#myriadaptitude

[zero-urlpending]

I gave Zero back his username. You should probably all stop tracking this tag now if you're not into robots doin it and old jokes /cough

[andsheremained]

myriadaptitude replied to your post:…I was going to upload a song that is utterly...

..of course

.-. I'd put it on YT if it didn't require me jumping through hoops to do so (seriously, it'll let me upload a static image, but then is like "LOL NOW YOU HAVE TO USE OUR MUSIC FOR IT" which is... really dumb... Just let me throw in the music too, please).

[theladycaptainofdoriath]

Her hands slid over the backs of his, cupping them so as to turn his palms up, the pads of her thumbs resting lightly against the curve where his own met his index. As she settled back against his chest, she hummed lowly to herself, a rare sort of content passing over her that had grown since their reuniting in Valinor.

"There is something remarkable about your hands." Idle, absent; airy in her wondering aloud. "I wonder if it is perhaps because you are so skilled with bow and arrow." Mablung's palms slid back to his wrists, thumbs running along the underside of the joints as she tipped her head back to rest against Beleg's shoulder. Even as she did so, her gaze remained on his hands as she toyed with them. With her right hand, she changed hold again, reaching for Beleg's left. Her focus drifted over his skin, where it's smooth and where it's callused, and fingertips followed in feather-light trace. "More skilled an archer I have never known." Nothing that hadn't been said before in their lifetimes, but she had seen him--truly seen his skill in most perilous circumstances. She could say with certainty the extent of his skill. Her palm pressed to his then, her own calluses sliding over his as she interwove their fingers. Though there existed little difference between the builds of male and female, still there were differences in the smaller shapes of their hands, their fingers, and it was these that held her attention, now, seeking out all that she could find for her own curiosity.

[theladycaptainofdoriath]

This really was all... very unnecessary. Or such had been the captain's silent estimation while the seamstress continued her work, chattering and singing sweetly as she went about the assorted tasks. Such continued to be her estimation now that the work was done and she was soon meant to actually wear the garment crafted for her. She'd lived long in the garb of a soldier, clad in thick fabric and thicker leather. Though she found nothing wrong about the shift in her attire here, it was simply... unusual almost to the point of out of place.

Out of place enough that it resulted in quite a bit of frustration when it came to what she was to don. Simpler garments currently draped across her frame, but "it" lay neatly along the length of her bed. Had it eyes, she would stare it down and into submission, but as yet it possessed none. Mablung turned away, arms folded beneath her chest, and pressed her lips into a fine line; it was an attractive thing, but a dress was not something she'd much found reason for. The closest she came were the skirts of leather and chain, to protect her from the wicked things that lurked beyond the girdle.

...The worst part, she supposed, was that there was little she could do to escape it.

Truly, it was only a dress. But she was known as the heavy hand through deed and demeanour, stern and strict as could any ever be; the dress was... far from that, or so she thought. It was not the delicate weight of it nor the fair design, for all Elves were of similar nature and dressing to present these features in some manner or other was the norm. But this...

"Is it so inappropriate to attend these things dressed in armour?" Not that she meant it in the least, if the dryness of her tone said nothing of her humour. Drawing her hands from where they rest, she toyed absently with a lock of hair; though it hung loose, falling in waves past her hips, she soon gathered her hair to instead braid simply. "Seeing as how that is my role."

[potenarchive-blog]

Elves were known for their step being so light as to be without sound human ears could register, so light as to tread over snow without sinking within. Yet the pair which walked behind him, side by side, were more audible with their leather coverings than the soft touch of bare skin. The train of cloth was more recognisable. It was also in silence which Thranduil lead those who he had requested the company of through deep halls.

Upon their arrival, now which felt so long ago, the king had hoped they'd met with his boy. Alas, luck was not in his favour. Not in that sense rather, as they had come to propose aid and they had been of great help. In the same line of thought Thranduil often pondered a message to send them back with; he knew they were only here for a short while. He figured they would sail once all was finished, and when the time came he had something he needed to request from them.

That would be for the future.

In the present, Thranduil had been no easier to handle now than when they'd had to deal with him so many years ago. Did they expect he had changed so drastically from the tales they'd heard of him and his forest? Beleg was a little easier to read with how openly he reacted sometimes, full with heart, but Mablung... It was easy to say they hadn't changed, either.

They came to a balcony which the blonde stepped out onto, woven in oak with use of magics old, one of few areas bared to the once dangerous forestry. Slender hands remained before himself, fingers laced and his head lightly bowed, brows raised high. He did not turn to the older Elves and instead remained facing his lands, the kingdom that once stretched here and where his people would soon return from the undergrounds - his forest and its new name. A name which he and Celeborn had reunited to form.

"There will be a celebration," the king started, voice tired as it oft seemed in these times. It wasn't entirely a happy situation and he hadn't any better way of bringing it to their attention, though he was certain they knew what his people desired of him and that he wouldn't hesitate to cave. Unlike the kings before him the safety of those he ruled came above all else. They were his responsibility - he didn't make it the responsibility of his military, nor did he hide away behind a protective barrier when trouble arose. It was Thranduil who went to the front lines with his warriors, tucking the civilians away where none could reach instead. "As you are aware Celeborn and I both are friendly with the Noldor who will be present, them and dwarves alike."

"That said, my concern is not how you will act," --because at this point he expected them to behave. With a sharp angle of the jaw, Thranduil cast the two a look over his right shoulder. "But how to clothe you? I have already hired a seamstress. What is it you would request? Dress robes, of course."

It wasn't his fault they'd thought it was something important and let him lure them somewhere he could corner them.

[son-of-twilight]

myriadaptitude replied to your post: … finding drawings of elves you forgot you drew. ...

Sounds about right.

Serious. Freaky art amnesia always weirds me out.

'when the hell did I draw this?'

[son-of-twilight]

myriadaptitude replied to your post: finrodthefaithful replied to your post: [...

You should SEE some of the ‘art’ people buy. The key is finding people willing to buy that your style appeals to.

[ And networking. I am terrible at networking :I And most of the people I talk to are either artists better than me or people who like pretty things. XD 

Here in a day or two Ima set up a little... wanna be serious commission thing. >:I Since I need to get my computer back to operational. Being unemployed sucks and it's even harder when all your files and stuff on are a dead computer. -shakes fist- ]

[ecthelion-of-the-fountain]

myriadaptitude said: ( im sorry i read the flute part as an innuendo )

  //lol, that's good xD