#ringbound

[dinosaurcharcuterie]

Always reblog the magic word.

I believe this applies to you

—-

submitted by @snyderman37​

see i actually did this but im not as good at doing exact kerning so you can still kinda read it?

[silence-ofthe-llamas]

More TexAid Mecha AU-AU stuff!

In this chapter - Vortex continues to be an oversized blender, First Aid has Quite Enough of it.

Pls excuse any errors, the tuxedo cat LOVES to sit on my lap and explore my keyboard when I write and I don't always catch everything.

The schedule board was a large, digital board that could be found in almost every major area. It was also available on their phones, easily viewed by all. The medics had one of the deepest levels of access to assess lone workers, and to track who should be where in emergencies.

And the schedule board was wrong.

PILOT: FELIX ANWYL

First Aid groggily rubbed his eyes at the bright light of the phone being shoved into his half-asleep face.

“Whuh?” He sleepily mumbled. His hand flopped around blindly for his glasses before he gave up and grabbed the phone, pulling it closer.

“You’re scheduled on as a pilot today?” Ambulon asked.

“I’m not a pilot.” First Aid pushed the phone away and flopped back down. “I was on the night shift.” He pointedly said.

“I know, I know, I’m sorry!” Ambulon sighed. “I just can’t figure out why you’re on the list!”

“Someone must have made a mistake.”

It was not a mistake.

It was sabotage.

Red Alert glared hotly at them all as the announcement was made. The schedule had been hacked. Anyone with any information was to step forwards immediately.

The only reason First Aid had gotten away with just twenty minutes of grilling was because he’d been in the medical bay for the night shift, and then immediately gone straight to bed – the cameras showed him yawning as he clocked out at the time when the system was apparently compromised.

It couldn’t have been him, and there wasn’t anyone he could have asked.

First Aid felt the cameras trained onto him burning a hole through him, and tried his best to ignore it.

It kept happening. Every morning, his name would be right there on the schedule. They’d tried to remove it only for it to appear again moments later. Whatever it was, whoever it was, were sitting waiting in the system totally undetected. They couldn’t scrub them out. The mysterious morning memos changed too – songs about wanton longing were quoted instead.

A compromised system was unacceptable. In lieu of a functional digital system, they made the switch back to paper. Every morning, a thick ringbound stack of papers would be dumped in the main areas showing everyones shift patterns at precisely 5:30am. First Aids name had finally been scrubbed – but he’d seen correction tape on the pages by Vortex’s name. He was still managing to infiltrate the system.

Pilots feeling brave or lucky volunteered to pilot Vortex, to prove they were made of the right stuff. First Aid watched and winced every time Vortex staggered back into the hangar, doing that grinding tremble that he did when he was laughing, and having the smell of a corpse hit him even from the wrong end of the catwalk.

He’s consuming them, First Aid thought. They’re offering themselves as sacrifices, he’s an altar to them.

Pharma hadn’t allowed First Aid to go back into Vortex to extract the previous pilot (shovelling into a bucket was more apt now) since he’d been stuck inside. He’d not been caught when he’d sneaked into him that evening, but Pharma knew. Somehow, he knew – he’d changed the positioning of cameras in the medics quarters, he’d changed how the doors logged entry and exits. He’d know in an instant if he went. So, he stayed and had to hope that Vortex could see his expression from where he stood behind the gate.

Instead of being the one to extract them, he was often involved in assisting the autopsy. Pharma lead them alongside Ratchet – a way to keep him under watch and on his best behaviour. First Aid never let Ratchet see him step out of line – his disappointment would kill him. Pharma would look at him each time as he catalogued each part, every chunk and shard and unidentifiable puddle, as if to say ‘this is a warning’. As if to check that he was paying attention, that he would see that this would be what became of him if he went near the mech again.

Only First Aid didn’t believe it for a second. They had a deal. Vortex wanted his expertise, and First Aid wanted his body. His expertise was worth nothing if he was dead, if he were rendered to nothing more than mush that soaked into the fabric of the pilots chair and ran into the gaps between the plating.

The day that Vortex’s visor opened and sprayed the remnants of the pilot on the catwalk and the approaching trauma medics was the day that First Aid snapped.

“For fucks sake I don’t care - he keeps killing them!” He swiftly evaded the grabbing hands trying to restrain him. “Look, that cadet’s been scattered all over the catwalk! How are we supposed to autopsy that?!”

“Leave the worrying about that to the pathologists, Felix.”

“I don’t know about your conscience, but I can’t stand it on mine when I know I can do something about it. I’m going to talk to him.”

“Do you want to die? He’ll kill you.”

“He won’t, he promised.”

“And you trust it?” Disgust blended with disbelief. “That AI is rogue, Felix. It’s… it’s broken. I don’t think it will listen to a single word anyone has to say.” First Aid didn’t reply.

“Let me through.” He politely said to the guard. The guard looked between First Aid and the simmering Pharma behind him.

“I don’t think-“

“Let me through.”

“No can do, Felix.”

Pharma had a smugness about him. “See? Now, let’s behave-“

First Aid took a step back, assessing the height of the barrier. He could make that, right?

“Hey-!” The guards arms flew out to catch him as he jumped over, his foot catching and flipping him over. First Aid grunted as his jaw smacked the floor with a crack.

“Stupid boy!” Pharma scolded. “You’re still healing from the last time you got inside that mech! Don’t add to your injuries!”

“I don’t care!” First Aid snapped. “People are dying! We’re medics! Why aren’t you doing what you can to help?!”

“By climbing into death traps? Don’t be silly, Felix.” Pharma roughly tugged him up to his feet. “You’ll achieve nothing if you’re dead.”

“I’ll do a damn sight better if I go see the mech throwing a tantrum because I’m not in it.”

Pharma’s eyes were hard. “Your potential is not to be wasted on some hare-brained scheme. Do not test my patience again.”

First Aid swallowed hard, feeling his legs go numb. Maybe he’d pushed his luck too far - Pharma looked very serious indeed. He relented, relaxing as best he could into his hold, and mumbled an apology.

It seemed to please Pharma. He apologised to the guard for the trouble his charge had caused, and trotted him straight back to the medical bay.

Pharma made a mistake in thinking that was the end of it. First Aid had made the mistake in going to Vortex when he was still full of a disembowelled corpse.

Nobody minded the medic walking with purpose through the pilots quarters. His heart was in his throat, his pulse pounding in his ears, as he hoped nobody recognised him as the medic who kept ending up on the pilots list. Pretend you’re meant to be here.

Pretend.

His target was a supply cupboard that held spare suits. It was still three hallways away when someone noticed him.

“What are you doing?” Their voice was sharp, piercing. “You’re not meant to be here.”

Perceptor. Of course he would pissing notice.

First Aid silently held up a blister package of paracetamol. He didn’t trust his voice to hold.

Perceptor was someone whom he had looked up to when he was younger - a member of The Wreckers, children far and wide knew their names, their faces, their stats on their Top Trump cards. First Aid knew he should have been more starstruck, that he should have asked for an autograph, but the adrenaline was gripping him so tightly he couldn’t think past the now.

Perceptor wasn’t buying it.

He opened his mouth to challenge him, frowning and folding his arms, cocking his hip to the side-

And the klaxon went off.

They both immediately turned to look at the nearest signboard.

FELIX ANWYL stared back at First Aid, glaring and red and flashing next to Vortex’s name.

Giving him a look that promised it wasn’t the end of it, Perceptor rushed off to answer the call. First Aid took a moment to recollect himself before utilising the chaos to plunder the stores and nab himself a god damn uniform. Passing through the crowds was strangely easy – he blended right in to the mass of bodies, and just his luck – another pilot was already rummaging in the cupboard when he had arrived.

“Can you pass me an S?” He asked. They didn’t even look at him as they grabbed it and shoved it into his hands, flicking through the carefully packaged uniforms as they hunted. First Aid quickly thanked him and shoved it into his bag before swiftly walking out.

It was all on camera. He felt them trained on him, watching his every move.

But he felt somehow assured that nobody would know. Vortex was watching. He’d make sure he left no tracks.

Vortex’s response time had tanked. It had never been so low, even when they were struggling to find seasoned pilots willing to enter his jaws. The brass were starting to sweat. Their sponsors and investors didn’t like mechs that inexplicably failed, especially when the mech was supposed to be the best.

Engineers and the maintenance crew confirmed that he was passing all of his tests – there was nothing mechanically wrong with him. His AI was responding as intended. There were no bugs, no faults, nothing out of the ordinary with him.

But First Aid knew what the problem was. Vortex was throwing a tantrum, and it was only the thought of letting anyone else get their teeth into the quintesson invaders before he did that got him out of the hangar doors. His need for blood always won out when it came down to it – and he’d make a show of it if he needed to.

First Aid wore the thin under-layer of the pilots suit under his medics uniform, and carried the thicker armour in his backpack. He stowed it under his bench, always within easy reach - he’d grab it and sprint as soon as the siren went off.

Vortex was always one of the last to launch. Finding a willing pilot to get inside of him was getting harder, and they’d had to start using new recruits. Fresh, green, and who didn’t have a damn clue who he was or about the rumours of his supposed haunting. And new recruits needed showing the ropes, needed to be shown how the helmet worked, needed to have the reason why his name was on the screen explained away.

So he had about three minutes to get to him whilst they plucked someone from the academy. The medbay was a three minute sprint away if you were an athlete. He could do it in five. It would have to do.

The first klaxon since he’d stolen the suit was a night time alarm. He was dead asleep in his quarters a good twenty minutes away – he was only aware that they’d launched when the alarm in the medics building went off alerting them to incoming casualties. He’d shrugged on his uniform and hopped onto the transport, ready to jet off to the medical bay, and silently cursed his bad luck. Vortex would be so mad.

And mad he was. Apparently, the pilot had been mauled before they’d even left the hangar, the mech continuing on with just a slowly dying nervous system connected to it. Blood had oozed from the visor, loudly splattering down Vortex’s chest. The instructor who had brought the cadet up had cried.

First Aid felt the cameras on him. It felt like Vortex was accusing him of something, but surely he was just imagining that. The cameras looked no different.

Perceptor hadn’t said a thing to him. He also hadn’t said anything to anyone – if he did, First Aid knew he’d have been frogmarched up to the top brass, chewed out until he was but a smear on the floor, and kicked out into the cold unforgiving world outside. Pharma had been the one to protect him when he’d been caught with the infant quintesson – he’d been the one to catch him, to pretend nothing had happened and handled his discipline internally. There wasn’t anything he could do when it came to him stealing a pilots suit.

Especially when one considered that Pharma had explicitly told him to not do this. He’d be watching his downfall with a glass of wine and canapés.

It ate away at him, clawing at his insides. What was Perceptor thinking? What was he planning? Was he waiting to see what he would do?

Relief came in the form of a distraction and of stars aligning. It had taken three alarms, three incidents, three deployments of their mechs, before First Aid was able to make it to Vortex. He had always been too far, off shift or dead in sleep in a building where they weren’t alerted to quintessons.

In the chaos of an attack, nobody paid much notice to the pilot who jumped the barrier. Overzealous, over excited. The guards shook their heads at him. First Aid didn’t catch his foot this time, and was audibly wheezing by the time he got to Vortex. He’d said it was a five minute sprint, but he didn’t say a thing about what state it would be leaving him in. He felt dishevelled. His hair was sticking to him. He’d never felt more awake.

The new recruit was there, bright eyed and excitedly drinking in the atmosphere. The instructor had a guilty look on her face as she let them take one last look at the facility, their last look at life.

“Sorry, sorry, I’m here!” First Aid called as he slid to a stop. “I’m so late!” He gasped for breath, trying not to laugh in how giddy he felt. Pharma would murder him. Ratchet would be so upset. But Vortex had visibly shuddered, his canopy trembling, and he couldn’t suppress his giggle.

“I’m sorry, who are you?” The instructor looked perplexed. “I wasn’t aware the mech had a pilot assigned to them?”

“Felix. Felix Anwyl.” He smiled at them, still breathing heavily from his nose. Was he sweaty? He felt sweaty. He felt hot. He couldn’t wait to sit down.

“But-“

“Thank you for your diligence! Your service will be appreciated, cadet!” First Aid said as he jumped into Vortex, the visor snapping down behind him with a sound of finality. The lock loudly slammed into place, and First Aid threw himself into the seat as Vortex remotely began the start up procedures. The harness seemed to buckle itself around him, holding him firmly into the seat as Vortex roughly shoved off the dock and began to sprint.

“Woah- wait wait wait I’m not ready-!” His hands were scrambling for purchase on anything, hands slipping from the sweat of his earlier exertion.

Vortex shook with laughter.

[WELCOME ABOARD, DARLING~ <3]

First Aid lost himself laughing. “I can’t believe I did that! Look at what you’ve got me doing!”

[YOU’VE GOT BIGGER BALLS THAN I THOUGHT, I WAS STARTING TO THINK YOU’D NEVER COME BACK]

[DON’T WORRY ME LIKE THAT AGAIN~]

He was pressed firmly back against the seat as Vortex left the hangar, speeding up now that he was clear. In the distance, First Aid could see smoke.

The quintessons had arrived. They were closer than he thought they’d be – he’d never realised how close they got…

The adrenaline slowly wore off and the reality of the situation quickly sunk in.

He had disobeyed direct orders. He had stolen a pilots uniform, he had impersonated one, and he was currently in a mech he was not trained or cleared to operate.

“Pharma is going to kill me!” First Aid panicked. “Oh, I’m so dead, I’m so dead!” He pulled his hair in despair. “Oh!” He moaned, burying his face into his hands. “What is Ultra Magnus going to say?!”

[RELAX]

“Easy for you to say! You’re already dead! You don’t get court marshalled!”

[JUST PUT THE HELMET ON, I WANT YOU TO FEEL THIS TOO]

Bright blue blood splashed up onto the visor. First Aid scrambled for the helmet.

Pain shot through him and he cried out, tightly gripping the seats. It had been easier to handle when Vortex wasn’t moving, when he wasn’t busy twirling and slashing and slicing and running around, but there was so much data. So much information he had to take in, and he didn’t have the hardware required to filter it for him. He didn’t need to know that the panel on Vortex’s left foot right by the heel was slightly loose because of how hard he’d started to sprint, but it felt as if something were out of place on his own body and it was all that he could think about.

“Sorry about that, babe. I forget it’s a bit much for you squishies.”

Suddenly, the pressure crushing his head lifted. He breathed a sigh of relief, pressing a hand to his chest as if to hold his heart in place.

“How many did I miss?”

“Three.” He carved through another, the scream loud and cutting off with a wet gargle. “Four, if you count that one. Pay close attention – you’re telling me what to do to the next one.”

He was horrified, but he couldn’t look away. His words had stumbled and tripped, unclear and garbled, instructions lost in translation. He couldn’t think straight and Vortex was moving faster than he could keep up with – he had to. There were so many. It suddenly made sense why their pilots always came back exhausted, why their mechs always needed repairs. It didn’t stop.

But he was learning.

“Come on, honey, don’t make me regret sticking my neck out for you.”

“Can I take control?” His hands hovered over the controls, a joystick nudging itself into his palm.

“If it’s you I’ll allow it.”

The next kill was more like a dissection. The quintesson felt squishier than he thought it would, clasped in his hand. He held it up as he carefully inserted the sword with scientific precision, the blade slowly gliding down to reveal the peritoneum – it shone like an oil slick in the light of the slowly setting sun, and he could see one of its pulsing hearts straining against it. He was sure it was screaming, but he couldn’t hear over the thunderous beat of his own heart in his ears and the endless praise pouring out of Vortex.

“It’s got multiple hearts. That’s fascinating.” First Aid commented. “Okay, carefully does it…” he thought back to his first dissection. His little hamster, Lucky. The feeling of joy and wonder that he had had, the quiet worship that came when one engaged with the natural world around them in a way that left them feeling much smaller than when they had begun.

His hands hadn’t been as skilled back then. He’d struggled to get hold of a knife sharp enough without his parents noticing and taking it from him, he wasn’t even tall enough to climb up onto the counter top – he’d seen a documentary on TV about the palaeolithic and flint knapping, and a few days later had noticed a piece of stray flint on the beach. His parents had been happy for him to take it, thinking he was just excited to find an interesting rock. They never found out that he’d whacked it against the boulder that marked the end of their driveway to break off a piece sharp enough to cut flesh. He buried it with the hamster.

The quintesson dropped with a wet squelch, the peritoneum breaking and its internals spilling out over the fields. First aid tutted.

“Damn it, I didn’t mean to cut that deep.”

“There will be more to practice on. Look, the next one’s headed our way~”

“Am I in trouble?”

First Aid staggered out of the mech, exhausted and giddy and dizzy and bleeding. They hadn’t suffered a single hit – they were fast but Vortex was much faster – but the strain of the connection had proven too much again. Red dripped from his nose to the floor, splashing up onto his boots and the shoes of the opposing officer waiting for them to return.

“Yes.” Prowl said. “Yes, you are.”

Pharma didn’t look angry. Somehow, that made it even worse. He couldn’t look at him as he walked by - he couldn’t look at anyone.

He’d saved the life of the cadet, he told himself. He would saved the lives of countless more – if they let him, that was. The silence was heavy and oppressive.

The walkie talkie on Prowls hip crackled loudly. He slipped it from its holder and held it up to his ear, brow creased in a frown.

A series of short and long beeps proceeded to play. First Aid didn’t understand what the hell they meant, but he recognised it from documentaries on the war.

Morse code. Four letters repeated over and over.

Prowl stopped to turn and stare at Vortex. Water was starting to be sprayed on his exterior, glowing blue running down over his visor. A singular red dot pierced through it – a camera inside of his cockpit. He was watching them.

“What’re they saying?” First Aid asked.

“… Mine.” Prowl quickly turned and resumed a brisk pace. First Aid stumbled after him, Pharma catching him in a firm hand. Blood dripped onto his pristine white lab coat, blooming like flowers.

[malacandrax]

I'm procrastinating starting my new sketchbook by talking about my sketchbooks, since I just compiled the latest volume (see this post for info)

The sketchbook I'm procrastinating is #29!- I started numbering them the summer before university (2012), since that's when I got more serious about improving my art. I love getting to take photos of them all together, and honestly getting to pull out my monstrous sticker collection when I decorate a new one is my favourite thing. (I actually took a break from 2017-2020 where I did everything digitally so theres a gap, alas :')

I included a pic of sketchbook #1 for anyone interested in what my art was like in the early books, I would have been 18 then! (I'm 31 now). My tumblr archive does actually go all the way back to then... yikes. I did keep sketchbooks before then, but I had like 4 at once for different purposes (one was for...copying manga...)

A lot of the early sketchbooks I bound myself using old national geographic pics (#5+6), or old books who's insides I pulled out and replaced (#8+9). I also used my friends handmade sketchbooks -#3 and #22!

These days I do most of my stuff on the computer, so they're pretty heavy on studies and fun doodles as opposed to art that I share, but I still love to keep one. They act as little diaries to places I've been or what I was doing that day.

Currently my fav sketchbook is the daler rowney ebony- it takes most mediums pretty well, tho I took a risk for my new one and got a shockingly expensive pith sketchbook- which turns out is too big for my scanner...........BUT it's coptic bound (like my friends, nudge nudge haha) which means it'll lay flat and hopefully rub my pencil sketches less than a ringbound!

[toruandmidori]

Get planning for Halloween with our collection of spooky, kooky witch’s spellbook style notebooks, journals and diaries! 

Available to buy online in hardback or ringbound with lined or plain paper. Great gifts for gothy pals. 

Check out the full range here, individual link below:

NOT TODAY SATAN

HEXES FOR EXES

SPOOKY SH*T

[lgbtmi]

played vampire with my friends at a table, came home with lots of loot <3

ft: all notes I've taken during our first chronicle, except now ringbound with a personal note from the st on the front page <3

stickers, coaster, dice bag for jips clan, key chain and business card for my friend's character's club

[haveyoureadthisfanfic]

Summary: When the Redanian government decides to revive the ancient legal tradition of Correctional Marriage, Eskel is forced to take on his strangest Witcher contract yet: he must marry and "rehabilitate" a convicted smuggler who also happens to be a bard, a Viscount, and the longtime companion of Eskel’s best friend, Geralt of Rivia. Jaskier expected to waste away in a dark prison cell under the streets of his beloved Oxenfurt. Instead, he is given a simple but impossible choice: agree to marry a strange Witcher, or hang for his crimes. Jaskier soon finds himself handfasted to Eskel, a man he barely knows and cannot afford to trust. Bound together by fate, marriage, and a powerful spell known as the Ringbound Curse, Eskel and Jaskier’s destinies were linked long before their first meeting. Now they must learn how to work together, break the deadly curse, and find Geralt of Rivia before it’s too late.

Author: @flightsfancy22

[joseonederkid]

Practice never stops ndat, but really feel like I found a motivation to step a thing up and show up again and more on my time thanks to my king, Little Simz.

Something synchronous and then silly serendipitous came about and there was the glowing arterial thread that is the soundtracking and energy sharing and guiding and validating Simz has given us. Personally long time grateful for Simz in ways I can’t get into here.

All that added together, I (finally) made a Little Simz fanzine - one in the works for tiiimeee - on the occasion of her 30th birthday. A perfect deadline.

Let me find the details and put it up here.

BE VERY SPECIFIC WHEN YOU TALK ON WHO THE BEST IS, a Little Simz fanzine

100+ pages, full colour & B&W digital print

Spinal coil ringbound

Edition of 2 (1 for Simz, 1 for the archive)

[theproductivepessimist]

Journaling

I use #journaling as a personal practice, and have developed my own "prompts", which I'm sharing here for other folk who don't get on with the "What went well today?" (nothing), "What 3 things am I grateful for today?" (again, nothing) typical journal prompts. My journaling looks like this, with each section given 3-5mins of 'thinking time' before I start writing an answer. 1. What am I feeling? If you can't name your feelings, talk about physical signs you've observed. (Alexithymia is real, and valid.) 2. Why am I feeling this? No answer is "wrong" - not even "I don't know." Ideally, try to centre your respons/es on YOU, not other people - ie, "Because I find X to be inconsiderate", rather than "Because X is inconsiderate." 3. Are these feelings valid? Go with your gut on this one - if you look back at your answer, and think "I'm overreacting, actually", write "No - I may be overreacting to what's actually happening."

4. Are any of these feelings the result of triggers not connected to the immediate situation? Be honest - for example, one of my triggers is "women shouting", because that was a central part of serious physical violence in my past; therefore, I often have overreactive feelings to any situation where women are raising their voices, or reacting loudly to their own triggers. Again, it's fine if, after 5mins, you feel certain that they're NOT connected to other triggers, or if you're not sure - put those answers down. 5. What can I do to work on these triggers? This one may be difficult to answer right now, and that's okay. 6. What PRACTICAL steps can I take to improve this situation? Again, it's okay if, after 5mins, you don't know. Any sections that you have left blank, make a note to set aside an hour, within 3-7 days' time, to come back, and genuinely reconsider; note anything you might want to research, anyone you might need to speak with, etc. Sometimes, we don't actually have things we feel grateful for. "Being alive" isn't always the "blessing" it's presented as. Not everyone, even in a developed country, has "enough to meet their needs." Even in developed countries, people don't always have "clean drinking water" - and there's also a consideration that things like "access to fresh, affordable food", "clean drinking water", etc are NOT things ANYONE should be 'grateful' for - because that implies it's NORMAL for some people NOT to have those things, that they're "enhancements to life", rather than "the bare minimum expectation." Acknowledging challenges and difficulties moves us forward far more than "finding something to be grateful for" - the fact that you're alive doesn't help with the fact that you can't actually afford to be. The fact that YOU have your health doesn't help when you're watching a loved one die, or are struggling with the demands of kinship care. And it's okay to feel however you feel about those situations, or any others. You don't need an expensive "proper journal" for this - I use basic, £1, A5 ringbound notepads, and just write the prompt headings in myself.

[milf-n-dilf-dippin-dots]

First course: preserved meats and veg

Second course: the ravaged stocks, a ration

Third course: the livestock

Fourth course: the scraps

Dessert: 3 ringbound fingers, and a scattered mince of organ meats

But the whole thing is wonderfully colourful, and the biggest horrific indicator, past a short diary entry each opening, is the musical score backed by voices that dwindle

Cooking horror game where you play as a cook working in the galley of a ship in the 1800s. There’s some kind of supernatural nautical horror story going on in the background but you barely notice this because you spend all day cooking in the galley.

[calidebs]

Check out this listing I just added to my Poshmark closet: Betty Crockers Cookbook New and Revised Edition 5th Printing 1981 Ringbound VTG.

[abigailshorel6]

Examples of ISTD Projects

I decided to look at previous ISTD outcomes to get an idea of what they expect.

I loved this project and particularly their use of typography and how their visual language compliments the subject matter and research. In the background of the pages you can see a grid pattern which mimics what you see on the floor of a tennis pitch. Sections of type are connected with a bouncing tennis ball. The typography is emotive, when the copy is someone shouting it is large and slanted to emote this. From this project I can see that for ISTD your visual language and typography all has to clearly link to your subject matter. Every decision has a reason and helps build your narrative.

This project is about cosmetic surgery. I love where typography is cut/manipulated to look like it has undergone cosmetic surgery. I also love the front cover of the book where you can see part of it peeling off. This has shown to me that I can really experimental with the typography in the book - I can manipulate typefaces to give the type an added layer of meaning.

This project was creative with the print and form of the book. I love that they used cut out pages and tracing paper. Alongside considering the type in the book it is important to think about how you print and bind the book compliments your subject matter and helps build your narrative.

I love the form of this project. It being ringbound and having different page lengths makes it look both exciting and professional. Like the last project they used cut out and fold out pages which keep the reader engaged and add to their narrative.

[toruandmidori]

Finally somewhere to put all your spooky scribbles, ex hexes, disturbing diary entries and frightening thoughts.

Get your goth on with our funny range of vintage spellbook style notebook journals and diaries. 

Available to buy online in hardback or ringbound. 

Shop the whole collection here, individual links below: 

NOT TODAY SATAN

HEXES FOR EXES

SPOOKY SH*T

HEX THE PATRIARCHY

[thewitcheslist]

Current Sale Info:

Currently all listings on our etsy store are 40% off. Custom orders are 50% off right now as well. LINK

We currently have 12 Junk Journals available, ready to ship. Our goblin core bead mix has been restocked. There are multiple styles of refillable notebooks also available. Order processing time (the time it takes to package orders and deliver them to the post office is currently 3 business days.

Custom order pricing:

Hardcover journals are currently starting at 38 USD for fabric or paper wrapped covers - made with at least 100 pages.

Custom Paperbag Journals are currently 25 USD

Ringbound journals are now starting at 20 USD.

To place a custom order, send a us message on Etsy. All payments are processed through etsy's payment processor. Our etsy storefront accepts most major credit/debit cards, Apple Pay, Google Pay, Paypal, Klarna, iDEAL, and Sofort. We ship everywhere they accept packages from the USA.

divider by @firefly-graphics

[aspeccharactersoftheday]

Kit March from Ringbound is aromantic!

[demi-organized]

Hello again, today I’ll share with you my first set up for my clean and organized journey.

My first planner that I’ll be using is my pocket filofax, I’ll use it as an idea notebook to carry with me everywhere I go, so I can write down everything that pops into my head. This way I will not get stressed and my mind will be clear and focused. Since I have two pocket planners I can switch easily from one to another if I get bored or if I need something fresh to keep me motivated, but for now I’ll choose the Finsbury.

First of all, I made some dividers and laminated a journaling card to have a nice cover. Also I cut out a back cover so mi last pages won’t get damaged when closing my planner in a hurry (the most likely thing to happen if you’re writing on the go).

Next I just decided on my sections and added some filler paper, I figured since I will write only notes, I don’t need any special layouts or inserts. Well only on the last section which is my “to do section”. I also put two pocket cards from Heidi Swapp Memory Planners, just for decoration and a little kraft envelope that is the perfect size for my business card.

At the back I added two card holders, because when I go somewhere close by and I don’t need my purse, I just take this planner.

Cover

Envelope

Sections

Cardholder

A little pink pen and I am ready to go!!

Idea Notebook Set Up Hello again, today I'll share with you my first set up for my clean and organized journey…

[princesscatherinemiddleton]

The Princess of Wales met with an Advisory Group of experts from across academia, science and the early years sector, who will offer strategic advice and provide oversight of the work of the Royal Foundation Centre for Early Childhood, at Windsor Castle | January 25 2023