#and braids

[clockworkcrabofea]

Ah, elves in dresses, my beloved. Some people make him yellow but my Arafinwe is greeeeen! (Saw this lady at the beach with a brilliant green wedding dress and I just had to.)

[adelacreations]

Geninuely some of the looks from the 80s and having to translate that to my Resident Evil Village AU is sometimes hard.

But since Patrick barely gets screen time i can do what I want. Bitch is getting dreads cause dreads are cool.

[i-did-not-mean-to]

October 24th

Festival

Ah, a slightly ambiguous one, I shall not lie.

Dedicated to @maglor-my-beloved and @arofili who have been great inspirations in my short writing career. ❤️‍🔥

Words: 718

Warnings: Sadness, ambiguity...Be advised, it's not Bad!Fëanor all the way

Ñolofinwë didn’t want to go.

He had pleaded his case with his mother – not daring to disturb his eminent father in his critical dealings with monumentally eminent dignitaries come from afar – but she had simply ruffled his braids and told him to wear the blue tunic and to make haste.

Biting down on his lip now to keep it from trembling with dismay, he looked at the gawky youngster staring back at him from the looking glass despondently. He hated those feasts where people kept milling around endlessly, chattering about this and that and – no doubt – looking upon him, that other, lesser son, with disappointment and disapproval.

Of course, he could not be like Curufinwë, nobody was, and nobody ever would be. 

Maybe, he thought desperately, if he pretended to be taken ill, they’d let him stay in his chambers; it was highly unlikely that anyone other than his siblings – his mother’s children, not Fëanáro, as he preferred to be called – would even notice let alone regret his absence.

“Ñolofinwë…” The bored drawl of the older brother he had just been musing about crept into the room like a venomous snake much too mighty to be wrestled into submission by a mere princeling. 

“Your mother desires to see you in blue,” Fëanáro went on as he stepped into the chamber confidently, “and I am here to fetch you. Why are you not dressed? Why is your hair not done?”

Shame flooded Indis’ son like an overwhelming, suffocating tide and he had to clench his fists to prevent himself from patting his half-undone braids helplessly.

“Come here, you fool,” the other commanded and – pulling the younger boy rather forcefully towards him by a slender wrist– he yanked a brush through the dark, silken hair that was so much like his own.

“I don’t want to go,” Ñolofinwë whined and bit down on his tongue as he heard how pathetically weak and shrill his words had sounded; no doubt, that son of his father’s, who stubbornly denied being of his kin, would now reprimand and mock him harshly.

To his utter surprise though, Fëanáro’s hands stilled immediately and he let them sink heavily onto the bony shoulders of the boy standing – tense and miserable – before him, staring still into the mirror at an awkward angle that only highlighted his sharp, handsome features into which he’d no doubt grow faster than the seasons could change.

Their eyes met and there was unlooked-for understanding in the flaming gaze of the eternal prodigy; an echo of loneliness and stubborn ambition resonated dully in the cool air of a room that was halfway between a child’s bedroom and a lord’s chamber. 

“We each have our role to fulfil,” Fëanáro hummed finally, pensive, “and we must do our father proud. Finwë has sired great sons and it is his prerogative to display them for all to see.”

“I am not great,” Ñolofinwë sighed, lifting his yet spindly arms to flap the wide sleeves of the overcoat he was shrugging into while his hair was no longer being tugged at.

“Not yet,” came the sombre, premonition-laden answer, “but – I well fear – that the day will come when the tides shall shift.”

That generous mouth which was the fountain of so much wisdom and cruel jibes tightened into a pale line of discontent and the brush returned, all the more vicious after this short reprieve.

“I shall be loyal to you,” Ñolofinwë promised under his breath, not sure if he wanted his brother to hear him, ashamed of the childish gratitude soothing his frayed nerves. The creature in the looking glass resembled a prince – thanks to his brother’s competence – and Ñolofinwë felt heartened by the sight.

“Let’s go down and be scions of a king,” Fëanor huffed in a choked voice as he wound the last silver ribbon around the end of an expertly crafted braid and righted the cloak around the other’s shoulders needlessly.

Despite his misgivings and innate jealousy, he held his brother’s slender hand encouragingly in his own as they descended the stairs and walked up to the big ballroom. 

Fëanáro – the great and mighty smith and inventor – did not know then that he had lifted a heart from misery and dejection and that it would be, for better or for worse, his forevermore.

@fellowshipofthefics we're almost done, almost...

I hope this will not get me into too much hot water lol read it as you wish...I love you all and I promise that I did not mean to force down your throat what you didn't want to read!

Lots of love

-> Masterlist

[prinnay]

Jean hat + stars

[mountainshroom]

Felt like drawing some silly cats :)

[miscellaneousrenaissant]

[juiche]

Sometimes I do anatomy studies and the character suddenly has an automail arm :')

get your own print here ❤️

[emberglowfox]

birds of a feather

[minjimunji]

Figuring out how to draw them 😖

[mondo-grosso]

[mmhue]

So. How about this season so far

[nevesceramics]

great blue heron bell

cone 04 terracotta, underglaze, glaze, wire, cotton thread

[mochapao]

if i ever die you should ask her to work for you instead

[puckpatties]

i love you forever and ever girldad chilchuck

[lithiumandsushi]

[ssalballoon]

Mystra showed him the secrets beneath the veils. The gossamer veils first, draped across the Weave. The delicate veils next, draped across her body. 'Chosen One' she whispered, as she slipped them off completely.

poor gale :'(

- the dialogue is from ea gale's explanation about his folly

- i kinda like that she ended up looking like a mother-of-pearl inlay lacquerware!

- oh this was a subconscious choice, but Gale is sitting in seiza which is a posture for showing respect especially to elders. it's also known to be a painful position to sit in for extended periods of time, which is why it was sometimes used as a method of (morally dubious) punishment. however, experienced people can maintain this posture for much longer. food for thought :-)

- (edit: deleted this point bcs it didn't really make sense + detracted from the art a little;;)