brain notes

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a lil dumb comic of my d&d warlock attempting a v dangerous ritual bc of course he would!

anonymous asked:

this might be weird to ask n i hope it makes sense but........ how does each member of bts speak? like when their speaking do they speak intelligently, are they well spoken or like do they use alot of slang or anything? does that make sense i hope it does asdfgh

edit: this should be added sooner but DO NOT REPOST THIS & TRANSLATE INTO ANY LANGUAGE. i’m not a native speaker, this is purely personal observation. don’t consider these as facts.

🍫 namjoon:
• he chooses words very carefully and wisely, wide range of vocabulary
• if you see something that looks like it’s quoted from a poem or a novel, it’s namjoon’s
• uses calm tone when speaking in normal circumstances, but tends to raise and distort his voice when under adrenaline rush (eg. bts gayo track 3, acting mission with yoongi)

🍗 seokjin:
• varying talking speed, he can either talk really slowly or talk so fast that even 0.5x speed can’t help decipher what he’s saying
• focuses on emotions rather than words, so middle-ranged vocabulary?
• come across some lame puns? it’s seokjin’s
• but tbh i love seokjin’s puns even though sometimes it’s really lame that i have to consider turning off the video
• imo, 2nd best english pronunciation in bts, after namjoon
• also i love how seokjin pronounce the ㅅ and ㅂ syllables
• speaks like a middle-aged man…

🐕 yoongi:
• imagine namjoon but with less philosophical elements and more emotional explosion
• not the easiest to understand due to his low and raspy voice
• talks fast, so occasionally his words seem to stuck together and it’s nearly impossible to understand what he’s saying
• usually stretches the ㅔ in 네, like instead of a short 네, he would make it sound like 네에에에에↘
• might not be related but i still find the way yoongi said ‘boy meets what’ in ‘wings’ preview show really cute. it didn’t sound like ‘what’, but rather ‘waaaaaaaat’

🌻 hoseok:
• uses 되게 (really) and 뭔가 (somewhat) A LOT
• likes to insert 네 in mid sentence
• how should i describe his tone? it varies 100% of times
• has a distinctive way of pronouncing ‘fun’
• in short, the opposite polar of yoongi

🍑 taehyung:
• doesn’t finish his sentences, and often stares into the air after stopping midway
• uses adverbs like 약간, 조금, 진짜 separately and repeatedly, has the habit of saying adverbs first, then continue with his sentences and repeat those adverbs again
• splits one straight sentence into short phrases
eg.
- proper sentence: i was gonna meet armys right after i took a shower.
- taehyung: i, now, took a shower and ddak, gonna meet armys, ddak, like this.
• uses ‘like this’ and demonstrates with actions instead of describing the actions with words
• tends to use slangs, but not a lot as far as i can remember?
• not related to talking but taehyung often makes strange noises out of the blue, eg. he imitated a pigeon and made that ‘pokato’ (?) sound when namjoon said ‘pigeon’ and ‘pikachu’ in ‘wings’ preview show
• forgot this but taehyung’s english pronunciation is so on point

🍙 jimin:
• soft and sweet tone, is sweetly sassy
• always talks to armys as if he’s with his friends
• when doing a v app broadcast alone, he talks informally like how friends talk to each other, but when sending messages or some other ‘official’ occasions, jimin talks formally
• personal preference but i find jimin’s accidental satoori very cute… remember how he said 너 왜 이렇게 떠노 and took taehyung’s hands ;-;

🐰 jungkook:
• jungkook is like 30% satoori and 70% seoul dialect to me, so it sounds new when he speaks entirely in seoul dialect (jin’s puma cf)
• raises voice at certain random words like 인형 (‘the show’ interview), 악어(bon voyage ep 7), 인증샷 (chuseok v app), etc. they sound like 인~↗형~↗, 악~↗어~, 인~↗증~↗샷↗
• speaks formally
• says ‘mom!’ habitually
• tbh i don’t really pay attention to how jungkook speaks because most of the times i’m distracted by his bunny smile

curlzformetal  asked:

how does one draw beards, besides selling their soul to Satan?

no soul-selling! it’s pretty simple

well, what i’m gonna show you is pretty simple

so let’s take these baby-faces:

having the jawline/chin/etc down pretty accurate is important! because the beard grows from there!

dudes all have a specific growth pattern on their face. when doing a 5 o’clock shadow, you can pretty much just follow that and fill it in with a gray/their hair color at a low opacity

with the growth pattern and jawlines and mind, it’s pretty easy to make a readable beard by doing little lines that follow those patterns! i never do a straight line to draw beards. it’s an option, but it’s tough to make look natural lol–i don’t even do that for comics! but once the hairs are curved along the jawline, i think getting rid of the visible jawline helps show thickness/structure to the beard itself

as beards get longer, you can lengthen the lines and make them have more minds of their own, as they begin to stop conforming with the face!

so that’s about it. if you want beards with a little more texture, remember that beards grow in layers. they grow just like hair! but…on..on the face.

as a beard might.

anonymous asked:

Aone with his turtle buddi, pls,,,, its for a friend

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Started a project journal a little while ago. So far I am loving it. It is helping me create cohesive designs. As well as keeping everything in place. No more digging around for old yarn labels, wondering how long a project took, or trying to find where I wrote my notes for a project. I also love how relaxing setting up the pages can be. Ravelry is a great platform for documenting projects, but I really enjoy something tangible. 

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11/03/2017

{Day 13/100 of Productivity}

Such a hectic day! Got up at 5:30am (on about two hours of sleep) to set up our garage sale… The I went to my figure skating lesson then came home to help out again.

Too tired to actually study so instead I drew the brain stem structures!

(P.S. thanks so much for over 500 followers, you’re all amazing and I appreciate every single one of you 💕)

Paper Hearts

A stupidly fluffy SnowBaz fic for the Carry On Valentine’s Celebration


Simon

Roses are red,

Violets are blue,

Meet me in Room 172.

           I refold the note, noticing how the paper has already settled into well-known creases since this morning.  It’s not the first anonymous note I’ve gotten over the past week, but it’s the first time the writer has made a move beyond waxing poetic.

           The Watford halls are sickening today, even to me.  I understand the appeal of decorating for Christmas, but Valentine’s Day?  It just seems a little patronizing to adorn the walls in that many paper hearts, whether the hearts can magically float around people’s heads or not.  And it’s not that I’m a cynic, but Valentine’s Day this year was set to be a difficult one for me, since I no longer have Agatha to dote upon.

           But as I slip the little creased note back into my pocket and make for Room 172, the paper hearts seem less mocking and my own beating heart feels just a bit lighter.

           When I reach the door I falter, doubts rushing to my head.  What if there’s no one there?  And what if there is?  Then what?

           But I turn the knob and shove open the door.

           And immediately I see who’s waiting and I hate the thrill that bolts through me, and I wish that I had turned back.

           Baz’s face goes red when he sees me and I wonder briefly if I’ve seen him this angry before, so enraged that he turns colour.

           “What,” he seethes, “are you doing here?”

           “What am I doing here?” I spit back, my heart sinking and racing at once.  “What are you doing here?”

           “None of your business,” he growls, sitting on one of the desks and pointedly looking anywhere but at me.

           Everything in me is boiling.  I’m angry and I’m disappointed at once, but I puff up my pride and stalk over to another desk and sit down to wait.  Maybe the fates will be on my side for once and the mystery writer will reveal themselves yet.

           Although, would that be the fates with me or against me?  Because everything right now is looking like Baz wrote the note, and sitting here in the empty classroom full of paper hearts with him just a few desks away, it’s getting harder to ignore the buzzing under my skin and harder to ignore the fact that he is the common denominator.

           The clock ticks away like a drumbeat and I stare at the door, hoping, praying for something to happen.

           “Why are you here?”

           I throw a glance over at Baz, who has turned his head so that he can see me without looking at me.  “If you must know,” I reply sharply, “I’m waiting for someone.”

           “Really?”

           “You think I’m lying?”

           “I think you’re pathetic.”

           I have to squeeze my eyes shut and count to ten like Penny told me before I can breathe evenly again.  “What’s your excuse, Basil?” I grit through my teeth. “Why do you have to be here?  Has no one invited you across the threshold?” It’s a lame dig, but I know it will be effective, whether he shows it or not.  If there’s anything I’ve learned from being his enemy it’s that vampire jokes are a no-no.

           “I told you, it’s none of your business.”

           “Can’t you take your business elsewhere, then?”

           “No.”

           “Arse.”

           “Prat.”

           When I turn to throw another insult at him, the sun through the window catches the side of his face and turns his eyes to silver… and the insult dies in my throat.

           Beautiful.

           I try to stomp on the thought.  No.

           But it’s too late.  

           It’s there.  It’s taken root.

           And the longer I look at him the more it flowers.

           Another thought bubbles up to the surface almost tentatively.  Are you sure it wasn’t him?

           As much as I know I should try to extinguish that notion along with the previous, I let it linger.  If I think back on it, I don’t think I ever have seen him angry enough to turn red.

           So maybe he’s not angry.  

           Maybe it’s something else.

           When he meets my eye, I’m still staring at him, and his gaze darts away again, but his cheeks.

           They go pink, and there’s no anger in his eyes.  Only uncertainty.

           His silver eyes.

           And all at once, I decide to change everything.

Baz

“Alright, Baz,” comes Simon’s soft voice, “you can drop the act.”

           I turn to look at him again, and it’s like looking at the sun because I can feel his image scorching onto my retinas.  Meeting Simon Snow’s gaze is something that can only be done in doses, for me at least, I don’t know why.

           Well, I know why, but I can’t logically explain it.

           “Act?” I repeat dumbly.

           He slides off the desk and takes a slow step in my direction, and even that is enough to set my heart hammering.  “Yes,” he says, “act.”

           “I don’t know what -”

           “I think you do,” he interrupts me, “I think you know exactly what I’m talking about.” He pauses for a breath, like he’s second-guessing himself, but then he meets my eyes again.  “I think you wrote the notes.”

           My brain screeches to a halt and nothing makes sense.  “Notes,” I reply, and I hate myself because the boy I’m head-over-heels for is actually not at my throat and I sound like a parrot.

           He seems to get a burst of confidence.  “It’s okay, Baz,” he goes on, still slowly advancing, “I don’t mind, but you could have just said something.”

           I have nowhere to go.  I want to leap up from my spot and run, but I can’t.  Even in all this, my pride wins.  I’m on a desk in the middle of an empty classroom, and I’m cornered.  “Said something,” I stammer, “about what?”

           He shrugs, right in front of me now.  “Anything from any of the notes, which were unbelievably mushy, by the way. I didn’t think you had it in you.”

           “Hang on,” I stop him, unable to keep from shrinking back.  “You’ve been getting notes?”

           “All week,” he grins, “though I didn’t realize it was you until I got here.  I have to say, that last one was weak poetry. I mean, ‘roses are red, violets are blue’?”

           Something in my brain clicks and I swear I hear a ding.  “‘Meet me in Room 172’,” I finish with a sinking feeling.

           His face lights up like all the stars in the sky are in his eyes.  “I knew it was you,” he murmurs, and – Crowley – his gaze flickers to my mouth, no more than a foot away.

           And I want it.  I want to keep quiet and let him close the distance.  Hell, I want to do it myself.

           But I reach into my pocket and pull out the scrap of paper from inside.  “Then I hate to tell you this, Snow,” I say quietly, my heart breaking, “but I didn’t do it.”

           He looks away from my eyes for the first time and his brow scrunches up when he sees the note in my hand.  He takes it from me and unfolds it, his eyes scanning over the words again and again, the same little three-line poem.  I watch as he checks his pockets, finding an identical note in his jeans, and the penny drops.

           “It wasn’t you,” he says, almost to himself, and his face falls.

           “I’ve been getting anonymous notes all week, too,” I confess.  “It’s a trick on both of us.”

           His hands are shaking.  “Why would anyone do this?” he asks quietly, his face reddening, and I can’t tell whether it’s with embarrassment or anger or sadness, or all of the above.

           “I don’t know,” I stand at last and saunter over to lean against the wall, grateful for some air that isn’t charged with proximity.  “People are dicks, I guess.”

           “And you swear that you had nothing to do with it?”  He won’t look at me at all now.

           “I swear.”

           He squeezes his eyes shut and I half expect tears to appear on his cheeks, but he just nods once and turns to march towards the door.

           An image flashes through my brain, of his eyes boring into mine, of how they flickered down to my flustered mouth.

           And suddenly I decide that I’ve had enough of this.

           “Simon.”

           He stops dead in his tracks.  “What?” he says without looking at me.

           “I’m sorry.”

           “What for?  You said you didn’t do anything.”  His voice sounds sore, like he is fighting tears after all.

           “I’m sorry that you thought it was me,” I tell him, “because…” I trail off, unsure how to finish.

           “Because what?”

           I wish he would look at me.  “I hate to ask, but did you mean any of that?”

           “About not minding if it was you?”  He sighs like he’s given up.  “Yes. I meant all of it.”

           He meant all of it.  From the words to the glance at my lips.  All of it.

           He shoots me a red-faced glare at my silence.  “Happy?”

           I stare back, and I can feel a big stupid grin bubbling up.  “Yes, actually.”

           That catches him off-guard.  “Why?”

           “Because I wouldn’t mind if it was you, either,” I blurt out before I can lose my nerve.

           His eyebrows finally un-furrow and he meets my eyes properly.  I know that I’m turning pink again, but as he starts to step towards me, I hold his gaze.

           When he’s right in front of me again, close enough that I have to look down to see him, he whispers “You mean…”

           One of the paper hearts littering the room suddenly jumps up off a desk, and I don’t know if they’ve been charmed to target fools in love or not, but it starts to dance around my head.

           Simon chuckles at the heart.  “Is that a yes?”

           I allow myself a tempered version of the big stupid grin.  “You could say that.”

           The heart swoops in front of my eyes, and I lazily wave it away.

           Simon stands on tiptoe and plucks the heart from the air by my eyes, and we’re no further than a breath apart.

           And then he leans in the rest of the way.

Agatha

Penny squeezes my hand hard when they finally fall together, and I squeeze back.  Stealthily she snaps a silent photo on her phone, and I make a mental note to get her to send it to me later.  The fruits of our labours.

           We step back from the open door of Room 172 as quietly as we can, but I doubt we need to worry.  Simon and Baz are both far too occupied to notice us.

           Penny keeps hold of my hand as we make a break for it, waiting until we’re around several corners before speaking.

           “Damn,” she grins at me, “we are good.”

           All I can do is grin back, still holding her hand as we stroll down the hallway, kicking up clouds of red paper hearts.

Words are only that, words. They mean nothing if you can’t support it with action. I won’t tell you that I love you, because words are not enough. Let me dissect this heart of mines to show you how every vein and every artery has your name written on it. You will feel how much it aches for you. I will cut open my skull so that you can see how each lobe in my brain is consumed with thoughts of you. There’s not a moment where you don’t you don’t cross my mind.
—  I love you with every aching part of my body
-m.t.t.