#lordriddler

Commission for @lordriddler of their Fable OC and Reaver, flirting as always

Rules: Tag Nine People With Excellent Taste

Colour(s): blacks, white, and silver...also jewel tones

Last band t-shirt I bought: None OTL but I’ve been considering buying a David Bowie t-shirt for a long while. Or an Oingo Boingo one.

Last band I saw live: I can’t remember their name, but they did covers of old love songs at my grandparent’s retirement community...they were actually pretty good. Almost saw KISS last April cuz we had free tickets, but panic attacks made that not a thing, which was okay.

Last song I listened to: Serenity by Prismo, though Koda’s Leviathan came on as I typed this up

Last movie I watched: Labyrinth!

Last three TV shows I watched: Jonathan Strange & Mr. Norrell, Hannibal, uh...did I see Penny Dreadful or Walking Dead first before that? Huh...idk....

Last 3 characters I identified with: Uhh...okay, no saying Reaver cuz I say him every other time, so...Jane Eyre (wanderlust and dissatisfaction with my situation, yepyep), Vendetta from Darkside (grumpily reading while contemplating how hungry you are as a country falls apart around you? big mood), and...I’ve probably cycled through every Forbidden Game character’s mood in the last month, but...let’s say Zach (”nothing is real and the things in my head are trying to kill me” “okay, everything is real and the things in my head are still trying to kill me” “if I could art just once everything would be okay” “why is everything on fire?” “I have no idea what’s happening but okay, yeah, let’s roll with it” “girls are pretty”)

Book I’m currently reading: The Architect of Song by AG Howard. I liked the author’s Splintered series, but I’m mixed on this book. On one hand, I like it. On the other, some things are bothering me and it feels a bit more childish than Splintered...which is funny because this is NA whereas Splintered was YA. (Also, it inspired me to an essay-long rant about how people never write Victorian clothing accurately in historical fiction which...I’m sure means nothing. >_> Nothing at all. What are you looking at, I’m not a historical fashion nerd at all.)

Commission for @lordriddler!

The Life and Adventures of Benjamin Finn, pg. 92

Albion is full of miracles. The King is a Hero, whose benevolence is spoken of from Samarkand to Aurora. A man who was once seen as a tyrant has redeemed himself in the public eye and become one of the greatest champions for the common man since Page’s revolution. The biggest threat to the Hero King’s peaceful reign has relinquished his hold on the city of Bowerstone and retreated to his beloved port city, full of just his kind of villainy and greed.

And another miracle—I, Benjamin Finn, haven’t gotten myself killed, maimed, and/or arrested yet.

At least, our good King says that’s a miracle. I say it’s all because of one fateful evening in the heart of Bowerstone.

There was a girl, and she had a lute. It was made of the richest wood I’ve ever seen and she played it with such grace that I found myself absolutely entranced. While my childlike admiration for Page hadn’t dulled in intensity at all, whilst staring at this beautiful woman with an even more beautiful talent, I began to forget anything that wasn’t immediately around me. This young woman had a wooden box, an heirloom, it seemed, lying open on the ground with the familiar glint of gold coins shining up from inside it. A system of payment, though it seemed such an unsteady source of income that I am still baffled when I wonder how she sustained any kind of steady living in the rich city of Bowerstone.

She played her final chord and curtsied low, holding her lute in one hand and the hem of her pastel dress in the other, and several members of the small crowd that had gathered gave her generous tips. She thanked them with a smile, one that was impossibly charming, and began to gather up her things.

It was at this moment that I made what could possibly have been the greatest decision of my life: I introduced myself. I learnt that her name was Abigail, and she had been a bard nearly all her adult life, with varying degrees of success. We spoke at great length about difficult upbringings with our remarkable talents—mine for shooting and hers for singing—and I offered her my arm and a purse of gold to purchase a round of drinks for the both of us. That worked rather poorly in my favor, especially when she admitted that she had never drunk a drop of alcohol in her life and had no plans to, but she suggested a walk on the city wall instead. Whether she was just humoring me, pitying me, or actually falling for my irresistible charm, I have no idea, and for fear of learning the answer, I have no intention of asking to this very day.