#well that was cathartic

[marblegroves]

Just saw your sketchbook post and I am amazed at how clean it all looks O_O /pos

So I was wondering, what materials do you use for your traditional drawings (all the stuff from sketch to final piece)?

BOY AM I GLAD YOU ASKED THIS *ahem*

Behold 😌

For the sketchbook pages, I mainly stuck to these materials though ^^ these guys are my…

PRIMARY MATERIALS

The green mechanical pencil on the picture on the left has 0.7mm colored lead in it! I alternate between blue and pink colored leads depending on what fits the overall color of the piece better.

Once I finish up the sketch, I line it with the black pilot ballpoint pen! I really like the control and feel of ballpoint pens for traditional lineart, because it gives a sort of variety in pressure I can’t seem to achieve with normal fineliners. I like to switch up the colors of the lineart too sometimes, hence the pink and red ballpens.

Then once the linearts done, I color them in with the stabilo highlighters, as pictured on the right! These guys are my FAVORITES. Sometimes when I’m just freely sketching I use the grey or peach mini stabilos. Although, they do tend to be a bit runny, ‘cause they’re meant for quick highlights and not multiple strokes over an area ^^; so you do have to be careful and quick when coloring with them to get an even coat of color!

Sometimes, though, when there are other colors or textures I want in a drawing, I use my…

SECONDARY MATERIALS

Pictured above are all my alcohol based markers! The four on the left are neon sharpies for when I need that extra eyestrainy kick. The three promarkers with the pointy cap were from when I was a freshman in uni and wanted to collect a full set of alcohol markers, but these were the only colors they had in stock and the college supply store ✌️ I’ve since given up on that dream because they were really expensive ;; they’re really good for sunny grassy scenes though! The last dark blue marker was from a set of other blue markers, but the others have since dried out… I use it when I really wanna darken up a page, like for night scenes!

This is my prismacolor set! I like to pair these with the markers, going in after the initial layer of color to give a bit of variety or shine. Some examples of when I use them would be for adding blush or giving hair a glossy sheen 👍

These ones are my “fuck it” materials lmao

I use these when I really just wanna scribble something down wildly. I had these since I was in gradeschool and its quite frankly a miracle they still work? Oh, and the red and yellow twistable crayolas are missing because I vaguely remember giving them to some childhood friends for some reason 🤔

My fineliners and gellyrolls! Haven’t used these much recently tbh. I’d used them for class before, but I never really likes how flat the thickness tends to be :/ the brush tips and chisel tips are cool though. I used them for that one yellow bdubs doodle to try and see if my opinion of them has changed ^^ it hasn’t. Moving on…

Lastly, we have the special materials! The ones that don’t really go into any sets, or have nice applications. In order from left to right:

Wink of Stella - A brush pen that applies glitter through some sort of black magic. No idea how she works but I love her

Red Marvy Art Director 1400 - A red fine tip marker. Can’t go wrong with a bright red marker 👍

Golden Posca - My only posca marker. Figured if I should get one it might as well be something special.

Faber Castell Blue Highlighter - I use this alongside the stabilos. It has a really nice deep blue color ^^

And well! That should be everything! ^^ Thanks for giving me an avenue to gush about my materials lmao 🥰

[mysunfreckle]

Can you tell me about Grantaire and Cosette and an angry hug?

Cw: angry ventingand swearing

Wow, Ireally needed to write this today. Thank you Cherry!

Grantairenearly falls off his chair when the front door bursts open. He should reallyremember to lock the door. He manages to keep his balance, just, and is greetedby Cosette. Well, if he goes by a loose definition of the word.

“Is Époninehere?”

Cosette’sface is oddly strained and Grantaire feels the instinctive need to make hismovements slow and cautious when he gets to his feet. “Um, no, she’s not backyet.”

There’s atense beat of silence.

“Okay,”Cosette says and Grantaire is sure she is clenching her teeth. “That’s fine.”

“This maybe exactly the wrong question—” Grantaire says hesitantly, taking in the wayher shoulders are locked in place. “But are you okay?”

Cosettelooks at him, all soft curves and pastel colours, and opens her mouth. “I willbe,” she says, voice quivering. “As soon as I get to fucking strangle my absolutelyasshole of a colleague to death with his own fucking hair.”

Grantaireblinks. “I see.”

“And hegoddamn deserves it!” Cosette yells. There are sparks snapping from her eyesand Grantaire is suddenly very sorry Éponine isn’t here. Not because he mindsbeing witness to this himself, but because she’d probably be really into it.

“I believeyou,” he says. “What’d the fucker do?”

Cosettemakes a garbled noise and lets go of a flood of words, containing a number ofexpletives Grantaire really didn’t expect her capable of. He’s pretty sure he’smissing most of the context to her story, but the gist of it is that her onlydirect colleague at her internship is an incompetent waste of space that hasrecently fucked up so badly that Cosette Fauchelevent of all people is wishinghim several violent deaths. Most of them at her hands, some of them contrivedthrough rather creative proxies. It takes a good while, but eventually Cosette’sanger begins to deflate. It’s kind of like watching a fire burning itself outand after a while all there is left is smouldering exhaustion. Grantaire feelslike he has been allowed to witness something rare and incredible.

“So, whendo you need help disposing of the body?” he asks.

A smileflickers on Cosette’s face. He grins at her and her shoulders sag.

“I am sodone with this,” she groans.

“Yeah, Ican imagine,” he nods and because it seems like she could use someone toactually physically lean on just now, he opens his arms invitingly and givesher a questioning look.

Cosettelets out a breathy laugh and walks into the offered hug. “He pulls this shitagain and I will kill him,” she grunts, voice slightly muffled against Grantaire’sshoulder.

He hugs hera little tighter and she hugs back with the last of her angry energy.

“I will,” she insists.

“Me andPonine will help you do it,” he promises.

Cosettemakes a grumpy sound. “You better.”

There’s a shortsilence and Grantaire feels her relax against him little by little. At lengthshe moves away a little and Grantaire releases her. When Cosette meets his eyes,her tired smile is reassuringly devoid of murderous intentions.

“Thanks, R,”she sighs.

“Anytime,”he says and just to make sure all the tension is done away with he adds: “Offerstill stands though.”

Cosette’smouth quirks up. “Noted and appreciated,” she smiles.

[magicsophicorn]

Dear future me... :)

Dear Future Me,

I really, really, hope you’ve come out to our parents by now. Seriously, we should have done that years ago. I’m putting it off still (even though I don’t really have any reason to), but I hope you haven’t.

I also hope you’ve got up off your arse and gone looking for love, instead of just waiting and hoping that somehow it’s going to find you.

What colour is our hair now? It better not be boring just because you’re old(er).

How many countries have you visited now? As long as the number is still above your age, we’re good.

I’ve been trying really hard to exercise for you, do I ever manage to get a 6-pack? I can’t quite bring myself to eat healthily though, hope that hasn’t messed anything up too badly for you.

As long as your happy I don’t really care what you’re doing for a living or anything like that, I hope you don’t care either.

So long Future Me! See you someday (hopefully).

[therainforgets]

Dear person I hate. Because I can only imagine you being the snarkiest person on this green earth to anybody you actually, veritably hate.

Dear person I hate,

Despite any pacifist tendencies instilled in me from a Sunday-school childhood, I still sometimes fantasize about shoving you in a trash-can and then shoving that trashcan in front of a bus, and then shoving that bus covered in your own splatter up your ass. That is, I would gladly rewrite the laws of physics to shove you up your own butt-canal just so that I can finally have something more psychologically productive to incorporate into those dreams where you’re still there, still clinging and preening and more potent than I know you ever were. A theory on why humans dream hypothesizes that we use that unconscious time as threat simulation. Apparently, you’ve been sporadically preparing me to handle hyperbolized jealousy, insecurity, and aggressive amounts of bullshit. Maybe I should thank you for that. I think I’ll keep fantasizing about the bus.

Dear person I hate, I haven’t spoken to you much in two years. 

Thank God. 

Maybe you’re different now, but I can still remember every smug grin that crinkled your nose and showed your teeth. Maybe you’re not as emotionally manipulative now. Maybe you’re better for leaving your parents’ house. Maybe your teeth are just whiter.

Dear person I hate, there are many reasons to dislike you. I have actually made lists on the subject, but I’ve already sworn twice. I’ve mentioned that you tangled us all into knots and plucked at us individually, but the anger I still feel toward you is characterized by redundancy, so I don’t mind repeating myself. I wish I could have repeated myself back then, out loud. I wish I could have shouted it. Every time you opened your mouth, just yelled over you like a lunatic who didn’t have to care, who didn’t keep the peace. Peace isn’t one person. That was never fair.

Dear person I hate, I’m not even sure who you are. I’m writing to more people than just you, I think. I’m lumping you in with everyone I’ve ever nearly-hated, with every person who has ever taught me the exact difference between jealousy and envy. You’ve become every moment my throat tightened, my hands shook, and my stomach curdled.

Dear person I hate, I hate that you gave me so many logical reasons to hate you, to make me feel righteous and justified, instead of letting me realize that I would have hated you anyway, that it wouldn’t have mattered, that it was always my fault.

Dear person I hate, I’m trying to learn not to hate you. 

Don’t screw it up.

[loofahlover]

Dear past me...

There are a lot of things I wanna say, but you probably won’t get it until you go through a lot of shit, so…just keep it in mind.

You’re shy. But that’s ok. Our mom is great and all, but she has a tendency to push you into social situations, just a teeny bit forcefully, and then it’ll backfire, and you’ll hate yourself for not being able to talk like a normal person. She’ll figure out later on that this isn’t a very productive way to make someone more social. I can’t tell you to assert yourself in front of her. I mean, you can try, but I get it if you don’t; she’s pretty freaking scary when she’s mad. But seriously. When you’re sitting in a group and you feel lonelier than if your were by yourself, and you find a way to quietly slip away, then hate yourself for being so weak… Don’t. I still do that. Only I’ve learned to make excuses for slipping out. And when I slip back in, I pretend like I’m not apologizing profusely on the inside. No harm done. No friendships ruined.

You’re introverted. You’re a battery surrounded by solar cells. This isn’t just a character trait that makes you different from everyone. It’s something you need to recognize and accomodate to. If you work to the point that you want to cry and the world is trying to crush you: STOP WORKING. Seriously. This isn’t one of those things where it’s a matter of pushing forward, and you’ll come out stronger. You’re just going to turn into a nervous wreck. Just stop and take a nap. Buy some ice cream. You don’t really splurge on tasty treats, but seriously, it’s not going to become a habit. Just do it occasionally.

You’re unconfident. You have pathologically low levels of self-esteem. If you stop self-hating for a moment and think logically for a moment, most of your problems can probably be traced back to low self-esteem. Not studying? It’s intimidating, you don’t think you can do it. Not socializing? You’re scared; you think you’re going to make a fool of yourself. So take baby steps. Congratulate yourself when you get better. Don’t measure yourself by other people’s standards, because no matter how much you stress and procrastinate and convince yourself that you’re a failure: this is future me speaking. Everything worked out in the end. You got into medical school. So just chill a bit. Do things not because you feel like you’re supposed to, but because you want to. And if you don’t, then don’t.

[vitaganiedae]

"You two go talk, or punch each other, or make out, whatever, I don't care. Meanwhile, I'll be disposing of the body by myself in peace." 

[scribetiloa]

~

[sparrowdancesanddragondreams]

this is bullshit the snow is already melting.  i don't want a snow day.  i hate snow.  i hate north carolina.  i hate everything. 

[ledzepplins]

.

[boreal-forest-dweller]

How long before they notice? How long before they realize that I’m broken, and irreparably so? Do they suspect it now? I doubt it. I mean, I look fine (because I'm afraid to let my emotions show, because someone will ask and it will be too confrontational for me to handle, because I'm too sensitive even though I appear as though I don't care) I don't ever have questions in class, so I must understand what I'm doing (except that I'm terrified of asking anyone for help, because I will seem like an idiot and that I don't belong here at this prestigious university in this competitive program and they will judge me for it) They know I’m failing my classes, but they assume I’ll just study harder next time (except that I don’t understand anything anymore, and I’m blanking on all the tests and that hasn’t happened before, and I don’t know how to fix any of it) They know my parents have high expectations, but that’s okay because all parents do (except that I’m afraid of disappointing my parents and my family, because all my life I’ve been the smart one, the one with all the answers, and so rarely have people seen past that – I can always count on comments about my trivia knowledge, but never my appearance) (they can’t know that I cry myself to the point of exhaustion every few days, and that my mood is lifted only temporarily by spending time with them) (they can’t know that I’m in all likelihood quite depressed, but don’t want it to be diagnosed because then I’ll know for sure that something is wrong with me, and that I really am worthless and useless and they honestly shouldn’t be my friends) (they can’t know that if they were to hug me, I would quite possibly never let go, just to feel less numb, but that I could never bring myself to hug them, because it’s so forward and it’s obviously a gesture of romantic interest and it just isn’t done) (they can’t know that I occasionally entertain the possibility of actual romantic relationships, because I’m always the one who scorns romance, who scorns people and humanity, but only because I’m too broken and needy not to hurt anyone I’m with) (I can’t speak to them without some level of sarcasm – both because I am a woman that’s trying desperately to fit into what’s clearly a man’s world, and because it keeps my emotions shielded from the outside world and I keep hoping that will make it hurt less and it doesn’t) (they can’t know how much I feel like I don’t belong, and that it manifests itself in so many ways: when they walk in a group back home and I’m left walking slightly behind, or alone; or they’ve left me alone at an event even though I thought they were meeting me there; or they ignore the fact that I’m a girl – and this happens so much and I know they don’t notice) (and most of all they can’t know that there are periods where I doubt my own existence, where I can’t even distinguish between what I’ve dreamed, what I’ve experienced, and what I’ve read in books) It’s not a problem, because they know I’ll be just fine!

source: addicted2dreams

[patrick-william-blog]

I Am A Book - 09 May 2012

I was 19. I was a boy I was a girl. I was trapped I was free. Everything was wrong. Everything was wrong I was wrong, and I was trapped, and everyone else was right and I was wrong, wrong, wrong, wrong.

I was built to be her to be to be him to be deconstructed disassembled taken apart and broken to pieces. I was built to be rebuilt.

I am a mistake I am wrong.

Mark me with red angry lines and vivid corrections. Rewrite me over and over, and over, and make revisions - edit out the bad parts, the sad parts, the wrong parts

and publish me for the world to read, to peruse for I am a curiosity, I am a book, I am a work of art. 

[thisisanarchiveiveremade-blog]

15 day challenge, day 2

Something You're Afraid of Admitting:

Hmmm, that's a tough one. I mean, if it was easy I wouldn't be afraid of admitting it.

I guess there's the fact that sometimes I don't think I'm good enough for theatre(that's why I didn't audition in the first place), yet I keep coming back to it. Now it seems like my April 16th audition is speeding towards me like a bullet.

Well that wasn't so hard, even though I'll probably go on a private post rant about all the other things I don't like to admit about myself, which in turn keep me up at night.