#paper flowers zine

[ragdollnetic]

I had the absolute privilege of being a part of the @paperflowerszine!

The flower I chose to feature the wisteria, a flower that represents resilience, devotion, and affection.

[paperflowerszine]

After getting everything ready, it is finally time to ship out the finished bundles! We can't wait for all of you to receive your goods! Thank you for all of your support!

🌷 Carrd 🌷 Twitter 🌷 Instagram 🌷

Every reblog is greatly appreciated! @zineapps @zinefeed @zineforall @zinefans @zine-scene  @zinecenter @fandomzines  @zinesubmissions  @anizines @faneventshub @anizines

[papierexperimente]

An inside view in our sketchbooks ✨✨… PART 2  / Ein Einblick in unsere Skizzenbücher ✨✨… TEIL 2

[myciesmushies]

in case you can't touch grass

I bought construction paper and this was too pink to not draw flowers on

[bugsoda]

solarpunk club/community group?? fun. im planning on starting one at my school so i thought i would share some ideas :] Club Activities

learning to mend

make patches

zine creation

graffiti stencils (careful.)

stamps! flower pressing! book binding! paper making! screenprinting! really just a ton of craft shit

repurposing household items

LEARNING! (importance of community, native vs invasive plants, walkable and green cities, sustainable fashion, capitalism/rapid consumerism, grass lawns, book talk, solar energy, current climate efforts, local small businesses, public transportation, sustainable living…)

Potential Events

no-buy market

student/local artists craft fair

collab with library

host nature walks

walk around our city to see areas of improvement

community garden/fridge/cabinet project

solar energy speaker / local environmental groups

if any of yall have other ideas i would love to hear them!!

[mamamittens]

Every Fold a Wish

This is my piece from the Marco Zine, not related to Spooktober, I promise! For the rest of the fics--and even artwork!--just click the link provided above!

Also, I swear I didn't mean for it to be so sad--the original plan was goofy shenanigans and maybe ending with Marco trying to throttle Thatch when he cracks a joke about his little paper cranes but then...

well, this happened!

Oh, and here's a link to the fic specific artwork for it by @luna-orix, it's a wonderful take on the Big Scene in lovely color and style!

Word Count: 2,757

Under much pressure, Marco would have to confess this all started a very long time ago.

Back when he was still a deckhand sorting through musty maps littered with ink blots that barely passed as navigation tools. Their contents were downright illegible at best, but did well enough as teaching tools for what not to do. Over time, as they were passed from hand to unsteady hand, the parchment became worn. Rips becoming tears and holes until the only thing keeping them in one piece was hopes and dreams.

What to do with such a well loved piece of parchment?

Tossing them seemed almost an insult. And making them into paper again, while an interesting task, was usually not worth the effort. The ink bleeding and dying the usable parts darker and darker. Until it was good for little else but tissues. Marco had done it a few times just for something to do between tasks. The paper drying in the press able to be left for hours if needed. And he did hold a fondness for the old parchment made new again. But it was still not terribly useful. The ink needed to be even darker, or chalk but it smeared something terrible at the slightest touch.

In all fairness, he didn’t start with the worst off pieces.

A kind, older nurse with weathered hands and a gentle smile showing him the way. Every crisp fold building up to a new, enchanting shape. Even money could be manipulated. A cute way to leave a tip, if he was so wanting. And something to do with his hands.

And he kept doing it too. Starting with his clumsy, childish fingers. Baby fat clinging to his digits as he used his bitten nails to scrape the edges clean. Until they started to even out, habit and hard work turning them into slender, calloused tools of his trade. A little treat for himself as he learned the medical trade. It was good, to know that his hands could create even if he could not heal the hurts in others. A small comfort for himself after his patients fell asleep holding his hand, yearning to not be alone with their sickness.

He got some flak for it over the years. Always teasing remarks about how cute he was being. Little flowers and fortune tellers a popular demand when a particularly mischievous brother or sister was bedbound. And Marco would sigh. Teasingly remarking on their ungrateful attitudes even as he was plied with gifts of decorative paper for his little hobby.

They decorated his office shelves. Tucked in corners and atop the spines of medical texts. Peeking behind picture frames or marching along the windowsill of Oyaji’s room. A cavalcade of shapes in a rainbow of colors and prints. Every so often one would be found covered in layers of dust somewhere forgotten and returned to him with a wide grin. Laughter echoing down the halls as Marco racked his brain to remember when he made it.

Officially, he had no favorite paper craft. No beloved origami he had mastered over the years. Just as he had no favorite sibling.

But, if his family had the wherewithal to gather every one of his little treasures from over the years and fill up a room or four with them, there would certainly be an obvious contender.

Starting with the very first one he made with a crooked wing, crumpled lightly from the very hand that had taught him so long ago.

“I saved this one for last, boyo. Hope is… so dangerous to have on the high seas. Without it, you’ll never truly live. But too much and you’ll be too drunk to survive. And this little fella? This is what he’s all about, in a way. They say a thousand paper cranes, each folded with love and care, can grant you a single wish.” She whispered to him softly, guiding his hands over the worn map of some distant island lost to time. “Make as many as you want, it’s important to remember what it means to live—to wish. But never forget the work that goes into them. Wishing—wanting—that’s not even half the journey. Admitting you want something bad enough to dream is but the first step. After that, you still need to fold the paper. And fold it over and over again until it’s fit to fly. And then? And then, little Marco, you need to do it again. Until you have a flock a thousand strong. It can’t be done in a single day. Most won’t have the patience to do it in a lifetime. But one little crane at a time…”

She never finished that sentence.

She sighed, leaning against the pillows of her bed as Marco finished his first little bird in the palm of her hand. His own cradling the bird between their palms and she squeezed gently. Bending the worn paper a little in the cramped space.

Then she let go.

And Marco hadn’t stopped making them since.

Even as he gained his devil fruit. Grew from a boy to a man. They were his little indulgence, the fuzzy memory of a weathered hand clasped in his, paper crinkling between them never far from his mind. It hurt in a good way. A way that his fruit never gave him. A sense of release. A long sigh after a hard day. Sea breeze wrapping around his bare ankles in the hot sun. Endless blue before him with heavy storm clouds littering the horizon behind him.

His office door slammed open.

A boisterous voice practically singing out as Thatch sauntered into his office with a hot meal. It was late. Later than Marco realized. The bubbly, cool fire running thick in his veins. He’d been pushing it as of late, Marco acknowledged reluctantly.

“I come, O’ Great One! With the gift of food~!” Thatch sang, squinting into the dim candlelight of Marco’s office. Free hand hovering ominously over the light switch.

“Do it and I’ll kick you into the sea.” Marco warned. His fruit offering little reprieve from eye strain at this point. Bigger fish to fry, he supposed.

Thatch pouted, nudging the paperwork on his desk aside. Rather than setting down the food, Thatch instead placed his ass there. Wafting about the food Marco still couldn’t quite identify temptingly.

“C’mon, Coco! You’ve been in here for hours! It’s time to eat up and get some rest!” Thatch huffed.

“Stop calling me that.” Marco was ignored, as usual. The nickname a little rare but typically whipped out when Thatch thought he was being an idiot about himself.

“What could possibly be more important than enjoying some good food and even better shut eye? C’mon, I’ll even give you breakfast in bed! Doesn’t that sound scrum-didily-upmtious? This handsome man personally serving you up a hot plate of food in the morning?”

Marco imagined—not Thatch ‘handsomely’ serving anything—but sputtering as seawater ruined his hair. The woeful cries for mercy as he drowned, just a little while, he swears Namur. He deserves it!

Familiar with Thatch’s everything by this point, Marco doubted many would argue that Thatch didn’t deserve just a little waterboarding.

As a treat.

“Sounds like my sleep paralysis demon talking.” Marco drawled, fixing Thatch with a dry stare.

Thatch arched back as though struck, his dramatics nearly sending the food and himself to the floor.

“My own brother! After all the hard work I put into this? Every ounce of love I put into it?” Thatch emphasized, finally lowering the plate enough for Marco to see it was flayed sea king, glazed with honeyed pineapple and served with stuffed potatoes, a hot roll, and a slice of upside-down pineapple cake. A cup of what could be anything from tea to booze to wash it down with.

It looked fucking good. But just for being obnoxious, Marco rolled his eyes.

“Gross.”

That earned him a sharp gasp and playful tears as Thatch attempted to clamber into his lap for apology cuddles. Pressing obnoxious kisses to his face like Thatch was trying to console him from some terrible tragedy that had occurred.

“G-Get the hell off of me, you ass!” Marco sputtered, reeling back as Thatch smashed Marco’s face into his chest with petulant cries of forlorn love.

“—Oh, my poor, stalwart brother! You’ve worked so hard and can’t even accept crumbs of affection! It doesn’t make you any less of a man to cuddle!” Thatch reassured him as any protest was muffled into his shirt. “I promise I won’t think any l-LE—ES--! SHIT! ACK! M-MARCO—NO!”

Marco dug his fingers into Thatch’s unprotected sides, trapping his idiot brother in place for the deserved payback.

“Marco, yes!”

Thatch wriggled fiercely, yelping with every poke and prod as they laughed, eventually knocking back the chair and ending it with Marco wheezing under Thatch’s weight.

Finally, Marco shoved Thatch off into the floor, face aching from the smile they both shared.

“Ugh! Fine! I’ll eat and go to bed, you prick!” Marco huffed, Thatch still giggling beside him.

“Great! I’ll be sure to deliver breakfast to you, as promised~!” Thatch tittered cheekily, dodging the swipe of Marco’s hand.

“The fuck you will!” his fingertips grazing the fabric of Thatch’s sleeves. Still warm with laughter and affection.

Thatch was cold now.

Somehow colder than Marco’s veins as he desperately lifted up the other man into his arms. So much heavier than before, faint breaths wheezing with blood on his lips. Cool blue fire danced over his pale face, sinking in deep with a desperation Marco hadn’t felt in a long time. Hands slick with blood, skin blossoming with feathers and scales. Teetering between bird and man so violently his words were more akin to bird cries.

There were hands pulling him away. Trying to tug his trembling body from curling over Thatch’s cooling corpse. Hot, burning hands ripping him away.

A large hand, firm and steady. A rock in the ocean that beached him with such violence.

A deep, rumbling voice.

“We’ve got it from here, my son. We’ll save him, my boy. Come back to me. Come back to us. We love you.” Those words followed him into the dark. The world shaking as his lungs rattled with sobs.

“We love you…”

There was a beeping.

That was all Marco could think about.

All he could handle.

His hands were wrong. Almost incandescent. The bones vague shadows flickering in gossamer blue light. Gold licking his fingertips as he stroked… something. Lips stiff. Twisting with difficulty out of the pointed beak they were trying to form. Every ragged breath licking across his tongue with a heady weight to it.

There was something in his hands, Marco knew.

It was… thick. A little tepid. Some give until stiff scaffolding within protested. Thin threads slipping beneath a strange, upper layer. A steady, weak thrum beneath his touch.

His eyes burned. He wanted to rip into it, whatever it was. Until it was hot and thrashing and alive—

But a keen slipped from his lips as a rhythmic beeping finally registered properly.

He was at someone’s bedside.

Again.

He was a little deckhand tending to a dying nurse.

No.

He was a man at a bedside.

A friend?

A brother?

He loved them fiercely. Whoever they were.

Marco wanted whoever it was to wake up already. Tease him for losing control like this. Obnoxiously cry about the display of affection that was cutting into Marco’s chest. Turning his lungs to ribbons. Hooking into the arteries of his heart until every thump made him ache for release.

There was a blanket over his shoulders, Marco realized.

How long had he been here? He shifted in the chair and heard paper crinkle.

Fresh, patterned sheets. Traditional ocean waves with little fish peeking here and there. Tiny boats fighting even, arching waves. All in soft blues that transitioned to richer hues, imbuing the artwork with depth and emotion.

It was instinct to reach for the paper. But the weight of a whole person stopped him. Marco looked.

Both his hands were grasping a limp wrist with a faint pulse.

Letting go felt like ripping away his flesh. Piece by piece.

Fold it over and over again.

Marco’s hands were steady despite everything. And it felt like betrayal.

He shouldn’t be able to do anything right now.

Not even breathe.

But his heart kept going. Lungs expanding with the scent of cold antiseptic.

The paper was smooth. Flawless despite the neglect he’d shown it for… however long he’d been sitting at…

Here.

Without it, you’ll never truly live.

She meant this, didn’t she? His family?

Even without a smooth surface, Marco’s hands knew the way. Folding and pinching the edges clean.

No, Marco remembered.

She meant dreams. She meant hope.

Marco knew, deep down, that eventually there would always be a goodbye at the end of their stories. Said or avoided like the plague.

But he expected it…

Marco never wanted to expect it.

He’d rather drown than look forward at a time he’d say goodbye with any one of his precious family members.

The little crane perched between his fingers. Perfect after years of practice.

Marco choked up as he placed it in Thatch’s hand. Gently curling those limp fingers around it’s delicate shape. Calloused hands cradling the bird in a loose cage.

Marco retreated. Shuffling into his dark room. No one stopped him, their gazed burning his hunched shoulders.

In the bottom desk drawer, so rarely opened it almost got stuck, was a single item.

A lopsided paper crane with a bent wing. Stained with faded ink and weathered with age.

Like he was scooping up a live bird, Marco lifted it to his chest. Careful even as he collapsed to the floor.

He cried. Wept like he’d been cut in two with sea stone. Tears gushing out instead of blood. His fire, confused at the agony he was experiencing, danced in the air. Casting dizzying shadows across the space battered with open sobs.

Marco couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t fill his lungs enough between his cries that ached down to his bones and the fire filling his lips with faux heat.

Everything hurt.

Nothing could heal.

He was a little boy again in his father’s arms. Weeping and certain he was dying from grief. Every wail a benediction. A plea against the inevitable. What was already past.

A wish burning in his veins even as shame filled him.

Death was natural. A long sigh at the end of a hard day.

But Marco wanted to hold his breath until he burst. Stop in the middle of a hurricane just to keep feeling the rain.

Parchment protested in his grasp and Marco shot up like he’d been burned.

Opening his palms to find the paper crane bent even further. Flickers of light cast across the ragged edges of ink—no?

Burns.

The bird was smoldering. Fueled by the open air of his shaking hands, it burst into golden fire. Marco wailed, shaken and confused as it lit up. Flying into the air with a trail of burning embers. Dancing in an unseen wind until, before Marco’s blurry eyes, it was gone. As though it was Thatch’s vivre card.

Time stopped. Stuttering as his heel stamped into the ground.

His shoulder nearly slamming into someone.

A door bashing into a wall.

That damn beeping so like Thatch. Annoying and reassuring in its consistent presence.

Nurses crowded Thatch’s bed, arguing over each other as familiar hair rose over them. Wide eyes looking around, face flush with warmth again.

He smiled, that crooked, familiar smile that tugged Marco’s lips into a similar shape.

“Hey, Coco, look! I got a little hospital buddy!” Thatch crowed, voice a soft rasp as he gently held up a small, blue paper crane. Gold catching the light as fire flickered over it’s wingspan. Every cresting wave lined with unnatural color that had not been there before. It seemed as alive as Thatch.

Thatch let out a creaking rush of air as Marco hugged him. Body awkwardly half in his lap as he buried his face into Thatch’s neck. Careful and weak, Thatch curled his arms around Marco’s chest. He smelled of antiseptic, sea salt, and spice.

The storm was behind them now, but there was still time for rain. One breath after another.

Little paper cranes littered across a pirate ship.

Every fold a wish.

Every step hope.

[acornrising]

Does make me think about like. These guys are back on the planet now! There have probably been several advances in inkcrafts, bookbinding, paper pressing, every part of the bookmaking and printing process since they got yeeted into space.

I'm so excited for the new guys to come down and go absolutely ballistic tasting all these new kinds of books. I hope someone opens a bookstore except really it's a cafe for Aether.

Have you tried the leather-bound dictionary written on hemp pages with blackberry ink? What about the gently aged papyrus? You simply must try the hand-crafted rough-pulp zine with flowers pressed into the pages. It's artisinal.

Imagine Aether foodies getting obsessed with some papermill in the middle of Fucking Nowhere because something about their process is just. Muah. We simply must complement the chef (The chef is a 200 year old snapper who has been running this paper mill for years on a modest but sustainable margin and isn't sure what to make of these space bugs asking if he does free samples.).

[mondtriozine]

We hope you'll be as delighted as we are excited to share this news with you! Our long-awaited MondTrioZine Preorders are finally open!

Head over to the link below! https://mondtriozine.bigcartel.com/

All of the zine pieces were carefully crafted with love. We appreciate your support!

The windmills of Mondstadt bring a sense of belonging to the people.

Windwheel Aster - The full physical bundle is a collection of the trio's bond and memories throughout the years. Just like its namesake, the flower that spins is a reminder of their home.

Diluc went on a lone sojourn for years, bringing home scars as his souvenirs.

Lamp Grass - The merch bundle is dedicated to Diluc, though your souvenirs are none other than lovingly made merchs in reminiscent of his bond with his cherished people.

Jean was always the responsible one, steadfast on her motto to serve her beloved home.

Dandelion - The paper bundle is a homage to her dedication for Mondstadt, bringing home to you the album, journal and various art pieces recounting the trio's tales.

When Kaeya first arrived in Mondstadt, he didn't have much on his person.

Calla Lily - The zine bundle is a reminder of how Kaeya came with basic necessities. Even with only that, he managed to carve beautiful memories into the books for you to witness.

Memories of our lost loved ones are incorporeal, though their value diminishes not.

Cecilia - The digital bundle remains a testament to the times the trio shared, just like the memories of the late Crepus Ragnvindr. He may be long gone, but the Cecilia garden he favoured remains.

[probably-enjolras]

random aro!enjolras drabble for pride month

------------

The parade was passing through and Enjolras felt like he was missing something. He wasn't as decked out as his friends; no flag around his back or flower crown in his hair, but he had his shirt off to show his top surgery scars, a "he/him" pin on his lanyard that showed information for Les Amis de l'ABC, and Courfeyrac talked him into wearing a stack of rainbow and trans flag bracelets along his arm. Yet in the place he felt the most at home - being himself with his friends - something wasn't in place.

Enjolras began perusing the stalls and stands that different groups had set up. He had made sure to keep a stack of paper money with him for donations, giving them out to community and local organizations. Les Amis had a stall set up at the Café, but they were all taking turns manning the stall versus enjoying the festivities.

As Enjolras continued walking, a stall caught his eye. The stand had a few flags hanging on it with different shades of purple, green, grey, white, and black. Enjolras recognized the purple ones as the asexual flag, but the green flag caught his eye. He steadied himself and walked over to the stall.

The stall was being operated by two college-age kids, someone who looked to be in their mid-thirties, and an older man with a thick beard. When Enjolras stopped, the man stood up and gave him a smile.

"Hey son," the man said, looking at Enjolras' pin. "What can I help you with? Flags? Pins? Maybe a few zines by these lovely people behind me?"

Enjolras looked around the stall and his eyes fell on the green flags again. "What do the green flags mean?" he asked. "I know the purple is for asexuality, but I don't recognize the green one." He felt his face flush as he asked the question. Enjolras liked to think he was in the loop of all things queer; his friends had so many labels and have taught him so much more than his conservative family taught him, but admittedly he was more aware of political theory than identities.

"Oh!" the man said, smile widening. "It's the aromantic flag." Upon seeing Enjolras' slight look of unrecognition, the man continued. "It means they don't experience romantic attraction. Some people are just aromantic and never experience romantic attraction, some use the term greyromantic because they sometimes feel attraction, feel attraction but to a very low level, or feel somewhere between aromantic and alloromantic, and some use demiromantic because they don't get romantic feelings until a very deep bond is formed." The man pointed at each flag as he talked.

Enjolras stayed quiet for a second. He hadn't realized this was an option. All his friends talked about their crushes and romantic relationships, and while Enjolras enjoyed hearing about it, he never had anything to share, and he wanted to keep it that way.

"How do you know if you're aromantic?" he asked, feeling sheepish.

The man gave him a knowing smile. "It's a process of finding yourself, but sometimes you just know."

Enjolras looked at the little green and grey pins on the table. Everything felt like it was clicking into place. All the years of trying to be in romantic relationships hoping romantic feelings would form and ending up having to break up and losing a friend because he couldn't do it. All the confusion of what he thought were crushes but the idea of being more than friends made his stomach churn. Every time he changed the subject when his parents asked him about settling down because settling down with someone was so foreign to Enjolras in a way he couldn't express. All of it was suddenly a shade of green, calming like summer trees and fresh cut grass.

Enjolras pulled out his wallet and gave the man a few dollars.

"I'll take a pin please."

[tk-o]

doodles 4 change is accepting applications for volunteer artists until the 9th of July!

[image i.d.: a digitally drawn card with handwritten text reading "Doodles 4 Change: Looking for volunteer artists to contribute! Artist applications close on the 9th of July at 11:59 PM AEST." The timezone conversions provided read "6:59 PM PDT, 9:59 PM EDT, and 2:59 PM BST." the design of the card has a pale pink, abstract background. a pencil cup with the black and white fishnet patterning of the Palestinian keffiyeh holds up a red Palestinian poppy flower, art supplies, and the flag of Palestine, which has a red triangle on the left overlaid on three horizontal stripes of black, white, and green. the handwritten text is written on an abstract piece of paper next to the Palestinian flag, with a yellow pencil. end image i.d.]

making a more official post about this since the deadline to apply as an artist has been extended!! organized by @/crombld on twitter and instagram , doodles4change is an event that will offer sketch commissions to those who donate to Mona Ameen's (mona.ameen on instagram) gofundme!

if you'd like to help volunteer to draw these sketch commissions, either as busts, half bodies, or full bodies, you can sign up on this google form ! any skill level is welcomed, and past experience on projects like zines or commission work is recommended but not strictly required! if you're interested in donating or want to know more or follow the event in general, join the discord !

[moregraceful]

Got tagged for WIP wednesday by @puckpocketed it is not Wednesday but I do not care bc I am feeling chatty...also I don't have a WIP in the sense of a project so much as my life is a WIP but what are our lives but a WIP in the meta narrative of the universe.....anyway

First of all, I just watched an entire 25 minute youtube video of a woman talking through her swatches of glitter paint...HATE the internet's pivot towards video but LOVE her narrating how strong paint smells and the various thicknesses of the glitter. I enjoy a video where someone is talking through their process tbh, like I did this and got this result and I felt this way about it -- for me as a hobbyist I find that helpful. Anyway I just bought some glitter paint so we are going to glitter! that! diva (Bryce Harper)! up!....I do feel a LITTLE bad about editing someone else's art but it's just a print and I think it was initially a wall mural so. It's fine. It's transformative (glitter). Anyway I call that a WIP I guess, because I had to do research on glitter paint.

The other creative project I am "working" "on" (toasting on high in the toaster oven of my mind) is a tanger/ek65 zine..thing....I don't want to go into detail bc I don't. have any??? but it involves French poetic forms, Canadian-French translation by idlt (and a ton of research by them too!!) and also I challenged myself to dig into the truly mindboggling amount of dark blue paper I found while unpacking. Don't know why I bought it. time to use it

BUT THE REAL WIP IS MY APARTMENT!! It is Becky SZN imminently which has been a good need-to-get-things-in-order push. Even with the free Ikea furniture debacle, things are coming along. Guest room mostly put together and I will put up art once I get the excess furniture out of there, and then once I get the flowers up on the wall, it'll basically be done. I have a guy coming to hang shelves in the kitchen on Monday, so that will help me be able to assess what needs to happen in the kitchen-dining room area with storage bc it's been kind of chaotic for two straight months. I'm hoping any storage or organization problems that develop after the shelves get hung will be fixable with an Ikea or Target trip.

Gallery in the dining room area:

DO NOT TALK TO ME ABOUT SPACING I DON'T WANT TO TALK ABOUT IT I discovered like half the wall is studs and it threw my entire plan into chaos...those top three pieces are held up with command strips and a dream lol. Featuring art by @mysticaltramping made for my dad, nature acrylics by one of my oldest friends J, reproductions from the Arcana League Tarot (some of my all time favorite baseball art!!), a couple of Celia Connaire woodblock pieces of Gritty, a Mattchuk watercolor by Wade who I have no idea how or where to link, a couple of photo prints from Society6, my favorite photo I've taken of Oracle Ballpark, picture of Babe Ruth that used to hang in my office and tho I don't really care about Babe Ruth, it's big enough to fill out space, and a reproduction of a London Underground ad that I have had since I think I was...6 years old??? that our neighbors at the time brought home for me after a trip to England. Aside from spacing I do like how the wall turned out considering how much I complained about hanging it.

I have a TK in a glitter frame imminent but he's going on the art wall in the art nook. Bryce is also going in the art nook and he is going to be a nightmare to frame bc he's 14x18 I think and I really do want something dramatic so it's going to be stupidly expensive. but that's the price we pay for an emotionally dysregulated primadonna I suppose.

There's other stuff I need to figure out in the house but it's getting closer and closer to be less of a chaotic WIP and more just small projects to work on, which I'm glad about. People keep reminding me I've only had my stuff with me for 2 months and I've only been in Philly for 3 months so it's literally okay, but I like nesting and I like not living in an apartment with boxes everywhere lmao.

I take a lot of inspiration on homemaking and nesting from a tumblr post from years ago where op said they wanted a house where it was clear the owner was a wacko and their stuff is haunted...like a great deal of this stems from the Agonies but I really do not thrive in a house with muted, dark, calm colors...if it's not exhausting to look at and overstimulating to be in the same room as then I don't want it frankly. I'm not on this earth to be the model of how you should decorate a house as an adult I'm here to have fun and not worry too much <- said while drinking out of a oversize sippy cup with a megalodon on it.

[paperflowerszine]

🧡The time is almost over!💚

Not only the cold is coming our way! Our after sales are going to close in 3 days on the 21st of October! Hurry up and get your copy before it is too late!

https://paperflowerszine.bigcartel.com 🌻

Every reblog is greatly appreciated! @zineapps @zinefeed @zineforall @zinefans @zine-scene  @zinecenter @fandomzines  @zinesubmissions  @anizines @faneventshub @anizines

[papierexperimente]

An inside view in our sketchbooks - PART 1 ✨✨… / Ein Einblick in unsere Skizzenbücher - TEIL 1 ✨✨…

[vwritesaus]

v's masterpost

hello and welcome!! i'm v and i love to write--fics, poetry and some original work (when the mood hits). and as my username states, i also write and am very fond of AUs

all of my fics save a few drabbles can be found on my ao3 (@/vwritesaus) and my main blog is @a-thousand-unread-pages ✨ i also craft in my spare time, particularly embroidery ♡

my inbox is always open so send me in your asks, headcannons, whatever you like! i'm always down to chat, even if i take a million years to respond (just as a warning!)

i love a lot of books, manga and anime, but you'll mainly see fics for my current and everlasting obsessions:

the shadowhunter chronicles (specifically the infernal devices & the last hours)

haikyuu!!. love those little giant volleyball idiots so damn much.

also tid/tlh fans, please check out @alastairstom for her AMAZING fics (ao3 @/thegirlofthorns) and my best girl @agnes-draws's art which will leave you screaming and believe in love again

so without further ado, here's my work below the cut!!

the shadowhunter chronicles:

key: only main ships listed, rated, wc, chapters completed *tumblr include the last chain of preview posts and completed fic/chapter links

a (two few) hundred hearts (thomastair, t, 20.5k): tumblr (previews, final) | ao3

timeless (the last hours, m, 17.k) (1/?): - chapter 1: tumblr (previews, final) | ao3 - chapter 2: coming soon

dear christopher (the last hours, t, 24.1k) (3/5): - chapter 1: tumblr (previews, final) | ao3 - chapter 2: tumblr | ao3 - chapter 3: tumblr (preview, final) | ao3 - chapter 4: tumblr (previews, final) | ao3 - chapter 5: tumblr | ao3

breathe (thomastair, t, 4.4k): tumblr | ao3

what's in a kiss? (by any other touch would feel just as sweet) (thomastair, t, 9.6k): tumblr | ao3

hygge (thomastair, t, 2.6k): tumblr | ao3

piece of cake (thomastair, g, 6.6k): tumblr | ao3

paper lace, sealed with a kiss (thomastair, TBA): tumblr | ao3

random wip snippets: pt 1 | pt 2

haikyuu!!

key: only main ships listed, rated, wc, chapters completed

outliers (tsukikage/yamayachi, m, 4.5k) (1/12): ao3

it’s complicated (kogagoshi/kinkuni, m, 3k) (1/?): ao3

on the trail of lemon leaves (bokuaka, t, 3.2k) (1/?): ao3

press start (iwaoi/matsuhana, m, 9.4k) (2/?): ao3

in lover’s eyes, there is… (sakuatsu/sunaosa, t, 26k): ao3

whispers in a fox’s ear (sakuatsu, m, 34.1k): ao3

at the edge of the blue hour (bokuaka, t, 9.7k) (2/4): ao3

when i fall, don’t let me drown (bokuaka/kuroken, m, 44.1k): ao3

in gold, blue and pale pink (kuroken/bokuaka, g, 5.2k): ao3

the line (we cannot see) that connects our stars (yamayachi, g, 3.4k): ao3

among inked flowers (bokuaka, g, 1.8k): ao3

breath of the sun (bokuaka, g, 1.8k): ao3

if home is where… (matsuhana/iwaoi, t, 15.6k) (2/5): ao3

reflected in prismed moonlight (bokuaka, g, 2.4k): tumblr | ao3

achivement unlocked: cutie acquired (kuroken/bokuaka, g, 4.6k): ao3

perfect? (kagehina, g, 2.4k): ao3

fugue (kuroken, t, 1.6k): tumblr | ao3

blinded (iwaoi/matsuhana, t, 26.5k): tumblr | ao3

the shadowhunter chronicles: 

coming soon

haikyuu!!: 

long ago, i saw a fallen star… (bokuaka, t, 879): ao3

upon the darkest blue (tsukikage, g, 875): tumblr | ao3

bad liar (iwaoi)

hands (bokuaka)

lucky (iwaoi)

movie date (kuroken)

umbrella (matsuhana)

missing you (daisuga)

winter (kagehina)

baking (bokuaka)

birthday (iwaoi)

zines:

coming soon (haven't posted any of my zine pieces yet lol)

crafts:

hinata + meat bun embroidery

[milkymosaic]

Hello!!! :D For the ask meme: 4, 25, 17, 9!!

Hello! <3 Two of these led me write longer and more personal responses than are perhaps expected for an ask game, so those are below the Read More. ^^; These two are short ones, though!

25. Do you/ Have you played any sports?

Not other than in gym class. I do love swimming, but not in a sports way. Just in a "being in the water" way.

17. What is something you're really good at?

I already mentioned being good at music/singing in a previous answer, so I guess writing? I have 45 works up on AO3, I've been accepted to 7 zines as a writer... And have numerous other projects on physical paper that I haven't bothered transcribing to post yet. So...yeah.

4. What is your favorite book?

"And The Band Played On" by Randy Shilts. I happened to read it because my mom kept a copy on a shelf by the family computer. It wasn't as though it was all new info to me, but hearing about the AIDS epidemic from people on the ground, from the days of first emergence, of how the system failed and failed and failed again because of prejudice, shame, and misinformation; of how so much of its spread and severity came down to human malice. It was an entirely different understanding from what the PSAs in school and sidebars in textbooks had left me with. Hearing the suffering of those sitting by the bedsides of brothers and lovers dying from a mysterious disease, wasting away into dust and bones while being denied even the most basic treatment just because they were gay. Hearing the frustration of the few outside the community who chose to fight for them instead of against them. Knowing what happened to an entire generation of our elders, both the dead and the survivors. Knowing the reason so many of them are silent is because they simply aren't here to speak, for themselves or us.

9. What do you consider your biggest accomplishment?

It may seem ridiculously mundane, but...in this economy? Buying our house.

Keeping my two orchids not only alive, but so happy that they won't stop putting out new stems and tend to keep their flowers for months on end.

Planting five different colors of columbine in a correct enough arrangement that they are not only spreading wildly on their own, but produced a new hybrid color (white) after just one year.

Picking a spot so perfect for planting my tea rose that it's not only happily survived without fuss, but quadrupled in size with minimal tending.

Rehabbing two neglected azaleas and a ratty hydrangea that I wasn't sure would make it (and now the hydrangea is big enough that an adult could hide in it).

I'm so very proud of our home and of our plants, inside and outside. And I count myself blessed to look forward to pouring love into it all for years to come. <3

[thenamesblurrito]

LETS GO HUMANFORMERS FANS WOOOOOOO

absolutely THRILLED to show you all the piece I made for REPRESENT run by @allsparkzines, all the art in this project is gorgeous and fascinating and I was happy to participate! getting to draw my Brazilian-Japanese human version of Nightracer was a treat, and it was so fun to work in a bunch of little details to hint at her history, like the papers and photos and flowers

the last day to get this zine is TODAY, so go go go go!!!