#the notebook homage

[dingoat]

An absolute delight to draw for @queen-scribbles, her Ody and Chance experiencing a bit of a noteworthy romance! My gosh I love drawing characters in the rain.

[ernestdescalsartwok]

GLOBE-LONDON-ART-PAINTINGS-WATERCOLORS-INTERIOR-VISIT-SHAKESPEARE-PEOPLE-ARCHITECTURE-ERNEST DESCALS-ARTISTA-PAINTER por Ernest Descals Por Flickr: GLOBE-LONDON-ART-PAINTINGS-WATERCOLORS-INTERIOR-VISIT-SHAKESPEARE-PEOPLE-ARCHITECTURE-ERNEST DESCALS-ARTISTA-PAINTER- Visiting the GLOBE, the reconstruction of the old theatre where SHAKESPEARE's plays were performed in Southwark next to the River Thames in London, impression of the interior with its architecture, history and the movement of many people who gather in the venue, painting with watercolors in the travel notebook, I wanted to express the feelings of a historic place, works by the painter Ernest Descals in homage to the famous British writer. Visitando el GLOBE, la reconstrucción del antiguo teatro donde se representaban las obras de SHAKESPEARE en Southwark junto al río Támesis en Londres, impressión de interior con su arquitectura, la historia y el movimiento de mucha gente que se concentra en el recinto, pintura con acuarelas en la libreta de viaje, he querido expresar las sensaciones de un lugar histórico, obras del artista pintor Ernest Descals en homenaje al conocido literato británico.

[woso-story]

First Tournament

Ingrid Engen x Mapi Leon x DaughterMila x BarcaPlayers

The smell of tomato sauce filled the cozy kitchen, bubbling gently on the stove while Ingrid stirred it with practiced ease. Behind her, at the wooden table, eight-year-old Mila sat, her small brow furrowed in concentration as she worked through her math homework. Her long, dark hair was neatly braided, just like her Mama's always was on matchdays.

Ingrid glanced back with a soft smile. Her daughter had that spark—focused, determined, with a fiery little personality that was unmistakably hers. And while her mothers were both fierce defenders, Mila had taken a different path. A forward. And a natural one at that. Scoring goals seemed to run in her blood.

"Hey, Mama?" Mila's voice piped up, breaking Ingrid out of her thoughts.

"Yeah, cariño?" Ingrid replied, turning around.

Mila looked up, her pencil now still in her hand. "Will my tias be there for the tournament this weekend?"

Ingrid paused, her heart twinging just a little. She wiped her hands on a dish towel and turned toward her daughter fully. "No, mi amor. Just me and Mami," she said gently.

Mila's shoulders slumped and she looked down at her notebook. The sight hit Ingrid hard, and she quickly moved to sit beside her, wrapping an arm around Mila’s small frame.

“I know you want them there,” Ingrid said softly. “And they want to be there too. But I asked them not to come, because… well, you know how famous they are. If they show up, it becomes a whole thing. Photos, autographs, distractions. I just wanted the day to be about you and all the kids playing—not about them.”

Mila nodded slowly, trying to understand, though her eyes still looked a little disappointed. “But I learned everything from them,” she whispered.

Ingrid kissed her temple. “I know, and they’re so proud of you. So are your Mami and I. And this is just the beginning. They’ll be at so many of your games.”

What neither Ingrid nor Mila knew was that the FC Barcelona girls had made their own decision. There was no way in the world they’d miss Mila’s first tournament.

---

The pitch was buzzing with energy, the sun shining down on groups of excited girls tying their boots, bouncing balls, and shouting to their teammates. Mila stood on the field, jersey tucked neatly into her shorts, laces double-knotted, hair in a tight braid.

She glanced toward the sidelines where her moms stood—Mapi with her ever-cool sunglasses and Ingrid holding a water bottle and looking like she was trying not to pace.

Then, just as the referee lifted the whistle to start the game, Ingrid noticed movement. A whole crowd was coming toward them. And not just anyone.

Alexia. Esmee. Pina. Frido. Kika. Jana. All of them. The Barcelona family.

Ingrid groaned softly. “They came anyway,” she muttered, shaking her head.

Mapi let out a laugh. “You thought they’d stay away?”

Esmee leaned in with a grin. “Come on, Ings. This is Mila’s debut. No way we’re missing that.”

Ingrid’s heart warmed even as she rolled her eyes, clearly failing to hide her smile.

On the pitch, Mila turned just in time to see them all lined up, waving and shouting her name. Her whole face lit up with the biggest grin. She waved back excitedly… completely missing the ball that rolled right past her.

“Mila! Focus!” Alexia yelled playfully, cupping her hands around her mouth.

Mila immediately straightened up and nodded. “Focus on the game!” she muttered to herself, repeating Alexia’s timeless advice.

And oh, did she focus.

Barely five minutes later, she was weaving through defenders like it was second nature, tapping the ball forward with precision. Then, with a swift motion, she struck it cleanly into the back of the net.

Cheers erupted. Mila sprinted to the sideline, where the entire crew was shouting and clapping. Then, in a moment of pure inspiration, she bowed deeply in front of them all—an homage to Alexia’s iconic Champions League celebration. The girls screamed even louder, all of them touched and laughing.

“¡Esa es mi nina!” Kika shouted proudly.

As the game went on, the cheering never stopped. Every goal, every pass, every tackle had a chorus of elite players hyping her up. And when an opponent shoved Mila a little too hard, Alexia and Kika were already half-jumping over the barriers.

“FOUL!” they yelled in unison, making everyone around them laugh.

Mila’s team won the match, and then the next, and the next. By the end of the day, they had won the entire tournament. Mila had scored three out of the four goals in the final. She ran straight to her family, holding up her little medal like it was a World Cup trophy.

Frido scooped her up into a spinning hug. “You were incredible!”

“We’ve got a future Ballon d'Or winner right here,” Pina added, ruffling Mila’s hair.

Soon, Mila’s coach called her back for the team photo. She waved and ran off, medal bouncing against her chest.

Ingrid looked around at the group beside her. “So none of you listened to me.”

Jana smirked, raising her hands. “Nope. Not even for a second.”

Ingrid shook her head but her smile said it all. “I’m glad you didn’t. She’ll never forget this.”

And she wouldn’t.

Because it was only the beginning. The first of many medals. The first of many games where her family was there, screaming her name and cheering her on.

[zae-heeyyy]

Pastiche

Summary: You and Arthur escape through writing. Pairing: Arthur Morgan x gn!Reader Word Count: 2,345 Trigger Warning: Tuberculosis, death Tags: angst, sadness, high honor Arthur

a/n: Thanks for you kind words on Chiaroscuro. I've enjoyed writing again so much! I'm in my tragedy era. My hs english teacher's voice haunts me when I'm writing, so I spent a lot of time scrutinizing this. Didn't mean for it to be so long, but I hope you enjoy! Thanks for reading!

pastiche: a work of art or literature that imitates the style or character of another, often as an homage or tribute.

You knew there was something special about Arthur Morgan the day you met him. Despite his best efforts to believe otherwise, he was easy on the eyes, and his dry humor combined with his strong sense of honor sealed your crush on the cowboy. Everybody else could see that he was sweet on you, too, noticing when he pulled you to sit at the fire with him or how he watched you around camp. As more time passed, you'd become mostly inseparable, taking every moment you had to sneak away together. One of your favorite places to escape to was the fields of Little Creek River in Big Valley. You'd be reading a book and glance over to find Arthur staring intently at an animal until it was out of sight. Then he'd open up his journal and sketch it.  He wasn't doing that today, though. He was staring across the field, but you could tell he was elsewhere in his mind.

"Got somethin' to say," his eyes met yours earnestly. When he told you he loved you, a laugh erupted deep from your belly. Dumbfounded, he asked, "The hell is so funny?" his own laugh betraying his attempt to be solemn. It was hilarious to you that he didn't think you already knew that and that he didn't know you absolutely felt the same.

Another day, you were lying in Arthur's lap in the grass. Just the day before, he had returned to camp with bruised knuckles and some poor fool's blood on his face—one of Strauss's clients. You longed for a life where bruised knuckles and loan sharking were distant memories.

"Where would you be if you weren't here," you'd asked, holding his hand in yours. He stroked your thumb with his and gazed over the valley like always.

"Hard to imagine." He mumbled, sounding far away.

You nodded in agreement and replied, "You're always writing or drawing in your notebook. Maybe you could've been an artist or a writer." The thought brought a soft smile to your face, and you imagined, just for a second, a life where Arthur's biggest worry was perfecting his latest masterpiece.

He huffed in dry amusement, "Probably wouldn't have known how to read if it weren't for Dutch and Hosea."

You assented again and sighed, the smile on your face growing wider.

 "Arthur Morgan: author and illustrator." You held your hands up in dramatic fashion as if envisioning the words in front of you. Then you untangled yourself from him and sat up, "You could, you know? It's not too late. Maybe a biography?"

"A story about my life, huh?" He looked at you with a dumb smile, "I think a book about dirt would be more interestin'." He bobbed his head up and down as if nodding made his thought more true. You shoved him playfully, and he raised his eyebrow at you and held out his hands questionly. "What? There's all different kinds of dirt," he started counting on his fingers." Brown dirt, red dirt, hard dirt—"

You cut him off, "I'm serious, Arthur! This life…it ain't one normal folks live." A shit-eating grin crept up his face as he fought not to make another joke at his own expense. He shoved it down and kept listening. "Sure, it's just your life to you, but other people might find it interesting, exciting, even."

He thought for a second, then put his hands in the air, mimicking you, "The Confessions of Arthur Morgan: The Detailed Life of a Gunslinger by Arthur Morgan. Sounds like a Pinkerton's wet dream."

 "I see what you mean," you trail off, fingers playing in the grass. "Could change the name. People publish under a different name all the time. There's a word for that, I think."

"Pseudonym," he responded, his accent thick. "Think it's got one of those silent letters in front." He said it so matter of factly, and it confirmed what you already knew about him: he was far more intelligent than anybody ever gave him credit for. Still, you left the idea alone and thought Arthur had, too.

Then, on another afternoon in the fields near Little Creek River, he spoke out of nowhere. "Arthur Callahan or Tacitus Kilgore?" 

"Hmm?" you asked, barely glancing up from your book.

"For the pen name," he confirmed, scratching his chin thoughtfully. 

From that day on, your trips to Little Creek River became writing sessions. He bought a notebook that you two would trade off, coming up with ideas for the dramatized life of the gunslinger. You'd taken some creative liberties, and the story wasn't exactly a biography anymore. It had shaped into a Western love story. Arthur Callahan, after living a bad life, met someone who made him want to be better, an angel sent to rescue the devil himself. Arthur Callahan would get the perfect ending; a normal life. It was all Arthur's idea. 

"It's not my story; it's ours," he'd told you. 

You had been daydreaming about the possibilities for your novel for some time, but the chaos of life with the gang left little room to focus on it. The sudden move from Horseshoe Overlook to Clemens Point made things worse. Somewhere in the move, the manuscript was lost or destroyed—either way, it was gone. You couldn't hold back your tears during your next trip to Big Valley. Arthur's big hands swallowed your face as his thumbs wiped your tears away.  

"Shhh, we'll rewrite it, sweetheart," he promised.

Despite Arthur's gentle nudges, you couldn't find it in you to rewrite the story. Another day, he'd invited you to ride with him, heading off to your usual spot. He'd asked once more if you were feeling up to writing again. When you rejected the idea, he shook his head, seemingly surrendering. 

"Fine! You're so damn stubborn." There was no malice in his voice, though, and his eyes twinkled a little. "Looks like I gotta take matters into my own hands." Instead of stopping the horse in the fields as usual, Arthur stopped short, cutting into nearby woods. Eventually, he halted outside of the small cabin that was Vetter's Echo and hitched the horse outside. 

"Come on," he said, helping you down. "I've got a surprise for you." You walked up the cabin's steps, and he swung the door open to a small living quarters. "It don't got a back door, and I'm pretty sure the feller living here got mauled by a bear, but it's got one of these things." He gestured to the desk in the corner of the small cabin, a typewriter sitting atop it, "I don't have the first clue about using it." So he left it for you to figure out. He'd sit on a stool beside you, reading from a notebook, and you'd type slowly at first, but as time went on, the keys felt as familiar to you as a gun trigger did to him. 

Then things started falling apart. You'd moved from Horseshoe Overlook to Clemens Point, then to Shady Bell in a matter of weeks. The men went on a job to rob the bank in St. Denis, and most didn't return. You'd forgotten about the manuscript while trying to survive and spent weeks worried about Arthur and everybody else.

Then he came home to you, waterlogged but alive. You'd never felt more relieved. He was skinny and had a persistent cough, blaming it all on his rough journey. But it didn't stop him from finishing the book as promised. He'd write whenever he had a chance, and you'd go back to the little cabin in the woods, you typing and him reading.

Then he couldn't get through a page without coughing. You listened, concern etched on your face as he told you about his coughing spell and subsequent visit to the doctor in the city. Tuberculosis: practically a death sentence. After that, he'd step back when you tried to be close to him and wouldn't let you kiss him or be intimate with him. You spent a lot of time crying while he dipped his head in profound shame. 

Weeks later, he woke you up at night, gently shaking you and whispering to not alert anyone else. "C'mon, get dressed and ride with me." He was serious, his jaw set, his voice low but demanding. You didn't know what was wrong, but dread ran through your veins. You rode far away from camp, mostly in silence, your anxiety not letting you say anything. 

"You're gonna live a good life. "he finally said, breaking the silence. Your eyes stung, and you felt a lump in your throat.

"I don't want to hear this right now, Arthur."

He shook his head, frustrated, and spoke through clenched teeth. "Listen to me." His tone made you flinch. He'd never taken on that tone with you, ever. "This whole thing with Dutch, it's over. You gotta run. Gotta get out and make a good life for yourself." 

You wanted to protest; you weren't going to leave him, not now. But then you saw the waiting stagecoach up ahead. Your heart dropped and shattered into a million pieces. You reached around him to pull the horse's reins, coming to a skidding stop. You hopped down and started shaking your head, frantic in your movements and words. 

"No, Arthur. No."

You wiped away the quickly falling tears as you turned, fast walking, almost running back to that godforsaken camp that was Beaver Hollow. Even in his sickness, it only took Arthur a few big steps to reach you, grabbing you by the waist and turning you to face him. And then you cursed at him, pounded your fists against his chest, and wailed into the night. He just pulled you close to him, squeezing you until you didn't fight anymore. He gave you a stack of cash, made you promise to run, and said he'd come find you after it was all over. But both of you knew, deep down, that you were setting eyes on each other for the last time. He kissed your head. You sobbed into his chest, only letting go when the impatient stagecoach driver beckoned you.

"Never could've imagined I'd know somebody as perfect for me as you." All you could choke out was, "I love you," over and over and over again. He slipped a folded letter into your hand and helped you into the coach filled with your things. He stood silently with his hat in his hands while you rode off into the night. You sobbed for as long as your body let you while the coach took you down to Copperhead Landing.

First, Tilly showed up with Jack, and then Sadie came with Abagail. But then John arrived bearing Arthur's hat and satchel with a look in his eyes so terrible that it brought you to a screaming sob. That night, when everybody had finally settled down to sleep, you slipped away, leaving a note of thanks and well wishes. You were alone then, the way you wanted it to be without Arthur.  

Eight years; it had been eight years since everything went to shit. In eight years, you worked your ass off with any odd jobs you could find. Keeping busy was how you cured your broken heart. You'd tried as hard as you could to forget about the life you'd once lived until you read a headline in the newspaper: MICAH BELL KILLED. The memories flooded back to you, and you returned to a place you hadn't visited in a while. You only kept 2 things from that time: a letter from Arthur and the manuscript you'd written with him. Forged in Fire, you called it. After all this time, you couldn't remember who came up with the name, but you remembered why. You two were like tempered metal; the more you walked through hellfire, the stronger you became.  

Then there was Arthur's letter. You'd read it only once before today.

"Things I wanted to say but did not have the courage to say aloud." was scrawled across the top of the page, followed by a list.

"Keep visiting Big Valley.

Keep writing.

Publish the book.

Watch every sunset.

Trust your gut.

Please, be happy."

You heard his voice through every word. He'd underlined the third point: publish the book. In that moment, you decided to take a leap. You wrote to a publisher and sent a copy of the manuscript. And that's all it took. Things went into a tailspin after that, and before you knew it, you were holding a hard copy of the manuscript you and Arthur had worked on together all that time ago.

You'd made an effort, then, to find Abigail and John and Jack. They were held up at a ranch, Beecher's Hope, and were married now. You caught up with the Marstons and apologized for hastily disappearing all those years ago. They were happy for you, and you for them. 

On your departure, John took your hand, "I don't talk about him much these days, but I don't think he loved anybody like he loved you." He paused for a moment and forced his eyes to meet yours. "He's buried out in Ambarino, near Donner Falls. Top of the mountain. I can take you." You declined John's offer but set out east toward Donner Falls the next day. 

You found him around noon and watched wistfully as an eagle flew from its spot on a rock behind the flowery grave. You fell to your knees, no longer able to control the tears flowing down your face. "I did it, my love," you choked through tears. It'd been a long, long time since you let yourself feel this pain—a longing to reach something impossible. You dabbed the tears away from your eyes and sat in the grass, hugging Forged in Fire to your chest. "Thought I'd read it to you," you spoke into the air. You opened the book, cracked the spine, and read "Chapter One: Heaven's Fall, Hell's Rise."

[murdlygirly]

If this post (where I yapped about a murdle book that centered around the oxymorons getting married) existed, this would be the cover:

Ramblings under the cut, as always <3

Ok, here me out, I think if Logico were to wear a fedora to his wedding, he'd lovingly have it customized to include references Irratino will understand. It's a sweet way to pay homage. Made even sweeter if you adopt the idea that, at a glance, the band of his hat just looks like random squiggles. Since, unlike the majority of their guests, Irratino would immediately spot the details because of how much attention he usually pays towards Logico. Old habits die hard; he can't help being gay.

For Irratino, I imagine him rocking a white tux and veil combo, with the tux having either a long tail or a cape so the length almost resembles a wedding dress train (that tiny icon didn't give me much to work with, so hopefully y'all see the vision). And his version of Logico's fedora would be implementing references through lace detailing. It's way more subtle, but Logico's whole job depends on observation and analysis. Again, the average person is not going to notice the mini magnifying glasses or chess pieces sewn throughout his outfit, but Logico will.

As for the X and check marks, I aimed for the impression of it being the two of them marking things up. Logico would carry a classic blue pen while Irratino would only own glitter pens fr. I HC that only because in the event of Logico ever losing his pen while on a case, he’d have to borrow a glitter one from Irratino. It’ll be the only bedazzled grid in his notebook lmao. Also, can you imagine Irratino signing important paperwork with glitter pens, too? Like his marriage license- I feel like it’ll display their personalities pretty accurately.

Anyway, there are more details thrown about in there, but my brain doesn't want to excessively comment on those rn, so I'll just leave them with you guys ✨

[plor-bindery]

Bound: The Bucket List, by GallaPlacidia

This is actually a gift, but I'm taking a risk that my pal Lately isn't on Tumblr enough to know about this thing, lol. (Lately, if you see this: surprise? Merry Christmas?)

This is, of course, a bind of GallaPlacidia's fic The Bucket List. Galla's fic is no longer on AO3 but is available if you make a very small effort to locate it, which you should if you haven't already done so.

First off: huge thanks to @sits-bound who spotted me their typeset of the fic when mine was not behaving at all. I owe them thanks for this, for their choice for Draco's handwriting (which became quite a Theme for me as I went), and their help in figuring out toner-activated foil, which I used on the endpapers.

Secondly: the UK folks among you will, I hope, recognize this binding as an homage to the Oxford Black n' Red notebook. I wanted to create this binding to look as though it might be Draco's actual bucket list notebook, so I went with this theme in the colour choices and cover design, down to the name tag label (made from HTV) that I imagine Galla's Draco slapping on haphazardly as he frantically began his list.

I made Draco's version of the notebook just slightly different, of course -- with Galla's name in place of the text "black n' red", the name tag, and the little Aelfgifu crest in place of the Oxford one on the original.

(Aside: Aelfgifu is a bit of an inside joke with me and Lately, as we have spent a lot of time imagining a magical college within Cambridge called Aelfgifu College, as well as Draco and Harry's different academic journeys, their collegiate romance, etc., without ever writing more than a few hundred words of same, whoops. But! The college has a crest now! Maybe it'll get a story to go with it!)

This is a favorite, tip-top fic for Lately, and it's up there for me too. I don't think I need to dwell on Galla's brilliance as it's well-known in the fandom. But it was a treat to create my own typeset and bind for this fic. (I kept my first attempt as a personal copy, warts and all.)

More process under the cut.

Materials: Nothing extraordinary here except (as noted) the foiled endpapers. I used 1 mm board to create proper Bradel boards with a notch for the spine piece.

Process: A three-piece Bradel! My first!

I could have done a quarter bind (as the actual commercial notebook uses) but I wanted to learn a true Bradel three-piece bind for a non-fandom bind and this was my chance to try it out. Verdict: kinda neat, and handy when foiling directly to bookcloth (which I did not do here, but did for the non-fannish bind.) Endbands are machine-made and boring. (The actual commercial notebook has no endbands but I couldn't go that far.)

The typeset was fun. Galla's writing is very dialogue-driven, which means a lot of paragraph breaks, which leads to some interesting page break challenges, but in the end it came out nicely. I enjoyed setting Draco's letters, the Prophet article, and the Witch Weekly gossip column. And I had too much fun dropping random shit into the half-title page.

Re the endpapers: yes, I did comb through the fic and pull out all the numbered bucket list items, then all the non-numbered ones referred to in passing, which I then numbered and slotted into the list for the endpapers. I regret nothing. (Not pictured: for the back endpaper, the list is identical except I went through and struck out all the items Draco knocked off his list in the course of the story.)

I still don't own a colour printer! But I do own a little tiny photo printer (Canon Selphy) which is what I used to print the Aelfgifu crest, which I then just cut out and glued on. I like the shiny quality, even if it probably should be more like printed HTV in texture.

I'm quite delighted with the cover design. This one was so fun!

[mumms-the-word]

Unexpected Reunion

Characters: Astarion x Gale Summary: Five hundred years after the events of BG3, the world of Faerûn has moved on and entered into a modern era. An art gallery at a prominent museum has opened up to display works from the 1400s, drawing the attention of two beloved characters, who did not expect to meet again so soon. A/N: February is the month of birthdays for so many friends! This was written as a gift for the super talented @unforgiving-girl for her birthdayyy. I heard she liked bloodweave and art by many classical and beloved painters so I wanted a homage to both. Enjoy!

NEW EXHIBITION! The Age of Heroes, Gods, and Monsters Baldurian Art from 1300-1500

The glossy sign stood just outside of the museum gallery, beckoning guests and visitors to come see the collection of artworks that had recently been rediscovered and carefully curated into this new display. The word online was that museum curators had just successfully acquired a whole set of Fevras portraits and other art of the 1490s, a collection that had been packed away in someone’s attic for two or three hundred years after they had disappeared from the noble halls and castles during one strife or another. Now they were unveiling a new wing to put all the art of the fourteenth and fifteenth centuries in one place.

Immerse yourself in rich Baldurian history! the marketing materials online said. See how art and culture were transformed during some of the most tumultuous times of Baldur’s Gate’s history. Witness the sharp upheaval of the infamous Times of Troubles. Gaze at portraits of heroes and tyrants alike, from Sarevok to Lord Gortash, from Duke Eltan to young Wyll Ravengard. Ruminate over paintings and sculptures of gods both beloved and forgotten. Expansive and dynamic, this exhibition places famous works alongside newly discovered treasures to tell the story of wars, conflicts, and adventures that shook the realms, all centered around our very own Baldur’s Gate.

Just outside of the hall, a white-haired young man paused, a black umbrella hooked over one arm, contemplating first the exhibition sign and then the steady stream of visitors making their way into the gallery. The exhibition had attracted folk of all kinds. Elderly couples walked slowly from work to work, taking their time to gaze and study. A group of uniformed schoolchildren followed along behind their teacher, notebooks in their hands, listening to her explain the rules of the museum. Further down the hall, tourists paused beside the more famous artworks, glancing down at their printed guides and museum maps before moving on to the next most well-known work.

To all of them, these paintings and sculptures were all a part of some distant, mythical history. Even the oldest elf in the room seemed too young to have a living memory of these events, enough to tell what was real history from dynamic reimagining. Not so for the white-haired guest. Where others saw the distant, impersonal past, he saw intimate memory.

He took a deep breath to steady himself—a habit not even centuries of vampirism had entirely cured—and entered the gallery. At first, it was only a little uncanny. The old paintings and marble busts from the 1300s that he had seen hanging in different manors and noble estates now featured together at the start of this gallery. The farther he walked, the further in time he traveled, moving out of a century he could only barely remember as a hazy blur into a time that was burned into his memory with sharp clarity.

The 1490s was a decade of great change for Baldur’s Gate, a large placard read between sections in the gallery. Between the technological innovations of organizations like the Gondian and Ironhand Gnomes, dangerous industrial updates to the city’s infrastructure and law enforcement, and the infamous Dead Three attempting to control an Elderbrain, resulting in widespread destruction, this decade gave rise to a full spectrum of art, from loving homages to the simplicity of home to the veneration of heroes, and from the tumult of war to the celebration of innovative design.

Ha, the visitor thought, smirking at the placard. It shouldn’t be so easy to summarize the events of history in just a few sentences.

He paced even more slowly in front of the paintings now. Some were no bigger than a piece of printer paper, some large enough to span floor-to-ceiling on the cream-colored walls. Vistas of magical battles, nautiloids in a swirling cloudy sky over a city burning with red and purple flame, sat next to careful still-life studies of fruit, flowers, or skulls. An imposing portrait of Duke Ulder Ravengard sat opposite an equally imposing portrait of Lord Gortash. Not far off, an all-too-familiar painting of a white-skinned woman curled sensually around the body of a red-skinned tiefling stretched seven feet tall, still in its original skull-topped frame. He was surprised that one made the cut, but then he recognized a few dark paintings from Cazador’s manor, too. And one that he swore he’d only ever seen in Raphael’s House of Hope.

He was nearing the end of the gallery now when his eyes finally landed on the one painting he had come here to see. When he first heard the news about the rediscovery of a few Fevras portraits, he wasn’t certain this one was among them. It wasn’t until someone texted him a photo of the gallery uploaded online, a quick red circle added clumsily around a painting on one wall, that he knew.

He paused in front of the portrait, a strange mix of emotions swirling within him. Nostalgia, humor, regret, and longing. This…was him. Him as he was five hundred years ago. Him as he was in that present moment, physically unchanged by the ravages of time but altered nonetheless.

To every other visitor to the museum, the portrait featured an aloof, mysterious young elven man, his skin as pale as moonbeams, his silver hair styled in perfect curls swept up and out of his face. His crimson eyes glimmered like rubies, standing out stark red in his otherwise white face, framed with dark lashes that cast the subtlest of shadows over his eyes. He lounged in a plush red chair—it seemed so gaudy now looking back—clothed in a well-tailored outfit of black, silver, and red. The height of fashion at the time. As he lounged, he leaned his cheek lightly against the fingers of one hand, a confident, easy smirk on his lips. The figure bore the essence of catlike, predatory grace, beckoning you closer with his eyes while waiting to pounce on you once you got too close.

He glanced at the art placard next to it.

Oskar Fevras 1452-1517, Baldur’s Gate, Faerûn Portrait of a (Comparatively) Young Vampire 1492 Oil on canvas

Not even a little description or bit of history. Not even his name. Just a reference to that fop of an artist and a title that must have been added recently. He folded his arms, frowning. It wasn’t as though the name Astarion Ancunin was unknown, even all these centuries later…

Still…he had to admit, it was good to see that face again.

“Well, well! What a surprise to see this here. We went through a lot of trouble to earn that portrait, as I recall.”

Astarion turned, the familiar voice snapping him out of his thoughts. An older gentleman stepped out of the crowd, well-dressed in a thin dark purple sweater and a blazer, a pair of gold-framed glasses perched on his nose. His thick hair and well-trimmed beard were snowy white and his face bore a few more wrinkles around the eyes and mouth than the last time Astarion had seen him, but the modern style overall made him look no older than fifty. Age had not dulled his brown eyes one bit—they sparkled with good-natured humor just as much now as they had done that first year they’d traveled together.

Astarion smirked. “My, my. If it isn’t Gale Dekarios.”

Gale smiled in return, the corners of his eyes crinkling. “Astarion. You’re looking as devilishly handsome as ever.” His eyes flicked to the portrait and then again to Astarion, amusement glimmering in his eyes.

“And you don’t look a day over three hundred, darling. In fact, you look better at six hundred than you did at sixty, though I’m sure Elminster is deeply disappointed in the state of that beard.”

“Five hundred, I’ll remind you, but I’ll take the compliment in the spirit in which it was given.” Gale chuckled, stroking his carefully trimmed beard. “And while Elminster would say any decent wizard is only as good as his beard, we must keep up with the times. Trim and clean is the order of the day.”

“I’m certain Blackstaff University doesn’t mind if its Professor Emeritus has a beard down to his knees. I’m told it’s a time-honored tradition among their venerated wizard staff.”

“Perhaps they wouldn’t mind, but I would. I’ve never been one for tradition.” Gale shrugged and then shook his head. “Gods, how long has it been?”

Astarion tilted his head, one curl slipping free of his combed hairstyle and falling onto his temple. “Since when? Since we found ourselves trapped in an artist’s haunted manor fighting poltergeists?” He knew what Gale was actually asking, but he didn’t want to answer just yet. He didn’t want to acknowledge the distance or the time.

“Since we last met. Ages, surely. Well, not literally but…figuratively.”

Every day apart feels like an age to you, Astarion thought idly, but those were the echoes of lovesick words Gale used to whisper in his ears more than three centuries ago. This was a different time. A new era.

It didn’t stop the memories from flooding back, however. He recalled easily those stumbling first steps of their unexpected romance, back when they were both the hapless adventurers caught up in a grand scheme that pitted gods and mortals and illithids against one another. The way Gale had conjured whole worlds out of magic for him. The way Astarion had learned, one hesitant step at a time, to trust and even, eventually, slowly, to love. The way they had lain together at night and discussed the future, their words trailing off in the darkness, and how Gale had assuaged Astarion’s rising panic that he would one day face a world without him with the promise of finding ways to extend his life.

If Elminster can live this long as a Chosen of Mystra, perhaps I can find a way, too. The perks of being a god’s Chosen are not so easily lost, Astarion, even if Mystra and I are on the outs.

He had found a way, an effective kind of immortality that required no vampirism, no lichdom, and no chains binding himself to Mystra. And for a century, everything had been perfect.

But time wore down so many things, including love. A second century and a third were spent with the two of them like passing ships that occasionally docked in the same harbors. A visit here and there, a night of passion to rekindle old flames, only to let them softly smolder into dying embers by the next morning. Gale had plenty to keep him busy. Astarion wanted to see the world as it was evolving and changing around him. They began to meet less and less often, their interactions reduced to affectionate but politely distant letters.

They never could forget one another, though. With the advent of every new form of communication, they seemed to find each other again. Astarion still had Gale’s first telegram to him sitting in a box among letters on parchment, paper, and postcards spanning a handful of centuries. He remembered the first time he heard Gale’s voice, tinny and staticky, in the first telephone call they had shared, and the first email Gale had sent him, and the first text message. Gale always knew how to find him, somehow. Even when Astarion put distance between them all over again, it was only inevitable that Gale would come into his orbit again eventually. Like a particularly chatty comet.

“I’d say it’s been a few decades or so,” Astarion answered at last. “Everything keeps us so busy these days. But what brings you here?”

“I heard they uncovered a set of Fevras portraits,” Gale said. “I came to see if yours made it into the gallery. It is, in my unbiased opinion, the best portrait that cad ever painted. I’m gratified to see this museum continues to have discerning tastes.”

“Maybe now it’s finally worth the cost we paid to get the damned thing.”

Gale waved his hand, an expensive silver watch glinting faintly in the museum lights. “Oh, it was worth it the day we got it.”

Astarion said nothing to that, merely smiling. How could he forget the day they’d gotten the painting? Oskar had sent a messenger to their room at the Elfsong, saying the portrait was done at last, and Gale had insisted Astarion wait in the room while he fetched it himself. It had been a whole event, with Gale asking him to cover his eyes while he brought the painting inside, threatening to cast darkness over him if he didn’t comply. He had held Astarion’s hand the moment that he opened his eyes to behold the painting, and squeezed his fingers reassuringly when they began to tremble from the wave of emotion that threatened to overwhelm him.

After nearly two hundred years since he became a vampire…he could see his own face again.

It’s an uncannily realistic likeness, Gale had said softly. As handsome on canvas as what I see before me now.

“I never should have given it up,” Astarion murmured to himself. It had been a rash decision made at the height of one of their lovers' spats far too long ago. He’d wanted nothing to do with any of Gale’s gifts at the time, so off the portrait went, packed in a crate and sold to some fanatic who really loved Oskar Fevras’s works. And then it had disappeared. Until now.

Gale didn’t seem to hear him, or was very politely feigning ignorance. He looked around the gallery with interest and said, “You know, it’s a shame your statue got destroyed a while back. It would have been a fine addition to these hallowed halls.”

“It was supposed to be a fine addition to my gardens,” Astarion quipped. “And it was, right until someone’s magical experiments turned the whole place into a small crater.”

Gale winced but tried to offer an apologetic smile. “A mistake for which I still have yet to atone, it seems. I did offer to replace it. At least a dozen times.”

“It wouldn’t have been the same. That one had been a gift.” From you, like everything else I owned at the time. Like everything else I held precious until I couldn’t stand to look at it anymore.

He left those words unsaid.

“I know.” Gale gave a small sigh, his good humor faltering a little. “We never realize what is truly irreplaceable until it is already gone from us.”

Astarion said nothing. He never knew what to say in the face of Gale’s philosophizing. Especially when each thought seemed to hint at his ongoing, never-ending, eternal affection for him. How does one carry that kind of love for so long?

But the fact was, Gale didn’t carry that kind of love, not eternally. What had kindled in 1492 was not what they had sustained, broken, reforged, and let dim over the next few hundred years. For five centuries they had lived in the same world, usually on the same continent, often within the same city. For five centuries, Astarion had found himself sharing in a love with Gale that had morphed and changed, burning bright with the flash and bang of a firework, simmering slow and steady like the flame on a stove, flickering distantly in the dark like a candle flame on a pitch black night. As their lives adapted, so did their love. Even when all appeared to be over, for good, forever, as it did when they last parted amicably several decades ago, Gale’s affection for him was like the last stubborn ember in a long-forgotten fire. One soft breath could revive it back to life.

Perhaps, if Astarion gave it more than a moment’s thought, it was the same for him. It was good to see Gale again. There was none of the ache and shame right now that he had carried in previous encounters. Maybe that would come later but for now…

With love like a tiny ember nestled at the bottom of a cold stone hearth, Astarion let Gale’s presence come in like an early spring breeze, blowing color back into the coals, first red, then orange, then white. No flame yet, but the potential as there.

“It’s good to see you again,” Astarion said at last, his voice soft.

Gale’s smile was as warm and free of judgment or condemnation as ever. “And you, Astarion. I’m always glad to see you.”

“And who wouldn’t be?” Astarion said, fixing the wayward curl in his gelled hair. “Honestly.”

Gale chuckled. He had long grown used to Astarion’s dismissive nature. “Are you free the rest of today? We should get coffee and catch up. There’s a cafe not far from here that caters to vampires.”

Astarion examined his nails as if the prospect didn’t secretly add more breath to the embers within him, encouraging a flurry of briefly flickering sparks. “I could free up some time in my busy, busy schedule, I suppose.”

“I shall endeavor not to take up too much of your precious time, then,” Gale said, tone dry. But then, glancing at the portrait again, he seemed to get an idea. He pulled his phone out of his blazer pocket. “Before we go—we should take a photo by the painting. What do they call it these days? A selfie.”

Astarion raised his eyebrows. “What would be the point? You know as well as I do, darling, vampires don’t show up in photos any more than they show up in mirrors.”

“Indulge me.” Gale opened the camera, after a few hesitant swipes that suggested he was still getting used to this model of smartphone, and waved over a young half-elven woman who was passing by with a few of her friends. “Do you mind taking a photo of us in front of this painting? No flash of course. I think I’ve already turned it off.”

She nodded. “Sure.��

As she took the phone and held it up for them, Gale smiled at Astarion and gestured for him to join him by the painting. Astarion sighed softly, adjusting his hold on his umbrella, but went to stand next to him, trying to ignore that little voice that tried to convince him this was silly, embarrassing, and a waste of time.

“This isn’t a selfie, Gale,” Astarion said.

Gale waved this remark away. “Pish posh. It’s a photo with our selves in it. Same thing”

“Ready?” the girl asked, watching them.

Gale put a hand on Astarion’s back, smiling at him when Astarion glanced over uncertainly. But the touch was familiar, safely near Astarion’s shoulder blades, and despite his desire to get this photo business over with as quickly as possible, Astarion felt himself relax as he fit himself against Gale’s side. He looped an arm around Gale’s waist, resting his hand on his hip as he’d done countless times before.

“You owe me for this,” he whispered, giving Gale’s hip a small squeeze. Gale’s smile broadened and he shifted his hold, his arm now fully around Astarion so he could give a returning squeeze to his shoulder.

“Coffee first,” he murmured back. “We can see where we go from there.”

The girl cleared her throat, looking uncertainly between them. “Umm…”

“Sorry, we’re ready now,” Gale said. He gave Astarion’s shoulder another squeeze. “Smile!”

Astarion rolled his eyes but summoned his usual close-lipped smirk. The girl looked back down at the phone in her hands, shifting to center them and the portrait in the frame. Then her hands faltered, her expression shifting. She glanced between the screen and them a few times, and then blinked hard and looked again.

“Is there a problem?” Gale called pleasantly. The girl jolted.

“N-no! Of course not. One sec.” She tapped the screen a few times and then turned the phone sideways and caught a few photos that way too. Behind her, her friends started to whisper to one another and point. The girl lowered the phone with a forced cheerful smile. “Done!”

“Thank you so much,” Gale said, reaching for his phone back. As soon as it was out of her hands, the girl scurried back to her friends, whispering quickly as they hurried down the gallery. Astarion couldn’t help but catch a few phrases as they passed by.

Did you see that? I’m not crazy, right, that guy is—

—really him? In the painting? It has to be the same guy—

—just a coincidence, right, like, vampires don’t live that long—

—but he didn’t even show up in the camera!

“You’ll have me in the tabloids tomorrow,” Astarion said. “I’ll go viral on TikTok soon if we don’t leave now.”

“I’m not even sure I know what that is,” Gale said amiably, opening his photos. He paused, smiling fondly down at one of the photos and then turned the phone so Astarion could see. “What do you think? We finally got your face on camera.”

Astarion hesitated but peered at the screen, curious. For a split second, he half expected his portrait to be faceless, but every detail remained, down to the supple curve of his lips and the sharp red color of his eyes. Just off to the side of the portrait, a white-haired Gale stood with his arm around a headless body dressed in expensive, tailored clothing. Astarion had put one hand in his pocket, his umbrella hanging from his wrist, but his other should have appeared at Gale’s side. Instead, there was nothing to see there except for an odd wrinkling in Gale’s blazer, enough to suggest a phantom touch. The space above Astarion’s high-collar shirt showed nothing but the wall behind him and a hazy, thin shadow to suggest the shape of a head.

“You still can’t see my actual face,” Astarion said, straightening. “You could have simply taken a picture with the portrait yourself.”

“But then you wouldn’t have been in it.” A mischievous glint then entered Gale’s brown eyes. “I can have someone edit your portrait face over your body if that helps.”

He scrunched his nose with distaste. “No thank you, let’s not make this photo any worse than it already is.”

But Gale’s initial words continued to warm the coals within Astarion’s chest. You wouldn’t have been in it. Now he was, a body that was leaning comfortably into Gale’s side, with an arm wrapped around him and an invisible hand resting naturally on Gale’s hip.

“Send me that,” Astarion said after a second, and then promptly turned on his heel and walked away.

“Of course, I—wait a moment! Where are you going?”

Astarion paused and glanced over his shoulder. “We’re attracting attention. And you promised me coffee, didn’t you? So let’s go.”

The smile on Gale’s face was the same as it had been five hundred years ago, before there were camera phones and cars, before pictures or postcards or planes. The same smile Astarion had felt it was impossible to say no to in almost every era. Gale jogged to catch up with him, that smile never faltering, and stayed step by step with him as they made their way to the entrance of the museum. Together, the two of them stepped out into the sun, sheltered in the shade of Astarion’s black umbrella, reunited once again in a new age, a new era.

[lilmajorshawty]

which venus placements make someone have a good taste in fashion art movies etc.???

Venus in Aries or the 1st house:

They tend to be very stylish and might where clothes that have a more street look. This could be trench coats and or sports ware or they can even wear ripped jeans and a sort of masculine look. The men and women can tend to be into anything that involves the body as art, so sports or movies that have action and or confrontation may be more their aesthetic. If We are talking romance this would also include movies like the notebook where their involves a open and more confrontational expression of feelings for one another.

Venus in Taurus or the 2nd house:

They can also be very stylish but they tend to wear clothes that are more comfy and skin tight. They like the touch of fabrics and can be super picky with what they wear and how they wear it. Very rarely will they “dress up” unless they have Saturn aspecting or 10th house energy as they tend to seek comfort over looking “cute.” Ironically because they have very nice bodies they tend to have extremely sensual looks in their sports or casual wear because of how well it fits their bodies. Art wise they tend to be painters and drawers. They can also adore exotic dancing or make up but this is lesser as compared to painting. Movies wise they tend to be traditional and like the oldies. But I would say even some shows like the OA, stranger things, Dark, or some of the older shows like F.r.i.e.n.d.s or seinfield fit them as they love security and sensuality

Venus in Gemini or the 3rd house:

These guys and gals tend to be very spontaneous when it comes to style but as a rule most with this placement love their dark colors maybe even more than Scorpio’s. They tend to wear a lot of crop tops or ripped jean looks. They love form fitting looks but also anything that has a sort of flowy and eccentric twist to it. Movie wise I’d say movies such as mr. and mrs. Smith, pulp fiction, kill bill, or even noir films, pesky blinders, anything science fiction related like “life” or Prometheus suit them as they tend to be into the darker themes of life but also like a light duality if serious vs joyous. They are advant dancers and can be very into tarot readings or astrology as an expression of themselves. Many tend to enjoy all forms of art but might be more in the observant end then actually doing it.

Venus in cancer or Venus in the 4th house:

They can have a moody way of dressing. This can sometimes be dressing indie or goth depending on their emotional state. They tend to have this e-boy, E-girl look to them at times but most of them tend to dress very soft and gentle almost in a way that makes them look tiny and fragile. They have a natural sad girl and sad boy aesthetic that can make their outfits seem unknowingly grunge without really trying. They also have a very strong ability to project themselves so many are into YouTube, or having vlogs because they naturally see outsiders and people around them in a mothering light. Art, for them can include drawing, creating clothing or literal branding. Movies for them I would say anything that is rom com! Anything that reminds you of home.

Venus in Leo or Venus in the 5th house :

They have a bright way of dressing! Similar to Aquarius Venus, they like their bright colors and tend to really place a focus on their lower back so you can see those curves. and if it’s a man typically the outfit somehow manages to center to their face so you can see that smile. They typically enjoy very high class material and can be sticklers for an old homage to a brand! So don’t be surprised to see them rocking classic ware. Movies wise? They tend not to watch very many and if they do they have to be emotionally significant or make an impact on them. A lot of their movie choices have to do with impossible choices or moments of passion. Mission impossible or friends with benefits with Mika kunis and Justin Timberlake come to mind. As far as art? They tend to be very good at dancing! Naturally too, some of their other talents include performing and acting and I also mean this literally, they make amazing actors.

[szynkaaa]

The Starless Sea by Erin Morgenstern

I actually finished this rebind last week, but didn't want to post two rebinds in a row and then having nothing for a long time LOL

The cover design is sort of a homage to the original cover of the book with the golden bee on a college notebook. The bee is foiled on vellum paper. Gold htv is very soft and a b i t ch to work with thanks I hate it.

I also struggled with ironing the dripping honey and sea of honey onto the case because I glued the cloth to the book case first before I finalized the design TT__TT But all in all I'm very happy with how it turned out

Endpapers are printed marmor papers that I foiled, the illustrations are done by me on Procreate. I have the front and back different illustrations for story reasons.

[azuphere]

ten of pentacles: success, accomplishment, permanence, domestic bliss, wealth, financial stability, and solid foundations. despite any setbacks and challenges, everything will work out in the end. all your effort will eventually pay off and you will be proud of your accomplishments. your legacy will stand for a long way to come.  (sources: 1, 2, 3) 

my submission for @dnptarot, long explanation under the cut!

comparison with the original/most common design for the 'ten of pentacles' card [example on the left]:

so bc the card centres around accomplishments and a sense of permanency, i rlly wanted to include the phouse somehow - especially the selfie they took when everything in the living room was already set up and they were no longer #boxboys

and in the 'original' tarot card design, the foreground in front of the archway includes a wealthy old man who's accomplishments provided financial security to his family + future generations, and there are family emblems and flags on the wall

so for my card, instead of showing literal generational wealth, the foreground is used to pay homage to a bunch of their old projects/accomplishments - like their tours, awards, radio show, etc. so i like to think of it as past!dnp setting the way for current!dnp to live comfortably and 'everything working out in the end'

and the 'original' card having two dogs was the Perfect reason to include a shiba inu and corgi. and i also had to include the golden pig, seal, and lion and lioness, cause they're literally part of the phamily

and the 'original' card also includes grapevines and moons as symbols, so i incorporated the grapevines on the walls and their clothes. and the moons are incorporated in the moon-inspired rug (which is also a throwback to dan's moon rug which looked dif), and in the pentacle design where each pentacle is a dif moon phase

and the pride over their accomplishments also being represented by them wearing their own merch - dan in the wad merch, and phil in the glitch hoodie. and the green pants were originally inspired by their dapg pyjamas, but i incorporated the grapes instead

and current!dnp being in the background means that i like to think of it as their 'journey' not being over yet. like there are still projects in the works, represented by the tablet/notebook on the sofa and phil's glitch merch originally saying 'to be continued'

and some extra details that are less obvious:

the blue box on the sofa represents the box from the tatinof/tabinof reveal trailer, as another way to represent dnp's relationship with their audience and how their legacy will continue to live on

in the wall mural, i wanted to incorporate truth bombs somehow, so i used ba-bomb (which they have a plushie/statue of in their gaming channel room) with a lil "T" on top. in the same panel, all the lil lines is meant to represent danandphilbeats cause the lines are based on the spotify code for their artist page

i wanted to incorporate their japan trips somehow, so instead of doing the bamboo painting (cause. i couldn't figure out how to draw it sdjfs), i did a pair of koi fish instead. and idk if this goes against standard tarot rules, but since the meaning of the tarot card is different when the card is pulled upside-down, the koi fish will still be upright regardless. so bc koi fish can represent good luck, perseverance, and balance, i like to think of it as a hopeful sign even when the card is upside-down <3

[luxurydumpsterfire]

Okay!! I've had this sitting in my notes for a while now and the only reason I didn't upload it sooner was because translating everything by myself is a bitch and a half (and also I don't trust Google translate to do it properly). Although,some parts might still be written a bit wonky anyways,so,sorry about that.

Anyways,hope you enjoy this short little story!

Prospering Feelings

The mansion's backyard is a strange place,a corner where Black Hat's malevolence seems to have left it's mark on every detail. Vines climb the walls as if trying to escape, and the grass grows in uneven patches as if the earth itself hesitated to prosper.

Black Hat walks along a gravel path,as his overcoat billows behind him, while Flug follows a few steps behind, a notebook in his hand, scribbling notes about what he says. It's a quiet afternoon, a rare occurrence in their lives, and they're checking the grounds out of sheer routine. As the supervillain moves forward, the wildflowers lining the path—faded daisies and tiny lavender buds—begin to wilt. It's petals curl downward, the vibrant colors fade to a dull gray, and the stems bow as if in homage. It's a subtle but constant phenomenon: wherever he passes,life seems to recede.

Black Hat doesn't seem to care. His expression remains impassive, focused on his conversation with Flug about the flaws of an experimental laser. "If it can't melt titanium in under three seconds, it's garbage," he grumbles, gesturing with one hand as the surrounding roses silently crumple.

Flug, however, watches him out of the corner of his eye. It's not the first time he's seen this effect, and though he never mentions it,he's secretly fascinated by it. There's something poetic about how his boss's presence bends even nature,a reminder of who he is.

But today,Flug wears a small smile under his paper bag,because he knows something BlackHat hasn't mentioned yet. Earlier,BlackHat had entered the lab with a bouquet of flowers in his hand,a gesture so out of place that Flug almost dropped his screwdriver.

They were violet colored orchids,all perfect and radiant,without a single blemish of deterioration. “For you,” He had said,his tone intending to sound casual,though his eyes betrayed him with a glint of intent. “Don’t ask why. Just…take them.”

Flug,blushing underneath the bag,had accepted them with a stutter of thanks, placing them in a glass of water that still adorns his desk.

Now,walking together,Flug thinks about those flowers.

Unlike those that wither in his wake, the orchids remain intact, as if Black Hat's will had decided, for once, not to destroy. It's a small detail, but to Flug it means everything: a conscious exception, an act of care that Black Hat would never admit aloud.

BlackHat stops abruptly, turning to Flug with an arched eyebrow. "What are you staring at so much,doctor?" He asked,his voice thick with playful suspicion. Flug shakes his head,adjusting his goggles absentmindedly.

“Nothing, sir. Just… thinking about the orchids. They’re very pretty.”

Black Hat lets out a huff,but the corner of his mouth curls up. “Hmph. They better be.” He keeps walking,and the flowers around him continue their dance of decay, but Flug knows that,somewhere in the mansion, there is a bouquet that defies that rule,because Black Hat wanted it that way.

[ethicstownprod]

So, the 2nd episode of the 1st season of Letterkenny is called ‘Daryl’s Super Soft Birthday Party’, in which the characters attempt to throw Daryl the softest birthday party ever (aka. they throw a stereotypical kiddy garden party for someone in their 20s who, most importantly, does not want a kiddy birthday party).

In an homage to this, I went out to find the softest notebook ever. I succeeded, but the paper quality was trash, so what I now have is the softest notebook ever that has good paper quality. This is it:

In this notebook I am going to write every thought, reaction, and theory I might possibly have about all 52 episodes of She-Ra and the Princesses of Power (2018); the only show Rhys really loves that I have never seen.

Here is a list of things I do not like:

She-Ra (original)

Magic girl media

Most fantasy

Children���s shows I did not grow up watching

The Power Of Friendship

Shows that got nerfed by their network (this is not the show’s fault, I just don’t like it)

You can see from this list why I have never watched this show.

It’s still a while until Rhys’ birthday, but I imagine this is going to take me a while. I need to document this somewhere, because if I don’t I’ll find it really easy to just give up and buy him a book, which is fine except that he only likes reading sometimes, and he’s 24/7 thinking about She-Ra (2018).

Wish me luck, I’ll need it 😭

[ecoustsaintmein]

Eric and Killian have forever infected my brain so thank you for that 🥹 do they ever get married? if yes, who proposes 🥰 if not, maybe a promise or claddagh ring exchange? I'm just so invested in their happily ever after!

@carriganrose

OOOOOOOOOOOOOHHHHHHHHHH

i think in the first instance, claddagh rings exchange is a must. and initially i think it would be killian who suggested it, after one of their trips to ireland. eric would totally be up for it, and kicks himself for not suggesting it sooner. the thought of marriage, a wedding, a proper exchange does cross his mind then, but he thinks, i need to get a more stable job, get my finances sorted, before i commit to this, because i don't want to let eoin down.

their lives are not without its ups and downs, a good few years later. killian's job is stressful. eric's job is stressful. sometimes there are nights when they would come home and they won't be able to speak to each other because they've taken other people's burdens. killian with his patients and eric with his clients. sometimes the two intersect, too. but after nights of silence, eric will ask if killian wants to drive down to brighton for the weekend, just because. an impromptu trip to get away from the hustle and bustle of the city. where they can lose themselves in a seaside town where nobody knows them.

or sometimes if money is tight killian will just ask if eric wants to take a walk with him and withers, just around the park, to get some fresh air. and here, when watching killian being led by withers around the block, is when eric thinks: i do want to marry this man.

but it's when he's awake and hungry and ends up making pot noodles at 2 am in the morning while killian's asleep, while he's waiting for the kettle to boil, is when he thinks:

i will marry killian.

and he thinks, it would be a shame not to do it. especially when he thinks of eoin and paddy, who hadn't been able to do it.

because if they'd lived, and if they'd lived in this era, they would have.

eric's not being stingy when he decides against getting an engagement ring. it's just that he knows that killian would understand why. they're both level-headed people.

on killian's birthday, eric says, he's only got a birthday card for him. and a slice of killian's favourite chocolate cake. killian says it's absolutely fine. i'm not fussed about gifts, he says, it's enough that eric's fixed the door hinge to make it stop squeaking -- that's a good birthday present enough. killian's so unfussed but it doesn't mean that eric would take advantage of it, means that he would abuse it.

it's a card that he made, with one of the kids he's been working with at the youth project. eric's been learning how to draw and paint, and he's drawn withers on the cover of the birthday card. killian's laughed at the picture of withers with a cake and a birthday hat that eric's drawn, and opens the card -- when his face changes. his delighted grin switches first to disbelief, mouth hanging open, before looking at eric as if he's insane. eric raises his eyebrows and shrugs, then proceeds to remove his claddagh ring from his right finger.

'would you,' eric says, 'marry me?'

which were the words he'd written in the card.

'eric,' killian says. 'yes. yes, you eejit, yes.'

and eric takes killian's right hand and makes sure that the ring's in the correct position, to show that he's engaged. killian's laughing-and-crying at the same time, now, as he pulls out his own ring off his left hand, and puts it on eric's right ring finger, the way that it's positioned on his own.

eric's laughing-and-crying too.

'this is the best birthday ever,' killian says. 'i love you, eric.'

eric will reply, with a kiss: 'i love you too, killian.'

--

paddy and eoin would be proud of them, when they share their wedding vows, ten months later.

and they'll read the poems that paddy and eoin had written, from th notebook that eve had gifted them, at their wedding reception -- as a homage to the men who had brought them together. even if no one else will understand its' significance.

--

eve walks away, from the church, thinking, my work here now is done.

[heatherhoeeeeee]

TQBF ALIASES:

The quick brown fox, Mayhem, Jackal Queenston, Renard Queenston, Kitsune, Rotteen, BANDETTO and Emoticon are all of the characters

He has over 334 releases under multiple different aliases such as: LAPFOX, Jackal queenston, Renard, Hailey Labs, etc.

(It’s loud furry music)

With his different ‘Fursonas’, and aliases he releases different music styles under each one

Renard Queenston:

Raggacore, Breakcore, Experimental

Jackal Queenston:

Jungle/Drum and bass

Mayhem:

Electro house

Rotteen:

Hardcore fusion

Kitsune:

Chiptune/Chipcore

Quick brown fox:

Speedcore

BANDETTO:

Gabber, happy hardcore

Emoticon:

Oldskool happy hardcore

More about Jackal Queenston:

SPECIES

Jackal/German Shepherd hybrid

GENDER

Male

GENRE

Jungle/Drum and Bass

DATE CREATED

May 2008

CHARACTER DESIGNER(S)

Em Essex, Timmothy Sewell, Squeedge

STATUS

Retired

Jackal Queenston was an alias under the Halley Labs label. He is a hybrid of a jackal and a German shepherd, who was often seen smoking and wearing attire originally inspired by the Nazi Party and other WW-II era uniforms, as time went on, JQ's outfit would slightly change to reflect less of its original appearance, with the Nazifur symbol being replaced with an X as a homage to Metal Slug, to the armband and hat badge being completely removed. He typically produced drum and bass, characterized by heavy bass lines, fast drum breaks, and dark themes alluding to violence or power.

Jackal Queenston originally debuted as a new character for the Mungyodance series, with songs first appearing in an official Addon Pak for MGD 2 and then MGD 3: The Third Rave, released on August 23, 2008. His first album, Rise, included several songs originally made for the Addon Pak.

Due the rise of Neo-Nazism on the internet, no possibility to redesign this character without connection to offensive content, and the restrictions of the alias's sound, Jackal Queenston was retired around the end of 2020.

Rise (May 2008)

Poison in a Killer's Sketchbook (October 2008)

Slop (June 2009)

Conquer (June 2009)

Smal Nästa (September 2009)

EPs

Cursed (2008)

Laugh at Life Remix EP (September 2008)

Jakkaru (October 2008)

Poison (October 2008)

Soulcrusher + Heartsifter (With Sonitus Vir) (November 2008)

Robo EP (December 2008)

Down Here EP (March 2009)

Slop EP (April 2009)

Primo Gusto (May 2009)

Fire Planet EP (May 2010)

Midwich / Toluca (June 2013)

Meat Machine EP (April 2019)

The State of DNB 2020 (June 2020) (with deuteronomy)

Singles

King Vicious (June 2008)

Mechanized (September 2008)

You're Already Dead (September 2008) (vs Emoticon)

Injection (2008)

MilkshakeManCP - That's Disgustingly Beautiful (JQ Remix) (August 2009)

Panic (December 2009)

Sleep Tight (December 2009)

Infamy (April 2010)

Raatid Fiah! (January 2011)

The Road (March 2013)

Mixes

Painajainen (August 2008)

In Strange Care (April 2010)

The Killer's Notebook (August 2010)

Compilations

Singles Collection (June 2008)

Don't Stop Moving (November 2011) (with NegaRen)

Other appearances

Furries in a Blender - Dig. Trax (2008)

Kitsune² - Squaredance (January 2008)

MGD Sound Team - End of Days (August 2008)

Kitsune² - STRIKER (August 2008)

Dig. Trax III: 2008 Year-End Mix (Limited Edition) (December 2008)

Mayhem - Dig. Trax IV (December 2008)

Adraen - Your Roots Aren't Showing EP (January 2009)

PHYZ TRUX KOLLEKSHUN (January 2009)

Azrael - Overdead (June 2009)

Furries in a Blender - The Best! The Best! (June 2009)

Klippa - Turn Back (June 2009)

Renard - NO. (July 2009)

ON Trax Vol. 1 (March 2010)

ON Trax Vol. 2 (March 2011)

Lapfox Anthology (July 2011)

Darius - ERGOSPHERE (August 2011)

Renard - Old Undesirable Audio Files (March 2012)

ON Trax Vol. 3 (March 2012)

ON Trax Vol. 4 (September 2012)

ON Trax Vol. 5 (December 2012)

RAKUGAKI (July 2013)

ON Trax Vol. 6 (December 2013)

ON Trax Vol. 7 (April 2014)

The Queenstons - dethrone (December 2014)

LFTHHC SQUAD - FIRST❤REFRESH (March 2015)

Rotteen - Bon Voyage (October 2015)

DJ Snaggletoof - THE FUCKDEST JAMS (November 2015)

B-SIDE U: 2015 (December 2015)

B​-​SIDE U: 2016 VOL. 1 (May 2016)

ON TRAX: THE ABSOLUTE (September 2016)

Patreon Exclusive Series (2014 - 2016)

B-SIDE U: 2017 VOL. 1 (July 2017)

HALLEY LABS SOUND CREATION - AKUMA NO AKUMU 〜AR EQ-KUA ER SETA〜 「FIRST DREAM」 MINI SOUNDTRACK (October 2017)

B-SIDE U 『𝟚𝟘𝟙𝕏 ø۷ﻉɼिɭ๏ฝ』 (February 2018)

B-SIDE ME 2018 (July 2018)

Rotteen - it's an EP! (October 2019)

EVERYDAYS02 ~february~ (February 2020)

B-SIDE the WAYSIDE (March 2020)

FD04 ANOTHER VERSIONS (May 2020)

Mungyodance discography

Mungyodance 3: The Third Rave

Amber Starlight

Amber Starlight EX (with Renard)

Funky Rhythm (feat. Dean Gamin & Haiku)

Killing Fields (with D-Mode-D)

Killing Fields EX (with D-Mode-D)

Osiris

Sunrise (Jackal Queenston Mix)

The Holders

Fun facts :3

Jackal Queenston is 5'7" and weighs 150 lbs. [citation needed]

The 'X' insignia seen on Jackal's armband is an homage to the Rebel Army from the video game Metal Slug.

This change was made by Squeedgemonster, who eventually removed the armband in other art. Em agreed to these changes. [1]

Before Squeedge's Metal Slug homage, in older artwork it is seen that Em wanted Jackal's armband to have an paw insignia, depicting that Jackal is a Nazi Fur.

Jackal's markings used to be that of a golden jackal, but were changed later on to show more resemblance to a German Shepherd.

Jackal may hold the record for songs that were later attributed to another alias, with Amber Starlight (re-attributed to The Queenstons), Sleep Tight (re-attributed to Adraen), Soulcrusher + Heartsifter (both re-attributed to G-DARIA, Darius' stylistic predecessor. They were originally collaborations with Sonitus Vir). Poison & After Effect (both re-attributed to Azrael, as collaborations between the two), and My Wolf Eats Preps (re-attributed to Renard). Humanoid was originally a Jackal song (It is still available on ON Trax Vol. 1), but it was later re-released with vocals on The Queenstons' album Figurehead.

Em has expressed that Jackal Queenston is due for a design overhaul to completely be rid of looking like a Nazi. [2]

Full name: Jackal A Queenston

Sex: Male

Date of Birth: April 20, 1986

Blood Type: O

Country: Germany

Province: Saxony

City: Dresden

Artist type: Nazifur (before Metal Slug redesign)[1]

Lmk if u want more TQBF STUFF BBG😘😘😘💣💣💣

H U H

You scare me pookie 😰😰

[audreyscribes]

Hello! I honestly ADORE your headcanons, and would like to suggest you a primordial, if that is fine?

Ananke is the  Orphic personification of inevitability, compulsion, and necessity, customarily depicted as holding a spindle.

She is considered the most powerful dictator of fate and circumstance. Mortals and gods alike respected her power and paid her homage.

She is also considered the mother of the Fates, hence she is thought to be the only being to overrule their decisions.

Her Roman counterpart is Necessitas.  

Ananke is the mother (or another identity) of Adrasteia, the distributor of rewards and punishments.

I think it would be pretty cool if she were to have any demigod kids/champions, and I honestly think that she and Chaos were the first before everything else!

<<*pauses typing and scrambles into the pile of my notebooks to try if I had anything written for Ananke*>>

Alright so there was a reason why I didn’t put Ananke in the Primordia Demigod H/Cs storyline portion, not because I disagree with Ananke, it was just harder to justify into a storyline based H/C format because Ananke comes from Orphic cosmology which is different from Ancient Greek mythology (say Hesiod notations) and while they do bear similarities, it is also very different. However, if I’m allowed to do some funky finicky shenanigans for the sake of giving H/Cs, I do have some! Though it might not be as detailed as the PRIMORDIAL DEMIGOD H/Cs. Pardon if it doesn’t make too much sense because I don’t think I’ve grasped Ananke too well yet. 

Also note I’m going to treat this like the Roman mythology and comparing it to Greek mythology etc-

To say which came first, Ananke or Chaos, no one is entirely sure because they were the firsts. Time, although personified in Khronos - Ananke’s counterpart, the personification of time, not the Titan-, there was no chronology in their perspective. They simply came into existence.

Perhaps one did exist first, but neither Chaos or Ananke cared. Just as Ananke and Khronos broke the Primal Egg of Creation that created the realms of earth, heaven, and sea for Gaea to settle and allow Pontus and Ouranous to take place as well.

Being the primordial goddess of Necessity, compulsion, and inevitability, and as the mate to Time, being a demigod champion of Ananke means to be the force of change.

If anyone has seen the Avengers: Endgame moment of Thanatos (no not the personification of (peaceful) death), where he goes “I am inevitable”? Yeah, you are the inevitable.

Considering Ananke is depicted using a spindle and her realm involves fate and circumstances, and the mother of the Fates, as the demigod champion of Ananke, you are burdened with the duty of people’s fates. You can see people’s strings of fate, how it wraps around them, how they lead to others, and so forth. You can also see people’s red string of fate, the string around their finger that connects to their destined one at a certain time and place.

In some sense, the child of Ananke can see someone’s past, present, and future.

If I had to reference the demigod champion of Ananke to someone in canon, it would either be Nemesis and the children of Nemesis, where they have a connection to distributing fortune and giving those people who deserve good and bad, but more inherent,  and maybe being able to manipulate luck? Like the children of Tyche. Somewhere in that realm but more leaning towards Fate.

Speaking of the Fates, another reference that we could use for the demigod of Ananke, would be the Moirai/Fates, but below that.

So while they can see peoples’ string of fates, they don’t really interfere with it. Sure, they can, but they can’t and shouldn’t because it is someone’s fate. You may be the demigod champion of Ananke, but you are also a demigod; half-mortal. You are still compelled to the universe law and the balance. You may be able to extend someone’s string of life; to the risk of thinning their string, weaving it accordingly with others, but you cannot play with someone’s string.

Overall, being a demigod champion of Ananke would be extremely neutral. They stand by the sidelines to oversee the tapestry being made of people’s strings of fate. They sit with the Moirai as they spindle the string of one’s life, measure, and cut. They can interact but never interfere unless its like a loose thread that they have to fix. 

If I had to reference what their role would be like, they would be the Watcher (Marvel) OR Doctor Manhattan/ The Spectre/ Phantom Stranger (Dc Comics). 

[luxshine]

When Evilness has been in power for long, it is as if no light can pass through him. And everyone is just trapped in his coils. This is a homage image for the amazing Jagapathi Babu, who makes the best bad guys in Telugu cinema if you ask me. The looming President in Rangasthalam, the cunning Krishna Murhty in Nanaku Prematho and the amazingly bloodthirsty Raja Manar in Salaar, just to name a few, are so evil that you just feel the light disappearing from a room when they walk in!

(giving you the Nanaku Prematho trailer as that's where he appears the most!)

And if you want to have his evilness in your wall, or as a notebook, or as a drawstring bag? You can have him!