arianaofimladris

[arianaofimladris]

I crocheted a cap. Aaaand I drew the pattern for it, once I learned from other patterns how to make the increase starting from the top.

I used Drops Baby Merino yarn (175m in 50g) and used it all (1 yarn cake) for this cap. I crocheted with 3,5mm hook.

It was fun and I actually like the result. It's not bulky (I hate myself in caps in general) and I might actually suffer wearing it.

[arianaofimladris]

Aaand here goes the shawl for my gran. I'm done with Christmas presents I planned ahead, I'm going to try and make one more before Christmas, for mum.

50/50 merino/acrylic yarn, 1400m. The pattern is Helianthus Annuus, I made it once already.

[arianaofimladris]

So, the first bit of the new Witcher book by Andrzej Sapkowski was published in Nowa Fantastyka. The book will be available in a week. I'm quite optimistic, since the book is going to be about young Geralt from what I've seen. I was afraid the new book would be just set in the Witcher world but telling some stories of side characters, or perhaps completely new ones. I'm glad it's Geralt.

So for now I'm waiting to buy "Rozdroże kruków" ("The Crossroads of Ravens" or "Ravens Crossroads", I don't know what the official translation ia going to be)

Spoilers under the cut concerning the bit published in the magazine. You've been warned.

Obviously there is not much to say after reading three pages in a magazine, but the story picks after an event Geralt recalls in one part of The Voice of Reason, when he monologues to Iola and talks about his first monster (the guy who tried to rape a girl). The bit in the zine picks directly after this. Im all for reading about young Geralt confrontinv what he learned with the reality.

[arianaofimladris]

I wonder what's so hard about keeping the basic text formatting in posts online? I'm not talking about anything elaborate, I'm talking about using damn sentences. As in - starting them with a capital letter and finishing with a dot. Using capital letters for names etc.

Sometimes I see long posts in topics that may potentially interest me, but when it's a wall of text with no capital letters, it puts me off. I can't help but see it as a lack of of respect for the potential readers. If the author couldn't be bothered to write something readable, then why should I bother trying to read it?

It's ok for content to be imperfect, with some typos or maybe grammar mistakes (I'm not even a native English speaker, I'm not going to judge others for using English speaking Internet the way they can). But gosh, capital letters is a basic general rule 🤦🏼‍♀️

I feel it's one thing when you write on a private chat with a friend, we all type fast and make typos, or autocorrect makes some funny changes. It's another matter when you write and post something for public to read. Or write an email at work.

[arianaofimladris]

I just ventured into some ancient parts of my drive and found a Word file with elvish dictionary. File modification date? June 2004.

That makes it 20 years in Tolkien fandom.

(Yes, I do move folders from one computer to another. Yes, I have not had a data loss in 20 years, since I was twelve. I don't remember experiencing one before that either, but my files don't go before 2004.)

[arianaofimladris]

That's me opening some unfinished fics from a decade before out of curiosity. IF I'm lucky enough to have an outline to fill in the gaps in the story xD

[arianaofimladris]

It's our Independence Day!

[arianaofimladris]

There are moments when I have ZERO tolerance and that is for smelling people.

I'm taking what is the most expensive train around here and still the guy next to me reeks of old alcohol and not-so-clean clothes. Wtf is this guy doing in a train reeking half as bad as a homeless person in a city bus. I understand the latter seeking warmth there.

But this guy has the ticket. And travells among people like this.

[arianaofimladris]

I rewatched The Dark Knight for I don't know which time.

I had whumpy feels and I wanted to write that Bruce and tuck him in and maybe have Alfred try to fix it...

The only problem is that I had already written thise fanfics 😅🤣

[arianaofimladris]

Family mushroom picking 😅

(In case that wasn't obvious, these are poisonous, but really pretty, hence the pictures. We pick edible ones.)

[arianaofimladris]

I'm home for the weekend and it just struck me again. I can hear my dad watching a concert downstairs. I can hear my brother hitting the keyboard as he is probably playing something.

Nobody closes doors. I am the only person who closes doors to my room, but only when I go to sleep so that I don't hear the rest of the house. I can't imagine closing doors to my room during the day, or idk, because I had guests. It always felt so weird when I was visiting someone from school or so and they would close their room. I only got used to closed doors after third year of studying, when I moved in with a friend from uni and she and her boyfriend had a dog I didn't want in my room.

It's never been the matter of privacy or the lack of it. I could close the doors if I wanted to. When I was ealry teenager, I said I wanted closed doors when I sleep and I did that. I just... never thought or never felt the need to, idk, keep my parents from accidentally hearing what I was talking about with my friends. Whoever visited me, they were also house guests, so it was as normal for my parents to interact with my friends as it was for me to take part in whatever meetings they had with their friends. It's normal for my gran to ask about this or that friend, or me mentioning what news I had about them, because my gran has known them for over 20 years or so.

It took me a really long time to realise it wasn't normal in many other households.

[arianaofimladris]

Ohh for fuck's sake, now I get that "collaboration art" spam on Ao3 as well. A GPT spawned review along with the collaboration bullshit.

Well. I just discovered I can block users and delete comments under my stories to get rid of that shit.

[arianaofimladris]

Batman Whumptober 2024 entry

Fandom: Batman (Nolan's Dark Knight Trilogy)

Prompts filled:

No. 22 Bleeding through bandages

"I think you've had enough, Mr Wayne." He grabbed Bruce by the elbow, carefully avoiding stains above. "How about getting some air?"

"What are you doing?" Bruce stumbled and his words sounded a bit slurred, but his eyes darted around. He clearly picked Gordon’s intentions and played along, but the commissioner wasn’t sure how much of his behaviour was an act.

"Saving you some embarrassment," Jim said loudly, his voice full of mild disappointment as he steered the younger man towards the exit. "And a lot of explaining," he hissed once they were alone at the corridor and Bruce suddenly swayed more. Not an act, then. "Unless you have a good reason to be bleeding through your tux."

Full story under the cut or in here:

A welcome distraction

Long shifts usually happened in the least appropriate moments, and if he were completely honest, Jim wouldn't have picked a party as his preferable way to spend the rest of the evening. Sadly, he had been invited as the Commissioner and the host was Bruce Wayne, so he needed to show up if for a short time. Wayne Manor had been rebuilt just before the end of the year, so the billionaire threw a house-warning party a week before Christmas. Jim knew Bruce loathed the idea as much as he did, but complied to Alfred's suggestion as a celebration like this was expected of him.

As it turned out, Jim wasn't the only one being late. Bruce Wayne was nowhere to be found, not that his guests seemed to mind. Jim wasn't really surprised. He had a strong suspicion Batman had been supporting the police operation without being seen. That terrorist group trying to take hostage people doing pre-Christmas shopping really had had the worst timing. 

Jim spotted Lucius Fox among the guests, one of the very few people he could actually talk to and soon they got engaged in a conversation about the latest order the police placed in Wayne Enterprises. They almost missed Bruce's arrival, but raised their glasses in a toast as the host welcomed them all, before his apparent date for the evening swept him away. Jim saw the billionaire mutter something to her and kiss her cheek before he literally left her to greet other socialites. Something was off. Bruce Wayne usually liked to show off his beautiful companions. He also seemed pale and a bit out of breath, which also confirmed Jim's suspicions about the nature of his lateness.

The party went on, hopefully uneventful. After the long day at work Jim wouldn't really mind if all the excitement of the evening was provided by excellent food and drink, with no drama or scandals. Lucius Fox had been a good company, but at some point he too left to join a few people Jim vaguely recognised as Wayne Enterprises board members. Since he himself wasn't exactly in the mood to discuss anything with any of them or any city officials he was doing his best to avoid, he found himself wandering aimlessly with a drink. He hoped for a normal conversation with Bruce, so when he finally spotted him relatively unoccupied, sipping at his champagne, Jim moved to join him.

Before he got there, someone bumped into the billionaire from behind, causing him to spill the rest of his drink.

Bruce yelped. He was quick to cover it with a smile and reassurance that everything was perfectly fine, but Jim was already making his way towards him. Something was most definitely not alright - neither in the strain in his smile, nor in the pain in his voice. Bruce called after the nearest waitress and asked her to wipe the floor, but as he turned to leave, he stumbled and reached for the wall to steady himself. Then Jim saw a wet stain on the black suit, a stain that certainly did not come from the champagne, and decided to intervene.

"I think you've had enough, Mr Wayne." He grabbed Bruce by the elbow, carefully avoiding stains above. "How about getting some air?"

"What are you doing?" Bruce stumbled and his words sounded a bit slurred, but his eyes darted around. He clearly picked Gordon’s intentions and played along, but the commissioner wasn’t sure how much of his behaviour was an act.

"Saving you some embarrassment," Jim said loudly, his voice full of mild disappointment as he steered the younger man towards the exit. "And a lot of explaining," he hissed once they were alone at the corridor and Bruce suddenly swayed more. Not an act, then. "Unless you have a good reason to be bleeding through your tux."

The billionaire looked at his left sleeve a little above the elbow. The word that left his mouth was very clearly a swearword, though Jim couldn't even begin to guess the language. It didn't matter. What they needed now was some private place and Jim realised he had no idea where to go.

Bruce seemed to pick his hesitation. "In here." He fished out a simple key and opened second door to the left.

It was a small storage room. Once Jim closed the doors behind them, Bruce leaned against the nearest cupboard and quietly slid down to sit on the floor.

"Thanks," he muttered and shifted to support his clearly injured arm. "Damn. Lock the door, please," he passed Jim the key and worked on taking off his jacket.

Jim complied without questioning, since there were too many eyes that should not see the host of the party bleeding like this. When he turned, he saw Bruce leaning forwards, head between his knees, swaying dangerously as he panted. His jacket hang awkwardly on his left wrist and he was pressing his good hand to the bloodied sleeve of his shirt. He swayed more and jerked, reaching out blindly trying to catch himself from falling.

"Hey, easy!" Jim knelt beside the younger man and held him steady. Bruce was blinking and taking quick, deep breaths, but all the colour seemed to have drained from his face. "Easy, son. Lie down, okay?"

Bruce didn't really object as Jim steered him and made sure he wouldn't hit his head. The commissioner really wished they had gone anywhere else. It was absurd, making the wounded lie on a cold floor when there were beds, couches and armchairs in the surrounding rooms. Sadly, so was a hundred guests or so.

"Hey, no, none of that. Don't close your eyes," Jim patted his cheek lightly as he lifted Bruce’s wounded arm to put it on his chest. "I need you with me, ok? How bad is it?"

"Stab wound," Bruce hissed as he reached to put pressure on his arm. "Deep. And damn fresh." He was still taking deliberately deep breaths and blinking. "No need for alarm." His voice was steady, though a bit strained.

"Mhm, sure," Jim snorted, but got what the younger man was trying to say. I’m not dying here. "Hey! Stay down for a bit." He objected when Bruce already tried to push himself back to a sitting position.

"It's better now."

"Yes, because you are lying down. Give it a few minutes, then we'll get you up."

"Alfred's gonna kill me," Bruce grunted, but complied. He stared awkwardly at the ceiling for a moment, then fished out his phone and hit a speed dial. "Yeah, a bit of a situation here," he admitted to what Jim assumed was Alfred's greeting. "I need a fresh shirt and jacket... Yeah, that too... In the pantry, with Jim. It's all under control."

Jim wasn't sure now convincing Bruce thought he sounded, but from what he had managed to observe about Alfred Pennyworth, he doubted the butler was in any way reassured. 

"Any chance I can find you something to drink here?" he asked, feeling a bit awkward crouching like this. He looked around, but most of the cupboards were closed.

"Probably," Bruce muttered. "Just wait for Alfred."

When Jim inquired about the locks in the doors, just to keep the wounded focused on something, Bruce explained that the pantry led to the kitchen Alfred used on daily basis. It was a private part of the manor and they didn't want guests or catering staff invading that space, so they installed a simple universal lock in several doors. This way Alfred could easily close areas they didn't wish strangers in, and in emergencies like this one, Bruce had a possibility for quick escape and a place to retreat to. Besides, Alfred absolutely loathed the idea of catering staff - or anyone else, Bruce included - messing with his kitchen.

They didn't wait long. 

"Oh dear." Alfred rushed in the moment he saw Bruce on the floor. "That bad?"

"It's okay now, Alfred," Bruce reassured him immediately and pushed himself to sit. Jim didn't stop him this time. "Just needed a moment, it's fine. Besides," he forced a grin, "you did tell me to lie down before."

The butler didn't seem amused. "Yes, and by that I meant in your bed, not dusting cobwebs in the pantry."

"You don't have cobwebs here," Bruce retorted and accepted Jim's help to get back on his feet. He leaned against a cupboard for a moment, but seemed steady. "See? All fine. Just need a clean shirt."

"You put it on that, you're just going to ruin it, sir," Alfred quipped and pointed at the bloodied bandages Bruce was still pressing on. "Let's get you sorted first, sir. Did you at least manage to drink or eat something?"

"Half a toast I couldn't skip," Bruce winced. "Half too much."

“Not what I meant, sir.”

They moved to the kitchen through the second door and Jim was struck by the difference. Unlike all the freshly rebuilt rooms he had a chance to see, this place actually looked like someone was using it. Jim understood what Bruce meant about keeping private parts private and he felt like an intruder, especially since the other two seemed to ignore his presence. Bruce sank heavily on a chair and accepted a rehydration drink Alfred passed him before removing the shirt to change the dressings. He tried to stay still, sipping at the drink, but when the butler got to the last layers of soaked bandages, he flinched and covered his mouth with his hand.

"Wait," he hissed, clearly fighting nausea.

"I'm sorry, master Wayne," Alfred stopped, until Bruce nodded for him to continue. "I can't just let you go back there like this."

"I know."

"Then perhaps next time try not to get butchered right before hosting a party," Alfred tutted and uncovered the wounded arm.

Jim winced in sympathy. Bruce said he had been stabbed, but whatever weapon caused it, it must have sliced his muscles open on the way back. Fresh sutures were barely holding swollen skin together and the deep stab wound was still oozing slightly. It must have bled heavily before, no wonder Bruce was dizzy after the initial adrenaline rush was over.

“I am trying.” Bruce leaned on the table as Alfred worked on redressing the wound and took another sip. "Sorry," he said to the commissioner. "That's not the kind of entertainment I promised. At least I hope the catering is good, I couldn't try it." He didn’t bother to hide his weariness from his voice.

"Never mind that," Jim shrugged him off. "The food is excellent and trust me, I really don't want to do any more business tonight."

"No?" Bruce looked up and offered a pained smile. "And here I was hoping talking business to you would be a good excuse for our absence now."

"If anyone cares to ask, sure."

“I would appreciate it if you could stick to just talking, master Wayne,” Alfred commented as he helped his employer with the fresh shirt and then the jacket. “I don’t think you need any more excitement today.

“Yeah.” Bruce ran his good hand through his hair, slipped the wounded one in the pocket of his trousers and Jim watched in amazement as he transformed back into the billionaire with an easy smile plastered to his face. “Well, Commissioner, I’m sure we can find some dreadfully boring topic to talk about.”

[arianaofimladris]

Ugh, unfollowing a blog with Tolkien illustrations, because it's shitting US politics left and right. Not what the blog name suggested.

[arianaofimladris]

The current building we are working on provided me with some stunning sceneries this morning.

We are working on a tiny Hogwart 😃

[arianaofimladris]

Batman Whumptober 2024 entry

Fandom: Batman (Nolan's Dark Knight trilogy)

Prompts filled: No. 20 Emotional angst Alt. Finding old messages

"Master Bruce?" Alfred knocked on the wooden door frame, since the door was wide open. "I found something for you."

"I don't want it." The boy didn't even look up from his homework. From the way he was sitting, Alfred could tell he wasn’t really paying attention.

"It's something your father ordered well ahead of your birthday," Alfred said softly. He was stepping on thin ice there. "I'm sorry I forgot about-"

Whole story available under the cut or here:

Lost in time

Alfred entered the master bedroom with a heavy heart. For the past few months he has been coming here to do the basic cleaning, sometimes to let in some fresh air. The room still looked like its occupants lived there, like they were about to return at any moment. Today, for the first time Alfred was about to change something. He had talked this through with Bruce and the boy agreed that most of his parents' clothes should be given away to charity his mother had run, as long as Alfred promised not to touch his mother's jewellery and his father's medical equipment. Since he refused to partake, even as much as enter his parents' bedroom, Alfred set on the task alone.

He tried not to dwell on what he was doing, hard as it was. He packed shelf after shelf into bags, checking pockets for any forgotten items and occasionally putting away something stained or with missing buttons. There was one small pile he placed separately on the bed, mostly consisting of Thomas Wayne's belts, ties and bowties. Since they were all of excellent quality and also something that would not go easily out of fashion, Alfred intended to keep them for Bruce.

He was going through Thomas Wayne's jumpers and less formal clothes, when he found an elegant box with Bruce's initials on the lid. He had seen it before when he had collected it for master Wayne, but then its existence slipped his mind. He remembered Thomas Wayne saying it was supposed to be a birthday gift for his son.

Deciding he could use a bit of a break, Alfred took the box and went to check on Bruce. He knew the boy would unlikely look for him in here, even if he needed something.

"Master Bruce?" Alfred knocked on the wooden door frame, since the door was wide open. "I found something for you."

"I don't want it." The boy didn't even look up from his homework. From the way he was sitting, Alfred could tell he wasn’t really paying attention.

"It's something your father ordered well ahead of your birthday," Alfred said softly. He was stepping on thin ice there. "I'm sorry I forgot about-"

"I said I don't want it!" Bruce yelled and slammed his book shut. He was up in an instant, ready to flee. "Take it away! I don't- Just- go a-away-," his voice broke and he choked on his words.

Alfred didn't move. Most of the time he found himself helpless when faced with Bruce's grief, still so raw and boiling right under the surface of the subdued child, threatening to explode at the slightest opportunity. But walking away and leaving him to drown in his sorrows alone was never an option.

The boy didn't run. Just like on many days before this one, soon Alfred had his arms full of a sobbing child as Bruce clang to him. He placed the box on the desk and steered the boy to sit with him on a sofa. In moments like this, Bruce rarely opposed guidance, too lost in tears to really pay attention.

They sat like this for a while. Alfred kept his arm around the boy's shaking frame, allowing him to cry. It still happened a lot. Bruce rarely sought him out when he needed comfort, but never missed an opportunity when Alfred happened to be around.

"I just- just want them back," Bruce whispered and moved away to sit straight. He tried to wipe his eyes with his sleeve.

"I know, master Bruce. I know." Alfred gently rubbed his back and offered him a handkerchief. It was unlikely the boy would seek physical comfort again. "I'm sorry. I thought you'd want to see this."

"Okay." Bruce didn't really seem convinced, but nodded.

Alfred brought him the box and the boy stared at it for a long time before hesitantly opening the lid. There was a watch with engraved dedication on the back. Bruce took it out with great care, but when he saw the inscription, he promptly put it back and shut the box.

"I don't want it. Take it away."

"Very well, master Bruce, I will take it for now." Alfred took the box from him. "It will be waiting for you in a safe place, if you change your mind."

***

The Wayne Manor, or rather what was left of it, was a grim testimony that the recent events were not just a nightmare. The whole place had been secured by a fence to prevent curious trespassers from getting hurt, but it was hardly a suitable protection against potential thieves, should anyone try.

Bruce had taken a van from Wayne Enterprises, now full of plastic storage boxes. They intended to pack whatever smaller valuables they could salvage before the cleaning service would take larger things for renovation. As it turned out, there was a lot of stuff surprisingly alright under the ashes, so they set to work.

"Master Wayne! I think the safe here is quite intact under that," Alfred called from what once had been Thomas Wayne's office, one that Bruce never adapted as his.

Bruce came over and took a moment to examine half smouldered beams barring the way. Once he was sure removing them would not cause anything to collapse, he worked on clearing the way while Alfred brought one of the smaller storage boxes.

The safe was indeed untouched and soon Bruce was packing the contents almost without looking, until he suddenly paused with a black box in his hands.

"You kept it," he whispered, his voice thick with emotions. "I told you so many times to get rid of it, and you kept it anyway."

"Of course." Alfred immediately recognised the package. He came closer and placed his hand on Bruce's shoulder. During his teenage years, Bruce had almost always reacted violently to any suggestion of wearing anything that belonged to his father, this last birthday gift included. Alfred decided not to mention that he had placed the watch in the safe, as well as old family albums, so that they would not fall victim to the boy's angry outbursts. 

Bruce opened the box and retrieved the watch. He turned it around and brushed the engraving with his thumb.

"Well. It won't fit me now," he commented, trying to keep his voice light, but he couldn't hide his remorse completely.

"Oh, it should. There are remaining parts underneath," Alfred pointed at the cushion in the box. The bracelet had been fitted for a ten year old, but it was a regular adult watch. "I kept it serviced every couple of years, so it should be working. I can have it fitted for you."

Bruce looked up." Yeah. I think I'd like that." He carefully packed the watch and placed it in the storage box along with the rest. "Alfred? Thank you."

[arianaofimladris]

Guess who made another crochet shawl... This way Im done with 2 out of 3 shawls I planned as Christmas gifts.

Still not my colors, but I like them better in the finished shawl than I did in the yarn cake. I hope my grandma will like it.