Latest Posts by particolored-arts - Page 7

anD NOW TO FILL IT UP WITH MORE WRITING

finally pruned this blog down to less than 100 posts. I feel so clean and shiny and new.

Raise Me

Raise Me: I’ll write a drabble about my character resurrecting yours. Vice versa.

|| .. maybe not exactly ‘resurrection’, but close enough?

—

The earth cracked and rolled beneath him, and the storm raged blacker than night above him; and hail crashed down, and the towering water roared in one great bellow before all at once everything hit.

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So I’m still going through most of this blog, archiving the old rp stuff offline and deleting the posts themselves. If anybody who I used to rp with here (when this blog was still called ask-the-hypochondriac) wants any of those screenshots, you are more than welcome to contact me and I’ll send copies of them to you.

But yeah, if anybody’s been paying attention to the change in url, this is now gonna be my fic and sketch blog. So I’m going to be rebageling drabbles and fics from my other rp blogs here, dumping original stuff here, posting sketches, that kind of thing. Probably mostly going to be centered on LOTR and the Silmarillion since that’s mostly the fandom I’m in right now.

So I’m still going through most of this blog, archiving the old rp stuff offline and deleting the posts themselves. If anybody who I used to rp with here (when this blog was still called ask-the-hypochondriac) wants any of those screenshots, you are more than welcome to contact me and I’ll send copies of them to you.

But yeah, if anybody’s been paying attention to the change in url, this is now gonna be my fic and sketch blog. So I’m going to be rebageling drabbles and fics from my other rp blogs here, dumping original stuff here, posting sketches, that kind of thing. Probably mostly going to be centered on LOTR and the Silmarillion since that’s mostly the fandom I’m in right now.

Rilwen I wrote more of the thing and I decided to dump it here because it’s too big to dump on Skype

and probably knowing me it’ll end up being a series of minifics that I dump here based on the same reincarnation au

oH WELL ??

under a cut, because it’s gotten damn long (cries)

Sobekhotep and Nastasen.

—

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Scarf?

Scarf: Your character or mine borrowing/stealing clothes from the other

|| The record shows that shiptastic fluff was asked for. Let the record show also that shiptastic fluff was delivered.

50’s housewife Alliance AU, which may be explained here and here.

—

Usually they just shrugged and tallied up how many times each had been the one to wear the dress. Two men living together had a tendency to get awkward questions in these times, and it was easier to pose as husband and wife than to constantly give the tired half-lie of childhood friends; and while they were tethered to hröar rather than fanar, both were sufficiently androgynous that they could pass as male or female. It was only fair to take turns.

But for spending one day in a new city, with no plans to return anytime soon, Sauron had absolutely no qualms about nicking Langon’s new dress.

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Apples

|| But Clio what could you possibly have been doing if you weren’t working on drafts ???

This. This is what I did today.

An episode from the main AU Rilwen and I have, in which Sauron and Langon rule Mordor together, and in which Sauron does not die at the destruction of the One Ring but Langon saves him — and they are both turned into evil Istari, basically.

—

The village is putting on a pageant of the events of the War of the Ring, and Sauron has … mixed feelings.

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Once again, noot noot~

pop into my askbox with ‘noot noot’ and I will put my iPod on shuffle and the fourth song that comes up I will write a drabble with our characters based on the lyrics

"Pray (Reprise)" - Ensemble, Once On This Island (Original London Cast)

-Soon I’ll be dancing!-But for now, walk slowly, Daniel.-Then you must walk even more slowly, Ti Moune.-Why?-So I can catch you!

|| For that one AU we have where Langon and Sauron form an alliance and rule Mordor together \o/

Rilwen Shadowflame: Sauron coming creeping back to Mordor, battered and damaged, no longer able to take fair forms, and how it feels to be confronted with Langon who can still be ‘pretty’  …  just imagined though, a ‘mask’ of black stone carved by Langon into a forbidding but handsome face, imbued with some of his strength so Sauron could take it into his fana, make it part of him and make it move and ‘live’ as his own face

—

He had watched Langon fashion the mask, occasionally voicing quiet suggestions to the stonecraft, wrapped in a dark cloak in the corner. His shoulders, once straight, were curved in; brows that once arched smooth across the face now furrowed close over the nose; and limbs, once lithe and graceful, were gnarled and stiff.

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Noot noot XD

pop into my askbox with ‘noot noot’ and I will put my iPod on shuffle and the fourth song that comes up I will write a drabble with our characters based on the lyrics

"I am so proud, if I allowed" - D’Oyly Carte Company, The Mikado

I heard one day a gentleman saythat criminals who are cut in twocan hardly feel the fatal steeland so, when slain, are slain without much painIf this is true, it’s jolly for youYour courage screw to bid us adieu

Trigger warning for gore and death.

—

A bright pale creature appeared through the haze of pain and exhaustion, and he blinked through the blood and sweat to see it turn aside his torturer’s shoulder.

"What do you want? As I’m sure you can tell, I am busy," said Gorthaur’s velvet voice. A bell-like one answered.

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"Unbind Me" (you pick who frees whom from what XD)

Leave a “Unbind Me” in my ask, and I’ll write a drabble about your character freeing mine, or the other way around, or something among the lines [be it freeing them from jail, from handcuffs, from a trap, from a curse, feel free to specify.]

—

He was just a dog, just a flea-ridden beast, but he was another maia too — Huan, that one of Oromë’s — and under the command of that elf witch he had ruined Sauron.

Blinded, insensate, enraged, terrified, he fled to Taur-nu-Fuin.

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|| The "noot noot" thing!

pop into my askbox with ‘noot noot’ and I will put my iPod on shuffle and the fourth song that comes up I will write a drabble with our characters based on the lyrics

"Rainbow Tour" - Ensemble, Evita (2006 London)

There you are, I told you soMakes no difference where we goThe whole world over just the sameYou should have heard them call our nameAnd who would underestimate the actress now?

Okay but AU where Sauron gets captured and taken to Valinor along with Melkor.

—

Newly renamed (though echoes of other names still linger), Mairon has been reclaimed by Aulë, and spends his time among the Noldor, teaching them the lessons he himself has learned. He is reticent, almost shy; but as soon as he is in the forge, he glows with contentment, and will chat about nearly anything. He is friendly and polite, if distant, and many of the Noldor are fond of him.

Fëanor cannot trust him, or his master, no matter how much faith the Valar have in their repentance. For that matter, he cannot quite trust the Valar for allowing them to walk free once again.

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|| Obsession. Use it however you wish, include Melkor, include the Silmarils, include nothing, just how you prefer.

Obsession: I’ll write a drabble about my character having an obsession with yours. Vise versa.

|| I ;;; love you a lot okay

—

He begged leave from Melkor, bribing and persuading and selling, whispering filth and flattery as much as it took. With a laugh, Melkor agreed, and with an untrembling voice Sauron thanked him.

Sauron announced that he would be spending the next two decades in his forge, and if anyone disturbed him he would be quite upset; and his black eyes flashed a terrifying white glow; and none disagreed, for Melkor’s blackened hand rested on his shoulder, and Melkor’s sharp smile hallowed his words.

And he barred the door and went to work.

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So I'm still going through most of this blog, archiving the old rp stuff offline and deleting the posts themselves. If anybody who I used to rp with here (when this blog was still called ask-the-hypochondriac) wants any of those screenshots, you are more than welcome to contact me and I'll send copies of them to you.

But yeah, if anybody's been paying attention to the change in url, this is now gonna be my fic and sketch blog. So I'm going to be rebageling drabbles and fics from my other rp blogs here, dumping original stuff here, posting sketches, that kind of thing. Probably mostly going to be centered on LOTR and the Silmarillion since that's mostly the fandom I'm in right now.

also people should keep in mind that sometimes when an artist says “doodle" what they mean is "stress-free art”. that doesn’t necessarily mean that the “doodle” they made is something that they didn’t work hard at or didn’t spend a long time on. some people get really out of control when they see impressive works and the artist write “just a doodle” and they think, this is it, this is the end, im no longer going to be an artist, how can i possibly compare myself.

sometimes “just a doodle” means “not working on commissions or something work-based”, so don’t fret yourselves. plus not everyone who posts art plans on a bunch of people seeing it. you don’t really expect your stupid poorly written artist caption to be seen by a lot of people via reblogs,

This website is like a suicide hotline but with text chat instead.  I would appreciate it if you guys helped spread the word.

I was looking around my old document files and found this, and thought people might like it.

Bahorel/Prouvaire pre-slash fic beneath the cut.

--

It started out very slow.

Jehan appreciated art in all its forms. The glow of a sunset, the trill of a flute, the aroma of a bakery. So it was not surprising that, one day at the Musain with friends, he happened to notice the articulation of Bahorel’s wrist and fingers.

The man had been mid-gesture, talking with Joly about – oh, probably Joly’s mistress – and Bahorel was prone to magnificent gestures with his hands, he was probably part Italian somewhere. But for some reason, one hand landed in a beam of sunlight that had snuck through the window, and the modelling of bone and muscle and skin had drawn Jehan’s eye like one of Joly’s magnets.

They had known each other long enough that, after the meeting, when Jehan went over to Bahorel and said, rather absentmindedly, “I like your wrists. And your fingers. Reminds me of Michelangelo,” Bahorel merely laughed and ruffled Jehan’s too-long hair.

And Jehan had gone home, and sung to his violets, and written a poem about a girl that he saw in the street, and that was that.

Except that it was not.

The two of them went drinking together on occasion, and would get into ferociously animated discussions about life and death, and the afterlife, and the judgment of men. And if the flash of an eye and the curve of a smile managed to leave an after-image on the insides of Jehan’s eyelids, he certainly didn’t remember it in the morning, in the aftermath of a most excellent debate, complete with Byronic skullcups and bloodred wine.

It was during another meeting at the Musain some months later, when Jehan was in the middle of expounding upon the poetic merits of pagan mythology, that he overheard a snippet of conversation.

“ – And you never quarrel!”

“That’s part of the treaty we have made. When we made our little Holy Alliance, we each assigned our own boundary that we’d never cross. The part to the north belongs to Vaud, the south to Gex. Hence our peace.”

“Peace is happiness digesting.”

Ordinary conversation on an ordinary day, but it snagged Jehan like a splinter on a stocking – tore a tiny hole, just large enough to grow, and grow it did. Weeks afterward he found himself muttering aloud: “Happiness does not come from a social contract.”

He wondered, briefly, if the nature of romantic liaisons had any bearing on Locke’s theory.

Envy is a tenacious seed, but it was not envy that took root in Jehan’s mind. Rather, it was something else, which sprang from conversation, smiles, and the model of hand and wrist, -- and became ideas, and the flash of eyes, -- and became, over the course of slow months, something that Jehan was not entirely familiar with.

He had been in love before. The girl had been his neighbor when he was a small child, and his playmate, and they chattered about the shapes of clouds and lullabies and flowers, and made mud pies, and collected crisp fall leaves. That girl had had the clearest blue eyes, and that was why Jehan loved the sky, still: it reminded him of that first love, pure and honest as only children can be.

This was something different. This was wanting.

Your body wants you alive even when you don’t want to be alive and it has a million defense mechanisms to fight bad things off and even if you have no one else you have your body whose main priority is keeping you alive and that is pretty intense be nice to yourself ok

You're now chatting with a random stranger. Say hi!

Stranger: tell me a story

You: once upon a time, there was a little boy who was born in a prison

Stranger: mmmhhmm go on

You: he grew up an outcast, rejected by everyone around him

You: the people who raised him taught him about the law, and how it was very important to follow the law and never ever break it

You: so when he grew up, he decided that there were two kinds of people that other people didn't like: criminals, and policemen

Stranger: ooooh ooh

You: and he decided to be a policeman because he wanted to follow the law

You: one day a convict broke parole, and the policeman chased him across the country

Stranger: omg then what:o

You: the convict took a new name, and the policeman tried as hard as he could - he searched everywhere - but he could not find the convict

You: seventeen years later, a revolution was brewing

You: the policeman went undercover to see if he could spy on the revolutionaries, but he got caught

Stranger: :O

You: the leader of the revolutionaries was going to kill him, but then a man stepped up and offered to do it himself

You: it was the convict from seventeen years ago

Stranger: WHAT

You: the convict took him into an alley, and took out a knife

You: and he cut the policeman's bonds, and told him that he was free to go

You: the policeman couldn't believe it. a convict is a convict is a convict, a bad person, who can never change. but this convict had showed him kindness

Stranger: :OOO

You: the policeman went about his duty, and when the revolution had been successfully squashed, he ran into the convict again. the convict had an injured man with him

You: the policeman told him that he was going to take him to jail, but the convict pleaded a few hours' time, so he could get the injured man back to his family

You: and against every instinct, the policeman let him go

You: he could not believe what he had done. on the one hand, he had broken the law that he had sworn to uphold. on the other hand, he had helped a good man do a good deed.

Stranger: wooooah

You: he wanted to go back and arrest the convict. but again: on the one hand, if he did so, he would be upholding the law, and on the other hand, he would be arresting a good man.

You: his entire world had been turned upside down

You: he realized that if a convict could be a good person, then there had probably been hundreds of good people he had unknowingly put in jail. his whole life had been a lie.

Stranger: omg

You: so he did the only thing he could do

You: or at least, the only thing he thought possible

You: he committed suicide

Stranger: WHAT?

You: that's right. he wrote a letter to the prefect of police, pointing out various corruptions in the system, and he went to a bridge overlooking the most dangerous part of the river, and, placing his hat on the edge of the bridge, he jumped

Stranger: did you just randomly make this up?

Stranger: thats some george orwell shit

You: no, actually. it's victor hugo

Stranger: ...

You: les misérables.

Stranger: fuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuu

Your conversational partner has disconnected.

Just Around the Riverbend

They could have played it safe. They could have stayed silent, they could have gone on with their lives. They'd been born to comfortable families, most of them; been born to privilege; been born to ease and relative wealth.

But what's the point of living without excitement, without something to live for?

Enjolras was a firebrand, a firework, and he was the one who pushed them to look around and dream, to see things in their minds' eye that weren't yet real, to choose what is right instead of what is simply easy.

To see the Republic, just around the corner, so long as they still fought the status quo.

...

I

thank you

Alright, I’m putting this under a Read More because I bet that it’s going to get long, but I would like everybody to read this, please.

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Repeat after me,

Disagreeing with a ship is fine. Not liking a ship is fine. Discussing why you don’t like a ship is okay. Bashing a ship is wrong. Bashing a ship is hurtful. Bashing the population of that ship is rude.

dont worry, if youre just NICE enough to your opressor SURELy theyll just, GIVE you freedom, out of the kindness of their wonderful filthy shit hearts, just as long as you comply perfectly with their ideations/expectations of you whilst simultaneously and constantly expressing your IMPRESSIVE and UNDYINGgratitude for the GREAT WAYS your oppressor has thrown you a scrap or two and called it equality 

GUISE

GUISE

IF YOU HIT “X+C” IT SHUTS OFF EVERY GIF ON YOUR DASH

EVERY SINGLE ONE TURNS TO A LITTLE GREY BOX WITH A LOCK

GUISE

TUMBLR HAS MADE ITSELF SAFE FOR EPILEPTICS

PASS IT ON

“ships: joly/bossuet/musichetta”

“joly/bossuet/musichetta (background)”