scratchings!

mysdrym  asked:

“I brought food.”

Dorian found Maedwyn already in their bed by the time he arrived, a sight unusual enough to make him pause just short of the bedroom door when he realized he was not alone.

No movement from the bed. Maedwyn was barely visible from here anyway, a lump of blankets with one brown arm outstretched and the familiar mane of dark hair spilling like silk on their pillows. Also, the cat. The bane of Dorian’s privacy, his right to have time alone uninterrupted with his lover, and an all around piece of– of mean feline presence. The cat sat curled up in a cute and baleful ball on Dorian’s side of the bed. Because of course.

His glaring from the door must have translated to killing intent for Maedwyn, because something – a pointed ear, Dorian realized – twitched and a moment later Maedwyn pushed himself onto one elbow and squinted at him. “Since when’ve you turned into a peeping tom?” he asked, humorous but the words still slurred with weariness, and laughed at his own joke.

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anonymous asked:

2-3-4-7 taehyung I don’t know if I can choose more than 2 numbers or what

“How long have you been standing there?”

“I may be an idiot, but I’m not stupid.”

“Who gave you that black eye?”

“Everyone keeps telling me you’re the bad guy.”

wc: 1371

genre: fluff

Originally posted by bangtangirl-cutennes-v

You cursed yourself for taking Greek Mythology this year. Everyone said it was the toughest class you could take yet you still chose it. Why? Because you thought would be just stories like Percy Jackson and fairy tales but no. You had a huge assignment coming up on water nymphs and how they were an underrated part of Greek Mythology. Although the assignment wasn’t officially assigned yet you knew it was coming up so you wanted to get a head start. You couldn’t focus on reading in the library because of the sound of the keyboards clacking and no matter how early you got there the private rooms were always occupied. You decided to study at a small coffee shop on campus that most students abandoned for the newly built Starbucks located near the dorms.

It was old and but the smell of coffee was faint, not many cups were being made as before, there was only one employee on duty and he was leaning by the cash register texting on his phone. Only two other people were in the store, a professor taking a break in between classes and a student resting his head on his palm as he read his textbook. His glasses made him look smart but the way his eyes scrunched up in confusion every line he read made you think otherwise. You set your bag down on a small table that was in the middle of the store and cringed when the chair shrieked when you pulled it out.

Ten minutes into going over your notes you’re already contemplating on giving up. You feel like no matter how much work you put into this you’ll still fail. You sigh loudly, attracting the attention of the boy who sat two tables away from you. He looks up and sighs as well making you laugh.

You go back to this coffee shop every day for two weeks and every time you’re in there the boy is in there too. Last week you learned his name, Taehyung. Taehyung was struggling with statistics class and he too was preparing for an assignment. Today you worked up the courage to ask him if you could sit with him. He smiled brightly at you and nodded.

Taehyung looked at the cover of your book, “How’s Greek Mythology?”

You groaned causing him laugh.

“Terrible. I don’t know why I thought this class would be easy. What about statistics?”

“Don’t get me started. It’s probably the worse class I’ve ever taken. Sadly it’s too late to switch out so looks like I’m stuck.” You talked about the rest of your classes and life in general.

That was the day you developed your crush on him. You asked your friend if you should confess. “Of course you should! He sounds so cute! What was his name again? Kim Taewon?”

“Kim Taehyung.”

“That name sounds so familiar, why can’t I place it?” Your friends tapped her chin in thought but shrugged when she couldn’t remember.

Later that week, when you went into the coffee shop to study, Taehyung wasn’t there. You were disappointed not seeing him and felt lonely making it hard to focus on studying. You thought maybe he would show up the next day but he didn’t. This continued for three more days before you lost hope in seeing him again.

You sulked to yourself for a week. Then one day when you came in to study, Taehyung was there. You were surprised and you excitedly went over to his table and set your books down but he didn’t look up. “Taehyung? Where have you been? I missed studying with you.”

“I was busy. Sorry.”

You frowned. You cautiously opened your book and began reading but found that you couldn’t focus.

“Tae, are you okay?” He sighed and looked up at you for the first time that day. You gasped. “Who gave you that black eye?”

He shrugged.

“Well, are you alright? Does it hurt?”

He shook his head. “I’m fine.”

He didn’t talk anymore during your study session and left before you instead of waiting to leave together like you normally did. You figured he was having a bad week and that’s what made him so quiet and that tomorrow he would feel better.

Later that day you were discussing your concerns over Taehyung with your friend.

“I remember where I heard that name before!” She exclaimed. “Y/n, you really have a crush on him? You know he gets into a lot of trouble, right?”

“What do you mean?” You looked at her confused. Taehyung, the same Taehyung that wears glasses and tucks in his shirt, is a troublemaker?

“Yeah! He got into a fight last week at a party. He has a bad rep, Y/n. Did he not say anything about it?”

You shook your head. This was big news to you, your crush who you thought was a sweet innocent kid struggling with class like you, was actually a badass who got into fist fights with people.

The next day when you returned Taehyung was there and he was talking on the phone. You noticed his eye was slowly showing signs of healing. He didn’t seem too happy to be talking to this person and you didn’t want to interrupt his conversation so you stood by the entrance with your bags waiting until he was finished to join him.

“I don’t care if he tried to kill me in my sleep he shouldn’t have said anything in the first place!” You were surprised at his words. You kept thinking to yourself how you were going to confront him that you didn’t hear the end of his speech. “I know I said I would stop I just…want to protect you. Your my little brother and the only person that can push you around is me.” He chuckled. “Yeah, alright. Bye, Gukkie. Love you too.” He hung up the phone and looked up towards the entrance and was surprised to see that you were already here. You walked over to the table and set your bag down but you didn’t take a seat.

“How did you get that black eye, Taehyung?”

“What do you mean?” He stuttered.

“I know that you got into a fight. Who hit you?”

“Just some dumb senior. Sit down, you’re scaring me.” He joked. You did as he said but didn’t laugh. “How long have you been standing there?” He pointed back to the entrance.

“Long enough. Tae, why didn’t you tell me you got into fights?” You were more upset at yourself for falling for his cute demeanor than you were at him.

He sighed. “Y/n, it’s not what you think.”

“Everyone keeps telling me you’re the bad guy. How is this explanation going to make it any different?”

“You didn’t hear the whole story. This guy was making fun of my brother and he shoved Gukkie so I intervened and got a black eye.”

“Someone else told me that you get into fights just for fun.”

“Do you really believe everything you’re told?”

“I may be an idiot, but I’m not stupid.”

Taehyung laughed. “Sure you’re not.”

“Hey!” You hit his arm but laughed anyway.

“Sorry for giving you the cold shoulder yesterday. I was embarrassed about my eye and I didn’t want to worry you.”

“It’s okay, Taehyung. But try not to get into any more fights.”

“Yeah, I’m trying. Hey, do you want to ditch studying and go to an actual coffee shop for some drinks? I’ll pay for them.”

“Are you asking me on a date?” You blushed.

He rubbed the back of his neck. “Yeah, was I being too obvious?”

You nodded your head. “Let’s go.”

Okay, so since my TB2 build I have been asked a couple of times if I would scratch build a TB1 and hangar diorama, and it’s something I would love to do but at some point…
So, here’s the deal… If I can reach 1000 instagram followers (currently around 800) I will begin work on TB1 and the hangar to scale with my TB2 hangar. Before you ask, yes it will definitely include the swimming pool as well as other features… So if you’d like to see this happen, by all means follow my page @ - https://www.instagram.com/p/BaXnnDNj9-f/ to help reach that 1000 follower milestone… #1000followerchallenge

#Thunderbird1 #thunderbirds #hangar #flying #fab #internationalrescue #plasticard #realism #swimmingpool #conveyorbelt #diomaker #scalemodel #details #scratchbuilding #scratchbuiltmodel #scratchbuilder #scratchbuiltdiorama #miniaturist #art #modelmaker #modelmaking #diorama #dioramaart #3dart #3dmodelling #challenge #project #follow #tbt

theanimangagirl  asked:

“Is that a blood stain?” For Mordred, since I think he would have the perfect answer if asked by a NPC

Haha, thank you!

“Is that a bloodstain?”

Mordred’s soul froze at hearing the voice behind his back. Slowly, he turned and glanced over his shoulder to see who it was that’d had the audacity to speak up when they saw the ex-Warden Commander of Amaranthine skulking around Skyhold’s back corridors with stained bedsheets in hands.

A tall, carrot-color-haired man raised his eyebrow right back, leaned casually against the stone wall a few feet away like he had the Maker’s personal guarantee Mordred wouldn’t murder him for his perfectly reasonable and unwise question. “Well?” Theodore Pentaghast said. “Where is Sister Nightingale’s little minions that the task of disposing of evidence fall to you, Warden Mordred?”

“This ain’t evidence,” Mordred snapped. Then, remembering his first question, he added, “And it’s not bloodstain.”

Theodore smiled. A mild, polite, ‘you are a fucking dumbass’ expression.

“I would’ve burned it if it was bloodstain. That shit don’t wash out,” Mordred added and shook the incriminating object with vague aggression in the Nevarran’s direction. Adds, “Not that a rich boy who’s probably never personally cared for his armor would know.” Just to be a little mean.

“Oh, Maker’s Light, he goes straight for my fragile crystal rich boy’s heart,” Theodore replied, deadpan. He gestured with a hand bedecked in gem-set rings and raised an eyebrow. “A good many things do not wash out of fabric, Warden. I’ve seen some of the stains in my ‘rich boy’ experience, and I can tell you that one is a lost cause. Save the servants some trouble and rid of it, I say.”

“It washes out when I scrub it,” Mordred replied. “And that’s none of your business.”

“Of course it does.” Theodore passed that bejeweled hand over his face like a noble on a stage. “You and your monster hands.”

This asshole is stubborn, Mordred thought. He leered at the man for a moment longer, then said, “Go away.”

“You used to like me,” Theodore sighed gustily. “What changed?”

“You were hella more charmin’ when you were usin’ me t'figure out you like sausages more than clits, ’s all.”

Theodore opened mouth. Closed mouth.

And then nodded grimly. A tacit acknowledgement of his defeat. He backed away, then turned and left, though not before Mordred caught a hint of a smirk around that mouth.

Mordred was left alone in that hallway, shifting from foot to foot and feeling unbearably not victorious, before the copper liquid stain on the sheets started to bleed onto his white sleeves and he had to hurry them to their destination.

His unstealthy “fuck!“ echoed up and down the hallways.

Good gravy, just spent an hour running around the house and the nearby farms hollering my cats’ name because I couldn’t find him anywhere (and he didn’t react to me calling/rattling his toy).

Came back home and called for him again on the balcony when I hear this little fucker meowing right behind me, looking at me like “sup, wat r u doin?”. 

anonymous asked:

“Is that my shirt?” for Surana

Alistair was, by traditional means, not a nervous man. Oh, lots of things got him sweaty under his collar, such as pretty girls or any type of girls smiling in his direction really, but he’d also faced down charging ogres without flinching and set his jaw and hit back when a cave full of werewolves came running at him. Things after his life or limbs hardly fazed Alistair anymore.

And still there was something viscerally horrifying to see an elf who could sneeze lightning out of his nostrils stomping towards oneself, a blood-caked butcher knife in one hand, a curved cleaver in the other, shouting, “Alistair! Is that my shirt?!”

“No,” Alistair wanted to say, but that wasn’t true, because it really was Mordred Surana’s only other spare shirt he was holding in his hands at the moment. The only spare shirt with, currently, a giant hole in the chest area. Because uhhhh.

Uhhhhh.

That wasn’t lightning coming out of Mordred’s nose, that was fire. Alistair’s skeleton sort of did this weird cringing thing inside his body.

“We,” Mordred seethed and the bloodstained butcher knife burst into dramatic flames, scorching the gore right off, before he waved it in Alistair’s direction, “put you on fucking laundry duty expecting you to not fuck up, Ali.”

“It’s one shirt!” Alistair retorted, miffed at the overreaction. He waved the article of clothing at Mordred, grimacing. “And I’m sorry I messed this one up, but you might as well blame Barkspawn. He was the one who yanked it free of the branch even though I told him to wait and let me do it!”

Mordred glowered at him until Alistair had to drop his eyes, but the knife in Mordred’s hands was lowered at the same time. There was a harsh exhale from the mage before he said, “I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine, I didn’t expect better,” Alistair replied, more biting than strictly necessary.

The elf’s thin lips curled, derisive, but Mordred switched the knives both to one hand and gestured for the shirt. He shook it out when Alistair handed it to him and glared at the hole like he could scare it into mending itself. When it didn’t work, he snorted and tossed it over one shoulder.

Looked Alistair over, face dark but regretful. Repeated, “I’m sorry.” Pause. “I shouldn’t’ve–”

“It’s fine,” Alistair said hurriedly. He’d rather not be apologized to than have to deal with this awkwardness. He was used to this anyway; Mordred’s temper was a string pulled taut to its limit these days, and it snapped at least twice a day, only to recoil seconds later.

Mordred pressed his lips together, chagrined. But he nodded, movement jerky, and stepped back. “Dinner in couple minutes,” he told Alistair and turned away to head back to camp. Snorted. “At least this wasn’t Leila’s shirt.”

“She’d at least be nicer about wanting to kill me than you are,” Alistair remarked and followed him. He rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly, wondering how he could ask Wynne to help fix a hole that big. Didn’t mages have…spells…that could help them do that?

“Oh yeah? Y'think she’d be sooo nice if outta everyone’s laundry you manage to rip a hole on the chest of her shirt?”

Oh.

“You know what, I’m glad Barkspawn ripped yours,” Alistair said indignantly and rubbed at his eyes with both hands, groaning. “For putting that picture in my head.”

He didn’t need to see Mordred to sense the eye-rolling. “Live with it.”

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this will FOREVER be my fave homestuck animatic 

thereluctantinquisitor  asked:

“Whose side are you on here?” OR “You can’t always expect me to fix things for you.” foooor... Mordred and Varlen? (or just Mordred if you prefer <3)

How could I ever turn down Varlen? ;D

“You’re a long elf,” Mordred said to the glimpse of white hair up in what was possibly the tallest tree Skyhold had to offer. He resisted the urge to kick the base because that would just bruise his foot…then lost the battle with his own will and kicked it anyway, though not before sheathing it in mana first so it wouldn’t hurt. The branches trembled with the force of the blow. “You shouldn’t be friggin’ harder to find than me, you tit.”

There was a pause before Varlen’s voice drifted down from above. “I am not an elf. I’m a magnolia flower. This is a magnolia tree. Go away, pesky mortal.”

Mordred opened his mouth for a moment, then shut it. Some pretty incredible shit always seemed ready to leap out of Varlen’s mouth that Mordred couldn’t find easy words to form a response for. Amazement was swift to turn to irritation, however, and Mordred’s face darkened.

He kicked the tree again, but rested his foot on it. Tapped it a few times. “Hanin’s looking for you,” Mordred said.

“Tell him to find someone else as his demonstration partner for what to not do during a fight then,” Varlen answered, a tad petulant. Mordred tilted his head back and forth; fair enough. “Or maybe you can say you haven’t found me and volunteer instead. I would pay to see him try to flip you.”

“You kidding me? That guy’s as long as you are with about twice your muscles.”

The glimpse of white shifted, and a moment later Varlen’s face appeared out of the foliage at last. His grin was devilishly delighting. “You know what, I would pay to see that. I haven’t seen you and Hanin spar like, ever.”

I was too busy dragging Cullen, was the truth that Mordred didn’t say. Instead he glowered up at Varlen. “Whose side are you on here?”

“I’m on Dorian’s side, actually,” Varlen replied and vanished back into the leaves. “Imagine, my vhenan’s distress when he sees me again and my face is all black and blue from yet another unjust beating.”

“Your vhenan locked up spirits in dead bodies for a combat tactic,” Mordred answered. He tapped his foot against the tree again. “C'mon. Hanin’s gonna do that hideous Sigh of Disappointment at me and gimme bad flashbacks of W– my old teach, and then I’d really have to drag you to him to rid myself of guilt.”

A snort. “So I end up on the chopping block either way? That’s nice.”

Mordred chewed on the inside of his cheek for a moment, then purses his lips. “Tell ya what,” he said. “You come with me at least so Hanin won’t make disappointed dad eyes at me, and I’ll taunt Cyrus into fighting me before Hanin get a chance to have a go at you.”

Varlen appeared again, squinting. “Cyrus? That’s almost too easy. And what if he’s not there?”

Mordred scowled, weirdly insulted. “Y'think I can’t pick a fight with someone else?”

There was a long, suspicious pause.

Then Varlen swung onto a lower branch and landed on both feet next to Mordred, light as a cat. He brushed himself off and shot him a brilliant, sunshine smile. “When’s the show?” he asked brightly.

“Yoooou.” Mordred shook a finger aggressively at him, but couldn’t find anything else to add after that. Said (growled) instead, “You can’t always expect me to fix things for you.”

Varlen spread his arms, eyes wide with hurt innocence. “You offered.”

True that. Mordred wouldn’t have done anything less for him, was the damning thing. But he couldn’t very well choke those words up at the moment so he made some miscellaneous outraged noises and shooed Varlen in the direction of the training ground, nipping his heel with the toe of his boot once as a “to hell with you”.

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