#fibrochemist

[howisthepope]

You should set up a queue where once a day this account posts 'pope-ing about'

I wish we could have a slow and a fast queue where this wouldn't be such a hassle

[mousedetective]

Happy birthday!! 🎂🥳

Thank you so much! My day hasn’t gone all that badly, though I lost the cookies I had gotten as a treat, got caught in the rain and had my electric scooter die on me while I was shopping so I was in pain when I got home. But I’ve gotten a lot of love and written a lot of stuff and am currently in warm PJs watching my fave Miss Fisher episode so it’s much better now. I just have to figure out if I want to make cupcakes or dump cobbler for a dessert tonight (and then get the energy to do it).

[baejax-the-great]

WIP weds, Fenhawke: hair, hands, phone Ta ❤

Hair:

“Me? Tell a falsehood?” Hawke delicately picked a stray leaf off one of the stems. “What kind of man would cast aspersions on the Champion’s honor during the public feast for her birthday?”

She plucked a large, pink bloom from the batch, cutting the stem with one of her many knives. Smiling, she placed it behind Fenris’s ear.

“Hawke?” he asked, wondering if he was to keep it all day. She picked through a drawer and produced a hairpin, and he tilted his head so she could fasten the flower.

“Now you look festive.”

Hands: 

“Hawke, your birthday was three weeks ago.”

“What? It can’t be Cloudreach already.”

“We are well into Bloomingtide.” She looked to Merrill for confirmation, who nodded. Hawke turned back to Fenris.

“So we missed my birthday?”

He threw his hands up defeat. “I cooked you dinner and we had apple pie. After, I gave you a new pair of leather gloves.”

“I thought you did all those things because you love me.”

Phone: 

I have not worked on any modern AU in a while! 

Send me some words and I’ll check my WIPs for them =) 

[colubrina]

fibrochemist replied to your post “Good morning, tumblr friends! The heat has broken, the rain is...”

Not melt. 3 days to go, and it's hit 35C today >_< much cake for you and me both! ❤

35 is too hot!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

[solverne-02]

1) Solas x Samahl 2) Where were you? 3) 21

The relief washed over her once her eyes landed upon Solas’s approaching figure in the crowd. Well, what was left of the crowd, since it parted for him as he walked with his head held high, hands clasped behind his back. With a glance about the room, he parted his lips and spoke to them all, but Samahl was too focused on looking into his eyes that she missed what his mouth had said. Whatever it was, the room cleared out quickly, leaving only the two of them. She waited until his stance relaxed before asking with desperate urgency, “Where were you? I was starting to lose control of them. They don’t listen to a deaf woman for long while you’re gone.”

“I’m sorry, Vhenan. I had urgent business to attend to in Tevinter.”

“Tevinter? Doing what? Aren’t there slavers there?”

“Precisely, there were those in slavery that I was helping to free. Don’t worry,” he assured her with a warm smile, “I was perfectly safe.”

“Why couldn’t I have gone with you?” She pursed her lips. “I worry about you while you’re gone.”

“I needed you here to take control of things for me...and I wanted you to stay safe. I want you as far away from slavers as possible.” He rubbed his hands on her arms before leaning in to press his lips to the top of her head. She sighed softly and leaned her head against his chest, feeling the pounding of his heart against her.

[izzym-art]

Happy birthday!! 🎂🎉❤

Thank you very much! ☺️

[obaewankenope]

✿ Send this to 10 other bloggers that you think are wonderful. Keep the game going, make someone smile! ✿

Thank you! :D

[afteriwake]

Molly starts going to an art class, and is very surprised to find Sherlock there, and not as part of a case (sherlolly, obvs) thank you ❤❤

I hope this is something you like, @fibrochemist ! It’s more one-sided Sherlolly but I think you’ll like it. 

A Gift (An “In SO Few Words” Story) -What starts with Sherlock joining the art class Molly began taking when he faked his death ends with a friendship that waxes, wanes, and apparently ends with a gift beyond measure.

READ @ AO3 | SERIES PAGE | HELP ME SURVIVE? | COMMISSION ME?

“Your work is very intricate.”

She was almost spooked at the voice behind her. It was warm and velvety and deep...and most importantly, very recognizable. “Are you here on a case?” she asked, turning to face Sherlock.

He shook his head. “It was...recommended to me, strongly, that I find another outlet for my energy.” He gave her a fond smile. “I ruled out theatre because I didn’t want to disappoint anyone with a case interfering with a performance.”

“Ah,” she said, giving him a smile in return. “So you’re taking the class for fun?”

“Mary had seen some sketches I had done on the backs of potential wedding invitations so she suggested this class. She didn’t mention you were taking it.”

“Stress relief,” she said. “I needed to do something when...you know.” He nodded, as though he understood just how hard it had been to keep his secret. “I just didn’t realize I had a talent for it. I never had an inclination to draw as a child or teenager.”

“Well, you have taken these classes to heart. You’re quite skilled.” He pointed to the flower she was currently sketching from the still life. “When that’s painted, I believe it will look exquisite.”

“Actually, I work mainly with colored pencils and oil pastels,” she said. “I haven’t mastered the art of painting just yet.”

“Another skill I’m sure you’ll pick up.” His smile widened a bit more and he went back behind her, which is why she hadn’t realized he was in the class. She smiled brightly as she went back to sketching the display, proud that her work was good enough to get approval from Sherlock.

As time went on, there were more classes, and usually coffee at her flat afterward. Sherlock didn’t want to seem to spend much time at Baker Street leading up to John and Mary’s wedding, and even less when it was over. She offered him her spare bedroom as a place to think, and soon enough he was there every night Tom wasn’t, most nights finagling his way into her bedroom instead of the spare. It had settled into something comfortable, though she felt just a bit guilty that Tom was annoyed with Sherlock and the time she spent with him. One night he gave her an ultimatum and she decided her freedom to choose who she spent time with and when and where.

But soon Sherlock stopped going to the classes. She missed him, missed his comments on her work and giving him her thoughts on his. She missed the time they spent together and then...well, then she realized his time had been filled with Janine and she felt far less special. Perhaps she hadn’t mattered to him as much as she had initially thought. Her own enthusiasm for the classes and art, in general, waned until she stopped going altogether.

And then Christmas happened and he was locked away in Mycroft’s home. She had been asked to bid him good-bye at the tarmac but she declined, wanting to remember good things other than her last sight of him being at his exile away from her, away from them all. But she couldn’t escape the day entirely, and as she was having a cup of coffee in the morning before busying herself with work at Barts, her doorbell rang. She went to open the door and saw no one there, but there was a sketchbook on her welcome mat, tied with a red bow and a card attached. She picked it up and carried it into her home, starting to undo the ribbon once she had closed the door.

Inside, in between each pair of empty pages, was a sketch of her. All were exquisite, rear and side views, front views, full body sketches...and all seemed to be imbued with some feeling reminiscent of love and caring. She stared in shock before closing the book and looking at the note, setting the book down to open it.

Molly,

I am glad you are not coming to see me off. I have no intention of completing this mission with my death, as I know Mycroft has told you is the most probable outcome. But I wanted to leave you with my collection of sketches I did during class and at night when I couldn’t sleep at your home, and to give you the book to encourage the thing you love that I know I helped cause you to stop doing. Please keep making art. The world needs the brightness it can give.

Yours, Sherlock

She felt tears prick at her eyes and then picked up the book and hugged it to her chest. Such a wonderful gift, full of enormous sadness and hope in spades. She hoped his letter meant he’d fight hell and high water to come back instead of letting this be the end, but either way, she would honor his request. That evening, she promised herself, she would sketch Sherlock as she remembered him best: fondly, with love, and with a warm smile on his face full of the love he had felt for those who loved him.