#alas i still have not figured out the skills of drawing more detailed/close-up hands

[angst-and-fajitas]

Maddie and Caspian trying to do the "couples nail polish matches their partners eye color" thing but they both have brown eyes XD *cries*

Pantheon really is the "brown eyes supremacy" show huh?? as an artist who discovered they really really like drawing brown eyes, I see this as an absolute win

[b-o-e]

paint me like one of your french girls

Wally Darling x Reader

Warnings: you aren’t very good at painting lol

although it is not necessary, I highly suggest reading my fics in their recommended order for the best experience! here is the link to all my silly lil wally fics in order. this is #2 :)

You weren’t the best painter, nor were you the best at picking up hints…

“... this is atrocious.”

You were not a painter. You were finding that much out right now.

“Well, don’t say that. It has me in it, so it can't be that bad, ha ha.” Wally jested.

Ehhh…

“Are you almost finished with it, neighbour?”

“I wouldn’t say I’m finished, but I’m almost ready to give up, yes,” you grumbled, the bristles of your brush carefully swiping some more paint onto the canvas. Yikes! Not carefully enough, it seems.

Wally noticed your grimace, laughing lightly. “It’s going to look good, I know it,” he claimed.

“You’re easily pleased, though,” you huffed, eyes flickering to him in a half-hearted glare. He giggled, shaking his head.

“I am honest,” he grinned, raising his right hand to swear on it. “Cross my heart, always and forever,” he promised, drawing the ‘x’ over his chest with a happy smile.

“At least I think I did Home some justice,” you snickered with a shrug. “You, not so much, Wally. I think you can still tell it’s you, though?”

“I’m sure I look amazing. Handsome!”

“I wouldn’t use that word for it, but the real you is?” You offered.

“Why, you’ll make me blush.”

You laughed lightly as you continued to paint, Wally remaining as still as a statue in his chosen position in front of home. His eyes never left you.

He loved the expressions you made. He just adored the twitch of your brow when you don’t quite approve of a detail, the silly grimace you wear when you’ve made a ‘mistake’, the way your tongue poked out a little when you were extra focussed... You were so entrancing!

“... going to start being a bit less uptight now,”

Wally hadn’t caught the first part, but figured out what you were saying.

“I guess I should probably give myself a little more credit than I am.” A little smile tugged at the corner of your lips. Oh! He enjoyed that expression most!

“I’m happy you say that,” Wally said, “I do mean it when I say I believe I will like it. Everyone has their own unique style. It’s nothing less than that,” he added, “plus, it’s made by you. That gives it extra special points!”

“Special, alright,” you joked quietly to yourself. It was definitely a unique piece, your painting.

“I just need to remind myself I don’t have much experience with this,” you sighed, “I need to cut myself some slack. I know practice is necessary to be as good as someone like you at this, and I haven’t put much of that in,”

“And if you were ever interested in such, I would always be around to offer my help if you so desire,” Wally assured.

“Thanks, Wally,” you tore your eyes away from your work, looking over at him. “I appreciate you. Always so sweet to me,” you sighed out dramatically. Unfortunately, your gaze didn't stick on him long enough to notice the redness growing on his cheeks from your compliments.

“Alas, I think I’m all done now,” you giggled, stepping back from your work. Now that you look it over, it really wasn’t too shabby, especially with your limited skill!

Wally stood up from his spot, starting his way over, as you turned the easel around so that he and Home could both see it. When Wally was close enough, he leaned forward a little, examining the painted canvas. Despite the knowledge that Wally would never judge you, your nerves twisted a little in your stomach as you watched his eyes study it with such intensity.

It was silent. He’s observed it for at least a minute now, not a word said.

…

“I know it’s-”

“It’s wonderful,” Wally cut you off, straightening his posture, his smile growing. “The absolute most, as is its creator,” he added as he looked at you. “Can I have it?” he asked, head tipping to the side.

“You… Want it?” you giggled sheepishly, peering over at your goofy little creation. Was it really nice enough for him to want to keep it?

“I love it, so of course I would like to have it. If you allow me to, of course,”

Your painting wasn’t much. To you, at least. To Wally on the other hand, it truly was extravagant.

It was cute. He and Home were nicely depicted together, Home painted quite well, and in his opinion, he himself had not looked nearly as bad as you’d been letting on.

His face had a cute, simple little smiley on it, as did the sun in the sky, two silly little features among others that you had added when you decided not to care so much anymore. It made him giggle. Overall, it was just yours, and that’s what really sealed the deal on his love for it.

“Hmm… where should I hang it, though? Maybe by the couch?” He wondered aloud, tapping his chin. “What do you think, Home?” He turned to face it, receiving quick excited waves and squeaks from the door. “Ha ha. I think that, too.”

“You actually want it?” You questioned,

“Of course,” Wally nodded. “Oh no! How impolite of me. I should be offering some sort of payment,” he realized.

“For this?” You laughed, looking back at the artwork. “I dont think it’s worth a whole lo–”

“Mwah!”

…

Huh?

You gaped at Wally, hand on your flushed cheek, right where his lips had been moments prior.

“Will that do?” He smiled.

You could only stare in disbelief, mind working overtime to process what had just happened.

“Neighbour?”

You laughed. You laughed, and you shook your head, hands covering your face. Oh, those silly little thoughts of yours!

“Oh my goodness, Wally,” you snickered. “Be careful with that! Someone might take it the wrong way,” you warned, a little giggle following.

“What do you mean, neighbour?” Wally questioned, brows furrowed. “Is kissing not a good thing?”

“I mean, it is, but there's two ways it can be perceived: platonically, or romantically,” you explained, rubbing at your face in an attempt to get rid of your blush with a cheeky smile.

“Think of it like this. Eddie and Frank kiss as a way to show their romantic love for each other. That's because they’re a couple,” you continued. “Are they who you learned it from?”

Wally stared at you for a moment, trying to comprehend all that you’ve said. Finally, his shoulders slumped slightly as he answered.

“... Yes,” he admitted, a bashful smile on his features.

“I figured,” you sniggered. “I mean, I’m not saying I didn’t like it or anything, but just keep what I said in mind,” you joked lightly with a playful wink, “but, we should find a place for this painting, shouldn’t we?” You placed your hands on your hips, looking between him and the piece.

“That sounds like a good idea, neighbour,” he agreed, carefully picking up the dried painting, grabbing the easel in his other hand.

“Let’s do that, then,”

…

“So, how did it go?” Eddie asked, placing a toasty mug of hot cocoa in front of a sulking Wally. “Not that great, I presume..?” He smiled sympathetically.

“They said to ‘be careful’ because ‘someone might get the wrong idea’...” he gave a gloomy smile. “But they also said they ‘didn’t dislike’ it?” He offered.

“So they thought the right idea, but brushed it off as being wrong,” Frank snickered, shaking his head at the ridiculousness of the situation while he sipped on a mug of his own.

Eddie sighed, rubbing at the back of his neck with a chuckle. This was harder than the couple originally anticipated…

You two would be the death of this neighbourhood if you didn’t perceive your feelings for each other soon.

yyyello!! I hope you enjoyed reading this!

here is a link to my silly lil wally fics in their recommended order if you would like :) these can also be found on my ao3 B) I also have a ko-fi if you'd like to support me! likes and reblogs are very much so appreciated B) (again, gimme dopamine boost, RAHHHHH) until next time <3

Posted Tuesday, April 25, 2023 at 11:29 AM

[ardenssolis]

symbol meme; nice / affectionate edition; accepting || @pretty-little-teacup​

✏ (if u like u w u) - Telling stories with them

     OZYMANDIAS HAD TO ADMIT that it was odd sitting beneath stars exchanging stories with another. It had been a long time since he had ever partaken in such a thing, and the last time he had done this was back when he and his brother were far younger; both young boys simply in awe of the vastness of the night sky and how the stars and the moon would fill it with light. ❝I can tell that you are quite used to doing this, Tea. I would almost say that you would make a brilliant storyteller back in my era. Having everyone gather by the fire, your arms spread wide as you told tale after tale that left others wanting to hear more…❞ He chuckled, leaning back against his hands as a slight smile touched his lips. ❝Perhaps you might have even managed to reel in a pharaoh in that mix.❞ There were times that he had such individuals come to the palace, although that was only if they were skilled at their craft.

     Any good storyteller knew how to draw a crowd and hold their attention, and if someone could make another forget the time, that was even better. ❝Did I tell you tale about the Cursed Prince? Mmm…it is such a long tale that I probably did.❞ He tapped his fingers against the grass, pensive as mind went over what next story he could share with her. One would think that he would recall, but it had been so long since he had heard any of them, some long since forgotten through time. Perhaps there were versions that had even been adopted by other cultures for all he knew, which in itself was fine. That meant the story was kept alive in its own way, a testament to how universal such things were. ❝Ah! I know!❞ He sat straighter, seemingly child-like in his sudden enthusiasm as he began his tale. ❝There was once an old man who had saved a serpent from a vase full of water. Apparently, they had sought to have a drink, but found themselves slipping within. The poor snake just barely had its head above the water, nostrils flaring and forked tongue flickering when its slit gaze met his.

     ❝You see, most in this situation would never help that serpent. For you see, it was not just any reptile. It was a cobra, one of the most deadly of them all. The very thought of putting one’s hand anywhere near those venomous fangs was laughable. Most fled at the sight of the beast, opting to avoid its ire rather than potentially earning it. For a time, the old man pondered pouring the water out, but he had gathered all of that from the rain that had fallen recently. To squander such a gift from the gods was unheard of and he had no intention of doing such. Thus he pondered what to do. Leaving the serpent to its fate, or assisting it. Alas, the old man always had a good heart, perhaps even to the point that his wife would scold him for being overly kind when someone came begging for food. The answer was obvious in this case.❞ He paused, almost as if adding to dramatic effect, though in actuality he was trying to recall the rest of the story. Ozymandias did not know every little detail. 

     Just enough.

     ❝Searching around for a long stick, eventually he managed to place it in the water, allowing the cobra to curl about it. Before he could move his hand away, though, it was quick to move up his arm, tongue flickering wildly almost in warning that if he moved too quickly then it would not hesitate to bite. ‘I am a fool!’ the old man thought, knowing full well a bite from this beast would be the end of him. However, rather than biting him, it moved so close he almost swore that the hiss that slipped from it was ‘thank you’. How ridiculous a notion! Oh how the sun and fear must have messed with his mind! Still, the serpent merely slithered down his form, taking its leave as sand clung to its wet scales and it disappeared among the brush. The old man did not receive blessings for his kindness, nor were any aware of what he did, but in the end, it was the nature of the deed that mattered. Not the reward that one would gain. It does make one wonder: was the old man a fool like he thought? Perhaps there is double meaning to this tale if one looks beneath the surface. I will leave that to you to figure out on your own.❞

[theimaginesyouneveraskedfor]

Not Him (2)

As I said, this likely won’t be a long series. Here’s #2.

Part 1

Loki’s POV

Loki hated these meetings. If it wasn’t for Thor’s incessant pestering, he’d be happily in his room reading a book. Alone. Whenever he was in the presence of these ‘Avengers’, his displacement was made ever more obvious. His brother insisted he was one of them now but he knew if it wasn’t for the kinship between the Asgardians, he’d not be permitted on the same planet, let alone the same tower.

He leaned back in his chair, tuning out the droning voice of Stark. Very few seemed to be actually listening to the man. Loki’s green eyes scanned the expanse of the table, the movement of another drawing them to a focus. Y/N was dreamily gazing over at him, her doe like eyes lured an unwitting smile from him. Alas, he realized, she wasn’t looking at him.

He glanced over at the man at his other shoulder. The soldier with the metal arm was failing to hide his disinterest, his breath slowing as he succumbed to the tedium of the meeting. Y/N was watching him, fawning over him as she herself ignored the words of their leader. Loki’s smile faded but not entirely before he met the eyes of Y/N. Her eyes dimmed and she steeled herself before evasively turning away.

Loki tapped his fingers on the tabletop and narrowed his eyes at Bucky once more. The dolt. How could she look at such a dimwit with so much unadulterated delight? He caught himself before his thoughts could darken further and blanched, his forehead wrinkling. What did he care?

He barely knew her. She was too shy, always flitting away like a dormouse whenever he spoke to her. When he passed the lab where she worked, he would see her eyes glued to the floating screen, rapt on whatever latest gadget she was working on. She didn’t notice him then either. Just on the other side of the glass, always distracted by something, or rather, someone else.

He was looking at her again. He hadn’t realized it and that dumb smile had returned to his face. She had turned to look across the table at the soldier but again, she was caught. And so was he. She scowled and swung back around, returning her attention to where it was needed. She sat stiffly, doing her best to hide her face from him.

Loki looked at the back of Bucky’s head, rubbing his chin as he thought. What did she see in him? He was quiet and brooding, standoffish even. At least, to Loki he had never done more than grumble and he hid behind his cotton-headed blond friend. The two valiant soldiers; ever righteous. 

And who was he but a villain in sheep’s clothing?

He felt a nudge as he sensed the table erupt in movement. Thor’s sharp poke brought Loki back to reality. He stood, turning away as Steve woke his dozing friend. He felt a pang. A familiar sensation deep in his chest; envy. Bucky had been as antagonistic as he and yet, he was not treated as such. He was accepted; respected; admired. Loki shook his head and followed Thor out before he could think of looking for Y/N.

He was surprised when he found her anyway. She was against the wall in the hallway, the soldier was already there, just beside her. She was smiling and so was he. She was hard to see on the other side of him but he could hear her voice. Loki slumped his soldiers and followed Thor, hiding the grimace on his face behind his stiff collar.

He felt a force holding him back as they rounded the corner. The pit in his stomach a stone weighing him down. “I’ll catch up to you,” Loki said to his brother suddenly, “I’m going to grab a book.”

“Right,” Thor turned as he continued down the hall, “You and your books, brother. Our mother would be proud.”

“And if you ever picked one up, she’d have been astounded,” Loki returned slyly.

Thor chuckled and carried on away from his brother. Loki waited till he was out of sight and kept close to the wall, listening to the voices just around the corner.

“I may have been sleeping but I was listening, Y/N,” Bucky said, “Me, Steve, and Nat are off to a yet to be disclosed location for a while. Some warlord or another is stirring up trouble.”

“Right,” Y/N answered cluelessly. “Well, at least come back with that thing,” She gave a brief pause, “Intact.”

“No promises,” He heard subtle movement, “But, be it irreparable or otherwise, I’ll be coming to see you.”

“Oh?” The woman stuttered out one syllable. Loki’s breath caught. Was this how Midgardians initiated courting?

“If that’s okay?” Bucky’s voice grew higher with each word. How weak these humans were. “Thought maybe, I don’t know, you’d want to get together outside the lab? Um,I’m bad at this. I used to be kinda smooth but yeah, are you...interested?”

“Uhhhhhhh,” Was that reluctance? Doubt? No, it was disbelief. The kind you get when you’re sure you’re dreaming. When it’s all too good to be true. Not that life had ever been very good to Loki. Always the second choice. “Sure, we can, uh, watch a movie or something?”

“Yeah, a movie,” Bucky agreed, “Great idea.”

“So I guess that’s a...plan,” A small clap followed the gleeful words..

“Sure, we’ll figure out the details when I get back then,” The soldier let out a sigh of relief, “So, uh, see you, um, then.”

Loki’s nose passed the corner as he peered into the next hallway. Bucky awkwardly clapped Y/N’s shoulder before retreating in the other direction. Loki watched Y/N as she watched the soldier walk away. She shook her head and leaned against the wall heavily.

Her face crinkled and she kicked herself away from the wall. She began down the hallways towards him and he stepped out, replacing his veneer. If he couldn’t have her admiration, he’d still make her squirm.

“Well, that was thoroughly entertaining,” Loki greeted her.

She growled and rolled her eyes at him. It was an entrancing gesture. She looked so adorable when she was annoyed. Loki chuckled at the play of emotions across her face; she was transparent and yet entirely puzzling.  

“You Midgardians are so simple.” He teased as she made to step past him.

“Would you fuck off,” She ground to halt and turned to him; her eyes were so rich and deep.  “I didn’t ask your opinion and I surely didn’t ask you to eavesdrop. Why exactly would you be so interested anyhow?”

“This planet is rather boring so I must find ways to amuse myself,” He kept his tone light, not wanting to betray his sudden anxiety. Why couldn’t he just be nice? “In Asgard, we had fools at court none so delightful as you, dear.”

She huffed and her face turned stony, stomping away before he could say anything further. He watched her go and felt as if he had been kicked in the chest. Why had he done that? He wasn’t mad at her, he was mad at that super soldier for getting to her first. Mad at himself for being such an ass.

Fuck, he was such a fool. Mooning over some Midgardian.

Loki was dreading the day Bucky returned. He tried not to think about it and yet, his repressed feelings grew ever more omnipresent. Before, it had been but chance meetings. Little run-ins. Words here and there. He thought it was for his own selfish amusement that he had quipped at the woman, but now he realized he had sought her out. And now that another showed their interest, he felt as if he had been robbed.

He was walking the halls aimlessly, trapped in his boredom and realized only too late where his feet had carried him. He shoved his hands in the pockets of his forest green jacket and stopped before the window, looking in at Y/N bent over her work. The guilt crept along his cheeks, burning his flesh. It wasn’t the first time he had watched her. Not the first time she had unknowingly been the centre of his universe. Yet, it only served to deepen his obsession; confirm to him he was entirely fucked up.

He tilted his head as he considered his offenses against the girl. What he could do to make amends. Was there any way he could make her see him as more than just a trickster?

Then a wicked thought crossed his mind. It was less than virtuous and he was certain it would only seal his fate. It was wrong. But he had never been a stranger to deception; rather skilled, actually. He could make Y/N look at her as she did Bucky. Especially if he were Bucky.

His heart hammered in his chest, his eyes cleared as he focused on the glass, the outline of his reflection. Slowly, the shades of green faded, his eyes turned cerulean, his arm to metal, his skin took on a new lustre, he was a few inches shorter but much sturdier than before. He smiled at his new reflection and winked. Oh, he should not do this.

It was too late. She knew he was there. He could tell by the stiffness in her shoulders. He raised his hand and knocked on the glass, smiling as she was frightened and turned in surprise. Her face bloomed in a smile, like the spring after the snows. She stood and waved back. He swept over to the door and entered before he lost his nerve.

“You’re back?” She stared at him in awe. What would happen if he dropped the glamour then and there?

“I am,” He answered. He still sounded too much like himself. “Early. Or late, depending on how you look at it.” He eyed the empty lab, trying to seem casual.

“Yeah, uh, just trying to get caught up on some stuff,” She explained.

“Does that mean you’re too busy for that movie?” He asked looking back to her. She was too giddy to deny him.

“Aren’t you tired?” She replied with poorly hidden anxiety. “You’ve been on the road for almost three weeks--”

“You counting the day?” He smiled. Shit, he was still too arrogant.

“N-no,” She stuttered as he neared her. The lights in her lab highlighted her best features. “I guess I could call it a day.”

“Great,” He was so close to her, his blood was on fire. He watched as she nervously turned and neatened her desk. He set his artificial hand on its edge and tapped his fingers, his own nerves rising.

“Alright,” She stood straight, “Do you know what you want to watch?”

“Not really,” He answered smoothly. All he ever did was read. “I don’t watch much these days.” He followed her as she made her way to the door. He reached around her, his chest almost touching her, and opened the door. “Lady’s choice.”

“Okay.” She nodded, “Uh, where exactly were we watching this movie?” Shit. He couldn’t pick the lock to Bucky’s room in front of her.

“Hadn’t really thought about it. We use the lounge or maybe…” He was trying not to push it but that little voice inside of him always won. “Your room?”

“Well, I guess my room is closer,” She said, “But the seating is limited.”

“That’s fine with me,” He smiled. He couldn’t believe he had gotten this far. “All I desire is your company.”

“Alrighty,” She agreed. It was rather cute how her voice rose with her emotions.

It was silent as they walked. He could sense her looking at him. Did she know? She opened her bedroom door and beckoned him in. He entered slowly, watching her as she fiddled around by her television. He lowered himself onto the bed and wriggled across to sit against the headboard. He draped his arm across the other side, waiting for her to turn around.

“Lots of room,” He pointed towards the empty spot beside him. She smiled as if in a daze and crossed to the bed, sitting beside him. Her sudden warmth next to him was overwhelmed and he resisted the urge to bring his arm over her shoulders and pull her closer. She turned on the television and continued to press buttons.

“Um, here’s a new movie. Do you like comedies?” She was so quiet it was endearing.

“Sure, I’ll watch whatever,” He said, trying to sound normal as he stared at her, unable to look away.

“Okay,” She clicked a button and retired the remote, clasping her hands over her lap.

Her warmth was intoxicating and he inched closer, sensing her relax as she let herself settle in. She unclenched her hands and he let his arm slip down over her shoulder, inhaling the scent of her lavender shampoo. She leaned closer and he was ready to explode. She looked up at him, her eyes fiery.

“I have no idea what this movie is about,” He admitted.

“Me either,” She turned her face up and he pressed his lips to hers.

Her lips were so soft he couldn’t help himself. He held her against him, sinking into her as he lost sense of his reality. He felt the glamour fall but he didn’t care but for the pleasure in his arms. He was out of breath as she parted and he recalled his mistake. Her mouth fell open and she sat up so violently she tumbled onto the floor. She was trembling as she gaped at him, hurt filled her eyes and tugged at the corners of her lips.

“Out,” She rasped as she struggled to her feet. “Get out. Loki, how could you?”

She spun around, tripping over her own feet as she raced towards her bathroom. He swallowed and the shame hit him like lightning. He slowly made his way across the bed and stood. He approached the door, his hand against it as he listened to the wood.

“Y/N,” He said, “I-”

“You achieved what you wanted,” She spat, “Okay? I’m thoroughly humiliated. You can go now.”

“No, I didn’t mean--Y/N, you misunderstand, this isn’t meant to be...that.” What had he done? Oh gods.

“What was it then?” She hissed. “You pretended to be him.

He didn’t know what to say. It was as if she had slapped him. His hand slid down the door and he sighed, leaning against it heavily. “I didn’t know how else to talk to you, and I saw you talking to that super soldier and I thought...well, you never look at me that way.”

“Why would I? You’re...you. You do shit like this for kicks.” He heard the strain in her voice and he hated himself.

“No, no, it’s not a trick,” He pled, “I just wanted to be close to you.”

“I thought you were Bucky, Loki,” She spoke angrily, “Otherwise, I would never be alone in the same room as you. You’re despicable.!”

“I’m...sorry.”

“No, you’re not. Go away.” She ordered.

He blinked in shock and self-loathing. She was right, he was despicable. He slowly parted from the door and backed away numbly. He neared the door to the hall and looked back. He just couldn’t could help himself. He was a trickster afterall.

[zanderlan-blog]

A letter, A move;

Careful wording, just as careful thoughts as the man looked to the paper then would lean back to the couch with a deep sigh, thoughts swam in the man's head as he would slowly run the calloused fingertips though the now short hair, still feeling very weird like this, but alas it was done, drawing in a deep breath as his chest rose with this, slowly exhaling as he would fling the newspaper down- just in time, along came his daughter running full force with the small body, hands waving as she nearly lost her footing, still figuring out how her body works she ran right into the couch next to her father, grabby hands gripping what they could as grunts and umphs were let out little short legs trying to reach to the top of the cushion.

“ Nnn...Da.”

A chuckle was given as a brow rose watching the child's frantic actions to get on the couch, it was funny, alas he would gently move and lean over to place his hands under the girl's pits and lifted her up above him as he scooted his ass back in the couch, giggles and squeals filled the man's ears and house from the very happy little half elf that he held above like a trophy, she meant everything to him- only ever wanting the child to be happy and healthy and to grow into a great woman.

“Bath time little one, then bed, daddy's gotta clean up your applesauce and the potatoes you thought it would be fun to throw at me.”

“Baff!”

The girl wiggled within his palms as his fingers lightly stroked the girl's ribs in a tickle, flailing around and little hands gripping his wrists trying to escape his grasp, only to feel the flutter within as he stood up quickly and spun around, all smiles, all laughter from both as he soon cradled her then ran down the hall like a crazy guy shaking her as he went making her laugh harder.

“ Annnnd boom!!”

He would set her down when saying this as she wiggled around and squirmed, his undressing… let alone dressing skills were still rusty, the child had mismatched and very odd looking assorted cloths on today, but he normally stayed at home regardless. Wiggle Wiggle, soon enough the girl was finally out of the cloths, as he would slowly fill the tub, the child danced around on the side squeaking at the water as it filled, bouncing on her chubby tiptoes. As the water filled he would take off the diaper and place her in the bath, watching his little dirty blond bubbly girl splash about with happiness, as he would grab the cup to rinse her down and the duck she was now hyper, he sighed as he picked a few potatoes from the girls locks and shook his head as he popped it into his mouth, he then would start to wash her, as she would squirm and play in the bubbles that now filled the tub she would softly touch his face and  babbled to him.

“Alexis… Would you like to move?”

“Move!”

Snickering he shook his head and leaned back now sitting on the floor watching her play in joy, as he adjusted some he slipped a hand to his back pocket, opening the letter he would bring a knee to his chest as he placed a hand over his mouth and lightly scratched at the beard, he had to make a decision, and he’d need to do it soon.

‘ Hanz,

It's been a month Hanz, move your ass closer to the brothel. Plenty of room for you and your kid here, you don’t have to live within the brothel walls, you can live out in the village if you choose. Stop wasting the fucking money to go back and forth, and just make things easier on yourself.

~The Madame Susan Gampre.’

Pulling the hood to his hoodie up he would sigh- his mind would be full of questions, most of them he knew the damn answer already, he just didn’t know what, when, how. Glancing to Alexis as she was splashing, with the child already been washed he just allowed her to play, glancing from the note back to her every now and then, assuring the girls safety even if the bath wasn’t that full, she was only 1 after all. Knowing full well she wouldn’t be able to comprehend what he was about to do, pushing himself up and wiggling the letter back in his pocket he leaned over and let the water out and got the towel for her quickly bundling his ball of joy and picked her up and ran to the room bouncing her once more, needing to hear the child's laughter.

After getting her in a nightgown he soon set the girl in the crib and turned on the mobil for her, his own creation of different assortments of stones and trinkets he had made, with her watching this and occupied as he pulled the small blanket over her and plopped down on the wooden chair next to, taking out a book about some duck, he has read it so many times, but could never really see why it was so interesting really, though alas he would just read to her, as she tried to keep her heavy lids open to roll on her side to look at him, a thumb nestled between her lips as she sucked on it, slowly- slowly she would give in as he continued on and as soon as he noticed that the hand was falling from her mouth he got up, placing the book down and leaning to cover her up.

“Good night Alexis, Daddy loves you.”

Turning he would walk out of the room slowly closing the door some, always leaving a gap making sure he could hear the cries if she were to wake. Walking slowly down the hall he looked all around the house, every detail of it, knowing he would miss it, it was time to move; it was time to go on adventures, show her the beautiful lands of pandaria, and all the creatures that lived within. Sitting at his desk now he would start making a list, and then look around while thinking, back to the list, then a letter.

‘Dear Madame,

I would like to move out there, you are right, it is time for me to get my ass there so I can save more money. Maybe I can even sell some while I'm not romping. If the others can maybe help out with the move, so Alexis won’t be scared when it takes a bit to get all the stuff there.

Hanz’

With this written, he would shift around the house, already having boxes from when he had made orders to send off, many were large some were small, but slowly he would start to pack what he wouldn’t need within the few days to a week that it might have took to get things there, as he knew the Madame may ‘distract’ him a lot more than normal.

@susan-gampre| @sistersinsin

[guardevoir]

Some notes on old (7th-14th ct) manuscripts (not scientifically sourced, based on my own experience with about 16-ish manuscripts I got to study up close): 

They tend to be in a far better shape than people usually assume. The very edges are frequently spotty and yellowed, but the rest of the pages mostly isn’t, unless something really unfortunate happened. 

Parchment tends to have holes. Those holes were there from the start, due to the fact that parchment is still animal skin which does have its fair share of blemishes

The bigger the manuscripts the more frequent the holes - it’s harder to find an unblemished piece of skin if it has to be huge.

You can tell the original holes from later holes: The scribes simply worked around the holes that were already there.

Colored (frequently red) letters generally seem to be written with some sort of opaque paint, not actual ink. They are also usually still extremely vibrant. Occasionally, they left a mark on the opposite page.

Seriously, though - 1000+ year old colors and they are still as vibrant and bright as ever - and they were used incredibly skillfully, especially for abstract patterns. Imagine the most intricate of patterns and then double that. There was one book with a full-page initial, which was so intricately patterned that the individual colors were hardly even visible anymore - and every single bit of the pattern was outlined in white, with perfectly straight and incredibly fine lines. Lack of perspective and wonky anatomy aside, those people were incredibly skilled.

Talking about colors: Gold ink was a thing, as was silver ink. Alas, silver ink tends to oxidize because, y’know, silver.

The ink color generally varies a lot, from a relatively light brown all the way to pretty dang black. 

One manuscript* had the initials (the fancy big letters) missing because they were supposed to be added in after the main text, but that never happened - presumably because whoever had commissioned it ran out of money. 

There are corrections and notes in the margins all over the place.** 

In fact, the prettier the manuscript the crappier the text (usually) - mistakes happened, and in particularly aesthetically pleasing manuscripts they were simply left uncorrected. 

Those corrections and notes are usually fairly subtle, though, and I personally tend to not notice them at all unless I’m actively looking for them. Maybe I’m just bad at noticing details, though.

A lot of manuscripts were re-bound later on - binding and cover seem to be pretty prone to breaking.

Yes, they smell old (A bit like old, hand-written notebooks and documents, but far more intense) and they even sound old. Plus, they tend to have uneven and wavy edges, because parchment doesn’t really lie flat no matter what you do. On a related note, the pages are fairly stiff

Not manuscripts as such, but: I actually saw medieval frickin’ letters that were actually sent, which is a fairly rare thing. A lot of them were absolutely tiny and all of them were folded to be even tinier. We’re talking maybe 5x5 cm when folded. My medieval Latin course actually translated some of those letters beforehand, so seeing those things irl was awesome.***

*Biblioteca Ambrosiana T 175 sup, not that that information is going to do you any good. If you ever do get your hands on it, though, pay attention to the very last page - there is a sentence written in a Gothic cursive at the bottom. **Some of them were apparently made by famous people (such as Petrarca), which people are usually very amazed by. A lot of them are also relatively boring and boil down to “during mass, read the text from there to here”. On the other hand, crooked stick figure drawings and amusing sidenotes are also a (rare-ish) thing. ***Long story short: Some monks in Milano and some monks in Regensburg had a decades-long correspondence in the middle of the 12th century, mostly because the Italian monks wanted to put together a collection of writings by St. Ambrose, some really important dude from Milan. We still have a few of those letters. It’s extremely neat.

[mstigergun]

OC Kiss Week, “the fire like a shroud”

OC Kiss Week, Day SIX (I’ve just totally deviated from the original plan and gone in my own direction at this point)

Prompted by @openthepocketwatch and featuring Alla Trevelyan and Evelyn Lavellan (bonus companion meme here, and also Hayley has a bunch of gorgeous Evelyn artwork on her blog, so you should go look at that!!). And as much as I tried to get this little story around to a proper kiss (because look at Evelyn, and these two have such an easy vibe and clearly Alla has A Thing for very competent ladies, especially very competent ladies who like to bestow blades as a way of showing that they care), the words just wouldn’t cooperate. Which was really frustrating, but alas. Stories are gonna do what they’re gonna do! 

I’ve set this in AU: inglorious (of course) and have run with the idea that Evelyn continues to be The Best craftswoman and a continued friend of Trevelyans far and wide. Set vaguely in the early days of being in Skyhold, when it’s still kind of shitty.

(Please don’t squint at my made-up smithing procedures!)

[~1900 words]

the fire like a shroud

Annealing, in metallurgy and materials science, is a heat treatment that alters the physical and sometimes chemical properties of a material to increase its malleability and reduce its hardness, making it more workable.

“Don't be cross,” says Alla, the very moment she steps past the threshold to the Undercroft, its damp and heated air like passing from winter straight through to summer afternoons. “But I've brought you another blade to sort out.”

The hammer in Evelyn's hand falls to a rest, as she rubs her cheek – sooty and flushed with heat – against her bicep. “Alla Trevelyan, you’re a fickle woman. Didn't I just send you into the field with a new sword?”

She had, the blade so gleaming and sharp that Alla had nearly gasped when first Evelyn had offered it forward, her fingers curling and uncurling with eagerness at her sides. Which had been before she'd even felt how perfectly it had been weighted, how adeptly Evelyn had tailored it to Alla's build and fighting style. Like an extension of her arms, only much more prone to splitting skills as if they were warmed butter.

“So you did, but surely, rare and enchanted blades warrant your skill.” She nearly skips down the stairs, sliding past bristling trunks of swords in need of sharpening and piles of tarnished armour waiting to have dents pounded out.

Evelyn watches, her lips quirked into their omnipresent smile – the one that curls with Evelyn’s trademarked mischievousness. But the moment her stare dips down to the blade in Alla's hand, a tarnished arc better resigned to scrap than to battle, that smile becomes skeptical. “I’ll need a bit more flattering if you want me to work on that, Alla.”

Which is fair enough: to say the sword had seen better days is not too dissimilar from saying that Skyhold, with the holes in its walls and its roof, with its crumbling foundations, is prone to being slightly drafty.

“Have I told you yet home many heads I cleaved from bodies with Red Glory?” Alla draws near enough that the heat rolling from the forge makes sweat gather in the hollow of her throat. She leans in, presses her lips to Evelyn's cheek – which smells, as always, of smoke and steel and some unnamed sweetness beneath. “A great number, is how many. As many heads as stones on a mountainside.”

“Oh, I'm sure.” Evelyn plucks the new, sad sword from Alla's grip and hefts it upwards. It twists in the light, metal a speckled mess that looks more suited to boulders and lichen than a once hallowed blade. Her glittering stare is attentive as she works the blade, feeling its heft with the roll of her wrist, examining the way the edge has been forged. “Where did you find this?”

Alla hops backwards onto a low table where an assortment of hilts rests. “A cave.”

Her friend's eyes narrow, knowing. “You're just saying that.” Still, she twists the sword in her hand, a nimble, efficient touch. A master's evaluation.

And she's right, of course. Alla found it in an unremarkable box in the middle of a very boring stretch of grassland.

But she's certain – absolutely positive – it has a grand story, this sword. Felt it the moment she first placed her hand upon the hilt, its weight familiar and welcoming despite the circumstances that saw her matching through the Exalted Plains.

She can hardly lie, though. “It’s possible,” Alla admits, “that the cave is metaphor.”

“A metaphor for a grimy trunk?”

Alla laughs, reaching to undo the laces at her throat. Her skin prickles uncomfortably with heat. The rest of the castle may be frigid, but the smithy is always blistering. “Just so, I'm afraid. There's something to it, though, isn't there?”

Evelyn sets it down gently on the table farthest from the forge, brushing her hands against the heavy apron she wears when working. “There may be. When I finish with it. If I finish with it. I just can't figure out why you'd bother, Alla.” A small pause, then, “You do like Red Glory?”

Which sets something vaguely guilty and very complicated to twisting in Alla's belly. She must seem ungrateful indeed, which cannot stand. Not when she feels precisely the opposite. Not when Evelyn has been spending, if the word on the air is true, all hours of the day here, making and repairing blades and armour and any of the other hundred things an organization like the Inquisition needs.

She’s been working herself to the bone, without so much as a thought for herself. And now Alla seems –

You’re a fickle woman, Evelyn had joked. And of course Alla isn’t, but to even appear ungrateful���

So she straightens her shoulders. “I love it,” Alla says, plain. “It is, without qualification, the best sword I've ever had, Evelyn, and I don't say that lightly.”

Evelyn’s smile is brilliant. “I thought it was one of my best.”

Between them, a lull falls – soft and easy, hushed by the sound of the waterfall, the crackling heat of the fires. The weight of the mountain around them. It’s one of the things Alla likes so much about coming to the Undercroft: it’s quiet enough that she can hear herself think, or can choose to not think at all. Alla can sit, sipping tea and reading a book, or watching Evelyn work, or chatting amicably.

Respite.

But not everyone is so fortunate.

“It’s not for me, this new one,” Alla offers. After all, Evelyn is certainly due an explanation. And though the details aren’t Alla’s to tell, she might set the stage clearly enough so that Evelyn understands just how precious the task at hand is.

“Hm.” Evelyn turns, grasping at a dagger she’s in the process of remaking. She plunges it into the violent red of the forge, her skin glowing golden under the rich firelight. “So,” she says, while the blade heats white-hot. “Who’s the lucky warrior, then?”

Alla doesn’t have a chance to respond, because the next moment Evelyn’s hauled the dagger from the coals and returned it to its anvil. Her hammer strikes in some staccato pattern Alla’s never been able to discern. Some time later, while Alla’s considering all of the ways in which she might explain and all of the ways in which she can’t, Evelyn plunges the dagger into a waiting barrel of water.

“You know my sister, Yuliya,” Alla starts, as careful as training exercises inside the ring. Nary a misplaced foot.

Evelyn fusses with the dagger, twisting it in the barrel. Her cheeks are flushed, forehead sheened with sweat. A piece of hair, come loose from its binding, brushes her jaw. “I've seen her a few times. Usually in the gardens, often reading the Chant.”

That would be the sort of thing a Dalish elf notices, Alla supposes. The unease continues to coil.

“Well,” says Alla, very aware that she walks an impossibly thin line between confiding and telling tales not rightly belonging to her, however often they keep her up at night. “She hasn't quite been herself lately. Not in awhile, I'm afraid, and we used to be very close. And since she and I have always shared our love for swords…”

Evelyn shoots her a look, eyes bright. “And axes,” she suggests. “And sometimes maces?”

“Yes, sometimes maces,” Alla laughs, scrubbing one hand against the back of her neck. “Once we were obsessed with the notion of cutlasses. She must have written me a hundred letters about pirate battle tactics and their applications! Still. I'd thought… Well. With a truly remarkable sword in her hand, mightn't she feel more like herself?”

That wins her Evelyn’s full attention. She turns, squaring her shoulders, her head tilting to one side. “Maybe,” Evelyn says, slow. “It’s something I’ve actually tried, and – You know, you might be the only other person I know who thinks that giving someone something sharp and shiny might help them come back to themselves.”

She understands. Bless her, this wonderful, generous woman, who’s all but hidden herself away in the Undercroft in an attempt to somehow see the Inquisition to better, brighter days.

Evelyn deserves better than being asked for endless favours, than long nights by the blistering heat of the forge, than the omnipresent hiss of the waterfall. However nice any one thing may be in moderation, surely even the loveliest of comforts can become grating in excess.

Time, perhaps, for a generosity of Alla’s own. “Besides,” she adds mildly as she hops down from the table and rolls her shoulders, a familiar, welcome stretch after the long journey back to Skyhold, “Rumour has it you're bored to tears inside these walls.”

“Oh?” Evelyn's eyebrows shoot up, her arms folding across her chest, half-leaning against the table to her side. Between the pose, and the soot, and the little familiar smirk, she looks more a treasure-chasing rogue than a smith. A convergence of many identities, all tied up in one small elf. “And is our rumour monger named Virion or Talen perhaps?”

Both, actually. Though Evelyn need not know.

“Regardless of origin” Alla says, wandering nearer Evelyn’s work table and peering at her hundred little projects, “If there's any substance to such idle gossip, I have heard tell of an old abandoned mining village not terribly far from here. I could get leave from the Inquisitor. We must always be looking for fine metals, after all. And buried treasures.”

“Buried treasures,” Evelyn repeats. “Like sad swords in mouldy crates?”

“Is there any other sort?”

Evelyn snorts, a short and breathy laugh. She reaches and tucks her stray piece of hair behind one pointed ear. “Of course there is, but I'm not fussy. I'll take treasures of all sorts.”

“So…” Alla reaches and runs her fingers along the sword she'd brought across endless miles, all for the sake of her sister. And in utter faith that Evelyn will be able to make something divine of it. To make something that will remind Yuliya of who she is, beneath the rust of the horrors of her past. “You'll try to return this to its former glory? As a favour to me?”

Evelyn edges near Alla, her narrow shoulders bumping against Alla’s arm – a deliberate jostle, warm and comfortable. “You don’t even need to bribe me with treasure,” she says. “But now that you’ve made the offer…”

The relief is immediate. Alla sighs, warm and contented, reaching to fold her arm around Evelyn’s shoulders. Again she leans down, pressing a kiss to Evelyn’s temple and taking a moment to again tuck that stubborn piece of hair back into place. “You,” she says, “are an absolute delight. Now, you must tell me all about what you’ve been up to since we last spoke. I killed a great deal of things with that sublime sword of yours. And you?”

They drift apart, Evelyn turning again to tend to her work as she regales Alla with stories of the group of Antivan thieves who’d shown up with some very mysterious goods on offer. Alla settles into her customary place, and lets her usual concerns – about her sister and the dark circles beneath Yuliya’s eyes, about all that led to them being here, about the Inquisitor, the state of the world, her foolish brothers, her new friends, about upcoming battles and the very real fact of their own fragile mortality – drift away. Like steam over water, or smoke from the forge. Until there is nothing left but quiet and laughter and plans for adventure.