#Darlston

[joelanddarl]

When your bf is a fluffy boi /SilveryLantern

[tratius]

Bath time

Art by @silverylantern

Okay. That last one was pretty grim... Uh... how about something light hearted and funny! Featuring shitston when he was younger! He was very stubborn, and would often get into arguments with his mum over stupid things. Like having a bath. 

He yelped as he was thrown into the room. The door slamming shut behind him.

Red Faced, fuming and angry, Darlston stormed over to his bed, feet purposefully stomping, hard on the floor to show those downstairs the extent of his displeasure, stepping over discarded bundles of clothing that littered the floor like a carpet on the boards. With a huff, he threw himself on the thin mattress, and scowled at the pillow.

Flipping over to lie on his back, he rubbed his face with dirty hands, hands caked in dust and muck, hands that needed washing.

He had sworn at her. That was his first mistake. His rump still smarted from when her hand had fallen across it in a sharp crack. He had known he was in trouble when he kept shouting at her, he knew this because she goes quiet when she’s mad. Pursing her lips, eyes narrowed, waiting for the tirade to finish, allowing you to run out of fuel. She was patient. She had to be to raise a son like Darlston.

He stood, trying to rub out the soreness on his behind. Muttering to himself. Muttering loathsome things about the vile woman, who he definitely did not love, or rely on. He was of course, old enough to look after himself now. He could not deny however, that she could get a good slap in when she needed to.

It wasn’t fair.

She always gets her own way. It’s up to -him- what he does now. He knows what he wants, and at that point in time, a -bath- was not one of them.

The sound of water splashed in the garden. She watered her flowers when they argued. It was her escape.

Baths were stupid anyway. Why bother? He’d just get dirty when he went back out. Having a bath was making a commitment to staying clean that he was not interested in keeping. He wanted to play in the woods that night. To go with his friends out, maybe steal a bottle of mead from one of their father’s stashes. Darlston of course didn’t have a father. His mother drank wine when she could get it, but not in such heavy amounts. He has never seen the woman drunk.

Scowling. He made up his mind. Sunlight filtered in through the heavy clouds above. Struggling through the window panes. He would wait.

Soon the sound of water below stopped. A door closed. Perfect. Packing a few things, like food for his dinner from the stash he always kept in his room for such occasions, he readied himself to leave. By way of window.

Climbing up onto the sill he opened the pane. It creaked. “Shit.” Darlston hissed to himself. “Needs some oil…”

He wasn’t detected, for there was no sound of doors opening, or his mother screaming at him to get back in…

Shimmying out carefully, he clambered out of the window, onto the vine outside, and made to make his way down using the familiar handholds of the bushes… That were not there.

Fingers grasped at air. And he fell, unable to help himself from screaming as air whistled past his ears.

Then suddenly cold.

Splash.

He fought to the surface, hair plastered to his face… And there she was. Grinning wickedly at him. Holding a bar of soap in one hand, and a towel in the other. She looked down on Darlston, drenched and sitting in the water trough she had positioned so strategically beneath his bedroom window.

“I always win, Darlston.” She declared with victorious smugness.

“It’s not fair.” he replied.

[replica004]

Lineart commission I did for awesome @tratius and @silverylantern ! Original Characters Joel and Darlston ~

[magpie-reads]

Last line tag

Lovely @starlitesymphony tagged me, thank you very much! I do not know whom to tag in return so I direct this at everyone reading this

This is the last bit from a faux-gothic thing I wrote for a prompt in my writing group

"some things did change over time. The ravens continued to be well fed and cared for, and Mr. Darlston still holds them very dear, but he does not rely on them for conversation practice anymore. Although I must say I do not call him Mr. Darlston anymore, but by his christian name. He calls me Hetty still, but sometimes also "Misses Darlston" or "my little raven", which are both much to my liking."

[timezfusa]

'You can't come back if you ain't got a medal'

‘You can’t come back if you ain’t got a medal’

These boxers were three of Team GB’s stars of the Tokyo Olympics, they are all from the West Midlands and there’s huge pride in the region. Birmingham’s Galal Yafai won gold, Darlston’s Ben Whittaker won silver and it was bronze for Frazer Clarke from Burton-upon-Trent. The three medalists sat down at Birmingham City Boxing Club to reflect on their time in Tokyo, their friendship and how life has…

[jaysons-photography]

My main piece of gear to carry all my essentials! The Fstop Darlston Nasturtium. @fstopgear @officialfstoppers #fstoppers https://www.instagram.com/p/B1ZP4DdnngD/?igshid=1us0irsct5ksy

[katharinealldritt]

Window Mural

This window mural was created for a barbershop store front. I thought that something like this could be created for the Darlston campaign. I  would like to focus on creating a window display as this links to the area of design I am interested in going into at the moment. 

This entire mural was created by hand and it will entice people into the store, this is something memorable so if it was used to advertise a drink people would be more likely to remember it.

[joelanddarl]

An adventurous Darl!<33333333

[joelanddarl]

Joel and Darlston have been tasked with retrieving some old family belongings from a certain nobleman's Gilneas estate. This time they've got a trusty new companion in Angus the Packmule!

[joelanddarl]

Here Lies Catherine Smith - Devoted Mother

[joelanddarl]

Times past...

[joelanddarl]

Wanted to update Joel’s AA banner a lil, and since I used this ol’ portrait, I made a matching one for Darl :) I love me some swirlies! //SilveryLantern

[joelanddarl]

Quiet.

Darlston sat by the flickering glow of the campfire, and looked up at the sky. There were three moons now. Three. Two glowed, gleaming peacefully in the sky as they always had, one a brilliant silver, the other a glorious blue. The third, however, was a malevolent eye of searing green. It hung, broken in the cloudless night, inspiring terror and woe in whoever looked upon the baleful planet.

Argus.

Darlston had heard stories of Argus, had heard tell of how it was a world, seething and writhing within the fel-burning grasp of the Legion. He remembered the day it had appeared. How he had held Joel, fearful of the coming storm. How he knew he had to do something, even as he was recovering from the throes of possession he had suffered not too long ago. Well, now he was better. He had built up his strength, filled out his flesh. Muscle had returned, new, eager to fight, and fight he would.

He wondered what Joel was doing now... Was he home? Fighting the Legion his own way, using his own skills? He longed to be back with him, fighting side by side. But it was better that they do what good they could, where they could. Joel’s abilities lay elsewhere, in healing the land, in growth. Darlston only destroyed.

He missed him, missed threading his fingers through Joel’s hair, missed the scent of lavender on milk-smooth skin, missed their secret kisses and their passion. He sighs now, his breath misting on the icy air as he recalled all the joy he felt when he was with his lover, he whispered his name, and it was snatched away by a stray breeze, borne aloft, like a message.

Darlston paused, and heaved a deeper sigh, before leaning back against the tree and turned his stinging eyes to the fire. It did little to chase the cold away. No, already there was frost spreading on the grass, glittering crystals hanging like dewdrops from the branches. He poked the fire, trying to stir more life from it, trying to bring forth more heat. Once that was done, he was left once more in silence, and so he turned to his memories once again.

Joel wouldn’t be happy. He would be furious, even. Furious that Darlston had left home without him, furious that he was still technically recovering. But he too, knew Darlston too well - he knew he couldn’t sit by while other people suffered from the Demon Onslaught. He knew he would have to do something, no. His anger would stem from going without him, how Darlston hadn’t wanted to go to Darnassus, to the druids, to deal with the enemy their way. But the truth was. Darlston couldn’t go back to Darnassus. Hadn’t wanted to - he enjoyed his time with Joel when last they went, Joel’s small house, the garden.... The shower... the closeness as the two lived in happy bliss, but he loathed the city for its rightness, how every time he went, he was somehow out of place. This broken thing, it made him feel keenly just what was wrong, what had changed in him.

He bared his teeth then, and reached out to take a log, before throwing it with a ‘thwump’ onto the fire. He missed Joel. And when he comes back, he’ll make it right.

[joelanddarl]

Joel...

A thought strikes me as you lie in my arms, nestled softly in the nook of my neck, your soft, sleeping sighs escaping from your delicate mouth... I’m happy with you.

Hear me out, Joel... I’m not saying this like some ungrateful bastard who makes himself content with whatever he can get... it really ain’t like that. You know I ain’t any good at expressing my emotions, and I know I try... I’ve been through too much shit and been at war with myself for too long to even -begin- to try and explain myself.

But with you my heart swells... Just getting to watch you sleep in the morning, your eyes closed, veiled by the soft-down of your eyelashes... how your hair sprawls around you, allowing itself a moment of chaos before you inevitably wake and shove it back into order... with you my feelings are true.

I feel like a complete idiot.

I mean... I ain’t perfect. I’m rough, bull-headed, stubborn, hot-tempered and on a good day, crass. And you- well, you’re so... dainty... so proper. You sit in a noble’s house, and I imagine you just... fit in. I don’t belong in that world... A world of polish, and fine clothes and manners; that just ain’t me.

But you tolerate this. You sit as you talk to some finicky Noble woman, and you smile, and nod, and look so content to have me there... Me, who always looks like he has just woken up on the wrong side of the bed - my hair wild and tangled, my shirt untucked - while you can sit there elegantly and talk to this lady- You know... I’ll never forget, the -first- time you had a client while I was there...

I can’t remember her name - and when I answered the door, she must’ve thought I was the help. She ordered me around, and admonished me - and when she told you off for keeping such indolent staff... you kissed me. Her face. The look of her face is something I will cherish forever... how she puffed up like a pigeon, then huffed off out the door, it makes me laugh even now.

I’m gushing now- I get it... I bet your ego is the size of the Blue Moon, it always has been, you’ve always just... known... how great you are. And I bet it’s some validation to yourself that I... at least... in part agree - I mean, you still can be an incredibly insufferable arse when you want to be.

I just... I guess I just want to say... I love you. I know we say it all the time... but it always seems such a shallow thing to say... It’s a word that you should say... every so often, else it loses its impact.  And I know we’ve been through too much and seen too much to realise that love is a small thing, and it is really what you make of it, you can never be sure... but for me - I think this is sincere. 

I should stop... you always say I should stop -thinking- and live in the moment... so I will. Even as I lower my head and breathe in your scent. Lavender. You know I’ve always loved the Lavender.

[joelanddarl]

Name: Darlston Smith Age: 24

Darlston is rough, headstrong, and stubborn. He is also loyal to a fault, and has a defining sense of right and wrong. He was raised by his mother in Gilneas, and loves to seek thrill wherever it may be found - this of course well suits him to an Adventurers life. However, since the curse overwhelmed Gilneas he has struggled to find himself, and come to terms with his new state of being. With Joel he has begun to feel more at ease. Even though lately there have been stirrings to the contrary.

[tratius]

Days to Capture

Introducing my WoW Character: Darlston. Set during the Worgen epidemic in Gilneas, that reduced the nation to rubble. 

Ten Days to Capture

Winter had ruined the soil. The constant, driving rain had churned the farmland into a muddy mire that crops had no hope of surviving. Yet, despite this a small encampment had emerged on the roadside, hidden in a copse of thick pine, squatting miserably in the rain under the boughs; its fitful campfires casting streams of smoke into the air. The people from this small camp had hoped against hope that something had survived the years harvest; but the skinny, bedraggled and dirtied inhabitants bore testament to that lack of success.

 She had been toiling in the muck since midday. Her once pink and vibrant skirts stained black by the thick, soupy soil that was closer to water than earth. Her hands had long since turned blue due to the cold and damp - but still she scratched, fingers working into the mud to find a bulb or potato, something that could be stewed and boiled. Unfortunately for her, the basket at her side contained only a few measly parsnips and a stunted carrot. With a hiss of pain she stopped and tucked her trembling fingers into her armpits to try and get some warmth into them, but the rain had wet her through, stealing warmth from her bones and turning the air from her mouth into a thick cloud that was whisked away by the shrill wind.

 Her shawl was torn away by this sudden pick up - leaving her damp hair to tumble limply down over her shoulders. Once it was lively and red, like a hearth fire, and it matched her fiery personality. A personality that had been battered and bruised and destroyed by her predicament

 Like she believed she was now.

Bordering the field there was a small tangle of woodland. Thick trunked trees with coiling branches arced up into the sky. Like frozen lightning bared by winter’s fierceness they stood whipcord thin. Beneath rose an immense tangle of underbrush - wild roses, mingled with thorn bushes that gave way to the coiling roots of the trees above. Here it lurked - a great beast of grey fur, breathing, in a hushed growl that burbled between sharp jaws. Clawed paws gripped into the earth as it watched the small form some distance away.

 It was her hair that caught its attention then. The fiery red that matched the far off hearth of the hidden sprawl. Wood smoke was still heavy in the air, and something about the scent made the beast hunger.  

 That was, until it caught sight of the hair again. it was the hair that so enraptured the small-minded beast. It brought back memories not entirely its own; memories of a childhood that it had no business remembering. It was a life of running carefree through cluttered streets, of climbing trees, scraped knees, and sporting in smoke-filled alleyways with friends.

 His friends, there were four of them then, four, who laughed together and fought together. Four who stole apples from orchards, or took from stalls without paying only to be reprimanded by mothers. He remembered then, his mother humming softly as she worked, tending a garden with roses-... Then it was gone. The thought sliding back into the feral fog in the recesses of his mind, forgotten quickly and without much care; for its attention soon turned to the girl once more.

 She had moved now - scuttled closer to the edge of the field, closer to the woodland - he could hear her more sharply now. Her weary grunts, and muttered complaints as tired fingers failed to find what she so desperately needed, she hissed with pain as a nail snapped against a stray rock in the mud, and with a stifled sob she sat down in despair - it could smell the salty tang of her tears as she cried. She cast the occasional fretful look over her shoulder to the cluster of tents; how had life come to this?

 Her smiling face came unbidden to its mind then. A face flushed by laughter, and her eyes downcast with embarrassment, lips quirked in flirtation - this memory came complete with a feeling that was completely alien to the beast. A light feeling that nudged tentatively at something within him, but it passed quickly and the anger came flooding back.

 With a burbling growl it prowled from its hiding spot, emerging slowly from the bushes with a hungry glint in its eyes. Its quarry sat before it, completely unaware - that was until she looked up, startled by the sound. With a gasp she rose to her feet, basket of collected foodstuffs forgotten in the wake of the lupine monster that focused on her, blue eyes gleaming. A whimper escaped her lips as she backed slowly away, eyes fixed on the beast in front of her.

 “Please, Light, protect me, Keep me safe. Don’t let this beast hurt me, please, please, please.” her plea a fervent jumble, words that spilled out over each other in a mess. This was silenced by a growl from the beast's maw. She whimpered pathetically again, but still kept backing away. Despite her fear, she could not help but feel pity for the monster before her. Something that had once been a man - it still wore tatters of clothing, stained with age and mud and - she shuddered at the redness that could only be blood. That was what finally drove her to turn and run. She tried to flee across the muddy mire, but her soaked skirt kept tripping her, her cold legs numb and slow to respond to her wishes, and eager to send her sprawling in the muck. The mud  pulled at her feet, hindering her further and for a moment she thought that she could outrun the beast- who still crouched low somewhere behind her.

 That was until she could hear the loping thud of claws sinking into the squelching ground. It moved at a pace that far outstripped hers - and she could only scream as the shadowed form leaped over her and scrabbled, to a halt, watery dirt spraying around it. She skidded to a halt and called futilely for help before a clawed grip took her by the throat and hoisted her off her feet - bringing her level with the savage eyes of the beast. She struggled - feet scrabbling for purchase in thin air. Small hands clutching at the claws that clasped her throat.

 It had her now, and all it had to do now was squeeze and her neck would snap. Releasing a snarl, which only served to increase its prey’s fear, it readied to finish the deed- until her muttered pleas for mercy reached its encased mind. “Please… please don’t do this.” she choked.

All struggling seemed to stop - she looked into it - no, into him… and recognition seemed to alight there. Despite the fur, despite the mess, despite the anger, something sparked recognition: “Darlston…?” she asked, eyes widening…

Something dormant writhed within it then, the name sent shivers down its spine - causing it to bare its teeth, and in its discomfort yank suddenly.

Her neck cracked loudly as it snapped, she died instantly - and her body was flung aside, twitching and spasming…

 It stood then, panting and snarling - unsure of just what exactly had just happened. That was until a lone shot echoed out from behind it. A shot that thudded into its shoulder, staggering the beast, and causing it to fall onto its claws. Raised voices called out from behind. “There it is! Shoot it!”

Boot falls squelched into the field as the people from the camp converged on the wounded Worgen, raising guns and loosing shots that succeeded in only hitting the ground “Get her! Take her to camp!”

“She’s dead!”

“Shoot it!”

The words, which purchased no understanding with the beast, sent it into an angry panic - it leapt, scrabbling in the dirt, back to its feet and bounded for the safety of the trees once more. The wound in it shoulder caused it to whimper and limp, but it was still formidable - as one armsman found out when he sought to block its path - he was sent tumbling with a tearing bite on his arm, causing him to scream: “I’m bit! I’m bit!” and “For Light-sake, shoot me!”

 The words faded into gunshots and screams of woe, as field turned to woodland. It thundered into the wood, pursued by the camp-stayers, armed with muskets that struck tree and bush and failed to hit the shape moving in the gloomy darkness.