#chinese brush strokes

[thousand-lights-temple]

holding it the right way makes his hand hurt…

[dinosaurwithablog]

Spectacular ✨️ ✨️

“Simplicity is the ultimate sophistication. ~ Da Vinci

Artwork by the Chinese artist Mo Xuanzi

[jptattooart]

Chinese Calligraphy With Ink Brush Stroke . . . #chinesecalligraphy #chinesecalligraphytattoo #calligraphytattoo #backtattoo #asianinkandart #instattoo #instatattoo #tattooist #tattoohk #hktattoo #hongkongtattoo #書法 #書道刺青 #書法刺青 #書法紋身 #紋身 #香港紋身 #刺青 #캘리그라피타투

[hoshifighting]

Hey 👋🏻 🤭 What do you think is each member’s fav position to eat their woman’s pussy in? What other stuff do they do while eating it?

how seventeen gives you oral

seungcheol loves any position where he can maintain eye contact and use his strong arms to hold your thighs apart. he focuses on clit stimulation with his tongue, sucking the bud inside his mouth, making your skin stretch as he pulls his head back. after, he lets it out with a 'pop' to make you melt on the mattress.

jeonghan prefers the 69 position, where he can simultaneously receive and give pleasure. he enjoys teasing your clit with light flicks of his tongue, then gradually increasing the intensity. you can feel him smirking as his tongue flicks over your clit, teasing you to the edge before backing off, and likes to feel the vibrations as you moan around his cock. 

joshua likes having you lay back on the bed with your legs draped over his shoulders. is laid-back and relaxed, taking his time to make sure you feel every moment, can pass a whole hour giving you oral, until the bed and his face are a mess. dont mix oral with fingering, always one at a time. 

jun thinks its more pleasing when your hips are lifted by a pillow for better access. he alternates between slow licks and quick, teasing flicks, often humming against your folds to add vibration. (c'mon as a chinese guy, he def knows how to give u cunnilingus) 

hoshi loves when you're sitting on his face, giving you full control. he uses his hands to spread your folds apart, focusing on your clit with his tongue while his fingers work on your g'spot.

wonwoo is methodical, almost scientific in his approach. likes you in a chair, your legs draped over the armrests. likes rhythmic licks and gentle clit sucking, combined with slow, deep fingering, loves to feel your pussy lips pressing at the base of his fingers, meaning they're on the right spot. he'd listen to every gasp, every moan, adjusting his technique to bring you the most pleasure.

woozi learned that he liked when you’re on the edge of the bed and he’s kneeling in front of you. he’s a master of precision (maestro🤷‍♀️), focusing on your clit with the tip of his tongue and adding fingers to stroke your g'spot—he started to use more of his fingers after seeing how affected you get. he knows exactly how to push you over the edge, and he takes pride in it.

seokmin always wants the prone position, with you lying flat on your stomach. he spreads your legs and dives in from behind, focusing on clit stimulation with occasional teasing bites, as the sharp tip of his nose dives into you, or presses on your clit.

mingyu any position where you squish his cheeks with your thighs, he enjoys it. he uses both his tongue and fingers to overstimulate you, so he can drink all of your juices—thats the best part for him—, often making deep eye contact to make you shy.

minghao, he likes you on all fours and he'd mix it up, sometimes adding his fingers, sometimes just using his mouth, keeping you guessing. and one of his techniques is clit teasing. using a brush, a feather… he likes making it wet, messy, using your own lubrification, or giving you an oil bath. he likes to stimulate not only your clit or your wet hole, but the whole area around it. 

seungkwan enjoys the standard legs up with your hands holding behind your knees. likes to mix it up with playful clit teasing and edging, keeping you on the brink of orgasm for as long as possible. if he's going to give you oral, can't be in the middle of a quickie. 

vernon has always preferred the standing position because it allows him to eat your pussy anywhere, while enjoying the sensation of your legs shaking. with you leaning against the wall. he’s all about deep, long licks and adding his fingers slowly, curling them always!! 

chan likes showing off his strength. lifting you onto a countertop, spreading your legs wide as he kneels in front of you. his hands are everywhere, holding you steady. is a bit of a wildcard, always bringing something new to the table. likes to finger you in another moment, because when he's eating you out, his attention is fully on eating you out. 

[fuckyeahchinesefashion]

brush stroke control practice for chinese painting(guohua) by 仙豆

[misswynters]

Xavier as a first-time dad

featuring. xavier x fem! reader

synopsis. You were exhausted coming home after the birth of your baby. Since he isnt allowed in the kitchen, he had to order takeout for the two of you.

a/n. there’s not enough fanfics for him here (let me know if any mistakes)

Xavier carefully carried your newborn into the house. The baby was swaddled snugly in a soft, pale yellow blanket. Nestled securely in his arms, their tiny face peaceful in sleep. Xavier’s gaze never left the small figure in his embrace, a mixture of awe and protectiveness etched into his expression. Every step he took was as if he were cradling the most fragile treasure in the world.

“You know, I can hold the baby,” you teased softly, your voice tinged with playful exhaustion as you followed him inside.

Xavier turned just enough to glance at you over his shoulder, a smirk quirking at his lips. “Nice try, sweetie. You’ve been through enough these past few weeks. Besides,” he added, his tone dropping to a low murmur, “I don’t trust anyone else with them right now. Not even you.”

You rolled your eyes, but the amusement in them betrayed your affection for his overprotectiveness. The truth was, you didn’t have the energy to argue. After three long weeks in the hospital filled with sleepless nights, tests, and recovery, your body craved the comfort of home.

As you sank onto the soft couch in the living room, a sigh escaped your lips. The soft cushions welcomed you like an old friend, and for the first time in weeks, you felt a sliver of relief. Watching Xavier move toward the nursery with the baby still cradled securely, your heart swelled. He carried them like they were the world itself, and to him, maybe they were.

From your spot on the couch, you could hear the faint creak of the nursery door opening and Xavier’s hushed voice as he whispered soothing words. Quiet rustling of the fabric followed, no doubt as he carefully laid the baby in the crib. Moments later, the soft sound of the baby monitor came on, a small but comforting one.

When Xavier returned, his broad frame filled the doorway for a moment before he crossed the room to where you lay sprawled out. His gaze softened as he took in your exhausted form, your head resting on the armrest and your legs curled beneath a throw blanket.

“You doing okay?” he asked gently, kneeling beside you, his hand brushing a stray strand of hair from your face.

“Better now that we’re home,” you mumbled, your eyes fluttering shut briefly.

Xavier’s lips twitched into a smile. “That makes two of us.” He sat down beside you, his arm draping lightly across the back of the couch. Once you felt his warmth, your body seemed to release the last threads of tension holding you upright. Sleep began to pull at you heavily. Before you fully drifted off, you whispered your thanks to him.

His hand found its way to your hair, his fingers moving in slow, soothing strokes. “You don’t need to thank me for anything,” he whispered, his voice filled with quiet adoration.

As you fell asleep, Xavier continued to watch over you with his hand never leaving your hair. The peaceful rise and fall of your breathing brought a sense of calm he hadn’t felt in weeks. After a moment, he carefully scooped you into his arms, cradling you as delicately as he had the baby earlier.

Carrying you down the hallway, he nudged open the bedroom door with his foot and stepped inside. He laid you gently on the bed, taking his time to rearrange the pillows and pull the blankets over you. His touch was soft as he tucked the edges around you. Leaning down, he pressed a tender kiss to your forehead, which he lingered for a moment as if to seal the gesture with his love.

“Sleep well, sweetheart,” he whispered, his voice barely audible.

Back in the living room, Xavier placed the baby monitor on the kitchen counter. He opened one of the drawers and pulled out a slightly crumpled Chinese takeout menu, smoothing it out on the counter with a small grin.

“Let’s see here,” he mused to himself, scanning the familiar list of options. “Sweet and sour chicken for sure… Egg rolls, fried rice, maybe those dumplings you love…”

As he dialed the number, he leaned against the counter, his mind already picturing your face lighting up at the sight of the food. He knew how much you’d missed simple comforts like takeout, and he couldn’t wait to surprise you with it when you woke up. For now, though, Xavier stayed attentive to the soft sounds of the house. Faint rustling of the baby shifting in their crib, the noises coming fromthe baby monitor and your steady breathing from the bedroom.

. . .

An hour has passed, awoken by the sound of crying. Disoriented for a moment, you blinked, registering the faint sound of your newborn’s cries coming from the nursery. As if in sync with the baby, your body protested with aches and exhaustion, the soreness from the last few weeks making it hard to sit up. You rubbed your eyes sleepily, already dreading the walk outside the bedroom.

Meanwhile in the kitchen, Xavier stood frozen, torn between the sound of the baby’s cries and the impatient knock on the door signaling the arrival of the takeout. He ran a hand through his already messy hair, whispering to himself, “Okay, think, Xav. Baby first. Always baby first.”

Moving with the urgency of a man who didn’t want to mess up, he hurried to the nursery. The baby’s tiny cries softened the moment he stepped into the room. It was as if they sensed his presence. He carefully lifted them into his arms, his hands were gentle as he cradled their small body close.

“Hey, hey, it’s okay, little one,” he whispered, his deep voice sounded smooth like it was rich in honey. The baby immediately quieted, their tiny fists curling against his chest. He let out a small, relieved chuckle, pressing a soft kiss to the top of their head. “That’s more like it. You just wanted your dad, huh?”

The knock on the door sounded again, more insistent this time. Xavier grimaced, glancing between the baby in his arms and the door. “Alright, we’re multitasking,” he muttered.

Cradling the baby with one arm, he strode toward the door, managing to unlock it with one hand while still keeping the little one snug against him. The delivery person raised an eyebrow at the sight of him holding a baby but said nothing as Xavier offered a sheepish smile and handed over the cash he had ready in his pocket. “Thanks,” Xavier said, balancing the takeout bags in his free hand. The baby let out a small coo, and Xavier smiled down at them. “See? Teamwork.”

Just as he closed the door, he heard the soft shuffle of your feet behind him. Turning, he found you waddling toward him with a sleepy expression laced with discomfort. Your hair was a mess, and your eyes were half-closed however to Xavier, you were perfect.

“Should’ve woken me up,” you said, your voice groggy as you leaned against the doorframe for support.

Xavier’s brow furrowed with concern, but his teasing nature slipped through as he quirked a smile. “And miss this adorable scene of you waddling over like a sleepy penguin? Never.”

You shot him a weak glare, though it was hard to stay annoyed when he stood there with your baby in one arm and the takeout in the other.

“Penguin? Really?” you asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Fine,” he conceded, stepping closer to you. “A very elegant, sleepy penguin.”

Despite your exhaustion, a small laugh escaped you, and Xavier leaned down to press a kiss to your forehead. “You should still be resting,” he murmured, his voice soft. “I’ve got this under control.”

“Clearly,” you replied, gesturing to the takeout bags. “What’s next, a juggling act?”

“Don’t tempt me,” he joked, but his gaze softened as he carefully adjusted the baby in his arms. “Come on, let’s get you back to the couch. I’ll set up dinner and bring you something to eat.”

Before you could protest, he was already guiding you toward the living room, his free hand lightly resting on your back. Once you were settled back on the couch, he placed the takeout bags on the coffee table and handed the baby to you, their tiny face now completely at peace.

“They’re good now, thanks to you,” you said, holding the baby close.

“Of course they’re good,” Xavier replied, his tone playful but warm. “They know their dad’s a pro.”

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t help the smile tugging at your lips. Watching Xavier move around the room as he set up the food and ensured you had everything you needed. It filled you with a deep sense of gratitude. He was always calm and steady but his devotion made your heart swell.

As he sat down beside you, a plate of your favorite takeout in hand, he leaned in and kissed your temple. You rested your head against his shoulder as the baby settled into a peaceful sleep between you.

[letsatomicbanana]

Ink!Sans Cultural Inspiration

(revised version)

art by @/sakuramochi64 on twitter

Disclaimer!

This post aims to explore and analyze both the prominent and subtle East Asian cultural influences—primarily Japanese—that have shaped the character of Ink!Sans. By examining these influences, we can better understand how traditional East Asian aesthetics and artistic practices are woven into Ink’s design and powers. If any information in this essay is inaccurate or unintentionally offensive, please don’t hesitate to reach out! This essay serves as a revised and updated version of the analysis conducted last year, incorporating new insights and refined perspectives to enhance our understanding of Ink!Sans’s character and his cultural influences.

Ink!Sans by @comyet/@myebi

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''It was a night where it felt like i was a miserable artist and i was very frustrated at my work and it felt like i wasn’t worth alot (we all have these), then I came across a picture of a japanese ink brush, and it was all I needed to start doodling a concept.

That’s how Ink is born.''

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According to Ink’s creator, Comyet, the idea for Ink!Sans was sparked by an image of a brush specifically crafted for sumi and Chinese ink art. In China, the tradition of using specialized ink brushes, known as Chinese writing brushes, has been a foundational element in the art of calligraphy and traditional painting for centuries. These brushes are highly valued for their precision and versatility, allowing artists to produce a range of strokes, from fine lines to bold, expressive swashes. The brush itself is composed of a bamboo handle and a carefully tapered head made from animal hair, designed to hold and release ink in controlled flows.

This tool became central not only in Chinese culture but also influenced Japanese, Korean, and Vietnamese art, where calligraphy holds a similar cultural significance and is closely tied to writing systems derived from Chinese characters. These brushes symbolize the control, fluidity, and intentionality required in both written language and visual art across East Asia. This deep-rooted cultural importance of the ink brush inspired Ink!Sans's character design and powers, allowing him to wield 'ink-based' abilities, symbolizing both creativity and adaptability. His main weapon—a brush—reflects this heritage and further emphasizes the connection between art and battle, as he channels the brush’s traditional associations with fluidity and strength into his fighting style, merging the arts of calligraphy and combat.

(visual example of an ink calligraphy brush)

At glance, the ink material is an enduring medium that still surrounds society till this day and it's used in multiple cultures across the world.

Writing with ink calligraphy brushes is also common in Europe and the Middle East, where artisans developed ink using a unique combination of iron salts and oak galls. This type of ink, known as iron gall ink, initially appeared in rich, dark tones, making it highly desirable for manuscripts and official documents due to its bold, readable quality. However, over time, the iron in the ink oxidized, resulting in a distinct color shift to warm, rust-like brown tones. This characteristic fading can still be observed today in ancient manuscripts, such as early European literary works, where the reddish-brown hues give a sense of history to these documents. The durability and aesthetic appeal of iron gall ink contributed significantly to its prevalence in both regions, influencing the artistry of calligraphy and manuscript illumination for centuries.

Like previously mentioned, Ink!Sans was inspired by traditional ink materials developed in East Asia, where artisans mastered the creation of carbon-based black ink, often using soot or charcoal mixed with binding agents like animal glue. This type of ink, known for its rich, deep color and lasting durability, was a staple in East Asian calligraphy and artwork. Unlike iron gall ink, this carbon-based ink maintained its dark, almost jet-black color for centuries, even in varying environmental conditions. The resilience of this ink allowed ancient texts, paintings, and scrolls to retain their striking contrast and clarity, making it a celebrated medium in East Asian art and culture. Ink!Sans draws inspiration from this enduring quality, symbolizing strength, creativity, and the timelessness of artistic expression

(visual example of an ancient art piece that used carbon-based black ink)

To note, unlike iron gall ink, carbon based inks are still very common to this day.

Although the primary Chinese calligraphic scripts were well established by the fourth century, calligraphy as an art form has continually evolved over the centuries, adapting to new cultural and aesthetic influences. Skilled calligraphers, who spent years mastering brush techniques and perfecting their own unique hand, were celebrated for their distinctive styles, and their works became templates for both art and personal expression. Over time, subsequent generations of artists studied these revered styles, incorporating and reinterpreting them to reflect their individual voices and the changing social landscapes. This ongoing transformation has kept Chinese calligraphy dynamic and relevant, and it remains a respected art form today, blending tradition with contemporary aesthetics.

In Japan, calligraphy also held deep cultural significance, symbolizing both personal refinement and intellectual achievement. Calligraphy was regarded as a mark of scholarly sophistication and artistic taste, with a variety of tools developed to enhance the writing experience. One notable example is the suzuribako ("ink stone box"), a portable lacquered wood box designed to store an inkstone, water dropper, brushes, and solid ink sticks. These boxes were crafted with precision and adorned with intricate lacquer designs, reflecting their owner’s status and appreciation for art. Suzuribako were lightweight and convenient, enabling calligraphers to take their tools outdoors or to scenic locations to write letters, diary entries, or poetry. This practice not only facilitated creativity but also connected the act of writing with nature, creating an immersive experience where one could find inspiration in the surrounding beauty while crafting words in elegant brushstrokes. The combination of these refined tools and settings underscored calligraphy’s role as a deeply personal and aesthetic pursuit in Japanese culture.

From this perspective, it is essential to highlight that Ink's character draws inspiration from traditional ink calligraphy, a detail reflected in his distinctive speech font, 'Note This'.

(Example of Ink's canon speaking font and ancient calligraphy)

Also clarified in an ask on her side blog, Comyet explained that traditional samurai clothing served as a key inspiration for Ink's outfit redesign in 2020. Ink's creator thoughtfully incorporated these characteristics to enhance Ink’s visual appeal and connection to his main source of inspiraton. This influence is particularly noticeable in the first and second analyses of Ink's character, where we see clear visual cues from iconic Japanese garments like the hakama.

(Ink!sans reference sheet for the 2020 design, credit goes to @/comyet)

Ink's pants were inspired by hakama, a traditional Japanese garment known for its distinctive design as skirt-like trousers, typically worn over a kimono. Hakama are historically associated with a range of activities, from ceremonial occasions to martial arts, and are often considered a symbol of status and refinement. Specifically, Ink's pants appear to be inspired by the umanori style of hakama, which is characterized by a split or division in the middle, allowing for greater freedom of movement. This style was traditionally worn by samurai and other individuals involved in horseback riding, as the design allowed for ease of movement and flexibility when mounting or riding a horse.

The umanori hakama were not only practical for riding but also served as a functional yet elegant garment, embodying the balance of form and function typical in Japanese clothing. By incorporating this style into Ink's character design, Comyet likely intended to evoke themes of mobility, agility, and strength, while subtly referencing Japanese martial traditions and the samurai ethos. This choice enhances Ink's overall aesthetic, highlighting his dynamic, action-oriented nature, suggesting that his character is both rooted in tradition and capable of fluid, graceful movement.

The hakama was not merely a functional garment but also a powerful symbol of social status, loyalty, and the samurai's role in Edo society. While the hakama was predominantly worn by samurai, it also found its place in the wardrobe of scholars, priests, and members of the aristocracy, who wore it as part of their ceremonial dress.

Furthermore, Comyet has explained that Ink's outfit and appearance were partially inspired by the clothing worn by samurai, as depicted in ukiyo-e prints from the Edo Period of Japan. Ukiyo-e, which translates to 'pictures of the floating world,' was a popular genre of woodblock prints and paintings that flourished from the 17th to the 19th centuries, showcasing scenes of everyday life, landscapes, kabuki actors, and beautiful women. However, samurai were also common subjects of these prints, often portrayed in full regalia, highlighting their status and discipline.

(this line of text was found within old versions of Ink's FAQ post, mainly from 2020-2021)

In these ukiyo-e representations, samurai are frequently depicted wearing a distinctive combination of garments, including elaborate kamishimo (formal attire worn by samurai), hakama (wide trousers), and haori (a kimono-style jacket worn over the kimono), along with ornate accessories such as sashes and swords. These samurai were often shown in dynamic poses, suggesting a sense of power, grace, and readiness for battle, which reflected their societal role as both warriors and landowners.

Ukiyo-e representations of samurai often carried deeper meanings beyond their visual impact. Samurai in these prints were more than just warriors; they were cultural icons, symbols of virtue, duty, and sacrifice. Some prints portrayed samurai in the context of popular stories or historical events, such as famous battles or legendary acts of heroism. For example, the prints often depicted samurai as loyal retainers or leaders fighting for justice, reflecting the ideal of bushidō, the samurai code of ethics, which emphasized virtues like loyalty, courage, and respect.

(Ukiyo-e art made by Katsukama Shun'ei, Edo Period)

During the Edo period, the hakama was an important garment worn by the nobility as part of their formal attire, complementing other traditional outfits of the time, such as the noshi and kariginu, a sleeveless jacket with distinctive, sharply defined shoulders. These garments were designed to symbolize the status and refined taste of their wearers. The hakama, with its wide, flowing silhouette, was highly functional and practical, allowing for ease of movement while maintaining an air of elegance.

On another note, Ink's design is not the only aspect influenced by Japanese culture; the musical themes associated with him also draw significant inspiration from traditional Japanese music, as described by Comyet. The incorporation of these musical elements into Ink's character enhances the depth and cultural resonance of his persona, creating a multi-layered experience that ties his abilities, appearance, and thematic representation to a broader cultural context.

A predominant theme associated with Ink that highlights his deep inspiration from traditional Asian styles is one called 'BrushWork.' This musical theme, featured in the popular series Underverse, plays a crucial role in reflecting Ink’s connection to East Asian culture, particularly through its use of the shamisen, a traditional Japanese stringed instrument, and a flute. The choice of the shamisen in this composition is significant, as it evokes the soundscape of Japan, with its distinct, plucked tones often associated with traditional music, storytelling, and performance arts.

The shamisen is a core instrument in genres such as kabuki (a traditional form of Japanese drama) and bunraku (puppet theater), where it is used to underscore the emotional intensity and narrative depth of the performances. In BrushWork, the shamisen helps set the tone for Ink’s character, enhancing the theme of 'brushwork' through its fluid, emotive sound.

Honorable mention: The instrumental video for ''Soulless Heart'', features an artwork that is inspired by traditional sumi-e (ink wash painting), a Japanese art form renowned for its elegant brushwork and minimalistic yet profound depictions of nature. This particular artwork, which accompanies the music, was created by the talented artist @/sakuramochi64, whose style reflects the delicate balance and graceful simplicity typical of sumi-e paintings.

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Sources

1.National Museum of asian art (materials & techniques. Ink section)

2. Asian Brushpaper (an-overview-of-chinese-ink-history)

3. Wikipedia (wiki Hakama-pants+Shamisen)

4. Aikido Journal (Hakama-101)

[eirianerisdar]

As a Chinese person from Hong Kong I'm going to officially say this absolutely blows my mind. Here's why.

In the video, Charles and Carlos were plainly copying calligraphy stroke-by-stroke from a large image in front of them. What makes Carlos' attempt so impressive is that he's effectively gotten nearly all the proportions, starting and ending brush pressures and tail-offs, and the structure right. It's not perfect. But it's damn well near perfect.

Compare it to Charles': Charles didn't do a bad job at all, and has successfully copied many of the requisite features, but he has seen each stroke as a line, as many people who write Chinese characters with ballpoint pens do nowadays - point A to point B, with natural loss of shape and flow in between. It's not necessarily a problem. Charles is writing the characters. But interestingly, Carlos isn't writing at all.

On rewinding the video you see why Carlos' was shaped so perfectly. He doesn't know Chinese. He doesn't know anything about stroke order, or speed. But he knows detail.

If you look at his hands as he writes he separated each stroke into a shape. Then he did his level best to recreate each shape as carefully as he could by pressing the brush until he could see it formed the right thickness of the line.

He didn't write, like Charles did. He painted.

If this is how good Carlos is at copying a language he does not know I wonder how amazing he would be at painting if he actually spent time to learn.

[its-not-a-pen]

Bee movie script in han dynasty clerical script

This will be in the background of my next comic! I think the amount of humour you can milk out of a throwaway gag is directly proportional to a) inanity and b) how much effort you put into it.

i thought it would add to the humour if i just stuck it into google translate. fun fact! written chinese has been standardised since 221 BCE. as someone who grew up in an english speaking country, it freaks me out SO MUCH that i can understand stuff written in the han dynasty. it feels forbidden lmao every time i visit a museum i'm afraid i'm gonna get Tower of Babble'd.

Here’s me practicing:

I customised my own brush so i could write it with the correct stroke weights and counts fhfhfgfg.

Brush presets in sketchbook pro, for those interested:

[kingadi97]

Thinking about Kim Dokja in a fucked up discombobulated way like just imagine if he had so happen to meet someone in his grade who just happened to look how tls123 wrote The Yoo Joonghyuk and shares his name in TWSA. There's no way he wouldn't go at least a little bit feral and obsessive. I just think more people should explore Kim Dokja's freakiness outside of just his thing for garter belts and Chinese dresses and getting railed (someone pls save this poor man make him a top or at least a switch for once in his life).

YJH: I am Yoo Joonghyuk please take care of me.

KDJ (who is seconds away from collapsing): Eyebrows seemingly drawn by a single, uninterrupted stroke of a framed artist's brush; a nose and chin shaped in perfect angles that defied attempts to measure them through mere devices of men; a pair of deep eyes seemingly carved out of a beautiful jewel containing all the misfortunes found in this world.

Especially with the faces he's made in the manhwa while reading TWSA in high school and wanting to be Yoo Joonghyuk then there's no way he would be crazed if he were to be in his world.

(Anywho srry for being inactive been focusing on uni studies haven't had time to indulge in my hyper fixations)

[py-dreamer]

HAPPY 2024 FOLKS

Kickstarting the year with some good ol'stableboys!

Redrew that scene from Spirited Away with Chihiro and Haku to commemorate the year of the dragon!

Yea so in the chinese zodiac, 2024 is the year of the dragon (6th place)

Honestly this was originally just supposed to be a doodle, but as always, it kinda escalated from there 😅

I probably could've shaded wukong better...I mixed the big dark semi-opacity layer technique with painting it by hand and ehh, the four's not my best work

Problem was, making Wukong all shaded and furry made Ao lie look very flat in comparison so I just did some random strokes for the mane and considering his luscious long hair in og and the fact that Haku is quite furry, I made our favourite long noodle dragon fluffy!

I also used the same brush for the whiskers and snout as I did for the trees cause ig if you squint it kinda looks like scales...

(If anyone knows how to draw scales, pls let me know)

Also had to place on big blue layer on top like a filter, cause otherwise everything looked too saturated and bright for it to be nighttime

And I drew this all in one day, woo!

But anywho, what y'all think? And any dragons in the audience?

Reblogs > likes

[saoirseyun]

— .ᐟ ౨ৎ . . . 𝐭𝐚𝐤𝐞 𝐜𝐚𝐫𝐞. 001

𝖲𝖸𝖭𝖮𝖯𝖲𝖨𝖲 — today is the day, at last. much less to your own relief, however. attending your wedding in the local prefecture, aomori; and leave once and for all that drenched life in the brothel... let's only hope that you last in your new life.

𝖢𝖮𝖭𝖳𝖤𝖭𝖳 𝖶𝖠𝖱𝖭𝖨𝖭𝖦 — unreliable narrator, bad writing? idk its been a while since i wrote long works, blunt humor, mentions of sex, taboos, historical inaccuracies, unsettling behavior from dazai, possibly poor depictions of Japanese culture, no beta we die like oda

𝖠𝖴𝖳𝖧𝖮𝖱'𝖲 𝖭𝖮𝖳𝖤 — happy new year & rn im screaming crying bc here it is! my first fic after march 30th. please do enjoy to your heart's content~

𝖶𝖮𝖱𝖣 𝖢𝖮𝖴𝖭𝖳 — 3.0k words, partially proofread

CHECK OUT HALF AN HOUR FOR LOVE, OVERVIEW.

Japanese terminology; kamuro - a female child servant who serves courtesans temporarily until they graduate. shinzō - a young female servant, older than the kamuros, who also serves courtesans but has now been fully bought by the brothel. one/ne - to refer an older sister. obasan - "aunt" or "middle-aged woman" in Japanese. kitsune no yomeiri - a folktale about foxes having a wedding. The belief varies between being a good omen or a bad omen. nanakorobi yaoki - Japanese proverb for resilience. kanji - Japanese writing system in the form of borrowed Chinese characters.

Honorifics; chan - Term of endearment. san - One with respect. sama - One with higher respect and is formal. dono - Literally used like "My lord." ue - Denotes a high status.

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐅𝐈𝐑𝐒𝐓 𝐍𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓.

It poured rain that day; paint the skies with suspense and tension between the pristine clouds, a sunshower. When a beloved shinzō gingerly applied a sweet shade of peach blush to your cheeks and covered your face in salient white powder; stroking bold, black liner to your lower lid with a thin brush as to regard high standards of beauty whilst you remain aimless to admire the falling drops of water hit the eaves of your dormitory—drip back to the ground. You were at the least comforted with the weather's appearance coming abroad to stay as your companion, however still, oh so not much relaxed with the hour of your wedding ticks close to its arrival. You didn't even have a single chance to know who is taking your hand in marriage, for goodness sake. A subtly, a few weeks back you were informed by a close woman that a fine gentleman is likely interested in getting committed to you...

You've perk at the voice of the 30-year-old shinzō. In question, belongs to beloved friendly Akashi. Genuinely the definition of safe haven in your case if it counts close friends. "Oi, Jun'ai! A fine fellow been's collective to have you as his own, aren't you aware? Madam-sama does keeping 'em around too! By the teahouse." Her accent's rough and undoubtedly native to common farm villages—and also not forgetting to mention that charisma's energetic and careless as ever today, without a doubt of surprise of course. And bright yells as the poor Akashi had such terrible hearing, she'll never know how loud she is. Gushing you over to the area, finding the old lady herself amidst the aftermath of such agreement, dare say. There's a signed paper with extravagant black ink, strokes elegant front of the elder—smirking with pride regardless of you chiming in to inquire about the stranger.

Who, you may ask, but she simply says that it's best to keep it a surprise… You weren't able to keep composure since that day.

As who does that?! Outrageous, utterly outrageous, you'd whisper harsh mutters only thinking about it even a single time in a day. Oftentimes resist the urge of cursing at that damn woman for casting you aside in saving grace for the brothel's funding and, many of other's finances.

Eyeing your dear assistant tuck delicate, golden pins and fine décor to your lovely hair—all you can do in anticipation was hope he was also a good-looking, refined man who wasn't either younger or older than your age. Preferably of status, sure, that's a most likely. He manages to pay double the amount for you to leave your workplace, after all. He has to be, otherwise you're immediately disappointed by your own lack of judgement. You need to be a lot more cruel to yourself, but it hurts plentiful.

"...Nee-san? Are you feeling okay?" Voiced the young 14-year-old. Who consist attentive to adding your makeup to the delicate skin and face. Her face visuals a pit of worry you'd rarely see in this type of workload. You weren't even sure how to react. "I will be all right," Is what you answered reluctantly.

But the shinzō knew you best.

She was drowning into you eyes a lot more personal, and, rather heartwarming. A sigh. "Ōnami-chan, I beg. It's not of high relevance..."

"If it refers to you, then it has to be." The younger girl insists while she timid to touch your sleeve. Still much a grown-up child, sometimes you forget that too... Your fingers met the scalp of your head out of stress and uncertainty of what to put it. "...Trust me now. This can be excused." Despite having this unsaturated need to tell your closest servant everything without regard and loosening the grasps of staying ideally perfect, no complaints.

The only thing you were to offer in the end was a weightless fondle in her neat hair. Affection like being a genuine member of one's family or just reassuring an immature girl who, yes—older and very well more aware, still innocent and a tiny tad bit of cluelessness. Two reasons can go a long way.

Perhaps she wondered to your conflicted state as to why the reaction. The situation at hand is, at least by an outsider's perspective, is dream-like. Watching her older sister, the woman she has served since childhood to be married off to some well-known or not handsome noble of the court. What fantasy, unfortunately it's our reality.

"Nee-san, do you adore him to some degree?" How where you to speak to a question as broad and vague as this... That you were obviously not into a man that you didn't even knew existed, how could one love? "To be frank, I am not the most interested..." Even when the life of nobility and esteemed high ranks sound greatly to one's likely. "I can't help imagine but break the poor man's heart sooner or later if it so be it. Either that or potentially unhappy in my own marriage."

"Will I last more than a month there?"

The answer to such is as unclear as midday mist, compared at even evening's pouring drops of rain.

"...Do me a favor, Ōnami-chan. Visit me once in a while—let's say every other month. Then, must you always be sure that I am well and whether or not I'm returning back to this life. I'll write a letter to a buddhist temple in case."

It was too much to do out your own distrust and anxiety in him, of course. Maybe you're exaggerating, and yet only can the Gods know what may happen in time's passing. The most richest people of them all tends to be the nastiest... Heeding your words, the shinzō smiles.

"Okay!" A certain heartfelt warm in your veins. The little girl Ōnami was sure to keep that to her mind.

With the bare minimum of excitement inside of your heart, you've scurry yourself out of the brothel as a final leave to your old world into the carriage—hurriedly saying spoken goodbyes to the kind workers and fellow courtesans, the sweet little kamuros reckless to play out their times in the stunning gardens and hardworking shinzōs… And, yes, of course—do not forget your Obasan on the way. She might as well demean your name quicker in the whorehouse than disgracing the family bloodline and lineage. That out of your way at last, seated on the backseat as the couch leaves the Red Lantern District. To which, the moving world in the foreground of your eyes although you've went into a state of another faint reverie inside your head. On which the scenery fades and soon, a vivid trance that can only be described as unexplainable. Inexplicable dread to your veins just raises your discomfort knowing that you... You were living fine well enough. But... but of course! Why wouldn't the Madam accept such rising numbers on papers? What else was there to make of the situation than romanticise? You must be at least sicker than a loose serial killer.

Stiff optimism fixates your face. Looking out to the carrier and spot every little couple on the roads complete such mundane tasks together under the rain in a sake of not facing loneliness. You weren't sure of a word anymore on what to do. However, making these ceremonies intercept to that kind of point... Ah, how it sickens. The way of ill that's akin to the waves disrupt your unfortunate stomach during a sail travel. In all actuality—case in point—its sensation were although too alike to what you're going through at the moment attending to the wedding. The silence deafens you to a premature funeral! Hearing voices now seems a lot more comforting.

Alas, onwards moment's finality, the carriage stops to the relief of the body. Motion itself places to a hault and your entourage of men escorts you off the ride with the protection of an umbrella covering your head. Here's when your form itself took full stillness and enters a sort, self-control state. Your movements are gracious as ever but you're definitely not moving as to avail. You could only think what's to come. Relentless. Think of your life, over and endless until the head's decomposed itself into liquids. Not even the presence of the clan head's eldest child manages to snap you out of musing.

"...You should be the luxurious Jun'ai-san, is that correct?" The woman sat across the table from yours. She was calm and obviously held regard to such respect in the house as murmurs and shy stares from young maidens chatter about her in disclose, their own little fantasy, a kind of imagination you've grown used to from those disgusting men in the sex industry. What pigs. You've snapped back, forcing your head to the topic at hand as ahe serves the matcha tea. You nod, "Splendid. Then may you refer to me as Dazai Masako, if you will. I'm glad that you're able to make it to our humble mansion." You twinkle at her words and show signs of flattery—although having heard exchanges like these from wealthy clients in the past... "The pleasure is mine to meet you."

"I'm sure you're aware why I've arrived?" You inquire, to be more certain as Masako then flicks her head. Only for it to fade into a slight, disappointed frown. "...Marry my younger brother Osamu, yes, I'm acknowledged. Pardon my critique, however, kind lady. Except you're prohibited to fully engage with my son." Says the clan head's eldest—the sister—who... Pause, what? Hold on. Now hasn't the supervisor explained to you in person that the wedding's immediate? Today, in particular! "Yes, originally so." Masako clarifies, she gestures to an open windows. "Yet as you may noticed much earlier before entering the abode, the weather is not ideal. Therefore, shall it grant misfortune over the lovebirds and ruin the gathering for guests alike. My sincerest apologies..." White powder stains light to your fingertips as you can't foresee this day getting doubled the horrible! It's a tragedy... In your entire own sense, there is not a single opportunity at chance will you ride a half-soggy carriage of return. You didn't knew the folklore of kitsune no yomeiri migrated to Aomori as well. Dazai-ue continues,

"It would be our honour to offer the comfort hospitality of this house. And I suppose it shan't be an issue for you to see him at once. It surely have been long way here to Aomori, yes? We will discuss the formalities soon after meeting Osamu..." ...Roughly translates to tomorrow. The head of the clan's task for you to see him by now seems too easy, but it had to be some pity.

"...Yes." A reluctant answer to your rose-colored lips. Did the products still look good after cold winds meet the face? "How generous of you, ma'am. I prolong my gratitude. For I, can only but offer a mere humble."

It was what matters. You'll commit to this man whether or not you do fundamentally enjoy it—so might as well take a glance at his face. None double taking as you took another deep breath with a servant leading to his room, finally, you think. Meeting him for the first time, when that gluttonous madam of yours hide him from you. Left to the hands of a darling female maid as she takes you to where he resides, parade the prestigious, elegant halls of your presence and careful to approach that damn door and feast your pure eyes.

Said gentle-hearted patron proceeds to leave your wake upon reaching the door facing front of you right now, a polite bow. Gesturing her leave. and instead went off and serve his... Siblings? Assuming so. As your head catches sights of a small, worn-out family portrait next to the door. Clear to not tell which one is Dazai Osamu. Right, right. Your supposed've, soon-to-be husband and hand in marriage, The Dazai Osamu... It's quite bothersome—ponder what's so special about this name particularly and not the father's? Better question yet, why must every woman gossip with a slither of his mention among useless conversations? Now you can't get Dazai Osamu's name out of your head.

And for one reason.

The noise, bleak and rather frank done as if swift in action, behind you caught you off guard and the little silhouette of that man.

"...Dazai-dono, is that correct?" Is what you've been instinctively told by your own gut to try and receive the brunet noble's attention away from the stillness of beautiful ornamental flowers. Unbothered, frozen in the skilled crafts of capture life through the hands of clay and fine arts. Frightened to your snicker, he awkwardly reaches for his fallen smoking pipe. Well, that should be the one causing the single noise but how on earth is it so full of volume...? Can that be a thing?

"And who else shall it be, the one and only, sweetheart?"

His movements—grace akin to the shows of swan lakes and beautiful doves taking leap to the unknown heavens, clouds, and skies with free, open wings; and boundless to the world beneath thee. A skip to your chest, admiring his facial features—the vague dimples wrinkle his lips and stupid, horrendously stupid, smile. Divine mahogany eyes in the corners of an almond-shape and a few cute baby hairs hang behind those pine-shaded bangs. Dazai softly gestures yourself nearer to him, step on the higher platforms of his room, no matter of what status you are, maybe Dazai spoke quietly. Or forgot to use the mouth. The brunet-haired noble examines the physique of that body of yours and fondly admires your face, even though covered and hidden under all of that makeup, he manages to crack a small smirk. "Forgive me, but... Ah, you're... As beautiful as up close."

It's cost him an expense of his whole sense to control his nerves and desire to have you on his lap, held lovingly—darling—precious. Importantly, as embracing your beloved form to his closely as humanely possible. If you're ingenuous in allowing that off the bat... How shameless of him. "Ah, you must be humbling me, my lord. I don't deserve such remarks so early." Gently, you exclaim. Twist the fan to your liking and cover your mouth of kind elegance and timid meekness. By the celestial Gods above, he's head struck although you didn't start seducing the noble with your pretty long lashes... Dear, it stole the time to apply too! Infatuating. That's less time trying to appear loving to him, sure. Well...

It's hard to be doubtful that he does look to love you in those starry eyes and blunt browns. Even harder to imply whether or not if this factor relies importance.... Keeping close to.

"Oh but I am usually quite certain as to what I say whenever, lovely Jun'ai-chan. So to speak... I don't intend to be harsh." Dazai puts to rest his smoking pipe. Cast away soon after picking it up...

"Spare me a good time and listen, I beg, my dear Jun'ai-chan. I am absolutely certain that this must be the most abnormal thing you'll hear today—or ever—throughout your entire lifetime; yet I cannot be held back. Albeit the humble nature resides me, nanakorobi yaoki." Dazai offers his hand, and so you've placed yours in return soon after Dazai reaches to you. "...Since the parade weeks ago sitting adrift by spring's exposition, you've caught these eyes for yourself." Dazai starts. "I—I can't be helped, guilty as charged! But in its climax, I have hurried my legs to the brothel where you used to live. Then... Respectfully having you became a sort of necessity in my brain."

Who's to guess that this fine, handsome young noble is indeed this selfish—greedy?

Then again, who are you to reflect so hasty? Oh, no. How exactly must you put it with him? "What pleasure." You exclaim, feign shock. "In all truthfulness, I'm much more relieved in hearing those kinds of words from you at the moment..." ...And just what are you thinking?! Saying it dilly-dally won't save you from anything. "I'm not disapproving your ways, Dazai-dono. Matter of fact, I appreciate it." He completes a soft-spoken grin that's both boyish and ugly. Ugly in a way that's good-natured, and whole. Akin to the luminous burning sun which lasts eternal and hurts your eyes... Let us become a bit realistic here:

Dazai's hand takes the kettle of refreshing green tea into his hands then proceed to serve you a cup—along a charming smile. "What a merciful woman you are. I hadn't had a message that you were going to be a forgiving type... Well, shall I cherish upon wondrous setting beneath fallen sakura petals of early bloom; and pray to beloved heavens above—with a drenched heart—must it not go soon."

"A heart for poetry?" It's the first you've taken akin to catch on about Dazai.

A couplet, kind of freeform in a sense amidst those twin lines the noble recited with grace and honour.

"Indeed, belladonna. Let me ask you... As it soothes the soul countless of times, how can one not be compromised into the elegance, intricate, and exquisite lines?" To the rhythm of his voice, endear and charming, he takes a pen between two fingers and strokes across a random bit of paper next to Dazai in idle. "What touching words. I much agree." Was all you managed to reply. His writing was neat, written the kanji for what seems to read 'peafowl.' You felt flustered over closely admiring his movements, notably Dazai's fingers. "May we perform poems until the rising sun meets dew grass and kiss the windows clear?"

You weren't expecting your mouth to speak for itself. You only thought of so as light rain drips slowly and comes to a close. It's presumably the late night by now, time flew.

The young noble smiles with such tender elation at the suggestion at hand between him and you. "It'd be ill-mannered for me to decline, no?" He paints a small portrait of himself, modest, he is more than thrilled at your words, isn't he? Although it was basic splats of ink on paper arranged in a way of ornamental flowers Dazai admired his eyes to.

...Maybe you were being a little too arrogant about him.

𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭.

@wasdy-san, @inojuuy, @imkwikly, @nonexistence1199, @emyyy007, @coilai, @writingandmusing, @hypocritic-trash-baby

[adobe-outdesign]

Kung Fu Panda 4 Thoughts/Liveblog Thing

Just caught this at the theater for a grand total of five whole dollars, so I thought I'd do some quick opinions while it's fresh.

Non-spoiler opinion: It was Okay(TM), but the movies were considerably stronger as a trilogy. It's worth seeing one (1) time if you're a KFP fan (and really, who isn't), but I wouldn't bother paying full price for it or anything

SPOILERS FOR ALL 4 MOVIES UNDER THE CUT:

A list of things that slap:

The animation is stunning and fast-paced. Really loved the use of Chinese-style paint brush strokes to accentuate the action

Also I'll talk about the 5 later but I also really liked the animation change when describing where they are—all KFP movies have at least one animation shift and I'm glad this one kept up with it

Some of the fight scenes were super good, I liked the one that uses the tilting bar on a cliff in particular

(side note: the Missing Link did something similar, just on a ship. Go watch the Missing Link)

The Chameleon served straight cunt the entire time she was on screen and I kind of loved (almost) everything about her. Character design was incredible, voice was perfect, palace design was amazing, abilities were sick

Also the way she rides up chilling in a golden tree branch of all things? Fellas, we have no choice but to stan

Also I just appreciate the choice to both do a female villain for a change and to get a reptile in here after having only mammals and one (1) bird as villains previously

Speaking of character design there were a few really good ones in there, like a pangolin that moves Sonic the Hedgehog-style, a cool looking female boar, and a bunch of Komodo dragon henchmen. Good stuff

The jokes were a very mixed bag for me, some hit and some didn't. I will say that Zhen just going "that's great for you" in response to Shifu stating he's a red panda got me for some reason

If anyone hurts Po's gay dads I'm killing everyone in this room and then myself

Jack Black's cover of Baby One (1) More Time is unironically better than the original

A list of things that Do Not Slap:

Pacing/Plot:

This movie lacked a color scheme? KFP 1 was blue (also some gold), KFP 2 was red, KFP 3 was green. These colors weren't subtle either, there are entire scenes in each movie drenched in these colors and it was really obviously missing here

The whole first half the movie feels really breathless and too fast-paced. Apparently it was a studio mandate to have it not go over an hour and a half which is A) stupid and B) hurts the pacing

As much as I love Po's two gay dads we REALLY should not have been wasting time on their journey when the runtime is so tight

Also them tagging along felt off? Mr. Ping was worried sick about Po in KFP 2 but he doesn't tag alone because obviously he needs to let his son have his space. It's more in-character with Li Shan but it doesn't come across like he's talking Mr. Ping into it or something

In general there are so many plot points in this movie that feel under-developed. You could've made an entire movie out of the previous villains returning, Zhen and the Chameleon's relationship (see below), etc.

Po's Character:

People not knowing Po is the dragon warrior is weird, I'm pretty sure he would've been more well known than that

The entire thing with Po needing to give up his role as the Dragon Warrior doesn't really make sense? The Dragon Warrior is literally a made-up title. There's no need to have a Dragon Warrior because there is no such thing technically, it's why Oogway denied Tai Lung the title and then waited years and years to give it to Po. Like it's not a role that needs to be passed down, that's missing the entire point of the Everything

Also Po's only been like Dragon Warrior for a few years? I don't think we're ever given a time scale but it wasn't that long

The jokes about Shifu and Po having trouble with inner peace/mediating feels off given that was the entire plot of the second movie

It felt like Po regressed a bit character wise. He acts like he has no idea how to be a teacher in this movie but he already was a teacher by the end of the third, that was the entire point??

Also he seemed like he was more gullible in this movie but I could be wrong

Why is Po so impressed with Juniper city. He literally spent most of KFP 2 in Gongmen hello?? I think(?) Juniper is bigger but he shouldn't be acting like he has no idea what a city is

Zhen/Chameleon:

Zhen's character design doesn't match anything else, which is weird because most of the new characters in this film keep the distinct style in some form or another

Her wanted poster shows her with the bold markings KFP is known for and it looks SO much better

The plot twist with Zhen working for the villain was so obvious I did not realize it was supposed to be a twist at first

Also, the entire thing with Zhen was entirely unneeded? The Chameleon could've just just stood up and announced her plan to take over and Po would've shown up on her doorstep with the staff

I guess the idea is that Po needed to hand over the staff willingly for it to work? But if that's the case the Chameleon could've just impersonated Tigress or something and gotten it that way in like 1/3 of the time

Originally she was supposed to have kidnapped Shifu which would've been a much better plot point as it would've given Po extra motivation

The other problem with treating Zhen as a plot twist is that it hampers the relationship she has with the Chameleon effectively being her mom, which is FASCINATING. They had some really interesting chemistry together (the whole "stand up straight" thing as one example) and I could've seen it as a Mother Gospel from Tangled kind of deal, but we barely get any interaction between the two and it's like AAAAAAA

Fanfic writers fix this shit. I believe in you

I'll have to chew on it more but my pacing thought would actually be to start with Po finding out about the Chameleon's "take over everything" plan very early due to Shifu's kidnapping. He breaks into the lair like at the 1/3 mark or earlier and he meets Zhen inside which then leads into why she's doing what she's doing and the mother angle, etc etc blah blah

The Chameleon needed to just straight-up murder someone, comically shoving them down the stairs isn't good enough. I know stairs are Po's greatest enemy but I don't think that applies to everyone

Shen was allowed to stab someone on-screen so I think the Chameleon should be a allowed to strangle someone or something. as a treat

If violence was the concern just keep it off-screen like Master Rhino's death in KFP 2

The shapeshifter turning into a giant monster trope is overrated and I'm glad it was just used briefly here and not even for her defeat

Also the Chameleon's thing with her being rejected from Kung Fu because she's too small makes no sense b/c Mantis, which I'm pretty sure everyone's pointed out already. She does say "lowly" I think but was she ever poor? Could make a very interested parallel to Zhen if that was the case but it was never brought up again

I've heard some argue body image parallels w/ Po in KFP 1 but if that was the intent it's not explored, like, at all, which is a shame because it could've been an interesting angle

Also If they wanted a better excuse related to body image just say she was too frail instead of too small. I haven't owned chameleons but I've heard from people who have that they are very frail and very hard to keep alive, which would be a much better reason to turn her away

Cameos:

Yes I'm devoting an entire section to five second cameos don't judge me

I have mixed feelings on the Five not being present (save for the end cameos). On the one hand they are sorely missed but on the other hand they would've just made the plot bloat even worse

Lack of speaking was also bothersome. Part of me is glad they weren't recast with cheaper VAs because it's disrespectful to interchange them, but on the other hand that might've been better than just not having them speak and not paying anyone anyway

Tai Lung had all the best lines and was also the best used out of all the cameos, even if it would've been nice to have him on screen for longer. Also if they stuck with Shifu being kidnapped those two could've had some much-needed dialogue

Side note, while I don't think it contradicts anything from KFP 3 the spirit world having only kung fu masters in it feels off? It makes it seem so small and limited

Kai being there is weird. He's like. dead dead. Deader than dead. I guess you could argue that you can't kill something that's already dead but there's nothing even acknowledging this

Trying to take Shen's kung fu is really weird because the entire point of the fight with Master Rhino in KFP 2 is that he is not? a master?? like he's GOOD but he's not amazing, like if a master is like a 10/10 he's like an 8/10.

"The Chameleon has the powers of all my old nemesises!" WHAT'S SHEN'S POWER EXACTLY. HIS ONLY POWERS ARE GUN AND MOMMY/DADDY ISSUES

She does summon him way later than Tai Lung and Kai so maybe she was just camp spawning every single person she could think of regardless of skill level? she also uses his wings at one point so maybe she just wanted those, I don't think(?) there were other birds summoned

Though speaking of which she claimed she was using his wings but very clearly wasn't? not only were they black but they were raggedy and lacked the five longer feathers on the tips

Also Shen's model was super off, it looked way too fluffy and like an entire row of eyespots were missing from the edge of the train (which might have been a clipping error? unsure) it's been said the new models were made out of glue and popsical sticks and I believe it

Tai Lung has a habit of just like Grabbing anyone that's smaller than him and it amuses me

It's honestly really weird that everyone would just agree to go back into the spirit world willingly?

Like I think it works for Tai Lung because he's a noble person who just goes into a disassociative state and commits atrocities. Like I think he'd be willing to accept his death

Also it checks out for Shen because he killed himself and given his "dead belong in the past" mentality I can't imagine him wanting to stick around, he'd probably think it was unnatural

But Kai?? Kai was FURIOUS at being dragged back into the spirit world at the end of 3, like hell he'd just go quietly

Also I can see Tai Lung maybe respecting Po enough to bow to him but everyone else is pushing it unless they have therapists in the spirit world. Po offered Shen some nice advice at the end of KFP 2 and his response was to kill himself on the spot, I don't think him or Kai would be bowing

All of them were definitely in the middle of a mahjong match and were experiencing the equivalent of being woken up in the middle of a nap so they were just going along with things

Chameleon: I'm going to steal your kung fu

Everyone:

Misc:

I did like some of the more subtle callbacks. Stuff like Po seeing his reflection in the blade the way Shifu did or the "I can't even beat you to the stairs" scene were nice and not overly overt or in-your-face

If Po actively refers to himself as the "Kung Fu Panda" one more time I'm going to end it all

anyway that was not supposed to be a 12 page essay but it's too late now, goodbye

[fantasticsandwich]

yandere influencer x fem! reader (pt 7)

The art studio’s door chimed as you, Rian, and Blaise stepped through, their shadows merging with the eclectic hues that bathed the interior. Canvases stood around the room, each blank face awaiting the touch of inspiration. The scent of oil paint hung thick in the air.

“This place has got a nice vibe, doesn’t it?” Rian's voice, soft and lilting, cut through the quietude of the studio. His eyes sparkled with a childlike excitement that was contagious. “So cool that you got the owner to let us have the place to ourselves. We’ve been here before, with Connor, but it was for a class and tapas.”

Blaise shrugged, snatching a waxy apron off a peg. Draping it over himself, he quickly tied it, cinching his waist. “It’s just as fun when others are around.”

“Yeah, no thanks. I’d rather not embarrass myself again. Everyone who saw my art said it looked like one of those Chinese memes.”

“Then I can’t wait to see what hellish creation you dredge forth today.”

You forced a smile, nodding along to their enthusiasm. You should have been brimming with anticipation, eager to let your emotions spill onto the canvas in a riot of color, but your fingers instinctively sought the hem of your shirt, tugging at the fabric in uneven rhythms. The voices of your friends became muffled, as if you were underwater, their excitement drifting away from your reach. You glanced around the studio, feeling oddly detached from the vibrant scene unfolding before you.

“Y/N? You alright?” Rian’s concern laced his words, drawing you back to the surface. “You haven’t said a word,”

Catchphrase of the century, you scowled.

“Y-yeah, I’m fine,” you stammered, pushing your glasses back up. “Just thinking about... light composition and stuff.” Needless to say, you weren't an arts major, and within good reason.

“Composition, huh?” Blaise remarked, one eyebrow arching skeptically. He leaned against a nearby easel, crossing his arms as he studied you. “It’s only for fun. Don’t overthink it. Let the brush do the talking.”

You nodded, though your mind was elsewhere. You pulled out your phone, a nervous habit, thumbing through messages that didn't require a response. Each vibration against your palm was a hopeful pang, but his name never lit up the screen.

“Come on,” Rian coaxed gently, touching your arm with a warmth that contrasted sharply with the coolness exuded by Blaise. “Let’s start painting. It'll take your mind off things.”

“Sure. Yeah, it’ll be a good distraction.” You agreed, pocketing the device.

You followed Rian’s encouraging lead, picking up a brush with a hand that trembled slightly. As you dipped the bristles into the paint, you hoped the colors would be kind enough to drown out the noise in your head, to silence the persistent whisper of Cillian's absence.

The sun's gentle warmth filled the art studio, its rays spilling across the room and casting a soft glow over the blank canvases that awaited the trio's touch.

Blaise's suggestion hung in the air, delicate yet decisive. “Let’s paint each other. Y/N, let me have you.”

“H-huh?”

“I paint you, and you paint Rian. Rian gets me.”

You hesitated, fingers tightening around the wooden handle of your brush. You felt exposed under the weight of his gaze. The idea of being observed, of being immortalized. Portraits were more intimate than photos.

"Okay," you acquiesced with a small nod. You settled yourself onto the stool, perching on the edge as if ready to flee at any moment.. Your hands lay folded in your lap, one thumb rubbing over the other in a rhythmless caress.

Blaise watched you for a moment, his pale eyes tracing the lines of your face, the slope of your nose, the curve of your chin. In his gaze, there were no traces of judgment, only the silent gathering of details, like a poet collecting words for his verses. He picked up his brush, and you found yourself holding your breath as he approached the canvas.

The first stroke of color seemed to break a spell, and you released a shaky exhale. Blaise worked methodically, the bristles of his brush whispering against the stretched linen. There was a concentration to his movements, a focus that belied the icy aura he often wore like a cloak. His dark hair fell forward, casting shadows over his features that you tried to memorize, to recall later when the silence between them would stretch too thin.

You could hear the soft scuff of Rian moving about the space, the occasional clink of glass as he mixed his paints, but it was Blaise’s presence that consumed your attention. With every mark he made, you felt a strange sense of unfolding, as though he was peeling back the layers of self-consciousness that clung to you like the ill-fitted clothes you often wore.

“Stay still,” Blaise murmured, almost absently, and you realized you had been fidgeting. The words should have felt like a command, but they came out as nothing more than a gentle reminder, a tether to keep you grounded in the moment.

“Sorry,” you whispered, though you weren’t sure what you were apologizing for—the movement, the anxiety that buzzed beneath your skin, or the fact that Cillian's ghost lingered in your thoughts, an unwelcome specter.

“Nothing to be sorry for,” he replied without looking up. As his brushstrokes continued to shape your likeness, you allowed yourself to be drawn into the slow rhythm of his work, the practiced ease which he captured you.

As the gentle scrape of Blaise’s brush against canvas faded into a soft rhythm, Rian picked up his own palette with an eagerness that seemed to push away the heavy silence of the studio. You watched from the corner of your eye as he studied Blaise, his brows knitting together in concentration. The delicate lines of Rui's fingers moved with a surprising grace, coaxing shapes and shadows onto the stark white canvas before him. He worked quickly, yet with precision.

“Try to get my good side, if you can find one,” said Blaise.

Rian’s laugh was a light sound, almost musical. “Every side is your good side.” he replied, the warmth in his tone wrapping around the chill of Blaise's humor. He dipped his brush into a pool of blue, the same icy shade as Blaise's distant gaze. With each stroke, he added depth to the painting, the cool colors a stark contrast to the warmth that perpetually emanated from Rian himself.

You turned back to your own canvas, where Rian's image awaited your hand. You willed your thoughts away from Cillian and the tightness in your chest, focusing instead on the gentle curve of Rian's lips, the way his hair fell across his forehead. There was a kindness etched into the lines of his face, a tender-hearted openness that you yearned to translate into your art.

Your brush danced lightly over the canvas, tracing the contours of Rian's cheeks, the softness of his eyes that always seemed to offer comfort, even when he couldn't find the words. As you painted, your phone buzzed incessantly on the table beside you, silent messages piling up.

“You’re making me look too nice,” Rian chided gently, peering over at your progress.

“Maybe because you’re too nice,” you countered with a small smile, though it didn't quite reach your eyes.

“Or maybe you see the best in people,” Rian suggested, his gaze lingering on you for a moment longer than necessary—a silent acknowledgment of the burdens you carried in your quest to please.

“Sure, let’s go with that.”

The last brushstroke fell, a gentle whisper against the canvas, and Rian set down his paintbrush with an air of finality.

“Done,” he announced, his voice a mix of pride and trepidation. The room, once filled with the soft shuffling of feet and the swish of brushes, settled into anticipatory silence.

You stepped back from you own easel to join Blaise, who was already waiting with a curious tilt to his head. Together, they moved towards Rian’s workspace, where his painting stood covered by a sheet of thin muslin, like a secret waiting to be unveiled.

“Let’s see then,” Blaise said, a smile playing on his lips. Rian hesitated for a heartbeat before pulling the fabric away with a flourish that felt more dramatic than he intended.

Laughter erupted almost immediately, echoing off the high ceilings of the art studio. The portrait was unmistakably Blaise, but with an exaggerated scowl etching his brows and eyes that sparkled with a mischievous glint not typically found in their usual cool depths.

“Is this how I look to you?” Blaise teased, though his voice betrayed a hint of amusement.

Rian’s cheeks colored, a soft bloom of pink spreading across his fair skin. He shuffled on his feet, looking down at the caricature he had created. “I—I thought a little humor might be nice.”

No, you just can’t paint, you sighed.

“It’s perfect,” you said, your laughter subsiding into a warm chuckle. You reached out to squeeze his arm reassuringly, trying to quell the small storm of insecurity you saw brewing behind his eyes. “His nose is a little wonky, so it’s fairly accurate.”

The tension eased from Rian’s shoulders as his friends' affectionate ribbing washed over him. He smiled, a genuine and heartwarming expression that made the earlier disquietude fade. It was in moments like these that he could forget the nagging fears of inadequacy, the pressures that often weighed heavy on his tender heart.

“Let’s snap a pic,” Blaise suggested, his voice unexpectedly light as he pulled out his phone, a device that often lay forgotten in the depths of his pocket. His usual icy facade melted into a rare, soft smile that brightened the dim studio.

You nodded, and together with Rian, they huddled close, their painted canvases cradled in their arms. The camera clicked, immortalizing their lopsided grins and awkward posture. You were glad neither of them requested a redo of the picture.

“Look at us," Rian murmured, his gaze lingering on the digital image, a stark contrast to the raw emotion captured in paint. “Who would’ve thought none of us could pose for a picture?”

“Speak for yourself. I’m photogenic,” Blaise quipped, though the twinkle in his eye belied his sarcastic tone. Moving toward the exit, he held the door open, gesturing for you to go first.

“Thanks for bringing me out,” you quietly said. “Between studying and all the drama, I really needed the distraction.”

Stepping out into the waning daylight, the air held a crisp promise of the evening to come. They lingered on the sidewalk, reluctant to part ways just yet.

“What are we thinking? Takeaway or my place?” Blaise asked, tilting his head towards the street lined with twinkling restaurant signs. “I could do with a change from my own cooking.”

“Your cooking has more character than most things I’ve eaten out here," you replied, though your stomach protested with a quiet growl, betraying your desire for something different—a meal without the bitter aftertaste of solitude.

“I do hope that’s a compliment.”

Rian glanced between them. His eyes, wide in realization, reflected the fading sunset. “Maybe your place? It’s cozier, and we can hear some of your music.”

“Escape it is,” Blaise decided, the decision lifting an invisible weight off their shoulders.

Just as he turned away and began walking, a shadow loomed, briefly eclipsing the glow from a nearby streetlamp as a figure approached. Your heart hitched, a premonition prickling under your skin like static before a storm.

It was a young man, his leather jacket creaking softly with each step. His dark hair hung over his eyes in a fringe. His expression was an unreadable mask that did little to hide the tension in his jaw.

Squinting at him, you stifled a gasp. “Connor? What are you doing here?”

“Just running some errands in the area.” He said, oddly cheerful. As if to prove his point, he waved around a humorously large croissant. The sleeve crinkled as he waved, shedding crumbs. “But while you’re here, what's this I hear about you and Cillian?"

“Odd seeing you around.”

“Errands, like I said. We’re having Italian tonight.”

You quirked a brow. “Baguettes aren’t—”

“Try telling Cillian that.”

The words hung in the air, a challenge wrapped in concern. You felt the eyes of Rian and Blaise on you, a silent plea to ignore him and not engage. Nevertheless, you drew in a deep breath and sighed.

“Right,” you dryly said, brushing it off. “And about your cousin… He’s being insufferable and needs to apologize to Rian,” you responded, voice firmer than you felt. “Only then will I consider speaking to him.”

Connor’s eyes flickered with something akin to surprise, a crack in his bad-boy facade revealing the boy who still sought approval, still clung to the safety of being Cillian's cousin. His phone vibrated in his pocket, a reminder of the modern world's persistent intrusion, but he ignored it, his gaze locked on your determined stance.

“Y/N,” he started again, but you cut him off, unwilling to be swayed by sympathy or guilt.

“I’m really not mad.” Your words tumbled out, echoing the countless conversations you’d had in your head. With the cooling evening air brushing against your skin, you felt the weight of his judgment pressing back. You feared it. You scorned it, but you wouldn’t suffer needlessly from it. “He just needs to know what he did wrong.”

“And what was that?” asked Connor, hopeful.

“The fuck if anyone knows.” Blaise interjected. Pushing past, his shoulder knocked against Connor’s. “C’mon, Y/N. Let’s not spoil the evening.”

You nodded, grateful for the escape. As they turned to leave, you couldn't help but glance back at Connor, whose slumped shoulders spoke volumes as he watched them walk away, his conflicted loyalties clear even in the dim light of the city's restless pulse.

Connor’s sigh hung heavy in the street-lit dusk, intermingling with the city's symphony of honks and chatter. “It’s just… I’m stuck between you guys,” he muttered, a hint of vulnerability seeping through his usually assertive tone. A frown creased his youthful face, casting shadows that flickered like the uncertainties playing across his thoughts. “Cillian is family, but you’re a good friend, and I don’t know who to stand by.”

Blaise stepped forward, the pale glow from the studio windows illuminating his sharp features. His icy aura felt almost tangible, a frosty shield against the chaos of emotions swirling around them.

“Look, maybe I’m overstepping,” he began, somewhat hesitant, “but why are you acting so spineless? There’s no side to pick, only a friend to support. You’ve known her longer than I have, but you can’t see how harmful Cillian’s accusations were? Maybe you’d see that if your head weren’t so far up his ass.” Blaise said, his voice low and steady. Turning away with a sense of finality, he reached out, his fingers brushing against your arm. “How about we head back to my place? My housemates and I were planning a casual hangout.”

His touch was comforting, a calm anchor in the storm of your thoughts. You nodded, feeling the tremble in your limbs settle as you focused on Blaise's offer.

“Sounds good,” you murmured, numbly following along.

“Great,” Blaise’s lips curled into a half-smile, his eyes reflecting a glint of mischief. “You and Rian have got to try my barbeque. I’m doing everything from scratch. I can’t get the sauce right, but hopefully, your input will help.”

“What would either of us know about barbeque?”

“Dunno. Couldn’t be any less than me, though.”

From a few steps away, Connor’s shoulders slumped as he watched the exchange. With another deep exhale that seemed to surrender all his protests, he pulled out his phone. His fingers tapped against the screen, sending a message into the void.

a/n: not much Cillian this chapter but you know he can't stay away for long. next chapter's a good one i promise ^^

[xinyuehui]

Four Treasures of the Study · 文房四宝

蒲一永 Pu Yi Yong · The Brush

Eight Principles of Yong. Traditionally, it was believed that practicing the eight common strokes in regular script, all of which can be found in the character "Yong," could lead to writing all characters well. According to legend, it was created by Wang Xizhi in the Eastern Jin Dynasty, "Yong" is also the first character in his famous work 蘭亭集序 Lantingji Xu (Preface to the Poems Collected from the Orchid Pavilion). The surname "Pu" could potentially be a homage to the famous Chinese writer Pu Songling in the Qing Dynasty. In his most popular work 聊齋誌異 Liaozhai Zhiyi (Strange Tales from a Chinese Studio), the focus of the tales are on the emotional entanglements between humans and supernatural beings in the world.

陳楮英 Chen Chu Ying · The Paper

Chu, which refers to the paper mulberry plant, was historically used in ancient China as the raw material for making mulberry paper and Xuan paper. Additionally, "Chu" was used as a term synonymous with paper in ancient times. In EP4, Chuying mentioned that the "chu" in her name means paper.

曹光硯 Cao Guang Yan · The Inkstone

Yan, also known as Yantai, is the name of the inkstone used in calligraphy. The inkstone is used to grind the ink stick into powder, which is then mixed with water on the inkstone to create ink suitable for calligraphy.

執念 The Obsessions · The Ink

The obsessions are one of the ever-changing elements in the show, the elegiac couplets are uniquely written with whole heart and mind for the different obsessions.

[pttucker]

For a moment there, I had this feeling that this world's balance of beauty had tilted to one side. A nonsensical amount of cheering erupted out all around us next. "Oh, ooooh! Dear Zhu Bajie-nim!" For sure, calling a face like that 'Yogoe' didn't seem all that out of place. Because well, it was inconceivable that a normal human would be blessed with such looks, after all. Eyebrows seemingly drawn by a single, uninterrupted stroke of a famed artist's brush; a nose and a chin shaped in perfect angles that defied attempts to measure them through mere devices of men; a pair of deep eyes seemingly carved out of a beautiful jewel containing all the misfortunes found in this world. If someone saw those features and not get immediately drawn in by them, then there must be something wrong with that person.

Yes Dokja, Joonghyuk is the most beautiful person to ever exist. Yes Dokja, you've told us before.

You've told us many times before.

Oh? This time he's got his vest half-unbuttoned? He's wearing a nice pair of black jeans? Zeroed in on that right away, did you?

Mmmhmm

Listen, we get it, Dokja. You're super big gay for Yoo Joonghyuk. He doesn't even have to wear the black Chinese dress with black garter belt and if he ever did your heart would probably go flying out of your chest and you'd gasp and curl in on yourself and die right there on the spot.

.

.

So much for these guys letting Dokja relax.