#repaint of a piece from last year

[carbon8tion]

[undiscovered-horizon]

"Everywhere is good but home is..." - Mihawk x Reader

@thetempleofthemasaigoddess wondered why Mihawk doesn't quite get along with his mother-in-law and who am I to keep such secrets to myself?

SUMMARY: Mihawk is not exactly fond of his in-laws. Nevertheless, he compliantly tags along whenever you pay your parents a visit. If it makes you happy, he's willing to bite his tongue. For a day, at least.

WORDCOUNT: ~ 2.6k

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Imagine, if you will, an angry boar. A large, stout boar with birse as dark as the night sky. As boars do, it will gore with its tusks to let out the frustration and get rid of whatever it was that made the animal seethe. Now, if you take away its tusks, what can it do? Angrily dig for truffles? 

Or maybe stand beside you, a scowl on his face and a begrudging “I am fine” every time you ask about the bitter expression?

Mihawk doesn’t like visiting your parents. It’s the sickeningly sweet familial atmosphere that suffocates him. Don’t misunderstand - he’s fond of the thought of having a family with you but the aura of your childhood home is a little too… overwhelming for him. A little too picture-perfect. But being the man he is, Mihawk has never outright talked about his dislike because he’s aware of how much that would hurt you. Still, you know your husband a little too well to disregard his sighs and frowns. This piece of secret knowledge always makes you love him more - he’s willing to suffer for a day or two just to make you happy. If it’s not love, what else could it be?

The farmhouse looks different than it did last year when you visited: the roof tiles have been changed, the outside of the building has been repainted and even some of the fence surrounding the land is new. Clearly, your parents have been busy with their retirement.

Despite the irate expression on his face, Mihawk silently overtakes you and opens the shabby wicket gate to let you enter first. He gives you a questioning look when you suddenly stop.

“It’s going to be fine, Mihawk,” you reassure him.

“So you’ve been saying, darling.”

Comforting warmth spreads inside his chest as you smile at him and kiss his cheek. He turns his head, hoping to catch your lips but you’re already on your way to the older man raking leaves in the distance. Mihawk clenches his jaw and lets out an exasperated sigh. With a loud bang, he closes the gate behind him. He follows you in slow steps, naively putting off the fateful moment of meeting your family.

Walking down the path leading to the farmhouse and the fields behind it, Mihawk looks around the desolate landscape. It’s quaint, he thinks to himself. Tall trees sway on the chilly, autumn wind. Right above their peaks, although far away, are mountains with their tops covered in snow. Uncut grass brushes against his clothes. A flock of cranes flies high in the sky, disappearing and reappearing as they fly through grey clouds. Their key is directed south, towards warmth that will shield them from winter snow. The area is a bit too colourful and bright for his liking but with a nice “please” from you, Mihawk could see himself settling down in a place like this.

Dracule just comes into earshot and has the displeasure of hearing your father yelling:

“Pumpkin!” The older man’s voice is filled with excitement. He lets go of the rake, letting it fall on the ground. Despite his age and clear exhaustion from the work, he wraps his arms around you and hugs you almost to death. “Honey, come out!” he shouts towards the farmhouse. “It’s Pumpkin!”

Mihawk almost can’t stop himself from rolling his eyes. You’re a grown woman, married at that, and they still call you by a nickname they had come up with while you were still in diapers. ‘When I asked where children came from, they told me that they found me between pumpkins in their field,’ you once explained to him.

The door to the building flies open. Soon enough, your mother is running to you. Her greying hair is braided into a plait. She’s wearing an apron with traditional patterns hand-stitched into it. Half of the motif had been done by a skilled hand, stitched with precision and perfection. The other part, however, is a lot more crooked and amateurish, probably done by a child’s hand. Your hand.

Tears glisten in your mother's eyes. Despite her older age, there’s vigour and youth inside those irises - a certain love for life that you’ve taken after her. She quickly wipes her hands on the apron and hugs you.

“Oh, Pumpkin!” A stray tear leaves her eye. “I haven’t seen you in ages! You could have said you’re visiting.”

“You’ve always loved surprises, mum.”

She lets go of you and redirects her attention to Mihawk. Her face lights up as though he’s her own son, beaming with love and pride. To his absolute horror, your mother puts her hands on the sides of his face. He almost pulls away to avoid the unwanted affections.

“Sweetie, you look handsome as ever!” she exclaims. Her expression falls as she looks him up and down. “But you’re a bit thin, aren’t you? And that open shirt, tsk. Winter is coming, sweetheart, you’ll catch pneumonia if you don’t cover up.”

“Delighted to see you again, ma’am,” Mihawk lies through his teeth. To some degree, you’re impressed with how honest he sounds.

"Oh, sweetheart, I told you to just call me mum!” She laughs. “We're family now."

You can see the relief in Mihawk’s eyes as your mother lets go of him. Some part of you wants to burst with laughter as you recall countless moments when you’re the one cradling his face and Dracule is more than overjoyed with the tender touch. It feels like there’s something beyond special about you, that he welcomes such intimate things. Although, truth be told, when it’s your hands on his face, you usually lean in to kiss him and that’s definitely not something he wants to think about while standing in front of your mother.

“He’s a grown man, honey.” Your father nags at his wife. He waves his hand in a dismissing manner. “Leave him be.” Mihawk’s terror returns when a heavy hand reaches for his shoulder. “Come, son, you’ll chop some wood for the night. I’m too old for this. The last time I tried chopping firewood, I got sciatica.”

“Pleased to help,” Dracule drones his words. He gives you a glance like a silent plead ‘Look what I do for you’. Then, he follows your father further into the garden.

You feel your mother put her arm around your shoulder. “Boys are off to have fun and we have a dinner to make.”

Something inside you stirs with excitement - cooking and baking used to be your bonding activities with your mum. Since you’ve married Mihawk, you’re not allowed to do any housework. Everything is taken care of by servants. You find that you’ve grown to miss the rhythm of mundane life, although it would be a lie if you said that you dislike the life you have with Mihawk. It’s just… different.

The sound of pots, pans and knives hitting the cutting boards is like a symphony to your ears. An aria to your childhood. If you closed your eyes, you could almost see the world as it used to be, your eyes right below the level of the countertops, always standing on a stool to help your mother.

But the thoughts of your younger years dissipate as you stare out of the kitchen window. You have the perfect view of your husband chopping firewood with your father raking leaves in the back. Mihawk’s skin glistens in the afternoon, autumn sun. There’s not a bead of sweat on his torso. He appears completely relaxed as he swings the axe with one hand. Some logs are already cracked or particularly dry and those he rips apart with his bare hands. Those same hands that tear pieces of wood into matches have caressed your skin with almost fearful softness; the arms that bring destruction have tirelessly shielded you from the dangers of the world. 

Your dad looks over his shoulder at the pile of firewood with a nod of awe. If Mihawk keeps up his tempo, he’ll prepare enough fuel for the next week.

“You remind me of your dad and me when we were younger.” Your mother’s face shakes you awake from your thoughts. Suddenly remembering that you were supposed to be helping her, you look down at the awfully chopped carrots. At least you didn’t cut off your finger. “Always stealing glances as though we weren’t already married.”

A sigh of yearning leaves your lips. What did you do in your past life to deserve a man like him?

“Dad still looks at you in an uncomfortably intense way,” you answer, a smile on your lips.

Your mother’s laughter brightens up the small, crowded kitchen. It’s not hard to correctly guess what your dad saw in her that made him want to spend his life with that woman. “He does the same when you’re not looking,” she says while vaguely pointing at Mihawk.

Her words make you blush. A deep shade of red covers your cheeks, making your whole face hot to the touch. “What do you mean?”

She looks at you with sympathy. “I saw it the day you introduced him to us. And each time you come over, he seems to be a little worse in his affliction, staring at you like you’re the one who hung stars in the sky. It made your grandma remind her of grandad so much, that she cried at your wedding.”

Listening to her, your longing gaze returns to Mihawk who appears oblivious to your undivided interest in him. “Mum, does it ever get boring?” you ask without looking away. “The sense of calm when you’re around him. Like everything could be ruined but it’s fine because he’s there.”

“It’s the only thing in the world that never gets tiring.” A flustered, juvenile smile decorates her face. Even with wrinkles and greying hair, she looks barely older than you at the moment, reliving the flame of love inside her that has never dwindled. “Now, let’s finish with the sentiments and stuff the duck, eh?”

Mihawk is reaching for another log when something makes him momentarily freeze. There, in front of the stump he’s been chopping wood on, sits a dog. It’s clearly a mutt, each feature taken from a different breed. The fur is an amalgamation of markings in different colours: orange, grey, white and black. As the dog notices Mihawk’s interest, it gets up, restlessly stomping in place or rather hopping as the pet is missing one of its hind legs.

“Gulliver,” Dracule recalls the name of the mutt you’ve told him so much about. Your first and only friend growing up in the countryside.

The name is taken as an invite and so the dog places a drool-covered, chewed-out ball next to the piece of firewood. The pet sits again, tail wagging as fast as it can.

For a moment, Mihawk is torn. He wants the dog to leave him be but that would mean he has to put his hand on the slimy toy. Then again, the pet is sure to continue disturbing him now that he has acknowledged its existence.

Cringing at the wet and warm sensation of the ball, Dracule picks it up, only furthering Gulliver’s excitement.

"This means nothing," he drones his words and throws the toy so far it almost disappears from sight. The dog, overjoyed, runs after the ball. 

Considering that your dad’s throw has gotten weaker with age, Mihawk might have dug his own grave with the distance he made the ball fly. Gulliver will probably want another run. Or ten.

For a moment, Mihawk goes back to the fantasy of settling down with you in a mountainous wonderland. Maybe you could have a dog too? Not a mutt but a hunting hound? They look very noble.

But he shakes those thoughts away and continues chopping wood.

The dinner went well. Homemade food, family you haven’t seen in a year, the cosy and sentimental atmosphere of your childhood home… And Mihawk didn’t look as miserable as he probably felt. Although you’re enjoying this little family reunion, you seize the opportunity for solitude when it arises:

Your parents go to the kitchen to put away the dirty dishes, plate the dessert and brew some tea. Tugging on Mihawk’s arm, you pull him outside the house.

The old flooring of the porch creaks under your weight. A bright, melodic tune is carried by the wind as it brushes against the chimes hanging under the roof. The sun has recently set and the sky is still in a lovely, indigo shade. Birds croak in the distance, announcing nightfall.

His warm hand rests on your lower back. The touch makes you momentarily take a deep, relaxing breath. Your thoughts become both orderly and fuzzy as though Mihawk’s presence turned all of your wandering, useless ideas into static you can easily ignore. How can a person have so much control over you? 

Mihawk is towering over you. He tilts his head downwards to look at you. Something about his looming aura makes you feel not only protected but also well-cared-for, as though you could give yourself up to him completely and you’d still live like a queen in a castle.

“If you keep frowning, your face will stay like that,” you say to him.

Mihawk’s expression relaxes at the mere mention of his visibly bitter mood. Or maybe it softens because he’s looking at you. “I was under the impression that you’re rather fond of my face.”

“And you’d be correct. But I do have to say that seeing you tear wood apart was much better.”

You lean closer to him as you put your arms around his neck. He welcomes the gesture, allowing his hands to travel an inch or two downwards, a little too low for when one is in the vicinity of others. Especially someone’s parents.

“So my wife likes to see me do manual labour,” he states, his warm breath brushing against your cold cheeks. There’s no surprise in his voice and there shouldn’t be. He’s noticed the way you look at him when he wields a sword and Mihawk would be an awful liar if he said he doesn’t enjoy those glances.

“I like seeing you, full stop. Chopping wood is just a nice variation to the scenario. Strong arms and all that.”

The said arms pull you by your hips into a kiss. Although he’s spent only a day in this part of the region, he already smells like fresh mountain air and pine needles. Mihawk groans, feeling the curves of your body against his. He will never get enough of this. Enough of you.

“Tea is served!”

Your mother’s exclamation makes you pull away from Mihawk. He instinctively chases after your lips before letting out an annoyed sigh. A chuckle rumbles in your chest. Dracule rolls his eyes but lets you thread your fingers with his and pull him back inside the farmhouse. There, you interrupt an interesting conversation:

“Darling, when’s the cake tasting again?” your father asks while flipping through the calendar, a pencil in his hand.

“On the 25th, honey,” she answers. The dining room is immediately filled with the aroma of bergamot as your mother pours the tea. “At 6 in the afternoon.”

“Cake tasting?” you repeat in confusion. “What’s going on?”

“Our golden wedding, of course!” the older woman beams with joy. “We’ve yet to send out the invitations, though, so don’t tell anyone. Especially your aunt. Gods know she runs her mouth like it’s a marathon.”

As though you’re thinking the same thing, Mihawk and you glance at each other. The miserable, irate expression in his eyes elicits a burst of bright laughter from you. He just can’t catch a break, can he?

[befemininenow]

It may be a week late, but I hope your Valentines was amazing this year. Here's a little throwback from Escafa (aka Spawnfan) of DeviantArt fame. (If only transitioning was that easy.)

Created back in Valentine’s 2013 as an MTF transformation sequence, it's about a person (in this case, a man) who has a crush on a tomboyish girl. Unfortunately for him, she's a lesbian and does not like men. What the girl on the right doesn't know is that the person presenting as a boy has the ability to turn into a girl. Their female equivalent is a blonde bombshell and the shocked tomboy falls for her. The last panel shows some form of affection for the new lesbian couple.

At the time I saw this post, it was definitely a hot favorite of mines since I was really into MTF genderbending. 11 years later, however, my opinion on this piece is conflicted. Don't get me wrong: the girls are cute, especially the pretty blondie, who is definitely trans girl goals. However, there’s three problems with this piece:

Is the transformed girl transgender? Do they identify as a girl? What if they’re genderfluid, bigender, or even non-binary?

What are the chances this relationship may get impacted if the person in the left switches between genders based on their mood?

As cute as it seems that the left person will do anything to make the tomboy girl so happy, this piece is also part of the MTF transformation genre, which can be off-putting for some due to it’s fetishized and/or kinky nature.

I still think this is one of the better MTF TG transformations since the left person transformed themselves by choice and not by force (the latter is very common on those transformations). Yet, I can’t help but envy the transformed girl for her pretty looks and cute outfit. If only transitioning was that easy.

These were the kind of pieces that I was into before figuring out I was trans myself. This particular line art became one of Escafa’s most popular pieces and one of the most popular MTF TG transformation pieces. In fact, the one you see here is a vector repaint from another DeviantArt artist named P@ntied-Princess (their account is deactivated).

The ones you see online are reposts in ranging quality from good to really pixelated. This one, however, is not only the highest quality post I found, but it’s the one I saved from the original account. I had to use an image search engine and digital archives to find it. I’ve seen a few caption edits of this art throughout my searches, but they’re not in the best quality. Maybe with this repost, there could be some better editing to match with today’s time. Anyways, happy belated Valentine’s Day!

Original art tracing belongs to Escafa (aka Spawnfan). Vector painting done by P@ntied-Princess.

[ginnyruin]

Altered State by ginnyruin announcement:

TL;DR: I’m rewriting my fic and will be posting two chapters a week until we reach the new update, Chapter 55. I’m excited to share the changes, including new characterizations and scenes, and new artwork by Nurchie.

long message:

Hi everyone,

I’ve been working on a rewrite on and off since I took a break last year. There were times when I wasn’t sure I’d continue — burnout can be tough— but revisiting the old chapters slowly drew me back in. What started as fixing a few things I wasn’t happy with eventually turned into a full rewrite. 

I initially intended to release Chapter 55 without sharing the rewrite first, especially since I know some readers have been waiting for a continuation of the story. I really didn’t want to disappoint. However, I realized that wouldn’t do the story justice.

I thought it might be best to release two chapters a week until we reach the new content with Chapter 55.

Subscribers on Ao3 won’t be getting any emails about these updates.

Just one email when the fic is first taken out of the collection because Ao3 does that automatically, and another when Chapter 55 goes live. I’ll be updating the date of the fic whenever a new chapter of the rewrite is posted, so it may appear in the tags for anyone who’s looking for it.

I might post update news here... but I really don't want to annoy people.

I won’t be deleting the original chapter webpages (since I deeply treasure your comments), but for now, they’ll serve as temporary pages even if it's empty. I know the word count and chapter count might look odd, but I hope you all understand.

I’ve deleted and rewritten entire chapters, reworked characterizations (Abraxas Malfoy for one, is so much more the original Death Eater you expect him to be). The atmosphere has become a little darker, everyone is slightly more miserable, but there will be some more humor too. While the essence of the story and most of the narrative progression remains the same, it feels like a deeper, more complete version now.

I’m also incredibly excited to share that Nurchie has repainted some of the older artwork, adding new details that reflect how her art and the story have evolved together. She’s also painted some jaw-droppingly gorgeous, brand-new pieces for the rewrite scenes, which I can’t wait for you to see. I’ve been eagerly following her progress with each new piece, and her work never fails to inspire me. She’s also my beta reader and has been such a huge source of encouragement and joy, and I couldn’t be more grateful.

Nurchie and I are both doing this purely for the joy of it in our free time. It’s a passion project for us, and we’re genuinely excited to share it with you. We’re not active on social media and aren’t making any money from this. It’s just something we love to create. 

Thanks so much for your ongoing support—whether you choose to revisit the rewrite or wait until it’s all finished, or not read the rewrite at all, I truly appreciate every bit of engagement. Your comments and thoughts here and on Ao3 have motivated me more than you know, and I’m excited to share this updated version with you.

[grandisknight]

sweet macaron | dawnbreaker

summary: On a particular Thursday, Zayne decides to make something he once saw in a dream.

tags: angst, dawnbreaker!zayne, fem!MC mention, she/her pronouns used, hurt/no comfort, dreams, dreams vs. reality + wc: 1.0k | ao3 version here!

notes: vaguely inspired by his anecdote “still in dark” and “eternal attachment” birthday trailer - i needed to get this mild angst out my system in time for zayne’s bday ;; dawnbreaker my poor, poor beloved…

dividers from cafekitsune

Macarons are sweet.

Between carefully crafted pieces of meringue, a thin layer of confectionery fruit, jam or cream completed the dainty desert. Soft yet firm, a well-balanced chew and decadent sugar made for an ideal sweet bite.

Zayne peels off one of the biscuits from an aged baking tray, inspecting with mild interest. It was a delicate thing, with the slightest push of his pinched fingers cracking the already ruined surface between them. Crumbs speckled the air and dusted the countertop, soon tossed aside to be discarded.

Again, he’ll try again.

Tired eyes bored themselves into the tray of dull, gray rounds that were supposed to be tinted a daytime blue. This was his third batch, and he still couldn’t perfect a shade that was just barely out of his reach.

Halfway through the first batch, he wondered what was the point. He hadn’t done anything like this in who knows how long.

And through the second, he nearly scrapped it altogether when the peaks of egg white seemed to harden by his hands.

Cold, cold hands. They harbored his fingers, calloused to the touch and adorned by the sins of his undoings—of killing. Life taken by his hands, frozen by the shards crystallized within them. Piercing into the Abominations that ran amok, that were no longer human. Blackened blades of ice that consumed him and the aimed target, crafted with empty sentiment.

But it was only when a feeling that struck his heart at the precipice of cleaning his stainless bowl that made him reconsider his thrown away efforts thus far. He remembered he had dreamt of it again last night, more vivid that the ones in recent time.

Something very warm. A sound of a laugh filled with wholehearted affection for its recipient. The same one from his dreams, the one who frequently visits especially around this time of year. She had offered him a biscuit, decorated a white blob and details of black forming into a lopsided seal. He felt himself chew thoughtfully and watch her eyes glimmer in anticipation.

How cute, he quietly thought. Or so it seemed to be spoken aloud, seeing how her ears burned a bright red and a shy expression repainted her face. Zayne reassured her that it was a good treat, he liked it as it was.

The callings of his name that fell from the girl's lips were familiar and distant all at once, as if he wasn’t supposed to know.

Wasn’t supposed to hear how the birds sang and sun rose from the warmth of her voice, wasn’t supposed to see the way those eyes crinkled in crescents with a tender adoration.

But he heard it all the same, and it was a sound he's come to cherish, even if it wasn't for him. With such a sweet expression, she chastised him, lighthearted all throughout, about how she gifted him an important blessing. The ghost of frosting kissed the square of his cheek then, and he found himself shaking his head in playful disbelief. His mouth spilled a response then, though speaking from a body that wasn't his own at the same time.

"What an important blessing."

He still remembers the way their hands brushed, fluttering ginko leaves swirled around them with every sway of the breeze. He intimately could trace the pulse of what were his hands calmly clasping over hers, sharing in a heat and gentle caress especially so once their foreheads touched.

In the present, Zayne felt his own hands itch then, empty and tapping against the cold marble of his kitchen counter instead. The solemn reality dissolved the sweet melody that lingered in his mind.

Right. He was alone here.

Turning around, he decided to quietly return a plethora of ingredients to his countertop and robotically whisked together the ingredients.

Maybe for once, he’ll cling onto the things he shouldn’t know and entertain what was otherwise a dull existence. With a fleeting dream at the tips of his fingers, it would push him through what would be his third and final attempted batch.

So here he stood, some time later, harvesting the fruits of his labor. A sweet scent wafted through the kitchen once more. The back of a spoon dipped into a portion of creamy filling and smeared onto the bottom half of a biscuit. No cracks adorned the surface this time when the other half stuck on top, remaining in one, homogenous piece.

His first macaron. The biscuit was on the thinner side, having lost some of its puffed height from a shorter resting period. Not a perfect bakery display piece, but not exactly a failure either. It was fine, he would be the only one eating them after all.

It melted in his mouth with a bite, hints of bitter earl grey and honeyed vanilla seeping into his tastebuds. He stared into the remaining bite, discerning every ridge of the crust and textured chew of the interior.

The macaron was sweet after all. He wondered if the one she made was anything like it.

“Happy birthday,” the man whispered to no one but himself, placing the last piece into his mouth with a soundless bite.

Just for today, he would allow such a warm dream to sugarcoat his cold reality.

He saunters away from the kitchen then, tracing familiar steps of his daily routine. Along the way he carefully handles a potted jasmine, the only other semblance of life he has, and returns it to the window sill once more. The petals were just as wordless as he was, continuing to bloom underneath the return of the sun’s radiant waves.

Maybe one day, the jasmine would be able to experience the warmth of another person. And then he, too, could share in her very warmth that plagues his imagination for days without end. Wouldn't that be a lovely thought?

What was the semblance of a smile thinned out onto his lips, grimacing at the idea of chasing an impossible dream. Zayne turned away from the window, past the kitchen and trailing behind a faint mist of ice. Stepping towards the door, his casted shadows embraced a world without her and left into the abysmal halls.

His birthday was over.

[tarisilmarwen]

Sabezra Week 2024, Day 1 - Swap

Cause you're the last of a dying breed Write our names in the wet concrete I wonder if your therapist knows everything about me I'm here in search of your glory There's been a million before me That ultra-kind of love You never walk away from You're just the last of the real ones

-"The Last of the Real Ones" by Fall Out Boy

@sabezraweek

Went with something a little fun I think. Behold: Formative Childhood Trauma Backstory Event Swap!

In this AU, it's Sabine's parents who speak out against the Empire and get taken away when she's seven, leaving her to scratch out a living for her and her brother in the wilderness of Krownest. There's not much time for painting, she doesn't have access to the forges so she grew out of her armor pieces, and she learned very quickly that brightly dyed hair tends to attract predators, lol. But she managed to keep herself and her brother alive until the Ghost crew picked them up.

Ezra, meanwhile, was the one who got sent to the Imperial Academy and was a promising student until he got a little too close to the truth of why students like Dhara Leonis were disappearing. He spoke out but the Bridgers couldn't stand with him, too cowed by the oppression Lothal had been facing for years. Speaking out also immediately put a target on his head and got him a trip to the Inquisitorious. Fortunately he wasn't there long before he managed to escape to where Kanan could find him.

Had a lot of fun coming up with their designs. For Sabine I basically gave her lots of furs and pelts (from hunting) and stuff to keep her warm and with Ezra I kind of had the thought that after escaping he would try to repaint his Inquisitor armor. Not nearly as well as Sabine might, so it's a bit crude in places. She fixes it up all nice for him later and also helps dye the bodysuit. :)

[patheticenjoyer]

dear iwtv audience pls pls see the vision i have. Mikhail Vrubel literally went mad painting (and sculpting) his forever lonely, never good enough, wrecking all who dare to love him Demon

My biggest point being The Demon Downcast (1902)

NOW hear me: devil's minion artist!AU, an Artist with a point of view different from any other in his time (and those that follow). An Artist who falls in love with this gnarly thing that is not human and proceeds to perish trying to master the terrible beauty of his Demon, going mad, repainting and repainting the piece even though the exhibition has already started and visitors are confused. Some call the artist god defying, talentless or vulgar for depicting such imhuman figure that does not make sense but captures you in Its eyes all the same, reminding you of how lonely and unworthy of love you are. And yet, the Demon is loved by the Artist. The Artist can't forgive himself for never being able to capture Its true essense and goes blind from the distress, spending his last months agonising in a mental facility...

Then, a hundred years pass and his paintings of Demon still mesmerise the people attending the biggest galleries in the world, and his Demon is still mesmerised with the way his Artist loved him in every stroke, the way no one else ever cared to capture him.

It's a pity they'll never see the newer pieces Daniel still paints from time to time as they are only for Armand to see and cherish

[bullet-prooflove]

"It’s time to say the things he truly feels" with Scola? I'm scared but we'll have to face it one day or another

Tagging: @kmc1989 @trublu2u @burningpeachpuppy @district447 @stelacole

Companion piece to:

Little Changes - Stuart notices when you start to make little changes.

The Last Time - You and Stuart face a problem regarding your wish to start a family.

Fresh - You decide you need to start fresh.

Seduction (NSFW) - You decide to seduce Stuart.

Jack - Stuart discovers that he fathered a child with Nina.

Stuart’s marriage ends not with a shouting match or raised voices but with a simple declaration.

“I can’t do this.”

The words roll off your lips as you stare down at a picture of your husband’s son, the one he didn’t father with you. You don’t understand in that moment how fate can be so cruel, how it can take away your ability to have children and then give him one of his own.

“I have to.” Stuart tells you, his voice raising just a little. “Sasha, he’s my son. I can’t just leave him out there to fend for himself.”

“I know.” You say as you push the photograph back towards him. “I don’t expect you to.”

He understands then in that moment that it’s over. You can’t cope with this upheaval in your life, not after everything you’ve already been through.

“I’ll pack a bag.” You say despondently as you raise to your feet. “I’ll have my stuff out by the time you come back from L.A with Jack.”

He understands what you’re giving him in that moment, a fresh start with his son. A life with just the two of them. He doesn’t follow you out the room or try to stop you. He doesn’t see the point. You buried your dreams of having a family, for you there is no going back.

You don’t say goodbye when you walk about the door, you simply leave, closing it softly behind you.

You stay true to your word, when he gets back from L.A with Jack, there isn’t a trace of you in the house. It’s as if you never existed. The only difference is the room you had planned to use as a nursery. You’d repainted it after you discovered you couldn’t have children, planned to use it as a home office. Instead there’s now a child’s bed in it, along with furnishings, some clothes, toys and books. It’s your final gift to him he realises. The thing he was worried about the most was Jack not having his own room for the first few weeks but you’ve already taken care of that.

He tries to call you that night when he gets Jack squared away but your phone goes straight to voicemail.

It’s  a week later that he decides to call you at work, you aren’t picking up the phone, you’re not answering his texts. He’s worried about what this has done to you, that you’ll be drowning your sorrows in some shitty bar in a different borough.

“I’m sorry Stuart.” He’s told when he gets through to your supervisor. “They offered her a assignment in Europe over the next year, she left for Budapest this morning.”

He doesn’t hear from you at all after that, not until the divorce papers turn up in the mail six months later, already etched with your signature.

You want to be free of the burden of it all, he thinks.

He signs them and sends them back to your lawyer the next day.

His life changes as it does when you have a child. He makes the move to White Collar, a safer job with regular hours so he can spend his evenings with Jack. He’s loving, attentive, a good father. His son becomes his entire world and there isn’t much space for anything else.

It’s two years later that he lays eyes on you for the first time. He’s attending a law enforcement conference in the exhibition centre, when you step out onto the stage to cover a talk for a speaker whose taken ill. For a moment he’s stunned, he doesn’t know what to do, but then the session starts and it’s impossible for him to leave without causing a fuss so he sits back to watch instead.  

You’re captivating. Engaging, funny, dynamic, everything he remembers and more. This is what it’s like, he recalls, to get swept away in you. You make it so God damn easy. He heads to the bar when the talks over because he needs something to take the edge off and that’s where finds you, sitting alone, sipping from a wineglass, your gaze focused on the TV fixed into the wall.

“Sasha.” He says softly as you tilt your head towards him and those eyes, they have Stuart falling in love all over again. “Will you let me buy you a drink?”

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[thegreenlizard]

Bare beskar

On the eve of marching to war, Obi-Wan makes plans and digs out his old armour. Musings on Mandalorian armour and culture, the ethics of commanding slave soldiers and how that affects one’s self-image.

Could be the same AU as “Not Obi-Wan’s first slave uprising” and “What makes a military genius” (where Obi-Wan is presented with a battalion of slave soldiers, says please and thank you, and starts plotting how to take down the slavers).

Obi-Wan has Mandalorian armour, courtesy of the Kyr’tsad who failed to kill him when he was seventeen and running for his life on Mandalore. The Jedi frown on such soldierly things, so the armour has mostly gathered dust in his closet for the past decade and some. But Obi-Wan has fought in a war before and recognises that no matter how good one is, sometimes armour is all that stands between bleeding out in a ditch and living to fight another day.

So on the eve of marching to war, Obi-Wan digs out his armour to clean and repair and condition every piece. He looks at its light green for peace and green for duty, the order’s wings on one pauldron/over his heart. He strips it all off. He has no right to wear any of it now, and the bare beskar is a statement of its own.

Plus

- Feels about how bare unpainted beskar could be silver for seeking redemption, disavowing all ties (in that there’s no one and nothing to paint his armour for), for being an outcast (which in his heart, he has already decided to become), or all of them. Leading a slave army to war is really really not in the Jedi mission statement. Obi-Wan, having experienced his own stints as a slave, having brought up a padawan who was born a slave, and having already left the order once for an army of child soldiers—well, he has some feels about it.

- Obi-Wan’s closet doesn’t just have armour, it also has a veritable armoury of, ah, useful souvenirs from his various missions. Maybe it makes him a bad Jedi, but Obi-Wan has some difficulty with letting go of possessions that have saved his life. Such as the sniper rifle from Melidaan, a blaster from here, and a vibroblade from there…

- Cody’s/The 212th’s reactions to their Jedi whose luggage apparently includes a full set of arms and armour and little else.

- There’s a story that armour tells for anyone who can read it and I wonder if the clones could. There are only a few things that a completely unpainted beskar’gam could mean. Either it’s completely new and the owner hasn’t had time yet to paint it. But Kenobi’s beskar’gam isn’t new: the metal has scrapes all over it and some fittings are clearly newer than others. It could be second hand, but as the weeks pass, the metal stays bare. And even though some shinies joke about their shiny, very visible general, Kenobi won’t even put on a matte base coat, just thanks the men politely and keeps on shining. It has to be intentional.

- When Obi-Wan eventually repaints his armour, it’s in gold for the 212th and black for justice for the vode.

In the days between accepting his marching orders and shipping out to meet his battalion, Obi-Wan researches, plans, and packs. He sleeps fitfully and dreams of Melida-Daan, of Bandomeer, of Mandalore. He tears through the archives and with echoes of the Young in his ears, downloads anything that might help keep his men alive. With a growing cold like deep sea mines, he reads the clones spec sheets, reviews galactic law, and speed reads his way through the last few years of the senate’s bills.

He pulls out of his closet possessions unbecoming of Jedi—things he has kept because he has been unable to let go of the fear of . There’s his old XX sniper rifle from Melida-Daan. A blaster from here. A vibroblade from there.

And there’s the armour he got from Mandalore. It’s painted in green for duty and erin for peace, the order’s sigil on the pauldron. He can hardly stand to look at it. Standing here, at the eve of marching to war that is to be fought with slave soldiers, he has no right to wear any of it. Not the green of duty, for he has forsaken his duty to protect all sentient life in accepting command of an army of slaves. Not the erin of peace, for he is marching off to fight a war to force worlds to stay in a republic they don’t wish to be a part of. Not the sigil of the Jedi order, for he has already forsaken his vows in these actions—and has already decided to forsake his duty to the republic.

Obi-Wan strips the beskar bare. Before refitting the armour, going through the straps, buckles, replacing worn parts and reconditioning the rest. He spends sleepless nights in the salles relearning to fight in armour.

“Paint? I painted it when I was seventeen. I, ah, stripped it when I accepted the draft.” Kenobi grimaces, but sets his jaw and continues. “I couldn’t keep the paint I had after that.” There’s an odd, bitter clang to his words.

[dear-ao3]

Since it's also midnight for me and given the general theme of this blog Imma just send something random that might start a conversation ig. Anyone wanna talk about horrible health safety?

I always forget that the house I live in is about 100 years old. And then my mom decides to casually drop some shit like "oh yeah we had to repaint and seal the baseboards in the living room when you were 8 cause I decided to test a chip that fell off and it was lead paint" AND YOU DIDN'T THINK THAT MIGHT BE SOMETHING I WANTED TO KNOW??? IT NEVER ONCE CROSSED YOUR MIND TO MENTION THAT IN THE MANY YEARS SINCE???

The only reason this came up was because I took a really long time to understand what my parents were hinting at during a conversation LAST NIGHT and my dad joked that I'd ingested some lead as a child.

Idk man it's late I'm not sure what I'm supposed to think about this

first i love that you sent this and said it embodies the vibe of the blog because it does youre absolutely right

second i feel like thats just the nature of parents to drop insane lore about your life like years later.

third my own house was built in 1944 (which as we all know was an interesting time for current events) and my parents i think were only the second or third owners of it and they redid the whole thing back in the 2000s but we had to take apart the kitchen a bunch of years ago and hooo boy the Things we Found. idk if it was cause building materials were short or because likely most of the people who had been building houses had been drafted for the war but this house is fundamentally wrong.

for starters, none of the studs line up with the supports. which if you know anything about houses is very very bad. second the amount of wood that we found that was just randomly screwed into other pieces of wood with no rhyme or reason was insane. third they cut through load bearing walls and studs to put pipes and air vents and lots of other stuff. its a miracle the house itself is still actually standing. i probably ingested some led from growing up there too tbh

[new-holocene]

ode to abandoned projects

normally i dedicate my public facing social media accounts solely to sharing my finished artwork, but I figure some reflection on the past few years of my development as an artist would be worthwhile. I was initially trying to find an old gmod map I made (I didn't find it), and in the process I found a number of screenshots of WIPs spanning the past 7 years. for many of these projects, they were abandoned because I got too busy with school/university.

from march 2017. made in unity. I don't remember the specifics of this project. I think I was trying to make a short narrative walking sim.

from december 2017. I wanted to make a short smw romhack. I remember drawing level designs on a spare piece of paper after finishing a secondary school exam early. one day I'll make a romhack, one day...

from may 2018. I had just replayed marble blast ultra after finding it had a PC port. shortly after I found all the textures were just in the game files and could be modified easily. myself and an old friend wanted to make a 'games repainted'-esque mod. I claim full credit for every marble game since that's included a 🤔marble skin.

from march 2020. a mockup of a piece I was calling 'alignment chart' for the first time I had ever applied for a bursary. this used a mixture of generative art pieces i made in processing and graphic design. this piece is interesting to look back on because it marked the development of my art style for the first time, and the psuedo-cuneiform generator ended up being a recurring feature of my art. my application was rejected because i did not read the terms and conditions to realise it wasn't open to university students - and I was still studying computer science at the time.

from may 2020. I was aiming to participate in the low res game jam but never got to finish due to university work taking up my time. I never fleshed out the mechanics of the game, but the goal was to take care of the tree in the center of the map. it doesn't look like much, but I really pushed myself (or rather, tortured myself) by not using a game engine and writing this in C++ with raylib instead.

from april 2020. this was going to be a browser based demake of five nights at freddy's (a game I've never played and have no interest in) titled "five years at yanderedev's". I figured that it felt too close to participating in lolcowing someone and that it was in bad spirits, so I scrapped it.

from september 2020. a mockup of my homepage sharpfourth.net. I kept the logo and general layout for whats on the site currently, but didn't include the scanner warped images.

from october 2020. I wanted to make a walking sim in the quake engine, but once again, university work got in the way. however, this got me familiar with the basics of using trenchbroom (a map editor for quake), which came in very, very handy for later projects.

from october 2021. myself and some close friends had planned to make a zine detailing how to do DIY feminising HRT in Ireland (and maybe the UK). we never got around to writing it (partly because we feared potential legal repercussions for disseminating medical advice lol), but this marked a further development of my art style.

from october 2021. I had hoped to make a first person RPG in godot. once again scrapped because I got too busy with uni. I spent ages trying to implement a wonky movement system that could be exploited, being inspired by bhopping from source or strafe jumping from quake. the dialogue system was the last thing I worked on. I used trenchbroom again - this time with qodot - for making the prototype map. while making this demo, I realised the potential use of godot and trenchbroom in visual art, something i would revisit during my first gallery residency.

from march 2022. this might be the most unassuming piece in this collection, but it marks a significant turning point in my life. I was tasked with making diagrams for a group project in uni, but given that I was facing extreme burnout and apathy towards the course, I instead "doodled" with the elements of the diagram. this spiraled into me writing my zine/short-story EATARTHU, which I then used to apply for a gallery residency. I was fortunate enough to get the residency, and I dropped out of college to pursue art.

as discouraging as it might be to constantly start and abandon projects, it's important to stop and remember that ever single abandoned game or drawing or album or whatever marked a chance for you to learn and develop as an artist. one day you might very well finish a project, and it'll reflect a bit of every single abandoned one of its precursors.

[echodrops]

Sometimes the events of my life are truly so comedic that I have to assume some supernatural being(s) are watching me like their favorite evening sitcom and just dying with laughter.

Peep this Shakespearean level comedy of errors:

Go out with coworkers for a celebration because our project trip to Puerto Rico was approved.

Coworker brings up travel requirements to Puerto Rico. Only a driver's license is required, but you need the "Real I.D." symbol.

Pull out my driver's license to check, only to discover that my driver's license is expiring in FIVE DAYS. Thanks for even the slightest notification, Department of Public Safety???

Try to renew online, can't. No explanation for why is provided. Go to the DPS Office. "Oh, you used your passport to renew last time, and now your passport is expired. You can get a new passport though and then renew."

"Ma'am... do you know how long getting a passport takes?"

"I think it only takes a couple months now?" ... "And what is the expiration date of my license???"

"We can use a birth certificate instead. You can get it at the court house and come right back. We should be able to finish the renewal today."

"Ma'am... I was born in LA..." Lady tells me the next available DPS appointment isn't even until October 17th, eight days after driver's license expiration. Make the appointment.

Go to the California birth certificate website. Have to pay $60 for them to print and ship the birth certificate to me. Only after paying do they reveal there is a back-order on birth certificates and it may take up to 35 days for my birthday certificate to arrive.

Cancel the October 17th DPS appointment in abject disappointment.

Driving on an expired license because what else can I do? I can't bum rides off coworkers for 35 DAYS.

ONE DAY after my license officially expires, a college kid texting and driving veers into my lane and hits my car. (Thankfully no injuries, just a lot of cosmetic damage.)

The other driver doesn't have insurance. I DON'T HAVE A VALID LICENSE so I can't even go through MY insurance.

We agree to get estimates from body shops and for her to pay for the damage out of pocket. I get one official estimate--$1000 in dent hammering and repainting.

She texts me later that her mom "knows someone who repairs cars." Is this guy licensed? "Oh yeah definitely."

"Okay, give me the address and I'll take the car to their shop for an estimate."

"Ummm, maybe you could just bring the car to my mom's house and she can take it to the mechanic?"

"With all due respect dear, are you out of your mind?"

She finally gives me the address of the mechanic. It's one block from Mexico. It's a house. There are six dogs running loose in the front yard. There's something that might have ONCE UPON A TIME been a body shop next door to the house but now is a pile of barely standing timbers.

"Mechanic" comes out. I ask to see his license. He shows me a piece of paper that looks two steps above "I printed this direct from a Google images search."

I have a moment of despair, and then I realize: My car is 11 years old and has 100,000 miles on it.

If my car ends up chopped up for parts or sold across the border to Mexico, I can report it as stolen.

THIS IS HOW ECHO GETS A NEW CAR.

I am zen. All is well. I hope the worst case scenario comes true. I agree to bring the car to the "mechanic" on Monday.

Get back in the car, head home for the day.

Get a call from boss.

Puerto Rico project trip cancelled.

You can't make this shit up.

[brokebonewritings]

All My Battles

Matt Murdock x Reader

Tags: 18+, fluff, slight hurt/comfort, making a home

Summary: A trip back to Bar Harbor creates a summer a new memories as you and Matt renovate your childhood home into a place to spend your future summers. Song: Lover, You Should've Come Over by Jeff Buckley

Word Count: 3K

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“Don’t worry! We will make sure both your apartments are safe and sound!”

“And we promise no major ragers while you’re away!” Foggy quickly said after Karen’s initial reassurance.

“Ha Ha, You’re hilarious.” You say with a deadpan expression.

Both you and Matt were packing for the summer to go up to your childhood home and fill it with your own furniture. Thanks to your wonderful team of attorneys, you were able to expedite the paperwork of signing the house over to your name.

It was a long battle, but your mom was out of the house at the beginning of the summer. Though it didn't come without a fight. She was very slow at moving the process along until you finally sent Foggy up to Maine with eviction papers.

"I just can't believe it's finally over!" You sigh as you close the trunk of your car.

"I'll drink to that, serving your mom that eviction notice was the best theatrics I've seen in a while, and Marci took me to see Phantom of the Opera last week!"

All three of you laugh, as you wait to finish locking up his apartment. You see him step onto the sidewalk and make his way towards the group.

"Okay, ready to go?" He asks.

"Yep, I just closed the trunk so we're all good here."

Karen is the first to step forward and give you both a big hug. Foggy being the last and stepping away with tears in his eyes.

"Don't you forget about us here in the Big Apple." He says tearfully.

"I'll miss you most of all, Scarecrow." You respond playfully.

The man wipes his metaphorical tears, and turns to Karen. "She thinks I'm a Scarecrow."

"Yeah, probably the lack of brains." She snarks.

"Hey!"

This earns another group laugh, as you and Matt get into the car. It was going to be a long summer, but it would be worth it. You get to redecorate your family home, even though you thought the previous decoration was perfect. Your mom took most of the furniture when she moved.

As the car pulls out of the city, leaving behind the familiar hustle and bustle, a sense of sadness fills you. "So, any ideas on what we should do with the place?" you asked, eager to hear his thoughts.

"You're asking the blindman for decoration advice?" He smirks, which pulls a giggle from your chest. 

"Well this is gonna be our summer home, so I just want to get an opinion of someone who will be spending every year there."

Matt paused for a moment, his fingers tapping rhythmically on his knee as he contemplated. "Well," he began, "I think we should start by repainting the walls. I know your favorite color is orange."

"You remembered my favorite color?" 

"Of course, maybe a soft shade of blue to give it a more serene atmosphere."

You nodded, imagining how the color would transform the space. "And what about the furniture? I know we'll have to buy new pieces, but do you have any specific style in mind?"

"God, just anything without plastic wrap on it." He laughs.

You laugh along with him. "You really hated sitting on that couch."

"It was an overstimulation nightmare."

"Yeah, well, no more plastic-wrapped nightmares," you reply with a grin. "We'll find something comfortable and stylish."

As the two of you continue to discuss ideas for the house, you feel the excitement building up inside you. This summer was going to be a fresh start, not just in terms of your living situation but also in your relationship with Matt. It had been a long journey to get to this point, but now that you were finally together, everything felt right.

The landscape outside transforms from towering skyscrapers to vast green fields and rolling hills. It's as if the world itself is mirroring the sense of calm and new beginnings you feel in your heart.

With the passing hours, you make sure to stop frequently so that you both stretch your legs. Soon enough you enter the Bar Harbor limits and begin to recognize your surroundings. 

As you approach your childhood home, memories flood back — running through the fields, chasing fireflies on warm summer nights, and sitting on the front porch with your dad and a big cup of iced tea.

The familiar sight of the white picket fence and the old oak tree in the front yard is a relief to see. It hasn't changed much since you were last here, except for the overgrown grass and faded paint on the house. But that's all about to change.

You and Matt step out of the car, taking a moment to breathe in the crisp sea air. The scent of wildflowers and fresh pine brings a smile to your face. This place holds so many precious memories, and now it's time to make new ones.

"I can't believe we're finally here," you say, your voice filled with wonder.

Matt reaches out to take your hand, his touch grounding you in this moment. "Ready to get to work?" He asks and you reply with a soft 'yes'.

Together, you approach the front door, pulling out the key and inserting it into the lock. The door creaks open as you step inside, dust particles dancing in the sunlight streaming through the large bay windows.

As you make your way from room to room, deciding on furniture layouts and discussing which pieces to buy, the house starts to feel like home. Matt's fingers glide over the surfaces as he senses the textures and dimensions, his uncanny ability to visualize the space turning into an invaluable asset.

The next day you and Matt set to work immediately, armed with paintbrushes and a vision for transforming the old house into your dream summer retreat. The walls soon shed their faded colors and come alive with the soft shade of orange you chose. The air is filled with the scent of fresh paint, invigorating and promising.

Days turn into weeks as you tackle each room with determination. The living room is filled with cozy furniture, perfect for curling up together with a book or watching movies on lazy afternoons. The kitchen becomes a vibrant space, adorned with colorful tiles and filled with the aroma of delicious meals being cooked. And the bedrooms become sanctuaries, personalized with photographs and cherished little touches.

As the final touches are being made, you and Matt stand back to admire your handiwork. The transformation is remarkable, a testament to the love and care you poured into this project. The summer home now radiates warmth and comfort, a haven from the outside world.

You begin to cry as you both stand in the middle of the parlor. Matt's arms wrap around your waist as he pulls you into a tight hug. It was all finally done, and you couldn't feel the overwhelming sense of sadness. The very same you felt as you left the city.

"It's alright, sweetheart. I got you." He whispers as you continue to sob.

You hold onto Matt, feeling his steady presence anchoring you amidst the waves of emotion. The tears flow freely, a mixture of relief, joy, and a bittersweet longing for the old memories that haunted these walls. You couldn't wait to bring your friends and family here in the future summers, and make new memories that were happier than the old.

After a while, the tears subside, and you sniffle, wiping away your damp cheeks with the back of your hand. "I'm sorry," you murmur against his chest.

He pulls back slightly, his hands cupping your face gently. "There's nothing to apologize for," he says softly. 

You nod, taking a deep breath to steady yourself. "You're right." You pause, feeling a surge of love radiating from the man in front of you.

"We made it," he says softly, his voice filled with reassurance. "We turned this house into our own little sanctuary."

"I love you," you whisper, burying your face in Matt's chest.

He holds you tighter, his heartbeat reverberating through your body. "I love you too," he replies.

That night you decide to have a picnic on the porch. You turn on the fairy lights, and set the radio to the local classic rock station. As you set up outside, Matt was in the kitchen preparing the meal you both were going to enjoy. Everything was perfect.

As twilight settles in, casting a soft golden glow over the porch, you light a few candles and spread out a cozy blanket. The scent of freshly cut grass mingles with the aroma of the meal Matt has prepared, creating an intoxicating symphony for your senses.

After dinner, you both clean and decide to stay outside for the rest of the evening and bask in the romantic setting you had set up. He notes that he forgot to bring the best part of dinner and runs back inside to grab dessert.

Matt emerges from the kitchen, carrying a basket filled with delicious treats. He carefully sets the basket down and joins you on the blanket, wrapping his arm around you.

"This is amazing," he whispers, his voice filled with awe.

You lean into him, feeling the warmth of his presence enveloping you. "I wanted to create this special moment for us," you say softly, your gaze fixed on the flickering lights.

The two of you spend the evening laughing and reminiscing, savoring each bite of food and each tender moment shared. As the night deepens, you find yourselves lost in conversation under a sky sprinkled with constellations.

Matt's fingers trace patterns on your arm, creating a soothing rhythm that matches the cadence of your conversation. You pause for a moment, overcome by a wave of gratitude. Gratitude for this beautiful night, for the love that fills your heart, and for the journey that has brought you here. You lean in closer to Matt, resting your head on his shoulder.

"I never imagined we would be here," you say softly, your voice filled with wonder. "Creating a home together, filled with love and happiness."

Matt squeezes your hand gently. "Life has a funny way of surprising us," he replies, his voice laced with sincerity. "And I'm grateful for every twist and turn that led us here."

As the hours pass, you find yourselves lost in conversation, delving into topics ranging from childhood dreams to future aspirations. Each word exchanged deepens your connection, solidifying the bond you've built over the years.

Eventually, the conversation mellows into comfortable silence, yet the electricity in the air remains tangible. You nestle closer to each other under the blanket, feeling the warmth of his body seep into yours. With every passing second, it becomes clearer that this is where you're meant to be.

You look up at Matt, gently grabbing his chin and pulling him in for a kiss. As your lips meet, a surge of warmth courses through your veins. The kiss is gentle yet filled with a quiet intensity, a beautiful reflection of the bond you share. Time seems to stand still as you savor the taste of his lips, the feeling of his arms wrapped around you.

When the kiss deepens, you feel a sense of belonging and contentment settle within you. Under the soft glow of the moon, you and Matt continue to share sweet, lingering kisses, each one filled with an unspoken promise.

Eventually you both feel the exhaustion from the long work day, and decide to head inside for the night. Matt is the first one to head inside and as you pick up the blanket and turn off the lights on the porch. 

You linger long enough for Matt to come back out and wrap his arms around your waist and kiss your neck lightly. "We have a lifetime of moments like this ahead of us," he says softly. "Come inside now."

Nodding, you follow him back inside for the night. Inside, the house is bathed in a soft, inviting glow. The scent of freshly painted walls lingers in the air, a gentle reminder of the transformation you both undertook together.

Matt leads you upstairs to the bedroom, where the moonlight spills through the open curtains, casting ethereal shadows on the hardwood floor. He pulls back the covers and invites you to slide into bed. You nestle against the plush pillows and feel the weight of the day slowly melt away.

As Matt joins you under the covers, he wraps his arms around your waist, pulling you closer. His touch is gentle yet possessive, a silent affirmation of his love for you. The room feels hushed, as if it holds its breath in reverence for the intimacy shared between two souls.

You close your eyes, letting the tranquility of the moment wash over you. The sound of your steady breaths fills the room, creating a soothing rhythm that lulls you closer to sleep.

The day before you leave is filled with eventful commotion as you invite some of your neighbors over for a small barbecue. You and Matt spend the morning setting up the backyard, draping string lights across the trees and arranging tables and chairs.

The aroma of grilled burgers and vegetables fills the air as the food sizzles on the barbecue. You decided to man the grill to give Matt a break from all the cooking he insisted on doing. The neighbors arrive one by one, carrying dishes to share. Laughter and conversation fill the backyard as everyone gathers around, sharing stories and exchanging smiles.

Another car begins to pull into your driveway, and you realize who it is before you see the two figures step out of the vehicle.

"No fucking way" You say as you turn to Matt who has a huge smile spread across his face.

"I called them last night when you went out to pick up dinner." He replies.

You start sprinting towards the car as Foggy steps out and walks around the car. Once he sees you running, he mutters an 'Oh shit' as you jump into his arms. He catches you and spins you a bit before setting you down. You give a gentler hug to Karen.

"I can't believe you guys drove all the way out here!" You say happily.

"We had to come see this house! Especially if we're invited here every summer." Karen says while lightly nudging your side.

Leading your friends to the picnic area, you introduce them to your neighbors and some old friends from high school. The backyard is filled with the joyful chatter of voices, as everyone embraces the sense of community and love that permeates the atmosphere.

As night falls and everyone leaves, the four of you gather around a crackling bonfire, its dancing flames illuminating the faces around you. Matt sits beside you, his hand entwined with yours, as you listen to Foggy telling one of his infamous stories. You all add in little quips to enhance the story as everyone listens and drinks.

The crackling sound of the flames blends with the soft hum of laughter, creating a harmonious symphony of friendship and love. As you look around at the faces illuminated by the fire's glow, you can't help but feel an overwhelming sense of gratitude.

Gratitude for the unwavering support of your friends, who have stood by you through thick and thin. Gratitude for this beautiful home that has become a haven, a place of solace and happiness. And most of all, gratitude for the love that surrounds you, weaving its way through every moment shared.

As the night wears on and the fire begins to die down, you find yourself lost in a comfortable silence. The embers glow softly, casting a warm light that dances across your friends' faces. Karen leans her head on Foggy's shoulder, while Matt rests his chin on top of your head.

"What a great night, amongst friends." Foggy sighs.

"I'm really glad you guys came out here to see the house." You begin. "It's like this house was built for our family."

"You wouldn't have this house if it weren't for your dad." Matt reminds and you nod in agreement.

"To Tommy!" Foggy says while raising his beer can.

You smile as the rest of you raise your drinks and cheers to your dad. A tear rolls down your cheek, but Matt wipes it away before it's able to fall from your face.

"You know," Karen says, breaking the silence, "your dad would be so proud of you right now. Look at what you've built, what you've overcome. It's truly amazing."

The moment is bittersweet, as the memory of your father tugs at your heart. It's been years since he passed away, but the house stands as a testament to his hard work and love for his family, a symbol of the legacy he left behind.

As the night winds down, you and your friends gather up the empty beer cans and remnants of the barbecue feast. The fire has dwindled to mere embers, casting a soft glow upon the yard. 

With a final round of goodnights, Foggy and Karen retreat to their respective rooms. You and Matt finish cleaning in the kitchen and make sure everything is put away before you all leave in the morning.

As you climb into bed, exhaustion weighs heavily on your eyelids. Matt wraps his arms around you, pulling you close and pressing a tender kiss to your forehead. The warmth of his embrace soothes you, easing away the worries and stresses of the day.

"Thank you for everything," you whisper, your voice barely audible.

He tightens his hold on you, his voice filled with affection. "I would do anything for you. You know that."

With a final sigh, you surrender to the gentle embrace of slumber, knowing that tomorrow will bring new adventures and challenges. But for now, in this haven of love and sanctuary, you find solace.

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[starryscale-art]

son of nhaama | the kagon's failure

(repainted an old piece from last year that i never posted cause i wasnt happy with it until now)

[akhret]

Clothing Rituals

This type of ritual was performed daily, monthly, for special occasions, or it was done annually for the New Year in Ancient Egypt- this largely depended on the temple and the time period. They have been attested dating back to the Old Kingdom and lasted until Ptolemaic times. From the Abusir papyrus that was found in royal funerary temples- specifically from pharaohs Neferirkare and Raneferef, we can see that these rituals were done monthly; however, the deity of the temple was the deceased king. In later times, this ritual was performed daily for the main gods in the temple. What we do know from this type of ritual is best explained in pBerlin 3014, pBerlin 3053 and pBerlin 3055 (which is dated to the 22nd dynasty), along with the temple of Seti I in Abydos and Ptolemaic temples.

In the morning, the ba was reawoken for the god by unveiling them from the night before. You would say your admiration of the god with a prayer or hymn before washing off the mD.t unguent and undressing it from the mnH.t cloth. The mD.t unguent and the mnH.t cloth is speculated to help with regeneration and renewal. The mnH.t cloth was commonly “depicted as one or two stripes of cloth folded in half and often referred to as four-coloured cloths- white, green, red and blue (or dark-red). Each of these colours had its own symbolic meaning connected with protection, health, fertility, regeneration and renewal” (The Clothing Rite, 66). Next, the statue was then purified with natron and incense (perhaps myrrh, frankincense, or palmonia resin) before it was redressed in clean mnH.t cloth. The mD.t unguent was reapplied to the statue, along with green and black paints. Next, formal clothing was adorned to the statue, along with jewelry and pectorals before, lastly, the final purification and fumigation took place.

How can you implement this into your practice?

Based off of the steps known from ancient practices in temples of Egypt, it is possible to do a daily rite with this, if you choose, or on days when you want to go to your own shrine.

First, find a place for your statues so they won’t get damaged. Find a good piece of cloth, preferably linen to conceal the statues when they’re not at the forefront of your practice. When they’re not in the forefront of your practice veil the statue.

Unveil the deity’s statue.

Next, invoke the deity along with saying or singing a prayer/hymn.

Third, use natron to help purify and light some incense. You could use something universal like myrrh and frankincense or your could use UPG and choose the one you think they would like best.

Fourth, dress the deity in some new cloth and annoint the statue. I cannot find anything about mD.t ungunet at this time but you could use something that you’ve dedicated to just them- whether you make your own oil or purchase it.

Fifth, add on the regelia and jewelry. While this step isn’t always possible for everybody, I will add it. You could get Barbie jewelry to add or you could make your own to size. You could repaint on the makeup if you choose, as well.

Lastly, the final purification and fumigation. Relight your incense. This one should be more specific to cleansing.

Sources:

Coppens, Filip. Vymazalová, Hana. “Linen for the God: The Interpretation of Old Kingdom Clothing Rites in the Light of First Millennium BC Rituals (and vice versa).” 2016. https://academia.edu/resource/work/37212908

Coppens, Filip. Vymazalová, Hana. “The Clothing Rite in the Royal Temples of Abusir.” 2009. https://www.researchgate.net/publication/291332482_The_clothing_rite_in_the_temples_of_Abusir

Sharpe, Samual. “The Rosetta Stone in Hieroglyphics and Greek Translations. 1807. https://www.ganino.com/anteanus/scripturam_aegyptium_rosetta_stone

[drachenkinder]

I am tired and everything hurts from my miscalculation on how long it would take me, working alone, to repair the old leaking roof. I had to remove all the rotting and carpenter ant infested roof sheathing and the few rotten rafter pieces on the big shed, and then replace everything. I originally started this project in 2020, but my helper quit after one day. It has sat under a tarp for the past 4 and half years. Slowly getting worse as the tarp now leaks.

But now all the heavy work is done, and the new sheathing is up. It Took about 2 weeks, not counting the few days I took off. I'm putting on the tar paper and hope to get that done before Tuesday's rain. Maybe even finish the drip edges and put on a few shingles.

It is going to be my woodworking shop. Once it's done I will be able to paint it. Perhaps I will paint flowers on the outside like I did when I rebuilt the little goat shed into a bee equipment shed.

The Bee shed transformation took about a month. I guess I'm not doing so bad on the big shed, time wise. This is the third shed project, last year I turned the chicken coop into a garden tool shed, stripped off the old rotting siding, fixed the windows, added screens to keep out the wasps and removed and rebuilt its roof, then repainted it. And this spring I started repainting the walls and replacing the damaged roof on the rusty metal kiln shed. I have to remind myself of what I have accomplished, otherwise I get very discouraged about what still needs to be repaired, and think I'm not getting anything done.