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crimeronan · 8 months

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hi!! sorry if this has been asked before but i wanted to know if u had a specific editing process? ive read before that u edited ur fics for 6-8 hours and wanted to know what those hours consisted of, technically speaking, if its not too much trouble!!

hello!!

this is a really good question. i want to do it justice but breaking down every single detail of my editing process would take a VEEEERY long time. so i'll give more of an overview

some fics have a Much more involved editing process than others. so i can walk you through what both "processes" look like, step-wise. my most involved process produces the best work but is also the most time-consuming and exhausting.

to start, though: you gotta understand my first draft process. because whenever i tell other writers about how i draft, their responses range from "that's insane" to "that's so smart" to "that's insane. again."

i don't reread anything when i draft.

and i mean Anything. i don't reread a single sentence. i don't reread my phrasing as i'm writing it. i don't even check to make sure that my sentences make sense.

i just write out the entire story as i'm hearing / imagining it in my head. whatever moments, beats, dialogue, Whatever is most important to me. i don't edit as i go, i don't look back. if i can't think of details or lose my flow, i put [add X here] and keep going.

i usually have a bullet-point outline before i draft -- that's my scribbled concept sketch. my first draft is the equivalent to the slightly less scribbly concept sketch. it takes a MAXIMUM of one-third of my entire writing time.

the other two-thirds (or more!) are editing.

so basically. editing is where i reread what i wrote, identify weak spots and pacing issues, revise my dialogue, improve my metaphors, bulk up my imagery..... it's like doing all of the painstaking lining and coloring and shading of a very involved art project.

with my Most involved editing process, i open a new document beside the first draft. i write an entire second draft from scratch, using my first document as reference. that lets me keep all the important beats, rearrange stuff, go more in-depth with detail, etc. THEN i reread that second draft and do all of my fussing.

with my less involved editing process, i just reread and edit the first draft instead of creating an entire second draft. i also do fewer editing passes.

(the involved process includes editing the whole document once, putting it down for a few hours, then starting over from the beginning and editing the Edited Version all over again.)

it might be easier for me to show you the differences in fic quality, for you to get a sense of how the editing process affects things.... rather than trying to describe exactly what i look for / change / do / etc.

so. here's three recent (ish) toh fics

humans are friends. AND food - no editing.

why did love put a gun in my hand (and all other parts of this series) - basic first draft editing.

what we are is the sum of a thousand lies - 2 to 3 full drafts per chapter, 3 to 5 editing passes per chapter, ~30,000 words of outtakes beyond that.

with that vampire AU fic (#1), you can see that it's short, it's quick, it's silly and fun. it's not emotionally deep. it doesn't make much sense. it's very clearly based on Vibes instead of a fully considered story.

the princess luz fic (#2) is Significantly more involved. the increased detail here is partially because this is a horror series instead of a stupid humor romp, but the principle is the same.

all of luz's internal narration about her fear, the pacing of her interactions and confrontations with belos n hunter alike, the ugly body horror and the way she comforted the dying grimwalker... that's all from the editing process. the bare bones were there in my first draft, but my edits were where i got to make things Effective.

basically, i wrote the horror story the way i saw it in my mind. and then during the edit, i could ask questions like - what would make this worse? what is she really afraid of? what is the most LUZ reaction that she could have in this situation? what's the most effective way to show the differences between this luz and canon luz, and the similarities? etc etc etc. all those little details!

then you have wwaitsoatl. which is by Far the most energy-intensive fic i've ever written. that's part of why updates are so sporadic despite there being well over a thousand subscribers at the moment (FAR more than any of my other fics have ever had).

the reason that this fic requires so many drafts and editing passes is because of the sheer complexity of the characterization. the plot is pretty generic, as toh fics go - hunter gets kidnapped away from the castle and learns how to be loved, this fic has been written 100000 times before in 100000 different ways by 100000 different authors.

BUT. every single one of the four narrators in this particular story is unreliable in different ways. every single one has different priorities, motivations, baggage, feelings, levels of emotional intelligence. all four of them are in massive conflict with one another.

the conflicts Between the characters are similarly complicated, so i have to spend a LOOOONG time on all of the dialogue & interactions. these guys do a LOT of projecting, and arguing, and talking at cross-purposes, and making incorrect assumptions, and lying, and obfuscating, and on and on and on. clear communication is basically impossible.

the internal narration also requires a similar level of care. hunter and darius in particular have incredibly challenging POVs to write because all of their narration is tied up in denial, self-delusion, and facades.

hunter's nightmares, cognitive dissonance, and slow breakdowns take Hours And Hours And Hours to get right. same goes for darius's feelings and the things he says and the things he Doesn't say. i literally study every single individual sentence and rewrite it like 15 times, then study every individual paragraph and rewrite and rearrange them like 15 times. and if a scene isn't working, i cut it entirely, even when that adds up to 30,000 words of outtakes.

it's my most ambitious fic by a longshot and i'm confident in saying it's my best work to date. but hoo boy, it is WORK.

so. that's my editing process, basically! and how my editing process changes my final product.

#replies #writing #writing advice #i guess?#toh #my writing #long post #REALLY long post #always a pleasure to get to talk about the process behind the scenes tbh #it is not easy. wow

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blissfulparker · 4 years

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A little more permanent—Tattooartist!Tom

pairings:tattooartist!tom x innocent!reader Summary: one night you decide to tattoo tom instead of him tattooing you. Warnings: some sexual themes A/n: this is not a direct part 2 of tattooed heart but it is a spin off of it. I was never going to make this into a series but just little parts that tie together here and there. I hope you enjoy!! also I know I haven't been doing taglists and im sorry! if you want to be tagged in my works send me an ask! and thank you so much to the anon that suggested this title!

You lay on the dark leather couch of the shop that smells like bleach. The sound of buzzing a rock music fills the place and you wait for tom to be done.

It was what your Sunday’s started to look like, at around 6:30 you would make your way down to the shop to pick up tom. He would often times close up so you were stuck here finishing up some homework, reading up on a book, or even just laying there scrolling through your phone.

It was interesting to see the people come in and out anyways, watch what each person is getting and seeing their reactions, you could see why Tom adores his job so much.

“Alright baby, I’m almost done you wanna head to my room?” He’s taking off his gloves and throwing them into the nearest bin.

You nod closing up your bag as you follow him into his office. You sit down in the tattoo chair and wait for him to clean up. You look over and see a framed picture of the two of you at the beach last month. His arms are wrapped around you and he’s planting a kiss on your cheek, Tessa is in the background and you’ve got the biggest smile.

“Someone asked me if that was my wife today.” He pointed to the picture you were staring at. He’s got his signature cheeky grin as he wipes down the counter.

“Oh yeah? What’d you say?” You already know his answer but want to hear his cheeky response.

“I told him, ‘yeah and that was our honeymoon’.” He says and you let out a soft laugh. You notice how the gun was still not put away and you almost let your fingers run over it. “You want one real quick?” He asks and you shake your head.

“No, I just—what if I did one on you?” You ask him and he’s thought about it, he’s thought about it a lot. The thought of you holding the gun and the thought of you looking so focused as you marked up his skin. He’s lying if he says he’s not turned on by the thought.

“On me?” He asked and you nodded. You sit up and the way you sit causes your skirt to rise up a little more showing some more of your thigh.

“I-I mean ive never done it and-actually it’s stupid pretend I didn’t say anything.” You set the gun back down and go back to how you were sitting before.

“No, no,” he comes over to you throwing the Clorox wipe in the trash. “What were you thinking about?” He moves your legs up to rest them on his thigh as he sits down.

You sit up and grab onto his shoulder for balance. He looks at you with soft eyes, his mouth slightly agape because he wants you to lean in for a kiss but instead he moves his head to kiss the fingers rested on his shoulder.

“C’mon, tell me.” He holds your face and you look down at his fingers.

“I dunno, thought maybe we could do something cute together? I know how much you hate matching tattoos when couples come in to get them and you think they’re stupid but like it wouldn’t be matching it would be more like...more like tattoos that remind us of one another you know?” You spill all your thoughts and he looks at you in shock that you thought all this.

“Like I said! It’s stupid! I know I know!” You flop back onto the chair and he shakes his head as he crawls on top of you. He grabs your hands holding them gently as he presses a soft kiss to your chin.

“I think it’s a beautiful idea.” He kisses again this time on your neck. “Should I get a heart like you?” He let’s go of your right hand and moves it to where your first tattoo is, his work of art is.

“Up to you.” You move your head back to give him more acess and he kisses once again but chuckling on your collarbone making you shiver.

“Up to me? Darling this is your idea, where do you want it?” He argues and you look over at his hand, his left hand, his ring finger naked as could be. If he ever wanted to cover the tattoo up with a ring he could, he didn’t have any tattoos on his hand anyways and you loved his hands.

“Your finger.” You spoke and he looked up. His lips red from kissing you and his hair stopped tickling your chin. “Your left ring finger.” You tell him and he looks over at his finger. The reason he didn’t do his hands because he knew it’d fade faster and he didn’t really have any ideas for a hand tattoo.

“My finger?” He looks up at you nervous as could be. “My marriage finger?” He smirks and you nod. He knew your little plan, your innocent, loving, but slightly dirty plan.

“Mmh,” you nod and sit up. He sits up as well and is face with you. “You don’t have any tattoos there.” You tap your fingers against his hand as they’re being held.

“I guess I don’t.” He kisses your neck one more time before letting go of your hand and moving to the gun. Pulling out a fresh new needle to be used.

“R-Right now?” You sit up and he looks at the clock.

“It’s my shop, it’s closed, yeah.” He assembles the gun and opens up a new set of ink. He goes over to make the sketch and applies it to his finger.

“Tom, if you don’t wanna go through with this it’s okay. Honestly I won’t be offended if you don’t wanna-“ you start and he comes over and takes your spot on the chair.

“I do want to though. I only hate couple tattoos because most of the couples that come in I know they won’t be together in a year. Most of them are yes like us, young, in love, blinded by each other, but I also can just tell they won’t be together by the end of this year. Most of the tattoos they want are ugly anyways.” He shrugs and you laugh a little.

“Hey, I saw a couple leave once with a lock and key tattoo. I thought that was cute.” You told him and he lets out a ‘pff’ noise.

“Yeah, if they didn’t get so much shading it would be cute.” Tom flicks on the gun to test it and it makes you jump. “Are you sure you wanna go though with this?” He asks seeing how scared you are.

“Yeah, it was my idea.” You carefully take the gun from him and he now instructs you on what to do next.

“Okay, okay, wipe down the skin.” Tom instructs you as you carefully grab a cleaning wipe. Wiping down the dry skin with a cold wipe already made tom sink into the chair.

“When was your last tat?” You asked him realizing he hadn’t gotten one since you two been together.

“Before we started dating? Like November before we started dating. It’s of the rose.” He reminded you of the rose on his chest that looks angelic. The rose that you loved kissing over and leaving scratch marks just below.

“I love the rose.” You remind him and he laughs.

“I know you do.” He smirks and moves your hand to rest the gun gently over his skin. “Now, you wanna be careful. Don’t press too hard okay? It can go right through the skin and cause and infection and we don’t want that.” His eyes are serious and you are too.

“Promise to tell me if it hurts you?” You say with all seriousness and he knows that. You’re so sweet to him and it’s almost like you forgot that there’s almost twenty other tattoos on him that hurt way more than his finger.

“I promise.” He leans down and kisses your forehead before you start. “Alright, turn it on.” He tells you and you do so casuing him to flinch a little just at his nerves.

“Now just follow the outline sweetheart.” He instructed you and you do as told. You look up and see him with his eyes closed. That was one thing, Tom could never watch the needle on his own skin, he could only watch the needle on others.

“I’m hurting you!” You announce to him and he shakes his head ‘no’.

“No, you’re not. Keep on going sweets.” He tells you and you cringe as you finish up the tattoo. Seeing his skin redden and how his eyes are closed makes you cringe the hardest you’ve ever had.

You finish up the tattoo, it’s a little bit wider than your heart and definitely a little longer but it’s still adorable and you’re actually proud of yourself.

“I-I’m done.” You look at it with pride. He opens his eyes and looks down and sees the most beautiful tattoo yet. He loves it, he wasn’t going to tell you it was a big messy because he loved it. He loved that you did it, he loved that you thought of it and the only way he would be covering it was with a wedding band.

“It’s beautiful.” He stares at it for a moment and for that first time you got that the feeling tom did after he’s done with with a patient. The feeling of accomplishment and the feeling of pride. “Baby, it’s beautiful.” He leans in for a kiss and you proudly kiss him back.

“You like it?” You smile and he gets up to go patch it up himself.

“It’s the best tattoo I’ve got.” He tells you and then looks over at the clock again. “Let’s get going yeah?” He picks up your bag for you and follows you out of the room shutting off the lights and locking the door behind him. His hand is softly resting on your lower back as you both make your ways out of the the shop.

You grab your keys getting in the car and getting yourself situated. He’s looking at the tattoo still admiring it. Even if you knew it wasn’t the best it was still something that meant a lot to tom.

He reaches over and rests he free and good hand on your thigh. Almost causing you to slam on the breaks feeling his hand on your bare thigh.

“You should tattoo on me more often, darling.” He rubs soft circles with his thumb.

“Oh no, that was just that time. I hurt you.” You pouted and he shook his head.

“No, no,” he kissed your cheek. “I just don’t like watching it done to me. I would’ve told you sweetheart.” He watched you calm down as he told you that.

You reach over when you’re at a stop light for his hand. You take the finger and bring it up to your lips giving it a soft kiss, you make eye contact with tom the whole time when you kiss it causing shivers down his spin. You watch him tremble under your touch until you are interrupted by the sound of the car behind you slamming its horn.

“All better?” You tease like the first time he did your tattoo. You will never forget that night, that cold london night when you were all alone getting your first tattoo. Nervous as hell walking in with the only intent being to impress your friends proving you could be good too. That though, was a year ago. Now you have been with tom for a year and loved every second of it. Moving him with him, starting a life with a boy you never thought you’d meet.

“You’re going to be the death of me.” He breathes out pushing his hair back as he watches you just drive.

Nighttime drives were the best, on the way home especially. Knowing exactly what would be waiting for you when you got home was sometimes what kept tom through his day. Knowing he’d share the large California king with you. And if you didn’t pick him up because you were at home studying away for an exam he would just about always find you half asleep at your desk and would kiss your forehead before picking you up and taking you to bed.

Pulling up to the complex and making your way up to the flat to be greeted by Tessa jumping on the two of you. You reach down to pet the girl before setting your stuff down and tom pushing you into the counter. Heavy with his kisses as he appreciated your lips and body.

“Mmh, easy there.” You remind him and he breaks off and looks at you.

“You can’t just tease me in the car and expect nothing. I’ve missed you all day.” He kissed some more. You were gone longer than you thought, waking up and leaving him to go to church with your mother and then coming back to do some school work. By the time you came home he was already gone at the shop and you’d missed him by only an hour.

“I’ve missed you more but your eyes are tired and you were practically falling asleep before I did your tattoo bubs.” You hold his face and see his red eyes, the curls coming in and hanging down on his face as you held him. He did look tired and he was. He was extremely tired.

He kisses one more time before moving back. You take his hand and take him to be where you knew the two of you would make out more before falling asleep on top of each other.

And so that’s exactly what the two of you did, you stripped down and always just wore an oversized shirt and underwear to sleep and that’s exactly what you did tonight. Tom doing the same as he came out from the bathroom after brushing his teeth.

“Mmh,” he comes into bed and starts attacking your neck with kisses. “I love you.” He reminds you and you shift to face him. Grabbing his hand with the tattoo again and moving to place it on your face, making him hold your face for a moment before moving the hand slowly down to where your heart was, just right below the Breast he touches the tattoo.

Moving your leg to wrap around his you cuddle in closer and he lets his hand drop to rest on your lower back. Pecking a kiss to his cheek as you lay your head against his shoulder mumbling an ‘I love you’ into his chest. He loved when you mumbled into his chest to feel the smal vibrations of your voice.

Your hand going to touch some tattoos one more time before you fall asleep. Touching the dove that flew on his bicep, to depiction of the family crest just below his shoulder. You let your eyes wander to the butterflies and the rose on his chest, the Roman numerals that are for his grandmother and there were empty spaces but he always tells you he’s leaving those spaces for more important things.

“What if we got married?” He spoke into the emptiness of the room. You perked up from his chest just as you were about to sleep you feel your heart pounding.

“What?” You looked at him as if he was just running off the pure tiredness in his voice.

“Married, like a wedding and then maybe some kids? What if we did all of that when you graduate?” He offers and you can’t help but to smile a little have been thinking about this thought before. You go to grab his hand with the fresh heart tattoo and imagine a ring right over it, just as you thought in the first place.

“A wedding? And some kids?” You say in shock but also happiness. He nods taking your hand to kiss.

“Yeah.” He tells you and you nod but fall into his shoulder.

“Let’s talk about this in the morning, keep our excitement for then.” You go back to staring at his tattoos.

Your parents would be furious if this was the man you were marrying, but your brother did almost the same exact thing—that is marrying someone your parents hated. You knew they’d never be truly happy with tom but you were your happiest with tom and you knew he was his happiest with you and you couldn’t wait to share those moments with him.

#tom holland imagine #tom holland x reader #tom holland fluff #tattoo!tom #tom holland fan fic #tom holland fan fiction #imagine tom holland #tom holland smut #tom Holland blurb #tom holland fanfiction

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worlds-smallestviolin · 3 years

Text

Mother

Masamune x MC

genre: angst/fluff

word count:2208

summary: retelling of Masamune’s love’s union gacha story from MC’s POV

a/n: It always bothers me how MC just decides to stay in past without care about her family, so for stories sake let’s assume Sasuke went back to the future.

With everyone asleep, Aoba was a quiet place; quite a contrast compared to how loud and lively it was during the day (it is Masamune’s castle, after all). Having changed into my sleeping robe, I was sitting on the futon, waiting for my lover to join me ( I’d say to sleep, dear reader, but we both know that would be a lie.).And my handsome Masamune was still at his desk, working despite the late hour. He may be a wild tiger, but he took his responsibility as a head of the clan very seriously. He did everything he could to make life easier for the people of Oshu. And I’m not just talking about him going to war or battling demons of paperwork. I mean little things as well, like cooking a meal for his men on patrol, or writting letters to his vassals to thank them or simply talk about what’s been going on lately. “You shouldn’t write in the dark. It’s bad for you’re eye.”, I broke the silence hoping to convince him to put down the brush for tonight. “I know, I know. I’ll be done in a second. You just wait for me like a good kitten”, he said, raising his head to flash me a smile that made my heart skip a beat or two. “Meow!”, My god, I’m such a dork. I hugged my knees to my chest, rocking back and forth. Masamune returned his attention to the letter he was writing, and again silence settled in.

Having nothing else to do but wait, I soon got lost in my own thoughts. Some time has passed since I started living here in Aoba. It still surprises me how quickly I’ve gotten used to the life here. Masamune encouraged my worked as a seamstress. He had a room prepared for me, where I could sketch and make clothes; I already had a few clients. He would often keep my drawings to hang on the wall, always repeating how much he loved my art. I’ve made friends with maids, and Kojuro and guys were always there to lend a helping hand. I spent my free time with Masamune, getting into all sort of adventures, and sometimes troubles. We would go for a ride, or a walk around town, we ate delicious food, we cooked together, we laughed and we made love. All in all, life was good. I remember how nervous I was in the days before we left Azuchi, worrying if I would be accepted in Oshu as I was among Oda. Not to mention that I’m still not completely used to the life in Sengoku period. Yes, things are great so far. But from time to time, I can’t help giving voice to my old insecurities. What happens if this doesn’t work out? The picture of my parants forms in my mind, only to slowly morph into that of Masamune and I. And their insults and shouts fall from our lips, that so far know only sweet kisses and sweet nothings. No, I don’t want to think of that.

I quickly try to banish those thoughts back into the dark corners of my mind. Luckly for me, a voice calls from outside our room. “Pardon me for the intrusion this late at night, my lord. There is a letter from Lady Yoshihime.” Masamune receives the letter and tells both man to get some rest. Once we are alone again, I couldn’t help voicing my curiosity: “Who��s Lady Yoshihime?” “My mother.”, he says, and something about his indifferent voice makes me feel uneasy. “I’ve noticed she doesn’t live in the castle with us…”The first day I came here they held a feast to celebrate Masamune’s return and my arrival, where Masamune introduced me to a lot of people that are important to him. You’d think that his mother would be among them. “She poisoned me when I was young. There’s messy politics with her side of the family, so it seemed best we live apart.”, he said it as if he was informing me about the weather outside.“I’m sorry, WHAT?” I misheard that, right? He did not just say his mother tried to have him killed. I stared at him, trying to process what he just told me. “It’s not that strange. When it comes to the succession of a clan, things often get ugly. With the loss of my eye, she must have thought I wasn’t fit to be the head of the Date and decided to take matters into her own hands.” Shock quickly turned into anger. She tried to kill her own child because of something that wasn’t his fault, something he couldn’t change. For a moment, I thought of my own mother, who believed motherhood to be the most sacred and joyous role a woman could have, who loved and supported unconditionally and would give up anything and everything for her children. I could not imagine how difficult it must have been for Masamune, being sick and losing your eye. And the one person who was supposed to love him more than anyone betrays him like that. My heart filled with sorrow. It must have shown on my face, because Masamune tried to reassure me with a smile: “I barely remember it. Must not have been that bad, or I wouldn’t have forgotten, right? If I let it trouble me, I wouldn’t be fit to be a lord, and that would only prove my mother right.” His words reminded me of what Master Kosai told me about Masamune. “One who would stand above others must be most strict with oneself. They must work as hard as their hardest workers and be always deserving of the praise their station affords them. Their pain they must learn to bear with on their own, for they will at times be alone. Those were the lessons I instilled in that young child. He survived by embracing what I taught him. So much that he no longer needs to ‘act’ to be the ideal leader from his lessons. But our nature is unchanging. In the deepest part of Masamune’s heart that injured young child remains.

Having read the letter, Masamune joined me on the futon. Smile on his face, he patted my head. But for a moment, a mere second, I saw something in the depth of his eye. You never tamed you’re demons, Masamune, you just kept them on a leash. And the wounds of heart are never quick to heal. You could try to ignore them, you might even forget them. But they remain there somewhere, waiting for a chance to overwhelm you. And if you cannot entrust them to anyone else, at least entrust them to me. So I pulled him down to bed with me, holding him close to my chest, his cheek resting against my breast. I run my fingers softly through his hair. “I want you to listen carefully to what I’m about to say. I love you, so you don’t ever have to hide how you feel when you’re around me. You’re not my lord, Masamune. You’re the man I love; a fun guy who acts all cool but has the most adorable blush, the one who can kiss my heart into a full stop and then restart it with a touch, someone who always protects me and encourages me. And I will always be here for you. So leave the perfect leader outside this room, and just be my Masamune.” He tried to protest but, I wouldn’t let him. Then he turned his face from me, and for a moment I thought he might cry. But after a while he met my eyes again. “I’ll try.”, he said with a smile. I guess old habits die hard. “That’s a start.” I kissed his forehead and continued running my fingers through his hair. Eventually I felt him relax as he drifted to sleep. But my brain was too busy for that. I was angry at Lady Yoshihime, I was sad for Masamune. And in the stillness of the night, my mind wandered to that dark corner again. I was afraid.

Hearing about Masamune’s mother made me think about my own parents. I knew they must be worried about me. Sasuke promised to deliver my letter. Hopefully, that will ease their hearts. It wouldn’t be the first time I disappeared of the radar. They were good parents, for the most part. Well, when it comes to my father, the best I can say is that he tried. He never failed to tell me he loved me. I never once doubted it. But he wasn’t the easiest man to get along with. He had his opinions and his expectations, and those were set in stone. Being his eldest child, the bar was set especially high for me. He worked two jobs to save money for my education. And though he never understood my passion for fashion, he supported me, so long as he didn’t have to listen to me talk about it. He never raised his hands on us, but his anger was something to be feared. My mother, on the other hand was a saint. I’ve never heard her raise her voice. No matter what troubled her, she always wore a smile. She was the one who took care of us when we were sick, fed us, helped us do homework or study for exam, attended every parents meeting, every school play… She was there to listen to us for hours and comfort us. She was there for every tear and every smile.

But as good as they were in their roles as parents, they were the worst couple I’ve ever seen. I could count the times I remember seeing them being affectionate towards each other on the fingers of my hands, if those hands were in a terrible accident and were missing a few fingers. Instead, there were fights and shouting, and then days of them ignoring each other, and us walking on eggshells around them. They would act more affectionate towards me and my brother, as if they were competing for our love. And it was always about something small and insignificant, a misplaced item or misheard word. It always ended with the ‘talk’ where my father would insist they just forget and move on. There were never any apologies, they never talked things through.

My parents didn’t marry for love, or at least if they did it was quickly spent. They did their best not to let their fights affect the kids. My childhood was for the most part a happy one. But the older I got, the more I noticed the cracks that began to show. They were not happy, although they stubbornly maintained that illusion. What makes someone choose to stay and live a life next to a person that makes them miserable? Why don’t you just leave him? I heard my aunt say to my mum one time. I do it for my children. I could never leave them. They are my everything. Maybe that was the moment when the fear was born, squeezing my heart each time she smiled. I was causing her pain just by being, a cage to a bird who otherwise could simply fly away. And I started to wonder if one day I too will be like that. “Mom, I love you. But I don’t want to become you.”, I said on the night before my cousin’s wedding, when the conversation inevitably turned into wedding talk, and I tell her I don’t ever want to marry. I see a heart breaking in those eyes. A single shard of glass melts and runs down her cheek; on its way, leaves my heart bleeding as well. Still she smiles: ” So long as you’re happy, I’ll be happy too.”.

The sky is still pale yellow-blue. I stared at the eye of a calm sea, and I felt calm as well; last night’s shadows fleeing before the morning light. Or maybe it’s Masamune’s touch that chases them away. He was always good at that, erasing my insecurities. Though I now know he was plagued by them too. Both of us are with hidden corners in our hearts, echoing with the words “You’re not good enough.” A doubt dwells in the back of the mind; his slumbers deep within, mine lingers just beneath the skin. Still I believe we’ll be alright. “ I want you’re face to be the first thing I see in the morning. Whether we’re at war, or everything is peaceful. I want that tomorrow, and the day after, and forever more.”, he brushed his finger along my cheek. I knew it won’t always be easy, I knew many things will try to break us apart. Still I believed in us. Whatever we might face, with you by my side, I was confident enough. “ My love for you will never change, Masamune.” He drew me to his chest, I felt his tears touch my head. The beating of his heart told me they were not tears of sorrow. I remained quietly in his arms, as another tear slides down my cheek. Mother, I’m happy now.

#ikemen sengoku #ikesen masamune #ikemen sengoku masamune #date masamune

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codenamesazanka · 4 years

Note

Mr. Compress can't speak for some reason and tries to pass on a message to his comrades through MIME.

oh my god

Prompt: MIME

Setting: After de-arming Overhaul but before Gigantomachia

Words: 1000 exactly! according to google docs

Notes: Thank you for waiting! I’m so sorry

He had to admit, it was a rather admirable quirk. Many uses for the stage, and many uses for mischief - as the little rat had done.

The League was making short work of a loanshark’s office; Atsuhiro himself taking care of a man who he had discovered cowering behind a desk. He was about to conjure a filing cabinet atop of the man when his target took a exaggeratedly deep, shaky breath in, opened his mouth and—

“Shigaraki! Behind you!”

Only that was his voice, his smooth tenor, coming out of foreign lips, and falling upon familiar ears. His leader jerked and twisted, hand lashing out to land death on an attacker… Except that it was Twice behind him. Thankfully Shigaraki reacted fast enough to only jab Twice in the eyes with two fingers (and thankfully also mildly at that).

In the betrayal-tinted confusion that followed, the pseudo-ventriloquist escaped, and with him, Atsuhiro’s voice.

“Don’t give him it, he can’t talk—”

Shigaraki snatched up the phone. “Giran. We need a name. Daikoun Finances in Nagano, man with a quirk that can steal voices.”

Sounds of shuffling papers from the other end of the line. “Poor guy. Do I even wanna know why Japan’s Top Villains are looking for him?”

“It’s none of your business,” Twice snapped, leaning against Shigaraki to speak closer. “We’re gonna hunt him down cuz he’s got Mr. Compress’ voice!”

“What, as collateral for a loan?” Giran chuckled. Tasteless. Atsuhiro gave a thumbs down. His allies agreed, if their cricket silence was anything to go by.

“Ah, here we go. Yamamura Tarou. 27, lives alone at 16-732 Kanacho, works at…” A pause. “Guessing you guys know where already. No luck there?”

”They’re no help at all!” Toga said, smiling slightly. “Everyone’s dead.”

“Pity.”

“Got a picture you can send?” Shigaraki asked. “If he ditched his place already, we’ll have to take to the streets.”

“Unfortunately, no. Not a selfie guy, Yamamura. I’ll ask around, give a call if I get a hint of his whereabouts, how’s that?”

“Go do that.” Shigaraki hung up, and turned to look at him. Atsuhito tipped his hat.

“Mr. Compress, can you remember what the guy looks like?”

It was no surprise that Twice was a decent artist; in a way those clones of his were art, requiring perfect visual memory.

Atsuhiro stroked at his chin, his movements quick and short.

“He has a sharp chin!”

“A beard.”

Atsuhiro nodded at his leader. Good, but not quite. He tapped his chin, and repeated his earlier movements.

“A sharp chin and a beard.”

“No, no, a chin beard, right? Oh! Those are called goatees!”

Pleased, Atsuhiro pointed at Toga, then clapped.

“Yay! My win again! You’re falling way behind, Shuuichi.”

“We’re not keeping score! This isn’t a game.”

“Aw, don’t you like games?”

Beside Atsuhiro, on their little makeshift stage, was Twice. With a piece of paper pinned to the wall of their latest hideout, they were attempting forensic sketching. It was going well enough, if slow - to be expected when the descriptions had to be acted out.

“A goatee, that’s handsome,” Twice said as he shaded. “This guy’s ugly as fuck!”

Indeed he was, this Yamamura, and the picture captured it fairly well. Still…

“…he’s fat? He’s round.”

“…His entire being…”

“His aura?”

There we go! From Spinner, to whom Atsuhiro gave a thankful nod. Then he reset to his default pose, a neutral expression, before twisting his face into a scowl, glaring at the audience, hunching his shoulders.

“His aura is mean!”

“That’s it?” Spinner asked. “He was a loanshark’s lackey, of course he would be a thug.”

Oh, in the right direction, but not yet. A thug, true, but more specifically, a yankee— No, not the right word. A punk? More like a…

The metaphorical lightbulb lighted up, and Atsuhiro composed himself.

He tilted his chin up, all arrogant; he raised his arms, made peace signs with both his hands, turned them sideways; then he took a step forward, moving to the beat of an inaudible yo, yo, yo—

The effect was immediate. Toga shrieked, Twice yelled and cheered, while Spinner, in pure disbelief, shouted out the answer: “Gangsta?” Even Shigaraki was staring, eyes widened in surprise.

—and this was, of course, also the perfect time for the last member of the League to grace them with his presence. The door opened and revealed Dabi, who halted his entrance as he took in the scene before him. His gaze moved from the rowdy youngsters on the sofa; to the portrait and to the pencil in Twice’s hand; and finally to Atsuhiro, still frozen in the ‘gangsta’ pose.

“…I am not gonna be a part of this,” Dabi said flatly.

The door slammed shut.

Embarrassing? Perhaps. But a successful performance nevertheless. Twice finished the picture of Yamamura with his wispy goatee and wannabe tough guy demeanor, and Toga found the little rat later the same day.

There he was, on the dirty ground of a quiet alleyway, pale and terrified, blood soaking his oversized clothing, the stab wound on his side incapacitating but slow to bleed.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, please don’t kill me. Please…”

Shigaraki sounded almost bored in his reply. “Just give back Mr. Compress’ voice and I won’t kill you.”

Yamamura immediately blew an unnaturally strong puff of air at Atsuhiro. The smell of it made him reel back, saying— finally, his voice— saying, “What disgusting breath.”

The relief was collective and palpable; even the thief. How misguided, for in the next moment Shigaraki stepped aside, allowing Atsuhiro to be front and center.

Fear was back in Yamamura, who looked pleadingly to Shigaraki. “W-wait, you said… I gave his voice back, you said you wouldn’t…”

“He did say that, didn’t he? Shigaraki Tomura said he won’t kill you.” Atsuhiro said, enjoying the vibrations in his throat, the words forming on his tongue and lips. And so he relished his next words.

“My dear leader never said I wouldn’t.”

#holioc #Atsuhiro Sako #League of Villains #Mr. Compress #fanfiction #asked #answered #prompt #Sako Atsuhiro #nalslastworkingbraincell #bnha #mha #enjoy???#i...#me attempting humor #:/

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xbelovedstar-dustx · 4 years

Text

Blank Canvas

{Story set in my rp verse with @kaibagirl007 }

===========================

There were times when Seto loved his mansion. With it being so spacious, he could just work in silence in one of the rooms and avoid everyone. Than there are times when he hated how big it was, especially when he couldn't find something....or someone.

This was one of those times.

"Muffin?...Muffin?! Are you still here?" Seto called out through the mansion. About Two hours ago, Aqua texted him asking if it was to come over. At the time, he was busy with emails and other small mundane tasks for KaibaCorp to make Monday's work load a little easier. When he saw it, He was kinda deep and wanted to finish what he was doing, so he texted back saying he could, but he was busy so he wouldn't be able to greet him.

Well....That was two hours ago. Aqua didn't even great Seto himself. Just why did he come over anyway?

"Muffin?!" Seto huffed slightly. Damn he hated his mansion right now. And here he was excited for a cuddle session with his sugar muffin.

"Aquamarine?" Seto called out to a part of the mansion that even he rarely visited. There he heard soft singing of an angels voice. He couldn't help but smile softly and follow the voice to a door that was slightly cracked. Gently pushing it open, he couldn't help but blink from the bright Sunlight streaming from the window.

And sitting in front of it, was his sweet Aquamarine.

The smaller man was sitting on stool in front of an easel holding a small canvas. He was painting covered short overalls and messy t-shirt, and his hair was in a long pigtail. In his ears he could easily see earbuds in.

'Explains why he didn't answer me...'Seto thought with a soft sigh. Still he was happy to see Aqua and his heart melted at how cute his boyfriend was, singing and swaying to the beat, yet still was able to...do whatever he was doing. Just what was he up to?

Quietly walking over, he hugged Aqua from behind and laid his chin on Aqua's soft hair. Said name jumped and looked slightly panicked before relaxing. Giggling softly and pulling out his ear buds, he glanced up.

"Hey Teddy Bear, I thought you were busy working." Aqua asked. Both shared a quick kiss before Seto answered.

"I was, than I heard a beautiful voice and just had to follow it." Seto said, chuckling at Aqua's slight blush. While Aqua never saw his voices appeal, Seto did and loved to compliment him whenever he could. Before Aqua could argue, Seto's eyes turned to the Canvas and the sketch. It looked familiar...

"Is it...a blue eyes?" Seto asked and Aqua beamed.

"Yep...But which Blue Eyes~" Aqua said teasingly. Seto got a thoughtful look, before looking back at the canvas. It didn't look like any of his three blue eyes he had in his deck, and he doubted Aqua knew of the fourth that he....yeah.

So that left one option.

"Its Nacre!" He said grinning and Aqua nodded. Seto got a smug look on his face, and Aqua giggled.

"I finished the sketch and I'm proud of how it turned out, but I still need to paint it." He also stretched (Seto moved back when he did this).

"But I also need a break..." He sighed. Seto chuckled.

"Well you can always take one." He said smiling. "However, I must say Muffin It will never cease to amaze me how easily talented you are with art. You did something like this in just two hours-"

"Its been two hours?!" Aqua exclaimed and Seto laughed.

"As I was saying, you could do something like this in a short time span and it looks so perfect." Aqua rolled his eyes.

"Its not perfect, Her jaw is slightly out of proportion, her wings aren't fully symmetrical, her eyes aren't as detailed as I like-"

"You are your own worse critic Muffin." Seto said sighing and wrapped his arms around his boyfriend again. Aqua shrugged slightly.

"Besides this is just some practice..." He said before his eyes brightened, and he turned to his boyfriend with shining eyes.

"Wanna do a free style paint with me?" He asked excitedly. Seto blinked and looked at Aqua with confusion

"Aqua, must I remind you of Adena?" He said skeptically. Aqua gave a soft giggle before standing up.

"Yeah, I know." He started before grabbing another canvas and setting the nacre one aside. "But Freestyle has no rules! You can do whatever you please!" He said happily and looking at Seto.

"It could be fun, We could create something together..." He said with a hint of shyness and Seto relented. He really couldn't say no to Aqua...he just couldn't.

"Alright Muffin...you win." He said with an smile. Aqua giggled and started pulling out paints.

"You probably want to change clothes. Paint is messy, and takes....a lot to wash out." Aqua said laughing bitterly and Seto gave a smile.

"Alright, I'll be back in a second." He said walking back to his room. He didn't have a lot of "relaxing" clothes, outside of Pajamas, but he did have a pair of comfortable sweatpants and the aheago shirt he got for his birthday he didn't know why he kept it..

Walking back to the room he left Aqua in, He felt elated..excited! Was painting together something "normal" couples do? He gave a quiet chuckle to himself. Since when did he become so...comfortable with this feeling. He didn't know...and if he was honest he didn't care.

Walking into the room where he left Aqua, He saw that there was now a stool for him and Aqua was busy pulling out paints. He had this look of total focus on his face. It was a look that Seto wasn't too familiar with, but it was one that gave him shivers. And as soon as he saw that look, it vanished like the wind and was replaced by the soft, sunshine smile he loved so dearly when there eyes met

"Oh there you are! Come on, All thats missing is you!" Aqua said waving him over, which Seto happily obliged. Sitting on the other stool, Aqua handed him a paintbrush and held out an pallette of colors. Seto looked them all over before dipping his brush in Red Eyes Red and was about to start painting....

Except he didn't

Seto just....sat there, blank minded. He wanted to paint, but he didn't know what. Also he couldn't just undo a mistake like he could press backspace on his computer. It made him nervous...what if messed up and it looked bad?!

'This is why I work with technology..' Seto thought bitterly to himself

Aqua watched his boyfriend's eyes start to cloud over. Not a good sign as it meant Seto was over thinking...Again. Aqua gave a soft sigh before picking a paintbrush of his own. He gave a glance to the paint pallette and then Seto before a mischievous grin came to his mind. Dipping his brush in Blue Eyes Blue he painted a heart on Seto's cheek.

"What's the use of feeling blue~"

Seto blinked back to reality when he felt something wet on his cheek. Raising a hand, he felt something sticky...and heard his giggling boyfriend. A quick glance to Aqua was all he needed to know what happened. He gave a soft sigh before smiling...than looking at Aqua more closely.

Aqua has beautiful caramel skin, aside from a few tiny scars he got from childhood, it was perfectly flawless in Seto's eyes. It was also...clean. A small smirk came across his face.

Oh yeah...He knew exactly what he wanted to paint now.

Aqua's eyes were shut and he was still giggling. Seto leaned over and painted Aqua's neck. Said name yelped and looked at a now Smug CEO.

"Seto!!"

"Hey I was just painting on my Canvas~" Seto said teasingly before readying his brush for another attack. Aqua did a quick mental debate.

He could A. Use his magic and easily paint Seto or B. No Magic and get easily owned.

Both are tempting....and He shouldn't Magic to cheat when Seto was pretty powerless

Aqua gave a playful smirk and readied his own paint brush.

"Well then, It seems I have a very handsome canvas in front of me." He said waving his own brush. Both men were in a stand off, staring at each other with a playful seriousness.

They waited for whoever would strike first, a stillness was in the air.

Seto struck first, easily painting Aqua's neck more and making the smaller man start giggling. Damn Seto's speed! Aqua swiped his paint brush against Seto's forehead, and Seto instinctivly pulled back and gave a playful glare at his boyfriend. He quickly cleaned off his brush and dipped it in Baby Dragon Orange and grabbed Aqua around his waist and started painting Aqua's arms with random doodles.

Aqua started to laugh loudly and squirm. It didn't really tickle, but it did still feel funny to the smaller male and his skin was unfortunately to sensitive for his own good. Seto himself started chuckling. He couldn't deny how adorable his muffins laugh was. However his eyes drifted close while he was laughing, and Aqua struck back.

Using his magic to clean his brush, He changed the color to Dark Magician Purple and he painted Seto's neck and ears. Seto shivered and recoiled. He gave a glance to the giggling man next to him. Despite being painted on...he couldn't help but melt.

He was making Aqua laugh, a sense of proud filled him.

Until Aqua coated his paintbrush in Insect Queen Green and accidentally got it in his hair.

There was an errie silence for a second as both males looked at each other. Aqua suddenly looked worried and flustered and started trying to clean it off.

"Shit, I'm so sorry Seto, I didn't mean for that to happen! Oh Kami-" Aqua said in a rushed panicked voice. Seto took a moment to process what exactly JUST happened.

There was paint in his hair

It was green

It was probably ugly

His boyfriend is panicking. Wait What?

Seto looked to his boyfriend who's eyes darkned spectacularly. Which was never a good sign. So slowly..very slowly, Seto reached his arms around his boyfriend and pulled him into his lap, which made Aqua yelp than burst into giggles when Seto Nuzzled his neck, a clean part

"Hey now...I'm not mad." Seto said playfully kissing his boyfriends cheek. He grabbed his paintbrush again, and started painting Aqua's other arm, alongside just gently tapping his fingers on Aqua's stomach. Sending the smaller male in a fit of laughter.

Aqua squirmed and wiggled, but Seto had a tight grip on his waist so he couldn't do much. Except laugh, that he could do!

"Seto!" He managed to get out. "You absolute Bastard! You suck!" Which made Seto himself laugh. He knew Aqua was just throwing empty insults his way, and he just let them roll off his back. This was probably his favorite way to make Aqua laugh, and how he loved when he did.

But he also knew when to stop. The second he did Aqua panted, trying to fill his lungs with much needed air. He than turned to his boyfriend with a playful glare.

"One of these days, I'm going to find all your ticklish spots and go to town on you." He said, his eyes glittered with mischief. Seto gave his trademark smirk.

"I'd love to see you try~" It wasn't as if Seto wasn't ticklish, he was, but it was in very few spots, and Aqua only knew one. So he was safe for the moment. He turned and started to clean his paint brush, before handing Aqua his.

"Let's paint for real this time, Shall we?" He suggested and Aqua nodded and cleaned his brush. Coating the brush in Kuriboh Brown, he started painting a base of a tree trunk and branches, which gave Seto an inspiration.

Coating his brush in Dark Magician Purple, He started painting a resemblance of the wisteria he had growing in the mansion gardens. It wasn't perfect by any means, but it was fun..and he was doing with the person he loved most.

Aqua on the other hand, cleaned his brush and pulled out his favorite color: Ra Gold. He started painting small golden vines on the tree, sometimes making small flowers along the way.

"That's beautiful Muffin." Seto said in a warm voice and Aqua's cheeks flushed with the praise. In return he kissed Seto's cheek and went back to painting. Both men painted in a blissful silence, occasion sounds of movement from cleaning a brush or a compliment.

Soon Seto cleaned his paintbrush for a final time and dipped in blue eyes blue, and started to create his favorite duel monster with accuracy. Well he tried at least. With each stroke of his brush, he felt a little less confident in himself and felt he was disrespecting Blue Eyes. His movements started to slow.

"Hey, It doesn't have to be perfect....as long as you had fun with your work, to me it'll always be a masterpiece." Aqua's soft voice drifted into Seto's ears and a smile worked its way to his lips. He placed a kiss on Aqua's head and went back to painting.

After a few minutes he stopped and sat his brush down. The form wasn't perfect, Nothing compared to Aqua's masterpiece of earlier....but it was his. It was theirs, and that was all that mattered.

"This is probably the most beautiful work of art I ever seen." Aqua said with a happy giggle and Seto rolled his eyes.

"No its not, Its nothing compared to what you can do."

"So? This is OUR masterpiece Mr. Kaiba and I will address it however I want." Aqua said in a playfully snobbish tone which made both men laugh before they shared a tender kiss.

Soft and tender, a feeling of happiness between the two before they separated. Aqua gave a bright smile before he looked down on himself and laughed.

"I need a shower..." He said and Seto chuckled.

"So do I...and I need my hair washed."

"Wanna kill two birds with one stone?" Asked the smaller male with a tone laced with mischief. Seto smirked.

"Are you going to keep your hands to yourself Muffin?"

"Hey it was you last time!" Both men gave another laugh as they started to clean up the area. Besides Aqua flicking paint at Seto a few times and Seto getting revenge, the place was clean in no time and Aqua held Setos hand.

"Ready to get clean?" He sang out and in response, Seto picked him up bridal style and started to walk out. Aqua clung to him and leaned on his shoulder. Looking back at their painting one last time, he aimed a little magic at it adding one final touch.

"Are you gonna hang our masterpiece~"

"Pssh, Probably not."

"Seto!!"

While the couples little squabble grew farther and farther, if one were to look at the painting now, They'd see an new addition.

A small golden lotus on top of the Blue Eye's head.

A few days later, Seto's Home office got a new decoration.

#aqueto #{aquamarine}#{seto kaiba}#{my writing}#//Holy shit this took me such a long time and the ending killed me.#//But i fucking did it bois!#//I'm also posting this on AO3 because yes

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nakey-cats-take-bathsss · 4 years

Text

Life As We Know It

Clarke and Bellamy have nothing in common except mutual hatred for each other and a shared love of their Goddaughter Madi. When the loss of their best friends forces them to move in together and raise Madi as their own, they'll have to come to terms with their relationship and the fallout of Lincoln and Octavia's death.

It may just take a few exploded diapers, pounds of applesauce and 5000 re-watches of Little Orphan Annie for them to figure out they don't hate each other so much after all.

Based loosely off the romantic comedy of the same name

Completed!

*Ch. 1 posted below + AO3 Link*

Prologue

February 2nd, 2019

“What you want to do is capture the essence of his expression. It’s all in the eyes!” Clarke instructed, gesturing to the model in the middle of the room. She took in her favorite view, Friday afternoon charcoal sketch class. The class was aimed at high schoolers, most of whom had dreams of going to art school. They were an enthusiastic bunch, she loved affirming their talent and watching them follow their dreams.

Lost in her musings of high school talent, Clarke didn’t notice Harper standing in the doorway. She took a step into the room and held up Clarke’s phone. Clarke usually didn’t keep it on her while she taught but Harper looked panicked as she pointed to it wildly.

“You guys are doing great! I just have to check up on something real quick” Clarke assured as she took off her smock and followed Harper into the hallway.

“Sorry I normally wouldn’t interrupt you but your phone has been going off like crazy, it’s an unknown number.”

Clarke nodded and quickly took the phone from Harper, just as the phone began ringing again. Confused, Clarke answered and a tinny voice replied, “Arkadia Memorial Hospital, is this Clarke Griffin?”

A pit of dread immediately formed in Clarke’s stomach as she made her way to her office. Her hands were shaking now as her mind ran through all the possibilities of why they could be calling her. The operator paused and redirected her to another line. The dread continued to grow for Clarke until the phone reconnected and she confirmed her identity to a doctor.

“You are listed as one of the emergency contacts for Lincoln and Octavia Blake, I’m sorry to inform you that there’s been an accident. Is it possible for you to come to the hospital?” A nasal voice asked.

At the word accident, Clarke’s mind whited out and her ears began ringing. Moving on autopilot she grabbed her keys and ran out of the school, forgetting her class entirely.

She had met Lincoln on her first week of art school. As the two oldest people in their freshman lecture, they became fast friends. Neither of them had any family to speak of, so they kind of formed one together. They supported each other during their starving artist years, their first ugly pieces and celebrated their small victories in a cramped apartment that Clarke’s dad had left her in his will. Clarke had never had siblings, but Lincoln was the closest thing to a brother she had ever known.

He was gruff but kind and the best sculptor she had ever met. His sculpting is what had brought Octavia into their lives. Back when they were fresh out of school and doing shitty gallery shows in the bad part of town, a girl with long brown hair who wore funky sweaters would come to every exhibition to stare intently at Lincoln’s art. She came every week without fail, to every gallery that Lincoln’s sculptures were shown at. Lincoln used to watch her from afar and light up whenever he saw her looking at his work. Eventually, the week before Lincoln’s sculptures hit it big, Clarke convinced him to go and talk to her. The rest is history.

Clarke had never seen two people who complimented one another as well as Lincoln and Octavia, they were truly soulmates. Octavia with her bright smile and long limbs quickly became a staple in their lives. Much like Lincoln, she was a little rough around the edges but she loved fiercely with her whole heart. She never really questioned Clarke, just accepted her as Lincoln’s sister and loved her as such. It seemed logical of course when their daughter Madi was born that Clarke would be her Godmother.

She reached Arkadia Memorial in record time and ran as fast as she could to the emergency department. When she reached the waiting room she skid to a halt, in front of her was none other than Octavia’s brother Bellamy Blake folded over in a chair wearing a worn Arkadia Fire Department sweatshirt and sporting red rimmed eyes.

April 11, 2015

“Maybe I should just cancel…” Clarke held the phone between her shoulder and ear as she washed her paintbrushes in the sink.

“You’ve been single for 3 years and he just moved here, it's the perfect time for you both to start over.”

“I’m going to give you a code word…if I text you a fireball emoji he’s trying to murder me and you need to come save me,” she said seriously, drying the brushes and carefully placing them back into a chipped mug.

She readjusted the phone and grabbed a rag to wipe down the paint splattered tables.

“You won’t need a code word...you’re being ridiculous, I've met Bellamy. He's exactly the opposite of that oily soft boy who must not be named, it'll be a nice change.” laughter cutting into Lincoln’s fake exasperation.

“You can never be too careful…he might be a psycho murderer.” Clark continued, "But you're right about Finn, he was a greaseball."

“Clarke. Bellamy’s a little rough around the edges but he’s great. Plus it'll be nice for you guys to get to know each other before the wedding."

“The maid of honor and the best man, tale as old as time."

"True as it can be." Lincoln continued, the smile evident in his voice, "I think you guys are really well suited."

"I'll take your word on this but if he kills me I'll haunt you from beyond the grave.”

“I’m hanging up. Try to be positive about this.”

Logically, Clarke knew that Lincoln was right and that she needed to start putting herself back out there. Her life had been pretty boring since her best friend had met the love of his life and moved out of their apartment. Her cat shockingly doesn’t make for a sparkling conversationalist.

Since Lincoln moved out and Finn had turned out to be a dick, she had thrown herself into work.

And she was now the proud owner of a small art studio and school. Initially, it had been difficult and sad but after a small feature from a popular art blogger, it seemed that she was finally getting her footing. The small studio had grown immensely in the past year and she was able to bring in her childhood friend Harper as a co-teacher.

Clarke finished wiping the tables and examined herself in the mirror by the door. She would need a shower before she met this tall dark and handsome mystery man. She looked like she had been hit with an acrylic paint tornado.

On her drive home she listened to her favorite motivational podcast, hoping the affirmation would bring her some confidence for the rest of the night.

As time crawled closer to the date, her excitement grew. It had been a long time since she had gotten dressed up for someone else. After a lot of trial and error she finally decided on her favorite red bodycon, a nice pair of black heels and hoop earrings. She curled her hair into loose waves and perched on her couch to wait out her date.

An hour later, Clarke's optimism was quickly dying down. He was already late. Over an hour late. Fidgeting and checking the clock again, she shifted her dress down her legs and tapped her foot. She was starting to get annoyed, restless and hungry. She considered the Babybell cheeses in her fridge and wondered whether eating one would really matter in the long run. Right as she was about to head to the fridge, there was a loud revving outside and her phone pinged with a text from an unknown number,

“Hey it’s Bellamy, I’m here.”

Rolling her eyes at the fact that he didn’t even bother to come to the door. Clarke gathered her purse, took a deep breath and headed out.

She was met by two things, a very hot man and a very large motorcycle.

“I’m not really dressed for a that,” Clarke mumbled as she took in the sleek black bike and the messy haired man in ripped black jeans and frayed olive-green shirt. Dammit, Lincoln was right...he looked nothing like Finn. He was tall, dark, handsome and his arms were deliciously large.

“Hold on tight, promise I won’t read too far into it if you cop a feel” he winked at her, arms flexing as he fished a helmet out of the seat

“I said I’m not really dressed for this, I don’t know if my leg will get over it," she replied, irritably crossing her arms over her chest.

His eyes flitted down to her boobs before he snorted, “Don’t be scared babe I gotcha.”

“I can drive us," she insisted, moving her hands to her hips.

“C'mon baby, live a little," he groaned, pulling the helmet off his head fully.

“Either I drive, or I go back inside,” she tapped her foot.

“We can just go back inside and get to it, if that’s what you really want Princess…” Bellamy winked and dismounted the motorcycle, turning to gesture toward the cars lined down the street.

“I’m not a princess,” Clarke argued while fishing through her purse for her keys.

“If the shoe fits,” Bellamy was about to smirk until Clarke clicked the lock on her car and the lights went up on the smallest car he had ever seen. “There’s no way I can’t fit in it that,” he mumbled gesturing at the mini cooper.

Bellamy looked between Clarke and the car in exasperation, “Like I said…I can drive or you can leave” she said with her hands on her hips. He sighed, looked at the car and then back at her before climbing in the passenger seat and slamming the door.

“Where do you want to go?” He asked, adjusting his messy hair in the rearview mirror.

“Well where did you make a reservation?” Clarke arched an eyebrow, she could feel her temples beginning to throb.

“I figured we would just go with the flow,” he said irritably, adjusting the collar of his jacket.

“I know a place, it’s owned by a friend of mine and Lincoln’s from art sch-“ right as Clarke was about to finish, Bellamy’s phone began to blare a cheesy Pitbull song.

“Why don’t you get that, I’ll just wait,” she rolled her eyes and looked pointedly at his phone. The song paused and then began ringing again.

“No it’s okay give it a sec and it’ll go to voicemail”

“I insist go ahead”

With a pained expression on his face, Bellamy answered the phone, "Heyyyyyy what’s up?” he glanced at Clarke while making affirmative noises, “Yeah how about I stop by around 10-“ he looked at Clarke again, “actually make that 9:30”

“SERIOUSLY” she yelled as he hung up

“What?! It was a sick friend!” he answered defensively, throwing his hands in the air.

"Right, a 'sick friend'," she mocked, rolling her eyes for what felt like the thousandth time.

"Yes. They umm very ill and need assistance,"

"I would LOVE to know what illness can only be cured by your PENIS," she yelled, she could feel her face beginning to heat up.

"Oh my god chill the fuck out!" he yelled back, turning his body fully to face her.

“We don’t have to do this…I know it means a lot to Lincoln and Octavia but you don’t seem to care since you answered a booty call in front of me,”

“I can't believe Octavia said you were cool, suburbia has gotten to her. You’re literally the most uptight person I've ever met,” He smirked

“GET OUT OF MY SMART CAR” Clarke yelled, jumping out of the car and slammed the door behind her. Bellamy followed and hopped on his motorcycle without saying goodbye.

***

After a hot shower to wash away the terrible night, she put on her comfiest PJs and curled up onto the couch with a glass of wine. Sinking into the pillows, she grabbed her phone to call Lincoln. He answered on the first ring.

“I take it your date didn’t go well.” Lincoln sighed, the disappointment evident in his voice.

“Linc…we didn’t leave my street.”

“Did you even give him a chance? Behind the motorcycle he really is a good dude,”

“HE ANSWERED A BOOTY CALL IN FRONT OF ME!!"

“Ugh damn it...Octavia said he had changed. I swear I didn't know."

“I’m sorry Linc, I know you wanted it to work out but it’s not really salvageable,” Clarke sighed, knowing how much it meant to Lincoln for her to get along with Octavia’s family. Especially since the wedding was coming up soon.

“You guys didn’t click. It’s fine. Are you going to be fine for the wedding?"

“We can share breathing space for the wedding but I’d prefer to never speak to him directly ever again,”

“Sorry about your night…can’t help but feel a little responsible”.

“It’s not your fault Bellamy thinks his penis is the best thing since sliced bread. I love you bud. You meant well and that's what matters. I’ll talk to you tomorrow, there's a glass of wine with my name on it,” Clarke hung up the phone and sighed deeply. It stung to know that she had let Lincoln down even if Bellamy was a total asshat.

Clarke closed her eyes and savored her sip of wine, dating sucked and she would honestly prefer to just die alone in peace.

Her phone pinged and much to her surprise it was from Bellamy, “Look…I don’t like you (and you obviously don't like me) but I love Lincoln and my sister so I think we should just ignore each other from now on,” Unfortunately, he was right…they were basically family and she was going to have to see his stupid handsome face at all the time. “Deal” Clarke replied.

February 2nd, 2019

Clarke approached Bellamy, his head was in his hands and he looked like he had been crying. He had balled up the sleeves of his sweatshirt and used them to wipe his eyes.

"They won't tell me anything and I've been here for an hour," he murmured, his voice was ragged and cracked at the end of the sentence.

"I'm sorry, I was teaching I didn't check my phone," she answered quietly, not really sure why she was apologizing. She couldn't bring herself to meet his gaze.

"You didn't miss much, I think I scared off a few nurses," he admitted and something about his expression made Clarke want to reach out and touch his hair. She refrained, shoving her hand in her pocket instead.

"The waiting is somehow the worst part," she mumbled, not quite meeting his gaze.

Just as Bellamy was about to answer, a solemn faced doctor approached them both, “Clarke Griffin and Bellamy Blake?”

They both nodded, and Bellamy stood to stand behind Clarke, sure to maintain a healthy level of distance. She wrung her hands together and shifted from side to side. The doctor's expression was unreadable and it was making her stomach turn. Bellamy was nervously tapping his fingers against his leg and the sound of his skin hitting the denim was starting to grate on her.

“Lincoln and Octavia were rear ended on the highway by an 18 wheeler. It was a very serious accident.” The doctor grimaced, gesturing for them both to take a seat. The pit in Bellamy's stomach grew as we took a seat on the bench next to Clarke. Their legs were squished together and she reached out, carefully placing her hand on his knee. His skin tingled, this was the first time Clarke had touched him non-violently in years and it felt strange but he placed his hand over hers. Whether he liked it or not, she was the only person who understood how he felt right now.

"So when can we see them?" Clarke asked, voice shaking.

The doctor, set his clipboard down on the bench beside him and leaned forward. "Their injuries were very severe, they were both in surgery for several hours and had the best possible care. We truly did the best that we could. But unfortunately, with accidents like this, it's a lot of pain and stress on the body. In the case of Lincoln and Octavia, their bodies just couldn’t handle the damage. I’m so sorry to have to tell you this, but we lost them."

Clarke crumpled, chest heaving and ears ringing. Bellamy wrapped an arm around her uncertainly, he felt like he was frozen. It didn't feel real. It wasn't possible. Bile rose in his throat and a wave of nausea washed over him. Octavia was dead.

“Their daughter…they have a daughter, she’s one. Is she okay?” Clarke said suddenly, whipping out of Bellamy's grip. Tears filled his eyes as panic set in, he hadn't considered that Madi could have been in the car with them.

It was only then that they noticed a police officer standing to the right of the doctor. He was equally solemn faced and took a seat beside the doctor.

The police officer spoke quietly, “Madi is fine. She was in the care of a minor at the time of the accident and has been released to DCFS. We will look into you both being able to see her tomorrow.”

Bellamy let out a sigh of relief as a complex set of emotions washed over him. Grief for his young, vibrant sister and her strong, caring husband, relief that Madi was alive and overwhelming sadness for the parents that she would never know. Shocked that somehow he was the last Blake standing. He placed his hand over Clarke’s on his shoulder, he might not like her but she’s all he had in this mess.

#ao3 fic #bellarke #bellarke fic #bellamy x clarke #bellarke fanfiction

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prxschxo · 5 years

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[ JORDAN CONNOR, 24 , MALE , HE/HIM ] welcome to the du pont institute for the young & gifted, [ PRESTON CHAO ]. you have been accepted as a [ SCHOLARSHIP ] student from [ USA ], going into your [ SENIOR YEAR ] and majoring in [ SPORTS MEDICINE ]. your peers at the institute say that you are [ +STRONG WILLED & +CHARMING ], but being [ -HOT HEADED & -BOLD] may be the reason why the police are asking about you. did you think they wouldn’t find out that you were michael’s [ EX-BEST FRIEND ]? [ DUCKIE, 23, SHE/HER, CST ]

Get ready for a muse! Much different than Gabe I am positive that Preston will be fun because he gets in a lot of drama. I really love Preston and I’m sure you will too !! Please feel free to message me if you want any plots or connections!

GENERAL

Name: Preston Morgans

Age: 24

Place of birth: Northchester, New York

Spoken languages: English, learning ASL, chinese

Sexual orientation: heterosexual

Occupation: Student

Eye color: Brown

Hair color: Black

Height: 6′4′’

Scars: Chest after car accident

Tattoos: back of both hands; rose on one and wolf on the other.

FAVOURITE

Color: any of the colors that associate with fall; brownish-reds, deep oranges

Entertainment: watching 80′s movies, cooking, listening to crime podcasts, parties

Pastime: beer pong, movies, flirting, reading

Drink: peach soda and double shot espresso

G E N E R A L -

-To be born under a wealthy man might be a blessing to many but for Preston he’d consider it a curse. He is the product of an affair and lives uncomfortably under the roof of a huge secret.

-His mother had become a young cleaning lady for Bruce Langston; leader and CEO of the economical department in the city. He is a huge deal and any scandal can lead him to lose his position, apparently he didn’t care about that when the man had sex and impregnated Preston’s mother despite having a wife. Once she found out she was pregnant Preston’s mother made absolutely sure that she used that for her advantage and so she became a live in maid, had her life paid for and when it came to her child everything that Preston would need would be taken care of. Even if it meant that Preston would forever be casted into the shadows of the family like an ugly scar.

- This was agreed upon after Bruce’s wife found out and bitterly accepted so her husband would keep his title and money. That was all that the woman carred about after all; not having to give up her rich and lavis lifestyle. But that didn’t mean she was at all accepting of the boy especially when just a few weeks later she became pregnant herself and now there would be two babies under the household that would have to know they were different.

- And the wicked mother she was. She purposely spoiled Preston’s half sibling making sure they had everything. Preston was set for live but they still lived as middle class people so no suspicions were made. Preston always knew he was never going to be treated equally and that was why in his teen years the boy began to rebel in hopes to get caught by his father.

- Bruce hated the fact that Preston was all just a huge stick in his life. And didn’t exactly treat him all too kindly, even though living in the house was nice Preston was treated just as the secret bastard. Even to his half sibling that was born two years after him they were close, little diana not letting her parents hatred come between her and her only brother.

-it was sad, the only other person preston loved more than anything and they had to act like they didn’t like each other. but it didn’t stop his young sister from taking care of him and any moment they were able to have together they made sure they had fun. all until they were in public and had to act like they had no relations at all. how hard it was for preston and diana to at like they hated each other but it was what was forced upon them.

- This led to a few rebellious streaks in his life growing up, hanging out in the poor sections of town, dealing with boys who were not part of the Langston Aesthetic and even getting in a lot of trouble by fighting. This only caused more of a hate for him in the household but as long as he was only seen as the maids boy to the town he got away with it. This family secret was deep. So much so when it came to schooling and his mother’s push that Bruce send Preston to the same schools as his other child, daisy, there was a fake scholarship created in the company that Preston was put under. No one suspected a thing and didn’t have to question why the Langston’s were paying for some no-good maid’s son.

- while in school Preston found the life of underground fighting. Getting bets and fighting in a ring with no rules. Due to his size and build he trained and soon became a top competitor. He was getting the spotlight and loved it, plus there was no better way to get a rush and release his anger then fighting in a ring.

MEETING MICHAEL VALMONT-

-Preston always had a hard time setting in with the fact he was a burden and shadow to his father and would lash out. He didn’t know why Michael liked him so much but once Michael found out Preston’s secret he took him under his wing and they practically became brothers.

-always close, preston didn’t exactly agree with everything Michael did and the two would fight but after a few hours it would be brushed under the rug and forgotten. Except for the final straw.

-Michael started dating a girl and Preston was instantly drawn to her. Falling for her hard and quick. It wasn’t until Preston and the girl started to hook up that Michael ended their friendship and threatened preston’s secret which meant Preston had to stop seeing the girl and he was down a best friend. this has always been hard on the boy and even after trying to fix it with michael the two would only end up fighting again.

PERSONALITY &&. HEADCANONS -

- Being the literal mistake in the chaotic family Preston is a bit of a bitter person. Eye rolling, stubborn, hot headed, and quick to defend himself.

- He’s had no one to stick up for him at home and he learned to do this on his own; he is hated at home and only has been told to never speak of his family ties, even being forced by his half brother to never speak to him in public. This makes him pushed away. The tall boy in the back of crowds; out of the spotlight. Preston is not allowed to be seen. Not wanted and that affects the way he is motivated to show off his actual skills.

-his mother has been his biggest teacher and he has an everlasting respect for woman because of it. He will find himself too ashamed to ever mistreat a girl in fear of his mother finding out.

-As much as preston respects girls, he really loves to hook up with them too, not that he wont show them a good time but if he finds his chance with someone he takes it.

- If he was allowed he’d want to be in art, he’s been a lover of arts since he was a child and he is very good at it but of course he is far too self contentious on being forced down. Preston isn’t even allowed to use his size to play sports and as a result he sneaks off to other cities to fight at night. It’s not safe and he uses a fake name but people cheer for him. They see him it’s the only time he feels at peace… even if that peace is dangerous, illegal, and leaves him in bruises that lead his mother to worry.

- He loves to party; going out and living the life away from that home of his where he is seen as a burden. It’s fun unless his brother is around and the whole time he just gets hard glares to not embarrass him.

- Find him sketching in his books, doodling along the pages or in sketchbooks in the halls of courtyards. Don’t be surprised if you become his muse. He loves drawing people.

- Anger; he’s quick to it no matter how much he doesn’t want to be. He just has been pushed to the side so much that he takes things seriously and any insult will trigger him. Sorry if he fights you, he just finds it easier than anything else. - Aside from being a hot head though he has taken interest in girls and as most boys do tries to test out his flirtatious ways as much as he can. He might not be the best flirt, as he has been told his scowl and serious attitude seems to drive a pretty girl away at times but he still tries.

C O N N E C T I O N S -

Muse: preston seen this girl around and every time he just... feels something. She makes him happy and even though it might sound creepy... he gets caught more then once sketching her; Fallon Kingsley

I’ll scratch your back you scratch mine: They don’t really get a long but always help each other out when they need it: Alice

Crush; they are always one moment from hooking up and yet it always ends with one of them pulling away with a nervous smile, could be the girl that ended michael and preston’s friendship; daisy

You annoy the hell out of me; always butting heads and yet they hang around the same people; Alice

you’re weird but I kinda like you: preston finds him awkward but nice so he still talks to him from time to time; Hugo

Party buddies/wingmen: Preston is a terrible flirt and at least he’s got; cristian

Friends: just close, eats lunch with, drinks peach mixers at parties; william

Rivals: this person is more than annoying, Preston can’t be in the same room with them without fighting with this person;

hookup, fwb, one night stands, exes; analyn (he was her first time)

the little sibling he never got; she was one of michael’s ex’s when Preston and Michael were still friends, Preston hated that Michael would brag about sleeping with the girl and preston never felt Michael treated her right, he found she was a good girl and deserved to be treated much better. He still is very protective of her and thinks she’s too good for dupont. soshanna

his cash cow; The girl has been a past hook up but now, the only thing she hooks up with preston for is the percentage she gets off his winnings. She tells him where to fight, who he’s fighting, and how to win... and preston hands over some of the money he makes. it’s a good thing they have just... don’t tell her they are friends, she denies it every thime.; Sabina

Preston’s half-brother (or sister): this person got everything from his father that he didn’t and it’s all because his father could, and did, show them off to the world. Preston can’t hate his half-sibling but just once he wants to have his father view him as more than just the “maid’s son”. they are close though, and when they are alone they treat each other like the close siblings they with they could be; diana langston

should be girl: her and preston have a strange relationship. they are close but in a way that hurts him every time. They were a strong thing in high school and he got every attached to her, to this day he would do anything for her... which includes being her booty call every time her and her boyfriend break up. He wants nothing but to keep her happy but he knows that she and her boyfriend will always get back together and he would be stuck waiting for the call to drop everything and go to her when she was crying over her boyfriend; Maddy

the girl who changed it all: she was dating michael, and at this time preston and Michael were still at brother status, best friends no matter how much they fought. But when she came into the picture Preston fell head over heels for her and she had her eyes on Preston as well. They snuck around for the whole time saying they just hung out at the gym or were studying. When Michael found out he and preston fought so bad it ruined their friendship for good and even though Michael was no saint he was greedy and knowing preston loved this girl he wanted the boy to suffer. So to make sure of that he told preston that if he still saw his ex he would tell everyone how much more of a relation he has to the towns big bad political CEO. and no one could know that preston was his son. so preston tried to stay away... only to keep hooking up with her on the down low;

the secret high school hookup: she stole his crayons when they were young and that sparked a feud between them. but a heated feud that had its breaks when the two seemed to be alone... he kissed her in the slide and that opened them up to years of secretly hooking up in high school just for the fun of it. they still act like they hate each other but the door is always open for good memories in between the times they are saying they hate each other; Calla

#dupont.intro

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atrixfromice · 2 years

Photo

The other day, I mean yesterday ( we mexicans say “the other day” to refer yesterday usually *chuckles) I was complaining and feeling upset thinking how I've seen there's little to zero male pinup illustrations that actually would appeal to an hetero girl.

At least on my experience I'd say that zero, cos in the male pinup I've seen they pose and dress like girls! XD The poses or/and the outfits look so girly & sissy and that’s awful! It's actually a huge turn off! :(

So this is why I decided to finish this sketch, and voilá! Hope you like my modest contribution to male pinup art! :D

His hair it’s the coolest thing here still I think!

Curious facts:

Faikel’s species stop growing in their late 20′s, and can experience “the stretch” in adolescence like humans, but also in their 20′s.

This is Faikel beween his late 20′s and early 30′s.

a.k.a. the same age as her, so she drew this to not feel that old *chuckles*

Hey howdy my dear! Glad to see you here ^^

Wait....Hey no don’t believe him! I didn’t draw this for that reason! XD I just wanted to practice male anatomy.

He was short like his girlfriend until he was 23.

His hair is long cos in his homeplanet long hair it’s...

- Gee’rox.

Thankies!

- No problem heheh, you know I always like participating in giving curious facts about me and my homeplanet culture and folklore. :D

Yeah, well as I was saying, in his home planet long hair-

- Gee’rox!

Gee’rox pues! XD Long hair in Gee’rox it’s considered a sign of beauty, health and good sex appeal...

- And sometimes social status! Don’t forget that!

Ah yeah, sometimes status.

- Social status! Also, tell peeps this includes both in men and women, even kids!

In fact...who doesn't have a long hair in Gee'rox, and specially in my home city, may want to hide their head on the ground out of embarrassment of being considered ugly and a loser because it’s their only option LOL

Yeah...*chuckles*

I was going to say all these details in other ocassion, but thanks Faik.

Un plaisir m’ija! ^^

Another curious fact:

The freckles I drew them here because in his species, with the age freckles tend to pop up.

- Or if you already had them, they tend to become more noticeable

yeah but-

- specially on the face, neck, back, butt and hands.

But I..*sigh*

In my case, for example. I hardly had them when I was younger, but with time they kinda started to appear and not only on my face, but there are also some on my back and my-

Faikel, Faikel, Faikel! Hold on!

oui? I mean, yes?

Faik, you know nobody loves when you help me in the “curious facts” section more than I, but for the love of Gaia! I mean God! Remember this section needs to be as concise and quick as possible so people don’t get bored!!

oups zut! Yeah you’re right! sorry about that! I haven’t participated on this in a pretty good while so I was so excited I got carried away, heheh.

heheh no worries, I’m sure there are peeps here who enjoy reading you. Oh and what do you think about the drawing I did by the way?

Oh I think it’s truly awesome! I look a lot more handsome than what I actually look like. And I’m very grateful you’ve deciced to keep the cloth piece as censorship at the end! Because if not I wouldn’t have been able to show my face arround here anymore *blushes and giggles nervously*

Heheh you’re welcome! I know it was the best to do cos you’re shy in nature. I wouldn’t draw something that would make you feel uncomfortable or anything.

Mmmhh and now you’re here “dando lata”...Why don't you tell our tumbrl folks what are the changes that occur at puberty in your species that we humans don’t have? Uh? :D

Oh gee! heheh *ehem*

No I think I’m not good at that! *blushes and giggles sheepishly* I think you’re waaay better explaining that part! In fact I’m so sleepy right now so I’m going to sleep bye tumbrl folks!

Heheh well, what I can say? I know my faikel *giggles* Sorry for the long text but I hope you’ve enjoyed these curious facts ^^

#male beauty #original characters #digital art #sketch #concept art #atrix art #faikel talks #and yes there's an uncensored version dm if you're an adult and would like to see #about my OCs #Stuff Nobody Cares About

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veryniceaus · 6 years

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mmmm high school au!woozi ??

omg i am so sorry how late this is but i hope you forgive me

How do I say this: you and Jihoon did not get along - at all. He was quick to anger and so were you, plus you two were always arguing over who was right and wrong almost all the time. Unfortunately, you two shared almost every class together, which made it that much harder to avoid him. At least you two sat on opposite sides of the room.

Which is why you’re suprised one day when the art teacher announces that she’ll be assigning partners instead of letting the students choose, and to you and Jihoon’s luck, you two have been paired together.

Begrudgingly, you went to sit by Jihoon, dragging your feet the entire time. He just looked at you as you sat in front of him. “Why did we have to be paired together?” You muttered.

“I’m not happy about this either, and you better not slack on purpose. I don’t want my grade to go down because of your idiocy.”

You glared at him. “I’m not going to! You better not either.” Then you blinked. “What’s the assignment anyway? I wasn’t listening.”

He sighed heavily. “Of course you weren’t. We have to draw a portrait of each other.”

You watched as he opened his sketch pad, putting his pencil to paper. “You’d better not make me ugly on purpose.”

“Don’t worry; I’ll be sure to capture your average looks in this drawing,” he said, to which you rolled your eyes at.

After class, you and Jihoon decided to meet in the art room on the days when the art club wasn’t meeting to work on the project after school. Today happened to be one of those days, so once the school day was over, you headed to the art room.

Jihoon was already there, sitting in the same spot as earlier. You walked over to him and sat in the stool across from him. “You go ahead and draw me first,” he told you.

“Sure.” Taking out your sketch pad and pencil, you looked up to find him staring at you. “Um, what?”

“What do you mean, ‘what’? I’m supposed to stay still for you to draw me.”

You rolled your eyes. “I know that! I just want to know why you’re just weirdly staring at me.”

“Well what else am I supposed to do?” he asked.

“I don’t know, like do your homework or something. Do you want your portrait to be just you staring straight ahead with those soulless eyes of yours?”

He glared at you, but pulled out a notebook from his backpack anyway. “Fine, suit yourself. Just don’t mess up.”

“I won’t, I won’t.”

Now, the room fell silent, the only sounds being your pencil sliding across the paper and Jihoon’s pen scribbling over his. You studied Jihoon; he wasn’t bad-looking. In fact, he was pretty handsome, and you felt that he would be popular if he wasn’t so prickly all the time. You took in how the warm sunlight fell on his face, making his skin glow and how smooth his hands looked as he wrote, but they were also attractive with how defined his knuckles were.

You didn’t realize how obsorbed you were with staring at him that when his eyes suddenly flickered up to meet yours, your heart skipped. “W-What?” you stuttered.

“Your hand stopped moving.” His eyebrows furrowed. “Is something the matter? Your face is red.”

“I’m fine!” You exclaimed before looking back down at your sketch pad. His portrait was turning out nicely, the only thing left was to make it more detailed and defined.

He glanced at the clock on the wall. “Well, it is getting kind of late. Let’s end it here.”

You watched as he packed up his bag and walked out the door, giving a small goodbye wave to you on the way out.

Ever since that day, you noticed every thing you never did before about Jihoon. How handsome he is, how nice his voice sounded, how nice he smelled whenever he would lean in a bit while you two talked.

And most of all, how everything about him made your heart race.

As you sat in the art room, waiting for Jihoon, who was having a meeting with the history teacher, you thought about your feelings. How did this happen? Why are you feeling all nervous around him when just a couple weeks before, you couldn’t stand him? The worst thing of all is that you don’t know what he’s thinking. He doesn’t seem to feel any differently, since he always treats you the same as before, although his snarky remarks towards you have decreased. Maybe you were just over-thinking things, maybe these feelings will go away once this project ends!

“Spacing out again?” Jihoon’s voice asked, pulling you out of your thoughts.

“Um, yeah. Sorry.”

“It’s fine,” he said as he opened his sktech book. “Go ahead and do your thing while I finish up my drawing.”

You two had decided not to show each other the portraits until both were finished. Your portrait of Jihoon was done, and you were worried about what he might think about it. In your drawing, it was him writing in his notebook. You ended up asking him what he was writing one day, finding out that he wrote lyrics.

“Could I read it?” you had asked him.

He narrowed his eyes. “Why? So you could make fun of it?”

“Of course not! I’m just curious. Please, can I read it?”

He sighed as he handed it over to you. The first thing you noticed was his neat handwriting, but what stood out to you was how well-written the lyrics were. They were lyrics that made you feel a little sad, but as you kept reading, you got the message of the song: things may be hard now, but if you keep pushing foward, you’ll eventually get to a place where everything is alright.

“You’ve been quiet for a while,” he said, breaking the silence in the room. “What do you think?”

You looked up at him and smiled. “I really like it. You’re really good! I never knew. Can I read more another day?”

His eyes widened a bit before he looked away, scratching the back of his neck. “Sure, I’ll bring some of my other works with me next time.” You could have sworn you saw a bit of pink dust his cheeks, but you brushed it off. There’s no way Jihoon would be blushing, right?

Now, Jihoon announced that he’s finished with his drawing. “So, let me see how you did with the drawing of me,” he said.

You pulled out your sketch pad and opened it up to the drawing. “Listen, before I show you, I want you to promise you won’t laugh or get angry.”

His eyes narrowed. “Don’t tell me you really did mess around with this assignment?”

“No!” you exclaimed. “Gah, never mind! Here!”

You thrust the sketch pad at him and he took it, handing you his own with his other hand. Nervously, you grabbed his sketch pad before slowly looking down at the portrait he had drawn of you.

It was beautiful.

You didn’t even recognize yourself at first; you thought he had handed you a drawing of a competely different person. But, sure enough, it was you. You were staring out the window, your chin resting in the palm of your hand. Jihoon was able to capture even the smallest details of your face. Your eyes sparkled from the sunlight, your expression peaceful.

Looking up, you were about to say something to him, only to stop when you saw the look on his face. He stared down your drawing of him, his expression unreadable. Scared, you hesitantly called his name. “J-Jihoon?” you said.

He seemed to snap out of his thoughts. “What?” he asked.

“Oh, nothing. Just… what do you think?”

Instead of answering you, he abruptly stood up from his seat, the stool’s legs scratching against the floor. Pushing your sketch pad back to you, he grabbed his off the table and shoved it into his bag. “I have to go now. See you.”

“Wait!” you called after him. However, he didn’t turn around and disappeared out the door.

Without thinking, you quickly stood up and chased after him. He hadn’t gotten far, so you quickly caught up to him and grabbed his arm. “I said, wait!” you shouted. “What’s your problem? Why did you just leave?” He kept his head turned away from you, only angering you further. “Listen, if you didn’t like my drawing, you could of at least said it instead of just walking out of the room like that.”

“I didn’t not like it,” he finally said. He turned to face you, and your were surprised to see the soft expression on his face. “I was just surprised. I didn’t know how to react, so I left.”

“What do you mean, ‘surprised’?” you asked. “At how bad it was? I mean, I know I’m not the best artist but-”

“It wasn’t bad,” he cut you off. “It was far from bad. You did a really good job. I was shocked at how good it was.”

“So then why did you just randomly walk off after seeing it?”

“Because… I didn’t want you to see my reaction,” he mumbled. Confused at first, you peered closely at his face. That’s when you noticed the slight blush on his cheeks and how shy his expression is.

In response, your own face turned red. “Oh.”

“Oh?” His eyes narrowed. “I said all that embarrassing stuff and that’s all you have to say?”

“Well, honestly, I don’t know what to say.” You laughed. “I’m just glad you liked it. I was so scared you wouldn’t.”

“Why?” he asked. “I would have liked anything you came up with.”

You heart sped up. “What do you mean?”

He stared at you. “Seriously? Is it not obvious by now?” He sighed when you shook your head. “I like you.”

Now, your heart was beating hard that you were sure he could hear it, and just like that first moment that day, you noticed how beautiful he is. The sun shone through the window again on him, making him seem like some otherworldly creature.

Stepping closer to you, he asked, “Did you like the drawing I made of you?”

“Y-Yes,” you said.

“To be honest, I wasn’t planning on giving it to you. I was going to give you another one that wasn’t as good as that one.”

“Why?”

His cheeks turned red. “It’s embarrassing! My feelings for you became so obvious with how good it came out. I was nervous that you’d figure it out.” He sighed before looking into your eyes. “Well, I suppose it’s too late now.”

You stared at him. “Do you really like me?”

Instead of answering with words, he leaned into you, softly pressing his lips to yours. “From the moment I saw you,” he said seriously. “I just didn’t know how to act around you, but I guess you took that as me not liking you.”

“Sorry,” you said. “But I really thought you hated me!”

He laughed. “Well, you know now.” He stepped away from you, holding out his hand. “Let’s go.”

Smiling, you put your hand in his, and he squeezed your hand slightly as you two made your way home.

#seventeen #seventeen scenarios #woozi #jihoon #seventeen imagines #fanfic #au #seventeen au #high school au #woozi scenarios #woozi imagines

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doushk · 6 years

Text

WIP Meme

@pasmwa tagged me in this, thank you Marie ! (even if it didn’t showed in my notification and i just saw it XD)

List all the things you’re currently working on in as much or little detail as you’d like, then tag some friends to see what they’re working on. This can be writing, art, vids, gifsets, whatever.

A little introduction : tbh i wasn’t sure i was going to do this, because until 1 or 2 months ago, i haven’t any wip, every begun works were finished. Right now... i feel like i lost every creativity and motivation i had and everything i began looks like crap. I’m in a big self-doubt mood and i don’t feel well enough to push myself to draw. (I’m not fishing for compliments, i’m just explaining how i feel ;) )

So, here’s some of my unfinished works, i won’t called them wip because i’m not sure if i’ll ever finish them.

1) This one i began it a long time ago, when the HIghsnobiety photoshoot was released, and i can’t manage to do what i had in mind, so for now it’s like this :

2) a crappy sketch of a laughing Larry almost-kiss; I wasn’t happy with this and began it digitally too, but it’s not better :

3) this really quick sketch i did one night last week, because Louis will always be my inspiration, even when i can’t draw (sorry for this, it’s obviously not finished and i found it so ugly that i stopped working on it)

That’s all i have now and i hope the next thing i do will be finished but i don’t have much hope for that. (And sorry for the whiny post)

And I’ve got a lot of unfinished crochet works too ! Like 2 bags are almost done since this summer ! I like beginning a new project but i don’t like doing the completions, that’s the most boring work. And now i need work on the Christmass gifts...

I don’t know who did this meme or not, so i’ll tag @allthreeplease @mrsadfran @thelouistiti @lucystarkid and @pattern-pals, and thank again @pasmwa for thinking of me ;)

#meme #my drawings #art wip #allthreeplease #mrsadfran #thelouistiti #lucystarkid #pattern-pals #pasmwa #i'm such in a bad state right now #i feel like i'll never draw again #hope it won't last

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otterthewriter · 7 years

Text

javid summercamp au (modern)

“Attention campers!” Jack boomed. He easily commanded the amphitheater stage and his young, excited audience. “Welcome to Camp Kelly!” He gestured to his crowd and they at once erupted into deafening cheers. From the back of the audience, Katherine’s eyes nearly rolled out of her head.

“I am Jack, and I’m the king of this camp. You can call me Your Majesty,” Jack gloated, grinning widely.

“Get off the stage!” Race shouted, standing up and throwing a handful of trail mix from the back of the arena.

“That is the Royal Jester. You can ignore everything he says,” Jack taunted, and was then interrupted by Medda’s vehement shouts of protest.

“JACK KELLY!” she bellowed, climbing down the center aisle of the seats.

“And now, I would like to hear a thundering round of applause for the Queen of my kingdom, the lovely and wonderful, Medda!”

The children burst into applause even more boisterous than the last as Medda entered the stage. She exchanged a deadly look with Jack, who smirked and dashed to the back of the audience, collecting high fives and fist bumps all the way.

“I apologize for my employee,” Medda said to the audience, emphasizing the word “employee”.

“I am Medda. You can call me Medda.” The kids giggled. The kids always loved Medda. She was bubbly and generous, and welcomed the children to her camp with open and loving arms.

While Medda was launching into her “welcome” spiel, Jack was taking a seat with the other counselors.

“You’re a real dumbass, Jack,” Sarah chided, as he sat down at the end of their row.

“Love ya too, Sarah,” he replied, letting his gaze pass briefly over David, who sat two seats down from Jack. Jack was hopelessly enamored with David, though he would never admit it. He couldn’t get enough of his loose brown curls resting on his forehead, or his electric blue eyes that pulled Jack in headfirst over and over again.

“Besides, the kids just eat that stuff up. They love me,” Jack continued. “David knows”, he added. “They can’t resist my undeniable charm.”

David’s freckled cheeks reddened and he smiled awkwardly. He noticed Jack too, and Jack knew. Just like he knew--or thought he knew--that David could never love him. Jack Kelly, with all his flair and confidence, was certain beyond doubt that David would never really love him. Not David. Not shy, sweet David. Not David who cried after every group of campers left, and who spent his free time braiding the girl campers’ hair and making friendship bracelets with them. That David could never love an arrogant, cocky asshole like Jack. David deserved better.

Medda was wrapping up her welcome speech, so the counselors started to stand up. The kids were split up into groups based on their skills and interests. Kath did photography and film, Sarah did hiking and outdoor activities, Crutchie did theater, Race did water activities, Jack did arts and crafts, and David did botany. The seven counselors spread out and held up signs corresponding to wristbands that the children had received on arrival. As kids gathered around their new camp leaders, the counselors greeted and got to know them.

Once the kids were organized, the counselors marched them off to their respective activities, just like every camp, just like every year. But somehow Jack knew something about this camp would be different.

The counselors sat around a campfire that night, laughing and singing together after another successful first day of camp. Jack played his guitar and Crutchie led the group in bad renditions of classics and pop hits alike. The teenagers were comfortable with one another and thoroughly enjoyed each other’s company. It was as if they had grown up together, and they regarded each other as family. The joy was apparent on each one’s face when the fire’s glow would briefly light up their tired grins.

One by one the counselors would announce that they were turning in, and depart to their small dormitories, until there was just Jack, Crutchie, and David left.

Crutchie, sensing the tension in the air, stood up and said, “I’m gonna head in. Good night.”

David seemed to bolt to his feet. “Me too,” he sputtered.

“Stay, David,” Jack suggested, sitting back. “It’s only ten.” He was guessing.

David hesitated, exchanging a desperate glance with Crutchie, then slowly sat back down as Crutchie headed toward the dorms.

Jack knew he shouldn’t tease the boy like this. He knew he should just leave him alone, let him move on, find someone better. But that crooked smile… and those perfect lips…

“How’s your group?” David asked, yanking Jack out of a trance. Jack shifted his eyes up, not having realized he was staring at David’s mouth.

“Huh?” Jack asked, blinking.

“Your kids? What are they like?” David repeated.

“Oh, they’re good. Yeah. I’ve got one boy, Xavier. He loves Harry Potter. Talks about it non-stop. Made me think of you.”

“Oh,” David replied sheepishly. Jack scolded himself for flirting with the innocent boy.

Jack could occasionally catch a glimpse of David’s flushed pink face in the darkness. It brought him back to a night about three years earlier. David was new that year, and he fit in perfectly, despite his shyness. Jack immediately noticed David, but stopped himself from getting too close.

It was a Tuesday night when David came to him. Jack was up late painting, as always. It was a rainy summer, and it had been showering that night. David was in Jack’s doorway. His curls were wet from the rain and lay heavy over his eyes. His cheeks were pink from the cold. Jack’s heart was pounding hard as he helped the boy dry off. They sat close to each other on Jack’s bed while David weeped and admitted to Jack that he liked boys. Fingers intertwined, foreheads pressed together, lips brushing. Jack let David sleep in his bed that night. Jack stayed up all night and sketched images of a small, unharmed boy lying in his bed. He dotted every freckled and drew the curve of his hips under the covers. In the morning Jack was gone from his dorm. He was sitting on the roof, watching the sunrise.

“Jack, I want to tell you something,” David said, breaking a lengthy silence. Jack’s heart raced. “I think you’re a really good person, Jack. Most people aren’t like you. You have a good heart.”

Jack was taken aback by his words. A good person? Jack grew up in foster care, surrounded by dirt-poor scumbags who would do anything for a dollar. Most people thought Jack was no different from them. Jack thought he was no different from them.

“I’m no good for you, David Jacobs,” Jack nearly whispered. “You don’t want this. You don’t want me.”

The fire crackled loudly into their silence. David hurt for Jack. He knew what Jack thought of himself, and longed to convince him otherwise.

David moved toward Jack, who became stiff.

“I need you.” The words tumbled out of David’s mouth. Messy and unintentional; unplanned and unrehearsed. The spontaneity made David nervous, but it thrilled Jack. It revealed a side of David that Jack had never seen. David was messy sometimes too. Just like Jack.

Jack grabbed David’s perfect jaw and pressed hard into his perfect lips. David inhaled sharply, but then gave in and kissed Jack back. Jack ran his fingers through David’s curls, and David carefully felt up and down Jack’s chest. Jack kissed David like he was cold water in the desert--thirstily, hastily, and desperately.

Then, as quickly as it began, Jack pulled back.

“I’m sorry,” he muttered, then hurried away, leaving David confused, hurt and alone.

Jack was up early again the next morning. He went out to David’s garden and sat near a bushel of snapdragons. Snapdragons were Jack’s favorites, and David always made sure to keep an area for them every year. Jack knew they were for him but pretended that they weren’t.

The air was calm and sweet before the sunrise. Jack’s thoughts were slow and steady for once. He found that David slowed his thoughts down. Something about the boy helped him focus.

A voice from behind startled Jack. It was Sarah, David’s sister.

“You’re up early,” she noted, sitting down next to him on the bench. The two had dated for about a month a few years ago. They had fun together, but Sarah was never really attracted to him, and Jack really had eyes for David. The two were strikingly similar however--messy, passionate, and headstrong. After they broke up, they developed a surprisingly strong and meaningful friendship.

“Couldn’t sleep,” he answered.

“You and David were out late together last night,” she pointed out. “Anything juicy?”

“I kissed him. I shouldn’t have,” Jack admitted.

“He has such a thing for you Jack. Let him in,” she urged. Jack was quiet.

“I can’t. He’s so… sweet and undamaged. He doesn’t deserve this.”

Sarah sighed. She knew his feelings too well. She knew that by “this” Jack meant his chaos, his sadness, his fears, his fury. Everything that he felt was a liability. Everything that made him who he was.

Sarah clasped his hand tightly.

“Let him decide if he deserves it or not. Give him a chance,” Sarah said, meeting Jack’s intense gaze.

They sat in comfortable silence, watching the sun’s rays start to spill into the sky from behind the mountains.

“What are you thinking?” Sarah asked, still holding Jack’s hand.

“I’m thinking that David won’t love me when he sees the real me. The anxious me, or the sad me. The ugly me.”

“I’m thinking that you should let him try.”

That afternoon, during free time Jack took his kids to the main plaza, where he knew David would be. They were working on quick sketches that day, so Jack told the kids to sketch every other camper before free time ended. They relished the assignment, and spent all their time chasing kids around with a pen and a pad of paper. David made flower crowns with his kids, and taught them about maintaining gardens. Jack would occasionally glance at the boy, who always hopefully smiled back. Jack’s heart skipped a beat every time David laughed, his whole face lighting up.

“Jack,” said a young voice from next to his chair. The voice belonged to Brie, a quiet little girl who liked drawing faces with no bodies and signing her art with a puzzle piece.

“Why do you keep looking at David?” she inquired.

Jack laughed, then met her eyes, large and curious.

“Are you in love with him?” she asked. Jack said nothing. He looked again at David, with a strand of flowers in his hair, blushing from heat and delight.

“Yeah. I am,” Jack finally answered, looking back at the girl.

“Then here,” she announced, handing Jack a piece of paper and walking away. Jack unfolded the paper and saw a drawing of David. His unabashed grin and gleaming eyes floated in the center of the page. Jack smiled to himself and put the drawing in his pocket.

I’m in love with David Jacobs.

That night during dinner David didn’t eat. He stared at his parmesan chicken, a usual favorite, and thought only of Jack’s calloused hand on his jaw, and his fingers through his hair.

“David what’s wrong?” one of his kids asked.

“I’m about to do something really really stupid,” David responded, climbing on top of his chair.

“Everybody listen!” David shouted. He felt his knees weaken as all eyes in the cafeteria were fixed on him. Jack’s stomach dropped. He had never seen David so exposed, so spontaneous, so… much like Jack.

“I have something I need to say, that I should have said a long time ago,” he continued, ignoring his trembling hands. “Jack Kelly, I want you. I need you. And I know you don’t think you’re good enough, but you’re good enough for me.”

Jack stared admiringly at the boy, heart beating in his ears. I’m in love with David Jacobs.

Jack stood and maneuvered toward David’s table. He climbed on top of a spare chair and stood beside David.

“David, you gotta understand-- I’m a mess. My baggage is… a lot. It’s not pretty. You’ve gotta promise me that you’re in for the long haul,” Jack told him. David gripped Jack’s hands and looked hard into the deep blue of his eyes.

“Through thick and thin,” David answered, cracking a grin. Jack couldn’t help but beam back.

“Come here,” Jack whispered and pulled David’s head close to his. Their lips met and the children collectively groaned. The other counselors cheered. Jack pulled back to look at David’s face, flushed and exhilarated. Their lips met again, hot and cold, coming together to form a perfect warmth.

#alright here it is #also sorry for using the word mess and variants like 500 times #but its just because jack Kelly is a fuckin mess #and so am i #javid #newsies #newsies au #newsies fanfiction #fanfiction #fanfic #my writing

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toosicktoocare · 7 years

Text

I fell in love with this prompt the second I read it. (Modern AU)

Enjolras tries to ignore the chatters of his friends while reviewing meeting notes, but they are too loud, too persistent, too worried.

Grantaire has been the topic of conversation for the last three days. The latter has been fussed over by the rest of the Les Amis on multiple occasions for being “sick”. His excuse is always the same: I’m fine, just stressed with loads to do.

The rest of the group don’t push the brunet; though, Enjolras can tell how much it’s killing Combeferre to not perform a full examination.

But, while the others worry for Grantaire in secret, Enjolras isn’t quite convinced, so when Grantaire stumbles into tonight’s meeting mumbling his typical excuse, Enjolras replies with a scoff.

“As if you ever work hard at anything,” he spits out, ignoring the sharp stare from Combeferre.

To his surprise, Grantaire doesn’t react in the slightest. The brunet simply staggers over to his back table and flips his sketch book open to work on his drawings for class.

“Could you not be an asshole for two seconds?” Combeferre hisses into his ear seconds later. “He’s sick, yet he’s still coming to every meeting for you.”

Enjolras ignores his friend in favor of starting the meeting, and minutes later, he’s forgotten everything as he dives into another night of social justice.

*****

If anyone asks, Enjolras could confidently answer that he wasn’t expecting to spend the remainder of his night shifting from foot to foot outside of Grantaire’s apartment at eleven p.m., yet, here he is, waiting in the icy wind for the brunet to open the door.

He could have ignored it, but when he realized that Grantaire still had one his law books that he needs for a test this week, he shot a quick text to the brunet then drove over without waiting for a reply.

He raps his knuckles against the door for the fifth time, but still, he gets no reply. He huffs out a breath of annoyance and tries the doorknob, and he’s surprised to feel it twist with his wrist.

“Careless,” he mutters under his breath as he pushes the door open. The apartment is dark, but there’s a soft light filtering out from a crack behind one door: Grantaire’s bedroom.

Enjolras walks over to the door and knocks, but he’s met with silence. “Grantaire?” He tries, voice loud and firm, but still nothing.

He wraps his hand around the doorknob and twists, pushing the door open enough to slide in.

Grantaire is furiously drawing on a canvas propped up with an easel with his back to the door. There are headphones covering his ears, and multiple empty coffee mugs are littering his desk beside him.

His floor is scattered with sketchbook pages that have giant pencil marks slashed through them, and Enjolras studies a few as he makes his way toward the brunet.

When he gets closer, he freezes with furrowed brows. Grantaire is shaking hard. For a brief moment, Enjolras glances back to the empty coffee cups, but something tells him this may be more than a caffeine rush.

He closes the distance until he’s stopped right beside the brunet and taps gently on his shoulder.

Grantaire jumps under his touch and is quick to knock his headphones down and away from his ears while turning sharply toward Enjolras.

Enjolras sucks in a sharp gasp at the sight. Aside from the shivering, Grantaire is incredibly pale, but the brunet’s cheeks are a deep red that has Enjolras frowning.

Enjolras takes a quick glance around the room once more, zeroing in on the many failed pictures littering the floor, before snapping his attention back to Grantiare when the brunet clears his throat.

“Why are you here?”

“You’re sick,” Enjolras mutters as realization washes over him. Regret swells within his chest as he recalls his harsh words from earlier. It’s apparent, now, that his friends were right. Grantaire is sick, and he’s clearly overworking himself.

Grantaire sighs and turns back to his easel. “Did you need something? Because I have deadlines to meet.”

“You’re sick,” Enjolras repeats more confidently then before.

In seconds, Grantaire composure crumbles into a thousand pieces. His shaking increases as tears slip rapidly down his cheeks, and Enjolras is taken aback, unsure of what to do or say as the brunet breaks down in front of him.

“I know!” Grantaire shouts. “But this HAS to get finished!” He motions wildly to the painting. “I keep trying and trying, but nothing is working! Either the colors are wrong or it looks too textbook!”

Enjolras’s eyes are wide, and for the first time in a long time, he’s rendered speechless. He’s trying to find words, but his mind is blank. But when Grantaire groans loudly then turns toward his easel to start slapping paint messily across the black and white picture, Enjolras’s muscles react while his mind takes a while to catch up.

He grabs Grantaire’s wrist before the latter can ruin the painting. “R, stop!”

Grantaire freezes in his grip, and for a few moments, both boys are silent, with the only sound coming from Grantaire’s harsh, ragged panting.

“Sorry,” Grantaire mutters after a bit, and Enjolras replies by gently pulling the brunet to his feet. He keeps a tight grip around Grantaire’s wrist as he pulls him over to the bed.

He pulls the covers back with one hand before lightly pushing Grantaire onto the bed. To his surprise, Grantaire obliges without argument, which tells Enjolras just how poorly the brunet is feeling.

With Grantaire tucked in, Enjolras takes a spot on the edge of the bed and leans over to press his palm to Grantaire’s forehead. The heat that coats his hand is overwhelming, and his faces scrunches up in worry.

“You’re boiling,” he mutters under his breath, and Grantaire hums in response.

“Just sleep for right now,” Enjolras adds, but his words fall against deaf ears for Grantaire is already asleep.

Enjolras spends a few minutes just watching the brunet before he glances back to the painting with determined eyes.

*****

When Grantaire wakes up, he feels as if he’s suffering through a terrible hangover. His mouth is dry, his head is throbbing mercilessly, and his body aches as if he’s aged fifty years over night.

He sits up with a yawn but freezes halfway through when he spots Enjolras slumped over asleep at his desk. What the fuck?

He stumbles out bed and staggers towards Enjolras like a newborn deer. He opens his mouth to call out to the boy, but his words catch in his throat.

Enjolras has light paint streaks across his face, and once glance to his laptop shows multiple tabs on “How to paint.”

“What the fuck?” He breathes out before turning sharply toward his easel, and his eyes go wide just as his jaw goes slack.

His painting is colored with reds and golds that contrast against a deep swirl of blacks and greens. It’s almost ugly at a first glance, but the colors tell an entire story. There are gaps between the differing pairs of colors, but there’s one, small space in the center of the piece where the red mixes lightly with the green.

Grantaire is at a loss for words as he blinks back tears. He shifts his gaze to Enjolras and breathes out a soft “thank you” before turning his attention back to what, he believes, will be his best art piece.

#les amis #sickfic #prompt #enjoltaire #exr #e/r #les mis #les miserables #enjolras #grantaire #barricade boys #okay but i'm lowkey really proud of this one??#that doesn't happen often lol #my writing #my les mis writing

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arts-butthound · 3 years

Text

Sense and Salarian ability, chpt 4

AO3 link:

https://archiveofourown.org/works/22537765/chapters/64412392

He drifted home to a planet far away from the Citadel; where the grass grew high and he and his brothers would come home after a day of play, smelling of clay and tropical pollen. The smell of jungle plants seeped into the humidity of the air and rich, moist soil conformed to the feet. Lau could almost feel and smell the sunshine of Nasurn … Damn. This herbal mixture was everything that the asari vendor had said it would be! He sunk lower into the deep trench of the tub, water tickling the muscles in his head. He breathed in the arid spice and wished it were possible to stay here in the water, time easing to a standstill, for the rest of the day.

He’d been in the tub all morning, finally able to steal a few hours to rehydrate his porous skin. The recycled air of the Citadel tended to lean towards the dry side and long, frequent bathes had become necessary since moving here to run the gallery.

It was now nearly noon, standard station time, and the world outside of the bathroom called. He had obligations to attend to and a certain asari to appease. He heaved himself lazily from the tub.

Inside the apartment, his strict habits were as uniform as his decorating-dealing in sharp corners and absolutes. Get out of the tub. Facial moisturizer. Body moisturizer. Horn oil. Eye drops. Get dressed. Straighten up the bathroom. Turn on the venting fan. Then it was off to the kitchen for a quick cup of tea and a small amount of nutrient paste. As he ate, Lau didn’t taste a thing. The man ran on auto-pilot, watching the clock, stealing minutes for himself. He had to be sure to only take what could reasonably be excused away.

Eramanthe had only thought to invite him to the Art Museum at the last moment, yet had the gall to say it would mean ‘so so much’ if he showed up. He couldn’t decide if it was because the museum had borrowed a piece from her two hundreds and she wanted a visible excuse to avoid it or if it was that she was asked to be a speaker, but she was excited none the less.

Five minutes stolen.

Lau knew she had other friends to bother about this kind of thing. She hadn’t given him time to reasonably ‘think on it’ before he had to tell her ‘no’ on the pretense of pretending to be busy. Somehow the woman thought that inviting him just yesterday evening was practical. Lau had been in the middle of dinner. He had looked forward to doing absolutely nothing today. He shambled about the apartment, deciding now was the perfect time to straighten sofa cushions in the living room.

Seven minutes.

“Never should have answered that call.” The salarian grumbled under his breath. He took a lint roller to his shirt, his keen eyes and hands zipping over stray bits of fuzz that stubbornly held to the fabric. A beige dress-shirt with a built-in abdominal guard and quarter rolled sleeves. Black pants. Newly polished boots. Gloves that reached just to the edge of his palm-a gift from his sister and apparently the current style at home.

Nine minutes.

Lau ruefully locked up his apartment and walked to the closest rapid transit port. Fifteen minutes on the dot. The alarm on his omni-tool began to ring as he punched his destination into the terminal. Precisely on time. In this way, he could easily blame traffic on his tardiness, explaining to Eramanthe how there was a decent wait for a cab and how traffic had been bad at a certain intersection.

He enjoyed that RT cabs didn’t need real people to drive. As annoying as her portals could be, cabs operated by an Avina module were a god-send to the socially averse. Only tell her where you needed to be and then enjoy the quiet while you could.

On the annual occasion, The Ambei’on Museum of Culture and Art would open its doors to the public free of charge-claiming to want to spread a celebration of diversity in the galaxy. Parents often brought bored children, who ran around with heinous abandon. College students would come with sketch books in hand to study form. Art collectors would walk about, admiring and hunting for prestigious artists they had yet to purchase a piece from. Lau stood outside the front doors, staring up at the event banner.

Inside, the halls and amphitheater were abuzz with excitement and the garbled conversations of dozens of groups as they wandered about. This year the museum had welcomed in some of the most prominent works from the human race into their collection. Human artists and tour guides stood by pieces, grandly speaking of the history and importance of their assigned station. As Lau walked through the building towards the Asari wing, he made a mental note to make the trip here another time to look at what human art had to offer. He’d caught glimpses of works in passing, and though one of the more ugly species in the galaxy, human artists seemed to have a similar grip with the asari on universal form. Even if their painted colors were muddied at first glance.

As a college student, Lau had once thought his work would end up in a museum like this. He smiled to himself and shook his head at youthful folly. So few artists among the millions were actually purchased by museums; or were considered influential enough to be remembered in grand halls. Eramanthe had been at the game for three centuries. Now in her four-hundreds, she was bound to have at least one piece in a museum or another.

“Lau! Hey!” Lau focused ahead of him as Eramanthe waved, shouting to gain his attention in one of the most earnest, undignified manners. He half smiled, waving back at her as he walked. “I’m so glad you could finally make it!”

“Yeah, sorry I’m late. Traffic got bad at-”

“Oh I don’t care about that!” Eramanthe waved off his feigned concern. “I’m just glad you showed up! I was sure you were going to tell me to bugger off when I called last night.” Her voice bounced with glee, Eramanthe’s smile curling around her cheeks as she took Lau arm in arm and began to walk.

“Bugger off?” Lau gave her a strange look. “Is that new slang you picked up somewhere?”

“It’s a human expression I learned recently while out people watching!” She took her free hand and waved it in front of them-as if she were relating to him something regal. “It means to hit the road! Get lost! Go away!” Lau made a small humming sound, shook his head. “Well I liked it!” Eramanthe defended, turning up her nose playfully. “Eighteen years of their being in space and I’m still learning so much about the species.”

“Only you would consider slang as educational.” Lau answered flatly, scratching the beneath of his jaw.

“You smell really nice today. You wearing a new cologne?”

They walked together companionably for a while, Eramanthe blathering on about some of the artists being displayed-how she’d like to meet and collaborate with them. Lau kept a constant eye out for business partners of his family. A hand full of them lived on the Citadel as well. If he had to deal with the business aspect of his life today, Lau was sure that he’d end up on the evening news under the banner “Salarian Nerves Break.” Or “Frog-Man Gone Wild!” He wasn’t even entirely sure what a frog was.

The Grand Hall was a wide long room that was saved for sculptures of all sizes-those that ranged on the smaller side were presented closer to the walls, allowing for larger sculptures to breathe on the open floor. The best of every species creators were featured here in stone and sand, wood and clay, metal and waylaid junk. The room had the comforting smells of fresh floor polish and aging materials. The two would point out pieces that caught their fancy and stop to discuss it for a moment. Move on to the next piece.

Eramanthe stopped and pointed out a sculpture that froze Lau's breath into a tight ball inside his throat. It was radiant. It was powerful. Abstract metal spikes, not quite connected, depicted the mighty and solid form of the turian people. When viewed at a distance, it was everything the turian hierarchy was known for. However, as the viewer grew closer to the piece and circled about, the more gapes appeared in the polished metal. In the center of this behemoth, made of softer curves and wood, was a form that knelt on bended knees and clutching at its head and shoulders heaved up around the cowl. The wood could have been visually appealing, but large gouges had been taken from the form-its surface was splintered and scratched.

It was perfect…everything here had to be placed just so. The execution was flawless. It was one of those pieces that dared you to reach out to feel the reality of its existence. Lau resisted this urge, of course. He wasn’t an animal. But it was there none the less. The corner of his mouth threatened to twitch, to become an awed sense of wonder and respect. Maybe he could get the artist to contribute to the gallery…maybe the gallery could afford to commission a piece for permanent display!

“Caius Olymlin.” Eramanthe read the artist plaque. Lau turned jaggedly to face her. The crazy bastard was already in museums? So soon? He looked back up at the piece. The space between years became tangible in front of Lau’s eyes. He hadn’t ever thought Caius capable of such complexity-

So careless. So reckless. The light catches his plates as he laughs, shining mercury. Surrounded by others, magnetic. Despised by the teachers around him. Despised by me. He plays more than he studies. His work is safe forms, passing grades. If he doesn’t take this seriously, why is he here?

-He’d always had great talent, but such discipline? He’d grown so much as an artist. “Goddess! Lau, get the load of this! He made this right out of college! That’s just not fair.”

Of-fucking-course he did.

The enchantment died in Lau’s eyes, his aloof scowl returning. Taking two steps from the sculpture, Lau’s boots clicked against the wooden floor when he returned to Eramanthe’s side. “You don’t say.” He droned, briefly glancing at the plaque. “Well, some have the eye at a young age. Shall we go on to your piece?”

“Ah-we don’t need to do that.” Eramanthe waved off the idea, smiling uncomfortably. “It’s just from the Athame series. I really don’t need to see those…ever again.”

Lau smirked, shaking his head at her. Artists and their inexplicable need to distance themselves from old works would forever be funny. Lau gestured forward as Eramanthe took his arm once more and they left Olymlin’s reputation behind without a second glance…barely.

In his desperation to put distance between him and the sculpture, Lau allowed Eramanthe to take the lead as they walked through the rest of the grand hall and through other bits of the museum. He teased Eramanthe-threatened to drag her toward “Athame in Water-Light” for ‘the culture’ and ‘the pride’ in his friend for having a piece of art in a gig like this!

“So, when is Zejaa’s Dala’Sian?” Eramanthe asked, trying to subtly turn the two away from her sculpture’s location. Subtlety was never her strong suit.

“A little more than nine months. Big parties like that take time to get together.” Lau shrugged. “Client’s need to make time on their schedules, family circles need to be notified to send their leading member. Etcetera.”

“Goddess. I’ll never understand why it takes you guys so long to officially put someone in office. She’s been Dalatrass for what? A year and a half already?”

“Acting Dalatrass, Era.” Lau pointed out. He pushed her gently with his shoulder, which only served to make the both of them sway slightly. “Completely different set of forms and treaties. There is the proper mourning period to consider, after all.” All these years of closely working within a salarian dynasty and she still cared to know so little about whom she dealt with. Some prideful part of Lau chose to guffaw at Eramanthe’s perceived audacity.

“And some of you still wonder why Illicei turned down the job. So damn fussy-” Eramanthe’s attention was suddenly called away by a museum attendant and a group of guests, waiting around with eager eyes. She’d be back in a few moments.

Lau took the chance to sit on a bench and assume a distant gaze. He barely remembered anything about his grandmother. He’d been too young when she’d passed on to the next circle. He only knew her from what he’d heard. What he heard was she’d been one of the most willful ohm’re in his family in recent memory. Eramanthe seemed to look back on her fondly enough. But then, she liked most everyone. His mother, Illicei’s daughter, looked back on his grandmother with more embarrassment and distance. She suggested to his clutch of ten that they do the same.

He stretched his fingers against the fabric of his pants. Tension he hadn’t been aware of eased out of the digits as the white noise of the museum visitors hummed off of the walls. Today wasn’t completely intolerable. Maybe he’d grab some lunch with Eramanthe before walking home. Lau’s favorite food vendor, an arthritic old salarian, was near here. Lau, being one who generally didn’t enjoy cooking, figured he’d treat himself and buy enough to have for dinner later.

“So-” Eramanthe reappeared, waking Lau from his train of thought. “It looks like I’m a little late for a talk I’m supposed to give. It’s for a bunch of kids and their parents. I’ll only like fifteen or so minutes…”she planted her hands on his shoulders and patted them. “Stay! I’ll bring back some wine for us!” Gone again before Lau could blink. How did a woman with such short legs move so fast? One would think she were more rubber than a salarian whelp.

Now alone, he was able to take in the room fully. The colors of clothes against the multicolored stone blurred and lurched. Then his eyes glanced over a ghost in the crowd that made his chest heave with a heavy groan. The duct rat girl.

Damn the gods.

The girl stood still among the crowd, strange faces passing her by without seeing. But Lau saw her, much to his discomfort. He’d never seen one stranger so often. There was an entire ward, an entire station, of people between them and yet he saw her more and more often. A stranger is supposed to have the decency to go away after a brief encounter.

Despite Lau’s staring, she had yet to see him. Though still dirty and unkempt, her eyes were placid, her face blank as she stared up at a jagged red stone statue.

It was her hands that caught the flick of his gaze. How, though glued to her sides, they moved and caressed imaginary forms. Lau blinked a few times. He analyzed. She wasn’t touching it, though her fingers were ravenous. If Lau had to guess, he’d think…was she tracing the object of her hands attention. It was just an old krogan statue, crudely carved a millennium ago. It wasn’t an attractive thing by any means. Even the face had corroded over time. More or less, it had probably been donated by some collector as a possible tax write off. Or perhaps found by an archeologist before the krogan’s had become an isolationist nation on Tuchanka. Cultural history, perhaps. But art history?

The girl’s eyes roved over it, though. She looked for something that his, admittedly biased world view, could not reach. She’d looked at his worthless scrap too…his horns burned slightly. Obviously she had yet to learn how to look at anything worthwhile. For now she wielded misguided eyes.

He considered her.

He considered his options.

He considered how much he was potentially going to regret this.

“You know, I never did get the… opportunity to thank you, properly. For returning the sculpture you broke, that is.” Lau cleared his voice appearing at her backside.

Her shoulders bounced up around her neck, her hands immediately flinched into little claws. A slight gasp that could count almost as a strangled screech. Well…he hadn’t meant to scare her so.

Lau looked to the statue she’d been so enamored with. He wore a false smile, shifting his weight from foot to foot almost imperceptibly. “It was unexpected. I apologize for my anger then. I was certain you had come back to rob me. Not return a repaired sculpture.” Should he tell her that it was admirable? He probably shouldn’t. The right thing was done and it would be repetitive to say more.

The human didn’t say anything. How awkward. She just glanced at him with those piercing eyes over and over again. Looked from her shoes to him; back to her shoes. Back to him. She nodded, swallowing. Lau began to reconsider his decision to come over here. “Your school teacher should be praised. They’ve done a fine job teaching you at an introductory level of clay work. Eramanthe, my asari friend, wouldn’t shut up about how pleased she was at your repairs.” He wondered if he sounded friendly enough? Should he try better eye contact? The two stood, shoulder to hip, as still as the stone in front of them.

“Was….was it her sculpture?” She squeaked. Finally!

“Er, no. Someone else’s.”

More quiet between them. What had been so fascinating to her about this krogan rock?

“I don’t…go…to school.” The girl wrung the hem of her shirt repeatedly.

Lau looked down at her with offended surprise. ‘I suppose that explains her lack of manners before.’ he thought to himself. “But, where did you learn to fix that, without anyone to teach you?”

She shrugged, looking down and rolling her open palms. “I dunno. I followed the wire…it looked right?”

Right. The base armatures. He’d momentarily forgotten those were in there. “Tell me” he cleared his throat, looking back towards the broken immortalized krogan, “I noticed you were looking at this. What catches your eye?”

“It’s pretty. You can see where it got hurt. It feels nice, the edges-I didn’t touch it!” She clarified, fiddling with her hands when Lau shot her an incredulous glare. “I-imagined- it feels strong. That’s all. How it looks, I mean. It’s still got a lot of sharp parts in it- on it. That he doesn’t have a face…feels comfortable? Like he could be…I dunno. I just…like it. I guess.”

“You were staring at it rather hard to simply ‘like’ it. And what about your hands? You were-”

“I didn’t touch it! I swear. They just do that when I…look…at pretty things.” Her cheeks burned red, and her brows knit together. Lau watched as she knotted her fingers behind her back. He took a deep breath.

“It’s a texture thing, isn’t it?” He smiled at her. A small smile! Only to say he understood. There were things in life, when they lay in your hands, that made a person feel like comfortably vibrating. Or those things made them feel at a standstill, complete in their focus. “Understandable. Plenty of people have that and just don’t notice the need as keenly as others.” Her eyes grew to the size of small moons. “I suppose if you’re looking for texture, krogan art is a good place to seek it out-”

“Whazza difference?”

“Excuse me?”

“The difference. I mean, krogan art-isn’t all art the same? No matter who makes it?”

“A decent question, I suppose.” Lau shrugged and crossed his arms. “Different species have different needs of the senses, and scope of emotion. As an example, asari artists tend to work with soft, gentle curves. Classy and refined. Whereas krogans don’t seem to edit themselves, leading to the edges. No forethought, no planning. Just straight into it and getting a rather rough looking final product, but there’s honesty to it…if often a jaded honesty. An artist is only limited by their imagination, but their culture and environment do color their tastes and styles. To say all art is ‘the same’ is insulting to the works. Not to mention rude.”

“I’m sorry. I wasn’t trying to be.” The cageyness in her eyes had dulled some. She looked at the statue again, a small smile gracing her features. “I wanna do that when I grow up.” She said, nearly under her breath; more to the air around her than to him or anyone else.

Lau scoffed, “You could certainly pick better points of inspiration to base that off of. This piece of junk is more than likely here as appeasement. Even if you do have an affinity for krogan art, there are better examples.” He looked down at her, an unsure knot forming at the base of his gut. “What did you say your name was, earlier? I don’t believe I caught it.”

“Tegan.”

He nodded. “You may call me Ropon.” What could Lau say next? He knew, but part of him was still uncomfortable. It was a complete disaster last time. But…everything he’d been trained to believe seemed to stand in front of him. Some have the eye at a young age. Lau looked at her in earnest. “You-If you’d like to actually learn a bit about sculpting, I’d consider…having you back at the gallery for a few lessons.”

The duct ra…Tegan’s mouth dropped open and she gapped at him like a fish- eyes all a twinkle. He straightened his posture and folded his arms behind his back. “You’ll have to work for me though, in exchange. I’m not just handing out a free ride. Cleaning will have to suffice until I find a way to make you more useful.”

“YESSIR!”

Sudden. Irritating. “No need to shout.” He hushed, looking about them as others curiously looked in their direction. They soon lost interest. “Show up late morning tomorrow. Ten to Eleven, preferably. Once the work is done, I’ll see where I need to start with you.”

Tegan bit her lower lip, jaw trembling with excitement as she continually nodded. Lau was surprised she wasn’t making herself dizzy like that. That kind of enthusiasm…Lau was almost jealous. He scanned the room for an approaching Eramanthe. Wishing for escape. Needing the wine she’d promised to return with. Tegan continued to stare at him eagerly, her smile a ‘u’ of excitement. It made him uncomfortable-like trying to humor nieces and nephews that were a year old. He cleared his throat. “Yes, well…I have other things I need to be doing today. I suppose I’ll see you tomorrow.”

If running away from a child could in any way look dignified, Lau would have done so. Instead, he turned on heel and walked away with his back straight and arms still folded behind him…desperately wanting booze.

“Aelin! Guess what!” Tegan bounced down the steps of the museum, towards a waiting older brother with a warm smile and a rub for her head.

Aelin stood up from his place on the steps and stretched his long arms. “Whazz’at, Petal? You look pretty happy right now.” Tegan smiled and nodded her head, taking Aelin’s hand in her own. She loved the sound of his voice; the way he always sounded tired, a bit husky-speaking in rounded tones. When she’d been small enough to share a bed with Vey and had had a nightmare, she remembered him rubbing her toddler belly and murmuring little pattering phrases in a language unknown to her. Though, thanks to the blow he took to the underneath of his hood the evening past, he sounded wheezy, as though it still hurt to enunciate.

He took a long drag of a cigarette as the two descended down the stone steps, blueish gray smoke exhaled. Tegan watched it twist and curl until the smoke dissipated into the air. “Aren’t you trying to quit?” she pursed her lips as she gave him a solid look.

Aelin only chuckled, taking the thing in between his teeth as he spoke. “Vey certainly thinks I should. Harder to quit than she thinks it is, though.”

“You’re not even going to try, are you?”

“Not at the moment, no. So, what’s the thing I should be guessing at?”

As the two walked down the street, Tegan twittered on all about her afternoon in the museum, all the pretty things that she’d seen! Aelin had a hard time imagining the paintings and sculptures she talked about but smiled along with her enthusiasm. That is, until she started telling him about the art dealer again. The more she talked about her conversation with him, the more Aelin’s paranoia twisted his stomach. His smile became a much wearier thing, though he tried not to quash her fervor. He listened to her babble on until they came to a small convenience store, where Aelin bought them both a fruity drink and sat them on a bench. (His bruised lung had begun to feel tired from the walking anyway, so now was as good a time as any to break.)

“Petal, I’m very glad you’re excited for this. But, you didn’t give him a...immediate answer, did you?” His fingers played with the condensation on the cold bottle.

“Yes?” Tegan answered, taking a gulp of the drink. “Why?”

“Well… You have a habit of doing this when you’re excited or want to help. And sometimes you end up regretting that, y’know-”

“That’s not gonna happen this time. This’ll be so much fun!”

Aelin stayed quiet for a minute, taking a drink and thinking. “Okay…um, I’m going to come with you tomorrow then. Just to keep an eye on things…see what you learn while over there.”

“No!” Tegan stood suddenly. Her hair moved along with her, like a wild animal, as she slammed down her bottle onto the bench, glaring at her brother. Tears burned their threat at the edge of her eyes. “No! You wouldn’t be saying this if it were Vey or Cetus! I’m not stupid! I don’t need you to babysit me!”

“This is not babysitting! And I never said you were stupid, Tegan.” Aelin tried leveling her with a stern glare, patting the seat beside him again. She only crossed her arms and withdrew further from him. He groaned, leaning against the bench and feeling his bruises wince and swirl. “Yes, I would say the same thing to the other two. You’re a bit on the naïve side, Petal. I need to make sure you’re okay with this guy.”

“It’s fine! He invited me! There’s going to be other people around, so I’ll be fine!”

“You get more stubborn by the day, you know that? Humor me…and know that it’s not me thinking less of you, little sister. Bad people exist.” Aelin shifted on the bench slightly, to better reach for and rub Tegan’s back. He felt her body angrily quiver under his finger tips. “If this guy is honest, he wouldn’t invite you back if he thought you were stupid. If he’s a jackass, I want to be there to help you…let me?”

#butthound writes #fanfic #fanfiction #salarian #salarians #mass effect 1 #mass effect #turians #asari #asari oc #turian oc #SASA

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georgeycowell · 6 years

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DIY Carved Wood Wall Art

I’m in love with my newest piece of wall art, and making it was a lot easier than it looks! Check out this power carved wood wall art and tell me where you think it should go.

Hey, friends!

I’ve got a little bit of picture overload for you today. It’s honestly due to a number of factors:

I loved the way my project turned out

I loved that I didn’t have to put on makeup to be in these photos because my face is covered up

Even though my face is covered up, I look like a badass in these photos

This project looks harder to do than it actually is

This is part of a blog/YouTube hop called the #WoodArtChallenge

Don’t know about the Wood Art Challenge yet? Well, in a nutshell, around 30+ of us DIYers/makers (bloggers, Youtubers, Instagrammers, etc.) are all teaming up to present you guys with a single hive mind creative challenge: make a piece of wall art that is SQUARE and made out of WOOD.

Thassit. That’s the challenge. And that means with so many ways to interpret that, there are LOTS of DIY ideas in store for you guys today! Just look to the bottom of this post for others who are participating.

As many of you guys know (unless you’re new here because of the hop thing, in which case hi, stay awhile, we get weird around here… in a good way), I would call myself a woodworking “beginner”. Even though I’ve got plenty of house fixing shenanigans under my belt, there’s a whole other world of power tool fun that I am just now starting to learn more about. And that’s how I found myself using an angle grinder to make a block of wood look like fabric.

Or twisted metal? Or maybe just crumpled paper? I still can’t put my finger on precisely what I think it resembles most, but it definitely doesn’t look like anything I’ve created out of wood before!

It was actually inspired by an artist I follow on Instagram, nugeandwood. My attempt was, of course, pretty small and quick compared to his giant, awe-inducing carved sculpture (which takes anywhere from a few weeks to a couple months to complete). Seriously guys — you’re missing out if you haven’t seen his stuff yet!

The best part of it is, my DIY version doesn’t use a lot of tools to accomplish; the tools you would need to purchase are well within a normal DIY budget too, so this makes it a great beginner’s woodworking project!

What you’ll need:

eye/ear/clothing protection, and a breathing mask (this is a very sawdusty project! don’t breathe all that in!), a hat is good too

1x8x8 poplar board (if you choose another hardwood, keep in mind that hardwood species carve differently, or so I’ve read)

4 1/2″ angle grinder (I bought mine, but there’s a very good chance a neighbor has one… Harbor Freight has them pretty cheap too)

4 1/2″ carbide cup wheel from Harbor Freight (only $10, and no, this is not sponsored)

4 1/2″ sanding disc in 40 or 80 grit (I preferred 40)

lots of sandpaper: extra coarse (around 40 grit), coarse (60-80 grit), medium (100-150 grit), fine (220 grit), extra fine (400 grit)… a lot of this you’ll probably already have, and you can also buy finishing discs for your 4 1/2″ angle grinder if you wish, but you will likely have to hand sand a little

cling wrap

bar clamps

painter’s tape

wood glue

wood stain

sealer

DIY Power Carved Wall Art

1. Cut pieces to size

Cut down the 1×8 poplar into 6 roughly-equal pieces (it’s ok if it’s slightly off). Line them up the way you would like to establish the block you’ll carve into. Be mindful of the layers below; you’ll carve through parts of the top boards to expose lower layers.

Cover your work surface with cling wrap and tape the ends with painter’s tape (to prevent you from gluing your wood block to your work table).

For my version, I had two scrap pieces that had been Kreg Jig’d together for another project I forgot about ages ago. Since these pieces formed a 90-degree angle, they were perfect for using as temporary clamp pieces in the next step.

2. Glue and clamp the entire block together

I glued 2 stacks of 3 pieces each of the poplar, side by side. This sounds confusing, but it’s not. Just make two equal stacks of your poplar pieces and glue them in order. Be sure to cover the layers in between and the side where the two stacks touch with an ample amount of glue.

If you have or make clamp helpers like I did, put painter’s tape on any sides that will touch the glue… just in case.

With the glue still wet, clamp the ever-loving crap out of the wood block so that it will dry as one solid piece. Be sure to clamp the sides together and the layers (clamp vertically and horizontally).

3. Cut to square and sketch your carving

Since the top and bottom ends of the block aren’t perfectly square, now is the time to cut the excess off so you have a truly square block. Sorry, them’s the rules.

I used the back of my block to sketch out a few lines of where I thought “folds” of my make-believe wood fabric would be, along with giving the carving disc a few test runs to make sure I had a good handle on it.

4. Start carving!

With my carbide blade attached, I went to town on my wood block. Gently, at first, then more aggressive.

It made surprisingly quick work of the wood, and I began to learn how to control the curve and carve of the disc to get the shape I wanted.

This part was the quickest and most fun! It really only took an hour or two to carve the bulk of what I wanted. When I felt I had a better handle on how to get the shape, I went in again for a second pass to get things smoother.

5. Sand.

Ugh. This part. No fun. But I highly recommend getting a 40-grit sanding disc to attach to the angle grinder as well. This made getting those first big chunks sanded away to a smoother result. I tried again with the 80-grit one, but it left lots of bumps and I regretted it.

(For those who might suggest the Arbortech Turbo Plane to avoid/reduce all the sanding — I do know of the tool. I think it would be awesome to try one and haven’t yet tried it myself. But for a beginner’s project, it doesn’t make sense to recommend a blade that costly. Usually budget is a reason for DIYing and/or part of the roadblock for why someone might not try to DIY, so I’m not going to recommend it here. For professional woodworkers or those who intend on churning out multiple carved pieces, that would be worth giving a try though.)

6. More sanding.

After trying a few other battery- and corded- assisting tools to sand down the remainder, I had to resort to good ol’ fashioned sandpaper for the rest. I hated this part because I was already tired from carving.

7. Stain and seal.

At first, I was really tempted to go with a bold color, like blue or green, since the grain reminded me of a topographical map. I picked out a brown stain instead, because I was worried that the few lines where I used wood glue to connect pieces would not take stain and/or detract from the rest of the piece. I’m sure with more glue-up practice and better clamps, I could see fewer lines from the glue. Either way, I still loved the result!

8. Hang and admire your work.

After way too much dry time (it rained for two days and things just would. not. dry.), I got fed up and finally hung my piece using some of my favorite hangers (they allow the art to sit flush on the wall). I love it!

For now, it’s hanging in the entryway, but I may move it at some point.

What do you think? What color would you have picked? Would you have put a frame around it? I considered so many possibilities on this one, that the options are still pretty tempting. I’d love to hear your ideas.

P.S. If you’re wondering what those pictures taped to my garage wall are all about, check that out here. K is a real prankster.

Don’t forget, this is a WOOD ART CHALLENGE and a number of other folks are participating, so go check them out!

1) Reality Daydream / 2) 100 Things 2 Do / 3) House Becoming Home / 4) Anika’s DIY Life / 5) My Repurposed Life / 6) 3×3 Custom / 7) One Project Closer / 8) Merrypad / 9) Chatfield Court / 10) Create & Babble / 11) Hazel & Gold / 12) Jen Woodhouse / 13) Sawdust 2 Stitches / 14) Wood Work Life / 15) Remodelaholic / 16) Evan & Katelyn / 17) Jaime Costigio / 18) Pneumatic Addict / 19) Bower Power / 20) Lazy Guy DIY / 21) My Love 2 Create / 22) Addicted 2 DIY / 23) Her ToolBelt / 24) Shades of Blue / 25) Ugly Duckling House / 26) The DIY Village / 27) DIY Huntress / 28) Mr Fix It DIY

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Wood Inlay Ornament with German Glass Glitter

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