Warnings: Strong sexual content. Public Sex. This is really filthy okay.
Words: 2, 919.
a/n: Basically you and Jimin have sex in a movie theater. This ruined me.
“Jimin, I’m not sure about this..”
With a wary gaze from the deserted back
row of the medium sized theater, you looked upon the other twelve
people occupying once empty chairs. The closest to you was a couple
sitting three rows in front, directly in the middle and not much
older than you and your very persistent boyfriend.
“They can’t see us, as long as you keep your pretty mouth shut for me.”
The city of Tucson is defined by the vast expanse of desert, rows of adobe houses and a vaguely Art Deco, sand-colored downtown. But in the foothills of the Santa Catalina Mountains, which ring parts of the city, sits a house that slyly plays with local stereotypes, at once celebrating the rough-hewn appeal of Southwest architecture and playing against it with Modernist flourishes straight out of the International Style playbook. “It’s very of the place without being hit over the head with it,” says the owner, the set designer Scott Pask. “You’re in Arizona but it’s not some clichéd adobe.”
Pask is a prolific contributor to Broadway — he’s designed for over 50 shows and won Tony Awards for three, including “The Book of Mormon” — and his primary residence is an East Village apartment. But Arizona is where Pask was raised; he and his twin brother, Bruce, the men’s fashion director at Bergdorf Goodman, grew up in Yuma, and Scott attended college in Tucson. That’s where he first fell in love with the city to which he always intended to return and build a home. “There’s an abstractness to the landscape because it’s so rugged and harsh,” Pask says. “Even when I’m not here, it’s something that I think about all the time.”
The artist Donald Judd once wrote, “I loved the land around Tucson, chiefly because you could see it.” This concept, of land accessible and unadorned, of endless sky, is the guiding principle of Pask’s house, which he found six years ago after a friend spotted a listing online for a place not far from the Saguaro National Park. First impressions were mixed. For one thing, says Pask, with slight disdain, “It was painted peach.” But he saw potential. “It had a brutalism about it that was definitely of the region,” he says. And in every direction, the Sonoran Desert.
Like many adobe-style dwellings, the house (built in 1968, with an addition added in 1979) had been designed as a refuge from the often harsh sun, but Pask wanted to literally let the sunshine in. In Arizona, “the light changes everything — the light is why I’m here,” says Pask.
He collaborated with Tucson-based craftsmen as well as with longtime friends — including Robert Nevins, his design professor at the University of Arizona. Using the original structure as a jumping-off point, they opened up and added windows, shifting the focus to the “vistas and views,” says Pask. “I love a horizon line.” The garage — a further barrier to light — was torn down and one driveway eliminated so that visitors arrive at the front of the house rather than its side. The exterior’s peach was replaced by a warm gray (dubbed Pask Gray by the local paint store) because the color resembled soil found in the Sonoran Desert.
The interior rooms, dark and heavy, were gutted. Plywood bookcases, drywall, wall-to-wall carpeting, the sickly yellow tiles in the master bedroom bath — all were ripped out, exposing the concrete beneath. It’s a material beloved by Pask for its “honesty” as well as its association with the work of Louis Kahn, one of his favorite architects. The ceilings, painted a very dark brown, with exposed beams, were sandblasted, revealing knotty Douglas fir. Rather than enclose the kitchen, a free-standing wall was erected between that room and the shared dining and living area. And two linear skylights were constructed, one stretching from the north bedroom to the south bedroom, and the other inside the master bedroom and bath.
Pask chose a honed and porous Mexican travertine stone for all of the kitchen and bathroom countertops, as well as the master bathroom and shower walls. “The stone is so easily stained and scratched that I had to sign a release of liability from the manufacturer, but I was happy with the idea of the house showing history as it’s used. It’s similar to the hand-plastered walls, which will become more beautiful as cracks appear,” says Pask. “My adored stepfather, Frank, who passed away two years ago, put one of our findings from a day of antiquing on the kitchen counter. It left a small scratch when it was moved, and I love the remains of that day. Now that he’s gone that small trace is treasured — I run my fingers over that mark each time I’m in the kitchen.”
Southwestern design has become a décor taboo, with a reputation somewhere between kitsch and revivalist grandstanding. “I always preferred something on the edge of very austere,” says Pask, whose house contains a sprinkling of local favorites — hand-plastered walls, ceramic vessels, vintage Navajo rugs, antique Mexican furniture — leavened with spare, modern pieces and contemporary art. More important than all of it, though, is the play of shadows throughout the day. Thanks to his theater work, Pask is acutely aware of how light moves through a space. As a result, each room is like an individual set, with moods established by the passage of the sun; patterns emerge and disappear, softening and emphasizing the geometry of the architecture, producing noirish drama by late afternoon. The windows are no longer covered, framing the lush vegetation of the desert. Pask leaves them open during the day, the sweet smell of mesquite scenting the rooms.
The house has given Pask’s mother a second home as well. He keeps a bedroom for her, and for his brother when he visits. Work takes Pask around the world, and building sets offers a happy impermanence. At the same time, that life has increased his desire for something more enduring. “When I do a play, it’s totally fleeting, three months up and down.” The house, though, “is constant and forever.”
spacey gave to @queenlionsnake: 745 words of Rexsoka (continuation of this)
60. “Before you decide to murder me, let me explain…”
Ahsoka fought hard for the 501st to be allowed dwell time on Coruscant while Commander Rex recovered from the last battle. It certainly gave others who had been injured time to heal as well, but none of them were as instrumental to her leadership as Rex. Anakin had agreed with her—via holo because he was currently jetting about the galaxy on supposed higher orders, which were most likely his own—and the council begrudgingly acquiesced.
But the war didn’t slow down in the meantime and Ahsoka couldn’t decline when orders finally fell on them to assist the occupation of Mandalore. Up-and-coming soldiers like Appo and Jesse shared the burden of Commander as the fleet prepared to depart.
The day before deployment, Ahsoka uploaded the supply inventory to her datapad in her flagship cabin when her door slid open for Rex to enter, helmet tucked under one arm.
“You’re harder to track down than General Skywalker, sir,” he said. Ahsoka dropped the pad on her cluttered desk, eyes wide and breath caught. She approached him haltingly, as if he was too good to be true. But pressing her hands to his armor assured her he was real.
Her breath came out in a sigh of relief.
“I didn’t know you were back to duty already!”
Rex’s hand wavered in midair and Ahsoka’s eye markings flattened.
“You were cleared for operations again, weren’t you?”
Smeargle subspecies/variations, including their Shiny forms!
While Smeargle is my alltime favourite Pokemon (it’s an adorable puppy that paints, how can I not love it!?), I can’t draw it in its Pokémon style, so I drew it in the style I normally draw it in. I do prefer a more dog-look to it as well, because it’s supposed to be a dog. Also, I follow the anime’s canon when it comes to Smeargle’s paint, meaning here, Smeargle can normally change their paint colour.
To put it simply, rows 1 - 3 are fur/pattern variations, rows 4 - 6 are climate variations, and rows 7 - 9 are paint variations.
1st row: Standard. Can have any paint colours. Their pawprints are placed on their upper back. They’re usually found in urban areas. The most common Smeargle. Arctic, Desert, Albino and Melanin can be found with this pattern.
2nd row: Brown. Can have any paint colours. Their pawprints are placed on their upper back. They’re usually found in urban areas and forrests. They’re less common than Standard ones, but can easily be found in the outskirts of cities. Arctic, Desert, Albino and Melanin can be found with this pattern.
3rd row: Spotted. Can have any paint colours, but prefer green. Their pawprints are placed on their lower back, as their upper back is usually spotted. They’re usually found in forrests. They’re less common than Standard ones, but can easily be found in forrests. Arctic, Desert, Albino and Melanin can be found with this pattern.
4th row: Hooded. Can have any paint colours, but prefer red and orange. Their fur is thick to prevent it from freezing. Their pawprints are placed on their hip, as the fur on their back is long and thick. They’re usually found in mountains and colder climates. They’re less common than Standard ones, but can be found in mountains. Arctic, Desert, Albino and Melanin can be found with this pattern.
5th row: Arctic. Can only have “cold” paint colours, like blue or gray. Their fur is very thick and fluffy, allowing them to survive cold climates and even blizzards. Their pawprints are placed on their hip, as the fur on their back is long and thick. They’re uncommon and hard to find, but can occasionally be found in colder climates, high up in the mountains, and caves. They’re best suited for trainers who live or travel in cold regions.
6th row: Desert. Can only have “warm” paint colours, like red and yellow. Their fur is very short to prevent it from getting too hot. Their pawprints are placed on their upper back. They’re uncommon and hard to find, but can occasionally found in deserts, hot climates, and near beaches. They’re best suited for trainers who live or travel in warm regions.
7th row: Ink. Can only have black and gray paint colours. Their paint is actually ink, and this is the oldest variation of Smeargle known. While thought to have invidual patterns on their fur, only their ears, collars, eyes and feet are actually black; the rest of their “pattern” is dried ink smudges. Their pawprints are placed on their upper back. They’re extremely rare as they’re going extinct, and can no longer be found in the wild. However, breeders are trying to save them.
8th row: Nocturnal. Can only have glow-in-the-dark paint. These are the only Smeargle that exsist partly thanks to humans. When humans first found Smeargle many decades ago, they wanted to take advantage of their natural instinct to mark their territory and surroundings in order to map out regions, thus starting to train them. Many years later, someone thought it would be helpful to trainers to have one that could mark their way at night, and experimented on giving Smeargle glow-in-the-dark paint. The experiment was successful, and the Pokémon was quickly bred and even released in the wild, where they evolved further. Their fur is thick to prevent it from freezing at night. They don’t have pawprints as the only paint the have glow at night, and it’s harder to hide if they glow. Their pupils are slit and they are only awake at night. They’re rare, but can be found in forrests and caves.
9th row A: Albino. Can only have very light paint colours, due to their hypopigmentation. They have pawprints from everyone in their pack, as they love using themselves as canvases. Their packs are normally consisting of Albino and Melanin, but some are born with normal pigmentation. They’re rare, but can occasionally by found in outskirts of cities and outskirts of forrests.
9th row B: Melanin: Can only have very dark paint colours, due to their hyperpigmentation. They have pawprints from everyone in their pack, as they love using themselves as canvases. Their packs are normally consisting of Albino and Melanin, but some are
born with normal pigmentation. They’re rare, but can occasionally by
found in outskirts of cities and outskirts of forrests. They were originally thought to have been a Shiny form of the Albino,
but it was soon discovered that they were simply the opposite. Shiny
forms of these two do not exsist, due to their pigmentation.
If there’s one thing Detroit has plenty of, it’s empty lots and empty buildings. Once a city of nearly two million people, Detroit’s population now stands at around 700,000. Large swathes of the city are sparsely populated, their landscapes marked by industrial ruins. Despite the growing appeal of Detroit to the young, creative class, the city remains best known to most as America’s most photogenic ghost town.
But, as I recently discovered on a brief trip to Detroit, it may in fact be Detroit’s emptiness that holds the greatest promise for the city’s future.
It was late on a Friday when I checked into my downtown hotel. The hotel was nearly full thanks to several weddings taking place there that weekend, but the neighboring streets were largely empty of people: a few convenience stores with flashing lights were the only signs of life in the immediate surroundings. I didn’t know what to expect come daytime.
On Saturday morning, I peeled back my curtains to see the Detroit River and, arching over it, the Ambassador Bridge leading to Canada. Looking down at the streets just below below, my eyes alighted on something unexpected: a patch of green. From eighteen stories up, I couldn’t make out much detail, but neatly planted rows told me I’d chanced upon my first urban farm. I later learned that this was Lafayette Greens, a tiny farm of less than half an acre established in the wake of the demolition of a landmark building that had once stood in its place. More an urban design project than a working farm, Lafayette Greens nevertheless seemed an auspicious omen for the day’s agricultural explorations.
Later that morning, I set out in my rental car for Detroit’s North End district with plans to see an urban farm. I drove through residential neighborhoods, some streets still lined with large, impressive houses, but many of them seemed empty: windows broken, porches collapsed, roofs caved in. Then, incongruously, an enormous piece of street art: one entire side of an eight-story building covered in long streaks of brilliant pink and blue, a drip painting the size of an Olympic size swimming pool. My destination was just around the corner.
Behind a decrepit house—one whole side of the house was missing, as if it had been ripped off in a tornado—I glimpsed the farm, on oasis of green brilliant enough to seem like a mirage set against the drab urban desert that surrounded it. Row after row of vegetables and fruits sprung from rich, dark soil; bright orange marigolds guarded the ends of each row, warding off pests without the need for pesticides.
The Michigan Urban Farming Initiative—MUFI—was founded in 2011 by then-University of Michigan students, Tyson Gersh and Darin McLeskey. The farm functions as a non-profit organization that, according to its mission statement, “seeks to engage members of the Michigan community in sustainable agriculture.” The organization targets issues related to vacant land, unemployment, access to nutritious food and fresh produce. Education is at the heart of MUFI’s values, aiming to re-connect people to the source of the food they consume, meanwhile educating people on concepts like food miles, nutrition and local food production.
Now run by Gersh, and several other full-time volunteers, the farm welcomes part-time volunteers every week to help run the farm, attend to the compost, weed, till the soil, and more. In order to ensure zero waste, produce is picked to order rather than pre-picked and packaged. Customers place their orders with the volunteers, who then harvest the orders straight from the plants. MUFI currently plants kale, chard, tomatoes, melons, pumpkins, several types squash and lettuce, a variety of herbs, and much more. When it’s time to checkout, customers pay only what they can afford for the produce. Non-profits like MUFI may not in and of themselves bring the city of Detroit the financial solvency it desperately needs, but they respond to the equally pressing need among many of the city’s residents for accessible, nutritious, locally grown food.
Buzzed on my visit to MUFI, I got back in my car and headed to Artesian Farms in Brightmoor, a mostly industrial neighborhood on the outskirts of the city. The streets were lined with semi-trucks and warehouses.
Jeff Adams, founder of Artesian Farms, used to sell technologies to the automobile industry before he made a perspective-altering mission trip to Brazil. “It was an eye-opening experience for me,” said Jeff. “But on returning, I looked at my wife and said, ‘how could we travel all the way to Brazil to help people when there are people right in our neighborhood who need the help just as much?’”
So, with the aim of creating jobs and providing highly nutritious produce year-round, Adams decided to build a vertical hydroponic farm not far from where he lived in Detroit. First, he bought a blighted building; next, he licensed hydroponic growing technology from Green Spirit Farms, a leader in the field. Last summer, he planted his first crops—a colorful mesclun called “Motown Mix,” a fragrant, large-leaf variety of basil, spinach and Blue Scotch kale—all cultivated using organic practices. Adams currently supplies to several local restaurants, including Republic and the Henry Ford Museum; several other partnerships are in the pipeline. Detroit’s Whole Foods will begin carrying his products in October.
Aesthetically speaking, Artesian Farms holds little of MUFI’s charm, situated as it is in a windowless warehouse, completely cut off from the summer’s sun. But what the farm lacks in looks it makes up for with efficiency and pragmatism. As Adams spoke, the benefits of hydroponic, vertical farming in a climate with a short growing season—particularly during a time when our country’s most productive agricultural zone continues to suffer a devastating drought—became increasingly clear. On less than 1500 square feet, Adams can harvest about 1200 pounds of vegetables every 21 days: that’s 17 times per year, instead of two or three harvests for conventional Michigan farmers. In his carefully controlled indoor setting, Jeff has no need for pesticides (other than the aphid-eating ladybugs he occasionally releases into the growing room) or fertilizers. He uses only natural compounds and Detroit city water in the nutrient solution. And, because the hydroponic technology allows him to reuse most of his water, Adams uses 90% less of it than conventional agriculture in Michigan.
At the end of our meeting, Adams went into the growing room to pick some fresh greens for me to take home, greens that would be more nutritious—he promised me—than any others I’d had. Soil-grown produce, Adams explained, is often stressed by climate variations, full-spectrum light and changing nutrient levels in the soil, which deplete the produce of energy, leaving less nutrients in the plant. Likewise, plants that are reliant on the sun’s light must filter out all but the red and blue light from the spectrum; only red and blue help the plant grow. Since hydroponically-grown plants are fed only those compounds they require in the nutrient solution (and nothing more), and because they receive only red and blue light via LEDs, the plants store more energy. This translates to more nutrients in your food. At a minimum, I can attest to a noticeable difference in taste: the kale I came home with was bouncy, with a bright, springy flavor; the basil was sweet, fragrant, and almost crunchy. I couldn’t imagine a restaurant or grocery that wouldn’t be excited to buy from Artesian, and I told Adams as much. Right now though, he’s growing in only one quarter of the building, but he’s planning to expand to fill the rest of the space by next spring.
We hear a lot these days about skyscrapers filled with hydroponic farms, and certainly such structures will play an important role in the production of food in the metropolises of the future. But in Detroit, there is no need to go up, no need to build at all: the space is there, and so are the empty buildings. There’s a long way to go until Detroit’s promise is fulfilled, but the seeds have been planted.
Author’s Note: Lafayette Greens, MUFI and Artesian Farms represent only a fraction of the Detroit’s urban agricultural scene. Other exciting urban agriculture projects include Hantz Farms, Occupy Yourselves Agricultural Academy, Rising Pheasant Farms, among many others.