#((tumblr formatting is dumb

[meltedmush]

Art dump (1/2) for today!

[tswwwit]

Cipher's Personal Portable Portal

'How they meet' won the poll!

So just to make things fully contextualized, as far as they're gonna be - here's the full first chunk of this stupidly long fic I'm writing.

I hope you enjoy!

Standing in the wreckage of the burnt-out building, Dipper wishes he didn’t know who did it.

Anyone else would have left some trace sign. A scrape of blood, a hint of burnt hair. A friggin’ decent eyewitness report, even.

But here, like last time, and the time before that, and the time before that - there's absolutely zero traces. No video footage, nobody around at the time of the crime. Not even footprints.

Dipper kicks one of the remaining supports, sending a puff of charcoal up from the impact. 

If he knew the bastard’s name, he’d curse it all to hell.

With a sigh of exhaustion, Dipper sits on a chunk of scorched foundation. He pulls his shoe off to tip the ashes out of it; there’s enough that the resulting cloud leaves him coughing. 

Around him, the scoured west wing of the museum is silent, still, and empty. A grey-black skeleton of its former self, filled with dust and charcoal.

This arson is yet another one in a very, very long line of crimes. They’re not just ‘unrelated incidents’, or ‘bizarre coincidences’. Dipper’s not ‘being paranoid’ or ‘coming up with some pretty weird conspiracy theories’. 

There’s only one person who could manage this. The same guy who turned a bank upside down - literally -  and the same one who impaled a mob boss on an oversized silly straw and gave tails to half of a household last week.

It’s all connected.

Each crime is marked with the same style, mostly by how remarkably weird they are. Along with a thread of magic, distinct in its composition. One so distinctive that it's almost a flavor. Though admittedly, without certain magical analysis, it’s pretty hard to detect. 

And if other freelance magicians would take the time and look at Dipper’s notes, maybe one of them would help find this asshole.

Dipper stalks through the burned building, fists balled in his pockets. He stumbles over a fallen support column, and nearly trips before he makes a hopping retreat back. 

Though the culprit has been at his game - whatever ‘game’ that is - for a good half a year now, this is the most destructive ‘incident’ so far. Nobody was hurt, since it happened in the middle of the night. The one relief from a terrible crime, that only objects were obliterated in the process - 

But the ashes speak for themselves.

Here, there’s nothing left.

He breathes in slowly. Then regrets the attempt at calming himself as he coughs again.

Whatever the culprit’s initial motive was, it hasn’t lasted. He’s grown not only in ambition, but also in his abilities. Things are escalating at a rate Dipper doesn’t like to think about.

Someone has to get to the bottom of this. Before it’s too late. Dipper’s got his number, metaphorically speaking, so. Well, might as well be him. 

And when he proves that all of this chaos was created by the same person - 

Well. A little boost to his meager reputation couldn’t hurt. Maybe a few medals and accolades. There isn’t a trophy for best monster hunter, but he can imagine standing on a podium and -

Dipper waves that thought off, swearing under his breath. Stupid. He has better things to focus on.

He’s the only freelancer on the case. Definitely the only one taking this seriously, the only one who thinks it’s the same person to begin with -  and even he’s starting to have some doubts about ever finding the bastard. 

Six months of tracking this guy down, and what does he have to show for it? A ramshackle compilation of incidents, a vague feeling of magic, and a description that could fit any bottle-blond actor with bad fashion sense. Scraps. He might as well pin them up and connect them with red string for all the good it does him.

Another kick sends Dipper hopping back, clutching his foot with a swear. He winces at the hole in the tip, he nearly punctured his foot on a nail.

Just his luck. Wrong place, wrong time, always just barely avoiding disaster. Dipper shows up whenever there’s an event, he’s got the means to follow the guy - but he’s always just a little too late.

Even worse, lately the guy’s been picking places… not at random, exactly. More like he causes trouble wherever it’d be the most annoying to follow.

The culprit must know someone is on his trail. But he’s not making it impossible to keep up, or even majorly difficult for a determined pursuer. Just really, really irritating, like making moves at three in the morning, or pausing just long enough for someone to catch up, then heading right back where he came from. At one point Dipper had to trudge through a literal swamp, only to find that bastard had sauntered in by baking himself a neat little trail right through the damn thing. There wasn’t even footprints to follow.

It’s a repeated point in Dipper’s notes. Whoever this is, they’re a total, absolute dick.

With a sigh, Dipper runs his fingers through the ash on the museum’s floor. Not a single thing is left beyond the shattered glass of some display cases, and the charred remains of the building. Even the enchanted metal tools have been melted into slag. 

The day before yesterday, he could tell something was up. Building energy, something that felt like it was made by the culprit. Something with the twinge of a powerful curse, coiled and being wound up like a spring. 

Dipper spent that evening convincing - okay, maybe also bribing, thank you Stan for the idea - the museum to let him borrow materials. The day after that, he spent all night, morning, and most of the afternoon running around slapping up anti-curse emblems. The entire south of the city warded, in a fine careful net of spellcraft. The work was exhausting. Both in running around, and in the amount of magic he’d needed to use.

But it was worth it. That evening, in the quiet and very uncursed city, all the emblems activated. Dipper would have sworn he sensed someone in the distance, cursing his own name. That night he went to bed with a smug sense of satisfaction, floating on a cloud of triumph.

Which is probably why the bastard burned down the museum next.

With another sigh, Dipper tucks his notebook back into his knapsack. He’s gleaned all he’s going to for today; in the fading evening light, searching more is pointless.

So much for all the magical artifacts. Most of those had come in really useful in messing with the guy. 

…How the hell did the culprit know where they came from, though? He’d need a near encyclopedic knowledge of artifacts to know which ones Dipper used, then track them back to their origin. 

Or maybe he just searched on the internet. It’s hard to tell.

Dipper just wishes there were more clues. But just like every other incident, the guy up and freakin’ vanished.

No human can disappear like that without some very irresponsible use of power. That hope is one Dipper’s hanging his hat on. After six months? He has to be reaching his limits. He’ll burn himself out before he can manage too many more incidents. Maybe Dipper will find him by stumbling on his withered, dissolving corpse.

Whoever this is is pretty strong, but no power is infinite. He can’t hide forever.

It can’t be too much longer. Won’t be. Dipper has a plan, he’s gotten really close, and - He’s good at his job, damn it. He knows he is. 

Taking a deep, slow breath, Dipper lets it out. Patience is the name of the game here. He’s just gotta keep moving.

One day, he’s going to catch up with that bastard. He’ll see the guy in the flesh. Then he’ll grab that stupid dick before he can escape, again, and wipe that presumably smug look off his probably ugly face.

Turning around one last time, Dipper surveys the destruction, stuffs his hands in his pockets - and pauses. 

A speck of light glints in the pile of ash. The last bit of evening sun, shining off a metallic surface.

Alert with surprise, Dipper scrambles over to the pile. Kneeling down, he brushes the dust carefully aside, careful not to disturb anything fragile that might shatter if handled wrong. 

One thing did survive. Thank fuck, it’s not an absolute total loss. Just, uh… Ninety-nine percent of it.

He scuffles through the still-warm ashes, cupping his palms underneath the lump and lifting it from its bed. The motion sends white puff rising up as ash slips away from the artifact.

A small black, squarish thing rests on the pile, a bit larger than both his palms put together. The material is faintly warm from residual heat, insulated by the ash it laid in - and there’s not a mark on it. Not even a scratch. 

Dipper turns the artifact over in his hands with a frown. The shining black surface reveals no obvious buttons or secrets. Just a kind of phone-ish shape, though more square and squat. If he didn’t know any better, he’d say a guest dropped it on the rush to escape. 

The fact that it’s still intact though. Nearly glowing with magic, a tremulous feeling under his palms - this is not dropped by some clumsy tourist. Not even Ford could put this together.

 Wiping at the object with his sleeve, Dipper manages to clean off most of the smooth surface. On one of the sides, dust clings to the thinnest of engravings. The very faint outline of an equilateral triangle. No runes or other magical scribing, just… a shape.

Dipper thinks back but - no, he doesn’t remember seeing this in the collection. A quick check online reveals…

Basically nothing. There are - were - a bunch of stone and metal slabs in the archives, all described so poorly as to be useless. Some are even bunched up in groups. ‘Magical slab 1-24’ and ‘Metal artifact 1-78’, no description involved.

Not surprising. Probably dug up in some mass excavation site, transported here, then never really looked at again. The bulk nature of the shipment means it was overlooked, its magical properties never discovered.

After today, he’s just glad that even one item escaped this onslaught. 

The other artifacts must not have had much to them. But some magical property in this artifact’s making must have saved it from the blaze. Fireproofing, perhaps? Against weird fire? That’s unusual. Maybe even unique.

As the only survivor, it really needs investigating. 

Dipper glances over his shoulder, then around. With everyone evacuated, it’s quiet in the rubble. Nobody here would notice if, say… a clue wandered off.

The artifact slips easily into his pocket. The shape conveniently looks just like a phone, even if the shape’s a bit off. Not something that would attract any attention.

Whistling nonchalantly, ducking out of the way of local law enforcement and any onlookers - Dipper makes his escape. 

Another day of pursuit. Another scene of disaster, the culprit there and gone in the blink of an eye. 

He’ll be up to something new, next. Never the same thing twice, never in the same place. 

Dipper will follow in his evil tracks, of course. But for tonight - his fate is another crappy hotel room. 

He ditches his backpack by the door, slumping against the wall and its chipped paint. He could start going through his notes, and the pictures of the arson. Put in more work, find further connections - 

But it’s been a long day, and he’s tired. He might be magical, but he’s only got so much to work with. A reasonable night’s sleep, if he can manage, will make the task loom less horribly over his tired brain.

With a sigh, he drops back on the mattress. There’s some bounce to it, springs squeaking like they’re full of mice. Hell, maybe they are. The type of room he can afford isn’t exactly decadent.

That, though, should be temporary. Dipper’s career is only just starting; freelancers in the ‘solving magical problems’ scene don’t get great rates. Especially as a beginner. Definitely without a partner; it makes him look super young. Like he’s just starting out, fresh-faced and not having any inroads.

Because this field is really stupid, and doesn’t pay attention to results. Dipper’s been fine on his own for years, and he’s done really cool things without that ‘networking’ crap. 

All by himself. Totally cool with that, because Dipper’s a cool guy, sometimes. If Mabel hypes him up enough on one of their phone calls, he almost believes it too.

Though it would be nice to have some backup, it’s hard to find someone who really gets the job. Or does it in the way that Dipper goes about it. The number of people who are willing to take long treks in hyper-magical territory to search for an obscure clue, or set up really complicated traps for  dangerous monsters, or talk over high-level magical theory while sitting in the rain all night just to get one body-snatcher are…

Well, besides Ford, who recently retired, there aren’t any. Only Dipper himself.

One day, things are going to change for him. All his effort will pay off. If he keeps solving mysteries, and fighting monsters, he’ll forge a reputation as someone who always gets the job done. No matter how hard it is, he can handle it. The work is picking up, too. The last six months have shown the biggest series of magical incidents in decades. 

And he’s gonna be the one to get to the bottom of it.

Dipper Pines, the guy who proved it’s all connected. He’ll have it laid out in facts and math, all the evidence. They’re all gonna see that he was totally right.

Once he finally gets this guy, everything’s going to start looking up. 

The sheets rustle as Dipper settles back, holding the artifact up over himself. He stares into the black surface, and a slightly distorted reflection narrows its eyes back at him. 

A good mystery always intrigues him. This one should take his mind off the other, irritating one for a while.

The only remaining object from the fire is clean and smooth. A mysterious creation, of unknown purpose. Clearly riddled with magic, too; Dipper feels it running just under the surface like a rapid current. It gives the artifact a weight that has nothing to do with mass. 

Power.

Did the criminal see this artifact, still intact after all the other magical objects were gone? Did he try to destroy it too, and fail? Or simply not notice he’d missed one out of thousands?

Whatever it is, it’s got a lot more going on than meets the eye.

Dipper casts a quick identifier, which comes back with nothing. He’s not surprised. That’s the first thing anyone would try. If it was that simple, he’d already have the full description off the site. 

With a shrug, he traces another set of runes, his own version, adding a little more oomph behind it - 

And the magic leaps back instantly, with the bizarre sensation of a bouncy ball hitting concrete.

“Huh,” Dipper says, thoughtfully. He sits up, hunching over the slab in his hands. “Now that’s new.”

A more subtle approach, then. Tracing the lines of energy with the barest brush of magic upon magic reveals something deeply complex. Thin layers twist together deep under the surface, building an entire circulatory system. Dipper has to put it down for a moment, suddenly worried that it is organic. 

When a cautious prod doesn’t get a response, he relaxes. Not fleshy, just complicated. Which also proves he was right earlier - the artifact’s just as powerful as he’d thought. The spellcraft is unlike anything he’s ever seen. 

Dipper rubs his hands together, starting to smile. 

Even if he doesn’t find the guy he’s after, figuring this out could be a heck of a win.

Several attempts later, he’s beginning to get why this bastard brick got tossed in with all the other junk. 

Nothing here is working. It simply deflects. Standard spells poing off of it like rubber, while giving his magical senses an odd, back-of-the brain afterimage of a circle with a slash through it; a firm ‘nah’. 

Dipper nearly chucks the thing across the room in frustration, before shutting his eyes and taking several, calming breaths. 

Okay, weird thing, weird enchantment. The ordinary stuff won’t work. The magical logic is… twisted in a way that leaves it incompatible with most everything. He’ll have to find a different approach. 

“What are you?” Dipper says, low and frustrated. He gives the artifact a shake, as if he can knock the secrets out like a rock from a shoe. “What secrets are you hiding in there?” 

No response, not that he expected one. With a wry smile, he taps the sleek surface with a finger, twice. “C’mon, man. Talk to me.” 

Huge yellow letters flash onto the black surface. 

HEY

Dipper throws the artifact, a bit awkwardly since he’s lying on his back. It sails in the air in a high thin arc, landing with a thump between his legs. He scoots rapidly backward, sheets pulling up behind him. 

The artifact lies where it landed, an unmoving brick.  There’s magic in the air now, but no sense of any spell building, ready to unleash power to blow his face off. The latent spellcraft of the artifact has just been activated.

More text displays on the surface, bare except for the glowing letters. 

To the jerk that’s swiped my private stuff: You got some nerve! I expect this back by interdimensional mail in a week, or trust me - there will be consequences.

Dipper waits a full minute before he lets go of the headboard. Tentatively, he kneels near the…

 Is this a phone? 

Clearly it’s a communication device of some sort, with the freaking text messages. A phone is the obvious equivalent, only - he thought it looked far older than that, something way before mobile phones. Possible ancient. Is that a coincidence, maybe, or is it secretly modern?

Dipper taps the ‘screen’, just below the glowing words. To his surprise, there’s actually a keyboard, what the hell. This thing keeps getting weirder.

Since it hasn’t already thrown a horrible curse at him, or burst into flames - it’s reasonably safe to assume that it’s simply ‘on’. Not ‘explosive’. 

With hands that are definitely not shaking, he picks it up, and types,

Who is this? 

His own text pops up in blue. A strange contrast to the yellow, but he’s guessing it’s for convenience - there’s no bubbles to tell who’s said what otherwise.

A few seconds of nervous waiting later, there’s a response. 

Oh hey, you answered! Well, human - You’re talking to the one and only Bill Cipher, Dream Demon, all-powerful master of the Mindscape! I’d say it’s nice to meet ya but you’re not supposed to have a direct line to me!

Dipper raises an eyebrow. 

Now that’s one hell of an introduction. It might even have been interesting, if it didn’t smell of complete bullshit. 

Complicated spellwork, sure. Incomprehensible architecture? Maybe. Dipper can admit it; he’s never seen anything with a web of spells on it this complex, in such small of a package.

But the idea that Dipper just stumbled onto a demonic artifact of all things. One that wasn’t instantly detected, recorded, then ritually destroyed is…

Someone’s fucking with him. 

Dipper rolls his eyes as he types back,

Really? Demon? You can’t expect me to believe that. 

What, you calling me a liar? ‘Cause I am, but not about this! I got better things to mislead mortals about. This is my property, not something for your grubby mortal mitts.

Dipper snorts. Guess this person’s sticking with the bit. Obviously whoever created this would want it back - but too bad. Whether they’re delusional, stupid, or just a flat-out liar, they’re really good at enchanting. It’d be a waste not to study their work. 

He lies back on the bed as he replies.

Sure, have fun roleplaying, or whatever, it doesn’t make a difference. Finders keepers, losers weepers.

ARE YOU CALLING ME A LOSER. MORTAL.

Hmm, I’m detecting a certain amount of ‘crying about it’, so. Yeah. Suck it, loser.

Smirking, Dipper settles back - then his half-smile drops, as he holds the ‘phone’ a little further away from himself. 

Though the blue fire building up in the screen looks like a bad sticker effect, the artifact’s also getting a alarmingly warm. It vibrates in his hands - then suddenly stops, cooling down. 

Ha! Alright, alright, I admit - you got some balls.

Maybe you’ll change your tune once you REALLY know what you’re dealing with! Might wanna check the connection, if you’re even capable of it! Mortal magic doesn’t reach across dimensions!

With a grimace, Dipper taps his fingers on the phone. It’s slightly cooler now, but still worryingly reactive to… whatever happened on the other end. 

Damn. Whoever this is, they’re not only really really good at enchanting, they’re also pretty confident that tracking them down won’t spoil their game. The confidence exuding from this ‘Bill’s’ words feels genuine.

Honestly, though, the suggestion is a good one. Dipper should have tried to trace the call the second he knew someone else was on the line. 

Maybe ‘Bill’ thinks he won’t manage to find him. Joke’s on him, though; Dipper’s amazing at finding stuff. He’s the best tracker of magical anything in years. Maybe decades. With a solid, stable connection right in front of him? Hell, he could do this one in his sleep. 

Time to call the bluff.

He casts the tracing spell, though it takes longer than usual. A few gestures and muttered ritual aren’t gonna cut it; he has to improvise around the strange construction of the enchantment. Even trailing along the magic seems harder than usual, like it resists mixing with his own, and it takes him a few attempts to match the signal. 

Once he finds the right way to tune it… the lead snaps along the already-existing connection, and zips away to find its source.

The line extends out from the shabby hotel room, a plucked string in Dipper’s senses. It twists around the phone, rising slowly. Invisibly passing through the walls and the - 

Ceiling? Dipper looks up on instinct, even though nothing is visible.

From there it swirls around in the air like a silly straw on steroids, and then - out, very far, in a way that isn’t up or down or left or right, just  

Away.

Dipper has to cut off the tracing spell before vertigo has him reeling. The swirling sense of standing on top of a skyscraper is followed by a flip in his stomach. That he’s using a device he barely understands that reaches out into something even more incomprehensible.

He drops the phone-artifact, trying to clear his head by shaking it rapidly. 

That’s not nearby. Not on this planet. Possibly, genuinely, not even in this dimension. 

Shit. Bill wasn’t bluffing.

Dipper wipes sweating palms on the sheets. To pick up the phone again takes an effort, willing himself to grasp it in unsteady hands.

A demon. 

All the monsters he’s fought, curses he’s broken, years of work tucked into his belt, and he’s never seen one of those. 

Demons are dangerous, evil, and very, very powerful. Consorting with them is by all accounts a terrible idea. He should never have picked this up. He should hang up, and throw the damn artifact out the window, hoping that nobody else makes as dumb a mistake as he just did. 

On the screen, there’s a long long scroll of yellow letters, filling the entire surface. ‘HA HA HA HA’ over and over and over again. 

Before he can think better of it, Dipper starts a response. He’s halfway through a sentence - what the fuck, that’s not funny- before he pauses.

Terrible evil monster. Stupid powerful. Probably Bill sensed the tracing of the connection, like he did with Dipper’s other testing. Bill wanted the result startle him. Because he thinks it’s funny.

Dipper grits his teeth, and glares at the screen. 

Actually, screw this guy. Dipper’s keeping the stupid phone. If for no other reason than spite. This ‘Bill’ guy seems pretty full of himself, like he’s totally above some human. He’s in for a bad time, then, because Dipper’s not going to let one little surprise scare him off.

Besides.  The average guy would get into horrible, even deadly trouble, whereas Dipper… sort of knows what he’s doing.  No, he is good at his job. Finding secrets, solving mysteries, thwarting evil jerks who think they’re oh-so-hilarious, the whole shebang. He does it all.

Taking another breath, hissing through clenched teeth - Dipper lets it out. Losing his temper isn’t going to help deal with an extradimensional being. He has to be careful.

He thinks for a long moment before he responds. 

Okay. Let’s say I believe you. Maybe. Then you should know I didn’t steal your… whatever this is. I found it lying around, and I just. Got kind of curious. 

HA HA HA! Of course you were! Careful with that impulse, kid, it kills more than just cats!

A jerk who definitely thinks he’s hilarious. Dipper rolls his eyes, then, rather pettily, decides to ignore that statement. 

More pressing questions take the lead. Like what the fuck he’s holding right now, and if there are any other nasty tricks in store. A little bit of him, bubbling under the surface, wonders what being a demon is like. What they get up to, common habits. Ways they could be tracked down and, y’know, defeated, maybe. 

Theoretically, he’s got a line to a bunch of innocent, totally not-thwarting-related information that could be super useful to someone trying to, maybe, be a super cool monster-fighter.

Dipper backspaces a bunch over some poorly thought out questions. First things first. Like what the hell he’s holding right now.

So. What is this?

Good question! The gadget you’re poking at with your sweaty meat-paws is paired to the one I have here at my place. A little one-on-one communication assistant, if you will. Once you started groping around with your magic, it wasn’t hard to tell someone had picked it up!

Dipper raises an eyebrow. Though he already has an idea… a little confirmation never hurts. 

Like, you got a notification? Or literally felt?

The latter! Kinda like smell, but by touching things with your eyeballs. And with all your prodding around you might as well have been stinking up the place! Your spells aren’t real subtle!

Hey, they’re subtle! Having weird extra senses is just cheating.

Sucks to be human, then! In that you suck at everything! What’s a LOSER like you gonna do about it?

Dipper nearly throws the stupid artifact again - but he holds back, gripping it tight. Instead he sits up, leaning down and hauling his backpack up from the side of the bed. 

Maybe Bill thinks he can’t do anything. That he’s some ignorant nobody, who doesn’t have any real skills or talent or doesn’t have any friends - but he’s got that wrong. Dipper’s not a loser. Bill’s not getting away with that bullshit.

One quick unzip and a bit of rifling around later, he finds what he was looking for. Carefully, Dipper bounces the heft of a flashlight battery in his hand. Shutting his eyes, he focuses on crafting a quick working.

Magic is all about energy, and its direction. Focusing power, conveying it from one place to another. Pushing anything across dimensions would take impossible amounts of energy, stuff Dipper doesn’t have. If it weren’t for a very convenient connection, already in his hand.

Dipper has nothing on hand to actually exorcise the guy - he’s not sure that’s even possible when Bill’s where he should be - but retribution is in order.

More text lines appear on the artifact. He ignores them. Changing this up to work with the demon device is a challenge, but after figuring out how to alter the tracking spell changing this one up isn’t hard. He adjusts the flow of magic this way, into the tangle of not-veins in the device that way, finishes the chant-

Then touches his tongue to the battery.

The jolt passes through him painlessly, following the spell. It zips along his nerves, down into his hand and from there - into the artifact itself. 

Where it should, theoretically end up right at that bastard.

Dipper tosses the battery back into his backpack. Picking up the ‘phone’, hunching over to stare at the screen. 

That worked. He felt the energy move… unless he got the math wrong. Or a detail of his spell. Or maybe demons are immune to electricity, and he just did something totally pointless. 

God. It might even prove Bill right, and wouldn’t that be the worst - 

The next line of text comes in. 

What the hell? A joy buzzer? That’s some real petty prank stuff! You seriously pulled that bullshit? And across dimensions?

A tense pause. Dipper taps the phone, checking for it heating up again - but another line pops up after a few seconds.

Y’know what, kid? I think I might actually like you! You’re FEISTY.

Dipper nearly does a double-take. 

But no, that - what? Aren’t demons supposed to be vengeful? He was half-sure he’d have to chuck the phone out the window before it exploded in his hands. 

In fact, you’re in luck! ‘Cause I’m pretty bored, and I can totally show you how to improve that jinx of yours! If you can keep up with a little theory, that is.

Because that’s not suspicious or anything. Conversation with a demon can only lead to ruin and disaster. He should absolutely, definitely stop this right in its tracks.

Still, Dipper shrugs, and types, 

Try me.

[frascospecimen]

My alice design

[cuties-in-codices]

Where do you find these manuscripts? Is it like a website or do you find it randomly??

hey, thanks for the curiosity! lenghty answer below the cut :)

1)

medieval manuscripts are typically owned by libraries and showcased on the library's websites. so one thing i do is i randomly browse those digitized manuscript collections (like the collections of the bavarian state library or the bodleian libraries, to name just two), which everybody can do for free without any special access. some digital collections provide more useful tools than others (like search functions, filters, annotations on each manuscript). if they don't, the process of wading through numerous non-illustrated manuscripts before i find an illustrated one at all can be quite tedious.

2)

there are databases which help to navigate the vast sea of manuscripts. the one i couldn't live without personally use the most is called KdIH (Katalog der deutschsprachigen illustrierten Handschriften des Mittelalters). it's a project which aims to list all illustrated medieval manuscripts written in german dialects. the KdIH provides descriptions of the contents of each manuscript (with a focus on the illustrations), and if there's a digital reproduction of a manuscript available anywhere, the KdIH usually links to it. the KdIH is an invaluable tool for me because of its focus on illustrated manuscripts, because of the informations it provides for each manuscript, and because of its useful search function (once you've gotten over the initial confusion of how to navigate the website). the downside is that it includes only german manuscripts, which is one of the main reasons for the over-representation of german manuscripts on my blog (sorry about that).

3)

another important database for german manuscripts in general (i.e. not just illustrated ones) is the handschriftencensus, which catalogues information regarding the entirety of german language manuscripts of the middle ages, and also links to the digital reproductions of each manuscript.

4)

then there are simply considerable snowball effects. if you do even just superficial research on any medieval topic at all (say, if you open the wikipedia article on alchemy), you will inevitably stumble upon mentions of specific illustrated manuscripts. the next step is to simply search for a digital copy of the manuscript in question (this part can sometimes be easier said than done, especially when you're coming from wikipedia). one thing to keep in mind is that a manuscript illustration seldom comes alone - so every hint to any illustration at all is a greatly valuable one (if you do what i do lol). there's always gonna be something interesting in any given illustrated manuscript. (sidenote: one very effective 'cheat code' would be to simply go through all manuscripts that other online hobbyist archivers of manuscript illustrations have gone through before - like @discardingimages on tumblr - but some kind of 'professional pride' detains me from doing so. that's just a kind of stubbornness though. like, i want to find my material more or less on my own, not just the images but also the manuscripts, and i apply arbitrary rules to my search as to what exactly that means.)

5)

whatever tool or strategy i use to find specific illustrated manuscripts-- in the end, one unavoidable step is to actually manually skim through the (digitized) manuscript. i usually have at least a quick look at every single illustrated page, and i download or screenshot everything that is interesting to me. this process can take up to an hour per manuscript.

---

in conclusion, i'd say that finding cool illuminated manuscripts is much simpler than i would have thought before i started this blog. there are so many of them out there and they're basically just 'hidden in plain side', it's really astounding. finding the manuscripts doesn't require special skills, just some basic experience with/knowledge of the tools available. the reason i'm able to post interesting images almost daily is just that i spend a lot of time doing all of this, going through manuscripts, curating this blog, etc. i find a lot of comfort in it, i learn a lot along the way, and i immensely enjoy people's engagement with my posts. so that's that :)

[vinegarjello]

one of my favorite scenes from “The Rehabilitation of Death” by @bamsara

i love this fic sm rrrrargh

[astranauticus]

Rolling With Difficulty as texts I have saved on my computer for some reason

(i drew every day for like a month straight and burnt out so have this nonsense instead)

[coldresolve]

tbh i didnt mean “not wanting to be criticized” i meant “not wanting to search up things and dive into stuff”. Rolling your head on the keyboard and relaxing while creating something is not the same by any means. I was also thinking more of visual art when i wrote that, since “art” is usually used in that sense these days. I do write and i do “research” (not like actual research articles tho) but i couldnt care less about political or any “other” interpretations. I know ur on the mindset of “all art is political” but nah. I just like creating. I dont even ever look ar politics. No news, no social media, nothing, i dont care, i dont interact, i dont listen. Not something that i care about. And im not the only one. And thats also fine. Art and creativity and the act of creation means different things to different people and noone can make a blanket statement with saying “its always political” or “it always has a »deeper« meaning”.

I also dont think “no deeper meaning” means its “shallow” or “lacks depth” (eventho this sounds contradictory), it just means that what might mean something to the artist, doesn’t necessarily mean anything for others and interpretating it in all kinds of ways is the viewers own opinions (also fine, but my point stays that it wasnt “meant” to be interpreted in any way other than how the artist meant it). Like idk how to explain this but just because you (or anyone) thinks about art in such a “deep” and “layered” way its not always like that. Not by far.

Woodworking is art. Pottery is art. Even architecture is art. All those art forms usually dont have any “statement”, or if they do, its not as common. Its relaxing and soothing to just… create. And im not saying “oh just start woodworking without any research”, that would most likely be a safety hazard. What im saying is not knowing about all these political bulshits and not CARING about them either doesnt make the art less valid?

I used these examples because writing and drawing is usually more “political” for a lot of people (including you I know) but for many people its just the same as a piece of pottery or wood statue they work on to relieve stress. And the way you talk about art/writing makes it seem like those people are “less than”. Because they dont do research, because they dont use themes or whatever all those things. No, you dont have to do all those if you just wanna create. Its gatekeepy af.

And tbf at least they are creating it themselves, even if it doesnt fit your standards. At least they arent using some ai. In these times we need to encourage people to create more than ever instead of gatekeeping art and writing and talking down to people who arent as sophisticated as you are.

Because your writing and art is insane but man that shits stressfull. I just want to relax and turn my brain off and create some art to soothe my nerves… not all this political implications lol

My opinion and i know you disagree but anyways. You said you like “criticism” so thougth i would share my thougths too.

hope you dont mind if i break it up by point. below the cut cause youve said a lot and i say a lot, ayy

you wanna have mindless fun and dont care if it comes at the cost of spreading harmful misinfo, bigotry or stereotypes, i got it. i read you loud and clear. im also criticizing you for it, which according to this, you shouldn't have a problem with

so when you said in the last ask that you don't care about 'pushing bad stereotypes', you meant visually...? are you drawing racist charicatures or sth lmao

you're right, i do think all art is political, but politics isnt just men in suits arguing about taxes yknow. a political ideology is a prescriptive worldview, that's it. broadly speaking, it's about how you see the relationship between the past/present/future, resources and power, who has them and who don't, and does that align with our ethics, etc. why things are the way they are and how they ought (/not) to be. how you see the world, other people and yourself necessarily shows up in self-expression, that is what self-expression is. it's inherent to art, and you can't get away from this by simply going 'not true' - what you're telling me here is just that you've decided you personally don't care. which is your right i suppose

just like i have a right to be able to think of this 'heres all the ways i'm extremely apolitical' section as you just declaring a privelege. lots of people - especially this site's userbase - don't get the luxury of being able to look away, because their existence itself is highly politisized. either you pay attention or they start sending you and your friends to camps, babey. deciding to be apolitical is a Very political act

you're not sticking fully to topic here. i never talked about depth, i talked about engaging with art uncritically, which are two different things. i do hold the former as an opinion but this is already long, send a different ask if you want me to get into it lol its mostly just me being a judgy bitch abt popular culture

to the relevant stuff, im just gonna reiterate that the themes you put in your work exist whether you want them to or not. death of the author, that whole thing. if you portray poverty in a way that suggests poor people are just being lazy, or that black people are violent, or that gay people are predatory, if you essentialize these traits in any given work, that is the statement that depiction makes, regardless of whether the artist actually believes it's true or not. that's just how biases work in fiction. it's not gonna stop existing because you stop paying attention to it.

funny you should mention woodworking - hi, im a cabinetmaker and i love talking about my craft. cool facts: scandinavian woodworking tends to use sustainable/local wood, minimalistic and semi-rustic designs with a focus on elegance and simplicity, and mostly uses natural finishes. american wwoodworking is a bit flamboyant and grand, frequently uses exotic woods for details, bulkier designs, with a focus on sturdiness and practicalty, and mostly uses glossy/shiny finishes. japanese woodworking is all about precision, subtlety and a world-famous tradition of the craft spanning back millenia, using wood from species that allow for chisel work with a precision that's down to the width of a human hair, occasionally stained with some nice colors (asia generally loves wood stain). ikea's woodworking uses cheap materials and cost-effective factory production, focuses on the mass marketability of their furniture, and has a legal team to deal with worker's rights abuses and forced labor cases. if you can read nothing about priorities and worldview into any of this, i don't know what to tell you. alas its true. your chair is indeed political

this doesn't mean you can't also use any chair to simply sit down in. these two aren't mutually exclusive.

pottery is the same. architecture is the same. in fact, tell any former soviet country that there's no politics in architecture lol they'll look at you weird

never said your art isn't valid or whatever, idek what that means in this context. i just said i can still criticize your racist charicatures regardless of how much mindless fun you had making them lol

(in case its not obvious i dont think youre making racist charicatures or all that shit, im going to the extremes to illustrate a point ykwim. im guessing you'd be fine with me critizising racism in fiction - in fact i don't actually believe you'd disagree with any of the things i've said if i'd framed it in terms of racism, or at least i hope not lol i dont know how far your take goes. im challenging a double standard ig)

"because they don't use themes" mhm, youre one of the ppl who dont know what a theme is, which ig is pretty valuable for context. art necessitates making decisions about what you portray and how you portray it. those decisions say something about your thought process, which your audience is able to draw conclusions about, or at least interpret from. art is a form of communication. if you create art, you are communicating. it means something. there is a message, usually more than one. that's what themes are. can be as benign as "damn hangovers kinda suck" or some grand statement about the nature of being human, doesn't matter. both of those things are themes

i don't think any person is "less than", i'm criticizing people's approach to art. person =/= person's approach to art. remember in my original post when i said that criticism is not the same as personal attacks? or cultural elitism?

im not particularly sophisticated, i just like abstraction cause im mentally ill lmfao. and i do want to encourage people to make art. i just also hate consumerist brainrot, so

its not that i cant relate to wanting to turn your brain off sometimes and just watch some sloppy horror movie or whatever, i do that too. but i also recognize that said sloppy horror movie can be criticized in seventy thousand different ways, and at least being aware of that instead of mindlessly consuming probably leads to a more wholistic appreciation of the art you create and engage with.

this is sliding into opinion territory like the sidenote in my last answer, so beware, but. if 'mindless fun' is the only way you engage with art, you're missing out, i'm sorry, Facts*. you're treating art like content to be consumed to distract you from the real world, not as something thats supposed to inspire or motivate or make you think about/understand things. it's reductive of what art has the potential to do, the ways it can help you grow. it takes effort to change your approach and i get that, but it gets easier once you've done it enough, and it is very worthwhile imo. just sayin'. im genuinely being an optimist about art here

*= opinion lol. but its a strong opinion which is basically the same as a fact**

**= irony

anyway i genuinely enjoy having these sorts of conversations just for the record. am able to disagree with someone without assuming they're a bad person or whatever. i understand if youre not interested in talking continuing but youve been fairly respectful or whatever so thats nice, love and peace✌️

[rockintapper]

caprisun!!!!! Woo-hoo!

its this thing. this is an caprisun

[monstergraffiti]

Artist Unknown, Portrait of a God King, oil on canvas. Part of a series on historical pieces, though no texts refer to any god or ruler fitting the description of the subject. It's likely that the artist followed an independent leader or religion; or equally likely, the subject and the artist were mocking current rulers at the time.

[inquisimer]

I was tagged by @dungeons-and-dragon-age and @shivunin to create my OCs in this picrew, and their swords in this picrew! Thank you both - this was super fun! I love a good item picrew :3

these are definitely a mix of Actual Swords and Vibes, even for the OCs who actually use swords

Siobhan Hawke - no actual sword use, completely vibes, I just love her so much I couldn't leave her out. All black for Kirkwall, dripping with blood and chains for Symbolism and more Kirkwall

Nika Brosca - a dual wielder, so actual sword use! But the design, particularly the glowy lyrium blade, is all vibes. The hilt wrapped up in fabric with scraps hanging off the end is allllll dust town though. My scrappy Carta girl :3

Ariya Tabris - sword use Optional™️, only when she can't get her hands on proper daggers or an axe, until she has Vigilance. The design here is mostly vibes, especially the black vines up the blade for the Blight.

Ciel Andras - (everyone: Andras? me: the orlesian warden commander that bioware forgot ;-;) my Actual Sword user, a sword and board warrior! The sword here is literal, silverite for the blade and blue on the hilt and grip for the Wardens. Plus the hilt that I thought was close enough to Wing Imagery without being butterfly wings, and the black veins in the blade for, you guessed it, Blight Symbolism.

Ember Cousland - another dual wield sword user (sensing a type here hmmmm) and it's definitely with her family's sword no I don't care that the stats bottom out so fast. The hilt design here is to represent that, with the mirrored wheat design of the Cousland heraldry, but the on-fire blade is 100% vibes, a representation of her vengeance against the Howes.

tagging forward to: @leggywillow | @exalted-dawn | @rosella-writes | @wheat-and-wheat-by-products | @midmorninggrey |

and @thiefbird have fun friends!!

[gentil-minou]

sharing my wangxian phlebotomist!wwx/blood donor!lwj au from twitter here (a summary here if you wanna see)

--

The hardest part of the adoption process was supposed to be endless paperwork and screenings and the anxiety of not being good enough to meet high standards of the court.

It wasn't supposed to be A-Yuan's first doctors appointment.

His pitiful screams fill the small doctor's office. He's clinging to Lan Wangji's shoulders like there a lifeline, hiding and all LWJ wants to do is bundle up his son and carry him back to safety.

But these are mandatory vaccines he needs in order to attend pre-k. So he cant.

Nurse: Shots are never fun at this age, huh He would beg to differ; they're never fun at any age But see lwj isnt afraid of the shots themselves. Hes terrified of the sight of blood. His BFF loves horror movies & he watches them with her bravely by staring at the corner of the tv

When lwj gets his blood drawn, he looks closes his eyes and imagines being in a cold pond somewhere. But he's never been afraid of just the shot before.

He's helpless in the face of his son's distress. The nurse sighs, saying theyll have to try again another day.

A-Yuan sniffles into his baba's shirt, exhausted from the crying fit. His eyes are still watery and he looks around the room with such fear in his eyes, before withdrawing back into the safety of his baba's chest.

Lan Wangji has no idea what to do, only cradles him closer

Thankfully, LWJ has someone who can help. His best friend, Jiang Yanli is a child therapist and has been helping him prepare his home for A-Yuan.

If anyone knows what to do, it's Yanli-jie

JYL: Zhanzhan, have you tried showing him its not scary?

LWJ has not, bc he's terrified

JYL is the only one allowed to call him Zhanzhan. In Uni she was the one who mentored him his first week of school. Someone slipped him alcohol and he got deliriously drunk.

Yanli-jie was the one who found him and took him home. This is what they told the cohort but actually…

JYL: seeing his Baba get a shot and be okay might motivate him to be more brave

LWJ certainly doesn't feel brave. He's thinking of the blood flowing from his veins and then LEAVING them to go who knows where. It sounds barbaric

He has the distinct memory of learning what a period is in middle school and promptly passing out

He is not a fan of anything related to blood

But LWJ has learned that Yanli-jie knows what she's doing, so, despite the way he can swear he feels his blood pumping with fear, he agrees...but there's a problem.

LWJ: I am up to date on all my shots. How can I show him it is safe?

JYL: Hmm....I have an idea. My brother is a phlebotomist! He can help.

LWJ is confused. Last he heard, the younger Jiang is a prosecutor who makes a living viciously yelling in a courtroom.

JYL: Not him, Zhanzhan. My adoptive brother, A-Xian. I bet he would be happy to help you. He works at the blood bank at Yiling Clinic! The perfect exposure!

For who?, LWJ wonders. A blood bank sounds like a house of horrors to him. And a person who chooses to stick a needle in people and remove the very force that gives them life? He cannot imagine getting along with this person at all.

--

Yiling Clinic is a community clinic in a part of town Lan Wangji has never been to, especially since the Gusu Group has their own private hospital.

But this is where Yanli-jie's phlebotomist little brother works.

A-Yuan clings to the back of his legs as they approach the receptionist, a young man with amazing cat eye makeup named Mo Xuanyu

These two definitely do not fit the bill for their usual patients, with their designer clothing, so he asks with some skepticism: Um, can I help you?

LWJ has spent the last two hours siking himself up for the blood part, he isn't prepared at all for social interactions. He flounders like a fish.

LWJ: …I am…We are here for…

A shout comes from behind them: Ah! A-Yu, is that A-jie's friend? Zhanzhan?

LWJ flinches until he sees a man sprinting towards them. The 1st thing he notices is this man is wearing lilac scrubs with little white rabbits on them.

The 2nd thing he notices is this man has the most enchanting smile he's ever seen. Already, LWJ feels more relaxed.

The man winks at him: You like the scrubs? A-jie said A-Yuan liked bunnies, I figured this would help keep him calm.

LWJ does not blurt I like bunnies too. But only just.

Beside the man is a pediatric nurse named Wen Ning, no relation, who says he's here to help with A-Yuan

Yanli-jie's little brother, the phlebotomist, introduces himself: Ah! Sorry, Lan Zhan. Jiejie always calls you that so it just stuck. I'm Wei Wuxian. You can call me Wei Ying if you wanna make it even.

Strangely, LWJ feels no need to correct him: Lan Zhan is fine, Wei Ying.

WWX smiles so brightly, LWJ feels dizzy with it.

WWX: Now where's the little bunny himself?

A-Yuan has been clinging behind LWJ's pant leg, tilting around just enough to peek with one eye at this strange gege.

WWX: Maybe not a rabbit then, a radish who likes to hide away!

A-Yuan becomes offended: I don't like radishes!

WWX laughs: Me neither! But Qing-jie says they help us grow big and strong, so they can't be all that bad huh?

WWX is crouched in front of A-Yuan, draping both arms across his knees and resting his chin in one hand. He waits.

LWJ admires his patience. The longer WWX waits, crouched and rocking back and forth in front of A-Yuan, smile gently and welcoming, the more A-Yuan's natural curiosity gets the better of him.

Eventually, his son comes out from behind his leg to touch a black bunny on his sleeve

A-Yuan: I like this one. We only have a white bunny at home.

WWX: I like the black bunny too! What's your bunny's name?

A-Yuan: Banana, bc she tries to eat Baba's banana every morning, and you are what you eat.

He recites this with all the solemnity a 4 yo could possess

WWX's laughter echoes through the lobby: Well! You're very right, A-Yuan. Maybe you aren't a radish after all then. Tell me, what do little boys eat?

A-Yuan: I'm not little! I'm 4 and a half!

WWX: Right, right, I sincerely apologize for my mistake. What do big boys eat then?

A-Yuan purses his lips and taps his chin, pondering his question carefully: Hmm… jelly beans?

WWX looks like he wants to laugh more, but instead says: I see, I see. Thank you for your wisdom A-Yuan.

He looks up at LWJ, dark eyes dancing. LWJ's heart rabbits against his chest

WWX: If your baba is ready, we can head down to my cave if you'd like. I have a lot of cool machines I'd love to show you.

A-Yuan's eyes widen into saucers as he gasps: A cave? Wowww

They grin conspiratorially at each other, before turning bright eyes up at LWJ

LWJ feels warm and much more relaxed inside, so he nods: Mn. We may go.

A-Yuan cheers and holds WWX's hand as the head downstairs.

LWJ trails behind making small talk with WN, watching WWX and A-Yuan swing their hands and skip ahead, feeling something warm blossom in his chest.

The hallway to Wei Wuxian's lab isn't anything like Lan Wangji expects.

The rooms at Gusu are all perfectly pristine and sterile, painted white to promote serenity, rest, and healing.

For one thing, he'd raided a Halloween store at some point and hung up all sorts of decorations, mostly vampire themed. There's one that's says "I vant to suck your blood!" except suck is crossed out and replaced with "donate". Wwx and A-yuan giggle together at wwx's fake accent

It's definitely not up to Gusu General's strict standards. For one thing, there're beanbag chairs in the hall outside. Wwx says it's to feel more comfy while others wait, as he's the only phlebotomist on staff and it can take a while. A-Yuan personally tests each one.

His lab is…adequate if far too small. There's a desk that's overrun with stacks of papers and textbooks and a shelf that's filled with even more. The actual space where blood is drawn is, thankfully, sterile and clean. Though he's decorated with demons demanding blood for food

There's a temp controlled room where the blood is stored, with a red door and the words "Blood Pool" written in menacing barely legible font

Despite the…interesting decor, the room is homely and, surprisingly, welcoming. A-Yuan at least is having a very fun time getting a tour

Wwx patiently answers all of A-Yuan’s questions, even the endless why's, with utmost sincerity, even when his answers are purely nonsense.

Lwj can't stop the fond smile from lifting the corner of his lips. A-Yuan had never warmed up to a medical professional so fast.

He's pulled from his musings when A-Yuan grabs his sleeve: Baba! Blood-gege says this machine makes blood spin around!

Wwx burst out laughing: Blood-gege? I love it!

Lwj is enchanted, head repeating those last 3 words again and again as wwx fondly ruffles A-Yuan's fluffy hair

Wwx: alright, now that you're familiar with my beauty Chenqing (referring to his bloody spinny machine lwj does not want to think about), shall we get down to business?

He says this with his bright dark eyes glittering at LWJ. Right. The blood donating part.

Lwj gulps, nodding. A prisoner walking up to the gallows.

TBC

(If you're interested, I'm probably going to continue at least up to the end of the first part before i just make it into one long fic! You can follow it on my twitter!)

[rokokoprufei]

i see no god up here

OTHER THAN ME

[lovebecomeshim]

[quinnthebard]

fresh starts

Gale & Named Sorcerer Tav (Kyra) 1373 words fluff, misunderstandings, tav is a little bit grumpy sometimes oops

Gale means well but the way he corrects Kyra's art of spellcrafting has frustrated her and this time it boils over. She awkwardly tries to make amends.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

The wizard was infuriating.

Every time he opened his damn mouth, Kyra wasn’t sure if it was going to finally be the time she hit him for whatever conceited nonsense spilled out. Most recently he insulted her by asking if she was versed in magic. Which of course she was, they’d only been traveling together for an entire day, casting spells side by side. She obviously knew her way around spell slinging. But then he had the audacity to correct himself when she called him out for his stupidity and say he simply meant to ask if she was studied in magic. To which he continued on saying that of course she isn’t.

Gods.

Today though, she had reached her breaking point. It was something so silly she felt stupid for reacting but everything had finally boiled over. She was simply minding her business, fiddling with a light spell to entertain herself at camp. Nothing particularly difficult. Child’s play. Literally, she had been doing this since she were a child, before her scales had grown prominent enough that she used her bangs to hide them. But of course, she was doing something wrong, it wasn’t perfect. And of course, Gale had overheard.

“You know, if you just pronounce that last syllable from the back of your throat a bit more, it’d be more efficient.” He began to warble the sound, gargling behind her.

“Yes, but you see, I don’t particularly care.”

“But shouldn’t one strive for improvement?”

“Gale.”

“Here let me show you.”

She could feel his command over the Weave begin behind her. That familiar crackle of energy tinged ever so slightly with his touch.

“Gods, why are you like this?”

As quick as the magic came, it was gone, leaving an empty feeling behind. “What?”

“You’re constantly nitpicking or showing off your splendid education as if I don’t know anything. I know I’m no wizard but I’ve got experience with magic. It’s quite literally in my blood!”

“Is that how you see me?” Something broke in his voice.

“Isn’t that what you’re going for? Arrogant wizard who is clearly superior?”

“I thought you enjoyed my company.” His eyes were downcast as he avoided her gaze, turning away. “I hadn’t intended to be so imposing. Excuse me.”

“Gale, no, I—“ But he had scurried away and out of earshot before she thought to call after him in her shock. “Fuck.”

“Well that seemed to go wonderfully.” Astarion crept up behind her. “Couldn’t help but hear your delightful outburst from my tent. Finally snapped?” His eyes sparkled with mischief.

She was not amused. “Yeah, I did. Excuse me.”

Stomping back to her tent, Kyra found herself in a worse mood than she’d ever been while mildly annoyed with Gale’s insistent insertion into her practice of magic. If she had just kept her bloody mouth shut, she wouldn’t have to deal with this oddly queasy feeling in her stomach. Stepping into her tent, she violently yanked the cord that held the flap up and descended into darkness before kicking a cushion and collapsing to the ground.

She’s known her entire life that she had a temper but obviously she hadn’t learned to control it and now she wasn’t sure how to fix this. Gale was a good guy even if his intelligence annoyed her. Because that’s what it was—he’s brilliant and she was a caster acting on instinct. Gods, how do I fix this?

Taking out a sheet of paper and a quill she kept on hand, she wrote on the top Things Gale Likes. She chewed on the tip absentmindedly as she thought then scribbled a few notes: books, cats, Mystra, the color purple? Maybe she could send a purple cat carrying a book as a peace offering?

She peered around her tent but there was hardly any books around. Well, except for this romance novel she bought off the Halfling merchant in the Emerald Grove. She thought it’d be fun entertainment on quiet nights but she hadn’t gotten to start it yet. Surely, Gale wouldn’t be interested in that? But maybe it was worth a shot.

Reaching towards her pack, she pulled out the book and then flipped the sheet of paper and began to write a note on the other side.

I’m terrible at apologies but I think you’re a good guy. I shouldn’t have gotten angry and I’m sorry I misinterpreted your acts of kindness as arrogance. I don’t have a lot of things but know you like to read and I have this book? Anyway, sorry again. Let me know if it's any good. I haven’t started it yet.

She cringed a bit at the message but before she could change her mind she summoned the familiar, gave it the note, and sent it to Gale’s tent. Once she was sure it reached him, she threw the book into a void, teleporting it to him, and shoved her face into the cushion she had kicked earlier and groaned loudly. Her heart pounded in her chest as time went on, anxious to know if her poor attempt at making amends had any results. It took a quarter hour, but that familiar sense of energy crackled in the air and out plopped a note made with an elegant script.

No need to apologize. I can be a bit intense I suppose and my social skills are lacking after being isolated for so long with only Tara for company. Since it clearly needs stating: I admire your capabilities, envious if I am to be honest. With nary a thought, you conjure the same effect that I would spend years studying to accomplish and it is absolutely astonishing. It is a blessing to witness.

Stunned, she stared at his response. Of course she must apologize! She was awful. Frustrated, she grabbed her pen and scribbled beneath.

You’re far too gracious. My apologies are indeed necessary.

And she returned it to sender before rolling onto her back, blowing her bangs out of her eyes.

The response came much faster this time. Almost as soon as she had settled into her new position, it emerged from thin air and landed on her face. This time it was her original message but he had made adjustments to the back of the page where she had written her list. Her cheeks reddened. She couldn’t believe she hadn’t thought to just grab a different sheet of paper and now he saw how little she knew about him. Gods, this was all so embarrassing. She steeled her nerves and reviewed the additions.

Things Gale Likes - books -assuredly - cats -correct but I must remind you that Tara is a tressym - Mystra -oh yes - the color purple? -I can see why you’d think this but I prefer blues. I just find purples suit me well

Kyra made a face, unimpressed that he chose to make corrections on her notes, but before she could even consider how to respond to such antics, another note arrived.

I appreciate the sentiment and I eagerly await the moment I can begin to read your book. Rest assured, I’ll find a way to repay your kindness.

Then at the end, far more hastily scratched as if an afterthought.

I will hear no arguments on your worthiness to receive such gifts. Accept them as graciously as you said I accepted your needless apology.

Speechless, Kyra read and reread the note. Gifts? Why would she receive gifts after so easily making him feel awful and sending such a horrible attempt at an apology. She scanned their interaction once, twice more unable to find an answer to her question. Perhaps he was lonely?

Perhaps he truly enjoys your company.

She snorted at the thought. She’s hardly enjoyable to be around—primary evidence: today.

Rather than continue to brood on this insane reaction to her stumbling, she quick sent a final note.

I look forward to it.

Then, rather than wait for a response, she snapped her fingers willing the lights to dim and curled up in her bedroll trying to ignore the flutter in her chest. When she woke up, a bundle of autumn crocuses resting nearby on top of a message.

A start to a beautiful friendship

[willowcrowned]

worst thing in the world is having had a silly and ridiculous breakdown and not being able to fit it into a tight twenty-word joke. how am I supposed to experience things without doing mildly funny bits about them on the internet

[syilcawrites]

1 word prompt: paragliding :) or whistle! or spices. pick what gets the creative juices flowing

congrats on 500!

This has been sitting in my inbox for so long.......... I'm so sorry for the extremely super duper long wait, I HAVEN'T FORGOTTEN IT!! I had major writer's block with this but today is the day I finally send u something!!!

Thank u nathaniacolver for the ask!!

Summary: Link and Zelda have been staying in Kakariko for a few days and crave a pumpkin-filled meal. After buying a pumpkin from Olkin and heading to High Produce Spirits for some spice, they run into the store owner's husband—Steen—Olkin's produce rival! In a desperate attempt to hide the pumpkin they bought, Zelda stuffs the small pumpkin under her shirt... causing a grave misunderstanding.

ao3

"We've got all sorts of pumpkins! Like ah… like this big ol' fortified pumpkin. And then there's this little one right here and-and this perfectly shaped fortified pumpkin over there in the corner. It's one of my bestsellers, promise."

Zelda blinks once, then twice, but her perfect smile remains unwavered on her face. "You have a delightful array of… of selections!" she says enthusiastically, "so much that it's hard to really choose… which one to get." Zelda nudges Link with her elbow.

"Oh, uh…" Link rubs the spot where Zelda had jabbed him. "No preference?" he murmurs to her. She shakes her head. "Yeeah… okay. We'll just go with this?" he says, picking up the closest pumpkin to them. He tilts his head at it, a small smile springing onto his face. "Heh, it kinda looks like you."

She raises her eyebrows at him, fighting the urge to roll her eyes. "What is that supposed to mean?" Zelda huffs out, crouching down next to him to inspect what pumpkin he chose. It was one of the smaller ones in the garden, shaped cutely like a round oval–small enough that it would sit perfectly in between her two palms. Instead of responding to her, Link just grins.

"Ha! You've got a good eye!" Olkin chortles loudly. "They're much sweeter than the bigger ones. I'll give you a lil' discount and make it 15 rupees, whatd'ya say?"

"Sounds good to me." Link drops the rupees into Olkin's open hand. "Steen's not running you into the ground anymore, right? Did you two talk it out?"

"Meh," he responds with a shrug, rubbing his nose. "Once that old man stops selling carrots I'll start talkin' to him."

After a few more playful, friendly chatter, the two of them depart from Olkin's Pumpkin Farm to pick up a few spices and herbs from High Spirits Produce.

"Er... is it wise to bring the pumpkin with us into the store?" Zelda asks, grabbing Link's arm before they enter the store. "What if Trissa tells Steen we bought from Olkin? Remember the last time Steen found out we bought pumpkins from Olkin?" When they had walked into High Spirits Produce with a pumpkin in hand, and Steen had been in the store, he accused Link of being a two-timing-no-good customer.

"Oh-? Link? Zelda? Is that you?" a very familiar voice calls out from behind them. Link and Zelda simultaneously stiffen in response, goosebumps rising.

"O-oh! Steen!" Link swivels around, stepping in front of Zelda so that she's blocked from his view. "You're back early, was it a slow day selling your carrots?"

Of course Steen is right behind them!

"Just one of those days, Aha ha! Nothing to worry about though!"

Quickly, Zelda stuffs the pumpkin under her shirt and turns around, her body remaining hidden behind Link as she gives Steen a small smile. "I'm, ah, sure tomorrow will be better! I'm feeling quite ill, so... we'll be heading back..." Slowly, she turns back around and begins to trek her way up the incline with her hands tucked snug underneath the pumpkin hidden behind her shirt.

"Oh!"

Zelda freezes. She glances up to her left, and...

Trissa stands there, her eyes wide and her hands hiding her mouth in utter disbelief and surprise.

"Zelda are you- it can't be- you're pregnant??" Trissa practically screams, squealing in delight.

"P-" Zelda is too baffled to even finish the word as cold sweat forms on her skin. This cannot be happening, Zelda thinks, as she pales.

"Pregnant??" Link and Steen gasp in unison, as if Trissa screaming it isn't bad enough. Zelda's sure the whole village has heard them now.

"OhmyHylia!!" Trissa squeals again, jumping giddily to Zelda as she grabs her shoulders, squeezing them in delight. Zelda presses the pumpkin against her stomach with her dear life, eyes wide and lips pursed in utter shock. "Why didn't you say anything? I knew you two were an item! Honey, dear, look at her bump! You're not too far along, it seems!"

Steen takes no time in quickly jogging over to them with a silly grin on his face. Then, his hands reach out and- oh, if someone were to touch the bump they'd immediately know that it isn't...!

"Ah, darn. We really wanted to keep this a secret!"

Whatareyousaying?? Zelda, whose mind is currently gone to panic-mode-mush, stares at Link with wide eyes as he somehow pries her away from Steen and Trissa.

"Please don't tell anyone?" Link asks, smiling apologetically. "We don't want to give Impa a shock just yet."

"Oh, oh of course!" Trissa spews, grinning so genuine and happy that it makes Zelda feel like a terrible person. "Your secret is S-A-F-E with me and Steen, right darling??"

"Absolutely," Steen says immediately as he claps his hands together. "Trissa, go get one of everything from the store and give it to them! They're gonna need a lot more food with a third mouth joining!"

"Ah, no, please-" Zelda says weakly, but Trissa is already in and out of the store, hauling a whole bag of spices, food, and other goodies for them and hands them over to Link. Steen adds in a whole bundle of swift carrots into the bag as well.

"I added in some teas that will help with morning sickness," Trissa explains with a beaming smile. "Just pop some honey into them for some sweetness if it's too bitter!"

"Oh... thank... you..." Zelda manages to spit out. "I think- yes. I think Link and I must go, I feel terribly exhausted." She grips the sleeve of his shirt with one hand, tugging. She'll give them rupees for all the food later, but right now, every inch of her is screaming to get out of here immediately.

They say their goodbyes, and finally, when they separate from the lovely Sheikah couple and they're a good ways near the edge of the village, Zelda drops to a crouch and buries her head into her lap.

"Link," she mumbles, crumbling, pulling the innocent pumpkin out of her shirt and hugging it to her chest. "Whatarewegoingtodo???"

He bursts into laughter.

Zelda whips her head up at him, glaring, her face beginning to flush. "This isn't- this is a disaster!!" They both know that Steen and Trissa are the number one gossipers of Kakariko Village, there's just no way that they wouldn't spread it, and if Impa hears it...

He continues to laugh until he's gasping for air, clutching his stomach, and it sounds so raw and free that Zelda can't help but crack a smile because- well, the whole thing is awfully silly.

Still chuckling, he puts the bag of food down and helps her up, taking the pumpkin into his arms. He stares at it fondly as if it really is his child. "I guess we should think of a name, huh? For our unborn kiddo?"

Her cheeks warm at the thought of Link being a father and—

"Oh, enough of your silliness!" Zelda sputters, pinching his nose. She grabs the bag off from the ground and hauls it up, fully aware that her cheeks are probably as red as the ripe apples that grow in Kakariko Village. Unbeknownst of the calamity they had unleashed upon the small Sheikah clan for the coming days, they depart the village with a massive armful of delicious food.