#egg yolk in paintings

[blueiscoool]

Scientists Identify Secret Ingredient in Leonardo da Vinci Paintings

"Old Masters" such as Leonardo da Vinci, Sandro Botticelli and Rembrandt may have used proteins, especially egg yolk, in their oil paintings, according to a new study.

Trace quantities of protein residue have long been detected in classic oil paintings, though they were often ascribed to contamination. A new study published Tuesday in the journal Nature Communications found the inclusion was likely intentional — and sheds light on the technical knowledge of the Old Masters, the most skilled European painters of the 16th, 17th, or early 18th century, and the way they prepared their paints.

Scientists confirm long held theory about what inspired Monet

"There are very few written sources about this and no scientific work has been done before to investigate the subject in such depth," said study author Ophélie Ranquet of the Institute of Mechanical Process Engineering and Mechanics at the Karlsruhe Institute of Technology in Germany, in a phone interview. "Our results show that even with a very small amount of egg yolk, you can achieve an amazing change of properties in the oil paint, demonstrating how it might have been beneficial for the artists."

Simply adding some egg yolk to their works, it turns out, could have long-lasting effects that went beyond just aesthetics.

Eggs vs. oil

Compared with the medium formulated by ancient Egyptians called tempera — which combines egg yolk with powdered pigments and water — oil paint creates more intense colors, allows for very smooth color transitions and dries far less quickly, so it can be used for several days after its preparation. However, oil paint, which uses linseed or safflower oil instead of water, also has drawbacks, including being more susceptible to color darkening and damage caused by exposure to light.

Because making paint was an artisanal and experimental process, it is possible that the Old Masters might have added egg yolk, a familiar ingredient, to the newer type of paint, which first showed up in the seventh century in Central Asia before spreading to Northern Europe in the Middle Ages and Italy during the Renaissance. In the study, the researchers recreated the process of paint-making by using four ingredients — egg yolk, distilled water, linseed oil and pigment — to mix two historically popular and significant colors, lead white and ultramarine blue.

"The addition of egg yolk is beneficial because it can tune the properties of these paints in a drastic way," Ranquet said, "For example by showing aging differently: It takes a longer time for the paint to oxidize, because of the antioxidants contained in the yolk."

The chemical reactions between the oil, the pigment and the proteins in the yolk directly affect the paint's behavior and viscosity. "For example, the lead white pigment is quite sensitive to humidity, but if you coat it with a protein layer, it makes it a lot more resistant to it, making the paint quite easy to apply," Ranquet said.

"On the other hand, if you wanted something stiffer without having to add a lot of pigment, with a bit of egg yolk you can create a high impasto paint," she added, referring to a painting technique where the paint is laid out in a stroke thick enough that the brushstrokes are still visible. Using less pigment would have been desirable centuries ago, when certain pigments — such as lapis lazuli, which was used to make ultramarine blue — were more expensive than gold, according to Ranquet.

A direct evidence of the effect of egg yolk in oil paint, or lack thereof, can be seen in Leonardo da Vinci's "Madonna of the Carnation," one of the paintings observed during the study. Currently on display at the Alte Pinakothek in Munich, Germany, the work shows evident wrinkling on the face of Mary and the child.

"Oil paint starts to dry from the surface down, which is why it wrinkles," Ranquet said.

One reason for wrinkling may be an insufficient quantity of pigments in the paint, and the study has shown that this effect could be avoided with the addition of egg yolk: "That's quite amazing because you have the same quantity of pigment in your paint, but the presence of the egg yolk changes everything."

Because wrinkling occurs within days, it's likely that Leonardo and other Old Masters might have caught onto this particular effect, as well as additional beneficial properties of egg yolk in oil paint, including resistance to humidity. The "Madonna of Carnation" is one of Leonardo's earliest paintings, created at a time when he might have been still trying to master the then newly popular medium of oil paint.

New understanding of the classics

Another painting observed during the study was "The Lamentation Over the Dead Christ," by Botticelli, also on display at the Alte Pinakothek. The work is mostly made with tempera, but oil paint has been used for the background and some secondary elements.

"We knew that some parts of the paintings show brushstrokes that are typical for what we call an oil painting, and yet we detected the presence of proteins," Ranquet said. "Because it's a very small quantity and they are difficult to detect, this might be dismissed as contamination: In workshops, artists used many different things, and maybe the eggs were just from the tempera."

However, because adding egg yolk had such desirable effects on oil paint, the presence of proteins in the work might be an indication of deliberate use instead, the study suggested. Ranquet hopes that these preliminary findings might attract more curiosity toward this understudied topic.

Maria Perla Colombini, a professor of analytical chemistry at the University of Pisa in Italy, who was not involved in the study, agreed. "This exciting paper provides a new scenario for the understanding of old painting techniques," she said in an email.

"The research group, reporting results from molecular level up to a macroscopic scale, contributes to a new knowledge in the use of egg yolk and oil binders. They are not more looking at simply identifying the materials used by Old Masters but explain how they could produce wonderful and glittering effects by employing and mixing the few available natural materials. They try to discover the secrets of old recipes of which little or nothing is written," she added.

"This new knowledge contributes not only to a better conservation and preservation of artworks but also to a better comprehension of art history."

By Jacopo Prisco.

[doradeluna]

More eggs! Having fun with these. I don't think I got the texture that well but it was more about the making of the painting than the quality of the painting, lol

For @quezify's eggtober!

Reference

[terrified-spider]

Finally got around to making and painting some eggs for @quezify's Eggtober! (: I'm a sucker for over easy eggs with kimchi and soy sauce, I figured I should paint that if I was going to paint anything for the challenge. (:

[liebelesbe]

quick irl egg today!! (+ the other side) @quezify

[ID: A glass jar that's been painted white. On one side there's a fried egg drawn on it, on the other side it's the face of a ghost. End ID]

[gr3yart]

Some fruit practices. Also testing out new brushes (the refferences i used are next to em)

[perahn]

Events led to the party dumping an orphaned and eggspecting hook horror on their friends. Hook horror eggs look a lot like rocks and they did not get them rounded up. Only about 50 of them have hatched! Yark Yark (far left) and Medhredel (far right) are both pretty egghausted, but Celeste thinks the babies are cute and is eggcited to see them grow up.

[dudelynxx]

look at this egg

[royal-raven-reblogs]

I’m reblogging this for the sake of artists and cool stuff. (Eggs are yummy to the mouth and tummy and art is yummy to the eyes. Enjoy both)

occasionally I am struck dumb by the sublime beauty of the world in the small moments, you know?

egg

[josru]

Trying to slowly get back into drawing— here’s a sriracha egg on fried rice :)

[thekittymuffin]

Are you telling me a shrimp painted this Madonna and Christ?

[doradeluna]

More eggs.

For @quezify's eggtober!

Reference

[mya-valentine]

Hi! it's me again! I'd like to request a few genshin men/boys and most of them are my favs like at least like 14 of them😂 fluff please

I wanted to request a Diluc, Razor (it's fine if you don't do him, but I'm pretty sure he's at least 16 or 17) Xiao, Wanderer, Cyno, Al Haitham, Neuvillete, Kinich, Ororon (there's lack of Ororon love) and Dainsleif. I wanted the headcannon to be like:

their friends asking fem!reader: What do you see in him?

reader: he makes me laugh

i wanted to see this kind of headcannon for so long (i hope it's okay if i can request this much character😅)

Headcanon: He Makes Me Laugh

Diluc

At a cozy café in Mondstadt, you and your friends sit around a small table, sharing stories over steaming cups of tea. One of your friends leans in, eyebrows raised. “Diluc? Really? What do you see in him?”

You take a moment to think, a smile creeping onto your face. “He makes me laugh,” you finally reply.

Your friends exchange skeptical glances. “Diluc? The serious, brooding one? How does that even work?”

You lean back in your chair, recalling a recent night at the tavern. Diluc had been tending bar when a customer made a ridiculous drink request. With a straight face, he had leaned over to you and said, “If I serve one more ‘secret drink’ request, I might just invent a potion to erase memories of it.”

You burst into laughter, and he shot you a quick, playful smirk, a hint of mischief dancing in his eyes. The moment had felt electric, a fleeting glimpse of the softer side he rarely showed anyone else.

As you reminisce, you can’t help but grin, feeling warmth in your chest. “He’s got this dry wit that surprises me. You just have to know where to look.”

One friend rolls her eyes. “Okay, I can see it. But how do you get him to show it?”

You shrug playfully. “Maybe he just needs someone to break through the brooding exterior.”

Diluc, standing nearby, overhears your laughter and smirks, catching your eye with a knowing look, as if he appreciates the affection behind your words.

Razor

Your friends are gathered in your room, sprawled on the floor as you all catch up. Suddenly, one of them narrows their eyes and asks, “You’re with Razor? What do you even talk about?”

You can’t help but giggle at the question. “Oh, you have no idea. He makes me laugh!”

Your friends exchange confused looks. “Razor? The one who spends all his time with wolves?”

You nod, recalling a beautiful morning walk you took with him through Wolvendom. “The other day, we were watching the sunrise. He looked at it, wide-eyed, and said, ‘Looks like egg yolk spilled.’ And then he asked, ‘Why do people say ‘crack of dawn’? Dawn don’t break…’”

Your friends burst into laughter, imagining Razor’s serious face juxtaposed with his innocent, childlike observations.

“He’s not trying to be funny, but he has this way of looking at the world that’s just… refreshing,” you explain, a soft smile on your lips as you think about him.

One friend grins, raising an eyebrow. “I mean, I guess if you’re into that… unique perspective.”

Razor, who has been listening from the doorway, looks a bit confused but intrigued. “I like egg yolk. It is good food,” he adds earnestly, causing another round of laughter.

Xiao

In a quiet corner of Liyue Harbor, your friends sit across from you, disbelief painted on their faces. “Xiao?” one asks, incredulous. “But he’s so… intense and brooding! What do you see in him?”

You chuckle, leaning back in your chair. “He makes me laugh,” you respond, shaking your head at their expressions.

Your friends exchange skeptical glances, clearly struggling to understand how someone as serious as Xiao could ever be funny. “Seriously?” one of them challenges. “How?”

You remember a day when you and Xiao were training together on the mountain. As you stumbled over a loose rock, he caught you just in time, and without missing a beat, he said, “Are mortals always this clumsy?”

You had burst out laughing at his deadpan delivery, and for a moment, you saw a flicker of amusement in his eyes. “He doesn’t mean to be funny, but his honesty is refreshing,” you explain, smiling at the memory.

Your friends nod, starting to see your point. “Okay, I can see how that would be amusing.”

Just then, Xiao approaches, overhearing the conversation. He raises an eyebrow. “You laugh a lot around me. Is that good?”

You grin, meeting his gaze. “Absolutely! It’s one of my favorite things about you.”

Xiao looks slightly flustered but turns away, a hint of a smile breaking through his usual stoicism.

Wanderer

Strolling through a quiet clearing with your friends, one of them shoots you a concerned glance. “So… Wanderer? The same guy who’s known for his prickly attitude? What exactly do you see in him?”

You smirk, already used to the question. “He makes me laugh,” you say simply.

They look skeptical, one raising an eyebrow. “Are you sure we’re talking about the same guy?”

You nod, smiling at the memory of a recent encounter. Wanderer had once muttered something about the “absurdity” of people who thought they knew everything about him. He’d followed it up with, “Honestly, they know less about me than that rock does about erosion.” He’d pointed at a boulder, then turned to you, daring you to laugh. But you couldn’t help it—you cracked up, and he’d rolled his eyes, but with the faintest hint of a smile himself.

Your friends seem taken aback. “Wait, Wanderer said that?”

Just then, Wanderer appears, crossing his arms as he approaches. “Are you sharing my profound observations with these mortals?” he asks, feigning annoyance, but there’s a softness in his eyes as he glances at you.

You grin, meeting his gaze. “I can’t help it. You’re just so funny.”

He scoffs, muttering something about “annoying people,” but the faintest smile betrays him, earning a knowing look from your friends.

Cyno

After a long day, you and your friends gather at a cozy teahouse. One of them finally leans in with a curious look. “Cyno, though? Isn’t he a little… intense? What do you see in him?”

A grin spreads across your face as you think of Cyno’s well-meaning, if occasionally dreadful, sense of humor. “He makes me laugh.”

Your friends look surprised, clearly doubtful. “Cyno? Are you sure? He’s the General Mahamatra!”

You laugh at their disbelief. “Yes, that Cyno. Once, he tried to tell me a ‘joke’ about Teyvat’s elemental reactions. ‘Did you know Pyro and Hydro make steam…y results?’” You can’t help but laugh at the memory, and your friends blink at you, processing.

Then one snickers, and another gives in. “Okay, that’s actually—unintentionally funny.”

As if summoned, Cyno appears at the table. “Did I hear mention of… humor?” he asks with utmost seriousness, casting a proud look your way. “I have another one. What did the dendro traveler say to the withering zone?”

You grin knowingly, but your friends glance at each other nervously. “What?” they ask in unison.

“‘Leave it to me,’” Cyno deadpans, straight-faced. You burst out laughing, your friends struggling to hold back their smiles. Cyno raises an eyebrow, satisfied. “See? I told you humor is a valuable asset.”

Alhaitham

Gathered at the Sumeru Library, your friends can’t hide their disbelief. “Alhaitham? What do you even see in him?” one of them exclaims, shaking her head.

You grin, leaning back in your chair. “He makes me laugh.”

“Really? The stoic scholar?” they ask, bewildered.

You reminisce about a quiet evening when you found him deeply engrossed in a book. You had asked, “What’s so interesting?” He glanced up and replied, “The existential dread of characters in fiction is quite entertaining. They can’t even do anything about it.”

His deadpan delivery made you laugh, and he’d raised an eyebrow, confused by your reaction. “You find that funny?” he’d asked, genuinely perplexed, which only made you laugh harder.

Your friends start to nod, clearly amused. “Okay, maybe he has a point there.”

Alhaitham, overhearing your laughter, approaches with an amused glint in his eye. “I see you’re discussing literature. Should I be concerned?”

You shake your head, smiling. “Only if you’re worried about being funny.”

He smirks, unfazed. “Then I have nothing to worry about.”

Neuvillete

In the refined atmosphere of Fontaine’s opera house, your friends question your attachment to Neuvillette, the reserved Chief Justice. “So, what do you see in him?” one friend asks, an eyebrow raised. “Neuvillette’s so… solemn. He barely smiles.”

You chuckle, casting a glance at the grand stage. “But that’s the thing. He makes me laugh when I least expect it.”

Your friends exchange looks, clearly unconvinced. “Really? Neuvillette?”

You nod, remembering a moment from an evening much like this one. Neuvillette had been watching an opera, his typical composed expression in place, when he leaned over and whispered, “I find it curious that, despite its grandeur, this aria is about a fish lamenting her lost pond. Dramatic, isn’t it?” His understated humor and subtle wit had made you stifle a laugh, though he looked pleased with your reaction.

One friend’s eyes widen in surprise. “Wait, he actually jokes? In his own way?”

At that moment, Neuvillette arrives, having overheard the conversation. “I merely observe the world as it is,” he says with a faint, almost invisible smile. “I trust I’ve provided adequate amusement?”

You smile up at him warmly, while your friends look at each other, slowly starting to see his appeal. “Yes,” you reply, reaching for his hand. “You certainly have.”

Kinich

As you and your friends stroll through the bustling markets, one of them nudges you, raising an eyebrow. “So… Kinich? He’s got that cold, intense vibe. What do you see in him?”

You chuckle, picturing the man who, beneath his pragmatic exterior, occasionally revealed a dry, clever humor that caught you off guard. “He makes me laugh,” you reply, smiling.

Your friends blink, visibly unconvinced. “Kinich? The Kinich? The guy who talks like every word is a business contract?”

“Trust me, he’s funnier than you think.” You recall a time when you had teased him about always being so serious. He had given you a mock-stern look and said, “Seriousness is simply efficiency applied to communication. If I were to, say, laugh needlessly, it would be inefficient—unless, of course, you think I’m funny?” His tone had been deadpan, but you had caught the sparkle in his eyes, which only made you laugh harder.

One of your friends scoffs, half amused, half disbelieving. “He’s secretly funny? Now that I have to see.”

Just then, Kinich appears, drawn by the sound of laughter. He stands with his usual composed expression, his gaze steady as he glances at you. “Am I interrupting?” he asks, though his eyes linger on yours with a warmth your friends would never guess at.

“Not at all,” you reply, a mischievous smile on your lips. “We were just talking about how funny you are.”

A single brow arches, and he replies smoothly, “If efficiency in humor is what amuses you, then I suppose I’ve succeeded.”

Your friends stare, open-mouthed, as he gives a faint smile, the smallest show of his affection reserved just for you.

Ororon

Gathered in a quiet grove just outside the bustling village, your friends share stories, each of them glancing at you with barely concealed curiosity. Finally, one of them speaks up. “Ororon? Really? He’s so… unconventional. What do you see in him?”

You smile, looking down at the wildflowers in your hand. “He makes me laugh.”

They seem taken aback, sharing doubtful glances. “Ororon? But he’s so… odd. He even lives out in the woods by himself. Isn’t he a little too eccentric?”

You laugh softly, thinking of all the moments Ororon’s uniqueness had brightened your days. “Maybe. But he’s more observant than anyone I know.” You recount a day spent walking with him through the forest, where he had pointed out a bird with feathers the color of storm clouds and said, with absolute conviction, “Look at him, he’s judging us. Clearly, he’s unimpressed with our lack of feathers.” You’d laughed, and he had given you a small, playful smile.

One friend smirks, shaking their head. “You actually find him funny?”

Before you can answer, Ororon appears, emerging from the trees with his usual easygoing stride. “Are we discussing birds?” he asks, his expression calm as he settles beside you. “I could have sworn I saw a bird earlier that looked particularly snobbish. Perhaps it’s you it dislikes.”

You laugh, reaching for his hand as your friends chuckle, finally starting to understand his strange charm. “Exactly,” you say, giving his hand a squeeze.

Ororon gives a satisfied hum, his eyes meeting yours. “See? Nature understands us well.” And in that moment, your friends see how the quiet humor of this eccentric man makes him so dear to you.

Sitting on a rooftop overlooking the stars, your friends are still trying to wrap their heads around your choice. “Dainsleif? Really? What do you see in him?” one asks skeptically.

Dainsleif

You smile softly, reflecting on your experiences. “He makes me laugh.”

Your friends look puzzled. “But he’s so serious and mysterious!”

You recall a late night when you were stargazing together. He had shared tales of his travels and then abruptly said, “In the end, I find that stars are just like people. Some are bright, some are dim, and some are just… lost.” Then, after a pause, he added with a straight face, “But at least they all shine, even if it’s just for a moment.”

You had burst into laughter at his unexpected metaphor, and he’d turned to you, a hint of confusion in his eyes as he asked, “Is that amusing?”

You nod, a warm smile on your face. “Yes! It’s all about perspective with you.”

Your friends nod, starting to see the appeal. “Okay, that’s a bit poetic.”

Dainsleif, overhearing the conversation, walks over with an amused look. “If my musings provide amusement, then perhaps I should share more.”

You grin. “Please do! We could all use a little more humor.”

.

.

.

Masterlist

[corroded-hellfire]

The Bunny and the Hair - Eddie Munson x Reader

Summary: All you want is a cute photo of your daughter in her bunny costume and a photo of the whole Munson family together. But nothing is simple when the children of Eddie Munson are involved

Note: Happy Easter! Thank you to my darlings @munson-blurbs and @offensiunculaee for helping me brainstorm ideas when the only thing in my head was Eliza dressed as a bunny 💕

Words: 1.2k

[As You Wish masterlist]

“Aww, come on sweet pea. Give me a smile.”

Your five-month-old daughter does the very opposite of that. It seems that Eliza Munson has somehow perfected the art of giving a piercing glare before mastering sitting up on her own without being a little wobbly. 

The fuzzy white bunny suit she’s in, hood with ears and all, paints the most adorable picture you’ve ever seen. It would be even cuter if she would flash a brief look of glee for a single photo. This Easter is warmer than it’s been in the last few years and it’s easy to understand that she’s getting hot, which is making her cranky. But you just want one good picture. 

“Just one little smile for Mommy? Please?” You raise the small silver camera to your eye before remembering that this new fancy one has a digital screen where you can see what the picture will look like without squinting through a little hole. 

Deciding to start snapping shots and see what happens, your forefinger presses the small shiny button that makes a soft click after click. A giggle bubbles out of you as you notice your baby getting grumpier and grumpier with each shot. A flipbook would be a perfect place to put these photos and flip through them to see Eliza Hulk-out in real time. 

She is getting officially fed up now. 

“Boys?” you ask, glancing over your shoulder to where your husband and sons stand, watching your attempt at an infant photo shoot. “Can you make her smile so I can get one good shot? Then I’ll get her out of that.”

If anything can make Eliza laugh, it’s her brothers. Particularly Luke, he likes to remind people. 

“Sure,” Ryan says, looking around for any prop to assist him. His brown eyes snag on the eggs on the coffee table, the ones you and the boys had been in the middle of preparing to be dyed before Eddie came out with Eliza in all her fluffy glory. “Hey! Liza! Watch this!” He catches the baby’s eye and picks up one of the boiled eggs and jumps up, pretending to crack it over Eddie’s head. It brings a small smile out of your daughter. 

“Hey, hey!” Luke says, waving his arms to attract his little sister’s attention. “Eliza, look!” The younger Munson boy grabs an egg and props one socked foot on the edge of the coffee table to leverage himself up high enough to copy Ryan’s actions.

“Oh, Luke, that one wasn’t–”

Your warning comes too late. The ten-year-old had picked up one of the eggs that had yet to be boiled in preparation for decorating. This comes to light when Luke crushes the egg over his father’s head and runny yolk and gooey egg whites plop down onto Eddie’s hair and drip down his frizzy curls. 

The air feels as if it’s been sucked out of the room. All eyes are on Eddie as his shoulders bunch up towards his ears and his jaw drops open, a small dollop of yellow yolk falling onto his salt-and-pepper scruff. It’s hard to tell how long the room is frozen, silent until—

Furious giggles come from behind you and it breaks the tension that kept the four of you rooted to your spots. You whip your head around to see Eliza laughing so hard that she loses her balance and flops down onto her side, unable to remain sitting up straight on her own. Quickly, you’re able to set her up right again and grab the camera getting a few shots of her, giddy as can be in her bunny suit. 

Relieved that’s taken care of, you now turn back to look back at your husband, who hasn’t moved a muscle. Neither has Luke. 

It’s obvious to you by the look on Eddie’s face that he can tell that it was an accident, but your son is wide-eyed in fear, clearly not getting the same sense. 

“E-Eliza, say bye-bye to Luke cause Dad is gonna kill me,” Luke says softly, never taking his bright blue eyes from his father’s egg-covered form. 

Eddie takes a step towards Luke slowly, clearly wanting to keep Luke in suspense until the last second, before he wipes a large glob of the sticky egg goo from his own hair and rubs it into the little boy’s messy curls. A maniacal laugh erupts from deep within Eddie as he tugs Luke against his chest, not letting his son get away as he squirms and squeals, trying to escape the shared messiness. Despite his protests, when Luke pulls back and looks up at his dad, he’s laughing. 

Watching the two of them in amusement, you put your hands on your hips and shake your head. Never a dull moment with the Munson men. The two of them continue to rub egg on one another as you turn towards the only clean boy in the house.

“Ryan, can you go get Eliza out of her costume? Last thing we need is her overheating.”

“Yeah, you get cranky enough already,” Ryan tells his baby sister as he scoops her up. Eliza gives a little harumph, but you think that’s more from the way the twelve-year-old holds onto her tightly than offense at his words. 

You set the camera down on the coffee table, making sure it isn’t near any of the eggs.

“Damn,” you say. “Forgot to get a family picture.”

“We’ll take one when Ry and Eliza come back out,” Eddie says, dodging Luke’s sticky fingers. 

“That’s gonna look great with you two looking like you fell in a vat of slime,” you say with a laugh. 

Your husband and his mini me only continue to get messier until you hear Ryan’s footsteps coming back down the hall toward the living room. The moment your eyes land on your daughter’s new ensemble, you have to do a double take. Eliza is beaming in her brother’s arms, wearing her bright pink bathing suit covered in large, white polka dots. 

Left speechless, your eyes widen and you’re only able to gesture with your hands towards the swimsuit.

Ryan shrugs as he hefts his sister up on his hip. “She grabbed it when I opened her drawer. And you said you didn't want her overheating.”

Your gaze slides from Eliza, over to Luke and Eddie, then back to Ryan.

“You and I are going to be the ones who stick out in the Easter picture,” you tell your oldest. “We look normal.”

“You mean we don’t look normal?” Luke asks, jumping on his dad’s back and scrunching up the man’s eggy curls. 

Sighing and shaking your head in amusement, you snatch up the camera and fiddle with it until you set the timer for three minutes. The entertainment unit is the perfect height to rest the camera so it can get a good shot of the whole family. You set it on the shelf right above the television and nod your family over toward where the lens is facing.

Eddie, still sporting Luke as a backpack, walks over and stands on your right. Ryan, carrying a still-beaming Eliza tucks into your left side. It’s impossible not to look over the gang around you, letting out a laugh as you take in the chaotic bunch.

“Smile!” Luke instructs everyone.

Eddie slips his hand around your waist and pulls your side flush up against his, squishing some of the egg whites against you, causing you to let out a squeal of laughter just as the flash of the camera goes off. Your husband grins and presses a big wet kiss on your cheek

“Now that picture’s gonna be a keeper,” he says. 

[luveline]

Hi lovely, how are you? Idk if you're doing the blurbs still but if you are, can you do something like Eddie taking care of a hungover reader that just partied to hard with her friends? Or something with hockey! Eddie because I love him and you ❤️

I'm good thanks! I hope this is ok ♡ fem

"Come on, loser. Eat up." 

"Can't eat." You stare up at your friend with pleading eyes. "Don't make me." 

"I'm not gonna make you do anything," Eddie says, sliding a plate of eggs and bacon in front of you at the kitchen table with a shrug. "Feel like shit forever, see if I care." 

You pick up your coffee with shaking hands. "You could stand to be a little nicer to me," you whine lightly, more pleading than annoyed. "I don't feel well and you're supposed to love me." 

You think even a dash of compassion from Eddie could cure you. He's not a mean guy —he's been known to hug you at random moments, or lick your wounds for you when things get tough— he's just having an 'I told you so' moment, of which he's prone. 

"This is your own fault." Eddie fills a glass of water at the sink and puts that next to your plate. "If you're going to drink coffee you need water, too. The coffee will make you feel worse in the long run."

"You're like a drill sergeant." 

He finally breaks, reaching across the table to squeeze your forearm. "I just want you to feel better, you dummy." 

Your eyes dry and your head pounding, you switch from coffee to water if only to see some approval in his gaze as he takes the chair beside yours and starts on his own breakfast. Steam drifts in the air, the greasy smell of bacon tickling your nose. You poke an egg yolk with your fork, grimacing as it breaks. 

"Could I make some toast or something instead?" you ask. You really would like to eat, but the egg and bacon is too heavy. You're afraid you won't be able to keep it down. 

He rolls his eyes. "I'll make you some toast, babe, just drink your water." 

He makes you some toast, plate to his chest so he can eat and watch the bread brown at the same time, eating in that boyish way where he leans down to the fork rather than bringing it up to his mouth. It's his fault you got so drunk, in a roundabout way, though you don't actually think that and you'd never tell him if you did. He was in his stupid elf costume from his favourite book, his hair sleek and out of his face, face painted pale. Will you do my makeup? had started innocuously and ended with his hands on your waist to hold you in place, heart in your throat, pulse a hummingbird under his touch. You had to drink to forget the feeling. To avoid ruining everything. 

He seems to be taking pity on you now, swapping your plate for a new one of toast. He dips down to kiss the top of your head Eddie style, smacking. "You should quit partying so hard." 

"It felt like a good idea at the time." 

"Sweetheart," he says, pausing as you take a bite of your toast like it's his mouth that's full. He sighs and wraps an arm around your shoulders to hug you. "Is it really bad?" 

"I feel dizzy." 

"Eat your toast," he encourages, softer now, not a dummy in sight. "You'll feel better once you've recouped your losses. I'll make you some pedialyte, if you want?" 

"Can't I just have gatorade?" you mumble, mouth full of toast, head full of his naked arm pressing to your collar. 

"Don't want much, do you?"

Still, Eddie hauls you to the couch with a bucket just in case and a promise to return. He drives the two miles there and back it takes to get you gatorade and he doesn't complain about it, just breaks the seal and presses it into your hand. 

It's the most peculiar thing when he sits down next to you and takes your hand. Almost hesitant at first, then like it doesn't mean a thing, he holds your hand for the few hours between breakfast and lunch until you feel better, gatorades drank, and an orange eaten between you. 

"Next year," he says, slinking down into the couch, the smells of lunch cooking on the stove, your hand once again taken and held to his chest, "we should go as a duo costume." 

"Like what?" 

"I don't know. Ferris and Sloane?" 

"No one would ever guess who Sloane was." 

"How about, uh," —he's speaking casually, voice dipped low and rough— "fucking, Baby, from that movie you like? Baby and Tommy." 

"Dirty Dancing? You want to go as Baby and Johnny?" you ask. It's the most coupley couples costume there is. 

"I'd have to cut my hair. I don't think I'm ready for that."

"Did you hit your head while you were out?" you ask. 

"Whatever. You can just go as something lame again." He finger runs down your forearm. "You looked nice, but you could've looked awesome. You could've been Arwen." 

"Oh, I get it now. You want a mental image for the bank." Eddie groans and pulls away from you. "No, it totally makes sense, you've been so lonely ever since Macy cut you off–" 

"Shut up, I cut it off with her." He shakes his head and stands. "You're starting to make me regret it," he warns, though the smile appling his cheeks shows that he's not as serious as he sounds. 

He leaves you there on the couch with that stunning implication, your thoughts racing, and when he comes back it's to act like nothing happened, your lunch nicely plated and an ice cold drink to match. "Try and eat it, okay?" he asks. 

"Sure thing, Dr. Hyde." 

[heavenlyeros]

sweet, sleepy jaguar sculpted from semi transluscent yolk yellow clay, toasted with shimmering deep nutmeg colour powder, and detailed with white acrylic paint for a gooey-like appearance and glistening egg tart finish.

choose from: 🐆 creme brulee 🐆 burnt sugar custard 🐆 creme caramel + flan

creatures are about 5 cm long.

acquire here !

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

All the Good Girls Go To Hell 20

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as dubcon/noncon, obsession, power imbalance, injury, and other possible triggers. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: You come home for the summer but your break is not as relaxing as you expect.

Character: Bucky Barnes, Steve Rogers

Note: Friday! (again)

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me <3

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!)

Love you all. Take care. 💖

It takes until noon to get yourself together. The world around you feels disconnected and hazy, beyond your reach. You just want to hide from the chaos your life has become, but you know you can't do that. Bucky says as much, telling you to take it all in small steps. The first; get your car.

You slump in the passenger seat of Bucky's range rover, arms folded over your fraught stomach. Never again. It's never worth it, even if it lets you forget. You just have to remember it all the next day, all while feeling shitty as hell.

He pulls up in front of Harry's house and you slowly sit forward to look around him. You gulp and fish out your keys, the jingle making you wince. You blow out a breath and undo your seat belt.

"Should I come with you, doll?" He offers, one hand on the wheel.

You look at him. His long hair is draw back into a ponytail at the back of his head, a few strands dangle loose to his chin. His square jaw is speckled with dark stubble and few patches of silver. His steely blue eyes shine as his plain white tee and blue jeans offer a perfect canvas for his easy allure. The way he looks at you makes it hard not to notice how handsome he is.

"No, no, I'll just go get my car and follow you back to your place. Should be easy."

You pull the door handle before you can lose your nerve. You're grateful for Bucky's help but you need to do this on your own. He can't coddle you and you can't expect everything from him. You don't want to be in this situation ever again; cast out and lost.

You get out and gently shut the door. You round the front of the tall rover and push your glasses up your nose. You cross the street, tucking your hands in your pockets as you keep your shoulders curled and head down. You cross the pavement and head up the tarmac, stopping short as you catch sight of your car.

Your mouth falls open as you gape at the mess strewn across it. Shaving cream streaks the hood and roof, toilet paper draped over it in tangled strips, and eggs smashed into the worn paint. As you get closer, you notice the only blank patch is keyed with the words 'dumb bitch'. You stare stunned at the desecration of your only possession.

You shake your head and don't look up at the house. You can guess it was probably Harry and his friends. This is the type of stuff the got up to in high school and these people made it clear that you're an outsider. 

You near the car and grab a few strips of toilet paper, pulling them off and wadding them up as you try to wipe off the yolk and half-melted cream. Some of it's caked on after sitting for at least half the night. You sigh and focus on just tearing the tissue off. You can hit a car wash but you don't know what you'll do about the scratches.

As you scrape off what you can, you hear a door and sense a shadow. Harry's laughter rattles in the afternoon sun and you ignore him as you toss clumps of cream and toilet paper onto the ground. You unlock the door and he catches it from the outside, holding it in place.

"Do you get the hint now?" He asks darkly.

"Leave me alone," you tug on the door and it doesn't budge.

"Naomi is better than you. You're just some stupid nerd who doesn't know her place. The only reason Peter was interested is because he wants to make MJ jealous--"

"I don't care--"

"You're too boring for her," he sneers, "so better go off back to your corner and cry, little girl."

"Frig off," you spit at him, "and let go!"

You try to jerk the door away and he just snickers again. You bear your teeth in frustration and roll your eyes. If he wants you gone, why won't he let you go?

"She helped. The eggs were her idea," he taunts. You don't care if she did or not, her loyalties are clear enough. You saw them last night.

"Hey," Bucky's voice rips through your standoff and you turn as he storms up the driveway. "Back up, jackass."

"Jesus Christ, not this geezer," Harry snarls.

"Yes, this geezer," Bucky barks, "go inside before I show you what an old man can do."

"Whatever, bro."

"Whatever," Bucky stomps past you and stops only inches from Harry, looming over him, "I'm up for whatever you choose, boy."

Harry huffs and curls his lip. He raises his hands and takes a step back, "you're not worth the trouble."

"Sure," Bucky keeps his shoulder in front of you, blocking you in, "go on and run back to your posse of dumbasses."

Harry waves him off and turns on his heel, slides flopping under him as he tramps like a toddler back to the house. You shudder and look at Bucky as he turns to you. He rests his hand on the top of the door.

"You alright, doll?" He softens his tone.

"Yeah, fine, he's just dumb."

"Mm," he looks past you, "assholes. Let's get this thing cleaned up and--" He pauses and shifts away, bending to examine the message etched into the paint, "hmmmmm," he growls, "good thing I know how to buff this stuff out." He stands straight, hands on his hips, his pose accentuating his chest and biceps, "you want me to drive this thing till we get it washed or--"

"No, no, it's okay," you murmur, "I just wanna get out off here."

"Sure thing," he tries to smile but his cheek ticks as his eyes drift angrily to the house, "don't let appearances fool you, there people are trash."

🌞

When you get back to Bucky's, he unfolds a lawn chair and points you to it. There's little argument to be had as his anger has you tongue-tied. You know it's not directed at you but you can feel it steaming off of him. You've never been good at handling that sort of emotion, especially from others.

It's probably for the better. Your head is pounding, even in the shadow of the awning, and you stomach is still wobbly with uncertainty. You rest your chin in your hand as you watch him spraying your car with the nozzle of the hose. As he does, the splash back dampens the front of his tee, the fabric clinging to his stomach as he sneers at his task.

He shut the hose off and grabs the sponge from the bucket, scrubbing at the harder to get patches until has has it mostly clean. He gives it another rinse with hose and rolls it up, dumping the bucket in the grass and dropping the sponge inside. He puts the pail down and sits on the steps, only a foot away from you. 

"Sure made a mess of myself," he looks down at his wet shirt, wiping his hands on it before tugging it upwards. He strips it off and shakes it out as you avert your wiley gaze. "I'll buff the side later and it should be fine. Probably have to find somewhere to fix the paint properly, though."

"Thanks, uh, you've really done... enough."

"Shitty," he mutters clutching the shirt in his hand. As he leans an elbow on his knee, your eyes stray to the trim of hair across his broad chest. You hide your wandering gaze and focus on your hands, "I'm sorry she dragged you into all this. Really... and I know I've probably not made it any easier."

"I guess I'm just confused. I don't know what to do with myself. I guess I should keep looking for a job but at this rate, I won't have one until I have to head back to campus. If I even get to go." You exhale shakily, "my parents split tuition but if my mom cuts me off... I don't know what to do."

He nods and gives a thoughtful hum. He sits back and props his elbow on the step behind him, his muscled stomach tugging at your gaze. No, stop.

"I never had kids. Obviously. Always knew I couldn't give them everything I would want to, you know? But if I did, I'd give them everything I could. I just don't get it. I really don't, you're a good girl and they just don't see what's right in front of them," he sucks his teeth, "well, how about..." he stops himself and lets his leg sway one way then the other, "I could offer you a job. You could do some work around the shop. Sweeping up sawdust and stuff but the pay is good."

You nod and chew your lip. It's a nice idea. More than you deserve.

"What... what about..."

"Steve? You let me handle him. Really, he's just a dumbass. Gets carried away. Besides, sounds like he has his hands full with your mom and his wife," he scoffs, "you'll be working with me, not him."

You wiggle your foot, "I don't know..."

"It's your choice but it'll keep you busy and it could help with money problems," he puts his hand flat, "all you have to do is say yes. Oh, and obviously, whatever you decide, you got a place to stay."

You glance up at the house and frown, "I don't... what about Naomi?"

"What about her? If she comes back, same thing for her. She has a room here. I made promises and I don't break those. However she feels about me, I wasn't the one who hit the self-destruct button."

You drop your head, holding it tight as it feels ready to splinter. It's not just your hangover, it's everything else. You squeak and rub your temples with your thumbs.

"You okay?" Bucky leans forward and touches your elbow.

You lift your head gently, "yeah. I just feel awful. That I ever thought you were... bad. After everything, you won't even turn her away."

"She's lost. She's careless but she's young. I only ever wanted to help her, I was just selfish about how," he shrugs and retracts his hand, "but anyway," he stands and touches his lower back, "I think you should go inside, chill out on the couch, and watch some Netflix. I'll get you something nice and greasy to eat for that hangover."

You whimper and give a pathetic smile, "I'm sorry about that," you stand with some effort, "I don't usually drink like that--"

He laughs, "don't apologise," he waves you up the steps ahead of him, "I'm going to start being honest with you so I do need to tell you that it was really cute."

You giggle and shake your head as you reach for the front door. He's fast and extends his arm past you, opening it around you, close, so close you can feel the heat roiling off of him.

"No, it wasn't," you insist.

"It really was," he snorts as he follows you inside, "you get this pout and it's just..." he's quiet as you slip your shoes off, a lull as he weighs his words, "gorgeous."

You chuckle nervously and rub your neck. He clears his throat and toes off his sneakers. He moves around you cautiously, as if fighting not to get any closer.

"I'll go grab my phone and we'll figure out what to order," he mutters, his tone uneven, "you just make yourself at home."

🌞

You feel a bit more stable once you have a good meal in your stomach. Good being a relative term. The greasy cheeseburger and onions rings are hardly nutritious but they are satisfying. 

You slurp on your diet coke as you lay with your head up against the armrest and lose yourself in the shallow drama of the reality show personalities. An argument about a dress really is compelling theatre. You put the cup down and hug the cushion to your chest, laughing as a woman storms out, tossing her wine in the process. Wow, and you thought your life was ridiculous.

You yawn and close your eyes. It's getting late. You should probably go to the guest room and try to sleep off the last of your alcoholic regret. 

The end of the couch dips and your eyes snap open. Bucky sits just below your feet, tilting his head at the screen. He arches his brow as his eyes search the television. His mouth slants as he looks at you.

"So, why are these women screaming at each other?" He asks.

"Oh, uh, you can change it," you go to sit up but he firmly puts his hand on your ankle.

"No, I'm curious. Genuinely."

"Really, it's just a stupid show--"

"I want to know," he smiles and glances back at the TV, "they are really angry."

"Well, the blonde one borrowed a dress from the brunette and never gave it back but the blonde claims she did and the other woman is lying. And the other blonde is saying she saw the dress in the brunette's closet," you explain and end with a chortle, "it really is nonsense."

He keeps his hand on your ankle, his thumb rubbing through the cotton of your sock. He nods and squints, "the brunette is lying."

"Hmm? How do you know?"

"You can tell," he points with his other hand, his other slipping down your foot. "She keeps looking left."

"Oh?" You look between him and the television, overly aware of his hand. He pushes his thumb into your sole and you groan at the delightful pressure.

"You ticklish?" He wonders as he drags his thumb along your arch, "huh?"

"A little," you confess, "what are you--"

"Just... being nice," he grips your foot as you try to pull away once more, "just lay back. Everyone loves a good foot massage, don't they?"

"I... I wouldn't know," you push yourself up on your elbows and watch him knead your foot, barely withholding a moan. He knows what he's doing. "Never had one before."

"Really? Well, you got a lot of tension right... here," he poke his thumb into you and your squeal. It sends a zing up your leg. "See? I told you, you need to relax. I'm just helping." He grabs your ankle higher up and yanks, just hard enough to have you flat on your back, "sit back and enjoy, doll. You deserve it."