Fitzy Sketches To Start Off My Tawny Man Journey \o/

Fitz and The Fool

Through The Window Fondly Looking, 1882 Gabriel Schachinger

My Fool…

François-Alfred Delobbe 

Adult Bee Farseer and her dads. She has that 3-in-1 Father Special. Commission from the lovely @risoria 😍

"In that last dance of chances

When I know you'll not be mine

I will let you go with longing

And the hope that you'll be fine."

/The latest pictures I drew while reading. It's hard for me to describe how mentally devastated I was. Yes, I'm not opposed to taking a break to read rw chronicles. The last picture is an attempt to figure out how Beloved looks in darker colors(brown as an appleseed🥺)

/And now, something else. In the translation to my native language, the poem sounded a little different and I decided to translate it back literally. This is the first version I read, and damn it, the dance of hope? There's no hope here. I really like this version, but damn it, how I cried.

The last dance is a dance of hope,

Fleeting, like a dream and smoke.

I will leave the hall, unable to watch,

How easily you spin with someone else.

The last dance is a dance of hope...

The weight of farewell is heavy.

May the other one, to whom you’ll go,

Return your wings.

The last dance is a dance of hope...

I’ll let you go without a word.

May the one who will take my place,

Give you love.

The last dance is a dance of hope...

The thread fades, breaks.

To know each other - and lose everything,

And live... and not live... not live.

Others island from the beginning of Ship of Magic . 𝒪𝓃 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝑜𝓉𝒽𝑒𝓇 𝓈𝒾𝒹𝑒 𝑜𝒻 𝒪𝓉𝒽𝑒𝓇𝓈 𝐼𝓈𝓁𝒶𝓃𝒹, 𝒽𝒾𝓈 𝓉𝓌𝑜-𝓂𝒶𝓈𝓉𝑒𝒹 𝓈𝒽𝒾𝓅 𝓌𝒶𝓈 𝒶𝓃𝒸𝒽𝑜𝓇𝑒𝒹 𝒾𝓃 𝒟𝑒𝒸𝑒𝓅𝓉𝒾𝑜𝓃 𝒞𝑜𝓋𝑒. 𝐻𝑒 𝒽𝒶𝒹 𝒷𝓇𝑜𝓊𝑔𝒽𝓉 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝑀𝒶𝓇𝒾𝑒𝓉𝓉𝒶 𝒾𝓃 𝓉𝑜 𝒶𝓃𝒸𝒽𝑜𝓇 𝓉𝒽𝑒𝓇𝑒 𝒶𝓈 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝓂𝑜𝓇𝓃𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝓌𝒾𝓃𝒹𝓈 𝒽𝒶𝒹 𝒷𝓁𝑜𝓌𝓃 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝓁𝒶𝓈𝓉 𝑜𝒻 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝓈𝓉𝑜𝓇𝓂 𝒸𝓁𝑒𝒶𝓃 𝑜𝒻 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝓈𝓀𝓎. 𝒯𝒽𝑒 𝓉𝒾𝒹𝑒 𝒽𝒶𝒹 𝓈𝓉𝒾𝓁𝓁 𝒷𝑒𝑒𝓃 𝓇𝒾𝓈𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝓉𝒽𝑒𝓃, 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝒻𝒶𝓃𝑔𝑒𝒹 𝓇𝑜𝒸𝓀𝓈 𝑜𝒻 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝓃𝑜𝓉𝑜𝓇𝒾𝑜𝓊𝓈 𝒸𝑜𝓋𝑒 𝑔𝓇𝓊𝒹𝑔𝒾𝓃𝑔𝓁𝓎 𝓇𝑒𝒸𝑒𝒹𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝒷𝑒𝓃𝑒𝒶𝓉𝒽 𝒻𝓇𝑜𝓉𝒽𝓎 𝑔𝓇𝑒𝑒𝓃 𝓁𝒶𝒸𝑒.

𝒯𝒽𝑒 𝓈𝒽𝒾𝓅'𝓈 𝑔𝒾𝑔 𝒽𝒶𝒹 𝓈𝒸𝓇𝒶𝓅𝑒𝒹 𝑜𝓋𝑒𝓇 𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝒷𝑒𝓉𝓌𝑒𝑒𝓃 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝒷𝒶𝓇𝓃𝒶𝒸𝓁𝑒𝒹 𝓇𝑜𝒸𝓀𝓈 𝓉𝑜 𝓅𝓊𝓉 𝒽𝒾𝓂 𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝒢𝒶𝓃𝓀𝒾𝓈 𝒶𝓈𝒽𝑜𝓇𝑒 𝑜𝓃 𝒶 𝓉𝒾𝓃𝓎 𝒸𝓇𝑒𝓈𝒸𝑒𝓃𝓉 𝑜𝒻 𝒷𝓁𝒶𝒸𝓀 𝓈𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝒷𝑒𝒶𝒸𝒽 𝓉𝒽𝒶𝓉 𝒹𝒾𝓈𝒶𝓅𝓅𝑒𝒶𝓇𝑒𝒹 𝒸𝑜𝓂𝓅𝓁𝑒𝓉𝑒𝓁𝓎 𝓌𝒽𝑒𝓃 𝓈𝓉𝑜𝓇𝓂 𝓌𝒾𝓃𝒹𝓈 𝒹𝓇𝑜𝓋𝑒 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝓌𝒶𝓋𝑒𝓈 𝓊𝓅 𝓅𝒶𝓈𝓉 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝒽𝒾𝑔𝒽 𝓉𝒾𝒹𝑒 𝓂𝒶𝓇𝓀𝓈.

𝒜𝒷𝑜𝓋𝑒, 𝓈𝓁𝒶𝓉𝑒 𝒸𝓁𝒾𝒻𝒻𝓈 𝓁𝑜𝑜𝓂𝑒𝒹, 𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝑒𝓋𝑒𝓇𝑔𝓇𝑒𝑒𝓃𝓈 𝓈𝑜 𝒹𝒶𝓇𝓀 𝓉𝒽𝑒𝓎 𝓌𝑒𝓇𝑒 𝓃𝑒𝒶𝓇𝓁𝓎 𝒷𝓁𝒶𝒸𝓀 𝓁𝑒𝒶𝓃𝑒𝒹 𝓅𝓇𝑒𝒸𝒶𝓇𝒾𝑜𝓊𝓈𝓁𝓎 𝑜𝓊𝓉 𝒾𝓃 𝒹𝑒𝒻𝒾𝒶𝓃𝒸𝑒 𝑜𝒻 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝓅𝓇𝑒𝓋𝒶𝒾𝓁𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝓌𝒾𝓃𝒹𝓈. 𝐸𝓋𝑒𝓃 𝓉𝑜 𝒦𝑒𝓃𝓃𝒾𝓉'𝓈 𝒾𝓇𝑜𝓃 𝓃𝑒𝓇𝓋𝑒𝓈, 𝒾𝓉 𝓌𝒶𝓈 𝓁𝒾𝓀𝑒 𝓈𝓉𝑒𝓅𝓅𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝒾𝓃𝓉𝑜 𝓈𝑜𝓂𝑒 𝒸𝓇𝑒𝒶𝓉𝓊𝓇𝑒'𝓈 𝒽𝒶𝓁𝒻-𝑜𝓅𝑒𝓃 𝓂𝑜𝓊𝓉𝒽.

Bursts of color...

Created from my flower photography with the help of Photoshop and BeFunky.

the best era

Luna (Moon) Evelyn De Morgan (1855–1919) De Morgan Collection