾𝚃𝙷𝙴𝚁 𝙴𝚇𝙸𝚂𝚃𝙸𝙽𝙶 𝙾𝙱𝙹𝙴𝙲𝚃, 𝙻𝙸𝚅𝙸𝙽𝙶 𝙾𝚁 𝙽𝙾𝚃, 𝚃𝙷𝙴 𝚁𝙴𝚂𝚄𝙻𝚃𝙸𝙽𝙶 𝙵𝙾𝚁𝙲𝙴, 𝚆𝙸𝚃𝙷 𝚃𝙷𝙴 𝙰𝚁𝙴𝙰 𝙾𝙵 𝙰𝙿𝙿𝙻𝙸𝙴𝙳 𝙵𝙾𝚁𝙲𝙴 𝙸𝙽𝙲𝙻𝚄𝙳𝙴𝙳, 𝙰𝙲𝙲𝙴𝙿𝚃𝙸𝙽𝙶 𝚃𝙷𝙴 𝙲𝙾𝙽𝙲𝙴𝙿𝚃 𝚃𝙸𝙽𝚃𝙸𝙽𝙶 𝚃𝙷𝙴 𝚃𝚈𝙿𝙴 𝙾𝙵 𝙵𝙾𝚁𝙲𝙴, 𝚆𝙸𝙻𝙻 𝙱𝙴 𝙰𝙽𝙽𝚄𝙻𝙻𝙴𝙳, 𝚃𝙷𝙴 𝙾𝚁𝙸𝙶𝙸𝙽𝙰𝙻 𝙵𝙾𝚁𝙲𝙴 𝚁𝙸𝙳𝙸𝚁𝙴𝙲𝚃𝙴𝙳 𝙱𝙰𝙲𝙺 𝙰𝚃 𝙸𝚃 𝙸𝙽 𝙰 𝚁𝙰𝙽𝙳𝙾𝙼 𝙾𝚁𝙳𝙴𝚁 𝙾𝙵 𝙰 𝙻𝙸𝚂𝚃 𝙰𝚂 𝚂𝚄𝙲𝙷: 𝙲𝙴𝙽𝚃𝙴𝚁, 𝚃𝙷𝙴 𝙱𝙰𝚁𝙺, 𝙻𝙴𝙵𝚃 𝙴𝙰𝚁, 𝚁𝙸𝙱𝚂 𝙸𝙽 𝙳𝙴𝚂𝙲𝙴𝙽𝙳𝙸𝙽𝙶 𝙾𝚁𝙳𝙴𝚁, 𝚁𝙸𝙶𝙷𝚃 𝙵𝙾𝚁𝙴𝙻𝙴𝙶 𝙱𝙾𝙽𝙴, 𝙾𝙽𝙴 𝙴𝚈𝙴 𝙲𝙷𝙾𝚂𝙴𝙽 𝙰𝚃 𝚁𝙰𝙽𝙳𝙾𝙼 𝚆𝙸𝚃𝙷𝙾𝚄𝚃 𝙰𝙳𝙳𝙸𝚃𝙸𝙾𝙽𝙰𝙻 𝙳𝙰𝙼𝙰𝙶𝙴 𝚃𝙾 𝚃𝙷𝙴 𝙱𝚁𝙰𝙸𝙽 𝙳𝚄𝙴 𝚃𝙾 𝙵𝙾𝚁𝙲𝙴, 𝙷𝙸𝙶𝙷𝙴𝚂𝚃 𝚂𝚃𝚁𝚄𝙲𝚃𝚄𝚁𝙰𝙻 𝚆𝙴𝙰𝙺𝚂𝙿𝙾𝚃, 𝙻𝙴𝙵𝚃 𝚆𝙸𝙽𝙶 𝙼𝙴𝙼𝙱𝚁𝙰𝙽𝙴, 𝚂𝙺𝚄𝙻𝙻. 𝚃𝙷𝙸𝚂 𝙵𝙰𝙲𝚃𝙾𝚁 𝙳𝙾𝙴𝚂 𝙽𝙾𝚃 𝙰𝙿𝙿𝙻𝚈 𝚃𝙾 𝙼𝚈 𝙽𝙾𝙽𝙾𝚁𝙶𝙰𝙽𝙸𝙲 𝙵𝚁𝙸𝙴𝙽𝙳𝚂, 𝙰𝙽𝙳 𝙾𝚁𝙶𝙰𝙽𝙸𝙲 𝙾𝙽𝙴𝚂, 𝙸𝙵 𝙸 𝚆𝙴𝚁𝙴 𝚃𝙾 𝙷𝙰𝚅𝙴 𝚃𝙷𝙴𝙼 𝙸𝙽 𝚃𝙷𝙴 𝙵𝚄𝚃𝚄𝚁𝙴.

The dragon finished writing, poured his magic into the seared-on words and smiled just a bit wider, the grin looking somehow more unnatural on the already eerie 'Mudwing.'

There we go! Nice and complete! Now, to test it out! ...Ah, I should probably go ask something or someone outside to confirm I did it correctly! I can't ask the walls or floor to try, it would be a bit rude, given all the things I've asked of them lately, and it wouldn't work regardless! They're my best friend!

[ineffablelunatic]

@oddsydviscous, @thattransboyaled and I have made a fabulous Ghosts highschool AU!

Thomas: Massive theatre kid, is a member of the drama club and is in every play, plays the acoustic guitar in a sappy band. He carries a satchel full of poetry and writes with an actual calligraphy pen. He has a new crush every week.

Kitty: Eats lunch in the art block every day, has had a long-term secret crush her entire time at the school. He's actually some hapless guy in one of the years above who's never spoken to her, but she's convinced herself that they're in love. Really she just wanted to have a crush, rather than actually liking him. She and Thomas are best friends.

Humphrey: Always hangs out in the library with his nose in a book, massive English nerd (the subject, not the nationality). He runs the school magazine and he's very, very shy.

Captain: Also a theatre kid, although less outrageously so, plays the trumpet in the marching band. He's the one who plays the song at the start of every Remembrance Day assembly. CCF Squadron leader. Good at languages. Also on the fencing team and joint head of the cricket team.

Mary: Hopelessly shy, almost never talks unless she's picked on by a teacher, everyone is shocked if she actually speaks. She runs the gardening club, which has a small but loyal group of members. Sometimes she bakes cookies for her close friend group.

Pat: Joint Head of the student council, also Head Boy. He runs a lot of clubs. Nobody is quite sure how he manages to attend all of them. He's not necessarily popular, but nobody actively dislikes him - after all, he's hard not to like. Except for the teachers, that is - no real reason, he gets good grades, but he talks to anyone who's next to him, no matter how many times they move him.

Julian: Typical bad boy. Poor attendance, throws parties every weekend, sticks gum under the desk, vapes in the Maths block toilets. He and Robin sell sweets behind the bike sheds. He has a lot of special offers on, but only if you're cool enough. He's also obscenely rich, but he just wants the money for extra pocket change.

Robin: Physics nerd, struggles with English. He does Julian's homework for him (he blackmails Julian into paying a fiver for each piece, or else he'll snitch). The two of them dominate the chess club. They essentially have an underground black market for contriband going. Somehow they haven't been caught yet.

Fanny: Head girl, Joint Head of the Student Council. Not very popular. She's the teacher's pet and enforces all the rules, even though it's not her job. Everyone hates her, but she gets good grades, especially in Maths. She doesn't really try in any other subject. Always telling people to tuck their shirts in and stop talking. All the Year 7s are scared of her. Her and Pat organise the discos, and she loves textiles class.

Alison: The beloved student counselor and head of Pastoral Care. The students always go to her for help, partially because she keeps a bowl of sweets on her desk. She also teaches PSHE, and she has a lot of pride flags on her wall. She's really into art, and she met Mike by sitting next to him on an art course. Lets kids do mindful colouring the day before their exams.

Mike: The PE teacher who's nice enough, but he's always on his phone and doesn't let you wear a jacket, even when it's freezing cold and he's wearing a scarf. Still, all the students like him. He'll let you sit off sport if you don't feel up to it.

Havers: Transferred mid-year, was very close with Captain before he left. Basically the only person Captain spoke to. He was one of those kids that everyone knows but nobody has a strong opinion on. He also hung out in the library a lot. He struggled with Maths, French and Spanish but was good at most other things. Very sporty - head of the cricket team alongside Captain, fastest runner, on the table tennis team. Captain is good at languages and liked to tease him about it.

Annie: A student from the Catholic school down the road who taught Mary to speak up for herself a little more. She bunks off school to hang out with Mary. She's in the year above, and so she goes off to university before Mary, but they still call each other a lot, and she comes back to visit.

Bonus info: Pat and Fanny became joint heads of the Council because it was a tie. Pat wanted to do Rock, Paper, Scissors but Fanny said it was undignified. Fanny is also somehow on the PTA, despite not being allowed.

Alison plays music in class and has fairy lights in her office. She takes her class outside for walks in the summertime - but only if they want to go, otherwise they can just sit outside. She passively talks about feminism when the class are doing something boring, punishes those straight boys for the smallest things because she knows how they act around other people. Gets kids to write other things they could say instead of swearing.

Alison's screensaver on her work computer is a wholesome meme. Julian regularly hacks into the school system, although he needs Robin's help to do it. Sometimes he changes his grades using that method. If he does too well in Drama or Art he lowers them so he looks cooler. If he has negative housepoints he removes them and replaces them with positive ones.

[liminalmemories21]

hi Lim

I hope you’re doing well, having a nice weekend. Here’s a nice ask…

I love knave verse, but I feel incredibly clueless when it comes to art. So, where would you recommend starting for someone that would just like to appreciate art more? Do you have a favourite artist? Are they the same?

- Kit 🖤

Firstly, thank you so much. I'm so flattered you love knave-verse.

Secondly - art.

Okay, so first thing I'll say is don't get hung up on who or what you're supposed to like. The only thing that's important is if the art makes you feel something. Hi, yes, a lot of the things TK says are things that I think. (shocking! I know ;)

Second thing, art isn't just a thing that hangs on a wall - it's photography, and sculpture, and graffiti, and comics, and fans, and tea cups, and the things people wore, and the buildings they built. Art is everywhere around you. You don't have to go to a museum to see it or appreciate it.

Third thing, most major cities have an art museum (and so do most large universities), and most of them offer free entrance to the public either once a week or once a month - and if they don't try your local library to see if they have museum passes you can check out. Then - just go to a museum. Don't go with anything in particular in mind, just wander. Walk past the things that don't do anything for you, stop and read the placard on the things that snag your attention. Turn left when you see a color that grabs you.

Wander through all the different galleries. What turns me on isn't necessarily going to be be what turns you on - my parents like seascapes and 17th C Japanese screens a lot more than I do. I like Sargent and Islamic calligraphy more than they do. Rothko leaves me cold, but one of my best friends can spend hours looking at his work.

Google what museums are in your area. The big art museums will be survey museums - a little bit of everything. But, smaller museums will be specific. There's a museum to the history of the shoe in Toronto (it's amazing - if you're in Toronto you should go - the whole building is shaped like a shoe box!).

Fourth thing, try just scrolling through tags on tumblr marked for art, and follow people who post things you like.

I found the Urban lego thing on tumblr and Georgie Seccull was also a tumblr discovery, and I have never wanted to get on a plane to Australia more. I found Anila Quayyum Agha when I saw some of her art on display at a mall in Chicago and was immediately obsessed.

And, I think, lastly - if you're still reading - just have fun with it. Don't pressure yourself about it, just kind of relax into it. Art is personal, and there's no right or wrong answer.

[islamicwall]

4 Quls Calligraphy, Kufic Islamic Wall Art , Islamic Four Quls in Arabic – islamicwalldecors

The best 4 Quls calligraphy, 4 quls kufic islamic wall art, Four quls printable calligraphy for home decor In Kufi Script & Thuluth Script.

[siriuslystarbucks]

James doodled snitches and his crush' initials on exam (god help me this is cute), i think he'd totally keep a diary! Would carry it in a bag with books and be in general pretty careless even trough he adorns pages with SB + JP and waxes poetics abt him. Maybe Sirius would keep a diary, too? Probably charmed so the pages would seem empty, hidden in dorm etc. Also I think Sirius would write poetry abt James and would take awhile to show him even after they got together :D

A typical morning diary entry by James Potter:

Dear Diary, today, Sirius decided to part his hair on the left side instead of the right, so when I saw him, I nearly tripped down the stairs. He caught my arm before I could, because he's wonderful <3 I really should ask what product he uses in his hair, because I swear it's getting thicker and smoother every time I touch it.

We have Potions first thing, and since Slughorn lets us partner up each time, I get to see Sirius pull his hair back and then let it down again. He'll whinge the whole time, but he always smirks at me while he does it. Besides, his voice is so nice that him complaining never bothers me. Perish the thought. Sirius has the voice of an angel. Sirius Potter... I bet he'd sound particularly good saying his new name. Okay Diary, I admit that I haven't asked him out yet, so our marriage is in the distance, but I'm confident it'll happen one day. I mean, let's be honest: he has a special smile for me. He wouldn't have a me-smile if we weren't on the same wavelength.

Off to classes for now,

James of the future James and Sirius Potter Household <3

And of course the entire page is covered in hearts and Sirius's initials and little doodles of Padfoot and Prongs playing together.

His nighttime entries are more poetic because he's tired enough to really let go and be romantic. He stuffs it in his bag with all his regular textbooks and doesn't worry about it.

Sirius's diary on the other hand, is charmed out the wazoo. Nobody knows what's in it, and they don't have a hope of finding out unless he says so. He may or may not have been perfecting his romantic poetry over the years. He's quite proud of the latest ones, but gods, no, James don't ever read it, it's embarrassing! James finds all of his poems to be the best thing in the world, but Sirius was very hesitant to show them because they're so damn mushy. It's impossible to read one and not know how head over heels he is for James. It's like having his heart on display, and even when it's James he's showing it to, it feels too vulnerable.

(If James thought he could get away with it, he'd write all of Sirius's poems in calligraphy and draw art around them and frame them. When they get a house, he would be all too happy to plaster their walls with the poems)

[grandhotelabyss]

Thoughts on Guy Davenport?

A great essayist, the generalist to rebuke all specialists, whose dizzying associations gradually overlap and braid together until all of humane culture appears as a unity. He was almost the last of that type, after his friend Kenner, or, in a more strictly academic vein, the likes of Frye and Auerbach. But Kenner, Frye, Auerbach—or even Bloom, Steiner, Sontag—all feel much heavier, more armored and therefore crushing in their erudition, while Davenport had the lightest touch. He was a true belletrist, an amateur in the etymological sense, who seemed to be doing it for fun.

I'll give just one example, from the title essay in the soon-to-be reissued collection, The Geography of the Imagination. I quoted part of it here before almost a decade ago, so I assume it's been forgotten by now: a literally extravagant ("from Latin extra- ‘outside' + vagari 'wander'") exegesis of Poe, who stands revealed, by the time Davenport is finished, neither as a panting pulp scribbler nor a dipsomaniacal poète maudit but as an encyclopedist of Joycean proportions, except in miniature:

Poe titled the collection of his stories published that year Tales of the Grotesque and Arabesque. These two adjectives have given critics trouble for years. Grotesque, as Poe found it in the writings of Sir Walter Scott, means something close to Gothic, an adjective designating the Goths and their architecture, and what the neoclassical eighteenth century thought of mediaeval art in general, that it was ugly but grand. It was the fanciful decoration by the Italians of grottoes, or caves, with shells, and statues of ogres and giants from the realm of legend, that gave the word grotesque its meaning of freakish, monstrous, misshapen. Arabesque clearly means the intricate, nonrepresentational, infinitely graceful decorative style of Islam, best known to us through their carpets, the geometric tile-work of their mosques, and their calligraphy. Had Poe wanted to designate the components of his imagination more accurately, his title would have been Tales of the Grotesque, Arabesque, and Classical. For Poe in all his writing divided all his imagery up into these three distinct species. Look back at the pictures on the wall in his ideal room [in the essay “The Philosophy of Furniture”]. In one we have grottoes and a view of the Dismal Swamp: this is the grotesque mode. Then female heads in the manner of Sully: this is the classical mode. The wallpaper against which they hang is Arabesque. In the other room we had a scene of Oriental luxury: the arabesque, a carnival piece beyond compare (Poe means masked and costumed people, at Mardi Gras, as in “The Cask of the Amontillado” and “The Masque of the Red Death.”): the grotesque, and a Greek female head: the classical. A thorough inspection of Poe’s work will disclose that he performs variations and mutations of these three vocabularies of imagery. We can readily recognize those works in which a particular idiom is dominant. The great octosyllabic sonnet “To Helen,” for instance, is classical, “The Fall of the House of Usher” is grotesque, and “Israfel” is arabesque.”

But no work is restricted to one mode; the other two are there also. We all know the beautiful "To Helen," written when he was still a boy:

Helen, thy beauty is to me Like those Nicaean barks of yore, That gently, o'er a perfumed sea, The weary, way-worn wanderer bore To his own native shore.

On desperate seas long wont to roam, Thy hyacinth hair, thy classic face, Thy Naiad airs have brought me home To the glory that was Greece And the grandeur that was Rome.

Lo! in yon brilliant window niche How statue-like I see thee stand, The agate lamp within thy hand! Ah, Psyche, from the regions which Are Holy Land!

The words are as magic as Keats, but what is the sense? Sappho, whom Poe is imitating, had compared a woman's beauty to a fleet of ships. Byron had previously written lines that Poe outbyrons Byron with, in "the glory that was Greece / And the grandeur that was Rome." But how is Helen also Psyche; who is the wanderer coming home? Scholars are not sure. In fact, the poem is not easy to defend against the strictures of critics. We can point out that Nicaean is not, as has been charged, a pretty bit of gibberish, but the adjective for the city of Nice, where a major shipworks was: Marc Antony's fleet was built there. We can defend perfumed sea, which has been called silly, by noting that classical ships never left sight of land, and could smell orchards on shore, that perfumed oil was an extensive industry in classical times and that ships laden with it would smell better than your shipload of sheep. Poe is normally far more exact than he is given credit for.

That window-niche, however, slipped in from Northern Europe; it is Gothic, a slight tone of the grotto in this almost wholly classical poem. And the closing words, "Holy Land," belong to the Levant, to the arabesque.

Now I haven't read Davenport's fiction yet. Word on the street is that the best of it is a pederastic fantasia on themes from Fourier, but I could be wrong.

[foxymacchiato]

Attack on Titan OC - Taylor "Tay" Schuyler🌻🖋️🤎

♡.ToyHou.se | Instagram | AO3

{CW: Mentions of self-harm, spoilers for Attack on Titan}

Name: Taylor Schuyler

Meaning: Taylor- to cut; Schuyler- scholar

Alias (if any): N/A

Nickname(s): Tay (her preferred name), Tay-Tay (by the twins and Joanna), Sunflower (by her father), Doe

Age: 16 (850); 20 (854)

Gender: Female

Nationality: Eldian (German-French descent)

Birthday: May 31st, 834

Birthplace: Windsor Village, Wall Rose

Current Residence: Scout Regiment Headquarters (location varies)

Sexual Orientation: Demisexual

Relationship Status: Single (gets together with Eren in 854)

Language(s) spoken: Eldian

Life-Long Dream: To travel the outside world, and fill out a sketchbook of her journeys and create paintings of brand new landmarks

Goal(s): To fulfill her dream of freedom beyond the walls, to make her family proud, to fulfill her father’s dream, to improve her combat skills

Like(s): Sketchbooks and journals, drawing, collecting painting supplies, sewing, exploring new places, rainy days, cleaning, her family and friends, strawberry cream cake, rats, smooth calligraphy pens, painting by the river, talking about her passions, Agatha, flowers

Dislike(s): Titans, migraines, entitled people, being uninspired, people looking through her sketchbook without permission, being talked down upon, the dark, cold weather, moving around on the ODM-gear, a messy workspace, tea

Bad Habit(s): Overthinks, quick to panic, daydreams too much, bites her nails, scratches her arms or neck when she's overly anxious, has a hard time saying no, fidgets with her locket when she’s nervous or bored

Hobbies: Drawing, painting, sewing, baking, writing

Fear(s): Becoming a failure, the dark, disappointing her family, losing her family and comrades, being eaten by a titan, making her Uncle Eli angry

Personality: Loyal, creative, determined, anxious, ambitious, generous, hardworking, insecure, moralistic, obedient, compassionate

Favorites(not necessary)-

Food(s): Bacon, strawberry cream cake

Color(s): Warm colors, soft pink

Season(s): Autumn

Activities: Sketching, painting, sewing

Time of Day: Night time

Extras: Art- sketching, oil painting; Animals- cats, foxes; Literature- mythology, horror; Flower- Sunflower

Appearance-

Height: 5' (153 cm)

Weight: 129 lbs. (59 kg)

Hair style: Short, slightly wavy at the tips, bangs parted from her face

Hair Color: Strawberry brunette

Eye Color: Forest green

Skin Tone: Peachy

Body Shape/Build: Petite, curvy hips, slightly muscular, full thighs

Birthmarks: N/A

Scar(s): She has burn scars on her shoulder blade after surviving the recovery operation of Shinganshina 

Other: N/A

Health-

Memory: While she has a habit of zoning out sometimes, she does have a very good memory and can be very observant.

Sight (do you need glasses?): Normal

Mental: She struggles with severe anxiety and is easily prone to anxiety attacks

Physical: When she gets really frustrated or nervous, she tends to scratch her skin, mostly her neck or arms. At one point, it got so bad that she ended up bleeding. She's hard of hearing in her right ear after surviving the battle of Shinganshina and using a flare gun to signal her location without properly covering her ear.

Sleep patterns (how you sleep and how much rest do you get?): She doesn’t have the best sleep schedule. She likes to stay up a little later, especially when she’s working on a drawing. This ends up backfiring on her the next morning, but she never learns her lesson.

Allergies/Other: She gets migraines easily. Due to her sensitive stomach, she will often get motion sickness after flying around the gear for so long; she has thrown up the first few times when she was training to use it, but she forced herself to get used to it and that's proven to be her best skill. She is very lactose intolerant.

Abilities/Statistics (1- lowly skilled, 10- highly skilled and tell why)-

3D Maneuvering Gear: 6.5/10, great as a distraction however is easily prone to motion sickness if she uses it for too long or has intense movements 

Intelligence: 7/10

Martial Arts: 5.5/10

Battle Skill: 3.5/10

Agility: 9/10

Strategy: 4/10

Teamwork: 8.5/10

Passion: 9/10

Affiliation: Scout Regiment; Yeagerist

Former Affiliation: 104th Cadet Corps 

Grad. Rank: 13th

Status (Alive, Missing, etc.): Alive

Relationships-

Parent(s): Dawson Schuyler (late-father), Miriam Schuyler (mother)

Sibling(s): Nathanael Schuyler (oldest brother), Corine Schuyler (younger sister), Clovis Schuyler (youngest brother)

Other Relative(s): Elijah Kaufman (familial friend), Agatha (pet cat), Sara Weber (sister-in-law), Alexandria Schuyler (niece)

Love Interest: Eren Yeager

Best Friend(s): Melody Oglethorpe, Joanna Elytis, Mikasa Ackerman

Friend(s): Sara Weber, Eren Yeager, Armin Arlert, Jean Kirsten, Connie Springer, Marco Bodt, Sasha Blouse, Historia Reiss, Reiner Braun, Franz Kefka, Hannah Diamant, Mina Carolina, Reiner Braun (former), Thomas Wagner, Dr. Finch, Sam Dossam, Niccolo, Bethany Sawyer

Enemy(ies): Titans, Elijah Kaufman, Reiner Braun, Floch Forster, Zeke Yeager

Hero(es): Hange Zoë 

Rival(s): N/A

Quote(s):

“There’s a lot of stories to tell behind a painting or even a simple drawing. That’s why I always wanted to see the world outside and bring a journal with me. I wanted to make paintings of what I would see and tell my own stories of my adventures of getting to experience what freedom felt like.”

“I may not be as strong as my comrades, but that won’t stop me from trying to fight. I'm not some scared little girl anymore, I'm a soldier dedicating my heart to humanity, and I'm here to take back my freedom!”

“Then I’ll help you…I know what I’m getting myself into, I know the risks, but I don’t want to just stand aside and wait to die, not if it means I can’t at least try to fight for the sake of giving the people I love a better life than this. So I’ll help you.”

History/Life: Taylor Schuyler is the second daughter of the Schuyler household of Windsor Village. Her father Dawson was a squad leader for the Scout Regiment, and her mother Miriam was the owner of the town’s local bakery. Taylor—Tay, as she liked to be called—worked alongside her mother and older brother Nathanael in running the bakery and going on bread-runs into Trost. As a child, Tay was very shy and only had one best friend—Melody Oglethorpe, the daughter of the owner of Windsor Ranch where Nathanael and Lana loved to frequent—and was almost always by the side of her big brother. Despite her introverted and awkward personality, she had a strong bond with her family and her circle of friends. One of her biggest passions when she wasn't working was art, and had been shown to have quite a talent for it. Everywhere she went, she carried a satchel containing all the supplies she needed: a sketchbook, graphites, colored pastels, and oil paints. When she found that Nathanael was planning to join the scouts, Tay made the quick decision to go with him, and to help fight alongside their father and their uncle Elijah Kaufman for humanity’s glory, and she made her goal to someday explore the outside world to create marvelous paintings and artworks of what she finds on the other side of the walls. When Dawson was killed on an expedition and Elijah returned severely injured, this tragedy left the Schuyler family devastated, especially Tay who was “Daddy’s little girl.” As a result, Nathanael made Tay promise to never join the scouts, and as such would hold off on applying for the cadets to remain with their mother and the twins during their time of grief. In the year 845 after the titan attack on Wall Maria, Tay enlisted in the 104th Cadet Corps alongside Nathanael, Mel, and Mel’s close friend Sam Dossam—however instead of training for the scouts, she was training to make the top ten in order to apply for the Military Police to obtain the benefits to support her family, just the same as her big brother. Throughout the course of her training, Tay wasn’t the strongest or brightest recruit in her squad; in fact, she was viewed as the weakest, and the constant struggles worsened her anxiety to the point of breakdowns. She would've been sent out to the fields had she not worked herself to exhaustion in order to prove to Commandant Keith Shadis that she was capable of becoming a strong soldier. It took her the longest to get used to using the ODM gear, despite how easily sick it made her, and after intense training and help from others, she became an expert at functioning the gear and it's now considered her best skill in combat. Her training was also a factor in her changing as a person: Over the years, Elijah had emotionally abused her after becoming an alcoholic, and had conned her out of money claiming he was getting help for his injured leg until she found out that he was using her money for gambling. She gained the courage to confront him, but when he attempted to harm her she fought back and made it clear she would no longer take his abuse. 

Throughout her training, she began to have second thoughts about joining the interior. She had formed an unlikely friendship with the titan-killing-obsessed blockhead Eren Yeager, a cadet with set ambitions on joining the scouts. She didn’t make the top ten, but she was still offered a position in the interior upon recommendation. She knew what she truly wanted, and it was after the traumatic titan attack in Trost, she reluctantly made the decision to join the Scout Regiment. She was taken under the wing of Section Commander Hange Zoë and Joanna Elytis, and in charge of taking sketched documentations and journaling any valuable information on missions. Four years later, Lana joined the Yeagerist movement to help achieve Eren’s goal to give their precious friends a better life and ensure the protection of their island from any outside enemies.

Tay met Eren Yeager and Mikasa Ackerman a year before Wall Maria fell. When her youngest brother Clovis fell ill with bronchitis, Grisha Yeager traveled with his son and adopted daughter to explore and perhaps make new friends. Eren was initially hostile towards her at first whilst Mikasa was harder to read, but the three of them seemed to warm up to each other. She wouldn't see them again after they returned to Shinganshina. Eren, Mikasa, and their friend Armin took shelter in Trost after their home was destroyed. In a desperate attempt to get food, Eren tried to steal bread when Tay was out on her first bread-run on her own. To his surprise, Tay was able to fight back, but upon seeing how desperate he was to get food for his friends and remembering that his dad helped her family she thought she owed it to them. Eren saw her as an odd girl and didn't understand why she was always so nice to him, and was sometimes a little annoyed with her antics. There have been many incidents where she put him in his place and proved to him she wasn’t a doormat. They grew closer over the years, and as crazy as Tay thought he was for daring to want to join the Scout Regiment, she admired him for being set on achieving his freedom and he was one of the reasons she was inspired to go. When he was around her, Eren was always laughing and smiling at some of her jokes, and he felt like he could open up to her. Their bond led to them developing feelings for each other, but it took them some time to be honest about how they felt due to their shared fear of facing death before they could be together.

Despite the losses and the battle she had to face, letting go of those who have used and abused her kindness and generosity, and the trials she would face in her relationship with Eren, Tay fought hard to become the soldier she always wanted to be in order to finally achieve the free life she always wanted. 

Bonus Facts

-Her voice: Japanese- Miyuki Sawashiro (Kurapika, Hunter X Hunter); English- Suzie Yeung (Makima, Chainsaw Man)

-She's a Gemini.

-She has a cinnamon scent.

-Her alignment is lawful-good.

-Dawson was convinced that before Tay was born that she was going to be a boy and picked the name for her. When she was born and he found out she was wrong, he insisted they keep her name because he thought it suited her.

-She got her favorite locket from a merchant when she and her friends visited the marketplace. She loved the detailed engraving of the Wings of Freedom, but kept it empty until she decided what sketch to put inside. After the Rumbling, she puts a sketch of Eren inside of her locket.

-She tried to improve her drawing skills so she could draw a perfect picture of Dawson so she didn't forget what he looked like. Art is something very therapeutic for her and helps her relax.

-She doesn't want to have children and put them through what she's been through. There's also the factor that she doesn't really like children that much.

-She is very secretive about her sketchbook and will only let very few people look at it. Nathanael flipped a page before she could warn him and he ended up finding some nude art, and they never spoke of this nor did he dare do that again.

-Eren asked Tay if she could draw a picture of his late-mother and tried his best to describe her as to not forget what she looked like. When she showed him the drawing, he cried from happiness knowing he wouldn't forget his mother's face.

-In a modern AU, she works as a barista for an independent café/freelancing artist. Her aesthetic would also be pink goth that matches Eren's grunge aesthetic. (Power couple.)

-Her cat Agatha is based off of my real life cat, also named Agatha

-Being an Aries and Gemini pairing, Eren and Tay balance each other out and it makes them a compatible couple. She finds herself intrigued by his determination and encourages him to pursue his dreams, and he finds himself always listening to her go on her biggest passions and she is soon willing to open up to him. They bring out the best in each other, however they do have a handful of issues with both of them being as hard headed, and Lana will not hesitate to tell him off if he raises his voice at her.

-Tay and Mel are such close friends that a majority of their friends and Nathanael thought they were dating for the longest time.

-The ship name between her and Eren is TayRen

-Her spirit animal is a doe

.

OC Profile Credit- AliceCantBeStopped; Divider- ianrkives

[penkraft123]

Warli Paintings: Exotic form of simple art

A Picture is a ballad without words. The Warli Art shape is the pictorial dialect used to speak to the tribal people craft of the early tribes of Thane area, Maharashtra.

It portrays the dancing, chasing and development of land with the tribal hovels made in a dark, mustard yellow or the white foundation. Keeping in mind the end goal to educate these structures to the understudies, we embrace a particular showing strategy, so that even non-craftsmen can paint the lovely warli. All these and more can be investigated about the antiquated India.

The word “Warli” originates from “warla” which implies a real estate parcel or a field despite being in such closeness of the biggest city in India, Warli tribesmen are as yet not urban. Warli Art was first found in the mid-seventies. While there are no records of the correct beginnings of this workmanship, its underlying foundations might be followed to as right on time as the tenth century AD. Warli is the distinctive articulation of day by day and get-togethers of the Warli tribe of Maharashtra, utilized by them to enhance the dividers of town houses. This was the main method for transmitting fables to other people who are not familiar with the composed word.

These works of art don’t portray fanciful characters or pictures of divinities, however delineate social life. Pictures of individuals and creatures, alongside scenes from everyday life are made in a free cadenced example. Painted white on mud dividers, they are entirely near pre-notable buckle artistic creations in execution and as a rule delineate scenes of human figures occupied with exercises like chasing, dancing, sowing ,collecting, going out, drawing water from well, drying clothes.

It fundamentally comprises of geometrical examples

1. Circle: speaking to the sun and the moon

2. Triangle: triangle got from mountains and pointed trees

3.Square: showing a consecrated walled area or a land parcel. So the focal rationale in every custom painting is the square

These geometric figures are consolidated to shape lovely examples .Like two summits of triangles are combined to frame a human figure.

Warli canvases on paper have turned out to be exceptionally prevalent and are presently sold all over India. Today, little compositions are done on fabric and paper however they look best on the w alls or as colossal wall paintings that draw out the tremendous and otherworldly universe of the Warlis. For the Warlis, convention is still clung to however in the meantime new thoughts have been permitted to leak in which encourages them to confront new difficulties from the market.

Learn this simple art, find designs & explore the world of warlis at Penkraft through our workshop.

Penkraft conducts classes, course, online courses, live courses, workshops, teachers’ training & online teachers’ training in Handwriting Improvement, Calligraphy, Abacus Maths, Vedic Maths, Phonics and various Craft & Artforms — Madhubani, Mandala, Warli, Gond, Lippan Art, Kalighat, Kalamkari, Pichwai, Cheriyal, Kerala Mural, Pattachitra, Tanjore Painting, One Stroke Painting, Decoupage, Image Transfer, Resin Art, Fluid Art, Alcohol Ink Art, Pop Art, Knife Painting, Scandinavian Art, Water Colors, Coffee Painting, Pencil Shading, Resin Art Advanced etc. at pan-India locations. With our mission to inspire, educate, empower & uplift people through our endeavours, we have trained & operationally supported (and continue to support) 1500+ home-makers to become Penkraft Certified Teachers? in various disciplines.