#I’m hoping I can crank out at least one more digital piece before I leave but this weeks a little busy lol we’ll see

[macksartblock]

I’ve been stressed about an upcoming family vacation so here’s some dumb work sketches that amuse me

[gerbiloftriumph]

The Three Adventurers: To Comfort a King

(also on ao3)

Based on The Three Adventurers crossover webcomic by @captmickey​: More specifically, based on this picture.

When Link and Guybrush come to Daventry to throw Graham a surprise birthday party, they themselves are surprised by events that occurred when they were separated. But they won't be kept apart no matter what. Fluffy, friendly, sickfic, comfort fic with mild hijinks ensue. 

1/1, 6k

~*~*~

Something felt wrong.

The weather wasn’t helping: Daventry’s castle town was saturated. Rain skimmed off rooftops and splashed in puddles beneath drains. Dark clouds weighed down the sky, making it gloomy even in the middle of the afternoon. It would make sense for everyone to be inside, staying dry and safe and happy. But something felt wrong. Tense.

Some deep knight’s instinct made Link reach for his sword hilt. This didn’t feel like people were waiting out a monsoon. This felt lonely, completely still and silent but for the rain dashing against window panes. No candlelight in the windows, no murmured conversation behind doors. The baker’s shop especially drew his attention. Some sort of accident had befallen it since Link’s last visit several months ago: there was a big wooden board nailed across the front windows, like they had been broken. The glass must have already been swept up, and very well at that since he couldn’t see any glittering fragments nestled in the cracks between the cobblestones.

Unless it had been broken into and the glass was all inside.

Don’t jump to conclusions, he scolded himself. Still. He warily stepped around the tree growing in the courtyard, searching the shadows, trying to pin down what was sparking the unease in his chest.

“Aaaah,” Guybrush yelled. Link instantly sprang forward, sword half drawn, before realizing it was a cry of disappointment and not a warning of attack. “Aaah, those alchemists aren’t here!” Guybrush walked out of the empty shop, leaning his elbows on the railing in front of the door. “I wanted to talk to that old guy. He’s got the only rubber chicken supply for miles.”

“No one’s here,” Link said, knocking gingerly on Amaya’s door, not expecting an answer: the forge was clearly cold. No smoke rose from the blacksmith’s chimney. “Where do you suppose they are?”

“Probably the castle. I bet they’re afraid of flooding. This rain is no joke; that river we passed was looking pretty sketchy. Summer in Daventry, eh?”

"Monsoon season is only in July, Graham said. And only for a week or two at that, normally.”

“July in Daventry, eh?” Guybrush swung himself down the shop stairs, boots sloshing up a wave. “Shall we go on to the castle, give him the shock of his week?” He grinned.

No one in Daventry was expecting the pair of adventurers. They’d been coming to throw Graham a surprise birthday party. He was turning twenty-two, and that seemed like an important marker. Double identical digits and all. But they’d missed his birthday by several days at this point. They had been inescapably delayed.

By a side quest involving a cat stuck up a tree.

Link had insisted they dig up bait, use it to catch fish, trade the fish to a traveler for an empty bottle, find a farmer with a cow to fill the bottle with milk (the farmer first requested they clear his field of wolves, a dangerous task that took some more scheming), and then use the milk to tempt the cat down. The cat hadn’t been appreciative. It had nearly taken Link’s finger off with a swipe of its claws. Once they’d left, both with a healthy amount of scratches and bites and a half empty bottle of milk, Guybrush had asked why they hadn’t just tempted the cat down with the fish in the first place.

Anyway, the delay had taken a few days. Travelers with empty bottles were scarce on the road, apparently. So, now they were late.

It would definitely be a surprise, then.

Link patted his pouch to make sure their chosen birthday present was safe. He hoped Graham would like it. It was possibly sentimental gooey nonsense, but it was their sentimental gooey nonsense. “You’re right. I’m sure they’re at the castle. Let’s go.” He squeezed the end of his hat to clear some rainwater, but it didn’t help.

~*~*~

The castle gates were shut tight, the drawbridge high. The rain fell endlessly, rivulets pouring down the battlements and rushing into the moat. The water was swollen, pressing against the banks. It looked like it was going to spill onto the road if this kept up for too much longer. The moat monster eyed them with curiosity, nosing just above the waterline. Link wondered if it would sweep out on the road with the overflow, too, and what merry hell it could raise if it got into the main river.

“Don’t suppose there’s a doorbell on this side of the moat,” Guybrush said, holding his hand over his eyes to shield them.

“Generally, castles don’t have those.”

“Neither do ships, to be fair. We’ve got a voice activated alert system on my ship, though.”

“Do you really?” Link was impressed—it sounded high tech.

“Yeah. Bet Graham does, too. It works like this.” He cupped his hands around his mouth and roared so loudly that Link jumped half an inch off the ground, “OI, ANYONE HOME?”

“Oh. Is that all?”

“All you need.” He drew in a huge gulp of air and yelled again, “WE’RE HERE...” he paused and glanced at Link, whispering hastily, “what’s the polite lingo for a king, again?”

“Seeking an audience,” Link whispered back. That usually was what people said when they wanted to talk to Zelda.

“HERE TO SEEK AN AUDIENCE. WITH THE KING. WHO IS GRAHAM. CAN GRAHAM COME OUT TO PLAY?”

They waited. For a long time, there didn’t seem to be any movement from across the moat, though the monster playfully flicked its tail beneath the water and sent a little wave skimming over the edge to douse their boots. Finally, a shaken sounding voice called back, “Who goes there?”

“I go where I like,” Guybrush yelled.

“No, I mean. Uh. Who are you, exactly?” The voice was flustered.

“Guybrush Threepwood, Mighty Pirate.™”

“And Link of Hyrule.”

“Not a pirate,” Guybrush added helpfully.

“Oh, it’s you two. Right. You were here for the coronation. Back again already? Um. Now...now isn’t a good time.”

“’Course not. It’s raining. But if you let us in, it would be a better time.”

“How did you even find out?” the guard asked distractedly. “They’ve only been back two days. We haven’t even told anyone yet.”

Link glanced at Guybrush, that little nervous thrill at the back of his neck rousing, a twitch in his fingers begging him to go for his sword. Some sense that something was wrong. “Told anyone what?” he asked.

“And Bramble’s pregnant, and this has all been very hard on her, and she doesn’t want to go back to the bakery right now, and who could possibly blame her after what happened to everyone?”

“Look, it’s raining very hard—”

“And the Hobblepots are absolutely destroying the kitchens. Number One is going to have a fit when he realizes, even if Muriel is helping King Graham.”

“Can we just—”

“And Muriel probably wouldn’t even allow you to see him, you know. He’s probably too drugged to even talk.”

“I’m sorry, repeat that?”

The guard hesitated. “Um.” They could see his helmet bobbing over the crenellations as he paced. “I’m not sure I’m supposed to tell anyone.”

“We’re not just anyone,” Link pointed out.

“Um. I mean.”

“Look, anyone could hear us from out here, right?” Guybrush said.

“Sure.”

“And you don’t want anyone to know whatever happened, right?” Guybrush continued, pacing a little to match the guard’s movements.

“That’s what Number One says, at least for now.”

“But if you let us in, then we’ll be inside, right? And then when you tell us, anyone won’t also hear. Because we’ll be inside, and anyone won’t be able to hear us in there.”

“I suppose?”

“And we’re not anyone. We’re Graham’s friends. We’re supposed to know. Whatever it is.”

“Um. I think that makes sense.” The guard seemed all the more uncertain. Whatever had happened must have been very serious to make him this befuddled. Or maybe he was always like this and Graham should hire better security. “I think that’s right.”

“Yes, it is. Now, let us in.”

“Of course, Mr. Threepwood, right away.”

While they waited for the guard to scurry around to the drawbridge crank, Guybrush muttered, “Also, I’m really sick of being wet.”

“You’re always on the ocean.”

“Not in it, though. Come on, he’s dropped the bridge. Hurry up.”

They scurried across, bubbles from the moat monster pursuing them. Unease nagged at Link, but he dared not speak until they had more of an idea about what was happening. The guard met them in the courtyard. He looked even more rattled up close. His armor wasn’t just damp with rain, but properly disheveled. It even looked like pieces were on backward. He smelled like wet pancakes, syrupy and pathetic.

“I mean, you’re his friends,” the guard babbled, wringing his hands. “It might help if he can see you.”

“Might help?” The apprehension was growing and growing. “Inside, now. And tell us what’s happening.”

“Hang on, I need to close the gate. The goblins might come again. He says it’s safe, at least I think he did, it’s all so jumbled, but…no one wants to leave it to chance, you know?”

“I don’t know.” Link was starting to get angry. “Can you just please tell us already?”

“Graham was kidnapped. With the villagers. A week and a half ago. By goblins. He just got back with everyone not two nights past. He’s really sick—he fainted almost as soon as he got to the castle, and he keeps screaming—nightmares, I guess—so Muriel drugged him to make him sleep. I really need to close the gate. Wait here.” And he vanished into the rain, leaving the two adventurers standing stunned and still and silent.

~*~*~

People had been tracking water into the castle, probably from running around in a panic. The plush carpet just beyond the doors was soggy under their feet. They wandered forward in a daze, damp carpet squishing behind them for a few paces until it dried out.  

“I can’t believe it,” Link said, voice hoarse. “We’ve got to see him. Can you imagine? Goblins. I can’t imagine getting taken by bokoblins.”

“That’s because they’re about as smart as rocks,” Guybrush said. “I don’t know the goblins around here. They must be clever. Or Graham was daydreaming again. Easy to drop a sack over his head if he’s thinking about candy.”

Link elbowed him. “Be nice. This is serious.”

“I know,” he said. There was a glint in his eye, and his shoulders and jaw were tense. He had a sharpness to him, like a cutlass half drawn and ready to slice if someone looked at him wrong. “Come on.”

The hall was quiet. Candles flickered against the monsoon gray light, barely holding the darkness away despite it technically being the afternoon. A royal guard hurried past, clutching a tray. A teapot and cup were precariously balanced on top, and he was fiercely muttering under his breath about the state of the kitchen. He glanced at the visitors dripping rainwater on this once-dry section of carpet and frowned. “Dare I ask what you’re doing here?”

“We seek an audience with the king.”

He laughed bitterly and started reciting: “The king has been a little tied up lately. I’m afraid he’s indisposed to see anyone—the recent unexpected demands on his attention have been slightly overwhelming, so we’re feverishly requesting a safe delay in all visitations. Perhaps you can leave your contact information at the gate and we shall attend to you whenever we’re available again.”

“Yeah? The audience with the goblins was a bit rough?” Guybrush said.

The guard froze, teapot rattling on the tray. “Who told you.”

“Well. For starters, your speech wasn’t that subtle. Also the guard on the gate told us.”

“I’m going to kick Number Two out of the castle.”

Link stepped forward. “Sir, if I may. You might remember me. I’m Link, of Hyrule. The royal family there has had all sorts of trouble in its history, so I have some experience in matters like this. Also, I know Graham—uh, sorry—King Graham well. We used to travel together. He’ll want to see us as soon as he knows we’re here.”

“Did Number Two tell you how sick he is?” the guard asked suspiciously. “He might not even be awake to see you right now. You should probably just go away.”

Guybrush leaned forward, plucked the lid off the teapot, and inhaled deeply. “Steeping chamomile? And based on the temperature, it’ll be just perfect to drink by the time you get upstairs with it. He’s awake, or you’re hoping he will be. May as well let us come find out.” He glanced airily around the hall. “I seem to recall enough of the layout of this place from when we were here for the coronation. It wouldn’t be hard to find the way on our own.”

“I could probably have you escorted to the dungeon,” No1 said uneasily, “for…uh….”

“For obstructing tea, yes. But that would put a delay in your delivery. It’s getting colder as we stand here, you know. I’m sure if he’s sick he’ll want it hot and good. And the sooner he gets it, the happier he’ll be. If I know royalty, you want to keep them happy. It would be easier to go up together, wouldn’t you say?” That sharpness in his grin was starting to look like a shark’s—someone he loved was being threatened, and he wasn't going to stand back and let it happen, not if he had any say. He practically vibrated with urgency. “Also, there’s too much lavender in there.”

“Now, see here, you…” the guard hesitated again, sensing that sharp desperation, looked at his tray, looked at them, thought a moment, then said, “If you happen to follow me, I’m not going to stop you.” He started walking, muttering, “And lavender’s our main export anyway, I can’t help the amount they put in.”

~*~*~

There was another guard standing watch over the bedroom door. It looked like no one was taking chances. Bit late for all the caution, Link thought, but they’re doing their best.

As it turned out, though, the guard on the door wasn’t even going to be their last opposition.

No1 pushed past, bumping the royal bedchamber door open. Through it, the adventurers could just make out a shape huddled in the bed, and then they heard the most horrible, aching, sharp cough from Graham—it was the sort of ripping cough that made them flinch, that you could feel in your own throat. They started forward, anxious, but an arm shot across their path, blocking them. The door swung shut behind the guard, Graham’s agonized cough muffled.

“Oh! Lady Alchemist!” Guybrush swept an exaggerated bow. “Been a while. Love to chat. Bit busy right now. Got things to do, people to see. Could you just—”

She glared. “You can’t go in there.”

“You can’t stop us.” The joking edge vanished from Guybrush’s voice again.

“Do you wanna get sick? This is inappropriate anyway, seeing a king like this.”

“We demand to see him,” Link said.

“Yeah? And why should I let you do that?” It was amazing how a little old woman could threaten when she wanted. She bustled her way forward, puffing herself up. She was almost of a height with Link when she stood up on her toes.

From behind her another voice said: “Muriel. It’s okay. They’re his friends, remember?”

“Chester, you have the worst memory of all time, but you remember these two?”

“I remember anyone who tries to buy my whole rubber chicken supply out in one go with a lousy brass coin that doesn’t even have any value in Daventry.” Chester stuck out his hand for Guybrush to shake. “Nice to see you again, even in these circumstances. No, I still don’t have any inflatable cutlasses for sale.”

A friendly response at last. A memory stirred: kidnapped with the villagers. “We heard a little bit of what happened. Are you okay? Were you part of it?” Link asked.

“That we were, that we were. Nasty little things, those goblins. If it hadn’t been for him,” Chester thumbed at the closed door, and they could just make out another hacking cough, “we would have been in a lot more trouble. I’m not sure anyone would have come back.” He glanced down the hall, and whispered, “I think there was something intentional going on. Someone had it in for him.”

“Do you think they’ll try again?” Link wasn’t a stranger to assassination attempts. Keeping Zelda safe was a full-time prospect sometimes. He wasn’t sure he was ready for the stress of having another royal friend at risk.

“Not in the same way,” Chester said. “These guards,” he gestured at the one standing nearby, “are all puffed up since they got caught flatfoot, but they’ll smooth out. It won’t happen twice like it did, I can promise that. If I know who did it, and I think I do, repetition isn’t really his style, not if he can go bigger and better. Creativity’s the word. Besides, I think Graham’s got some ideas about opening up diplomacy talks with the goblins to prevent anything like this happening again. But I think there’s someone you’d rather hear all this from instead of me.”

“No,” Muriel said sharply. “I don’t care that they’re friends. That’s not a good idea for him, or them, and you know it.” She looked to the guard, like she was going to ask for help with chasing these two off. “Clear off. Maybe later you can see him. Right now is not appropriate, and I will have you chased out of this castle if I must.”

Guybrush opened his mouth to start arguing again, but Link gently touched his shoulder. She had precedence over them in this situation. That guard would listen to her, and chase them out, and then they would be much further from their goal.

“You’re right,” Link told Muriel. “We shouldn’t go through that door.”

“Just so,” she said, eyeing him a bit suspiciously, more than surprised that he was giving in. “So, shoo.”

“Oh, Muriel,” Chester sighed. “It wouldn’t hurt.”

“It would hurt them after I was through with them,” she snapped. “Go on, shoo.”

Link dragged Guybrush down the hall by the hand, steering him into one of the bedrooms down the corridor once Muriel had turned her back.

“Come on, I could have turned on the charm and gotten us in there,” Guybrush complained. “Now we probably won’t get to see him for days and I’m not willing to wait that long.”

“Look, I promised we wouldn’t go through the door,” Link said. He reached into his bag and withdrew his grappling hook. “Didn’t say anything about a window.”

“Aaahhh.”

~*~*~

On reflection, Link realized, this wasn’t a good idea. Maybe they should have tried to persuade Muriel after all. Or maybe if they’d started screaming, Graham would have heard them and ordered them in (unless the tea had been drugged to make him sleep, or he didn’t actually want them to see him like this after all). Now, Link and Guybrush were dangling off the side of the castle, clinging to the grappling hook rope, rain making everything slippery and hard to navigate.

“Are you sure this is the right window?”

“Got to be,” Link said. He used his elbow to swipe some of the rainwater out of his eyes. “I did the calculations. It’s gotta be it. This time.” (They’d already tried two other windows, both of which had led to empty bedrooms. One of them might have been where the Hobblepots were staying, based on the array of random junk everywhere that seemed to belong to Chester, but luckily the two alchemists were out doing something else. Probably still standing guard in front of Graham’s door. Presumably the Feys and Miss Blackstone were staying elsewhere in the castle, because no one screamed when the adventurers poked their noses over the windowsills and swatted them down.)

They could make out the warm flickering glow of a lit fireplace in the window above them, which at least matched what they had glimpsed through the door of Graham’s room. They just had to get there without sliding down the rope and falling fifty feet to the treetops. Guybrush was dangling near the bottom of the rope, finding it difficult to get purchase on the slick castle walls with his boots. “They’re going to think we’re invaders and shoot us down,” he muttered. “They’re going to think we’re goblins back to finish the job we started.”

“Be quiet and climb,” Link said, glancing nervously side to side in case there were a few royal guards taking aim at them from the balconies or parapets. No one was.

Except…Royal Guard Number One was looking down at them.

He had opened the window and was leaning against the sill, staring down. His chin was propped on his hands, but with his helmet on, there was no way to tell if he was enjoying this or furious.

Link slid down the rope a few feet in his frozen panic, knocking into Guybrush, who yelped and locked the rope tighter around his leg so they wouldn’t fall, and the two of them grinned guiltily up at the royal guard.

He sighed heavily (they could hear it over the rain, he was so loud and flustered), gripped the rope, and started to heave them up.

~*~*~

The room beyond was cozy, the large array of candles keeping the gloom (and perhaps those nightmares the guard had spoken of) at bay. Graham, eyes closed, was propped up against a pile of pillows in bed, slipping slowly at the delivered cup of tea and wincing at every swallow. No1 hoisted the two embarrassed adventurers over the windowsill and they fell to the ground, sloppy and squishy with rainwater. Graham looked up when he heard them, and his face—drawn, pale—lit up with a huge smile. He put the teacup down on the bedside table amongst a dizzying array of cups and pots and vials and bandages and tissues and ingredients brought by the Hobblepots.

“Number One said you were here,” he said, nodding toward the royal guard. His voice was raspy. “I kind of expected you to come in the door instead of the window, though.”

No1 took off his helmet and shook the rainwater off it, fluffing the uniform’s feather back up and putting it in front of the fireplace to dry. He bristled his moustache, but it looked more like he was hiding a smile instead of annoyance. He helped the two adventurers to their feet, insisted they wait for a second so they wouldn’t drip water everywhere, pulled some towels from a pile neatly folded by a large copper tub shoved in the corner, wrapped them up, and then let them go. Immediately, they rushed to their friend’s side. Link grabbed Graham’s hand out of some desperate instinct, squeezing hard. Graham squeezed back as hard as he could—which wasn’t particularly hard.

“I’m so sorry we weren’t here,” Link said. “I’m so sorry. Are you okay? What happened? We don’t have the details. Oh, Graham....”

He looked absolutely awful. His bedhair, usually pretty hilarious anyway, was a tangled mess from tossing and turning in his sleep. His eyes were ringed with dark exhaustion, making it look like he’d been punched, but they were bright with a lingering fever, too. Link could feel the weakness in his friend’s trembling fingers. Graham was swimming in some ridiculously oversized nightshirt that more or less swallowed him up. It gaped here and there on his thin frame, and they could see the edges of bruises beneath it on his arms: bruises that, even partially glimpsed, looked uncomfortably like fingerprints.

“A kidnapping,” Guybrush said, shaking his head. He grinned mischievously, “Or was it a kingnapping?”

Link’s ears flattened, and the sheer look he shot Guybrush could have knocked a moblin over. “You’re going to end up right next to him nursing a black eye instead of nursing the flu,” he hissed. But Graham was laughing, and Link subsided, though he was still too annoyed to perk his ears up again. He was wary of pushing it if Graham wasn’t ready to talk yet, but he was desperate to know, to help in any way he could. “Are you...is it...are you up to telling us what happened?”

“No, I don’t have the energy to get up. But I can be down for telling it.”

Link dropped his head into his hands and moaned, “I can’t stand being around you two.”

“I can’t stand either, so it’s okay,” Graham said, patting Link gently on the shoulder.

“Aaaargh!”

“You can’t be mad at him,” Guybrush said. “He outranks you now—his hat’s shinier than yours.”

“Yes, my crowning achievement,” Graham agreed. “But that doesn’t make you beanie-th me.”

“Ahh, you’re fedorable when you’re being humble,” Guybrush said, “but you don’t need to downplay your escapades.”

“I’m not that far ahead, really,” Graham said.

“You’re going to make me sick,” Link sighed.

“If you hang around me much longer, you will be,” Graham said, and the laughter faded from his scratchy voice. “I heard Muriel. I’m glad you’re here, absolutely, but...she’s right, you know. You shouldn’t be in here. I’m not safe to be around, I think. I might give you this.” He gestured vaguely at his throat. “You don’t want it, believe me.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. We’re not going anywhere.” Guybrush sat down so hard on the bed that Graham bounced. “Now. It’s time for you to tell us one of those stories you like to tell. But only If you’re ready.”

And so, after a pause and a sip of lukewarm tea, Graham began. The day had begun in frustration in the throne room and had ended in fear in a goblin cell. He kept rubbing his wrists, remembering the bite of ropes, until Link held his hands again.

He told of huge caverns, of stalactites dripping water into secret pools, of glowing salamanders scampering through the shadows, of mushrooms in every color casting off glittering spores. He told of sharp spears and heavy padlocks, of giant rats and whispered escape plans. There were costumes and stories: Cinderella and Rumplestiltskin. Porridge, sweetycakes, and frogs. Friends and enemies, and some people that might have been both in equal measure. Shrouds of stone armor, unbending bars and sharp bolt cutters, stolen beds, stolen people. The goblin king, his courtiers, and the book written by a former friend that had incited the goblins and started it all.

He talked for a long time, his voice wavering in and out. Sometimes he had to stop and take a breath, drink tea, rub his aching throat. He sank lower into the pillows, looking more worn out, but he stubbornly refused to sleep no matter how often they suggested it. Whenever these breaks happened, Link and Guybrush sat a little closer together and waited with him in comforting silence. They offered to at least give him a proper long break and finish the rest later, but he wanted to tell the story. Wanted to explain it from start to finish. “It helps,” he said. “Even if it hurts a bit.” He choked down another cough and sipped at a fresh cup of tea No1 had brought. No1 had also silently brought Guybrush and Link their own mugs, unasked and unexpected. They had crowns painted on them. The lavender tickled their noses, and the trio drank in quiet but good company.

At some point, Muriel and Chester came in to prep medicine doses. She saw the adventurers huddled together and took a step back, startled and angry, and she opened her mouth start yelling, but Graham cut her off, hastily saying, “Ahh, Muriel, you remember my best friends, right? I’m so glad they’ve come to visit. Link, Guybrush, meet Muriel and Chester Hobblepot, the greatest alchemists in the country.” He gave her a pleading, sopping kitten sort of look, breath held in nervous anticipation.

She deflated with a weary sigh—the look she gave them told Link and Guybrush they were destined for a sickbed next. “He should be sleeping right now,” she warned them.

“That’s what we told him,” Link replied, relief tinging his words now that he knew his position on this bed was secure. “He says no.”

“We’ve been over this,” Muriel said. She reached for a cup that Graham had been especially careful to avoid and tried to offer it to him. “You were supposed to drink this an hour ago. You can’t avoid your dreams forever.”

“I can definitely put them off,” Graham said, crossing his arms so she couldn’t force it on him. “Muriel, please. Just a little longer. I don’t want to sleep. It’s not...it’s not the nightmares this time, honestly. I’m just trying to explain things. I think straightening everything out, talking through it...it’s going to help the nightmares stop. Please.”

She pursed her lips, then sighed and stepped back. “Fine. This once, fine. But I’m going to swap those bandages out now anyway.”

Guybrush half stood. “Oh. Should we leave?”

Graham grabbed his sleeve. “N-no, please don’t. I’d like...please don’t go. I didn’t tell you this part, but...um. To make sure I wasn’t smuggling anything, the goblins would...literally shake me down. Upside down. And they’ve got hard hands.” Graham slipped up his nightshirt sleeve, and showed off some of the half-glimpsed fingerprint-shaped bruises. “These are mostly faded. It’s my legs that are...badly bruised. My own weight against their hands. That’s all.”

“This makes them heal faster,” Muriel said, plucking a jar from the tray. Link reached for it automatically, as curious about healing potions as ever. The jar felt icy cold in his hands, almost frosted over despite the warmth of the room. “Green ice scale,” she told him. “Good for deep soothing.”

Guybrush let Graham lean against him while they reapplied the icy goop and rewrapped the bandages so the bedsheets wouldn’t stain green. Graham shuddered, his shoulder pressed hard against Guybrush’s as he flinched away from Muriel’s touch. “It’s so much colder than it was last time,” he muttered.

“I think you just weren’t paying attention the first time,” Muriel replied.

Link stuck a finger in the jar and studied the gel. “Good for burns?” he asked.

“Plan on fighting a dragon soon?” Chester said.

“Fire arrows can have interesting consequences.”

“I’ll get some together for you. It’s a good snack on a hot day, too.”

“I’ll, ah, keep that in mind next time I’m in in the Gerudo Desert, thanks.”

Guybrush was staring at Graham’s bruises. It was almost possible to make out individual handprints in the colorful marks on his shins. “Those are nasty.”

“Just don’t poke them,” Graham said. “They were worse, if you can believe it. How much longer, Muriel?”

“Oh, a week, maybe. This knocks the heal time down, but doesn’t erase ‘em. I could go global if I had something that just erased ‘em.” She picked up yet another little pot from the hoard she had gathered, whisked off the lid, and offered the contents to Link and Guybrush. There were tiny little white leaves in it, crisscrossed with green veins. They smelled like extreme mint, like you could flavor an entire moat’s worth of lemonade with one leaf. It made Link feel a little nauseous. “You’re going to want this. Put it under your tongue and it’ll melt. One an hour. I’ll give you both your own bags of it, but start with this for now.”

After she left, the story picked up where it had left off, details untangling like knotted ropes, until Graham started to reach a rough conclusion.

“As for me getting sick. It’s probably not hard to guess. Muriel thinks...I mean, the stress alone was hard, but my cell was always wet. The rainwater kept finding channels down. It was one big puddle most of the time. And there wasn’t a lot of food to go around after the porridge ran out, and I couldn’t let Bramble go hungry, or the Hobblepots, or Amaya. It…it wasn’t….” He coughed, a hacking wheeze that rattled his chest. “I’m lucky. It could have been worse. I could have gotten like this before escaping. But...but I couldn’t let that happen. I think I didn’t let myself get sick until we were free. Everyone was depending on me, you know.

“But...but it was hard. To be alone for so long. In the end, Bramble and I found the goblin king together. I told him a story about what it means to be afraid. What it means to get too much responsibility too fast, to not know what you’re doing, and how friends are the only way to push forward and keep going. And that, a story about friends, was a story he liked, and in that place where stories hold more sway than kings, it was enough, and he let me, let all my friends, go.”

Link and Guybrush glanced at each other. Link breathed deeply: “Graham. The reason we’re here. It’s not because of what happened...we didn’t even know until today. We were here for a different reason at first. This...this isn’t the way we would have wanted to do this, but...” He and Guybrush leaned cheek to cheek together and shrieked “Happy birthday!” so loudly that No1, who had actually not been listening at all, almost fell out of the rocking chair. Link shoved his hand into his bag and withdrew a small wrapped box with a crumpled bow pasted on top.

“It isn’t much,” Link said apologetically. “It’s late. You had your birthday...” his voice faded.

“In that cell, yeah,” Graham agreed. His eyes were sparkling with excitement, though, and he spoke lightly. “It wasn’t that bad. I sang to the salamanders, and Wente made me a special sweetycake, somehow. But, guys, you didn’t need to do this.” He took the proffered gift all the same and slipped off the rumbled ribbon.

“It’s an engraving we had done,” Guybrush leaned forward, watching as Graham extricated a charm and chain. “I think it’s kinda cheesy, but Elaine and Zelda thought it was clever. They helped with the design.”

The charm itself was styled like a piece of eight, with two crossed swords and a bow and arrow printed on top—clearly tiny little renditions of their weapons of choice. Graham ran his fingers along the edge, finding a little latch and flipping it open like a locket. It contained an image of the three of them, arms flung over shoulders, apparently mid-joke and laughing together.

Link said, “We thought...well, it’s your first birthday as a king, and we were worried you might, y’know, get too busy and distracted and...maybe forgetful. Zelda said that’s normal, for a newly responsible royal. But we thought that together we did so much, and even if we can’t be here in person all the time for you as a king, we...well, I guess it’s sort of silly after all that happened, when you really did need us and we weren’t there for you then to help protect you and Daventry and all, but—”

“But you’re here. Now. And that’s all that matters to me. It’s perfect. I love it.” He pulled the chain over his head, and the charm rested against his chest. Graham bit his lip. “It’s probably too late, but...I mean, I’m definitely contagious, but...”

He didn’t have to finish saying it. His friends launched themselves at him and grabbed him in a tight hug. They stayed together like that for a long time, regret and gratitude and everything held in silence. They could handle anything when they were apart, but they were stronger together, and they reveled in it.

(Later, Link’s throat started to ache and Guybrush started coughing, but they both agreed it was worth it. Muriel just sighed and ordered more soup.)

[chinatea]

sg/di, personas au, abo au, royal au, arranged marriage. (feat. ian/bg).

>>> Diminie (Jisoo) and BG (Jiyeon) are omega princelings from the South Kingdom (I know, a very creative name, but it’s a short story, so why bother). BG got married to Ian, the crown alpha prince of the North Kingdom, a few years back, and Diminie has been just married to Ian’s younger brother, SG (Jungkook). They were married through proxies before meeting each other, which they’re going to do in the fic. Hope you enjoy. <3

His carriage comes to a halt with a low tremor.

The long journey is finally over and what a journey that was. Months of travel. Traversing places, sceneries, seasons. And Jisoo spent most of it inside his little carriage, staring out of the window, but mostly sleeping after taking sleep draughts provided in advance. The people of the North are known for their practicalities, they’d thought of everything - even Jisoo’s boredom throughout the travel.

Jisoo yawns so wide a tear springs at the corner of his eye. Last time he looked outside it was snowing - a mind bending sight for someone hailing from the lush evergreen meadows of the South. He’s so far from home, it’s almost a different world out here. And just like they say, the North is one harsh beauty. Makes him wonder if he’ll ever be able to call this place home and mean it from the bottom of his heart. He wonders if his brother does.

Peering once again through the screen of the door, he sees the hustle and bustle of people outside, some of them he recognizes as part of his procession. All of them are from the North. None of his close friends or attendants were allowed to accompany him, for the journey would be too severe for a southerner to withstand. For the same reason, no effort was spared to keep Jisoo as safe and comfortable as possible.

His carriage was fortified with magic. The northern kind of magic, the likes of which Jisoo has never witnessed before. And it's not that the Southerners are less proficient in magical arts, but they do rely on it less than in the North, where the magic is all about survival and harnessing power over the elements, not kitchen remedies and pretty lightworks.

His bespoke fur coat is also layered with a web of magic, enveloping his form like an armour. It looks heavy but in reality, it's almost weightless, swaddling him in comfort and tingling warmth. A wedding gift from his husband. He still remembers unwrapping the furs for the first time, the softness of it as he ran his palms over it, musing to himself - this is it, soon to be married to an alpha prince from a country on the other side of the world where days barely last and nights never really end.

And today, at last, he will meet his husband for the first time. Having spent months fretting over this very day, he feels resigned to his fate, tired of the tyranny of his nervous thoughts. With that, he burrows deeper into his furs and steps out of the carriage down the propped up ladder, his attendants supporting him under his elbows like he’s a fragile doll ready to keel over and shutter into tiny pieces. He thanks them nevertheless with a shy smile.

Outside, it’s so cold he feels pinned down to the spot. And from that spot, all he can see is the Snow Castle that presents like a vision. Otherworldly and breathtaking. A true child of the snowy mountain peaks surrounding it. Diminie has to uncomfortably crank his neck up to take it all in, to no great success, as the castle’s spires drown in the sea of thick clouds up above.

The Snow Castle has been the residence of the crown prince since days of old, as he learned from Jiyeon's letters. His older brother married the crown prince a few years ago, undertaking the same journey as Jisoo all on his own, with no familiar face to greet him on the other end. His brother is as brave as he's enchanting. And Jisoo has missed him dearly, having kept in touch only through letters.

Jisoo had worried about him, but luckily, his worries were in vain. Even if Jiyeon has never been the one to openly speak about his private feelings, whenever he talked about Ian in his letters, every word spoke of love and great admiration for his alpha. Jisoo only hopes he’d be as lucky.

What he knows about Jeon Jungkook could barely fill a thimble. And uncertainty often breeds fear. Even dread, in his case. Would he be gentle with him? Understanding? Even Jiyeon hadn’t been much help - apparently the second prince spent most of his time away, travelling and learning from the world.

That is another thing that has been troubling Jisoo something terrible. Clearly, his husband is a man of knowledge and intellectual pursuits. What if he finds Jisoo dull and ignorant? Being a prince, Jisoo, of course, received the best education their country had to offer, yet he wasn’t as diligent or naturally gifted as his brother, and would often be found playing truant in their labyrinthian gardens, with little remorse for his naughtiness.

And now, he wishes he had paid more attention. If only not to lose face in front of his husband.

“My darling,” a voice calls after him and Jisoo’s limbs grow weak as tears well in his eyes, a wave of emotions rising in his chest. He leaps into his brother’s embrace, taking in his peach golden scent - something that always whispers of summers and vibrant skies. In other words, home.

Jiyeon presses kisses all over his face, his chubby rosy cheeks and button nose - they must make quite a chaotic sight, but Jisoo can only giggle, giddy with happiness, clinging to his brother like lifeline.

A few moments pass like that, exchanging kisses, greetings and giggles, before both of them finally get a hold on their bearings. Besides, the cold starts really getting to him, which he voices to Jiyeon quietly, teeth chattering to add to his point.

The other omega grips Jisoo’s hands in his, warmth running through his fingers.

“I was like you, at first, little one,” he lilts. “The weather is beastly here, but with time, you’ll adapt. We’ll teach you everything you need to know, but meanwhile...”

Jiyeon smiles impishly.

“Ask your alpha to keep you warm,” he adds, unabashed, as Jisoo’s cheeks light up in chagrin. “That’s what I did.”

That's the Jiyeon he knows all right - always the little devil.

With that, he tugs Jisoo along as they traverse the inner yard, leaving his carriage and people behind, with only a couple of attendants following suit. What boggles Jisoo is how quiet castle is, like someone casted a muffling spell on everything. Perhaps, that was the design. From what he knows about the crown prince, the alpha enjoys quietude and privacy, spending most of the year here rather than at the capital.

Jisoo will only visit in a few months, officially presenting himself to the court and the Omega Monarch, his terrifying father-in-law. But first, he’ll have some time to settle into his new married life and get to know his husband better, away from the curious eyes of the public.

“We have some time before dinner,” Jiyeon says as they enter the maze of private quarters, full of long empty hallways and stone. “And as much as I’d love to show you around, I’m sure you’re starving, darling, so I had us a light meal prepared.”

Jisoo follows him dutifully into a room with a fireplace that gobbles most of the wall. It’s blasting hot and Jisoo sighs, happy, taking his coat off and folding it neatly over the back of a couch.

The help minces in and out of the room, going about their business, and every time someone new steps in, Jisoo’s heart flutters, expecting Jungkook to strut in any moment now, which would be disastrous as Jisoo is so strung up, so prickly with nerves, he doesn’t think he’ll be able to string together a simple sentence. Maybe Jiyeon picks up on that as he coos,

“Relax, love, he and Ian went hunting at dawn. Ian was adamant they hunt their own game for dinner because tradition and, oh, you know, typical alpha silliness,” the omega clucks his tongue, but his eyes brim with fondness. “Jungkook is lovely though, such a sweet awkward thing. As much as you must be fretting over meeting him, trust me, my darling, he’s thousand times more worried. Be gentle with him, will you?”

Jisoo nods, a shy smile flowering on his lips. He’s cradling a dainty teacup between his palms, mulling over Jiyeon’s words. They put him at ease, somewhat. All Jisoo had to go off all these months to decipher Jungkook’s personality was his portrait, a very fine and dashing one, but still hardly trustworthy since most portraits are notoriously deceiving. He barely recognized himself when he saw his own and immediately requested it be redone as he couldn’t have Jungkook expect some ethereal beauty that doesn’t exist.

Not that Jisoo isn’t confident. He knows he’s pretty - all omegas in his family are. Many alphas have expressed their admiration for him and his cuteness, which, in their kingdom at least, is legendary. Hence, he has no need for a lie, simple as that.

After the tea break, Jiyeon showed him around their private wing, their last stop being the nursery. Jisoo squealed at the sight of his brother’s pup, six months old now, all chubby cheeks and smart inquisitive eyes. He’s been dying to hold his tiny nephew ever since Jiyeon wrote about his pregnancy.

"Goodness, he’s so tiny," Jisoo coos, cradling the precious bundle to his chest. "A tiny omega pup."

"And a whiny one at that," Jiyeon remarks wryly. He boops his son’s nose and the pup babbles at them happily, tiny digits wrapping around Jiyeon’s thumb. "You just caught him on a good day."

Jisoo kisses the pup’s temple, nuzzling tufts of dark baby hair. Pups have the best scents about them, milky and soft and just new. Which makes him a touch wistful - he wants all the pups, as soon as possible, and hopefully his husband would be on-board with that.

"Do you think Jungkook would love to have many pups?"

"I think you should ask him yourself," Jiyeon says with an amused curve of his mouth. "Speak of the devil…"

The Devil, indeed, steps in and the whole room hushes. A tender smile blossoms on Jiyeon’s lips and in an instant, he is enveloped in his alpha’s arms, rising on his tiptoes for a kiss.

Ian might have an intimidating presence about him, but the way he is holding his brother is precious and sweet. It’s endearing and it makes Jisoo let out the quietest sigh. To be embraced and kissed and held by the person he loves is something he's wanted for himself for the longest time.

"Well? What are you waiting for?"

Jiyeon gives him the briefest of glances while Ian is pressing a kiss to his hand, eyes only on him.

"It’s down the hallway and up the stairs. He has his little study up in the tower. We’ll see you both at dinner, now shoo."

And this is how Jisoo meets his husband for the first time - by tracking him down down the hallway and up the stairs. Two hundred steps up the spiral staircase. Not that he'd been counting, only he did, to keep his racing heart still. He’s out of breath and livid with nerves by the end of it.

Left with no other option, he braces for the worst and knocks on the door, delicate knuckles barely grazing the sturdy wood. No reply comes, but that's to be expected from how faint the sound was.

Jisoo pushes the door open and meekly peeks inside a modestly spaced study. A wild unkempt look to it, a bunch of empty flowerpots, surprisingly, cluttering up the place - the shelves and bookcases, the working desk, the floor. And in the center of this chaos, exists he, Jeon Jungkook, none the wiser about Jisoo's presence, examining some papers scattered all over the tabletop.

A fireplace is roaring in the corner.

Jisoo coughs politely to gain his attention and

Jungkook swooshes around, his papers flying into the air.

"Oh dear, I’m so sorry, I didn't mean to frighten you," Jisoo bubbles, stumbling forward to help subdue the mess he caused. Naturally Jungkook does the same. Their hands touch and Jungkook recoils, eyes wide and frightened. A sheet of paper clutched to his chest. It’s too quiet all of a sudden, and Jisoo feels like crawling out of his skin.

It’s so, so awkward.

"I’m sorry for intruding," Jisoo mutters, bottom lip trembling. "I should have waited for dinner, I’ll leave…"

"No," Jungkook says, even quieter. “Don’t go. Please?”

He’s nothing what Jisoo imagined him to be. Jiyeon was right on the nose with his description - a lovely awkward thing. Dark swept hair and big hands, pretty lips, eyes that are out of this world, imploring him to stay. His husband. And Jisoo stays.

Just nods and helps him pick up the scattered papers and as they do so, mindful of every movement and hyper aware of each other's presence, Jisoo finds his calm again, even allowing a tentative smile to slip through - Jungkook ducks his head down, a blush spreading across his cheeks.

“I was told that nothing really blooms in the North,” Jisoo speaks up then, his earlier observation coming to mind as he points at the flowerpots. While most of them are indeed empty, a rare few host sickly looking sprouts. A far cry from the verdancy he enjoyed in his private garden back home.   

“That’s, ah, correct,” Jungkook confirms with a sigh, reaching out to caress one of the sprouts despondently. “These ones won’t survive either.”

“Oh,” Jisoo hums, gaze drown to Jungkook's fingers, the well-moulded shape of them. “There was more?”

Jungkook cracks a smile, just the corners of his lips tipping up.

“More than I could count, probably,” he confesses. “These are the first batch that sprouted, well, some of them anyhow. I thought I'd be able to make something bloom by the time you...eh...arrive.”

Jisoo cocks his head in a curious tilt, pondering over Jungkook's words.

“Well, ah...”  Jungkook stutters, fingers locked in front of him. “You know...”

Suddenly, it dawns on him.

“You’re doing this for me,” Jisoo says, in quiet wonder.

“They said you love flowers, spending time in your garden, we...ah, don't have that here, still I thought...I should at least try...”

Jungkook rambles, eyes glued to some spot at the floor. He's blushing. And Jisoo's heart races, a hand flies to cover his mouth, bubbling excitement zipping through his body.

“You’re doing this for me,” he repeats, voice rising in pitch. He feels so elated he could just kiss him. Instead he settles for a smile and adored, “You’re too kind.”

“It’s...it’s nothing,” Jungkook mutters, but he glows under the praise, chest pushing forward. A shy he may be, but still an alpha. His handsome and kind alpha husband.

“It’s the thought that counts.” Jisoo steps forward, reaching out for Jungkook's hands. Their palms touch, fingers lancing together. A pleasant hum of their energies erupting upon the caress. “Before we even met, you've thought of me. That means a lot. Thank you.”

“There is nothing I wouldn’t do for you,” Jungkook says, with quiet vigor and honesty that leaves Jisoo speechless. A touch breathless. A bit teary-eyed.

And maybe already in love.

---

AN: Yeah, it’s kinda short, but if you have any questions about this world, SG/Di or Ian/BG, etc., I might write some bonuses or extras later.

[twilightvolt]

A 3 month late art summary featuring art that i haven’t uploaded here due to my absence. unless i randomly feel like it, i don’t think i’m gonna go back and upload them here. if you wanna see them, though, they’re all on my DA.

I know i've pretty much said all the important bits in A Sacrifice for the Wind, but i figure i reiterate everything said along with expanding upon everything that occurred during 2017. piece by piece. and yes, i did intend to make an art joke. So, to get it outta the way, 2017 stunk more than a dead fish on a city bus. i lost a lot during that year. i lost the will to believe in whatever the future had in store for me, i almost lost a few friends, i lost my motivation to work on my projects and above all...i lost the smile i've always kept on every year before that. never have i been so emotionally damaged in all 5 years of my artist life leading up to this point. But, i can't say it was completely terrible. as much as i bashed it, art wise, 2017 was a very progressive year. looking at every wedge on the clock, i can't stop staring at how far i've come since the end of 2016. after being stripped of my tablet at the end, i've even learned how to not be afraid of making permanent mistakes. But yeah, let's begin. by turning the clock all the way back to January. when things were much simpler.... January: Hukaro Nakawa ~Final Mix Yeah, this was done in October, but i uploaded it in January for Moon's birthday. plus, there was nothing noteworthy this month. i still remember all the nice comments i got. this was the beginning of a year that i ran right in and yelled "LET'S SHOW THIS WORLD THAT WE WON'T STAND FOR ANOTHER 2016!" Oh how naive i was... February: The Beast Inside Remember when i played a lot of League in my free time? i sure do. anyway, this was my next attempt after Hukaro to continue doing my "Squeenix Cinematic Style." this time on the, at the time, new revamp for Warwick. needless to say, i still think i did a better job on Hukaro. BUT, this was still pretty good. it was during these first few months when things were really lookin' up for me. i was continually working on things cuz i really wanted to make something and school was pretty cool too. March: Digimon ZX Cover ZX ISN'T DEAD I SWEAR! *ahem* I MEAN....hai. owo As we march on into March, i think R2 of Digimon Temporal Jump was going on at the time. we were going through our story entries and things were pretty great being with my best buds. i also began doing art streams i'm pretty sure, with this drawing in particular being done during two days of streaming. i'm being serious, by the way. ZX is not dead. i've been typing up the story on my phone, so look forward to those chapters sometime soon! April: Are You Ready? Yup. in anticipation for Digidestined.Com, i decided to start seriously developing Digimon Unchained ahead of time so people would be able to get to know Yuki beforehand. unfortunately, i didn't actually get to start the story until much later, but that was just me being a lazy bum. i was hangin' out on Discord and stuff, talking about how excited i was for what was to come. we all know what happened, but at the time, being able to go back to the world i once knew with Luneth was a big deal for me. it's like i was going back to the beginning. And fear not, peeps! i've been working on Unchained for quite awhile. you'd be surprised how much i've worked on it with Gao. ^w^ May: Bits n' Bytes Ultima Vocal Collection Oh yeah, i did a birthday gift for Fire too! just so you know, i do still wanna make OSTs for my other Digimon adventures, but without my tablet i can't really do them right now. this month was pretty alright if i remember. making new friends and strengthening bonds with old friends. things were pretty fun in the sun cuz y'know......summer was coming. June: Connection Flow in Ice and Snow AWWW YEEEAAAAH, LET'S KICK IT!!! *Another Way by Girugamesh plays at full blast* (if .Com had a vocal OST, that would be opening.....3 if i remember the list i made. would've been the final opening i think. it's been awhile since i looked at the files.) Now that .Com finally began, i was on the hype train to the sun as i feverishly worked hard on my .Com stuff. this poster was one of my proudest works this year tbh. i promised i would make something great outta this story. this would be the closure that Luneth and Vivi so desperately needed, and Yuki and Arcus would be the ones to save them and close their book for good. not only that, but i was also graduating high school. after throwing my cap in the air, i said my heartfelt goodbyes to all the friends i've known since elementary and middle school including the close friends in my AP Art Squad. Team AP Art Will Never be Apart! honestly, things couldn't be any more exciting for me. Gee, it would be a shame if something were to happen that would trigger a chain of events that would divide my friends forever and send me down a spiraling pain train to the void known as crippling depression. July: DigiJuly Day 5: V-Mon (Vivi) This drawing was done to commemorate three years of adventures with Luneth and Vivi. this was during DigiJuly, when i was doing Digimon doodles nonstop for the duration of the month. What was once a hype train became a train wreck once July came around. things were ok until DTJ burned down in a raging fire and that set the stage for the rest of the year. i literally wouldn't be able to overcome any of this until November or so. i don't wanna dwell on it anymore since i'd be sounding like a broken record at this point. August: D3P: D-Sona 3 Portable Not a lot of art this month either. can you believe that? XD Hoo boy. August. need i say anything more about this month? we thought things settled down after DTJ shut down, but something was amiss.... This was the month that it happened. the climax of the story best left untold....even though i told it a hundred times already. >_>' Outside of the incident, time was running short for our stay at our current home and we were thinking of our next move. i began to worry about college as steep student debt caused us to have a change of plans on where to go. i was beginning to doubt if i even had a future to believe in. i was running out of options, and i was running out of hope. And trust me, it only gets worse from here. September: The Next Generation After awhile, things were still going on outside my realm of knowledge. it only made me feel worse seeing everything transpire long after the initial conflict. with this stigma hanging over me, i finally decided to pack my bags and leave the Digimon group era of my artist life. it was a pretty sour note to end it on, but let's be real here, there was no way i could wait any longer for things to get better. granted, my birthday was awesome, and i couldn't thank everyone enough for coming together to try to bring my spirit back. unfortunately, my bout with depression was just beginning. it was so bad, i pretty much stopped taking care of myself, which would lead to a few days ago when i'd end up with one less tooth in my mouth. i swear i won't let it get that bad again. With everything plummeting down to the dark abyss, i said goodbye to the life i once knew. from here on, things were about to change. i wasn't gonna end here. not now. October: Howling in the Shadows From this month forth, my family had no idea where we were going. the beginning of the tale of the borderline homeless that still continues to this day. Packing away my computer and drawing tablet for what feels like an eternity, i was moving out of my current home that we rented for the duration of my senior year and into grandma's house......in a raging storm. i'm not kidding. the rain was so bad that when we got there, our clothes were completely soaked and we couldn't even see 5 feet ahead of us outside that night. i knew immediately that it was some sort of ill omen for what was to transpire in the coming months. in fact, i even had dreams of the aftermath of what might happen. Now that i was stripped of my digital art abilities, i had to think of something else to do. so, i decided to dedicate myself to going back to traditional art. Boy, did i have fun. November: Return to the Realm of Sleep Now, this was the only thing i was able to crank out in November. BUT, that doesn't mean i didn't draw. i drew stuff, but nothing noteworthy enough to upload here. i'm gonna tell it to you straight now. Arcus will return. With my mental health still kicking me in the butt (it hit me so hard i had a panic attack one day.), i wasn't really motivated to draw much. in fact, i even hid myself away from the internet for quite awhile. without my friends or my sense of purpose, i felt like i had nothing and i was pretty under the weather for a majority of this month. that being said, i snapped myself out of it by force. it was stupid that i still felt the way i did months after what happened. sure, it was horrible, and i wish i could forget everything. but i can't stay stuck in the past. And so, i picked up my colored pencils and other such tools, and began my journey to recovery. December: Lexicon (Lex) and A Sacrifice for the Wind I got the hang of drawing traditionally pretty quickly. throughout the month, i was on fire, drawing masterstroke after masterstroke. (at least, in my opinion. XD) Making my new home in the mobile communities of Amino, it was a nice change of pace from the big screen of my computer. i made a bunch of new friends (to the staff of the Aminos i'm in and the rest of the crew in our Digimon Discord server, you guys are the best and thank you for healing the pain of yesteryear!) and had a grand old time making new OCs, Lex being one of them. i honestly luv Appmon and i wish we got more, but i'm content with what we got tbh. it'll live on in Seikatsu and his friends. be ready to see them once again in the near future! And so, in the wake of destruction as the world continues to change around me, i chopped off my signature anime emo locks, revamped my wardrobe and set my sights toward the future. Nowadays, i've completely moved on from the pain, but that doesn't change the fact that it still happened. overall, 2017 was a complete pile of poopoo garbage and i'm glad the nightmare is finally over. Even if i can't completely write it off as bad, there's just way too many negatives that weigh down the rest of the year for me personally. it's March now and things are pretty hectic, but i've got newfound courage and i know this year will be better than the last. time for me to get back up and charge forth to a better tomorrow!

[writer-of-romance]

Book Title: Noelle’s Rock Series: Book 1 Getting to know Beau and Noelle. Beau Barringer and Noelle Winter’s met at a precarious time in her life. Beau is a Rock Star, with a few trust issues when it comes to his privacy. Noelle will invade that privacy. Let’s find out what happens when a lady in distress meets the tall handsome stranger, in the middle of a blizzard. How did Noelle and Beau react the first time she knocked on his door, that cold wintry night? Noelle: I arrive at the big, wooden door and peer at the knocker under the lighted porch. The knocker is brass and carved in the face of a lion. I shudder at the frightening lion with its mouth open and its teeth bared. I take a deep breath before I raise my hand to grasp the brass knocker and rap the knocker against the door. I look down at my wet boots; I realize the wetness from my Uggs has soaked through to my thick socks. I wiggle my stiff, cold toes inside my boots and wrap my arms around myself to ward off the chill. It is so quiet and isolated out here. I feel like this house is in a place different from any other part of the world. As I look behind me into the darkness, I wonder who in their right mind would want to live out in the middle of nowhere. I shudder at the thought. I wait a few seconds and begin to knock again. I nearly jump out of my skin when the door suddenly jerks open, and a tall man around six foot three glares at me as if he detests the very sight of me intruding on his existence. Beau: “What do you want?” he growls out as he peeps over my shoulder as if he is expecting someone else, besides me, to be standing at his door at this time of the night. “Spit it out,” he growls again as I look up into his violent-blue eyes. His eyes are the most unusual mixture of color I have ever seen. His longish, wavy, silky, black hair is tousled over his head. His face sports a neatly trimmed moustache that attaches itself to an equally neat close-cut beard. He would be one fine, handsome man if he could wipe that frown off of his face. Is it hard for Beau to trust Noelle? Beau: Yes, it is hard at first. Beau wants his privacy and he thinks that Noelle is a reporter. He acts all gruff and mean, to scare her away. But he soon learns that she is really who she says she is and he warms up to her. Describe Beau’s Physical Appearance. Noelle: Beau is 6’3” tall, muscular build and he has the most beautiful eyes. Sometimes. His eyes are a deep blue. And at other times they are a mysterious color that I can’t quiet define. His hair is black, silky and wavy. It feels like it has a life of its own. What made Beau so protective of Noelle? Beau: I am not the type of man to stand idly by, when someone needs my help. When I got to truly know Noelle, all I wanted to do was to make her happy. I want to protect her in a way where no one will ever hurt her again. What become mine, I never let go of. What is it like to be loved by a man like Beau Barringer and what is it like to have Noelle’s love? Noelle: I love him enough to let go. I hope Beau doesn’t take this the wrong way. I just want him to think about the words I’m about to say. I’m pregnant with another man’s child. A fact we seem to forget when we get caught up in our own little universe. I will start to show pretty soon and I don’t want to worry about a reporter popping out of the bushes every time we are together…I think we should end things now before I get hurt in the crossfire of his lifestyle. I have to concentrate on having a healthy baby and being the best mother I can to my baby. Beau: I will never let her go. Ever. I hold Noelle tight and squeeze her like I never want to let her go. I don’t give a damn if she’s pregnant by another man. Her baby is a part of her, and I will love every part of her. I will be there for her baby in a way that that sorry excuse of a man, Victor, could never man up to be. I love Noelle and her unborn child. I have no qualms about being with her forever, and I didn’t even believe in long-lasting relationships before Noelle. Now that she’s my woman, I don’t ever want to hear her talk about leaving me, ever again. What would you do if the man you loved threw you out into the night, after you told him you were carrying his child? Would you fight for the love you once had, or walk away and begin to pick up the pieces of your life? Luckily for Noelle Winters, the meeting of a stranger puts her in the right place at the right time to take her out the cold and into the warmth of Rockstar Beau Barringer’s heart. The question is, will this unlikely connection survive color lines, distrust and the skeletons from the past. Excerpt: Chapter 1 Noelle A Cold Lonely Night I’m blinded by heavy tears falling from my eyes as I rush from my apartment building. I can hear my boyfriend, Victor, calling for me to come back inside out of the cold to finish our discussion. I am so consumed with self-pity and anger that I had rushed from the building out into the cold, wintry night in only a pullover sweater and jeans. I thank goodness that I did have the forethought to at least slip my feet into my favorite pair of ugg boots before exiting the building. I look up at the night sky as snowflakes begin to fall. If I didn’t hurry to open the car door, the tears would surely freeze onto my cheeks. I can hear footsteps behind me on the sidewalk as I press the button on the wireless remote to open the doors to my sky-blue 2012 Honda Accord. My car lights automatically blink on as I look behind me to see Victor running up behind me. He is shirtless as well as shoeless; I notice his long legs make quick work of the distance between him and me. I quickly let myself inside the car, and the doors lock automatically behind me. A loud thud sounds at my driver’s side window. I jump in fright as I look up into Victor’s handsome but very angry face. “Open the door, Noelle, and come back inside. It is too cold for you to be out here without a coat on. Are you trying to kill yourself?” he asks with anger in his voice. “Look who’s talking,” I scream through my car window. “You are the one who is standing out here in the cold without a shirt on, or shoes for that matter,” I wipe more tears from my eyes with the back of my hand. I can tell this makes Victor even angrier as I point out how silly he looks standing in the cold, half-naked in nothing but a pair of loose fitting D’Marge jeans. “Go back inside, Victor. I need some time to clear my head without you around,” I yell loudly to get my point across. “You are acting childish, Noelle, instead of acting like the twenty-five-year-old woman you are,” I glare angrily at him through the window before starting my car. “I am acting like a responsible woman. You are the one who is acting like a child. You don’t want to man up to the situation that we both created together. How dare you ask me to get an abortion just because you aren’t ready to become a father,” I shout as fresh tears form and spill down my cheeks. “You don’t have to worry about me and my baby. I will handle this situation from here on out. You can pack up your shit, or do whatever you want to do,” I say before the sound of squealing wheels gave Victor no time to reply. I look back in the rearview mirror to see my boyfriend, or should I say ex-boyfriend, throw his hands up in defeat before marching back towards our apartment building. I reach for the knobs to the heater to crank up the heat as I begin to shudder from the intense cold. I now realize how foolish I was to leave home without putting on my coat. I can feel chill bumps appear on my arms beneath my sweater. I don’t think out a plan or even the direction that I am heading in. I just need to get away from Victor. How dare he ask me to abort our unborn child? He knows that I’m virtually alone in this world except for him and my best friend Shelby Munroe. It’s Friday and Shelby is probably with her boyfriend, but I decide to call her anyway from my car phone. Shelby’s cell phone rings four times before she answers it. “Hey, Noelle. What’s up kiddo?” she says in a light voice. I sniffle as I think about the reason that I am calling my best friend. I turn my windshield wipers on because the snow starts to fall even harder than before. “What’s wrong?” Shelby questions me as her voice immediately changes to concern. “I…,” I begin to speak before I hear a gruff voice in the background. “Who is on the phone, babe? I need you to come back to bed and finish what you started…like pronto.” I can tell that I have interrupted Shelby’s alone time with her boyfriend, Erick. I feel bad because I know that she and Erick spend most weekends together when he is not out of town on business. “I’m so sorry, Shelby. I didn’t mean to interrupt you and Erick. I will see you in the office on Monday,” I say in a hurry as I try to end the phone call. “Wait,” Shelby replies quickly. I can hear her speak in a low tone to Erick before I hear the bed springs squeak loudly. Shelby giggles before I hear her tell her boyfriend to “stop that” and warns him to have a little patience... Genre: AA/BWWM/Multicultural Romance https://www.amazon.com/dp/B06XSK75G1/ref=sr_1_1?s=digital-text&ie=UTF8&qid=1490199275&sr=1-1&keywords=bwwm&refinements=p_n_date%3A1249100011