torn paper

anonymous asked:

Also do the art students ever go outside to practice drawing or something, and leave a blank page next to them, but then when they go back to their dorm and look at it through a mood ring or something it's full of swirls and things and they pin all these seemingly blank sheets on their wall and their roommate is confused at first but then goes "oh well they're an art major why do they do anything"

Ohhhh this was already cool but then no one else can see it yesssss

your roommate’s corner is wallpapered with white paper torn roughly out of a notebook, perfectly, pristinely blank. but if you hold up the mood ring you keep on a chain around your neck (it has dolphins on it, you bought it last summer on the boardwalk after freshman year) it’s an absolutely mesmerizing riot of color that moves in the places you aren’t looking at directly. you’re never quite comfortable sleeping in the room after that, knowing it’s there.

anonymous asked:

prompt? : "you need to stop"

from here

“You need to stop.”

Iwaizumi looked up from his homework and at Oikawa who was laying on his bed. “What?”

“You need to stop,” Oikawa repeated. “Take a break for a while, do whatever, just stop working.”

“Are you trying to talk to me about overworking?” Iwaizumi laughed, “Because you’re not the prime example yourself.”

“You’re stressed and you’re not gonna get anything done if you’re stressed about it,” Oikawa went on. He gestured to the small pile of torn up pieces of paper next to Iwaizumi. “You rip paper when you’re stressed. The smaller the pieces, the more stressed you are.”

Iwaizumi looked at the pile next to him. He hadn’t really consciously been tearing the corners off of his papers, but there was definitely enough to be called a pile next to him. He swiped the papers off his desk into the trash. “There, now I’m not stressed by your standards. I need to work.”

“Iwa-chan, no,” Oikawa whined. “That’s not how it works.”

“I’m gonna ignore you now. I have work to do, and you do too.”

Oikawa sighed and rolled over onto his stomach. “Ten minute break? And I won’t bother you after.”

Iwaizumi’s only response was to write something down on his paper. Oikawa got up and stood behind Iwaizumi. He wrapped his arms around him and set his chin on his head. “Five minutes?”

Iwaizumi ignored him and kept working. Oikawa tightened his arms so that Iwaizumi couldn’t move his own.

“Oi-”

“Just five minutes, then you can come back,” Oikawa murmured.

“That’s it?” Iwaizumi asked skeptically.

“Yep.”

“And you’ll let me come back to my work after,” Iwaizumi clarified.

“Absolutely,” Oikawa couldn’t keep the smile out of his voice, knowing he had won. “I won’t even bother you. Promise.”

Iwaizumi sighed and put his pencil down. “I guess five minutes wouldn’t hurt.”

Oikawa practically dragged him out of his chair and over to the bed. “Just lay down and relax. I’m gonna give you a quick massage because slouching like that for so long has to be uncomfortable.”

“Just tell me when five minutes is up,” Iwaizumi muttered, practically collapsing onto the bed. Oikawa smiled softly while he agreed. He started rubbing Iwaizumi’s shoulders, smiling even more when he could see Iwaizumi relax before him.

True to his word, five minutes later, Oikawa nudged Iwaizumi’s shoulder. “Iwa-chan, it’s been five minutes,” he called quietly. Iwaizumi rolled over to face him, eyes still closed. He wrapped his arms around Oikawa and buried his face in his chest.

Oikawa could just barely hear the words, “No it hasn’t,” muffled into his shirt.

“Iwa-chan, we said five minutes,” Oikawa said.

“I’ll let you know when it’s actually been five minutes,” Iwaizumi grumbled. He gripped on tighter and Oikawa smiled. He brought up a hand and started running his fingers through Iwaizumi’s hair. It took even less than five minutes for Oikawa to hear Iwaizumi’s breathing even out as he fell asleep.

First gouache attempt!
A lot of crappy stuff happened, including torn paper on the sides but I am still very happy with the result. There is definitely room to grow 🤣 but the way that paint looks at the end is soooo nice!
I love digital but a real peace on a real paper feels sooo different and nice. Or at least makes me feel hiped the first 24 hours! Undo is still a problem but well.. we can’t love our lives with undo anyways.

This is Eliza Makepeace from a book called The Forgotten Garden by Kate Morton.

do not tell me we were born to be heroes.

i was born to be small 
and we both know it 

i have skin like crepe paper, torn from use 
i am a chipped china plate 
be aware that if i brave the cold 
i will suffer from it 

the only way i can live 
is to suffer

you know your place in this world 
you know that your skin is glitter and sometimes you choke on it 
but you have never been breakable 
you are a million shades of shimmer 
and even in the dark you cannot pass for dullness 

you, love, were born to be a hero.

i wasn’t.

crepe paper skin and a weak heart 
these are not the makings of someone great 
these are the makings of someone small 

i love you 
but i am not you. 

i am the youngest of my family 
past my growth spurt and i am still shorter than them all 
i have a hunched demeanour 
soft voice and watery eyes 

do not tell me i was born to be better 
i was born to make you better

love, stop growing in the absence of my growth 
love, know that i am small
love, do not crush me with your heroics.

—  i am here, i am enough even if you see me as unfinished // H.S.
Gone Rogue - an Everlark ficlet

Originally posted by melynite

There was a great post last week, about making shitty pots. Challenge accepted ;)

This came out of a completely irreverent discussion with my fellow smutketeers @burkygirl and @peetabreadgirl, and is rated M for coarse language, sexual situations and terrible puns. Reader discretion is advised.


Gone Rogue

“This is pretty slummy, even for here,” Katniss breathed, looking up and down the deserted street. Desolation and neglect were evident in every abandoned storefront, every crumbling façade. But the marquee over the cinema, Sala de cine, had most of its bulbs illuminated.

Peeta nodded, distracted, as he triple checked his phone. He was sure this was the place, trip advisor listed it as the only English movie theatre in the province. “I can’t imagine it’s very popular,” he said, staring at the empty display boards where movie posters should have been, but where only pieces of torn paper remained, faded to unreadability by the relentless sun. “I haven’t heard a single word of English since we stepped off the bus.”

“I hope it’s air conditioned,” she grumbled, and he sighed.

Keep reading

Fragile as ash
a memory stirs
and the past comes back.

It could be
another person
you now see, stepping between

the torn-
paper leaves
of the trees, and moving down

to the dry creek.
There are birds
in the underbrush

—finches, you assume—
and a plume of smoke
rising beyond

that distant ridge.
One single breath
returned this world

a single breath
can make it
crackle and burn.

Gary Catalano, “Breath,” Slow Tennis: Poems 1980-83 (University of Queensland Press, 1985)

zombieabbyka  asked:

Update on the coworker I took over his job from. He finally came back and isn't fired for some reason. They give him random jobs to do throughout the clinic, which doesn't amount to much. Really it should only take him an hour and a half to do it all but he finds ways of stalling in order to get more hours. Like following me around like a creeper and MAKING MESSES BEHIND ME. I was vacuuming and found torn paper towels in areas I already vacuumed. Wtf. No longer feel bad about taking his job.