#whalebone arch
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A new experiment - whalebone arch. These things lived in my mind for quite some time
#epoxy resin art#whalebone#whalebone arch#whaling#miniature#wood carving#resin#craft#pendant#jewelry#moss#carved miniature#my art
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Whalebone Arch
Monument in Stanley, Falkland Islands (Islas Malvinas)
Whalebone Arch, situated in front of Christ Church Cathedral. Constructed in 1933 from the jawbones of two blue whales, it commemorates a century of continuous British administration in the Falklands—plus, the soaring arch offers perspective on the size of these marine giants. But don’t stop at the arch: Step inside the cathedral to learn about the history of Christianity in this remote settlement. The southernmost Anglican cathedral in the world, Christ Church was built in the 1890s from regional stone on the former site of Holy Trinity Church, which was ruined by the devastating peat slip (a type of landslide) that destroyed part of Stanley in 1886. The locals are proud of this building—it decorates the reverse side of Falkland pound notes.
Arch created in 1933 from two whale jawbones to commemorate 100 years of British administration.
Review of Whalebone Arch | Stanley, Falkland Islands (Islas Malvinas) - AFAR
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more allaegon prompts, because i'm insatiable
❛ i would let you rip me apart if it meant loving you. ❜ & ❛ worship me. until i tell you to stop. ❜
laskjdhflkjasdf thank you for loving them with such ferocity 🥺
and thank you for turning this into something worthy of sharing (and the banner)
RATING: M (fade to black sexual themes)
Allana's fingers trembled, struggling to undo the tightly knotted laces that held the bust of her dress in place. Though she tried to slow it, her breath came in sharp pants, her ribs expanding and contracting painfully beneath the whalebone that bit at her sides. Her exhale was shaky, exasperated, and she fisted her hands in frustration.
Aegon stepped forward, as if the shadows themselves melted around him, parting for him, his voice low with desire as he watched her struggle. "Here, let me take care of that."
His fingertips were rough against the silk as he effortlessly untangled the knot, letting the strings dangle as he met her gaze. She was overwhelmed by his closeness, by the way the candlelight danced over his soft features, the faintest hint of honeyed wine on his breath enticing her, her knees threatening to give out. His touch was surprisingly delicate as he traced his knuckles along her cheek, placing a lingering kiss to the corner of her lips. As he trailed from her mouth to her neck, a soft sigh escaped her, and her eyes drifted shut. She tangled a shaky hand in his hair, anchoring herself in the moment.
"I suppose I'm a bit nervous," she whispered, her voice trembling slightly, and for once she did not resent the nerves that bubbled to the surface. His breath was hot as it danced across her shoulder, his lips leaving tingles in their wake.
“We don’t have to do anything you aren’t ready for.” He kissed her again, long and deep, catching her bottom lip between his teeth and pulling softly, his teeth gently worrying at her flesh. “I’m happy just to kiss you until your ladies send a search party.”
With a laugh, Allana melted into his touch, her body responding with a sense of ease, the nerves dissipating like smoke through a sieve. She couldn't resist playfully tugging at his silver locks, pulling him to meet her gaze.
He was a sight to behold. To Allana, he was the most beautiful man in the realm. Though the dark circles gave him years beyond his own, his lilac eyes still held a mischievous glint, a reminder of the boy he once was.
"Am I mistaken, or is Aegon Targaryen attempting to portray himself as a chaste gentleman?" She pretended to swoon, placing her hand over her heart in mock disbelief. His own hands gripped her hip and pulled her against him, so close that she could feel the unmistakable hardness of his length against her thigh.
“You said yourself, the maids talk.” He twisted a scarlet curl between his fingers, his nose playfully bumping against hers. Then, his tone serious, he whispered, “I don’t want to ruin you.”
“I would let you rip me apart if it meant loving you,” Allana said, catching his gaze in earnest, brushing the tip of her nose against his. “In truth, you ruined me for anyone else a long time ago.”
Aegon kissed her then, their mouths colliding with little finesse in a passionate tangle of tongues and teeth, and he effortlessly guided her backward toward the bed. He pressed her against the soft sheets, his arms creating a protective cage around her head, and he kissed her again. She felt like she was floating, lightning dancing across her skin as if to chase after his touch before settling in her core. She whimpered, her lips pressed to his, and arched her hips to meet him.
Without breaking their kiss, Aegon gently pulled at her skirts, exposing her soft, creamy thighs, and laid his body against hers. With a determined pull, he unraveled the laces of her bodice, freeing her from her corset and revealing the delicate fabric of her chemise hiding the supple skin beneath. Hooking a leg over his hip, he pressed himself against her, his hands gliding over her body, squeezing gently as he went. His mouth was hot and wet, sucking bruises into the skin of her collarbone, trailing down, down, and stopping at the swell of her breast.
He looked up at her, pupils blown black with lust. “Tell me what you would have me do, Allana.” Closing the distance between them without waiting for an answer, he pressed his lips to hers once more, his hand reaching up to brush her hair from her forehead as he gazed down at her.
“Worship me,” she whispered, barely able to speak around the emotion and the magnitude of the moment, her heart fluttering, a bird trapped beneath her ribs. “Until I tell you to stop.”
The grin that pulled at his face was feral. “Gladly.”
taglist: @acrossthesestars, @dragonsbone, @emilykaldwen, @arrthurpendragon, @lightblindingme
other: @ocappreciation, @fyeahhotdocs
#house of the dragon#house of the dragon fic#hotd fic#aegon ii targaryen#oc allana tyrell x aegon ii targaryen#allana tyrell#allaegon#fyeahhotdocs#ocappreciation#aegon ii targaryen x oc#aegon ii targaryen x ofc#aegon ii targaryen x oc allana tyrell#aegon targaryen#aegon targaryen x oc#aegon targaryen x ofc#aegon ii#aegon ii x oc#aegon ii x ofc#my writing#mare writes
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don’t cry whalebones have been utilised to create elaborate triumphal arches, as gateposts, fencing, boundary markers, cattle-rubbing posts, scrubbing boards, front door steps, bridge balustrades, gravestones, tethering posts for animals, a framework for simple dwellings, foundations for buildings, umbrella stands, chandeliers, railway sleepers, and inn signs; also as seats, stools and benches. They have been displayed inside and outside town halls, castles, houses and churches, in inns, parks, gardens and zoos. some far inland, hundreds of kilometres from the sea. ok?
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The Protolith: Chapter 2
Charlotte's Present
***
Five families, five names, five crests ruled the Empire. Deep in the Cathedral d’Leone was a hallway which housed each crest. Charlotte leaned on the opposite wall, hands buried in the folds of her skirt. The wall held each crest in an arched alcove taller than most generals and nearly as wide as her arms outstretched.
In the first was a white albatross with its wings outstretched and emerging from cerulean water, and next a scarlet, reptilian monster with four necks and four heads. In the center was a black lion, standing on its back feet, with a roaring mouth and claws extending. Beside the lion was a green serpent which curled around a gleaming stave. The final alcove was empty; the white brick wall, stained from years of oil fueled sconces left a pale, diamond-shaped shadow where a family crest once sat.
Charlotte frowned. This was the oldest wing of the cathedral and thus lacked gas-powered lighting. The shadows lengthened here, making the dark lion appear as though he was lying in wait of something – of what?
“The dance floor misses you,” a voice called down the hallway. Charlotte looked to her left to see Marc walking toward her. He was in his ornamental uniform, pleated black slacks, silk gloves, and a vest and forest green jacket over a white shirt. The left breast of his suit jacket was complete with numerous, gold and mother-of-pearl pins, indicating his war-time recognitions. At his side hung a dulled sword in a black, leather hilt. Four stripes on his lapel indicated he was a general. A single pin stood out, a silver one in the shape of the Albatross crest.
“It’s unrequited,” Charlotte replied. She crossed her arms. Though it was spring, her dress was sleeveless, held tightly against her sternum with whalebone and steel. Gloves maintained her modesty, chartreuse to match her dress and long enough to cover her elbow.
Marc leaned on the wall beside her. Above them were buttressed, arched windows. One was cracked open and allowed the cool, springtime breeze into the hall.
“How are my favorite newlyweds?” he asked. He shot a smile her way. His navy suit complemented his golden hair and bright complexion. He held a flute of pink wine in one hand and sipped it sparingly.
The social season had begun on the Spring Equinox, and Charlotte had arrived at the Premiere Ball with her husband, Nathaniel Wright. They’d just returned to the Empire’s capital city, Lorenzia, from his family’s estate for tonight was the third largest event of the season, behind the Debutante and the Finale Ball. The Emperor’s cathedral sat at the highest point of the city. After making the several hour journey back to the city, Charlotte found herself right back in the horse-drawn carriage beside her husband.
On the ride up to the cathedral, Charlotte took her husband’s hand. Despite years of etiquette training, Charlotte had never been to a ball as formal as this – and this was one of the more laid back events of the season. Her mind fluttered back to afternoons spent at a weathered, yet elaborately decorated table, where her aunt would slap the back of her hand with a switch she’d collected from a willow every time her posture shirked.
Nathaniel squeezed her hand. Charlotte looked over at him. He was smiling at her, and he had an easy smile. It rested beneath his calm, blue eyes and stylishly curled, black hair. He had this way of communicating wordlessly to her which she found comforting, whether squeezing her hand or placing his on the small of her back. But something about that comfort made her uneasy. It sat heavy at the bottom of her stomach.
She looked away. “I’m all nerves,” she told him.
He placed another hand atop hers, which wrinkled the vest of his navy tuxedo. He had an eye for the latest fashions and knew how to pick the colors that suited his pale, soon to be tan, skin and rich blue eyes. When he’d eventually stand, the vents on either side of the jacket fanned outward to reveal a hidden, elaborate pattern. Thus, Nathaniel was the one to suggest black gloves rather than white, gold jewelry rather than silver, and the black star stamped at the top of Charlotte’s cheekbone, rather than the heart she’d selected herself.
“I’ve been to dozens of these. It’s all pomp. You’ve nothing to worry about,” he assured her. Nathaniel’s family belonged to one of the lower houses, newer money but money nonetheless. The Wrights had been allied with Marc’s family for decades now, but Nathaniel’s marriage to Charlotte brought new prestige to his name. The last heir to her family name, empty coffers, and virtually no grace with the Empress, Charlotte knew this party would be different from the others, despite Nathaniel’s optimism.
“We are simply… loving married life,” Charlotte breathed. She was lost in her thoughts. Her fingers toyed absent-mindedly with her engagement ring, silver with two yellow diamonds stacked one above the other. The ring always felt loose when she wore gloves, and it would rotate about her finger and clumsily hit her wedding band.
In truth, Charlotte was just happy to be back in Lorenzia, married or not.
“I think the true sign of a happy marriage is how often you hide from one another,” Marc replied.
Eager to change the subject, Charlotte asked “How’s Edith?”
Marc has arrived at the party alone. After creating quite the controversy bringing not one but two consorts to Charlotte’s wedding, he played it safe tonight. The unmarried and pious general who certainly followed his vow of celibacy – with a smile like his? Few would believe it.
“She’s quite excited to see you.” Marc sighed and after a moment said, “They took your crest down two years ago. The same night as the Debutante Ball. I thought it was petty, but her majesty is mercurial.”
“I’m sure I’ll meet her soon,” said she.
“Thankfully, she is indisposed tonight,” Marc replied.
Charlotte frowned. If anything, her most important task this evening was to make even the smallest good impression upon the Empress Mother, Beauvoir Eaton-d’Leone. Based on the imposing presence of magistrates and private guards, she assumed the Empress would at least make an appearance at her own party.
Marc interrupted her thoughts. “Do you see the crests below?” he asked. Below the five alcoves were several wooden dowels from which hung the crests of the lower houses.
“It’s meant to correspond with each of the house alliances,” he explained. “But most people pay it no mind these days. Back in the day, these could draw quite the stir. Wives would sneak away at their husbands bidding and move their crest to insult former allies. Even better, sometimes you’d move someone else’s and see what chaos ensued.” Marc chuckled. “I used to sneak around the hallways as a child and rearrange all of them.”
“Ever start any wars?” she asked. Ill-fitting jewelry was her calling card that night. A brass and onyx bracelet hung from her wrist; even affixed to its tightest setting, the bracelet fell toward her elbow when she took Marc’s wine.
“No, well, not like that.” Marc looked down toward her. “I can bring you a drink, if you’d prefer.”
“In a minute,” Charlotte replied. “How’s the conflict … in the Southeast Kingdoms?”
Marc’s eyes softened. “You can just ask how he is.”
Charlotte opened her mouth, almost replied, and shut her mouth once more. She forced her lips into a tight smile before saying, “Nevermind. It was a silly question anyway. I’d love to get a drink.”
***
Read the rest of the chapter here!
#writeblr#chapter 2#gaslamp fantasy#fantasy#dark fantasy#current wip#writing#women of color#excerpt#creative writing#protolith#protolith chapters#nonlinear
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On Corsets
Costumers are not uncritical of the history of corsets, but costumers are used to fighting back against a lot of misinormation on corsets. These days to get into the costume industry you need at least a HND on the subject which includes two years of intensive historical clothing history. Most will require you to model a costume so you understand the fitting process, how heavy certain things are and exactly what you are asking an actor to wear.
I don’t know who invented the corset, it has a long evolutionary history going back hundreds of years and its hard to pinpoint its exact origins. Many corset innovators were women, and some (including some of the more stupid variations) were created by men.
A properly fitted corset from appropriate eras is non-restrictive and comfortable. Modern replications are slightly less so as steel has a bit less flexibility than the traditional whalebone and reed. To compensate for this we often use less boning on replications intended to be worn, or in some cases use plastic instead. (in a tudor corset that can have well over a hundred boning channels, plastic is all thats needed and provides sufficient support). Corsets are designed to guide body fat up and down, creating a larger bust and larger hips. It doesnt “pull in” in quite the way some people think, and standard practise is to have a two inch gap at the back for comfort so the boning doesnt press on the spine.
There Are exceptions.
The S-bend corset of the early 1900s encouraged an ‘arched back’ posture. It was shortlived for a reason, painful to wear and causing back problems.
In the 1800s there was a period of ‘tight lacing.’ This became possible in the middle of the century due to the introduction of new steel eyelets, but was popularised by Empress Elisabeth of Austria and reached its height in the 1890s shortly before, and following her assassination. Its worth noting that Empress Elisabeth was not a well woman. She experienced extreme depression, was a seemingly reluctant political figure - often sperated from her children - and appears to have suffered from very severe eating disorders. This trend faded quickly but yes was extreme and damaging for those that engaged in it.
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It was so easy to believe you freely chose the paints, polishes, and waist-trainers of your own time, while looking back with tremendous pity to women of the past in their whalebones; that you took the longest strides your body was capable of, while women of the past limped forward on broken arches.
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Bikepacking the Hebridean Way - Part 6 - The Butt of Lewis
Read: Part 5
Full of breakfast and in bright sunshine we set off...into the wind. It was *really* windy. Really headwindy. Any other day you'd think "This is ridiculous, I'm going in the opposite direction" and then go in the opposite direction. However we were following the Hebridean Way and again under this invisible pressure to get to the Butt of Lewis and back down to Stornoway before the low pressure system moves in bringing rain. Wind too but maybe not as much. I have to admit I was a bit exhausted by this point and not really looking forward to riding into the wind but I was looking forward to visiting some of the sights along the top of Lewis. We'd not really taken much time to explore on previous days because we were continuing to move forwards and that's ok. This was, after all, a route we were following. But by this point it sort of dawned on me that we'd been rushing from place to place since arriving in Upper Tyndrum almost a week ago. We'd had the ferry to catch, the route to follow, the weather to beat... As I mentioned the plan was to have a chilled day in Tarbert although we rushed off again. It was my idea to do so. But I wished now we'd stayed for a little longer. Anyway, we could visit Tarbert again after Stornoway where we'd get the ferry to Skye.
The things I wanted to see along the coast was the Gearrannan Blackhouse Village, the Norse Kiln and Mill, the Whalebone Arch, and the Blackhouse in Arnol.
The first stop was the Blackhouse Village which was really interesting. One thing I really wanted to experience on the islands was the smell of a peat fire and the one in one of the houses here smelled amazing. Like incense! Peat isn't a good thing to burn for most of us because it damages the areas in which peat is important but there, in that small fire, it seemed right.
This black house was set up as it was in the 1950s. The dresser with photographs, mirror, and hairbrushes etc was really poignant. They were displayed with reverence; special items in a home without much.
We also visited the Norse Kiln and Mill at Shawbost and I felt very much at home there. I could imagine working there, using the kiln to dry barley and then milling it next door.
But the road was still waiting for us and we had to press on. We also stopped at the Whalebone Arch which made me feel quite sad for the whale which had been harpooned and then died on the beach at Lewis. We also stopped at the Arnol Blackhouse but, while it's open all year round, that day it was closed. "I'm cancelling my Historic Scotland membership!" said one disgruntled visitor. I settled down in the lee of the house and had some oatcakes and then a short nap on the grass.
Soon we were riding past the turn-off to Stornoway, which we'd be returning down the next day. If I'd known what was ahead of me that day would I have just gone straight to Stornoway? Maybe. Likely. But then I think if I had I would have regretted it later on.
The next section of road had been described to us as "like the surface of the moon". In fact it was just wide open peat fields, as far as the eye can see. Not a single bit of shelter higher than 10cm from the ground. The whistling wind battering you straight in the face. Exhausting. Noisy. Unrelenting. During parts of that ride the tears streamed around the sides of my face and ran into my ears. It was an unrelenting and brutal wind. Some people call bad weather "treacherous" but this wasn't. It was impassive. As oblivious to a cyclist on a gravel bike than a granite boulder. The wind just was...and there was a lot of it. My lip screamed in icy pain as I tried to shelter it from the wind with my other lip. Every inch was an effort and no respite could be found downhill either. The only punctuation to the wind and the endless turning of pedals was the odd motor vehicle that whizzed by causing the most brief moment of calm and then the wind slammed into your face again.
Eventually we stopped at Borve at a grocery store and bought provisions for that night. We had thought that there wasn't much around but it turned out that there were a few places to get food. I wandered around the store like a zombie. Looping around and around the aisles trying to make sense of the food there and buy something substantial for the evening. I forgot what I bought but I did buy some more vaseline for my lip.
Wind. More wind. The landscape more and more desolate as we passed a sign for Galson. "Hang on, I've seen a sign for Galson about 4 times already!" I thought. I wondered if I was just confused or travelling slower than walking pace. Both, I think.
The wind was a wall I was riding into. Occasionally a cyclist would pass me, flying by with a smile on their face seeming to look at me thinking "You're making a bit of a deal of this...it's easy!". I shouted into the wind...my voice was empty...I couldn't hear anything above the noise in my ears. Noise that I'd had for days. Wind.
Eventually we arrived in the Ness area, only a few KM from the Butt of Lewis and the end of the Hebridean Way. The others stopped at a pub and I pulled in after them. I got off my bike and I was cooked. Absolutely. They persuaded me to stay for a drink so I got my phone out of my top tube bag and then immediately dropped it on the ground, smashing the screen. So that was my Garmin, a front light, and now my phone.
At that point I cracked. I had a meltdown. All of the previous days riding into the wind, the heat, my sore lip, my smashed phone, my broken Garmin, I cracked. I wailed something about wanting to go home. In my mind the thing that was stopping that happening was finishing the ride so I got on my bike, shoved my phone back in my bag, and rode as hard as possible to the Butt of Lewis. I shouted into the wind as I rode. Arriving in the shadow of the lighthouse I saw the final Hebridean Way sign and I just touched it, took a blurred photo, and turned around. The wind was howling around me and there was no shelter. I was desperate to get out of the wind. Desperate.
Later when we were camped up I apologised to the others for being a dick. I'd just cracked. It'd just been too much probably. It was a fight when I needed something different. But it was also finished. I was finished too.
The next day we went back to the Butt of Lewis to have our "official" end to the ride. I'm not very good with heights and it was pretty scary being so high on the cliffs although I felt a lot better by that point. Besides, we'd cycled into the wind all week now and finally we were turning around!
Although so was the wind.
During the night the wind veered again so what was a northerly had now become a south-easterly...and that was our direction next!
Read: Part 7 Coming Soon!
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Stanley, Falkland Islands: Stanley is the capital of the Falkland Islands (Islas Malvinas), a remote South Atlantic archipelago. The Historic Dockyard Museum has galleries devoted to maritime exploration, natural history, the 1982 Falklands War and Antarctic heritage. By the waterfront, a whalebone arch stands near the entrance of Christ Church Cathedral, which was built in the late 1800s. Magellanic penguins gather at nearby Gypsy Cove. Wikipedia
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Whalebone Arch
A new excess when it comes to “microfic” word count (so sorry, @drarrymicrofic 😂). Prompt was Road Trip, and this is probably an M for mildly suggestive discussions. It's also on AO3.
Harry was doing fine up until he took a right onto Gillygate, but then the traffic thinned and road signs started to flicker past too fast, and in the seat beside him Draco was already leaning against the window with his eyes closed, and Harry nearly missed the next turn while sneaking a look at the clean curve of Draco’s Adam’s apple.
Neither of them had slept much the night before—the room in the B&B was a bit small and hot, especially when Harry had Draco spread sweating across the economical double bed—and breakfast had been tense, when the nice woman at the next table had asked Draco if his boyfriend would like some tea, and Draco had blushed and said, “He’s not… we’re not…”
Though he was, Harry thought resentfully, and they were, not that anyone could have imagined anything else from looking at them; Draco with an unhealed bruise under his jawline, and Harry pulling his chair out for him, and the two of them with eyes only for each other.
“Why do you have to do that?” Harry had asked quietly, but Draco had kept his eyes on his plate of anaemic bacon and floppy-looking scrambled egg, so instead of talking, Harry read the back of the mini Cornflakes box furiously, and refilled his own tiny orange juice glass three times, just out of spite.
Harry felt better once they were on the road, with the radio on low and the great grey opening sky ahead of them, but his eyes were scratchy and he missed their exit on the first big roundabout, and while they went round again Draco laughed infuriatingly without even opening his eyes, so Harry turned the music up and sang along all the way to Pickering.
When they pulled into the petrol station, Draco’s eyes lit up at the sight of the Costa Coffee sign, and he looked pink and refreshed like he always did after a good nap. Harry was still itchy with tiredness, and he slammed the door a bit too hard when they got out of the car.
“These tyres are a bit soft,” Draco said, kicking one, and Harry said meanly, “Two months ago you didn’t even know what tyres were,” which was true, but Draco turned and walked off into the services without him, and left him to browse the sandwich selection by himself, which he knew Harry hated.
He had four different sandwiches in his hands when Draco finally came back and hooked his chin over Harry’s shoulder. He smelled of smoke and peppermint and lemony public toilet soap.
“Have you lost the plot entirely?” he enquired, and efficiently plucked the two worst sandwiches from Harry and put them back on the shelf. “What kind of monster puts coleslaw in a sandwich?”
The smell of coffee was rich and warm in the air.
“Are you still not talking to me?” Draco steered Harry towards the crisps. “Do I have to suck you off in the loo to cheer you up?”
Harry laughed despite himself, which was so obviously what Draco had wanted that he felt a bit annoyed all over again, and he started to say, “This place…”
It’s not very sexy, was what he was thinking, but he looked at Draco, smiling his sweet crooked smile, with an armful of Monster Munch, wearing Harry’s black jeans, and he knew he didn’t care where they were.
“When we get there,” Draco said, “we’re going to park the car and we’re going straight to the 199 Steps. And when we’ve climbed them, we’re going to look out at the sea and you’re going to remember why we decided to do this in the first place. And then I’m getting a Mr Whippy from the van.”
“You’re talking as if you know the place,” Harry said, balancing the coffee cups so Draco wouldn’t be able to see whatever awful thing his face was doing. “You’ve only read about it on Tripadvisor.”
Draco shrugged and headed towards the tills.
“I remember why we’re doing this,” Harry called after him, and though he didn’t say it’s because I love you, it was all there in the low growl of the coffee machine, and the hum of not-so-distant traffic, and the anticipation of the whip of a sea wind.
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We then drove up the west coast of Lewis, pausing briefly in the village of Bragar for a look at their whalebone arch. It’s about 20 feet high, formed from the jawbones of an 82-foot-long blue that was found floating in a nearby bay in 1920, and decorated with the harpoon that killed it.
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whalebone cathedral arch
overhead, mammoth skull, jawbones
two great tusks suspended
do you think dragons ever swam
plunged
soared through the cerulean sky-mirror,
the great embracer
of dust and driftwood
krill and killer whales?
blubber fire wells, simmers, low
in my belly at the reflection,
my face framed on formaldehyde-hugged
squid, fat head bleached
by chemical eternity
sand dollars were once the currency
of distance,
the ocean-token of travel and adventure
delicate aliens from far-off shores
now I learn they are tests, the inside-out
husks of creatures that
clean the ocean floor
embracing the murk, devouring gloom
star-shields trundling through frontiers unknown
27 March || Ocean Hall
#my poetry#my writing#we return once more to the art of half-assed poetry thrown into the void at midnight
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(Perfect artwork for Modern Love, by @cambiodipolvere)
Today is the day of one of my favorite people! And I totally resent @tackytigerfic and Starry for almost sharing the same birthday, god the STRESS 😂 Tacky is my first and closest fandom friend. We clicked together so fast and easy that sometimes it feels like I’ve known her all my life, like we’re two dog moms living in the same neighborhood who happen to read fic in their free time. Despite our conflicting time zones and crazy schedules we manage to chat every other day, tagging and sending each other all kinds of stuff, coming together to cry scream about a brilliant fic we’ve just read or shaking our heads in embarrassment at every other unnecessary bullshit post. Tacky’s bright and wise energy uplifts my spirit even on my moody days, and makes me grateful for her friendship and for this fandom life. Okay so this got long and I had to put the rest under the cut:
It’s such a lovely and precious thing, to have someone with whom you can share every single thought that crosses your mind, your scariest, most embarrassing, petty or disturbing idea, without fear of being shamed or judged by it. I trust Tacky with all my heart to hear me out, share a joke or a piece of advice, even on the (rare) occasions when we don’t get the same perspective - that doesn’t happen often when it comes to Drarry, as we are taste twins!
Tacky my darling, you’re such a good person, and such an incredible friend. Thank you for introducing me to this lovely community, for being my safe haven and your unique self, with so many qualities I admire and feel inspired by: kind, witty, earnest, wise, and so very human. I love your humour and empathy, and your chill yet no-nonsense personality; I love your talent and how articulated you are; I love your passion for Drarry, and how you let this emotion inform the way you navigate the fandom and create for it. And god, but you’ve been creating some of the most beautiful content I’ve seen in these recent years! I’m permanently in awe of your ability to write Drarry in any shape, format or length, transforming even the most ordinary moment into an extraordinary and meaningful piece of character or relationship development. You know how you mentioned yesterday that some authors change the way you feel about a ship in a deep, definitive way? Well, you are that author for me. Your works made me fall in love with M-rated contemplative romance, and also allowed me to fall in love with Harry in a way I never thought it was possible before.
Some people - myself included - got to know you through the fun and intriguing A Lick and a Promise, others through the atmospheric and sensitive Modern Love, others through your contemplative and heartbreaking short form. Each story has its merits and purpose, and all of them share a Tacky trademark: the heartkick factor! Your talent has no limits and goes across different genres and tropes, that you explore with a bold twist full of personality and heart. And even more impressive is your consistency at always raising the bar - every new fic of yours becomes an instant fave and makes me think “wow I thought Tacky couldn’t get better yet here we are”. Seeing how your writing evolves as you find your narrative voice is a beautiful and humbling experience, I feel so lucky!
I’m really grateful for being active in the fandom at this moment in time, because that allows me to read and engage with your brilliant work, and to have you as a dear friend. I can’t wait to see what comes out of your beautiful brain next. It was an impossible job choosing a single fic to rec today, so I decided to do a belated Tacky reclist! Naturally these are my personal and biased must-reads, and I urge everyone to go check these beauties right now. Feel free to include your own favorites too, and don’t forget to leave them some appreciation.
Happy happy birthday my darling Tacky! This fandom life wouldn’t be the same without you. I hope you have the amazing day you deserve!
Between the Power Lines (2020, M, 3.2k)
The road trip fic you didn’t know you needed. I got utterly immersed in the heartbreaking quietness of this, feeling like a witness to an ordinary yet poignant love story. Such tender intimacy, such character development, such lovely American aesthetics with barely any dialogue. This is, IMO, the fic that reveals Tacky’s triumph in storytelling.
Even the Night (2020, M, 3.4k)
This fic has a surreal atmosphere, those Midsummer vibes unbelievably sexy and intoxicating linked to the sensorial experience of fumbling together in the night. Masterclass in tension building, a silky and languid dream-like affair.
Aim for my Heart (2021, M, 3.4k) - Harry/Draco/Ron
One of the most sensitive and stunning portraits I’ve ever seen of a poly/triad relationship, this fic packs so much character and longing! It’s a privilege to watch Ron and Draco’s tentative dynamics through the smitten eyes of the one person that loves them like no one else: Harry.
The Long Fall (2021, M, 3.6k)
I can’t even write about this tender domesticity without getting a lump in my throat. Best opening scene I’ve read in years, and a refreshing way to approach both mpreg and parenthood, painfully honest and lovely. This became an immediate comfort read for me, and it’s probably one of the fics I revisit the most.
Mortal Frame (2021, M, 6.6k)
This thrilling, fast-paced spy story left me breathless since the first paragraph, gods what an immersive ride! I’m so here for Drarry on the run, sharp and urgent with danger but mellowed by the silent trust and tender intimacy only Tacky can master. Major bonus points for the brilliant take on the Horcrux hunt plot line!
Last Offices (2020, M, 6.7k)
Oh, this fic 💔 I tend to avoid MCD but there’s something so deeply fascinating about body washing rituals that I caught myself mesmerized by this. I just couldn’t put it down, so emotionally compromised I felt. There’s a sort of strange comfort in the heartbreak of doing one last act of service out of devotion to someone. This fic inspired so many difficult but lovely feelings in me, and one of them was hope. Only Tacky could possibly achieve that!
Our Little Life (2020, M, 7.2k)
Inventive and singular, this story hit me straight on the solar plexus and left me speechless as I saw the (clever, magical and bittersweet) plot unravel. Such a fabulous take on alternate universes and all the angst potential behind it. Come and bask in the yearning melancholia of a short yet intricate and perfectly executed plot.
And One to Play (2019, E, 21k)
What a fun and delightful fic, I can’t have enough of pining Harry losing all sense of propriety when faced with a hot, competent and pragmatic Draco. This has fab dynamics, unhinged protectiveness, even more unhinged attraction between two idiots who can’t keep their hands off each other. A must-read for any Auror partners fan!
A Lick and a Promise (2019, E, 55k)
Hot, BAMF Professors carefully balancing a fuck buddies situation while solving a Hogwarts mystery, do we need anything else? I certainly do not. This fic is so fun and intriguing and immersive, with amazing supportive cast and a delicious get together feat secret shagging and oblivious pining. Love it!
Modern Love (2020, E, 61k)
My favorite read of 2020, this fic is a love letter to Drarry and will always hold a piece of my soul. Sensitive, wistful, tenderly aching and so very romantic, this is a Muggle Draco triumph with a superb Harry, exquisite slow burn and a side of suds comfort. I promise it will be impossible to listen to Bowie again without thinking of this love story.
Bonus: five stunning drabbles!
Something in the Way (2021, T, 119 words)
“Up,” he said, and Draco, sick with love, raised his arms above his head and allowed Potter to slide the jumper on him, big hands stroking it flat over Draco’s stomach until they both shivered.
Stir-Up Sunday (2020, M, 300 words)
“I want you always,” he said, tugging again on the fine curling length of it. “Is it okay to say that?”
Whalebone Arch (2021, M, 722 words)
“Are you still not talking to me?” Draco steered Harry towards the crisps. “Do I have to suck you off in the loo to cheer you up?”
Semiplume (2021, T, 923 words)
“Did you know,” Harry murmured, and he put his arms around Draco, fearless. “I’d be your mate. If you needed a mate, I mean.”
Relic Radiation (2021, M, 927 words)
“You’ll kill me,” Harry said, and Draco turned his face towards the darkened sky, lunar pale, his profile some stupid unearthly thing—a flaring blazar, a supernova—in the light from the kitchen window.
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/slides back into the FR tag a year late, smelling like salt and fish/
Guess who finally found more inspiration to work on more fake apparel ideas? :D The site has, unfortunately, not added any useful, practical marine apparel since my last art post. So! It’s up to me to sketch more, obviously. They’ll have to get the message eventually right? ...... Right?
The designs above are described as follows (left to right, top to bottom):
Dead eel's regalia. Apparel like this could contain sharpened fish bones and rope, tied together to form an intimidating mask and adornments. To complete the deep-sea wyrm look, some moray eel companions could slink and slither around the dragon's form.
Seaspray explorer's set. Apparel like this could include nautical navigation tools, such as compasses, sextants, telescopes, watches, and maps carried on the dragon. Bundles of rough sailing fabric could be hoisted on the wings, clothes, and face. Sea-worn leather and rope could form various belts and straps on the clothing. Finally, a seabird companion tags along for the ride (drawn here as a skua, though a petrel or albatross works too).
Pearl-catcher's collection. Apparel like this could contain various strings and hanging ornaments made of pearls and twine. The sizes could range from those of natural oysters, to really big oysters, to that's-definitely-just-a-PC's-pearl. Also included could be some flowy sashes or fabric for that authentic oracle look.
Reef-hide coral. Apparel like this could include arching coral colonies growing from the dragon's body, forming a self-contained reef ecosystem. A branching crown, mantle, limb + hip covers, and wing pieces could complete the set. The type of coral could vary, but I used the site's 'dragonhorn' & 'staghorn' corals.
Kelp forest keepers. Apparel like this could include large swaths of sea weed or kelp, trailing along the dragon's body and wings. This style could suit not only those within the saltwater kelp forests, but also eerie kelpies or riverfolk emerging from the freshwaters. Also included in the set could be some playful otter companions!
Wavebreak followers. Apparel like this could include........well, some friendly dolphin companions tagging along with your dragon through the sea! (This would have been the set for both the cetacean companions AND whalebone scrimshaw apparel, buuut the artist got lazy. So. That'll get done... eventually.)
#flight rising#flight rising art#fr art#personal#my art#boosts and feedback are appreciated! lemme know what you think :>#or if you have other ideas for me to draw! i'll add em to the thread list#(also if you know what a sextant actually looks like don't say anything please.)#(i tried my best.)#fake content
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