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thoughtsofanexcitedspacechild · 3 years

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The question is inevitable. I stop wiping down the ice cream equipment and look up. For the past two years, that’s all anyone’s ever asked me. Now as I sit here, I realize that by this time next year, I’ll be preparing to move. By this time next year, the question “what do you want to study?” will be answered. The thought of growing up and going to college has always been in the back of my mind, but it always seemed far off. Now as my boss asks me the same question I’ve been asked a million times, the answer doesn’t just feel real; it feels tangible.

“I want to hopefully study something in the arts,” I reply. “I’m hoping to study to then get a job as a concept artist for movies and TV shows.”

"Well, you know art can be just a hobby, right?”

***

I’m three years old. I’m sitting at the kitchen table with white printer paper spread out all over the place. Half of the sheets are filled and the other half to go. My tongue sticks out in determined concentration as I finish what feels like my fiftieth self portrait today. I’m still not happy with how the hair looks, but I’m getting better with every one I make.

“You know art can be just a hobby, right?”

***

I’m eight years old. I wait nervously outside the classroom in the aquatic and community center for my first ever real drawing class. I wait until the door opens and file in behind the rest of my peers into the classroom. I find a spot a little further away from everyone else. Once the teacher begins instructing us on how to draw the basic construction of a horse, I immerse myself into the lecture. Soon enough my anxiety melts away as I immerse myself in the drawing. By the end, I’m not quite satisfied with how my horse looks, but I look forward to the next day. There’s still three more days of camp, and I’m ready to get even better tomorrow.

“You know art can be just a hobby, right?”

***

I’m twelve years old. I’m sitting with what feels like my entire body sunken into an overly plush floral print couch. I watch as Mrs. Scalabrino, a family friend, teaches me how to make a magic loop with the yarn and crochet hook. “I’ve been doing it all wrong! Now I finally understand!” Deb hands me the yarn and hook and urges me to try myself.

This time, instead of having the hook slip through and make a tiny slip stitch, I loop the yarn though and then pull through a final time to create a stitch.

“I did it! I was doing it wrong!”

“It looks very good! Keep going and you’ll be making full projects in no time!” I smile at her compliment and keep practicing.

By the end of the afternoon, I have a long rectangle of clumsily made single and double crochet stitches, but I don’t mind. I’m proud of my lumpy, uneven, handmade rectangle.

“You know art can be just a hobby, right?”

***

I’m thirteen years old. It’s my first time at Blue Lake Fine Arts camp, and I’m taking my first pottery class. I’m carefully carrying my freshly reglazed pot to the back room of the pottery studio after fixing it for a second time. The first time it got damaged I had dropped it after molding the structure and the second time someone else bumped into me, messing up the glaze and sgraffito pattern and glazing in multiple places. I stayed after class during my recreation time and painstakingly remolded and fixed the intricate glazing pattern.

At the end of the session art show, I’m called to the front of the crowd of visiting parents and my fellow campers. I’ve just won the Outstanding camper scholarship. My cheeks flush furiously with embarrassment, but inside I’m also elated. Even though the pot wasn’t perfect. I was still proud of it. I worked hard to save and fix the pot twice broken, and for once, that work pays off. I look out and see the faces of everyone who was with me on the journey to complete the piece, and I know that that pot will always be more than a keepsake planter.

“You know art can be just a hobby, right?”

***

I’m fifteen years old. I lay in bed before my first day of high school. I should be worried about my academic classes, and I am. I can’t stop thinking about the homework for my double paced math class and honors biology, and the more advanced reading we’ll do in honors english this year.

I console myself by thinking about the art class that I’m going to take. By chance there was a scheduling conflict with my social studies credit, and there wasn’t a spot to fit it in. I’d have to test out of the class over the summer, but that meant that I could take Art 1 instead. I stay up and wonder what it will be like. Will it be like my art classes in middle school? Will I finally be able to try oil painting? What about ceramics?

I drift off to sleep anxious, but ready to try all new mediums and make more; to be able to create amongst all the chaos that comes with advanced academic studies.

“You know art can be just a hobby, right?”

***

I’m sixteen years old. I’m almost finished with what was supposed to be my sophomore year, but because of the pandemic, quarantine has made the past month of march even more grey and dreary than normal. The trees outside droop with the heaviness of the recent freezing rain and the sky is a somber grey. I stare absentmindedly at my computer screen waiting for my last zoom meeting of the day to end.

I return to my painting once I log off of our AP Art zoom. I glare at the canvas in front of me. I hate this piece. Even the dull grey color palette outside seems more appetizing than the same oranges and blues that I’ve stared at for the past three months. It’s the feeling in the pit of the stomach when you don’t feel particularly welcome and you know something is off. The dynamic is all wrong and you infuriatingly search the faces of the people there for an answer but to no avail.

I sigh and start to reach for my paints to force myself to push through to a solution, but set them down. “There has to be another way to get through this,” I say to myself as I open my sketchbook against my better judgement. After a quick image reference search, My pencil migrates from the jar to the page. I don’t worry about making it perfect. This piece is just for me.

I sketch out the figures of the boy and girl and boy in the photo, their arms intertwined in an embrace and their lips in a gentle kiss. I make sure her thumb just skims the length of his forearm and that his hand is placed just so on her waist. I step back. We’re getting somewhere.

Long since abandoned for my previous acrylic piece, my colored pencils feel slippery and foreign in my hand. I reach for the tan and brown colored pencils to start, but the bright fuschia red catches my eye. I cautiously begin to apply it to the girl’s face and neck area. Perfect. I don’t stop until the shadows crossing the girl’s face are all shades of pink and red and the boys silhouette is coated in deep blues. What next?

My watercolor palette sits just inches from my paints. I open it and observe my options. I water down a bright pink, an ocean blue, and my untouched cake of deep purple watercolor. I haphazardly splash the pink on one side and the blue on the other, applying purple to blend the area where the two seas of paint mix. I remember an old painters trick of using salt to make cool backgrounds, and apply a generous amount. The scissors come out next, and I delicately cut the form of the girl and boy out. I paste it right on the background and let it sit under a book overnight to press.

In the morning, I observe my work. It’s not perfect. The proportions on the girl’s arm are off and I never quite managed to capture the folds on the boy’s shirt, but I smile. I love it. This is my piece. No one told me to make this. I just did. It’s for me.

My abandoned assignment sits waiting on the other side of the table. I look at it again. This time I do see what’s missing. Like I did while I was working with the pencil, I need to add more depth. That’s why I hate it. That’s why it felt flat and boring. I set my new opus aside and reach for the beaten up acrylic brushes and paint tubes.

“You know art can be just a hobby, right?”

***

The computer screen finally loads. I'm exhausted and have just returned from a missions trip to the Dominican Republic, but in my blissful sleep back in my own bed, I'd remembered that AP scores had come out while I was away. The three numbers I've waited for loom in front of me:

AP Spanish Language: 5

AP Language and Composition: 4

AP Studio Art: 4

A four.

I stare in disbelief at the screen. I'd expected a three at best. I rush to tell my parents.

“You know art can be just a hobby, right?”

***

"Yeah, I know," I respond. "But it's so much more than that to me."

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abyssmail · 4 years

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Caerul Design Notes,

because I’ve actually put a lot of thought into creating Caerul’s aesthetic and I’m lowkey really proud of it. I won’t get into her actual character concept/personality/backstory/etc. since this got super long, but this is how/why I made the choices I did with regards to her name and visual design!

▶ Caerul’s color scheme started off way bluer (hence the name “Caerul,” from caeruleus/a/um - “blue”/“cerulean”/“azure”/“of the sky/sea” in Latin) and less saturated, but when I gave her a (dead) twin with a red theme, I wanted them to look more alike and made both of their hair purple (although I haven’t actually done more than sketch Roseus before... he’s got purple hair and red eyes). Purple’s my favorite color, and unnatural hair colors don’t seem to be uncommon in Orth, so why not, right? ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ The red elements in Caerul’s design are meant to represent her honoring Roseus!

All of the base colors I use when drawing Caerul! They all end up looking a bit darker once they’re shaded though.

▶ As well as shamelessly using one of my favorite Latin words (I’m a Classics major, okay ;;>~>), I also tried to pick a name that sounded similar to the ones that already exist in-universe. This was actually fairly tricky, since as far as I can tell the names in Made in Abyss have a WIDE variety of influences. Some of them seem passably Japanese-sounding (Riko, Jiruo, Kiyui, Nanachi) disclaimer I bring dishonor to my ancestors and know 0 Japanese so this is just about vibez, others seem Western-ish (Reg, Nat, Lyza, Prushka). Some are fairly whimsical (Shiggy, Maruruk, Mitty) while others are more mysterious and fantastic (Any of the White Whistles besides maybe Lyza). The only common thread I could really settle on was a general fantasy feeling to all of the names. I tried to capture that nebulous vibe with Caerul’s name, although with something so vague and subjective it’s pretty much impossible to say if I was entirely successful. I named her siblings afterward with other Latin color words and ended up with a RGB theme lol.

▸ By the way, “Caerul” is pronounced “KAI-rool.” It rhymes with “Hyrule.” The ae diphthong makes an “eye” sound in Latin #TheMoreYouKnow

▸ “Caducalae” is a portmanteau of “caducae alae,” literally “falling/doomed/futile wings” in Latin (again), playing off how pointless it is to be able to fly when the Curse of the Abyss is a thing. Originally, they weren’t supposed to work at all outside of the Abyss, but I decided that was boring for crossovers/other verses so I scrapped it. I’m not too happy with the name since it doesn’t fit the naming scheme of the canon relics (there is no precedent at all for gratuitous Latin in Made in Abyss, which is a good thing because it’s overused in fantasy, but Latin was the only thing I was good at in high school sooooo... ^^;), but I didn’t like any of my other ideas that much, either. “Wings of Futility” feels more canon, but it’s also kinda depressing :/

▶ I’ve mentioned before that Caerul’s build is based off of mine for art reference purposes (it’s convenient to just look in the mirror while making the pose I want =w=)b), but another reason she’s so short is that I didn’t have to make the caducalae quite as big since she’s smaller, so she can actually go indoors if she’s careful.

▶ Long hair isn’t super practical with mechanical wings with lots of bits for it to get caught in, but Caerul idolizes Lyza, so I left her hair as long as I could reasonably get away with.

▶ I heavily referenced the canon Made in Abyss character designs for Caerul’s clothing so she would fit into the world, but made some alterations to make everything more personal to her and accommodate for her wings. In general, I lightened everything up, since she takes a bunch of short, quick trips rather than lengthy expeditions. Her gloves, for instance, are loosely inspired by the ones we see many delvers wearing in the manga/anime, but are less heavy-duty and are convertible mittens/fingerless gloves for better dexterity with handling letters and such.

The best close up of the gloves I could find was actually a screenshot of the aftermath Reg & Riko’s orb piercer encounter, but I didn’t want to have to tag this for gore, so you get Lyza ^^; There’s a filter over Caerul here so you can see the glove better which is why she looks kinda washed out :/

▶ Her coat is heavily influenced by Jiruo’s, since he’s the only Moon Whistle we’ve seen in canon.

yeah, uhhhh, sorry to yoink your style my dude ^^;

▸ Caerul’s has a different color palette, a simpler lapel border, an extra set of outer pockets, and three separate panels in the back that button around her wings so she can put it on! I haven’t drawn it, but her shirt works similarly.

This is my favorite detail about her design tbh... it’s just really satisfying what a logical solution it is for some reason??? the original doodle is off rotting somewhere in my Modern European History notes, but I tried to recreate it just as sloppily here =w=)b

▶ Caerul’s corset isn’t just a painful fashion choice - it’s actually meant to be a(n admittedly heavily stylized) brace for her back against the weight of her wings.

▶ Since Caerul can’t wear a backpack with the wings, I had to get creative with storage options for her. In addition to an undetermined number of pockets on the inside of her coat, I gave her these two pouches on her thighs to carry more stuff.

I wonder how buff your quads could get carrying a significant amount of weight there...

▸ Messenger bags don’t seem super practical for delving, so I didn’t design a specific one for her to carry all the time, but Caerul does use them on occasion. Even with that, though, she still has far less carrying capacity than the average delver, which is a problem she has to deal with when carrying out her duties!

▶ The wings/caducalae were by far the most difficult part of designing Caerul, and it took several redesigns over 2+ years before I was finally happy with them. Their first design was deliberately far simpler in the interest of having to draw them a zillion times, but they ended up clunky and unwieldy looking:

chonky o~O

▸ The final design is MUCH more of a pain to draw (in fact, a lot of the time I cheat and just copy and paste them from drawings I’ve already done), but I think it looks much sleeker and more “functional”.

I also got better at making my diagrams look slightly more authentic ;0

▸ I knew I wanted jetpack-style thrusters to be a component of the wings to somewhat justify the shit I wanted Caerul to be able to pull with them (especially to eliminate the need for accounting for the damage landing suddenly could do to her ankles), but incorporating them proved to be one of the biggest problems of the design. At one point, they were going to have a whole separate attachment point on her back, but I finally just made them an offshoot of the first “joint,” as you can see in the final design.

A really messy intermediate caducalae sketch. The weird double pentagon shape was meant to be the part of the relic actually fused to Caerul’s back, but I scrapped that too when I scrapped the separate limbs for the thrusters.

▸ Speaking of the joints, they’re all balls so they can rotate all over and I don’t have to fuss too much about how they move. Likewise, the frame is metal, but I treat it like it’s kind of flexible, so Caerul can “flex” the wings open and closed. These wings are hard enough to draw period okay I’m giving myself every excuse to be inconsistent af on purpose.

▸ The caducalae have some “bonus” features that I’ve sketched out, but that Caerul hasn’t unlocked yet, and won’t for a while.

owo what’s this?

▸ For the wings, I think my biggest inspirations were some of the mechier Cardfight!! Vanguard dragon units (although I don’t remember which cards specifically) and the energy wings on the ninth-generation knightmares in Code Geass R2.

I’ve made a lot of OCs, and since I don’t like to use faceclaims, I’ve done a fair amount of character designing. I don’t think I’ve ever spent as much time or had as much fun with any of them as I have with Caerul, though! OCs aren’t always super well accepted in fandom roleplay, but the Made in Abyss community has been super welcoming and I’ve had a blast. Thanks for listening to me gush about Caerul if you got this far, and thank you to everyone who’s interacted with her!

The original sketch of Caerul from back in 2017. How far we’ve come :’D

#miscellaneous info #mun art #appearance #ooc #((no one cares lol))#((but I had fun putting all my thoughts down in writing ^^;))#((also! the full version of the new caerul art from the promo!))

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botwstoriesandsuch · 4 years

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Where Time Takes Us

Hey all! I’m almost done with Chapter One of a fic I’m working on, so in the mean time, why not have a quick teaser?

Eventually I’m gonna also post the full thing on AO3 so the format is better, and it’s also gonna have zelink and some revali stuff in the future...although I’m mainly gonna focus on character growth and arcs than the romance. All in all, when I’m done you’ll have to read it for yourself. In the mean time..

Enjoy!

Where Time Takes Us 6905 words (of like...15k it’s a teaser ok)

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Watch the home while she is off to war

The Slumber King versus the rearing boar

Awake, arise, do not be blind

To tales and destinies entwined

In the world we said that we would leave behind

- - - - - - - - - -

6 months, 3 weeks, and 3 days before the Hyrule Castle Slaughter, the Akkala Citadel Massacre, the slaying of the Champions, the death of the hero, and the rise of Calamity Ganon

She was supposed to work until whenever doomsday struck, and truly she wanted to, but circumstances led her to walk towards the echoing laughter.

Already trying to prepare the quip she would throw back at them (as undoubtedly they’d complain about her being late again) the researcher weaved through the familiar roads of West Castle Town. Most of the houses were dark, with the only light source coming from the occasional flickering lantern, and the pale complexion of the midnight moon. Needless to say, it made the warm glow of The Adequate’s Tavern stand out all the more as she approached.

Another roar of laughter and shouts escaped from an open window on the south side of the pub. The bags under her eyes curved with her smile as she recognized one of the voices. She absentmindedly traced her fingers along the outer walls of the tavern as she walked, loose chips of faded blue paint falling to the pavement below. The wooden sign above the door creaked with its askew weight. “The Adequate’s Tavern” was printed in bold, blue letters atop a faded yellow outline. The missing e’s and t’s gave evidence to the building’s true quality.

Pushing open the door, the researcher was met with a swirl of familiar scents, ranging from alcohol, apples, bread, and leather, along with a smokiness coming from the fireplace near the back of the bar.

Closing the door behind her, she walked through the entrance, passing under a wooden overhang, and alongside a long, stone-slated bar counter. She overheard a conversation between the barkeep and a waiter.

“Yes, they’re here again, so get out there already!”

“The scientists?” the waiter asked.

The man started shoving her towards the storage door behind the bar. “Yes, yes, now hurry up and stock up on that apple cider. I’ve already turned four full pitchers from the three of them, and the fourth is no doubt on the way. We can turn a bigger profit from those kids than any random alcoholic that stumbles in here tonight!”

The waiter disappeared into the back and the barkeep was left muttering by the counter. Chuckling to herself, the researcher moved away, starting to search for the scientists in question. Other than a single, beige wall that separated the edge of the bar with a support beam in the middle of the room, the pub was very open and lively. Square and circular tables were littered across the floor in mismatched patterns, ranging from oak brown to birch white. Clearly, aesthetic was not the centerpoint of the place.

She walked about the pub, scanning the faces of the men and women alike who crowded by the booths and tables. The tavern mainly housed a sea of Hylians, who let out the occasional drunken laugh, or hearty chuckle. It was a miracle she could hear her thoughts at all, as the air was rich with the sound of clattering dishware and the patter of dancing feet, as in a small corner to the left was a semi-circle stage housing a small band. A Hylian man with umber dark skin, much like her own, blew away at a Lurelin-made, seashell harmonica. To his left, a blonde woman extended her arm in quick and elegant strokes with a bow and fiddle. Two others struck away on small drums and bells, and the playful gig they performed had gotten several people up from their feet to dance for Hylia knows how long. The music wasn’t terrible, but she had heard better, from a certain Sheikah in particular...

As if fate had read her thoughts, she finally caught sight of her friends.

It hindsight, it was easy enough to expect the bard to be at the table closest to the stage. Yet, it was probably the three heads of cloud white, Sheikah hair that gave them away the quickest. A young teenage boy sat across a square table from two other Sheikah, a boy and a girl. He was looking at nothing in particular, as he plucked away at his lute, presumably tuning it. Wrapped around his head was a small cluster of green wooden beads, woven with brown string. They dotted like a line of stars in his fluffy, white hair, alternating between pine and sage shades. The knot tying the strings and beads around his head hung loosely like vines just by his right ear. He was just asking to look like a starstruck, homeless traveler, if it weren’t for the bright red cape pinned across his shoulders. The golden, Hyrulean emblem holding the crimson cloth together signified his status as an important worker of the palace. Although, no one would be surprised that this thin, skinny teenager was a bard and court poet, and not a royal knight.

Suddenly, the bard looked up and met her gaze, a pair of warm, red eyes catching the light of familiarity. He patted the empty seat next to him and said something to the other two Sheikah in front of him. One of them looked back, a young man with storm wild hair that seemed to part like lightning. He had a beige, long sleeve coat over a red tunic, as was the classic Sheikah style. However, the style of his white jacket told of his rank as a scientist. With chocolate eyes and a contagious grin, he nudged the girl next to him and fake coughed.

The young woman wore roughly the same outfit, although she had a navy blue skirt and boots compared to the other guy’s black pants and shoes. Her eyes were also red, albeit, with a more striking scarlet color, compared to the other boy’s warmer wine shade. Looking back, she adjusted her bright, Sheikah red, round, sparkly, diamond decorated glasses, complete with white accents that matched her hair. It was pulled in a messy bun, a hairstyle that her close friends knew was less for looks, and more for practical purposes, as supposedly “the stupid strands always find ways to bother my eyes. No, stop, I don’t need a comb! My eyeballs are just sensitive, OK?”

Pivoting past a waiter, the researcher finally moved closer to the trio, brushing her curly dark hair above her shoulders as she prepared for the sarcasm to begin.

The stormy eyed scientist spoke first.

“Purah, Purah! Is that...a ghost I see? It looks like Adello, but I feel like I haven’t seen her in a century, I surely thought her dead! Am I being…haunted?”

Purah turned in her seat and gave a fake gasp. She adjusted her red rimmed glasses at the sight of her. “You’re right, Robbie! I’ve heard about these spirits. They only come at midnight under a full moon, and they appear when you have friends that don’t know how to time manage and haunt you by coming to your birthday party with their terrible fashion sense 45 minutes late!” She clapped her hands along with the syllables of “45 minutes” to let her point be known.

Robbie awed at Adello in sarcastic wonder, and the boy across from him exhaled out of his nose with a smile.

Adello put a hand on her hip. “Save your breath, I was just working a bit overtime on the Divine Beast sketches. You know, work? For the jobs that we all have? So we can pay our taxes and shit? Unfortunately, not all of us have fancy salaries Mrs. Royal Scientist.”

Purah turned to Robbie, pulling down her glasses and looking at him sternly. “See, this is another trait of these kinds of spirits. They’re cursed to only say excuses for eternity.”

He shook his head. “Coupled with the fact that their fashion only ever consists of one color? Truly, a terrible fate for a ghost indeed.”

Adello narrowed her eyes. Smoothing out her juniper colored tunic, she said, “Ok first off, green is a great color on me, it pairs well with my skin tone. You’re both just blind, no wonder you need glasses.” Purah put a hand on her chest dramatically, but she continued. “Plus, I’d really rather not get fired since that ceremony thing with those Champions is tomorrow and, as you all know, I just got that promotion.”

The researcher propped a black leather boot up on the empty chair by the table, flipping her jet black hair dramatically. “How does it feel to be in the presence of someone with an actual on-the-field career?”

Purah stuck out her tongue, and Robbie cupped his hands and booed. However, the boy sitting on the other side of the fourseated table gave a celebratory strum of his lute, giving Adello’s pose a bright background flourish with a few upbeat chords.

She winked. “Thank you Zimiri, at least someone can recognize skill.” The bard gave a little bow with his head, grinning. “A few chords is all it takes to enhance a dramatic, late night entrance.”

Adello chuckled, finally sitting down in the empty seat beside him. The old oaken chair and floor creaked under the new weight. Robbie let out a huff.

“You kids need to learn to respect your elders.” He announced the word “respect” with the tip of his tongue. The researcher rolled her eyes.

“Ah yes, a whole one year gap between us. What astounding age and experience that these elders emit.” She gestured at Robbie and Purah with a sweep of her arm.

“Uh excuse me, but I believe in my case it’s now double that. A whole two years, my dear, naive child. For as of 4 hours ago, I now emit the knowledge of an existence spanning two decades!” Now it was his turn to pose dramatically, pointing towards the ceiling.

Everyone at the table groaned, turning to occupy themselves with something else. Purah started writing in her journal which she pulled out from her satchel, and Adello started to become very interested with the ceiling. Zimiri continued to pluck nothings on his lute.

Robbies crossed his arms, his white long sleeves folding across the Sheikah red shirt underneath. “Oh I see! So when Adello brags, she gets a musical accompaniment, but when I do it, it’s suddenly annoying and embarrassing?”

Adello smirked to herself, and answered, “Yep, that’s how it goes!”

“Alright you don’t get to speak Miss I-don’t-know-how-to-be-punctuation!”

Purah promptly smacked Robbie over the head with a pen.

“Hey! W—”

“The word is punctual you idiot.”

Robbie slumped his shoulders and made a face. He tapped his thumb and fingers together, mimicking the opening and closing of a mouth while he muttered mockingly in Purah’s tone under his breath.

Purah finished off a note in her journal before turning to the rest of the table. “Alright Adello, time to catch up. We’ve been playing ‘Till You Spill and I’ve already got some juicy stuff in here!”

Turning the pages of her journal towards Adello, she gave a chaotic grin. “Last round, Zimiri revealed that he once got teary eyed in front of the King himself after reading a poem about clouds.”

Zimiri raised his hands in defense. “Look, the clouds were an analogy for lost childhood innocence and I got choked up with that author’s amazing choice of imagery and descriptions, OK?”

Purah pointed her pen at him to hush, and continued. “Of course, him being a sentimental dork isn’t anything new, so he lost that round to Robbie who revealed the identity of his first crush.”

Zimiri muttered something about the game being rigged towards the birthday boy, but Adello talked over him, excitedly.

“Ooohhhh? Robbie?? Who are they?” She propped up her elbows and cradled her chin in her hands, excited at the prospect of more embarrassing information she could hang over his head.

He mumbled, looking to Purah for assistance, but she only cupped a hand over her ear, waiting for him to respond. “You all fuckin—” he sighed, “it’s…she’s...c-ch…” he avoided everyone’s gaze, “her name is...Cherry…”

Adello gasped, gleefully. “That girl from your old university?? The writer you hung out with!?”

Purah beamed, shaking Robbie’s shoulders excitedly. “I know right???” She loosened her grip and allowed him to wiggle out of her grasp for a moment. “Oh sweetie, campus days may be long gone for all of us prodigies and geniuses,” she flipped a few strands of her white hair with a turn of her head, “but I’m sure you’ll get her someday. You just gotta turn up the charm, find a way to woo with words. I’m sure writers’ love that.” Purah pulled down her glasses and gave a forced wink at him.

Adello tried to hold her tongue to no avail. “Pffft. Yeah, you can try wooing her with your punctuation.” This got a snicker out of Purah, and caused the birthday boy to blush furiously and slump further in his seat. Zimiri finally spoke up.

“Now, now, let’s all play nice. We don’t need to pester him further about it, he did win the round after all.”

“Uh, yeah. Speaking of the game, you still need to drink up mister.” Purah slid a tan brown cup of apple cider towards him, the translucent contents sloshing around like muck in a gutter.

He leaned on the back two legs of his chair. “Isn’t it punishment enough to smell it? The cider isn’t even near my face and my mouth is already burning.”

She shrugged. “Them's the rules of ‘Till You Spill. Your secret sucked, so swig!”

The poet groaned, but complied. Tipping the cup towards his lips, Zimiri took a hearty slurp of the cider, much to everyone’s amusement. It felt like hot, molten copper mixed with old apple skins. How could something both burn and freeze your throat at the same time? He let out a gag, to which Adello patted him on the back with a short laugh.

Raising his posture, Robbie crowed, “When we finally have Zimiri’s birthday maybe then we’ll actually upgrade to the alcohol.”

Adello raised an eyebrow. “Uh, right, because the upgrade from disorientingly strong, smelly apple cider, is you two being flat out drunk. Right...”

Purah slammed both her fists down with pride, letting the cups and pitchers slosh a few, amber colored drops onto the worn wooden table. “Bold of you to assume I’d drink at all, considering I’ve never lost a round! Mwahaha!” She blew a raspberry at her. “This tongue is apple free, baby.”

She gestured with her pinky and index finger at Zimiri and Adello. “Now, you two! The late combatant and the latest loser shall spill next. Give us your juicy gossip!!”

The bard, still reeling from his drink, leaned back in his chair and gave a nod toward Adello. “Ladies first?”

While she wasn’t undefeated in this drinking game, she sure as hell was playing to win. Especially since somebody needed to knock that smug expression off of Purah’s face. Adello thought to herself quickly.

Zimiri, no doubt, is probably gonna say something self-deprecating again, as he’s too nice to actually reveal anything embarrassing about anyone else. So...I just need to say something unexpected and interesting...perhaps something embarrassing about...hmm, I’ve already exhausted all my info about those cushy nobles and guards in past rounds…

Suddenly, she snapped her fingers. “The princess has a secret stuffed animal collection.” Seeing the light in her co-workers’ eyes twinkle, Adello knew she had chosen her words well. Purah leaned in. “OOoh? And how did you come across this juicy piece of information?” She rested her chin on an arm with an innocent smile.

“When I sent my application for the new job a few weeks ago, I gave it to the princess directly. It was late at night, and I bumped into her as she just left her room. The door was cracked open for a few seconds, before some royal, pompous guard slammed it right in my face. Yet, it wasn’t before I saw the pile of,” she counted on her fingers, “cow, sheep, bird, dog, and several horse stuffed animals piled high by her big, blue bed. I bet if I peaked for just a few more moments I could have found enough to pin her as a true horse girl.”

Robbie shrugged his shoulders, unconsciously rapping the table with his finger. “Well, speaking as a horse guy myself, I can attest to the fact that the childhood horse obsession phase never leaves, so I find Princess Zelda’s collection quite admirable.” He gave a nod towards Zimiri. “Either way, it’ll be tough to top that, Zim. Cute, yet slightly concerning, fact about our future queen? Quite the competition. Shall I signal the waiter for a refill now?”

Zimiri plucked a few more strings from his lute, before finally setting it down on the floor. He tilted his head, playfully. The string with sage green beads seemed to sway with the tavern’s music, and he spoke with a glint in his eyes. “Well, I might be faced with impending failure and ultimate defeat, but hells if I’m not one to try instead of mope.”

He combed his fingers through his messy, white hair, pondering his next choice of words. Fiddling with the beads and strings wrapped around it, he thought out loud.

“Let’s see...to top out on an embarrassing fact about a respected princess...it's natural to combat it with something...personal? That always seems to be the more valuable information in this game…” Adello shook her head. He was playing right into her hand.

“Well...Robbie won last round with the identity of Cherry...so, how about I dish out something similar. See, I’ve...uh…” he rubbed the back of his neck, “Oh! Well. Court poet, shrine researcher, the job gets you close with the princess...kinda...I’d like to think we’re close anyhow…” He mumbled the last part of his sentence and let out a short cough. Then, he went back to fiddling with his short, messy hair.

“So… ever since I moved into the castle. When did my mom come here… five years now? I’ve, uh… had a crush on... Zelda…” He gave an uncertain grin, and raised the palm of his hands as if to ask, “well?”

At first he was met with silence. In his head, he started to celebrate the victory of his first ‘Till You Spill round in literal months. That was until he was met with groans and pitiful mutters.

“Oh Zimiri,” Purah sighed, “I was rooting for you too.” Seeing the bewilderment creep onto the poet’s face, Robbie answered the question before it even escaped his lips. “Literally everyone here knew that bud, it’s not a secret.”

The bard started to sputter, moving his hands in wild, questioning motions.

“But? Wha— I? You!? Didn’t you— I… W-well I mean, I know Adello knew, I told her years ago, but you guys—”

“Oh my gods. Zimiri, you literally talk about her all the time, you’re totally in love. Given that we’re also the recipients of your long spiels and ballads about how ‘intelligent and thoughtful and amazing Zelda is,’” Purah said the words to mimic the tone of Zimiri’s honey sweet voice, “it’s exceptionally, extremely, very, very obvious.”

“R-recognizing a person’s positive traits doesn’t instantly mean in love!”

The royal scientist leaned across the table and patted his head. “Right, but you also started attempting love songs a coincidental 2 weeks after starting your job of shrine research with her. Your eyes are already red, so whenever she passes by it’s like your pupils magically form into adoring hearts. Try to stay away from poker, it’s for your own good.”

Zimri continued to sputter, his cheeks becoming roser by the second. Robbie turned to Purah. “So, all in favour of finding Adello’s spill better than Zimri’s?” The two of them raised their hands in unison. “Alright buddy, secret sucked, so swig! WAITER PLEASE!”

Adello watched as the same woman she had seen near the bar earlier made her way to the table. Picking up a pitcher, she poured out a fresh cup of Adequate’s Apple Cider. The four of them had been here so many times, they didn’t even need to verbally ask for the order.

Before he could even start to reach for the cup, Adello snatched it out of the way. “Nah, it’s ok. I’ll do one for you, Zimiri. These two monsters have already tore you to shreds, and I’m sure I need a punishment anyway for coming in so late.”

He started to protest, but after catching the look in her dark, iron eyes, he relented. “Well, I thank you for your generosity.” The other two, however, were not as compliant.

Purah cupped her hands around her mouth, yelling, “Booooo... Boo to pity! Boo to generosity!” Robbie mimicked her.

“Yeah you have to respect your elders’ wishes. We demand blood! Suffering!”

Adello cracked her neck for show, before downing her glass of cider in a few gulps. The stench and tingling sensation seemed to stick to the sides of her throat. It would take more than water to clear that out. “Adequate” was being very generous when describing its quality.

“Mmmm. The cider’s weirdly salty tonight, I think your attitudes got mixed in here.”

Purah blew another rasberry at her.

They played for a few more rounds, the clatter of cups and breaths of laughter decorating the hours. Much to everyone’s distaste, Purah continued her winning streak, getting by with unbeatable information about the King, royal guards, and one embarrassing anecdote about how her little sister, Impa, had caught her writing an interesting letter to the “local archery hunk.”

Yet, Purah laughed along with the rest of them, the eyes behind her red rimmed glasses held no shame, which Adello envied. Of course that sort of attitude would make you a master at this game. Robbie and Adello attempted to team up and be biased towards Purah in an effort to get her to lose, but either Zimiri didn’t take the hint, or he just really liked playing fair which wasn’t exactly out of character, even if it meant more drinks for him.

Suddenly, a bell towards the back of the pub rang, signifying the end of the band’s gig. The dancing paused, as people gave their thanks, varying from politie applause to drunken yelps. Robbie then rapped the table with his hands, excitedly.

“You know what else tonight needs? Some amazing music, eh Zimiri?” He bounced his eyebrows up and down at him, and gestured towards the lute leaning on one of the table legs.

“I don’t know,” Zimiri replied, “I’ve only a part-time hire for the weekend rush hours, and I wouldn’t want to blindly get on stage and sing without being given permission.”

Adello scoffed. “Uh, are you kidding? The owner would love for you to play without paying you. Haven’t you heard the talk around town? The Adequate’s Tavern: Home of alright food and acceptable ale, but an outstanding, white-haired bard!”

He fiddled with the string in his hair again. “Oh yeah? I’d love to meet him someday.” At this, Adello clicked her tongue and promptly shoved him out of his chair with her hip.

He laughed to himself as he stumbled aback. “Alright, alright, but only because the birthday tyrant requested it.” Robbie clapped his hands in a “chop-chop” fashion, to truly signify his role as the newly dubbed tyrant.

Suddenly, Zimiri perked his head. Stepping back towards the table, he reached for his cup. “Oh wait, I just lost that round. I still need to drink my—”

Adello grabbed the cup right out of his hands. She tipped it 180 degrees and let the cider spill completely onto the wooden floor. He hopped back, and Purah let out a surprised yelp, saying something about letting the stench seep into the floorboards. Robbie just started to laugh, wildly. Noticing the small commotion, a few other guests looked back at them and started to snicker to themselves.

Setting the cup back on the table, the researcher said, “Great, now you don’t need to ruin your voice any longer. Now get up there and one-up the last band.”

The bard pushed his chair under the table. Picking up his lute as he stood and faced Adello, a charming smile on his face. “Heh, well. My singing voice is grateful. I suppose now I’m in debt to comply.” He gave a curt bow.

Robbie clapped his hands again. “Great, great. Now quit the manners and let’s go already! I still have to order the cake pie!”

Both of the girls rolled their eyes in unison. Zimiri shrugged and started to walk through the small crowd of standing Hylians, and towards the small stage.

A few of the regulars who recognized him let out whoops and whistles, yelling out “Bard!” or “More music!” in support. It seemed that no one really knew his name, but it was nice enough to know that even working here part time would grant you the honor of being recognized by a bunch of random folk. One confused patron, who only associated him with “z” yelled out “Yeah, Zelda!” before promptly slumping under the table. Looking around, a blonde girl caught his eye, as it seemed she was staring at him. He waved, and her cheeks, much to Zimiri’s confusion, turned pink at his gaze and she turned to her friends who started giggling.

Moving past the last of the Hylians with an, “excuse me, sorry!” he finally stepped on the stage. The bard pulled up a small stool to the stage, leaning against it. Most of the folks continued to whoop in approval, seemingly eager for another chance to start dancing. Even the barkeep clapped his hands, probably excited at the thought of a free gig.

I guess, if no one is stopping me…

It was a rowdy bunch, but not a new one. Zimiri had played for these kinds of audiences before.

“I see that quite a few people are itching for a new tune. So, uh, any requests?” he announced as he strum a chord on his lute.

A mass of different voices bounced around the tavern, requests ranging from The Babbler’s Jig, Misko’s Tale, The Eldin Bluffs, and Can I Get More Ale? Although, Zimiri wasn’t quite familiar with the chords of that last song.

He couldn’t stop himself from being biased towards the request of a certain dark skinned girl to his left.

“The World Behind!” Adello said. “Enough with those new ballads, I demand a classic!”

Robbie pumped an arm in the air. “Yes!” he shouted. “I second that! So is my decree as birthday tyrant!”

The bard smiled, preparing the fingering on the neck of his lute. He turned towards the audience. “Well, I’m afraid I have no choice but to heed to such authority.” He began to pluck the beginning notes, tapping a tempo with his boot against the stage. “Now then, a beat, if you all would be so kind?”

The tavern chattered in approval, before piping down. There probably weren't more than 30 people, but the beat they made was definitely sufficient. The sound of stomping, banging mugs, and clapping filled the room. The tempo didn’t even need much adjusting, as The World Behind was pretty familiar around Castle Town. The beat was like a child pretending to be a marching soldier, unconcerned and playful.

Zimiri’s smile widened. A lively crowd indeed, this will do nicely.

With that, he started to sing. His silvery voice echoed across the tavern, as he closed his eyes and began to play.

The boys have gone out to the wishing well

Will they come back? Oh only time will tell

A rupee for a life refined

But time and dreams never align

So tell the world we’ll leave it all behind

Many of the guests had started to dance again, while the rest continued the beat of the song. As Zimiri plucked rapid notes on his lute, he heard a supporting holler from Purah. Next to her, Robbie was slamming his fist to the beat, clearly enjoying himself.

Have you seen the soldiers’ drinking ale?

They wish to sing along with nightingales

To dance on home with songs and rhymes

To banish all the fears from mind

Yes tell the world we’ll leave it all behind

Another pause between the verses, and the bard played the “decorative” rapid notes in between. He didn’t mean to seem like he was showing off, but Adello would attest to the fact that this happened whenever he got too into the music. Looking towards her, Zimiri saw her give a double thumbs up.

Of beasts and men and all atrocities

The damn-ed fate, she owns all that you see

To a better day of new design

Forgot about the gods divine

Oh tell the world we’ll leave it all behind

At this point, some of the guests were singing along, though not to the point of overpowering his own alluring voice. Laughter rang out around the warmly lit room once again. Zimiri looked out at the dancing patrons and smiling guests, grinning at the feeling in his chest this brought. He continued the last verse.

Watch the home while—

“HEY!”

The sudden gruff voice startled the bard to the point where he nearly slipped off the stage.

Lumbering through the double doors, three guards entered the tavern. The one in front, who had interrupted the music, wore a typical knight’s outfit, the same as his male and female coworkers behind him. However, the black hooded cape he wore atop his metal armour swayed with every step he took across the floor, his supposed rank silencing the room.

Well, mostly, silenced the room. A few ticked off guests were booing, groaning, and mocking him for ruining the entertainment.

“Oh would you lot shut up for 2 seconds?!” he said, his voice booming across the tavern. “Listen, I’ll be blunt. I gotta give two messages for this establishment.”

The guests shook their heads, mumbling. Their booing and insults continued, but their volume quieted, it was too early to be getting cross with a couple of knights. Even Zimiri quietly slipped off the stage back towards his friends so as not to be at the end of the knight’s intimidating voice.

The female guard behind the knight handed him a slip of parchment. Unfolding it, the guard cleared his throat.

“Firstly, you’re music and pounding is disturbing the noblemen next door. He’s staying at the inn or something and wants you to quote,” he read from the paper, “quit the mindless thumping, for Castle Town is a place of serenity and peace, not of nonsense jigs and banging.”

The groaning and insults started up again, the man gave a shrug, stating something about how he was just following orders.

Adello couldn’t help but laugh out loud. “HA! Well, with an attitude like that, this’ll probably be the first and only time he’s been banged, he should be grateful.”

The room exploded into a mess of laughter and whoops. Even the guard smirked to himself, but attempted to hide it with a shake of his head, saying “Watch the mouth girl.” Although, his stern tone wasn’t in it.

After a second, he cleared his throat again. With a stomp of his boot regained the pub's attention, the laughter suffocated out.

“Now, we’re also here looking for a Dr. Robbie Kimura? I received word they might be around here?”

With the attention now towards a single table, most of the guests went back to their idle banter. A few waiters nodded their head towards the table in the back, and the man caught sight of three, white haired teenagers, who were sitting with the dark haired girl who had quipped out earlier.

The scientists turned around too late, in an effort to avoid the knight’s gaze. “Gee, what a bunch of snitches,” Robbie mumbled. The three guards started to walk over to the table.

“Dr...Robbie?”

“Who’s asking?” Robbie squinted with his dark brown eyes.

“Is this some kind of prank? You and your friends don’t even look old enough to drink.”

He scoffed. “Ok, first, yes I am a doctor! I didn’t fly through all those courses over four years just to be called, ‘Mr.’ And secondly, I’ll have you know that I am a ripe 20 years of age today, and I’m here drinking expired apple juice with my associates. So take that, pal!”

Beside him, Purah gave a proud nod in agreement. Zimiri started to wave at the guards, but Adello grabbed his arm before he could finish the movement. The guard was a bit unsettled with the way that girl was glaring at him. What was some random Hylian doing hanging out with a bunch of Sheikah anyway?

“Right, well look here son. Some curious aristo-brat snuck into the courtyard and caused one of those flying, metal Sheikah things to fall apart. My boss said that it was your prototype so you should come back and clean it up before something explodes, and possibly give a sincere apology to the meddling kid who got a few scratches.”

Robbie threw his hands in the air, exasperated. “You’re really gonna pull me out of a birthday just so I can go apologize to a spoiled kid for breaking in and ruining my Guardian?”

“If it let’s me keep my job, then yeah.”

Robbie mumbled something about not getting a slice of the apple cake pie.

Suddenly, Adello got up and pushed her chair in, smoothing out the belt around her tunic as she walked towards them.

“Ah yes, well thank you my dear assistant for the assessment but I’m capable of taking it from here.”

The guard raised a bushy, black eyebrow. “Sorry wha-”

“You said you only wanted Dr. Robbie? Well great job, you found them. Now let’s get going, I need to finish up a new design anyway.”

“You’re...Robbie? You’re a... clearly not—”

“Oh, I’m sorry, I should have had my mother consult you for your opinion before I was given my name.”

This time, the guard didn’t smile along with her quip. “This is not the time for—”

She held up a finger to silence him, and glared at the three guards with her iron eyes.

“Look, I’m not a nobody. I’m more than capable of fixing up the guardian and any other disasters you might have left lying around the castle grounds. If I’m feeling generous, maybe I’ll even lick the kid’s boots, it’s not my first time dealing with this, alrighty?”

The knights looked at each other, quizzically. The researcher crossed her arms.

“You’re still following your precious orders, aren't you? How would you know what Dr. Robbie looks like? You can’t be faulted for not knowing someone you never met. So, you’ll just have to take my word for it.”

The blonde man behind the gruff, black caped guard, whispered something to his female coworker. Her gaze switched between the girl and the man. Still seeing the uncertainty in their eyes, Adello leaned closer to the knight and lowered her voice. “Come on, have a little heart, it’s his birthday.”

A beat of silence sat, only filled by the mild mumbling and chatter of the tavern. Finally, the guard let out a sigh.

“Alrighty Dr. Kimura. I’ll help escort you to the site.”

Robbie started to protest, but Adello quickly silenced him with a wink. The guard turned towards the rest of the room, yelling, “The rest of you, the sun is gonna rise in a few hours so save your rioting for then! Am I clear?”

The patrons just responded with stupid groans, and half-hearted agreements. They started walking towards the door. The female guard started to put a hand on Adello’s shoulder, but she brushed it off, saying something along the lines of “I can walk on my own two feet, thank you very much.”

Purah turned in her seat. “I’ll save a slice of cake pie for you!” Adello turned her head and responded with a two fingered salute, before disappearing out the door with the guards.

The tension in the tavern was almost immediately cleared, the moment the knights left. Most of the people went back to their normal conversational volume, and the waiters began to patter about with more confidence. However, Zimiri slumped in his seat, letting out a sigh.

“Why does she always do things like that?”

Robbie fiddled with the edge of his cup, tracing his finger around the rim. “Well, you know her. Undermining authority? Check. Insults and quips? Check.”

Robbie continued to list off more traits, but it faded out of Zimiri’s ear. Always jumping onto other’s burdens. Ah, that idiot. I bet she hasn’t slept for the last two days.

Purah suddenly piped up, taking out her pen and rapping it against the table. “Alright you too, let’s not let the sacrifice be in vain. Pool your rupees, we’re getting Robbie the fancy cake pie.”

The clatter of a few red and blue rupees echoed on the wooden table, although Zimri knocked Robbie’s share aside, saying how the birthday tyrant shouldn’t have to pitch in. Purah turned in her chair and started to wave her hand, in order to get the attention of a waiter. The bard watched as a woman with a tray started to walk over to the table. Then, he turned to Robbie.

“So what should we do while we wait?” Zimiri asked. Robbie stroked his chin, looking around the room.

“I think...the people could still use some music.”

Looking out at the crowd, Zimiri noticed how the guards' interference had really dampened the atmosphere. The warm and lively laughter that was present just a few moments earlier was now replaced with more monotone chatter.

He nodded his head in agreement, putting on a charming smile. The place needed a new pick-me-up, did it?

Well, what else is a musician for?

Stepping back onto the stage, he strummed an open chord, double checking the tuning. The whooping and clapping started to return, much to his delight. Plucking a familiar melody, the warm feeling in his stomach returned as he watched the new smiles that started to fill the room. However, before he began to sing, Zimiri first focused on craning his neck to look out a window, trying to catch a glimpse of a certain girl in the night.

It seemed the moon and sun were balanced on the edge of the world. The night had started to submerge behind the walls of West Castle Town, with only the brightest stars still perched upon the ink of the navy blue sky. The silver lining of greying clouds just barely glowed from the faint light of the day, still trying to break out of the eastern waters.

Adello’s footsteps echoed through the cobblestone streets, but she could barely hear it against the shifting of metal plates from the guards in front of her.

The gruff man looked back, scratching his peach fuzzed chin as he spoke. “Listen, if you finish your work quick I might be able to escort you back here.”

Adello shook her head. She turned to retrieve a journal from the pouch on her belt, opening its pages as an excuse to avoid his gaze. “No, it’s fine. I still have some more work I should be finishing up at home anyhow.”

“You...live at the castle?”

“Mmm.”

The guard took her blunt response as a sign to not continue with the niceties, much to Adello’s relief. Looking up, she gazed at the looming castle. Its towers were like mountain peaks, sitting above the blurred silhouettes of the buildings of Castle Town.

Taking out a bit of charcoal, she started to sketch its outline on a fresh page in her journal. While she only had one color, she tried to capture the shadows and lighting that cascaded on one side of the castle to the other.

The female guard slowed her step, starting to walk alongside the researcher.

“Already working?”

Adello didn’t look up from her journal. “Uh… you could say that.”

She laughed. “Well you best hope you know what you’re doing. This kid’s father has been yelling at her highness all night. Supposedly because she’s helping to lead Sheikah research, so everyone associated with guardians is at fault.”

Adello finished up the tower of Princess Zelda’s study in her sketch. She smiled to herself at the finished work. It was one of her better pieces. Putting the journal away, she turned back to the guard and scoffed. “Is that so?”

The guard hummed a yes. “Apparently, the kid is the son of some visiting nobleman from the East Post. It’d be in your best interest to apologize profusely if you still wanna walk around alive.”

Adello shook her head. She didn’t know it then, but looking back, many moons from now, she would laugh at the irony of her response.

“I’d rather die.”

#botw #breath of the wild #legend of zelda botw #loz botw #botw fanfiction #purah #purah botw #robbie #robbie botw #zimiri #zimiri botw #adello #adello botw #botw oc #where time takes us

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hlvrai-loving · 4 years

Text

Tricks, Treats, And a Falling Out

"Spooky scary skeletons~" Josh softly hums, dabbing a bit of white face paint onto his cheeks. He wouldn't be doing his whole face, of course, but what little he did put would serve as a nice nod to the Batter's monochrome appearance.

"... send shivers down your spiiine~" Then again... monochrome is black, white, and gray, right? There's probably another word for just the two opposing shades...

His phone buzzed on the countertop, a message reminding him to bring water and to be ready in five. Well, what luck it was that he was already dressed, wasn't it? As for water... Josh decided to bring his backpack for any refreshments he'd inevitably end up carrying, starting with a few bottles filled to the brim with cold water.

With most of his costume ready in advance, Joshua placed the cap on his head and checked in on his room, just to ensure he hadn't forgotten anything.

And it was then that his eyes fell on the aluminum bat.

Things... Stakes, you could call them, seemed to be mounting these days. Whatever the hell happened with the eyes and... that man... they wouldn't stop just for the sake of a holiday. He'd kept himself from bringing it to school, of course, but... trick or treating would be different. Even with his friends and Tiff around, he wouldn't be safe... Even if he'd hate to admit it, Joshua knew it'd be better safe than sorry.

And so went the bat into the bag, for later protection.

After that little debate with himself, Josh made his way to the device, explaining to CB and his "friends on the other side" that he'd be unavailable for the night and that he wished for them to take care and keep an eye out. And with that, another buzz of his phone let him know the time had come.

Tossing the bag onto his back, the teen hit the lights and left the room.

Upon opening the front door, he was greeted to the sight of Allen, a jumpy tune coming from his person as the visualizer displayed on his jacket danced. "Yo yo yoooo~! Wassup Dorkman? Ready to purify?" He let out, causing Josh to giggle.

"Yeah yeah, just about. What is going on theeere?" He questioned, referring to the animated clothing. Al grinned, glancing down at it.

"Awe, this ol' thing? Just a little something foster Pops helped me out with. It's connected to the music on my phone and lights up to the beat. Hook in a few speakers here and there and you've got the KING OF DUBSTEP, BUDDY! Heh, same thing's going on with the glasses, but, uh, can't really see shit when it's going off so I'm only turning that on when I really don't need to use my eyes anyways."

"Ghdfff!! What!! You're telling me you just invented a new kind of jacket like it was nothing??"

Al shrugged. ""Invented" is too strong a word for something like this. I'd rather call it "pushing the limits of reality". Much more humble."

J laughed softly. "H-humble my ass, you douche! God damn it, Al."

"Mweh mweh, can we getta move on? The girls are waiting for us a little ways down the road."

"Ey, don't you tell me what to do!"

"Oi, you talking back ta me? Ya givin' me liiip?" The pale teen made sure to pop the "p" as best as he could. Josh couldn't help but smile, shutting and locking the door behind him as he made his way out.

"Wouldn't dream of it, Al."

The night air hung cold, Autumn managing to chill even this town it seemed. As far as Joshua knew, this was the first time he could recall actually shivering upon heading outside. Allen seemed to notice this, lightly hitting his arm.

"Cold cuz you haven't been out in months, ey Joshie?"

"Oh shut it, I'm not cold. Just... It's a bit chillier than I remember."

"Yeah yeah, Mr "I wear a blanket while cruising the space-web"!"

"Shut uuuupp! I do nooot!"

"Do toooo! I saw you when I visited!"

The teen lightly punched his friend's arm right back. "Hush it, would you? Now, where're the girls?" He pondered, resulting in Allen taking him by the wrist and leading him forward as a new song started.

"Riiiight over here, Dorkman."

And sure enough, there they were. Clera was gushing over Tiff's modern take on the stitched together monstrosity, while Tiff was doing her damndest to deny that it was really anything to be impressed over. Upon seeing the boys arrive, Clera quickly made her way over, excited as ever. Her black top and adjoining skirt were riddled with hearts and flowery patterns, which shimmered ever so slightly in the light of the street lamps.

"Joshie!! Hiiii! Your costume looks great!" She chirped out, her contagious enthusiasm causing even Joshua's woes to fade onto his mind's abyss for a little bit longer.

He smiled. "Hahah, it's really nothing. Especially not compared to yours! Did you make it yourself, Cler?"

Her eyes lit up at his kind words, fingers trailing the lace hem of the skirt. "Ehehee! You know it! I sketched it out then I coloured it and me and dad had to go out to get the right fabrics for it, then we went ahead and made it proper! I had to buy the shoes though."

"Wow... How long'd that take you?"

"Around a month!" She giggled.

"Jesus, just a month? Where'd you find the time to make it?" Allen butted in, rather surprised.

She shrugged. "Ooh, but mine's nothing compared to Tiff's!! Give it a looook! Doesn't she look great?" She cheered, the other girl bashfully turning away.

"Cler, mine's not that gooood! Stoooop!" She pleaded, looking away. And, true, it wasn't much. Just a leather jacket, an electric blue shirt, some torn black jeans, and the more "monsterful" additions the studs, makeup, and spray dye gave. It was for the most part the bare minimum one would need to say they were in costume, but... it was still a costume nonetheless.

May as well praise the effort.

"Yeah, hah, she looks amazing, Cler." Josh smiled. Allen, on the other hand...

"Well... It's not exactly creative, is it?" He grinned, earning an annoyed glare from Tiff and an unamused pout from Clera.

"Sooo? She still did her best! I think it looks incredible!" The petite witch told, reassuringly holding her girlfriend's arm.

"Yeah, at least I'm not a walking light show. How was that creative?" Tiff retorted.

"Ey ey, excuse my goddamn French, but did you just diss the drip, Tiffy?"

"That is not "drip"! That's a jacket that lights up! You may as well have gone as a lamp!"

"Oh ho ho! Is that whatcha think?? Well, listen here-"

"Guys!" Joshua interjected. Evidently, it seemed something may have happened between the two beforehand to cause such tension... "Let's just... wh-why don't we just get started, huh? We're, uh, h-here to trick or treat, aren't we? S-so, heh..."

At Tiff's side, Clera uncomfortably shifted. The taller teen let out a sigh. "Fine fine. Might as well... My folks want me to be home at 11, so we're better off not wasting time."

"We won't. I promise you, we'll have more than enough time to get all the candy we could ever need before 11." Josh gave a small smile as Tiff coldly stared down at him.

"Yeah yeah..." She muttered, heading to the house nearest to them with Clera. Before he could follow, Josh pulled Allen aside.

"What was that about?" He asked.

"What'dya mean?"

"Al, don't play dumb with me. Did you and Tiff have a fight or something? You looked like you were both on the verge of throwing hands or something!"

Allen shrugged, clearly uninterested in providing an actual response. "Dunno... Didn't you just say a second ago that we have to start? Shouldn't we join 'em before they hit up too many houses?"

Joshua sighed, figuring Al would just keep denying it if he continued. "Fine, but I'm not dropping the subject."

"Oh, you will." The pale boy reassured, patting Joshua's shoulder as he passed him by. He frowned slightly. Later, he would get to the bottom of this, but for now?... For now, he supposed he had no choice but to follow his friend and truly start their night of candy hunting.

With a quick glance at the emptiness behind him, Joshua made his way forward to their first house of the night.

~~~~~~~

"Never thought I'd see the day." Al smirked, tearing open a chocolate bar. "Figured full-sized treats were but a legend these days!"

"Dude, aren't you supposed to, like, look through those?" Tiff regarded, dismissively running her fingers through her hair.

"Pfft, why? Not like anyone would bother tampering with these." He sneered, messily devouring the entire confection as the girl turned away in disgust.

The group had decided to take a short break, hydrating and taking a short sit on a park bench. They'd amassed quite an impressive stash of sugary goodness, as well as more than a few snide remarks surrounding their age, but the latter wasn't important at the moment.

Instead, Joshua's attention was focused solely on the empty playground ahead, the swings swaying softly in the gentle breeze. Seemed like only yesterday, he was still having fun in a set just like this. He and his friends would play for hours, making up silly games with whatever imaginary rules their minds could come up with. Running around, getting scrapes and bruises and thinking it was the end of the world, as if that was the worst they would ever get hurt...

He sat back against the bench, feeling more tired than ever. Things... were practically unrecognizable now than how they were when he was a kid. The idea of play and fun forever being within his reach had withered into nothing years ago, and the fears he had then couldn't hold a candle to whatever monsters kept him up on particularly stressful nights. It was all surreal... Unfamiliar, yet...

Josh shook his head slightly, he'd worry about all of that when the time came. It always did in the end. Might as well deny that bridge when he inevitably came to it, right?

"Joshie, hey..." Clera lightly nudged him, tearing the boy from his thoughts. He gave her a glance, and she happily showed him a chocolate witch someone placed in her bag. "It's a me!"

Joshua couldn't help but laugh. Once again, Cler unknowingly saves the day. "It sure is. Could do with a lot more hearts though, huh?"

"Ehehe! You know it!" She placed it back into her bag, lightly swinging her legs. "... So, Joshie?"

"Yeah?"

"What do you do all day when you're not at school?"

"... Ah, I..." He began playing with his fingers. "... Just... c-coding, mostly. Nothing m-much else, why?"

"Mmm... We don't get to see you much anymore."

"... R-right, I... I'm real sorry about that, I just-"

"I even had good ideas on what we could do together." She continued, her head down. "Better than the mall and a movie, i-if that's why. I can come up with better ones too if you don't like them."

"... Clera, you... I haven't stopped hanging with you guys because I didn't like it, I'm just... I'm going through a lot right now. Things that I... I can't explain to you correctly. I hardly-"

She cut him off, fidgeting slightly. "Because I wouldn't understand, right?"

He fell silent for a few brief moments, "I... C-Clera, it's more than th-that... I'm... It's a f-family matter... You know, p-personal. I haven't told a-anyone."

The girl remained unresponsive for a few moments, staring down at her feet. Then, she only answered with a quiet "Oh."

"... Hey, we... we've still got a few more houses to go before 11. Why don't we get back to it, huh?" He forced a gentle smile. "Maybe someone will give you more chocowitches..."

Clera gazed up at him with sad eyes, but nodded regardless, picking up her candy bag, standing from her seat, and brushing off her skirt. Josh went ahead and informed the other two that they were ready to head off once more.

And unseen from a nearby rooftop, a skeleton sang out a few notes of blue as it watched them leave.

#jfreeman #ask joshua freeman #hlvrai joshua #mostly just for my ask blog but i hope you enjoy it anyways #there was supposed to be more but this is so long already and I have no idea how to make a cut for this

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the-loners-library · 4 years

Text

Teach Me - Part 2/?

Prompt: Asking Steve to teach you how to draw.

Fandom: Marvel Cinematic Universe

Pairing: Steve / Reader

Rating: G

Warnings: None

Previous Parts: Chapter One

It was now Saturday. The day that Steve had agreed to teach you how to draw. Well, attempt to teach you how to draw. You supposed that neither of you were getting your hopes up too much.

Steve had told you to just bring yourself, and also said that he would pick you up to take you to his apartment. Right now, you were living in what had been dubbed the “Avengers Tower” (both by the media and Tony himself) and you were patiently waiting in the private underground garage. You were expecting Steve to drive up in a car- not a motorcycle. You knew he had a motorbike, but you had never ridden on one before.

“Nope. Nope. No. Nuh-uh. No way. Absolutely not,” you rambled. The wry grin on Steve’s face had not faltered from when he stopped in front of you on his death machine.

“What? Don’t you trust me?” he asked. The fact that his grin had not faltered did not reassure you one bit. You gave him a look.

“That cute, little, unassuming Captain America act does not work on me, mister,” you spoke, hands on your hips.

Steve said nothing, he just held out a helmet in your direction with an imploring look on his face.

You sighed before snatching it out of his hands.

“Fine,” you huffed. “But if I die, I’m coming back to haunt your behind.” You couldn’t see his face, but you guessed that Steve grinned in triumph.

You clung as tightly to Steve as you could. He was a super soldier. If he was going to force you to do this, he could deal with not being able to breathe for a little while. He didn’t say anything, though, so you wondered if he was even able to feel how tight you were squeezing him.

You have no idea how long the trip was to Steve’s apartment. You couldn’t exactly check your phone for the time, but it felt like a very long time.

By the time you had pulled up to his building, your arms felt like jelly from squeezing so tight. Steve had to gently extricate your arms from around his waist and bring you upright. He took your helmet off and chuckled at your face. “Come on,” he motioned, pulling you towards the front door.

As Steve unlocked and opened his door, you noticed that the apartment itself was very basic. There didn’t seem to be a lot of things around- you didn’t know whether that was because he had only recently moved in, or because he wasn't the type to decorate.

“I set up a little area at the table to work,” Steve explained as he took off his riding jacket. He led you over to the table to sit at before quickly getting the both of you a glass of water.

You sat down, seeing that Steve had provided paper and various types of charcoal and pencils. You assumed that they each had different uses (you thought you had heard that different pigments were better for shading and so on), but Steve didn’t even go through the purposes, yet.

You did, however, see that Steve had placed your great drawing of Captain America that had started this whole art lesson idea sitting in a prominent place at the head of the table. Steve saw where your attention had gone and grinned. “I thought it would be some good inspiration,” he explained.

“Like a ‘what not to do’?” you suggested.

He shrugged in a ‘maybe I wouldn’t put it exactly like that’ sort of way.

“I thought we’d start with something basic. Just shapes and that. Maybe see what you are good at and work from that.” You snorted in amusement.

“And if I’m not good at anything?” you asked.

“Art is subjective,” Steve said. “If you’re happy with it, that’s okay.”

You hummed. “Fine. What will you teach me, oh wise master?” ———————————————————————————————————

You had only realised how late it was getting when Steve had to get up and turn on the lights because the sun was beginning to set. He had mentioned that in any future advanced lessons, you might like to learn how to utilize that change in natural lighting, but for now, bright overhead lights were best.

You both put your pencils down. The table was full of used papers. It was easy to tell whose art was whose. Steve’s quick sketches used to demonstrate various techniques to you were still far better than anything you think you could do. However, you think you had found out where your so-called “talent” was.

Cartoons.

You could not make anything resembling a real person. But in an exaggerated cartoon-style art, those mistakes almost looked on purpose. Your final piece was of the same subject as before- Captain America in costume. But this time it didn’t (necessarily) look like a child had drawn it. Maybe a teenager?

“Well, its an improvement,” you sighed, picking up your drawing.

Steve looked at it in an analytical way. He hummed and hawed, acting like an art critic.

“The lines are superb. And the colours are transcendent,” he said with a hand on his jaw.

You laughed before standing up.

“You know,” you started, walking around the room. “These black walls are seriously needing some life.”

“Did you have any suggestions?” Steve asked.

You turned and looked at him. “I think this spot is perfect for some inspiration,” you spoke, lifting the drawing to right beside the doorway leading to his bedroom. “That way, every night before you go to bed, you can think about how to improve your costume.”

Steve shook his head in amusement. “Fine, I’ll go and buy a frame tomorrow.”

“A frame!?” you exclaimed. “Just get some tape.”

"But it might make the picture fall off.”

You shrugged. “Up to you,” you told him.

The two of you quickly tidied up your art area, before you walked back downstairs and you cautiously climbed onto Steve’s motorcycle behind him. The ride back wasn’t as bad since you sort of knew what to expect (which Steve mentioned, suggesting that you should practice more to get more comfortable. You simply slapped him lightly on the arm in response).

It was only after you got off the bike that Steve finally spoke to you about the next part of your agreement.

“I decided on what you’re going to teach me,” he said.

“Oh, yeah,” you replied. “I almost forgot. “What could I possibly teach Steve Rogers?”

“You know how much I love those chocolate chip cookies that you bring to team meetings?” he suggested.

“You want to learn how to bake?” you asked, surprised.

“Yeah,” he shrugged. “That way I won’t eat more than everyone else.”

“Ha,” you laughed. “Like that would stop you.”

Steve rubbed the back of his neck in clear embarrassment. “Is it really that bad?”

“Nah, don’t worry about it. Tony takes a bunch, too. Next weekend off, then. My place?”

“Sure thing,” Steve said.

#marvel #mcu #marvel cinematic universe #steve rogers #captain america #marvel imagine #mcu imagine #marvel cinematic universe imagine #steve rogers imagine #captain america imagine #steve x reader #reader x steve #steve rogers x reader #reader x steve rogers #the-loners-library #the-loners-library imagine #the-loners-library writing

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mrsbhandari · 4 years

Text

Artsy As Fuck - Charcoal

Author’s note: HIIIII i decided to post pretty much all of my writing on here, just to make it more accessible!! I hope you like it!!

Word count: 1718

Warnings: language, colt is ~nude~ in this chapter but it’s not sexual teehee, there will be eventual smut in this fic tho....

Summary: Colt picks up an extra job for some extra cash. He doesn't expect standing naked for an hour every few days to actually land him a date.

Masterlist

--------------------------

“Go ahead and take off your robe, Mr. Kaneko.”

“Sure. And...it’s Colt. Don’t worry about formality when I’m going to be naked in front of you for an hour, sir.”

The professor laughed, clapping Colt on his bare shoulder. Colt had at least a foot on him and was significantly beefier, but he was almost knocked off his footing by the older man. Colt took the robe off but kept a towel wrapped low around his hips to keep his modesty until the art students arrived.

“You ever model before, Colt?” The professor was moving around the room quickly, tidying up and preparing the easels for the students who were supposed to be arriving any minute.

“Can’t say I have,” Colt admitted, positioning himself on a large white platform in the middle of the easels arranged in a circle on the light wood floor. Each wall of the room was a window with three of them facing outside. Colt had been reassured that each window was one-way, so passersby couldn’t see in. He didn’t particularly care, but figured that the studio wanted to avoid complaints about a naked man being so...displayed, even if it was in the name of education.

“Well, that shouldn’t be a problem. The artists will tell you how to position and move, so just listen to them and you’ll be fine.” The professor ended his advice just as a student walked in followed by a stream of classmates with pencils and charcoal at the ready. Colt kept his cool and ensured that his face remained neutral, not wanting to give away too much to a room of strangers. Each student surprised him, though, by asking his name and how he was doing. He was expecting pretentious artists who couldn’t give less of a fuck about him; what he got was a group of kids his age who were polite and just as poor as he was. Another thing he was expecting was at least a little bit of discomfort at drawing him naked, but once he dropped his towel and struck a final pose on his platform, the class just began with no objection--all but one.

A girl with a braid down to her waist had caught Colt’s eye as she walked in, eyeing his chest and suggestive towel placement with an indecipherable expression. Her true feelings were painted in the soft blush coloring her tan cheeks pink. After looking him in the eye and giving a brief greeting, she immediately averted her gaze and practically ran to an easel. Colt didn’t have time to worry about it with the rest of the class eager to begin, but the girl’s face still stayed in the back of his mind as the room filled with the sound of light joking from the artists and the scratch of their utensils on paper. As soon as the students began drawing, different demands were called out at him as politely as possible.

“Can you put your fingers under your chin, please?”

“Colt, would you be comfortable if you stretched your arm behind you?”

“Would it be alright if you spread your legs just a little bit wider, Colt?” He raised his eyebrows at that last one, but figured he wasn’t paid to question it. The girl he’d noticed before happened to sit in the seat he was facing, and Colt enjoyed watching her features contort in concentration. She had never asked him to move or change how he was sitting on the chair on the platform, but she seemed to take every movement in stride, never letting frustration show on her face. She had chosen charcoal as her tool and his eyes traced her hands and fingers, stained black with her effort to capture Colt on the page. Her eyes flicked back up at him to study another line of his body to soon be translated to paper, but they met with his gaze instead. A fresh coat of pink was brushed across her neck, blooming from the collar of her plain white t-shirt that was stained almost as much as her hands. She moved her eyes down to her paper to sketch out his body more and Colt took the chance to study her a bit more.

Her eyebrows were knit together and her hands were making measured strokes against the paper before gently blending out with her fingers. He wondered how he looked to her and what she would show of him on the easel. He knew that with the way his legs were posed, his muscular thighs were on display for her, which he reasoned could be the cause of her blush. Maybe she had never been with anyone before, he thought before pushing it out of his mind. Now wasn’t the greatest time to be thinking of sex. The girl leaned closer to her paper before blending more and Colt fought to suppress a laugh as her tongue barely peeked out her lips in concentration. The irony of the innocence of her action next to the picture of the naked man she was drawing was definitely bringing him to the brink of falling off the chair.

“Colt? Are you alright?” His expression (of course) didn’t escape another girl a few spaces down. Colt tore his eyes away from the beauty in front of him and looked at the girl who had exposed him, trying to come up with a reason for his face in the split second it would take to turn his head.

“Uh, yeah. Sorry,” he answered lamely. Inwardly, he cringed at his response but remained cool.

“No need to apologize, Colt! I was just about the call time anyway. Alright, put a name on the back of your art and leave it on the easel,” the professor announced, clasping his hands together. “Go get some lunch and I should have these graded quickly.”

As the students began to pack up, Colt hopped off his platform to quickly dress in the small bathroom connected to the studio, splashing water on his face before exiting again. Glancing around the room, he had to admit that he was slightly upset that he never got the mystery girl’s name before she left, but he figured that if he was going to ask for it, she would be more receptive to a dressed man. The professor spotted him and invited Colt to look at the different artworks, but to avoid seeming oddly fixated on one of his students, he leisurely walked around the circle of easels, staring at each picture of his naked body. It was weird to him, seeing the lines of his anatomy so clearly sketched on the paper. Colt did consider himself somewhat attractive, but in the rugged way associated with being a mechanic. He was grease and sweat and muscles. The sharp lines of his face and pointy corners of his attitude defined his physical being.

These sketches though...they were all graceful waves and soft shading. They made him look...beautiful, unlike any way he had ever seen himself.

“Good, aren’t they?” the professor asked, watching Colt’s amazed expression with amusement. “They’re one of my best classes. Don’t tell them that, though.”

Cole smiled as he reached a specific girl’s paper and let out a small gasp. The other students had only included his body due to the specific assignment being about anatomy, but this girl somehow found time to draw his face as well. The professor whistled next to him.

“Roze doesn’t disappoint. She’s always been quick!” he exclaimed, leaning closer to the paper for a better look. “The detail is immaculate.” Colt figured he should have been uncomfortable or at least weirded out at how closely the professor was studying his body, but after looking at his own face etched into the paper, all thought left his mind.

Colt’s face was depicted with a slightly amused look, complete with a barely-there smirk and a single raised eyebrow. He could feel the snark that so many people knew him for dripping from the paper. The way this girl seemed to capture it without ever having a conversation with him bewildered him beyond belief. The blending created shadows accentuating his cheekbones and sharp jawline, bringing out the masculine qualities typically associated with him.

Colt’s eyes meandered down the page and saw that his collarbone was also dramatized with shadows, muscles impeccably defined, and the pose she had caught him in only emphasized the overall sass of the picture. He had been instructed to raise his chin and place his fingers under it, which gave the picture the haughtiness of a prince being told to work; the stretch of his torso and the flexing of his abs added a seductiveness Colt had never been expecting the girl to really sketch. This girl--Roze--was talented.

The ringing of his phone pulled Colt away from the picture and he hurriedly answered it. “Hey, Pop. What do you need?” Colt would’ve been foolish to consider his father was calling for any other reason than a job.

“Are you finished with your thing, son? We have a customer that stepped in just as I was about to step out.” His father’s voice crackled through his phone’s speaker and Colt could hear the exhaustion.

“Yeah, I’ll be there in five.”

“Fantastic.”

Walking into the shop and hearing laughter wasn’t uncommon; hearing it when it was just supposed to be his father and a customer was definitely not normal. Cautiously, Colt parked his bike and took his helmet off, trying to gain information from the scene before he entered it. Unfortunately, the two were in the office, so the only way to learn was to walk directly into the lion’s den.

“Hey,” he greeted his father as he stood in the doorway to the office. As the customer was turning around, Colt thought to himself how familiar the braid going down her back was. He realized why when he faced Roze, the girl who had drawn him so perfectly that he hadn’t been able to stop thinking about the picture as he rode over to the shop. The blush returned to her neck and face as she undoubtedly thought about him naked just half an hour before.

“Colt!” she exclaimed, lip immediately becoming worried under her white teeth.

“Uh, hey.”

#colt x mc #colt choices #colt kaneko #playchoices #ride or die #a bad boy romance #choices #choices rod #fanfic #fanfiction #fiction #artsy as fuck

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kingdomwaited · 4 years

Text

@irnmaidn inquires about Dark Kingdom customs and the Queen’s wedding: “ what did freya's wedding dress look like? do you have any headcanons for dark kingdom wedding ceremonies ? “

Curiouser and Curiouser || {always accepting !}

{Alright so first, wedding ceremonies:

In the Dark Kingdom, the ceremony is different depending on your class/status. Royalty obviously has the most extravagant ceremony and is also the largest celebration. Second biggest would be members of the royal court, which includes the Brotherhood. Though they are not royalty, they are still high ranking citizens of the kingdom and have big parties as well, with the royal family obviously in attendance. These aren’t minor steps between each class, but between the two highest ranking ones, the differences aren’t extreme in comparison to the basic subject’s wedding and the royal family’s.

Your everyday subject of the Dark Kingdom still has a nice ceremony, though it isn’t anywhere near as large a celebration as the royal weddings or even the court’s weddings. It is customary to publicly announce the engagement and set wedding date, as the current reigning King and Queen will personally bless the couple, as it is believed that this will help bring luck to the couple. This is done by the royal couple bringing in porcelain dishes and smashing them on the ground before the engaged couple on the eve of their wedding at the bride-to-be’s home. The bride and groom are responsible for picking up the shards, as it instills the necessity of teamwork in a marriage.

This practice also occurs the night before the wedding of members of the royal court, but more than just the king and queen participate; the engaged couple’s closest friends and family join in on the fun.

Every ceremony, regardless of one’s status, have a few aspects in common with each other:

- While the engagement ring is is purchased normally, the actual wedding rings presented during the ceremony must be crafted by the couple. The groom crafts the ring for the bride, and the bride crafts the ring for the groom. This is a display of the couple’s devotion to one another, and neither gets to see the ring made for them until the day of the ceremony.

Something to note: the only ones allowed to have purple sapphires in their jewelry (wedding related or not) are members of the royal family, as it is their stone. To wear purple sapphire if you are not a member of the royal family is considered a huge disrespect and is said to bring misfortune upon yourself and your family.

- After the ceremony, it isn’t uncommon for the bride to be ‘kidnapped’ by the friends of her and the groom, and held for ‘ransom,’ which tends to either be alcohol, or for the groom to perform some sort of task with the intention of embarrassing him (such as making him sing about his love). Nothing is done to the bride, and it’s also common for her to be in on the ransom request.

Freya was ‘kidnapped’ by the Brotherhood, with Hector and Adira at the head of it. They tried to embarrass Edmund by having him loudly proclaim his love for Freya and serenade her, but he’s tough to embarrass, so they settled for getting some hard liquor. Freya got drunk after two glasses and had to be carried away by her now husband before she hurt herself trying to drag Hector down the stairs to go dance in the throne room.

The ceremonies for everyday subjects and for royal court members both have a handfasting tradition, where a cord braided with three shades of red is wrapped around the clasped hands of the couple during the exchange of vows, and is something not seen in the ceremonies for the royal family.

Weddings for members of the court last well into the night and tend to be loud and filled with music and dancing. Depending on one’s position in the court, certain parts of the ceremony may change. Should guards or members of the Brotherhood marry another warrior, a display of strength between the couple may occur, typically a duel, where the victor is the first to speak their vows and is typically considered the protector in the relationship.

When Ulla and Quirin were married, she mixed customs from her home kingdom of Bayangor, with customs from the Dark Kingdom and even created her own fireworks in order to proclaim her love for her groom in the stars. “Though it will only remain among the stars in the sky temporarily, my love for you will remain forever in my heart.”

For the wedding of the royal ceremony, the entire kingdom is invited, and it’s a huge celebration. Edmund had proposed to Freya with a necklace made of purple sapphire, and the ring she crafted for him is made from the black rocks (similar to their crowns and her earrings), carved like two cords intersecting into the infinity symbol, with a purple sapphire set in a clamp made to look like a bear paw. It’s a tiny detail, but one she worked hard to create for him.

The royal couple’s vows are not performed publicly, and are instead exchanged in private, with only the three most trusted individuals to the couple (Hector, Quirin, and Adira were the chosen three for Freya and Edmund’s wedding, as they trust no one else more than them) present and inside of the Moonstone chamber. With their wedding vows, they are making an oath of loyalty to each other, and they then vow to protect the Moonstone together, and scatter petals from a casa blanca lily around the base of the ‘cage’.

The royal couple then treks out to the spring at the edge of the kingdom as the is setting, in order to fill up a glass container with water from the spring when sun has set and the moon has risen. As they wait in the night, the partner that is marrying into the royal family takes a small dagger presented by their significant other, and must make a quick, small incision at the neck of the heir and lick the blood up, as it is believed that the royal family has moonbeams in their blood, and this is the final way to solidify the new union. Should the partner hesitate in cutting or cut too deep, they are not accepted into the royal family, and most commonly end up a member of the court and if the heir’s love for them is still unwavering, they may keep them as a concubine, though they will still marry someone else. If the cut is clean, and does not produce too much blood, then the partner is accepted into the royal family, and the rest of their ceremony continues.

Just before the sun begins to rise, they collect the container and bring it back to their chamber to pour the water into the bath, only setting the container down after it has been emptied, and they then bathe together in the water. This is called ‘moonbathing.’

As for Freya’s wedding dress...

I haven’t colored it yet (obviously), and some of the finer details haven’t been sketched (the intricate design on the bodice, or the starry pattern on the chiffon draping over the skirt), but here’s a basic, quick sketch of her wedding dress!

The main skirt is a deep purple, with a dark blue chiffon draped over. The chiffon has little stars on it that are gold. The bodice is also a dark blue and has an intricate design in silver. The belt is made of thin metal and it’s main color is gold, whereas the crescent moon charm is made of a matrix opal, and the teardrop beads hanging from it (as well as her circlet), are white fire opal. The stones inlaid on the belt are fairy opal.

Her circlet is silver, and that moon charm is actually made from a shell.

The top part of her sleeves are a small fur lining, as is commonly seen on the outfits of the Brotherhood, and there are thin armor plates just under it that also have white fire opal beads dangling from it. The metal is very thin and has an intricate design carved into it, leaving only thin bands of metal forming said design.

She also has the engagement necklace Edmund had proposed to her with around her neck.

The sleeves are supposed to be those big drape-y loose sleeves like what her usual dress has, but lmao how do perspective and proper draping.

Her hair is also partially pulled back (kinda like Stalyan’s, but without the braid)}

#fun fact: the porcelain breaking thing is a real german wedding tradition called polterabend #i just tweaked it a tiny bit since for this specifically it's just the royal couple instead of the guests #also yeah the traditions in the dark kingdom can be a little odd but don't judge #because of you i now gaze up and sing || headcanons; freya #a kingdom hidden by the moon || dark kingdom lore #~pls don't reblog~#this got !!! long !!!#thank you bby !!!! ilu !!!#floating lanterns || asks #irnmaidn

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yconic · 5 years

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Guess who was bored and decided to make a Stonytasha pirate AU sjsj

Alright so!! What I had in mind: Th name of infamous pirate captain Tony Stark , stretched across all land for being the skilled and more than ruthless bandit that Steve Rogers, son of a navy/military general, finds himself to be too infatuated with.

Like, proper and posh Steve, with just a whisk of innocence and fragility falling for charming and flirty sea bandit that is Tony , who stops mid battle with his dad's crew to kiss his cheek while evading getting hurt?? Cuteness, I have no self control sksksk

When Black Sabbath ambushes the town of Brooks, Joseph Rogers is crimson to the hairline at being caught so unprepared. Due to celebrating his son's birthday the day prior.

Half his force stood ditzy on their feet, still so drowned into the debauchery they failed to realize the pirate ship they were supposed to guard was floating carelessly at the docks has been there for two hours.

In their surprise, Tony and his crew aren't spreading chaos or destruction. They carry the calmness of a silent storm, not thunder but raindrops as they collect what they can carry. From bare necessities such as food to a random jewelry that caught their eye.

Steve knows retaliation wouldn't result in a victory. At least 10 men against one aren't odds that favour him. Not only is he outnumbered, but he is also undertrained. Despite being a soldier in name, his father had been adamant about actually introducing him to the practice. Steve is tore between being grateful or regretful about his incliation to arts now.

They're not hurting anyone. That's what confuses him.

He would love to paint the Captain, however. Even a quick sketch would have sufficed, even if it wouldn't do justice to the undeniable beauty in front of him. Tony was a rarity he couldn't pry his eyes off of. Hair dark and soft looking curling at the nape of his neck, Skin kissed by sun, complimenting the gold beam smile that's too enchanting for it's own good.

The pools of brown lock with him for a moment, but it was enough to make his legs buckle slightly. Those were the Deadeyes, he told himself, that put fright in monsters and men alike. Except the cruelty, coldness, and blankness from the tales he's heard was missing. Tony was alive, and he was laughing.

The smile grew bigger as he advanced in his direction, dropping the sack of goods he's been carrying not even a moment ago. Steve made the effort of keeping his eyes past the pirate's shoulder instead of the sight of his bare chest, provided by the low cut red blouse.

Steve felt his face burning, which only seemed to amuse the Captain further if the chuckle sending shivers down his spine was any clue worth following.

"You're Rogers blood, " Tony commented easily, tone full of glee. Even if he was taller between them, Steve never felt so small. His form turned to wood when calloused fingers rested on his jawline, touch gentle.

Almost too loving for what they probably done. Steve wanted to melt into it. "Pretty fella, aren't you, sweetling?"

Steve's dry throat was, at once, workable again. "And you, the pirate sacking my town, " he responded, voice silkier than he intended. The darkness of Tony's eyes intensified with just a shade, but it was enough to make him swallow a whine. "You'd have better luck in Quinz. From what I hear they've been recently restocked. Why us?"

A rich laugh boomed from Tony. "Darling, " he started, grin crooked and voice dripping in honey. "You don't KNOW what a sacking done by me looks like." Steve was positive he never wanted to find out.

Silence washed over them for a moment before the pirate spoke again.

"We're just taking what we need, not want. We're housing a few extra guests and we regrettably ran out of food, which is terribly embarrassing for me. I've been told I hold the title of the best host over all 50 seas. My people shouldn't expect less than the best, as I'm sure you understand."

"If you wish, we can also provide you with an appron, " Steve said, waiting for the thin ice to crack. Tony's lips quirked upwards and somehow the nobleborn knew he won't sink just yet. The blonde's hand extended in invitation. "I'm not certain what the manner pirates use to introduce themselves, but here we shake hands. I am Steve Rogers."

"It may shock you, but some of us swap spit. I suppose however, since we're on your land I'll comply to your rules, " a wink and a tongue leaking with sarcasm, accompanied with a firm handshake enough to make Steve's skin raise upwards. "You know who I am."

Steve nodded. "Deadeyes. Parents and eldery tell the children about you."

"Jesus, " Tony swore. "I'm not sure if I should be proud of by my everlasting popularity or offended that so many consider me an ancient ghost ship. Why parents think I'm an appropriate subject for discussion escapes me."

"They do it so the children won't grow up like you."

"Grow up? Oh no darling I'm afraid I only grew old, " Tony chuckled, eyes dancing on the blonde's body, making Steve feel warm. "But only in certain fields."

"You could have tried to buy something if you were in need. Like all people do."

"I would love to, but not only are my pockets in great mourning, I must say your system makes it very difficult for people like me to make ends meet."

"The criminals?"

"The poors."

Before either men could say more, a fire was shot in the open. Tony reacted in a blink move, pushing the blonde to the ground with a shocking force. He heard someone shout Tony's name, but the ringing in his sensitive ears dafted all sound trying to stab in.

"Stay down until the fire dims, then find shelter!" The pirate's order came in form of a yell, but to Steve's ears it was more of a soft instruction. He could spot familiar boots with the glittering royal emblem shining blindly through the dust blinding his vision

The force is chasing the crew, more drunk than awake, shooting at whatever they can aim. The blonde's heart slammed against his ribcage, adrenaline and fear for his people coursing through his blood at an alarming speed as the men flooded the market place.

Steve was quick on his feet, body becoming it's own host as he helped the two men, -- whom by the looks of it were apart of Tony's crew, -- lead the people to the town's church where they would be safest. The tail of his eye spied a flash of red darting above them on the roofs, but before he had the chance of getting a better look, he was knocked aside by the crowd.

The gates were locked shut.

Steve resigned behind the closest beer barrels, placing his hand on the pistol harness tucked safetly on his hip, ignoring the slight tremble of his digits. He leaned over to peek through the tangle of soldiers and bandits huddled up together like fight dogs in a ring, at the violent scenery Tony painted with a mindnumbing grace.

The footing was almost too hard to follow with the bare eyes. The pirate seemed to barely touch the ground, blade cutting through the air with a force that temporality privated Steve from air. He was accustomed to battle, twin swords in each hand seeming at home and comfortable.

He trapped the wrist of one soldier between the edges of his weapon, head moving just in time before the bullet shot could crave his skull. The military man received a kick in the gut, sending him straight to the floor.

Tony was swift on his toes, predicting the sloppy moves of his adversaries and dodging them with ease, smirk sharp and lethal as the men around him hit the ground like rain. By gun shot, he realized, put to the ground by a shower of lead. His eyes hunted every direction in hope of finding the gunslinger but with no such luck.

The soldiers groaned from their spot on the ground, each holding onto their bleeding legs. Most of the damage was done to either their hands or inferior limbs area. The coin dropped. Whoever it was, their objective was not to dig graves, but a weeksworth of bed rest, if that. The symphony of battle got quieter and quieter for Steve, who failed to register Tony making his way to him.

"Love, we have to stop meeting like this, for the sake of your heart. " He thought he heard. Steve couldn't make out the words properly, sentences becoming incoherent .

Everything became white noise and unclear, blurry dark silhouettes. The nerves in his body all numbed, lost of feeling until a rough hand curled around the nape of his neck. The firm but tender touch provided him some much-needed grounding.

His senses awakened again, his being coming back slowly. His mind was sober enough to hear the pleasant graveness of Tony's voice whispering sweetly against his ear as he raised him from the soil that tainted the fine cloth.

"It's over now, " he soothed as a child does a spooked animal, thumb rubbing circles into the sweat coated skin. Tony did not hesitate to brush his lips across. "Please, sweetling, return to me, will you? You were brave, doing exactly as I told you. I have you. You're safe now."

"I was a coward, " he retorted, mouth bitter and eyes burning. "I HID from battle, from the danger, while my people were attacked. What kind of soldier does that?"

"So what? Better a dead hero than a living man?" Tony asked sternly. "Your people are safe, are they not? You lead them to the church, Steve. You protected them, and--" the cock of a pistol made them both pause.

A tiny gasp slipped past Steve's lisp as the soldier who they both missed sneaked behind them, firearm aimed at Tony's back. The smaller man planted between him and the attacker, not letting him be exposed to danger.

"You don't want to do this. Trust me." Tony warned mildly. "I am trying to give you a way out, you'd be smart to take it." The soldier was stilled, and the gun wasn't lowered. His finger caressed the trigger.

"I see, " strangely, he could hear a hint of smile in Tony's voice. "So. Is this the end of me?"

Steve's eyes were clamped tight, fingers clenched around the thin material of Tony's dress shirt as the bang of fire lingered in the air. After a passing minute, he felt something fast and hot shredding the oxygen right beside his left ear.

When the black faded away, Steve was not expecting to see Tony still standing, and the soldier shot down clutching at his injured soldier. The shot hasn't came from him, but from behind him. Whipping around, Steve paused in mild shock. A small woman, not tall enough to reach his shoulder without raising on her tips, had her slandered arm extended and wileding a pistol.

Her looks was deceivingly innocent, features soft yet sculpted pleasantly resting in a mask of winter were captivating. Her hair was red and her most eye catching asset, warm auburn and planted in a bun, reminding Steve of autum leaves painted in rusty undertoned he loved to collect when the season was of middle.

Fierce green eyes melted as they landed on Tony, the stone in them cracked. A glimpse of adoration washed over them, clearly exposing the nature of their connection. Steve felt his heart clench.

For some reason, her voice decreased some of the burn his chest scorched with. "Not today, Captain."

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pondernce · 6 years

Text

Behind Closed Doors

Hi!

So this is the first thing I’ve written in almost 5 years, and the first for Outlander. (be kind to me). I hope you like it, and much love to @julesbeauchamp for her support <3

Jamie and Claire meet again in less than ideal circumstances...

Chapter 1

He could feel her hands on him, soft, delicate fingers tracing the planes of his back. They danced over scar tissue--the groves hewn into his skin by force--healing the wounds for him. Her mouth dipped to caress his jaw, the feathery brush of lips chased by soft, humid breath. A kiss on his neck. His Adam’s Apple. The juncture where sternocleidomastoid met trapezius. For a moment he let his eyes close, lost in the sensation. She found his mouth then, her legs winding over his hips and guiding him, urging him on.

Immersed in her, the gentle sound of the crashing waves was lost to him. He pressed up onto his hands, wrenching his mouth away because he needed to see her, needed to find those eyes…

Jamie woke up.

His heart raced, his skin was damp with sweat and he was uncomfortable stiff in his pants. As he was every time he remembered. And he always woke before he could see her face again. Aye, he could call her to his mind’s eye and he’d drawn her a dozen dozen times, but nothing so vivid as those dreams. The sketches were never quite right, and he knew that if he could only see her face in those dreams, he’d be able to capture her likeness completely.

With a sigh bordering on a groan, Jamie sat up and glanced at his phone. Five in the morning wasn’t too early, he supposed. At least it gave him time for a workout before he headed to university. A chance to get the nerves out. For some, perhaps, university was an unnerving step into adulthood. Leaving home, moving into a new place, the excitement of newfound independence. But Jamie had already made his move. From Highland Scotland to the Middle East, with the RAF. He couldn’t look forward to seeing what lads and lasses barely out of their A-levels would make of “adulthood” when they had no real responsibilities yet. And what would they make of him?

The streets of London were hardly quiet at this hour, but they were remarkably empty, and that’s what Jamie needed. A place to clear his head- to get her out of his head- before hustling through the crowded halls of King’s College, London. He jogged through the streets of Southwark, dodging the odd dog walker or early commuter. His route to King’s wouldn’t be long, thankfully. His military salary afforded him a nice enough flat close to the school, just across the river. He shared it with another Scot, Rupert, whom he’d served with in Afghanistan. It was a small mercy that Rupert spent almost all his time at his lass’ flat. The bloke was cheerful, but a bit too much sometimes.

Rounding the corner, Jamie checked the time on his FitBit and pushed his pace up, aiming to finish out five kilometers before he made it home. It wouldn’t due to be late for his first course though, even if his schedule for the day of Legal Philosophy and Medical Ethics hardly seemed interesting.

---

Legal philosophy could have been interesting, if the professor hadn’t put half the class to sleep. Jamie wasn’t surprised though, given that the majority couldn’t have been more than 18. High off being in Uni and hardly interested in what the ancient man before them had to say about the foundations of Legalism. The two girls next to him hardly paid attention, too busy giggling. He recognized the blonde from orientation, and she clearly recognized him.

Throughout the lecture he took diligent notes, only to avoid the girl’s eyes. The former soldier nearly bolted when the course ended.

He had nearly two hours before his next course, and plans to meet that bloke from the Rugby team. He’d gone out before orientation, trying to find some way to get involved. Many veterans struggled in university to find community, and he hoped he wouldn’t be another statistic.

“Fraser!”

He turned, smiling over a few startled students to see John Grey speed walking towards him. He was young, but Jamie found he didn’t mind that energy, John seemed a good person.

Smiling, he bumped the shorter man gently on the shoulder. “Good to see ye, I hope yer class wasn’t as boring…”

“Haven’t had class yet, just came early to grab lunch with you. We have practice this afternoon, you know? You’re welcome to come.”

Jamie glanced at his phone and shook his head. “Medical Ethics,” he sighed, “can ye tell I’m keen?” he laughed and shook his head. He wanted to get a background in law before he tried to leap into counter terrorism, and how did medicine relate to that?

“Pity. I hope it’s interesting.”

“I doubt it.”

Jamie didn’t mean to be cynical about university. It was supposed to be an opportunity to make something of himself after his medical discharge. Only, he found it overwhelmingly uncomfortable. And pointless. When he’d been in the war, reviewing briefings and in charge of his men, everything had been urgent. Learning on the fly, under pressure, where attention meant life or death. Here, he had the feeling he’d never need to attend to do well. It was disheartening.

His mind drifted as they ate. His fingers itched for his sketchbook, idle in his book bag. Jamie has taken up the hobby in the barracks, well before he met his muse. But the last two Moleskins had been interspersed with pages devoted to her. It had been a year, he knew he needed to let go. But he couldn’t yet.

“Jamie,” John’s voice cut into his thoughts, jarring the plans for how he’d shade the moonlight dappled on her skin from his thoughts.

“Och, Sorry. What was it ye we’re saying?”

John pursed his lips with that good natured shake of the head Jamie had already come to realize was a habit. “We should get going to class, where’s your head, man?”

The scot blushed, rubbing his hand against the back of his neck with a laugh. “Nothing, sorry. I didn’t sleep well, ye ken?” It wasn’t quite a lie, given he almost never slept well, or the medically recommended amount. With a small nod he grabbed their rubbish, scolding himself internally on the short walk to the bin.

Jamie knew better. He wanted to make something of himself that wasn’t available in the military, and that’s why he was here. He’d done the work, networked with other former soldiers already working for MI5 and in the government, learned what he needed to do if he wanted to work against domestic terrorism. But university should also be for himself, shouldn’t it? A change to live a bit of a normal life, to decompress after so much time at war. He knew he was lucky to even be back in the UK, let alone at a prestigious university. With a sigh and a quick shake of his head, he returned to John.

“I’ll be at practice after my class eh, make it up to you. Ye free for a pint after?” He grabbed his bag and fell into step alongside the shorter man, making a mental note of their plans as John went off about something on the news that morning. His brother was running for Parliament and the whole family had been in politics for centuries. Perhaps someday Jamie would be able to take advantage of such a connection, but presently he just needed the company.

They parted ways at one of the newer campus buildings, all shiny glass and stone. London was like that--an eclectic mix of modern and tradition that had Jamie missing Scotland more than foreign shores ever had. He’d not been home in years, and never truly wanted to go back. At least not yet.

“Excuse me,” he shoulder his way through a gaggle of students in the corridor, looking for the correct room. “104, 106… Christ.” 108 had to be the smallest room in the building, if not on the bloody campus. He’d failed to realize that the modern building connected to one of the oldest buildings, where the rooms became cramped cubicles of stone with sharply pointed windows, more reminiscent of a church than a university. The floor was old oak pitted and polished by centuries of steps, and Jamie could almost trace the path to one of the few available seats left. He was a large bloke--a fact which became abundantly clear as he settled behind the old fashioned desk. His knees knocked against the tabletop when he tried to sit up, forcing him to fold them awkwardly over the side. “Bit cramped, aye?” He joked quietly, meeting the eyes of a petite girl watching him. She flushed violently and nodded, stuttering over her reply.

“It-It’s a small course,” she shrugged finally, milky eyes darting back to her phone.

Jamie hummed, his own phone lost in the bottom of his bag after he got off the tube. After the military he apparently lacked the addiction to smartphones present in the rest of his generation. Or perhaps he was just old. Stretching his legs, he inadvertently cracked his back and sighed in relief, twisting to traction the other side just as another student walked in.

He froze, tracking her steps as she came into the small room. Slightly flustered, curls escaping her high bun and dragging over the material of her lightweight olive jumper, and her arms full of files and textbooks, she was unmistakably the same woman. His muse. Jamie traced every line of her, the smooth curves he knew with his hands and his pencil. He watched the long arc of her graceful neck, so pale and flawless against her dark hair. He couldn’t see her eyes, not yet, and the desire to almost had him squirming in his seat. So distracted was he that he failed to notice she hadn’t taken one of the available seats.

His muse had set down her books at the front of the room, shrugged off her camel overcoat and tossed it carelessly over the podium, carved her name into the ancient chalkboard in neat print, and now stood before them all, introducing the course.

His muse was a professor. His muse was his professor.

The name that had been absent from his syllabus and his memories stared mockingly back at him, stark white on deep green. Dr. Claire Beauchamp.

#my fic #behind closed doors #jamie & claire #prof/student au #if you catch a typo let me know!!#outlander #outlander fanfic #outlander fic

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porkchop-ao3 · 5 years

Text

A Thrill I’ve Never Known (Chapter 15)

Slow

We’re 15 chapters in; here’s a sprinkling of action... a very fine, stingy sprinkling. I did say this story was going to be slow burn lmao :’)

(All chapters tagged with #ATINK and also posted on Ao3, username PorkChop)

Arthur and I had sat ourselves down underneath a tree, he was leaning up against it and had taken his hat off to give me a good view of his face. I sat a few feet away in front of him, holding the paper he'd given me from his journal and a book about wildflowers and herbs that he'd given me to lean on. I observed him for a while as he settled, getting comfortable. He looked a little shy all of a sudden with my eyes on him, but he didn't say anything and just looked out towards where Rayna and Jet were grazing.

When he was ready and seemed to have relaxed, I started sketching out some guidelines. I started with a light oval shape and a few lines to place his eyes, nose and mouth, then worked lightly as I started mapping out his features. I went over the same place a few times until I got the shapes as close as I could, slowly warming my wrist up and getting my artist's eyes back. When I drew for a while I would start to see things differently. Back when I'd draw myself the image in the mirror would turn into a collection of lines and shapes that could be more easily replicated than a face, but when I was drawing Arthur I could not lose his image. I was constantly reminded of who I was drawing; it required a little more effort and focus, but it was good practice.

It certainly threw me back into the water when it came to drawing again.

It was an interesting experience being able to really stare at him in a context where it was entirely appropriate to do so. I noticed things about him that I hadn't before; the scar on his chin, the dimple on the tip of his nose, the slight signs of his age in the form of creases around his eyes. All it served to do was make him even more attractive to me, and my hand would shake a little each time he met my eyes.

My drawing certainly wasn't anything to write home about. I supposed you could tell that it was him but things were a little off; his eyes were definitely too big, his chin was too small, he was certainly better looking in the flesh, but it wasn't a terrible drawing. I worked on the shading, darkening the side of his face furthest from me where it was in shadow and put a little more detail into his eyes. Gosh, his eyes. I'd never be able to do them justice with a stick of graphite but I sure did enjoy trying. The longer I drew for, the more relaxed Arthur seemed to become and he kept his eyes on me more often than not.

If felt strangely intimate, just sitting and drawing him, sharing eye contact as a breeze rolled through the grass. It was peaceful, too, with the sounds of tree branches rustling and songbirds flying overhead. It was lovely, really, and I found myself threatening to overwork my drawing simply so I could drag it out for longer. With a soft sigh I looked between Arthur and his graphite impression, pursing my lips.

"I think I've worked on this all I can," I told him. "I guess it's okay, though it's not going to hang on anyone's wall."

"Did you enjoy making it?" He asked me and I nodded without hesitation.

"I really did," I grinned.

"If you enjoyed it, that's all that matters," he said, putting his hat back on.

"Thank you for sitting for me, you're an excellent model," I told him, resulting in a bashful chuckle.

"If you say so."

I paused for a moment, looking down at my drawing and thinking about my next words.

"Do you wanna see it?" I finally asked, nervous to see his reaction but wanting to share it all the same.

"Really? I'd love to. Only if you're happy to share," he said. I turned the drawing around and tilted it towards him. Arthur looked at it, then moved away from the tree to scoot closer to me.

Arthur studied the drawing for a moment, an unreadable expression on his face.

"Wow, I ain't never seen a drawing of myself before," he noted, leaning in closer. With how I was holding the drawing it meant his head was above my lap, so close to me. "You did a good job, looks like me!"

"You think? I reckon I did you a little injustice," I snorted, flushing a little.

"What'chu mean? Looks fine to me."

"You're better looking than that," I assured him and he glanced up at me. He only leaned back just a little when he noticed how close he was. He looked a little stunned, like he didn't know how to respond; so I saved him the trouble. "You got any tips for me?"

"Oh, I don't think it's my place. I'm hardly an expert," he said, looking back down at the drawing.

"You're more skilled than I am, I'd say that makes you qualified enough. I'd appreciate the advice, since I'd like to draw more often," I said, watching Arthur run his thumb along his bottom lip. "Please?”

"Alright. I'm not really sure what to say, you've clearly got skill already but I guess if I was gonna give you some advice…” he trailed off and paused for just a moment.

"I noticed as you were drawing, you tend to go over the same place over and over, I see what you're doing, I do it myself. You're feeling out the line," he pointed out the edge of his nose in the drawing as an example. "But you do it real quick every time, trying to get the line right in one quick stroke. Sometimes you gotta slow down a little, guide the pencil down slow as you look at what you're trying to draw. Either that or you do a series of shorter strokes, go in stages. Take a little pressure off yourself, take your time."

"Oh, I see what you mean," I nodded, turning the drawing to have a look at it myself. "That's definitely something I tend to do, the quick lines. It's sort of like I'm taking a stab in the dark and hoping it looks right," I laughed.

"There's nothing wrong with it, it just might save you some hassle if you slow it down."

"Right," I agreed, absorbing his words. "Thank you, Arthur. Anything else?"

"Just keep at it," he shrugged his shoulders and looked up at me. "I'll keep my eye out for a sketchbook for you. Then maybe we can do this more often; come out and do some drawing together.”

"I'd really like that," I told him, failing to keep the grin from spreading across my face. Arthur was still so close, his eyes studied my face for a while, a certain warmth appearing in them.

"Yeah, me too," his voice was quiet and smooth, and he wasn't moving away. He was close enough for me to hear his breath and feel it too, and I was a little embarrassed to realise that must mean he'd notice my own breath pick up.

Arthur licked his lips, glanced down at my mouth and a spike of hot, bright anticipation lit up my body. I was frozen still and yet he tilted his head and edged forwards. Something was about to happen, something that'd never happened to me and all I could do was sit there and panic on the inside. From my lips, his eyes moved back up to my eyes and he seemed to see something in them – probably the panic – because just like that, his head tilted back down to my drawing. He let out a breath, sort of like an awkward laugh mixed with a sigh, then he sat back to give me some space.

What? No! No, no, no!

Had I imagined all of that? Was he actually just looking at a chunk of something stuck in my teeth? Probably.

Idiot.

"I'm sorry, I–” he started, pausing to take out the pocket watch I'd gifted him. "I should be heading towards Valentine, I reckon."

"Oh, of course. I'm sorry to have kept you," I said, clearing my throat and holding out his pencil and book. He took them from me very carefully, like he was conscious of avoiding contact with my skin.

"Nonsense, this was nice," he told me, then rose to his feet. I stood up too, quickly, so that he wouldn't feel obligated to offer his hand to help me up. "I'm sorry we never got to find that oleander."

"It's okay, I'll probably stick around here and look for some, since I'm already here."

"You sure? And you'll be okay on your own?" He queried and I gave him a look. He remembered he was speaking to little miss lone wolf and chuckled. "That was dumb, I'm sorry."

I dismissed his concerns with a shake of my head. "Thank you for riding out with me, and for the paper and the art lesson."

"The pleasure's all mine, my lady," he dipped his head a little.

We stood facing each other for a few moments, not quite meeting each other's eyes. Something hung in the air and I was starting to think that perhaps I wasn't just imagining things; in which case, how disappointing that things hadn't unfolded in the way they seemed to have been going. He and I could've been rolling around in the grass together, his lips on mine, by now.

"Uhh, anyway. I best be getting back to it. I'll see you back at camp," he eventually said, reaching out to give my upper arm a gentle squeeze and caress. I certainly didn't mind those little touches of his.

"Sure, see you later," I replied, my voice sounding much sadder than intended.

"You look after yourself, alright?"

"Will do. You too," I nodded. He gave me a little smile before slowly making his way over to the horses. He walked oddly, like he wasn't certain he was going in the direction he wanted; each foot being placed awkwardly and hesitantly. He turned and looked back at me as he went, and for lack of knowing what to do I gave him a silly wave, which he returned.

He mounted Jet, giving me a final nod before setting off, leaving me to stand there watching him go… feeling like I wanted to punch something; preferably my own face. How could something have come so close and yet crumbled to dust so easily? Maybe if I had looked a little less terrified, maybe if I had leaned in too, maybe if I had said something when he looked back at me just then, maybe, maybe, maybe.

With a quiet whine I stomped over to Rayna, putting my drawing of Arthur away in the saddlebag before mounting up.

"How awkward did that look from over here, girl?" I whispered to her, patting her neck. She shook out her mane, and I wasn't sure what to make of that.

With a wistful sigh I headed back to the trail, going in the opposite direction to Arthur to head towards Bayou Nwa, on a quest to find some oleander.

When I rode back into camp that evening, saddlebags stocked with Charles' oleander, I noticed things looked sparse. Bedrolls were packed up, fires were out, some tents were already gone and others in the process of being pulled down. I dismounted my horse and jogged over to Dutch who was in his tent, speaking with Hosea.

"What's happening, Dutch? Where's Arthur?" I asked him, worry creeping into my tone. Dutch looked up at me and sighed like I was an inconvenience, though perhaps that's all I was.

"Arthur has gone with Charles to scout out our new camp. We're moving."

"Why? Did something happen?"

"Of course something happened, now, I ain't got time for this so you can either clear off on your nag, or stick around and help us! It's time for you to choose your loyalties, I don't care either way," he snapped at me, clearly extremely stressed out, before getting up and stomping past me.

I watched him go with widened eyes before turning back to Hosea who had a sad look about him.

"Don't take it personally, my dear, he's had a lot on his plate as of late," he told me wearily. I glanced in Dutch's direction before meeting Hosea's eyes again. "Though, he has a point. If you're going to leave us, now's the time to do it. No one'll be counting heads."

"And no one'll miss me, huh?" I chuckled, not taking it to heart. Hosea gave me a look, one that said that wasn't what he meant and I knew it.

"You're more than welcome to come with us. You've been a hard worker, but it's entirely up to you. I won't try to convince you either way," he continued, speaking through a sigh before rising to his feet and moving past me.

"Thanks, Hosea," I spoke after him. He paused to look over his shoulder at me and we shared a look for a few moments, a comforting smile passed between us before he left.

I took a deep breath and turned, marching towards Susan.

"Miss Grimshaw? Point me towards someone who needs my help."

#rdr2 #red dead redemption 2 #fanfiction #arthur morgan #arthur morgan x reader #atink #arthur morgan x female reader #reader insert #rdr2 fanfic #dutch van der linde #hosea matthews

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