Not much, I bought a IPL-System because I want to become absolutely HAIR FREE!
Not much, I bought a IPL-System because I want to become absolutely HAIR FREE!
I haven’t posted anything on here for two years. Im bored and in quarantine, lets get this baby back.
A little fluffy something, that I may continue. Very random, and spontaneous, but truly fun, because I hadn’t written anything CotIG-related in quite a while.
Tycho Brahe, that young moron, brought a whole lot of his gatherings to the north boathouse. One of Twain’s pipes, a brush belonging to Hallward, and Schubert’s favourite waffle iron. It was dark enough, one of the rare cloudy nights on the Nameless Isles, and nobody was about in the grounds. Or so he thought.
Laura Glue was sitting in a potting shed, leisurely brushing her wings, and doing her best not to think of that young McGee. They were going to marry, of course, but tonight she was cross with him. The reason for her crossness was of little importance. In fact, she had forgotten about it by now, but she was a Lost Boy, and thus loyal to her feelings of anger.
Fred was with her. The young Caretaker was always good company—quiet and jovial, and he didn’t smell too bad when he was dry. Fred was not dry at this time, as they had spent a fairly jolly time on the northern beach, only to be caught by surprise by a sudden wave. The impertinence had startled Fred and he was still rubbing his fur eagerly with a large towel.
But let us return to Tycho Brahe, still on his way to the north boathouse. Tycho was not a skilled thief. He took things, then put them away, always in the same spot. At this point, everyone living at Tamerlane knew where. But to Tycho, the Art of Stealing was a thing of passion, of spirit, with little concern of technical skill, and even fewer aspirations of actual success. As a matter of fact, he did not mind at all to steal the very same thing once or twice a week.
“Well, good evening,” said Tycho, as he opened the door to the sight of a young woman and a small badger. “I didn’t expect to find you here.”
The Valkyrie didn’t look up from her work, but Fred nodded at him.
“Well, I’m off in a moment,” continued Brahe, “I’m in no mood to run into Hawthorne.”
This startled Laura Glue. “Hawthorne?” she repeated. She, too, was not in the mood of running into him. “Is Hawthorne nearby?”
“Not yet,” said the thief. “But he may be at any given time. A swift glance at my empty portrait may be enough to raise the nastiest suspicions in him.”
“Well, one can’t blame him,” said Fred apologetically. “I would be on the lookout, too, were I in his position.”
Tycho shrugged, but Laura Glue scoffed. “Are you aware,” she asked, “that he may just as well be on the lookout for us?”
“Certainly not for me,” said Fred. “I am a full Caretaker, and therefore I can go where I want.”
“But I am not, and he specifically told me not to go here. Dang Longbeard,” she added with a scowl. It was unfair, she thought, that a fully grown (well, more or less, as the Wishing Well still had its effects on her and she did not like to think of herself as a dang Longbeard) Valkyrie should be ordered about by a Caretaker Emeritus, just because she was not an official inhabitant of Tamerlane House—or any of the Nameless Isles, for that matter.
“He only said so because of the tides,” said Fred. “They are so moody here, and we all know that you have never been really good with Water.”
That was true. Laura Glue was an Air person through and through, although her temperament spoke Fire. But Laura Glue was not one to admit weakness, and even more, she always suspected a secret behind a prohibition. Something was hidden in the north boathouse, and it had not been put there by Tycho Brahe.
“Now, Scowler Brahe,” said Fred, “I suggest you quickly return to your portrait, or the lib'ry, or whatever place you prefer, before Scowler Hawthorne begins t’ suspect anything.”
“And if he asks for us,” said Laura Glue, “you tell him that I accompany Fred on a secret mission Poe’s sent us on.”
“An awesome idea,” agreed Fred.
“And if Edmund asks…tell him it’s a really important mission that he’s far too stupid for,” she added resolutely. Then, she mused for a while, and said meekly: “No, you better don’t, I think. Just say we won’t need a Cartographer for this business.”
“I’m not going to tell him anything,” said Tycho. “Or Hawthorne, for that matter. I will stay here. I’ve got a waffle iron, and a pipe, and a brush, and I want to enjoy them.”
“A waffle iron?” asked Fred. “Do you have…waffle ingredients?”
“But I have!” said the small badger cheerfully and took a striped thermos bottle out of his bag. “Perfect waffle dough, well…pancake, actually, with blueberries, made by my grandpa, you know him, don’t you? Mr B. Tummeler, esq. of Paralon! He published the pock-”
“Yes, I know, I know. I know who he is,” said Tycho. “But why do you keep waffle…or pancake…whatever mix in your bag?”
“I don’t! It’s in my thermos. For emergencies, in case we get lost in a storm or a different dimension or”—he shivered—“in Cambridge.”
This made perfect sense, and even Laura Glue’s spirits were lifted by the prospect of blueberry-pancake-waffles. Especially if the dough was made by Mr B. Tummeler, esq. of Paralon, whose very own cookbook has been on place one—non-stop!—of the Imaginary Best-Selling List for over a decade, and was still on a featured shelf in the Great Whatsit.
“Do you have tea as well, Fred?” asked Laura Glue.
“No,” the small mammal said sadly.
“But I do,” came a soft voice from the door. It was Rose Dyson, a glorious sight in the dimly lit boathouse: clad in the tweedy manner of the girls of the Summer Country (and its heart, Oxford), which so beautifully suited her copper hair and amber skin, and holding a large wicker-basket. “I have tea, and candy sugar, and fresh strawberries, and little collection of stories the Doctors Carroll and Baum were so kind to write for me.”
The little group was delighted, and Fred, though it was much too big for him, took the basket from Rose’s arms and prepared small dishes for his friends and himself. Thankfully, the thermos filled with tea had a rusty tartan pattern, and the risk of mixing it up with his own was comparably small.
Six of Crows 80’s AU:
It’s prom night, Cyndi Lauper’s Time after Time is playing, someone punches Kaz’ sunglasses off his face. Pure drama. I love it.
Sometimes you just gotta draw ATEEZ in Wonderland 💖
lookie!!! i finally drew my ocs digitally! my babies
worn pages refecting a yellow haze, lazy flicker of candlelight— the only movement on this dark night, caught in the blurry edges of tired eyes.
Me: *looks at my boyfriend*
Me: Yes. This one sparks joy. It can stay :)
the only thing I’m good at is falling asleep 5 minutes after drinking coffee but staying awake whole night because of a song I heard like once a couple of years ago
so i’ve been pretty inactive lately and i apologize, school has just gotten super busy but next week i have a week off so i’ll be able to catch up on everything i’m behind on. my productivity definitely dropped for a while but i’ve picked it back up and am even on day 8 of the Chloe Ting 2 week Shred Challenge :D.
“slow progress is still progress”
Why cant I get haxxer man black and green on mobile
What kind of bs is this
I literally feel so bad because I just never answer my dm’s bar one specific person from irl who never messages me anymore on this site so if you’ve messaged me before, I’ve seen it , I just got distracted or intimidated/confused and never sent anything back. Unless it’s a message asking me to rb a help post, then I do something but even then I dont really respond , sooo sorry about that guys
kendall jenner - tryna be cool
dua lipa - her fucking era!
Idk about her color palette but I’m trying. It might change.
Anyway… meet Mercy mayday, the undead queen.
Edit; I might also change the design