wisteria --- ( WRITING ) ! P/U: PTERO.

[leafeyon]

loool

it's gross don't read it anywaaaay. <3

[French Vanilla]

omgggg I am so tempted...

[leafeyon]

No you are nooot~ I promise it is bad for your literate brain. xDD

[mayamei]

seki is genius kk

and you should read the thing in its entirety yes...

[French Vanilla]

I - I can't.
not before I write your order.

[mayamei]

oh trutru okay bbe *w*b

i can't believe i'm getting so much hot writing from you guys. heart

[French Vanilla]

<333

I should get started on kuku's order hmn...

[peacecrafting]

... i despise the notice system on gaia. D8

[leafeyon]

mister dictator

... i despise the notice system on gaia. D8

AS. DO. I. So much. ;;

And this is just adding to yours. Ohohoho.

[French Vanilla]

kuku bear

HON HON HON.

( /TWIRLS MY MUSTACHE )

HI THERE. WRITE THOSE FGTS FOR ME YES.

LUD IS AN ALCOHOLIC AND DOES NUDE PAINTINGS AND KANYE IS A POTHEAD LOSER THAT PLAYS VIDEO GAMES AND THEY ARE CASUAL ******** AND I WANT YOU TO WRITE LUD PAINTING BUTTERFLIES ON KANYE'S a** OK? OK.

100K.

IT'S ALL I HAVE.

BE FREEEEEEEEE.

//sob
I tried hard to fulfill what you wanted, but it feels like I failed.

orz;;

//nervous wreck

He is drunk and doesn't care (or maybe that's the only time he does care, he isn't sure - that's not right though, not exactly right, because he always cares when it is about Kanye) when he traps those slender limbs beneath him and traces the imaginary strokes of his brush with the touch of his lips and burns the images through humming nerves and pale skin. Those heady eyes are looking at him, hazy with sleep and curiosity; it is too early in the morning for either of them to be awake. Ludwig is usually too hungover to have a single conscious thought at seven in the morning and Kanye is only up at that point if there is a major event going on in his game of choice. He tries very hard not to be caught in those colors, in the startling circle of blues and greens and skylark sapphires sparking on the edges of brown. His eyes remind Ludwig of his palette, filled with colors so saturated and intense they stain his fingers and, secretly, he adores these eyes.

"Inspired," he whispers along the flat plane of Kanye's shoulder and he knows his partner understands his eccentric working habits. Hair so blonde it shines white in the weak morning light shifts as arms and legs are rearranged and hips nudged about, curling in when his side of the bed dips down and his bare feet are padding softly against the floor.

Ludwig is not lying about being inspired, but it takes about eight crumbled balls of sketchbook pages for it to strike him in its entirety. He returns with his smallest and most mobile paints, the expensive inks gleaming darkly from their containers. A slight shiver passes through the slumbering body beneath his hands when he lifts the sheets and observes, for a quiet moment, as he tries to decide on his canvas. Kanye could sleep through a gang shooting and not know it most of the time.

Art begins wherever knowledge fails us, he thinks.



Art begins the moment we are capable of wonder.


Gently, he dips his brush into a small jar, setting it aside on the floor where he will contrive not to spill it; in goes the tip, disappearing behind opaque glass, out it comes, gleaming with inky beads of molten obsidian. He dabs it lightly against the edge, watching the excess roll off, and art begins the moment he is capable of wonder. Ludwig is careful of his brush - he keeps his lines steady and confident, thickening only when it is needed because there is no need to wake him, not yet, not until it is done and wakefulness will not rupture the surreal fantasy he is spinning with his inks and his brushes. A wing is fluttering to life on an ivory hip, its edges and colors singing on living flesh. Butterflies roll out from under his palms, rolling out from the tiny little jars and the soft sable hairs of his paintbrush, springing to life gradually and frantically, sensually rising with the inward curl of the lower back and flaring defiantly at the narrow waist.

He paints them one at a time, pausing between each to watch the rhythmic rise and fall of his lover's chest, to playfully connect each and every dark spot with the back of his brush, because art begins the moment he is capable of wonder and this body is the most wonderful of all.

[peacecrafting]

lute

WOW!!!!1111 U R SO EVIL
8D
i lyke eet ohohoho ... |D
clever clever

nilla

oh writing .. i read now

[salre]

beautiful ; o;

[French Vanilla]

@ tezu:
ohmygod. ' //////// '
//embarrassed

@salre:
salreeee your pixels have gotten more amazing. * V *
//stalks

and nooo not at all. ; v ;

[mayamei]

i love how delicate you make him starting to paint *w* every movement being appreciated mmmm awesome job bbe <333

[French Vanilla]

n-not at all it feels so... arhgnnnn, I don't know.
maybe I will rewrite it later...


I wasn't sure what to do with the prompt, but
seki wanted to give kuku what she wanted. ; A ;
// nervousssss

baaw MAYA SPEAKING OF DELICATE PAINTING
your painting skills have gotten sooooo goood. * O *
// awe