Ye Olde Crone

Sometimes I think a lot about baby Steve going to the Met and just quietly sitting with a sketchpad, making sketches of the marble statues, fingers tracing the clean lines and curves of the ancient sculptors and Renaissance masters, studying the poses, trying to understand the stretch and strain of cold, hard muscle under taut skin, how the weight seems balanced, tension made visible and real. I think about him studying those faces, wondering at how perfect they were, if they were truly modeled after real people, but certain they were because they reminded him of Bucky. I think about him questioning the ancient idea of beauty being holy- the more perfect, the closer to a god you were, and not knowing that his goodness, his morality, his heart mattered more, in the end, then the perfect form he would some day inhabit.

boy do i miss writing harley quinn. and steve rogers. wendy case. daisy johnson and deke shaw. shame i know nothing about current media. i'm just an old lady into old shit and old timey ways of doing things.

uniform tags

welcome back, i guess. its only been....fuuuck, several years. oops. kinda vanished. thankfully, i don't change much. lets see what happens.