For today: 2 things I received; some assorted sentences of a thing I’m writing(???); and hello I❤️u tags.
But before all that very very happy slightly early (but not early to you) birthday wishes & lots of squeezy lemon hugs for @martsonmars ! You’re a joy & a delight & so ridiculously smart and capable; you deserve one million birthday cookies.
first:
I love poetry, and I love art and handmade art. Lucky lucky me: @penpanoply let me commission a combination of the two and handlettered some of my favorite poems in the world that I can hang around my house! Links to her original tumblr posts below.
Don’t Hesitate, by Mary Oliver
The second two photos are by @penpanoply and I love them.
Here’s the second poem, now in my living room. i carry your heart with me (i carry it in) by ee cummings.
Again, second two pictures are @penpanoply . Why yes, those are handpainted leaves on that mat. They match my living room and they’re gold and shiny in places and I love them so much.
I have a hard time expressing to you what a delight she is, so take my word for it, she’s a lovely artist & a lovely person & generally a surprise double rainbow of a human being. I’m so happy to have these pieces of art in my house!
second:
Let’s do six sentences that I wrote this week and make them redacted just for fun! This might change and I can’t take full credit for it, but that’s all I’m gonna say about them:
[REDACTED] eyebrows look like they’re going to fly off her head, and everyone seems to have lost the ability to keep their mouths closed and to form words. I take advantage of everyone’s shock to maintain my momentum. I charge across the room to Baz, shoving as much [REDACTED FOOD] as I can fit in my mouth. “PITCH!” I bellow, spraying half-chewed [REDACTED FOOD] onto his uniform. “ENOUGH IS ENOUGH!” And then, because I’ve gotten no reaction other than vague disinterest, I punch him with the [REDACTED FOOD] for good measure and knock us both to the floor.
third:
Thank you for the tags over the last several weeks ever since whenever I did this last; I read every one of them, they help me keep track of what day it is (not an exaggeration), and I love love love to see them. I’m tired today, you know? So this is me wishing you good sleep or at least sweet dreams (and if you aren’t on the list, forgive me, I need to 😴):
I always knew I wanted to draw this as a split screen moment — each of their bodies creating the parentheses with their respective bedrooms bleeding into each other — but it was my talented friend @penpanoply who had the idea of hand-lettering the quotations from Alex & Henry’s emails into the bedsheets between them. So she did! Be sure to click to view the close up of her perfect handlettering and the gorgeous sheet patterns she created!
“He rolls onto his side and listens, trails the back of his hand across the pillow next to him and imagines Henry lying opposite in his own bed, two parentheses enclosing 3,700 miles.” - Red, White, & Royal Blue by Casey McQuiston
It’s always a pleasure to collaborate with you, Jeska. Thank you again for your hand in this picture. I love it so much. ❤️💙
I had the pleasure of writing a Librarian AU for @penpanoply for our server’s Secret Snowflake Exchange! I hope you enjoy my take on this :)
Lessons on Love and the Dewey Decimal System
Summary: Baz mistakes Simon for the new hire at the Watford library and torments him when he realizes Simon knows nothing about how a library works. You’d think this would scare Simon off, but it certainly doesn’t.
Word Count: 5636
The new hire is late.
I’ve been putting off shelving books for an hour now, just waiting like a bloody idiot at the front desk. I can’t even get into reading my book because I have to be ready for someone to burst in at any moment, surely full of apologies.
That’s why I’m surprised when the new hire walks in, slow and confused looking. He approaches the desk, not even bothering to blubber out an apology. I stand up, extending my hand, and he shakes it rather weakly. Weak handshake, weak man, is what my father would have said.
“I’m Basil. You’re late. Let’s go.” I step out from behind the desk and start walking, hoping he gets the message.
Happy Birthday to my dear, incredibly brave, resilient, disturbingly positive, breathtakingly talented friend and purveyor of phenomenal hugs @penpanoply
Here’s a lil ficlet I wrote, inspired by your love of peanut sauce. I hope you don’t hate it <3 <3
Life is a Bowl of Peanut Sauce
Word Count: 1025
Read on AO3
Baz
“Hey babe.” Simon calls from the kitchen as I walk in the door.
The counter is a war zone of ingredients, as it tends to be when Snow cooks. I pause a moment to survey the damage. Hm. Not the usual dusting of flour and scone ingredients. This time it’s an exotic blend of lime husks, ginger knobs, garlic peels, bottle of tamari and—I do a double take—a jar of peanut butter. “What the hell are you doing, Snow?” That came out a little sharper than intended, but I’m knackered. Work was a beating and the Thai place was running even more laboriously behind than usual. “I told you I was getting takeaway.” I drop the bag on the island with an insulted thud.
“I know,” He sing-songs, pressing the button on the blender with a flourish. “I love that place,” he shouts over the whine of the machine. Merlin, I hate that infernal device. Its repulsively loud presence is an insult to the quiet sanctity of my home. The closest I ever came to breaking up with Simon was during his smoothie phase. (I would never actually break up with Simon.) (I did consider throwing the vile machine out the window though.) Thank Circe he decided he’d rather eat his meals than drink them.
If I was an emotionally mature adult, I would share with Simon how much I hate the fucking blender. I’m not, so instead I school my features and seethe in a pit of roiling fury until it cuts off. Simon, selfishly oblivious to my turmoil, has his back to me, bopping his head to whatever insipid nineties pop song is rattling around in there. What spell can I use to blow up the blender that won’t harm him?
Snow shuts the monstrosity off, restoring peace and order to the universe. I can breathe again. Everything is right with the world. I notice Simon must have gotten his hair cut today. I resist the urge to run my hands through the freshly shorn back and sides. It’s like velvet in this state, I usually start at his neck then work my way up into the curls. Simon’s bronze locks are always deliciously silky after my stylist has her way with them.
Simon takes the lid off of the blender and smiles down at his concoction. I sidle next to him to have a look, taking the opportunity to gratuitously rub his head. “What the fuck is that, Snow?” I recoil in horror. “It looks like baby shit.”
“Now, now Baz, that’s no way to talk about my culinary masterpiece,” Snow knocks my shoulder with his. “Anyway, what do you know about baby shit?”
“I have four significantly younger siblings. I have experienced more than my share of baby shit.”
“Oh, come off it, you posh git. You had nannies and staff.” Simon counters.
“They worked part-time. Daphne believed in hands-on parenting,” I shudder, “Which apparently translates to – make Baz deal with the kids while I work or engage in self-care.” I have nightmares of those summers. If I ever have to see another episode of Caillou or Thomas the Tank Engine, I may actually commit infanticide. “
Simon turns and slides his arms around me. “The horrors you’ve had to endure, my love,” He pulls me into an all-enveloping and vaguely condescending hug. “You are truly an inspiration to us all.”
“Fuck off,” I say halfheartedly, running my fingers through his curls for emphasis. “What is that vile sludge? It smells of peanuts and despair.”
“You’re half right,” Simon says, disentangling himself from me and dipping his finger into the carafe. The finger emerges covered in what looks like a terribly embarrassing bodily secretion and he proceeds to lasciviously lick it off.
“If you are trying to seduce me by licking that slop off of your finger, you are sorely misguided,” I say, leaning away. And that’s saying something, because normally, even Simon putting on deodorant is seductive.
“Come on, Baz, where’s your sense of adventure?” Simon grins at me and takes another swipe at the vile goop, sucking on his finger again.
“It stops at food that looks like gastrointestinal distress, Snow.”
Snow rolls his eyes and bumps my hip with his. “It’s peanut sauce, you coward. That place never gives us enough, so I thought I’d make my own.”
“Disgusting,” I reply, taking the bag of food to the table. “I never touch that stuff.”
I pop the staples on the package and start parceling out containers. “Anyway, I’m allergic to peanuts.”
“What?” Simon has poured the sauce into a soup bowl and dropped it at his spot. Sliding his chair back, “Do vampires have allergies?” His face is twisted adorably.
“Yeah, that garlic thing is a myth. It’s peanuts that can kill us.” I say absently, tossing him a box of spring rolls.
“Well, fuck this then,” Simon gets up with his bowl of muck and heads for the sink.
Shit. I scramble to grab Snow before he divests himself of his beloved sauce, “I’m just kidding, you knob. I’m not allergic to peanuts.”
“Ah-ha!” Snow smiles, managing to wrap an arm around me while holding his bowl, “I got you, you dramatic twat. Now you have to try this.”
“Absolutely not.”
Simon kisses my cheek before releasing me. “You don’t know what you’re missing, Baz. This is what heaven tastes like.”
“It’s a good thing my road goes straight to hell then.”
Simon hums, “I’ll just have to bring my peanut sauce when I follow you there.” He takes a spring roll and submerges it in sauce, swirling it around to ensure full, horrid coverage.
“Good thing I love you despite your culinary atrocities, Snow.”
Simon swallows the dripping mess in two disturbingly erotic bites. “Good thing I love you despite your shockingly mundane taste in foreign cuisine.”
He eyes me up and down, like I’m a particularly delicious snack. “Now hurry up and eat. I’ve thought up some other uses for this peanut sauce.” He narrows his eyes and gives me his best filthy grin.
Please welcome artist Jeska/@penpanoply to the Golden Days zine! Here is a preview of her elegant piece.
Jeska is a mum, an artist, and a student—but would rather wear labels like curious, compassionate, and quirky. She collects way too many things, likes lists in sets of three, and if you get her going she will never. stop. talking. She wants to be a librarian when she grows up. If she ever grows up.
Just got these BEAUTIFUL art pieces in the mail! (I may have screamed at work when I got the email about it) @vkelleyart and @penpanoply, you are angels for doing this for the fandom.
I tried to get good photos that included Penpanoply's GORGEOUS calligraphy (I wanna keep the envelope as well).
Bless you both! You are amazing, wonderful, talented people and the fandom is so lucky to have you! 💜💜💜
