annie-thyme

[annie-thyme]

'These apps are the enemy. They're thoughtless, joyless, and our friends are powerless aginst them."

Leverage Redemption S03E06 The Swipe Right Job.

[annie-thyme]

valentine cards I drew this year

reused craft paper, acrylic, charcoal, chalks, pens, pencils, oil and dry pastels

really love how they turned out

[annie-thyme]

1. uphill on a windy day wearing a coat and a scarf

2. (like a moth) to the light

acrylic and liner on watercolour paper

[annie-thyme]

I have. questions.

[annie-thyme]

Like, cis in a way that I am still my assigned gender at birth, but I also don't identify with my assigned gender, you know?

It's like "My hair is brown" vs "I am a brunette", you know? One is just a thing that describes me, the other carries a sense of identity. When I check the "female" option for my license, it feels the same as checking the "hair: brown" box. It's just a trait. It is a description, but not one that I feel any sort of kinship with, nor resentment of. It's just a check box.

Gender? Yeah, sure, that one. Now lets go get some waffles.

[annie-thyme]

a birthday present for my friend · balcony painting · Berlin painted on a tee · concert with an accordion · landscape with moonlit hills and trees · Baltic sand dunes · Nida, Lithuania · cat · self portrait (artist at work in an oversized striped shirt)

various media, mostly sketchbooks, all current work

[annie-thyme]

green green boat

glazed ceramic sculpture

insta

[annie-thyme]

IF YOU BOOP WHERE THE CAT PAW COMES OUT YOU CAN HIGH FIVE THE CAT AND YOU CAN BOOP THE CAT 😱

[annie-thyme]

[annie-thyme]

SPOOKY BOOP TIME LET'S GO!!!

[annie-thyme]

5 am fog

[annie-thyme]

listen LISTEN. going grey is awesome as fuck in an 'easily dye your hair every colour in a rainbow and then some' way

I'm about half grey atm and like a year and a half back I could finally stop it with the bleaching and just go ahead with the dye (anthocyanine is the best for this), so now my green hair looks like malachite: stunning, complex and expensive despite being basically a diy box dye job AND I can finally have my hair be its natural colour as intended by the great queer deities you know what i m ean

We ask your questions so you don’t have to! Submit your questions to have them posted anonymously as polls.

[annie-thyme]

Oleksiy Sai created this Ukrainian wartime art installation at Burning Man 2024.

"It is a visual representation of everyday life in Ukraine since russia's full-scale invasion, and unveils the meaning behind the ironic “I’m fine” — our real mood, stories of perseverance and personal experiences."

This is part of the #ImFineChallenge launched by Ukraine.ua.

"Tell us when you've said 'I'm fine,' while experiencing different emotions and challenges, with the hashtag.

Sources: United 24, Euromaidan Press

[annie-thyme]

I bought a sundress. it's yellow like heatwave, like early morning sun that already feels too hot. a beautiful yellow. unbearable, almost. it has a lace butterfly on the back and I've wanted a sundress for a while now, but -

I've wanted an idea of a sundress, a thing that feels so light and perfect and hey - I used to love wearing sundresses! out in the summer heat a sundress is like a little cheat code, making you feel light and flowing like water, sparkling in the sun but not boiling

over.

I never liked the heat; kept liking the sundresses even as I stopped wearing them. I stopped wearing them long before I realised why I stopped wearing them.

I showed off my new sundress to a friend. hey, I said, hey, look! I bought a sundress and now I can wear it without the gender! cause, you know, I wasn't sure I really wanted it, and not just the idea of it, but then I found a way to wear it that feels like no gender, just me, and I'm like hello! - to the shop assistant I mean - hello! can I get this sundress please and thank and you can keep the gender! and my friend laughed and cheered me on and like. I didn't say it out loud in the shop, you cannot say these things out loud in shops here, but - I have a friend who cheers me on when I say things like that.

it's a lot.

and then I went and bought an oversized green dress shirt to go with it.

it's perfect.

even in the heat.

.

.

.

@nosebleedclub July prompt: piecing it together

[annie-thyme]

story time

my brother and I were taking the last suburb train home somewhere after 1 a.m. and there were like 2.5 ppl in the car bc it was so late and then these two ladies got on the train at the next stop and like you know what it's like you know you don't wanna assume anything about anyone but you're always sort of on the lookout for ppl like you bc seeing other queer ppl in this homophobia country simply being themselves just fills you with joy and hope, and so -

we're on the train, and it's june and these two beautiful butch ladies get on the train and sit down further up the car and immediately cuddle together, their backs to us, and one gives the other a soft forehead kiss and I'm just all awww on the inside and like. it's a very complicated thing, what you feel when you witness such a tender queer moment, and you're aware of all the layers of emotion as you're feeling them - it's joy and it's fear for their safety and it's this vast grief with all the laws this country has against us and it's hope and we're here and not alone and we persevere and a million other fleeting thoughts but mostly it's joy, and happiness, and hope and as we get off at our stop I'm smiling, giddy, and ask my brother if he saw the cute butches and he says that he did, and then we're walking home and as we cross the road I see them, I see the butches going in the same direction ahead of us, and I'm like bugs bunny communist flag dot jpg

"look, look," I say to my brother, smiling, "look! these aren't just any random cute butches. these are OUR cute butches!!!"

this country has declared rainbows illegal but fuck that. we're still here. happy pride.

[annie-thyme]

Cinderella Doesn't Believe in Fairytales (pt 10)

(part 1) (part 2) (part 3). (Part 4) (part 5) (part 6) (part 7) (part 8) (part 9)

Summary: There are many sorts of meetings. Meetings you dread and meetings you anticipate. Baron Ramsey is overdue for both.

“I did not expect you to return so soon,” the Queen says. Her coal-like eyes flick over the Baron, cataloguing every inch of him. Did she see the dust clinging to his trousers, evidence of his haste to arrive? Did she see the tightness in his jaw at her welcome? Did she see the new bead of sweat rolling down his cheek? “Another week at the earliest.”

“I—” The Baron has to summon moisture to his mouth to speak. He swallows. “I was already within our borders when your message found me. Of course, I had no choice but to return.”

The Queen’s expression doesn’t change, but her aura does. She leans back in her throne and watches him through half-lidded eyes. “Why is it you think I called for you, Baron David Ramsey?”

To torment me, he thinks and doesn’t say. He wishes he would have listened to his wife all those years ago. She told him they must go unnoticed. He thought he had rid himself of his arrogance when he married her, but he was wrong. It had been arrogant of him to not heed her warning.

“There is a new type of dye in the southern islands,” he says. He spreads his hands wide. “If I had known your majesty had already heard of it, I would not have delayed in finding a sample. I hope you will understand. I was returning home after so many years abroad.”

The Queen never admits to not knowing. Her expression flickers. “Yes, the new dye…I am interested in it.”

A wave of relief rocks through him. This is familiar territory. Every request for a new product she gives him is another handful of months he can keep her attention away from his home and the secrets he has kept hidden there for 19 years. “It would be my privilege to acquire some products using this new dye for you, your majesty. I have made a promise to the Baroness to return home this month however, so there will be a delay—”

“Returning home to an empty house?”

The Baron blinks. “Pardon?” Then her words register and a surge of sick fear makes him sway on the spot. What has she done? He swallows twice before he can speak. “N-no, to my daughter – my daughters. To the Baroness.”

The Queen studies him. The Baron desperately tries to hold himself still. The Queen always speaks vaguely. He is hearing a threat where none exists. The Queen’s domain may extend past his manor, but her magic doesn’t. She doesn’t know, she can’t know. She is testing him. Should he have denied knowing that the higher nobility of this land were, in fact, the Unseelie Court?

Sweat rolls down his temple and he feels the Queen’s eyes track its progress.

“Then rejoice,” the Queen says at last. Her nails trace the arm of her throne. “Your journey is at an end. Your family is in the Capital.”

“Wha—” What?! The Baron bites his tongue so hard blood wells. The pain does little to clear the panic from his mind. “I—I was not aware.”

“I can see that,” the Queen says. The sharp edge in her gaze softens. Calculation crosses her face briefly and settles into an unsettling amusement. She smiles. “Yes, that makes sense. You wouldn’t have been home to receive the invitation. There is a ball, Baron David Ramsey. All eligible ladies of the kingdom are in the Capital for it, of course. Your…daughters included.”

A ball? It’s been three decades since the Queen last a held a ball, perhaps longer. Why now? His wife told him that the Unseelie Court was confined to the very core of their territory after the last great war. She predicted that their power would not be enough to free them for another hundred years. So why a ball? Why invite the human nobles across the land to come into the heart of the territory before they were recovered? Why—

The Prince. These are politics the Baron knows. The Prince has come of age this year. This isn’t an ordinary ball. The Royal Line must continue regardless of the powers they may or may not have recovered. A Prince needs a Princess.

The Unseelie Court is hunting for new blood.

“Then I suppose,” the Baron says faintly, “that I am not going home quite yet after all.” The unease the Queen voicing his name evokes fades next to the sick fear roiling in the Baron’s stomach. “By your leave, of course.”

“Nothing would make me happier than having your attendance at the ball tonight,” the Queen purrs. She extends a hand and an invitation appears in the air between them. She crooks her finger and it drifts into the Baron’s chest. “I guarantee that this will be a  surprise reunion that no one will want to miss.”

The Baron’s clammy hand presses the invitation over his heart. Is it his imagination or can he feel oily tendrils seep from it and into his heart? Is the air colder? Without thinking, the Baron says, “Thank you for your consideration, your majesty.”

A wave of weakness washes over him as soon as his thanks leaves his lips. He staggers and his vision wavers. The Queen’s nostrils flare as she breathes in deeply, eyes fluttering shut. Does the King laugh behind his hand? Or does he cough?

His wife’s voice echoes in his mind. Never thank the fae. Never apologize. And especially never give thanks nor apology to the Unseelie.

“Don’t thank me yet, Baron,” the Queen says. When she opens her eyes they gleam with an unearthly purple. Black stains her mouth when she smiles. “Tonight. Thank me tonight.”

The order slips around his neck like a noose. The invitation throbs like a second heart. “Yes, my Queen,” the Baron whispers.

---------.

Cinderella watches the colors of the sunset catch in the crystals embroidered on her dress, red and pink and gold against the eggshell blue of the silk. Helga’s hands are gentle as she weaves Cinderella’s hair into an intricate knot.

“There,” Helga says. There’s a faint press of lips on top of Cinderella’s head, the move so effortlessly affectionate that Cinderella’s heart sings. Helga gently lifts Cinderella’s chin. “Take a look. We can change anything you don’t like.”

This afternoon with Helga has been magical. Cinderella doesn’t remember the last time she felt so at ease with another person besides the Prince. They talked and laughed and commiserated over her friend’s lack of communication, about nature, about what type of jam goes best on what type of bread, about everything and anything. Good food and good company has healed something deep inside of Cinderella, another crack sealing tight and holding. She can’t imagine not liking something that Helga has done for her.

She is still surprised when she sees herself in the mirror.

Last night’s gold jewelry highlighted Cinderella’s hair and the deep green of the dress. She remembers feeling beautiful and elegant and so, so confident.

Tonight is—well, it’s everything Cinderella feels.

It’s as if Helga listened to Cinderella’s recounting of the previous night and manifested every hope and every joyful memory  into what Cinderella sees before her. She feels like she’s glowing. Rather than focus on her hair this dress throws her light eyes into brilliant focus. She blinks quickly. She didn’t realize she had her mother’s eyes until this moment.

Her jewelry is still dainty, but it all shines as brightly as the crystals dotted like flowers through the skirts of her dress. A single teardrop pendant hangs from a silver chain around her neck and diamond earrings reflect firelight as the castle lights the sconces around her room. Silver thread holds Cinderella’s hairstyle in place.

“I’m the sky,” Cinderella says breathlessly.

“And more,” Helga promises. There’s a knock on the door. Helga meets Cinderella’s eyes through the mirror and she smiles. “Your carriage has arrived, my lady.”

Cinderella’s heart leaps as she rises. The Prince is here. Her friend. Suddenly she feels…not insecure, not quite. There is a fluttering in her stomach as Helga goes to the door, a breathless anticipation that makes her feel weightless. She finds herself following Helga to the door, stopping a few feet behind her when the older woman opens it.

Oh, Cinderella thinks as, unerringly, the Prince’s eyes meet hers. The Prince is draped in a deep, night-sky blue, the same crystals on Cinderella’s dress sewn in clusters on his jacket. His black hair is swept away from his face and a thin, silver wire twines around one ear like a vine.

“You’re early,” Helga chastises the Prince.

The Prince jolts as if he didn’t notice Helga at all. “I thought it best if we had dinner before—”

“We match,” Cinderella says.

Helga jumps, spinning on one foot with her hand presses over her heart. “Oh! I didn’t hear you come up behind me...”

“Why,” the Prince says and pretends shock as he looks down at his outfit. “I think we do.”

Cinderella fights against a smile. “You knew I would choose the blue dress.”

“I had an inkling.”

Cinderella slides around Helga, barely noticing as the older woman wordlessly gives way. She takes the Prince’s arm when he offers it. “You said dinner?”

“That I did.”

Cinderella is full on bread and jam and juice. “I’d like that.”

“You could have sent a note,” Helga mutters. But she drapes a buttery-soft shawl around Cinderella’s shoulders to protect her against the evening chill and does not protest when the Prince leads her from Emerald Castle and into the gardens rather than to the carriage.

The gardens are a different world at night, especially seen from the ground rather than the window of her guest room. Small, wrought iron torches mark their path past the flower beds and towards the hedge maze.

“If you get us lost and we wind up being late again, I’m not walking in with you,” Cinderella says as they enter. The hedges smell slightly floral and she breathes the fresh scent in hungrily. Jasmine, maybe? “I saw the look the Queen gave you last night.”

“My mother doesn’t give looks to me,” the Prince denies. He grins at her. “And we won’t be late. Or, if we are, neither of my parents will be upset.”

Something in his voice gives Cinderella pause. “Because they love you so very much?”

“Because if we’re late, they’ll be late too,” the Prince says and directs her around one last corner into the center of the maze where the Queen and King are waiting at a table set for four.

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(Patreon)