#also it amuses me that there are many other artists out there that make art for various other ships

[thatgirlissopeculiar]

Dream’s dnf fanart likes

September 11th

Dream looking down at where a group of fanartists (as dream blobs) are sitting on the table, telling them to 'pack it up skittle squad'. Some of the blob!artists are sad, one is frowning up at Dream, all have pieces of blue and green fanart in front of them

Dream sitting, one hand over his face, the other holding his phone

Dream gesturing to his phone, where he is scrolling and liking fanart, a long written 'reasoning' for liking so much dnf art behind him

Dream holding a blob!artist in one hand, telling them to chill with the dnf art

[lelengerine]

now playing... "show and tell"

pairing | basketball varsity!chenle x artist!reader

synopsis | draw a pretty boy and perhaps he'll come to you.

genre | just literal 3 am fluff thoughts, bball player chenle slight brainrot, no specific prns are used (lmk if there's anything i've missed!)

wc | 0.9k

notes | so... i'm back and it's been a long while 😄 kinda forgot about tumblr for a sec but i hope you guys still remember me TT i was pretty much in a slump + acads were crazy, however!!! i am back!!! somewhat!!! likes and feedback are always appreciated (also new post layout yayy)

m.list

the air inside the school’s gymnasium has always felt humid as it clings to your skin like a damp blanket. the place has the distinct scent of sweat — entire buckets of it actually — while the occasional skid of sneakers on the rubber floor sends involuntary shivers down your spine. it’s hardly a place one would choose for peace of mind, yet here you are, perched on the bleachers, busily drawing on your sketchpad all because of a boy.

honestly, you wouldn’t be willingly subjecting yourself to this either if he wasn’t so… pretty. he sported vibrant orange hair that matched him well, the tips sticking together from the sweat on his forehead. his cheeks were flushed from from the heat, but that didn’t bother him one bit as he energetically ran around the court. but it's his smile that captivates you the most, its brightness rivaling that of the sun, his eyes forming playful whiskers as they crinkle into crescents — a sight you've translated onto the pages of your sketchbook more times than you’d like to admit.

how were you supposed to turn down drawing someone like him as an art student? one that’s in an art slump no less.

curse all pretty men, you tell yourself as your pencil scritches over the surface of your sketchbook.

you weren’t even acquainted to him one bit. in fact, you’ve only learned of his name around a week ago? it was zhong chenle if your memory serves you right.

your friend had told you he was the famous ace of your school’s basketball team, mostly for being able to make shots from such large distances. she was shocked you weren’t even aware of the boy when he was usually the talk of the entire student body, especially during the time championship season rolls around.

hell, you don’t even care much for the sport, but he’s making you second guess that too with the way he moves so effortlessly — like he was made to play this sport. perhaps you could understand the infatuation many others harbor for him… just a tiny bit.

you continue your sketch nonetheless, stuck erasing and re-drawing a certain line that doesn’t want to bend in your favor. it seems to have taken all of your focus, as you don’t even register the sound of footsteps approaching you. a tap is placed on your shoulder, and you turn around to find the exact boy you’ve been drawing for the entirety of his varsity practice.

“is that supposed to be me?” his words are laced with intrigue, accompanied by a gentler smile than you're accustomed to, yet just as captivating in its own right — wait. why is he even here talking to you? peeking at your drawings no less?

“nope. it’s not.” you lie through your teeth without an ounce of hesitation, flipping to the cover of your sketchbook faster than he utter out another word.

“please, who else even has orange hair here?”

“who said the person i was drawing was even real? for all you know, he could be an anime character.” you counter, trying to deflect his curiosity.

“yeah, totally explains why you’ve been hanging out here more lately.” he retorts, raising his finger in mock admonishment, his playful smirk betraying his teasing tone. “don’t think i haven’t noticed you, cause i have.”

“what are you? some security guard keeping records of the people who come to the gym?” you muse, meeting his gaze with a hint of amusement.

he leans in a bit closer, voice lowering conspiratorially. “well, maybe I've been keeping an eye out for someone who appreciates my... what should i call it? anime character potential?”

your heart skips a beat at his proximity, but you maintain your playful demeanor. "oh, is that what you're calling it now? i just needed a little inspiration and the confines of the art room weren’t doing it for me.” technically what you said is true, he doesn’t need to know that he’s actually the main reason your artist block has subsided.

his grin widens, a playful sparkle in his eyes. “inspiration, huh? well, i can guarantee you'll be entertained with me around.”

“you don’t need to keep me entertained, i do that already on my own.”

“oh yeah? by watching me?”

“you just want to fuel your ego, don’t you.”

“maybe a little.” his eyes smile, voice taking on a teasing lilt, "what else have you been sketching lately? any other anime characters i should know about?"

you laugh, a nervous pitter patter dancing in your chest at the prospect of sharing more of your work with him. these were your prized possessions after all. "oh, you know, just the usual. random doodles here and there."

he only beams at your response, leaning back slightly as if to better admire your reaction. "well, i’d love to see more of your usual sometime. maybe you could show me what else you've got hidden in that sketchbook of yours."

the invitation catches you off guard, and for a moment, you're at a loss for words. "uh, sure. yeah, maybe sometime," you stammer, mentally kicking yourself for not sounding more confident in front of him.

but before the conversation can continue, a shrill whistle cuts through the air, signaling the end of chenle’s supposed water break. he glances towards the court, a regretful expression flickering across his face. "looks like i’ve got to go," he says, pushing himself off the bleachers and standing up. "but hey, don't forget about our little art show-and-tell date, okay?”

hold on, did he just call it a date? "hey, wait a moment-" you try calling after him, yet he's already disappeared onto the court. that wasn’t anywhere close to a proper invitation, but your heart flutters at the thought nonetheless.

fine, you conclude to yourself — if it’s a date he wants, then you suppose you could spare some more time for him.

[spacebarbarianweird]

request for draconic sorcerer! tav x astarion headcanons!!! draconic sorcerers are so fun bc you can mess around with the idea of draconic instincts while also getting cool magic B)

Damn, I even didn't know such things existed! Now I want to play as Draconic Soreceress, too!

Draconic bloodline sorcerers are those practitioners of the arcane arts who have some biological connection with dragons, either through their own relations or those of their forebears.

Wiki

Astarion x Draconic Sorcerer!Tav

Masterlist

Headcanons

There is fire in your veins and scales along your body.

With a draconic bloodline, there is a skill to speak the Dragon language and to cast fireballs.

Dragon blood calls out to you and you suffer from nightmares.

Of course, you know you can't be turned into a dragon - but your body can be changed beyond recognition if the magic takes upon you.

The tadpole is a blessing - the scales are gone and you don't feel the fire.

Of course, you also can't use your magic. Everybody assumes you are a ranger, whose favored enemy is a dragon.

Astarion doesn't believe you - he tastes dragon fire in your blood and demands you tell the truth.

But he isn't afraid. He loves this "spice" in you.

Besides, once he feeds on you, he can cast much deadlier fireballs than he usually does.

He has his reasons to ascend - you have your reasons to keep the tadpole.

The dragon's ancestry scares you, You know it waits and who knows what will happen once the tadpole is gone.

In your nightmares, you transform into a beast. In your nightmares, you yell in pain and terror.

And only Astarion's cold hands can soothe you.

Astarion assures you there is a way to control your powers and, for a brief moment, you believe him.

Astarion refuses to ascend and you refuse to engage with Mindflayers.

The tadpoles are gone.

Astarion cries in pain and disappears into the shadows.

But you...

Your worst nightmare comes to life.

The scales return on your cheeks and hands, red and soft.

The draconic wings burst out of your back, the nails transform into claws.

The pain is so unbearable you want to die.

Before anyone manages to help you, you rush to the dungeons.

Maybe Gale or Wyll would know what to do, but you can't think straight because of pain.

You hide in the Underdark, trying to get as far as possible from sentient beings.

You are going to be a monster, who lives in some dark cave, slowly losing her humanity and sanity.

"I suppose it's not the best days in our lives", you suddenly hear a familiar voice weeks later. "But next time, do me a favor and slow down."

You hide.

You can't let Astarion see you like that.

Let him remember you as you were. Besides, you haven't seen your reflection, you don't know how bad this is."

He doesn't insist. But he also doesn't leave. He makes a campfire and waits.

The loneliness finally is too much and you step from the shadows.

Astarion is very bad at hiding his emotions.

There is shock.

Fear.

Remorse.

But before you escape, he grabs your hand with his newfound vampiric strength.

Scales. Claws. Sharp teeth.

"Well, no tail. Pity - it has always amused me how many things tieflings and dragonborns can do with them."

But most importantly - wings!

A pair of amazing, draconic wings growing off your back.

"Can you fly?" he asks, studying them like an artist.

"I-I don't know-"

"Well, we should find out then. Dragons aren't supposed to live in dungeons. Maybe they are, but not you."

You cry in his hands as he lulls you to sleep.

Once you return to the surface, Astarion finds a mirror for you, and while you stare at your body with disgust, he caresses your skin with his cold fingers, calling you a demi-goddess.

He sews your dresses to highlight your red scales.

He asks you to pierce his skin with your claws when you have sex because it's a pleasant pain like no other.

He adores your wings.

When you hug, they cover you both with a cape.

It's difficult for you to sleep on your back, so you develop a habit of lying on the Astarion's chest, covering you both with the wings.

Even years later, you still have body image issues - the draconic magic went nuts on you, and other sorcerers are just shocked to see what has become of you.

But Astarion has none of this. You are one of a kind. The most gorgeous woman he has ever met.

He also encourages you to learn how to fly - you can't do it for a long time but still can, and every time you are back, he looks at you with adoration.

--

Tag list

@tugoslovenka @marcynomercy @wintersire @vixstarria @not-so-lost-after-all @ashiro20 @theearthsfinalconfession @herstxrgirl @starlight-ipomoea @micropoe10 @astarion-imagine-archive @veillsar @elora-the-slutty-songstress @fayeriess @lumienyx @astarion-beloved @tallymonster @caitlincat-95 @tragedybunny @valeprati @lynnlovesthestars @marina-and-the-memes @waking-electric @ayselluna @connorsui

[dailyrothko]

ik its taboo to ask but, what do you see in rothkos work? Why do you like it?

It's not taboo! But I have answered this many times before so, I might direct you here or here for random examples of my answers and just add a bit, perhaps retreading...

Rothko gets singled out for being famous and looking simple (though it's not not) but I don't feel the criteria is different than it would be for any other artist.

My favorite artists, Munch, Bearden, Hokusai, Bill Traylor, Ruth Asawa etc., what do they have in common? Just the basics of form, color and light and the emotion that is carried through them.

I don't feel like the public always has great taste but I do subscribe to the idea that Rothko would not have endured if his work did not have meaning to some. And some of those people were Joan Mitchell, Brice Marden, Helen Frankenthaler, Motherwell, Pollock, Elaine De Kooning, Tracey Emin, Robert Ryman etc. Other fine artists blown away by these seemingly simplistic works. This doesn't mean you have like Rothko or any artist but you know here we are the the Rothko detractors kind of amuse me, not for their taste but rather for their arguments.

I think a lot of people just aren't exposed in person to a wide variety of art and when you see things in the flesh, so to speak, it's a wildly different experience than the world of looking at computers. And art museums are also places people react to thinks as a group and it's an interesting footnote to see how art affects people, sometimes it can make you think.

I have devoted so much to time to Rothko, sometimes I have asked myself why, maybe he's not as good as I think, I see them everyday, it can be tiring to research and post and be involved with it.

And then, I see one again or, as in the last two weeks, I see shots from the Paris show (I couldn't afford to go but they did invite me) and again I am struck by what a really exceptional artist he was. How no one else does what he does and how I have a great feeling for his particular expression.

And Rothko the person, who could bloviate occasionally, was an exceptional character of great dedication to art and to his idea. I have known lots of artists and his intense commitment to an idea, that was not popular, that was not making him money, that had not been done before, was a relentless pursuit. I admire that too.

Detractors would have to you believe silly things about art, embarrassing things not seated in the normal "Does nothing for me" argument which is a great argument about any artist. Rather they want to say it's the emperor's new clothes and frankly, while that's cool if you believe it, the technical merit argument is so hollow and silly, I never even know what to say to these people. The reductive standard is basically the best painting of a cat is the one that looks the most like a cat, and if you believe that, buy a camera and save yourself some money.

Even yesterday with the Christie's sale, and the orange/yellow Rothko, which is certainly not one of my favorites, Photographer Mark Cashion (thanks Mark) sent me this shot. And I was just impressed again, kind of in the opposite way that his detractors feel. They see someone doing nothing and I see someone creating a huge amount from very little.

Thank you so much for the question , sorry, as always to prattle on.

[thedeafprophet]

20. Kissing in a stairwell, giving them an artificial height difference.

for Jamie and May because I think Jamie deserves to be taller than May for once sdfghkfds

20. Kissing in a stairwell, giving them an artificial height difference.

Upon The Stair

'...Is this an intrusion?” He moves forward, closer into their space, a gloved hand coming up to cup their cheek and tilt their gaze further up towards him. “And here I was, under the impression that my presence was invited. How kind of you, to remind me of my manners.” A moment between The Manager and The Author, for one must make up for any rude transgressions upon ones space.

Word count: 866

Rating: Teen Tags: Kissing, Height Differences, Mostly Just Fluffy Cute Stuff For Once

Also on ao3

Prompt list from here.

“You know,” Jamie says leaning against the archway in the hall with the quirk of a brow,“it is quite rude to intrude upon someone's home, no matter how many times you take it upon yourself to see yourself in.”

It was late too, Mary-Anne having already retired for the night, or no doubt she would have thrown a fit to see him in the home with no prior calling once more. For the best really, Jamie sheepishly knows they put the woman through enough stress already. 

Jamie had been settled in the sitting room for a late night cup of tea, reading into the latest novel they'd gotten their hands on, when they heard the oh so familiar tap of a silver capped cane, vision fuzzy on the edge of their peripheral. The clearest sign of any for an unexpected visitor, though not, of course, an unwanted one. 

Getting up to investigate, they found him standing in the entry hall, seemingly fascinated by the new painting Jamie had gotten hung upon the wall - an impressionist piece they'd purchased from an up and coming artist, always finding themself inclined to support the arts that were pushed back against. 

The Manager turns to look at them as soon as they make their statement, his ever present smile seeming slightly more genuine when his gaze meets theirs. 

“Is that so? Is this an intrusion?” He moves forward, closer into their space, a gloved hand coming up to cup their cheek and tilt their gaze further up towards him. “And here I was, under the impression that my presence was invited. How kind of you, to remind me of my manners.”

Jamie's not entirely sure why he's here tonight, as they glance up to meet his gaze. They're not in any particular state this evening, no more out of it then their baseline is these days. They shan't presume he's come just because he wanted to see them but- well, certainly he must get lonely too. A single performer can be grand, but it's only with a company that a show can truly be performed.

Jamie steps back slightly, moving out of his hold, before turning to dive under his arm in a quick movement. They move backwards toward the stairwell, turning to face him as they speak, the inkling of an idea forming in their mind.  

“Yes, it is!” Jamie can't keep down the amused smile at their play. “In fact, I think I'm rather quite insulted. It's very presumptuous of you - and a disgrace upon my honour!” They take a couple steps up onto the stairwell, before leaning on the banister to stare down at him.

Even now, it doesn't make them that far above him. They smirk down at him regardless, basking in the brief moment of being taller (or at least, being higher up). 

The Manager simply looks amused at their antics, seemingly in the mood to play along with their games. It was always fun for Jamie when he was - though, they never really did begrudge when he had other plans in mind.

“I see I have made a great error in my judgment. “ His words are laden with humour. Both of them know that Jamie cares very little about his habit of showing up unexpectedly. (Both of them know there's very little they could do about it anyways.). “Perhaps, then, there is something I must do? To account for my transgression?”

 Jamie's eyes flick down to his lips, smirk spreading out on their own face. “Oh, I don't know. Perhaps there is something, if it is to be on offer.” They lean forward towards him, leaving it to him to close the rest of the gap. 

A hand reaches up to lightly hold at the hair on the back of their head, before The Manager leans up, his lips at last meeting theirs. The scrape of his beard against their chin is familiar to them by now, but Jamie's pulse flutters all the same at the contact, eyes closing as they lean into the kiss. 

Jamie moves their hands to hold the base of the back of his head, trying to pull him closer as possible, aiming to avoid knocking his hat off just yet. They are oftly unused to this angle - it is rare that they're on the taller end of kisses, and most certainly not with him. Most events require some form of bending on his part - or other, different ways to put them on a more equal level. At least he's able to pick them up, not everyone has such capabilities.  

They're still smiling as they pull back from the kiss, breath quickened just a bit as they open their eyes to look down at him. 

The Manager smirks up at them, evidently feeling as if he'd won the interaction, but even he was still leaning forward himself, closer into their space. 

“And has that laid everything on account for? Or must I continue to abate my actions?”

“Hm, let me think on it.” Jamie says, a mischievous twinkle rising to their eyes.“What else might you have on offer?” 

They'd like to know their options first, before they decide.  

[kramerblogrealgood]

Comic books that you should read!!! Yes you!!! Right now!!!

These are comics I really enjoy! I'm trying to stick to slightly more obscure comics, preferably stuff that's a little newer, but that's by no means a rule! This is my list baby, I make the rules!

#1: Local Man (Image Comics, 2023)

Local Man follows Jack Xaver, who was once known as the superhero Crossjack before being unceremoniously kicked out of his team and legally barred from any vigilante activity. Moving back in with his parents in his destitute former hometown, Jack starts to unravel a conspiracy that has ties to both his old team and his old town.

It rules! It's funny and heartfelt and thrilling and if it were a TV show you'd never stop hearing about it. It's also one of the few modern original Image series that actually takes place in the "Image Universe", so it's packed with references to characters like Darkhawk. You don't need to know all these guys to enjoy the comic by any means, but it's fun for long-time fans.

Most of all, I'm a fan of the basic conceit of this comic: it looks at The Dark Age of Comic Books with the same reverent-yet-critical eye that so many other comics used on the golden and silver ages. I think that rules! A lot of this stuff deserves reappraisal!

#2: The Wrong Earth (Ahoy Comics, 2018)

The concept for this is pretty simple: what if Adam West's Batman got sent to the world of the Nolan trilogy, and Christian Bale's Batman got sent to the world of the 1966 TV show?

They hit all the dramatic and comedic beats you could imagine coming from this premise, and a few you probably couldn't think of. It's not just a one-dimensional parody, though: really sharp writing and an engaging mystery elevate what could easily be, like, a Dorkly video into something special. Which is to say: if you think this premise sounds good you'll love this comic, and if you think it sounds stupid you'll probably still like this comic.

There are some cool character designs here, but my favorite is the villain in both universes:

His name is Number One, and he's a crime boss with an egomania/numbers gimmick. (Sorry for the compressed jpegs)

I imagine "design an original 1960s villain, and then design his edgy 2000s reboot version" would be a difficult prompt for an artist, but Jamal Igle knocks that shit outta the park. Number One really feels like he could fit into Batman's rogues gallery, but he's not a riff on anyone in particular- he's kind of like all of them. The "1"-shaped scar is an especially great touch.

#3: Ice Cream Man (Image Comics, 2018)

(This image isn't from any cover as far as I can tell, it was posted on instagram by writer W. Maxwell Prince.)

Hey, another from Image Comics! And it's my favorite genre, too: horror anthology. If the pic I chose didn't tip you off, this one gets SPOOKAY! The basic premise is that every issue is a one-shot that features a character going through some kind of horrible misfortune. Tying all these tales of woe together is the enigmatic Ice Cream Man, who seems to be somehow torturing all these humans for his own amusement. We eventually learn that he's an evil god-type thing named Riccardus, and he has a good counterpart who's trying to stop him- all the lore stuff is a little vague, but that doesn't mean it's not interesting! The art style used by artist Martin Morazzo is almost uncanny-valley, it reminds me of The Shivering Truth.

Some of the "horror" in this comic is really personal and upsetting, by the way- the one about dementia made me cry. Actually, a lot of these made me cry. Full on snotty gasp-sobbing. 10/10. Riccardus has real sexyman potential if the freaks on this site would ever read something besides fuckin Wayne Family Adventures.

#4: Wayne Family Adventures (DC/Webtoon, 2021)

What? It's cute, fuck you. "eeuuuhhh it's out of character" you sound like a dweeb man

#5: Eight Billion Genies (Image Comics, 2021)

Just like The Wrong Earth, this has a killer elevator pitch: what if every single person on Earth got exactly one wish, all at the same time? Also like The Wrong Earth, it takes it's premise in every angle you can think of- there's wish trading, wish stealing, cities that are kept safe from the chaos of the outside world but you have to give the city government your wish to get in, you name it. No wonder Amazon bought the rights. Keep an eye out for that movie/series, I guess.

Ok, I need some non-image comics.

#6: Giant Days (Boom! Studios, 2015)

Anime fans, this one's for you: you know all those series you love about groups of cute girls just going through their daily lives? Well imagine if those cute girls were over eightee- hey wait where are you going come back

Giant Days is a slice-of-life story about three young women facing the challenges of college life. Apparently it's a spin-off of a webcomic with like 15 years of strips, but I don't care about all that and neither should you! It's a little like gilmore girls in terms of tone. The dialogue is snappy, all the characters play off each other in ways that's fun to see, and there's this 7 foot tall Australian rower chick who's completely obsessed with her reedy loser boyfriend. It's just comforting. It's like a big plate of mashed potatoes, this comic.

Hey, speaking of slice-of-life:

#7: Megg, Mogg and Owl (Indie/Fantagraphics, 2013ish)

This has the honor of being the only comic on this list that's been adapted to another type of media, in the form of a segment on Justin Roiland's weird kinda-shitty Hulu halloween special. Not much of an honor, I guess.

Anyways! MM&O is about a group of "friends" who live together in drug-addled squalor. Megg is a chronically depressed witch just waiting to die. Mogg, Megg's boyfriend, is a talking cat who just wants to keep the degenerate lifestyle they've built for themselves stable, and Owl is a neurotic sex addict who wants to make something of himself but doesn't want to lose his only companions, and Werewolf Jones is a drug-dealing sociopath. It's like Peep Show! I absolutely love this comic, I reread it constantly, but I'm having a hard time pitching it.

If Giant Days is a plate of mashed potatoes this is like... a gas station hot dog eaten over a storm drain or something. Still kind of comforting, just in a different way. Let's cleanse our palette with some capeshit.

#8: Planetary (Wildstorm/DC, 1998)

Planetary rocks. We follow an amnesiac immortal named Elias Snow as he travels the globe with his top-secret Planetary Investigations team to uncover the secrets of the Wildstorm universe. Think of it like... The X-Files crossed with The Venture Brothers. X-Files in that they investigate weirdo mysteries, Venture Brothers in that every genre of speculative fiction- from Doc Savage-style pulp heroes to Kaiju to James Bond superspies- all exist, or existed, in some form.

Also on the team besides Snow are The Drummer (who has some kind of information-based power I never really understood) and Jakita Wagner, the super-strong ADHD daughter of a Tarzan expy. It's hard to do it justice in a post like this, buy a copy! Or pirate it, if you don't want to give Warren Ellis any money!

#9: Bad Enders (Indie, 2020)

Hey, this one is free! Check it out here: https://beany-tuesday.itch.io/bad-enders-pilot-issue

Bad Enders is a shonen pastiche with all the humor and charm you could expect from a @beanytuesday joint. It's great! It follows a burnt-out twentysomething who once had ambitions of becoming a demon hunter, but has since resigned himself to a life of filling out excel spreadsheets. Beanytuesday has stated there probably won't be any more Bad Enders content, but he has another comic called GUE (https://beanytuesday.tumblr.com/tagged/gue/chrono) that takes place in the same universe.

#10: G-Man (Image Comics, 2009)

i bet you thought i was done with image huh

Anyways, this was my jam back in like 3rd grade and you know what? It holds up. When they say "all-ages" they fuckin mean all ages, I'm a grown man and I can enjoy this.

The story of this entry is that I wanted to end on 10 instead of 9.

The story of this comic is that a kid named Mikey G gets his hands on a magic blanket that allows him to fly, but his brother ALSO uses the magic blanket to fly with and they become, like, rivals, but this other kid can also fly and he starts fucking with them... better than it sounds. There's also this crazy arc later in the series where they have a baby brother but- hold on, I'll show you

See? Nuts.

Ok, that was all of them bye

[tieflingsfingers]

The Barbaric Feminine

What and who: Humor, Mild Fluff. Thomasin and Alfira play music. Wyll and Karlach roast Astarion. Aradin and Remira need to leave. Summary: Thomasin encourages Alfira to put on a little show for the caravan to both cure her writer’s block and encourage her peers. All the companions witness Aradin and Remira's pettiness. Astarion learns the true meaning of art. Warning/Content: Just a little fun character building and au event in the grove. I love the tieflings. Part of series. More in the realm of character study, per usual, so also a lot about two elves that are bad at feelings. And an ounce of fighting. Word Count: 3,443 Ao3 Link

Thomasin swished her skirt to and fro to the light jingling emitting from her boots. Bells hooked on straps, buckled onto her shoes for a theatrical flare. A contraption she’d made herself after inspired by another performer long ago. She tightened her finest corset, whose fabric had to be fully reupholstered upon purchase, and let it cinch the excess of her dress. Her sleeves billowed, to match every other asset, and followed every single movement she made.

With a sudden stomping of her heels, she clacked them firm onto the wooden floor boards beneath her to settle the small crowd of tieflings. 

“Well, thank you kindly for wanting to see me perform today!” she announced to the gathering, careful to make sure each word had its proper annunciation. Her hosting skills were quite rusty. “After the warmth, gifts, and open arms, how could I say no? My name is Thomasin, if we haven’t formally met, and I’m here to lift a few spirits today!”

In front of Dammon’s roost and the soup kitchen, the wooden platform where many rested their heads was reinvigorated and reinvented into a makeshift stage. Rudimentary in design and weathered by the elements over years, but that didn’t stop Alfira from proposing such camaraderie nights before. Each performer was to simply stand at the edge of the staircase and present their talent. 

Alfira had found herself confessing worries of her passing teacher’s legacy and the artistic block that coincided. How the confidence of herself and her people had been lost after such rocky migration and the nerves of the caravan were relentlessly rustled. She wished that, for one single evening, battles were of little importance. And, in her own wholesome logic, she decided that entertaining her brethren was vital. 

The tiefling would heal with the arts. She would play her lute. Someone wanted to juggle. Someone could eat an apple in two bites. No auditions, just nonsensical amusement. They had sat through scrappy children showing off their introductive cantrips. Lullabies and travel songs belted from the lungs of mothers. Sword balancing acts and flashy conjuration spells with advisory warnings. Thomasin needed no begging to be thrown into the roster.

Scattered before the staircase were horned children, parents, and tipsy friends alike. Even with little luxuries, they set out blankets in the dirt and indulge in whatever festivities they could find. Dammon’s blacksmith quarters radiated a heat that cozied the onlookers as they passed around loaves of honey bread and apples. Bottles of gin and moonshine made their way around. No fear or pain where the supply was constant, guzzled down until the last drop hit someone’s tongue. 

Behind Thomasin, Wyll, Karlach and Astarion settled near a table atop the platform, further behind the performing acts. Out of the tieflings’ eyeline, but more than participating from the comfort of a canopy. The same spot where Remira and Aradin had previously settled their claim. 

In honesty, the humans' plans to head out in search of holy artifacts and bounty riches gave Zevlor respite. Their presence was now nothing more than packed bags and distasteful comments upon passing. Remira stood a few feet away from Astarion and the others, tucked behind a sturdy support beam engraved with white naturalistic patterns. She watched Thomasin with contempt, awaiting Aradin’s return so they could leave before sunset. Going out in a flash of dramatics would give them more trouble than it was worth.

Thomasin readied herself. The half-elf lifted her violin up to her chin, tucking it comfortably, and raised her bow. A studied grace. “If you know the words to this one, please join! Nothing more beautiful than a harmony from your good graces!”

Before she knew it, she had slipped into the role. It didn’t matter how makeshift or sudden the gig was, there was tremendous relief. The connection to others in the name of mundane, if not jovial, normalcy. She was in her element. Glittering pigments collected over years sparkled on her eyelids and left iridescent streaks across her cheekbones. No more than a few hard smacks of her heel and the half-elf began to sing a common, yet classic bard ditty. Something bright and upbeat.

They all watched as Thomasin glided around the small corner of the platform, some in awe like she were an exotic bird spreading its wings. Circles, winks, keeping multiple rhythms in tact. Her ribbons were tightened and her outfit meticulously ironed by metal heated over their campfire. Like a single fraction of time where everything was in its place.

Propped against barrels under the canopy’s shade, her companions watched her perform. Karlach busied herself with fruits warming in her hands and gin she passed back and forth to Wyll. The two practiced their most enthusiastic cheers. If they were to tour this to Baldur’s Gate, their fanaticism had to be as perfect as their friend’s talents. 

Astarion opted for a subtle approach. He leaned back, arms crossed, perhaps to prove he knew how to consume art most effectively. Even if his expression settled into cynicism, there was no doubt he couldn’t help but gaze upon her. 

Thomasin swished her hips, making a spectacle out of every inch of her person. The dulcet tone of her voice. The strings of her violin. The bells shaking and whipping about with each step. Even when she stopped her flow of dancing, earning pause from the crowd, her skirt would wrap around her legs, then unravel in a swirl of cornflower blue revelry once more. 

Astarion found himself squinting at the details of her dress.

He remembered the night he and Thomasin laid under the stars and reminisced about their favorite, most prized thefts. Small trophies, but ones that lived on as fashion staples. High heeled boots from a cheating man’s wardrobe. Bolts of fabric lifted from elderly women with a storefront and unwelcoming demeanors. Beads broken from a drunk aristocrat’s necklace and confiscated with a swift scoop up into pockets.

That’s what he recognized. The hem of her dress. The glint of repurposed opalite beads sparkled against glowing faerie lights. A product of multiple late nights, pinning and picking at a dress she never wore on the road. He’d watch her fall into a quiet trance for hours around the fire, pulling at thread and pinching tiny beads, stringing them along. It was one of the few guilty pleasures she invited in. A reward after mending a hole along Wyll’s inseams or re-attaching a buckle to Karlach’s leather straps.

Astarion was getting lost in the magnetism she garnered from her act. Admired how she bounced back from days where bodies ached and brains barely functioned, now teeming with unbridled vitality. No longer in lethargic depths, free to experience the wonder of watering her like a well-pruned leafy plant. Naturally, he took the credit where he could though. His personal rations and food scraps were often gifted to Thomasin in nonchalant exchanges. If he wasn’t to eat it, at least she could be nurtured.

He noticed her growing into her softness. What he imagined she was like before the days of treacherous nature walks and feasts only composed of wine and wild lentils. The masses now got to gawk those same ample hips but jealousy was nothing he was going to voice. Their minds must’ve ventured into poetic saccharine monologues. Ones that, in his opinion, were for lust-riddled simpletons. Nothing more than idealism and viewing her beauty as a commodity. Best used to simply get you wanted and leave before the beautiful possession caught on.

“Philistines can’t even enjoy music without all the moonshine coursing through them,” Astarion muttered.

Karlach stopped in the midst of her swaying, befuddled at how he could keep still. How he was not enamored, even at the most platonic level, by the art Thomasin created. She knocked her bottle of gin into his arm, shoving his lithe frame a bit. The joy in her voice was palpable.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah. Look at you. Can’t even enjoy yourself for a night. You upset because everyone is looking at how pretty she is all dressed up?” the large tiefling said, trying her best to keep her volume respectful.

He scowled at Karlach, knowing she wasn’t phased by such grouchiness, and snatched the gin from her hand. His eyes watered with regret immediately upon taking a swig, scrunching his nose. It burned with a fierceness down his gullet. “Ack- gods no. I’m upset by the terrible choice of alcohol in this place.” 

Astarion looked back over at the half-elf to assess his thoughts. Despite encouraging her musical endeavors, he always included a jab that undercut such complimentary words. It was natural to him. Yet, he began to realize had never heard her sing more than a well-tuned hum. Never saw her dance unless guided by Wyll’s hand.

The closest he could recall may have been during her worship of Eilistraee, but those were always witnessed from afar. Memories housed only within the context of his own selfish voyeurism. Maybe self-expression wasn’t always frivolous, he thought.

The elf caught himself staring, mind drifting between conflicting hypotheticals and amorous soliloquies. Details that he was quick to shake from his consciousness. “Thomasin is doing a just fine job,” he followed up plainly.

“Perhaps she could teach you a thing or two, Astarion. How to show that personable side hiding deep in that illustrious heart of yours,” Wyll teased, his half of the gin adding blush tones to his cheeks. “What if you’re a natural born performer?”

Astarion scoffed. “I’ve got a skillset already, thank you very much. I haven’t gotten this far just on looks, I will have you know.” His fingers pressed flat against his own chest. “Personality is half my charm. You should try it sometime.”

The sour attitude and unapologetic gumption tickled his two drunken companions, suppressing their laughter to not become interruptive. Mirth so bountiful, it leaked between the cracks of their fingers clasped over their mouths.

“I’ve gotten this far on looks alone, you should try it.” Karlach eventually said, catching her breath. She had begun to stretch her chest wide, back tightened, and presented the bend of her arms in a muscular flex. Years of pommeling through Avernus had to pay off in some capacity. “It’s versatility, ain’t it? Being hot in every sense of the word really gets the ladies going.”

Wyll clinked their shared bottle onto her bicep in agreement before gesturing to his own horns. A facet of his appearance he was still getting used to, but bonding amongst Elturel survivors made acclimation easier. “The horns are also a definite plus, I’m growing to learn. Nothing like romantic poetry penned by a horn dipped in the finest oil inks.”

“Yeah, exactly. Oily inks.” Karlach pointed to Wyll with her thumb, mouth full of fruit, mumbling her words. Juices from an apple, crisp between her pointed teeth, flew out as she spoke. Although she decided to ignore the fact, knowing she would break into a fit of laughter over Astarion vocalizing disgust. 

He did notice.

He did sneer.

“You two are insufferable. I’ll let you know I have remarkable, if not astonishing, reviews without all the tricks,” Astarion said, waving a dismissive hand. His lips, then, curled in a hint of amusement at their taunting. 

They three continued swaying their heads, clapping as stray copper coins and picked wildflowers were thrown at Thomasin’s feet. The half-elf felt herself return back into her body by the end of the song, engulfed by the rain of praise, and grinned from ear to ear. Genuine unadulterated happiness. She bowed to the small crowd.

When she rose, the sting of coins pelted against her back, followed by a familiar thud. The sound of arrowheads, two to be exact, penetrating wood behind her. She rolled her shoulders, determined to not acknowledge it. To not let it ruin her composure. At her feet, she noticed Wyll crouch to gather all the flora and tips left, whispering tipsy affirmations to her and lurching back to their spot to keep her gifts safe. 

Thanks to him, her smile never faltered, and she went onto presenting the next act. 

“Thank you! Thank you all very much, dearly,” she cheered, holding her violin idle in her arms. “This lovely evening was all brought to you by the ever so talented, Alfira.” 

Alfira ran up the far staircase where Karlach and the others stood, flashing them a sheepish delight with her lute clutched tight. Karlach felt herself blush at the sight of the feminine tiefling’s pastel whimsy, offering her own toothy grin. The bard looked overwhelmed, but particularly gorgeous that night. The way her pink and blue undertones glowed under the low sunlight.

She had to say something. Anything. 

“You’re gonna do wonderful, babe,” Karlach whispered, giving Alfira a thumbs up as she scurried down the long platform and up to the crowd. A sigh as Karlach critiqued her less than smooth demeanor.

Thomasin’s arm extended to present Alfira in all her glory. “Speaking of the delight of your travels. Please give a round of applause and your utmost attention to Alfira on the lute!” The two musicians exchanged a supportive hug before Thomsin bowed again and walked back to her companions.

As she approached the canopy, she caught the sight of Aradin and Remira. The curly-haired man had returned, hand just barely on the railing before he made eye contact with her. A face plastered with smug satisfaction and obvious inebriation on his breath. 

Remira glared at the drunken human coming up the stairs. Not only did she recognize his anger simmering, but she was pinned to the support beam by the shot of arrows through her clothes. Two, again, to be exact. Comeuppance for the fact her silly little hostile coin toss resulted in Astarion’s swift archery. Pettiness resolved by the act of more pettiness. All she could do was await for Aradin to reign terror in her honor and help her down. 

“Did you need something, darling?” Thomasin said softly, setting her violin aside and kneeling before him from her elevated height. Her fingers fiddled with the buckles on her boots, unlatching the bells from them. She felt her performative pleasantries loosening as she remembered her first day at the grove. How punching him square in the face may have not been the answer, but her tolerance for masculine pride had been long ground into oblivion. Now, she was in her brightest pigments. He was no match for her when rouge made her stronger, taller, more powerful. 

Aradin flicked a coin her direction, amused by his own taunting as it bounced off her shoulder. His eyes wandered long after though, taking a step closer, blatant and unrepentant in her objectification.

“Was gonna call you a bitch for making all this commotion by our awning, but I gotta admit you clean up pretty nicely, don’t ya?” he responded. 

The comment made her grin. Solidified her reasoning for retaliation. Her lashes fluttered in the name of feminine mystique before glancing over at Alfira at the opposite end, entertaining her peers. Dancing lights bloomed around the tiefling as she reveled in the attention. Belting out a song that would make her teacher proud. As long as the tiefling was well into her song, Aradin would be dealt with. 

To the backdrop of Alfira’s lute and nervous melody, Thomasin took a step forward, pressing the base of her heeled boot against Aradin’s chest, its thick stem situated right atop his sternum. Her shoulders pushed forward, chest enclosing in on her bent knee, and kicked him back with the force of her shifted weight.

His build hit the ground with a solid heft, blood pressure rising at such disrespect. Perched upon his elbows, back still laying in dirt below, Thomasin grabbed the bottom of her dress and walked down the steps. The human’s face contorted into a myriad of emotions. Disdain, confusion, and then reluctant enticement as she walked over him and settled in a straddle atop his lap. 

Astarion’s eyebrows rose at her sudden dominance, noticing Wyll and Karlach’s similar disbelief. They merely waited with excitement and bated breath for this was the last place they expected a bar fight. So, the elf did the honors and grabbed her instrument for protection, stepping back with no comment or snark to be heard. He respected the arts now, after all.

Thomasin grabbed Aradin’s wrists and pinned them above his head, noting the lack of struggle on his part. It was a relief. Reassurance she had the upper hand. A man that could overpower her if he wished, playing feeble in hopes of gifted flesh. She proceeded to tighten her posture, back curved and body shifting into fluidity. 

Practical, utilitarian sexuality. It was all performative in nature, far from her actual desires, but the skill set promised survival. Retribution was never a natural instinct of hers. At least not one from birth or even youth. The seed was planted over decades of unpredictable company, learning from the adults around her. Their feuds, loyalty, murder, and pacts. It bore its roots deep, granting her access to her own sadism. Sleeping, unkempt, until it thrashed out in the name of untrustworthy bandits or unsavory temporary lovers.

“Aha- not one for being on the bottom, but I’ll take one for the team,” he tittered.

Thomasin giggled back at him like she’d done to countless others before. 

Methodical and sensual, she crept closer and closer to his ear. The half-elf braced herself for whatever his reaction may be, screwed her eyes tight, and let forth a faint blue glow from her lips. Dissonant whispers. The language of her ancestors spliced with nightmares of catastrophic proportions. Threats to the nervous system, disjointed phrases, and speech so rapid, it ran his blood cold.

 They all clashed into one another, almost as painful to his biology as it was incoherent. The glowing wispy smoke crawled into Aradin’s ear canals and thrashed through every microscopic crevice of his brain. Only a few seconds, but enough to make up for the multiple stressors he inflicted on others outside the grove.

He gasped for air as his body took its time regulating itself, crawling backwards in desperation. Trying to figure out how Thomasin had shifted back from an extraplanar terror back to her unintimidating figure. Chest heaving for any semblance of comprehension.

The half-elf leaned back, palms flat and raised to allow him to scurry away. She didn’t prolong his horror. She had no need to. But, she couldn’t deny her heart raced with self-satisfaction. No matter how many times she found the drive to fight back, she knew it had a chance of ending with her demise. Of course, the thought frightened her, but she couldn’t dwell. She knelt where he left her, brushing off stains from their grassy tussle and watching his dilated pupils mellow.

“First the tieflings and now the drow. No keeping the fucking peace in these parts,” he spat at her, scrambling to his feet to scuttle off.

“Don’t be scared everyone is going to find out you’re nothing more than an impetuous noisy cuck.” she retorted, scorn riddled on her face.

Thomasin turned her head to notice the three watching her in light awe. She tried to catch her breath from the intense exertion of both her emotions and the Weave, reminding her body that she was safe. An easy assertion for a titter soon left her lips. She noticed Astartion’s foot propped up beside Remira, giving her mercy with a yank of the arrows to allow her to fall to the floor. No much grace offered, but the human wanted no pity after being strung up in humiliation.

The group watched as the two humans darted away, bickering at one another for their lack of judgment, and then focused back to Thomasin.

“Cheers to that, I suppose,” Wyll said, raising his bottle and taking a swig, then handing it off to Karlach.

“Cheers. Not going to sugarcoat it, that was kinda hot, mate.” The tiefling grabbed the gin, colored by her love of rough-housing and unfortunate touch-starvation. Her word was an objective, undebatable fact.

Astarion felt himself laugh. Unhindered and genuine for the first time that evening. 

“Praise the Dark Maiden,” he proclaimed.

[thegapbetweenmoments]

New Muse Ideas!

So here is my consistent conundrum: I like writing things with what I like to refer to as notable supernatural elements. This could be a vampire character (Alicia), a necromancer (Diana and kind of Belle), a time mage (Tom), etc.

The problem with this is twofold. One issue is simply that many people aren't super interested in fantasy based things, which is 100% fair and fine, and why most of the time I just write without the supernatural bits unless otherwise specified.

The other is that even when people do want to write supernatural-ish things, sometimes the vibes don't line up with whatever it is that I made for my characters, which is why it takes a while for new characters to be made even at times like this when I'm relatively active.

SO!

Below is a list of character ideas I've come up with that I'm currently considering. If you see any on the list and go "Ooh! That sounds cool!", please let me know, because that kind of input is super helpful for this process. Doesn't matter if you're a mutual, nonmutual, never interacted before, etc (though more weight will be given to mutuals/people who've interacted before). Just drop a little response and that will give more weight to the idea. Once one or two have been figured out, I'm going to make a new post about FCs, because tbh I suck at picking those, but that is a thought for later!

The list of thoughts (under read more so that I don't take up the whole dash):

Half-devil lawyer (Honestly, this is a character I actually did use for one thread and I enjoyed a lot. I may make this one even if people don't want him, but weight and priority will likely be given to things people actually want. I've always enjoyed devil contracts as plot devices, and he might be just a smidge lawful evil)

Freed djinn nurse (General concept is that she has pretty significant powers that only work if she uses them in response to a wish. She wouldn't have to respond to every wish, and like more nefarious djinn she'd probably try to use the wording of wishes in order to bend things to work how she wants, even though she as a person is not trying to harm anyone. Job as a nurse is essentially so that she can hear wishes that are inherently more benevolent and grant or bend those to do good things)

Rune mage tattoo artist (Essentially, the thought behind this is a guy who can write a long, complicated series of glyphs as a sort of magical sentence on something and activate it to give whatever it's written on an effect. Take this to its logical conclusion and with enough time, this can be used to give magical tattoos to people that give them some type of ability or effect)

Air mage pilot (I mean the usefulness of the power is kind of obvious, but also I think she'd likely own a smaller plane of her own and generally be a bit more chaotic/daring than most of my girls on here, which is a lot of the fun behind this idea for me personally)

Blood Mage Butcher (I like when characters have these powers with crazy amounts of evil potential, who then use them for completely mundane, neutral-to-good aligned things. I think this guy is just passionate about meat and grilling. Probably early to mid thirties with wholesome dad vibes. Maybe not the route most people would go for characters they want to write with, but certainly one I find amusing)

Lightning Mage Art Thief (I'm thinking she shorts out cameras and security fixtures, then just walks up to an expensive piece art and swaps it with a replica, possibly with a nearly invisible hidden signature. Some real heist movie bullshit. Then, she goes back to some incredibly mundane or wholesome day job. Maybe an elementary school art teacher who steals to buy art supplies for class)

[iknowwhereyousleepatnight]

If you could do anything for a job, what would you pick to do. It doesn't even have to something that benefits others, you just get paid for your quality of work in doing it.

okay okay so i have a list:

1) professional artist. i don't like the thought of working under someone else when it comes to art, but i think i'd really like to be able to get paid to do it and be able to afford to live. like i would love to go to art school or smth but i'm aware that i would not be able to make a lot of money off of it and i'm afraid that any good art jobs would suck the life out of me but if i could live off of it i'd absolutely be making art all the time. like i'd probably go bigger than illustrating i've had a dream of doing installations and murals and giant wall-to-wall artworks that i don't have the space or funds for but if i could i absolutely would!!!

2) nature photographer!!!!!!! i like taking pictures of things and i like being outside and it makes me very happy to take pictures of things outside. like when i go to nice parks and shit i'll literally just sit there and take pictures of like water dripping or close-ups of moss and it makes me really happy to be able to do that and it'd be nice to be able to do that and get paid lol. and i would be able to travel and go do things and be outside and see new things i think it'd be lovely. i feel like being outside makes me much more mentally stable so this as a job would probably turn me into a normal person

3) clown or something similar. like maybe just a guy that appears to do smth silly and then disappears leaving everyone to wonder what just happened. idk i just like making people's days just a little bit sillier and i've always had a sort of need to be a person that people don't necessarily know but does things that are weird enough that they remember me and joke abt it or smth. like in highschool i straight up proposed to someone with a whole display and so many gifts as a joke and i know to this day even though the person i proposed to and i grew apart that they still wear the ring as a necklace. and i know that my prof from last semester will always remember that they had a student doing silly shit in the library or doing all that shit with their project and idk i just like being amusing idk it'd be cool to do that and get paid lol i'd probably go way more all-out if i was paid too

4) art thief. i wanna steal shit but also be cool and sexy about it. i'd return the shit (if it isn't already stolen cough cough) i just want to know if i could do it. and i'd be silly abt it too. basically just like the clown one but less legal.

5) professional event crasher. pretty self-explanatory imo

[leoba]

Medieval Self-Insert Fan Art: Two amazing examples

Last night my favorite Discord server had an anniversary party, and we all presented to each other like the nerds we are. Usually when I present at conferences I post the talk to my blog, but this one felt like it would make a great inaugural post for this new Tumblr (which is going to be my personal-official space in the same way my Twitter account is now)

I gave a little presentation on MEDIEVAL SELF-INSERT FAN ART with two examples, and I share the slides and my comments here for you.

The first example: Owner portraits in books of hours, for when you want to hang out with Jesus and the BVM.

First, what are books of hours? Books of hours are...

Books of hours can be personalized in a variety of ways (for much more about personalization check out Kate Rudy’s book Piety in Pieces: How Medieval Readers Customized their Manuscripts, which you can read for free here). Owner portraits are part of the creation of the book of hours, so it might be more correct to call them commissioners portraits (I don’t think I’ve ever seen them called that, though). The person commissioning the book would work with the artist or artists to determine in which scene they would be included. In every case I’m aware of, owners are presented in supplication - kneeling, with hands together in prayer - and on the edge of the picture, present and part of the story, but not central to it.

Following are many examples of owner portraits from several different manuscripts in Philadelphia (all of which were digitized through the Bibliotheca Philadelphiensis project).

Some portraits, like this one from PMA 1945-65-14, show the book’s original owner. This is Étienne Thirion, in his own frame, kneeling at prayer, in a page facing the Annunciation - as though he’s watching, or perhaps considering the story, but not part of it.

More commonly, the owner is painted into the frame. Here, in this example from FLP Lewis E 112, he joins a couple of angels visiting with Mary and Baby Jesus. Unlike the previous example, we don’t know the name of the original owner.

Owners didn’t only include themselves in happy scenes. In this example, from UPenn Ms. Codex 1056, the owner (in traditional 15th century dress and a black coif) joins the women grieving for the recently deceased Jesus.

Here’s another happy one, from FLP Lewis E 123.

The original owner of PMA 1924-19-1 includes two owner portraits, one with Mary and a nursing Baby Jesus and one with the deceased Jesus laying in God’s the Father’s lap.

One more! Another woman (yes, women owned books of hours and other books, and had them made), and like the first one we looked at, she’s in her own frame, looking at or contemplating Mary and Jesus on the facing page.

That’s the first example of self-insert in medieval art. The next example is a single manuscript, rather than a genre, and although it is religious it isn’t only religious:

U. Glasgow MS Hunter 231 is a collection of devotional and philosophical works, copied in the 14th century (here’s a blog post about it, and this post includes photos from the blog). It includes a lot of texts by the 1st century Roman philosopher and rhetorician Seneca, which I find incredibly amusing for some reason. I guess I don’t think of Seneca as being terribly popular? But there’s a lot of him here.

Here’s a photo of the book from when it was featured on Coffee With A Codex (I forgot to hit record until 10 minutes in, oops). That’s Seneca there between Plato and Aristotle, with gray hair and a pink hat. We’ll take a closer look at this illustration later.

More details about the contents of MS Hunter 231.

Animation works better in PowerPoint but I’m doing my best to give you the experience. I love this manuscript for a lot of reasons but one thing that strikes me (aside from the self-insert fan art) is how oddly it contrasts with itself.

First, it has some really fantastic illuminations made by an identifiable artist (“Master of the Taymouth Hours” - so called because he is also responsible for illustrating a book of hours called the Taymouth Hours, now London, British Library, Yates Thompson MS 13). They are detailed and colorful and the gold has been incised with designs (seriously, look at the gold in the photos, it’s so well done). So whoever had this manuscript made wanted premium art.

Second, in contrast, the script isn’t great. It’s an informal gothic cursive script. That’s it on the right; on the left, another manuscript, also written in England at about the same time, written in a more formal gothic textualis quadrata script (it’s FLP Lewis E 84, a theological miscellany). The cursive would write more quickly, take less time to write, and would thus have been less expensive. So while the texts are important to the commissioner, the writing of that text appears to be less important than the artwork.

Third - the parchment. It’s not great! There are a lot of uncut edges (this photo is from a different manuscript, UPenn LJS 24, but this is the kind of thing you’ll see in MS Hunter 231), holes, and visible hair follicles.

Again, this means that great parchment wasn’t the commissioner’s priority. Not great parchment, not a great script, but really fucking great art.

And who is this commissioner? Here he is with Mary and Baby Jesus and a couple of angels - he’s pictured very much like the owners in the owner portraits, kneeling, hands held out in prayer.

His name is ROGER OF WALTHAM and we know a bit about him! We even have an idea of what he looked like: wavy gray hair, long on the sides and back but cut with a tonsure around his head, and a gray beard. He’s pretty distinctive-looking.

This is just to give you a sense of size. It’s not a really huge book (see my hands in the screenshot further up), so that illuminated initial isn’t big. But it’s so well done!

Here’s a close-up! Again, it’s the same style as an owner portrait (I mean... it is one, really, just in this purpose-made book and not in a book of hours). That’s Roger at the bottom, dressed in red.

And here he is again, watching the Blessed Virgin Mary be assumed into heaven after her death.

And again! Waiting patiently for Eucharist.

And with Mary and Jesus! (You can really see the design in the gold in this photo)

With Mary and Jesus again.

... and again. (I love that patch of gray on his forehead)

Here’s a larger illustration, Jesus crowning Mary... and there’s Roger kneeling at the bottom, yet again.

And here he is at the Crucifixion.

Here’s a fantastic full-page illustration. That’s the head of God at the top, with some angels, and in the middle is Saint Benedict and Saint Paul. And there? At the bottom? Who’s that?

Let’s take a closer look.

squints

It looks like Roger. And Roger! (I’m not 100% certain that is two Rogers, the fellow on the right could be someone else, but I wouldn’t exactly be surprised if it was two Rogers)

Finally, Seneca. Here’s Roger hanging out with his favorite philosopher! (No beard but maybe this is young!Roger?) That’s Seneca on the left, slightly higher in the frame, with Roger below, in the position of teacher and student. This is a pretty typical artistic trope that you see a lot (I’ve included another example from FLP Lewis E 37 just below).

And finally, the pièce de résistance: We return to this photo of Plato, Seneca, and Aristotle (we know who these are because they are labeled).

Seneca - in the middle, facing the reader head-on, an indication of his importance - looks familiar. Take a closer look. Closer. Closer!

The wavy gray hair? The beard? I’m not the first person to note that Seneca looks an awful lot like Roger of Waltham. His final self-insert: literally making himself into his favorite philosopher.

Thanks to Julie Gardham, Senior Librarian at the University of Glasgow who introduced me to MS Hunter 231 and Roger of Waltham’s place in it.

[ribbonstrawberrysurprise]

The bonus pages from the last volume of Au Lait/Ole.

(Scans from @hikayagami​ )

Transcript under cut:

PAGE 1

Bonus Manga

Newly Drawn: I Love You Forever

Ayato:  Now... This is the real finale. Are you alright not telling Shibuya, Yoyogi...? About your LOVE, that is.

Shizuka: ...huh?

Ayato:  The whole reason you slipped up and got killed by that octopus is because you were shaken up by what "Shibuya" said, right?

“Aoi”: “I really... hate you!”

Ayato: It was just mimicry, but that's still proof you love Shibuya!

Shizuka: “Love”... I see. Along those same lines, back when it imitated you, I felt even more ready to fight, which means--

Ayato:  I'll pretend I didn't hear that.

PAGE 2

Ayato:  Regardless, you should tell Shibuya how you feel! This is the finale, after all!

Taichi:  Wha...what are you saying all of a sudden, Roppongi-san...?

Ryuusei:  It's the end, so he wants t' see somethin' interestin'.

Shizuka:  "Tell him how I feel",... huh?

Aoi:  Haaah. I'm beat. I'm back

Shizuka:  That's right. Back then, it definitely hurt to hear that.

“Aoi”: “I really hate you!”

Shizuka:  When I heard those words, there was something I wanted to say to him.

Aoi: ? What’s up, Yoyogi?

Shizuka:  Shibuya...

Aoi: Hm?

PAGE 3

Shizuka: Bastard. How dare this impertinent mouth say some nonsense like “I really hate you,” to me.

Aoi: Eh?

Shizuka:  You're not a pet dog, after all. You're just a pet cat biting my hand.

Aoi: Eh? Huh?!

Shizuka:  If you're rebelling against your master, it seems I still haven't conveyed my love to you.

PAGE 4

Shizuka:  I need to make you understand just how much there is.

Aoi:  W-wait, what are you saying...?  Walking up to me and-- Gyaaaaa!! Ayato:  Well, that's that... That's Yoyogi's "I love you"...

Taichi: Are you serious?! Was this just for your own amusement?!

Ryuusei: ‘n they lived happ’ly ever after.

Aoi:  Don't make this end with that as a punchline!!

The End

PAGE 5

Postscript

Thank you so much for reading the final volume of Tokyo Mew Mew Ole! Ole started out as a boy version of Tokyo Mew Mew, a work that's loved by so many people. Behind the scenes, as Shibuya and the others were fighting Chimera Anima, I was fighting to absolutely never draw anything that looked bad! *sweats* It felt like I was fighting an enormous pressure for two and a half years. (lol)

Now that the last part has finished, the story has successfully reached its conclusion! As I am writing this postscript, I keep switching among feeling a sense of accomplishment, happiness at having been able to immerse myself fully in the setting of my beloved Tokyo Mew Mew, and loneliness. (lol)

Tokyo Mew Mew was special for me. Back when it was being serialized, I was already obsessed with it. Even after becoming a manga artist, when my editor asked about my favorite manga, I talked passionately about Tokyo Mew Mew as much as I could. 

When I met the person in charge of Nakayoshi for the first time, as always, I talked about my love for Tokyo Mew Mew, but to think I'd get the chance to be involved with my beloved Tokyo Mew Mew after that...!

"I might be able to change the future," is one theme of Ole.

The thought is that continuing to say "I love you" gave rise to this future, and I really do believe that's true 😊

PAGE 6

Thank you so much for making the wonderful work called Tokyo Mew Mew, Mia Ikumi-sensei.

Again, to all of the readers who supported me as I spent a dream-like time these 8 volumes...

thank you so much for the amazing time!

-Madoka Seiduki 😊

[ADDRESS TO SEND LETTERS]  

I was in charge of Tokyo Mew Mew, and now, 20 years later, a boy version was created. I'm extremely grateful to Madoka Seiduki-sensei for creating this wonderful work with such beautiful art and monologues that touch your heart. Also, to the readers who have read until the end, thank you very much.

-Masato Sekiya

[localplaguenurse]

I SEE YOU AS A LOCAL DOTTOLONE EXPERT, SO I MUST ASK YOU A FEW QUESTIONS i have dottolone brainrot and want to start writing fics for them. send help!! 1) What do you think Dottore smells like? and his demeanour? this is what I've got for him so far: "Il Dottore was a man of many specificalities. Sterile lab rooms, the scent of rubbing alcohol – from hours spent scrubbing blood from pale skin – and pressed white coats, starched and blinding. And despite this clean and composed exterior, something dark and ugly writhed underneath his skin, clawing its way to the surface at a moment’s notice whenever he stepped into the testing rooms." 2) What relationship dynamic do you think Dottore and Pantalone have? these were my thoughts - pls i dont even know - : "He had always felt terribly out of place. Misunderstood. Psychotic – Pantalone’s words, not his. Too great and too mighty for this world to contain. But somehow, amidst this flurry of thought, the Regrator had managed to temper his nature.

He was docile. More humane. If that was even possible." I hope you enjoyed my crumbs </3 SINCERELY, a romance writer who hasn't written dark dark romance in a long time shshsjsjsj

Local Plague Nurse? No no no, Local Dottolone Expert. Anyways~

1. That’s actually spot on for how I imagine Dottore smelling. I think I mentioned it in that one cologne ask I got from Ivy that both Dottore and Pantalone smell clean but in different ways. Pantalone smells well groomed, he smells of exotic soaps and expensive colognes. Dottore smells sterile, basically how you’ve described with that strong rubbing alcohol smell. I think how I described it was that Dottore smells like he’s cleaned up a crime scene but Pantalone smells like he’s covering one up.

2. I like many different flavours of Dottolone because Dottore’s eccentric nature and the different takes on Pantalone (because we barely know anything Hoyo) leaves a lot of creative liberty. There’s not exactly a right or wrong way to look at it. I enjoy like the trash gremlin/respected noble dynamic, or I guess like Jessica and Roger Rabbit (from the movie not the book). You have this ethereal beautiful figure and then there’s their goofy ass husband and they love each other very much. I think Pantalone finds Dottore’s antics very amusing (“he makes me laugh”) or at least until he’s the one funding the dumb shit he might be doing. Divorced and remarried is also funny especially if they’ve never been married to each other.

Your take is also a flavour I enjoy where Dottore is only soft when it comes to Pantalone, and Pantalone is only like fake sweet until he catches feelings and starts letting himself be vulnerable. Honestly anything can fit them.

I really enjoy @/nabakisan’s Dottolone art, because it’s both cute and their dynamics are so goofy and fun, but there’s also some depth to it depending on whichever comic you’re looking at. They also sometimes use screenshots from the game to explain their thought process/headcanons. Really, my best advice is look through some Dottolone artists/writers and see what dynamic calls to you the most.

I wish you all the best!

[ecargmura]

Pokemon Horizons Episode 10 Review: Avant-Garde!

This is the best episode of Pokemon Horizons by far! The writing choices were good. The mystery behind the Black Rayquaza is good. The way Nemona and Brassius are introduced and handled is good too.

How was Nemona handled? Great! She’s already showing off her love for battling by challenging kids to battles. Her enthusiasm is as consistent as it was in the game. What I liked was that her status as a Champion-Rank Trainer is still present. Liko is from Paldea so she knows the ins and outs of Paldean culture and society; she’s the one who realized who Nemona was and I liked that detail. Nemona got the respect she needed! Since the Rising Volt Tacklers already have all three Paldean starters, her partner Pokemon is Pawmo in the anime, which makes sense because she has one in the game, which fits canon. Her voice actress is Eri Kitamura, who has participated in the previous Pokemon anime as Roxie and is also Bea in Pokemon Masters and Twilight Wings. Her non-Pokemon roles include Sayaka Miki from Puella Magi Madoka Magica and Anri Terieri from Blue Lock. Her voice suits her so well! Great choice for casting!

How was Brassius handled? Amazing! The anime did well on portraying him as both an artist and a Gym Leader. Brassius as an artist was handled well. The anime did amazing on showing off the many sculptures he produced; the tea set is adorable and I want one. The writers also did well on portraying him as an passionate artist. As a writer, I understand the ups and downs of slumps. I’ve gotten them several times in the past too; creative blocks are the worst feeling ever because even if you want to get motivated, a force keeps holding you back. He was also integral in helping Roy learn a bit about the Black Rayquaza and in turn, Roy helped him out of his slump by complimenting his art.

Brassius as a Gym Leader was handled well! He was definitely a challenge for Roy who is still a novice Trainer and Terastal was shown in this episode, which I didn’t even expect it would! Props to the anime staff for the surprise reveal! The battle was EXCELLENT! The Gym Leader theme used and then the way the music syncs as Brassisus terastalizes his Sudowoodo was perfection. I could spazz over this segment for hours. Immaculate animation. Perfect synchronization. I do like how Fuecoco learned a new move, which is a step forward into Roy’s development. The fact that Roy lost to Brassius is a good choice. It would be improbable if Roy had won.

The way Nemona and Brassius were handled gives me hope for other Paldean Gym Leaders and trainers to show up. I can’t wait to see the day the other Gym Leaders show up and for the day the other important characters appear too. The casting for Brassius was handled well! He’s voiced by Kazuya Nakai who has also voiced a character in the previous Pokemon anime; he voiced Nando in the DP saga. I find this amusing because Nando has a Sunflora and Sunfloras are Brassius’s muse in a way.

The mystery of the black Rayquaza increases as Brassius revealed that he has seen it in the nearby forest. That’s the group’s only clue to finding it. I love the buildup and the suspense. It makes me anticipate what’s to come next episode.

I think the most interesting aspect about this episode is the fact that Roy and Liko are traveling around Artazon without adult supervision. Friede and the others take a step back as they are resting in the airship. I like that, honestly. It shows that they trust the kids well enough to not hover over them 24/7 and that their goal is something they have to achieve, so they can’t hold their hands all the time.

Overall, this episode was perfection in execution. The pacing was amazing as they managed to squeeze everything necessary into one episode without it feeling choppy or rushed. I also love so much of the game integration into the anime from Sunflora gathering to Brassius jumping off from the windmill. I hope that Horizons continues producing quality episodes like this. I can’t wait to see more!

[toonpunk-game]

Road to 2nd Edition

Hey everybody. It’s been a long time since I’ve posted something here—because, simply put, there was no more that needed saying. Toonpunk went out the door, it was a very modest success, I posted some lore updates, and then I turned my attention towards other things. I’ve kept myself very busy the last few years in many ways, including a slew of game design projects—some of which already saw publication, and some of which are so ludicrously expensive that a modest success just isn’t gonna pay for em. I didn’t want to go back to kickstarter, so making money for those is most of what I’ve been doing.

Since the debut of the original toonpunk I made a few little content modules for my own use, in line with my original vision for a product line. And, starting about a year ago, I had a pretty shocking realization: as much as I loved it when it came out, the me of 2022, doesn’t like the game I made in 2017. There were a lot of little things that I felt were lacking, or insubstantial, or not very funny, or maybe a little clumsy mechanically. Plus, its politics stank with the naivite of a 21-year-old liberal who hadn’t yet discovered the golden path to Marxism. So, I started work on a simple project: integrate a lot of the modules I’d made for my own amusement, get some more art, rewrite the flavor text, and release the package as Toonpunk 2nd Edition. 2npunk, if you will.

I’ll be keeping a dev diary here to let you all know how it’s coming along. To fill you in on the new stuff. I’ll be posting the whole finished product here one day, and here’s the first piece of news: it’s going to be absolutely free at point of purchase, with a pay-what-you-want option if you just really feel like you gotta gimme some money. Maybe pessimistically—I say realistically—I’ve just given up on the idea that this game is ever gonna make a dime. But I think it can keep a lot of people entertained, so that’s what I’m gonna angle towards. More on that after the break.

So on that note I’d like to talk about one of the smaller changes I made, that’s also turned out to be one of the more expensive and creatively satisfying ones. In the original Toonpunk book, there’s a list of example player characters near the back. These include statlines and gear recommendations for people who want to play specific kinds of characters. It was—to put it generously—done with the resources I had at the time, and it shows.

Look at that. Very humdrum. There’s a fair bit of information there but it all kinds of blends together and it doesn’t really grab the imagination. One of the first things I learned, selling this book store-to-store across America, is that—simply put—people like pictures. For whatever reason I didn’t realize how important illustrations are to making an idea seem tangible in the reader’s imagination. So I knew, going into this,  I wanted to splurge a little bit and make the player character templates really sparkle. I wanted each one to have more space, more items, and most importantly more style. So, without further ado, here are 5 of the 9 that are included in the full game.

Each one is dripping with style and character. With almost all of these — notable exceptions being the field boss and the big guy  — I basically just handed the archetype description and a few notes (needs to be carrying this kind of weapon, needs to have this kind of build) to the artist and told them go apeshit. That’s why there’s all these diverse and exciting styles on display here. The only overriding artistic decision I came down really hard about is that I wanted them all to be in monochrome. I like grayscale art, a whole helluva lot; I think it lets a line artist’s work really shine. Plus, you can color it in however you want.

I’ll be back later to talk about some of the changes to character progression —which now involves managing your character’s growing reputation, to get a bunch of special perks. If you like what you’ve seen so far...stay tooned!

[torturecave]

Just in case you still check here, I was wondering, the other day I was thinking about your art and how beautifully and canon (to me at least haha) you managed poppy and branch, especially poppy (like seriously I feel you get her as a character so much) as she's usually never despicted as amazing as you did at least for me, your art and content is legit sooooo GOOD,:) Anyway, my question actually was if you thought TWT and TBT carried on with the way you see these 2 as characters/their dynamic? I remember especially with TWT people thought they were a bit softer and stuff lol Also really curious if you liked the movies in general besides this, is the first one still your favorite? I have a very soft spot for it but I liked the rest too. Sorry for the long ramble, loved your new TBT related art a lot, you're my favorite jelly bean guys artist : D thanks for reading if you do and have a good day!!

It's very sweet you think so highly of my depiction of Poppy and Branch's relationship from so many years ago... While I'm quite sentimental about it, and I felt strongly when I made that art / those posts, it HAS been long enough that I feel as though I've developed so much as a person. I mourn not being more thoughtful...! Subsequently I've been kind of hesitant to use this blog too seriously, I'm posting on it in a capricious manner for now, so as to not think too hard about my old art and posts that embarrass me,,, >>;

With that self-consciousness out of the way... Wanna start by saying: I love World Tour and Band Together-!! I remember being agog in 2017 that we mysteriously had a sequel already confirmed with an exact date and everything. Really... I was perfectly in suspense for TWT and it lived up to it's hype, I was so excited until the day of release and it lived up to all expectations, expanded on the world so hugely aououuu!!! Amusingly enough I was more hesitant about TBT, just that wariness that... it's hard to ask for a series to make 2 good sequels. Also the trailer gave me the impression that it would be more of a "roadtrip with your annoying blowhard older brother"... worrying that JD was lying or creating a contrivance to get Brozone back or something along those lines. The movie itself though was great, again expanded on the world and showed me wonderful colors and textures and environments, yes thank you trolls... Beyond that I actually like the themes of both movies and agree with how they handle it. (Much like the 1st movie...!) So... really, a glowing review from me.

Though to get into Poppy and Branch's relationship progressing in each movie... It is an interesting journey really, I ah, used to tell myself I never wanted Poppy and Branch to be "more than" friends... Wanting to emphasize the beauty in friendship alone being intimate and capable of complexity. But well, times have changed, and, I'm normal-style married now, to the girl I would RP poppy and branch kissing with for 8 hrs back in 2017. So. I'll be real and say, I'm really basic now, and I like the trajectory of canon. The boyfriend-girlfriend-ification of pranch... the marriage tease... I stan.

Hmm... It's amusing if fans thought the dynamic was 'softened' in TWT, it's not exactly how I would describe it? I feel as though things have definitely been tempered from the first movie, because they've gotten to know each other, and the major hurdle of Branch's singing trauma was revealed. Part of why Branch was so prickly and resistant to Poppy was, being incompatible with the village's lifestyle, way of thinking, stuck being endlessly paranoid and set off... Once you remove that conflict, you can't really get their bickering to be on the same 'level' as in movie one... But they're still playful and teasing, for sure? You'll always have Branch's dry humor and Poppy's incessance, her exuberance. One of my favorite things is when she gets all, hehe I know branch like me ❤ (The poppy cutting the tether to the hot air balloon....)

Anyways, if anything I, find it extremely funny how unchill Branch is in TWT. He's all. Incel. .. .. . ? WHICH... is really funny for a troll to feel kfjhshdg... At the very least, pop troll village is so, mmm everyone love and hug each other, that — the fact that Branch can feel, friendzoned, is just so funny to me... He is struggling with wanting their relationship to be 'more'. Subsequently he spends a lot of the movie jealous and sad when she isn't listening to him...

(this is a brief aside that, I'm kinda obsessed with the opening number of TWT being a cover of Girl's Just Want To Have Fun. song about that fun-lovin' fun-havin' girl that you can't tie down really... What's up with that? The humor reaches full circle when you have Branch's verse having originally been this:

Some boys take a beautiful girl And hide her away from the rest of the world [...]

... while in his scary underground bunker with a million locks and industrial steel doors. OK...)

I mean, I always got the impression that Branch was uniquely infatuated with Poppy, despite all his, foosiness, as seen by his hoarding the invitations + his poetry that comes out while counseling Bridget... Which paints this picture of him being uncontrollably into Poppy but at odds with his own trigger, can't not act shitty. But mnghh [stares longingly at...] <- this is so funny... Anyways TWT basically confirms to me, that Branch has been pining for Poppy for a long time, since Branch is restless about their rship advancing. He's only just become her best friend but, wants more-!

Somehow this is the elegant segue for TBT to be about... Poppy finding out Branch was in a boyband she's always been obsessed with... So not only is she learning more about Branch, she's like. Obliquely thirsty about, over, him, like screaming and pulling her hair and shaking around dancing on her feets. I SUPPOSE it balances things, if you create a reality where now Poppy is infatuated with Branch, and has been for years... .. ... It makes Branch's incel phase even funnier... (Though, now he's thinking about marriage-! ! When will you be satisfied branchie...)

My wife (@fearbunker) — who, for lore purposes, is the person I was frequently collabing/talking to on this blog, making posts and AUs together. My best friend back then... — she's joked that World Tour is about Branch being obsessed with Poppy, while Band Together is about Poppy being obsessed with Branch. This is the simplest way to put it.

At this point Poppy and Branch feel like a slow burn that's taken many many years to culminate... Allured by one another, but kept apart by circumstance... eh, it's too much for me actually, I can't handle this romance...

Personally I don't feel much character integrity lost per movie, I am pleased for what is introduced and explored... I think Poppy and Branch deal with a reasonable amount of interpersonal conflict, with Branch struggling to be open and honest (naturally a defensive, easily defeatist sort...) while Poppy's enthusiasm and tendency to rush into things causes issues. I like it though... we never really berate Poppy for being hopeful, optimistic, which I like best. She's capable of being perceptive in her own way, ahh I mean I love the little moments in TBT where she's really... taking Branch's hands and looking into his eyes, offering counseling. Such a good girlfriend.. and you feel like we've come a long way to get here.

As for where I rank the first movie... Deep down it feels impossible to pick an absolute favorite, because they all have their strengths. 9.9 My wife just described it as 'painfully sincere' and I have to agree. There's a quality in the first movie the sequels lack, and perhaps they can't really be expected to recapture; there's more quiet lulls, really chewing the scenery with these two. Since it's about them bonding, you get a lot of time where it's just the two of them, and I love that... There's many exchanges I like, find profound still. I'll always die over the True Colors scene......!! ;; >< ////

So I feel the same as you, there's always a special place in my heart for the first movie...

Thanks for this lovely ask though, it was fun to reply to. I hope this is satisfactory as an answer... ^^

[adventuretolkienlover]

CHICKEN TROUBLE! 🐔🐓🐤

(An Alchemy Bros Fic)

Introduction: First off, I'd like to tag a couple of the Alchemy Bros fans that inspired my to write this. @whitecatindisguise and @brushes-of-sage! Your fics with this concept are masterpieces to me and you're both awesome! You don't have to read this fic, but I'd just like to say thanks for the inspiration. The amount of emotion you put into your own fics brought me to tears and inspired me greatly. My fic is a bit goofy compared to those, but soon I hope to write more deep emotional pieces like you have. That would be amazing. And I'd also like to tag a couple of friends in here too! @disneyfanatic1993 @blueberrycrystalowo and @sbartdump! You don't have to check it out of you don't want to, but it's here if you do. And last but not least, the fic is based on an art piece by one of my favorite artists Cinn-a-mum! I love her art! I keep saying that, but I really do. It's this piece here! And the title is courtesy of my brother. Who is great with titles! So, without further ado, the fic! By me!

Summary: During his first farming lesson, Hugo finds himself in a scary situation with one of Old Corona's grumpiest chickens!

Trigger Warnings: NONE! This is a silly fluffy fun fanfic. Nothing even remotely scary! Unless you count grumpy chickens as scary, like Hugo.🤣

Hugo was a city slicker. No two ways about it. He didn't know the first thing about farm work. But unfortunately for him, he'd just been adopted into a farmer's family. With a huge farm. With lots of farm work to be done. And lots of chickens. Chicken as far as the eye could see. Just wandering around in a great big pen. Hugo had never seen so many chickens. At least not alive. And today was the day he was going to be feeding said chickens. He'd have to walk across the pen, pour feed into the feeder, and walk back. No big deal, right?

He hoped so anyway as him and his brother Varian walked toward the chicken coops. Hugo could hears the hens flapping and screeching like banshees. He looked out over the madness. He felt a twinge of fear. "Var?" he asked. "Yeah?" said Varian. "Can a chicken kill you?" asked Hugo. Varian looked at him quizzically. He wasn't going to lie. He was slightly amused by the question. "No? I mean a whole flock maybe. But one chicken? Nah." Varian plopped down a bag of feed on the ground and turned to Hugo. "Okay, a few things to know about chickens. They're mean. Cows are fine, sheep are nice, but chickens can be the jerks of the barn yard. And their talons and breaks are SHARP. So try not to aggravate them. When feeding them, do the job quickly and with skill. If that bag breaks and your standing to middle of it, well... You're in trouble. So just make sure you get across and back again and you'll do fine" Hugo wasn't sure if Varian's advice made him feel better or worse. He picked up the bag and walked up to the gate. He looked over his shoulder at Varian. Varian grinned and gave him a thumbs up. Hugo gave him a forced smile and then opened the gate. The mere movement of the gate opening sent a few hens fluttering into the air. Hugo flinched but kept going. He started across the pen, trying to ignore the pecking and flapping all around him. He tried to look calm but internally, he was screaming. "Just keep your eyes on the target. You're not afraid of any chickens! For goodness sake you eat them all the time. Just think of them as your prey." A rooster let out a loud squawk! Hugo jumped slightly and began to wonder if it was the other way around. He could have sworn he saw killers instinct in those beady little eyes of theirs. Finally he made it to the feeder. He tore the seam on the bag and poured in the feed. Suddenly the chicken came running at him! Hugo skittered out of the way as the chickens flocked to their breakfast. Hugo gave a sigh of relief, as now they were too wrapped up in eating to notice him. And now the pen was mostly clear to walk through, so no more flapping and pecking his legs. Mission accomplished! He was just about to walk back to the gate when he heard a loud "BUK BUKAW!" at his feet! He let out a yelp and looked down at his feet in shock. There was red feathered hen staring right at his face. It looked like it was staring into his soul. Hugo tried to walk around her, but she matched every move. Hugo began to panic. "What now?!" he thought. He decide to try acting more confident. Maybe she could smell fear. He stood tall and kept his voice unwavering and stern. "I don't fear you bird!" he proclaimed. The hen stared at him, unmoving. Hugo felt a hint of pride. He'd done it! He'd conquered his fear. He took a step. "BUKAW!" "AHH!!!" he screamed as the hen fluttered toward him! Hugo ran around her and made a dash for the gate. "I FEAR YOU! I FEAR YOU!" Suddenly he heard the sound of pattering feet. The hen was CHASING HIM! He ran out the gate and shut it! But the hen flew over and clawed at him in mid air. Luckily Hugo was too quick for her and he ran away letting out a scream that was much too feminine sounding for a boy his age!

Varian, who was turning the soil in a pumpkin field, heard to the chaos and looked over his shoulder. He was just in time to see a terrified screaming Hugo being chased into town by a very mad and loud chicken! "Hugo!" Varian shouted! He dropped his graden hoe and ran after him! Meanwhile, Hugo was dodging pedestrians and carts as he ran through Old Corona's streets! "What did I do to deserve this fate?!" he thought! "Okay, so maybe I have done some shady stuff BUT I SAID I WAS SORRY!" Hugo realized that the chicken was gaining on him! He vaulted over a pile of apple crates and pushed through a group of customers. The chicken fluttered over the crates and into a man's face! She knocked him off his feet before continuing to chase Hugo! He ran past Quirin talking with some of the other farmers! "HEEEELP!" he shouted! Quirin looked at him in shock! "Hugo?!" said Quirin! Varian came running up to his father panting. "Hugo needs help!" he said breathlessly. "No kidding!" said one of the other farmers! "Come on Varian!" said Quirin and they rushed off to help the boy.

Hugo ran into town square and clambered up a tree! The chicken ran around the trunk squawking and flapping while trying to get to Hugo! Hugo was scared. No, more than scared! He was terrified! No, more than that! "What's a bigger word then terrified?!" he thought! "SQUAWK!" Hugo yelped again and clung to his tree branch with all his might. Some of the passerbys had stopped to watch the show and we're laughing hysterically! Hugo didn't see what was so funny. What's funny about being murdered by a chicken?! Just when he was trying to remember if chickens have a taste for human flesh, Varian and Quirin pushed through the crowd to come to his rescue. "Don't worry Hugo! We're coming!" called up Varian! "Don't worry?!" shouted Hugo! "I'm in a tree! With the Bird of Death below me!" Quirin grabbed the chicken and restrained her. "You can come down now Hugo. I've got her." he shouted. Hugo wasn't so sure. But he didn't want to stay in the tree, so he slowly made his way down. He could hear the town folk gossiping already. "We should have expected that from a city boy." one whispered. "How ironic. A chicken running from a chicken!" said a man. "Did you hear him screaming? He sounded like my sister that time she got a bug caught in her hair!" another laughed. The crowd began to disappear. Their laughter faded as well. Hugo sighed and sat down on the wall surrounding the tree. " I guess I messed up pretty bad. Huh?" "It's okay Hugo. It was your first time." Varian said gently. "Of course." agreed Quirin. Quirin handed the now calm hen to Varian and sat down next to Hugo. "Maybe you didn't do perfect, but you were brave enough to try. And that's what counts." said Quirin. Hugo looked up at him and flashed small smile. "Really?" he asked. "Definitely." answered Quirin. He put his arm around Hugo and continued. "Farming takes practice. I wasn't great when I first started. You must remember that I was once a knight. I hadn't done farming before either. I learned how to farm from the other farmers here. When I first tried feeding those chickens, I made the mistake of forgetting to shut the gate afterwards." Hugo's eye's widened. "You did?" he said. "Yes." chuckled Quirin. "The next time I went outside, the whole farm was covered in chickens! I took hours to catch them all." Hugo laughed. "Wow. That's crazy!" he said. "And I once got stuck in an apple tree after the ladder fell!" chimed in Varian. "I had to wait for hours until my dad realized that I was missing!" By now all of them were laughing and talking about their funniest farming fails. Hugo was feeling much better. When things finally quieted down, Quirin took the hen back from Varian and turned to Hugo. "Now that she's relaxed, would you like to try making friends with Abigail here?" he asked. "Abigail?" thought Hugo. "I guess that's a fitting name for a chicken." Hugo reached out his hand cautiously and stroked the hen's head with his index finger. The chicken clucked contently. Hugo felt his shoulders relax and he let out a deep breath. "She's not so bad now I guess." he said as he stroked her soft back feathers. "Yeah, she just needed to get used to you." said Varian. "Well, we'd best be getting back boys." said Quirin. They began walking back to the farm. Hugo looked at his father and brother and felt better than he had in years. Maybe this farm life would be better than he thought.

The End.

-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_

Notes: So, in this fic, I wanted to capture the seer terror of a man who has literally never touched a chicken before. I hope I succeeded! I have seen so many videos of people going to pet chickens and then getting a taste of unbridled chicken rath! LOL! I don't think chickens are scary in general. It just that there are some mean ones out there! And I thought that this would definitely be a scenario for poor Hugo. That boy is NOT a farmer. 🤣 I hope you all liked this fic! It's my first one so there may be some mistakes. But overall, I think it's pretty good. I'll hopefully be writing more stuff like this so stay tuned! God bless and bye for now!