#I love using this shitty hard pixel brush I want to give some of my drawings this crusty “I found this crumpled up in the trashbin” feel.

[kitkitart]

have a warmup doodle for christmas!!!

I beat Signalis this year too. got the Promise ending. Will see about replaying for the other endings. I felt like drawing Sybil again lol

[ellavogues]

what did you wish for? - harry styles

summary: long distance has put a strain on harry and yn’s relationship, especially as his birthday is fast approaching

a/n: last repost from my old blog, i still freaking love this. this fic means a lot to me because parts of it was based off of my own life. as always, ily all <3

masterlist

The light turned to dark as she sat by her phone watching reruns of  The Office, waiting for Harry to call her like he did every night. Her  day was particularly bad, everything that could’ve gone wrong went wrong  - from her forgetting her umbrella when it was bucketing down to her  somehow locking her car keys in her car (which led to her incurring a  $200 fee for the roadside assist service getting them out). Then, when  she trudged home in the pouring rain, clothes completely soaked and her socks inside her shoes wet, she received an email informing her the  elevators in her building were out of service. Unluckily for her, she lived on the 16th floor.

All she wanted was to see his smile to  turn her day around. Harry never failed to turn her worst days into good  ones just by being him, but being in a long distance relationship put a  strain on that. Sure, they would visit each other every now and then, but both of their jobs were demanding and meant they couldn’t travel as  much as they wanted to. Harry could travel more than she could, but she  didn’t think it was fair that he’d always have to be the one to hop on a  plane and fly across the world.

The familiar ringtone played and her eyes lit up in excitement. Y/N reached for the phone and answered to hear him yelling  some utterance at his friend, to which his friend responded with something  equally as snide.

A smile crept onto her lips as she lightly  giggled at his attitude to his friend, and she could almost feel them roll her eyes at his snarky remark. Y/N would be lying if she said the  huff of annoyance he let out as he returned his attention to her wasn’t hot, as well as the way he ran his fingers over his stubble then through his curly hair.

“How do you want to celebrate your birthday, Haz?” Y/N  asked softly, not wanting to make his bad mood worse and hoping the  change of subject would make him happy.

Harry sighed, closing his  eyes as he composed his answer. “What’s the point?” His tone wasn’t soft  like hers, nor was it disappointed. It appeared that he was angry that  she brought up the topic. In a matter-of-fact tone, he continued,  “You’re not in London with me, you’re in New York. There’s no point in celebrating with you if you’re not here.”

“We can FaceTime?”

He rolled his eyes at her suggestion as if it was the stupidest thing he had heard, and sarcastically laughed at her.

“What’s  with your attitude, Harry? I want to celebrate with you! It’s not my fucking fault that I can’t be in London!” She frowned, frustrated that the distanc  between them was the topic of conversation, like it always seemed to be.

Harry scoffs in response, the look on his slightly pixelated face dumbfounded  that you would even suggest that it wasn’t your fault. “I have offered  to fly you out to London many times, Y/N. There are plenty of jobs for you  out here that you could apply to and that you know you would get because  you’re so damn good at what you do,” he retorted, tired and irritated.  Though Harry was usually incredibly patient with everyone, especially her, these increasingly frequent conversations had begun to wear him  thin and gradually made him resent FaceTiming her at all, despite still  being completely and utterly in love with her. “You’re being stubborn about moving for no reason.”

They were both quite stubborn individuals, but in the past Harry was usually the one that compromised to make her happy. He valued her happiness over getting his own way.  When they reconnected a year ago, a few years after finishing school, and quickly realised their friendship was based on more-than-friend feelings they faced the problem of living in different countries. Although it seemed like a breeze at first, Harry scoffing at  anyone who claimed long distance would be hard, as their feelings grew  deeper and his visits less frequent, they both longed for a more  physical presence of the other, rather than just virtual. This was  something Harry was absolutely not willing to compromise on. He had his whole life in London, and he knew that he could give her the life she deserves if she  would just take up his offer. He knew she was scared of leaving her  family behind to move in with him, and he understood. Harry tried to keep his cool about this topic, but eventually he became exasperated.

“No  good reason? Why should I be the one to move? Why is it me that has to pack up my entire life just to be with you?’” She scolds him for being so rude, and feels like he’s completely brushing off her feelings. “You are able to work from wherever you are. I am not. you should be the one  to move.”

“Me?” Harry was astounded at was his girlfriend’s  response, and was indigent at her crazy suggestion. “I can not leave London just because you’re scared of leaving the city you’ve been in all your life.  My work is in London, you know this. You know I have to be here to work,  just because I technically could still record in New York does not change that the majority of my work and networks are in London. You’re being a bit dramatic and unfair about this, Y/N. I’m tired of arguing about this all the time.  Goodnight.”

The fact that he hung up on her makes her see red,  blood boiling as she clenched her fists and teeth. He knew what he was  asking of her; to pack up her whole life just to be with him. He was being selfish and unreasonable and she was being exhausted of having  this stupid argument that neither of them ever won every time they talked. She felt like he never considered her friends here in New York,  and that he always brushed off how she felt about the move. This fight  had gradually become more tense as time went on, as they knew that a  decision would eventually have to be made if they wanted their  relationship to grow.

///

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” she claimed.

“I  know you and H had a fight,” Harry's friend responded, the one on the phone earlier. “He told me what  happened and he feels really bad. Like, really. I know he would really appreciate it if you were here for his birthday.”

She sighed,  starting to feel slightly guilty too for the way she reacted. She feels  even more guilty for the fact that they hadn’t spoken at all in the past  3 days, besides a text from Harry simply saying Sorry for hanging up on you.  When Y/N received the text, she was still calming down from their argument, still hurt by the way he made her feel that her career wasn’t  as important as his. She still loved him, and she still misses him, though.

“I can’t afford a ticket, you know that. Not everyone makes a fuck ton of money like you and Haz-”

The friend chuckled softly over the phone before reassuring Y/N, “I’ll  pay for it. Come and surprise him, he’ll feel a lot better and it’ll  give you guys a chance to work it out in person, where you can’t just  hang up on each other.”

Y/N knew that his friend was right, she knew that she and Harry needed a face to face conversation about the future  of their relationship because long distance hadn’t seemed to be working  for them anymore. Their virtual dates, while well thought out and  romantic, weren’t the same as being there in person with him. Being  there and lightly brushing legs as they sat down at the small table,  hearing his laugh without the audio cutting in and out, being able to  hold each other’s hands. It wasn’t the same.

Maybe that is why Y/N and Harry had been arguing so much, because their relationship relied on strong wifi connections and the ability to be on their phones all  day. And it wasn’t enough for either of them anymore.

“Okay, thank you. I’m really grateful you’re doing this for us,” Y/N finally responded, expressing her gratitude.

His friend felt a wave of relief, ecstatic that Harry might finally get out of his shitty mood. Even though he didn’t mean to take out  his annoyances on his friends, and he apologised every single time he  gave them an uncalled for attitude, but it seemed his bad mood was never dissipating. When finally asked what was wrong, bursting through his door in a fit of exasperation, he broke down and told her about  their FaceTime, and all their FaceTimes before it. About how every subject they discussed seemed to lead to the same topic: the distance between them. He admitted he regretted his harsh words, and regretted him acting like he thought his job was more important than hers.

“It’s really not a problem,” his friend promised. “I’ll email you the flight  details and the invite, I can’t wait to see you! It’s been so long!”

“It’s been, like, a month and a half. Not that long.”

“That is so long! I miss you like crazy.”

“I  miss you too,” Y/N giggled.

She flopped back on her bed, grinning from ear to ear and  excited she would finally be able to see her boyfriend again, yet dreading the impending and necessary conversation they would have to have.

//

Y/N had anxiously got out of her Uber when she  arrived at a friend's house for Harry’s surprise party. She was  visibly shaking, stuttering as she said thank you to her driver, nervous  that his reaction wouldn’t be good when seeing her. She was scared that he didn’t want her here anymore after their fight, despite his friend constantly reassuring her that he would be over the moon to see her.

She  knocked on the front door, which his almost immediately answered.  “Hey! Y/N!”

The loud exclamation earned the attention of  the other attendees of the party, all shocked to see Y/N after Harry had repeatedly, and bitterly, told them that she was going to be in New York for his birthday.

“Hey,” Y/N smiled,  greeting everyone. She glanced around the room, seeing the fairy lights  hanging from the ceiling, the island bench covered with a gold table  cloth, the backyard decorated with gold balloons and streamers. “Woah,  the party is super cool! Harry is going to love it.”

“Harry is going to love that you’re here and not in New York.”

When Harry finally arrived, the lights were switched off and  everyone scurried to grab their phones out to film. Y/N waited behind everyone as  the group gathered close together to surprise him when he walked in.

“Oh my god,” Harry spoke. “It smells funny in here.”

She let out a quiet giggle at his comment, but was quick to muffle it before he heard it was her.

When he made it past the gold streamers that blocked the front door from the living area, everyone yelled out SURPRISE,  going crazy and covering Harry with confetti. His face had pure joy,  happiness and gratefulness plastered all over it, ecstatic that his  friends would do something so sweet for his birthday, although he most  likely already knew about the party. He glanced around the room, and  almost had to do a double take when he saw his girlfriend. Y/N had told  him she wouldn’t be able to make it, making him dread his birthday since  he didn’t see a point in celebrating it if it wasn’t with her.

When  the crowd had dispersed, Harry made his way over to her and grabbed her  chin gently, tilting her face up before saying “Hey, love” and kissing her softly. He broke the kiss and pulled his girlfriend into a warm embrace.  She was so glad to see him, in person, to be able to hold his hand and  hug him and just be around him. In person.

They were pulled  out of their moment when Harry’s friend asked if they wanted a  picture, to which Y/N responded no and he responded yes.

“Don’t be shy, love,” he teased, smiling like a cheshire cat as he put her hair  behind her ears. “I want to remember you being here tonight, let’s take the picture.”

It wasn’t long until it was time to cut the cake,  Harry having Y/N by his side the whole night because he didn’t want to  waste a minute he could spend with her. Being with him reminded Y/N why  they were dating, and why she loved him. As the night went on, she felt  the fight that was seemingly big feel less important, because she  realised that she was making excuses as to why she couldn’t move to London  with him. She was being stubborn for no reason, and she noticed that the  only thing holding her back was her. Not her job, she could find a new  one in London, not her family because she barely saw them anyway, not her friends because half of her friends were in London with Harry anyway. When she saw Harry walk through those streamers, it became crystal clear how silly she was  being.

Harry knew what he wanted, and being with her that night just made him more sure. He decided he wasn’t going to stop fighting for  his relationship with her, and if that meant he had to settle down his  requests for her to move to London with him so she felt more comfortable, he would do that. Despite wanting nothing more than to live with her, to  wake up every morning and see her face, to Postmate her favorite coffee every morning, to surprise her with spur-of-the-moment dates every now  and then. He wanted her, and he was willing to wait if that’s what he  needed to do.

After everyone sang happy birthday to him, his arm slung loosely around her, he blew out his candles.

“What did you wish for, H?”

[scoundrels-in-love]

Did you slip in through open doors and sit down, just to look at me like that (every day) | Chapter 2 - Jaime I

Brienne doesn’t mean to lie to her father. She just wants him to stop trying to set her up with men who aren’t Jaime Lannister, whom she’s secretly in love with. Unfortunately, that’s exactly who eagerly inserts himself in the narrative as her fake boyfriend. And her father is coming to King’s Landing in two weeks.

Truly, what could go wrong?

Also on AO3. Still part of @jbmonthlymadness Mutual Pining March.

He is so, so fucked.

Not quite the same way he thought a week ago, but still very much fucked.

Jaime glances over to where Brienne is watching a game on the couch for what feels like the hundredth time this half hour. While that itself isn’t unusual, everything else is. Tenseness in her shoulders he isn’t sure he will lure out with a stupid joke and then slay with even worse one, the way they’ve barely spoken to each other today and that his heart is being harshly kneaded by some huge, clawed animal. He’d say it’s a lion, but considering his House that feels just a little cliche .

Though, according to Elia, he is a walking cliche and a terribly executed one, at that. He sighs, realizes that the beer bottle really isn’t where he’s blindly grabbing for it, and averts his gaze from his fake girlfriend. There is exactly one word too many in that title and it’s neither girl or friend. If only he could convince Brienne of the same.

Jaime has tried , he really has. Gotten up earlier to make sure he can prepare her coffee and go on a jog with her, kissed her goodbye on the cheek, pestered her into having a lunch during work hours and ordered takeout to arrive just after she got home the days he knew he’d be home even later than her, sent her obscure memes about animals he found on some nature activist group on Raventome that he frankly didn’t get but hoped she would and have a good laugh between work and more.

Granted, he does all these things regularly anyway (except the cheek kisses, but he isn’t sure they’re as much of a highlight of the day for her as they are for him), but now it’s daily. And it’s not a bother, like Brienne tries to convince him to think, and Jaime would gladly do it for the rest of the foreseeable future. Even waking an hour earlier, although he likes to think that if they were properly dating, he’d persuade her to explore other workouts they could do in the time without leaving the house.

Elia suggested it’s because she’s stressed about the convention, but Jaime knows better. (“Of course you do, that’s why you suggested to be her fake boyfriend instead of telling her you’ve been head over heels for her for years now.”) No, Brienne’s work has nothing to do with the skittishness in her eyes, the way she freezes when he presses lips to her delightfully reddening cheek, sometimes daring to brush corner of her mouth or lingering a second too long because her proximity makes him a little dizzy, or stumbles over conversations topics as if they are larger than boulders she can easily best when hiking. She doesn’t even shut down his flirtations anymore - instead she looks away and mumbles something or trips into the next topic.

Their new arrangement is the cause, and the realization has been rolling toward him like a house sized morning star down a gentle slope.

“Jaime? Movie’s starting,” subject of his sweet agony and worry calls out and Jaime realizes he has quite literally spaced out. And that perhaps his inner narrator is going a little overboard. Elia would have another laughing fit if she knew.

He grabs the snacks and another beer and presents them to her with a smile, falls heavily in his spot that earns a little bit of glare from Brienne because, of course, she’s concerned for the springs and one of these days he will tell her he can think of more interesting things to wreck their couch with. ‘One of these days’ feels like an awful stretch and ‘a mountainclimb later’ sort of thing, though. He heaves a sigh.

“Everything alright, Jaime?” she asks and he looks at her, armed with a bright smile and an easy no, when they crumble faced with concern that colors the blue of her eyes deeper, yet gilded shade like the last glimpse of sunset paints the sea. Of course Brienne finds time to worry about him, despite seemingly thinking she’s standing between two cannons labelled ‘work’ and ‘fake boyfriend’, ready to shoot.

He wants to pull her close and press a kiss to her furrowed brow so much he can physically feel an alternate reality, one where he’s braver and does just that, manifest.

Unfortunately, in this one Jaime only laughs and plops his head in her lap, facing the TV. “Of course I am, B. But if you’re so worried, you can always pet my head and tell me it’s going to be alright.” He likes it when she says that, the way she sets her jaw mulishly and seems to simply talk it into existence with sheer willpower and kindness. But never for herself, only others.

Brienne stills for a moment, then, much to his relief, makes indigant noise and pushes at his shoulder slightly but with no real force. “I’m not a cushion, Jaime” she tells him and he shifts just so he can grin up at her.

“C’mon, I’ve been a good boyfriend this week, have I not earned one lap cushion coupon? I must use it before it expires.”

“ Fake boyfriend,” she says seriously and Jaime looks at the screen again so she can’t witness his grin shattering like the window of Casterly Rock’s kitchen when he had been six and too eager while playing ball. He might feel even more chastised than after the lecture Tywin had given him, which had left a stone grinding sharp edge in his gut for a week.

“Fine, but I am not going to pet your head. You are not an overgrown housecat, no matter how much you may act as one,” Brienne relents, but by the end of the movie, she brushes back a strand he has shaken into his eyes and halfway through the second movie, she actually runs her hand through his hair and he barely manages to remain still, instead of following her hand like foam graces a wave’s edge.

All things considered, Jaime feels re-energized for the next week and his little war campaign on Brienne’s heart. He likes to think of it as war, though she is not a thing to conquer despite her truly formidable walls, just to trounce the narrative she has set for herself.

Once, before that fatefully shitty night when a pipe in his first own apartment burst and Brienne had invited him to stay over until it was fixed (and then he never really left), they had talked about who they would be in Targaryen and Stark eras, both revealing their dreams about knighthood.

Already knowing her love for ridiculous, historical(ly inaccurate) romance novels, he had joked if she’d not like ballads written about her instead, but Brienne’s face had shuttered and she had reminded him that no one would go to war for her . “I would rather defend the innocent and fight than stay home a sad and unmarried maid,” she had concluded, before going off about Blue Knight and other warrior women of Tarth. Jaime had already known back then that in any lifetime she’d be worthy of many great songs - of love and otherwise. But the bridge of their friendship was tentative still and he had had no intentions of being the one to lay the siege on her heart.

And when he had wanted to, he had already been so deep in the annoying, best friend role and still so utterly not having his shit together he didn’t feel he had the right to start the march. Someone better would surely come along. Except no one has, three years later still, and Brienne seems to think it’s a sign she only deserves a photoshopped suit-hanger and Jaime would rather be pierced endlessly by her glowering and risk her friendship that he treasures above anything he has ever known, than passively let her continue believing that.

For now, he’s only dying because of work, as they are currently quite swamped. It doesn’t help at all that his brain is a little (or a whole lot, but who’s counting) occupied with various Romance-Brienne-So-Hard-She-Doesn’t-Know-What-Hit-Her strategies. His plans for Friday come to immediate stop when he arrives home and finds Brienne fallen asleep at the kitchen table, her laptop’s screensaver of pixelated Kingslayer and Blue Knight from their favorite cartoon bouncing around the screen. He had installed it the first week of living here and despite her initial grumbling, she has never changed or disabled it.

This would be easier if Brienne’s one quirk when working at home wasn’t changing her workspace every few hours, as if it helps her think. It’s one of her most restless habits and typically, Jaime finds it adorable, but now that he has to haul half-asleep Brienne to her room he… Who is kidding, he also finds it endearing.

“Jaime, I can walk,” she scoffs, but leans on him anyway and when he helps her lay down on the bed, her eyes are soft and a little dazed and he thinks of early spring mornings, when nothing but the birds and clouds are awake yet, against the blueness of the sky.

Brienne curls up and he pulls a blanket over her and she gives him a sleepy smile, so warm that the consistent pull toward her feels anchored to the sun itself. He follows it and leans down and presses lips to her forehead. She exhales softly and when he pulls back, her eyes are closed, but there’s an almost sad turn to her lips.

“I really don’t want this to end, Jaime.” Her voice is so quiet he almost doesn’t hear - he wouldn’t if he wasn’t so close. His heart does an odd thing in his chest, something that would make it more of a rope dancer than a lion leaping through a ring of fire.

Jaime brushes a strand of her hair back, gently, in an attempt to reassure what odd fear has burrowed into her heart. He shouldn’t be so happy every time Brienne expresses she doesn’t want to lose him, but even her brilliant light can’t erase generations of carefully cultivated selfishness. “It doesn’t have to.”

“But it will.” And then she nuzzles deeper in the pillow and he knows this is a conversation to be finished (or maybe repeated) when she’s actually awake. Quietly, he walks out of the room and when the door has shut gently, bounces toward the living room with a grin that everyone would tell him begs for a punch.

There is hope for him yet.

[greenishbucket]

We’ll Find a Way to Survive

Lardo and graduation. 1.8k, ao3.

Inspired by @jack-manpain-zimmermann‘s post about Lardo graduating. Hope it was okay to do this! 

It’s a Thursday evening and Lardo is sitting with her legs on her desk, a bowl of tomato rice in her lap that’s been in the fridge for at least four days and is starting to taste kinda funky, wrapped in a hoodie even though it’s warm because whatever. It feels comforting to be wrapped up. She has three texts from her mom and two from her dad that she’s been ignoring for three days, even though they’re just sweet updates on life at home.

Shitty is talking fast on Skype about some asshole in his class. Lardo’s pretty sure it’s the same dick that comes up every week when Shitty has a two-hour class with the dude but he really is a dick so she lets Shitty get it all out even when he’s recycling the same criticisms again. He still looks grey around the eyes and she can see three coffee cups from different stores on his bedside table. His hair needs washing and it’s pretty fucking ridiculous but Lardo can’t look away from how the greasy look falls differently now Shitty hasn’t got a flow.

When Lardo had first cut Shitty’s hair it had been funny at first, chilling in the bathroom while Shitty had showered then brushing his hair out with a comb and hacking it into all the ugliest styles she could think of with threats to leave it like that. He’d laughed and said hockey players were, like, contractually obliged to have ugly as fuck haircuts so she’d better pull through on that.

Neither of them had given voice to the fact Shitty wasn’t going to be a hockey player anymore but they had fallen quiet as Lardo carried on cutting his hair into a respectable attempt at what he’d called a ‘neutral upstanding lawyer bro-do’. When she was done they’d looked in the bathroom mirror, Lardo on a stool for height and her head head poking out over Shitty’s shoulder, and Shitty’s mouth had been shut tight like he didn’t trust himself to speak, his eyes a little watery.

Lardo had wanted to kiss the top of his head, or something, but they weren’t like that yet. Or they were because what was personal space even but Lardo didn’t know if she could do it like they were still just bros, felt like maybe it would come across too heavy. Shitty had barely even looked like himself without the flow, the back and sides of his neck paler and vulnerable looking where they hadn’t seen steady sun in years. It was too much and Lardo hadn’t wanted to start crying about shit so she’d given him a noogie instead and then called him a nerd and the moment had broken.

Now all the feeling about his flow comes rushing back. Graduation is right around the corner and Lardo has literally fuck all planned and she’s fucked it all up and her parents are breathing down her neck about how she hasn’t got a job as a doctor or some shit lined up for after Samwell even though she’s an art major and she misses having Shitty here in the Haus with her to talk some gender shit and smoke with her in the reading room when the stress was too much. Now they’re all growing up and having to move out and on and Shitty won’t be able to grow his flow back for years if ever and Lardo is fucking dreading the end of the year so much because literally what is she going to do?

She’s halfway through a mouthful of tomato rice and Shitty is still ranting about the asshole dude when she realises her throat is almost too tight to swallow and, jeez, she’s actually crying.

“Dude, Lards – are you crying?”

“No,” Lardo says with as much force as she can while crying and talking around a half-chewed bowl of tomato rice. She spits it back into the bowl which is gross but whatever, it tasted weird already and it’s not like she’s sharing the rice with anyone else.

Shitty kindly ignores the rice spitting. “Hey, talk to me, bro. What’s going on?”

“Nothing.”

A sigh. “Lards.”

“Nothing.”

“Lardo, come on.”

“Shits, it’s nothing you can fucking fix, okay? Leave it.”

“For fuck’s sake, I’m not saying let me fix all your problems,” Shitty says, looking if anything more tired and that’s the last thing Lardo wanted. “I’m saying talk to me, let all that negative shit out. Bawling in the middle of me sharing the latest horrors of law school is pretty fucking standard but dude’s been worse and you haven’t started the waterworks so I’m thinking it’s not the current and future state of our legal system that’s got you crying, not that I’d judge you if it was.”

Lardo pushes through the shit-ton of crap that’s been building on her desk for weeks in search of a tissue then wipes her eyes and messily blows her nose when she finds a vaguely clean one. She doesn’t feel better really but the short burst of crying has taken some of the pressure off, reduced the stress to kinda-manageable instead of holy-fuck-what-do-I-do. She takes a long gulp of her water before she starts to talk.

“It’s just like, all this graduation shit that I really don’t wanna deal with. I have no idea what I’m doing and me and Rans used to be, like, bros in that but now even he’s sorted and I’m still not and all the other art kids have had plans since day one because apparently that’s what you’ve gotta have if you get a degree in art and no one told me. I don’t know where I’m supposed to live except move back to my parents which would be fine because I’d be nearer you and they’re my parents, y’know, but they’re all ‘Larissa, we just want what’s best for you but also you gotta do this exact thing that we decided was best’ and ‘Larissa, your art is so interesting but how are you gonna move forward with it’ and like– fuck.”

Lardo’s heart is beating hard against her ribs and her hands are shaking with the adrenaline of letting it all out. She wipes her eyes again and continues, unable to look at the screen but before she can overthink it: “I just miss getting to hang out with you every day and now I won’t even have these guys to hang out with anymore and it’s all gonna suck and I hate it.”

Her room still feels lonely and cold even as the sounds of the Haus carry on all around but it’s a little less than before and Lardo’s chest feels a lot lighter. She scoops up some of her saliva-tomato-rice and shoves it in her mouth, still keeping her eyes on the floorboards.

“Bro,” Shitty says after a moment. When she looks up, his eyebrows are reaching his hairline. “Like, Lards.”

“I know, it’s all my fault because I should’ve organised better but you get why it sucks, right?”

Shitty makes a spluttering noise and says, “Fucking hell, no way. It’s not your fault art is undervalued by capitalist society and you’ve got parents with expectations and shit, I’m saying holy shit, man, you do not need to be getting so tied up with this and if you are you gotta let someone know before you’re choking on your tomato rice.”

“But there’s like a bazillion things I need to sort and I don’t even know how to do any of it,” Lardo says. “Like, how do I just make myself have direction in life and shit?”

Shitty’s leaning in close to the camera, tucked with his knees up on his desk chair and laptop balancing on top judging by the way its shaking every now and again, and Lardo wishes she’d thought ahead to keep this meltdown until they’d been together in person. Talking over Skype is still better than phoning but – not to be a baby – Lardo could do with a hug.

“You gotta just go with the flow, at least half the people graduating don’t know what they’re doing.”

“That’s your advice? Chill? Are you Nursey?”

“Hand on heart, swear to fuck, the dude’s onto something with that one. Why panic?”

Lardo can feel herself getting irritated and she hates that her fuse is so short these days but what does Shitty know about trying to figure out graduation, he got into fucking Harvard Law and his mom is a like a hippie or something and is all about self-actualisation and shit.

“I have no time to figure out all my shit and jobs are already getting back to people and I’ve wasted a fuck-ton of money on a degree I don’t know what to do with,” she says, carefully steady.

“And you’ve got your whole life to figure something out, bro. Graduating is sad and scary as fuck but, let me tell you, it feels amazing. The ‘swawesomest thing to ever happen.”

Lardo sighs. “I know, Shits. I just wanna know what I’m doing.”

Shitty puts the laptop back on his desk, shifts awkwardly in his chair. “Well, yanno. If you wanted you could come split rent with me while you work shit out. Your parents would probably be cool with it and you’re probs overqualified for all the retail jobs and whatever you could get. You could look into grad school shit, too.”

Lardo feels herself tearing up again. “Shits.”

Shitty shrugs like he hasn’t probably thought it over for months and mumbles, “Only if you wanna, man. It’d be pretty fucking great to have you.”

“Shut up, I’d be coming for that crazy good BU painting and sculpture MFA program,” Lardo says, meaning yes yes yes please and thank you.

“Got your back, bro,” Shitty says, meaning love you.

They grin stupidly at each other for a bit over the pixelated screen. Lardo’s still wrapped up in a hoodie, spit-filled decaying rice for dinner, head pulsing with crying and her face itchy with tears and it’s all still unclear as fuck but at least there’s something now. The beginnings of a plan. Lardo still can’t believe sometimes that she really gets to date her best friend, they’re really doing this and it’s as good as she’d ever hoped. It seems stupid now to think she had to go this alone, when Shitty’s sitting with her after a long as fuck day and giving her a reality check.

“God, I wish we could make out now,” she says because sure, romance, but God she wishes they could make out now.

“Oh fuck, me too,” Shitty says, expression still concerned and she knows he’s probs going to be carrying some guilt about not noticing she was feeling bad and he’ll crack the closer to deadlines they get but she’ll have his back too when it all gets too much for him. “When are you visiting again?” he asks.

Lardo pulls out her calendar from her desk of crap and for once the circled graduation day, still some rows down, doesn’t make her feel quite as much tight, sucking anxiety. Her and Shits compare their schedules and she breathes easy.

[supergirl-imagines]

Lena Luthor/you fic part 15

After what had transpired earlier that morning, you had expected to wake up feeling somewhat relaxed.  Instead, the peak of your withdrawal hit you like a ton of bricks. The sickness that had plagued you earlier was nothing compared to the way your stomach lurched and your skin itched upon coming into consciousness.  The light from the window practically seemed to sear your retinas and pain shot from behind your eyes to every inch of your skull.

“Fuck,” you groaned and rolled out of bed, having temporarily forgot about the healing fracture in your leg.  Right before you put weight on it, you managed to remember and used the nightstand to brace yourself.  Bile rose in the back of your throat and you clasped a hand over your mouth.  In a series of wild, desperate hops, you made your way to the bathroom just in time to collapse in front of the toilet and heave up a disturbing amount of bile.  

You had known this was coming.  You had seen people go through this before.  Whatever you had felt on the first day was likely just the result of whatever damage using on an empty stomach had occurred.  This was the real deal.  The drugs had finally left your system.  This was withdrawal.

Gripping the toilet seat so hard your knuckles turned white, you vomited again into the porcelain bowl and fumbled for the handle to flush away the foul smelling liquid.  You hobbled to the sink and washed your mouth out as your breathing shifted from a pant to something calmer.  A new wave of chills caused your teeth to chatter momentarily.  For a brief moment, you thought you’d be sick again.

Lena flashed through your mind as you met your reflection’s gaze.  You wouldn’t be able to hide this from her.  You couldn’t even force yourself to ignore this.  The neurons in your skin continued firing at random rates; eliciting the feeling of prickling bugs crawling all over you.  You shuddered at the visual.

After you were sure you weren’t going to vomit again any time soon, you hopped gingerly back into the bedroom and collapsed back into bed.  A fresh coat of sweat had coated your flesh during your excursion to the bathroom and it caused the sheets to cling to your skin as you slipped back under them.  The feeling made you claustrophobic and you hurried to throw them off again.  It was then that you realized how sore you were; not from the remaining injuries but instead in your joints and muscles.  It was a deep ache that seemed to pulse in slow waves.

You laid there for nearly 20 minutes; shaking and rolling over and over to try to find a position that didn’t make you feel absolutely miserable.  All you could think about was how stupid you had been to hand over that pill bottle so quickly.  You could have handled this on your own.  It wouldn’t have been impossible for you to wean yourself off without Lena knowing.  God, you had been so cowardly in dragging her into it.  

Though you knew it was hopeless, you got onto your crutches any way and began rooting around the room.  Every drawer you searched through held nothing but clothes or jewelry; nothing that would quell the relentless need for medication.  Your hands trembled as they dug through any place that had the potential to be a hiding spot.  Desperation grew as you continued to find nothing.  Lena was too smart to simply put them somewhere secret; they were probably long gone in National City’s sewage system.

Ignoring the pain ricocheting from your ribs, you slipped on your boot and a sneaker.  You knew if you tried to drink this away you’d only end up with your head in the toilet, but cigarettes were a necessity.  Better yet, pot if you could find it.  

It took everything you had to not dry heave in the elevator ride down to the lobby.  The woman who had gotten on one floor below Lena’s reeked of flowery perfume that absolutely churned your stomach.  She gave you an indignant look when you brushed past her in a desperate attempt to get out of the building and into the fresh air.  

The muscles in your arms began to burn as you carelessly crossed the street towards the corner store at the intersection.  A cab honked its horn at you after screeching to a halt several feet away, but your eyes didn’t so much as waiver from the store entrance until you were inside.

“Can I get a pack of Marlboro reds?” you panted out as you approached the counter.  The man working glanced up from the ancient iPhone in his hands and after studying you for a second, he turned around and grabbed your request.

“Anything else?” he grunted and wiped his nose on the sleeve of his faded flannel shirt.

“Uh,” you lowered your voice and leaned across the counter, “you got any bud back there?”

“You ain’t a cop, are you?”

“Pretty far from it.”

“Hmm,” he nodded and after a moment of hesitation, reached beneath the counter and extended his hand.  You produced your wallet and smoothly transitioned the folded Ziploc in between the folds of the cash you had.  

“Let me get some papers too then,” you pulled out a 50 and set it down in place of the cigarettes you picked up.  You pocketed them along with a lighter you pulled off of the rack near the register and added the stack of rolling papers once the store clerk handed them over.  “Keep the change, man.”

“Thanks,” he called after you.  The register clicked and then chimed as you made your way back out onto the street.  You were too occupied in pulling out a cigarette and lighting it to notice the figure standing several meters away that occasionally murmured into a hidden communication device in the cuff of his sleeve.  After a few puffs, the nicotine quelled the way your nerves screamed enough for you to limp back onto the sunlit pavement and retreat back up to Lena’s apartment building like an injured animal returning to its den.  

—————————————————————————————————-

“Ms. Luthor?”

Lena looked away from the spreadsheets in front of her at the entrance of her assistant.

“A package just arrived for you.”

“Thank you, Jess,” she nodded as the secretary set down a plane cardboard box on her desk.  Her office door shut quietly behind Jess as she let herself out and Lena pulled a letter opener from one of her drawers to cut the packaging tape.  She frowned in confusion as a small tablet slid out of the box and onto her keyboard.  The CEO hesitantly picked up the slim device and as she did, the screen came to life.  The pixels lit up into a horrifying image; you with a knife pressed to your throat by a gloved hand.

“Say it.”

The voice was familiar enough to twist Lena’s stomach; she had heard it come from her own laptop in the apartment.  

“Say it!” the man on the video barked again.  The footage was shaky and shot from a downward angle; it was evident from the positioning that you had been pinned to the floor under him.

“No.”

“The sooner you say it, the less this will hurt.”

“Please,” your voice cracked with terrified desperation and Lena let the tablet clatter onto her desk.  A small bead of blood appeared from under the blade and your bruising face contorted with pain.  “I can’t.”

“I’m gonna give you one more chance.  Tell your bitch you don’t love her.”

“Let me go!”

The camera temporarily lost view of you as a struggle occurred and seconds later, it clattered to the floor.  It landed upside-down, giving the lens a reversed view of you being thrown across the room and struck with a gloved fist.  Cries of pain fed through the speakers and seemed to fill Lena’s office with deafening sound.

Lena tapped the screen in front of her with shaking fingers, but the torture video continued to play.  Unable to stomach the sounds of your suffering any longer, she rose from her chair with the tablet in hand and fled to the balcony.  Wind blasted her hair away from her face as she flung the tablet over the railing and watched it fall to the streets below.

It took nearly a minute for Lena to unfreeze and head back inside.  Her mouth was dry and she still felt sick.  Her hands still trembled as she pulled up your name in her phone and called you.  Two rings passed and Lena’s heart began to pound again before you finally picked up.

“Hey.”

“Y/N?  Are you alright?  Where are you?”

“I’m at the apartment,” you sounded confused and it slowed Lena’s pacing in front of her desk.  “What’s wrong?”

“Someone sent something to my office.”

“What?”

“It a tablet or something, with a video from when they hurt you.  You haven’t seen anyth-“

“Lena, slow down.  I’m fine.”

There was something off in your voice and Lena’s heightened paranoia allowed her to pick up on it.  

“You don’t sound fine.  I’m coming home.”

She rose to collect her things and notify Jess that she was leaving.”

“Lena, don’t.  I’m okay; just a little sick.  You can’t afford to miss anymore work and this is just Lillian trying to get in your head.  Everything’s going to be okay,” you assured her.

“What do you mean you’re sick?”

“It’s nothing.  I’m just getting everything out of my system.  Don’t worry about it.”

“You didn’t take anything, did you?”

“Jesus, Lena, no.”

“I’m sorry,” Lena apologized quickly.  She had heard the indignation in your voice and immediately regretted the accusation.  “I’m sorry.  I just…are you sure you’re alright by yourself.”

“I’m fine,” you replied in a short tone and Lena clenched her eyes shut.  “See you in a few hours.”

——————————————————————————————————-

After a shitty joint, you were finally able to lay down without getting overcome with nausea and chills.  You drifted in and out of a restless sleep after hiding your cigarettes and other paraphernalia; overcome with dreams of pills, flashbacks, and Lena.  The suspicion in her voice during her panicked phone call had left you on edge and irritated with both her and yourself.  

If you had wanted to go out and get painkillers, you could have.  Lord knows you had enough connects to do so.  Even without your work phone, you knew where to go and where the right people hung out.  But, that didn’t mean that you would.  You were trying, but that obviously didn’t seem to be enough for her.

———————————————————————————————————-

Lena slipped through her front door at half past 5 o’clock, still shaken from the delivery to her office several hours earlier.  Her apartment was dark and she glanced around anxiously as she slipped off her coat and shoes and set down her bag.  After wandering around for a bit, she found you curled up in the bedroom with a trashcan beside your half of the bed.

“Y/N?” she murmured quietly.  You didn’t stir as she sat down next to you and put a hand on your shoulder.  “Y/N?” Lena repeated.

“Hmm?”

“Are you okay?”

“Mmm.”

“Please don’t be angry with me.  I was just so worried and I—“ Lena’s voice hitched, effectively drawing you out of your attempt to ignore her and go back to sleep.  

“It’s alright,” your voice was hoarse and you rolled over to look up at her.  “I’m sorry.  Come here and sleep for a bit.  It’ll make you feel better.”

“Okay,” Lena stood and you watched as she stripped out of her work clothes.  The dark haired woman slid under the comforter next to you in her underwear and her body heat quickly spread to your cold skin and warmed you.

“I’m sorry about today,” you said quietly.  She settled against you after you wrapped an arm around your waist.  “I’m here, alright?”

“Alright.”

Sorry this took so long!  Lillian Luthor involvement coming soon!

[blackthornass]

Do you have any art tips?

Uhhhhhh Funk im not The Greatest Artist ™ but I’ll try to bestow some Wisdom on you. Keep in mind Art is Subjective and I’m no expert and all that so take everything with a grain of salt but that being said I’ll try to give u Tips and Tricks

-listen so if you have a boring class at school just draw in it. School is great because you have 1. Access to paper at all times 2. Incredibly boring lectures. If you have a study hall that’s the Drawing JACKPOT. Basically what I’m saying is practice all the time when you have energy but like that’s such boring art advice. It’s important but “practice! uwu” is like what people with Natural Art Talent say when they didn’t have to figure everything out from the ground up so it’s kind of aggravating

-There’s gonna be people better than you. Chances are you have a friend who’s better than you because this is Tumblr we all draw. Try Not To Compare Yourself ™ which idk how to do but it’s bad don’t do it

-unless you find a terrible person with worse art than you in which case FUCK DUDE COMPARE YOURSELF TO THEM! THEYRE HORRIBLE AND THEY CANT DRAW FOR SHIT LOOK WHOS LAUGHING NOW!

-“work until your idols become your rivals” is absolute bullshit because your idols are working at it at the same time you are. You fool. You imbecile. I feel like this works better for writing when your idols can become irrelevant or straight up die between you being an aspiring author 8 year old and a tired 30 year old who just wrote The Great American Novel ™ or just kind of. Leave the fandom if you’re writing fanfic. Anyway

-ok that’s all the preachy shit, time for Real Art Advice ™. Keep in mind I do digital cartoony shit with Strong Lineart and cel shading for the most part and I pretty much only draw people so my knowledge is limited to that. if you wanna be a professional artist maybe do other things and Expand your Abilities ™

-Ok first off if you’re using Gimp or Photoshop please love yourself and download Firealpaca or illegally torrent Paint Tool Sai or something. I swear by Firealpaca it cured my depression but like. Photoshop is Trash for drawing. Get Firealpaca it has Line Correction ™

-Keep Line Correction ™ at like. A 5 when you’re sketching and at a 19 (the maximum) when you’re lining, coloring, shading, highlighting, doing literally anything that isn’t sketching

-Sketching digitally can be hard if you’re used to sketching on paper and I find it easier to do a sketch on paper, take a picture of it on my phone or scan it, and line/color it digitally. You do you and figure out what works best

-speaking of which I refused to use sketchbooks until I was Worthy ™ of not drawing on notebook paper and uhhhhhh that’s dumb just get a sketchbook they cost a little more than a notebook at Target it’s not super expensive. Although if you’re not financially in the position to buy a sketchbook anyway, just hoard notebooks from school that you didn’t use much. Bam, that’s your new sketchbook

-the Head Circle Cross Thing and the Spheres For Shoulder, Elbow, and Wrist Thing are good and important and will save you

-hands are hard so use references but bullshit your way through it. eventually they’ll look good (I haven’t gotten there yet)

-HAVE FUN WITH NOSES OH MY GOD. Noses are super fun and cool because there’s, like, infinite variety with them, they can be as long or short, thin or thick, rounded or pointy as you want, you can make them be, like, triangles or circles or more squareish or diamond-shaped, the base of the nose can be about as high or as low on the face as you want, you can make the nostrils prominent or not really there at all, they can add another Layer to a character’s design, oh my goodness noses are so fun. They’re like, severely underrated and oh my god I could gush about how fucking fun noses are

-same with facial expressions. Where you put the pupils and how big they are, how much of the eye is covered by eyelids, the way the eyebrows are, the mouth, tons of other shit. There’s loads of variety and so much you can do and honestly having fun with the facial expression is The Best Part. There’s tons of Face Art Chart Memes floating around, you know the ones, save it to your phone/computer and practice those on your own time it’s fun

-if you don’t know how to do something, avoiding it won’t help you. Just kind of draw around with it in your sketchbook or in a “I’m not posting this” file until you feel confident enough to do it in your Real Projects ™.

-Ok for lining did you know..… it isn’t illegal to erase parts of the lineart to clean it up.… just be careful and draw it back in to the best of your abilities if you erase too far and use a smaller eraser brush/lining brush for this… I know it’s tedious nobody likes lining it’s okay you can do this put on some good music

-use mcfucking references

-eyedrop character’s official colors but adjust said colors based on the color of your background to make them look less funky is my general rule for clothing, I usually pick the hair/skin by myself or from something I’ve already drawn though

-for flats, make sure your lineart is all closed off and there aren’t any “holes” cuz that’ll mess up your coloring

-so how I do flats is I use the magic wand tool to select whatever I want to color, expand selection 3 pixels (in firealpaca you can set it to do this automatically), pick the color I need, turn up the brush to as big as possible, and color it in. It saves the time you’d spend with cleaning up where the color gets outside the lines

-you can do the flats on one layer, but I personally like to do every Object on a different layer so when I do shading, I know what goes on top of what

-if a color is darker than the lineart it looks ugly so pick your line color with caution (or just use black! Unlike shading black lineart tends to go with pretty much everything)

-SHADE YOUR GODDAMN ART. Like, what makes people go “wow holy shit that’s good!” is the shading + highlights, don’t be lazy ya fuck.

-I’d take a break before shading to Refresh Your Eyes ™ but also I constantly forget this is a good idea

-don’t shade with black oh my god. Unless you’re doing Strong Punchy Dramatic Stuff or monochrome black and white stuff, don’t shade with black, and if you’re doing that it’ll probably be drawn into the lineart. Don’t shade with black please we can tell you’re doing it and it looks bad

-highlighting with white isn’t too bad though, especially with the eyes, but it might look too strong in some places

-As a general rule, shading is darker and more saturated, highlighting is lighter and less saturated. Whether it gets warmer or cooler depends a lot on what color or thing you’re shading or what you want the feel of the picture to be and I’m not 100% sure how to do it myself so uh. Trust your gut and change the color if it looks wrong I guess.

-where exactly the shadows or highlights fall depends on lots of things, just kind of. Look at how things work irl maybe? This is the kind of thing that you just have to practice, and it’ll look like shit until suddenly it doesn’t sorry I’m not sure what to say

-One Medium Sized White Dot on a layer above the lineart where the pupil borders the Iris (or the whites of the eyes if you’re like me and you make the pupil and Iris one thing) works for a glint in the eye that makes a person look less dead and more cute. How big you’re gonna make it depends on how adorable you want the person to be

-SMOOTH BORDERS FOR THE SHADING ARE REALLY IMPORTANT IF YOURE DOING CEL SHADING which is why firealpaca is my best friend thanks line smoothing. If you’re doing like. Soft shading or painterly shit or other kinds of shading it’s less Super Important but like. Still be sort of neat. Unless being really messy and sketchy is what you’re going for but even then you still need to be sort of careful

-for simple backgrounds, it’s like. Easy to make it interesting. Add polka dots to the background or a big old square or a gradient or a cloud filter or something the possibilities are endless. Another option is to straight up make it transparent and write a secret message in white on the side. But uhh never do a blank white background at the very least fill it with a solid color

-ok style is kind of hard because I never had to struggle to find my style? I just “drew in my handwriting” so to speak and then if along the way I realized something looked shitty I just changed how I drew it slightly? I guess a thing you could do if you’re in tune enough is look at the styles of things you do like and things you don’t and figure out why you do and don’t like it. “I like how *2010s cartoon* does Eyes!” great take that general concept. “I hate how this shitty yaoi has enormous hands!” great then don’t do that. It’s all Personal Preference my dude style is Your Own Thing

-notes aren’t everything but fuck do they feel nice. Self reblogs are fine but don’t overdo it, I’d say reblog it Twice to account for time zones and tag it as self reblog so as to not be a dick

This got long whoops. That’s all I can think of but I hope this helps it’s All I Know