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heretherebeturtles-comic · 9 months ago

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Hello! Many people have said this but ill say it too, I LOVE YOUR COMIC SO MUCH ( ´ ▽ ` ).｡ｏ♡

I really wanted to ask you about how you do the backgrounds? (Something i struggle with) whats the process? Like from start to finish, also, to do the rise backgrounds do you use reference from the show and generally real photo of ny? Or do you come up with them? And last question- The shadow and light on the background- Like HOW

i know it’s a lot of questions but i’m just so curious qwq and wanna learn to be better, thank you again in case you read this and respond, in case you don’t, i hope you have a nice day and a wonderful life uwu keep up the great work! (≧◡≦) ♡

Backgrounds are a really broad subject and I'm always a little overwhelmed when asked this question. Just like drawing the human body, backgrounds take time, repetition, and practice!

My answer got a bit long, so it's going under a read more :) but if you digest info better in video format I found this on youtube

youtube

It pretty much goes over everything I wanted to say, but in a much better way. I wish I had found it before writing all this out lol

ok, first of all, I'm not a teacher nor was I built to be one of those cool helpful art tutorial people who do a full coloured tutorial filled with illustrations. This is just going to be a messy "how I do backgrounds / environment layouts from start to finish." kinda thing.

... lets start with a sight tangent.

Sketch from Life!!!

If you want to get better at backgrounds I recommend doing some sketching out in the real world!

When I was first getting into doing backgrounds I went to cafes and parks to just sketch the buildings and objects. Sketch rocks, flowers, clumps of grass, garbage cans, bottles, tables, street signs, etc. If you are drawing a tree observe how the trunks twist, how the bark flows, or how the leaves are bunched.

If you can't leave the house the same still applies! Sketch the interiors of your house, the walls, or common objects like chairs and bookshelves. How are objects stacked? items on the floor?

If you aren't comfortable with drawing outside or in public you can take some photos to draw from! They are good for practice and you can use them again as references later. Alternatively you can find pictures online of buildings and objects to sketch as practice.

All spaces have objects in them, it becomes easier to draw those kinds of spaces when you already have spent time observing and sketching them.

ALSO! They don't have to be good sketches! It's just to build out your mental catalogue and strengthen your perception of perspective.

now the actual thing...

BACKGROUNDS

(the pictures used for this are my own. I dug them out of my 2022 folder)

Backgrounds have slightly different rules based on what you are making them for. Videogame Environment Concept Art vs Animation Layouts vs Comic Backgrounds vs Illustration backgrounds.

They all follow the same basics, which I will go over here, but the intention and function of those designs are going to be different. It's all about how you set up the scene and what it's purpose is!

Brainstorming and Thumbnailing

I like to think about a location as though it is a character. An abandoned old house with creaky sagging floorboards is very different from a futuristic space ship with sharp metal floor panels. A gas station has a very different feeling from a library.

I usually start by asking what is this location's story? Why was it built and for what purpose? What kinds of things does this room need to fulfill that purpose? You don’t need solid answers, but its good to be thinking about it while you are working.

Next, sketch some ideas for how this place is going to look. For me, this usually involves drawing the idea from multiple angles and then making lists & small sketches of the objects I think should be filling the space.

Example: The main character of my original work is a Wanderer. They collect a lot of things on their travels, but those items have to be small enough to be easily carried in a backpack. I wanted his room to be in the corner of an attic, walled off by curtains, and filled with trinkets. You can see some of my brainstorming above.

References

I only look for references after I've done some sketching and planning; this is to solidify my idea first so that I don't accidentally copy anyone else's work. I will make a moodboard with pictures of lighting, colours, items, rooms with specific ceiling beams, old chairs, etc. basically whatever I feel fits the vibe.

Honestly, I don't use references as much as I should. For ROTTMNT fanart I look at backgrounds and screenshots from the series to study the style. I also reference actual photos of NYC to get a feel for how Rise condenses the visual information.

In general, it's good to have references of real life objects/locations, because there are so many details like cracks in pavement, stickers on polls, crowning on buildings, fancy fencing, weird chair legs, etc. that you might not think of. It's the imperfect details that can make a location feel more alive.

Perspective

Once you have your chosen sketch we move to.... the infamous perspective boxes. Doing backgrounds is just learning to be comfortable drawing So Many boxes and carving items out of them.

Many better artists than myself have made videos on perspective, vanishing points, and all the technical bits. Videos like THIS ONE and THIS ONE are helpful (this post is great too!!). There are probably a lot of classes to be found on Skillshare or Schoolism. I learned a lot of this in my college art course, so I can't give you a specific video which helped me.

You can get by and be a good artist without learning this stuff. There are quite a few successful artists who have admitted they never bothered to learn perspective (one of these people even made a whole graphic novel series).

I personally avoided properly learning this stuff until I was in my 20s because I thought it would be boring and difficult to do. tbh I really wish I had learned it earlier because it's so much fun to make those silly little boxes imo. It looks scary and complicated but, just like drawing humans, it just takes time, repetition, and practice to develop the knowledge and skills.

Cleanup

You have your boxes and lines! Cool! Now to make a scene out of it. Fill in the details, get everything placed were you want it! Generally, the lines of each item will point back towards the horizon line, but they can have different perspective points.

Generally you would want to clean it up and get your room completely sketched before doing the lineart. I tend to combine the steps (not recommended)

Lineart

I've mentioned how I do this before. Closer objects have thicker lines and more detailed inside. Further objects have thinner lines and less detail. I didn't quite achieve that balance with the image below, but it's close enough.

Colours and Shading will have to be a separate post. In the meantime, I highly recommend the book "Color and Light" by James Gurney. I used to borrow it from my local library and a good chunk of my knowledge was learned from it :)

#Artist's Comic Rambles #asks #art related asks #thank you for the ask!! I'm glad to hear you enjoy the comc :D #i hope this was somewhat helpful...#i get overwhelmed by broad questions very easily haha #if you would me to elaborate on something specific I mentioned feel free to ask #i wrote this all out weeks ago and then forgot about it... I just added a link or two but yeah here it is

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0uch1e · 8 months ago

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Shepherd Chapter 1

M!Werewolf x F!Reader

Word Count: 1K

Warnings: None?

When you left the house that morning to feed the animals something caught your eye. Crossing over the fields of greenish gold, you keep your shepherding staff close to your body. The sun had just barely risen and the town was silent, everyone exhausted from last night's festival.

A patch of grass flattened by the body of a man. Curled up and bare. A drunkard, great.

He didn’t respond to being nudged by your staff. Only when you saw the blood around his mouth and arms you realized this could be quite serious. Dragging him back through the pasture the animals cried for their daily feed,

“In a minute! I’m busy.” He was heavier than he looked. Once you managed to get him inside your home and onto your bed you took a better look at him. Dark hair and tawny skin. A friend of someone in the village? You’d certainly never seen him before.

Getting a bowl of warm water and a rag you began to clean him up. The stains around his mouth washed easily, but his arms were another story. Deep gashes and areas that were sure to scar over. This was more than just drunken tom-foolery. He shifted and sighed at your touch.

————

Slowly, Silas opened his eyes. He was inside again. Somewhere small and homely. A fireplace, a wooden tub, a beautiful woman, and no recollection of the night before. His arms burned and his back ached. What the hell did you do to him?

“Are you alright? I found you just a moment ago lying in my yard and I wanted to make sure you weren’t dead.”

“Alright? Sure, I’m alright. Do you mind telling me what happened…?”

“Y/n. And yes um, I was going to ask you the same thing. No offense, it’s fairly strange to show up naked in people's homes. Now I’m not one to judge but you look like a decent man, not the sort to get caught up on drinking games and god knows what else. I mean-” Silas quickly pulled the sheets up to his abdomen. This girl sure liked to talk.

Silas held up his hand to shush you,

“Could I have some clothes, please?”

———————

Clothes! You rummaged through the drawers and dug out some old pants and a loose linen top once belonging to your father. Handing them over, his hands held yours for only a moment, but that moment was more than enough. Suddenly a warm feeling tickled your chest and cheeks. Turning your back to him you shoo’d the feeling out.

“Your husband won’t mind my borrowing these?”

“He’s up north selling real estate this time of year.” You lied. You didn’t have a husband, but telling a man you were single was like telling a bear you’re secretly made of honey.

You heard the sheets drop and did your best not to imagine him standing there behind you. Tall…tanned…naked…stop! He’s a stranger. For all you know, the blood that was around his mouth could’ve been from some other poor woman! You bunched the fabric of your skirt in your hands and took deep breaths. This man would not get the best of you. When he cleared his throat you turned around. He had a slight smile now and stuck out a hand,

“ I suppose it’s time for me to introduce myself. I’m Silas.”

He explained that he was from a town far across the river and that he had no idea how he made it so far in one night. The last thing he remembers was walking home from his job and taking the shortcut past the woods. When he talked, there was a sincerity in his voice that made you believe every word. It drowned out everything else, the crackling of the fire, the bleating of the sheep-oh shit! The sheep! Excusing yourself you ran back outside and began distributing the feed among the animals,

“Yes, yes, I’m sorry. I got distracted.” Silas followed behind, chuckling,

“You talk to your animals?”

“I think it helps them understand that I’m here to take care of them. I’ll always help those in need, animal or human.”

Silas was a great deal of help while your “husband” was gone. He’d run into the village and buy bread. Help clean the house. Most often, he’d be sitting underneath the large oak tree that shaded your home. Reading whatever he found and telling you about it that evening over dinner. He never asked about how to get back to his town, only ever pestered you about your husband and when he’d return home.

“I’d hate to be here when he returns, that’s all. I think he’d see you and me and get the wrong idea. We eat dinner together, work together, sleep together.”

“We do not sleep together! Your bed is far away from mine and I’d like to keep it that way.” Silas scooted closer,

“Oh really? Is that why you insist on leaving the house whenever I bathe?”

You couldn’t believe what you were hearing! Your face felt like fire. How dare he ask such questions after you let him live here! Throwing your fork down, you shout,

“I do it all in the name of propriety!”

“Just seems to me like you’re being over cautious. Like you’re afraid you might do something if you saw me naked.”

“Oh, of all the insane things to suggest!” Your passion had driven you from your seat and into a mad pace around the room.

“You don’t have to shout, I’m just teasing! Why are you getting so defensive anyways?”

“Because I lied. I have no husband.” The room grew quiet as you sat back down. You only lied to him because you didn’t know him at the time. His hand found yours, and again you felt that strange fire in your body. He didn’t have to do much at all to get you worked up, it was pathetic. Neither one of you said anything. You didn’t know where to go from here. Silas leaned in and took a deep breath. Peering up at you through dark lashes he whispered,

“Then… you wouldn’t mind if I kissed you?”

#werewolf x reader #werewolf x human #monster lover #monster fucker #short story #fanfic #my stories

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marchwardenofmordor · 6 months ago

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Stupid fae-vibe type shit I did as a kid with undiagnosed autism, if you want to flesh out a mischievous fey-pact warlock / changeling / elf character’s childhood or summin similar

- Regularly would go outside in the early hours of the morning, completely stark naked, to sit on the grass in the rain. This happened between the ages of 4 and 6 and to this day, nobody knows how the fuck I managed to get outside (including me), because all the doors and windows were locked and I didn’t know where the keys were. Wrap your noggin around that one.

- I would speak to the shadows in my room. Sounds ominous af, I know, but I did it to stop myself from being afraid of them, to trick myself into perceiving the dark as friendly instead of scary. What was scary, however, is that I used to call them ‘the masters’ and would pretend to take orders from them. (Fucking horrifying unless you know the context: I really REALLY liked the dnd cartoon as a kid ok, the shadow thing and Venger were my favourites)

- I had a ‘sleeping tree’ in my grandmother’s garden, which I would curl up and nap beneath. And apparently also hoard things under. In 2018, she was trying to plant some potatoes and dug up my ‘treasure’ - a handful of plastic gemstones and her fucking spoons 💀

- I devoured honey and butter like nobody’s business. It was a borderline addiction to the point where my grandmother had to think of creative ways to stop me from getting at the butter, and placing the honey out of my reach (which ultimately did not work because I was determined enough to climb on top of the fridge to get my fix).

- I wasn’t a nasty child, but I was oddly territorial (?). To give a few examples, there was a tree that I remember I LOVED in my old primary school playground. Big ol pine tree, with a very pleasing bark texture, and always seeped out this fucking phenomenally good smelling sap (which I used to rub on my chest and arms and would sometimes lick (rip, I don’t recommend trying to eat pine sap guys, it’s apparently poisonous). Nobody was allowed near my tree and if other kids tried to climb it I would barrel towards it and literally pull them down. I was also similarly protective of a gooseberry bush and would ‘punish’ kids who ate the fruit from it without asking me first - not my proudest moment, but I got in trouble because I made one kid cry in fear after telling her that she needed to run away from the grass after eating the fruit, otherwise her feet would root in the ground and she would turn into a tree, because the gooseberry seeds had ‘hatched’ in her belly.

- As demonstrated in the naked-in-the-rain point, I was an escape artist. Someone’s back garden behind the playground was full of bluebells, and I used to get my friends to guard the loose plank in the school fence whilst I crawled through it to go play in the flowers. The teachers eventually noticed and reinforced the fence. Did that stop me? Absolutely not. I just climbed up a tree and vaulted over it instead. Me and a few of the boys regularly used to escape to go stuff our mouths with blackberries. I got caught up the tree once, and it took ages for the teachers to get me down because I refused to come down unless my ‘favourite’ came to lift me down. I was a prick. I wouldn’t tell them who my favourite was and just sat up there smugly. I ripped my trousers that day and had to walk around with my jumper tied around my waist like a weird loincloth.

- Again in the school playground, the teachers had to keep an eye on me because I would eat things I really shouldn’t. Some things were actually foragable - white clovers, for example. Other things? Man oh man. I’ve eaten dirt, ants, worms, you name it. A bunch of kids were gathered around one area because there was a spider. What did I do? Pushed straight in and shoved it in my mouth. Horrific. I still remember the feeling of it on my tongue and that nasty vomit-like taste of it after I chewed it.

- Weird, wild and wonderful revenge. I used to get my own back by splitting rosehips down the backs of people’s jumpers, throwing ‘stickyweed’ at people’s backs where they couldn’t reach it, and, if pissed off enough during sleepovers/overnight school trips, knotting the hair of whichever unlucky girl had offended me in her sleep.

- my family spent most of my childhood with their heads in their hands, usually accompanied by the phrase “where has he gone now?!”. Knowing what you know of the above, with my affinity for the natural world and my reputation as Houdini, you can probably gauge the dread of my family members after I made my sometimes sudden and violent (I would not be contained) and sometimes very irish exits (literally blink and I’m gone), knowing that I was likely going to reappear either drenched (from rainwater or pondwater - Grandmother located me once, stood directly under a small waterfall), with muddy or ripped clothes, or with the leftovers of my michelin star bug and flower cuisine stuck in my teeth.

- Oh, you want child me to turn out his pockets? Here, have some mangled pussy-willow sprigs, leaves, acorns, pinecones, conkers, rosehips (weapons of choice), half eaten flowers, unripe gooseberries, crushed up blackberries or bilberries, pieces of sheep wool I found on barbed wire fences (congrats, your hands now smell like sheep), bottle caps (shiny), feathers, and finally the little brown envelope with my £2 of lunch money inside. Put your hand in my pocket and be repulsed by the damp berry juice, dirt and sticky glue-like tree sap.

- Accept the daisy chain I’ve made you lest you face my unbridled wrath

- it is, in fact, an affront to my person if I hold a buttercup under your chin and it does not glow. You are cursed. I am sorry. I pity you, for now you must die.

- present me with your finest dandelion crown and I am now not only fascinated, I am irrevocably in love with you. I’ll plait your hair, let you sit under my tree with me or tidy your drawer for you.

#dnd oc #dnd5e #dnd character #dnd #dnd ocs #dnd homebrew #folklore #welsh #bg3 warlock #bg3 druid #bg3 tav #bg3 oc #bg3 #bg3 headcanons #bg3 character #bg3 ocs #childhood #welsh childhood

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andradrawsstuff · 11 months ago

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Second chapter of my fic ✨

I’ve had this saved in my drafts for a few days and forgot to post it lmao

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 2: San Francisco

The screeching of train wheels echoed as they arrived at the Embarcadero and Stockton station that stood before pier 39. The scorching sun was already beaming through the windows of the train, creating a sauna for the animals inside. Kowalski carefully drove the train forward and pushed a bunch of colourful buttons, which he clearly installed at some point. The train’s wheels switched to tires one by one. Evidently, this was an upgrade that the penguins installed fairly recently, as this certainly wasn’t there before. Miraculously, the train could now be driven on regular roads.

“How close are we to our destination?” Asked Skipper

“Only a few minutes.” Replied Kowalski, who was once again pushing those colourful buttons.

A polite knock was heard at the door. It was Mason, holding what appeared to be an old discontinued Nokia Brick. It was 2008, after all. Phil tagged along behind him, presumably to translate the messages Mason was about to present.

“The park rangers have notified us.” Announced Mason. “We have the go, Great Meadow Park is ours for the week.”

“Great news, thanks Mason.” Greeted Skipper.

Phil shot him a disapproving look

“Uh, and you, Phil.” Skipper added nervously.

The now car-train hybrid cruised through traffic and finally came to a halt on the short cut grass of the park. The circus folk gathered their equipment and wasted no time, rushing to pitch their mile-high tent.

“Yay!” Cheered young Private. “We’re here!”

Rico trudged back to the boys with a pathetic-looking Julien attached to his leg, crying about his dance time being cut short.

“Relax, Ringtail.” Skipper reassured. “We’re here. Once the tent is set up, you can party all you want.”

“Ugh… fine.” He muttered. “You’re all boring.”

The king let go and hopped out of the train to greet his beloved Sonya. The penguins stood and watched for a few moments, analysing their strange relationship. Kowalski awkwardly broke the silence to eagerly debate the plan for his new invention.

“So…” He uttered. “About my new… idea, so to speak…”

“Spit it out Kowalski.” Boomed Skipper, starting to get impatient.

He stuttered. “Well… we may need more than just the-“ He sighs. “…elemental core…” He really disliked having to simplify scientific terms.

“Well, what else do you need?” Asked Skipper. “The entire state of Kentucky? Ooo, how about Ohio! Heard its real nice this time of year.” He mocked. The grumpy penguin seemed to regain some of his charm back, and sarcasm appeared to be the first step.

Kowalski wasn’t impressed. “No,” He stated. “But you do have a point… we could use some helping hands…”

“Where would we even find that?” Skipper asked. “Everyone’s busy setting up their beloved circus, no one has time!” He pointed out.

“Aha!” Kowalski exclaimed. He was climbing onto his high horse. “There is an aquarium down on Pier 39. I’d like to assume that they’d be willing to lend a helping hand, with the right payment…”

Kowalski appeared to have a suspiciously good idea of his plan and the general area, which piqued Skipper’s interest. He squinted as he studied his brother’s increasingly anxious face.

“Kowalski…” He interrogated. “Is this… core-thingy also in San Fransisco?” He shot him an “I figured you out” gaze.

“Well, ha-ha…” He nervously replied, his entire plan being dug out simultaneously. “Will you look at that, it IS!”

Skipper raised a brow. “Really?” His tone changed to a sarcastic one. “Have you been tracking it? Did you perhaps… plan this entire trip around that? Hm?”

“…Maybe…” Kowalski muttered.

Skipper noticed Kowalski’s shame, realising he shouldn’t have lashed out. “I’m not mad at your plan, Kowalski.” He sighed. “I’m annoyed because you hid it from us! Why? Did you think I’d say no?” He remarked.

Before Kowalski could say anything, the train shook as the animals tried to migrate all their equipment.

“Oh, for Pete’s sake!” Skipper facepalmed. “Alright, where is this thing?”

Kowalski answered almost too eagerly. “Funnily enough, it’s at the aquarium!” Skipper crossed his flippers and Kowalski cleared his throat, scratching the back of his neck in embarrassment.

Skipper shouted for Private and Rico, as they already trailed off during their argument, whilst Kowalski revealed a small kids car that he had started to fix up. Its bright pink paint adorned with yellow flower decals stood out against the dark brown background of the inside of the train. It had no number plate yet, since they were still looking for one. It was no Ferrari, by all means, but it got the job done for now. The group gathered round and Skipper briefed them before they set off on the mission. Now, all they needed to do was get there in one piece.

#tpom #the penguins of madagascar #penguins of madagascar #tpom fanfic #fanfic

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sweetiesicheng · 1 year ago

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dk - time capsule

word count : 926

it’s seokminnie’s day too!!

"y/n? what are you doing here?"

you stood up straight and turned around to see dokyeom, one of your classmates. it looked like he had just left school and was cutting through a field that connected to your elementary school.

"oh, hi. i'm digging up something," you answered him.

"...i gathered up that much information considering you're holding a shovel..."

you rolled your eyes at him and lightly threw the shovel down onto the grass next to you. you brushed your hands from some dirt that had gotten into them.

"i don't know if you remember, but when we were in second grade, we made a time capsule as a class. the teacher emailed me today and said that she wanted everyone to get together if possible, but she wanted someone to dig it up. so i volunteered out of the people she emailed about it," you explained to him.

"wait, oh! i remember!" he suddenly exclaimed. "when's everyone meeting up?" he asked you.

"someone else is planning on sending a group text, so i'm not sure yet," you answered.

"do you need help digging?" he asked you before looking at his watch, "i'm done with rehearsal for the day."

"if you would be so kind because my back is already killing me."

—

dokyeom had started digging for said time capsule while you sat on the grass next to him.

"i don't even remember what i put in it. do you?" dokyeom asked you while throwing some dirt into another pile with the shovel.

"our teacher said all of us put letters in it and an item. she said she put photos of us in there too, but i don't remember what item i put in it," you answered, "if i had to guess, maybe something from my desk."

"we were so little back then. this will be fun opening it up," dokyeom said with a smile.

"yea, it will," you replied. "thanks for—"

dokyeom hit something that sounds like metal.

"is that it?" you asked, standing up and looking into the hole.

dokyeom crouched down and brushed some dirt with his hand. a metal box started to become visual.

dokyeom looked up at you with a grin, "jackpot."

—

over a week had passed since the time capsule was dug up. you were meeting everyone at a park and got off at a bus stop. you headed into the park through one of the entrances and looked around to see if you could find the picnic table that your old teacher said to meet at.

"y/n! over here!"

someone called for you and you noticed someone waving at you. as you got closer, you recognized a few people. some of them you went to school with while others you hadn't seen since elementary school.

"you got tall," you heard someone say.

"and you didn't hit a growth spurt?"

"y/n, you got so much prettier," one of your classmates said to you.

"no way. i still look the same for the most part," you replied.

"oh come on. she got scouted a few months ago for a modeling agency," one of your classmates said to your classmates you were sitting with. "and guess what? she declined the offer."

"and now i won't have to give up eating," you replied before looking over at another table. other classmates were looking at the time capsule.

"when are we going to open it?" one of the guys asked.

"is everyone that could make it here?" your teacher asked all of you.

"we're still missing a few," someone mentioned.

"alright, let's give it a few minutes," your teacher said.

"hey, let's get some drinks," one of the guys suggested.

"oh, i want to come," someone else said while standing up.

—

after a bit, everyone who could make it to the park arrived. your teacher, now retired, recalled some memories with all of you, and your classmates started to remember bits and pieces from when you were altogether in the classroom.

"alright, let's get this opened," one of the guys said. he opened the box, and inside were a bunch of items.

"hey! my baseball!"

"oh my gosh, i forgot this was in there."

"hey, y/n, isn't this yours?" dokyeom asked you, holding a keychain with the sanrio star twins on it.

"yea, it is!" you instantly smiled as dokyeom handed you the keychain. "how'd you know?" you asked him.

"you still have sanrio keychains on your backpack," dokyeom replied, "i remember seeing them the other day."

“everyone, pass these out. it’s the letters you wrote when you were younger,” your teacher said as she grabbed some envelopes out of a plastic bag.

“hey, my handwriting sucked.”

“did you write your name backwards?”

“don’t ask…”

once you got your letter, you walked away while opening the envelope. you recognized the stationary as your own from back in the day and pulled out the letter.

as you read it, someone stood by you, peeking over to read your letter.

“you wanted to be an astronaut?” dokyeom asked you. you looked at him.

“i mean, can you blame me? it sounds like so much fun,” you said to him. “and what did you want to become, dokyeom?” you asked.

he smiled and unfolded his letter to show you. he pointed his finger to a certain sentence, “a singer,” he said with a chuckle. “looks like one of us accomplished our goals.”

you rolled your eyes at him, “hey, give me some time, alright?” you replied.

“yea, you’re gonna need it.”

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elise-51-blog · 1 year ago

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"Run to Daylight" WIP snippet

“Why do you love sports so much?”

“‘Cos I’m a dumb jock,” Guy laughs, bunting the question away. “Plus there’s beer. And it’s easier than readin’ books and shit.”

“Shut up,” Kyle laughs, shakes his head.

It’s about dinnertime, and he wonders what he has in the fridge or if Kyle might want to get something in a bit except he’s probably not hungry after all the beer and hotdogs.

“I dunno. I guess it’s just. When everything else in my life was shit, sports seemed like the real thing. Like the only real thing in a world of bullshit.”

Kyle hums. “It’s weird, I mean. I always thought the opposite, to be honest. Everyone cared so much about the football team, or how the basketball team was doing, and just seemed like a distraction from…from actual life. From more important things.”

Guy’s heard this spiel a million times. Mostly from chicks.

Kyle clears his throat. “I mean I--I’m not saying I’m right. It just seemed like everyone always acted like winning on Friday night was like, it’d be the end of the world if the guys lost. But I mean…I didn’t get it. It’s just--it’s literally just a game.”

“And paintin’ pictures, what’s that?” Guy almost tries not to sound too dickish.

Kyle sighs, rolls his eyes, looks away. Oh, but there’s an edge there. Something old. “I don’t think you’d understand what…what that gave me. Art. What it still gives me. It’s making something…something meaningful out of,” Kyle gestures in the air. “Out of what was meaningless.”

Guy knows if this was a movie, he’d be the asshole. Well this ain’t a fuckin’ movie.

“And the football team, just a bunch of morons tossin’ a ball back and forth?”

“That’s not what I said!”

“It’s what you meant.”

“No it’s not--”

“Listen, you say it’s only a game. And you’re right but you’re wrong too.”

There’s a long pause. They’ve never really dug into this truth between them. The gulf of difference. The dumb jock and the sensitive artist thing. Kyle tilts his head at Guy, giving him his full attention. “So tell me.”

“You can’t just put it down on a--on like a postcard. It’s…you gotta see it, right?”

“Sure. Like coming to this game? Green grass and red dirt and, and all that.”

Guy shakes his head, it’s not what he means, he hates trying to say what he means.

“It’s more like…it’s Michael Jordan’s jump shot.”

Kyle stares back blankly.

“David Beckham’s corner kick. Joe Montana and Jerry Rice on a Sunday. And it’s--it’s Bob Gibson 1.12 ERA and refusing to shake Joe Torre’s hand ‘cos it’s war and not a picnic. It’s Zizu’s head and Materazzi’s big mouth. It’s Curt Schilling’s bloody sock. It’s Derek Redmond limping to the finish line and Bronko Nagurski crawling to the end zone. It’s a routine ground ball rolling under Bill Buckner’s glove and Steven Gerrard slippin’ on the grass. It’s Barry Bonds’s hat size and Pete Rose’s bookie.”

Guy doesn’t know how else to say it. It’s just all of it. It’s life but boiled down to the stuff you need. Forget tax returns and the DMV. Just good guys and bad guys. Pure love, pure hatred. Grief, agony, pain you wouldn’t believe. Outrageous joy. Selfishness, sacrifice. Blood, sweat, tears. War. Love to last a lifetime.

“It’s everything. All of it. It’s all there. On a pitch, or a diamond, or a gridiron. Just…everything. Waitin’ on a whistle.”

“Wow.”

“Fuck off.”

“No, really!” Kyle laughs, clasping Guy’s forearm. “I mean I don’t know who any of those people are--”

“You fucking know David Beckham--”

Kyle laughs, looking away with his eyebrows raised, his dimples deep, his cheeks a little pinker. He looks so good in the ballpark lights, they should wash him out, but they can’t. “Yeah, I know David Beckham.”

#guykyle #run to daylight #may it someday see daylight #wip #maybe giving away my best stuff #guy gardner #kyle rayner #for the love of sports #david beckham #kyle knows him because he's so fucking hot c'mon now #fic wip #jocks and nerds the oldest love story #kyle and the green crayon #yeah I'm still working on it I'm just so damn slow

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rederiswrites · 1 year ago

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Went walkabout today with my morning coffee. There's an old saying, "The best fertilizer is the farmer's footstep." Straightened the mulch in the veggie garden where someone--probably a stray chicken--had thrown the grass clippings from the path onto the spinach plants. Replaced the strawberry plant that something dug up overnight. I started by counting. "One, two, three--why is there a gap?" Looked around, and sure enough, there was a plant a few feet away.

Waited too long to protect the trees in the orchard, and now a lot of new leaves and growing tips have been chewed off by deer. I'm trying not to dwell on how much that sucks, because I can't undo it. The trees will recover eventually, and meanwhile I've really got to get the fence rings made and placed.

On the flip-side, though I had thought last year's drought killed every bit of my considerable investment in pond plants, looks like I have one surviving blue flag iris

I promise.

These might be soft stem bulrushes. I can't tell because they haven't set seed and I can't find any photos from that part of the life cycle. I'm just hoping, because none of the grass otherwise will grow submerged like that.

And there was a little red squiggle that could just possibly be an Arrow Arum. Maybe. Fingers crossed. I really can't afford to just throw plants in there year after year with no result.

Gave Kratos the ram some grain. Tried to make sure Mimir the wether got some but he wasn't willing to brave Kratos' greed by coming to me. They both need to be caught so that I can roo Kratos, shear Mimir (who for some reason doesn't roo), and trim their hooves. Another pressing item on the to do list.

Finally found a spot for the sunchokes where they'll be against a structure on one side and mowed on the other side. They can spread along the entire south side of the storage container as far as I'm concerned. I'll get them in later, somehow in between everything else.

And then when I came around the front of the house, I discovered a bunch of sweet woodruff under the chickweed, and spent a few minutes sitting in the grass with my coffee and carefully detangled fragile weeds from fragile herbs. Found out that a single stem of Solomon's Seal survived the chickens last year, so I'll put my remaining stash of roots there today.

The garlic patch, and the kids working hard to clear a spot for strawberries last night.

#gardening #or farming #or whatever you want to call #*gestures vaguely*#all this

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bansept · 2 months ago

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Martyrdom

Here's a small contribution to the Henry/Katherine ship, and I hope more will come!

If you prefer, you can find it on AO3 as well.

The incessant stops from villagers and bandits alike, some begging for help, waving at him good-naturedly or threatening him with poorly maintained weapons, the rust on their laminar armor enough to hint at their bandit status. Not a matter, he was always happy to rid the Kingdom of these pests, encumbering the good people for a fistful of groschen.

Pebbles whinnies loudly, as if urging him to get off his back quickly, the journey from Tachov exhausting for both animal and master.

Mutt was always eager to bite them off, barking threateningly at any noises, and his mare stood strong against swords and spikes.

Tachov didn’t change during the span of those long weeks. Places like that rarely do, forever molded by the simple daily tasks: wake up, work the field, gather some herbs, feed the chicken, drink at the tavern at nightfall, and repeat it all until your bones grow too weak to carry you out of your bed.

Radovan had looked surprised to see him in such company, or perhaps it was the thick, dark cuirass, intricate arm plates, and bloody knight sword strapped to his side that made the smithy shift from one foot to the other with a worried smile. A beggar turned knight, he must have thought.

Nevertheless, Henry returned to pay back his debt, thanking the man for sheltering him for the few days of his stay, and diving him back to the smell of burning coal, sweat, and incandescent metal.

The Trotsky region had other friends he visited, including the nomad camp, buzzing with tension for their great departure. True enough, Nomads don’t like to stay in one place too long.

But after a while, he knew he had to return.

The Devil’s Den doesn’t change either. Bandits, tramps, and thieves alike lounge around it, pestering each other with games of dice and drunken madness, chanting and dancing like mad men. However, this particular bunch has a good reason to celebrate: the silver from the Italian court, glittering and tingling purely, calling each of them by their names as would an exotic wench with honey dosed over her shapes.

Zizka keeps the troops well dug in until they figure out what to do, and especially, how to do it. Although it seems in the 2 weeks of his absence, Henry didn't miss much: the men are restless being around so much money, yearning for a good sacking and pillaging, as always. But they rest easy, enjoying the calm while it lasts.

Even Hans suffers in silence, with patience. The inn is nowhere close to his standards, as a noble and Bellatores, but when confronted with the burning look in the commander’s single eye, he complies, carrying the lone, small sack of flour 3 steps away, muttering about God’s law under his breath.

Henry steps down, the sensation of the leather saddle on his dear horse’s back as if printed on his buttocks. He groans in relief, feet finally on the ground, while he slowly takes off his gauntlets, the plate clinking with each movement.

“Well, there you are!” Hans exclaims from one of the tables in the shade, his mug of ale dangerously full. His face is red and his smile is drunken, but he’s genuinely happy to welcome his friend. “Where in the Lord’s name were you?”

Godwin, Janosh, and Samuel yelp at the same time, drunkenly greeting his arrival, and Henry can’t help but smile. After almost 2 weeks of traveling by himself, it’s a reward in itself to hear the raucous voices of friends.

“I’m sure I told you before I left, Lord Capon. But, let's say I had some unfinished business in the Trotsky region.” Henry sighs, cracking his neck in relief while the others stare dumbly, the booze in their veins surely rendering him with 3 eyes.

“Trotsky? Kurva, what did you have there you needed to see again?”

“A woman, of course!”

Henry's smile wavers for a second, the little clearing right outside Nebakov’s ruins rushing to his mind. The flowers, the green grass of the field, the grave he dug for an idea, for a body he couldn't find. Radovan, the nomads, he happily helped them and kept them away from his fate, where war wouldn’t catch up to them.

The same can’t be said about Klara.

He had hoped to find her, alive, if not wounded or missing a limb. But neither the ruins of the castle, nor the mill, nor even the villages miles away sheltered her.

She deserved a place to rest, so he gave her one.

“Did you manage to drink yourselves to death and keep a few barrels on the side? I’m impressed.” Henry chuckles, hands resting on his hips, while the others continue their buffoonery.

The drunks snicker and joke at him, ignoring the look of growing pain the young knight supports.

Henry winces slightly, leaning to his left to leave his right side to rest, the blood and dirt on his gambeson camouflaging the small trickle of blood from his injury. The company doesn’t need to know about it, he’ll wash up, dress up the wound, and sleep for the next few days, and he’ll be as good as new.

He waves at the men, before sighing to himself when they barely notice him stepping inside the Den. The building is as dark as night, as always, to the point he has to pick up his own torch to avoid stumbling into one of the tables. Far from him the idea to disturb Zizka or Kubyenka from their own drunken stupor.

Candles barely light the path to the wooden stairs, each step prolonging the sharp pain on his side. He can feel the blood trickle down, and drip on his clothes as if he wasn’t filthy enough already. Henry breathes heavily, biting off a moan of relief when he finally manages to climb to the first floor, the dice players of the day paying him no mind.

He was never one to live in luxury, even before all of this madness. That’s probably one thing he will always be grateful for because turning into one of those petulant numbskulls, rich to be damned and cowardly enough to pay others to do the business one could do himself would have been the most absurd strike of fate.

Thankfully, he was raised a blacksmith’s son. He was just a boy, with no dream, no darkness in his heart, and only wished to make Pa and Ma proud.

He is not entirely sure if he succeeded.

The fresh air from the balcony is a nice change, cooling his sweating brows, and he quietly stumbles to the end of the building. Henry pushes the door to one of the outside rooms open, the light from the sunny weather warming the cramped space.

The man almost trips on his feet several times before dropping on the bed given to him, moaning in relief. A small drop of blood leaks on the floor as he starts to fumble with his armor, the leather straps for the cuirass suddenly too tight, too much. After taking off the mail hood resting on his shoulders, he slowly removes the thick armor, and it feels like a horse is lifted from his worn-out body. Dents, gashes, and arrow impacts cover the metal, the blood, and rust from constant fighting, daily strain, and eternal traveling through woodlands, marshes, and fields.

He carefully takes off the gloves and arm plates from his shoulders, elbows, and forearms, shuffling the mail armor from his exhausted torso. The dull ache that he has been ignoring finally relieved.

Henry winces again when he realizes the torn-off gambeson he wears sticks to his wound. Like a sponge to water, he’s drenched in blood, old and new.

“Fuck… gotta rip it off…” He mumbles to himself, the padded material stuffing his wound close.

He’ll have to get the jacket open, pull strongly at the vest, certainly tearing at the scab that was barely formed from the constant closed space. If the clothing at least did one thing, it was to avoid him bleeding to death like a pit from a barrel. The clogged wound certainly suffered on his descent from his horse, and he must clean, stitch, and bandage himself before it gets purulent.

He carefully looks around, the bottle of Schnapps on one of the shelves calling to him like the Lord on Resurrection Day.

With a stretch that makes him grunt, Henry eagerly takes the bottle, placing it on his side. Alright. He needs to do this quickly. Helping Klara heal the wounded, and doing so himself later on at least taught him one thing: it will hurt like a bitch, but nothing a few potions here and there will not help. Fuck, he needs to get a painkiller brew. Or at least some chamomile oil to rub on his sides.

Loud stomping pulls him from his thinking, the sound of rushed footsteps unencumbered by any armor traveling to his door. Henry takes his hand off his ribs, foolishly hoping whoever will barge into his room will not notice the wound plaguing him.

The door is thrown open, and his breath catches in his throat, both relieved and horrified he’s been found out by the one person he wished would never see him weak.

Katherine’s eyes widen, the small wrinkles on her forehead tightening with the gasp coloring her face. Her hand rests on the door handle, the other bunched into a fist. Her dress is the same as the one she had when he left, the long cream-colored sleeves, the intense blue of the gown, the exotic ornate brooch, and the silver cross from the pearl necklace nestled in her cleavage.

His eyes linger on her chest for a single moment, witnessing the hurried rise and fall of her breasts, as if she had come running to see him.

In the infinite wheat fields, golden, dancing seas of sun hair, where Mutt enjoyed hiding and peaked his head out with a teasing bark, in the depths of old, silent, dangerous forests where bandits attacked him and laid dead for wolves to feast on, in a boisterous tavern filled with laughter he watched from his quiet corner, and even in the solitary prayer he allowed himself, by the shrine, on the side of the road covered by thick oak trees, Henry didn’t stop thinking of her. About her. Wondering, hoping, yearning, reminiscing.

Her determination, her fire. The hatred in her heart uncovered the fear of losing what she came to trust. People she came to depend on. Her cunning ways, how easily she’d slip past a guard and rob him blind while acting innocent as a saint.

Her smiles, rare at first, until he grew used to being the one making her laugh. Her hands, healing and tender when they once were ready to smack him straight in the gob for staring at her. Her cleavage, a soothing sight no matter the time, but also the source of a hunger she knew how to use as the sharpest of daggers.

The small mark under her eye, like a scar, the blue of her tired eyes, the softness of her hair, tied into this eternal braid.

He thought of her. Maybe even dreamed of her once or twice. Or more. Desired her. The memory of their only night together, fearing for their lives and knowing he could die any moment from then on. Oh, he would always remember the feeling of her, the vice grip she had on him, how his hands had explored her sides, traveling to her breasts before she took it upon herself to place his hands on the object of his curiosity. He remembers her moans, gasps and quiet blabbers, because he did the exact same with her, panting under her while she rode him earnestly.

Before parting, Katherine had been more at ease, the danger gone, the death rebuked yet another time. She had told him to keep himself out of trouble.

And now she stares at him with fury and worry alike.

“What in God’s name happened to you?!”

He puffs out a breath, a small smirk on his lips. Oh, he always did like women with fire in their blood.

“Katherine…”

“Let me see.” She grumbles, storming closer to him.

In an instant, she places her hands over his stubble-covered cheeks, moving his head up and down, grazing the back of his head for any bumps or cuts.

He smells of dirt and sweat, blood and shit. Her hands are clean, trained, in a way tender. She’d let him stumble in a pile of shit without regard if she didn’t care.

“Is it just the side?” She inquires, not letting go of his cheeks yet, fingers still. He stares at her, blue on blue, with round eyes before nodding slightly.

“Aye.”

“Get undressed then.”

Henry really wishes he could jest or try his luck and flirt, but he bites his cheek instead. Katherine isn't a woman who gets played. If he so much as diminishes a wound, she’ll stop talking to him for days. And that’s the furthest thing he needs now.

“I need to prepare the schnapps first. Not sure how bad the wound is.” He explains, eyeing the tarnished blue clay container by his side.

Katherine frowns, gently shoving him so he lies on his left side, grunting when she carefully eyes his wound. Her hands fly across the bloody clothing, and if he wasn’t bleeding out, he’d wrap an arm around her. A small sigh escapes her, and Henry starts to believe he might survive her ire.

“An arrowhead. I can’t see if it’s deep. Although, I doubt it went far, considering your armor must have blocked most of the impact.” She shrugs, the relief evident in her voice.

Henry takes one of her hands, gently pulling it from his wound, fingers softly tightening. Katherine doesn’t say a thing, only watches with a look of mild irritation and interest.

“Told you I’d come back in one piece.” He chuckles in the hopes he’ll be forgiven.

There’s a storm brewing inside of her, born from years of weariness, of fear, of heartbreak. How frightened she is he’ll never be back, or too battered to stand from his bed again. Of course, he understands her. But at times like theirs, with torched-down villages and power plays, bandits on all sides, and battles to be fought, they will both have to concede how lucky he is to only have been hit by a measly arrow in his ribs.

Her hand clamps in his thin, elegant fingers brushing his rough skin as she rolls her eyes.

“‘One piece’ is an overstatement, I fear.” She smiles, and the small wrinkles around her eyes appear once again.

“Would you like to make sure I still have everything to me?” Henry wiggles his eyebrows jokingly, although the thought of her palming his body is rapidly getting promising.

Katherine’s lips twist in a silent smile, one she attempts to hide but fails.

“If your mouth is running, I expect everything else to work just fine.” She lets go of him to stand back up, brushing her hand on his shoulder with a pensive look. “You’re filthy. I’ll ask a bathmaid to get a tub ready for you.”

Henry looks up, surprised, if not lost. He expected her to yell, get mad, something much more convincing for him to stay out of trouble than a mere frown. His body moves by itself, flashes of pain obstructing his vision when he reaches for her hand. The woman turns, startled by the sudden movements.

“I’ll take one later. Just…”

He rarely does, but moments like those, where words are about to stumble out of his mouth in a desperate plea, render the warmth of his cheeks and ears reddening, all the weapons in the world, all the armor he could ever gather, are stripped from him. Naked voice, naked self, naked feelings, under her interrogating gaze.

“I…” He takes a long breath. “Help me out? I need your blessed hands.”

Katherine stares, her expression unreadable.

In all his visions of her, memories and dreams, in his wishful thinking and yearning, Henry never mustered the courage to be truthful. Everything happened so quickly, only mere months ago, he was not an orphan, his bastard status unknown, his village unburnt. His thirst for blood and revenge was alien. With Bianca alive, he was promised a peaceful life, and an uneventful death, free of consequences.

But how fate is strange. And through all this suffering, fighting, torture, betrayal, and survival, he felt the nettles of regret wither. Or, perhaps it was instead the feeling of her hands, soft, warm, caressing his cheeks slowly, following the shape of his jaw, prickles of the beginning of his stubble against her palm, that brushed the fires of mourning and vengeance away.

Katherine’s smile widens with each second, showing pearly white teeth, and she steps closer, letting go of his hand to wrap herself around his shoulders. His face is nestled in her belly, his arms around her legs and she chuckles bemusedly in his hair.

“Blessed hands? Really?”

Henry turns his head to the side, cheek pressed against her dress, the smell of soap all over her. He flashes a smile, his growing stubble rubbing against the small buttons.

“Well, yes… You’ve got to be one of the most skilled healers I've met!” He can sense his eyes lighting up, although his mind is rebuking him. He knows several good healers. But she's the one he’ll always run back to.

Her hands dive into his locks, a bit longer than before, and pull slightly, a rush of pleasure sending thrills down his spine.

“Silver tongue, as always.” She snickers, fingers dancing on his scalp, and he almost purrs, the wound on his side entirely forgotten. “But you do stench. So, my dear knight, how about you make sure you clean that wound properly while I at least get a drought ready?”

Warmth, unlike the burning hatred and the charring desire for revenge. One that reminds him of the summer days they met, like the soft glow of the torch that lit their desperation, back in Suchdol. It runs through him like a river of gold, the ancient Greek king from the stories whose touch turned all things to gold resembles the sensation of loving her.

… Loving?

His heart thrums heavily in his chest, surprise painting his cheeks another shade of red, visible under the layers of dirt and smudges of blood.

“Henry?”

He blinks rapidly, gulping down the knot in his throat. The sudden realization of this woman, whom some would consider far too old for him, means more to him than even he realized, weakening the hold he has around her thighs, and lets go slowly.

“Ahem, yeah… I’ll patch it up.” He babbles, the crimson not leaving his cheeks, while his hands gently rest on top of her hips.

“I’ll come back quickly to help you with the stitching.” Katherine comments nonchalantly, letting go of his hair to caress the young beard on his face with an appreciative nod. “Makes you rather charming, that.”

“Hm? And here I was, afraid you’d think I look like a vagabond.”

“You do, but a charming one.”

Henry chuckles at her comment before standing up. She barely has time to step away and give him space before he cups her face with a mirthful look in his eyes.

“I reckon I’ll keep it a while longer then, if you enjoy it so much.”

Katherine huffs with a smirk, turning her heels with a pointed look at his side, trotting to the door quietly.

He stares once again, body aching, exhausted, but content.

Good Lord, what adventure did he get himself into this time?

Soon enough, Henry discards his armor and clothes, rubbing the spirits against his wounds to avoid any pus and other purulent plague from eating at him. Luckily enough, he hasn’t entirely used the tailor kit he bought a while ago, so he readily picks up the needle and warms it by the fire by the time Katherine comes with two other women. Each carries a heavy bucket of warm water, from the steam rising from them.

The women don’t stare, nor do they flush at the sight of a rugged warrior, almost naked on his bed as he forces himself not to yelp when sewing himself, which only serves to indicate they must be bathmaids, in other words, lasses used to nudity and men.

In no time, the empty drought in a corner of his room is halfway filled, the maids are gone, and Katherine rubs his back with an old bar of soap, humming a song he’s certain he’s heard by a pond, a few months ago.

Henry smiles at the sensation of her hands on him and gives her a smirk.

“Come with me.”

The woman snorts, passing a hand over his chest to clean off the bubbles coating him.

“In that filthy water? Absolutely not.”

“Then how about I join you on the bed?”

“Henry, you need rest.”

He glares back at her, arms resting on the side of the wooden bath, where one of her hands attempts to scrub him some more.

Days without seeing her. Weeks without… intimacy. The pit of his stomach is like burning charcoal, the fire growing warmer in his eyes.

“I don’t want rest.” His voice murmurs, deep and breathless.

Katherine looks at him, her uncertain gaze of responsibility wavering as flickers of desire dance in her mind. Of course, neither should jump on the other. One is wounded, the other is the healer. The day is still bright outside, and the tavern is boisterous. They could be interrupted at any moment by any fool in their company.

She bites her lip, and Henry extends his arm to caress her cheek, thumb grazing her lips as the rest of his imposing hand is slowly nestled on her soft cheek, in her hair.

She’s so fucking warm. Like a forge. And his only desire is to be the iron nesting inside of her, burning like lava, for her to shape him any way she so desires.

“... Did you get with any other girl?” She asks, voice barely above a whisper.

Her tone is suspicious, a thorn of jealousy in her side. Henry shuffles closer, quietly, soon enough breathing the same air as her.

“No.”

He could beat around the bush, play with words, tell her he has experience with ladies. That Klara was a sweet flower in a secret garden, Rosa a wild moment in a privileged girl’s life, and the wenches in between were good experiences. But she doesn’t care about prowess, how many he’s fucked before. The matter is now her giving part of herself to him before he rode off to Hanush and his army.

She’s asking if he betrayed her.

And God be his witness, he never did.

No amount of pretty girls, cunning women, or luscious wenches would have made him stray. Because he cares. Deeply.

Katherine bats her eyes, pondering his straightforward answer for a moment. His look of determination, hunger, and eagerness must convince her before she kisses him with a small moan.

Henry slowly opens his mouth, deepening the kiss with his tongue, toying with hers while his other hand wraps around her shoulder, languidly sliding down. She gladly shoves her face further against his, his nose against hers, his hand traveling to her collarbones with intent. Katherine moans again, separating their mouths and he jumps on the occasion, peppering hungry kisses on the skin of her neck.

The wooden tub creaks with his movement, water sploshing and spilling. Henry pulls away abruptly to sit up, the small wound in his side earning him a small wince while Katherine stays on her knees, sitting on her heels as if positioned to keep scrubbing him. Her blue gaze never leaves his body as he rises out of the tub, the last time she’s seen him in his simplest form a tragic memory of despair and hunger.

From the scarred arrow wound on his back, right under his shoulder, to the bruises and cuts of daily life, to the clean slice the flogger cut into his belly when he was tortured, his body is withered with marks Katherine frowns at. And he cannot blame her for it. If only he could have the same burning marks on his hands as his father did. If only none of the violence he delivered happened.

Her hands that were scrubbing his shoulders move in tandem with his body, lowering when he rises, lingering on his torso, then his hips, then his thighs as he stands.

Droplets run down his body, drenching the floor underneath him, and Henry enjoys the sight of his strong woman staring up at him from her knees, the same hardiness in her eyes reflecting lust as well. His jaw tightens, and with as much tenderness as his growingly agitated body can muster, he cups her face, damp fingers covering her cheeks, cheekbones, the soft skin of her ears.

He stands with might, cradling her face, growing readier by the second, yet she’s the one in power, and Henry has never known a safer jail than her blue gaze.

Katherine stands rapidly, pulling him tight against her while her arms snake around him, naked frame drenching the white apron she wears on the front of her dress. He stands before her for a moment, kissing and nipping at her skin, while she grabs his short brown hair, gripping it tightly until he feels the pull on his scalp.

Henry readily bends his knees to gather her in his arms, heavy hands covering her arse to carry her to the nearby bed. She doesn’t say a word, but her breath catches when he licks at the side of her neck, and he makes a mental note to always lap at this exact place.

Katherine is soon laid on the bed and covered by his naked body, his fingers rushing to the front of her dress, caressing the buttons at the seams, past the simple red leather belt where her dagger is attached. He eagerly fights the enemy, each patch of her underdress being revealed as a small victory. She clicks her tongue at him annoyedly, pushing him once again to the side to gain control, and soon enough he’s the one under her, panting again. The pain in his side doesn’t stop him from sitting up, mouth to her chest, pecking and kissing at the collarbones and top of her breasts. Katherine moans, nimble fingers undoing her dress quicker than he could.

With a sigh of relief, the blue dress falls off her body, exposing the simple white underdress covering her, the last obstacle.

“I was afraid…” She whispers between kisses, and Henry slowly comes to a stop, the grip of his hands on her back loosening.

He expected her to. Leaving for a mission is different from leaving to settle scores, hundreds of miles away, with no option but to wait for his return. Henry never wants to harm her, or cause her distress. But just as he needed to leave to put old stories to rest, she needed the reassurance to welcome him alive and well. Not a desire, a necessity.

He will never blame her for it.

“I’m here… And I’m not leaving again.” He murmurs back, hands itching to raise her shirt and make her feel the strength of his determination. But he remains still, his mouth only kissing her cheek once. “At least, not without you.”

She nods at his words, fingers stroking his jaw, his cheeks, his lips, his face entirely. From up close, he notices the beginning of a smile, reassurance, a peaceful acceptance. He won’t promise her that he’ll never have to leave again. Henry is bound to be Capon’s page. But perhaps there’s a place, in between battles and missions, where they’ll meet at the crossroads and latch on to each other.

Katherine nudges him back, and Henry lies back on the bed, gaping at her with a smile, palms sliding to her thighs languidly.

“I was praying you’d be back soon.” She sighs when her hands glide to his toned chest, carefully avoiding the bruises and cuts, instead focusing on his scars, stroking the one on his stomach from one rib to the other.

“Yeah?” He breathes out, his voice already trembling. A woman’s touch surely is the way to weaken every man, and he is no exception, her fingers dancing to his upper chest, resting heavily while she leans on top of him, knees parting to rest on each side of his thighs.

“Mhm.” Katherine hums, fully sitting on his hardened cock. “Another day or two of waiting… Hell, I’d have jumped on you the moment your poor horse would have stopped running.”

He groans like a hungry dog, hurriedly grasping the hem of her shirt to lift it off of her, unveiling her fully naked body to him before grabbing onto her. She laughs, her temptation enough to send a holy man into the burning pits of Hell for the sin of lusting for her. Her wide hips, her plump thighs, her flat stomach, although fuller than the ones he’s seen on younger women, fuck if he cares. He likes it well enough to rest his hand on it and slide his thumb down to her heat, where he’d read women enjoy it most.

Her breasts are in a different category, he’d need a quill and a blank book to vent out their beauty.

But he is no poet, nor writer, and instead rubs at her sensitive nub slowly, earning him a long moan from the woman, her head tilted back.

“Jump on me now.” He grins at her, his other hand sliding down to his member before slowly entering her.

Neither wastes time after that.

Katherine bucks at him rapidly, moaning and panting on top of him while he hisses, the tightness around him swallowing him whole without a way out. The movement alone makes the wooden bed creak, and Henry can only lie his head down in bliss, the pool of warmth he is buried in as the reward for all his trials. His large hands grip her hips so tightly that he’s worried he might hurt her, but nothing but moans of pleasure escape her.

Her fingers dig into his chest, sweat pooling between his pectorals, before his hands shift and slide up, cupping her breasts and twirling her nipples slowly.

His hips start bucking in tandem to hers, the minor pain radiating from his side getting persistent, but not enough for him to stop. He’s dreamt of this moment, holding her again, piling into her with abandon once more while her eyes close in pleasure and her mouth hangs loose. The sound of their skin slapping together is an aphrodisiac, and the more either hears it, the harder they go, her drenched entrance swallowing every inch of him. Henry moans loudly, his deep voice sending thrills down Katherine’s spine before she leans over to kiss him deeply, tongue invading his mouth pleasantly. She continues to rock herself on him, her legs tightening around his like the tail of a mythical dragon, his hands wrapping around her back to hustle back against his chest, her breasts jiggling slightly as they are pressed against his skin. The beautiful pearl necklace she wears scratches his skin with each thrust.

Henry pulls out of her kiss to gulp on a mouthful of air greedily, grabbing her backside with his large hands, the softness of her ass cheeks contrasting with his rough, metal yielding digits. Each movement of their hips together compels him to dig deeper into her skin, while she grips at his face, a ravenous smile on her lips. Her blue gaze burns him like the gleaming iron of his forge, her fingers tightening on his chin and jaw with intent, latching onto him desperately as if she needs to hold onto him to keep sane, to not delve into sin.

He stares back at her with the same hunger, the irrational desire to bite into her skin and mark her as his, strip himself of all puritan thought, sin himself to Hell if it means fucking her deep, fast and until no muscle in his body is functioning.

Katherine’s pace starts to weaken, and Henry shifts the dynamic with the same quick thinking he uses on the battlefield.

Breath uneven, he shuffles to the back, his sweaty back sticking to the fur of the boar skin draped on the wall. Katherine doesn’t have much time to understand his thinking, his hands twisting her around so her back faces him, separated from her twitching entrance for a moment before he delves back into it, his mouth latching onto her neck, lips curling for his teeth to nibble her skin. She gasps noisily, slapping her hand on his side, the covered wound escaping her digging nails narrowly, while her other hand catches his hand on her breasts.

“F-fcuk…” He whimpers against her ear, earning a small chuckle buried in between pants.

The grip of her cunt seems strong enough to break him, burn him to a crisp and resurrect him with one fluid movement, drenching him, coating him with the ambrosia he could dine on for ever and ever. Henry feels it dripping past her, slapped by his member before being shoved back inside.

She spasms around him forcefully, whimpering with her mouth open but her eyes shut tight, and he can’t help but lick at her cheek, tasting the sweat coating her, before sliding to her mouth and kissing her deeply.

With a few more hurried thrusts, Henry feels the familiar pull of his body, the way it signals he’s coming to a close, ready to burst. His thick hand lets go of her hip, sliding to her belly instead, gripping at the flesh tenderly, or as gently as he can.

Katherine seems lost in a world of lust and relief, a blissful expression painted all over her gorgeous face, but she still opens an eye at him.

She nods at him, and Henry smiles, the corners of his mouth pulling his cheeks with a blush. His hips quicken for the last ride, the last shoves before he stills completely, holding her impossibly tight against him, sweaty arms coddling her inside his embrace, inside his being. He never pulls out, and both of them sense him spill deep inside, the stuttering of his hips earning yet another moan. Heaven and Hell forgotten, the only peace is their embrace. A holy communion.

He pants on her neck, hand on her breasts slowly releasing his tight hold, the one on her belly sliding to her legs, the sensation of her soft skin soothing. She rests against him, slumped and exhausted, a smile on her lips. Her hand gliding to his cheek, the stubble brushing on her neck with each of his kisses.

“Am I forgiven?” Henry murmurs against her, and Katherine puffs out a laugh.

Maybe she’s a siren, the way a simple reaction from her lulls him into devotion.

“Do that every night, and you might.”

He purrs into her skin, earning another chuckle, the mere thought of another hour of tending to her privately more precious than the Holy Grail.

If that assures her a future of happiness, a moment away from the atrocities of war, of her fear of his disappearance, then he’ll gladly offer himself as her martyr.

#kingdom come deliverance 2 #kcd 2 #kcd 2 fic #kcd henry #kcd katherine #kcd henry x katherine #MY FIC!!!! LOOK AT IT #I loved writing this

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poke-entomology · 8 months ago

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A Tentacool Story

So, who else is ready for this arc to be over? Well good for you, there's only one more after chapter 8.

Also, should I post on Fanfiction.net? I got around to signing up for an account, but I'm not sure if it's the best site to post on. Haven't used it since I was a widdle bug catcher using his grampy's computer.

Chapter 8: Just keep Cool

'I am absolutely fucked. I've never fought anything bigger than a trout, let alone an actual pokemon! My health is… well, I don't know how to translate injuries into game terms. My face stings a lot and I'm tired from digging so much.'

'But not fighting isn't an option anymore. This jerk was never gonna let me escape without a fight. It's looking at me like a juicy snack. Jellyfish aren't very nutrient rich, genius! We're the plastic bags of the ocean!'

-"Krabby." snip snip

'And why am I the only pokemon talking?!? Is this guy just dumb? Do dumb pokemon not know how to talk? Am I dumb for not knowing how to talk pokemon? Ah whatever, no time to think about it. Fight's on!'

The Krabby sticks out it's claws with a mighty Vicegrip, but Tentacool manages to skid to a stop just in time.

"Have a taste of this move, I've been practicing!" Stingers dug into the soft ground, Tentacool whips up a bunch of mud, flinging it directly at the opponent. The Mud slap lands dead on, blinding the target!

Flailing about, it snips left and right, dead on! Of course, even blind, it's not hard to hit an opponent that can't move easily. But at least it was only a glancing blow.

Retaliating, Tentacool thrusts a stinger at the thrashing crab. CRITICAL Poison sting lands, sending a venomous shock through it's system!

"How about that? Ready to give up yet?"

-"Krab-Krabby!"

"What did you say about my mother?!?" 'Oh hey, I guess it's not all that hard to understand these guys after all. Just gotta go with it.'

Waving to it's companions, the other fish pokemon start sliding towards the water. It doesn't take the ornery crab to catch on to their ploy. Washing out it's eyes with bubbles, it spies the others making a break for it and scuttles after the bunch!

"Hey! Coward! Where do you think you're going?" 'Damnit, come on you jelly arms, move! Move! MOVE!' slide

'Okay, now move FASTER!' Unable to keep up, Tentacool scoots along, one wet slide at a time. The Magikarp at the bank shout and splash like hell, but Krabby pays them no mind.

It's grabbed one of the escapees at the front of the pack, stopping all the others in their tracks.

'Come on. Come on. Come on. Come on.' "Come. OOOOOOOOOON!"

-"Krabby?" The Magikarp splashes one last time, somehow managing to wriggle out of the confused crab's claws. That piercing scream, Supersonic, managed to stun it!

For the second time today, it's prey escaped.

-"Kra-Kra-Kra-Kra-Kra!" It stomped it's feet, snipped it's claws, gnashed it's mandibles, and threw the mother of all tantrums! The pokemon turned it's full attention on the now exhausted Tentacool, rushing him down and delivering a killer Vicegrip. CRITICAL

Grabbing him by the tentacles, Krabby viciously unleashed a torrent of Bubble at point blank range!

The other pokemon looked on in horror, with the rain dying down, there was no chance for escape this time. He was simply too far for anyone to reach. The party had no other option than to continue to the river before the slick grass dried out…

"ABOUT DAMN TIME!" -"Krab!" A Supersonic screech rang through the crab's carapace, forcing it to let go for the third time today!

Constrict! Both of Krabby's claws were suddenly pinched closed.

"Took long enough for the rain to let up. A powered up bubble attack is no joke you know? But hey, I'm resistant!"

-"K-Krab?"

"Wondering about your claws? Yeah, they're pretty strong, but they're built for closing with a lot of force, not opening. But my tentacles, they don't need to be strong. They just have to make contact!"

-"Kra-" Poison sting continued to deal damage, easily outpacing Bubble's now reduced firepower. With both sides faltering, a surprise attack is launched from behind!

"Guys!" A line of Magikarp… and two Goldeen, trail from the direction of the stream. Each one seems to have pushed the one ahead just a bit closer to the action. The final attack came from one brave little fish's splash attack which seems to have launched it's companion for one final Tackle attack.

Under the weight of both poison and blunt force trauma, Krabby faints!

#pokemon #story stuff #A Tentacool Story

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sanrielle · 2 years ago

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⭐️ - for the directors cut ask <3 hope you’re doing okay!!

I'm doing pretty well, thanks :D Hope you are too! Thanks for the ask :)

So this goes back a bit, but it's related to my smut fic, 'As Long As You Need Me', which was left kind of open-ended (mostly to avoid angst). I had ideas for a non-canon sequel--basically an AU--that would take place 20-25 years later. Rather than letting their issues/jobs get in the way of happiness, Toph and Sokka would end up with some accidental kids over the years and figure things out together.

I never wrote this fic, but I did write a scene. It's formatted as a diary entry from the POV of Suyin, the youngest of five. She has a twin brother named Koda, who is deaf and blind. Her other siblings are Kya (Sokka totally stole the name before Katara could use it lol), Ilia, and Lin. Suyin is meant to be ten in the fic, but she tells a story from when she was a couple years younger.

Anyway, I've dug that scene out of my dusty chest-o-abandoned-WIPs :D

~~~~~

Two years ago, we went to the Lantern Festival and Mom punched a guy in the face!! It was AWESOME.

(Since she started the police force back before Kya was born, she’s good friends with the Chief so she got off with a warning.)

But anyway, here’s what happened:

“We’re going to go find our friends,” Ilia said when we got there. She and Kya always went off on their own.

“Can I go with them??” Lin begged.

“No way! We’re not here to babysit!”

“It’s not babysitting! I’m not a little kid!”

I just kept quiet while they argued, knowing me and Koda would be staying with Mom and Dad whatever happened.

“Mom, c’mon,” Lin said. “At least let me go find my friends.”

Mom probably would’ve let her go, but Dad interrupted.

“C’mon, Lin. It’ll be fun! Remember last year, how we snuck into the parade?”

“Ugh, that was so embarrassing!”

“Oh, give it a rest,” Mom said. “You loved it.”

I couldn’t help but laugh a little. Mom was right— She and Lin had ‘borrowed’ a dragon costume and run up and down the parade with it. Me and Koda stayed with Dad and climbed onto one of the floats. It was a lot of fun because I got to climb up to the top and wave at people like I was a princess or something.

Anyway, by the time Lin gave up arguing and agreed to come with us, Kya and Ilia were gone. I wished they’d come with us and we could’ve all gone together, but I guess they’re just too grown up to hang out with their parents and siblings :(

We walked around for a little while and played some games, then went to where there were a bunch of food carts by the park and got a little bit of everything. We sat in the grass and pigged out while listening to a band.

Koda was really happy that day. I guess he could feel the beat of the music or something because he got up and started dancing, making excited, happy noises.

He’s never said any words—how would he know them?—so the noises he makes sound a little funny, I guess. He makes different sounds if he’s sad or happy or scared or mad, but I think only people in our family can tell the difference.

Another family walked past and they had a boy about my age. I saw him point at Koda and say something to his dad. I couldn’t hear them but Mom has SUPER hearing and she must’ve heard what the dad said because she got up and stomped over to him all angry. Even though I tried SO hard to listen, I don’t know what she said, but at least I got to see her punch him right in the nose!

It was HILARIOUS! The guy fell right on his BUTT and his face was all bloody! Dad got up real quick and went over there. The guy was yelling and his wife was yelling. Koda was still dancing and making noises, not caring about anything else in the world, so I got up and danced with him. When Mom was done yelling, she and Dad came back and we all danced together—even Lin!

#tokka #tokka fanfic

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chimeclan-tales · 2 years ago

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Moon 3 - Newleaf

Drive them out!

Note: these images are a different style / a bit lower quality because I was going to animate the fight! But then it's taking too much time and... I wanna get to more kitty drama sooo I'll just link the animation eventually.

After finding traces of trespassing rogues, Beaverspots rushes to find them. He and Brushnibble are ambushed!

================================================

“So now they’re taking our prey!?” Beaverspots hissed after Brushnibble shared the news. “Then what are we waiting for? We need to get rid of them!”

“You should know better than to rush into battle,” Beetail, his former mentor, scolded him. “We don’t know how many there are, and it’s best we get Windstar.”

“But he’s still out helping Streakswan,” The young tom lashed his tail near the camp’s exit. “We’re all good fighters, and with four of us, the number of rogues doesn’t matter!”

“Uhm, three,” Badgerpaw timidly raised his paw. “I don’t have battle training yet…”

“Still! Three warriors!”

“We don’t even know where they are, Beaverspots,” Brushnibble meowed.

“You said they smelled like kittypets,” He looked outside. “Then of course, we’ll start near the twoleg place.”

“It’s not that simple–”

“Well, I’m going either way!” He snapped. “It’s better than doing nothing and only finding more traces of them.”

He leapt out the exit, and the cats sighed.

================================================

“You think I’ll let you go alone?” Brushnibble hissed after catching up to him. He was a fast runner, she’ll give him that.

“Of course not,” He purred, then looked at the ground. “Look, paw prints. Do they smell like the rogues?”

“...Yes. Still fresh.”

He scanned the tall grass. They must be nearby.

Finally, after all the reports we’ve gotten. Windstar believed they were just passing by, but after that stunt… Who knows what they’re up to!

He paused as his blue eyes met green eyes, hiding in the grass.

“There–” He yowled as sharp claws dug into his back, and the force sent both cats tumbling forward.

He kicked off his attacker and swiped at them. As the cat backed away, he turned to Brushnibble. She had dodged another rogue’s attack, and slammed him right into the ground.

Five more figures emerged from the grass, leaving the two warriors surrounded.

“There you are,” The rogue leader hissed. He had a brown marbled pelt, and a green collar that matched his eyes. “You lowlifes took our territory!”

“Your territory?!” Beaverspots yowled. “You weren’t even here when we arrived!”

“Ever heard of a vacation?” Another cat scoffed. Her cream pelt wasn’t as shiny, but she did have prey bones affixed to her collar. “We leave to visit Nancy’s for a few weeks, and a bunch of cats have pissed on the lawn!”

“What— Hold on,” Brushnibble meowed. “If you wish to make any claims on the territory, you can speak to Windsta—”

“I’m not here for negotiations!” The leader hissed. “I’m here to send a message. You’re the youngest cats in that group, right?”

A black burly cat stepped closer. His amber eyes raged like fire.

“Your pelts are going on our list of trophies.”

Beaverspots leapt aside as the tom slammed his paws onto the ground, but he hissed as another cat bit down into his back leg. He kicked himself free, and came face to face with the same green eyes from earlier.

“Your threats mean nothing!” Beaverspots leapt straight at the leader, who screeched as the warrior dug his claws into his shoulder.

Before Beaverspots could subdue him, claws tore into his pelt. He tasted both dirt and blood when he realized the leader was on him instead.

He struggled against the cats holding him down. Through his uninjured eye, he watched as Brushnibble shook two cats off her. She tried to run to Beaverspots, but another two blocked her path.

I can’t die, I can’t die–

“Not very tough, are you?” The leader raised a paw, claws ready to slash his stomach.

A blur of gray knocked the rogue off him. With a yowl, Beaverspots twisted and slashed the other cat holding on him.

As he stood and shook off the hazy feeling in his eye and leg, he found that the stranger had already killed one of the rogues. On the other side, Brushnibble had driven out two more.

“Tch, you– Hey!” The leader yowled. Shaken by their losses, the rogues had started to scatter. “Where are you going?!”

“I suggest ye join them,” The gray tabby growled.

“Tch!”

He fled as Brushnibble and the stranger stepped closer.

“Yeah! Get out of here!” Beaverspots meowed. Though he tried to smile, things suddenly grew blurrier, and he couldn’t stand anymore. “Good thing… You......”

“Beaverspots!”

Previous Moon Event - First Patrol

Next Moon Event - Sunbathing

#clangen #clan generator #clan gen #art #warrior cats #warriors oc #chimeclan #clan gen oc #my art #beaverspots #brushnibble #bluff #tw blood #tw death #tw violence

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stronghours · 2 years ago

Text

#safeworld #2008

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throughtrialbyfire · 2 years ago

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TESFest, Day 6 - In Bloom

a fond summer memory in the past of a future dragonborn word count - 2,371

It had been four months since Athenath's parents moved back to Anvil. He'd chosen to remain in Bravil, that bittersweet city, wooden homes piled high like fashionable Imperial headwear.

The moment Darr'kessh and Dra'khurra heard the decisions and saw the Altmer's parents leave, the pair conspired to bring meals over on occasion, or on others, invite the teenager to have dinner with their family. It was barely a fight, the Altmer adored them dearly, and had grown up with their children as his playmates.

Dra'khurra would sometimes send them on errands, and Athenath would revel in the chance to be doing something with his time. Today, she had him down at the water, searching for some plants scrawled down on a note. Athenath rolled up the legs of their trousers until the fabric bunched under his knees, wicker basket swinging off his arm. He'd told Dra'khurra not to pay him. "Nonsense," she'd waved her paw, "you go and do as this one asks, and you'll have gold for your effort."

So, here they were, trailing the Niben bay with the basket, climbing the hillsides to search for the plants. Muttering curses to himself as they struggled to parse the looping cursive of the older Cathay-Raht's handwriting, they glanced to the wild-growing lavender and poppies and squinted to be sure these were the exact kinds they were asked to find. Dra'khurra was very particular about the plants she required, and it often meant that, as children, Athenath and their friends would spend hours plucking bundles of similar-enough plants and bringing them in their tiny palms to the herbalist. She'd pat their heads and marvel at the bundles, but years later, Athenath laughed at the memory, knowing full well they'd not brought a single thing she'd asked for on some days.

"Oh, elf-cat," called a familiar voice that sent Athenath's head up from where he'd been staring, grin sprawling on his lips, "you seem to have forgotten this one in your hurry!"

"This one?" They turned, facing the familiar, mirror-sharp grin of Ja'dato. "You, or something else?"

"No," he replied, folding his lips against his teeth and bending the corners of his mouth down, creating an upside-down smile that dug into the fur of his cheeks, "oh, no, simply you forgot your… List!"

Athenath held up the paper in their hand. "No I didn't."

"Other list! Of things to do, once you're done with this." Ja'dato clicked his tongue, rushing up the grassy hillside to the Altmer.

"Ja'dato," Athenath groaned, "can I maybe get more information than that?"

"You don't know? Oh, you need to enjoy yourself, have a list of things to do out here in the sun while it is warm, and the sands are soft, and the sky blue. A list of things such as…" he clicked his tongue, tapping his chin, "…have a meal, go for a swim, these things!"

Athenath cackled, swinging an arm around Ja'dato's shoulder, the taller of the pair bending down to be level with the short Altmer. "You're pathetic, you know that?" He said it with such a fondness, Ja'dato rolling his big, luminous eyes. He pulled back, watching the elf stumble atop the grass for a moment.

"Okay, you may have forgotten…. This one," he pressed his paws to his chest in a grand flourish, "but! What I say is true, we should relax, my mother can wait."

"Sure, if she wasn't paying me," Athenath bent to pluck a handful of poppies, their scarlet color blooming along the lengths of their long, cream-colored fingers. "But if you wanna help, I mean, I won't say no," he sing-songed at the Khajiit, who began rolling up the sleeves of his tunic.

"Well, you know this one loves a challenge. How many of what, and where?"

Milk thistle, poppies, lavender, tiger lilies, the bundles settled into the wicker basket as the pair walked through the town, Athenath restraining himself from cackling at every joke the other could spin from his lips. The sun still hung high in the southern Cyrodiilic skies, streaming light into the small shop as they pushed the door open.

"Ah, how lovely to see you two," came the voice of an Alfiq woman resting on the counter, tail swishing idly off the edge. Today, she wore a bright red hat, tied with silk scarf down beneath her chin. Her black fur gleamed in the sunlight, warmed by the noon. She laid along the counter, near jars of incense and solid perfumes. "This one does dearly hope that Ja'dato did not hinder you."

"Nope! In fact, he actually helped me out for once." Athenath landed a playful punch against the taller boy's arm, before turning their eyes back to the Alfiq.

"Excellent," she nodded sagely, rising to her paws. Sitting back on her haunches, she waved one front paw in an idle motion. "Dra'khurra is back there, this one is certain she will appreciate your help."

"Thanks, Ka'taaji," Athenath waved, brown curls bobbing as he made a brisk, springing walk to the back of the shop. Calling into the wooden room, they leaned against the doorframe which lead to Dra'khurra's herb drying station. "Dra'khurra, we're back!"

The Cathay-Raht emerged moments later, already having cleared a space for the flora. Her broad, strong figure clad in a deep, cyan gown, dark violet apron tied to her waist, the colors swirling along her in vivid warmth. "You know where to set them," she ruffled Athenath's hair, and turned her golden eyes upon her son, "and you, were you any trouble?"

Ja'dato grinned. "Only as much as this one," he gestured with a clawed thumb, "would allow him to be."

"He was no trouble," Athenath chuckled, Ta'agra light on his lips, "we're actually going to be out again for a while, if that's alright."

"That's fine," Dra'khurra leaned along the doorframe, glancing back at Ka'taaji, "just mind the dark. Neither of you need to be out into the night, at least outside the city walls."

"Elf-cat would never dare get Ja'dato in trouble," the Cathay boy clicked his tongue with a sprawling smirk, tail swishing high along his back, "they're such a stickler for the rules, mother, you know this."

Athenath pressed their palms to the table, lips clenched between their teeth to stop himself from laughing as Dra'khurra heaved a loud, heavy sigh.

"Stickler or no, you two be safe. My kittens are my business." She straightened the edges of her sons tunic, large paws working to adjust his belt along his waist and dust his shoulders off. "Aren't they, Ka'taaji?"

"Our family, our business." Ka'taaji nodded slowly, closing her eyes. "Speaking of, this one is going to get back to work, my daughter must be bored in my absence." She hopped from the counter and gave a long, claw-extending stretch along the floor, before stretching out her back legs in the same. "I shall be in the chandlery, come get me, should you have need."

"Will we expect your family for dinner?" Dra'khurra asked as the Alfiq lingered in the doorway.

"Hmmmm, perhaps, you're not making that blasted stew again, are you?"

Dra'khurra smirked, shrugging her broad shoulders. "Depends, are you going to complain?"

"By the moons," the Alfiq groaned, beginning the brisk walk down the wooden walkway to her own shop. Athenath waggled his brow, bumping their head to Dra'khurra's shoulder.

"I'll be over, if that's okay," they said, "I like the stew, so long as it's not lamb this time."

"It's not," Dra'khurra confirmed, bumping her forehead gingerly to the top of the Altmer's head. "Then we'll be seeing you."

Snatching a bottle of wine and a couple of glasses from Athenath's home, the pair headed back to the bay, finding a comfortable spot along the hill to rest. Among the poppies and lavender, among the grasses, a world of it's own, a self-contained summer. Bravil was not a wealthy city. It could be dangerous, had been dangerous, but nothing stopped the love that bloomed for the city in Athenath's chest. He sprawled out on his back, letting the sun soak into his clothes with a satisfied hum. Still, something reached into the back of their mind, a distant hum, a call of the skies and the other cities and the sprawl of the roads and ruins littered to the sides.

"You know, I'm thinking about getting out of here."

Ja'dato furrowed his brow, pouring himself a glass of wine. "Why is that?"

"I don't know. I'm just… I love it here, and I did make the choice to stay, but the world's so vast, and there's so much to see, and if I don't go and see it, I think I'll go crazy."

"But you have seen plenty of this world," Ja'dato snickered, "Leyawiin, Anvil, Bravil, and the Imperial City. You feel relaxed here, no?"

"Yeah, but-"

"Then what is there to see?" He sipped from the glass, and sputtered against it. "By the Riddle'Thar, this tastes foul."

"Yeah?" Athenath sipped from their own glass, swishing the wine around in their mouth for a moment before shrugging, swallowing it. "Nah, I think your tastebuds just suck."

"Oh," Ja'dato bumped his forehead to Athenath's shoulder, "you are the one who cannot taste."

"No, I'm pretty damn sure that's you," he returned, bumping his head along the other's as well. They sat like this a while, tops of their heads pressing comfortably against one another, Ja'dato purring, closing his eyes.

"Mm, this is precisely why the elf-cat cannot leave," he murmured, "who would share wine with me on the bay? Who would collect plants for my mother?"

"You," Athenath poked a finger against his chest, "you and your siblings, dumbass. And you could have a family picnic at the bay, it could become a tradition."

Ja'dato pouted. "We'd be missing one, it would not be family."

Athenath sighed, raking his fingers through his hair, pulling their knees to their chest. "Yeah, I guess."

Silence lingered longingly through the breeze, sun beginning to loop it's light along the clouds in swishing colors of orange, late afternoon coming much sooner than either anticipated. Ja'dato leaned back on his paws, long fingers tapping into the grass. The sweetness of the flowers blooming all around them filled his lungs, and he drew in a deep, well-needed breath. A dozen ringing words formed at his mind, against his rough tongue, bustling around his teeth. He looked to the Altmer, his friend since the pair could lay eyes on one another, thick as thieves and occasionally becoming thieves when the mood was right.

Ja'dato's world was not an expansive one, but it stretched long against the grasses and the sands, and bathed in the moons with satisfied purrs, his sister and his brother, their friends, his parents, his friends parents. He counted the names. He looked to the Altmer.

"Well, if you insist upon leaving," he pushed a hand into his pocket, retrieving something the elf couldn't see, "then this one has a gift. Wear it, and think of home."

"What?" Athenath watched as he unfurled his fingers, slow at first, then all at once, like petals of a peony opening for the spring rains.

The amulet sat in his palm, rolling patterns and turquoise gem, the beads strung along it's chain leaving no doubt about what it was. They clasped their fingers over their mouth, eyes going wide, brows shooting up to his hairline as the amulet of Mara caught the noon light. His heart leapt into his jaw, stomach hardening.

"I- Ja'dato, I mean, I know we're like, close and all, but-" everything came out in a rush, and catching their shock, Ja'dato's expression betrayed surprise as he frantically waved away whatever suspicion they had.

"No- oh, by the Riddle'Thar, no, I'm not-" He laughed, nerves wrestling with his tongue, "oh, I'm not proposing, elf-cat, settle down."

"Thank the eight," they rubbed their temples, "we're sixteen, I think that's a little early."

"Well, for you," he snickered, "Altmer don't marry until they are hundreds of years old, correct?"

Athenath wavered a flattened palm. "More like fifty, sixty, somewhere in there. Anyways, what're you…?"

The Khajiit pulled the chain gently open, and slid it over their head, along his throat, the amulet resting on Athenath's chest. "It is a gift. I wanted to give it to you at a good time, but now seems as good as any."

Athenath wrapped their palm around it, and feeling indents, turned the amulet over onto it's back. In the sunlight, he could make out Ja'dato's carved Ta'agra, the impressions hard on his tracing fingertip. A phrase, simple and sweet, 'from your loves, to your love'.

"What does this…?"

"In fifty or sixty years, this one anticipates you will find yourself a husband, and you may give this to him." Ja'dato explained, ruffling their hair. "Hopefully, he will appreciate it. And the reminder, he is not the first to love you."

He didn't anticipate the elf to throw their arms around his neck and pull him tight, face burying into his shoulder, but he wasn't complaining. Ja'dato wrapped his own arms tight around him, breathing in the noon air, the salt of the Niben bay, the scent of flowers. "Thank you," they mumbled against his neck, "you'll never know how much I care for you, Ja'dato."

"I can only hope," he teased, earning a small pinch from the Altmer against his side. He yelped, and when the mild annoyance had run it's course, he nuzzled his forehead to theirs. "Besides, what a shame it would be for a devotee of Mara to not wear her amulet, don't you think?"

They spent the afternoon drinking debatable wine and walking along the bay, flowers crowding their ankles, wind ruffling the pair's clothes and hair. Athenath would leave Bravil in a few short months, but for now, he had his friends, and the life that had built so stubbornly around them, and the world at their fingertips. And in this moment, beneath the slight hints of the guiding light of Jone and Jode, that was enough.

#tesfest23 #skyrim fanfic #skyrim fic #tes v #tesblr #oc ; athenath #oc ; ja'dato #oc ; dra'khurra #oc ; ka'taaji #bishop.txt #my writing #ive been writing a lot of angst/angst-adjacent pieces so now it's time for some fluff <3 athenath backstory moment

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