misscolms-blog

[misscolms-blog]

send one for my muse’s reaction to your muse ---

alternatively send ‘ + ‘ after the symbol for the roles to be reversed where possible !

✘ = hugging them . Δ = playing with their hair .  ❤ = kissing them .  ₪ =  asking them out for dinner . ☀ = giving them a gift of ___ ( asker’s choice ) . ♘ = stabbing them . ♕ = bowing down before them . ♒ = lying to them .   ✿ = buying them flowers . ☾ = being found shirtless . ♢ = reading them a story . ☂ = giving them their jumper to keep warm . ✎ = speaking in a different language . ✏ = teaching them a different language . ▄ = telling them a joke . ♬ = singing to them . ☹ = insulting a loved one . ஐ = slapping them . ✂ = threatening them . ❃ = dancing with them . ▤ = falling asleep on them . ☮ = waking them up after a nightmare .  ♣ = discovering them crying .  回 = patching a wound .  ✮ = stargazing . ▓ = caught stealing their belongings . ☽ = wandering alone at night . ♡ = complimenting them . ≡ = offering a place to stay overnight . ☢ = falling over . ✦ = being well-dressed . ❂ = wiping blood off their face . ◎ = taking care of them while ill . ☁ = being caught in the middle a storm with them . ⇕ = holding their hand . ↱ = being lost with them . ☠ = pushing them against a wall .

[misscolms-blog]

          Marasi’s mild, questioning expression turned to one of amusement, her lips quirking up a little more than previously as she registered what he was inviting her to. Cultural research, he called it? Well, she supposed that in theory it wasn’t very different from shooting competitions, of which she’d been in a few. Then again, she recalled the earnest intensity with which he had spoken of duels just before the storm hit--his Calling, he’d called it? While she couldn’t claim to know the implications or meaning of that in this culture, whatever it meant, it was clearly important to him, and important to his culture.

          Cultural research, indeed.

          “Yes, well, as it would happen,” she teased, “a favourite hobby of mine happens to be watching men hit each other with deadly objects.” She crossed her ankles and primly tucked them beneath her chair, suddenly a little more aware of his proximity--not that it was uncomfortable, precisely, but she had changed to a more practical (and, most importantly, drier) set of clothing and her hair fell loosely about her shoulders in soft curls instead of her usual neat updo. It was... distinctly casual, and certainly a bit vulnerable under the circumstances even if she felt perfectly at ease and unthreatened. Self-consciously, she brushed a few strands of hair behind her ear. 

          You’re not a blushing child anymore, you’re a researcher, she coached herself, so act like it. “As you might expect, I’m not familiar with the protocol around attending these duels, so I might need a few pointers. So I don’t make a fool out of myself by sitting in the wrong place or saying the wrong thing. Or,” she said, that slight hint of mischief rearing its head again, “doing something silly like forgetting to wear a glove.”

—  || ♜♛

Adolin took and sat on the short stool as she swung it around; he hadn’t noticed it, tucked under the table, and it didn’t grant all that much difference in height. Even despite their shared experience out in the highstorm, his being that close beside her, hand on the back of her chair, was probably a touch too familiar of him for comfort. Right. So. Chair.

“I’m not sure if you remember, and considering the circumstances afterwards, I really couldn’t blame you if you don’t, but I was over in Aladar’s warcamp in the first place to pick a fight. Quite literally.” During the highstorm and in the immediate aftermath, he’d forgotten about it himself, high on the roar of adrenaline coursing through his body and far more focused on the circumstances at hand. Later, though, once Marasi had gone and he’d been given a furious, worried dressing-down by his father and brother, Adolin was left to curse his failure to further his part in the campaign of bringing the other highprinces to heel.

“But!” His bright, wide grin flashed in the light of the spherelamps, touched with an edge of vicious anticipation. “I finally got Elit to agree to a duel – he’s one of Ruthar’s, not Aladar’s, but he’s got Plate to forfeit, and that’s most of the point. If you’d be interested, Lady Marasi, would you care to come watch? You haven’t seen a duel yet, if I remember correctly. Call it cultural research.”

[misscolms-blog]

{ Pairing Aesthetics - MaraLin - otp ; tell me everything }

For you are made of nebulas and novas and night sky You’re made of memories you bury or live by 

                                                    I want the storm inside you awoken now                                                   I want your warm bright eyes                                                 To never look away                                              I will never look away

‘Cadmium slows down time,’ she’d said, but out here on the edge of the Plains, he couldn’t see it. There was nothing around to disturb the rockbuds, no windspren dancing on the night air, and both he and she still moved at a normal pace. Adolin’s brow furrowed, his jaw tightening a fraction. Was this some sort of joke at his expense? Marasi was the last woman he’d expect that from, but he’d been mistaken before-

Light caught the corner of his eye, and Adolin looked up.

Overhead, the stars were turning from points into brilliant, curving streaks as they tracked across the sky. His breath left him like he’d been gut-punched, lips parted, eyes widening in awe and wonder as his gaze dropped back down to this tiny, astonishing woman.

“Are you quite sure you’re not a Herald?”

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         It was only a handful of years ago, wasn’t it, that she’d found herself in a similar position: Waxillium, an arm curled around her, a shelter from the blast and ricochet of bullets in a firefight. This felt similar in some ways, but fundamentally different in others—here, she was not merely the damsel. Here, they were both huddling for shelter against the roar of the wind and bite of the rain, and they were both trying to put on a brave face despite everything.

          Humbling, a small part of her noted, to see the raw might of nature and remember how small one was in comparison.

         She absorbed his thanks with little more than an absent nod, but shrugged as close to his warmth as she dared—though, she supposed, propriety didn’t mean much of anything in a situation like this. Ignoring her better judgment, she slowly leaned her cheek against his shoulder, turning her head a little so she could glance out at the dark veil of rainwater pelting the ground. It was still far too intimidating and far too close for her liking, but it helped to hear Adolin’s voice steady in her ear, a calming reminder that she was not alone. A story would be a welcome distraction.

         “He just walked out? While it was like this outside?” Blessedly, her voice did not tremble, did not shake. “Whyever would he do something like that?”

—  || ♜♛

As the storm howled around them, time felt irrelevant. There was only the wind and debris, the beat of his heart and the small warmth of Marasi burrowed into his side. It might have been minutes before the stormwall passed, or it could have been hours, but the highstorm did begin to calm.

A relative value of calm, as the booming thud of boulders bouncing along still occasionally resounded through the roaring wind and rain, punctuated by crashing thunder.

Marasi’s hand remained clutching fast to his waistcoat even when she leaned back to look up, just as his arm stayed firm around the back of her shoulders. Adolin managed a small half-smile down at her, as reassuring as he could make it. “A little damp on the windward side, but otherwise fine. We made it here safe before the stormwall hit, and that’s what counts. Lucky for the both of us, you have sharp eyes.” The arm around her tightened in a momentary half-hug of thanks.

They were pressed too close for Adolin to miss the small tremors of fear that wracked her - So new to the Shattered Plains, to this end of the world, even, and here she is caught out in a highstorm. He might have felt guilty about that, but Marasi had been heading out of Aladar’s camp all the same, and the thought of the storm catching her alone and unawares was more than enough to chill him far deeper than the bite of the rain.

Slowly, soothingly, he stroked his thumb over the curve of her shoulder, and looked out into the rain. “You know, my father once accidentally terrified a diplomat by nonchalantly walking out into the middle of a highstorm.”

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        If Marasi had had her notebook, she would have jotted down the phrase ‘surgebinding’, but unfortunately, she had decided to make this a casual excursion and as such, had not brought her notebook with her. There was a time when someone had to stop being a researcher and had to actually experience the culture and society. She murmured a ‘thank you’ as he directed her to the shops and gave a quick smile as she caught sight of one that looked like it had smaller items of clothing for working women.

         “If you’ll pardon me, I shouldn’t be but a moment,” Marasi paused to step into the tent and purchased a single glove--still such a bizarre custom to her; what was the point in owning only one glove when you could have two?--and paid with the little glowing marble-like currency that was used in these parts. From what she’d been able to gather, the most basic were ‘chips’, the middle ones were called ‘marks’, and the globes were called ‘broams’, though she couldn’t begin to guess an approximate value of each one aside from the obvious. For all she knew, she was getting cheated horribly.

         Glove acquired, she surreptitiously slipped the lace one off and the new one on. For all she knew, she had been wandering around with the equivalent of risqué lingerie on, in full view of everyone. Actually, judging by Kaladin’s reaction, that was exactly what had happened.

         Nice to know she was already making such an excellent impression on the locals.

         “So,” she continued brightly, once she was properly gloved and not at all wantonly showcasing her left hand about throughout the camp, “from a slave to the captain of a brightlord’s honour guard.” There was an awful lot to unpack from the information he had given her—quite surprising, given that he’d seemed a man of few words from the little she’d seen of him before. Not that it wasn’t appreciated, but her mind whirled with the unfamiliarity of many of the terms he threw around so casually. What he said about fighting so long that the warlords had practically forgotten what they were fighting for, however… that did line up, to an extent, with what Adolin had been telling her earlier about their history and why they were there. Try as she might, she hadn’t succeeded in piecing it together, either.

         Glancing up at Kaladin, her smile softened a little. “You saved them because it was the right thing to do, you said? You don’t think that’s a rather subjective baseline for doing something?” She paused, looking thoughtful. “Not that it was in this situation, but I have more than a passing familiarity with the practice of justice. How do you judge whether something is right or wrong?” Marasi didn’t speak in an accusatory or probing way; more genuinely curious, as someone who has wondered the same of her own morals. “See, this is why you shouldn’t encourage me to ask more questions. I’m afraid you don’t know what you’re in for.”

Kaladin raised an eyebrow at her scrutinizing gaze. He understood how strange it must seem to her, a person who was not native to Roshar, let alone Alethkar, considering how strange it was even to people who were born and raised with the customs that shaped this country. But, even so, he had never been looked at like that before. Like he was some curiosity she was attempting to analyze.

“Don’t worry,” He met her smile with a steady look and the slightest upwards twitch of his lips. “I wish people would ask more questions in general. How do you expect to understand something if you never question it? People who blindly accept everything they’re faced with can never hope to have any control over their own lives. For example, most of the Alethi army probably doesn’t even know why they’re fighting. They were told the reason their country went to war, but I doubt they fully understand why they’re fighting, personally.”

He hoisted his bag higher as the strap rubbed uncomfortably against the scars on his shoulder, even through the fabric of his uniform. Every single bridge run would stay with him for life, even as ‘Captain’, and not just in regards to the scarring. With a sigh, he pushed his bangs out of his eyes, revealing a glimpse of the brand on his forehead as he glanced about, eyes sweeping the area for something remotely close to a clothing shop. He considered her words for a moment, humming thoughtfully before speaking again. He didn’t have to answer her, but he was going to. There was little harm in telling her something, after all. At least as far as he could perceive.

“I’m not insulted. Unusual is an understatement. It’s practically unheard of and trust me, it wouldn’t make any damned sense to me either if I hadn’t lived it.” He breathed a low chuckle past his lips and shook his head, glancing over his shoulder as Syl grasped onto a lock of his hair to keep up with him. A tiny smile formed on her tiny face as she waved. He smiled slightly in return, hoping not to appear completely insane in Marasi’s eyes by speaking to someone she couldn’t see.

“I used to serve in another brightlord’s army a long time ago. Or, at least, what feels like a long time ago. Then, something happened during one of the battles and I managed to earn myself a shardblade. I refused it and Brightlord Amaram made me a slave and sold me off. I wound up in one of the warcamps here and was made a bridgeman. When I first came here, the men who carried the bridges all knew that they were going to die. We weren’t allowed to carry shields or wear armor and every run we went on killed the majority of us. By that point, I had pretty much given up, but I got a lot of help from a…friend of mine and decided to keep as many people from dying as possible. A lot happened between then and now, but the main reason that I got from where I was to where I am is because I decided, against my better judgement, to rescue the Kholin family after they were betrayed. I may not like lighteyes, but it was the right thing to do and I needed to do it.” He shrugged, stuffing his hands into his pockets as they approached a cluster of shops that seemed to be for textiles and clothing, judging by what he could see of their wares. Surely they’d have something she could use.

“Of course, there’s the whole surgebinding thing, but you’re going to have to ask someone smarter than me if you want specifics on that…Apparently, I was doing it long before I even realized I was doing it.” He nodded in the direction of the shops. “They might have something in here.”

[misscolms-blog]

          I wouldn’t have left you behind.

          And she believed it, oddly enough, even though past experience would dictate otherwise. Her father, who had wished her kidnapped by Miles Dagouter’s men in place of Steris. Her own friends, running off into the fire time after time after time, as she was forced to catch up. She always did, eventually, both in the literal and figurative senses, but it still didn’t ease the sting of logic whispering this is your lot in life; you will always be the second choice and never the first priority.

          She’d be lying if it wasn’t nice to feel like something other than an afterthought.

          With a smile, Marasi procured a stool for him to sit on rather than kneeling--she doubted customs were at all the same between here and Elendel, but if they were, she’d have a lot to explain about why a prince was on one knee before her--although it was rather small for him. “I like not feeling like I owe people. What can I do for you, Brightlord?” She settled into a polite, respectful tone, though good humour still twinkled in her eyes and a pleasant smile tugged the corners of her mouth.

—  || ♜♛

“A fate I’d rather not consider, for either of us. And believe me, there’s no debt involved. I might not have found a lait in time without you there.” The little twist of his mouth broadened into a truer smile. “Out in the storm, you either survive or you don’t. Sharp eyes and fast thinking saved us both.”

A beat, a breath. A memory of whispered thanks. Bright blue softened for a lingering second. “…I wouldn’t have left you behind.”

And… Ah, but that looks awkward. It was hardly easy to forget how tiny Marasi was, even more so now that he’d spent a highstorm half-curled around her for stability and comfort, and yet still he managed to catch her in a disadvantage - her seated versus him standing. Easily enough remedied; he sank to one knee beside her chair, resting one hand on the back of it as the hem of his coat pooled on the floor. 

“If you’d still call it a debt owed, though, allow me a suggestion of how you might repay it.”

[misscolms-blog]

Colour series: Brown and burgundy

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[misscolms-blog]

Marasi <3

[misscolms-blog]

          Wayne pulled an actual, genuine banjo out of the cupboard, and Marasi raised her hand to pinch the bridge of her nose. It took at least half of her self control not to drag her hand down her face. “Are you going to give me a concert?”

          She immediately regretted it as soon as it came out of her mouth.

Wayne replaced his hat. “See, there’s where you’re wrong, Mara. I got one other lover up my sleeve. Or… in the cupboard, I guess.” 

With that, he opened the nearest cabinet and procured the prophesied banjo. He patted its neck fondly. “Her name’s Nancy.”

[misscolms-blog]

          “To be entirely fair.” Marasi said, leaning her elbow on the desk and dropping her head into her hand. He was already far too tall as it was, but when she was sitting, it was utterly absurd. She tried to keep up the teasing cadence of her tone, but despite her best efforts, her expression settled into something warm and wry. “If you hadn’t, I’d probably be dead by now.”

          Truth be told, she was more than a little tired of playing the role of a damsel. “So,” she continued, “if it was the action of a fool, it was one that kept me alive. In which case, I do believe I am in your debt once again.”

—  || ♜♛

Adolin held up both of his hands in honest sheepishness. “In my defense, it didn’t occur to me that you hadn’t realized what the Kholin glyphpair on my coat was when we first met. It’s there and prominent to make me recognizable, and so I just assumed…” Dark fingers brushed the embroidery in question as he looked down at it with a wry twist to his lips. “…well, I assumed.

“But! Now you know, and I know that you know.” And despite that, she treated him much the same as she had before, after the initial shock of the revelation wore off. It was a relief - a weight off his chest that he hadn’t even realized was there. “And so the question might be who is the greater fool - the traveler who didn’t know to wear a glove, or the prince who was idiot enough to leave camp when a storm might be on the horizon?”

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[misscolms-blog]

I really thought I hated you, you know? I did. I did hate you. In fact, I hated you for weeks. I went to a concert once. Can’t remember who it was. But do you know what the singer said? She said, “hatred is too strong an emotion to waste on someone that you don’t like.”

[misscolms-blog]

Marasi Colms!

While Steris is my #1 favorite I also really liked Marasi in Bands of Mourning, and I realized I’ve never actually drawn her? So here she is with her handy purse.

[misscolms-blog]

To be of use in even a single burst of flame and sound is worth more than a lifetime of achieving nothing.

Marasi, The Alloy Of Law

[misscolms-blog]

I really really love this quote. So many different interpretations depending on the context.