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diegoalvesisgod · 3 years

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I was tagged by @ibarbourou to do this... writing self-analysis, I guess.

Can you think of three images that are recurring elements in your writing? Are they symbolic of something? What do these images mean to you? Do you have any memories/connotations tied to them?

Long post ahead.

fire and warmth

This was the only one I didn’t have to think about, the one I consciously know is a recurring theme.

The image or fire, or anything that represents warmth or creates warmth, or the warmth in itself.

Paulo takes a deep breath and walks inside. The interior looks very different from the outside. It’s not scary at all. It reminds Paulo of a museum a little bit, but it’s warmer and cozier. There is a thick carpet on the floor in the large hallway, and patterned wallpaper on the walls. Fire is crackling somewhere.

(My Love Will Never Die)

He crosses the hall carefully, trying not to trip over anything. The storm outside intensifies, rain beating at the windows and lightnings illuminating the empty hall at least thrice before he reaches the door. The room he finds behind it is much smaller, and somehow also feels warmer. Whoever covered the furniture and took down the paintings before leaving this place most likely forgot about this room. The armchair in front of the large fireplace isn’t covered, there’s even a pelt in front of it, like whoever used to sit there liked to keep their feet warm. A small table to the side to put a glass of wine or a book on, a candleholder near the window, chairs in the corners. There’s still a pile of wood neatly lined up next to the fireplace, and he finds a tinderbox on the mantelpiece.

(let the darkness lead us into the light)

My grandfather was a concentration camp survivor. I was little when he died, but there are some things I remember him talking about to me, and this is one of them. Warmth means life. There is nothing if there’s not warmth, because if you’re cold, the only thing you can think of is warmth, the need to get warm, the lack of warmth. I deeply believe in the third generation trauma theory, and this may be one of the ways it manifests. I am able to cope with cold much better than most of my friends and family - what is cold for them isn’t cold for me, but I also subconsciously focus on things that represent warmth. I love blankets and candles and hot tea and fireplaces, I hoard sweaters, and when I was a little girl, I never wanted jackets, I wanted fur coats.

For me, warmth, or the lack thereof, sets the vibe and the atmosphere of the story. It determines if the story has potential to have a happy ending, if the characters are even able to experience something positive.

There’s fire burning in the giant fireplace, started by someone from their small entourage, but the stone has been cold for too long, and it only slowly lets the flames warm up the salty air. The shadows in the hall are long and tall, making everything seem monstrous.

“It doesn’t feel like home,” Viktor says, just because the words are burning on his tongue and he needs to spit them out, even if it means another bruise.

(Stars)

The vibe of the entire story is cold and crude, and for me, at the mention of fire, it changes for the better, it starts to get hopeful. It’s what starts the change, and it’s slow and perhaps an impossible task to completely warm it up, but it’s already less dark and desperate.

flowers/plants

I don’t use flowers or plants that often, but when I do, it’s always with intention.

Denis lingers for a while. He takes off the rye wreath and runs a hand through his hair.

“I just… wanted to say that I’m sorry,” he says quietly.

“Sorry for what?” Vasek asks.

“Just… you know… being… generally disappointing.”

(all hail the underdogs)

I picked rye as the symbol of love and fidelity, because that’s what their relationship is about. But for the scene between Denis and Taylor later on in the fic, I picked cattail:

Denis nods, and then realizes that he doesn’t have to look for anything. He’s already got it. He pulls out the cattail he had picked earlier, and puts some of the pollen on the wound.

“Here,” Taylor says, handing him a piece of cloth in which Denis recognizes the silvery fabric of the small parachutes that transport sponsors’ gifts to the arena. “Do you need help?”

Denis nods and holds his hand up to him. Taylor wraps the fabric around his palm a bit clumsily, and ties it firmly.

(all hail the underdogs)

Cattail symbolizes peace, mainly between two people who are fighting. It’s literally a symbol of this temporary treaty between them, and of a friendship that could be if it weren’t for the circumstances.

I used the comparison of two different flowers again in Where my dreams are made of gold.

Alessandro sits at the table and looks at the pile of leaves and blossoms. “What do you need all these flowers for?”

“The leaves. Green pigment,” Riccardo explains and tears another leaf off.

“Lily of the valley,” Alessandro smiles. “My favorite.”

Riccardo just stares at him. Are men even supposed to have favorite flowers? Does he have his favorite flower?

“Simple, innocent, fragile… but also deadly,” Alessandro says, picking up a flower and smelling it. “It’s said it sprang from Eve’s tears when she was leaving the Garden of Eden.”

Riccardo wants to say something about this flower not suiting Alessandro, since he knows from Giampaolo that it symbolizes humility in religious paintings, but holds his tongue. After all, who is he to tell anyone what flower they should like?

(Where my dreams are made of gold)

Alessandro’s favorite flower is lily of the valley - actually a very feminine flower, associated with purity, humility, chastity and sweetness. It’s not representing him as he is, but the values that he is looking for, the way he wishes he were.

Alessandro nods and looks at the paper in Riccardo’s lap, the sketches of blooms and branches.

“Magnolias,” Riccardo says. “My favorite flowers. They look beautiful up in the tree, but you can’t really take them down. They wither and rot if you do. Beautiful and delicate as long as you just look. If you touch them, they turn to death.”

(Where my dreams are made of gold)

On the same note, Riccardo likes magnolias - exactly for the reason he gives. They are beautiful up in the tree, but if you touch them, they turn ugly and die. They symbolize dignity and nobility - which are qualities that he is seeking. Just before he states this, he says about himself: “A kiss for money or a favor? Not like I haven’t done it myself, although I didn’t call it trade. But see, I’m no one to judge you.”

In this one, roses are kind of obvious, because it’s a Beauty and the Beast retelling, but here they also play into the whole crucifixion allegory, thorn crown and all that I created - which to this day I can’t believe I did in a piece I didn’t even intend as entirely serious.

The guards apparently didn’t keep the story to themselves, because among the jeers and laughter of the crowd slowly gathering on the square, he hears mentions of roses and the Beast almost as often as he hears himself being called a fool.

Someone pushes a flower crown made of roses on his head. He feels the thorns sink in his forehead, but the pain never reaches where it should. He can’t quite feel his body, nor see where he’s going, and he doesn’t think that he would be able to walk on his own, if it weren’t for the guards’ grip on his arms.

He stops when they tell him to, looks up to the wooden post and sniffles. This is the thing he feared the most all his life, and now he feels nothing. He raises his hands obediently and lets the guards close the iron rings around them, and he looks down at the crowd like they mean nothing. He doesn’t even feel like explaining anything to them, even if it could stop the jeering and curses and an occasional rose being thrown at him like it’s worth nothing. They would never understand.

(let the darkness lead us into the light)

In let's be winners by mistake, I used roses, but paper roses. On purpose - while they should symbolize love, they are not real. Andrey repeatedly gives Sascha paper roses, but he’s aware of his feelings not being reciprocated, and in this scene, where he already knows that Sascha is in love with someone else, he burns the rose to show him that love like that, with an “outsider”, cannot last and be real.

Sascha lifts his eyes to him for a moment, and when he lowers them again, Andrey is holding a red paper rose.

“We all have dreams,” he says and hands it to him. “But like everything that happens under the Big Top, they are not real.”

He runs his palm over the paper flower, and out of nowhere, it catches fire. Sascha drops it quickly, and watches the flames swallow the crepe paper.

“What… how do you do the things?” he breathes out.

“If I told you, it would no longer be magic,” Andrey smiles.

(let's be winners by mistake)

For me, flowers are a great way to establish a character, or a relationship. When I look at a person, I can usually associate a flower with them. I love flowers, and I’m very picky about them. There are flowers I can’t stand and would never bring them home, and then flowers I am attracted to. So I generally think of flowers just like I think of people.

liminal spaces

“The spatial dimension of liminality can include specific places, larger zones or areas, or entire countries and larger regions.Liminal places can range from borders and frontiers to no man's lands and disputed territories, to crossroads to perhaps airports, hotels, and bathrooms which are spaces people pass through but do not live in.”

I feel like I oscillate between establishing homes for the characters, and using liminal spaces a lot. I think I used these mainly in my old fics, but sometimes I still like to reach for them.

The motel he stops at is far from the city, and looks like it could be accidentally demolished any day, as it seems to be completely abandoned. But Paulo knows it’s still open, and barely anyone there cares who rents the rooms.

The room is far from nice, but as long as it has a bed and running water, it’s all they need.

Álvaro hasn’t said anything since Paulo picked him off the ground and cut the zip tie on his wrists. Paulo suspects that he concentrates on staying conscious. At least whenever he peeked at him from the driver’s seat, Álvaro’s lips and hands were shaking, and by the time they get into the tiny bathroom, he is barely able to stand. Paulo peels off his shirt and the torn jeans, and almost gasps. Álvaro’s body is colored in bruises, none of them dangerous, but all with the purpose of hurting. But Álvaro doesn’t complain, save for an occasional hiss, almost like he takes it as his penance.

Paulo helps him into the bathtub and lets him sit down. Then he reaches for the shower, an old thing that sprays water everywhere, and starts to wash him, not really touching him, just letting the hot streams run over his body. He then scrubs the dirt and blood out of Álvaro’s hair with the hotel soap and tries to dry him as gently as possible with the scratchy towels.

(No Rest For The Wicked)

I am big about the vibe of buildings. As much as I don’t think of myself as of a spiritual person, sensitive to whatever supernatural may exist in this world, and I have trouble perceiving human emotions, I can feel buildings. That’s my quirk. I have a whole theory of buildings, and my own terminology - for example, I know that old houses built of stone are grounded - they have a stable energy, and if I spend some time inside, I just feel very calm, relaxed and at peace.

I often go to liminal spaces when there’s a transition in the story.

The sky is pale pink interwoven with blue veins, and they both shake from cold and fatigue. They can see the border from here. Ander leans over the car, soaking in the warmth from the engine.

A car’s headlights blink from somewhere behind the border. Andoni grabs his bag. Ander watches him silently.

You could go with me, Andoni says then.

Ander shakes his head slightly. He can’t go anywhere. Your war is over. I still have a lot of battles to fight.

(Hold My Hand When This Ends)

Same here:

He looks like a ghost.

Not that Simon believes in ghosts, but at night the road becomes a strange place, almost like he can cross the line between this world and some alternate space anytime. Sometimes, when he stops for a cup of coffee at a gas station this late, and he’s the only one sitting there, he feels like he’s all alone in the world, like the whole population was wiped out during some catastrophe or epidemics and he’s the only miraculous survivor.

But although he knows that the person he’s seeing is real, has to be real, what is he supposed to think of a boy walking down the side of the road dressed only in jeans and a white sweatshirt when Simon is sure - and the red digits on his car stereo temperature display confirm it - it’s freezing cold outside?

(like all good kids from broken homes)

The whole fic is basically about liminal spaces - it’s about that moment of transition, and there’s basically no plot needed, the liminal spaces do all the magic.

The room is small and simple, with the obligatory double bed, because paradoxically one’s not expected to sleep alone in a place like this, but it’s at least warm and relatively clean. Viktor looks around like a trapped animal, and it takes him some time to relax at least enough to let go of his backpack and kick off the wet trainers.

“I think a hot shower will do you good,” Simon says, nodding towards the tiny bathroom.

For the first time, Viktor’s lips curl in a smile. “Will you feed me, too, and tuck me in bed?”

(like all good kids from broken homes)

Liminal spaces are something I personally love, because they have a special energy, time is very altered there, and they feel like a half-step, like a portal to something new. (The best liminal spaces are the F1 and Ibis budget hotels in France. Their lobby at about 1 AM can take your mind to very interesting places. Gas stations in the middle of the night come closely second.)

#writing

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franeridart · 5 years

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hi!!! first of all i adore your art so much!!!! like daddy jesus, it gives me life. u draw rlly good poses, so maybe u have some tips? or any good places to find references cuz i can only find pretty stiff looking pictures and thats sad :((((

Tips! Yes! I have those, since it’s a thing I’ve always struggled a lot with too, so I ended up hunting down and hoarding tips like an artist dragon with fancy pictures of gold - disclaimer, even though I know of these tips it doesn’t necessarily mean I’m good at following them. Because I’m a mess. SO! TIPS!

- When trying to decide on a pose, try to picture the whole action behind it instead of just the single instance! If we were to talk in animation terms, I’d say try to picture the whole sequence instead of just a single, specific frame of it. What is your character doing? Picture in your head the whole movement, and then pick a frame that’s smack in the middle of it - this is because generally the stiffer moments through an action are the beginning and the end of it, so drawing the middle will give your pose a lot more life! If you’re unsure about exactly which moment of the action would work best, draw thumbnails of a few different “frames” of it and pick the one that flows best for you

- Related to that, when looking for references generally I prefer looking for videos instead of pictures, specifically to get a better sense of how the whole movement flows and where it would be best to stop it. In the same vein, I’ve made a habit of at least partially always keep an eye out for body language while watching movies/tv shows/cartoons&anime, because while real life is just as much a good source of reference as anything else, actors and animators tend to exaggerate movements to make them more captivating and eye-catching, and that’s what we’re looking for when drawing too! It’s all in the drama of it, look for the drama

- “A real life person wouldn’t do that/move like that/bend like that”, that’s okay, this isn’t a real life person! Exaggerating the shapes and lines is a good way of increasing the flow of your pose, as long as you don’t make it grotesque then pushing on the shapes and curves is always a good idea! Unless you meant to go for grotesque, in which case push all you want, who’s to stop you. In this specific area action lines are your best friends, so if you feel your pose is stiff or lacks life, try finding the action line in it and push it more - you can find a lot of youtube tutorials on action lines and gesture drawing, in case you want to look more into that! Only god and my youtube history know how long I’ve spent doing just that

- Talking about youtube, if you want to work on your flow a good way is to try out the one minute figure drawing exercises - they give you a pose, you have one or two minutes to sketch it out depending on the video, then it moves to the next pose. It’s a good way to loosen up your lines, in my experience! This is a nice playlist for that, in case you wanna give it a go!

- Rewinding a bit and going back on body language, if you want your pose to feel alive and be realistic while at the same time conveying a specific mood or feeling, maybe you’ll want to look into how people express themselves through body language! I always see this suggested to writers to set the mood without explicitly stating the emotion, but it’s a wonderful tip for artists too the way I see it (mostly so if you’re drawing a comic, actually!). A good list is this one, give it a skim!

- More than a tip it’s a trick, really, but giving a prop to your character can help make the pose more interesting - there’s only a finite number of things a character can do standing alone by themselves with nothing to occupy them with, an object or an animal or a second character to interact with really do make finding an interesting pose easier!

That was a lot of theory there, wasn’t it, let’s go for some practical tips too (featuring Horikoshi’s pencil sketches, because I love them and he’s very, very good at this whole posing thing)

- If you picture your character as standing in an open space and the eyes of the viewers as a camera, moving the camera around them to find an interesting angle adds a lot of depth to the pose. It can be really, really tempting to just draw them from the front and eye level, but sometimes even just raising or lowering the camera the smallest bit helps with giving the drawing life - perspective! I know, I hate it too orz but we’re working hard to overcome that problem, because look at Horikoshi’s latest Kirishima sketch!

so alive! So beautiful! The pose in itself isn’t all that special, but the angle he decided to draw it at sure helps give him life. A thing I do often is to draw a thumbnail of the scene I’m trying to draw from the most boring angle possible, to make sure of where everything is, and then metaphorically move the camera around to try and find a more interesting angle to portray it from - it helps! At least, it does for me haha

- Keeping it asymmetrical makes the pose dynamic! Let’s look at Toga over here

Her legs and arms are an obvious example of this, but specifically I marked for you the hips line and shoulders line to show you how they aren’t paralel either, because that’s a little thing that’s generally a good idea to keep in mind when you want to give a bit more of movement to your posing! It’s true in photography too, actually. If you want a full body selfie to look good, try keeping shoulders and hips on non-paralel lines, it makes the whole thing look a lot more professional

- Keeping that Toga pic as our set example, hair and clothes give a lot of movement to the pose too! If you draw someone in the middle of an action, their clothes and hair are (possibly, if the clothes are loose enough and hair long enough) going to move with the action too - they show the direction of the motion, so keep that in mind when drawing them. Additional tip! If your character is just standing still, wind is a thing you can always make use of to give a bit more movement to the whole set-up!

- It’s a good idea to keep all the noise in your pose on one side, to give it a bit more balance and make it less chaotic - let’s use Jirou here as our example

the lines on the right side are a lot more simple and straight than the ones on her left, as I tried to very roughly mark for you - all details and “noisy” bits are all on the same side too, so that your eyes can easily focus on what’s important in the pic without getting lost all over the canvas. Balance and asymmetry! Again! It’s an easy way to make poses interesting, after all!

- That said, it’s not like you can never keep it symmetrical - the human brain actually likes that symmetry a whole lot, finds it compelling! It has to be perfectly symmetrical, though. Let’s look at Bakugou, because why not, always a good time to look at Bakugou

if you drew a line in the middle of his face and down his body, you’d see he’s pretty much perfectly symmetrical - that’s nice! That works! ...why does it work, though? This goes a bit more into composition and less into posing, but this has to do with the rule of thirds: generally and very simply, the rule is that for a picture to be well composed it needs to be set so that the main focus isn’t smack in the middle of the canvas. Some examples with the pics I just posted up there!

The way the bodies are positioned and the way in which the empty spaces are used respect the rule of thirds pretty dang neatly, and that helps make the pictures look less stiff too, between the others things! It gives balance to the whole composition, and makes it more lively! (The reason why it works with Kirishima is that the focus of the drawing is less him as a whole and more his face and right fist - so very neatly positioned! I’m in awe, ngl)

Bakugou’s case is a bit different thoguh, and that’s why the symmetry works there!

when you want to go for the symmetrical look you sort of need to forget about the rule of thirds, as far as I’ve been thought - symmetrical means tidy, and it’s only really tidy if it’s symmetrical based on a line traced right in the middle of the canvas, so Bakugou’s center is right along the median axis, and his pose works even if it’s pretty stiff, by all means.

(this goes into the rules of making a good portrait work, actually, but the lack of empty space all around him helps with keeping it looking well composed and tidy, too. There’s a lot of little tips and tricks that help make a pose work when it comes to composition, really!)

(Also, to be fair this last bit about the rule of thirds wasn’t exactly necessary or particularly well explained, I’ll be real, but while browsing Horikoshi’s twitter I realized how neatly all his sketches follow the rule and I needed to gush about that for a sec, it’s how being a fan works haha hope it was useful at least a bit to you, though!)

#fran answers #art tips #long post #so long!#but i hope at least something in here might be of help to you #posing and composing are a very very complex and big topics #i'm still working very hard to try and figure it out myself #let's do our best together!#sexy0android

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slightlyrebelliouswriter23 · 4 years

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Ace of Spades

So happy to finally be posting this Six of Crows multichapter fic for the Grishaverse Big Bang! Thank you so much to @corpsecro for the beautiful cover art! See end for author’s notes.

Summary: Two years since the events of Crooked Kingdom, the Crows are back and better than ever (or barely holding themselves together) in a swashbuckling hunt across oceans that leads them to legendary catacombs, a secret society, creatures of myth and whimsy, and- if everything goes as planned- a long lost treasure.

POV: Kaz Brekker, Inej Ghafa, Jesper Fahey, Wylan Van Eck, The Lilia (OC)

Chapter 1- Whiskey in a Teacup

Seventeen months. It’d been seventeen months since Kaz Brekker watched The Wraith set sail.

He’d watched her go. Stood on the docks as the sun painted the horizon a brilliant smear of papaya, then a blush of lilac and rose, to a bruised star-speckled blue. He’d watched that far-off, distant thing that was once a ship and so much more, as it faded to a small smudge in the crease between sea and sky.

Then he’d taken the long way back to the Slat.

After that, it was business as usual. There was work to be done. In seventeen months he’d built an empire in this wretched, glorious town. Though, it had really been more like eight.

The other nine months he’d spent spending—he was positively swimming in kruge. Half the time he didn’t know what to do with all of it. There was no way to spend that kind of money responsibly.

“So spend it irresponsibly,” Jesper had suggested. “You’re the newly crowned King of the Barrel. These are your days of golden enthronement.”

And it had been fun for a while—being the big gang boss of the Barrel, owner of nearly every successful gambling den in Ketterdam, raking in the kruge every night and never worrying because there would always be more.

Kaz couldn’t help but notice that lately, however, most of his time was consumed by the golden contents of a bottle—and that conceivably, the closest thing he had to a golden throne these days was the aureate tub he now slumped in.

Alas, all newness went stale eventually. As it happened, Kaz Brekker was bored out of his mind.

And his bath was going cold.

With a toe, he spun one of the faucet nozzles. A steady stream of hot water flowed into the tub with a hiss. He sank back, submerging his shoulders under the water’s rosy surface.

He was the kind of bored that made shooting himself in the kneecap seem appealing, if only for the purpose of forcing something interesting out of what had become a very mundane procession of days. The kind of bored that even baths and bubbles and teacups full of whiskey could not fix.

Kaz swirled the finger of amber liquid at the bottom of his cup. It sloshed up onto the porcelain sides and he thought about how much the colour resembled her eyes in a shaft of sunlight.

Then he shook his head. Ludicrous. Categorically asinine.

Here he was, Kaz Brekker, Dirtyhands, Bastard of the Barrel made Barrel Boss, a veritable King of Ketterdam; and he was sketching metaphors in his head for the colour of a girl’s eyes. A girl who was long gone, and indefinitely so.

Be all this as it may, he was also neck-deep in drink and pastel bubbles, so perhaps that was about right.

Not just any girl, he reminded himself, taking another sip of his drink.

She’d assured him she’d come back. And though he knew she would in due course, he had insisted she take all the time she needed to right what had been so very wrong for such a long time.

“Make them fear your name so much they daren’t even whisper it,” he’d told her before she left. “Make them pay, Inej.”

From what he’d heard, she’d lived up to that. Surpassed it, even. Slaughterer of Slavers, they called her. Vengeance of the Sea. What he would have paid to watch her burn their ships to ashes.

Kaz smiled at his teacup.

He looked to the night sky through the wavy glass of the window beside him, raised his makeshift glass to the distorted moon perched on the city skyline, and knocked back the remainder of his drink.

It was funny. He swore he felt the whisper of her presence on the wind with that burning swig. He loosed a chuckle. He was either imagining things or he was much drunker than he thought he was.

For Kaz had not felt the familiar rise of gooseflesh on the back of his neck—usually the first indicator of his Wraith’s presence—in a long while. And as he was most certain he’d be the first to hear of a particular ship making port in the harbour, he doubted it was anything but the ghost of a memory.

Yet, the tingle skittering across his scalp, the keen alertness pricking his senses to life, continued to be the most real thing in that tub.

Definitely drunk, Kaz thought and poured himself another knuckle of whiskey.

The bottle on the service cart next to the bath was old—one he’d been saving for a special occasion. He supposed tonight was just as special as any. In fact, the past four nights had been. He’d made his way through half the bottle, toasting the moon and the stars and whatever else lay around the bathroom as he sat in the tub every evening. They were all the same these days, either way.

“What shall we toast to?” Kaz mumbled to the cloud of pink bubbles eddying near his chest. He swirled the whiskey in his teacup.

Perhaps he should toast the pistol lying next to the half-empty bottle. It was the only promise of excitement in the room.

The breeze felt nice. A cool lick of air over the slowly heating bath—

Kaz looked up. Air from where?

He was sure he’d shut the windows in the adjoining bedroom. Suddenly, his stupor washed away like water down the drain. He glanced at the pistol again, debating whether to get out of the tub and investigate or if he could risk waiting for his assailant in the warm cocoon of water.

“I’d say to the pursuit of kruge,” a silky voice murmured from behind him. “But it looks like you’ve already got that covered.”

His heart stopped. He didn’t know whether he’d pass out or vomit, but either one might be likely considering the haze of whiskey he struggled to clear from his mind.

He turned to face the source of that familiar voice.

There, perched on the edge of the granite sink top like she’d been there all this time, was someone he hadn’t seen in seventeen months. Kaz couldn’t help the slow smile that crept across his face.

“Hello, Inej,” he drawled.

“Hello, Kaz,” she said.

He could have sworn the whole world shimmered when she smiled at him, though he wasn’t entirely certain she was truly here. He could have very well fallen asleep in the bathtub, and he would be none the wiser. Yes, this was all likely a drunken fever dream. His dreams did tend to torment him sometimes.

Nonetheless, he raised a brow and said, “Fancy meeting you here. In my bathroom. While I’m… bathing.”

If she blushed, Kaz could not see it in the golden glow of the bathroom lights. Perhaps the long months of travel and hard battle on the high seas had hardened her to such taunting that would have before made her cheeks stain red like a handful of pomegranate seeds.

In fact, he’d be shocked if she’d come back without a single jagged edge, though he couldn’t tell if that was the reason she held his gaze now, or the fact that he hadn’t delivered the line as smoothly as he would’ve liked. He couldn’t muster up enough wherewithal to care at the moment. Bubbles were really quite fascinating.

The corner of her mouth tilted up. “You were taking too long.”

“I like to soak.”

“I can see that.” Laughter gleamed in her eyes. Those eyes. And suddenly he did not care if this was a cruel figment of his imagination. He’d gladly play along.

Inej eyed the water. “Bubbles?” she asked with a bemused expression.

Kaz shrugged. “One of the more exciting facets of my life these days.”

“Things slow at the Crow Club then?”

“Slow at the Crow Club, slow with the Dregs.” He dipped his index finger in the mass of bubbles and came out with a small dollop which he blew into the air. They floated down like tiny, iridescent snowflakes. “Turns out, when everyone fears crossing you, nothing interesting ever happens.”

“One would think you’d be happy about that,” she said.

Kaz merely hummed noncommittally. “Yes,” he said after a moment. “One would think.”

“You’re not, though.”

He gave her a long look. “Would you be?”

“I’d be happy if I never had to worry,” she said, then knitted her brows. “Is the water pink?”

He smiled lazily. “Courtesy of Jesper. He took up a hobby.”

“Making bath products?”

Kaz nodded. “Soaps, bath fizzers, liquid bubbles, that sort of thing. The Dregs of the Bath, he called it. A business venture. It… did not end well.”

The corners of Inej’s mouth curled, eyes glittering mirthful delight—as if every possible consequence of Jesper and a hoard of perfumes and dyes reeled before her eyes in a resplendent carousel of disastrous hilarity.

This made Kaz very dizzy. Which was ridiculous, of course. It was her carousel. He sat up straighter and decided to stare very hard at a spot on the mirror beside her head.

“What happened?” Inej asked, and Kaz realised he had not offered her an explanation to his ominous statement.

The Dregs of the Bath had actually been a fairly successful business venture for a time. Jesper was good at dreaming up fantastical innovations and scent combinations so wondrous, it surprised Kaz for how much he didn’t mind them. For all of about three weeks, his friend had certainly given even the more established toiletry retailers of Ketterdam a run for their money.

The side effects of production, however…

Kaz remembered the way Jesper had shown up to the Crow Club for nearly a month sporting dark splotches of dye up to his elbows. He’d thought it amusing at first.

Half of the Dregs were covered head to toe in ink anyway, and Kaz didn’t enforce a dress code. Frankly, he didn’t care what any of the Dregs looked like as long as they did their jobs. That is, until the patrons had started whispering something about a plague.

Then, of course, Kaz had immediately grabbed Jesper by the back of his suspenders and hauled him to the nearest sink in the kitchens.

“It won’t come off,” Jesper had groused, scrubbing furiously at his forearms.

“Then I would recommend gloves,” he’d said dryly to his friend. “They make for quite the statement piece. I can loan you a pair.”

Once the dye had all but faded, there was still the matter of the smell, which wasn’t exactly bad so much as it was a little overwhelming. The problem with making your own scented bath products, it seemed, was that the aromas clung to every perceivable surface, and spread like an autumn breeze through a dale.

This was fine when Jesper had only been making one inoffensive citrus-scented bar soap. He’d smelled like a fruit basket for days, and made the entire club give off the impression that it was immaculately clean when Kaz knew it was surely not.

But one innocent fragrance had quickly become a cloud of five, and then an assault of ten.

Soon, every dweller from the Financial District to the Barrel had learned that if you could smell the aromas of the Van Eck manor (which had more than once been mistaken for a perfumery by tourists in those sundry weeks), it was already too late. You, too, would be wrapped in the cloying fragrance cocoon of a fruit basket inside a florist inside a bakery inside a tannery in the heart of a very dense forest.

Kaz had not mentioned it to Jesper, however; and one day, the smell had simply vanished. Jesper, in turn, had not mentioned anything to Kaz. They’d been seeing less and less of each other lately.

He supposed that was just how things went. Jesper had Wylan, and Wylan made his friend very happy. He couldn’t complain about that.

Besides, Kaz had… well, he had lots and lots of baths. And whiskey. And more kruge than he could ever possibly need. And…

A breeze floated in through the open window in the bedroom.

Kaz looked at Inej. There was a small part of him that still doubted her really being here. But then, the draft blew a lock of her crow dark hair loose from its braid—and when it fluttered a caress against her cheek, Kaz knew.

He might be skilled at plotting impossible schemes, but his imagination was not so creative and vivid as this. Especially not half-seas over.

Inej still sat on the countertop, reclined against the mirror, feet dangling over the edge. She eyed him in amusement. Probably mild concern, too, though he couldn’t focus through the steam and his whiskey muddled mind enough to tell.

“He got bored,” Kaz finally said with a shrug. “Moved on to something else. Made his own ale for a while. Regardless, there’s a closet full of bath fizzers of every smell and colour at the Van Eck manor, should you desire spicing up your bath experience.”

Inej laughed. That laugh. And Kaz’s eyes went wide and sober for five whole seconds before the glaze of alcohol and warm water slipped back over his senses.

He leaned back in the tub again. A wave of water sloshed over the side, hitting the tile floor with a splash.

“I think I’ll stick to regular baths for the time being,” she said.

At that, Kaz could think of no response. So he said nothing, but hummed and sank down further into the water.

“Why are you here, Wraith?” he asked when a moment had passed.

Inej’s eyes glinted something mischievous. “I have a proposal.”

♠︎♠︎♠︎♠︎♠︎♠︎

AN: Thanks so much for reading, everyone! And a massive thank you to The Serrated Spades, the team of creators, editors, and beta readers who’ve been working with me these past few months to create something really special for @grishaversebigbang !!

Check out @6crowgang ‘s GORGEOUS comic strip for this chapter!

Thanks so much again to @corpsecro for this absolute masterpiece of cover art! (GUYS. It moves!!!)

Get a sneak peek of heist planning (ft. an OC of mine) in this beautiful piece by @fishmaid !

This swashbuckling mood board by @ravenclawsandbeak sets the vibe just right!

More chapters to come soon- if you’d like to be tagged in future chapters, just shoot me a message/ask 🖤💫

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Tag List: @velarhysismine @the-mithridatism-of-jude-duarte @knifewifejude

#six of crows #crooked kingdom #grishaverse big bang #soc #ck #kaz brekker #inej ghafa #wylan van eck #jesper fahey #wesper #kanej #jesper x wylan #kaz x inej #leigh bardugo #the grisha trilogy #grishaverse #ace of spades #aos

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rawrroarart · 4 years

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workout pic thought post:

so uhh I been awake for like 2 days so forgive my bluntness/negativity in this one (which u can already kinda see in the post itself lmao)

from a practice standpoint: I made this one mostly to keep practicing on bodies trying to make them more anatomically correct and that's one of the main reasons im choosing to show more skin than I am clothes. (That and im gay so) I do wish to get better at clothes though since my Goal is to be able to draw Diana (and other characters eventually maybe) in cute outfits, but for now I need to at least be able to draw bodies first lmao and also id like to get better at coloring

(gets more negative from here on and honestly just turns into a rant about my life my bad)

from a mental standpoint: the other day I had a legitimate mental breakdown because none of my projects were coming out correctly and everything I drew looked like shit so I had an existential crisis over my abilities of art and somehow convinced myself that maybe I didn't actually ever draw anything on my blog so I guess I also had a bit of an identity crisis and I deleted a lot of unfinished projects despite my habits of hoarding and contemplated deleting the rest of my software to never draw again but for some odd reason my girlfriend woke up during this fit and got me to calm down at least, but I kept hyperfixating on trying to draw and so didn’t sleep but I eventually did FINALLY take a break and when I came back I was pissed and drew this. It turned out really well I think (thank fucking god because I probably would have quit if it didn't) but im depressed as hell!! and I miss my fucking girlfriend!! I was supposed to go fucking see her for spring break because I haven't seen her in over half a year but then covid happened and yea yea boohoo “ur life isn't that hard” but let me be sad dammit anyway im stressed as fuck because of school and the fear of my chances of reaching my dreams never coming true so that art problem was NOT GOOD for my health and idk what im doing hahgAHSWADHASDADSA

Anyway (again) usually my “sketch dumps” have multiple of drawings and I really was gonna draw Akko to go with her but I got really afraid of that breakdown and so as the saying goes, stop while you’re ahead.

on a positive note: yay diana’s stomach

#I speak #it rly is just a rant so that future me can see what a lil bitch I am lmao

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ayakashiramblings · 5 years

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Dawn and Twilight’s Social Media Accounts

Kuya

@NevermoreButSnore.

1230 followers.

Yes, I copied Edgar Allan Poe. Yes, I’m not sorry about the rhyme. Or calling him out.

Not that he really cares.

Insists that he is a headcanon creator on Twitter

Everyone who follows him knows that he is lying.

If we really had to classify him as a writer, it would one who posts those way-too-accurate posts about writers complaining about writing.

Like the notebook hoarding one. Not that anyone here in the fandom is guilty of that, haha... haha... ha.

Ironically is one of the more popular ones out of the whole group.

His flat responses and laziness are way too prominent to NOT be noticed.

If you actually tentatively sneak into his DMs though, for writing tips, he will patiently listen and... rather bluntly advise you.

It’s still advice though and is always the type to check out and reblog any short fanfics.

It just has to be weird, sporadic hours because he is the type to fall asleep with the phone on his face.

Koga Kitamikado

1230 followers.

@CapitalKayKay

Listen, there is a reason why a lot of successful businesses chose Instagram as their social media so Koga is no exception.

What makes his account stand out, as you can see from his rather cheeky username, is that he is willing to be an open book.

So he isn’t constantly shoving down any products he is sponsoring or whatever piece he is endorsing.

It’s more of genuinely wanting to hang out and explore what the world has to offer.

Whenever he posts a picture of the gang together, he’s the one tagging all of them, even the ones with hard usernames.

And there’s always a nice comment thanking whoever hosted the fun time or being appreciative of the area and the locals.

It helps that he has a sense of humour so the memes are always just the right amount of teasing but nothing too bad that will deter potential clients.

Because of his down-to-earth nature, he reels everyone in.

Uses the space to invite everyone following him on any celebration/casual outing.

The thing is... he has a lot of followers.

So... good luck.

Aoi

1150 followers.

@DeredArtTooTsun

Look, even he knows he is a Tsundere. It’s a small victory getting him to acknowledge that, let alone use it to brand himself here.

But god, he’s the man I’m most jealous of on Tumblr.

PERFECT BULLET JOURNALS AND SKETCHES.

Got the spreads that literally define ‘aesthetic’, a perfect lineup of art materials even with pencils that have their numbers faded, and somehow, the emotions can pass through the paper and screen.

Even does tutorials on perspectives, positions with cute annotations. Just don’t praise them for being adorable though and focus on improving your skills, dummy.

Ironically though, it’s his mindless vents that get the most number of notes.

It helps that the pics include him, a very cute... I mean... manly boy screaming at very, very hot men.

A bit baffled but whatever it takes to get commissions.

That’s right, he takes them. At least there is a back-up option should the restaurant ever go out of business.

Spoiler Alert: Still doesn’t get paid as much. People, have you seen the number of talented artists here? Aoi might be in the rankings but it’s still hard attracting business.

Support your fandom artists, everyone!

Ginnojo

1000 followers. Just nice.

Ginnojoz

Poor grandpa didn’t intend to put that extra ‘z’ letter, it was a typo because scales don’t get along with haptic touch.

And unfortunately, doesn’t understand how to change it.

Once, he was huge on Vine before it died. The end of an era that he has to witness again. RIP.

Gin-Gin, it is RIGHT. THERE.

Expect to find his super short self-defence videos and Book Club Readings on YouTube.

Girls actually appreciate his instructions and attempts to provide help even if they are alone.

He did try to respond to the nice ones and actually succeeds.

It’s always easier getting to know the language of women when you don’t really see/touch them.

A deep baritone is perfect for some sexy excerpt of a historical novel...

Until he corrects the setting.

In fact, he sometimes rage-quits and rewrites it.

Unlike Kuya, him doing those established ideas actually catches on.

Yura and Gaku

1500 followers.

MelodyandTheBeat.

... Tik-tokers. Tik-Tok people?

WTH do you call them?

As you can see, they are the most popular since it’s combined stardom.

Look, their covers and music mixes are beautiful.

They always have their own version that somehow combines traditional Japanese music... with k-pop.

And of course, food porn.

Just be grateful there isn’t that awful squelching sound you hear when you consume jelly or the breaking of chilli seeds.

Listen, I usually separate them because it’s never nice to be grouped as having the same activity as your twin.

But in this case, being both equally beautiful AND talented sells their uploads.

Even the cringy ones made because Yura is such a Luddite.

Like just turning his head and being amazed his hair can turn so many colours, being impressed with each tilt until he gets to a black shade.

Suddenly hurls the phone away. Gee, wonder why? Guess black isn’t the new... black for him?

Gaku sometimes even introduces new filters he created based on Yura’s random requests that strangely get circulated on the site.

Oji

550 followers all know Oji-Sanz

Unlike Ginnojo, he deliberately adds the ‘z’ letter to sound cool.

You wanna know what’s worse?

He actually uses Facebook.

Aoi decides to give up on him. Nobody blames the poor student.

It’s apparently some old form of social media? Never used it, no sirree.

Always changing his relationship status but at the end of the day, he’s single and ready...

To post about all the lovely ladies destined to enter his restaurant.

He thinks it’s great publicity.

It really isn’t but one good thing about Oji is he includes EVERYONE.

This man respects his customers and always helps advertise their wares, especially if their connections lead to more resources.

And less grocery shopping on his part.

Does post the recipes he and Aoi created but will never use because the Milk Hall had a certain style to follow.

Officially makes Aoi his son... on Facebook at least.

Aoi now tolerates the account.

Barely.

Toichiro Yuri

WhatheMeSay has 1231 followers!

In your face @CapitalKayKay and @NevermorebutSnore!!

You know, I’m so glad that there aren’t any users with those names because I’d be so scared of accidentally tagging them.

Also, geddit? Because... What the fox say?

Ding, ding, ding, ding, ding... yeah, I’ll stop.

Pinterest Guy. And actually does spend on his ‘hobby’ to show off to everyone.

It does boost you and your father’s sales so there is nothing to complain about.

His boards are always alliterated just to sound super catchy and it works so long as he gets the right emoji.

Kabuki plays better be promoted or else.

Filled with candid pictures of his victims all taken at different angles you didn’t know were possible and in varying degrees of hilariously misunderstood positions.

He even supplies a donation link, heavily leveraged by his followers, since there are incentives tied to it like early access.

A bit suspicious the photos look like cropped out parts from Koga’s posts and some of the text resembles Kuya’s... er... wisdom?

He takes an unholy amount of selfies when he thinks no one is looking and so they are always surprised upon finding them on the Selfie Board.

There is a locked board that no one can access, even his followers who are his comrades in real life.

It’s actually just one picture in there.

It’s you smiling and giggling at a joke of his. Not even you know it’s been taken. Guess he is as soft as his fur, eh? He better come out soon or else.

Kuro

Kuroruohtumbling

Ginnojo is unfortunately just old enough to have grown up with Scooby-Doo to understand the reference.

Snapchat, like a snapping snake! Hiss!

Unironically loves the puppy face.

Ok, but the glimpses of his stunts help show snippets of the circus life.

He and his whole troupe family will even don costumes best suited for certain filters.

Sometimes ropes in Ginnojo... and by sometimes, I mean enough for everyone to start wondering if the stoic man is part of the act.

To be fair, he randomly hugs people and ranks them here.

You, of course, were number 1.

Now, if only he didn’t use the bloody song to announce it but you forgive him.

Maybe even risks revealing his ayakashi form before deleting the message to you.

Loves making international fans and learning various languages through each post, sort of like flashcards but animated and more fun!

And with 1200 followers, he might become a polyglot like Koga.

Shizuki

Everyone bans him from creating one.

Because they know the power of his roasts is too great.

Little do they know he goes undercover.

Underground.

And under their noses.

That’s right. His rant town on... MySpace.

Unapologetically uses a good chunk of his salary from serving the House of Yuri just to get nifty themes that help with the whole burning process.

Look, there’s a reason he and Oji are friends.

This is why.

Their taste in women seems fine but we really have got to do something about their affinity towards DEAD PLACES.

To be fair, he made the whole thing drunk but that doesn’t mean he should maintain it SOBER.

He just feels that it is a waste of space if he doesn’t utilize it.

And it also becomes kind of cathartic. From the intrusive hugs to his master and Sir Gaku irking each other to no end, he needs it.

Zero followers... but only because it’s super private.

It becomes 1 the moment you jokingly create an account.

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landofthelotophagi · 4 years

Text

Assignment #1 of Start with This http://www.nightvalepresents.com/startwiththis

1 hour writing sketch, posted unedited after 1 hour is complete.

---

"Look at you, sitting here drinking coffee like a psychopath." A body slid into the seat across from here, and Alice looked up into a familiar smiling face. Was it cliche to say she did a double take? It felt like she did a double take, and a small smile slid into place to match the warm feeling rising through her.

"It's hot chocolate, actually."

"Oh, hot chocolate! I take it back! Perfectly normal to be doing nothing but drinking hot chocolate in a coffee shop. You're not even wearing headphones, you crazy."

Was this flirting? Alice has been replaying the minute long interaction in the post office for the past week, trying to determine if it had been flirting back then. Now Post Office Girl was sitting in front of her, and she was beginning to think it was. She...she could flirt. Right? Alice was perfectly capable of flirting. It was normal and she could do the normal thing.

"I've found that cute girls from the post office don't normally stop and chat with people wearing headphones." See? Perfectly good flirting.

"Do you try to pick up girls from the post office often?" There was a laugh in P.O.G.'s words, and Alice ducked her head looking at the disintegrating whipped cream on her hot chocolate. At the chapstick marks on the lip of the mug.

"No," Alive said, speaking as if not to frighten the drink in her hand. "I don't. I don't normally do...things."

"Like drinking hot chocolate alone in a coffee shop?" If Alice had gotten shy in that moment, P.O.G. took it in stride, for which Alice was grateful. No, sitting alone in coffee shops was something she did frequently, though normally she had a book in front of her. Today her book sat closed at her side. Would it be weird if this girl knew Alice had been thinking about their interaction a week earlier? About a smile and the way that smile formed around the word "lovely?" Had anyone ever called her lovely before? Not...not like that. Not while in yoga pants and a hoodie, running errands. Had P.O.G been teasing? It didn't sound like teasing. It hadn't….felt like tessing.

God, how starved for attention was she that one stupid word, one short interaction could dominate her thoughts for days? And here she was now. Was she sure P.O.G. was real? Maybe she should pinch herself.

"I'm Evelyn, by the way," said Post Office Girl, as if breaking silences was the most natural thing for her in the world. "Evie."

"Alice," said Alice. And if it was a little too quick, well at least P.O.G. … Evie. Evie's smile was back at full wattage. "I'm Alice."

"Alice," repeated Evie, and Alice loved the way her name rolled off her tongue, like she was tasting it.

"Yeah." Such an inadequate response, and Alice found the silence returning.

"Well," Evie said, pushing up from the table. "Gotta run! It was lovely seeing you again, Alice." After a slight hesitation, she started toward the door.

"Wait," Alice whispered. What had just happened? Shed just been talking to P.O.G… Evie, and now she was sitting alone. It never went this way in her head. In her head, she was charming and funny and P.O.G hung on her words and beamed at her, and maybe even kissed her. But this wasn't her head and now, put out by her silence, Evie was leaving.

"Evie," Alice said, chair scraping against the floor, drawing annoyed glances from a study group not fair away. "Wait!"

Evie turned around, eyebrows raised as Alice caught up to her.

"I...um. I don't want to be one of those creepy people." The confusion on Evie's face made Alice continue in a rush. "I don't want to be that person who knows where the pretty girl she likes works and just shows up to buy stamps she doesnt need so that she'll smile at her and have to be nice to her because shes at work, but ultimately it's just creepy." Alice paused for breath, not sure if that cleared anything up.

"I only needed one stamp." Alice added, breathless, becoming aware that she'd captured the attention of more than just Evie and the study group. She could almost forget all those eyes when Evie's mouth quirked up into a smirk.

"I think you should give me your number. Then, when I contact you, you'll know for certain there was no creeperness involved."

"O...ok." Alice turned and rummaged through her bag until fingers brushed against an old Sharpie. She'd recently purged the hoard receipts that normally lived there and after a moment of panic, she reached out and scrawled her number on the cardboard ring of Evie's coffee. Pausing, she then followed the number with a quick A. underneath the line of numbers. Just in case.

Pulling back, Alice met Evie's warm brown eyes and smiled. They grinned at each other until a hurried patron pushed past them, entering the shop.

"I do have to be going," Evie said, turning toward the door.

"Ok."

"Hope to see you soon," she said, raising her cup, where Alice's number stood out, bold against the paper.

Alice gave a quick nod, and Evie left the shop with a chuckle. Did it sound knowing to Alice? Did it really matter if it did?

#start with this #startwiththis #writingsketch #one hour #meet cute #writing

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thisisallthehattersfault · 5 years

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Descendants Yandere Headcanons

There’s so much great Dark!Descendants content, but I haven’t seen any Yandere!Descendants content (Harry doesn’t really count because he’s just Like That, although I do love my slutty pirate) and that’s just a goddamn crime, so here’s some lovesick Villain Kids. (Might do the AKs later???)

(I’m using the archetypes I describe in my last post, so check there if you want a deeper explanation. )

Mal - Lucid Selfish. On the one hand, she knows this is fucked up. But’s so dangerous outside. There are so many things that could hurt you, so many people who could try to take you away. It’s better for you to stay here, with her, where she can keep an eye on you. She likes to make you pose for her art, and she has hundreds of sketches and paintings of you. Her favorite time to draw you is when you’re sleeping. She calls you her “treasure” and jokes that every proper dragon needs a hoard. Pretty temperamental, she won’t take well to crying or fighting back, usually screaming or flashing her eyes at you, occasionally slapping you if you really pushed her buttons. Once she found somewhere to put you you’d have mostly free reign until you tried to escape. Then you’d be chained to the wall, or the bed, with magically-reinforced mankles. She almost lost you once, she won’t make that mistake a second time. The more you act out the more distant she gets, though. You’re so difficult, she says. You’re so ungrateful. Eventually she leaves and doesn’t come back for weeks. You’re alone and chained up in a dark room and you think she left you there to die. When she does come back it’s just to give you food and then leave again. For months this happens, until you’re begging her to stay, promising you’ll never leave her again, apologizing for not appreciating her. You’d do anything just to sit and pose for her again, have some kind of contact or company. You think you’ll go crazy if you have to be alone anymore. You’re lucky though. Mal has a temper, but she’s willing to forgive you if you promise to behave, and she really is so sweet when you aren’t making her angry. You’re so lucky you have her. You’re so lucky she came back.

Jay - Semi-Delusional Selfish. He flirts with you as often as he flirts with everybody else, so you don’t really think anything of his attention. You probably even have a slight crush on him. He’s so handsome, he’s so charming. But he doesn’t seem like he wants a relationship, so you never try anything. What you don’t know is that he follows you home every night, to make sure you get there safe, and because he loves to watch you sleep. He breaks into your bedroom and goes through your stuff, but he doesn’t steal anything -- not from you, habibi, his love. Nothing you’d miss, anyway. Just your chapstick, or your old toothbrush you threw away, or the occasional pair of underwear. In exchange he leaves you gifts, but he doesn’t give them to you face to face, because where’s the fun in that? Instead you find expensive jewelry and games and stuff just lying in your room. You probably freak out and skip town, but he keeps tabs on you. In fact, it’s fun for him that you tried to run away, like playing cat and mouse. He’s content to just keep chasing you… until, that is, you get a boyfriend. Suddenly Jay is seeing red. He’s so jealous he can’t stand it. This isn’t part of the game. Maybe he shouldn’t have dragged it out for so long, but he couldn’t help it. You were getting so paranoid, it was so cute. Not that he’d ever hurt you, but you’re adorable when you’re afraid. Only now you’re with that douchebag. Well, whatever, Jay can take care of him, and any other prick who tries to take you away from him. In fact, maybe he should just get rid of everybody -- your friends, your family, anybody who might get in the way. Then you’ll be his and his alone, and you two can keep playing the game. Forever.

Evie - Delusional Selfish. She’ll change her hair, her clothes, the way she talks and acts and the music she listens to, anything she has to to be your perfect girl. Your actual, current girlfriend is just trash, in the way of you noticing the girl who really loves you. But that’s fine, Evie will just get rid of her. Then you’ll see that she’s the perfect one for you. She’s the ideal wife, and she’ll easily become your dream girl. You’re grieving the loss of your girlfriend when she uses your vulnerability to get close to you, offering comfort. At first everything seems fine, but eventually her mask starts to crack, and you realize how much she’s lying about. You call her out on it, and she doesn’t react well. She’s never screamed at you like that before. Over time her careful house of cards starts to crumble, and you see more and more of what’s really going on. The more you try to wiggle away from her the more she tightens her grip, though. Yes, okay, fine, she killed the tramp, but can’t you see it was a good thing? You two are perfect together, Evie can be anyone you want her to be, aren’t you happy with her? … Fine. After everything she did, if you’re going to be so ungrateful, then obviously she was wrong about you two belonging together. But if she can’t have you, no one else can.

Carlos - Lucid Selfless. He avoids violence whenever it's possible, instead resorting to blackmail and manipulation. Honestly, you don't even notice he’s there, and that’s fine. Nobody ever does unless he wants them to. He’s content to stay behind the scenes, pulling strings, getting you that job promotion or better grades or whatever else you might want. You might start to get a little suspicious about your good luck, but who’s gonna look a gift horse in the mouth, right? Until, by chance, you catch a glimpse of him and realize how familiar he is, how he always seems to be everywhere all the time. A little digging turns up countless selfies with him in the background, or people remembering seeing him talk to your boss shortly before that pay raise. Furious, you confront him - after all, what's the worst he could do to you? - and Carlos doesn't deny it. In fact, he admits to all that and more, all the things he's been doing for you. You're angry at him, aren't you? He knew he shouldn't have done it, he was being bad, but he couldn't help himself. It's okay, you can be angry. You can punish him. If growing up with Cruella taught him anything it’s that he can take a hit. Go ahead, he’ll take whatever punishment you dish out, so that he can be a good boy for you again.

Uma - Semi-Lucid Selfish. Uma is your queen and commander, and you should love her. She’s the best and baddest, the strongest, the smartest, the most capable. She’ll be able to give you anything and everything you want. All she asks in return is that you love her more than anyone else. The relationship starts off like a fairy tale, but as time goes on her jealousy and possessiveness only increase. She gets angry when she sees you talking to other people, even angrier when you try to defend your right to do so. She’s convinced you'll try to leave her, and how dare you? After everything she’s done? The more you try to squirm away, the more she tightens her grip, and the more possessive she becomes, the more you desperately need a little space. It's a vicious cycle. Finally you break things off with her. She isn't who she was in the beginning. Where is that Uma? Why can't you have the old Uma back? The old Uma? Are you kidding? She’s right here! She’s been right here! She’d still be right here if you weren't being so fucking impossible! You're stubborn and fighty and you have no respect for her authority, and if you think she’ll let you leave her, then you’re fucking delusional. You belong to her. The whole world belongs to her! Someday the seven seas will do her bidding, and what will you be then? If you're not hers you're nothing. But you're lucky, your captain has a forgiving nature. She’ll give you another chance, and this time she’ll make sure you can't fuck it up. Kick and scream and cry all you want. You are never going to leave her.

Harry - Selective Selfless. (He’s already kind of a yandere for Uma but here we go.) Harry would do anything for you. Everything for you. All you have to do is ask. He’d slaughter a whole city, paint his name in their blood all over the walls so everybody knows not to mess with you. You’re his king/queen, he’d follow you anywhere. Nobody else will ever, ever, ever love you like he loves you. You don't even have to love him back, he just wants to follow you, serve you, adore you. He wants your recognition and praise, but he’d settle for just your acknowledgment. Just let him be close to you, that’s all he asks. And, well, he just wants what's best for you. He wants the whole world to fear and adore you as much as he does. Everyone should kneel at your feet. And if other people are in the way of you taking your throne, he’ll eliminate them. And if you don't want him to keep killing people, you'd better step up and prove you can control him, because otherwise he’ll just keep pushing and pushing. If it's the only way to get your attention, he’ll do it. And if the day comes when you try to make him stop, make him leave you, make him turn his back on everything he’s worked so hard for, the world he’s tried to build for you… Well. He can see he’s been a bit too lenient with you. You’re tough, but you aren't ready to be the person he knows you can be, yet. You just need a little push, that’s all. Just a little push, and you can rule the world. Don't worry, it's alright. He’ll be there with you the whole time. It’ll stop hurting soon.

Gil - Delusional Selfless. He’s fully convinced that you’re in love with him. You might not be officially dating or whatever, but who needs it? It’s in the way you smile at him in the halls, and the way you glance at him in class, and the way you said his name, that one time. You’re in love with him, and you’re going to be together forever. Gil is going to marry you, and you’ll have a family, and you’ll live happily ever after! He gets that you're like, shy or whatever. That's okay, he won't push. You can take as much time as you need. Or, maybe you’re like Belle? You might need some convincing and stuff. There's a lot of jerks on the Isle, maybe you want him to prove that he’ll be good to you, that he can protect you and treat you right. He can do that! He starts to show off more, getting into more fights, so that you can see how strong and chivalrous and stuff he is. But you're pulling away and spending less time with him and he heard you say the other day that he’s kinda scaring you lately. He can't think of why you might be scared of him, he’s been so gentle and sweet with you, and he’s been fighting any other guy who might try to get close to you and mess with you and stuff. He’s doing everything a good husband should! Until he starts to think about Belle again, and how his dad says that she would have been his mom if the Beast hadn't stolen her. Of course, somebody must be trying to steal you! You're so great and pretty and smart and funny and perfect, of course somebody would wanna turn you against him! But Gil won't make the same mistake his dad did. He won't let his future wife be lied to and led away from him. He’ll keep you close. He’ll keep you safe.

#Not Writing #Descendants #Disney descendants #Yandere Descendants #Mal Bertha #Jay Ibn Jafar #Evie Grimhilde #Carlos De Vil #Harry Hook #Uma daughter of Ursula #Gaston Gil Legume #Shut Up Alice

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gloriaglamont · 5 years

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Anyone who knows me knows that I am a planner. I plan weekly menus before I go to the grocery store. I map out an entire two-week road trip months in advance ensuring that all hotels are booked for the right days and I know the precise driving time between stops. I write outlines for everything I write, and writing is what I do in my other life (in this one, too, you might well respond – I don’t outline blog posts, though, which is probably obvious!).

To be clear, when I started my writing career many years ago, I learned very quickly that to sell a non-fiction book to a publisher, I’d need to learn to write a book proposal which is nothing short of a complete outline among a lot of other stuff. So, I learned the process of book proposal writing well enough to sell seven or eight books that way. So, when it comes to my sewing and design life, I pretty much take that same approach.

Remember my cruise collection? That started with an actual inspiration board, moved on to sketches, then I created original patterns, chose fabrics planned for specific projects (no fabric hoarding here). My Little Black Dress project? It progressed the same way as did my three Little French Jackets. So, I have no reason to think that much of my work will be on the fly. Well, you know what they say: “The best laid plans…” Let me back up a bit.

When I returned to fashion design and sewing a few years ago, much had changed in that world. For years my sewing machine collected dust between jean hemming and costume sewing projects. (I’m happy to say that the costume sewing for children’s theatre actually resulted in a child who grew up to be successful in the performing arts.) Then, the muse struck and I finally had the time to devote to a return to something I had loved as a young adult. But, as I mentioned, there were many new things.

This is the one I have. I use it infrequently.

First there was the rotary cutter. When I first saw one, I thought, Doesn’t anyone use shears anymore? I soon learned that, yes, shears are the way to go on most projects for me. I use a rotary cutter mostly for interfacing and muslin cutting. Otherwise, they’re not my thing – dreadful on silk, wool, bouclé etc. Then there were the patterns.

I had never before heard that McCall’s, Vogue, Butterick and Simplicity were now referred to as “the big four” and not in a good way. What was that all about, I thought? This led me to learn about the new “indie” pattern companies. That sounds very democratic, doesn’t it? What I found was an avalanche of half-baked patterns, generally for tent-like bags that would fit everyone and no one – I’ll leave the rest of that rant for another day to equalize out all those rants from sewers who seem to dislike the “big four” with a passion. I happen to think they do very good work. But that’s for another day. Anyway, I finally found a legitimate one or two whose patterns interested me. Style Arc was one.

An Australian company, Style Arc’s sketches were what really drew me in. And I loved the fact that not all of their patterns are for knits which means that they really do have to know how to create something that fits. That being said, I decided to try one that was for a knit first.

What’s not to love about this sketch? Well, I should have look more closely at the version on the right.

The other thing that had changed was that not all patterns came in little envelopes anymore. Some of them were pdf downloads. Who knew? Well, just about everyone but me! Everyone has to have a first time, though, don’t they?

Style Arc produces both hard copy patterns and pdf’s. I decided to try my first pdf and my first indie pattern all in one fell swoop.

I used to have a cardigan sweater I loved so much it was actually worn out by the time I finished with it. t hadn’t been expensive, either, but was black (a must for a sweater that will serve me over the long term) and instead of buttons, it had a half-waist tie. It looked terrific with collared shirts, T-shirts, just everything. It had a lot more style than the average cardigan. So, when I saw Style Arc’s Terry Tie Cardigan pattern, I was in.

I downloaded it and printed it out. Then, of course, I proceeded to tape it all together, as one must. Interesting. I cut out the pattern pieces and looked for some fabric.

Wouldn’t you think that something called “sweater knit” would be great? I did. But…well, stay with me.

There were just so many things wrong with the pattern in my view. It has these shoulder tucks—too many of them and way too small for the fabric I’d chosen. When I went back to Pattern Review to look at other people’s versions, they were all in flimsy jersey, so the tucks worked – but they were hideous. They were shapeless columns of jersey even with the belt tied. If I had looked at them first (lesson learned) I would never have chosen the pattern. But onward…

Okay, the first problem was the tucks, as I mentioned. Then, there was too much overlap at the front – and neither the centre front nor the waistline was marked by the way, a real problem with trying to get it to fit properly. The ties were too close to the centre front resulting in an odd look which was very evident on the ones done by others as I found out. Oh, and the seam allowances: you have to be very careful not to assume that they are standard 5/8 inch. They are not. The sleeves were too long (of course, this is an easy fix, but do women really look like orangutans?), leading me to think the sketch is quite misleading. So, what to do?

Back to the drawing board I go to try to rescue the project.

First, redraw those shoulders without the tucks.

Then, move the belt so that it is farther away from the centre front (which I had to find).

Then, as I went to sew it, I realized that the belt was going to be butt ugly so I ditched it.

Ditched the belt and took in the waist darts, extending them to the hem for a better fit.

Put it on Gloria junior, and began to redesign it on the fly.

Actually, I really enjoyed the “semi-draping” process. I redrew the pattern and it no longer resembles the original in any way.

It’s not at all what I had originally envisioned, but I’ll love it on cold days next winter. I left all the edges serged only.

What I learned about myself is that designing on the fly might not be such a bad approach, and that I think I would enjoy learning draping as a design process.

I love it when I learn something from every project!

Designing on the fly…or how the first pdf pattern I ever used morphed into a GG Collection original #amsewing #indiepatterns #StyleArc #diystyle Anyone who knows me knows that I am a planner. I plan weekly menus before I go to the grocery store.

#design #indie patterns #mistakes #patterns #pdf pattern #planning #sewing #Style Arc #Terry Tie Cardigan

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special-agent-fiction · 6 years

Text

The Promise - Chapter Seven

Pairing: Reader x Thorin Oakenshield (Slow Burn aka Friends First)

Summary: Taken in by the Durin’s when she was a child, Eleonóra has lived through it all; the glory of Erebor, Smaug, the journey to Erid Luin and now a Quest to reclaim the hallowed halls stolen from them so many years ago. With a promise to a dying princess to fulfill she will do anything to keep her boys, all of them, safe from whatever lies ahead on the road to their lost homeland.

Warnings: Allusions to Post-Natal Depression, Childbirth, Labour Complications and Major Character Death.

Chapter Seven - Mahal Giveth and Mahal Taketh Away

The scene unfolding in front of Thorin’s eyes was one he would undoubtedly treasure forever; the fireplace in his home was blazing as the last moon of Autumn slid into place high above their under-mountain home, their table was almost full and the air was full of laughter as members of his family filled their living room.

“If you’re going to take up space in my kitchen, you’d better plan on making yourself useful.” He tore his eyes from the sight of Fili practically glued to Balin’s side as the dwarf read to him from whatever tome the boy had decided on from their small collection, to the woman at his side holding a masher in her outstretched hand as she stirred a pot.

“It wouldn’t be Durin’s Day without my famous potatoes.” He laughed, taking the implement from her hand and moving to the pot of freshly boiled potatoes cooling on the worktop.

“Your famous potatoes.” She scoffed at the statement. “Funny how they only became famous after I told you to add cheese.”

His retort died in his throat and was replaced by a grin as the final member of their small family signalled his arrival with two hard bangs on their front door.

“I won’t hesitate to bill you for a new door.” Ellie called out as he opened the rickety piece of wood that he’d been meaning to replace for years now and revealed the waiting Dwarf.

“And a happy Durin’s Day to you too, Ellie.” Thorin simply laughed at Dwalin’s deadpan reply to the woman who was a full head shorter than him but no less fierce.

“Welcome, brother.” Thorin greeted the man, the pair reaching out to each other in sync as they clasped the backs of their necks and pulled them close; foreheads touching with a force he knew made Ellie wince, before stepping back and allowing the bulky man in.

“Uncle Dwalin!” The dwarf barely had time to remove his furs before a small blonde blur launched himself at the warrior.

“Just when I thought he was starting to get sleepy.” Balin sighed, shutting the book and standing. “Evening brother.”

“Evening brother.” Dwalin replied, meeting the man in the same embrace as Thorin. “Am I late?”

“Not at all.” Thorin told him as Balin moved back to his seat on the sofa, Fili in hand as the lad was promised a more exciting tale after dinner. “We’re still preparing.” He held up the masher with a grin.

“Your famous potatoes!” The warrior laughed. “I knew this would be worth travelling for.”

“Ah, I’d travel from the ends of the world for Ellie’s cooking – that girl knows how to operate a kitchen.” Thorin laughed at Dwalin’s compliment, the man rubbing his full stomach with joy as he leant back in his chair at the now empty table. “You’re a lucky man.”

“That I am.” He smiled, his eyes instinctively flitting over to the woman in question as she sat side-by-side with Dis, the pair whispering about something as Fili slept between them; his head on Ellie’s lap as she absentmindedly stroked his hair.

“And a happy one too, by the looks of things.” Balin added, stealing back Thorin’s attention with a sly smile.

He liked this part of Durin’s Day the best; the part where the celebrations start to die down and blind merriness is replaced with true conversation. It had become a tradition of sorts now; they would all converge on this house, with Dwalin travelling in from whatever far flung place he’d wandered too in the months past, and would celebrate their most holy of holidays together, as a family.

When the meal was over and done with, Ellie and Dis would retire to the living room to relax while the three men cleared up and then filled their tankards to the brim with whatever Thorin had been hoarding for this exact day, and just be.

“Aye.” He agreed. “But why wouldn’t I be? My family are all here and Mahal gifted us with a full table.”

“Fili’s growing into quite the young lad.” Dwalin observed. “Now might be a good time to hand over that sword you’ve been working on since he was born, turn him into a real git khuzi.”

“Not yet. When he’s a little more balanced with the wooden one I’ll take him up top – out of harm’s way.” Thorin smiled at the thought. “Besides, he’ll be far too preoccupied with a new friend soon.”

“New friend?” Balin asked with a frown.

“Aye.” Thorin lifted his tankard. “We’ve a new Durin on the way.”

There was moment of silence before Dwalin reacted to the news.

“About dammed time!” The victorious slap on the back from the large dwarf all but choked him as he took a drink of his ale.

“I knew that happiness in your eyes was different, Thorin.” Balin grinned as Throin tried to cough out the ale that had stuck in his lung. “I’m so pleased for you; both of you.”

“Like I said; about time!” The dwarven brothers knocked their tankards together in a sort of toast before drinking heavily and giving Thorin the time he needed to decipher their strange reaction to the news.

“I’m just glad…” Balin started, wiping at his chin as he lowered his tankard. “…that you’ve moved past all those burdens you’ve lumped on your shoulders for all these years and are ready to accept Erid Luin as not just your home for now, but your family’s home for the foreseeable future.”

“What are you talking about?”

“You and Ellie of course.” Dwalin rolled his eyes. “Damn baby’s already got his mind in a twist.”

His eyes snapped back to Ellie and he suddenly saw all that they did when they entered his home: the pair of dwarves with their lives so closely intertwined both working to bring the family together for an important celebration. He saw how at home Ellie was with Fili asleep on her lap and how the three men sat together drinking could be seen as his way of trying to announce something of vital importance.

“Dis is pregnant.” He said, his eyes moving back to them just in time to see their smiles fade slightly and them share a look as realisation dawned.

“Ah.”

It was firmly winter now, the cold chill in the air was present even deep with their mountain community. But despite the cold it was a good day; the market was bustling with every cart packed full of commodities and spirits were high as celebrations from Durin’s Day continued to occur despite the date having passed.

That’s the thing about losing so much, Ellie mused as a group of children rushed past her, you cling onto the important stuff so much more. And Durin’s Day was important, it was the start of a new year for them; for this group of people who thought their first winter out of Erebor would be their last on this Earth as the snows descended on their ramshackle camps in the wilds.

But today was good for far more reasons too; firstly, she’d finally made her decision about what she wanted to do with her life. She’d assumed that the merchant knocking at their door late into the night had been bearing bad news so it had been more than a surprise for him to sit at their table and offer a business deal instead. She had been shocked, Thorin apparently, hadn’t. the man insisted that he’d been waiting for someone to actually offer her money for one fo her drawings for some time now, especially as they’d gotten larger and more elaborate following the ready availability of paints courtesy of Dis’ husband.

“I told you having a merchant in the family would be a good thing.” Thorin had said as she squealed in delight over a new shade of green. She’d merely elbowed him in the stomach, deciding to forgo a reminder of his stubbornness all those years earlier, and thanked the merchant for his kindness before re-wrapping the paint and storing it away for future use.

“Looks like a certain stall is getting quite the crowd.” Dis teased, nudging her as they rounded a corner and were met with the sight of a rather busy cart; it’s owner exchanging coins for landscape drawings with ease.

“They’re likely doing it out of some misplaced loyalty.” She said, turning from the stall. “Why would these people, who have received a simple sketch as a present for years, buy more of my work?”

Dis rolled her eyes. “Because you’re talented.” She told her, looping her arm through her own. “Isn’t that right, mim razdith?” She asked, smiling down at the five-year-old holding onto Ellie’s free hand as he nodded eagerly.

That was the other reason for her happiness; Dis. Though only just beginning to show, her pregnancy was clear to see as she walked everywhere with hand protecting her growing bump and grinning to everyone who stopped to ask how she was.

The dark cloud that had surrounded the princess for the past few years seemed to be losing its hold on her. She wasn’t sure if it was the excitement of a new baby or the fact that her husband had promised to reduce his travels after coming home to find that his son barely knew him. Not that Fili lacked male role models though, Thorin was rarely from the boy and Balin was a huge part of his life too. Between them they’d started the lessons that all members of the royal family had once received at young ages in Erebor and it warmed her heart every time she saw a glimpse of a true prince in the boy’s eyes. One that promptly faded whenever Dwalin showed up with a new tale of adventure and a mini weapon to re-enact it with.

But everything seemed to be falling into place for Dis and she was confident that she’d not be needed as much anymore: Fili was older, they weren’t living pay-check to pay-check anymore and Dis was far more prepared for a baby this time around.

It’s why she’d said yes to selling her work and judging by how much money the man had delivered to her from his last outing into the lands of Men, she wouldn’t be scrabbling for grocery money anytime soon either.

Things were falling into place for her too, she supposed. Less time with Dis meant more time at home and more time at home, meant more time with Thorin. Thorin. She’d be a fool to say that she hadn’t noticed how close they were; how comfortable they were together especially when it was just the two of them and a small child. They’d never spoken about how easily they’d fallen into a routine together and now, with Dis firmly building her own life, maybe they’d finally have the chance to explore what they could be if left alone.

Thorin made her happy. He made her feel warm and safe and she knew that if they were ever going to get back onto the track they’d been heading towards back in Erebor, it would be now. she knew that he thought himself unworthy these days; that his forge was no replacement for the crown he’d lost but she was desperate to show him that the throne had never been the reason she spent time with him. That she filled her days with him because of who he was, not who he would have been.

If riches and parties had been her plan, she’d have married long ago to all the men who wrote to her when they’d settled here. Thorin had never seen the inked promises of silks and jewels and he never would; they’d become ash as soon as she reached the end of the page and her replies, though courteous, had been simple: No.

They continued to wander through the maze of stalls, stopping now and then to finger at something that took their eye until the sound of a hammer moulding steel filled their ears. Fili instantly perked up, whether at the promise of warmth from the forge or just the prospect of seeing his beloved uncle. Dis smiled too as they neared the familiar forge and called out a greeting to the only man in Erid Luin who wasn’t bundled up against the cold: sweat running down his forehead, Thorin pushed his loose hair from his eyes and grinned at the approaching party.

Yes, today was a good day, she decided, glancing once more at the busy market square before stepping into the warmth of the smithy.

“We told him not to.” The dwarf wrung his hat between his hands as he spoke, never daring to meet their eyes. “Told him that in those winds it would impossible.” Ellie’s hand tightened around Dis’ as he continued. “But he went anyway emulhekh. We couldn’t stop him and then the snow shifted and…” He trailed off, his eyes moving from his hands to Thorin’s as Dis’ sobs intensified. “We dug through the night.” He told him, eyes watering at the memory as Thorin nodded solemnly. “Knew we had to bring him home.”

“And we will never be able to thank you enough for that.” Thorin’s voice sounded too loud in the smallness of their living room.

“No thanks needed, thanu men.” The dwarf insisted. “He was one of us.”

Any further words of apology and sympathy were lost to Ellie as Dis let out another sob and she pulled the Princess close. They’d been in this position once before, she remembered; the memory of Dis sobbing into her as news of Frerin, Thrain and Thror was recounted to them. Thorin had had to be the strong one then as he was now; leading the dwarf back out of the house and no doubt making the first arrangements for the body to be prepared.

“He promised he’d come back to me.” Dis cried, her words muffled slightly by Ellie’s shoulder. “Promised he wouldn’t go so far anymore and we could be a proper family.” Ellie glanced down the protruding stomach that separated them from being any closer. “Why was he so stupid?”

She had no answer for her and instead resorted to shhing her and rubbing her back as the woman emptied her eyes.

She supposed that he’d attempted the crossing for the simple reason of it would be his last chance too. From what she’d heard, the narrow strip separating Edoras from Erech was treacherous even in the height of summer but now, with the winds so fast and the snow so blinding, trying to follow the rivers path had been deadly.

“How will I tell Fili?” Dis asked, her sobs receding as the initial wave of grief began to subside into plain worry. “How do I tell him his father is dead?”

“Dis...” She sighed, not knowing what to say to her as the Princess sat up.

“And what will I say to this one?” She asked, one hand on her stomach. “At least Fili will have some memory of his father, this one will never know him.”

“They won’t need to.” She hadn’t heard Thorin re-enter the room. “We’ve enough stories of him between us; it’ll be as though he is here.”

“But he won’t be.” Dis refused to look up at him as he rested a hand on her shoulder. “He won’t be here.”

“No, he won’t.” Ellie agreed. “But neither is Frerin, or your father and grandfather and Fili knows of them; knows who they are and what they did.” She sat forward on the sofa and took Dis’ hands in her own. “People aren’t lost if their memory lives on.”

“Will you help me?” She asked, voice cracking as she glanced between Thorin and Ellie. “I can’t do this alone.”

“Of course we will.” Ellie’s voice was soft as she met Thorin’s eyes above Dis’ head. With a sad smile, she turned from him and stared into their blazing fireplace where all her dreams of their future were now residing.

Everything was different this time; there had been no urgent knock at the door telling them that Dis was in labour because they had been with her, as they had been now practically everyday since the funeral; Thorin wasn’t downstairs waiting for any sound of new life because he far above them on the mountains’ surface distracting Fili; and there were no shared smiles between the labouring princess and her midwives because the older dwarves had already told them that something was wrong.

It had started yesterday when Dis had all but collapsed in her kitchen. Thorin had caught her before she hit the floor but things hadn’t been right since; heart pounding, breath clipped and a sudden gasp as pain seared through her stomach had seen her confined to bed within the hour. Then the vomiting had started and just when Ellie was convinced things couldn’t get worse; her waters broke.

Now she was red-faced and panting even as the contractions subsided and the damp cloth that had been laid over her eyes was apparently doing little to quell her crippling headache.

“What can I do?” She whispered to the midwives as they shared another grim look. “Please, let me help her.”

“There’s nothing that can be done, azbadu men.” The female dwarf took her hand as Dis let out another groan. “It’s going to be a long night.”

The baby was a handful of minutes old when the tides turned on them again; the last hour had gone smoothly and Dis’ headache had started to subside as the promise of a new baby had kept her going.

They’d barely had chance to tell her that she was the mother to another son when the convulsions had started. She’d turned with the bundle in her arms and almost dropped them as the princess’ eyes rolled backwards in her head and she started to fit.

She’d been useless, absolutely useless as the midwives tried to hold Dis down and stop the jerky movements her limbs were making. The baby safely tucked up in its waiting bassinet, Ellie had practically thrown herself down the stairs and out into the street, she’d latched onto the first dwarf she’d seen and somehow they’d been able to understand her rushed beg for help.

Thorin arrived barely twenty minutes later, almost as red-faced as his now conscious sister, with Fili in his arms.

“Let me see her.” His voice had been deathly low and she envied the bravery the midwife clearly had as she once again refused him entry into the bedroom, promising that once she was decent and comfortable she’d let them in.

“Ellie.” Dis’ voice, by comparison, had been shaky as she held out a hand to her brushing away the midwife trying to listen to her chest with a cone-shaped instrument.

“It’s okay, Dis.” She shushed the woman, perching on the edge of the mattress, the princess’ freezing hand between her own as she tried to keep tears at bay.

“No.” She took as deep a breath as she could. “No, it’s not.” She forced a smile. “But I’m okay with it; the curse of Durin women, remember?”

“I’m not going to let you die.” She promised, squeezing her hand as a tear rolled down her cheek. “I promised to keep you safe.”

“And you have.” She lifted a shaky hand to wipe away the tear and Ellie wondered when exactly did the small girl she’d played with become this pillar of strength even as she lay here dying. “Now I need you to do the same for my boys. Bring him to me.” She nodded to the bassinet at the foot of the bed and Ellie rose to lift the bundle and place him in his mother’s arms. “He’s beautiful.” She murmured as he nestled into her. “With true Durin hair.” She fingered the wisps of black covering his head before pressing a kiss to it and whispering to him softly. “Men lananubukhs me, bunnanunê.” Feeling a fresh wave of tear coming, Ellie stepped back to allow the waiting midwife to take the baby before reclaiming her space and Dis’ hand.

“I’m sorry.”

“For what?” Dis asked. “You have given me so much, Ellie; from the moment you stepped into my nursery you have been my sister and I will never be able to thank you enough for that…and so much more.” She pushed herself up slightly, her breath straining slightly at the action. “You saved us.” She squeezed her hand. “All of us.”

“It was my pleasure.”

“And that’s what makes you family.” She smiled softly, taking another deep breath as she delivered what Ellie knew would be her most important message. "Promise me you'll look after them." Her hold was tight despite the life fading from her. "Promise me."

"I promise." Ellie said, squeezing back.

"All of them." Dis added, her eyes darting to the door and the two who waited outside.

Ellie simply nodded, her understanding clear. She pressed a kiss to the princess' hand and gestured for the door to be opened. A whirlwind of blonde hair with a nose so like Frerin's burst into the room and clambered onto the bed with a cry of 'Mama'. Ellie wiped a tear from her eye and stood, giving the princeling room.

"I promise." She repeated, whispering to herself as a hand guided her by the shoulder into the waiting broad chest.

“Mim razdith.” Dis breathed as Fili cuddled up to his mother. “You must be strong now, Sanûrzud.” She insisted, stroking the blonde hair that was the source of all his nicknames. “I need you to be a good big brother.” She nodded once again to the bassinet as Fili peered at it. “He needs you: Kili needs you.”

“I promise, Amad.”

“Good.” She pressed a kiss to his head. “You should go now.” She told him, hushing his cries. “But remember Fili, you and Kili…” She smiled at the bassinet. “…Menu tessu, uzfakuh.”

She’d waited until the small prince left to say more; watching as Fili took Ellie’s hand, the woman brushing away the tears that were free-flowing now, and smiling softly at them as they left with the midwives carrying Kili’s bassinet behind them.

“Nadad.”

“Namadith.” He breathed, taking the space Ellie had previously occupied on the mattress edge.

“I don’t know what to say.” She wheezed, her lips lifting in a smile. “I never thought-”

“You don’t have to say anything, Dis.” He told her, taking her hand.

“I made Ellie promise to look after them.” She told him, her eyes straying to the closed door as if trying to get one last look at her children. “Not that I doubted she would anyway but…it’s comforting to hear it out loud.”

“We’ll look after them.” He promised, unable to say more as his throat tightened at her paling face and fading grip.

“I know.” She sighed. “But look after her too.”

“Don’t worry about any of that.” He reached out to smooth back her hair. “Just relax.”

“I wish I could have seen it again.” She murmured, her eyes fluttering closed. “Erebor.” She clarified and his hold tightened at the name. “Perhaps my boys will, one day.” He let his own eyes close at the hope lifting her voice a little. “What will I say to her, Thorin? Will she like me?”

“Who, Dis?”

“Amad.” She breathed the word. “I’ve waited my whole life to meet her and now I will, in the digondamaar.”

“She’ll love you, Dis.” He told her, pressing a kiss to her hand. “As we all have.”

She smiled at the thought; at the prospect of reuniting with their lost family in Mahal’s halls. Thorin watched as peace crossed her features and felt his tears fall now she couldn’t see them. He held her hand until the chill of her skin started to cool his own and then, with a kiss to her forehead he left.

Khuzdul to English translations:

Git khuzi – little warrior Mim razdith – little sun Emulhekh – majesty Thanu men – my king Azbadu men – my lady Men lananubukhs me, bunnanunê – I love you, my tiny treasure Sanûrzud – perfect sun Amad - mother Menu tessu, uzfakuh – you mean everything to me, my greatest joy Nadad – brother Namadith – little sister Digondamaar – Golden halls of Mahal

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theatricalplacenta · 7 years

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“bye bye butterfree”

Hey everyone... I need a bit of help. If you can donate anything, It would be much appreciated! And If you donate (or just reblog this for me), please send a request to my inbox so I can sketch it out for you! Donations HERE (If that doesn’t work, my paypal is [email protected]) A (lengthy) explanation under the read-more... (and if you actually spare me a glance and don’t just scroll past like so many often do, I’m so thankful -screams-)

After coming back from the holidays, I found out that my aunt and uncle have been actively looking for a house, and they hope to be moved by the end of next month, or the month after that. I don’t have parents, or my granny anymore to turn to, but I have wonderful friends who have offered me a place to stay. They’ve proven to be my family more than some, and I don’t feel so alone anymore because of them. I don’t know what i’d do without them. They offered to help me move, as well as some others, and I’m honestly just thankful that I have people who love and care about me. The problem I’m having is money for the dump, and my aunt and uncle have kind of stopped buying food, or making/leaving any for me. I know I can survive for at least 20-30 days without food given I drink water, but with everyone saying that’s unhealthy (and it is) I’m bowing my head, and humbly asking for help. I definitely won’t die, and i don’t have it as bad as others, but I have been there. I have been where you don’t have food for weeks, and it just triggers my hoarding, and eating for the sake of not knowing when you’ll be able to again. I’m better about this issue of mine when I know I have fall backs. The food banks are lined with the homeless, and there’s even more people needing food with this weather. I have a roof over my head, so i just feel sick thinking about taking food from a mouth that needs it more than me. So this makes me kind of panic, or shut down, where I just wont even try to eat anything, even if something is offered. This is because I know after a few days of getting over that initial pain in your stomach, if you eat something, you’ll cramp, and afterwards it’ll come again. For the dump truck... I have to throw away my bed, and the majority of my furniture. I’ve never had this problem before. When I was younger, and we jumped place to place, we’d leave everything we had behind and left with what was on our backs, and what we could carry/what was most important to us. I’ve never been in a position where I owned things, or where I was responsible for them. I’ve also never had my own bed, so getting rid of the only thing I ever really wanted of my own is hard, but must be done. I asked my aunt and uncle about the dump, and said I can’t afford it, but they just kinda shrugged and said I’d figure it out. I was in a pinch back in October, and I asked for some donations. I never got around to drawing a thank you, because I wasn’t sure of how to go about it. I wasn’t sure if I should name names, and thank people specifically, or just make it a general post. Eventually I just put it on the back burner and was too embarrassed to do anything given it was such a long time afterwards. It’s kind of like... how i wont talk to a person... and then continue to not talk to them no mater how much I want to because i’m embarrassed of how long I've gone without talking to them. ANYWAY... Instead of just asking for money, because I feel sick and worthless doing that, I offer sketches in return for donations. I don’t have time with how much packing I need to do to do full on commissions, so I ask that if you donate something, please send a little request in my inbox and i’ll get around to sketching it for you. If you don’t want a sketch and just want to help... that’s fine too- but at least I know I offered the sketches, and hopefully some will throw requests my way so i feel like I’m giving back, if only a little. (My art is all i’m worth currently, so it’s all I can give, I’m sorry -laughs nervously-) So yeah... I’m a little hungry... and I gotta move suddenly... and I’ve been debating with myself on whether or not I should ask for help. I’ll be even more embarrassed if no one sees this, and it gets like, three likes and an off hand message of “sorry bruh”. If you can’t help out, which I totally understand, and I thank you for taking the time to read this, just please give me a reblog. If you reblog, go ahead and send a request as well ;A; So once again... Donate Here if you can <3 Or if that doesn’t work, my paypal is [email protected] Thank you for your time -distant Canadian sobbing-

#thea is sorry she's asking for help again. so very sorry #i'm a useless adult #help #life is ass #donations #save me from the nothing i've become #If you just joined the theasus sin crew recently... im so sorry this is your welcome wagon... i hope to have content up for you all soon...

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littlewalken · 4 years

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Dec 19

Okay, made the DS9 magazine idea its own post. Someone do something with it. A lot of someones do a lot of somethings with it.

Sometimes writing is a team effort or whatever.

I hope writing out that DS9 magazine idea doesn’t use up all my idea brain chemicals. I got some more reference pics printed out yesterday for arting and there’s only a few pages left to finish in my small grey sketch book and the first pocket mechanical pencil one.

Sort of that want to finish them up sort of thing.

The larger reborn baby I did years ago turned up in the hoard. Nothing is stopping me from remaking it in to something else. This one would be good for one idea and the smaller one for another.

I feel a bit more energized mentally at the moment but I need to be careful what I do physically.

I’d actually love to be home and do some of the home based activities I have to do but there are times where others in the home make it feel impossible. My shot nerves are telling me that Xmas day when I can’t possibly go anywhere will be nothing but the Life Ruiner screaming.

You know what, there are mentally ill people who are violent and do asshole things on purpose. The Life Ruiner can reasonably control her outbursts and behaviors if she wants. She choses not to. She choses to say vile things that rile up everyone around her and it’s easier to tell everyone else to mind themselves than make her act reasonably.

Yeah, so all those supposed ways you can tell someone is supposed to be lying? Make sure the “liar” isn’t from an abusive past where they were gaslighted, dismissed, and had to add details to make their story more believable because they grew up with a pathological liar who was usually believed over them.

I am very to the point when I answer questions because I am used to someone else interrupting, talking over me, and hijacking the conversation to the point that I rarely if ever bother to even express myself so yeah it’ll look like I’m hiding something. I’m hiding the fact I exist.

At least I got that DS9 magazine idea out so other people can do something with it so that’s a happy thought to hang on to.

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everyblockinphilly · 7 years

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Pilgrimage Day 3

A friend stopped by our porch the other evening while walking her dog. I told her about the pilgrimage. She asked variations of the questions most people ask. How long is this going to take? Answer: At this rate, 175 days of riding, maybe 2 or 3 years? Who knows? If I hit the lottery or meet the wealthy patron of my dreams, maybe 4 months?

She asked, why every block? Why couldn’t I just do every street but not every block of every street? Most people I interact with ask me a variation of this same question, why are you doing this? or What made you think of this? These are reasonable questions that I feel like I need to tell my life story to answer; so I often just tell the partial truth. I say “I don’t know, I just felt called to do it.” Or “The idea came to me many years ago and I wasn’t able to shake it so I figured I’d try.”

The Long Answer

I’ve lived in Philadelphia my entire life. The longest stretch I’ve been outside the city is 6 months. I love living in the place where I am from. I love getting to walk past the sites of my memories and run into people I’ve known and continue to know. I also love how vast this place is. How I still feel like I know nothing about it or its people, how there are parts of the city I have never been and know no one. Five or six years ago I read an article about a man who walked every block in San Francisco. His journey planted a seed. I wanted to get to know my hometown that well. Over three years ago, I tried to start riding my bicycle down every block in Philadelphia. Here is an excerpt from my first journal entry after riding on my first day:

I love traveling and I wanted to wander around without purpose, I wanted to be a flâneur. When I first started to ride my bicycle down every street in Philadelphia I didn’t understand how long it took to get shit done. Also, being curious isn’t enough purpose to drive me to ride for what will probably be 3,000 miles. Still, the quest to ride every street became my white whale.

In the 3+ years between first starting this project and now I have been working as a poet, teaching artist and summer camp for adult director. If you work for yourself and aren’t independently wealthy (like my dream patron, where are you? Come shower me in your riches.) it quickly becomes all consuming. In the last 3+ years, I’ve learned how to get shit done. Soon after starting the bike project the first time, I thought that if I wanted to juggle working and the bike project, I’d need a grant. So with a journalist friend I applied for a grant and jammed the every street in Philadelphia idea into some funding stream. It kind of worked, we were one of 126 finalists out of over 7,000 submissions, then we had to write a full grant application. Here are some gems from the grant.

As much as the Urban Studies and planning nerd in me loves this, I’m also falling asleep at my handle bards.

What does this mean? Was I going to count potholes?

I wrote this and I don’t really know what it means. And it turns out that the granting committee didn’t know what we meant either. Here was some feedback we got after the rejection.

At least we were charming? At least I learned how to use over/underlay in a sentence? If the grant writing process clarified anything it was, I need to figure out why I want to do this and do it for those reasons. I don’t need to try and back this idea into some pot of money.

I put the bike project on hold and got back to work as a poet, teaching artist and camp director. During that year, 2015/16, I learned that the occasional hoarseness I was experiencing in my voice was from blood vessels popping in my vocal chords. There was also a cyst on my vocal chords that needed to go. I spent the year in speech therapy learning how to talk and perform in a way that wouldn’t damage my voice. The therapy helped but by spring time my Dr. recommended I get vocal chord surgery to remove the cyst and stop the blood vessels from popping.

The surgery would be followed by 8-9 weeks of recovery. That’s 63 days of not working. 3,000 miles divided by 63 days equals 47 miles a day, totally doable. I told my Dr. my plan to ride for 47 miles a day for 9 weeks after my surgery. My Dr. was like “No.” I was like “I don’t use my voice to ride my bike!” My Dr. was like, “That’s not how bodies work, everything is connected, you need to rest.” I was like “what do you know about bodies!? You’re not a doct...” I then boooed my Dr. until another blood vessel popped and I had to go on vocal rest for like a week.

In the summer of 2016, the night before my surgery, I threw a party. In addition to sing alongs and unnecessary yelling I asked my friends to write down silent activities we could do together post surgery and I asked them to write down the answer to this question “How do you heal?”

If I was a more sentimental person and not deeply afraid of my paternal lineage’s hoarding tendencies I would have saved the slips of papers with the answers to the question “How do you heal?” because my friends are deep and wise. A better writer would make up some meaningful answers in the absence of the actual answers. I’ll just tell you that I was moved and surprised at the depth and variety in the answers. The 9 week recovery taught me that with some planning, sacrificing and saving I can carve time out of my work life for important things.

This past spring I walked into the Barnes Museum because I wanted to see their exhibit “Person of the Crowd: The Contemporary Art of Flânerie.” I ran into a friend from high school who was working at the Barnes. He got me in for free (did I mention I love my hometown?). I looked at every piece of art in the exhibit and read every single accompanying text. I saw work by an artist who lived outside for a year, I saw a piece by an artist who collected a piece of trash everyday and turned it into art, another artist asked people about their secrets. Some of the artists made deeply political art, some made deeply personal art and some of them just seemed to be wandering around.

I left the exhibit, got one of those mini-golf pencils from a museum employee, dug an envelope out of my backpack and in a matter of minutes sketched this on the back of it:

I felt like the idea was downloaded through me. The question “How do you heal? How do you feel better?” kept resonating with me. This flowing bike trailer idea came to me. I felt a sense of hot purpose that was scary and motivating.

On my third day of the pilgrimage I turned off of Lindbergh Boulevard in South West. I’ve driven down Lindbergh Blvd countless times and ridden it on my bike a few times as well. On one side of Lindbergh Blvd is neighborhoods, on the other side there is a lot of vacant land where there used to be industry. I turned off the boulevard and down a dead end street. I could see that people had dumped a lot of trash at the end of the street. If I wasn’t riding down every block and just choosing which blocks to ride down, I probably wouldn’t have chosen this one. I get to the bottom of the hill that the block is on. Only from the bottom of this dead end block can one see an enormous gold-roofed Buddhist temple.

Through a fence I talk with 3 brothers whose brother just died. They’d come to the temple to pay their respects. They just had their head shaven and were planning on becoming more serious about their faith to honor their brother.

They told me to go around the corner, down another unassuming dead end street and into the temple. They said that the monks would be happy to talk to me. I rode my bike to the entrance of the monastery and waited to be invited in. I sat with some monks and talked about spirituality, being good neighbors, Cambodia, what it’s like to be a monk, walking meditations. We talked for almost an hour. The monastery is encircled in enormous trees and all of the sounds of the city disappeared. Our conversation wandered. I felt transported both out of and into the city.

I am meeting wise and deep and kind people in beautiful places that I normally would have no reason to go. Learning about the monastery was a striking reminder that every block is worth traveling. I am also reminded this when I get the opportunity to talk to a mother, her children and their friends in front of her halloween decorated home, to give a kid a ride in the trailer down his block, and talk to some kids on their way to the playground. It’s all been incredibly meaningful. I feel really good when I ride and for now that is a good enough “why?” and a good enough reason to continue.

#Philly Philadelphia EveryBlockinPhilly EveryStreetInPhilly Bicycle Pilgrimage bikeart

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