#every day I fuck around with photoshop filters instead of coloring

[emkini]

"With a reach, Wei Wuxian lifted the child up and tucked him under his arm. [...] Although the child called A-Yuan was still quite young, he already knew fear, but still he didn't cry."

#mdzs #mo dao zu shi #wei wuxian #a yuan #random jin horse #mdzs fanart #every day I fuck around with photoshop filters instead of coloring #em draws #also I'm getting close to the end of the novel and it's MESSING ME UP MAN

[soap-brain]

oooo so i got tagged by both @elroymarvelous (something like a week ago i’m so sorry) and @greetings-from-the-suffer-puppet (yesterday :p) to do this alphabet questions thing! let’s go!!

a - age: 19

b - birthplace: düsseldorf, nrw (it’s in germany) (it’s the best city in germany) (95 olé)

c - current time: 11:38 am

d - drink you had last: some neat sparkling water, also i pretended to drink chips rings but they’re solid so idk whether that counts

e - easiest person to talk to: @greetings-from-the-suffer-puppet , cause we have somehow absolutely /no/ need for filters and we’ve talked about some things we would never, ever talk about with other people :D (hey ryn, remember the scintillating convo we had recently involving chrispy? good times) and also @loststarlight bc she’s a very bad person who got me into a ship and enables me to write fic for it and sends me unacceptable photo posts and totally made me watch doom!! which i didn’t want to do.. at.. all *sweats nervously and holds hand over pocket that’s def not bulging with karl pics... and bruce... and chrispy...*

f - favorite song: atm it’s a tie between sabotage by the beastie boys and ..... every time we touch by cascada (look, i’m technically a rock person, but sometimes it’s midnight, you’ve had about 5hrs of sleep every night, you know you have at least one more hour of super complicated chemistry to do, you’ve had a long ass day, you’re really hungry, just had a bowl of cereal and are fast approaching an ultra sugar high. what better to party with than that song??)

g - grossest memory: story time! during grades 9-12, i sometimes liked walking home instead of doing the hour long tram and bus ride. idk, it was a self reflection / relaxing thing, which i still kinda do. there was a short tunnel i had to go through. nothing scary, it was literally just the street and a pavement on each side, it was short, well lit, in an okay neighborhood, there were frequently people around etc. so really, really, not scary / gross. one day i’m walking and i see a guy of maybe my age coming towards me ahead of me, so i go to one side of the pavement, while he goes to the other, i’m doing the staring ahead thing which will morph into a lightning quick checking the other person over thing once we pass each other. it’s a thing i do. so  we’re just about to pass each other, and he pushes up his tee shirt (it was summer/spring) and ... there’s just... his erection. which he consciously shows to me. and he says something which i didn’t hear cause i’m listening to music, but i do physically recoil a little, my shoulder brushes the tunnel wall but i keep walking, pretending nothing happened, and i remember thinking to myself “the fact that you know now that you won’t believe yourself later that you didn’t make this up is the only thing that’ll make you believe it really happened.”, and just because i know i thought that then already, i believe myself that i didn’t make it up cause man, i kinda wanted to pretend it didn’t happen. and that’s the story of the first ever real life erection i saw! yay! now you know things about me you didn’t want to know!

h - horror yes or no: noooooo pls i get scared easily. even bad horror movies (ie doom) can scare me a bit. esp jumpscares??? the worst imo

i - in love?: nah. never been, either *shrug emoji*

j - jealous of people?: klasjdlfjasdlf i get really jealous of how people manage to socially interact with such ease?? and just... talk to other people and aren’t awkward and make friends?? a wild concept

k - killed someone?: ok so i know we should all either answer something cool and quirky or no!! of course not!! but i have a story. (fuck ok now y’all think i actually killed a person. disclaimer: i didn’t. but i was close) ok so i was doing my three months mandatory nurse work for studying medicine, and around the second month there was this old lady (93yo i think), who’d just gotten i think a new hip? and before her op she was surprisingly mobile with her walking frame and just really cute and chipper and also scared of her op. afterwards, she went to the icu, as was scheduled bc she was so old, and and then she got back to her regular station, and she was slowly but surely learning how to sit up and stand up again and then also walk. she had major pain problems  and her leg had gotten stiff, but she really was a champ, and i really liked her. also, to make some infusions (ie pain meds) easier, she’d gotten a central venous catheter, ie a catheter into the vein right at the bottom of her neck. and then it was time to take it out bc she’d gotten so much better, and there was a doctor there and i was just doing some work or something in the same room (i think we just got done helping the patient dress), and the doctor knew i wanted to study medicine, so she asked me whether i wanted to take it out with her help. i said yes, and then the doctor got a call and took it and told me to go ahead and detach the iv drip line from the catheter. which i did. then i waited for the doctor to finish her call to tell me the next step. she was done just as the patient started feeling faint and started to lose feeling in the arm on the side the central venous catheter was in. long story short, she was rushed to the icu again, because what i didn’t know was that you had to close the catheter, and i’d essentially pulled off the stopper as well, and she ended up having no blood in certain parts of her brain, which i think ended up as a terminal condition for her. she lived, but she had a very, very hard time getting better again and i think she never fully recovered. so. yeah. that’s my story on how i almost killed a person.

l - love at first sight or should I walk past again?: definitely walk past again :D looks and mannerism can be very deceiving

m - middle name: inge brigitte

n - number of siblings: 2

o - one wish: to get my shit together lmao

p - person i called last: i think my dad?? about photoshop?

q - question you’re always asked: probably about my one weird tooth maybe? or what i did between school and uni 

r - reason to smile: getting messages / people willingly interacting with me, horses, when life is going good, when i can be proud of myself for a reason, when there’s music making me feel good things, star trek

s - song you last sang: i don’t sing. i’d sometimes like to, but i feel too awkward cause i’ve been told that i can’t sing at all, so like...

t - time you woke up: 6:47 am the first time, then sometime around 8

u - underwear color: white

v - vacation: this probably ties in with all the “places you wanna visit” ask games, so the answer has to be most of europe, northern america, iceland, australia, parts of asia, parts of africa, space, berlin

w - worst habit: picking at my skin.... and procrastinating!

y - your favorite food: well my fave meal would be garlic bread, a medium steak with fries and beans and either lava cake or crème brûlée for dessert, along with an apple martini; but my fav normal food would be spaghetti bolognese and ... chocolate-y sweets (and truffles. oh boy i want some truffles now)

z - zodiac: libra

i’m tagging @loststarlight, @chameleon-kirk, @bottomkirk, @mccoysbi, @lieutenant-sapphic, @trappist-1p and everyone else who wants to do this!! esp all my new followers - if you wanna do this, tag me so i can get to know y’all!!

#captains log #tag games

[roselirry]

he was the art

@beggingforfics​ or hannah or bby depending on the time of day gave me this prompt (well this picture) so here is the story of delia and harry. 

i’m posting this to make her feel guilty. just a psa.

Delia happened upon him in the middle of the art shop, her basket heavy from paints that her roommate insisted she pick up because it was perfect for the project he was assigned. She hoped she was reading his handwriting correctly, grabbing the right numbers and the correct brushes, but he had a doctor’s handwriting and all of it merged together into a bunch of random words that made no sense to her. 

She tried her best not to make it known that she was watching the boy from her tile at the end of the aisle, acting like she was filtering through the brushes. 

Delia must have made a strange noise, something not uncharacteristic of her; maybe a small snort when she noticed him giggle at the name of a paint color, or the loud cracking sound of her wrist that sent relief through her entire system, because he looked at her. It was just for a moment, but she was able to see it clearly through her glasses, though he was blurry again when her glasses fell down her nose, taking her foundation with them. 

She waited for him to look again, surveying his severely patterned shirt that made her head hurt during the few seconds it took for him to look back at her and down to her basket. 

He asked if she was painting a mural, that’s a lot of paint if it’s only canvas, he told her, coming forward with his own basket filled with charcoal and oil paint. 

Delia had no idea what her roommate was painting, only that he came out of his room with paint on his toes, each singular toe a different color, and paint on his elbows, and streaks in his hair. It’s for the art. He reminded her of that constantly, but she thought he was going a little crazy for the art. 

She didn’t know why she showed him the list, though he was no longer a he, he was Harry. Harry took one look at the list and gave it back to her, instead asking her what her roommate was painting. He listened to her intently as she tried to explain that she was absolutely fucking clueless when it came to art, she just knew that her roommate wore paint on his body and came out of his room at weird hours of the day asking if he had paint on his left arse cheek. 

But Harry listened, before finally taking charge and demanding her phone, saying nothing about the holographic case as he typed out a message to her roommate letting him know that Delia was completely clueless and that he was willing to help her find the right assortment of supplies to get the job done. 

As soon as he got a response he looked up at Delia, remind me to never trust you to get my art supplies, he told her before taking the basket for himself, returning multiple things back to their respected areas. 

During the hour she learned that her roommate had specifically asked for clay, no he didn’t she told Harry time and time again, pushing her glasses up every thirty seconds.  She learned that Harry wasn’t in university, but he was constantly being asked to paint murals for schools, and he learned that she hated math but for some reason was majoring in physics, and that her hair had definitely been every color of the rainbow, not just the lilac color it was at that moment. 

She wasn’t quite sure how she ended up picnicking with him on a random blanket he had in his car, near some children’s public playground with overpriced sandwiches and sub-par strawberry lemonade; the bags full of art supplies resting in his backseat along with her jacket. It’s too nice out here for you to be wearing sleeves. She wanted to protest that it was freezing, and she would wear sleeves if she wanted, but as soon as he passed her the cardigan with his name etched into the left side, she went quiet. 

Talking to him was easy, hearing him speak about how he crafted ideas in this tiny pink sketch book that his sister had gifted him in one of his stockings during Christmas, and how he always tried to get art teachers to let him be a guest teacher for the day, or have some of the kids help him paint. I teach art classes at the children’s hospital every week. 

At that sentence, she knew she was hooked, even though his lips were a bit too pink, and his dimples a bit too perfect. She could see past those perfections.  

Harry had insisted on driving her back, taking directions while she bopped her head to the early 2000′s pop station that he had secretly had preset on his radio since he got the car. The drive was longer than anticipated thanks to a minor misdirection; ‘you said go right’. ‘No, I said take the next right, that doesn’t mean the right that’s right there’. ‘What’ ‘what?’ They laughed after that, Delia attempting to pull up her maps app and finding her way back to the complex where she lived. 

It took forty-five minutes to get there, forty-five minutes of explaining why she had the color lilac, or why he decided to get a giant moth on his stomach when he was sober. 

Delia was sad when they arrived at her complex, Harry pulling off into the parking area and asking if she needed help getting her stuff up to her room, and she told him no. She shouldn’t have told him no, not that it mattered. She still told him how much fun she had, how her afternoon had become one for the ages and how maybe artists aren’t so bad after all. She kissed him too. 

She leaned over the center console and planted one on him, her hand finding the back of his neck and thumb finding his jawline. 

He kissed her back. 

The car moved forward and they both jolted away from one another at the movement of the car. You’re not in park! She tried to hide her laughter but it was difficult. 

He slotted the car into park and kissed her again, learning her like he learned a sketch, fingers creating divots in her hips and marks against her neck. 

They were interrupted by her roommate, a baseball cap on his head and her purple and blue striped robe, a pair of slippers on his feet and single hairs on his legs painted different shades of green. He questioned where his canvases and charcoal were. Delia nearly punched him in the face, but Harry gave up his own canvas and charcoal. I’ll do something with the clay, I’m sure, and you can come shopping with me. Another day with Harry. That sounded like a dream. 

He smiled at her holographic phone case and left her with a kiss on the cheek and his number with the paintbrush emoji. 

The first time he referred to her as his girlfriend was when they were alone, his tea brewing and brownies baking as he painted mountains on her back, making sure to switch up the brush with his lips every few minutes. Why mountains. 

Because my girlfriend chose to go into a field where she has to climb mountains, and I firmly believe she can do it. 

He hadn’t said anything after that, taking no notice that she was smiling like a fool into the palm of her hand and that she was itching to flip around and mess up his painting just so she could kiss him silly. 

The first I love you came when he showed up after her last final of the semester, his arms already open for her and a reassuring breakfast burrito in the passenger’s seat of his car, the Taco Bell label making her feel at ease immediately. The words slipped out, I love you. And Harry gave her cheek a small nudge and asked are you saying that to me or the burrito. She had to think for two minutes before she responded that it was him she was talking about. 

She doesn’t like to think about their first fight, about how he slammed the door of her flat and ran off to his home town for nearly a week because he was so angry. It was her fault after all, the misunderstood text messages about how her mother felt like Harry was doing nothing; nothing but remaining stagnant, but it wasn’t true. It wasn’t true in the least, but she hadn’t defended him, hadn’t defended everything he brought to the table. 

That weekend she found herself in his home town, getting lost three different times because she hated driving and hated everything about travelling by herself. But she showed up on his doorstep, or at least what the nice ladies at the bakery said was his doorstep, with the little pink sketch book he left at her flat, the same sketch book that she had to save from her prying roommate who had wanted the clay after all. She made him go to the shop on his own. 

Shockingly, Harry had been relieved to see her. He didn’t want to lose Delia over a minor misunderstanding and parents who didn’t see how much she loved him. He didn’t want to lose her over pointless text messages and wrong paint colors. 

The time she realized that he had forever created himself a home in her heart, they were surrounded by colors. Colors she’d never seen before, but none of the colors could compare to the color of Harry’s smile when he saw the gallery. He was unlike any other color, couldn’t be made in the depths of paint dying, or in the color wheel of Photoshop, it was a color only he could wear. 

He was lost in the painting, his thumb and forefinger pulling at his already pink lips, eyes focusing in on each specific detail and Delia could only focus on him. 

She took a picture, trying to keep it aesthetically pleasing for her already aesthetic instagram, but she mostly wanted to capture the essence of the painting as well as the over powering simplistic beauty of her boyfriend of 18 months. 

He turned around again, just like all those months ago, and she snapped photos even though her glasses fell down her face and took her foundation with her. 

What are you doing? He asked her, stealing her holographic case covered phone, staring at the two photos, him with his back to her and the other of when he caught her, hearing the shutter of her camera. 

Taking photos of the art. She had told him honestly, grinning into his shoulder as he pulled her into him. 

The art, or me? He spoke into her lilac hair, lips ever so slightly brushing against her forehead. 

Delia pulled back, her grin wide as she stared up at him. What’s the difference?

#1dff #tps #one direction fanfiction #harry styles fanfiction