#i just dont like how the pencil smudges in sketchbooks | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

eleventeenratsdoesarts · 1 year ago

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Hey hey

If you have trouble with perfectionism in sketches

Try using lined paper instead of blank

Use a pen instead of a pencil

Doodle little things you don’t usually focus on

Pun on a song you like or connect to something

Throw in colours - nothing specific, just colours

There’s no guarantee that all or any of this will work, but it does most of the times for me and if you haven’t tried it, maybe give it a go

You don’t have to turn every sketch into a full piece

You don’t have to use the “correct” paper or stationary

You don’t have to even draw something that is a thing

I default to drawing microwaves with pen and sketchy lines on notebook paper when im feeling brunt out but i need to draw - to do something

I sketch slices of cake inside of my microwaves because i like drawing triangular shapes and i dont get to do it enough in my usual art

I have entire pages in several sketchbooks that are just covered in swirling lines of crayon in every colour in the box

I have sticky notes painted with smudged fingerprints of pen ink, gradients and lines and backgrounds for thousands of eyes

I look back at all of my art and I like the ones that are finished and “done well”

I like that it looks “good” and I like it when people tell me that

Those arts make me feel accomplished and worthy

But I love the sketches that litter school assignments, that sticky notes that are pasted over top of my notebooks

I look back at a crayon covered page and I feel the bits of wax and the indentation on the paper

I remember drawing on that page when I was overwhelmed and angry and just wanted to run and hide from the noise and the people

I remember how much fun I had throwing random lines of pen on a paper and turning them into mushrooms and fungi - the lockscreen of my phone centers on that page, on the one mushroom I coloured a bright red

Those sketches and little bits and pieces that aren’t “finished” or “perfect” or even “good” make me feel like I exist

Like I am someone who feels and thinks and knows

I like my perfect art, but I love my imperfect ones more

When I go into a drawing thinking that I want to make it perfect, that I want to hold it up to friend and people here I start to worry that it will never be good enough, that there will always be someone who has done it better. When I worry about making “perfect” art I stop enjoying making the art and start to only think about finishing it

When I go into a sketch on lined paper, with a pen or crayon or sticky note, I am not thinking about holding that drawing out for someone else. Whether im drawing with an emotion or just to draw I am not waiting with bated breath to see how someone else reacts to my art. I am drawing for myself. And it doesn’t have to be perfect because it was never meant to be -i could throw it away when im halfway through if i want to- im not waiting for someone else to judge it, i start not even wanting anyone else to see it

But I finish the little sketches and the big messes liking them far more than the “perfect” masterpieces.

I enjoy making them

And a lot of the time I want to show them to someone

I make “perfect” art for others

I make “imperfect” art for myself

And if imperfect art is microwaving slices of cake and setting trees on fire and covering paper in thumbprint ink blotches

So be it

go microwave a cake, artists

#perfectionism #artblr #rat.txt #art tips #put your fucking cake in the microwave motherfucker #mental health #<- something i have very little of

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pathos-logical · 5 years ago

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One Picture, a Thousand Words

Roman is a wonder that cannot be put to words, Logan a marvel that ink cannot capture. They try anyway.

Hoo, this sure was a labor of love! Love because I love @bleepblopbloop56 with all my heart and labor because HOLY HECK WAS THIS HARD TO WRITE. But never mind any of that, because HAPPY BIRTHDAY, my friend!!! I absolutely adore you, and I hope your year is as fantastic as you are!!!

Trigger warnings: Food mention; a joking mention of hallucinations. I think that’s it, but please tell me if I need to add something!!

There are a thousand words Logan could use to describe Roman. He would pull a Shakespeare and invent a thousand more if it meant finding a word that could accurately chronicle the tapestry of Roman, all colorful patches and carefully stitched seams. But Logan is no artist, and his words seem an inadequate medium.

Beautiful, he thinks and immediately discards. That is too obvious, the truth of it plain to see. Lovely is- better. More intimate. But too soft, perhaps, for Roman’s flame-edged hair, the bronze of his skin and the steel in his spine.

He has tried countless words, none of them quite right. Larger-than-life. (And no, his charisma and magnetic smile absolutely did not excuse the way he didn’t seem to know how to shut up.) Captivating. (Roman did have a way with words, when he wasn’t being an idiot.) Extraordinary. (He was quite the artist and actor.) Brilliant. (Again, Roman was rather intelligent when it came down to it.) Perfect. (Technically impossible. But.)

All those words he longs to say, not one spoken aloud.

(Or- once. Alone in his room, he had tried the shape of mine on his mouth, thought about how it tasted on his lips and imagined the look in Roman’s eyes if he ever dared to say it in front of him. Once, and never again.)

Oh, he wishes. But Logan has always been better with words on the page than to other people.

Well, he thinks, looking down at the piece of paper in his hands, I suppose that’s what this is for. His eyes rove over the paper, skimming over phrases without really taking them in. If he reads it he’ll try to fix it, and at this point there’s too much of his heart in the words for him to change them.

He looks at the last paragraph. It’s the kind of declaration he sneers at in the romance novels Roman so adores, the kind of thing he would’ve sneered at barely years ago. But Roman always did have a way of making him question things he’d taken for postulates- himself included.

I tried, over the course of this letter, to pin down what exactly about you has drawn me so irrevocably into your orbit and left me floundering in unfamiliar space. However, as the length of this might indicate, I soon discovered that I could not.

You know me. It is very rare that I find myself lost for words. But I find myself unable to find the correct words to describe you, or even the correct words. Not because I have run out of things to say, or even because you have left me speechless, but because I could use a whole dictionary of love letters and fail to find the words that capture the way your eyes shine in the light when you laugh at your own jokes, and all the cliches in the world cannot express how I feel about every mundane, breathtaking thing about you.

But despite all that, I have three words for you, Roman, and I suppose there is no better day to deliver them than today (as of the day you receive this, at least).

I love you.

Roman has a sketchbook no one but him has ever seen.

The drawings are all in pencil, and Roman aches to paint them, to mix his colors until he finds shades that will truly bring them to life. But Logan is a peculiar kind of monochrome, with his navy hair and black polo shirts and countless blue ties, and Roman fears that no amount of paint could do that justice.

It’s undeniable that the warm brown of Logan’s eyes is a color he itches to find in a colored pencil, that the almond of his skin is one he longs to see redden at his touch. But those aren’t the things he really wants to capture when he puts pencil to paper anyway. No, when he draws Logan, his focus is on the subtle gleam that comes to his eyes when he speaks about something he’s passionate about, the curl of his lips when his emotionless facade breaks at some stupid comment Roman made.

Roman wishes he could show Logan the notebook, sometimes, the days when his longing overpowers his surety in the fact that it could never be reciprocated. He imagines coffee-colored eyes looking through the pages with delight, taking in the devotion clear in the meticulous lines. He pictures the hands he’s spent hours perfecting skimming over paper, taking care not to smudge the lead.

(He sees disgust settling in the curve of Logan’s lips and rejection showing in the set of his shoulders, and he pushes away the thought and hides his notebook under his pillow, pretends that he hasn’t memorized the shape of Logan’s smile.)

But he doesn’t think of any of that today. It’s Valentine’s Day, and Roman is dressed for it. He dons his armor that he definitely did not spend a whole two hours deliberating on and sets out the door armed with a kind of desperate false bravado, which is immediately undermined by how he jumps at his roommate Patton’s encouraging “go get ‘im, tiger!” shouted through the walls.

Still scowling at the door behind him, Roman briefly debates how desperate a text will make him sound before deciding, screw it.

Hey, we still on for lunch at Cream of the Cup?

The reply is prompt, as always, and Roman makes a futile attempt at smothering the smile he knows is blossoming across his lips.

>> Of course.

I’ll see you then!

Roman can so do this.

Virgil I can’t do this

>> why not?? youve been planning this for weeks, youll bbe fine

actually, knowing you, orobably months

Jfkdkfkfkfk

it’s

LOGAN

>> im aware, weve only veen best friends for years now

…

if yoy send a long rambling text ahout how wonderful logan is and how you dont deserve hkm im gonna lose it

roman i swear to god

HE’S JUST SO SMART AND AMAZING AND I’M JUST ME I DON’T DESERVE HIM AND WHAT IF I SCREW THINGS UP BETWEEN US FOREVER AND HE HATES ME OR WHAT IF IT’S AWKWARD I’M OKAY WITH JUST BEING FRIENDS REALLY HE PROBABLY DOESN’T EVEN LIKE ME THAT WAY ANYWAY I MEAN WHY WOULD HE

Whoops sorry

>> youre not

I’m not

But

AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH

>> okay roman, listen up, because I’m only gonna say this once.

first of all, cut it with the self-deprecating crap. one, that’s my thing. and two, I WILL pull a patton and fight you.

stop doubting yourself, it doesn’t suit you

I might not have known you as long as I’ve known logan, but I know

I can see you typing. shut up.

maybe I haven’t known you as long as I’ve known Logan, but I do know you’re a good guy, and you /clearly/ love him

KSKFKFKKFKGD W H A T

>> yes, everyone knows, no, Logan does not, LET ME FINISH

it means a LOT to him that you actually read the articles he sends you about mars rovers at 3 am and that you don’t tell him he’s annoying for infodumping about alpha centauri or whatever star system he’s planning to go to and that you deal with his hypocrisy about sleep schedules and his general inability to do emotions

also, knowing him for years means I know his type, and trust me, you’re it

and even if by some miracle he doesn’t like you back, you guys are too close to ruin your friendship. okay? so however this ends, I promise you’ll still be friends

>> But

ROMAN

listen, you don’t tune him out when he starts babbling, and he does the same for you. he loves listening to your rants about art theory, he goes to every single one of your shows, and he started learning Spanish just to impress you. yes, he’s learned more phrases than just insults, he’s just been hiding it so he can surprise (aka impress) you later

and roman? he really really does value your friendship. you know that we’ve known each other since forever, so you know I mean it when I say that I’ve NEVER seen him get so close to someone this quickly.

and… you’ve been good for him too, okay? he’s not really the type to get lonely, but that’s just because he gets so tied up in his giant brain he forgets there are people in the outside world to talk to. but it really is important to him that you’re always there for him, and… I can tell you right now that he’s told me how much he appreciates you for it

after all that? I’d say he loves you too, dude. go for it.

you can talk now

Holy heck you DO love me

>> eh

Holy HECK

Wait

Did you turn on autocorrect just to yell at me???

>> Only for you, babe.

Please never do that again

yeaj that was oncredibly unconfortable

now GO GET YOUR MAN

Roman, for all his theatrics about love at first sight and true love’s kiss, hadn’t mentioned Valentine’s Day plans once in the weeks leading up to it. Then, exactly one week ago, he’d texted Logan with a simple request to meet up at a nearby cafe. Logan knew him too well to miss the possible connotations of such an invitation. But it was entirely possible that this was merely meant to be an outing between two friends. A platonic outing.

A platonic outing where there was barely room to stand, forget sit. Logan curses under his breath. He’d decided for once to not show up fifteen minutes early, as that would only give him more time to second-guess himself, especially as Roman was notorious for being chronically late. But he had failed to account for the obvious fact that, it being both a Saturday and Valentine’s Day, the usually quiet cafe is filled to the brim with couples ordering the heart-themed specials and kissing and generally clogging the air with sweet words and PDA. And no, Logan is not irrationally annoyed about this, he’s just worried he won’t be able to secure an empty table for him and Roman.

But just as the thought crosses his mind, he catches a familiar head of fiery hair at a table against the wall, bent over his phone and apparently completely absorbed by whatever he was looking at. An incredulous “Roman?” slips from his lips unbidden, because- well, Roman had once nearly been late to the first show he was the lead in. But there he was, reserving a table at exactly 12:30 with a croissant in front of him. Maybe today really was a day for miracles.

He watches with amusement as Roman jumps and looks up at the sound of his name. His face lights up as soon as he registers who it is, and Logan abruptly goes from amused to filled with some kind of fluttery warmth he doesn’t want to quantify.

“Logan!” Roman exclaims, hurriedly tucking his phone away. “Hey! How are you?” His smile beams out like the sun, but it dims upon Logan’s next words.

“Not well, unfortunately,” Logan informs him gravely. “I fear I have been having severe auditory and visual hallucinations. For example, I am currently experiencing one so vivid that I believe I am conversing with a friend in a cafe when I know that there is no chance of him being here yet.” Maybe Logan should feel bad about the way Roman’s expression morphs from worry to alarm to overblown outrage, but the challenging gleam in his eyes arrests him as surely as that of of Roman’s heart-shaped studs, and he can’t bring himself to regret it.

“Hey, I’m not always late!” he protests so loudly several patrons turn to look at him, perhaps expecting a scene.

Logan can’t help the smirk that creeps across his face as he slides into the seat opposite Roman, surreptitiously tucking a navy blue folder besides him. Thank goodness for Roman being typically Roman and reserving a booth that could seat six for a party of two. “Roman. Once Virgil and I deliberately told you to meet up an hour after we were actually supposed to meet so that when you inevitably showed up late, it would only be by five minutes rather than fifty. And the very idea that you could be on time for something went so flagrantly against the laws of the universe that the universe struck back by making your car break down, and you missed the meeting entirely.”

“Is that what happened?” Roman asks, looking so genuinely gobsmacked that Logan can’t help the snicker that escapes him. Roman’s expression flips to one of self-satisfaction, and Logan tries to ignore the little burst of fondness in his chest at the sight. Even if the rest of today goes horribly, at least he can savor this easy banter between them.

And banter they do, debating over whether Logan’s physics professor or Roman’s marketing professor is more inept before commiserating over the “perpetual hell week” that is college. They bounce from the disappointing latest installment of one of Roman’s favorite series to a terrible documentary on aliens Logan had found on a “science” channel (“It’s called a having a basic grasp of eighth-grade geometry, Roman- which, unlike this nine-thousand year old civilization, these morons have clearly never achieved!”) to every little thing in between, their food forgotten in front of them.

It’s nothing special, technically- they’ve been friends for years now, and they often have talks about everything and nothing. But today Logan can convince himself that an electric current is charging the air between them, flushing Roman’s cheeks and lighting up his eyes as Logan is drawn in, helpless against his magnetism.

There’s no decisive moment where Logan thinks, this is it. There’s just Roman, his laughter like bells in the breeze, and Logan, gazing at him like he’d put the stars in the sky.

“Roman,” he says. That’s it- Roman.

Roman is still giggling at his rendition of the student who’d spilled their coffee on the drama professor on the first day, but he sobers at whatever look is on Logan’s face. “Hey- you good, Lo?”

The nickname catches at something in Logan’s chest, pulls it open so the next words come just a little harder, just a little easier. “Roman,” he says again, looking down. “I do not wish to… ruin the mood, but I have something to confess.”

(He’s looking down, so he misses the way Roman jumps at the last word.)

But when he meets Roman’s eyes, open and curious, Logan’s confidence abandons him. He exhales slowly in an attempt to regain some of the feeling from before, like the memory of Roman’s voice will fortify his. But all that comes out is: “I wrote- would you-”

Logan’s throat fails him entirely, something a little like dread and a little like hope clogging it up. Without another word, he slides the folder he had kept tucked at his side to Roman. When Roman raises a curious eyebrow, Logan simply smiles- a quick, brittle thing- and motions for him to open it.

Earlier, the noise in the cafe had distracted Logan, had made him frown when it rose over Roman’s voice. But suddenly it all fades into the background, the chatter of voices and clatter of spoons receding in favor of the thwip of the folder opening, the little breath Roman takes when he reads the first two words.

Dimly, Logan thinks he must have used up all his words in the letter. His fingers lay still at his sides, mind is utterly blank as he watches Roman read it. But his heart is pounding loud enough that for an absurd second, he’s sure Roman can hear it in the sudden quiet.

Logan waits for a minute, maybe five. He thinks he’d wait for Roman forever if he asked. But Roman doesn’t make him wait that long, because when he looks up his eyes are wet with tears, and when Logan uselessly opens his mouth- to do what? His voice certainly hasn’t returned- Roman lurches forward, clumsy in a way Logan has never known him, and seals their lips with a kiss.

And when they finally draw apart, Logan thinks he’s regained his words (or maybe just these three), because they force themselves out of his lips like they’ve been waiting to do so since Logan said Roman’s name. And Roman, his face a study in the kind of shock and delight that can only come from a thought-to-be-hopeless dream coming true, returns them.

#logince #roman sanders #logan sanders #sanders sides #virgil sanders #patton sanders #my writing #a whole dictionary of love letters

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angrylizardjacket · 6 years ago

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ask your destiny to dance [15] {Roger Taylor}

A/N: Medium smut.

[masterpost]

The day Ash hears Doing Alright on the radio at her favourite cafe, she screams. This, of course, upsets the other patrons considerably, but before anyone can complain, she’s shoving her fabric samples and sketchbook into her bag, sculling her lukewarm hot chocolate, and is bolting down the street. Until, of course, she’s winded enough to slow down, and decides it’s easier to catch a bus to Brian and Roger’s apartment.

She’s been there before, it’s where they insisted on having their first fitting, since it was the apartment with the most room, and sometimes on afternoons she hangs out there with the band and Mary, sure, it’s not like she’s a complete stranger to the flat. Knocking on the door, she’s breathing heavily, still excited, and she’s not sure why she’s come here, rather than to see Freddie, but as soon as the door opens, she knows why.

“I heard you guys on the radio!” Barging past a confused Roger into the living room, she turns on her heel, still a little out of breath from having run from the closest bus stop, and her smile is blinding.

“Really? Which station?” And instead of asking her about her state, or the book bag on her hip, he’s elated, making his way to the radio in their little shoe box kitchen. Ash laughs, joining him, sheepishly admitting that it was about twenty minutes ago, but he’s undeterred. “Grab the phone; we can call them up and ask to hear it again.”

The station’s blaring some Beatles song by the time they get to it, but Ash is sitting on the counter, waiting patiently for the song to end so that the radio host could announce which number to call for requests. Roger’s buzzing about the kitchen, talking how apparently Mary’s heard them played at Biba too, and his mouth is moving a mile a minute, but then the number is said and Ash is dialing as fast as her fingers will allow. With her legs hanging off the edge of the counter, Roger taps at her knees, lips pressed together where he’s trying to keep his excitement quiet.

When the host picks up, and Ash says her name tentatively, only to hear it come out of the radio a few seconds later, Roger whispers ‘holy shit’ and Ash has to fight to not say the same. Clearly and carefully she requests Keep Yourself Alive, and specifies who it’s by and what record it’s on, and minutes later, the opening notes of the song waiver from the radio, and Ash hangs up, wide-eyed. Jumping from the counter, Ash dumps her bag beside their sofa, absolutely butchering the vocals where she struts around the room, pretending to be Freddie, loud and unselfconscious in her excitement. Roger’s matching her energy, throwing himself onto one of the metal folding chairs they had as dining room chairs, air drumming and providing harmonies that would have worked if Ash wasn’t almost completely tone deaf.

As the song moves to an instrumental section, Ash changes to enthusiastically air guitarist, jumping up onto the sofa, expression almost comically intense.

“Well, I loved a million women in a belladonic haze,” while Roger suspected the notes were entirely in her vocal range, she didn’t seem to be able to hit one, and after a moment, he’d dissolved into laughter, and wrapped his arms around her waist where she was posing with a foot up on the arm of the sofa, spinning her around before putting her back on the ground, and the drums kicked in on the radio, and she looks so fucking proud.

“That doesn’t sound half bad.” She says, grinning up at him, and he’s still got his arms around her.

“Unfortunately I can’t say the same about your singing, love.” He snickered, and Ash felt herself blush as she swatted at him, too excited to be properly annoyed, also too self aware to call him a liar.

“So you don’t think I could take Freddie’s place yet?” She asks, and Roger actually laughs at that, and Ash thinks she can feel his heart beating fast. “Where’s Brian?” She asks, voice dropping to a murmur, her own blood rushing as the song continues on.

“Still at class.” And there’s the hint of a question in his voice, and Ash’s smile stretches into a mischievous grin, something almost fond in her eyes.

“You guys are on the radio.” She murmured, pride in her voice, though her eyes are growing dark as her gaze drops to his lips. “Rog?” And he makes a hum of acknowledgement, biting his lip to stop himself from laughing or kissing her before she can finish her thought. “Does that make me a groupie?”

“Well groupies are usually throwing themselves at me.” He said with a cocky smirk, sitting them both on the sofa, sinking into the worn, brown fabric as Ash straddled him.

“I practically bolted to your house.” Ash had to stop herself from rolling her eyes, sitting back on his thighs. One of her hands was on his shoulder, the other playing with the hair at the nape of his neck, and Roger leaned into her touch, just a little.

“I’m not usually accosted by girls who wear the same clothes as my dad in summer.” Roger snickers, eyes drifting down to Ash’s choice of attire. She’s quiet for a long moment, and realises that he’s probably never seen her dress so casually; she’d just intended to get some sketches done at the cafe, she’d never intended people she knew to see her, and so her choice of oversized, pale blue button-down with rolled up sleeves and paint smudges all over it, tucked into navy cargo shorts, had been a perfectly acceptable outfit at the time. She’s even got her hair pulled back into a messy ponytail, and suddenly she feels like a mess, but the way Roger’s smiling at her, she can’t bring herself to care.

“I’m an artist, I’m allowed to dress tragically sometimes.” She shrugs, and Roger’s grip on her hips tightens as he laughs. It’s strange, mid afternoon and she’s in his house, in his lap, it feels like a whole new world. Their debatable hidden affair was usually confined to the wee hours of the morning, or the late morning depending on when they wake up, but now his hair catches the sunlight pouring in through the window, and he’s casual too. He’s wearing a pair of hideous, little red shorts that she’d seen him play in once, and a t-shirt with a faded design on the front, and for a moment she frowns, because god, does he have no sense of style? As soon as he asks about it, and she voices her thoughts, he gives her a shove, calls her a hypocrite. Leaning in low, she murmurs for him to just take the shirt off, but he doesn’t move.

“You first.” He’s got an eyebrow raised as a challenge, and Ash hums thoughtfully, before her fingers are unbuttoning her shirt, and untucking it. She’s wearing a bra that’s comfortable rather than aesthetically pleasing, and for all that he’s seen her naked, he thinks this might be the most honest he’s actually seen her.

He’s the one to suggest they move, not that it didn’t hurt a little, with Ash wearing only her oversized shirt unbuttoned, and her panties, splayed out against his ratty brown sofa, looking up at him with wide eyes that had been darkened with lust.

She’s never been in his room before, and she’s not quite sure what she expected. It’s bigger than her room, but not by too much, clothes strewn over the floor, and the end of the bed, which is also bigger than hers, a double, instead of her little single, a cheap looking bed frame and a small but solid desk shoved into the corner and stacked high with books, which intrigues her. Roger closes the door as she makes her way over, fascinated as she reads the spines of what turns out to be worn textbooks.

“You there for some light reading?” Roger wraps his arms around her from behind, pressing a kiss to her neck, his chest firm against her back. There’s notebooks that look well used, and a piece of paper with a whole list of numbers, letters, and symbols that Ash can’t decipher for the life of her, amid pencils and a pretty grubby looking eraser.

“You like, actually study, don’t you?” And when she turns, there’s almost something adoring in her eyes, endeared, and Roger raises his eyebrows at her unanticipated reaction.

“Always the tone of surprise.” He huffed out a laugh, his hands drifting lower to squeeze her bum, and when he leans in to kiss her, it’s sun-warmed and familiar, fitting together easily as he pressed her against the desk and she hopped to sit on it easily, legs parting to pull him closer as he kissed his way down her neck. He fucks her against the desk, even though she’s pretty sure she’s sitting on a notebook and also a pencil, but she can’t bring herself to care.

When they move to the bed, he snickers at the smudge of graphite on her ass, but she’s hit with a realisation she can’t help but voice.

“I never thought I’d be here.” And she’s a little breathy, gasping for a moment as he brings one of her legs up to her chest and eases back into her.

“Really?” His voice rises in disbelief, pausing in his movements as if to emphasise his point, and Ash rolls her hips once, biting her lip to stifle a chuckle.

“I mean, in the beginning, no way; I honestly never thought we’d last this long.” She says, and Roger’s quiet. Not needing an answer, she lets herself enjoy the moment, relaxing against the bedspread, whimpers and gasps escaping her as her eyes fall closed. She’s so fucking beautiful, Roger thinks, and even if he doesn’t say it, he’s so glad they lasted, after everything, if only for this moment.

And then they’re moving, Ash pressing at his shoulder, urging them to move, Roger laying back against the bed as Ash rode him, throwing her head back, with her nails digging into his chest. It’s enough to make him hiss, his hips rolling to meet hers, and when she looks down at him with a heady smile, she leans down and presses a kiss to the half-moon marks her nails had left, before she’s peppering kisses along his chest and throat.

When Brian walks in the front door and sees them both eating pizza and reading trivia to one another from the paper, he has to take a moment. Ash is wearing one of Roger’s shirts. Roger isn’t wearing a shirt at all.

“I know you two are sleeping together.” He announces from the doorway.

“Interesting accusation.” Ash responds without looking away from the paper. Roger makes a hum of agreement.

“You’re wearing his clothes.” Brian says, walking over and picking up a slice of pizza for himself.

“That is my shirt.” Roger agrees, finally looking up to Brian, and Ash takes a big bite.

“Listen, Brian, sometimes friends sleep together, it’s not the end of the world.” Ash said around her mouthful of pizza, which was lost on him, and Roger had to translate for her, much to Brian’s bewilderment.

“So you’re finally admitting it?” He asks, and Ash hums, swallowing before looking up at him.

“Admitting that I came over here excited about hearing your song on the radio, and then, I suppose, one thing led to another? Yes.” Ash agreed, and Brian looked like he was quickly forming a headache.

“Neither of you are as subtle as you think you are; I know this isn’t the first time.” He sighed, and Ash turned to Roger, who raised his eyebrows, feigning mock surprise. He’s about to say something, but it’s as if Brian can already tell it’s going to be irritating and dismissive. “Listen, Ash, you’re an adult, and you’re also our stylist, I just hope you know what you’re doing.”

“Believe me, she does.” Roger says, reaching for some more pizza, ending his statement with a very pointed cough. Ash, looking supremely pleased with herself, watches Brian turn bright red and head for his own room, not slamming the door, but coming close.

“Freddie and John will know by the end of tomorrow I suspect.” Ash muses, and Roger looks at her, a little curious.

“Is that okay?” And he actually seemed like he would offer to do something if it wasn’t. Ash gives him a small smile.

“They were going to find out eventually.” She paused, but only for a moment. “We should probably keep it simple and say it started after you broke up with Kristin.”

“That wasn’t that long ago.” He said softly. Ash shrugs.

“It was like a month and a half ago; it’s believable.” She offered, and Roger hums thoughtfully, sliding across the sofa to rest his head in her lap. She’s tempted to rest her slice of pizza on his face, but ultimately decides against it. The way he’s smiling at her, grin just a little sharp, she’s pretty sure he watched the idea pass through her mind too.

“Do you know what time the next bus comes, I should probably get going before it gets dark and people are more likely to stab me.” She asks carefully, and Roger’s expression turns thoughtful as he watches her eat, quietly waiting for a response.

“Seems a bit extreme; you know you could just stay.” It’s so casual the way he says it, and Ash shrugs, accepting the offer without much thought. His bed is far more comfortable than hers, though he’s not living in uni housing, so you’d hope it was, and it’s big enough to spread out in. But they don’t. When they’re not fooling around, they’re chatting about everything and nothing, as they were sometimes want to do, and Ash gets around to asking him about his degree just as she’s about to fall asleep. They’re holding hands, which again, not necessarily something Ash had expected when they’d first started out, but she’s on her side with her free hand beneath her pillow. She’s just wearing one of his shirts and her underwear, and she brings their hands up to rest between their heads on the mattress, arm now at a more comfortable angle, and she drifts off as Roger gets in to complaining about one of his classes.

By the time he realises she’s not paying attention, she’s already mostly asleep. There’s something about the way she sleeps that makes her seem almost innocent, perhaps it’s that she’s not trying to put up a front, and her mass of ginger hair halos her, so soft it almost hurts. Roger’s never conciously thought of a woman as ‘sweet’ before, but it’s the only word that fits in this moment. He presses a fond kiss to her knuckles of her joined hand. Ash stirs just a little, making a hum of acknowledgement that Roger knew all too well as ‘completely passed out, just felt a sensation, can maybe spout a few random words’.

Except it’s not just some random gibberish. It’s two words spoken through a yawn:

“Love you.”

the ususal suspects: @deakydickfanpage @hollyissuchahoe @laueecakee @smittyjaws@crystalshines2909 @i-am-sarah @legendsaresooftenwarnings@2ptonpt @benhardy24-7 @maiilovely @mickey-yr-a-goner @butter-times@heyyouitskay @tired-eyes-fairy-lights @yepimthatperson @missieluvsmurder@ironqueen98 @ceruleanrainblues @banhbao329 @fantasticchaoticwho @ko-kitty @seven-seas-of-hi @mimisfangirlfantasy @aadjuric @rogmobile@cardybenhardy @snacfu @perriwiinkle @the-strange-fan-girl @finite-incantatem-7 @tapetayloe

#roger taylor #roger taylor imagine #roger taylor x reader #bohemian rhapsody #borhap #bo rhap #borhap imagine #ask your destiny to dance fic #bohemian rhapsody imagine #ben hardy #ben hardy imagine #queen #queen imagines #queen imagine #brian may #the angry lizard writes

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pinksvnt · 6 years ago

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pairing: reader x minghao

genre: fluff

word count: 1,468

sypnosis: meeting minghao in the past leading to the start of a new life.

theres a marrige proposal here and y/n is an artist lmao. Honestly not my fave but all work is good bc I still managed to write something I dont totally cringe at sorry I dont title my work orz

You remember the day you met Minghao. You came to Seoul for an exchange program from your university and as your senior year thesis you held an art show. Work in all different sorts if media all revolving one central theme. Your self discovery. Who were you as a person, the good and bad.

Your thesis was held in a small studio place and the general public was encouraged to take a look. You remember what it was like hanging up posters and trying to get people to take one for themselves. You had never done anything like that but sometimes you meet people who were interesting and you'd sketch them up real quick if they promised to show up.

Minghao was one of those people. It was nearing sundown and you were ready to head back to your dorm but had an unexplainable urge to get one more person to promise to visit your show. That's when you saw two men walking with other, one with a camera and that's when you knew you could definitely get them to come. Shyly walking up to them you interrupted their little photoshoot were having between themselves.

"Sorry to bother you two but I was wondering if I could just, sketch a portrait for you two real quick in exchange for a favor" The taller men of the two immediately started smiling at you.

"What's the favor and where should we sit for the portrait!" You had them sit down on a bench nearby and quickly went about sketching their image.

"You see, I have an art show coming up, and the more people that go, the better I look! So I was wondering if you or just one of you really could show up and just take a look at my work?" You spoke to them without really looking them in the eyes as you were busy trying to capture their image.

"What kind of art do you do?" Finally the other of the two finally spoke. He had a weirdly mysterious vibe from the get go especially since he didn't speak to you from the start. He had on a simple yet stylish track suit on and dark hair that really contrasted against his fair skin. He seemed really intrigued in knowing what it was you'd answer.

"All kinds of work really, I work in tons of different media but I love focusing on myself and emotions. Emotions are such an interesting thing to try and visualize but I like the challenge. I'm almost done here so it won't be much longer and then you two can leave!"

The two turned towards each other and gave a sort of approving look to one another over your answer which made you smile. Although they didn't look it at first that fact that one of them asked about your work shows they at least have a good appreciation for art. You ended up signing their portrait and handing it to them along with a clean piece of paper. That was just to keep the graphite from smudging.

"Now that that's done, I hope I can see you two again at my art show! I'll give you this flyer and I'll even write down my personal number for if you two get lost or something. I'll appreciate it if you two just swing by, so please think about it!" You put away your pencil and sketchbook and gave them a smile.

"Yeah yeah. We might just go, I don't think we have anything scheduled that day!" The taller boy smiled at you "Oh! By the way, my name is Mingyu"

"And my name in Minghao"

"Nice to meet you two! I had fun drawing you two, my name is y/n. Hope to see you two soon, stay safe"

Now initially you didn't think much of those two. They were just another pair of really attractive people you met today. Though you really wanted them to show up for some reason.

Fast forward to the day if your show, you're exhausted and caffeinated beyond space. The anxiety you were feeling was probably a good reason as to why you shouldn't have drank so much coffee. But here you were, an anxious jittery mess. You had to pull yourself together as much as possible so that you could great visitors when they come in. If people would even show up.

Looking up at a portrait of yourself looking confident and somewhat menacing you sighed.

"Alright y/n, you've had plenty of art shows before. Even though this is your senior thesis, you'll do just as good as your previous shows. Nothing to fear"

The moment you unlock the studios doors you're met with so much uneasy you feel weak in the knees and on the verge of passing out. Why were you so nervous? You're so occupied in your mind with worries that you don't even notice when people start trickling in. You had to get it together.

"Are you alright?" You look up to see Minghao, a pleasant surprise in all honesty.

"Oh yeah. Yeah, I'm fine just a little stressed. I'm glad to see you came though!" He smiled softly at you and for some reason you felt a bit at ease. "I can give you a sort of tour of my pieces if you'd like?"

"I'd love that" He continued smiling at you and you couldn't understand but the more he looked at you that way, the better you felt better about the entire situation.

You walked with him showing him your work and explaining the meanings and feelings. It brought you so much joy because he wasn't viewing your work to critique it as your professors would be soon. He looked at each piece intently and said 'this is my favorite' to every piece you showed him.

"Your work is amazing y/n" Minghao scanned every inch of the studio and sighed to himself. It didn't sound bored. It didn't even sound as if itd lead to an awkward silence. "Can we talk more? Not here but like, a date or something?"

That initially caught you off guard. At the moment you were just happy how intrigued he was about your work. Most people (men) would dismiss your work or make you feel less than about it. And just as suddenly as he asked you responded in a way that even surprised you.

"Yeah, that'd be great. I'd love to" You smiled at him and that was that.

That was about two years ago now. Minghao became one of the most important people to enter your life. Being an artist himself he would always confide in you when showing you his work. You would show him yours and you had nothing but support for each other.

It was just another day in your small little studio when Minghao visited during his time out to the convenience store. This wasn't an out of character for him to do. He'd do this quite often and you loved the times where he would find a way to see you during the day during his busy days. What you did find odd though was the fact that he barged in painting, a bit sweaty, and looking disheveled.

"Mingha-"

"Y/n... it's felt like an eternity since I met you. The person you are is more beautiful than any piece of art I've seen in my life"

You were speechless, Minghao often told you he loved you but this felt different and so sudden. What's worse is that you're a mess, messy hair, paint covered smock and dirty paint covered hands.

"Hao I-"

"Please let me finish. I love you y/n, I want to paint the world with you. Will you marry me?"

Complete and utter shock. You felt weak in the knees and the world felt as if it was spinning. Even though you know the answer you couldn't help but feel overwhelmed. You looked at him and he seemed anxious, looking at you so longingly that that brought you back to your senses.

"Minghao I-" You felt the tears starting to fill your eyes as Minghao took a box from his pocket and presented you with a ring. It was stunning. Nothing flashy, it was simple and more than enough. "Of course I will!"

Minghao pulled you into a tight embrace, laughing and if you swore you could feel a few tears from him too. But those could've been yours. Finally he pulled away and placed the ring on your finger. Minghao made everything in your life better. The idea that not too far into the future you would be able to call him your husband, flooded you with happiness. With Minghao in your life. Everything will fall into place.

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greywick · 7 years ago

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Hey roby! i was watching one of your videos from 2016 (sketchbook tour (august/october 2016)) and i noticed you had like ZERO smudging in your sketchbook even when it was only pencil! do you have any tips on how to prevent smudges in sketchbooks?

i use mechanical pencil a lot so it kind of helps prevent smudging compared to thicker, wooden pencils! also the type paper matters too but in general i dont deal with smudging a whole lot when sketching. if it happens i just erase

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isisisak · 7 years ago

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adffgdgg, IM KIDDING DONT DO THAT! For real: 2, evak!

eyes one me!!!

2, eyes on me

“Isak,” Even scolded, but there was a smile in his voice, that Isak saw when his gaze returned to his face. “eyes on me.”

Even sat at their little table with his sketchbook and all those different pencils - Isak seriously didn’t know there were so many different types - in front of him, some of his fingers tinted greyish at the tips from when he smudged some lines to create shadows on the drawing in front of him.

The drawing, was of Isak. Isak who lay on his side on their bed, in the midst of all the pillows they had in their small flat and clad in the soft green-red checked pyjama Noora Eva and Linn gave to him for his birthday. (He loved it. It was soft, warm and for some reason it did things to Even, so win win win.)

“Why do I need to look at you? You’re not even doing my face yet.”

Even scoffed offendedly, but pursed his lips in the delicious way he always did when he tried to keep a straight face. “Don’t question my art, Isak.”

“I’m questioning you letting the doing my face joke slide.” Even snorted.

“Baby~” Isak whined and flopped over on his stomach. “I’m bored and im getting cold laying on top of the covers like that.” Isak’s voice was muffled from the pillow that smushed his cheek up but Even seemed to hear him just fine because now he looked up, a bit of concern in a small frown shown on his face.

“You’re getting cold?” Isak rolled his eyes and shrugged. “No.”

Even laughed and shook his head. “You’re such a brat. You’re just bored, aren’t you.” It wasn’t even a question. Isak made a whiney sound again when Even returned his attention to the drawing and ignored his protests.

Isak raised his brows, which went unseen by Even, so he huffed. “How can you still draw happily on when im on my stomach now but i need to look at you?”

Even looked up and raised his brows at Isak once in a quick motion. “Maybe,” he grinned, “I just want my muse to look at me.”

Isak groaned, but also grinned into the pillow he turned his face into. “Dork.” Isak muttered and then watched Even draw him some more. Even got this concentrated look on his face, mouth slightly open, tongue in one corner, eyes intense and his unstyled sunday bed hair bouncing when he did some harder pencil strokes. Even’s hands. Just- his hands. Damn.

Isak sighed happily and- “Isak.” His name came out as a chuckle of Even. When he looked up Even didn’t say anything, he just gestured with two fingers to Isak’s face and then to his eyes.

Isak rolled his eyes but after that complied. “I was admiring your hands, give me a break.”

Even shook his head but tilted his head in a way he always did when Isak flustered him somehow. There was a broad smile tugging on Isak’s lips. Because seriously. Adorable.

Isak drifted off shortly after that, lulled to sleep by the steady scratching of the pencil against the paper. His eyes were closed now, but Even didn’t seem to mind it. Letting his cozy looking boy doze off because to be honest, he didn’t really need to look at Isak to draw him. He had everything etched into his brain about him; from the tip of his toes, that poked out of the checked pyjama pants, to every last lash and curl.

He just liked it more when Isak looked at him while he drew. Sue him.

#isak x even #isak valtersen #even bech næsheim #evak #skam #isi's HCs #as always i kneel down and yell IM SORRY THIS TOOK SO LOOONG #i hope its at least fun to read for you gaya & co

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childlikemperor · 7 years ago

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A PSA: protip from an artist to fanfic writers

you can always tell when a fanfic writer has never met or even seen an artist irl ever bc they ALWAYS. WITHOUT A FAIL. will have their artist character drawing with charcoal like casually and it feels kinda like a copout like yes i know there are charcoal artists out there but listen,,,, 95% of artists who like just draw on sketchbooks bc they love drawing actually hate charcoal charcoal is one of the most impractical mediums for sketching and it gets everywhere and it smudges all over ur sketchbook pages and everything else in your life forever so like really take into account what the profile of the character as an artist is and more often than not you'll find yourself realizing that no, no matter how lyrically you think the image of charcoal sketching would work, your character would not find it practical/worth the mess to carry around one or more charcoal sticks then have it MARK UP ALL THEIR EARTHY POSSESSIONS (sorry im really passionate abt this) just for sketching also PLEASE FOR THE LOVE OF BUMBLEBEES dont use it as a synonym for graphite ok just dont just say graphite, say they were using a pencil i promise you itll feel better. ⚫️here's some nice alternatives to charcoal if u like a Messy Artist™feel to things + how to match them to your character based on my experiences w artists that use these mediums/myself: → ink has a similar edge of "fingertips smudged in black probably forever" but it's simpler to carry even though it also has that risk of staining everything you love, depending on how its used (as in, will they carry around a glass bottle of jett black ink and a brush in their bag/pocket or just have it in different kinds of pens?) + artist who use ink usually like a very finished crisp look to their work and are therefor usually quite methodical and have (or strive to have) steady hands even with fluid lines there's intent to whats going on. these artists usually sketch first (and rarely in graphite, usually blue or red colored pencil) so keep that in mind too. rarely will you see someone just straight up taking a brush pen to paper with no layout and if they do they have a very clear image in mind and outstanding control and understanding of where everything should go and how and where. →watercolor is less messy but it takes a bit more of a setup bc you need water and usually a palette. i use it quite a bit myself on my sketchbook and what i do is i just ask for/get glasses of water anywhere i go, get my paints and whatever scrap of paper to mix them on and im ready bc all i care about is my finished product and i usually draw in places where water is easily accessible (like parks w water fountains/stores w water fountains nearby, coffee shops, school, etc) but a lot of artists who have it as their *main* medium and have developed more practical setups over the years tend to have lil travel palettes that are tiny and easy to pack as well as waterbrushes and water bottles to fill them with all in all not too hard to carry around with minimal incident. people with watercolor as a main medium are usually more laid back and like things to look soft and dreamy (can be REALLY picky about paper tho) and generally just strive for happiness and like pretty things (if yr person is painting a landscape, its probably in watercolor since it dries fairly quickly and like i said isnt too hard to carry) →acrylic artists uhh... idk any other artists who paint w acrylic on their sketchbook so ill just speak for them ok WE JUST WANT THINGS TO LOOK GOOD OK WE WILL SUFFER FOR IT WE DONT CARE its a bit of a lot to carry depending on how many colors ur tryna have to mix but u gotta have at least ur 3 primaries and a black and a white (some artists work w yellow cyan and magenta but ppl swear by yellow ultramarine and red so idk ycm shows better online or if ur printing it out so it works for me bc i like my colors really really bright) and ur brushes so ye. + like i said folks who work with acrylic have a very specific look and feel they're going for and they dive headfirst into it, if something goes wrong, acrylic is usually quite opaque so it can be easily layered over once its dry, blending usually comes from mixing dif midtones so if thats part of their style they're probably quite patient/willing to sacrifice their patience for a good end product. some artists will mix their colors themselves bc they like the process or because they want very specific shades and those are the methodical fuckers who'll die for things to look the way they gotta look and also just really like the process (be it because it relaxes them or makes them think or whatever BUILD ON THAT W UR CHARACTER) and some just get premixed bottles of the colors they want and those are really focused on efficiency and laying paint down wherever they're painting and getting it done (so not so much the process but the act of painting or even just having art made) but i cant really speak for those too much then again thats between you and ur character →IF YOUR CHARACTER WORKS WITH COLORED PENCILS AS THEIR MAIN MEDIUM THEY'RE A WELL OF PATIENCE AND DESERVE TO BE CANONIZED. fairly easy to carry i mean i own like 100 of them and i just carry one big pencil case w them in so ye whats really tiresome is the process since u gotta go color for color and cant really cover too wide a surface w the pencil tip ever + usually daydreamers and, honestly, dayDREAMS, lovely patient folk who just really like color and enjoy the introspectiveness and calm of coloring. explore those dudes, they deserve it SUMMARY: TAKE INTO ACCOUNT THE MEDIUM YOUR ARTIST USES. THINK ABOUT STYLE. DONT JUST HAVE YOUR PAINTED MAKE ABSTRACT ART BC YOU CANT BE BOTHERED TO THINK OF ANYTHING BETTER TO DO WITH PAINT. IF UR NOT GONNA MAKE IT PART OF UR CHARACTER STUDY WHAT THEY MAKE ART WITH AND HOW AND WHAT ABOUT UR MISSING OUT MAN!!!!!! I KNOW YOU CAN DO IT!!!!!!! please give your artist characters the depth they deserve and remember us artists build half of ourselves because, through and around our art so to make that just a title of ours is kind of a disservice, your artist character wouldnt want that. visual artists feel free to add on to this!!

#jesus ive been writing this for like an hour i just got so fired up

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