#cedar palette

[hey-color-palettes]

Hello!! May i request a palette based on the name Cedar? For my partner!! ^-^ tysm!!

#f2c9a2 || #d38c68 || #9f5a4b || #48394a || #201e1d

[daily-tma]

Daily TMA 169 - Queen Melanie

[daybreakthing]

bleached cedar! ⸻ a presentation that blurs that lines between kenous/kenoine (link) & monachine (link)! this could be a mix of the two, not being able to tell the difference between them, etc!

symbol source (link)!

for anon!

tagging @radiomogai & @color-palette-presentations!

[cedarwrought]

rip my samsung updated and im Suffering

[fabledivine]

also soda/hana together the clock

like this? :3c

[inkstainedpalettes]

Inktuneber Day 28

Transylvania Mania - from the Young Frankenstein musical

FORGOT TO QUEUE THIS. SORRY. Anyways go listen to this musical its so funny

[hoaxsuicide]

Family Room Home Bar Atlanta

A large, open-concept transitional family room with a bar, white walls, a standard fireplace, a stone fireplace, and a wall-mounted television is an example of this style.

[fallenbratfiction]

artist reader & wood carver joel

joel loves spending quality time with you; it's one of his favourite things to do.

your shared studio is quiet, save for the rhythmic scrape of joel's carving knife and the soft drag of your brush.

everything feels golden, slow.

your side of the studio smells like turpentine and acrylics, while his side smells of cedar shavings and linseed oil. there's an overlap in the middle where your supplies end up on his desk and his gloves find their way to your cart. neither of you seems to mind, as everything is easy to find.

you change sitting positions often, unable to stay still, or when you need to find a different angle to keep going. you sit cross-legged on the floor, paint smudged on your hands and your forehead from running your hand through your hair, but you haven't noticed that yet.

he's focused on carving an owl. you're sketching him in silence yet again — he always says he doesn’t like being drawn, but you catch him peeking, watching how your eyes trace him before you commit to paper. you think he doesn’t even realize how gentle he looks when he works. sometimes you pause just to stare at him. his hands are strong, worn and calloused, the frown on his face, his focused face, and the way he hums quietly to himself.

you could paint or draw anything you wanted to, but he always ends up being your favourite subject.

he glances up when he feels your gaze.

"what?" he asks amused.

"you've got shavings in your hair, hold still" you say with a soft smile, setting the canvas aside before getting up and walking towards him. he doesn't look up, his mouth twitches as he watches your footsteps get closer to him. he leans into your touch as you brush them off. "there you go, better now." he wraps his hand around yours gently and presses a kiss to your paint-stained palm of your hand before going back to carving.

there's a shelf in the studio that holds your shared works; it's where your worlds meet. around the room, there are portraits put up by joel himself of his favorite paintings that you made, and wooden figures that decorate the house. your favorite figure is a deer on your nightstand that he made just for you, and the horse he gifted ellie. his favorite paintings are the intimate ones, colorful sketches of nature, people you love, friends, and animals, horses. lastly, a few quite personal ones that he refuses to let you put away.

sometimes, when his hands are too sore or his mind too cluttered to focus on carving, Joel still comes into the studio with you. He won’t say much—just slips inside with his guitar slung over his shoulder and a mug of tea in hand, settles into the couch by the window, and watches you work. you’re standing at your easel today, barefoot, shirt streaked with paint, hair pulled messily back. the room smells like linseed and paint, your palette lies open on a wooden bench next to you.

joel would tune his guitar slowly, deliberately, the soft twang of strings breaking the quiet in a way that somehow fits—like it’s part of the rhythm of your brushstrokes. He starts to play something gentle, a little folk. not demanding attention, just filling the space between you. You glance over your shoulder at him, your smile small but warm.

you turn back to your canvas, letting the sound of his music settle into your spine, guiding your movements without thinking. There’s something about the way he plays—steady, raw, a little unpolished—that makes your painting come easier. and he just watches.

some days, this is enough. You, him, a quiet room, and the shared act of creating. when you finally set your brush down, you stretch your arms over your head and he pats the empty space beside him with a lazy smile.

"c’mere, artist.”

when the sun dips low and both of your hands are tired from carving and painting, you boil water, make some tea for both of you, and curl into his lap as if it is your throne. joel wraps an arm around your waist and takes your tired hand in the other, thumb pressing carefully at the aching tendons in your wrist, massaging with care, soothing the ache from the long hours of sketching. "too much drawin' again," he mutters, concerned.

you hum and nod as you melt further into his warmth, cheek pressed against his shoulder. his flannel shirt smells of cedar and soap, and your eyes flutter shut, enjoying the moment. when your eyes are open again, you catch the way his glasses sit low on the bridge of his nose—like they always do when he forgets he’s wearing them. you love how he looks like this. so settled, so deeply himself. so yours.

likes, reblogs & comments are always appreciated 🧡

don't copy, translate or claim my work as your own. thank you

[becomeundeath]

Fragrances for the Dead

A list of fragrances that would be fitting of the dead and undead. Many of these sellers have more intriguing fragrances in the same theme, so be sure to check them out. Prices are included and listed in USD.

Midnight Mass by Amorphous

"Aroma palette is smoky, incense, and resinous. Highlights include frankincense, myrrh, ancient moss, aged merlot, antique woods, and extinguished candle wick." Price: $26/5ml oil / $160/50ml EDP

Vena Cava by Amorphous

"Aroma palette is woodsy, floral, and metallic. Highlights include dark florals, merlot, orris, ylang ylang, oud, and blood accord." Price: $26/5ml oil / $160/50ml EDP

Bloodflower by PARFUMS QUARTANA

"Aromatic anisé liquor stirs a metallic blood accord into a frenzy of nocturnal delight. Accords: Licorice, Anise, Blood Accord, Cloves, Orris, Bulgarian Rose, Amber, Patchouli" Price: $11/2ml EDP / $195/50ml EDP

Grave by Redwood Alchemy

"This scent is reminiscent of freshly turned grave dirt, damp grass, powdered flowers, coffin wood and etched granite slabs cloaked in moss. Notes: Etched Gravestones, Pine Boxes, Old Creeping Moss, Freshly Turned Grave Dirt, Dry Flowers." Price: $42.99/10ml / $119.99/30ml

St Louis Cemetery by Alkemia

"An atmospheric brooding of Spanish moss, crumbling stone, old cement, red clay brick, and graveyard dirt." Price: $20/5ml extrait / $95/30ml extrait

Olympic Rainforest by Olympic Orchards

"Notes: cedar leaves, green sword ferns, rhododendron, forest mushrooms, beebalm, myrtle, wildflowers, oakmoss, black spruce, balsam fir, Port Orford Cedar, earthy accord." Price: $3/1ml / $65/30ml

Zombie for Him by Demeter

"Both Zombie scents are described as a combination of dried leaves, mushrooms, mildew, moss and earth." Price: $25/30ml

Inexcusable Evil by Toskovat'

Based off of the concept of war and the horrors of it, said to smell like gunpowder, concrete, blood, and iodine. Price: Sold Out (originally $255/60ml)

Bonus: Accent fragrances

Blood by Redwood Alchemy

"This unique layering accord reeks pungently of realistic, fresh blood. Notes: Blood, Iron & Copper" Price: $54.99/10ml / $139.99/30ml

Dirt by Demeter

"Our most emblematic fragrance, Demeter's Dirt was made to smell exactly like the dirt from the fields around the Pennsylvania family farm belonging to our founding perfumer." Price: $25/30ml

Funeral Home by Demeter

"Funeral Home is a blend of classic white flowers including lilies, carnations, gladiolus, chrysanthemums with stems and leaves, with a hint of mahogany and oriental carpet." Price: $25/30ml

Bonfire by Black Phoenix Alchemy Lab

"The perfume of withering leaves, their brittle forms surrendering to the flame, releasing a sigh of bitter smoke that is flickering with the ghosts of summer’s memory." Price: $29 oil

The Fifth Veil by Black Phoenix Alchemy Lab

"Putrefaction, the veil of decay. A yellowing shroud of raw-edged Muga silk, banana-spotted with chunks of fermented fig and exuding rich, earthy puffs of mushroom dust." Price: $31 oil

Ezekiel 16:49 by Black Phoenix Alchemy Lab

"Blood musk and ashes." Price: $33 oil

Where to get samples:

I personally recommend Luckyscent and Surrender to Chance for decants of brands that might be out of stock or don't offer samples. Most samples will be anywhere from $3 to $8 and these sites will often have sales, especially during the holidays.

Some places such as Black Phoenix Alchemy Lab, Hexennacht, or The Strange South are partnered with Ajevie to provide samples.

Additional:

Fragrances more often than not are NOT cheap. I highly recommend tracking down a sample of whatever fragrance you want BEFORE spending the money to get a bottle. Always try fragrances in a small amount beforehand to make sure you have no reactions to the formula or scent, and wash it off quickly if you do. When wearing perfume oils, keep the area out of direct sunlight.

[raleydrew]

Similar to Persian Plum:

Metallic Copper - #71291D

Moccaccino - #6E1D14

Falu Red - #801818

Merlot - #831923

Similar to Cherrywood:

Dark Tan - #661010

Redwood - #5D1E0F

Heath - #541012

Espresso - #612718

Similar to Cedar:

Cocoa Bean - #481C1C

Dark Sienna - #3C1414

Deep Oak - #412010

Cork - #40291D

Similar to Bay Leaf:

Silver Tree - #66B58F

Tea - #65AB7C

Faded Green - #7BB274

Greyish Green - #82A67D

Similar to Haiti:

Black Rock - #0D0332

Midnight Purple - #280137

Very Dark Purple - #2A0134

Mirage - #161928

Den Of The Blood Witch

#741e20 | #60161b | #401b1b | #71af8c | #1a0937

[alarwynnwhispers]

✒️ ᴡʜᴇʀᴇ ᴛʜᴇ ꜱɪʟᴇɴᴄᴇ ᴛᴏᴏᴋ ʜᴇʀ - ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ 9: ᴛʜᴇ ᴛᴏᴡɴ ᴛʜᴀᴛ ʀᴀɪɴ ꜰᴏʀɢᴏᴛ ✒️

ꜰ1 x ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ | ʟᴀɴᴅᴏ ɴᴏʀʀɪꜱ ᴀᴜ | ᴀɴɢꜱᴛ + ᴅʀᴀᴍᴀ + ʀᴇᴅᴇᴍᴘᴛɪᴏɴ

⚠️ ᴄᴏɴᴛᴇɴᴛ ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢꜱ:

ᴇᴍᴏᴛɪᴏɴᴀʟ ʙʀᴇᴀᴋᴅᴏᴡɴ & ɢʀɪᴇꜰ

ᴛʜᴇᴍᴇꜱ ᴏꜰ ᴀʙᴀɴᴅᴏɴᴍᴇɴᴛ & ʀᴇɢʀᴇᴛ

ᴍᴇɴᴛᴀʟ ᴀɴᴅ ᴇᴍᴏᴛɪᴏɴᴀʟ ᴅɪꜱᴛʀᴇꜱꜱ

ɪᴍᴘʟɪᴇᴅ ᴄʜᴇᴀᴛɪɴɢ / ɪɴꜰɪᴅᴇʟɪᴛʏ

ᴇxᴘʟɪᴄɪᴛ ᴠᴇʀʙᴀʟ ᴄᴏɴꜰʀᴏɴᴛᴀᴛɪᴏɴ

ᴄʀʏɪɴɢ ᴀɴᴅ ᴘʜʏꜱɪᴄᴀʟ ᴄᴏʟʟᴀᴘꜱᴇ

ᴛʜᴇᴍᴇꜱ ᴏꜰ ꜰᴏʀɢɪᴠᴇɴᴇꜱꜱ ᴀɴᴅ ᴇᴍᴏᴛɪᴏɴᴀʟ ʀᴇᴄᴏᴠᴇʀʏ

The descent into Washington was slow, almost reverent. As the jet sliced through the bruised underbelly of the clouds, Lando stared out the window, taking in the muted palette of earth and sky. The Seattle-Tacoma International Airport came into view, an architectural testament of glass, metal, and rain-soaked tarmac. The sky wept with a steady drizzle, as if mourning something unseen.

His boots met the ground with a soft thud as he exited the terminal. A suited chauffeur stood nearby, holding a placard bearing his name. A few fans craned their necks, doing double-takes, but he moved briskly, head down, uninterested in the world recognizing him in this state. The man opened the car door, and Lando slipped inside, welcomed by the subdued warmth of leather and the quiet hum of solitude.

The drive to Forks was long, over four hours, and stretched through roads winding like threads of silk across moss-covered mountains. Lando watched intently. Towering evergreens lined the highway, brushing the sky like cathedral pillars. Rain tapped gently against the windowpane, falling in rhythm with his heartbeat. Mist curled along the treetops like whispered secrets, and brooks sang softly in the underbrush.

It felt otherworldly, primitive in its beauty, untouched by the clamor of his world. There were no flashing cameras, no roaring engines, no interviews or simulation tests. Just the breath of the Pacific Northwest and the ache of hope clutching his ribcage.

When the chauffeur finally murmured, "We’ve arrived," Lando leaned forward. Forks stretched before him, quiet, drowsy, and ethereal. The town slumbered beneath a silvery sky, with its wooden cabins and rain-glossed sidewalks, its sleepy diners and single-story shops. The air was thick with petrichor and pine.

He was taken to a modest lodge tucked behind a line of tall cedars, the windows warm with amber light. From the balcony of his room, Lando marveled at the world below, how the fog moved like breath between houses, how the trees bowed in prayer with the wind. He’d never known such stillness.

But he hadn't come for stillness.

The next day, his search began.

He walked the town on foot, tracing every street that matched her descriptions in the book. The local bookstore, the little flower shop with hanging pots of blue lobelia, the creaky bridge that crossed the Sol Duc river. He even stopped by the diner mentioned once in a footnote, ordered coffee, and waited.

Nothing.

The second day was the same. His boots were muddied, his coat damp, his hope fraying. The receptionist at the lodge began to recognize his patterns: out by eight, back by dusk, always alone, always exhausted. He asked a few shopkeepers, described her vaguely, never using her name.

No one knew. Or they were protecting her.

Then came the third day.

The forest swallowed him in silence. Only the crunch of pine needles and the rustle of wings disturbed the stillness. He had returned to a trail hinted in the book, a path lined with moss-covered logs and ferns taller than his waist. Sunlight fractured through the canopy in dappled gold.

And then he saw her.

A figure, cloaked in a wool cardigan, standing just ahead. Her hair was longer now, messily tied back. She was kneeling beside a patch of wild mushrooms, a basket in hand. For a heartbeat, he thought he was hallucinating.

But then—

She turned.

Her eyes found his across the clearing. Wide, startled, fragile.

For a moment, everything held its breath.

(Y/n) froze, the basket of wildflowers slipping slightly in her grasp. Time seemed to slow, stretching taut between them like a thread that had never quite broken. The shadows of the trees dappled across her face, but he’d know that expression anywhere, soft shock, warring with old grief.

Lando took a tentative step forward.

Then another.

Like he was approaching something sacred, or something that could vanish with the wrong breath. His movements were careful, reverent, almost afraid. But when she didn’t move, didn’t run, he broke.

His body surged forward, feet pounding the damp earth beneath him, and she stood frozen in place, unmoving, as if her heart had forgotten how to beat.

He reached her.

Crashing into her, arms wrapping tight around her waist, he buried his face in her shoulder as if trying to disappear inside her. The basket tumbled from her hands, scattering petals across the mossy ground. His knees gave out beneath him, pulling her with him, and together they fell to the forest floor, cushioned by moss, by pine needles, by the unbearable weight of everything they hadn’t said.

And then he broke.

The sob that tore from him was not clean or graceful, it was guttural, shattering, the sound of a man unraveling. His tears soaked through her sweater, hot and desperate. His hands clung to her, trembling as they gripped the fabric at her back, like he was afraid she’d disappear if he loosened his grip.

His cries were feral, ragged with shame.

Apologies fell from his mouth in a steady stream, I’m sorry. I didn’t know. I didn’t see. I was wrong.

Each word dropped like rain off a broken gutter, messy, constant, unstoppable.

And (Y/n) said nothing.

She just sat there, silently.

She let him fall apart in the only place that had ever felt like home, her.

And for the first time in a long time, he let himself mourn.

Not for what he lost.

But for the version of him who let it go.

After an hour, when the storm in his chest quieted into hiccups, she spoke, her voice soft and brittle.

"How did you find me?"

He pulled back, red-eyed and pale. "The letter. In the book. The one you gave Lily."

She closed her eyes. "So she gave it to you."

"No," he whispered. "She didn’t. I just... found it."

A tired sigh escaped her lips. Then she stood, brushing moss from her coat.

Without a word, she started walking away.

Panic bloomed in his chest. He stood quickly, stumbling after her. "Wait, please—don’t disappear again."

She didn’t respond.

He followed her like a ghost, keeping a step behind. They emerged from the forest and crossed a gravel road. She didn’t speak until they stopped in front of a small diner with misted windows and fairy lights strung along its edge.

She turned.

"Go away," she said quietly. "Go back to Europe. I’m at peace here. I’m happy."

He shook his head, desperation blooming in his throat. "I can’t."

Her shoulders slumped. She opened the diner door.

They ate in silence. The waiter, a local teen with wide eyes, stared for a moment too long at Lando before scurrying away. (Y/n) sipped her coffee. Lando picked at his food, unsure of what he was tasting.

Afterward, she walked home. He followed.

Near the porch, she stopped abruptly, her chest rising and falling in sharp, shallow breaths. Then she turned, eyes blazing, and snapped through gritted teeth, “Stop following me already. Go back to the whore.”

The words landed like gunfire, sharp, loud, final.

Her voice cracked at the last syllable, splintering under the weight of everything she’d been holding in. Her posture, once rigid with anger, faltered. Her shoulders trembled. And then she broke.

Right there in the dirt, she collapsed to her knees as if her body could no longer carry the ache. Sobs tore from her chest, raw, guttural, unrestrained. The kind that made the night itself seem to still in sorrow.

Lando was at her side within seconds, dropping beside her like he couldn’t bear the distance. He didn’t hesitate. He wrapped his arms around her tightly, desperately, pulling her against him like he was afraid she might dissolve into nothing.

“I’m sorry,” he choked out, over and over, voice thick with remorse. “I’m sorry. I was stupid. I was blind.”

He pressed his forehead to the side of her head, her hair damp from tears and night air. His hands trembled as they held her, but he didn’t let go, not even when she beat her fists weakly against his chest, not even when she sagged against him, wrecked and silent.

Because there was nothing left to defend.

And everything left to lose.

"Why wasn’t I enough?" she whispered.

He cried again, helplessly. "You were. You were everything. I just... I lost myself. I lost everything."

They sat in silence until the stars blinked into view above the trees.

Eventually, she stood.

It wasn’t graceful. Her legs were unsteady, her movements stiff, like grief had settled deep into her bones. She wiped at her face with the sleeve of her sweater, smearing the tears but making no effort to hide that they’d been there. Her eyes were swollen, rimmed with red, but there was a flicker of something steadier behind them now, resolve, or maybe exhaustion masquerading as strength.

Lando rose with her, slower this time, as if afraid that one wrong move would send her spiraling again. He didn’t touch her. Not yet. Just stood there, watching, waiting, hands clenched at his sides like he wanted to reach for her but knew he hadn’t earned the right.

She looked away, gaze fixed on the gravel beneath her feet. When she finally spoke, her voice was hoarse, the words scraped raw from crying.

"Not now," she said, voice steel again. "Give me time."

He nodded.

He didn’t leave.

In the days that followed, he stayed in Forks. He didn’t crowd her. Didn’t beg. He just existed nearby. Helping at the local garden she volunteered at. Walking the same trails. Eating at the same diner. Once, she saw him get irritated when a local named Jasper flirted with her. That territorial glint hadn’t changed.

But he didn’t intervene.

Not yet.

He waited.

Because some love needed silence to grow back. And he would wait as long as it took.

To be continued...🧡

✒️ ᴡʜᴇʀᴇ ᴛʜᴇ ꜱɪʟᴇɴᴄᴇ ᴛᴏᴏᴋ ʜᴇʀ - ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ 10: ᴀʟʟ ᴛʜᴇ ʀᴏᴀᴅꜱ ᴛʜᴀᴛ ʟᴇᴀᴅ ᴛᴏ ʏᴏᴜ ✒️

📝 Note from the Author: So… funny thing. This post should’ve been labeled 18th day on Tumblr, not 17th. Yeah, I totally skipped a day somewhere along the way, and then scheduled this thinking it was Day 16, but that was already the 17th. Honestly, Tumblr’s dashboard doesn’t help and my brain was clearly on airplane mode. Long story short: welcome to Day 18 of this emotional rollercoaster I've been calling a series. 🎉

And what a chapter to land on.

Based on the piece where Lando descends into the damp, brooding skies of Washington like some kind of grief-worn romantic hero, yeah, that one, this story really came for my throat. It's a love letter to solitude, to mistakes we wish we could undo, and to the unspoken pull that draws you back to someone you once called home. If moss, rain-soaked trails, and a heartbreak reunion in the forest are your thing? Buckle up.

Anyway, thank you for sticking with me for 18 days. Even when I forget how to count. Here’s to healing. And maybe, just maybe, to second chances. 🌲☕💔 With love, me 🧡

[dumbdolphin333]

HAPPY TRANS DAY OF VISIBILITY! Here's some trans headcanons :3

Ashlynn - trans girl

Bunny - trans girl

Hunter - trans guy (see the t4t huntlynn agenda?)

Cedar - just trans

Cerise - agender

Alistair - trans guy

Melody - nonbinary (the color palette. I am not above color palette headcanons)

Maddie - genderfluid, pangender, agender... Just everything and nothing all at the same time

Lizzie - demigirl

Kitty - transmasc demiboy

Sparrow - very genderfucky. Boy? Girl? Nonbinary? No one knows, not even him. Or her. Or them. Or-

[stealeroflemons]

eah thing but make it FASHION aka met gala themed but I'm sunburnt and only half awake right now #30 (PART I)

SURPRISE! I'm alive and well. Mostly. I'm getting ready to leave for university so I am tireeeeed. Anyways. I know there was a lot of controversy around the met gala and that I'm extremely late in doing this, but I do want to make this post to still add some ever after high fun and to also have some fashion fun with the help of Pinterest. The theme is (with great consideration of your suggestions and of my own deliberation) "Hans Christian Dior: A Spellelebration of Fable-ous Fashion"

This mainly came from research on past met gala themed and how quite a few of them are themes after specific fashion houses or designers AND from the Thronecoming special (which is PEAK fashion in the series besides Way Too Wonderland and Spring Unsprung) where Cedar calls out Duchess for wearing a fake Hans Christian Dior dress! (note, I am trying to mainly use Christian Dior gowns/outfits for this because of the reference in Thronecoming also sorry for the blurriness)

Briar is THAT GIRL. She is flushed in hot pink looking gorgeous with about every inch of her glittering with body shimmer, glitter hairspray, and shiny shiny jewels. I like to think that instead of the gold detailing in the pictures it would be silver and that the closer embellishments would be rose detailing to honor her usual aesthetic and legacy

Faybelle is serving every bit of whimsy and darkness. Her accessories and the layers of her dress and even her hair seem to be alive with lightning crackling around. Her wings are extra pretty and equally terrifying with silver thorn adornments that are magically light enough to not weigh her down

Ashlynn's look was partially inspired by Lady Tremaine's silhouettes in the lie action Cinderella while still maintaining the color palette of her usual outfits. Her look combines the beauty of the enchanted forest and foliage and the classy, fine china patterns you'd see in a royal palace. She is absolutely radiant and of course while walking up the steps of the Met, she loses a slipper ;)

Duchess has taken a slightly different approach to her usual fluffy-tulle outfits and gone for more of a paper swan look. The sharp angles provide a dangerous look to her, contrasting the soft purple accents and the feather headpieces she wears. She seems to float on air and she walks through the crowds of people in her gown, a true picture of elegance and grace with a touch of darkness to her

The one and only Apple White is DRAMATIC. HUGE HAIR. BOLD RED MAKEUP. EXTREME DRESS SILHOUETTE. THE MOST ROYAL JEWELRY YOU CAN FIND. She looks like something out of an editorial magazine on royalty. This entire look is a more elevated look of her daily wear, and she wears it with grace and sophistication

Darling looks so DARLING! I do think the gold on the dress would be swapped out for silver and that the pearls would be more pink-y toned so it would match the jewels in your basic outfit (same with other accessories). She's sticking with the sort of rococo hair that she usually has because it's iconic let's be honest. I was debating on giving her a more armored look but for this I wanted to embrace her softer and delicate look

Rosabella looks like a French aristocrat from an old Hollywood movie in my mind for an event like this. Nevertheless any fur details are faux, after all our girl is still an animal activist (slay queen). I think the dusty gold-brown tone of the dress with the deep red accents and jewelry pays a nice homage to not only her day to day look but to Belle's iconic yellow dress. I also feel like her and Briar would contrast well because Briar is very bright and vibrant in her look and Rosabella is more muted and understated which I like a lot

anways I'll make a part 2 eventually, I have all the collages made I just need to create a post and write descriptions. But for now I'm gonna go back to packing and planning for uni and I'll get back to y'all when I can (and hopefully my fanfictions, who now haunt me in my dreams)

[fairytalegonewronga03]

I've Found a Masterpiece In You (A Work of Art It's True)

Rated M Read here.

I'm so excited to share this one! 🎨📷🎨📷🎨📷

Evan, a photographer, gets on the wrong bus and ends up in a small town where he meets Tommy, an artist. Their unexpected connection blossoms into a heartfelt romance, as they inspire each other through their art and shared experiences. It's a story of love, discovery, and finding beauty in the unplanned. Snippet below! 🎨📷🎨📷🎨📷

Evan Buckley stepped off the bus into Cedar Ridge Hollow, the charm of its quaintness momentarily taking his mind off the relentless rain. The weather had turned suddenly brutal, sheets of water lashing against him with a vengeance. He squinted through the downpour, pulling his jacket over his head like a flimsy shield.

His shoes squelched as he trudged along the deserted main street, searching for a refuge from the storm. The old-fashioned streetlights flickered in protest against the wind. Just when he thought he'd have to spend the rest of his life as a soggy ghost haunting this tiny town, Evan spotted a small building with a light glowing warm and inviting at the front.

He dashed toward it, hope flickering in time with the lights. Rain cascaded off him in torrents as he reached the stoop. He knocked hard, waited, then knocked again. Silence answered him back each time. Desperation mounting, he tried the handle. The door creaked open, and he hesitated on the threshold. Thunder rumbled ominously behind him, nudging him forward into the dim interior.

“Hello?” his voice wavered, swallowed by the silence. He stepped further inside, eyes darting for any sign of life. The air was cool and smelled faintly of turpentine and linseed oil. “Anyone home?”

He was answered only by the relentless patter of rain on the roof. He groped along the wall until his fingers brushed a switch. Light flooded the room, and he gasped. The walls were alive with paintings—vivid landscapes that seemed to shimmer with movement, portraits so lifelike he felt as though they might speak at any moment. Canvases were stacked in corners, some peeking out from beneath cloths as if they held secrets too precious to reveal all at once.

He stood transfixed in the small studio, the world outside forgotten in an instant. Each brushstroke pulled him deeper into its spell, wrapping him in warmth far more potent than any fire. One painting stood on an easel, clearly in progress, vibrant yet still incomplete. A palette lay nearby with freshly mixed paint. Brushes were scattered across a table, and a cup of murky water sat precariously close to the edge. He approached, drawn to the unfinished scene on the canvas—a stormy coastline with dark clouds roiling above. He leaned in, mesmerized by the way the colors seemed to shift beneath the surface.

“What are you doing here?” A voice exploded from behind him, rough and accusatory.

Evan spun around, startled. His camera swung wildly from his neck, colliding with the table. Paint tumbled to the floor, splattering in vivid arcs. He stumbled back, slipping on the slick mess before landing hard on his back. 🎨📷🎨📷🎨📷

@xtarmanderx, @jamieroyjamieroy, @fand0mfancies

[marquaismakesthings]

Introducing: The Cedar Splatana Stamper! A wood stamp-inspired redesign of the splatana stamper, this one has fizzy bomb and killer wail. Fizzy bomb already deals enough damage to combo with the Splatana’s vertical slash with no charge, essentially making it a timed burst bomb with the potential to deal lethal damage. Plus, giving the Stamper a kit with fizzy bomb would match with Frye’s palette in the memverse. As for killer wail, it could potentially make up for the splatana’s inability to hit targets behind walls, or provide long-range chip damage to give opportunities for more splats. Design-wise, while I do love the plastic-and-metal feel of the two existing stampers, a wooden rubber stamp would look super cool, and still manage to fit in with Nouveau’s design philosophy of using light materials.

I personally think that it would be awesome to wield a recycled brella with a cherry blossom branch patterned on the front. Plus the red detailing looks really cool. As for the kit, I didn’t really know what to do with this one. I ended up choosing splat bomb and booyah bomb, largely due to their ability to displace opponents. Splat bomb serves as a form of area denial, which, when paired with a launched brella, could be utilized to really force someone into a corner. Booyah bomb is, by itself, a solid special for aiding teammates, plus I can see a really niche use for it in splat zones, utilizing a combination of a launched canopy and a well-placed booyah bomb to quickly take control of a zone.

One of my favorite details of the glooga dualies is that, after dodge rolling, the weapons produce heat waves while shooting, indicating that they are literally heating up ink like glue guns would, which in turn causes the increased damage output that the gloogas are known for. I wanted to go all in on this design choice by giving the dualies a rather volcanic color palette and flame motifs where heat warning labels usually would be. Fizzy bomb is a sub weapon that can help the gloogas paint, a category that they tend to fall short in, plus it could allow the user to be more aggressive towards an opponent without the aid of a teammate. Splattercolor screen, on the other hand, is a source of pressure that the user can capitalize upon, plus the 40 damage from running into the screen could combo with a single post-roll shot, given that the target has already taken a small amount of damage.

[inkstainedpalettes]

Inktuneber Day 9

Static - Jukebox the Ghost

Ohhh another good one! I love Jukebox the Ghost a lot, and some of their quirkier older stuff holds a special place in my heart. This is top of the list. An absolute treat when played live too! That concert T-shirt is my favorite shirt I own