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cloudsoffire · 11 months

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if you'll allow me to overshare, i think i was failed by the education system. not in a "they should've taught me how to pay taxes" way (i still don't have a job), or a "i have no social skills" way. but just in what they were trying to accomplish in the first place.

my first two years of high school was normal. i was gonna make a comma-separated list but i'll just do bullet points of the highlights.

i was completely socially isolated

i spent breaks waiting outside the door of my next class

i failed an algebra class where the teacher made a point that not a single one of his students up until then had failed. it was also his least year teaching.

i almost failed again when i retook it

i got the evil p.e. teacher to be nice to me by having a breakdown in his class

i got accommodations to do p.e. on my own because i couldn't handle the locker room or exercising around other people

i got accommodations to be able to do all group projects on my own following events i'm sure i've talked about before and doing so again would take too long

i became unhealthily reliant on twitter because more people i knew were active on there than on tumblr

i had my homework and lessons delivered to me at home for at least a week or two because i had to be under 24-hour surveillance

after going several days at a time without being able to go to school on multiple occasions, i was allowed to switch to an every other day schedule which was somehow still a struggle

pretty basic stuff i'm sure most people on this site can relate to. so what changed? well, due to mental health reasons and poor grades and such, they transferred me to another school.

another school which had crisis lines on the back of our id cards.

i spent sophomore year attending virtually, even after pandemic restrictions were lifted, purely because of my anxiety. i actually tried to attend in person and had a panic attack which resulted in me getting up and leaving class without a word before practically running to my dad's place of work a few blocks away, where my mom had to pick me up and take me back to sign me out.

but for senior year, i finally went in person. and honestly i enjoyed the program. wo got to do creative writing (i filled an entire notebook with a story and then took it again even though i didn't need to), we got to do video production (group projects but the first one went well and for the second one i essentially had complete creative freedom), and there was even an art class (one assignment was to follow a step-by-step guide on how to draw a dragon eye. i got permission to throw it out and draw my own from scratch that i never finished coloring).

our p.e. consisted of badminton, croquet(???), a day of actual proper exercise (which i got permission to keep out of because, once again, exercising with other people is actual hell), and on thursdays we'd go on walks and the teachers would get the class starbucks(??????wtf????who made this program??? i don't like coffee but was pressured by the teachers to get something and i cave easily so i just got lemonade after the first couple times. it was right across the parking lot from where my dad worked too so i got to say hi to him most thursdays which was nice).

we didn't have school on fridays either. it could also be because this was the year i took a break from social media but for once i was actually looking forward to going to school every day. i think the height of the program when i was there was like twenty students, and only like 8-10 showed up consistently. plus it started late so that was insane.

now you're probably thinking "wow, that sounds awesome!" it was, ignore that apparently the place went to sh*t the year after i graduated. but that's the problem, and that's why i started this off by saying the school system failed me.

this program was essentially trying to make school not hell on earth for neurodivergent students. in doing so, it prioritized mental health and completely failed at being a school. let's do another bullet point list.

what i did my senior year of high school:

i made an infomercial about a crowbar marketed as the "open sesame"

i wrote an entire first draft of a novel

we read the worst classic of all time (the great gatsby)

i wrote an essay about how the great gatsby sucked

i got kicked out of class for asking recruiters how many civilians they'd killed before i could tell them how messed up it was that they'd try their shtick at a school like this.

i gave a presentation based on an assignment on how you would start a business with $25, only to switch gears halfway through about how $25 isn't enough to start a lemonade stand.

i took a year long break from social media (i think i still posted music on youtube?)

i became obsessed with aquariums

things i did not do:

learn anything

and i don't mean that as a basic "i didn't learn anything this class" when in reality you just immediately repressed it because school is inherently tortuous. i mean the work they gave us was freshman level at best. easiest grades of my life. and they were mostly participation based. and that's bad!! sure, i didn't hate it, but on some level it felt almost insulting. socialization was encouraged but the academics were the worst.

and like there's no excuse. i've studied godzilla monsters religiously. i know every pokémon. i've put in the time to 100% sonic forces.

and it's not just fictional stuff. i've watched video essays on nuclear science, astronomy, physics, etc. just for fun!

i know that mental health isn't antithetical to leaning, so why is this school allowed to give out diplomas when they don't even try? honestly i don't think the teachers (plural as in two of them) even knew about the subjects they were teaching. the creative writing class didn't even give prompts until i asked for one.

it's just so... infuriating, i guess.

if i continued with normal high school, i'm not sure i would have made it out the other side. but if i did, i know i would have at least kept learning instead of stagnating in favor of "sensory walks." i know that there might have been some sense of accomplishment instead of "well this is a fancy piece of paper." and maybe i would've even felt like a normal person.

also if i decide i want to go to college i can literally only go for community college. because i was in the "too incompetent for normal school" program. not that i want that anyway. i can't afford that with $0.00 annual income.

#also one of the teachers was married to a cop and had a thin blue line flag sticker on their laptop #and the other had a seth rogan sticker on theirs #i was amicable and didnt bring it up but in the back of my mind i was screaming #fire.txt

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wolfgangvomitiger · 2 years

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About Last Night

Crash!! Kersskkkh! Whrrrrrr!

Ben jolts awake. Raises his head.

Big mistake. Room spins.

Phone rings. Loud in his ear

Ben rolls off the bed. Phone rings again. He looks around and no roommates. Phone still rinngs! He grabs the reciever. Buzzz. Ben looks at the clock 10:28 a.m. Looks at the Time Management Calender which reads:

Monday, Oct. 28 Critique 2D- 8:30 a.m.

Fuck!

Cut to:

Ben stumbles into classroom carrying only his 2D painting and his back pack.

The classroom is empty except for an old man in a creaky old chair. It creaks as he turns to look at Ben.

"Hello there, ah- Bill."

"It's Ben, by the way."

"Apologies, apologies, so many come through here and I donot really recall names but never forget a face. Or a smell."

"That's okay. Where is everybody?"

"Ah, yes", McGovern said, "Class has been cancelled. But for a rumor and a will o' the wisp."

Ben looks puzzled.

"What?"

"Did you not hear? A student was attacked by a monster from a children's story. And several got caught with contraband in the dorms. Where were you last night at about eleven thirty?"

"Yeah well- I had a rough night. I have a- medical condition. My parents call it "night terrors" but lately I think-"

Flashes: The rats. Wolf growling. Alice puts her hand out and blue and white light shoots out.

"You're not the only one," McGovern said.

"You had a rough night, too?"

"Oh. Not me," McGovern said, "I had a nice dinner with my wife, we shared some brandy and went to bed around ten. Slept through the night. Woke up to the news to find a bear had attacked my school and a fire broke out in one of the dorms."

"A bear? A fire? What?! Where?" Ben asked alarmed.

"Please. Have a seat. You looked- overburdoned."

Ben puts down his gear and sits heavily onto one of the stools. He scratches his head, ruffles his hair which is sticky and spiky.

"I need a shower"

Flash forward: Ben, Alice stand under a public fountain soaked to the skin. He kisses her.

"The authorities are saying arson may be the cause of the fire. Is there anything you wish to tell me, son?"

"About?"

Flash back: the Wolf runs down the street. Over head he hears a loud shriek. Looks up to see a blur of red, gold and green fly overhead.

"I didn't finish my piece. Gray Scale Geometric Shapes number 5. I fell asleep while-"

"Oh I don't mean the homework. Although you have plenty of time now to finish. I may just give everyone a passing grade on this one."

"Really? Why?"

"Well, between yourself and yours truly, I dislike this class. Its stifles the creative drive one must have to be an artist. We teach technique, how to apply paint and maintain deadlines. Tell me why did you choose this class?"

"It was required. I want to learn how to paint like Van Gogh or Monet or make concept paintings for movies and I'm not good at anything else. Drawing and art was always my escape from . . . Now it makes me-"

Ben looked down at his feet. Flashes of bus stop bullies, Wort hit him with a plastic whiffle bat, Eddie kicked him in the stomach, made him lick dog shit. He growled, gnashed his teeth and bit Wort on the ankle.

McGovern. Now.

"Believe it or not the great Masters used to be just like you only they had worse problems: plagues, the Spanish Inquisition, endless wars for land and gold."

Ben "We have all that shit its just covered up with entertainment and corporate bullshit. Sorry."

McGovern "You are not wrong. However-"

Michael rushed in at that moment.

Mike "Benji! There you are! I been looking all over for you." He saw McGovern and nodded.

Mike "Sorry, sir I didn't mean to intrude."

McG "Oh, I was about to leave. Have a lunch meeting soon. "

McGovern stood up and looked around at them.

"If you are looking for inspiration and a change of scenery, I recommend The Red Rook on Chestnut and 8th. Or stay and do some work. Here take this. Call if you need any help with a project or one of my rambling stories."

He chuckled and Ben took the business card just offered to him looked at it and lookrd up to see McGovern had exited.

Mike waved Ben over to follow him. They exit together.

They walked down the hall to the elevator and enter.

Ben looked at Mike.

"What's going on?"

"Ben, where were you all night?"

Ben "I was here working all night and then went to bed because my roommates were over at Munchie's."

Michael "Who?"

"The guy with the long hair. Dude is like our 5th roommate, really. We call him that because he always brings snacks for Kevin when he's-"

Mike. "Stoned? Did you smoke that shit last night? How could you sleep through everything?"

Ben. "You do it all the time."

Mike. "Come on, I have to show you something."

On the fourth floor balcony of Brimstone Hall, Ben stood and looked put over the courtyard and the dorms below.

Some windows on the floor below them are charred, smoke still rises from the debris. One of the windows appears to have been smashed open.

The dorms are all empty. Most of the students on the South Wing side went home or were out shopping or transferred to temporary housing.

Ben "What happened?"

Mike stood back from the railing his back against the wall. "They said no one was home in those dorms. All were out at the bars or at parties off campus."

Ben. "Where's Alice and Jodi?"

Michael. "That's why I came to find you. I thought maybe they were with you."

Ben. "Why?"

Mike. "Last thing Alice said to me last night was - she found you here and took you home. On the ground.

Ben. "Me? Why?"

Mike. "I thought you'd know. We parted ways after Song's party. I don't know what happened to them after that."

Ben "why didn't I wake up in her place?"

Mike shakes his head. He looks queasy. Wipes sweat from his brow.

Ben "Are you okay?"

Mike "Yeah... it's just

"Acrophobia. Fear of high places."

They turned to see J.T. perched on the roof over the door to the balcony.

Mike. "How long have you been up there."

"Long enough, Mikey, long enough."

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lumosinlove · 3 years

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Well, this got longer than I thought it would, so I’ll have to publish in a few parts as I write...

But Happy Birthday, Finn, my favorite :)

Find it here on Ao3

Of Silence And Slow Time

part i of iii

New York City, 1920

Everyone told Finn that the statue looked like him, that he simply must go and see it.

“Really, Finn,” his older brother Alex said. “It’s the eyes, the face, it’s the mouth. It’s uncanny.”

Finn had just looked over Alex and the man and woman he seemed to always have at his side ever since the war ended. Natalie, a nurse whom he’d met in France, and Kasey a Canadian from another unit—they’d ended up in the hospital together.

“It’s in France,” Finn said flatly. “I know you’re forgetting about it all, but I’m not exactly keen on going back there. It took me ages to get home.”

It had taken everything for him to get home.

Alex, to Finn’s relief, nodded at Natalie and Kasey to go get themselves a drink at the bar down the street, told them that he’d meet them there. Finn stared down at the book open and unseeing in his lap. He wasn’t even sure what he was reading, on that he wanted to. His mind didn’t seem to follow him just right these days. Cars became bombs sometimes. Sleep was all dreams.

Alex sat beside him on their parents’ old sofa.

“Fish,” Alex said softly, and moved his hand slow, where Finn could see it, before resting it gently around his shoulders. “You can’t sit here all day. That’s not going to help you, and I know you don’t like it. You’ve never sat still like this.”

“I’m not going back to France.”

“It’s Paris,” Alex said, and gently flipped Finn’s wrist over to reveal the tiny globe his friend Jackson had dotted there with a needle and ink. “You’ve always wanted…don’t let this war stop you any longer.”

Finn stared down at the reminder he’d asked his friend for, ink permanent black. He’d never been farther than New England before the war. Paris, he’d always thought, gazing at his collection of books. Rome. Athens, Barcelona—

Finn swallowed hard. “Looks just like me, huh?”

Alex’s grin was enough to pull one out of Finn, just slightly. “It was bizarre.” Alex squeezed his shoulders. “I’ll even meet you there later if you want, once we’re through with Canada.”

Finn sent a wary glance towards where Natalie and Kasey had left.

Alex raised an eyebrow. “You’d like them. And, who knows who you’ll meet over there. We ran into all sorts of people, people like you’ve never seen. It’s why—” Alex broke off slightly, and looked after the nurse and soldier, too. Finn blinked at the nervous bob of his throat, and then his smile. “There are all sorts of love and art in this world of ours. I know it feels like it’s all war, I felt that too, but it’s not. Please let me help you see that.”

Finn rubbed a thumb over his tattoo, and closed his book.

Everything felt like war. He was so tired of it he thought he’d be crushed.

He looked up at his brother. “I don’t have much money.”

Alex just grinned and slapped him on the back, then pulled him into a tight embrace.

Finn arrived in Paris with a lump in his throat. He stumbled through half-French greetings and requests to his taxi, who looked at him sourly and turned out to have dropped him off four streets away from his hotel—maybe on purpose. Maybe because it was barely six in the morning.

Finn was annoyed at first, and then he began to walk.

Paris’ cobblestones were like those in the West Village, only they weren’t. There were glimpses of his home in the uneven tread of his feet, but these stones were darker, as if soaked with more time and more place. It calmed him, while the brief glance towards France’s rolling hills had sent him back to his cabin on the rocky ship, shaking and gasping for air. He’d barely eaten during the entire journey besides forcing down the occasional breakfast sludge, and his legs had wobbled so fiercely upon stepping back onto land, he’d had to sit down.

Finn paused now, closing his eyes and leaning against the nearest building. He’d been so stupid the first time, decked out in his new uniform, eyes on the war like it was some prize to be won. The comfort waned with his scattering mind and Finn tried to draw a steady breath in. The lump in his throat only grew tighter and he squeezed the handle of his small suitcase.

“Monsieur?” came a voice, spilled over with concern.

Finn’s eyes flashed open and he pushed himself straight, blinking through the pale morning light. There was a boy standing there, around his age, with bright blond hair and worried blue eyes. He was tall, with a neat white apron tied around his hips.

“Ça va?” the boy took a hesitant step forward. His eyes glanced towards Finn’s suitcase, and he nodded in realization, then spoke in accented English. “Are you all right?”

Finn looked behind the boy to see the cafe, slowly opening, from which he must have come. There was an abandoned stack of chairs he was putting out for the day, and his apron had an embroidered name at one corner, Finn realized, that matched the sign above.

Le Lion.

“Yes,” Finn breathed, but found himself unable to speak louder. “I’m fine.”

The boy just shook his head, and gestured behind him. “Non. You must sit down. S’il vous plaît. Please.”

Finn didn’t know how to refuse him.

A few minutes later, he found himself stationed at one of the cafe’s tables with a steaming pot of coffee in front of him, a croissant, and a plate of softly scrambled eggs.

“You look like you need more than butter and bread,” the boy had said, wiping strong looking hands on his apron. “You are from America?”

Finn nodded. He had been worried he would be able to stomach the food after the boy went through so much trouble, but upon his first bite of eggs, he felt ravenous.

“Yes,” Finn nodded, brushing his hands off from croissant crumbs. “Sorry, yes,” he held out his hand. “Finn.”

“Leo,” the boy smiled, and took his hand. “It is a pleasure.”

Finn found himself returning that smile with one that, for the first time in a long time, felt like his own. He tried to put coins into Leo’s hand when it was all over, but Leo simply waved him off and said he hoped to see Finn again.

The Louvre was more than Finn could have imagined. It was like walking across the ocean floor, new rarities at every corner. And, of course, there was the matter of the statue. Alex had said it would be with all the other works from ancient Greece. He didn’t have trouble following the signs to the correct gallery, walking through the white marble hallways. When he did reach the Greek galleries, his first thought was that the perfectly white statues nearly blended in with everything else, at least until he found a plaque that said it had all been painted once. Finn smiled to himself. Maybe his apparent stony doppelgänger had had red hair, too.

Imagining Alex and his long stride in these halls was easy. And it was quiet here, and distracting, which let Finn close his eyes for a moment, inhaling the scent of old stone, like a church, or a river’s bank.

When he opened them, he had found it. He was staring into his own face. His eyes were blank. He reached up to feel the shape of his own jaw as he looked at the statue’s, on display in the way the head was slightly turned, jaw set, brow low, as if in focus. Finn blinked, pulled out of the daze of seeing it, and his eyes landed on the museum card beside it. There was a word in ancient Greek, said to have been carved more visibly into the bust’s base. Future, it translated to. Thought to be made in the name of a God, though he may be lost now. There is no other surviving work by this artist.

Finn looked back at the eyes, so much like his own he could have seen brown there in the blank irises, and thought about when this strange statue had been carved. He’d always loved the way ancient Greece was sometimes described in poetry. It had gotten him through many long nights in the trenches. Serene, warm, and with nothing to do but lounge in the olive groves. Working the land and coming home at sundown to wine and honey and spiced meat. He’d longed for it. He longed for it still, this simple-seeming past.

The next thing he felt was warm wind. He smelled salt water.

The museum melted around him and his shoes slipped into sand before disappearing entirely.

Finn turned around to the sound of someone shouting, worried it was at him, only to find a brunette boy storming towards him—then past him—a foreign language continuing to fly off of his tongue. But more importantly, the boy was dressed in a simple garment of white cloth that left his strong, tanned legs and arms completely bare, and his feet were sandaled. Finn reached down to smooth his suit, only to find it gone, as well, replaced with a similar getup. He stared down at his bare skin, so pale in the bright sunlight.

And then the foreign language morphed, like a scratched record, and became English to his ears.

“—I’m telling you, Leo, I won’t go. Not without you.”

Leo?

And there the blond boy was, sitting in the shade of low trees at the edge of the beach. He was holding some sort of musical instrument, plucking at its strings almost sadly, head bowed.

“You have to,” Leo replied. “The oath says—“

He stopped mid-sentence, having looked up and spotted Finn. It made the brunette turn, and then Finn’s back was in the sand and there was a thin, rough blade at his throat.

Green eyes bore down into his own, a growl ripping from the boy’s throat. “Spartan.”

Finn choked out a breath, his hand going around the boy’s wrist. “No—no.”

“Logan,” came Leo’s voice, and then the knife’s pressure was released, pulled back by Leo, but the boy—Logan—was still sitting firmly on Finn’s hips. Finn felt his entire body flush with the sheer lack of fabric between them, but Logan didn’t seem to either mind or notice.

“I’m not a—Spartan,” Finn managed. “What the hell, I…” He looked to his left, at the sparkling waves lapping there, and then to the two boys looming above him. “Where am I?”

That made both of them freeze, the knife twitching in Logan’s hand.

“Ithaca,” Leo offered timidly, then glanced out at sea, as if that was where Finn had come from. Finn just stared at him.

He was the boy from the cafe. He was sure of it. His blue eyes filled with the same concern as they had on that early morning cobblestone street.

“Are you all right?” Leo asked.

“He is a spy,” Logan said, and went for him again.

Finn was ready this time. He knocked a leg around Logan’s waist, putting him on his back, and then rolled away from him and to his feet, knife in hand. He raised it for the two of them to see and then tossed it a little ways down the beach. “I’m not a spy. I…I’m just lost.”

It was true. In more ways than he’d even thought before.

“Please,” he managed more quietly.

He watched Leo and Logan exchange a look, unsure of what it meant, until Logan turned on his heel and Leo gestured for Finn to follow.

“Are you at war?” Finn asked he was led through the city streets. It had been a hot walk up a long road built into a steep hill, all the way up to what Finn assumed was the inner city and acropolis. Water ran along the side of the street—no doubt with sewage—and they crossed via stepping stones, pressing themselves against the walls whenever carts rattled by—carts filled with men with shields and swords or spears.

Logan, who brought up the rear behind him, having retrieved his knife, scoffed. “Aren’t we always?”

“And where are you taking me?”

“Where we take any question we can’t answer,” Leo said from in front of him, golden hair gleaming. “Pascal.”

#finn o'hara #hazelverse #Logan tremblay #Leo knut #o'knutzy #historical #historical au #ancient greece #1920 #wwi

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pathofcomet · 3 years

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look at what you taught me

fandom: bridgerton series

pairing: colin/penelope

summary: Colin and Penelope have never been awkward with one another. Except for this one time. (AO3) (book spoiler ahead)

In the beginning, when he travels, Colin can think of nothing else but the present moment: a ship under his feet, the lull of a carriage, the wide expanse of the world all around him. Whatever destination is coming next, if he is certain enough – if not, he’ll just make it up as he goes. The furious scribbling of his quill against paper, as he races to put down in words all his eyes take not but a second to admire. It feels like everything he never knew he wanted to do so desperately. It feels right.

Then, it becomes more difficult to return home, the more he travels. But soon enough, the travel starts to wear him down. He begins to look forward to when he’ll return home: despite his own mother’s incessant remarks, despite the brotherly arguments, despite having to see another sister married off. Even the most loving mamas trying to marry off their daughters to him seem somewhat adorable, if he is gone long enough. But the need to travel comes back, like an itch that won’t go away unless he scratches it away. He makes promises to his sisters – so that he can stay as much as possible, but he goes insane with anything more than a couple of months. He likes to believe that by now his family simply made peace with his many eccentricities, and simply paid the cook more when he was around.

He treasures the pockets of familiarity he gets when in London as much as the breathes of fresh air he gets when he’s away. He imagines he drives his mother wild, with all his coming and going across the continent. He knows what Lady Whistledown writes about him as well, and he’d strangle the woman himself, for alerting everyone of his return so punctually. Ambitious mamas are hard to fend off when you’re a young man, and it only gets worse the older he becomes, because the expectation of marriage dawns ever closer.

***

“You must agree, Colin,” his mother says, and at the mention of his name, he straightens in his chair, because it’s a terrible thing to be singled out in a conversation by Violet. “Penelope is quite an agreeable young lady.”

Colin agrees, both because he truly believes so, and because while his mother doesn’t need his confirmation, she’s kinder when she has it. Benedict, from the other side of the room, leans closer in his chair, so he can hear better whatever commentary their dear mother is about to impart with them.

“I dare say she’d make quite a suitable bride for you, really.”

All hell breaks loose. Benedict drops his foot to the floor with a loud thud, while Colin drops his sandwich, eliciting a swear for which he’s reprimanded by three of his sisters. And then.

“Mother!” Eloise shrieks, quite offended – which Colin finds surprising, considering that the two of them are best friends. “That is entirely too daring!”

Colin agrees, but he is too busy desperately trying to cough away the piece of sandwich stuck in his throat. Eloise, though still quite shocked, pushes her cup of tea in his hands, just to get him to make less noise. He downs it in one go, grateful to not have died of this particular cause. His heart, quite in override still, might provoke a heart attack soon enough if his mother does not change the subject.

“I believe you misremember your ABCs, dear mother,” he jests, because he does not want to take the idea seriously. “There’s one son for whom you haven’t found a bride quite yet.”

Benedict shifts in his seat, suddenly finding his newspaper way more interesting. But this time around, Violet doesn’t rise to the so delicious bait of teasing her second, not when her brain is so set on match-making her third.

“I don’t see why not. Isn’t she a friend to all of us?”

She stops, waits for a nod from each one of her children currently engaged in eaves-dropping on the topic.

“She’s polite, witty,” she continues listing reason after reason, all to which Colin is entirely familiar and now that he thinks about, has noticed himself, several times over, in Penelope. “And quite darling.”

He imagines darling is what girls who aren’t called beautiful get stuck with by kind mothers. He never actually stopped to even consider Penelope in any of these ways: she’s always been there, ever since he was in short pants – and that’s almost already half their lives. A fixed presence by the side of his younger sister, and a favourite of his mother, despite all the awkward wallflower tendencies in Penelope. But he doesn’t recall ever trying to pick apart her character, find her individual traits, even consider her as a… woman.

Colin is suddenly shamed by his wilful, manly indifference. Violet arches her eyebrow at him, clearly still expecting an answer.

“Mother,” he adds with a sigh. “I can promise you most certainly that I am not marrying any time soon.”

“One never knows,” she murmurs, though she allows him his momentary peace, and returns to her embroidery.

***

Only that his mother doesn’t stop with her comments, and they seem to grow in number each time she meets Penelope, which unfortunate for him, is often enough. The next morning, as she returns from shopping, she comments on how nice she looked in a dress of her own picking, and not her mother’s own distasteful choices. Each time any married sibling sends a letter, or comes visit, her efforts in getting Colin to marry are reinforced. She jabs at him with comments: morning, afternoon and evening.

And suddenly, Colin can find that there’s nothing else much that he can think about, but Penelope, and how exactly this insane idea came to live in his mother’s mind. So he starts paying attention.

He supposes parties would be generally more enjoyable if he didn’t have to attend them with his family, as much as he loves them. He can physically feel Violet’s eyes drawing across the room, and then settling, decisively, on his back, a list of eligible ladies for marriage already compiled in her mind, alongside one for dancing partners. Colin can already guess what her mother is about to tell him.

And he is right. She pokes at his elbow with her fan, nodding to the edge of the ballroom, where Penelope Featheringston stands, card empty and looking like she’d rather be anywhere else but here. Well, at least they do have that in common.

“Colin, darling,” and really, that’s all that Mrs. Bridgerton has to say to any of her children for them to do her bidding.

He makes his way across the room, trying his best to avoid getting roped into introductions by mothers or old friends alike. The faster he’s getting this over with, the faster he can return to the appetizers, and to a reconnaissance of the room of his own.

“Pen,” he says, and she startles, turning around to him with the widest of eyes, and the shyest of smiles. Huh, maybe she does look quite darling.

“Colin!” she exclaims, smoothing down a hand over her dress, and while it’s a gesture driven by nerves, it looks quite adorable.

“Would you do me the honour of a dance?”

He extends out his arm, which she takes – an answer without needing one. And it’s quite a shame, to all the other men in the room, because Penelope is a wonderful dancer, and a most attentive conversationalist during them. She asks him of his most recent travels, destination known through the letters he sent to Eloise, most likely. He’s received his fair share of foot stepping and the occasional elbow in his side, but never with Penelope.

She animates with each step, blushing at his hand around her back, smiling at a spin. He never considered how soft her body feels under his fingers, underneath the thin material of her dress, but now he is acutely aware of her warmth seeping through. He asks of the books she’s been reading, which he knows are plenty.

And at the end of the dance, he finds that maybe dancing with Penelope Featherington is not such a tedious task, after all. And at the end of the night, he’s quite certain she’s been his best partner.

***

Art exhibitions are not really Colin’s thing, really. His interest lays in a world painted in words, not in colours. But considering the fact that one of Benedict’s pieces is to be exposed to the world for the first time, of course his entire family must be present. He is proud of his brother, for having found a path in life, having chased it so full of determination.

Colin’s good at chasing as well. He’s just been proven, more and more lately, that he chases only things that cannot last, which displeases him greatly. It doesn’t mean he is not entirely supportive of his older brother. What other reason he’d have to be present here, at all?

“Penelope!” Eloise shouts, gathering the attention of her friend.

Penelope spins around, red curls jumping with the movement, and she blushes. Colin is pretty sure she’s done this every single time he’s seen her, though maybe he now begins to understand why. She nods her head in their direction, all Bridgertons replying in kind. Eloise lets go of his arm, rushing instead by her best friend’s side, hands entangled in a most obvious display of friendship and affection.

Colin knows Penelope’s family – and so he knows there’s no such camaraderie between her and her sisters, as it can be so easily observed between himself and his own siblings. He’s glad these two have each other then: a friend is one’s most fearful champion.

He walks by his mother’s side, going through the gallery, the two girls just a few feet ahead. Eloise is the taller one, yet both their heads are bent together as they discuss, such an air of ease and comfort about them. His sister says something, and suddenly Penelope turns a bit more to the side, laughing: a sparkle of mischief in her eyes and the loveliest pull at her mouth. Now, Colin finds himself quite taken with her mouth, staring because he finds it impossible not to. The soft pink of her lips, as she’s worried at them trying to come up with a comment about this and that painting. The white of her teeth, as she smiles. Her tongue, wetting her lips, from time to time, as the rooms grow hotter, with all the people passing around.

He’s lucky that the art pieces all around are distracting enough that Penelope herself doesn’t notice. His mother does, though.

“Quite darling, no?”

And she looks at the exact same person that he is, and most certainly not at the painting of a fruit basket in front of them.

“Mother,” he warns, a slight squeeze around her arm.

“Oh,” she sighs. “You can’t blame me for caring enough to try.”

Maybe not. But he can blame her for opening his eyes to something that he, like everyone else – he begins to realize - didn’t really know was right there.

***

So Colin Bridgerton, like a true hero of his days, leaves for Wales. And like the caring gentleman that he also is, he uses one of his friends as his excuse. It helps – it’s quite a useful distraction, for a while, walking over the hills, staring out at the sea, spending evenings eating hearty meals with someone that knows him well enough, but not too much. And he writes in his journal, of his quiet passing days.

By contrast, the nights are not so quiet. While he tries so hard to forget the society back in London, at night there are no distractions: and even so, while asleep, he cannot really control his unconscious mind.

So Colin dreams: at first, the most innocent of shadows, people that he can vaguely make out. Then the visions get clearer, and longer, and more tormenting. It starts with Penelope’s smile, and that mouth of hers, which in a dream he can admit to wanting to desperately kiss. Which, in a dream, he has leave to do. He knows, upon waking, that whatever taste lingers on his tongue from his haze, it certainly has nothing on the reality, and hates himself all the more for it. Then her body, close to his, the press of her bosom hard against his chest, the roundness of her bottom in his palms. The next morning, he is in need of a change of bedsheets, like he is nothing but a horny teenager.

He is sure his mother must have cursed him. The dreams continue, sweet haunting that only makes the guilt rise in his throat. She’s his sister’s best friend, for heaven’s sake, and here he is, conjuring her up in his dreams with no respite! It’s like his body has decided to take an entirely different path from his mind.

Colin is miserable on a travel, for the first time in way too long.

***

Maybe that’s his excuse. He lacks sleep, and for him, the most pressing issue is, obviously, still the one of his marriage. Violet Bridgerton is popular for many things between her children, but her cutting words and sharp mind are not necessarily one of those, especially if used against one of them. Colin has found himself at the receiving end of exactly that for weeks and months now, so he is apprehensive when he is summoned back to London.

But if his mother has need of him, then he must make haste. Of course, the real reason is simply the news of Daphne’s new pregnancy, which is incredibly happy. Colin loves to be an uncle way better than he likes being a younger brother.

Especially since right now, Anthony and Benedict have taken the liberty to pick up with the teasing where their mother stopped.

“You left in the middle of the season,” Benedict remarks, and Anthony clasps his back in a way that only eldest brothers can do, when they require an immediate answer.

“Oh, very well,” and Colin actually scowls. “I needed to get away. Mother has been incessant with this bloody marriage thing.”

And because they’re his brothers, of course they joke and jest more, at his own expense. Everyone in their house knows that his mother has her eyes set on Penelope, and everyone in their house is already tired of her insinuations, Colin most of all. That doesn’t mean that Anthony, or Benedict are going to pass up the opportunity to rile him up on the subject. It’s been a while, after all, since they’ve had reason to laugh at him in particular.

It’s the damn lack of sleep, and all of these comments, which are entirely unwarranted and so overwhelming, despite his protests, that make him throw all decorum out the window.

“I am not going to marry soon, and I am certainly not going to marry Penelope Featherington!”

“Oh!”

The softest sound, really – feminine and delicate and belonging to the single person that he didn’t want to see right this moment. With much slowness, burning red with shame, Colin turns around to look at Penelope Featherington. And he knows: by the expression on her face, the haggard breathing with the desperate rise and fall of her chest, and her eyes, that he just broke her heart.

What he says right there on the spot, he cannot truly recall. A fumbling of stupid, empty nothings, apology too small, too unfulfilling, because Penelope draws herself up and protects the little bit of her dignity left.

And she leaves, so fast that he doesn’t have the time to do what he wants: follow her to clear up things.

Benedict punches him in the arm, quite terribly hard. It still doesn’t feel as bad as the gut-wrenching guilt building up inside himself, or the self-loathe that he so much deserves. Because just as he was beginning to make up his mind regarding how dear, truly, she has grown to be for him, he has done the worst thing a person who cares about another can do: hurt her.

***

He shows up at the doorsteps of her house the following day, surprised to find Penelope alone in the drawing room.

“As you might suspect, Mr. Bridgerton,” she says, when he inquires after her mother and sisters. “Many men before you have made the same declaration, though maybe in more private settings. I am afraid any hope of marriage left in this household falls upon my sisters.”

It is the fact that she doesn’t use his name that stings the worst, and makes him understand exactly how much harm he’s done with his extremely horrifying comment.

“Penelope, I am so entirely sorry for the way I behaved yesterday. You must believe me when I say I did not mean to offend you in any way.”

“Must I?”

He stops, opens his mouth: no words come out. She looks the picture perfect of peace, and maybe this is what should worry him the most. It is his first time seeing her as more than a blushing young woman, and suddenly maybe he realizes why she is Eloise’s best friend: she’s made of tougher stuff than what he’s been led to believe so far.

“What I said, the way I’ve said it. I’ve hurt you… It’s entirely intolerable and I apologize for the situation you’ve been put in because of me being an ass.”

Situation that she handled entirely fine, given the fact that he so singled her out in a market of numerous others undesirable young ladies. She sighs at his curse, something that sounds like Colin, that has the tiniest of fondness in the tone. Something in his chest tightens with fondness of its own, for this woman in front of him, who has been nothing but a most beloved friend, to his entire family – and to him, as well.

“I…” she stops, taking in a deep breath, her hands shaking. “I already told you, no feelings were hurt. You’ve made no remark that wasn’t already obvious to everybody in the ton,” she says, and she waves in the air the latest number of Lady Whistledown.

Of course, even when he misses it, his sisters and his dear mama are quick to fill him up on the happenings of the season. In today’s fresh paper, Whistledown has written down that were the two of them ever to get married, she’d have to give up writing altogether – such an unfitting match never having been seen before.

“You can’t possibly believe those writings,” he says, suddenly offended at the paper, though he’s not quite certain on whose behalf anymore.

“I didn’t, until –”

Until he has reinforced them all the more, with his declaration. Colin suddenly feels himself flush from head to toes, at being so openly chastised. His brother Benedict has already told him, that he has cruelly overstepped most demands of polite society when he lost his temper in that way, in such a public place.

“I really do apologize, Penelope.”

He hadn’t realize how much he enjoys saying her name until now, when he so desperately wants her, needs her to say his own. A sign that things between them can be mended, move from the terrible awkwardness between them.

“Pity doesn’t feel that nice to those who already know how pitiful they are, Colin.” His gaze snaps up at her, and finds her already smiling at him – quite charming, even if so utterly self-depreciating. “Though you are forgiven.”

He bows at her in thanks, lower than he’s gone in months, if not years, just to show how entirely grateful he is. Of course, Colin is yet too young, rich, handsome and charismatic to know the meaning of her words, and too stupid of a man to try and understand where she is coming from.

But he will, in due time.

For now, maybe his favourite sight to see during his travels becomes the shores of England, when returning home. Because home has just started to mean just a tiny bit more.

#bridgerton #bridgerton series #colin/penelope #colin x penelope #colin bridgerton #penelope featherington #polin #bridgerton fanfic #bridgerton ff

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morningfears · 4 years

Text

Just Right

Rating: PG | Fluffy af!

Summary: “I found a ring today.” and “I’m not moving, your lap is too comfortable.” With tattoo artist!Ash request by Anon.

Word Count: 1.6k (kind of a drabble?)

The tattoo shop was finally closed, the door locked and the main room quiet, after a long day of clients. The shop’s staff had long disappeared, all eager to leave work behind for the night, leaving Ashton sat in his office alone. The hum of the overhead lights and the scratch of his pencil against paper filled the silence that had fallen over the shop and for the first time since unlocking the door at ten that morning, he felt like he could focus on the design he’d been working on.

It was a simple concept and should have been an even simpler design but he’d been stuck for days, unable to get it to turn out the way he’d imagined. It was as if his hands had a mind of their own and he’d grown frustrated. The trashcan beside his desk was filled with crumpled pieces of paper, each a discarded attempt at the design, and the cup full of pencils he kept on the corner of the desk was rapidly emptying but no matter how hard he worked, nothing seemed right.

It had to be perfect, he would accept no less for this particular piece, and he just couldn’t get there.

Ashton had planned on giving himself enough time to work for an hour after closing before leaving to meet you for dinner. It was written in bright green ink on his desk calendar and programmed into his phone, just so the shop assistant wouldn’t accidentally schedule a client for him, and he’d been looking forward to it all day. You’d both been exceptionally busy, new clients and projects piling up, so it was a relief that you’d finally be getting some time to yourselves. However, as the hour dwindled he lost himself in his work and seemed to be making greater progress than he had since starting nearly a week ago.

His eyes ached and his head pounded, the strain of the day settling in, but he didn’t dare slow down as he didn’t want to interrupt his progress. Instead, he focused on finally finishing. He was so wrapped up in his work that he didn’t hear the sound of his cellphone vibrating against his desk, nor did he hear the sound of the back door opening or your shoes hitting the tile floor.

You stood in the doorway of his office for a long moment, arms folded over your chest and a fond smile on your lips, to watch him work. His eyebrows furrowed and his tongue darted out to wet his lips as he shaded in the drawing. His hands were covered in graphite, stained from the work he’d done, and you smiled at the sight. Seeing him at work, watching as he drew or tattooed, was one of your favorite sights and you always considered yourself lucky to be able to witness it so regularly.

You remained unnoticed for far longer than you thought you would but the scent of Thai food finally overwhelmed Ashton enough that he lifted his head and blinked in surprise to see you standing in the doorway. He looked confused, but happy to see you, until realization hit him.

“Fuck, I missed dinner, didn’t I?” He frowned, dropping his pencil and reaching to rub his eyes before he caught sight of the mess on his hands and grimaced.

“Technically, no. I’ve got dinner right here.” You held up a plastic bag filled with your usual orders before you stepped into his office and crossed the room to place it onto his desk.

“I’m sorry, doll. I’ve been stuck on this drawing for so long and I finally got it to start looking the way I wanted.” He reached out for you and, despite the stains on his hands, you took his hand and let him pull you to stand between his legs. “Hi.”

“Hi,” you laughed, giggling as his hands found your hips. “Don’t worry about it. The restaurant was crowded, anyway. People were waiting for tables so I figured it’d be nicer to eat here where we don’t have to rush. Can I see what you’re working on?”

Ashton reached around you, quickly piling a few pieces of paper on top of the sheet he’d been drawing on, before he grinned at you. “Nope. Not yet. Don’t want you to see this one until it’s finished.” He did that, every now and then, and though you hated not being able to see the progress he made, you respected his desire to keep his work private until he was ready. So, with a pout, you nodded and reached behind you to grab the bag of food.

“Oh, alright. Well, if I can’t see your work, you can at least take a few minutes to have dinner with me.”

Ashton laughed as he released you from his grasp and watched as you wandered around his office, grabbing the utensils you’d left stashed in a cabinet for nights like this. You often ended up here, having dinner with him at his desk after work, and though you appreciated the nights that saw you both dressed up and hitting the town, you treasured any moment you got him to yourself.

As you moved about the office, gathering utensils and two drinks from the mini fridge in the corner, Ashton watched you with a fond smile of his own. You were so good to him, even when he did something stupid like forget the dinner date you’d been planning all week, and he loved you more than he ever thought himself capable of.

Without thinking about it, he announced, “I found a ring today.”

It was no secret that Ashton was going to propose. You’d talked about marriage at length, confirmed that marriage was in the cards for you both, and knew that you were both ready. He’d been searching for a ring, one that was exactly what you wanted, and it seemed that he’d finally found one.

“I thought you spent the day at the shop,” you hummed as you returned to the desk and allowed Ashton to pull you down onto his lap.

“I left to get lunch for everyone. Found a shop I hadn’t tried before.” He took the box of noodles from you and pressed a kiss to your temple as a ‘thank you’ when he opened it to find his favorite dish inside.

“So, I should stay away from your sock drawer, then?”

“I’ll show it to you, if you want. That way I can make sure you like it before I propose,” he joked before he took a bite of noodles.

“Mm, I think I’d prefer to be surprised. I’m sure it’s going to be perfect, you picked it out.”

“Hey, I’m the cheesy one.” He laughed, nudging your side with his elbow, before he nodded. “Thank you for the vote of confidence. I appreciate it. The boys approve.”

“I’m glad. You figure out who’s going to be the best man yet or are you just going to toss their names into a hat and leave it to chance?” You grinned at him, your question ending in a laugh as his own face fell and he released a groan.

“Can I just have three best men?”

“Your three best men are, like, most of our wedding guests, babe. Gotta make some decisions.” You reached out to pat his shoulder and he laughed as he nodded in agreement.

The pair of you had already started planning your wedding, including the guest list, and had settled on a small affair with close friends and family. You knew that he would end up choosing one of the boys sooner or later and you were in no hurry, you weren’t even officially engaged yet, so you let him remain undecided for the time being.

You moved on to a different topic, opting to catch up on what you’d missed in one another’s lives, as you finished eating. You sat comfortably on his lap, content to remain there until it was time to head home, and Ashton noticed as you both placed your empty containers onto the desk.

“I wanted to finish this up before we head home. Do you want to go ahead or wait here?”

“I’m not moving,” you mumbled, turning to place your head in the crook of his neck, “your lap is too comfortable. Can you draw with me here?”

It was, by no means, a comfortable position to draw in but it was possible. And you hadn’t had much time to just be together in recent days so Ashton nodded. “Sure, doll. Just promise you won’t look?”

He rarely made you promise not to look at his work so you nodded, content to keep your head buried against his neck where you could smell the cologne on his skin. “Promise. I’m just gonna close my eyes. If I fall asleep, just wake me up whenever you’re ready to go.”

He knew that you would be asleep in minutes, you hadn’t slept much lately, but that was alright. It’d keep you from looking and ruining the surprise. He was waiting for the right moment to propose, that much you knew, but what you didn’t know was that he was that he was working on a print for you. You were opposed to the idea of a tattoo for a significant other, you firmly believed it was bad luck, but you loved his art so he wanted to give you something special. It wouldn’t be inked onto your skin but it would be permanent enough, framed and hopefully displayed in your future home, and that was enough.

Everything finally felt just right and Ashton was proud to finally know what love really was.

____________________________________________________

Author’s Note: I love the idea that there’s complete communication about something as big as a proposal. Like, a surprise is nice, but knowing that it’s coming and being open about it is important, I think. I don’t know. Anyway, I’m. still working on drabbles, promise. I haven’t written Ash in so long, I missed my boy.

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ga-yuu · 3 years

Text

~Kurama~Main Story Chapter 22~

Warning!! The story has a lot of violence and blood.

Chapter 21

---------Part 1---------

Kurama: "Stop! Ibuki-----"

Yoshino: "......!!"

Kurama pushes me and I fall to the ground. The next moment, I felt a splash of blood on my face.

I realized it was Kurama's blood.

Yoshino: "Kurama...what..."

Kurama: "Nn.....Didn't I order you not to get scratched by other men?"

(No! Don’t lie to me anymore...I hate it...)

Ibuki: “That’s a great result. I knew my instincts were good. I’m glad I gave you Yoshino.”

Kurama: “.......”

A ragged breath escapes from Kurama’s clenched lips, and a gust of wind with the smell of death rolls in.

Ibuki: “Well, that’s quite an injury you got there.”

The lightning flashes from across the wind dazzle the eye.

(Lend me the power of the nine-tail fox----)

Ibuki: “I like you. I like people who don’t give up, who struggle in vain.”

The greatsword split the wind and closed in on me as I tried to drown out the alien power.

(Almost there----)

Kurama: “Don’t touch what’s mine.”

Kurama hugs me tightly as he covers me.

Yoshino: “Kurama!”

Kurama: “...don’t...make a fuss...”

Black wings fluttered from his back as he took the brunt of Ibuki’s attack.

His limbs began to weaken and he barely managed to hold on.

(Why are you defending me to such an extent?)

Ibuki: “.....Nnn...”

Ibuki, whose shoulder was ripped open by the tornado, stepped back holding his wound.

(But it’s only a matter of time before he’ll kill us...)

Kurama: “Yoshino, you have to run away!”

Yoshino: “But.”

Kurama: “Hurry up! You have to...”

(I don’t like it.)

Ibuki: “If you, who have trampled on the weak, should be defeated by the stronger, that would be just providence. It was fun, Kurama. You’re good as dead now.”

Yoshino: “Stop!”

Kurama: “!!”

I thrust my palms forward, feeling the lightning and roar with my body.

(Nn...hot....)

Yoshino; “Nnn....nn...”

The unquenchable heat burned my skin and the pain was so intense that I cried.

Kurama: “Idiot....why are you....doing this....

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

1. My body moved on it’s own...

2. I won’t leave Kurama...

3. I told you, I wanna fight together...(+4/+4)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Yoshino: “No....I told you..already...I’ll fight together with you...”

Kurama: “Tch...No. I will not allow you to put yourself in danger anymore.”

I tried staying on my two feet, but I was too weak....

Ibuki: “It’s a beautiful feeling. Unfortunately, it won’t work against me.”

Ibuki walks up to me through the sand and looks down at me in amusement.

(No....)

I tried my best to resist being picked up by him.

Yoshino: “Nn....”

The palm of his hand pressed lightly against my back, and I became numb. I felt my body slowly losing its power.

Ibuki: “I don’t mind you struggling. But I’m tired and you’re too.”

Kurama: “Let go---Yoshino!”

--------Part 2---------

Kurama: “Let go---Yoshino!”

Kurama crawls towards me on Ibuki’s shoulders and reaches out for my hand.

Ibuki: “Sorry. I gave her as a toy once, but now, I’m taking her away. I wish I could have played with you longer, but now it’s time to say goodbye, Kurama.”

Kurama: “Ibuki!”

Ibuki: “....Hahaha. I love to watch you dying with that cute face .” (For this, I can’t deny. Because when Kurama glares, it looks incredibly cute.)

As Ibuki said, the light in Kurama’s red eyes is not spoiled even at times like this.

It was glittering and glowing with rage.

Yoshino: “No! Stop---!”

Just as Ibuki raises his great sword-------

???: “How dare you make my Yoshino cry, Shuten Doji.”

Ibuki: “...!”

(This voice-----)

Suddenly, we're surrounded by blue flames and Ibuki turns around.

Ibuki: “-----Foxfires.”

Tamamo: “Correct.”

Yoshino: “Tamamo!”

Kurama: “...why are...you....”

I looked at him in amazement at how much I had missed him.

(Did you come to help...?)

Tamamo walks up to us, his beautiful silver hair fluttering.

Tamamo: “Release Yoshino, right now.”

Ibuki: “No can do, Nine-tail fox.”

With an uncanny calmness, Ibuki distances himself from Tamamo.

Ibuki: “It would be churlish to spoil the fun.”

Tamamo: “According to my aesthetics, no amount of bad taste play can disturb me. I was the first to arrive on the scene when I heard of the raid on the Imperial Court.....Following the trail of the magic, I didn’t expect this.”

Ibuki: “Oh dear, I stayed back for too long. But, how are you going to attack me when I have this woman in my arms?”

Tamamo: “Hmm...what should I do?”

He smiled and nodded his head.

Tamamo: “Let’s just make sure we don’t hit Yoshino, I guess.”

With the words, small foxfires emerge around Ibuki.

(When did you...!)

Ibuki: “Heh, you are really careful, aren’t you?”

Ibuki’s great sword swept away the blue flames that were coming at us all at once.

Ibuki: “.....!”

One of the fox fires scorches Ibuki from the front.

Ibuki: “The rest of them were illusions, huh----I hate you already.”

(Amazing! Such a skill on a spur of the moment----)

Tamamo: “Sorry, I’m so good at concocting spells, aren’t I?”

He snapped his fingers and said in a droll tone.

Then the foxfire floated in the air again......

Ibuki: “You’re blowing, you little fox. You’ll never bring me to my knees with your petty attacks.”

Tamamo: “I suppose so. Trouble is, my power is far from recovered.”

--------Part 3-------

Tamamo: “I suppose so. Trouble is, my power is far from recovered. But....”

He snapped his fingers once more, and all at once, the foxfires exploded.

Tamamo shouts to drown out the sound.

Tamamo: “You’re not the kind of lad who sleeps around here, are you? Kurama!”

Kurama: “You don’t have to tell me that!”

(Kurama....)

The wind whipped up with a roar.

Ibuki: “....You’re a dead man, you know that?”

Cut and bleeding by a blade of wind, Ibuki still smiles thinly.

Tamamo: “Are you ready to give up and give Yoshino to us?”

Ibuki: “No way. We’ll just play our trump card. Don’t just stand there and watch. Give me a hand, Yasuchika!”

(Eh!?)

Kurama and Tamamo: “.......”

In a breathless moment, the space in the shadow of the grove to which Ibuki’s gaze was directed, was distorted.

Yasuchika: “......I hope you don’t try to use it as a convenience.”

Yoshino: “Yasuchika..san...!?”

Yasuchika-san emerged from the distortion.

He had a cold face, unlike the aloofness I know him to be.

Tamamo: “I knew you would come, Yasuchika.”

Kurama: “.....”

The foxfire and the blade of the wind flew towards Yasuchika at the same time.

Yoshino: “Nn....”

The purple light spreads like a net to prevent the foxfire and the wind blade.

I found him holding a piece of paper with an intricate pattern on it at his fingertips.

(Is that...a talisman?)

Yasuchika: “Hi, Tamamo-chin and Kura-rin. Also, fox princess, how are you doing?”

Though he’s smiling, I can’t read his mind at all.

(It’s not like the fear of Kurama or Ibuki. I don’t know what to say.)

Ibuki: “Brilliant, Yasuchika.”

Yasuchika: “In Onmyoji arts, unlike the powers of demons, there is a price to pay for great skill. Ibuki. You know this very well, but you’re playing on the assumption that I’ll clean up after you.”

Ibuki: “I’m doing it for ‘him.”

Yasuchika: “I hate you, because you know I’ll shut up when you say his name....Now, let's go.”

In the next moment, the purple net changes shape like smoke.

Tamamo: “Tch...smokescreen.”

Kurama: “Wait! Give her back to me! She’s mine----”

Kurama tried to run at us from behind a thick smokescreen, but an invisible wall blocked his way.

Yoshino: “Ku..rama...”

(I wish I could be near you right now.)

I want to hold your bleeding body and tell you not to be reckless, but I can’t do that now.

Soon purple smoke blocked the view....

Ibuki: “Sleep for now.”

Ibuki’s voice rumbled inside my head and my consciousness crashed into darkness.

......................

By the time the purple smoke had cleared, Ibuki, Yasuchika, and Yoshino were already gone.

Kurama: “.............”

Tamamo: “Where are you going, Kurama?”

--------Part 4------

Tamamo: “Where are you going, Kurama?”

Kurama stands up, bleeding, and Tamamo stands in front of him.

Kurama: “I’ll follow them. I’ll follow the traces of his magic....”

Tamamo: “I’m sure Yasuchika will be well prepared. And with your body, Ibuki will finish you off....or will you risk your life and stab each other in the back?”

Kurama: “It’s better than being humiliated.”

Tamamo quietly met his gaze, which was filled with icy anger.

Tamamo: “I know it’s a lot to ask of you to endure----but, Yoshino would be destroyed if she knew you died for her.”

Kurama clicked his tongue hearing Tamamo’s words.

....................

(Mmm......)

The shock to the body wakes me up.

Ibuki: “You’re up. Just in time.”

(Ibuki! Where are we-----)

I jumped up in a panic and found that I had been lowered to the ground inside a tent.

Yasuchika: “Sorry to wake you up from your sleep, so early but I’d like to introduce you to someone.”

Yoshino: “...?”

Still, with a confused mind, I turn to the direction indicated by Yasuchika-san.

???: “We finally meet, fox princess.” (AHHHHHH MY HEART!!!!!)

(Who is this man?)

In a graceful robe and a mysterious tone.

His quiet beautiful eyes seem to draw me in as I look at him.

Yoshino: “Who are you....?”

When I ask him, he gives me a soft, languid smile.

???: “A lot of people call me Sutokuin or Your Majesty. I don’t really like it, it’s too ostentatious.”

( ‘Sutokuin’....you mean the Emperor who gave up his throne. right?”

Yoshino: “Don’t joke about it! No member of the Imperial family would be here.”

???: “That’s right too. So, will you call me Akihito?”

Yoshino: “Akihito-san?”

Akihito: “Mm. I like it. Hearing ‘san’ next to my name feels fresh. But if you want, you can call me like how you call Ibuki.”

Yasuchika: “.....Akihito-sama. We don’t have time to play games.”

(Onmyoji is supposed to be a high-status profession, isn’t it? I can’t believe that Yasuchika-san calls him “sama”)

As I looked at them in surprise, Yasuchika-san turned to me.

Yasuchika: “Yoshino-san. It’s understandable that you don’t believe us, but.....Akihito-sama is the former Emperor of Hinomoto(Japan)”

(No way...)

Still, in doubt, a new question arises.

Yoshino: “You mean...”

Akihito: “I'll be straightforward. In the eyes of the world, I should have been dead by now.”

-------Part 5--------

Akihito: “ “I'll be straightforward. In the eyes of the world, I should have been dead by now. It’s kind of like the same situation as Yoshitsune.”

Ibuki: “I think your situation is somewhat more complicated than his.”

(It’s too far-fetched to be a lie to make any sense. Then...?)

Yoshino: “Wait, if that’s true....and aside from Yasuchika-san, there is one more person responsible for all this chaos------”

I was surprised.

Yoshino: “Does that mean, the one who made a deal with Ibuki-----is you?”

Akihito: “You’re clever.”

Ibuki: “Isn’t it ironic. A man with the noblest blood in the land of Japan is bound to a demon.” (Ironic and badass!!)

Yasuchika: “It’s not the worst mistake. As for me, I’d kill that demon any day.”

Yasuchika-san replied to Ibuki with a smile.

(Ibuki made a deal with the former emperor...so he got some of his powers as well?)

Yoshino: “Then Akihito-sama....what is your purpose?”

Akihito: “Akihito-sama’...well, there’s nothing that can be done about that now.”

Akihito-sama murmured, unfortunately.

Akihito: “I’m not averse to straightforward questions. I’ve got a grudge against the whole Hinomoto. So I’m going to curse and destroy all of them.”

His voice is so soothing that I’m willing to listen to it forever.

The softness of his speech made it all the more strikingly different.

Yoshino: “....Are you serious?”

Akihito: “Nope. I lied.”

The smile on his face is both deceptive and sorrowful.

(What kind of life do you have to live to make you laugh like this?)

Ibuki: “Don’t scare her, Akihito.”

Akihito: “I didn’t mean to.”

Yasuchika: “Now that the introduction is over, let’s get to the main subject.”

Softly, Yasuchika-san interrupts us.

Yasuchika: “Have the Shogunate and the Rebels reached the battlefield?”

Akihito: “Yes. The advance team is arriving on both sides. I’ve just had private soldiers attack each end of the line and pass on the information. The Shogunate was defrauded by the Rebels, and the Rebels by the Shogunate, who broke their promise to hand over the prisoners.”

(That’s...!)

Yoshino: “Yoritomo-sama and Yoshitsune-sama will be sure of the truth.”

Akihito: “The main body will arrive a little later. Will they be able to control it all the way to the end? All we need is to make a small edge of a big crowd suspicious.”

Ibuki: “If one of us gets carried away and starts a fight, it can quickly spread to the whole of them and cause a huge fire. Because humans are cute but stupid creatures.”

Then Akihito-san turns to me.

Akihito: “What is your name again?”

Yoshino: “....Yoshino.”

Akihito: “Yoshino. I’ll remember you.”

Then Akihito-sama lowered his eyelashes as if he was slightly troubled.

Akihito: “I want to apologize to you. You can hate me all you want. One more curse on me now won’t make much difference.”

(What are you going to me....?)

Chapter 23

#ikemen series #ikemen genjiden #ikemen genjiden kurama #ikemen mc #main story translations #otome #cybird #cybird ikemen #cybird otome

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the-melting-world · 3 years

Text

The Empress | Side B: “The Fear”

Art by @markmefistov

~ In which a humble gardener opens Strength’s Door…

The Trio Appearances: Kipling | Khleo | Ozy

Arcana LI appearances: Asra | Nadia | Muriel

Track Origins: “The Fear” by Ben Howard

Not sure if this is the right track? The full album can be found here: The Empress

cw: none

~ 2k words

After Kipling, Ozy, Nadia, and Asra return from the underwater library, Ozy leaves Kipling with the gauntlets, reminding her that he still has to show her how to permanently unlock her third eye.

“Trust me, Kip,” Ozy said with a reassuring smile, “once your third eye is open, you’ll have a much better time navigating the portals.”

With that Ozy let Nadia escort him back inside the Palace. Earlier in the library, he and Kip had agreed to save their lesson in grey magic for the next day. Kipling appreciated Ozy’s patience with her. She could tell he wanted her to be as comfortable as possible before they started unpacking everything from the past.

She was grateful to him for that.

***

(Nadia’s POV)

Nadia walked with Ozy back to his chambers. When they arrived, she waited by the door while he removed his gauntlets and set them aside on the dresser. Nadia wasn’t sure why she hadn’t yet left the grey mage to his business. Her agenda was packed with meetings with foreign dignitaries and not to mention she had a desk full of letters that needed responding to.

And yet, there were other things clouding Nadia’s mind. Like intricate spiraling details across a pearly, artificial surface that stretched so far in every direction.

“That machine in your library,” Nadia said, starting quietly at first. “The one underwater. Is that where it’s meant to be kept?”

After Ozy took off his gauntlets, he rolled his wrists a few times and walked back towards the Countess.

“The Nautilus? Yes, that’s its primary function – traveling through water. Makes it easier for deep sea exploration.”

This piqued Nadia’s interest even further. “A vessel that never needs to surface?”

Ozy was standing before the Countess now, his expression friendly and eager to keep engaging with her on the topic.

“It does! But not often.”

Nadia hummed. “I see. Like a whale. Or a turtle.”

A soft glimmer flashed behind Ozy’s eyes, as if he were thinking of the same comparisons.

“Yes. Exactly.”

Nadia, who was content to invite Ozy to walk with her, said, “That’s fascinating, Oz. What an incredible find.”

Ozy fell into an easy stride beside the Countess, his hands tucked comfortably in the pockets of his crisp pants. “Hm. Thank you, but I didn’t stumble upon that vessel. You did.”

“What do you mean you…” Nadia slowed to a stop. Ozy mirrored her and turned so that he was facing her, his lip quirking in what she read as a hopeful challenge. That’s when Nadia quickly assembled the pieces of his implications.

“Oz… do you mean to suggest that you built such a thing?”

Ozy looked off to the side rather sheepishly as he shrugged his shoulders.

“Abaco helped.”

Once again, the grey mage had left the Countess at a loss for words.

As if to put her at ease, Ozy added, “I built a lot of things over the years, Countess. Fixed a lot of things.” His hazel eyes drifted skyward. “Broke a lot of things too now that I think about it.” His hand wandered up to absently scratch at his five o’clock shadow. “Mostly because I ran out of stuff to fix. Not really any other option in that case but to break some things. Otherwise I wouldn’t have…” Ozy’s speech turned into uninterrupted mutterings.

Nadia realized he would have never stopped if she hadn’t said, “Oz, please.”

That was enough to call back his attention.

“As long as you’re here,” Nadia reached for both of Ozy’s hands, “I want you to call me Nadia.”

Ozy looked down at where she held lightly onto his long fingers, and then back up again.

“Oh. Like Asra and Kipling do?”

Nadia gave a deliberate nod. “Yes.”

Ozy blinked, the confusion written plainly across his face. “But they’ve known you longer.”

The Countess shook her head. “I know it might seem strange, but that does not matter to me.”

The grey mage was silent for only a moment before he grunted in gentle understanding. He pressed his rather nimble fingers more firmly against Nadia’s.

“You’re ambidextrous,” Ozy noted. “Like me.”

Nadia couldn’t help her face from heating slightly at his observation.

“You’re correct about that.... How did you know?”

Ozy continued to test and trace his fingers around the Countess’.

“These hands have solved a lot of puzzles. To the point where it’s impossible for them to ignore the details in fact. So… Nadia,” he locked eyes with her, his gilded lip curling into a soft smile, “what’s the story with your hands?”

Nadia grinned, trying to gauge the line where Ozy’s friendliness blurred into flirtation.

“I’m not sure if there’s a way I can express this without sound like I’m bragging, but my hands do know their way around a workshop.”

Once again, Ozy’s eyes lit up. “A workshop, really? Will you show me?”

Nadia gently guided her hands out of Ozy’s and up around his bicep, linking her arm through his.

“I can take you there, but I won’t be able to join you again until late this afternoon. I have a city to help govern as you might have gathered.”

“Right.” Ozy said with a respectful nod. “You don’t have to worry about me, Nadia. I can always find ways to keep myself busy until you return.”

“Oh, Oz.”

Nadia thought back to that vessel, immense and pristine, resting at the bottom of a deep pool.

“I have no doubt about that.”

***

Kipling noticed that Abaco didn’t follow Ozy and Nadia when they left the garden. The bird was content to stay behind and play with Taro and Faust. There was something Kipling found soothing in watching the three familiars interact. So she sat there right in the grass next to a hedge of snowball viburnums.

Asra, who knew Kip’s behaviors very well by now, was happy to take a seat and curl up right beside her.

“Asra, there’s something I have to tell you.”

The magician breathed a sigh of relief, hoping that it wouldn’t show. He wrapped his arm around Kip’s shoulder and placed his other hand in her lap. “I’m listening.”

In the past, Kip had looked elsewhere, anywhere but directly at Asra, only occasionally flicking her gaze up to meet his. That wasn’t the case this time. Her syrupy brown eyes were fixed on him as she spoke. She seemed determined to give him her full attention.

“When you came by Muriel’s cottage, did he tell you about the reading he gave me?”

Asra swallowed. “Yes. But only a little. He said you drew the Empress.”

“Reversed,” Kip clarified. “I’ll be honest. I’ve been neglecting to tell you the whole truth about Ozy and Khleo… well, Khleo specifically.”

“You don’t talk about them much,” Asra noted. He also didn’t miss how Kip’s eyes would glaze over whenever Ozy mentioned the umbra’s name.

Kip sighed. “I’m ready to talk about them now. Asra, I knew Khleo for a long time before meeting Ozy. They kept my secrets, they were the one I confided in whenever I needed it. When Ozy came around and I didn’t want to have anything to do with him, it was Khleo who taught me about kindness and acceptance. I don’t think I can explain how close we were…”

“You loved them. You still love them.”

Kipling could tell by Asra’s tone that he must have known all this time.

Kip took a moment to work out the tremors in her upper body. Asra squeezed her hand in reassurance.

“We never confessed it aloud, but the day that Khleo was taken by the Door, I was so sure that they were going to say it first.” Kip caught a sob. “There just wasn’t enough time.”

Asra pulled Kip until her face rested against his collarbone. He removed his red scarf and wrapped it around her shoulders. By now the three familiars had gathered onto both of their laps. Taro was determined to soothe Kipling with her head nuzzles and soft chirps.

While Asra rubbed her spine, Kip managed to choke out, “When I portaled to Strength’s gate, I saw Khleo and those feelings were still there, Asra. I don’t know what to do. I know I’m supposed to go see the Empress, but I want… all I can think about is…”

“There was something else Muriel told me,” Asra said. “On the morning you left, the ground all around his cottage was covered in daisies. They could have only come from you. He said there were so many of them, magically conjured to stay in bloom for much longer than normal.”

“Daisies,” Kip sniffed. “They were in Strength’s realm too.”

“Well, they’re all around us right now.”

Kip opened her eyes and sat up. Asra was right. The magical daisies had appeared in the garden. There were thousands of them, packed so tightly it was almost impossible to see the grass.

It wasn’t unnatural for Kip’s green magic to behave in this way. Most of how she managed it was based on her emotions. But she had never seen anything like this.

“Kip,” Asra said, “what if you used the daisies to find your way back to Strength’s realm?”

She tore her eyes away from the flowers and looked at the magician with a mixture of uncertainty and surprise. “You think I should go to Strength’s realm? Without Ozy?”

Asra nodded, his lavender eyes serious. “I’ll go with you.”

“But what if–”

“It was you who said that you can’t bring yourself to meet the Empress right now. What if drawing that card means that you have to face your feelings about Khleo before moving forward?”

Kip’s drew a heavy breath. There were so many what ifs. What if Khleo didn’t remember her? What if Strength tried to bite her head off again? What if…

“Kip.” Asra placed his hands on either side of her face and steered her into a kiss. “I’ll be there with you. We fought the Devil, remember. We can pay Strength a visit. We’ll come to the front door this time instead of dropping out of nowhere. If she doesn’t want to let us in, then she won’t.”

When Asra put it like that, the stakes didn’t seem so high.

Brrrrr.

Kip looked down to see Taro holding up her new pair of gauntlets. Faust bobbed her head in encouragement and Abaco fluffed his feathers once before using his beak to flick a switch on the gauntlet so that it hummed to life.

Once Kipling had donned them and stood up, she took a deep breath and did her best to rely on what she knew. To her amazement, the gauntlets made it so much easier to detect the control pad that opened the Doors.

Kipling activated the invisible motherboard and gasped when she saw more daisies growing spontaneously in the air. They shot off a few feet to Kip and Asra’s left, circled once and then again in a double ring – the outline of a Door.

“That must be the way to Strength’s gate,” Asra whispered.

Kip’s gauntlets gave a sharp whine as she felt them tug her towards the highlighted portal. Asra followed behind Kip as she drifted in that direction. Abaco flew ahead, tweeting madly and whizzing to the path of the daisies.

Kipling reached out until she connected with the lever handle to the Door. She found it easily, as if a magnetic force linked her gauntlet to the portal.

Then Kip pushed until the lever rotated. The Door squeaked as it opened. That magnetic tug was back, but this time it wanted to get away from Kip. She tentatively released the lever and watched as the door snapped open. Wider, wider, wider –

“You have to lock it, Kip!”

Kip gasped at the memory of a younger Ozy hollering at her while a storm grew over their heads. This sparked a second memory of a Door that grew too great for any of them to handle. She couldn’t let that happen again.

Kip glanced over at Asra and remembered. She would never let another Door take off with someone she cared about.

Her gauntlet glowed brighter. Kip listened to the hum…

The gardener caught the lever before it could get away from her and spin completely out of control. She sensed a new type of pull and followed it, anchoring the lever into a small depression that wasn’t visible to the naked eye.

Glittery light sparked all along Kipling’s knuckles. Abaco was absolutely delirious with excitement. The daisies dissolved, but there was water on the other side of the Door, churning smoothly, without turbulence.

Through the tunnel of seawater and shimmering light, Kip felt the call of clear summer skies and rolling hills blanketed in wildflowers.

#arcana albums: the empress #arcana albums #the arcana #kipling the apprentice #ozy the grey mage #asra #asra alnazar #nadia #nadia satrinava #my writing #the arcana fanfic #the arcana fic #asra the arcana #nadia the arcana

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peach-the-owl · 3 years

Note

Maybe one with Kima and Allura? The reader is an artist and one day they start to leave little notes with sketches for them in random places where they can find them and it's just them being a good friend trying to make them smile during the day.

Aww, I love Kima and Allura so much, their relationship is just so precious 🥰 I hope this turned out well

Also might’ve let myself get carried away with the idea, it’s a bit long 😅

Little Notes

Allura & Kima & Artist!Reader (Platonic)

You were making your way over to Allura's for a visit knowing she had been stressing out over Kima being missing from her mission in Kraghammer and hoping to calm some of those nerves. You walk up to the doors of her tower and give a knock, after a small wait the door opens to reveal the arcanist herself.

"(Y/n)! It’s been awhile, how are you?" She asks slightly surprised by your sudden appearance.

"Hello Allura, sorry about not informing you of my arrival." You sheepishly scratch at the back of your head in apology. "Do you mind if I come in? If not I can just-"

"No no, it’s alright." She stops you and steps out of the way for you to enter the tower. You welcome yourself in and go to sit in your usual spot whenever you’d visit. "I’m actually glad you decided to pop in, I’ve needed a distraction what with everything going on." Allura admits. At this point you pull out your sketchbook and pencil you always carry with you and start to add some fine line work to a piece you’d been working on for weeks now, never seeming to get it quite right.

"I know you’ve been stressing over this, which is exactly why I wanted to come over. So why don’t you tell me about what you’ve been up to recently." You suggest, not looking away from your drawing. You knew this wouldn’t bother Allura because for the years you've known each other, while it looked like you weren’t paying attention to the conversation you actually were, listening very carefully to every word being spoken to you. Allura went on to tell you about her work with the council and some of the worries she has for Kima, you adding in your own thoughts to the conversation every now and again. She then told you about her allies, the adventuring group known as Vox Machina that she asked to help find Kima, you knew about this group and what they did for the royal family but didn’t know them as personally as Allura did.

"I just hope nothing terrible has happened." Allura finally concludes after her long rant. You give an amused hum and sigh, taking proper notice that you’d wandered away from your project and had several random doodles covering the page. However instead of hindering you this placed a wonderful idea into your head.

"Relax Ally, if these people are as capable as you say then they’ll find Kima in no time. Just relax and breath, alright." You look up at her this time seeing her nod and take a few deep breaths. While she was distracted with that you carefully tear out some of the doodles, writing little messages of encouragement on the back of them and stand up. You sneakily slipping one of the notes between the cushion of the chair having it stick out just enough to be noticeable but not too obvious. "It’s been lovely, thank you for having me over but it’s getting late. I should really be making my way home."

"Allow me to walk you out." Allura offers which you happily accept, sneakily hiding the little drawings along the way in various places for Allura to hopefully find later. "I really appreciated the visit, helps to confide in a friend. You’re welcome back anytime." Allura gives you a quick hug that you return before the two of you part ways until next time.

It had been a while since your little visit and felt it only fair to check in and see how everything was going. When you arrive you’re relieved to see that Kima had returned in one piece, while Allura was occupied with thanking Vox Machina for their efforts you quietly shuffle over. You then watch as Kima and Allura share a small moment by staring at each other before they run into each other’s arms, you smile a little at this before deciding to quickly jump in.

"No it’s fine, just pretend I’m not here." You joke gaining everyone’s attention, you walk over to the two and without missing a beat Kima gives you a playful punch in the arm. "I swear to Bahamut Kima, you’re gonna break my arm one of these days." You slightly hiss from the pain.

"Nah if I meant to do that, it'd already be broken." Kima says slyly, you roll your eyes before properly hugging your friend, slipping a little note you’d made into her armour.

"Well now who’s this one?" The red Dragonborn asks. After some proper introductions with the group Allura invites everyone into her tower for tea, you hang back a second unsure if you should join them or just head home early.

"Don’t just stand there, the offer stands for you too." Allura gives a warm smile and ushers you inside.

"I know I just didn’t want to feel like I was overcrowding the place, plus I’m sure you’d like to catch up with Kima." You say meekly. You make your way up and automatically go to sit in your usual spot, pulling out your sketchbook as both a distraction and to continue on a commission for a client you’d received. Enjoying some tea and listening to the conversation between everyone else, Kima leans over your shoulder to look at your work.

"The hell is that supposed to be?" She asks quietly, staring at your drawing.

"Art." You reply cheekily. You catch her rolling her eyes at the corner of yours.

"I know what it is, but what is it?"

"The client asked for something abstract, so this is the result so far." You precede to erase and redraw a few of the lines you’d made until you felt satisfied.

"I don’t get it." You stifle a laugh, Kima didn’t really have an artistic eye but you appreciated that she at least tried to understand your craft whenever the two of you got to interact with each other.

"Shouldn’t you be involved in this conversation? Not to be rude or anything but it sounds important." You look up at Kima now to which she scratches at the back of her head, you can now see the blush on her cheeks.

"His questions were making me a little uncomfortable." She gestures over to the goliath, Grog. You give a reassuring pat her on the shoulder, sneaking another note into her armour before you realize something.

"Sorry to interrupt but what time is it?" After some fumbled reply’s Allura gives you her best estimation. "I have to go, I’ve got client to meet today and sooo much work to do. Thank you for the tea Allura, it was lovely to meet you all and thank you for safely bringing Kima back." You give a bit of a rushed goodbye as you gather up your things and hurry out of the tower, pausing briefly at the door to hide one more note for Allura to find later.

Time came and went, work piled up leaving you busy to no end, the only contact you had with your friends being the letters you’d write each other telling of what you’d been up to. However once the dragons came your world went crashing down, you had longed for a break away from all the work on your shoulders but not like this. Your home was in shambles, your hard work that took you months to complete destroyed in seconds, you considered yourself lucky to have made it out alive. Now you were but another refugee in Whitestone praying for a miracle while doodling in your sketchbook, the only thing that survived with you albeit slightly charred at the corners.

"Oh my gosh! You’re alive!" You hear a familiar voice call, looking over to see Kima run up to you. You give each other hug and once you let go Kima punches your arm.

"Every time I swear." You sigh with a small laugh, rubbing your arm.

"Gotta keep that arm strength up for your art stuff." Kima jokes, trying to lighten the mood a bit. "Anyways, do you know where Ally is?" You shake your head.

"I don’t, but I assume she’s alive, that woman’s a tough cookie." Kima nods in agreement.

"Would you like to help us?" Keyleth asks.

"Me? No I couldn’t, I’ve never really been the adventuring type, I much prefer swinging around a paintbrush over a sword." You politely decline the offer. "But I would like to advise one thing," you pat Kima's shoulder, once again slipping in a note you’d made into her armour in hopes of bringing encouragement. "Don’t do anything rash that could get you killed." Kima gives a quiet "yeah I know" and with that you watch the party continue on their way.

You did what you could with what little resources you had to build up and regain some normality to your life, starting a little side business of making motivational cards for anyone needing an extra pick me up. Folks seemed to really like it, each card having a personalized picture and message written on it, doing what you could to help keep hope alive in these trying times. When you met up with Kima and Allura again Allura was relived to see you were still alive and standing strong. They invited you over to the abode they were staying at together, which put a new idea into your head. Before you arrived for your visit with them you had made more of your little notes for them, this time making a few that you hoped would help spark the romance between the two you’ve seen since day one (secret wingman). When you arrived they gave you a quick tour of the place, leaving opportunities for you to slip the notes into various places around the house, making you wonder if this time they were doing it on purpose having finally caught on to your little gimmick. You all sat down and sipped away at some tea or coffee while talking about the actions going forward, as the evening came you bid your friends a goodnight and made your way back to your temporary living quarters…

More time flew by, the Chroma Conclave was since defeated and Emon was slowly rebuilding itself, a time of peace finally setting in and you had a lot of work ahead of you if you were ever going to be able to buildup your home from scratch. The only downside was you didn’t have the gold to pay for everything, your work as an artist didn’t always pay a lot but it was enough to keep you stable but having to pay to acquire materials for the house and art studio was another story entirely. Your then approached by two very familiar people.

"Allura! Kima! So good to see you both again. I’m sorry I haven’t been able to write or visit often lately, been quite busy trying to re-establish myself." You greet your friends and notice the large bag Kima's carrying.

"It’s alright we’ve been rather busy ourselves with everything going on. We actually wished to talk with you." Allura gives you a gentle smile.

"Well I’d normally like to welcome you into my home, but as you can see it’s… not much of a home yet." You half-joke gesturing to the still ruined state of your house, the broken paintings you once had all having been stripped away when the Cinder King still ruled.

"That was actually one of the things we wished to speak with you about, Kima if you would." She turns to Kima who in turn hulls the bag over her shoulder letting it clatter to the ground, and you can hear the jangling of coin inside. "I believe this should help accommodate everything you need for your home and work." You stare jaw dropped at the bag filled to the brim with gold.

"I-This is very generous of you. I simply can’t just take your money." You say out of shock at the large gold pile in front of you.

"Think of it as payment for all you’ve done for us." Allura smiles and gives you an expectant look.

"All I’ve done? I haven’t really done anything to help."

"Sure you have, back when Kima was missing finding those papers with the little drawings and messages really helped keep me calm and cheer me up through all the stress." Allura explains.

"Yeah, or the ones you managed to slip into my armour. Little distracting at first but invigorating when I was in a tough spot in battle." Kima jumps in. You just smile, all you were doing was trying to be nice and encouraging to your friends unknowing of the effects it apparently lead to.

"Still, not all is from us." Allura suddenly cuts into your thoughts, you look at her confused. "That was the second thing we wanted to talk with you about. Some of this is a sort of upfront payment for a few commissions from our friends, half now to help you and half later once you've completed their requests."

"There’s more!?" You were almost lightheaded from the information, but shake it off and refocus yourself. "I’d love to, please fill me in on all the details."

"First off Keyleth asked for a landscape piece of her home in Zephrah, Keyleth will easily help bring you to and from her home whenever you’re ready. Next Percy wanted a portrait made for castle Whitestone, he said he’d fill in the rest of the details upon your arrival. Finally," Allura gives a bit of a sigh, "there’s Taryon… he wants a, and I quote, 'self portrait made with nothing but the finest oil paints you can get your hands on for the Slayer's Cake.'"

"So basically the plan is to visit Whitestone once my home's rebuilt. That should be fine, one question though, who’s Taryon?"

"Trust me, you’ll know who he is when you meet him."

"Sounds like quite the character." You say with a hint of nervousness. "Well if that’s everything, I should get to work. Thank you again for everything." You go to collect the heavy bag of gold only to pause when you hear Kima speak up.

"Ally did you still wanna… you know ask about the thing?" She had leaned closer to Allura to ask but you still heard her.

"What thing?" You question to which Allura perks up a bit in realization.

"I almost completely forgotten. Right, there was one more, very special request." You look at the two in silence, Allura walks up to you and takes one of your hands in hers. "(Y/n), Kima and I have a very important and special request of you." You just nod and wait for her to continue. "We were wondering if you could make us something special for… for our wedding." You stare wide eyed in awe.

"You two are getting married? That’s amazing! About time too." You cheer.

"Not so loud please, we just want a simple and private wedding you know, a few eye witnesses for the event. You don’t have to make anything grand, if anything we’d like what you make to be similar to the notes you’ve always left us." You press your hands together and hold back the urge to just scream to the heavens in happiness for them. When you manage to calm yourself enough you look back that the couple and give them a large smile.

"I’d be honoured to make something for your wedding." You give them both a hug and reset your sights on your shambled home. "Now if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got a house to get built."

"Hold on, I still have one more thing for you." Kima interrupts this time. Before you can ask you feel a punch impact your arm, you suck back the pain as you rub the spot she hit. "Alright now your free to start." She gives you a smug look.

"Every. Single. Time." You playfully glare back. You had a long road ahead of you and you were certain it’d only be a matter of time before the peace is disturbed again but for now you wanted to focus on the present. Like you said, you had a lot of work to do.

#critical role #critical role & reader #vox machina #vox machina & reader #allura #allura vysoren #kima #kima of vord #allura x kima #allura & reader #kima & reader #npc appreciation month #nothing romantic here

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grad505jesspressnell · 2 years

Text

Week 3 Lecture notes and first moodboard - Socio-cultural Moodboard - Edwardian Era

Socio-cultural research

The style we can see from images of the upper class women such as

fine fabrics, dignified dresses, bonnets and petticoats corsets. They

would be lavish expensive, made to impress but also came with many

subtle reminders of the upper class woman’s place. It was at this point in the 19th century that women’s clothes in the upper classes started to be

more sexualized. Women’s clothing exaggerated the hips, breasts and

derriere not only to make them seem more attractive, but to separate

these wealthy ladies from the world of work.

the ‘s’ bend coreset was introduced (as shown in Figure 17) and started to become more popular than the previous style of Victorian wear. This type of garment propelled the hips backwards and the chest forwards creating a more pigeon shaped silhouette, this high wasted fashion stayed popular into 1910 but the ever changing silhouette continued to evolve as the years progressed in towards the middle of the Edwardian period. After the first world war Dresses started to become less fitted a more simplistic look was created and with that came more freedom.

Art nouveau

Art nouveau is a celebrated skill of art, it become a wide spread design internationally. You will recognize the whirling paintings if you have stayed in France or studied the pictures, capturing the mood at this political time from the 1800s to 1910 . (LeBourdais, 2016)

UKEssays. (November 2018). Victorian and Edwardian Era: Social, Historical and Cultural Contexts. Retrieved from https://www.ukessays.com/essays/history/victorian-and-edwardian-era-social-historical-and-cultural-contexts.php?vref=1

Edwardians never, for example, shook hands. Women never removed their gloves in public. Men removed their hats in the presence of a superior, but not for a member of the lower classes. An Edwardian hostess carefully predetermined every aspect of a dinner party—not only the menu and seating arrangements, but even topics of conversation during the meal.

All social interactions, formal or informal, were occasions that required a complex set of rules to govern behavior. Take a look at this list taken from instructions for giving a formal afternoon tea in 1904—it just scratches the surface of expectations and norms for this period.

Cards must be issued as invitations three weeks in advance.

Men should wear a long frock coat with single or double-breasted waistcoat to match; gray trousers; white linen; light tie; silk hat; gray gloves; patent leather shoes.

Awnings and carpet should be provided from curb to house.

A footman must meet guests as they arrive at the curb to open their carriage doors, and another should open the front door “the moment a guest appears at the top step.”

Guests should leave their cards in the tray in the hall before entering the drawing room. The butler then announces them as they enter. Those who cannot attend should send their cards by mail or messenger to the hostess, timed to arrive during the afternoon tea.

On entering, women precede the men.

The hostess should be just within the drawing room door to receive the guests. If she has daughters who have come out in society, they should receive the guests, then mingle with them “to help to make the function a success.”

The hours are from 4 to 7 p.m. Guests should not come at the opening hour, nor stay until the last moment.

Even in casual or unplanned moments, including with friends and family, it was important to keep oneself under control. The British are famously described as having a “stiff upper lip,” showing no inappropriate bursts of affection or anger. Alastair Bruce coaches the actors of Downton Abbey, especially those who play characters who most want to uphold the traditional way of life (including Lady Mary, her grandmother the Dowager Countess of Grantham, and the butler Mr. Carson), never to slip on this point. They can’t pat someone’s shoulder, offer a hug, clink glasses, or even say “I love you,” no matter how natural it would seem. Controlled politeness must govern their every word and expression. As William Ernest Henley put it in his classic Victorian poem, “Invictus,” “I am the captain of my soul.”

In the Western world, this time period was both one of great social change and of a solidifying the power and luxury of the ruling elite

Many people considered this period to be the “age of optimism.” So many things had been invented so quickly–telephones, typewriters, sewing machines, motorcars, aeroplanes, wireless–it was thought that war would be averted due to the surplus of helpful inventions.

The Bloomsbury Group, included author E.M. Forster, whose first four novels were published between the years 1905 and 1910.

The Edwardian age was known for the excesses, elegance, and strict social rules modeled by the wealthy.

A complete wardrobe included hats and gloves and, for women, often an umbrella. Edwardian fashion was opulent and formal, with expensive fabrics and trimmings. They favored a distinguished, mature look.

The well-dressed 1900s woman was covered from the neck down. Her silhouette was an S-curve. The shape came from a corset that put less pressure at the waistline by pushing a woman’s chest forward and her hips back.

Women wore dresses or tailored suit dresses. Those who could afford it chose sumptuous and elegant fabrics, such as silk, satin, damask, or chiffon. High lace collars topped long-sleeved tops that were often heavily embellished and bloused loosely at the bodice. Hemlines grazed the floor and sometimes dragged in a modest train. If working women weren’t in uniform or workwear, they often favored versatile two-piece outfits. Party dresses included delicate, lacy tea dresses and evening wear with deeper necklines

Edwardian fashion is known for dramatically large hats, such as wide-brimmed, straw cartwheel or sailor hats, heavily-embellished picture hats, and wide, flat caps. Smaller hats, such as straw boaters, were popular for sports. For driving, some women tied long, sheer veils over silk motoring hats.

Enormous hats required hairstyles that could support them. The most popular hairstyle was a full pompadour, with hair swept loosely up into coils or buns. Women might have added braids, false hairpieces, or wigs to give styles more structure and height. Some women used hot curling irons to create frizzy or curly edges. It was also stylish to tuck fresh flowers or decorative combs or hatpins into styled hair.

If not dressed for manual labor, in the early 1900s men generally wore three-piece suits (jacket, trousers, and waistcoat, or vest) with high, round-collared white shirts, neckties, and derby or bowler hats. Some men, including younger men, donned sack suits (similar to modern business suits) all day. Men who could afford it chose different suits and accessories for morning, daytime, and evening use. Though some men sported beards, the clean-shaven look was popular; so was a fairly bushy mustache that curled up on the ends, an iconic 1900s fashion look.

During the Edwardian era, crawling babies wore practical one-piece rompers. Otherwise, children’s clothing styles were simplified adult styles. Young girls wore knee-length dresses, often starched and decorated with lace, with black stockings and shoes or boots. They tied ribbons in their hair; fancier outfits may have included a hat. Playtime might call for a pinafore dress and blouse. Young boys wore long-sleeve shirts with knee-length shorts and tall, dark socks, sometimes with jackets. As children grew older, the hemlines of trousers or dresses crept closer to the ground.

The emergence of the Arts & Crafts Movement between 1880 and 1920 created a new aesthetic approach to design. The Mock Tudor style was associated with this movement, with its emphasis on imitating Tudor, Elizabethan and Jacobean architecture.

. For these people Sunday became a day to visit museums and art galleries, to promenade in parks and listen to music at concerts that were starting to be more affordable. When Beverley was disfranchised from the political scene in 1870 the external pressure on local politics was removed. As a result a rash of clubs and societies started to appear, including the Photographic and Sketching Society (1893), the Choral Society (1896), the Debating Society (c.1900) and the Rifle Club (1909). The Church Institute, formed in 1866, continued until 1905, and another new body, the Literary and Scientific Society, was formed 1904

The upper class Edwardians particularly enjoyed hunting and horse racing. These were also popular spectator sports, with large crowds turning out to watch the hunt, and children being given days off from school to attend the races.

Week 3 Lecture notes

Notes - A brief history of western design

Richard blazer collection animation on starting slide

BC/AD - Pre-history and early type

A typical timeline for design

Pre-history and early type

Chalet Cave, France - 17,000

Humans expressed their own existence through cave drawings

A hieroglyph (greek for sacred carvings) was a character of the ancient Egyptian writing system. Logographi scripts that are pictographic in form in a way reminiscent of ancient Egypt are also sometimes called hieroglyphs

First piece of paper 3.000 B.C

Before circa 1000BCE Phoenician was written using cuneiform symbols that were common across Mesopotamia. The first signs of the Phoenician alphabet found at Byblos

The greek alphabet has been used to write the greek language since the late ninth or early eight century bc. It is derived from the earlier Phoenician alphabet and was known as the earliest alphabet - 100 bc

C1040 AD. Invents movable type of

A typical timeline of graphic design

Gutenberg press

What is the importance of someone who created something big

The dark ages 4th to the 10th century in Europe after the fall of the western roman emptier, it is marked bY economic, intellectual, and cultural decline. Not capable to create or maintain architecture

Black Plague

Something shifts and changes and that comes from the beginning of the renaissance and art

Turning away from aristotelic view (and ptolemy’s)

Celebration

The earth was the center of the universe

The scientific revolution

Starting with Copernicus's assertion that

the sun was at the center of the

universe, not the earth, a great spiral of

scientific discoveries ensued, challenging

almost every aspect of the known

natural world.

Due to this new scientific developments

and methods of obtaining knowledge,

the philosophical movement called the

Enlightenment arose, in which

philosophers of the time began to

question political institutions and society

in unprecedented ways.

The enlightenment

Central to enlightenment though were the use and celebration of reason, the power by which humans understand the universe and improve their own condition. The goals of rational humanity were considered to be knowledge, freedom and happiness.

By the end of this period, science had replaced Christianity as the focal point of Europe

Key figures of the en

Nicholas Copernicus

(1473 - 1543)

Galileo Galilei

Rene Descartes

Francis Bacon

Sir Issac Newton

Johannes Gutenberg

Born in 1394 and 1404 in germany, he is best known for his invention of the movable mechanised type, which played an important role in the development of the renaissance the reformation and the scientific revolution

Bible was first book printed - 1450 - 55, 42 line bible

Nicholas Jenson worked with Gutenberg

1420-1480

Aldius Pius

Francesco Griffo

1450 - 1518

Albrecht Duer first guy to create picture book

Some print processes to investigate

Woodblock

Movable type

Printing press

Etching

Relief printing

Chromo/lithography

Offset

1880 - 1910

Arts and Crafts

Emerged during the late victorian era in England and was active between 1880 and 1910, inspired by the strong anglo Saxon tradition of craftmanship

The industrial revolution many new workers had to migrate to city for work, faced difficulties with pollution, health, disease and poverty and crime

Improvement of machinery and transportation, which created many more factories

‘Pay a penny to sit up, two pence to hang over, and 4 or 5 to lie down’

Turn of the century decadence

This period was widely thought to be a period of social degeneracy but any the same time a period of hope for a new beginning. The spirit of fin de siècle often refers to the cultural hallmarks that were recognised as prominent

Scenario

Disenchanted with the impersonal, mechanised direction of society in the 19th century they sought tl return to a simpler more fulfilling way of living\

It emerges as a critique of industrial society

Working condition

Due to high unemployment rate, workers were easily replaceable

Wages were very low

Great. Britain’s societal context was predominantly influenced by the fascination with new technologies which Brought the commercialisation to the craftsmanship

Social background

Aesthetic and social reform

John ruskin - stone of Venice made a direct connection between art and nature

William morris took ruskins ideas about the degradarion of human labour and translated them into a unified theory of design

First ticket 1890 the exhibition

The weaving shed in Morris & co’s factory which opened in the 1880s

A reaction to the industrial revolution, design leaders believed in the beauty of hand-made quality goods.

They resisted the use3 of the machine other than aiding in hand skills - connect with the human that made it

Ornamention

The style should not overrule the substance of a design.

Morris combined deep understanding of elements of nature and a stylized reference of medieval forms and his love for gothic design

Design was trending toward style rather than substance

Ceramics

Emphasise craftsmanship over style, excessive ornamentation was not seen as necessary, instead it was believed that high

quality materials plus the skills of craftsman was the true beauty of an object, be it a sofa or a ceramic object

Kelmscott Press, founded by William Morris, published fifty three books

Book design

The nature of gothic written by John ruskin printed by William Morris was a sort of manifesto for the arts and craft movement

Main characteristics

Handmade paper

Special ink vegetable inks and handmade tools

Designed typefaces

Easy to read

Based on 15th century books

Limited editions

Architecture

Structural

Simplicity

Native materials

Stained glass and wallpaper and textiles

The beginnings of the arts and craft movement in Scotland were in the stained glass revival of the 1850s

Summary - The core charateristics of the arts and crafts movement are a belief in craftmanship which stresses the inherent beauty of material, the importance of nature as inspiration

Arts and craft movement influences

The value of handmade items

Architecture principles, textiles and pattern making

High limited edition books

High quality and value in design products

Rejection of mass production and markable affair

The role of machines in artistic production

The factory must adapt to the artist, not the artists to the factory - John ruskin

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lifeofkaze · 3 years

Text

An Art of Balance #13

A/N: Nothing like a (not so) little Christmas chapter at the beginning of spring. As always, KC belongs to my beautiful friend @kc-needs-coffee

Word Count: ~ 4.000

______________________________________________________________

Chapter 13: Topaz & Jasmine

Lizzie wasn’t sure if she had ever been as happy to pack up her bags and board the Hogwarts Express as this year around. Running from her problems wasn’t going to solve them, but taking a break from them for the holidays was a welcome change.

Slumped into one of the plush seats of the Hogwarts Express Lizzie leaned her head against the cold window frame, idly drawing tiny swirls on the fogged glass. She listened to Tonks and Tulip loudly discussing the possible damage they could wreak with a Christmas cracker while Penny, Skye and Rowan played a game of Exploding Snap. Murphy had ditched them to sit with someone else this time.

The warm air streaming from the fully turned-on heaters made her eyelids grow heavy and she fought the urge to fall asleep. Snoozing around Tonks and Tulip was never a particularly good idea.

When the train finally pulled into Kings Cross Station, the emotional mess Lizzie had left behind at the castle already seemed far, far away.

As she saw her mother waving at the incoming train amongst the mass of other parents picking up their kids, a big smile stole onto her face. It widened as she noticed the tall young men standing next to her. Jacob and Duncan hadn’t been supposed to arrive before the day after tomorrow. Lizzie literally jumped off the train and into her brother’s outstretched arms, her woes all but forgotten. She was looking forward to catching up with them over a cup of her father’s famous hot chocolate in front of the fireplace; she had earned herself a few days of peace.

Apparently, the snow had followed them all the way from the Scottish Highlands down to England. When Lizzie opened her curtains on the morning of Christmas Day, she squealed in excitement like a little girl upon seeing their garden and everything else in sight covered in a layer of powdery snow.

They were no stranger to snow, of course; they got plenty of it at Hogwarts every winter. But having a white Christmas at home wasn’t something they got to experience every year.

Lizzie opened her window and scooped a handful of snow off the windowsill. She formed a ball from it and aimed carefully. With the deadly precision she had acquired over the years of being a Chaser, she threw her snowball against Duncan’s head, who had just stepped out of their front door to observe the winter wonderland as well. She quickly ducked with a shriek as her brother’s boyfriend shot a snowball of his own back at her. It sailed into her room through the open window, hitting Mouse, who was snoozing on Lizzie’s bed, square in the face.

The huge grey cat startled awake and shook herself, glaring at Lizzie accusingly. She hurried to shut her window and offered the grumpy pet a treat as compensation.

“Sorry, darling,” she cooed and scratched the cat’s chin. “Merry Christmas to you.”

Mouse blinked at her slowly before turning a few times and snuggling back into the warm blanket.

Lizzie returned to her room from the extensive breakfast with her family, arms laden with gifts of all kind, and carefully placed them on the bed around her cat. Mouse lazily raised her head, eyeing up a ribbon still attached to one of the boxes. Lizzie let her chew on it and sat down on her carpet, pulling the huge bag with gifts she had exchanged with her friends on the train towards her.

Ever since Tonks had gifted all of her friends little dancing Christmas trees shouting festive obscenities a few years back, Lizzie resorted to opening her presents in private.

Half an hour and a mountain of wrapping paper later, Lizzie was admiring the wonderful gifts her friends had picked out for her. Like every year, Skye had equipped her with a full set of the newest Wigtown Wanderers merchandise, including a jersey, scarf and sweater. She just wasn’t giving up on converting her to what she deemed the only acceptable choice of Quidditch team.

Penny had given her a beautiful new quill and a notebook bound in an intricately patterned leather to write down her thoughts. Godric knew, that was something that would come in handy.

Tonks’s present – a black-and-yellow mug – had looked perfectly inconspicuous at first, but luckily the little prankster had forgotten to remove the ‘Zonko’s Joke Shop’ label stuck to the bottom of it. Apparently, it was meant to spit its boiling contents into its owner’s face at random intervals. Lizzie placed it gingerly back into its box, shoving it under the bed with her foot.

Rowan’s present was arguably the most thoughtful of them all. She had chosen a beautiful picture of Lizzie and herself goofing around. It had been taken at the end of last year down at the Black Lake. She had put it into a simple silver frame; turning it around, Lizzie could read the small dedication written in Rowan’s neat hand on the back of it.

“For my best friend.”

Lizzie swallowed the lump building inside her throat and placed the picture carefully on her desk, next to the one of her Quidditch team. She hesitated, eyes lingering on Orion’s beaming face as he had one arm around Skye’s shoulder and the other around hers. She resolutely placed her hand on the frame and upended it, front facing down as if she could shut out her thoughts that way.

‘No’, she chided herself inwardly, ‘not now, not ever.’

She joined Mouse on the bed, who was enjoying herself immensely inside the pile of crinkling paper, sipping her tea and watching the small dragon miniature Charlie had gotten for her flap around the room; from what she remembered of his lectures, it seemed to be a Hebridean Black.

A gentle tapping on her window distracted her from the tiny model circling her lamp. A grey owl sat perched on the windowsill and ruffled its feathers to free them from the snow. Lizzie got up and let the grumpy looking bird hop in. It carried a small package, neatly clad in minimalist brown wrapping paper. A note and a twig of small white flowers were secured to it. Lizzie stared at it for a moment in confusion before she remembered. It had to be from her Secret Santa.

She procured a handful of food for the bird that was staring warily at her cat. Gulping it down, it hopped back to her open window and took to the air on its way back home.

Lizzie turned the present around in her hands and removed the branch. She recognised the distinct fragrance of the flowers immediately; it was jasmine, one of her favourite flowers. It usually bloomed in summer; the bush this was cut off from must have been standing in a greenhouse somewhere. She thought she had seen one back at the castle.

Her curiosity sparked, she removed the wrapping paper, revealing a small box clad in green velvet. Lizzies eyes widened in surprise as she opened it, revealing a beautiful pendant lying on its dark cushion. It was a sheer yellow stone, set in a golden, unregular circle. Her mouth went dry as she carefully removed the necklace from the box, running the delicate gold chain through her fingers.

That was certainly not what was supposed to be a Secret Santa gift.

Perhaps the note that had come with it would give her a clue as to who had decided to be so generous to her. She opened the envelope and took out the card; there was only a few words written on it:

“Unfogging The Future: Page 394. Merry Christmas and Happy belated Birthday, Chaser.”

Lizzie furrowed her brow and turned her head searching the room for her trunk. Thankfully she had taken her copy of the textbook with her instead of leaving it at the castle. She quickly flicked through the pages until she found the one required. Her confusion turned first into wonder and then into the softest smile.

“The Yellow Topaz is a birthstone for those who took birth in the month of November. It was believed by the Egyptians that it contained the rays of the sun. It is meant to provide its bearer with inner peace, bringing calmness to the mind and soul. Eradicating evil, it helps those destined to bear it to overcome regrets of the past and increase the power of focus and concentration.”

She closed the book again and picked up the necklace. She held it against the light, marvelling at the unusual colour before stepping in front of the mirror and putting it on; the pendant rested just below her throat.

Lizzie didn’t have to think twice whom she had to thank for this. Her hand went to her throat, touching the smooth surface of the stone. She was unable to contain the smile on her face. Her cheeks were already hurting and she covered her mouth with her hand.

She thought about what the book had said. This stone was supposed to help her let go of things she regretted. Apparently, this was Orion’s way of cleaning the slate and letting go of the unspoken things that had hung between them.

Lizzie wasn’t sure if she was happy or troubled about this, but she felt giddy, suddenly buzzing with energy and the urgent desire to let it out. She grabbed her clothes and almost skipped out the door with a bounce in her step.

Time to show Duncan how to properly throw a snowball.

New Year’s Eve had come and gone as the Christmas break slowly drew to an end. It was almost time to board the train that would take them back to Hogwarts once again. Shutting out all and everything for a few precious days filled only with the love and warmth of her family had been like a dream, but now Lizzie felt reality silently creeping up on her again, firmly knocking on the door to remind her it was still there.

The sensation hit her every time she walked past a mirror and saw the yellow stone resting against her neck. She had rarely taken the necklace off since Christmas Day; although she didn’t really believe in the concept of birthstones, the feeling of the cool stone against her skin had something weirdly reassuring about it. She had quickly developed a habit of toying with the pendant, moving it back and forth on its chain.

It was the last day at home before they were set for their journey back when Lizzie and Penny finally managed to meet up for a trip into town. Both girls being half-bloods, they knew their ways around the Muggle world. They spent their day roaming around the shops and enjoying their last free moments before classes, homework and the general daily madness that was Hogwarts were to rope them in again.

They were still laughing when they entered a small café off to the side of a busy street, stowing their bags away under the table in front of the French doors leading to a small patio at the back of the room.

The small seating area was full but not crowded; as soon as the door closed behind them, the bustling of the town was shut out, the atmosphere peaceful above the quiet conversations of the other guests.

They were chatting about how they had spent the holidays, sipping on their tea and nibbling some biscuits.

“Seems like you and your sister were spoilt rotten by your parents,” Lizzie laughed. “I don’t think I’ve ever heard of somehow being showered with presents like that.”

Penny chuckled. “Look who’s talking. That new necklace you’re wearing is stunning; was it a gift from your parents?”

Her necklace must have slipped out from under her shirt somehow. Blushing lightly, Lizzie started fiddling with the pendant once again; she had done this so often over the past few days, she didn’t even notice.

“Not exactly,” she mumbled sheepishly.

Penny furrowed her brow. “Then who is it from? Charlie?”

Irritated, Lizzie shook her head. Charlie would never give something like jewellery to her.

“We always play Secret Santa with the team before the Christmas break, and whoever got my name,” she explained, “sent me this.”

She held the stone into the light for Penny to better see it, its translucent yellow colouring darkened to amber by the little light washing in from the snowed in windows.

Penny’s eyes widened. “But that is not a gift to give someone over a game. Do you have any idea who it might be from?”

Lizzie tucked the necklace underneath the collar of her shirt, gripping her tea cup with both hands. The warmth stinging her fingers distracted her from the fuzzy feeling creeping up from her stomach.

“I’m pretty sure it’s from Orion,” she sighed. “He is really interested in Divination and Astrology; we had a conversation about birthstones a few weeks ago.”

She was careful to emit what had been written in the note that had come with the package.

Penny inhaled sharply. “Really? That’s so thoughtful! Fits him, I suppose.”

Lizzie concentrated on sipping her tea, only humming vaguely in response.

Sensing her friend being preoccupied with something, Penny tried to catch Lizzie’s gaze that was fixed on the grained wood of the table. “What’s wrong? Don’t you like it?”

Lizzie looked up hastily, subconsciously putting her hand to where her the topaz rested under her shirt. “Of course I do.”

“What’s the matter then?”

Lizzie sighed deeply and shook her head. “I don’t know; can we talk about something else?”

But Penny’s curiosity was stirred. “Is it because of what happened at the Weird Sisters concert?” she asked gently.

Lizzie’s head shot up. “Is there anyone who hasn’t seen us?” she cried in dismay, drawing glances from the other tables. She quickly lowered her voice. “How come you never talked to me about it?”

Penny only shrugged. “You know how it is; I see everything, I know everything.” Her eyes sparkled and she lowered her voice as well. “So, out with the facts: is there something between you and him?”

Lizzie raised her eyebrows and made a point of slowly taking another sip of her tea, looking at her prying friend over the rim of her cup. “I thought you knew everything,” she remarked wryly in the hope of buying herself some time.

Penny didn’t let herself be distracted though. She was burning to get confirmation on what had crossed her mind more than a few times by now. “Is this why you were acting so anxiously lately?” she asked eagerly. “Something happened?”

“No,” Lizzie mumbled, now avoiding her inquiring eyes.

“But?” Penny prodded further. She could sense there was something her friend wasn’t telling her.

“No ‘but’,” Lizzie hissed angrily. Why couldn’t Penny just leave it at that? She had absolutely no desire to deal with her emotional mess sooner than she had to. “Nothing happened, nothing’s going on, nothing more to talk about.”

Penny was taken aback by Lizzie’s sudden change of mood. She knew her friend to always have an open ear for gossip and had more than once displayed her own relationship problems in front of her.

“Alright, I got the message; no need to snap at me,” she soothed her, still bewildered. “But you would be really cute together,” she couldn’t help but add cheerfully.

“Great how everyone seems to have an opinion on this,” Lizzie rolled her eyes. “Charlie said so as well.”

That took Penny by surprise. “He did? I thought he’d be jealous.”

Lizzie sighed again, but now she sounded more resigned than angry. “Why would he be? I don’t know what else I can do to convince people we are nothing more than friends. Why does no one understand?”

Penny could see how deeply Lizzie felt about this topic. “Maybe because it just doesn’t work very often, you know,” she answered softly. “There is almost always one wanting more than friendship.”

“Not with us,” Lizzie insisted.

“Are you sure? I mean, you actually kissed.”

“That didn’t mean anything.” Lizzie’s anger flared up again. Would they never give it a rest? She wished she hadn’t told them when they had been playing that stupid game in the first place.

Penny chose not to dwell on the subject to not ruin the mood any further.

But now it was Lizzie’s turn to rant on about it. “No one gets why we’re friends; I’m honestly sick of it. If Charlie was a girl, no one would bat an eye about our friendship. But a boy and a girl being friends is something nobody can even imagine working out. They just can’t see the bigger picture of it all.” She was talking herself into a rage and knew it, but she didn’t care.

“Take Skye, for example. I know she hates every moment I spent with Charlie with a passion, but not because he’s on another team; she’s perfectly fine with me and KC being friends. No, she is just dead set on getting the House Cup and afraid someone might distract me, so it would diminish our chances at winning,” Lizzie huffed.

Penny had gone silent at the mention of Skye. Lizzie remembered how Skye had told her she and Penny were still having issues.

“But that’s her, isn’t it?” Penny spoke softly. “It’s what makes Skye; she fastens onto something and doesn’t let go, for better or for worse.” She sounded incredibly sad.

Lizzie recalled what Skye had asked her to do after their last practise. As aggravating as she might be sometimes, she was still one of Lizzie’s closest friends and she wanted her and Penny to finally get over what had happened.

“It’s still strained between you, isn’t it?” she asked sympathetically.

“Yes,” Penny sighed. “It’s not the first time I’ve been in a situation like this, but never with such a close friend. Talking to her is so awkward; I don’t know how to act around her anymore.”

“Just act like you did before. All Skye wants is for things to go back to how they were, so she can concentrate on what matters to her. She gets a lot of pressure from home, you know?”

Penny looked up in surprise. “You think so?”

“I know it,” Lizzie corrected her. Ethan Parkin wasn’t the most pleasant person, but Lizzie knew how much Penny adored the star of the Wigtown Wanderers, so she kept her thoughts on him to herself.

“Skye thinks she has a legacy to uphold, which is why winning the House Cup means so much to her,” she elaborated instead. “And everything distracting her makes it harder for her to focus on her goal. Skye just wants things to go back to normal so she can be her old, over-ambitious self again.”

“And you think acting like nothing happened might work?” Penny still sounded very doubtful.

Lizzie shrugged her concerns off. “What do you have to lose? Many problems tend to solve themselves given some time.”

“So, your advice is, act like nothing happened and be friends with her again?” Penny asked again pointedly.

“Basically, yes.”

“Sounds like an advice you should listen to yourself then,” Penny muttered. “You running from Orion can’t be particularly good for the Hufflepuff team, can it?”

Lizzie groaned at her bringing Orion up again. “This is something very different.”

“Is it though?”

“Yes, it is!” Lizzie insisted stubbornly. “There is nothing wrong with him and me.”

Penny shook her head. “We’ve known each other for too long now, Liz; this doesn’t work with me.”

“But it’s true though; Orion and I aren’t a thing right now and we will certainly never be in the future.” Lizzie clarified with a finality she hoped would discourage Penny to prod into it any further.

But the other girl was an expert at picking up the underlying emotions in her voice. She had made out the hint of frustration that had stolen into Lizzie’s determined statement. It sounded more like she was trying to convince herself than Penny.

“Why?” she simply asked back.

Lizzie blinked in confusion. “What do you mean, why?”

“Why won’t you ever be a thing? Seems a bit harsh to completely rule things out forever.”

Lizzie’s eyes flickered to the side. She had subconsciously pulled her necklace out from her collar again, her nimble fingers toying with the yellow stone absentmindedly.

“No, it’s not,” she muttered. “We just can’t.”

Penny didn’t respond to her. If she knew one thing, it was people that needed to get something off their chests were best left to talk on their own accord.

And really, after a moment Lizzie let go off her necklace and picked up her teaspoon instead, nervously running her thumb over the shining silver over and over again.

“I really shouldn’t tell you,” she tried one last time.

Penny remained silent, giving the other girl time to figure out her next words.

“Alright,” Lizzie finally caved. “You know the tutoring sessions Rowan and I have with Orion?

Penny raised her eyebrows. “Yes, I never understood why you of all people are needing them in the first place.”

“That’s the point,” Lizzie replied. “Neither of us does. It was all Rowan’s idea.”

Now Penny was visibly confused. “Why would Rowan fake bad grades?”

Lizzie looked at her intently before she continued. “You must promise to keep this to yourself, alright? Not even Rowan must know I told you this.”

Penny nodded in agreement.

“See, Rowan has had a crush on Orion for ages now. I know,” Lizzie added at Penny’s apparent surprise, “I had no idea as well. I offered help in setting them up and we needed a framework to do it.”

“So you’ve been taking lessons with Orion to get him interested in Rowan?”

Lizzie nodded. Coming out of Penny’s mouth it all suddenly sounded utterly ridiculous.

“This is why Orion and I could never be more than friends, you know? I could never betray Rowan like that. She is my best friend after all.” Lizzie raked her hand through her hair erratically, leaving her ponytail looking worse for wear.

“It all such a mess. I’m just glad she seems to be the one person who didn’t saw us dancing.”

“Yes, I believe she was at the bathroom when it happened,” Penny hummed in confirmation. “My goodness, I had no idea.” She seemed perturbed at the idea her friends had been able to hide such a major piece of information from her.

“What do you want to do now?”

Lizzie shrugged. “I don’t know. Follow my own advice maybe? Try to act as if nothing happened and hope things go back to normal. Or do you think I should come clean with him about what has been going on?”

Penny contemplated it for a moment. “I’m not sure this would be a good idea. You would have to rat Rowan out and Orion would probably be mad at both of you. That would actually help no one.”

“What then?”

“Have you thought about talking to Rowan about all of this?”

She saw Lizzie wince at the thought of confronting her friend. “Think about it, you could come up with something different together. And I would also advise on cancelling the tutoring,” she added.

Lizzie looked uncomfortable at the thought. “But what if I don’t want to?” she asked sheepishly. “Orion is a really good teacher. My grades shot through the roof since I started studying with him.” Lizzie chuckled wryly. “Who knows, I might come to actually enjoy Herbology in the end.”

Penny remained firm though. “I still think it would be for the best. At least until you have sorted yourself out.”

Lizzie didn’t reply; she seemed to be deeply lost in thought at her words.

“Believe me,” Penny told her gently, “it is never worth to risk a friendship over something like that.”

#hphm #hogwarts mystery #orion amari #orion amari x mc #quidditch #penny haywood #lizzie jameson #art of balance #aob #quidditch squad #the quidditch squad

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sinsbymanka · 4 years

Text

This is a submission for the @cozy-autumn-prompts event, brainchild of the lovely @scharoux. Thank you for the amazing prompts! @tightassets and I submit the following art (belonging to her talented hands) and fic (my doing) for prompt #4: By The Fire.

Title: It’ll be a Hell of a Story Rating: M Pairing: Female Cadash/Varric Tethras, Maria Cadash/Varric Tethras Tags: Flirting, UST, Fantasizing, Pre-Relationship, Non-Inquisitor Cadash

Read on AO3

It should have been a simple problem.

Simpler than the breach swirling threateningly above them, at any rate.

They’d managed to survive the whole world going to shit, but that massive hole in the sky was still gonna be a problem they needed to solve. Sooner rather than later. And to do that, they needed people. Soldiers. Mages. Weapons.

Lyrium.

And whenever someone said ‘lyrium’, they always looked at the dwarf. Like the humans and their skirts and their wars hadn’t upset the whole damn lyrium trade. Varric debated throwing his hands up and washing them of the whole thing.

Demons. Holes in the sky. Templars. Mages. None of it was really his cup of ale.

But there had been red lyrium in the temple. And that… well, that was his problem. He’d put it out in the world. He was responsible for the spark that ignited the fire, and now he had to deal with the inferno. Besides. He could find a lyrium dealer with one hand tied behind his back, right?

He could kick himself for his optimism.

Ruffles couldn’t get the Merchant’s Guild or Orzammar to play ball, not a surprise. Too much risk to sell to this ragtag bunch on top of a mountain, not enough reward. Even Varric wouldn’t be able to pull enough strings to make it work, which meant he needed the Carta.

Of course, the one time in his life he wanted them to appear, they were nowhere to be found. Frankly, that was suspicious. There’d been Carta crawling all over Haven when he arrived, it didn’t take much to see their signs. Dwarven marks carved into cabins to mark drop points. Snow clearly brushed back to cover paths. Several short, shady dwarves in the tavern that kept to themselves while they played cards.

If he’d have known he’d need them later, he would have said hello. He’d been too worried about spinning tales to make the chantry dance to his tune and trying to ingratiate himself to both sides of this damn mess so he could get back to Kirkwall with his fine dwarven chest hair intact.

Maybe they’d all died in the aftermath of the temple exploding. He’d seen a couple Dwarven corpses, but not enough to make up a whole crew, and there’d been multiple operating in Haven. Did that mean the rest fled?

Varric scratched his stubble while he picked his way down the icy, gravel path. His eyes still roamed, trying to find any signs of seedy deals lingering in the shadows, but all he saw were scared refugees and soldiers not even old enough to grow a beard. The wind cut through them all and they scurried past without even looking down at the dwarf.

Well. Back to his fire to regroup and think of another plan before he froze into a nice chunk of rather handsome ice.

Honestly, it was hard to believe that somebody didn’t look at the chaos and see profit to be made. They didn’t make Carta as tough as they used to, apparently. Where were all the tough, savvy business people? The clever rogues able to stay one step ahead of all the competition? What about someone who could look at this mess and decide to chip in, if only because that hole in the world threatened everything?

Varric scoffed to himself and shoved his hands in his coat. Carta dwarf with a heart of gold? He’d grow a beard first.

He sighed and turned the corner, letting his eyes drift covetously to the fire not twenty paces away.

And almost stumbled to a complete stop. There was a woman sitting on his bench, next to his abandoned supplies, munching on a flaky pastry while flipping through his book.

A dwarven woman. One that looked like the right kind of shady he’d been trying to locate all damn day.

But the cunning tip of her head as she read, the blade on her thigh, the sheer audacity of her, was nothing notable. Not compared to the curves accentuated by her snug breeches and the tempting swell of her breasts tantalizingly framed by a shirt not quite as scandalous as his, but close. Her red hair was braided away from her face, but wisps of it danced in the wind, tickled her freckled nose.

She lifted her eyes from the page and locked eyes with him. Hers crackled with intelligence, energy, and absolutely wicked satisfaction.

At a glance he knew three things. First. She was Carta. Second. She’d been watching him look for her.

Lastly, and most importantly, she was the best kind of trouble. And that made her more dangerous than she even knew.

She didn’t break eye contact, didn’t even bother to drop his pilfered book. Instead, she raised her snack to her lips and took a slow bite, watching him watch her like she was a queen upon her throne and him some lowly petitioner.

And honestly, that was the right of it. Which shouldn’t make him think of getting on his knees and throwing those shapely thighs over his shoulders, but dammit he hadn’t expected to find the most gorgeous woman in the world in the middle of the Ferelden muck.

She lifted his book, tipped her head to the side, and smirked. “It’s not bad, but you’re sodding verbose, Tethras. You should probably get a better editor.”

Every thought in his mind screeched to a halt, replaced by one word.

Minx.

“Sorry my personal belongings aren’t up to snuff, Princess. I’ll leave better material out for you to peruse next time.” Thank Andraste his mouth was still working, because he’d lost control of his feet completely, dragged towards her like a victim of an unseen mage.

She snapped the book shut and tossed it easily onto the ground, ignoring his nickname to pat the bench beside her. It was a clear invitation, and he almost forgot how absurd it was to be invited to sit on his bench. Almost.

“I’ve been looking for the Carta all damn day.” He narrowed his eyes, making a show of grumbling displeasure to hide his ridiculous glee.

Her only answer was a sly smirk and to recline back on one palm. “I know. I was watching.”

“See something you like?” He gestured at himself, watching her stormy eyes drop from his face down his stocky body, lingering pointedly on his displayed chest. Then she swept a burning path back to his face.

“It’s not a terrible view.” She admitted.

He smiled at her. The most charming, brilliant smile he could summon. The same one that had many a fine dwarven barmaid tumbling over themselves to get him another glass of ale. His redheaded temptress only gave him a predatorial smirk in return.

“Should I assume you’re here for business?” He asked.

Or pleasure.

He didn’t dare say it. Not to her. There was something… something about her that made him pause, consider her carefully. Something that screamed if he gave her that power over him, he’d regret it the rest of his life.

It was the eyes. Must have been. He’d never seen a more endless set of eyes in his damn life.

“I’m curious.” She declared, tapping her free hand on the bench while she studied him. “I was on my way out, you know. Too much crazy religion for my taste.”

“The Chantry freaks you out more than the demons?”

“I can shoot the demons. It’s frowned upon to start murdering old women squawking at me, but they are annoying.”

She wrinkled her nose in evident distaste and something flipped in his stomach. The wind picked up again and took more of the hair from her braid, whipped it across her cheeks.

He had the sudden, maddening urge to trace his gloved fingers over her jaw and tuck it back behind the shell of her ear before cupping her cheek and drawing her sweetly towards him in a passionate kiss that-

She was either far too clever for her own good or used to inspiring a chaotic inferno of lust wherever she went, because she clearly saw the direction his thoughts veered off into. And all the woman did was bit her lower lip between her teeth to stifle a laugh he was sure would be throaty and sinful.

Yeah. He definitely didn’t need to sit down next to her on the bench. He needed three feet of space between her and him at all times to stop himself from doing something stupid.

His legs didn’t get the memo.

He plopped his ass right next to her, their thighs touching teasingly, but she didn’t bother moving. Instead, she simply eyed him with a distinct blend of wariness and interest. He sensed it would take more than his roguish charm to break down that caution, but he didn’t need to do all of it now.

He was used to playing the long game, after all.

“What’s your name, Princess?”

“Cadash.” Varric’s heart leapt in triumph. That was a good name for lyrium. A very good name. It was about time he had some good luck.

Then she added the kicker. “Maria Cadash.”

Oh. Oh they had hit the fucking vein with this one. They didn’t just have Cadash clan operating in Haven, they had one of the fucking heirs to the whole pot. A winning hand, if he played it right.

“Nanna sent me a letter telling me to get the hell out of dodge before the humans blew up the sky. Again.�� She smirked, shaking her head. “But I’d just gotten comfortable.”

“We can keep you quite comfortable, Princess.” Varric insisted. Maker, he had hit the nail on that head with her nickname. He had bonafide Carta royalty on his hands and he’d do well not to lose her.

She leaned forward, her shirt dipping open with the motion, drawing his eyes for just a second and making him think of other things he could have in his hands. Because he was weak. A weak, weak man.

Maria held his gaze, brought the sweet back up to her mouth, and bit into the flaky dough. His eyes flew to the sugar dusting her pretty lips. He had half a mind to lean in and kiss it off.

“You know, those are bad for you. Not a single apple actually in them, Princess.” Varric rasped.

Maria slowly licked the sugar off her bottom lip. “I only like things that are bad for me, honestly.”

Varric leapt on her admission of weakness. “Well in that case, why not supply the Inquisition? You couldn’t make a more dangerous decision if your life depended on it. Think of the rush of danger. The cloak and dagger thrill. The late night missions and secret assignations…”

He sweetened his voice to the same low, cajoling tone he’d used on templar, guards, coterie, and all the worst of Kirkwall. She watched his mouth move with rapt attention, her snack forgotten.

Varric didn’t know how his arm slipped behind her back, but suddenly his palm was on the curve of her spine in a gesture that seemed carelessly intimate. Maria didn’t pull away. Their knees touched, her chin tipped up, and for a wild moment Varric waited for her to lean in and capture his mouth.

Instead, her smile curled up like the fire they sat beside. She tore her eyes from his to look at it with a shake of her head.

“It’ll cost you.” She warned. “This is risky. Risky isn’t cheap.”

Some things were worth paying any price for, weren’t they?

“We’ll find the coin.” He promised. “And you get to stay at the center of the action, just like you want.”

Her eyebrow climbed up her forehead. “You think I want to be underneath a spiraling hole in the bleedin’ world freezing my tits off?”

“Of course you do.” He stated, picking up an abandoned mug and holding it out to her in a silent toast. “It’s gonna be a hell of a story, Princess. Wouldn’t want to miss it.”

Just the slightest bit of her wariness fell away, revealing a wicked glint of humor and a spark of madness he’d seen too often in a dozen other brilliant women when they had made up their mind to have an adventure with or without him.

“No.” She declared with relish. “I suppose I wouldn’t want to miss it for the world.”

#co-zautumn #dragon age #dragonage #cadash x varric #maria cadash #varric tethras #varric romance #pre-relationship #meet cute #UST #flirting #tightassets art #manka writes

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dalamjisung · 4 years

Text

picture it ❊ kim taehyung

word count: 4905

genre: fluff

pairing: reader x kim taehyung

description: he could practically picture your future together... and you could write it.

You write about him everyday.

Not in a creepy way, though, but in a very separated, utopian way. Idealized, if you must. The problem isn’t you, and you are sure it also isn’t him, but the conditions– the situation. Every morning, before class, and surely before work, you head to the same small coffee shop, where your best friend works and where you have an honorary table, right in the left corner, next to the big window; this way you can both do your work and get distracted as people run by you without even noticing.

You think it is about four months after your friend started that he began showing up, first as a client, then as a barista. His ascend to fame followed quickly after; the cute guy that made the disastrous latter art. You think that’s what started this thing of yours– the writing; the moment he gave you your latte, boxy smile in place, and something that resembled a dying cat on top of your coffee. You chuckle, captivated by the pride shinning in his eyes. You write about that moment, later.

“First coffee that I didn’t spill,” He says, looking a bit embarrassed still.

“Congratulations,” You tell him, and it’s sincere. He should be proud of his work, even though you are now rethinking if it ever was a dying cat or if it’s just a very deformed smiley face.

You sit on your usual table and pull out your books, ready to start studying for the upcoming biology test. But then you hear it– a symphony of crashing ceramic and startled screams coming from the back. His laugh covers the noise as best as it can, but what’s done is done, and the very next day the boy is demoted back to his position as a mere customer.

He stands in front of you, ordering his coffee, while struggling to hold all of his materials– paint, camera, computer. The heavy objects weight him down enough that he can’t really move a finger to reach for his waller, or else everything would come crashing down, much like the day before.

“Just… just a s-second,” He says grunting with tired arms. “I can’t–“

“I’ll pay for him,” You smile at your friend, giving her your card. “And my usual, please.”

“Gotcha,” She winks and quickly moves, getting better and better at her job by the day.

“Thank you,” He sighs, now using a knee to help with the wright of his things, but struggling with balance. “I just… argh!”

His camera slips and you catch it just as it is about to shatter on the floor.

“Why don’t you go and put your things down on a table?” You say, laughing a bit. “I’ll take your coffee to you.”

“Uh… about that,” He smiles again, that same boxy smile as before. “There are no tables available.”

You look around, only now noticing how full the place is. “My table is right there,” You point to your backpack. “We can share, if that’s okay with you.”

“Thanks, Y/N!” He exclaims, and you are surprised that he knows your name. “Thanks a lot!”

When you take the beverages to the table, you’ve had enough time to build up courage. “So… how’d you know my name?”

“Your friend,” He points to the counter, without raising his eyes from his computer. “Talks about you all the time. Pointed you out to me once and told me exactly how you like your coffee.”

“Ah, I see,” You nod. “And what is your name, then?”

“Ah! Sorry,” He scratches his head. “My name is Kim Taehyung. I’m in the Visual Arts department.”

“That’s why I’ve never seen you around before,” You say. “I’m in the Biology department.”

“Biology?” He frowns. “I thought you were in the Literature department… you are always writing something on your computer, or reading a new book.”

You raise your brows.

“And how would you know that?”

“I notice you,” He says with not even an ounce of shame. “You come here everyday. So do I. It’s only natural.”

“Of course,” You chuckle, opening your book. “Only natural.”

——————————

After that small interaction, given that you two didn’t talk for the rest of the day while sharing a table, it is almost like Taehyung is suddenly everywhere. So of course, it is only nature, following his train of thought, that you’d start noticing him, too.

In the bowling alley, giving people their shoes, and then a month later with his friends renting a lane.

Then the bistro nearby campus, busting tables, and then a couple of weeks later on a date with a girl.

The bookstore close to your dorm is the place place you see him working, and you think it lasts a few months, since the opportunities for weird and extreme incidents are minimum. You first find out when you have to get a new textbook for your anatomy class, and as always, the professor put some on reserve, at the bookstore.

“You again.”

You look at him, behind the counter with his black rimmed glasses and boxy smile. His hair is longer now, even darker, and the ends that meet his cheeks and neck curve upwards. You don’t even try to deny his attractiveness, but there is something about Kim Taehyung that intrigues you more than draws you to him– maybe the clumsiness, or the boxy smile, or even the alienated personality; you are not sure, but you are willing to find out.

“Me again,” You smile wide. “You work here now?”

“Yeah,” He chuckles. “After getting fired from the coffee shop, the bowling alley, and the bistro, this was pretty much the only place that would take me in. All I have to do is stand behind the counter and put the money in the register… easy enough.”

“Well, can you also help me find a book I need for class?”

“Sure,” He nods. “Biology, right?”

“Ah, you remember,” You tease.

“Hard to forget when you are everywhere,” He rolls his eyes. “Human Anatomy?”

“Yes,” You look at his computer screen, making sure it is the right one. “That one.”

“Be right back.”

Taehyung disappears in the back and you hear a few thumps here and there, and maybe even a pained moan, but you let it slide. It is better to have books falling on him than sharp shreds of glass, you think, but why do you care?

“Here you go, Y/N,” He sighs, hair messy and, surprisingly, no smile. “That’ll be $67– $67?! Holy shit! That’s so expensive! Wah… no fucking way!”

And there he is… Kim Taehyung in the flesh.

“Unfortunately textbooks are always around that price,” You groan, pulling your debit card out of your wallet. “Here you go. Take my money.”

“Now I feel bad about this…” He pouts, but charges you nonetheless. “They told me to always thanks the costumer after a sale, but wow, I don’t think I can thank you for this… I feel like I just personally bankrupted you.”

“Nah, don’t worry,” You wink, grabbing your stuff. “This textbook just means that I’ll have to cut down on the coffee for a week or so. I’ll be okay.”

Just as you are turning around to leave, he calls you back.

“Or!” He shouts, and instantly blushes as your wide eyes meet his. “Or… or, you know, I could… I c-could buy you coffee. If that’s okay with you. And you want it. Coffee, I mean.”

“Coffee,” You echo, holding in your laughter. “Sure. I’d love coffee.”

“Awesome!” Boxy smile is back. “Tomorrow, then? Let’s say around 10AM?”

“Perfect,” You wave. “See you then, Taehyung.”

“Call me Tae!”

With that, you go home happy and giggly. You were getting coffee tomorrow, and you’re writing today.

——————————

“This is not charity, Miss,” He teases, before giving the drink over to you. Looming the cup in front of you, close enough that you could smell it, he continues. “I want a favor, actually.”

“And here I thought this was out of your pure and innocent heart,” You sigh, joking along with him. “Do tell, Mister, what could a humble peasant like me offer you?”

Trying to hide his smile, Taehyung sips his drink, eyes locked on yours, and you have to cross your legs, a but uncomfortable with how quickly your body reacted under his hungry eyes.

“In case you haven’t figured out yet,” Tae says and leans forward, holding his face with his elbows on his knees. “I’m a photographer. And every photographer needs a… muse. I want you to be mine.”

Choking slightly on your drink, you look at him, alarmed. “Muse? You want me as a model?”

“Please, Y/N,” Every single ounce of his sexy, mysterious façade is gone and he pouts, lips jutting forward in the cutest way possible. Makes you want to kiss them. “I desperately need a model for my portfolio, and I’m running out of time. I don’t have the money to hire a professional model, even though I tried to get it with the jobs and all, but… it’s impossible; I’m useless and got fired from all of them.”

You notice a bit of anger in his voice and tension on his shoulders and you can’t help but wonder what this happy, giddy boy hides behind laughter and playful remarks.

“Okay,” You nod, breathless with impulsivity. “Okay. I’ll do it. I’m sorry if I suck, though, but I’ll do my best to help.”

“Really?!” He smiles to wide that you just have to smile, too. “Oh my god, thank you so much, Y/N! You won’t regret it! Coffee on me, anytime you want it during a photoshoot, okay? Anytime!”

“Sounds perfect,” You say and point at his phone. “Would you mind if I gave you my number? I think that would be the easiest way for us to schedule everything.”

“Oh, y-yeah,” He also grabs your phone. “G-good idea.”

It is settled, then. You would model for Taehyung, and he would repay you with coffee, even though later you tried to make him give up on that idea, uncomfortable to have him paying for your coffee when you can do it yourself.

“No way,” He shakes his head and as fluffy as his hair is, it doesn’t distract you from what’s important at the moment. “I’d feel terrible having you do it for free, so the least I can do it feed your caffeine addiction.”

“Well, when you put it like that,” You deadpan, stopping in front of your dorm. “Anyways, thanks for walking me back… It got pretty dark, are you sure you’ll be fine?”

“Yeah, I live just a couple of blocks from here,” He looks tired; eyes sunken, with dark circle underneath them. He still looks beautiful, though. “I’ll text you when I’m home.”

“Please do,” You wave. “Be safe!”

“Yes, mom!”

Going inside, you rethink your decision; maybe this isn’t right for you. Modeling? You have no experience, or comfort, for that matter, in front of a camera. Usually you are the one in the backstage of everything, hiding behind a computer and a username so that you can post your stories online. What if you suck at it? What if because of you his portfolio ends up incomplete and improper? Modeling is a career and you are just not fit for it… but it’s a deal. You’ll have to pull through, and you only have one shot at it– so you better give it your all.

You ignore your roommate in the kitchen, and run straight to your room, calling the only person you can think of to help you in this desperate situation.

“Mom,” You breath out, glad that she picked up. From the looks of it, she had just gotten home from work, her face still covered in professional makeup. “I need your help.”

“Hi, my love,” She smiles and you just love how different this smile looks from the ones you see in the magazines. “What’s up?”

You explain everything; from how you met Taehyung, to how you started talking, to how you ended up agreeing to be his model. Her happiness is visible, and you are sure she is extremely excited about you trying out her profession.

“Ah, I like this boy, already,” She jokes. “He sees just how beautiful you are; like a model!” “I’m not you mom,” You sigh. “I’m not an international supermodel that is natural and cheerful and good at modeling.”

“But I can teach you a few things so that the camera doesn’t scare you,” She explains. “It scares me, too, baby. It’s not that easy…”

“I know, I know,” Taking a deep breath, you focus. “Teach me what I need to know.”

For hours, you work with your mom on posing, and relaxing, and focusing. She tells you about different photo feelings, and different lightening, and how the right tilt of your head, or look in your eyes is enough to dictate the mood of the picture.

“It’s getting late, Y/N,” Your mom yawns. “You should rest. I’m sure you’ll do great when it’s time.”

“Thanks mom,” You smile, eyes dropping with tiredness. “I love you.”

“Love you, too, baby,” And then she hangs up.

I can do this. I can help him.

——————————

It is around a week later that he calls you, in the morning, on a Saturday.

“Hey!” You groan in response. “Are you ready?”

“For what?”

“Photoshoot!” He practically shouts in your ear. “Now! The sun is perfect and we’ll get an amazing natural light.”

“Tae, why didn’t you text me about this yesterday?!” You cry out, running to your closet in look of anything decent to wear. “I just woke up! I look like a zombie!”

“You look beautiful all the time,” He chuckles. “Now get dressed and come down; and don’t worry about hair and makeup, my friend will help us with that.”

You are not sure what he means with that but follows his instructions nonetheless. In five minutes, you are downstairs in sweatpants and ponytail, ready to face what you are sure will be your biggest challenge so far.

“Y/N!” Taehyung is excited when he spots you; waving frantically and smiling wide. “Right here!”

Next to him there are two guys.

“These are my friends,” He introduces. “Jin-hyung and Jimin-ah!”

You feel a bit intimidated now, staring next to three incredibly handsome men and literally looking like you just rolled out of bed.

“Nice to meet you,” You try out, smiling shyly. “I’m Y/N.”

“Wah,” Jin sighs, looking you up and down. “She really is just like you said, Taehyung-ah… beautiful. I am confident that I chose the right outfits for you.”

You blush.

“Ignore him,” Jimin rolls his eyes. “Hyung is a huge flirt. I’ll be in charge of makeup, by the way. I can run some ideas by you, if you’d like.”

You four talk all the way to the park, where Tae wanted to start the day– after some coffee, of course. You get dressed in the public bathroom nearby and your makeup is quick and natural. As Jin sets everything up and Jimin tries to find some flowers for your hair, you pull Taehyung aside.

“Why me?!” You whisper, panic in your eyes. “Tae, look at your friends! They were born models!”

“Them?” He frowns. “Yeah, they’re pretty. But you’re different.”

“What are you talking about?”

“I’ve observed you for months, Y/N,” He chuckles, cheeks getting redder by the second. “Trust me when I say you are exactly what I need.”

“Tae–“

“Let’s go!” Jimin shouts. “Everything is ready.”

It’s time. You take a deep breath, and close your eyes, thinking about all the tips and lessons your mom gave you for the past week; mood, pose, focus. You can do this. You have to do this.

“Let’s give it a try,” You sigh. “If I do anything wrong, let me know.”

Taehyung just winks at you, and the shoot starts. More than just guiding you, his voice starts to calm you done; the low baritone of his natural tone starting to sooth your insides, and not log after you notice you are actually having fun with them. They ask you to do ridiculous poses and you follow, laughing as you can’t keep your balance, or as Jin makes another dad joke. For a second, you forget that Taehyung is behind a camera, capturing your every move, and you think that he is right next to you; hand in yours, smiling and giggling with you. You break away from your daydream soon enough, trying to memorize it all to heart– you just have to write about this after. Actually, you are pretty sure you have, and all that happiness before seeps away as you recall your words. You can just picture it…

Big hands meet small ones, swallowing them, protecting them. There is more to the boy than his hands, but these are the only thing she can feel, the only thing she can touch– they scream for reality, proving something she’s been looking for for months… sanity. He grounds her, and she allows him to fly. Seems fair.

This was the last thing you wrote about him, and you wonder why; why did you start? Continue? Would it end? Would you one day stop?

What hurts the most is not knowing that one day he’ll simply be a fictional character in your portfolio; what hurts the most is knowing that everything you wrote feels true. As you got to know Taehyung, you’ve learned that your character Taehyung and the real Taehyung are incredibly similar… but you can only have one.

“Let’s take a break!”

Jimin is the first one to disappear, talking to himself about ice cream or something of the sort. Jin is next, when he spots a group of girls by the pond looking and giggling at him. Tae, however, stays; and walks to where you sit, playing with the hem of your long dress.

“What happened?”

“What do you mean?” You mumble, feeling tired and, now, discouraged. “Did I mess up?”

“No,” He chuckles. “You are doing great, and acting borderline professionally, but then you just… got sad.”

You freeze. “I don’t–”

“Do you know why I thought you were perfect for this project?” You shake your head. “You wear your emotions on your face, Y/N. It’s been like that since I first saw you… you looked calm and relaxed and I could practically feel it, too. You are an open book, to me, at least, and I can ready you so, so easily. I wasn’t looking for shallow beauty; I was looking for emotion. Raw. And you are it.”

“Taehyung,” You gasp. “That’s–“

“What happened?” He asks again, this time turning to face you. “Why are you sad?”

“I write about you.”

It comes out like a confession and you suddenly feel guilty.

“I am taking a creative writing class and it was right when you started working at the cafe,” You hide your face in your hands. “And I saw you and you looked so happy, and so unique, and something about you just seemed surreal. So I started using you as a physical model. But then I got to know you, and oh god, Taehyung, stop laughing!”

You are stunned by the choked sound you hear coming from him and when you notice him trying to hold his laughter in, you whine, hitting him in the shoulder.

“I’m sorry,” He raises his hands, openly laughing now, and trying to stop you from hitting him. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, but… I kind of knew.”

“What?” You shriek, distancing yourself away from him almost as if touching him burns your skin. “How?”

“Your friend told me,” He admits sheepishly. “I had to press her for it, though, so please don’t be angry at her…”

“Press her?”

“I noticed that every time you were writing you kept looking at me,” He shrugs, with his stupid smug smile on his face. “So I had a guess. She just confirmed it for me.”

“This is so embarrassing,” You whine, getting up. “I should probably go, if we’re done here, right? Right… are we done here?”

This time, he is the one that whines. “You promised I’d get to buy you coffee! Let’s go get coffee!”

“Taehyung,” You sigh. “I am mortified right now. I think I need–“

“Coffee,” He insists. “You just need coffee. What’s so wrong about writing about me, anyways? I felt pretty good, to be honest.”

“Yeah,” You deadpan. “I’m sure you did.”

——————————

“Thanks for coming with me.”

You look at the boy sitting in front of you and you frown a bit.

“Well, you did promise me coffee,” You joke, but something in his eyes tell you that there is more to what he means. “What’s up with you, now? Don’t act all smug about it, I know there is something bothering you.”

“How?”

“Eyes,” You point at your and the his. “Your look sad. You say I wear my emotions on my face, well, you wear yours on your eyes. ‘Fess up, kiddo. What’s going on?”

“My parents think I suck,” He groans, forehead hitting the table. “At photography, I mean. They are farmers and they don’t really understand why I would study something so risky. I understand their worries, but it sucks. I just needed their support, right now…”

“Why right now?”

“I’m on a scholarship,” He sighs, finally moving to look at you. “And my final portfolio will determine if the school will offer me the scholarship again next year or if it goes to someone else.”

You almost spit your coffee all over his pretty face.

“Taehyung!” You chastise him, frowning. “You should’ve hired a professional model!”

“I told you a tried!” He defends himself, throwing his head back in frustration. “Not that you didn’t do amazing today, by the way. You should totally start charging after this.”

“I don’t think I’ll follow this line of work,” You winced. “Too tiring. My mom is a model and she is always working late.”

“Who’s your mom?” He asks.

“Y/M/N Y/L/N,” You smile, proud. “I called her for tips on how to model. She was really happy I was doing this.”

“Ah, I see,” He chuckles. “You actually look a lot like her.”

“I do?” You are surprised, to say the least.

“Definitely,” He winks. “Beautiful, too.”

You roll your eyes, but that is not enough to hide the blush blooming in your cheeks.

“Focus on you,” You say, looking at his sigh. “Do you think you have a chance?”

“After what I saw today?” He breaths out, smile back. “Totally. There’s only one part missing, anyways. We got most of it today.”

“Which part?”

“Self-portrait,” He gulps. “And I have no fucking clue how I will do this.”

“What do you mean? That should be the easiest part!”

“No, it’s always the hardest for me,” His eyes are intense on yours. “I have too many people talking in my ear… Taehyung-ie this, Taehyung-ie that, such a smart boy, making such stupid choices. Ugh! I have no clue what to do because I think I have no real clue about who I think I am.”

Well, this took a turn. You aren’t expecting him to be so open, so real, but he is and you feel it– the butterflies in your stomach. You know you’re done for when he looks at you and you have to look away. Goddammit Y/N, you think. Why’d you have to start liking him now?

“Everyone that told me their opinions of me are incredibly biased,” He squints at you, almost as if he is deep in thought. “But you know who isn’t?”

You just shrug.

“You.”

“No.”

You know what he’s about to ask you. Or at least you have a hint, and you don’t think you’d ever be able to face him if you did.

“Y/N, please!” He whines. “I’m begging you! You wrote them before you got to know me, so I’m sure that will be the most honest opinion of myself I’ll ever get.”

“It’s called self-reflection, Tae,” You chuckle. “Not Y/N-reflection. You have to figure out for yourself, love.”

“But you can help me,” He whispers, and for a second everything stops; his eyes, so lost and desperate, find yours and nothing but him seems to exist. Here is this man– this beautiful man– asking for your help to find himself. “Please Y/N… help me.”

You let your head fall on the table with a soft thud.

“When you put it like that it makes it hard to say no,” You mumble.

“That’s the point,” He laughs, and when you raise your head he’s already walking to the door. “Let’s go to your dorm.”

——————————

You pace around nervously, bitting your finger nails as Taehyung is sitting on your bed, laptop in his lap. It takes him a long time– or at least you think it does,– but when he’s finished, he has a glint in his eyes, something that looks like… is he crying?

“Tae…” You call softly. “Are you okay?”

“I just,” He sighs, rubbing his eyes and chuckling to himself. “I just never heard things like these being said about me.”

“Tae, I didn’t know you back then,” You try to explain, afraid to have hurt the sensible man. “Right now, I think you are so much more.”

“More?” He asks, and now you know what shines in his eyes. “I can be more?”

Hope.

“You can be so much more, Kim Taehyung,” You move to sit next to him, legs touching and shoulders bumping. “You can be anything you want.”

“Y/N,” He whispers, and his voice sounds strangled, contained, somehow. “Y/N, thank you.”

“For what?” His hand finds yours and you hold your breath as it swallows yours. Your mind wonders to the words on your computer and you force yourself back to reality.

“For giving me space,” His fingers dance on your palm, caressing your skin as if it is the most precious thing he’s ever seen. “For giving me hope. I’ve never felt this free before, and it’s all because of you.”

“Taehyung,” You smile, pulling him by the hand to look at you. “You’ve always been free. You just needed a push to fly.”

Nodding, your heads start to get closer and closer. With his hand in yours, warm and firm, he pulls you to him, lips finding yours with an unexpected hunger; a need beyond imagination. Beyond words. When the kiss deepens, you two are a mess of emotions; your body lays down and his follow suit, covering you and weighting you down, and you loved it. You could feel his presence, now; this is different then writing about him, then picturing him– this is real. This is warm, and desperate, and hungry, and caring. This is love at its rawest form.

This is us.

As his lips descend to your neck, you smile. Fingers in his hair and neck pull him back to you, mouth hot on yours, and you two talk without words; you see without pictures. It’s something that only you two understand, and you wouldn’t want it any other way. Both of you are free.

Falling asleep comes easily after you two settle down, whispering secrets and wishes to each other, arms and legs tangled like vines. He tells you about his family and his grandmother, and how, one day, he wants to be a professional photographer, one that tells stories of feelings and emotions and places and people. In return, he learns about your passion for writing, and how unlike him, you gave into your parents pressure and decided to study biology instead, hoping to one day be a researcher.

“It’s a form of writing,” You shrug, scooting closer to him, loving the sensation of his soft curls tickling your forehead. “And I kind of like it.”

“That’s what matters,” He kisses you again and that is the last thing you remember before falling asleep.

When you wake up, Tae is trying to balance his camera on top of your dresser, pointing at the bed.

“What on earth are you doing?” You laugh at his wide eyes and messy hair. He’s still wearing yesterdays clothes and so are you, remembering the comfort of his arms being too much to even change.

“I had an idea for my self-portrait assignment,” He smiles, boxy, true, loving. “And I want you in it.”

“Me?” You frown, confused.

He walks to you, calm and confident, and kneels down in from of you, body in between your legs, chin on your stomach. He takes a deep breath, kissing all the way up to your mouth, where he spends some time exploring, imploring.

“I’ve never felt more myself then when I’m with you, Y/N,” He pulls away. “This is the best self-portrait I can have– you and me. I can just picture it, us, two, three years from now, looking back at them, remembering the night we truly met each other…”

You just smile.

“Will you do it?” He asks, holding you r face in between his hands. “Will you help me?”

“Always.”

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

And with this fic, I officially open my multi-fandom blog to BTS fics! Wohoo! Taehyung is my favorite boxy smile, omg. I am so happy with this fic, though, and there is nothing like the accomplishment feeling that comes after finishing a story. As always, please let me know what you guys think :) Comments, likes, and reblogs fuel creators to keep going... I have also linked a Ko-Fi button on my page! Don’t feel obligated, but all donations are appreciated <3 Love you all!

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theindiegamereview · 3 years

Text

Meet the creative team: “Spellstone”

Are you a collectible card game (CCG) fan? If so, read on, because this week we spoke to the makers of Spellstone, a free-to-play (F2P) casual story-based fantasy card game that features vibrant, colourful, hand-drawn art on hundreds of beautiful cards that you can acquire and use in battle, both against the computer and other players!

TIGR: PABLO and DUSTIN are artists who have worked on Spellstone's art, helping create some of the iconic characters Spellstone fans know and love. We asked them how they came to work on the game, as well as what intrigued them about this project.

DUSTIN: I was working as a contract artist when I was asked to create some sample cards for a potential CCG, which is something I'd always wanted to do. The samples I submitted eventually led to me getting a contract to create the initial art for Spellstone. After about four months, I was offered a full-time position. I had such a great experience working with the team that I jumped at the opportunity!

PABLO: Prior to starting work on Spellstone, I remember doing an art piece to test my skills. I greatly enjoyed that because I particularly liked this game's art style - which is actually similar to my own! There were still slight differences though, so I've had to adapt a little. Blending my own personal style into an existing one was challenging. But something that intrigued me about Spellstone was the variety of factions in the game. Each and every one opens up a big array of possibilities when it comes to creating a character. I felt my options were unlimited and I loved it!

TIGR: Spellstone features many different cards and characters. We wanted to know who conceptualises all this, and how much creative licence artists get when crafting a character. FERNANDO, currently the main artist for the game, gave us more insight.

FERNANDO: That Spellstone has such an immense variety of characters means it's a complete and delightful dish for artists. It's hugely gratifying to find such visual diversity with which to play with. You're completely free to create, as long as you respect the game's universe and visual language.

As for the process, the concept of what a card must look like and how it must be functional in terms of gameplay comes from the guys in the game design department. Very creative people... sorcerers maybe? I don't know. Haha!

From a brief but concise description they give me, I can get a sense of what kind of character and action they want to see in a card. Once I have all the information I need to start sketching, my favourite hour finally begins: creative hour!

If the card description involves an existing type of character, like a goblin, part of the fun has to do with the way you depict that character, situation, action and specific emotion. There's also some freedom to create from scratch if needed - that's exciting and challenging! Sometimes the ideas come from a mix of characters, and that's when the laboratory inside my mind starts working: I press a button and something cool, spooky or funny comes out - whatever the game requires. Other times, new concepts require that I look for approximate references of what's needed, so that serves as the starting point. No matter what, it's always a very enjoyable process. Sometimes we have to make corrections, that's true. But as with everything in life, this is necessary for things to work properly. You may have to redraw stuff, but finally the card is done - it works, it delivers and it entertains!

TIGR: In Spellstone, cards can be upgraded from a single to a dual to a quad, and we really like that this sometimes tells a "mini story" of of sorts through the artwork. Some are funny (we just love Honeycomb Lobber!), some cute (Bomb Spirit is soooo adorable when he’s angry!), some uplifting (Aurora Shaver ranks among our favourites), and some, um, a bit disturbing, to be honest (Cleaverstorm Hunter, anyone?!)! And some are just sad - we can't help but feel sorry for the poor li'l forest furries that presumably got devoured by Alphamech Stalker! We asked the team how they came up with ideas for all these tiny narratives, and MELINDA, one of the game designers, told us more.

MELINDA: When I was younger, there were a few creatures in video games that terrified me. One of those I remembered most was Medusa, an air jellyfish from Ecco: The Tides of Time. While traversing through a water pathway in the sky, Medusa would try to pick up Ecco the dolphin and fling him off the path. Tetraspout's concept came from that, and you can even see poor little dolphins getting swept up in its attack!

TIGR: We asked the team if there were any cards they particularly liked creating, or found challenging to conceptualise. IVÁN, a colorist who worked briefly on the game, chipped in, as did TONY and RHADA, two of Spellstone's game designers.

DUSTIN: I loved working on the goblin cards! You could get silly with them. Frogs were a lot of fun too - the variety of colours made them interesting. For me, the water cards were challenging but I grew to love working on them.

PABLO: My favourite characters are Goblins! You can play around with them, making them look funny even when the card is telling a dark story, like a massacre. All of the cards were challenging to create!

IVÁN: I enjoyed working on Hedron The Critical Threat, Zyd The Unhinged, and some awesome Insect cards that have yet to be released (as of the time of this interview). I mostly liked them because of their cool concepts and Fernando's awesome sketches. Hedron in particular was a technical painting challenge, as it has textures, transparencies and glow!

TONY: As something of an artist myself (/sarcasm), the card I am most proud of has to be Dinged Waptor. Or really any of the cards I did for the April Fool's event, which is about the only time the art team lets me anywhere near card art. :) For April Fool's, I decided it would be funny to try my hand at drawing some cards I felt players would enjoy. So the first year I drew some original characters that consisted of a few stick figures, a chicken, and a bomb. The response was good, so the following year I continued the tradition, eventually going through and tracing some famous cards like Winged Raptor. My one rule while making these cards was that I could not erase what I did!

RHADA: We used to sell boxes that contained two new premium cards instead of one. We thought of making both cards in the box thematically linked. At the same time, while brainstorming concepts for dragons, I thought we could try to make cards that formed a bigger picture on the battlefield when placed consecutively, side by side. The initial idea was a serpent whose artwork overflowed into a second card, and after some iteration, we stumbled upon the idea of a dragon dance. The result was very cool!

TIGR: With the Spellstone story campaign recently concluded, we asked what was next in store for Spellstone fans. Would there be anymore new characters and amazing art to look forward to?

TONY: Absolutely! While the main story has come to a close, we still look forward to adding new characters, cards, and art to the game that lets our artists have fun and shows off the world of Spellstone.

TIGR: And finally, the most important question of all: would real-life Spellstone merchandise ever be made available for fans of the game? We really want a plushie of the adorable Bomb Spirit (complete with detachable bombs, perhaps?), as well as his angry counterpart, Firebomb Spirit! Also for Quetee Que and Adorabilis, please! And would there ever be any actual physical Spellstone cards produced for collectors?

TONY: I would personally love to see real-life merchandise, but we currently do not have the means to take on such an endeavour. Maybe one day we can strike a partnership with a team that can make this happen!

We thank the Spellstone team for their time and all the wonderful art assets that accompany this interview! Check out the game here on Kongregate, on Steam, or on mobile - three different ways you can enjoy this fun, cheeky and adorable CCG!

P.S. We just had to include our favourite card: Darkwater Adonis - don’t be fooled by his charms!

#developers

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