#ingrid tan art

[ruinedgautier]

sorryyy if this is odd but i loveeee the dynamic between lita and sylvain.... i know obviously probably litavain is the most fleshed out, but are there any friendships or other dynamics that lita has? :)

Not weird at all! I'm just so excited about people liking my oc waow 🩷💗💖💞💖💕💞💕💗

Litavain is for sure the most fleshed out! But I also did make Ingrid and Lita friends before the whole fake dating thing happens.

ITS A LOT SO IM GONNA PUT THE FULL ANSWER + MORE CHARACTERS UTC LMAO:

Ingrid really cares for Lita, and she dislikes how much Sylvain is messing with her. The Faerghus Four, including Dedue, are aware that both parties are consenting to the plan— it's just that Sylvain is lying about the reason for it. Ingrid, for the most part, lets it slide because Lita and Sylvain seem to be equal parts invested in the relationship. It isn't until Ingrid begins checking what they think of one another that she realizes how one-sided it actually feels. Here's an excerpt about that:

Ingrid's also noticed how Lita looks when she's describing Sylvain. She likes him, maybe a little more than she lets on. She just can't really convey whatever feelings she has, so whenever Ingrid asks about Sylvain, Lita gives short, generic answers.

“He’s nice to me,” she would say. “And he’s not that bad looking either!”

It's always variants of the two. However, more things slipped past her short responses the longer these past few weeks have gone on.

“He’s nice to me!” turned into, “I lost my mother’s ring in the library the other day, and he spent the next day trying to track it down for me. Turns out, some guy found it and gifted it to his girlfriend. He had to fight the boyfriend for it, but he said a black eye would be worth it if it kept me happy. He’s so… He’s really sweet, Ingrid.”

Then, “He’s not that bad looking either!” turned into, “I think Sylvain’s gotten more tan these past couple weeks. And you can see more of his freckles, too! I tell him that I think they're cute, but he never believes me.”

Ingrid frowns. She doesn’t seem to remember such comments coming from Sylvain. Whenever she asked him about Lita, he’d brush her off and say things like:

“Oh, you know! She’s great.” Or, “We have a study date today in her room. Do you think I’ll score big?”

It frustrates Ingrid to no end. Is he really all that selfish? He’s hurting Lita while he’s just trying to mess around. Sure, Ingrid hasn’t caught Sylvain running off with other girls in the meantime, but that doesn’t ease her mind at all. Maybe he’s just gotten better at hiding from her watchful eye.

——

Ingrid, the poor girl, feels stuck between a rock and a hard place. She doesn't want to hurt her friend by making Sylvain tell her how much he's lying to her, but at the same time, she's tired of needing to clean up Sylvain's messes and thinks that Lita would set him straight after he confesses.

Or something like that, I haven't exactly finished hammering out the details yet 🤧 just know that Ingrid and Lita are friends LMAO

As for other dynamics, she has a small (unnamed) friend group. They're not really mentioned often, but they like teasing Lita about dating Sylvain. They don't know that Lita and Sylvain are pretending to date.

Lita also enjoys hanging out with the Golden Deer a lot. She tags along with Lysithea to learn makeup tips from Hilda– they get ready for the ball together ♡ She goes painting and sketching with Ignatz and values his crit when creating art.

Adding on more to Hilda and Lita's friendship, Hilda passively mentions that Lita should join their class since she seems to get along with everyone there already. Lita always declines, saying that she likes the BL class, but she'll always hang out with her friends in GD. They kiss a little bit in my brain teehee ✨️

Ummmm I FEEL like that's all of them? I want to build more on her relationships in BL, but I have yet to sit down and figure them all out 🤧🤧

[petrichorvoices]

How many OCs do you have? Any favourites?

a lot!!! a lot. so many. our main and favourite project is called Indie, which we've been developing for.. six years now, off and on but mostly on. it started out as an experiment in creating unique and interesting characters in a realistic fiction setting, as well as playing with character relationships. basically, we're filling out a fictional university in Florida with characters. Walton Hall is a dorm with the bulk of the characters. it has roughly 80 people in it. there's also Stotsky Hall, which we're working to fill out {though most in there are very underdeveloped}, a handful in Ford Hall, a couple of family members and coworkers, and then a gang that i don't remember why we added but hey! it's there now!

our favourites are definitely Phyllis Smith, Martin Smith, Zachary Seth, and Opal Jeanne. they're by far the most developed out of all of them, and the main characters for the WIP we have in this project. they're not our only faves though!! beware, old art incoming

[Image ID: a reference sheet for a character named Evelyn Bangarden. she's a Vietnamese woman with tan skin, brown eyes, a gray bob, and a mole under her lip. there's a drawing of her standing with her arms in front of her stomach, and she's wearing cargo pants and a shirt that says, "You had me at pizza". a headshot of her in the bottom left corner shows her with brown roots in her hair and a pair of round glasses. text above the fullbody reads "Evelyn Bangarden", and next to her is "5'". other text on the image reads, "she/her, Vietnamese, 20, bisexual, Walton room C3, Education major, long eyelashes, mole under lip, cheesy shirts, cargo shorts, optional roots showing, optional glasses". end ID]

Evelyn's a very fun, cheerful character to play around with!! she's hoping to become an elementary teacher, she has a succulent collection, she's very in love with her boyfriend Daniel Wieland, and she's figuring out that she's asexual. she's roommates and friends with Ingrid Elkins

[Image ID: a reference sheet for a character named Ingrid Elkins. she's a Black woman with dark brown skin, dark blue hair in a bun, and blue eyes. to the right is a fullbody piece of her with her hands in her pockets and her tongue out. she's wearing a ribbed gray tank top, a baggy pair of jeans with gold astronomical art on one leg, a chunky brown belt, and tie-dye flip flops. on the bottom left is a drawing of her face, showing she has a silver eyebrow piercings, small earrings, and a tongue stud. text on the reference sheet reads, "Ingrid Elkins. she/her. Walton room C3, forensic science major, RA for her floor, bisexual, 22, piercings, always has her tongue out, not thin, 6'2"". end ID]

please, please ignore the old ref. we've had a long art block, most of our OCs have really bad refs that we've needed to redo for some time now. i don't know why she always has her tongue out, we made her when we were like, 12, and we're too attached to her now. if we redesign her we will never stop thinking of her current design

she also needs a lot more development. she's Opal's best friend, she's Evelyn's friend and roommate. she runs a studyblr, she's very generous and helpful to people, she likes writing but isn't great at dialogue, she's a morning person, and the ref is wrong. her degree isn't in forensic science, it's marine biology. we changed it

the exhaustion is Fucking Hitting Us:tm: so i'm just gonna post more refs and hope you appreciate our OCs even without a proper explanation of who they are

[naran-blr]

Elisabeth Neckelmann (1884-1956) pintora danesa.

Nacida en el distrito Frederiksberg de Copenhague, era hija del ingeniero Ludvig Conrad Neckelmann y Elisa Nikoline Schoubye.

Interesada en la pintura cuando era niña, visitó a Peter Hansen, que era amigo de la familia, y experimentó con sus pinturas y pinceles.

En 1898, después de un divorcio difícil, su madre se casó con Hansen y la familia se mudó a Faaborg en la isla de Fionia. Gracias a ello conoció a los pintores de Fionia. Cuando tenía 16 años, le regalaron sus propias acuarelas.

Elisabeth Neckelmann creció en Faaborg con su hermana mayor y sus dos medias hermanas menores.

No se casó, pero vivió con su compañera, la pianista Ingrid Holm (1893-1966), entre los años 1949-1956. En ningún sitio he encontrado si esta relación era amistosa o amorosa. En su casa las dos tuvieron un animado punto de encuentro para los miembros de la Sociedad de artistas femeninas.

De vez en cuando también recibía un poco de orientación de su padrastro, pero durante varios períodos estuvo tan ocupada manteniéndose a sí misma que no le quedaba tiempo para pintar. Un año trabajó en una granja de pollos desde primera hora de la mañana hasta última hora de la tarde y luego como empleada clínica de un médico.

Sus primeras asociaciones con los pintores de Funen influyeron en su obra, que consistía principalmente en pinturas de flores y paisajes, pero también incluía retratos.

En 1905 la familia se mudó a Kbh. Aquí trabajó durante dos años en Arnbaks Kunsthandel, pero también tuvo tiempo para trabajar como torcedora de cigarros; tanto ella como la madre eran apasionadas fumadoras de puros cuando podían permitírselo.

De talento natural, recibió lecciones de dibujo de Fritz Syberg, pero también desarrolló ella misma sus habilidades pictóricas.

En 1905 se mudó con su padrastro a Copenhague, donde trabajó durante dos años en el concesionario de arte Arnbak.

Realizó varios viajes a Alemania, Suecia, Noruega y los Países Bajos a principios del siglo XX. A partir de 1912 expuso en Charlottenborg y en exposiciones individuales. Sus presentaciones incluyeron pinturas de flores, paisajes y retratos.

En 1938 recibió una beca de la Fundación JR Lund y en 1941 recibió la Beca de Viaje de Tagea Brandt.

Aunque fue prácticamente autodidacta, pronto fue reconocida por mujeres activas en la escena artística con quienes se volvió activa en la necesidad de que las artistas recibieran las mismas oportunidades para exhibir su trabajo que los hombres. Con este fin, en 1916, junto con Marie Henriques, fundó la Sociedad de artistas femeninas, de la que fue presidenta de 1924 a 1954.

Abrió su casa a los debates, concedió entrevistas a la prensa y, en general, apoyó el papel de las mujeres artistas. Formó parte de varios comités de selección de exposiciones, así como del Consejo de la Academia (1931-1937) y de la Junta de Charlottenborg.

Fue miembro de varios comités de selección de exposiciones de arte, incluido el de Charlottenborg.

Elisabeth murió en Copenhague y está enterrada en el cementerio de Bispebjerg.

La mayoría de sus pinturas son de propiedad privada.

Le ponemos cara.

[ingridtan]

Little Adventure

[artstreet-medibang]

Rise like the beautiful dragon drawn by Ingrid Tan https://medibang.com/picture/2l1607070211112360000362090

Try out MediBang Paint and create your own amazing art here~ https://medibangpaint.com/es/

Our Websites and Social Media <3

MediBang: https://medibang.com/ Twitter: https://twitter.com/MediBangPaint_e YouTube: https://www.youtube.com/channel/UC2MOCqGYfO5ZsuJLshlTsvw MediBang Paint: https://medibangpaint.com/en/

[starredfishing]

:000 just saw your hoshaido Felix au and,,, bro it’s so galaxy brain would you be willing to share more about it?

yes ofc thank u for asking!!! ^^

gonna put it under a read more bc ive got alot of thoughts

gonna kinda rehash my thoughts from scattered posts into here ig?

- so first and foremost i figure hoshido and fodlan are Around at the same time. i dont have any historical backing for this but if FEH exists I can Believe,,, anyway fodlan leaders + the church go overseas to discuss political stuff idk what i didnt think id get this far. but rodrigue and her meet and bond and when he eventually leaves hoshido he kinda doesnt want to go but they send each other letters for a few years and begin informally courting before she moves to fodlan to marry him

- she's a spitfire for sure. she strikes me as an archer idk why its just vibes but shes also an amazing swordswoman like her brother. she def challenged rodrigue to a few battles

- i wanna believe the only reason many fodlan nobles accepted her was because of her royal status, forming a mild treaty between hoshido and faerghus with the marriage. many claim it was all a set-up, but those who knew them saw they were truly in love

- her name is Homare, meaning honor or victory. rodrigue has a tendency to stress the wrong syllable and king lambert bless his heart cannot for the life of him say her name. she doesnt think its that hard but gives him a pass bc hes the king and its funny to watch him stumble.

- she is never called by her name in court, or by other nobles. she is only ever Duchess Fraldarius. there are whispers that she is as unruly as an untamed horse (a mare, they say) and that the duke must domesticate her. she ignores the whispers but they just keep getting louder and louder until she has glenn.

- rodrigue sortof implies he doesn't want his kids to have hoshidan names bc of the backlash. homare relents both times but secretly names them something else in her mind, a secret she took to her grave that felix only finds in a letter addressed to him under her bed long long after she's passed. glenn was to be hiro (generous, tolerant) and felix would be kenjirou (intelligent second son). he thinks its ironic glenn was almost named something close to 'hero' and that's who he became in his death.

- they never Talked about it. felix was pretty young when she passed (im gonna guess somewhere like 8-ish, the plague got her and the queen at the same time) and he doesnt really remember her. glenn just says 'she was really cool' as if that like, explains anything.

- after the war felix comes back to an empty mansion and starts the process of going through his father's things. he's in his parents' room and he's searching under the bed when a wood panel knocks loose. underneath it is a box of his mother's things with letters addressed to him, glenn, and rodrigue. felix reads all three and learns about her hoshidan heritage, which she was unable to ever speak about in faerghus.

- he ends up contacting the hoshidan royal family because 'whoops your aunt was my mom and i kinda didnt find out until now'. he kinda wishes he'd seen this coming but there were signs here and there. he and glenn have her sharp eyes, glenn had her nose, felix has unreasonably tan skin for faerghus weather (i can Dream pls i know hes so pale in the art). he thinks maybe he was lucky to look nothing like her. but he also wishes he looked more like her. he does have her spiky unruly hair, though. a staple of the hoshidan royal family.

- he tells sylvain and dimitri first bc of course he does. he gingerly sets a paper fan and a long hair pin on dimitris desk and is like 'i dont. know what to do with these.' and dimitris like...do you want to Keep them? and felix is like. yeah. (he tries to pin his hair back with the thing it doesnt work but for a second he feels connected to something)

- ingrid voice so i found like every book abt hoshido in the library ("there are books about hoshido in the royal library?") for you to read if you want :D

- his mom had an accent he just choked that up to her being 'from outside the kingdom' as rodrigue put it.

- I WANT FELIX AND GLENN TO HAVE THE DRAGON VEIN pls it'd be so fucking funny like all of a sudden it Activates when hes in hoshido and takumis like 'yep youre one of us for sure' as felix is like. i just terraformed the Entire garden behind me,

- glenn grew up with whispers all around him about his heritage but by the time felix is born the talk about the duchess being from hoshido has faded out because they Never Talk About It. he threw a punch at a kid at the academy once for calling him a slur and rodrigue is like aah maybe dont do that?? but homares not around anymore to back him up

- glenn does his. best to pass on the 'be proud of yourself' mentality to felix without revealing Why bc rodrigue is rlly strict abt that (he and glenn had a lot of fights abt it. felix was too young to understand)

- homare, the queen (astrid), and the margravine gautier (giselle) were besties bc i feel it in my soul its abt the heredetary besties,,,,

- bringing it full circle the blue lions go to hoshido to work out trade agreement and it gives felix a chance to Bond with his estranged family. its really REALLY awkward esp bc theres a language barrier but the family is patient with him. both of them have lost their parents so theyre really excited to have More family

- except takumi and hinoka. theyre a bit distrustful of felix at first even though he has Proof that his mother was Princess Homare of Hoshido. and then he terraforms the garden w a rogue dragon vein. and takumis like WHOA ok. and he swordfights ryoma and WINS and hinoka is like YEAH OKAY!!!

- hoshidan royal family vs the concept of crests what will they do. they see the king break smth in half by accident and theyre like damn white ppl r built different

idk if this was like ANY of what u asked for feel free to ask more specific questions if u want!!! sorry its so long i just hhhgnngh sobs felix,,,,

[lindaksienkauthor]

Should parents censor what their kids read?

Should parents censor what their kids read?

“Home” by Ingrid Tan What is acceptable reading material for your child? It’s a legit question, especially since banning books by some schools has in turn created a demand for these books. Suppose your middle schooler wants to read Art Spiegelman’s Pulitzer Prize-winning graphic novel Maus? Would exposing them to certain truths harm them, or frighten them? Looking at this list of banned…

[kumeko]

A/N: For the Beneath the Blade zine! I just love Ingrid and her relationships with Felix, Sylvain, and Dimitri. You should check out @  kaijujuice on twitter for the collab art!

…

…

…

…

Ingrid knew the Gautier house like the back of her hand. Since she was a child, she had roamed its gardens and halls as though it were her own home. She knew Sylvain’s favourite hiding places, the number of training dummies Felix had destroyed, exactly where they had to plaster over to hide Dimitri’s clumsy strength. Through the seasons and years, she had come and gone from this house without much thought beyond how hopeless her boys were.

 The place standing before her couldn’t possibly be the house in her memories. Flags erect, generals flowing in and out of the doors, and training grounds crowded with soldiers, the Gautier home was dressed in the colours of war. Ingrid swallowed as she stood in front of the house, unable to go in, unable to leave. Had it only been yesterday that they’d all be in the academy, chastising Sylvain for his latest conquest?

 “Ingrid!” A cheery voice greeted her. Speak of the devil; it was like thinking about him had summoned him. “You’re looking as beautiful as ever.”

 “Run out of people to flirt?” she retorted automatically, turning around as she spoke. Ingrid froze at the sight before her, at the boy (man) dressed in armour, the metal gleaming in the afternoon sun. Despite his grin, he wasn’t Sylvain. He couldn’t be. There was something harder, tougher about the person in front of her, a sharper edge than Sylvain had ever had.

“Only stating the obvious.” He smiled easily, and that much hadn’t changed. No matter the situation, he had always found the lighter side of things. Though, something about his expression felt off. When she didn’t say anything, he winked, “What, did I make you speechless?”

 Ingrid didn’t know where to start. How to start. Lamely, she mumbled, “Your hair…”

 “Oh this?” He tugged on a particularly long strand tickling his chin. “Thought I’d grow it out a bit.”

 She wondered how much of that was the truth, and how much of it was because he hadn’t had time to cut it. You look like a knight, she almost said, but she bit back the words, fearful that saying them aloud would make it all the more real. It was bad enough that they were at war, that Dimitri was dead. Now Sylvain looked serious for once in his life and those carefree days from the monastery were really gone, weren’t they?

 “Ingrid?” Sylvain asked, worried now. He reached out to squeeze her shoulder, his grip firm, and she’d never thought of him as reliable before this point.

 “It’s nothing.” Forcing a smile, Ingrid pulled out an envelope from her bag. “I just came to deliver this.”

 “What’s that?” He plucked the letter, turning it over in his hand. “For the—”

 “For your father, so don’t open it,” she admonished before he could rip it open. When he gave her a pitiful look, she looked away, ashamed. “We…we won’t be joining you.”

 “Oh.” Sylvain looked at the letter, then back at her. Still wearing a good-natured smile, he shrugged. “It’s a good decision. Everything’s going way too fast as it is, better to just sit back and wait.”

 Ingrid’s jaw dropped, and she hissed, “What?”

 He backed away, his hands held up in surrender. “I’m wrong?”

 “Any honourable knight would, would…” she choked back a sob, forcing the words out. “Avenge their liege. It’s the honourable thing to do.”

 “Honour, huh?” Sylvain smile disappeared. Grimly, he replied, “I don’t know how much of this is really about honour. If honour is really worth all this death.”

 “That…we can’t just do nothing,” she replied lamely. “Not after what they did.”

“Maybe, but reacting like this’ll just get a lot of people dead.” Sylvain rubbed his neck, looking away. Softly, he added, “Like Duscur.”

 Ingrid couldn’t say anything about that, couldn’t deny or agree with his words. She wondered if she’d ever be able to think of Duscur objectively, be able to hear the name and not think of Glen, think of Dimitri’s parents, think of those lost.

 If she’d ever be able to think of it without remembering Dedue and wonder what could have been.

 “I’m not saying we’re wrong, it’s just…” Sylvain looked over his shoulder, at the knights training in the distance. “Dimitri’s…Dimitri’s dead. Getting revenge won’t bring him back.”

 “But we swore—”

 “That doesn’t matter to a dead man.” Sylvain looked back at her, his eyes clear. “Why risk your life over this?”

 “And what about you?” she snapped back, her hand curling into a fist. “Why are you fighting?”

 Sylvain laughed sheepishly. “Got me there. I don’t really have a reason. It just…” He trailed off, looking up at the clear blue sky. “It just doesn’t feel right, what happened.”

 Oh. That’s what it was. His smile didn’t reach his eyes. Ingrid looked away, quietly agreeing, “Nothing feels right.” She didn’t think anything would feel right ever again.

 -x-

 The trip to House Fraldarius was quicker, quieter affair. Rodrigues didn’t condemn her as she handed over the letter, as she rubbed her arm and offered her apologies. Instead, he had merely nodded, his eyes kind and tone kinder. It was more than she deserved. The Galatea bannermen were refusing the call, selfishly stepping back and avoiding conflict. A rebuke would have been expected. A harsh judgement even better.

 Guilt was the only reason she could give for seeking out Felix immediately after. As usual, he was in the training ground, sword in hand and sweat dripping down his skin. There was no finesse in his sword work, none of the grace she’d come to associate with his attacks. Each strike was more brutal than the next and his rage was a palpable thing.

 “You’re not joining us,” Felix grunted as he delivered one last strike, stabbing straight through the dummy. Straw flew in the air as he savagely yanked his sword back out.

 “Did Sylvain tell you?” she asked instead, watching as he turned to her. His hair was longer too, his frame taller, and she didn’t know if these changes were overnight or if they’d happen quietly, where she couldn’t see. If like with Dimitri’s obsession, she had averted her eyes from those around her.

 Felix snorted. “He didn’t have to.”

 It stung more than she’d expected. “Was it really that obvious what my father would choose?”

 “It doesn’t matter. You aren’t needed.” For once, his words lack their usual bite, their malice half-hearted.

 In another time, she would have argued back. Now, she felt as tired as he sounded. Ingrid peeked at his hands, at the bleeding calluses. “You won’t be much use either, like that. You should rest.”

 Felix flexed his hand and shrugged. “I don’t have time to wait for it to heal.”

 “That’ll get you killed.” Ingrid frowned. “Why are you even fighting? To die?”

 Felix’s lips curled into a snarl. “Of course not!”

 “Then why?” she pressed, stepping forward and grabbing his hands. “Why are you hurting yourself like this?”

 He yanked his hand away. “Isn’t it obvious? The boar—I—I…” And just as quickly, his anger died down, his eyes flickering to the practice dummy. “I…”

 They used to train there together, the four of them. And then, after the massacre, just the three. Felix could barely tolerate her and left immediately whenever Dimitri arrived. Was he thinking of that? Or further back, to when it had been just him and Glen? At what point did a memory stop hurting, at what point did a regret stop keeping them awake at night?

 She didn’t know the answer to that, anymore than she knew the answer to how they’d reached this point. Maybe it was when Felix had forgotten how to be happy, when Dimitri had learned to hide his rage or Sylvain faked his smile or even when she had left behind her dreams for her lance. Their fracture had started long ago.

 “I don’t know,” Felix muttered finally, loosening his grip on his sword. “The boar…this wasn’t how he should have gone.”

 “No, it wasn’t.” Ingrid rubbed her wrist. Life wasn’t fair. She had learned that lesson long ago but at some point, she’d forgotten it. At some point, she’d thought they were impervious to it.

 Life wasn’t fair. It was a lesson she hoped she’d stop learning.

 -x-

 Dimitri didn’t have a grave. It was the fact that bothered her the least—Glen’s name was carved into a marble tomb, the letters cold in a way he had never been. Ingrid had never found him there, but instead in the training grounds, in the spaces they used to spar. She had not loved him. She wondered if she might have.

 Death had a way of taking away all possibilities.

 When they were young, they used to play in a brook on her lands. Sylvain would tan on the banks, Felix would train on the side, and knee-deep in the cool waters, a cocky smirk on his face, Dimitri would try to catch the fish with his bare hands. He hadn’t looked like a prince then, just a boy who couldn’t control his own strength.

 The brook was still there, even if the people weren’t. Ingrid’s armour clanked as she sat down on a log by the riverbank, staring down into the clear waters. Her lance sat on her lap, balanced precariously. It was quiet here, away from people. The brook babbled, the birds chirped, and Ingrid pulled out a book from her satchel. Her fingers traced the title, Sword of Kyphon, before she opened it. A lifetime ago, she and Ashe used to pour over the books, the candles flickering as they talked deep into the night about loyalty and honour.

 How simple it had seemed then. How easy. She should have realized it then; the knights never had it easy, honour was earned only through spilled blood. If the king had died, what would these knights have done? Avenged him? The line between justice and revenge was a thin one. And after that, after the king’s ghost had been put to sleep, then what?

 Nothing. No one ever planned for the ‘after’.

 The brook babbled. The birds chirped. And the children were long gone. Ingrid closed her book and tucked it away in her satchel.

 “I’m sorry, Dimitri,” she murmured, standing up. “I can’t hold your ghosts.”

 Ingrid had always thought of Dimitri as strong but she’d never realized just how strong till now. His ghosts, his rage, his vengeance—all of it had been hidden behind a polite smile, all of it simmering below the surface. She only had two ghosts, two regrets, and she couldn’t handle that much. Yet, despite his strength, Edelgard still walked, his revenge incomplete.

 No, worse than incomplete. It was dragging everyone else into it, ruining lives faster than rot through a field. A war was brewing, whether she liked it or not.

 And whatever her parents wished, Ingrid was going to enter it. Gripping her lance tightly, she closed her eyes and pressed her forehead against the staff. “I cannot get your justice. But I will protect everyone else. At one point, I think that would have been enough for you.”

 It was too late to save Dimitri, too late to apologize to Dedue, too late to love Glen. But Ingrid had enough with lingering regrets and she wasn’t going to add to their weight.

 When the war was over, her friends would be alive by the end of it.

 And maybe, just maybe, somewhere on the other side, Dimitri would be at peace with that.

[viridiansindria]

Three Houses Lost Item Guide

Because everyone else is being stupid and listing the 99 items in alphabetical order.

Black Eagles

Edelgard: Eastern Porcelain, Time-worn Quill Pen, White Glove

Hubert: Folding Razor, Hresvelg Treatsie, Noxious Handkerchief

Ferdinand: Agricultural Survey, Bag Of Tea Leaves, Maintenance Oil

Bernadetta: Hedgehog Case, Needle And Thread, Still-Life Picture

Petra: Annotated Dictionary, Exotic Feather, Small Tan Hide

Dorothea: Lovely Comb, Silver Brooch, Songstress Poster

Caspar: Grounding Charm, Tattered Overcoat, Thunderbrand Replica

Linhardt: Animated Bait, Feather Pillow, The Saints Revealed

Blue Lions

Dimitri: Black Leather Gloves, Dulled Longsword, Training Logbook

Dedue: Gardening Shears, Gold Earring, Iron Cooking Pot

Annette: School Of Sorcery Book, Unfinished Score, Wax Diptych

Felix: Black Iron Spur, Sword Belt Fragment, Toothed Dagger

Sylvain: Crumpled Love Letter, The History Of Sreng, Unused Lipstick

Ingrid: Curry Comb, Jousting Almanac, Pegasus Horseshoes

Mercedes: Book Of Ghost Stories, Fruit Preserves, How To Bake Sweets

Ashe: Bundle Of Herbs, Evil Repelling Amulet, Moon Knight's Tale

Golden Deer

Claude: Board Game Piece, Leather Bow Sheath, Mild Stomach Poison

Hilda: Handmade Hair Clip, Spotless Bandage, Used Bottle Of Perfume

Raphael: Big Spoon, Burlap Sack Of Rocks, Wooden Button

Leonie: Crude Arrow Heads, Fur Scarf, Hand Drawn Map

Lysithea: Encyclopedia Of Sweets, New Bottle Of Perfume, Princess Doll

Marianne: Bag Of Seeds, Confessional Letter, How To Be Tidy

Ignatz: Art Book, Blue Stone, Letter To The Goddess

Lorenz: A Treatise On Etiquette, Artificial Flower, Silk Handkerchief

Church of Seiros

Hannerman: Hammer and Chisel, Lens Cloth, Sketch Of A Sigil

Shamir: Animal Bone Dice, Bundle Of Dry Hemp, Centipede Picture

Alois: Foreign Gold Coin, Introduction to Magic, Mysterious Notebook

Catherine: Badge Of Graduation, Letter to Rhea, Weathered Cloak

Cyril: Old Cleaning Cloth, Portrait of Rhea, Well-Used Hatchet

Seteth: Old Fishing Rod, Snapping Writing Quill, Unfinished Fable

Gilbert: Carving Hammer, Noseless Puppet, Silver Necklace

Flayn: Antique Clasp, Dusty Book Of Fables, Old Map of Enbarr

Manuela: Clean Dusting Cloth, Light Purple Veil, Wellness Herbs

Edit: I derped earlier. Its 99 accidentally put "Sketch of a Sigil" twice and "Carving Hammer" is Gilbert not Hannerman. What I get for doing this while eating.

[fictionaffliction]

Better Forgotten

Chapter 3

Summary: Dr. Ingrid Hansen is a respected psychologist struggling with the aftermath of the Snap as well as her own trauma from an accident she endured many years ago. Her world is thrown into utter chaos when she meets a dangerous man posing as a client. Dr. Strange is reluctantly tasked with protecting her, but in order to do so, he must first help her recover who she truly is. While she is grateful for his help, she has to wonder, are some things better forgotten?

Rated M

Chapter Warnings: Canon typical violence, memory loss, chronic pain

The black SUV pulled up to the curb outside of an old, well-kept building. Stone columns supported the brick walls and framed a large circular window, with four asymmetrical grilles laid across the glass so that they criss-crossed over each other. Fury led the four of them to the door and knocked. The sound echoed around the inside of the building.

The door swung open and the four of them stepped inside. Ingrid looked around for the person who opened it, only to find that there was no one there as it swung shut again. She squeaked and grabbed Soren’s arm in an attempt to protect herself.

“Really?” Fury asked. “Isn’t the door thing a little cliché?”

A man appeared at the top of the stairs, but his feet did not touch the ground. Instead he floated down to meet them, landing lightly on his feet on the patterned wood and stone floor. Ingrid gasped and stared. As he emerged into the light, she realized that she recognized the man standing in front of them, though he looked a little more world weary than the last time she had seen him. His hair, which had been a lustrous dark brown when she had met him, had greyed at his temples. Fine lines framed blue eyes that narrowed in a calculating stare as he took in her face.

“Dr. Hansen, this is-” Fury began.

“Dr. Stephen Strange,” she finished for him, locking eyes with him and extending her hand. He took it and she noticed that his hand, covered by a yellow leather glove, trembled despite his firm grip.

“We’ve met somewhere before,” Dr. Strange said, quickly withdrawing his hand again.

“At a neuroscience conference about twelve years ago. I saw you speak and you bought me a drink.” The other three watched them intently. Soren looked like she might produce a bucket of popcorn from beneath her jacket. “I said I was a doctor of psychology and you said that I-”

“That you weren’t a real doctor,” he recalled with a grimace. “Yeah, I remember.”

Fury shook his head in disapproval. Maria and Soren looked disgusted.

“Remind me where that wine ended up,” she said, feigning ignorance.

Dr. Strange pursed his lips, embarrassment coloring his pale face. He cleared his throat uncomfortably, desperate to move on from the subject. “Can I ask why you’re here? Besides to bring up embarrassing memories.”

“Dr. Hansen had a confrontation with Loki earlier today,” Maria explained.

Dr. Strange’s brow furrowed. “That was you?” he asked incredulously.

“We called ahead,” Soren whispered to Ingrid.

“Yeah, and there was a faint magical disturbance,” he answered shortly. “But no definite source.”

“So he’s hiding his magic?” Fury inferred.

“It would appear so,” Dr. Strange replied. “Sounds like he’s picked up some new tricks.”

“Great,” Soren said, throwing her hands up in the air.

“We’ll figure that out,” Fury assured him. Ingrid’s eyes darted from person to person, trying to glean as much information as she could from their expressions, trying to find some hint that she wasn’t in danger, that Loki would be locked away by tomorrow morning and she could simply move on with her life. There wasn’t one.

Dr. Strange put his hand to his chin, circling her with scrutiny. Ingrid wanted to yell at him, but she didn’t have the energy. “What does he want with a psychologist? She doesn’t seem all that remarkable.” At Ingrid’s aggravated expression, he added a quick, “No offense.”

“We’re not sure,” Maria said, crossing her arms. “But we need you to look after her until we figure that out.” Both doctors looked at each other skeptically.

“I don’t exactly have time to play bodyguard, I have other things to do,” Dr. Strange protested.

“And I don’t need a babysitter,” Ingrid said.

“What you need is protecting, Dr. Hansen, and who better to protect you than the Sorcerer Supreme?” Fury asked. His words were careful, knowing that even with all that Dr. Strange had been through in recent years, he still relished a stroke of his ego here and there.

Ingrid wasn’t sure what to say. In reality, she knew he was right, but to ask Dr. Strange to protect her seemed far too dangerous. She looked up at him to find him studying her carefully. Before she could ask what he was looking at, he said,

“Alright, fine. If I’m trying to track Loki down anyway, I might as well have a bargaining chip.”

“Excuse me?” Ingrid replied indignantly. “I am not-”

“Wonderful!” Fury said, ignoring Ingrid’s protest. “We’ll be in touch if we learn anything. Make sure to keep us updated.” He, Hill, and Soren turned to leave. Soren turned back to her before they went out the door and put her hands on Ingrid’s shoulders.

“Trust us,” she said, giving her a reassuring squeeze. Ingrid only nodded mutely as the other woman gave her a gentle smile. Soren joined Hill and Fury as they walked out into the cloudy New York evening. The door swung shut with a thud, leaving Dr. Strange and Dr. Hansen alone in the foyer.

They stood in awkward silence for a few moments after the heavy door swung shut. Each of them tried to start at least two sentences before giving up and turning away from each other, the embarrassment and anger from their first meeting bubbling into the air.

Unable to take the silence anymore, Dr. Strange said, “Welcome to the Sanctum Sanctorum,” and gestured lamely to the large room. She looked about for the first time since she had entered. She had to admit it was lovely, with its grand staircase and dark wood walls. Old, well kept chairs and couches were placed in strategic spots among cases of antiques and decorations. It reminded her of an old library.

"So...you're a warlock now?" Ingrid said, trying to break the awkward silence that had brewed between them.

"Master of the mystic arts, actually," he replied shortly.

"Oh." She shuffled her feet, her heels clicking against the hard floor. "Seems like you've had some life changes."

He grimaced. "Yeah, you could say that." Ingrid bit the inside of her cheek and looked away from him. "Well, it sounds like you've had a pretty long day. Wong and I were thinking of ordering a pizza. Do you want in?"

She gave him a small smile, only just now realizing that she hadn't eaten anything since breakfast, and it was fast approaching seven o'clock at night according to her phone. "Sure, that sounds fine,” she said haltingly. “Who’s Wong?”

"That would be me," said a man who was standing in a doorway on the far side of the room. He was bald, tan, and had a large build, but judging by the way he moved, he wasn't out of shape. "I heard everything from the next room.” He gave Dr. Strange a meaningful look. “Should I show you to your room?"

"Wong, why don't you order the pizza. I'll show Dr. Hansen around," Dr. Strange said. Wong rolled his eyes like he knew exactly what was about to happen.

Dr. Strange waved his hand, and Ingrid felt the room shift around her. Her heart leapt to her throat like she was on a rollercoaster and she shrieked. When her vision settled they were standing in the middle of an old kitchen that had been refitted with new appliances.

“This is the kitchen, feel free to use it whenever,” Dr. Strange said. The tiled floor slipped out from under her feet again and was replaced with hardwood. She lurched forward and caught herself on a bookcase. “This is the library,” he said, looking around the room with no concern for Ingrid’s loss of balance. “Well, part of it. That part that won’t have you accidentally unleashing an elder god. That would be messy,” he said nonchalantly.

She opened her mouth to ask him what kind of books would do that, but before she could, the room shifted again. Dizziness overtook her and she fell against a door that opened as she did, sending her falling to the floor like a drunk sorority sister. Her migraine, which had never really subsided, reminded her of its presence. Though she didn’t dare betray her pain to Dr. Strange, who stared down at her with smug amusement.

"You'll be staying in this room," he said. Ingrid took a moment to right herself and looked around. It was a cozy room with a dark wood, queen size bed that took up about a third of the space. The merlot bedspread had the odd effect of making the air feel warmer, and the lamps glowed with a soft amber light. “The bathroom is the next door on your right,” Dr. Strange explained. “And I’m guessing you’ll need fresh clothes.”

“Yeah, I-” she felt a sudden weight in her hands and grasped at it instinctively. Ingrid looked down to find a set of cotton pajama pants and a soft, oversized T-shirt in her hands. She yelped and dropped them in surprise. Dr. Strange raised an eyebrow.

“Are you more of a satin nightgown kind of girl?” he asked, amused.

“No, I just- How did you do that?” she stammered.

“Master of the Mystic Arts, remember?” He leaned against the door frame nonchalantly with a smirk that she recognized from their last meeting. Seeing it made her scowl.

She crossed her arms, her new pajamas still in her hand. “Look, I need to get something off my chest. You were a complete asshole when we met, and I’m not a fan of being called a bargaining chip,” she snapped. Dr. Strange’s expression barely changed.

He seemed to regard her with the same concern she would expect him to give a barking pomeranian. “Noted. Just as long as you know I’m not your babysitter,” he sneered, craning his neck towards her.

“Fine,” she said.

“Fine.” He turned to leave with a flourish of his cape. He looked back over his shoulder. “There’ll be new clothes in the dresser and a few pairs of shoes in the closet,” he said, gesturing to each with a tilt of his head. “We’ll save you a slice.”

He vanished, leaving Ingrid with her mouth hanging open, both impressed and infuriated. She wished she had another glass of wine to dump on his head for disorienting her for his own amusement, though that certainly wouldn’t earn her any favor from him.

Once she had gathered her wits, Ingrid gathered her newly acquired pajamas and headed into the bathroom. There was an old-fashioned clawfoot tub stocked with shampoo, conditioner and soap. The water took a moment to heat up, which was not surprising given the building’s size and age. As it did, Ingrid brushed out her hair and lamented at how tangled it had gotten while she had been on the run. She wished that when she had met Dr. Strange again that she had looked less disheveled.

She slipped into the water and let out a deep sigh. The hot water pressed against her bare skin was a welcome relief from the frightening events of the day. She took her time washing her hair, trying to distract herself from the looming threat of Loki. She closed her eyes against the memory of his face as he paced in her office, the glint in his eye when he revealed himself to her, the terror she felt when he pressed his hand over her mouth. Her chest tightened as panic rose in her throat.

No, no, no, she thought. That bastard wouldn’t be allowed to take up any more space in her mind. She took a deep breath and ducked her head under the water. The bubbles of the shampoo slipped through her hair and rushed to the surface, brushing against her face and scalp as they went. She focused on the feeling as she willed her rate to slow.

He’s not here, she reminded herself, but then the image of that smirk flashed across the theater of her mind. She shook her head but the image persisted. As she tried to think of something else, the memory faded into a misty recollection. A face she couldn’t quite make out. A voice she couldn’t quite hear.

A sharp pain throbbed in her head, striking maliciously from the middle of her skull. Ingrid’s hands flew to press against her head as she resurfaced with a gasp. Tears formed in the corners of her eyes as the ache swelled. But then, just as suddenly as it began, it receded away like an ocean tide.

A frustrated sob escaped her mouth. She could deal with her migraines just fine on most days. They were no picnic, but ever since her accident, it had become a normal part of her life. Usually, she just needed a good dose of caffeine, something salty to eat, and a dark quiet room where she could hide away from the bright lights and loud noises of the outside world. If that was the price she had to pay for surviving, then so be it, but couldn’t her migraine give her a break? It wasn’t enough that she had been afraid for her life less than four hours ago, she had to be in pain too.

Once the worst of the pain subsided, she finished her bath, leaving the tub more exhausted than when she got in. She dried off before slipping into her pajamas and going out into the hall.

Bare feet padded against the cold stone floor as she meandered down the hall, realizing that she wasn’t entirely sure which way to go. The place was deceptively easy to get lost in. Ingrid scanned the numerous shelves of old books as she walked, many in different languages that looked near ancient to her eyes. There was a knife made of white crystal that seemed to emanate a soft yellow glow that sat behind a protective glass case, a set of what appeared to be some sort of full body bindings set against a wall, and other antiques that Ingrid could not name.

As she approached a long stretch of hallway with a single ornate door at the end, she felt certain she had gone entirely the wrong direction.

“Dr. Strange?” she called out, listening for an answer. There was none. “Strange?” she called a little louder. Nothing.

Ingrid turned to walk back the way she came, but felt a sudden pull in her gut, as though a hook had been caught on her ribs. Bewildered, she turned back toward the door. It was carved as handsomely as the rest of the doors in the Sanctum. In all ways, unremarkable, and yet there was the strange sensation of something beckoning her towards the door.

She took a step down the hall, curiosity propelling her forward. Something inside her whispered for her to stop. She paused, but stuffed the feeling down. What was the worst that could happen? Another step, then another and another until she was at the door. She reached out a slim hand and touched the cool metal of the old brass doorknob.

“Bad idea,” Dr. Strange’s deep voice said. Ingrid yelped and whipped around, finding herself face to face with him.

“I was just-” she stammered.

“Just about to stick your nose where it doesn’t belong?” he offered with a disparaging look.

Ingrid wilted. “Sorry,” she said sheepishly. He seemed a little surprised by her apology. “I just felt like there was something calling to me. Is that weird?”

Dr. Strange considered this, still looming over her. “In this place? Only a little.” He stepped aside and jerked his head back down the hall. “Come on, I’ll take you downstairs.” Ingrid nodded and moved past him. Dr. Strange glanced back at the door, scrutinizing what lay hidden behind it for just a moment before he followed Ingrid and guided her to the kitchen.

When they found their way to the kitchen, Wong was sitting watching a sitcom in the next room on a television mounted to the wall, with a half-eaten slice of pizza on his plate. They both took a slice and went to join him. Dr. Strange sat next to his friend unceremoniously with one foot propped on the coffee table, while Ingrid placed her plate neatly in her lap and huddled awkwardly against the arm of the couch.

Neither she nor Strange said anything as she ate and Wong, who sat between them, shifted uncomfortably.

“So, Dr. Hansen,” he began, desperate to dissipate the fog of tension in the air, “what sort of psychology do you practice?”

Ingrid, who had just taken a bite of food, chewed politely before answering. “Marriage and family counseling,” she said once she had swallowed. She saw Dr. Strange smile tightly on the other end of the couch.

“Good money?”

“In a city like New York? Absolutely,” she said with a laugh. “But that’s not why I do it.”

“Then what is?” Wong asked curiously.

Ingrid sighed wistfully. “To help people, just like every other sap who becomes a doctor.”

“Oh I don’t know about that,” Dr. Strange chimed in. “Some of us do it to feed our egos.”

“Like I told you back then, that was not an official diagnosis, Doctor,” Ingrid replied shortly. “But my door is open if you would like an appointment.” Wong grimaced at the exchange, looking as though he regretted bringing up her practice.

They finished the episode of the show in relative quiet, with occasional comments here and there before Wong stood up to turn in for bed. Ingrid and Dr. Strange sat in tense silence, neither of them really watching the television.

“Well,” Ingrid said, getting to her feet, “I’ve had a hell of a day. I’m going to turn in.” Dr. Strange followed her to the stairs, walking her back up the stairs to ensure she didn’t get lost again.

“So...How long do you think I’ll be here?” Ingrid asked as they walked.

“Hopefully not long,” Dr. Strange answered curtly.

“Right,” she replied, pursing her lips. “Good. The sooner we take care of Loki, the sooner I can go back to being...how did you put it again? Oh, right. Not a real doctor,” she snapped. The combination of her persistent headache and their constant back and forth made her more irritable than she might have been otherwise.

Dr. Strange sighed and caught her shoulder. She spun around to look at him, one step above him on the staircase. “Look, Dr. Hansen, this is only going to be made more difficult if we can’t find some way to coexist.”

“You’re right,” she admitted, reigning in her desire to be stubborn.

“I know I am,” he said. She rolled her eyes. “I know I was rude when we met, but I’ve changed a lot since then.”

“I know, you’re a wizard now.”

“Master of the mystic arts,” he corrected. “But yes, that’s my point. I’m not the same person I was back then and I’m willing to bet you aren’t either. I just don’t know what you want me to say.”

Ingrid raised her fair brows and crossed her arms. “How about ‘I’m sorry’?” she proposed. To her surprise, he nodded.

“I’m...I’m sorry, Dr. Hansen. Truly,” he said, making a concerted effort to hold eye contact with her. His hand twitched where it rested on the banister. “I was wrong to treat you that way.”

Ingrid gazed down at him, as though trying to interpret every insignificant movement of his features. He held his breath as he looked up at her. Apologies clearly did not come naturally to him, but he had struggled through it anyway.

“I forgive you,” she said finally.

“Great,” he said, relief flooding his features. Ingrid gave him a genuine smile.

“Humility looks good on you,” she said as she turned to continue up the stairs. He chuckled and followed after her.

“Better than white wine?”

“Much better,” Ingrid replied. “I’m sorry about that, by the way.”

“I deserved it,” he replied with a shrug as they walked down the hall to her bedroom.

“You know,” she said as they approached her door, “I had wondered what happened to you.” He gave her a questioning look. “When you stopped publishing papers I figured something had happened.”

“Ah.” He clasped his hands behind his back, his fingers twitching uncomfortably in his gloves. “And did you ever find out?”

She shook her head. “I never did,” she admitted. “I figured it wasn’t my business.”

“Maybe I’ll tell you the story sometime,” he said as they turned right at the top of the stairs. She smiled softly up at him, as if to tell him to take his time. “By the way, do you have a headache?” he inquired as they stopped at her bedroom door.

“How did you-?” “You keep wincing at sharp noises and avoiding looking at bright lights,” he observed.

“I’ve had a migraine since Loki’s stunt this afternoon,” she admitted. “I thought the bath would help, but it actually got worse and I can’t seem to shake it.”

“Is this common for you?” he asked, his tone suddenly clinical.

“Migraines? Yeah. I get them pretty often.”

He nodded, studying her closely. “If you don’t mind, I’d like to take a look at it in the morning.”

“I don’t know what good it would do. I’ve already been examined by numerous doctors and none of them can find anything,” she explained, resigned to her fate.

He raised his eyebrows. “Right, well, none of them were a former neurosurgeon with mystic abilities.”

“Fair enough,” she conceded, opening her door and stepping inside. “Good night, Dr. Strange.”

“Sleep well, Dr. Hansen,” he said as she closed the door. “Oh, one more thing.” He pressed his hand against the door while it was still ajar.

“Yes?” she asked.

“I don’t want to make this all ‘forbidden wing’ or whatever, but a lot of things here are dangerous in the wrong hands. So don’t sniff around without me or Wong there, got it?” She nodded. “Good.”

The door clicked closed and Ingrid turned to her bed. A bottle of aspirin sat on the bedside table, which she was certain had not been there before.

Rather than retiring to his bedroom, Dr. Strange opened a portal to the room Ingrid had nearly entered earlier that night. It was hard to say what might have been calling out to her, given that the whole room was filled with arcane items. Still, he opened his mind to listen for anything that might be connected to her. It wouldn’t be an actual sound, of course, but he found that some items managed to have a sort of “voice” of their own within the metaphysical planes. At first it was silent, but then there was a thrum of energy from the back of the room. He followed it past old noh masks, ancient swords and suits of armor. It grew stronger with every step he took until his eyes landed on a golden bowl sitting beneath a glass case. Intricate metalwork shaped into numerous symmetrical knots around the rim. The handles were shaped into the head and tail of a serpent, its mouth gaping open as if it were about to strike.

He approached it and lifted the glass case, and set it aside. He reached a gloved hand toward it, still listening. As he did, an anguished scream echoed in his mind. Stephen recoiled from the sound instinctively, though he knew it wouldn’t help stop the noise from reaching him. The wretched wailing continued and was joined by other sets of voices, shouting indistinguishably at each other. Horrified, he closed his mind to it.

The silence that followed deafening. Dr. Strange stared at it in disbelief, breathing hard. Wong approached him from behind.

“Has this thing always been so...miserable?” Dr. Strange asked him.

“There are many things we keep that do not have happy memories attached to them,” Wong said as he held his hands behind his back. “Some of them are even more haunting than this,” he elaborated, placing the glass back on the case.

Dr. Strange’s eyes stayed trained on the artifact. “I think it’s calling to her, Wong.”

Wong nodded. “I think you’re right.” His own gaze fell onto the bowl. It stood quietly under its glass, looking to all the world to be perfectly unremarkable.

[ostropest]

Loving you is bittersweet.

It feels as if all our time has passed and taken the good with it As though we ended without beginning

But it is a gift to love you So I will hold you for as long as I can. Until all the leaves have fallen In the afterglow of autumn

-og anon

(Art by Ingrid Tan)

[marielasuarez2]

A Pattern Language

Reflexión #16

      A Pattern Language, por Christopher Alexander y la colaboración de Sara Ishikawa and Murray Silverstein with Max Jacobson, Ingrid Fiksdahl- King and Shlomo Angel, es un libro en forma de manual que compone de 250 patrones que se encuentran en el mundo de la arquitectura. La estructura del libro está organizada en forma de macro a micro, lo que significa que comienza desde algo tan grande como una ciudad hasta algo tan pequeño como la selección de colores para una estructura. En donde cada patrón presenta un problema y una solución en el que cada concepto macro tiene su contra parte micro y viceversa; componiendo un lenguaje universal. Por lo que, el libro está diseñado como una guía para que cualquier persona pueda ser su propio arquitecto.

     La ideología de los autores de este libro es basada en que, si sus reglas fueran seguidas por todos, el mundo estaría en paz. No creen en otras maneras de ver la arquitectura, ni en que la mejor arquitectura es denominada como arte, sino en algo que le da soporte a la vida. Por ejemplo, una frase muy común en este libro es: “Los edificios siempre deben ser construidos en la peor parte de la ciudad, no en la mejor.” Por ende, la meta de los autores es reparar el mundo y hacerlo ideal, tan utópico que no existan ni pobres ni ricos, solo clase media-baja y alta. Las reglas de este manual también influyen en diferentes referencias, tales como: psicología, antropología, historia, literatura, sociología y religión.

     Por otro lado, Christopher Alexander nos comenta que una población sobre concentrada en espacio impone una carga masiva en la región general del ecosistema. Por lo que Alexander propone extender y limitar la cantidad poblacional equitativamente sobre una región para minimizar el impacto ambiental, en sí creando zonas verdes que funcionan para áreas urbanas y/o agricultura de modo en que se desarrolle una ciudad autosuficiente (Alexander 1977, pág.19). Los autores nos dan opciones a diferentes necesidades en satisfacer al diseñar en público-privado y casual-formal. Christopher Alexander, nos da un ejemplo que va de micro a macro cuando dice “a good house supports both kinds of experiences: the intimacy of private haven and our participants with the public world.” Por lo tanto, es sumamente importante educar a la sociedad a conectarse más con la naturaleza, ya que si trabajamos en contra de ella quienes perdemos somos nosotros.

     En su crítica sobre tal libro, William Saunder nos propone la siguiente pregunta: ¿cómo debemos de responder a la utopía, como Alexander, a principios del siglo XXI? Su respuesta es, a través del nuevo urbanismo. Un error común que nos enseñan a los estudiantes de arquitectura es el hecho de diseñar por placer visual, el decorar una ciudad y no cambiarla. Por lo que, como arquitectos tenemos que normalizar el reparar una ciudad y desarrollarla a su máxima potencial. El libro “A Pattern Languange” la guía perfecta para diseñar el ambiente de manera en que favorezca ciertas cualidades personales y sociales en la vida cotidiana; por lo que debería ser asignado en más universidades como Harvard Design School.

Referencias

[1]  Saunders, William. Reviewed by William S. Saunders A Pattern Language, New York: Oxford University Press, 1977, arch3711.files.wordpress.com/2015/09/saunderswmsbookreviewapatternlanguage2002.pdf.

[mrsbhandari]

Artsy As Fuck - Ballpoint Pen

Author’s note: HIIIII i decided to post pretty much all of my writing on here, just to make it more accessible!! I hope you like it!!

Word count: 1906

Warnings: language, sexual description but no actual sex

Summary: Colt takes reluctant Roze on a date.

Masterlist

---------------------------------------

Roze turned to him with wide eyes a look that silently asked “what the fuck are you doing?!” Colt ignored her in favor of staring down Ingrid, whose eyebrows were furrowed as her gaze switched between him and Roze.

“No you’re not,” she accused. “You and Roze? Hell no.” Colt squinted but this time, Roze beat him to the punch.

“Why do you say that?” The entire class was silent now, watching the argument with varying levels of amusement and worry. Roze had turned to Ingrid and was glaring daggers, daring her to say what she meant.

“Hm, you’re frumpy, annoying, kind of a bitch--”

“And mine,” Colt jumped in, feeling oddly protective of Roze despite agreeing with two-thirds of Ingrid’s statement.Their eyes met again and Colt silently begged Roze to go along with his rescue. She seemed to get the message and stayed quiet, letting him take over. “Now can we get back to the class?”

The professor jumped in at this point, settling the class down and putting them back on track. The rest of the class was silent for the remaining time to complete their artwork, and Colt continued to watch Roze as he posed. She didn’t look shaken or thrown off at all by Ingrid, and he hid an impressed look at how truly unbothered she was. Unfazed, she painted and completed her work before half of the class. She used the rest of the time to touch up her art. He was restless, aching to see how it turned out. After minutes that seemed like hours, she signed her art and packed her things, desperate to escape her hellhole of a class. Ingrid wasn’t feeling merciful as she grabbed Roze’s arm in the lobby of the building. Colt packed his own stuff up and raced to follow them, not wanting a fight to break out for fear of his job. He entered the lobby to see Ingrid with a death grip on her forearm, sure to leave bruises.

“What the fuck, Ingrid?!” Roze exclaimed, wrenching her arm out of the other’s grasp. She took a step back and collided with Colt, who put a protective arm around her shoulders and gave a glare to Ingrid, who scoffed at the sight of the couple.

“You can’t fool me, Roze. I bet you’re paying Colt to pretend so that you seem cool! You would do that, slut,” she scoffed, crossing her arms and rolling her eyes. His arm tensed with the effort to hold Roze back, as she seemed to lose her mind at the insult.

“I’m deescalating this. Roze, go wait by my bike,” Colt instructed, giving a pleading look to his new girlfriend when she sent a glare his way. She understood and walked out, checking Ingrid with her shoulder on her way.

“I’m not talking to you unless you’re offering to let me blow you,” Ingrid snarled.

“I’m most definitely not offering.”

“Hm. Your loss. See you.” With a flourish, she turned on her heel and left, going in the opposite direction of where his bike was parked. Walking back to the studio, he spotted the professor looking at the paintings of Colt.

“Sir, I’m so sorry about that, I really like this job and I want to continue it--”

“Colt! Deep breaths! Your little job here isn’t endangered because of a spat between students. Honestly, I should be the one apologizing to you.”

“Oh, there’s no need for that, sir.” Colt let out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding and looked at the painting he was standing in front of, which just so happened to be Roze’s. She had successfully been able to finish his collarbone, and he almost choked on his spit the longer he looked at it. The hand wrapped around his throat was perfectly rendered, giving the entire work a sense of eroticism he hadn’t realized she would depict. His face was twisted into a small smirk at something off to the right and his hair was messy, but the lines were so perfect that Colt had a hard time believing that she had painted it despite sitting in front of her while she did it. Remembering he told her to wait outside, he yelled out a thank you to the professor before rushing to see if she waited for him.

A figure was leaning against his bike, creating a stark contrast with her dark jeans against the white body work. The light seemed to hit her just right, making her skin glow in the rays of the sun as she looked down at her phone.

“Hey, you waited,” Colt said, boots making for loud steps on the concrete as he walked towards her.

“What the fuck are you doing?” He stopped at his bike, grabbing the helmets off the handlebars and tossing one to her. She caught it with ease.

“Taking you on a date, girlfriend.”

After a five minute speech convincing her that he wasn’t going to kill her, she got on the bike. After a ten minute ride, they both arrived at his destination: a small local diner. Roze climbed off the bike first, prompting Colt to slightly miss her warmth behind him and around his waist. The thought disappeared as she stomped her way inside.

Whatever.

Sliding across from her in the booth she occupied, he ordered a black coffee and some waffles, raising his eyebrows when she scoffed at his order. “Something you wanna say?”

“No,” Roze snapped, oblivious to the nervous glances of the waitress between them. “I’ll have a burger and a Coke.” The waitress walked to the kitchen with their orders, leaving an angry Roze and an uncaring Colt at the table.

“Why’d you scoff?”

“Why’d you bring me here?”

“I asked you first.”

“Immature child.”

“Uptight shrew.”

“Asshole.”

“Vulgar.”

“You deserve it.”

“For saving your ass?”

“Waffles and a burger?” Their spat was interrupted by the anxious waitress setting the plates down in front of them, the steam from the food only adding to the heat between them. Colt gave her a smile and quickly dug into his meal, drowning the plate with syrup before shoveling it into his mouth. Roze was never one to deny a meal paid for by someone else, so a silence settled over the table as they both ate. Once he finished his meal, Colt was the first to speak.

“Ingrid’s annoying and I figured the best way to get her off both of our asses was to make me unavailable and prove to her that you can get a guy as hot as me,” Colt explained, rolling his eyes when she snorted and almost choked on a piece of lettuce. “Two birds with one stone.” She continued coughing, so he handed the water glass that came with his coffee to her. “Don’t die, or I’ll be a primary suspect.”

“You could’ve...poisoned...the water,” she said between gasps of breath.

“Too obvious and easily traceable.”

“Fine.” She drank the water, finally getting proper lung usage back. “Well it’s already been proven. Why not ‘break up’ so we don’t have to pretend?”

“Did you hear the thing about me being unavailable? As soon as there’s even a hint at me not having a partner, she’ll pounce. Plus she’ll probably make fun of you for not being able to keep such a hot boyfriend. Lose-lose situation.” Colt leaned back in the booth and watched Roze think about it. He was pleased to note that her tongue breached her lips no matter what she was thinking about, not just when she was drawing. After minutes of her cartoonish deliberation, she nodded.

“Fine, I’ll go along with it.” Colt gave a smug smile.

“Ha ha.”

“Fuck off. If this is going to work, we’ll need rules.”

“Ugh, lame!” Colt exclaimed, catching the attention of some other patrons in the diner. Roze took a bite of her burger, leaving Colt to wonder just how she could fit so much in her mouth. He internally raised his eyebrows.

Definitely don’t let that thought go too far.

“You can’t kiss me--”

“Vetoed,” Colt cut her off, ignoring the anger flashing in her glare. “It won’t be believable if I don’t kiss you.”

“We can say we’re private people!”

“Your class has seen me naked, Roze.”

At that, she stammered, face flushing and eyes widening. Thinking about that class did something to her, something that she wasn’t sure she liked since it was about a haughty, nosy, frustratingly attractive dick who acted like he could get away with murder. But hearing her name on his lips only added to it, making her choke yet again. Colt smiled but offered his glass of water again.

“Will you stop that?!” he commanded, brushing off the disapproving looks from the other customers again. Apparently, yelling at your girlfriend in public when she’s choking isn’t socially accepted. Duly noted. She glared as she composed herself, face finally returning to its natural tan color.

“Sorry, but you’re not kissing me.”

“Can I hug you at least?”

“For a limited time.”

“Your loss.” Roze rolled her eyes. “We should arrive together, though.”

“Why?”

“To save the planet, Kahlo.”

“Whatever. And don’t call me that. I could never be as good as her.”

Colt wanted to tell her that she was already truly incredible and that her art was most likely going to be studied in classrooms in a few years, but after looking at the insecured face of the troubled artist sitting across from him, he knew it wouldn’t be helpful. “How far away are you from the shop?”

“A two minute walk.”

“Great, when I model for another one of your classes, we can go on my bike.”

“Seriously?” Roze’s eyebrows raised as she tapped her nails on the table, drumming out a small beat. Colt found the sound both melodic and threatening. Her siren song continued through his response.

“It’ll only be on days where I model. You can deal with it.”

“What do you have against cars?”

“C’mon, you didn’t like the ride over here?”

Roze shifted in her seat, the leather squeaking quietly beneath her. She noticed how he deflected the question, but if she was being honest, she had loved the feeling of the wind whipping her hair as the streets blurred past her, the muscles of the driver flexing under her touch with a warmth pressed to her chest, his rich scent wafting over her as she hugged him tighter to keep from falling.

Was she going to admit it?

No.

She refused to give him the satisfaction.

He didn’t deserve it.

Instead, she reached into her purse and pulled out a gum wrapper and a ballpoint pen. He watched silently with his head cocked as she pressed the tip of the pen to her tongue, eyes trained on the string of saliva that formed between her lips and the utensil. This time, he refused to stop the flood of images coming to mind of just what she would look like with her lips wrapped around his dick, drool dripping onto his skin. He decided she would be more attractive that way because anything she said would be felt, not heard.

“Here’s my number. We can talk later since I have to go home. Take me back to the studio?” He was snapped from his explicit thoughts by her pressing the gum wrapper into his hand, complete with a quick self-portrait of Roze next to the sequence of numbers.

“Yeah, sure. Thanks.”

[midnightcowboy1969]

rules: tag people you wanna get to know better

tagged by @harveykeitel 💗💗 Thank you

i tag @shinigabi-tan @nitrateglow @ketterle @jerrycasale @brucespringsteensboyfriend @sewerfight

1. your name and then what you would have named yourself: Ida. I’m happy with it. I might look like an Ingrid tho

2. astrological signs: I don’t know virgo or libra something

3. when did you join tumblr and why? 2013 :( I actually have no idea. Anime?

4. top 5 fandoms: I don’t consider myself in any fandom anymore. I prefer the term “enthusiast” asdfg but I suppose I’m in like the Midnight Cowboy fandom???

5. top 5 favorite films: 😳 you already know Midnight Cowboy, a New Leaf, the Roaring Twenties, Deadhead Miles and uhhh Three Wishes for Cinderella (A Christmas classic because there’s only one man who dubs the whole movie and the music is amazing)

6. go to song for when you want to feel something: thunder road by bruce springsteen

7. what’s your religion or faith if you have one: I’m baptized. Christian protestant?? but in reality I’m agnostic baby! Just in case.

8. a song that makes you feel seen: silence is golden by the tremeloes

9. if you could have any career: author 

10. do you have a type? does “kind” count?? And I suppose people who are my height or taller. 

11. what does your heart/soul yearn for: Peace

12. if you had to describe yourself in 5 words to someone who doesn’t know you: ahhh gee I am hamster-ish

13. favorite subjects in school: english!! (we watched a lot of movies)

14. where does your soul feel most at home: top of a mountain just before heading down full speed on my slaloom skiis

15. top 5 fictional characters: Dana Scully, Adrian Monk, Columbo, Marge Gunderson, Joe Buck

16. top 3 moments in a show that made you ugly cry: Curse me but when Bobby died on Supernatural and uhhh Monk when he talked about how he wasn’t invited to a birthday party in 6th grade sasdfgh and uhh I don’t think I’ve ugly cried over anything else

17. the earth, the sun, the moon or the stars: stars

18. favorite kind of weather: snow

19. top 3 characters you kin with: Vincent Ricardo asdfghj, Henrietta and uhhh Juni Cortez (when I was a kid)

20. favorite medium of art: film or books

21. introvert/extrovert/ambivert: introvert ??

22. favorite literary quote: “The way I need you is a loneliness I cannot bear.” from The Heart is a Lonely Hunter

23. some of your favorite books: Rosemary’s Baby, the Heart is a Lonely Hunter, Midnight Cowboy, Blaze

24. if you could live anywhere in the world where would you live? My grandparents’s home 

25. if you could live anywhere in the world when would it be? 2000s where I live now :/

26. if you could play any instrument masterfully it would be: piano

27. if you have one, what mythological god or goddess do you feel a connection to: :(

28. and lastly, favorite recent in your camera roll: I don’t think so

[ingridtan]

First work for 2020. Redid one of my favorites from my Inktober 2016 works.

[artstreet-medibang]

We were born to make history!💖Stunning "Yuri on Ice" fanart by the artist Ingrid Tan!🔽https://medibang.com/u/ingridtan/ Lots of fanart pouring in to ART street recently and with some upcoming "events", I'm sure there's more to come!😉#yurionice #fanart #artstreet