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welllpthisishappening · 4 years

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By City-Wide Decree

It's a crush.

And in any other situation, that would be it. He'd be able to keep going about his day in normal pining fashion. But nothing about this is normal. Because in the last few minutes Bellamy's complained about shredded cheese and Clarke's making jokes about Bleecker Street and apparently there's some city-wide rule about car services now.

Or: the last thing Bellamy Blake expected during a national health pandemic was being forced to kiss his neighbor.

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Rating: Teen Word Count: Just over 5.6K AN: Hey there, internet. It was really only a matter of time until I wrote some kind of nonsense here. But I do want to say that this story does include COVID-19 stuff, so if that is not for you, I totally get it. That being said, this admittedly very silly nonsense, is very much just that and hopefully it offers a bit of a distraction for a few minutes.

Also on Ao3 if that’s your jam

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He almost drops the box of macaroni in his hand.

The edge stabs his palm, a weird pain that's really more like the general sense of Bellamy’s frustration because just a few seconds ago he witnessed two grown adults glaring at each other over the final few rolls of toilet paper in aisle five. And there aren’t really that many other people in this grocery store, which he supposes is a good thing. Everyone taking social distancing seriously and staying home and he’s got every intention of doing the same, but first he’s got to deal with this.

“Pre-shredded cheese,” he mumbles under his breath, glancing at the box. He’s bent the edge. He hopes he doesn’t break the box. There weren’t many left in that aisle, either. Just the one thing of shells Bellamy had been able to grab and four boxes of whole wheat linguine, which, really, almost offends him more than the idea of pre-shredded cheese.

In a variety of flavors.

And adjectives.

“Cheese should not have adjectives attached to it,” Bellamy continues, and apparently he’s reached the crazy portion of his day.

That also seems to be the standard for most of the world, though. He’d been very close to breaking up the toilet paper fight. So maybe he’s just catching up to everyone else. He needs to go home. He needs to—

“Pick a goddamn cheese,” he says. Whatever sound he makes at his own private conversation isn’t so much a sigh, but rather another round of frustration and possible resignation and taco-flavored cheese can’t be that bad.

Right? Maybe.

He can’t imagine what kind of preservatives are used in taco-flavored cheese. Like..are there even spices involved? There should be spices. When all of this is over he’s going to write a strongly worded letter to the Kraft family.

Bellamy sighs again, drawing more than a few looks and a glare or too, and he’s going to give himself a headache if he keeps rolling his eyes at their current rate. He lunges forward, careful to account for the box of macaroni and the small thing of buttermilk that’s honestly starting to make his fingers go numb and—

An arm moves next to his.

She’s also a little off-balance — a backpack that’s close to bursting and something that might actually be paint streaked across her left cheek, but Bellamy can barely register that when she’s already starting to stumble back, a package of margarine clutched in her hand.

“Oh,” Clarke breathes, eyes going wide and what looks like the first hints of a smile tugging at the ends of her mouth. “Hey, Bell.”

His stomach flies into his throat.

As per usual.

That might be the most normal part of his day so far.

To say that he’s been harboring a pretty monumental crush on Clarke Griffin since she moved into the apartment across the hall from Bellamy would be—

Accurate.

It would be accurate, honestly.

In almost painful fashion.

Six months ago, she showed up with a handful of boxes and paint on her jeans, and a smile that seemed to reverberate through him. In a way where that doesn’t sound insane. Maybe he wasn’t catching up to everyone else. Maybe he was just sprinting past them. Towards crazy.

The kind of crazy that also means he’s stupid into his neighbor.

She’d said hi first that day too. So he offered to help her carry some boxes and she’d promised she’d be ok, but he was stubborn and a little overwhelmed by the very specific color of her eyes and she really did have a lot of stuff and they’d ordered from the Thai place up the street after.

And if that's not the basis for a pretty solid friendship, then Bellamy isn’t sure what is.

Only that’s really all it is. Because, well—Bellamy isn’t sure. Octavia would say he’s being an idiot and to some extent that’s true, but he and Clarke are pretty good friends now and sometimes she curls up on the corner of his couch when she’s stressed about the arts budget of the high school she works at in the Bowery or he kicks on her door when he’s got some new pages he thinks she might like to read and it’s—

Good.

Normal.

In a world that is very quickly spiraling out of control.

He hopes those people didn’t actually start yelling over toilet paper. He’s not sure his brain would be able to cope with that.

“What are you doing here?” Clarke asks, taking another step back and he hadn’t noticed she’s got another bag of art supplies in her left hand.

“Glaring at cheese.” “I’m sorry, what?” “Glaring at cheese,” Bellamy repeats. He nods towards the minimal selection, Clarke’s eyes widening at his admittedly petty reaction to the cheese issue. It should not be an issue. “I—well, I’m running low on some food and I—” He grits his teeth, suddenly hopeful that he’ll be able to melt into the supermarket floor.

That’s probably not hygienic.

“Is it super top secret, then?” Bellamy clicks his tongue. “No, it’s—ok, do you promise not to laugh?” “Absolutely not.” “You look like you staged a battle getting here.” “Nah,” she objects, but there’s a slight blush creeping across her cheeks and it’s probably wrong to feel some kind of victory at that. Just, like—with everything else going on. Flirting should probably be a low priority at this point.

“Then…” “Why are you angry at the cheese?” “Mostly the selection of cheese,” Bellamy admits. “Because I’m supposed to use a very specific kind, so—” “—For what?” “My mom’s mac and cheese recipe.” She gapes at him. Which is not the reaction he was hoping for, really. He’s not sure what would be better, but he had been pretty partial to the blush and he’s positive this is somehow the paint streak’s fault.

Clarke has a habit of getting paint everywhere.

There’s still a stain on his floor from three weeks ago.

“Did you think I was going to laugh at you making your mom’s mac and cheese recipe during an international health pandemic?” Clarke cries. It draws another round of curious stares and one set of incredibly narrow eyes from a woman with a cropped haircut and a cart practically overflowing with paper products.

Clarke sneers. “I might actually fight someone for bulk-buying things. God, people are—” “—The worst?” “Is that why you’d thought I’d laugh at you being adorable?”

Bellamy forgets all about his stomach and its current location in his throat. He’s far more preoccupied with the matter of his exploding heart. Which is not nearly as painful an experience as he would have assumed.

His smile threatens to take up most of his face, muscles unaccustomed to the movement when everything else seems to be going to shit. He hopes standing this long in the dairy aisle doesn’t adversely affect the buttermilk.

That’s a key part of the recipe too.

“Adorable, huh?” “Oh shut up,” Clarke grumbles, kicking her foot out of habit. She’s still a few feet away from him. That probably shouldn’t be disappointing either. In any situation, honestly. “Seriously, are you out here being weird about cheese because—” “—A quick detour out of adorable.” “Only because you keep interrupting me.”

He smiles wider. “When I was a kid, my mom used to make this mac and cheese for every major event. Birthdays, holidays, great grade on a test.” “Because you were a nerd?” “Look who’s interrupting the flow of the story.” “You should consider speeding up your approach” Clarke laughs. “The lady with forty-thousand paper napkins might come back and start pelting you with them for taking so long.” “You think she bought those paper napkins for reasons not related to eating food?” “God.” His shoulders shake a little when he chuckles — another threat to the pasta and his grip on any of the groceries he’s trying very hard to buy. “Moral of the story? I’m stressed out, people continue to be the worst, I saw a bunch of people, including actual grown adults, sitting out in Washington Square like nothing is wrong, so in an attempt to combat the general horribleness of the world I am going to make my mom’s mac and cheese recipe. Only apparently a lot of other people have had the same thought—” “—About your mom’s mac and cheese recipe?”

“Bring the paper napkin lady back here so I can throw stuff at you.” Clarke grins, and the overall brightness of her eyes is probably just a byproduct of the lighting in the dairy aisle of Gristedes. Or so Bellamy will tell himself for the next forty-eight hours.

“Taco cheese does not scream mac and cheese,” he continues. “But I’m also not willing to stage some sort of quest for the appropriate kind of cheddar. Or blocks of cheese.”

“It can’t be shredded cheese?” “Eh. I’m willing to make some sacrifices at this point.” “Wow,” Clarke drawls. “How gallant of you. And you wanted to make it yourself, then? No thoughts of take-out from Murray’s.”

“Don’t insult me like that.” “You have issues with a place that actually has cheese in its name?” “Murray’s Cheese Bar is an overpriced tourist trap that does not need my business to stay in business. I’m sure they’re perfectly fine.” “Murray himself?” “Or whatever corporate chain that place is owned and operated by. Plus, have you ever had their cheese plate? Like—just, it was gross. We got, maybe, half a dozen crackers.”

Clarke presses her lips together, but her laugh still manages to find its way into the six-feet of mandated space between her and Bellamy. “Did Octavia order the cheese plate at Murray’s once?” “And a bottle of chianti.” “Fancy.” “Gross,” Bellamy amends. “I can’t stand red wine.” “Why didn’t I know that you hated Murray’s so much? Do you feel that way about—” “—Most of the places on Bleecker?” Bellamy finishes, ignoring Clarke’s wide-eyed stare at yet another interruption. They have got to get out of this store. The processed air is obviously going to his head. Or, whatever.

Maybe just the state of his heart. “Down with the establishment, huh?” Clarke quips. She absolutely, positively does not rock towards him. Bellamy is sure.

He hums, and maybe his issue really lies in the overall state of his heart. Explosions cannot be healthy. In a biological sense. “Why are you here, then? I’m assuming it’s not just to share the very high opinions you’ve got about the restaurants on Bleecker.” “Ok, that is not what I said at all. I’m not advocating we start doing some kind of Bleecker restaurant crawl when this is all over, even if that one Gelato place on the corner is good.” “Tourist trap.” “Is the oxygen thinner on that high horse you’re riding?” Bellamy scrunches his nose when he makes a vaguely ridiculous noise in the back of his throat, part agreement, part unspoken suggestion to keep talking. “Whatever,” Clarke grumbles. “I am here because I needed butter to make cookies. But there’s only this garbage.”

She brandishes the margarine, arm flung out in front of her and Bellamy refuses to be held accountable for whatever noise he makes at that. Just as ridiculous as the last one. With even more flirting involved.

“I walked down here,” Clarke adds. “There are no other stores open and—” “—Walked from where?” Bellamy asks sharply. He doesn’t mean for the words to come out quite like that, but he’s also not entirely sure what feeling is shooting down either one of his arms.

He’s very glad Octavia isn’t here.

She’d make fun of him.

More so than usual.

“Relax,” Clarke mutters, jerking the bag at her side. “I needed stuff for class, but most of my supplies are still at school and it’s not like I can get into school any time soon, so I went up to Marmorino. Nyko agreed to open for, like, twenty minutes so I could get some new brushes and—” She shrugs, all nonchalance. Like walking twenty blocks to the art supply store in the middle of that previously discussed pandemic so she can keep teaching kids how to paint isn't equal parts absurd and wonderful. “What are you going to paint?” Bellamy asks. “We’re doing life studies. Figured it’d be a good way to get parents involved too. You know, kids paint their mom or their dad or...whatever. Like I said, I just needed a brushes. And butter.”

“Those go hand in hand, huh? You know I have butter.”

Clarke blinks. And her grip on the bag noticeably loosens. “What?” “Butter,” he repeats. “That’s how this all started. I kept opening my fridge and the butter was sitting there, like it was taunting me and—”

“—Can the butter form coherent sentences?” “I’m offering you butter, princess. And mac and cheese. If you want it.”

Another blink.

That’s...Bellamy doesn’t want to consider what that is. Because this is not the first time he’s done this. Or vice versa. Far from it. They both live alone and they’re friends and it’s not that far across the hall, after all.

There’s just not usually an international health pandemic involved.

“Yeah?” Clarke asks softly, like she’s waiting to shout surprise. Or throw paper napkins at them for standing in the dairy aisle for so long.

Bellamy nods. “Yeah. That’s how humanity survives, right? We pool resources and seek out companionship in times of difficulty.” “Something like that, I’m sure.” “Ok, so you leave the gross margarine here and I’ll deal with the taco cheese.” “I have cheddar in my fridge.” Maybe this is a dream. Maybe the after-effects of his exploding heart have left Bellamy hallucinating in the middle of Gristedes. Maybe he got food poisoning from the cheese plate at Murray’s when Octavia visited three weeks ago and he’s only just now discovering it.

Clarke smiles.

“If you want it,” she adds. “I—well, I’d had big plans for grilled cheese quarantines, but there was only block cheese at that point and I haven’t even opened it. Yours for the taking.” He nods slowly, trying to come to terms with all of this. It’s not flirting. No one flirts like this. They shouldn’t flirt like this.

“Yeah,” Bellamy says. “That’d be great. A, uh—COVID team, huh?” Idiot.

Idiot.

He’s sure Octavia knows about this. Somehow. A sixth sense that alerts his younger sister to his overwhelming idiocy and she’d been annoyed that he hadn’t invited Clarke to Murray’s with them.

“Something like that,” Clarke says again. “Ok, then let me pay for a car back home. I don’t know if my shoulders can cope with this backpack and—do not offer to carry this backpack for me,” she adds as soon as Bellamy opens his mouth, “I’ll get the paper napkin lady back here, I swear to God.” “She’d probably call a manager on you.”

Clarke scoffs, but her smile hasn’t changed and Bellamy spends most of the next twenty-four minutes standing in the checkout line thinking only about that. Until Clarke tells the guy in front of them to “stop being a dick” to the cashier when he starts complaining about the lack of bread in aisle two.

The guy doesn’t say anything else after that.

And the cashier definitely mumbles “thanks” when Bellamy puts his slightly bent box of pasta on the conveyor belt.

They don’t spend long waiting for the car — and Bellamy can’t imagine business is exactly booming, which is part of the reason he agreed to this and the rest is entirely selfish and possibly a little stalker’ish and he just likes spending time with Clarke. No matter the world’s collective health situation.

“You two together?” the driver asks, hardly opening the window and it’s not easy to understand what he’s saying.

Bellamy furrows his brows. “Excuse me?” He swings open the door, sliding across the backset and moving his feet so Clarke’s backpack can fit comfortably between them. And he’s not one to pass judgement, particularly not now, but the whole thing looks a bit like something out of a post-apocalyptic movie. There are sheets of plastic wrap stretched between the front seats, the driver wearing gloves and casting impatient glances in his rearview mirror.

Bellamy glances at Clarke’s phone — the driver’s name is Bryan.

“C’mon man,” Bryan presses. “I need an answer.” “I don’t—” Bellamy starts, shaking his head and that dream theory is starting to make more and more sense. “What are you talking about?”

“The rules.” “Ok, that doesn’t clear it up. Can we just go?” “Nope. I need you to tell me. I don’t want my license revoked.” “What the hell are you talking about?” Clarke lets out a soft gasp, eyes going impossibly wide. “Shit. Are you kidding me?” “What part of nope are you guys having a difficult time wrapping your heads around?” Bryan asks. “Listen, I can’t break the law, ok? I—we’re living in crazy times and—” “—Seriously what are you talking about?” Bellamy snaps.

Bryan takes a deep breath, shoulders moving with the effort, and Clarke hasn’t looked Bellamy’s direction in what feels like an eternity. He can’t rationalize the chill that slinks down his spine, a growing dread that threatens to tug him through the backseat or take up residence in between his ribs and he’s got to stop making so many sweeping biological assessments.

There are no facts to back any of this up.

And yet he can’t quite understand the look on Clarke’s face either, teeth digging into her lower lip while she refuses to meet his gaze. “Guys,” Bryan groans. “In or out, yes or not, just—prove it.” Bellamy opens his mouth again, ready to demand answers if need be, but Clarke is already talking and the words don’t process immediately — mandate from the mayor and I totally forgot and only real couples.

She grits her teeth when she finally looks up, a pained expression that almost makes Bellamy shiver. It’s unnaturally warm in the city that afternoon. “Did you not see the press conference?” she mutters. He shakes his head. “I, uh—I totally forgot about it, but ride-share services are still cool and essential, they just...if you share, you have to be a couple.” “Real couple too,” Bryan adds. “That’s what the mayor said.” Clarke squeezes one eye shut. “He did, yeah.”

Bellamy has no idea what’s happening. That’s not hyperbole. He genuinely cannot keep up with the conversation or the events of the last few hours and he’s certain this is now somehow the fault of the paper napkin lady and those toilet paper people and— “So,” Bryan continues, “either prove it or lose it?” “Lose what, exactly?” Bellamy rasps. He doesn’t take his eyes off Clarke, can see just how tight her jaw has gone and the exact moment her tongue flashes between her lips and maybe it would just be better for everyone if he grabbed her backpack and sprinted the fifteen blocks back to their apartment.

Apartment building.

They don’t live in the same apartment.

Seriously, screw the toilet paper people.

“My services,” Bryan answers. “Seriously. I’m not getting fucked over by this. So prove you're a real couple or start walking.” “And how would you like us to do that, exactly?” “Kiss her.” It is several different miracles that Bellamy does not rip down Bryan’s plastic wrap wall right then and there. He considers it, fingers flexing and head at a sudden angle while he glares at the rearview mirror. But something keeps him from actually reacting and it might be Clarke’s soft ok a few inches away.

They are no longer the appropriate six feet apart.

“Wait, what?” Bellamy asks, only marginally disappointed when his voice manages to crack over both words.

Clarke’s smile doesn’t waver, but it shifts slightly — a little cautious and a little nervous and, maybe, a little hopeful. She leans forward, ignoring the goddamn backpack and how straight Bellamy’s spine has gone, breathing quickly like he did run those fifteen blocks. “Just a kiss, right?” she mutters. “Couples kiss. That’s—” “—Real couples,” Bryan amends. Bellamy might strangle Bryan before they get out of this car.

“Right, right, right. And that’s—it’s not a big deal.” Bellamy’s never going to blink again.

“I don’t know how else to double check,” Bryan admits.

Clarke hums, still moving and Bellamy doesn’t flinch when her hand lands on his bent knee. So, points or whatever. Her tongue flashes once more, a soft huff of air that barely reaches his cheek when she’s close enough and this can’t possibly be sanitary.

God, he does not want to be thinking about that now.

Bellamy doesn’t remember bending his neck, but it appears to have happened anyway, curls threatening to fall in his eyes. That’s not right. The top of Clarke’s backpack digs into his chest, what feels like an actual paint brush pushing against the side and he’s going to say something. He is. He’s going to promise that he can walk and he’ll carry the backpack and just meet her at home, but none of the words seem all that interested in coming out of his mouth and his lips pop softly when they part, another bit of movement and a direct violation of social distancing and—

His eyes flutter shut when Clarke kisses him.

With Bryan watching intently.

And it’s not...well, it’s not quite the way Bellamy had always imagined when he’d let himself imagine this. Far more often than he should. It’s stilted and awkward, weird angles and bumped noses. It’s chins jostling for position and that fucking backpack, both of them far too aware of the two bags of groceries at their feet.

Bellamy does his best not to actually sigh — even more frustration, that does not belong in a situation like this, but then his eyes open and the tip of Clarke’s tongue finds his lips and everything kind of spirals after that.

His hand flies up, curling into her hair and pulling her closer, a crunch that is absolutely the box of shells, but the shells can go fuck off for all Bellamy cares. He opens his mouth, lets his head tilt slightly until they find a rhythm that’s a bit like driving at seventy miles an hour on an open highway. That’d be impossible anywhere in New York.

Even under quarantine.

And yet. Bellamy feels like he’s rushing towards something, everything and anything and a variety of words that should be far more overwhelming than they are. He nips at Clarke’s lower lip, lets his nose drag along her cheek until he’s practically tracing that streak of paint and the sound that draws will be branded on every inch of him for the foreseeable future. They only break apart to catch their breath, the rhythm going almost desperate when Clarke’s nails scratch at the back of Bellamy’s neck and—

Bryan coughs.

He might not tip Bryan.

No, he’ll definitely tip Bryan. It’s a fucking pandemic.

Bellamy’s not a total dick.

Just…

“So, uh, cool,” Bryan says, already pulling out onto the street. “Thanks for the, uh—for the demonstration, then.” Clarke jerks back.

And Bellamy feels like he’s been thrown in the East River. Specifically. Because that river is notoriously grosser than the Hudson.

He’s gross.

He twists, trying to put as much space between them as possible when they’re still in Bryan’s silver Toyota Camry. And he doesn’t actually count the minutes that it takes to get back to their building, but it’s awfully close because it seems to take a lifetime and happen far too soon, Clarke mumbling her thanks and hoping Bryan doesn’t have to drive too much in the future and Bellamy doesn’t want to think about the state of that box of shells.

It feels far too literal.

And they don’t rush up the stairs, both Bellamy and Clarke taking even steps as they do their mutual and collective best to stare at their shoes. But then he’s tugging his keys out of his back pocket and the air feels like it’s crackling around him, enough tension to power the island of Manhattan — especially when Clarke follows him inside his apartment.

“So, uh—” she starts, a click of her jaw when she notices the look on Bellamy’s face.

His eyes have started to water, they’re so wide, standing in the middle of his exceptionally tiny living room. “Clarke, I—” “—Oh shit, I forgot the butter.” “Clarke.” “No, no, I should go get the butter, right? Yeah. That’s—shit, I didn’t even think. I...sorry, sorry, it’s—” She shakes her head brusquely, like she’s trying to shake away the awkwardness and Bellamy wishes there weren’t any awkwardness. He wishes he’d asked her out before the world started falling apart.

He’s back in her space in a few more steps, fingers finding her flailing hands. She’s biting her lip again. “You don’t have anything to apologize for.” “No?” “Absolutely not,” Bellamy promises. “I might, though. I just—I didn’t realize what was going on and then—” “I’m going to go get the butter,” Clarke announces, sounding almost disappointed at the idea. She pulls her hands back, a quick hiss of pain when she manages to elbow herself in the side in the process, all but running out of his apartment. Her backpack is still on his couch.

Bellamy doesn’t move. He’s not sure he can, honestly. His legs feel like they’ve locked themselves in place, waiting with those same wide eyes for something he’s not sure he can have because it can’t possibly happen like this and Octavia is probably hysterical on the other side of the country.

And he’s still not counting seconds or minutes, when he finally manages to get his feet to cooperate. So he can wash his hands. Like a responsible adult. Not one who hoards paper products.

The footsteps that return to his still-open door a little slower than usual.

“You didn’t close your door,” Clarke points out. She kicks back, a tremulous smile and Bellamy can’t believe this is going to happen while she’s holding butter. And at least two pounds of flour. He’s not sure what’s going to happen, exactly. “Did you even turn your oven on?” He shakes his head. “No.” “Real fond of that word all of a sudden, aren’t you?”

Bellamy doesn’t think he imagines the edge in her voice, narrowing his eyes slightly like that will help him pick up on certain conversational cues. It doesn’t — especially when Clarke breezes by him, marching into her kitchen like it’s hers or could be hers and that’s probably when he decides. What he wants to happen. “Do you want to make the cookies or the mac and cheese first?” she asks, and that question sounds more determined than any Bellamy’s heard before. Some of the tension in his shoulders disappears.

“Hey, will you talk to me?”

“About something other than our cooking order?” “Yeah,” Bellamy nods. “Definitely about something other than our cooking order.” “I’m really hungry, though.”

His laugh has a certain strangled quality to it, but that may be a product of his heart, recently reformed and re-exploded. As soon as Bellamy realized what kissing Clarke was like. “I’m not going to let you starve,” Bellamy says. “Just—c’mon, look at me at least.”

She doesn’t. She pushes up on her toes instead, stabbing at the buttons on his oven. Bellamy sighs, doing his best not to start proclaiming things, giving voice to the sentiment that’s been bouncing around his soul for the better part of the last six months, and the flour that’s sitting on his minimal counter space is half open.

The top’s rolling up, a haphazard curl to the paper, which only makes it easier to reach his hand inside without Clarke noticing.

And immediately flick his fingers in Clarke’s direction.

Her eyes flash, mouth dropping open, but Bellamy just grins, another flick that leaves flour clinging to Clarke’s cheek and the ends of her hair and she’d never washed that paint streak off.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” she demands.

“Got you to look at me.” “Are you kidding me right now?”

“Am I laughing?”

Clarke groans, trying to shake the flour off. All it does is ensure her hair shifts and the smell of her shampoo takes over most of the air in his kitchen. “You’re an idiot,” she sneers, “that��s what you are. I’m trying to feed us and—” “—You’re really very concerned about that. We’ve got to reorganize this conversation.”

Bellamy needs to get more flour before he can go for the third flick, but that proves to be his undoing. Clarke moves before he can, reflexes that he’d like to have a very serious discussion about eventually and she doesn’t flick. She slams her hand into his chest, a perfectly formed print in the middle of his shirt, twisting the fabric under her like that will make sure the mark stays there.

Things are starting to feel a little literal again.

At least he hopes so.

So, it’s only reasonable and passably romantic to retaliate in kind — letting his flour-covered fingers flutter over Clarke’s hair and one of them gasps, but it’s difficult to figure out when they’re as close as they are, her hands dragging across his side and dangerously close to the top of his jeans and Bellamy’s definitely the one who groans when Clarke works her way under the hem of his shirt.

Clarke beams. Bright and honest and her eyes are blue enough that Bellamy briefly considers getting lost in them for those minutes he’s still refusing to count, but then—

“God, I can’t believe I had to use some stupid marshall law bullshit to kiss you,” he mutters.

“Is marshall law the right term there?” “No, not at all.”

She lets out a shaky laugh, hand staying exactly where it is. “I didn’t think so. And I—this was not some elaborate ruse, just for the record.” “Were you looking for elaborate ruses to make out with me?” “We’ve got to work on your vocabulary. Make out doesn’t seem right either.” “A work in progress.” “For the words, or…” She gasps again. Presumably because Bellamy’s ducking his head and his arm has curled around her middle and it’s easier to kiss her when there isn’t a backpack between them. Bellamy’s hand flattens against the small of Clarke’s back, a curve there that is quite suddenly the only thing he’d like to talk about for the remainder of the day.

And they’re just as good at this as they were in Bryan’s car, but there’s something inherently different about the second go-around. An ease to the angles and the now-familiar rhythm, like they’d simply been waiting for the chance or the opportunity and—

“Maybe make out was an acceptable description,” Clarke mumbles against Bellamy’s mouth. He grins, dropping down so he can kiss her jaw and the side of her neck, only a little pleased with the goosebumps he notices there. “Oh, don’t get smug,” Clarke adds, “that’s not a good look on you.” “That certainly sounds like you’ve got opinions on my looks, actually.”

She clicks her tongue, leaning back to get in his eye line. “Maybe a few.” “A few?” “Bell, c’mon, that’s—” “—I have a very big crush on you.” Clarke blinks. Opens her mouth only to close it. Smiles. Scoffs. Blinks again. And then she’s kissing him and it’s good and great and both of those things feel wrong during a pandemic, but Bellamy assumes there's something to be said for the human spirit. Or whatever.

“Makes for a good story, though,” Clarke says, eyes gone a color Bellamy’s never seen before. “You know, if you’re looking for something to write about.” “You want me to write about us? I write history books.” “Is this not historic?” “Oh, now who’s fishing for compliments,” Bellamy chuckles. Clarke blushes. Again, or still. “I would have liked to kiss you under less dramatic circumstances, but, uh—it also wasn’t the worst first kiss I’ve ever had.” “High praise.” “We’re very good at kissing each other.” “Yeah, I figured we would be.” “Did you just?” Clarke hums. “I’m pretty sure my friends had some kind of pool going. Especially now. When I’d finally give in and just like...attack you with my mouth or something. I talk about you all the time. At school. To Raven. Strangers on the street.” “Strangers on the street?” “I mean, Bryan assumed we were a couple.” “That’s because the mayor required him too,” Bellamy argues. “But, uh—I get the opinionated peanut gallery. O was convinced we were secretly dating when she was here.” “Before or after the chianti?” “Well before.” “Oh,” Clarke says, like that’s somehow surprising or good. Bellamy hopes it’s good. He’d like some good at this point. “You should probably change shirts.” “That sounds like a suggestion to take my shirt off.” “Wow, weird.” Her laugh turns into something far closer to a giggle when he kisses behind her ear, a fact he’s already stored for future reference, but then they’re moving and there are discarded clothes and kicked off shoes and neither one of them bothers to get up when the oven finishes pre-heating.

“I have a crush on you too,” Clarke says, head propped up on her hand. In Bellamy’s bed. They’re in Bellamy’s bed.

Her backpack is still on his couch. “Good,” he grins. “You want to eat, or…” “God, I’d thought you’d never ask.” And they do make both things, Clarke announcing that this is the best mac and cheese I’ve ever had while Bellamy does an absolutely terrible job of stealing cookie batter on the sly. She moves her backpack eventually too — into the corner of his living room. It’s easier that way, something about pandemics and limiting movement and if one of her students notices the change of scenery during their live-streamed class two days later, none of them say anything.

#bellarke ff #bellarke fan fiction #bellarke #bellamy x clarke #the 100 #covidー19 #this is very silly nonsense #like...i cannot possibly overstate that

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benji-cheung · 6 years

Note

Where do you buy your diverse selction of paper? I know of kims crane, and that Amazon has a good selection, but are there any others you can suggest? Thanks.

ive answered this q a few times before, and the real answer is that mostly im just messin around in stationery shops

so like, when im here in America its pretty much jus goin to daiso and picking out anything that looks nice and has like paper that there isnt just like, 2 sheets of. & whenever i go on trips to hong kong i go in a bookstore and binge buy like 12 packs which get me through a couple of years until the next trip. i have a lot of paper now and its probably going to last me like 5 years but i just. keep. buyin it. also sometimes ppl give it to me as an easy gift so i dont even know about that like it just shows up

i went to japan this past summer and bought a bunch there too tho i havent used all that much of it. obviously theyre more likely to have dedicated origami shops

i guess a coupla nice things are like

the double-sided patterned paper / solid color that you can get in 7.5x7.5 like e. lukasheva has used it before in some of her Pro Photos. i got it in hk once idk where you would find that stuff online. like the stars and polka dots and stuff

also the double-sided harmony paper / solid color that ive also seen her use and i bought straight up like 12 packs of. i think the brand i used was maybe not good because there was that one time where i posted that “bullshit” photo and also one time they straight up uh forgot to print the harmony pattern i guess like it was just white on color

one pack i really value is the double-sided foil / solid color but i dont remember where i got it

kraft paper is really nice to fold from but its practically mono. tant is literally mono and also super expensive and doesnt come in big packs but i still use it xoxo

have you ever seen those 40-color packs of kami? theyre pretty nice actually i got one so i could start making 3d rainbows and the quality ended up being pretty nice like people at the origami club at my school use it and i was like lol i recognize that brand it was kind of #validating. im the only person really into modulars there but theres someone related to daniel kwan apparently theyre a whole origami family and they go to conventions and competitions

eah

#j-chartam #a

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fly-pow-bye · 7 years

Text

Powerpuff Girls 2016 - “Clawdad“

Written by: Jake Goldman, Haley Mancini

Written & Storyboarded by: Alicia Chan, Grace Kraft

Directed by: Nick Jennings, Bob Boyle

Advanced apology: this isn’t a Him episode.

If there’s one thing about this Season that’s an improvement over the first one, it’s the all colorful backgrounds of some of the episodes. It’s supposed to signify episodes where all of the girls have a major role. The first season would just give it a pink background. Because girls!

The bad news is that Splitsville is the only one that uses it well. The Last Donnycorn doesn't particularly focus on the girls at all, though they do have the best scenes, and the rainbow background doesn't fit this one, either. Sure, Bubbles and Blossom have seperate roles in the episode as well, something this reboot has trouble with, but the main focus is on Buttercup. Maybe they are trying to hide their favoritism of the rascally little green princess.

Once again, the Powerpuff Girls are going to do something mundane. This week, they go camping at the Utonium family cabin. The sign falls off as soon as the Professor shows up, subtlely foreshadowing the Professor's role in this episode. He seems to be the only one who calls himself a Utonium, at least in this reboot.

The cabin is right next to a giant lake. Buttercup wants to see all of the sea monsters, but the Professor assures her that there's no monsters in the lake. She gets a little disappointed.

Instead, the lake is the home of One Claw McCraw, a giant legendary crawdad. According to legends, he sold one of his claws to Poseidon for eternal glory. The Professor tried to catch him when he was a kid, but failed, as did everyone else who tried. I looked it up, crawdads only live for two years at most, so the legend must be true.

Buttercup immediately takes an interest in catching this one-armed crawdad, not necessarily because she enjoys seafood, but for the glory. Also, there’s a joke about avenging her father, which I only highlight because at least Buttercup sees Professor Utonium as her father. She jumps into a little boat, and Bubbles comes with her as her first mate.

Buttercup goes full Captain Ahab, talking about the seas and their roughness, toughness, and “druffness”. Bubbles isn’t taking it as seriously, even catching her Captain’s hat on the sole fishing pole they share. At least this isn’t the only difference between the two, which is an improvement from certain episodes.

The general conflict with this episode is that Bubbles only wants to catch him and then throw him back safely into the water. Buttercup isn't too pleased with that, as they need to catch the crawdad to get all of the fame, glory, and rock operas.

We get another fantasy sequence of Buttercup catching the legendary crawdad, and getting the press involved. Oh, and she has giant muscles. That seems to be a thing in this reboot: give the Powerpuff Girls big ol' beefy arms. I feel that goes against the whole idea of the Powerpuff Girls, but hey, at least it's an overly idealized fantasy sequence this time. Emphasis on "this time."

I can’t help but notice that the crawdad in her fantasy sequence doesn’t look anything like the picture, which is the only hint Buttercup has to what it looks like, but rather what he actually looks like once we see him. The only exaggeration is that he’s bigger. I guess she’s suddenly getting prescience as her special power, as it certainly isn’t eye lasers.

Back to reality, we get this lovely bit of dialogue, just in case the motivations were not obvious enough.

Buttercup: Catching that endangered animal will definitely prove to the world that how cool I am! I'M THE BAD GIRL!

Bubbles: But catching the crawdad...that's so mean! I'M THE GOOD GIRL!

I might have added a few lines; it just wasn't blatant enough.

Speaking of bad girl, Princess shows up, complete with her rap cliche “crew”, in a solid gold boat. She aspires to catch the crawdad as well, and she also wants to catch it for the glory. She also blows a hole in the girls’ boat, showing that while Buttercup is the bad girl, Princess has to be the worse girl. She doesn’t even need to be here and just have Bubbles and Buttercup fighting over the crawdad, but she does give the episode the only bit of “superhero comedy” in the whole episode.

While all of that goes along, we get a B plot with Blossom and the bumbling father figure that she won’t even share her last name with! The general formula for these scenes: Blossom wants to follow her books. The Professor is too manly to follow rules. The Professor gets hurt. Blossom looks at her “father” with disgust. Lather, rinse, repeat. There's no need for a play by play, I would say I described all of their scenes pretty well. Wasn't that worth the rainbow background in the title card?

I can get that the Professor doesn’t have a lot of experience with the woods. He’s more about chemicals than wildlife study. Then again, his lines seem to indicate that he just wants to prove that he’s a manly forest man who needs no instructions. He can't just be Homer Simpson, he has to be Tim from Home Improvement, too. Just another day in the life of a Sitcom Dad.

Back on the boat, which was fixed with bubble gum, Buttercup is still desperately trying to catch that crawdad. She gets a bite, and I say to myself, "it's going to be a boot, it's going to be a boot", and sure enough, it's a boot. The only "clever" thing they do with that cliche is to...have Bubbles capture it with her cellphone and give Buttercup a weird face?

She gets worse and worse by the minute. She even goes as far as to try to steal one of Bubbles’ pigtails to use as bait, because the water is getting into her head. Also, SHE'S THE BAD GIRL.

As far as weird faces go, this episode has a lot of them. Sure, Buttercup is acting out of line in this episode, but a lot of these are done for no reason. I wouldn’t say any of them are as bad as the scenes in Sister Sitter or The Big Sleep, there’s no relatively bad animated scenes, but it’s overused here. It loses all of the effect of them being out of place, making them pointless at best.

Suddenly, Buttercup's fishing rod catches something. Buttercup and Bubbles start fighting over it, flinging the rod over, revealing that it indeed caught the giant crawdad...which is actually tiny. This is never brought up, as...

...it also lands right into Princess’ hands. We get a whole scene where they chase each other, trying to get that crawdad. This all ends with the crawdad pinching Princess in the nose, Buttercup immediately knocking them out with the only punch thrown in the entire scene, and Buttercup being the victor.

Buttercup starts gloating that she got the legendary crawdad, but she then suddenly realizes that Bubbles was right. No, really, she just gives up being a villain just because the episode wouldn't progress the way they would have wanted to otherwise.

Finally seeing the oppurtunity to become the new villain, Princess turns her boat into a giant robot. We get a Voltron parody, with each rap cliche saying a cliched rap line except for the tiger, who can only roar. Wow, an animal that can't talk in this reboot? No way!

They put the tiger as the second of the crew to appear. One would think that the "funny because it's different" joke should be the one placed last, but they had different plans.

Bubbles: Yeah, let's get him! (holds up golden spear) AAAAAAAAAAAAHH!

Princess: Go away, Bubbles! (launches Bubbles into stratosphere with ejection seat)

Wait, I thought Bubbles didn’t want to get the crawdad. The episode can not even be consistent with who should be the villain! I’ll take an episode with one pointless, terrible scene with Bubbles over an episode where Bubbles is terrible all the time, but I still don’t like or get it.

Of course, this giant robot gets treated like something Buttercup can’t handle at all. In the very last episode, she was beating up a monster the same size as this robot with no issue whatsoever. The power of lots of money, maybe?

Before a dreaded Robot Punch, Girl Down scene could happen, the Professor suddenly shows up covered in grass. Princess and her crew immediately think he’s Bigfoot. Just like that episode of the Simpsons! I know the Simpsons did everything, but still, that's too much to not be a coincidence. He gets chased off, and he apparently survives the ordeal. We don't see what happens; Princess just disappears.

In the end, Buttercup saves the crawdad, thanks to the Bumble Ex Machina. There’s only one thing to do now, as we make a cutaway from the titular Claw Dad to...

A pan over a burning fire. I’ll admit, that segway was a little clever.

They do reveal that One Claw McCraw was set free, cursed with the “glory” of eternal life instead of finally getting the ending he wished. Instead, he has to suffer, seeing all of his crawdad friends die over and over again. Why, Buttercup, why? Look, I’m squeezing as much water out of this stone as I can!

Does the title fit?

It’s a crawdad with one claw, therefore, Claw Dad. The claw doesn’t really factor into the plot besides giving the crawdad its specialty, but it’s better than Rainy Day in this regard.

How does it stack up?

This episode doesn’t do anything too wrong. It's just slightly better than Cheep Thrills; it tries to be cute, but it doesn't really entertain too well beyond that.

Next time, Reboot Jojo returns! Hooray, I say in monotone.

Next time, a birthday bash!

← Splitsville ☆ Super Sweet 6 →

#fpb ppg 2016 #ppg 2016 #powerpuff girls #cartoon network #fpb reviews

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mobileautorepairpros · 5 years

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Over The Edge: Automotive Force Field

Our Over The Edge guy has been known to drive up and down the coast in a single weekend, whether it’s for kicks or to pick up the newest addition to his motorized stable. In the past, Zach Maskell used painters tape to protect the finish on his more treasured vehicles while on the road. But recently he ventured into one shop that installs an invisible force field.

ZACH MASKELL: If there’s one thing that we cannot get enough of. It is protection for our cars. Today we’re in Forest Hill, Maryland at A-Plus Auto Styling. And we’re going to figure out how you can get a protective barrier for our paint.

A-Plus is a firm that specializes in preservation of your ride. From window tint, to full color vinyl wraps, and the ever so popular… Paint Protection Film, also known as PPF. This is a thermoplastic urethane film which is applied over paint.

PPF can protect against rock chips and scratches. Now if you want to cover the entire car, in our area it’s about $6,000. To do the front impact zone, it’s about 2 grand. And Xpel which guarantees it for 10 years.

ZAC RITTER: We had a customer with an F type have a driver scuff the bumper of his car leaving a parking lot one day. When he pulled the wrap off there was really no damage to the paint itself. It looked like there was, it was pretty bad when the film was still on there but we pulled it off and to both our surprises all we had to do was essentially replace the film.

ZACH MASKELL: This blotter machine can precisely cut the PPF for many cars, so it’s not usually hand cut.

NICK KRAFT: These precut kits.There’s two different mirror designs.I cut the one with the smaller mirror hole out. Knowing that I’m going to tuck it as close to the mirror stalk as possible and not have any gap there so what I’m doing now is just trying to position it exactly where I want it.

ZACH MASKELL: While color vinyl is installed completely dry, PPF is a polar opposite.

NICK KRAFT: The idea is to not have any dry spots. Any dry spots can create silvering or defects in the actual glue so, got to make sure everything’s nice and wet.

ZACH MASKELL: The guys are making sure there’s no bubbles and no contaminant, as this is like holding a giant piece of fly paper. Then the water is squeegeed out and the edges sit to dry.

ZAC RITTER: It’s not the thickest thing. If it were too thick you would lose the ability to keep it from being visible. So I think they found a perfect niche with it about its effectiveness and aesthetic qualities.

NICK KRAFT: One of our favorite properties of the paint protection film is the self-healing top which. Which helps with light scratches, any swirls that you may get, maybe with a dirt microfiber.

ZACH MASKELL: The suns heat alone will pull these scratches out. But, you can use a heat gun to expedite that process.

NICK KRAFT: We’re not going to go too heavy with it but we’re going to basically make an area that’s got some scratches on it.

ZACH MASKELL: Voila! Magic. That’s how this Audi R8 owner feels… saying you can’t see even the edges of the film… which has kept his paint spick and span.

MIKE WYSONG: People compliment me all the time about how new the car looks even though the car is a couple of model years old. Aside from that that the car’s also easy to take care of and maintain.

ZAC RITTER: After you get the car PPF’d there really isn’t a whole lot you have to worry about maintenance wise. You can pretty much treat it as though you would have treated the car originally before you had the film installed. You can wax the car, you can get the car ceramic coated. Those two things, not in combination but either or will help prolong the quality of the film itself.

ZACH MASKELL: Don’t directly spray edges with a pressure washer. And while you can take it through the car wash, touchless is preferred. Now, it takes about 40 hours to properly install PFF over an entire car. So, it’s not a one day thing. And, ask around to make sure the shop you choose has a good reputation. But, for anyone who really wants to keep their car looking like new, PFF is a worthy investment.

from MotorWeek Entries http://bit.ly/2SMYFjI via IFTTT

#IFTTT #MotorWeek Entries

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queenell50-stuff · 7 years

Text

Welcome to week 6 of the 52-week MFRW blog challenge. Each week will be a new topic. Isn’t that fun?

This week’s prompt: My hobbies.

I have more hobbies than I have time for, but I’ll share just a few in order of time actually spent doing them.

Bullet Journaling – OK, technically this may or may not be considered a hobby. It’s a productivity tool but it’s also an outlet for artistic expression. I haven’t shared any of my pages for a while because they tend to look alike. For the most part, my daily entries consist of my to do list, maybe a quote or scripture, and a few personal notes. There are days when I have a lot more on my mind and my journaling can be long winded.

First bujo cover – This is the 33 cent comp book. Notice the tabs, these are necessary for me.

From my humble beginnings last year, a 33 cent clearance 5 x 8 composition notebook, to the current one – a dotted Leuchterm that was received as a gift, my bullet journal keeps me on track, allows a little artistic expression and allows a place to enter my thoughts.

A few pages are fancy schmancy, artsy fartsy but most are repetitive dailies. You can make your journal however you want. This is mine and I do what I want with it. I can color the page entirely black if I feel like it. I don’t see what that would accomplish, but I could if I wanted to.

Below is a quick gallery of a few pages. The cover is red, not sure why it looks pink in this photo.

#gallery-0-19 { margin: auto; } #gallery-0-19 .gallery-item { float: left; margin-top: 10px; text-align: center; width: 33%; } #gallery-0-19 img { border: 2px solid #cfcfcf; } #gallery-0-19 .gallery-caption { margin-left: 0; } /* see gallery_shortcode() in wp-includes/media.php */

New cover

I liked how this one turned out.

Got the chance to doodle while I was waiting on hold.

I really liked this one aspect of a weekly spread, why haven’t I incorporated this???

A bit ofself motivation, trying to lift myself up out of a mirey place.

A typical layout, just a bit of this and that.

I got a new stamp that I played around with. I found a few stamps that I have been using regularly, one for a block to date my pages, a little car to indicate errand days, a book to designate online learning, etc.

2. Crochet – I have a multitude of projects from quick cup cozies to lengthy projects like afghans. I am currently working on 2 projects – a manghan – basically an afghan in charcoal grey for my husband ‘that is larger than a regular afghan so that it will cover his feet and still be able to tuck in under his chin, in a basic design that doesn’t have big holes that his toes can go through and not in some god-awful color that looks like someone couldn’t decide’ was his request, and a market bag which I am freestyling. I have to admit, I’ve ripped this one out a few times already. It’s currently about a third finished.

#gallery-0-20 { margin: auto; } #gallery-0-20 .gallery-item { float: left; margin-top: 10px; text-align: center; width: 33%; } #gallery-0-20 img { border: 2px solid #cfcfcf; } #gallery-0-20 .gallery-caption { margin-left: 0; } /* see gallery_shortcode() in wp-includes/media.php */

A shrug for a gift.

The front of the shrug.

Flower detail.

Cowl scarf.

A variety of scarves, traditional arm knit infinity scarves, and crochet infinity scarves.

Cup cozies

3. Furniture refinishing/repurposing. I haven’t been as diligent in taking photos of my before and after projects, but I do have a few. We find odd pieces at auction or yard sales. I can’t ay that I look for any specific style, it’s more a matter of what grabs my attention.

This metal framed vanity chair was literally on the side of the road. Most people would look at that and say good riddance. No, not me. I look at that and see the bones of something more. So after a little bit of work, and a lot of elbow grease to polish the metal, I transformed it into this:

I’m not a fan of orange, but the fabric popped and it sold for $40.00. Not bad for a scavenge, using up a bit of leftover padding, and a half yard of fabric.

Here are a few of my finds:

#gallery-0-21 { margin: auto; } #gallery-0-21 .gallery-item { float: left; margin-top: 10px; text-align: center; width: 33%; } #gallery-0-21 img { border: 2px solid #cfcfcf; } #gallery-0-21 .gallery-caption { margin-left: 0; } /* see gallery_shortcode() in wp-includes/media.php */

Old fan blades and a Table leg + whimsical glow in the dark dragon fly.

Old dresser drawers = display shelves.

dusty can barrel chairs cleaned up – decided that I liked them too much to sell!

This old mirror was in a ‘lot’ of stuff for $5.00!

4. Crafts – all of the crafts that don’t easily fit within crocheting, refinishing, or journaling. This includes sewing which I will do again when I can replace my sewing machine that died after twenty some odd years. As part of my ofice space that I am going to carve out in our basement, a craft area is going to be part of that plan.

I’ve been scouring Pinterest on the best way to handle storage in this area. I need an area for items that will go into a resale shop, and an area for hand crafted items also. I have to admit, before I can get the clean, tidy work area that I desire I will have to purge my stash and start over. It’s difficult to create a clean area when you are overrun with stuff.

5. Gardening – I didn’t do much last year, and I really missed it. I love having fresh produce from the garden. I love planting the seedlings and watching it grow. I can’t deny I love the fresh produce that I know is organic as well. This month is the planning stage of gardening. I’m plotting out on graph paper to plan what seeds and starts I will need for my garden area. Yes, I’m a geek.

Managing time for all of these things however, that’s another story.

I wonder if there are hobbies that don’t cost money. It seems everything I do ends up costing money in some way. At least the refinishing/repurposing is getting a return! Do you have any hobbies?

Don’t forget this is a blog hop. Anyone can join at any point in the MFRW 52 week challenge… Click here. Make sure you check out some of the other authors.

Write on my friends, write on!

Ellie

Quotidiandose

Hobbies I have (or wish I had)

Garden Tour–Sara Walter Ellwood

Robin Michaela – Hobby? When Do I Have Time?

My Hobbies Aren’t What They Used to Be

Adriana Kraft

Hobbies & Things That Are Kinda Hobbies—Not Really

Oh, yea, I remember hobbies. . .

What’s a Hobby?

10.

I Should Be Reading

11.

Exploring the World by Linda McLaughlin

12.

Hobby or Body Snatching?

13.

Hobbies: When Do I find Time?

14.

My Precious

15.

Baker, Yogi, Car Girl, Spy

16.

Obsessions! #MFRWAuthor

17.

Heather Boyd: Hobby Habits and hangups

18.

Things I Do When I’m Not Writing

19.

Shari Elder (Hobbies? I wish)

20.

Picture Perfect Art by Henderson

21.

In My Spare Time

22.

Thats not trash~Thats Crafts

Crafty Author #MFRWauthor

Welcome to week 6 of the 52-week MFRW blog challenge. Each week will be a new topic.

Crafty Author #MFRWauthor Welcome to week 6 of the 52-week MFRW blog challenge. Each week will be a new topic.

#bloghop #MFRW #52 week challenge #bullet journal #crafts #crochet #Ellie Mack #gardening #goals #Hobbies #life of a writer #recycling #repurposed

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authorelliemack · 7 years

Text

Welcome to week 6 of the 52-week MFRW blog challenge. Each week will be a new topic. Isn’t that fun?

This week’s prompt: My hobbies.

I have more hobbies than I have time for, but I’ll share just a few in order of time actually spent doing them.

First bujo cover – This is the 33 cent comp book. Notice the tabs, these are necessary for me.

Below is a quick gallery of a few pages. The cover is red, not sure why it looks pink in this photo.

New cover

I liked how this one turned out.

Got the chance to doodle while I was waiting on hold.

I really liked this one aspect of a weekly spread, why haven’t I incorporated this???

A bit ofself motivation, trying to lift myself up out of a mirey place.

A typical layout, just a bit of this and that.

A shrug for a gift.

The front of the shrug.

Flower detail.

Cowl scarf.

A variety of scarves, traditional arm knit infinity scarves, and crochet infinity scarves.

Cup cozies

I’m not a fan of orange, but the fabric popped and it sold for $40.00. Not bad for a scavenge, using up a bit of leftover padding, and a half yard of fabric.

Here are a few of my finds:

Old fan blades and a Table leg + whimsical glow in the dark dragon fly.

Old dresser drawers = display shelves.

dusty can barrel chairs cleaned up – decided that I liked them too much to sell!

This old mirror was in a ‘lot’ of stuff for $5.00!

Managing time for all of these things however, that’s another story.

I wonder if there are hobbies that don’t cost money. It seems everything I do ends up costing money in some way. At least the refinishing/repurposing is getting a return! Do you have any hobbies?

Don’t forget this is a blog hop. Anyone can join at any point in the MFRW 52 week challenge… Click here. Make sure you check out some of the other authors.

Write on my friends, write on!

Ellie

Quotidiandose

Hobbies I have (or wish I had)

Garden Tour–Sara Walter Ellwood

Robin Michaela – Hobby? When Do I Have Time?

My Hobbies Aren’t What They Used to Be

Adriana Kraft

Hobbies & Things That Are Kinda Hobbies—Not Really

Oh, yea, I remember hobbies. . .

What’s a Hobby?

10.

I Should Be Reading

11.

Exploring the World by Linda McLaughlin

12.

Hobby or Body Snatching?

13.

Hobbies: When Do I find Time?

14.

My Precious

15.

Baker, Yogi, Car Girl, Spy

16.

Obsessions! #MFRWAuthor

17.

Heather Boyd: Hobby Habits and hangups

18.

Things I Do When I’m Not Writing

19.

Shari Elder (Hobbies? I wish)

20.

Picture Perfect Art by Henderson

21.

In My Spare Time

22.

Thats not trash~Thats Crafts

Crafty Author #MFRWauthor Welcome to week 6 of the 52-week MFRW blog challenge. Each week will be a new topic.

#bloghop #MFRW #52 week challenge #bullet journal #crafts #crochet #Ellie Mack #gardening #goals #Hobbies #life of a writer #recycling #repurposed

0 notes