#kipling the apprentice

[the-melting-world]

Oh lover, when you look at me It hits me just like a summer breeze My heart Hold me close and underneath the moonlight melody Darling, dance with me 'Cause my heart is yours

~ Justin Nozuka, "My Heart is Yours"

🌺🌺🌺🌺

I simply cannot get over this breathtaking comm of Kipling and Asra by @pocuspeonies 😍😍😍 I adore everything about the way their chemistry and emotion is captured this this kiss. I can't wait to use this as inspiration for future fics. Thank you so, so much!!! 💖

[vasiliquemort]

My captain, we are there again Where have not been before The lights are on there ignite souls 

A commission for the unimaginable, gentle and light @asras3rdeye, whose patience and support was endless, and it is difficult for whom to express sufficient gratitude. This experience was in its own way new and unusual - a lot of restless thoughts and flowing ideas, but I can only hope that this time and company were as pleasant and delightful as they were for me~~

 Light, immersed in movement and harmony of chaos of nature and waves - I first met Kipling, and this acquaintance gave birth to something wonderful, delicate and endlessly inspiring. Hot and dark contrasts give way to the gentle foam of the sea and the turquoise of the waves - the feeling of light and depth, wind and sun, and all this is so amazingly alive, cold yet summer like, and it helped to wake up from endless fogs and dark days for a while.

[into-the-daniverse]

Happy late birthday/early Valentine’s Day @asras3rdeye!!! I’ve been wanting to get something of our girls for a while and when @orozqiyo on Instagram opened up for some Valentine’s commissions I jumped 💖

I love these two so much and I love you!!! Thank you for being the amazing person you are 🥰🥰🥰

[darladog]

Finally finished it lol

Kipling from @asras3rdeye

[dreams-of-the-arcana]

Wildflowers

@asras3rdeye’s Kipling x Tikos the Pirate

It wasn’t often Tikos found himself away from his ship with nothing to do. On board there was always something to do, no matter how small the job. Out on land though, not so much.

Wandering aimlessly could only entertain him for so long. Luckily, excitement was about to hit.

His fingers danced along the ukulele’s strings as a lively tune filled the square he had stopped in. The air bustled with chatter from people going about their normal days and the ambient hum of port towns.

Suddenly, a familiar feeling creeped up into his mind and he couldn’t help but grin. A memory of excitement, the taste of alcohol, the feel of soft lips. A single brown eye roamed the crowd until it landed on a particular face.

She hadn’t noticed him yet, perfect.

Stashing the instrument, Tikos popped up to casually stroll over across the square. Luckily she was looking the other way as he crept up. He plucked a bouquet off a nearby stall when the vendor wasn’t paying attention. It was filled with vibrant colors. It was time to make his move.

Tikos slipped a hand over her eyes from behind then put his arm on her shoulder so when she could see it would be the flowers.

“Guess who, Bumblebee?”

It had been a little while since their first meeting at the little port bar but Tikos was always playing the optimist.

Kipling jumped at the sudden contact and started to grab at his hand but once he spoke and she felt the scarred hand over her eyes she relaxed slightly.

“... Tikos?” She was hesitant.

He lifted his hand off her eyes with the bouquet right in front of her face.

“Aye,” he pressed a small kiss to her cheek.

A smile lit up her face as she reached out for the flowers and pulled them close to take in the scent.

“Did you get these just for me?” She teased.

“Of course, Bee. I knew you wouldn’t be excited if it was just little ol’ me.”

They both laughed and Tikos pulled Kip closer to nuzzle her neck with a wide smile.

“What are you doing here?” She managed to get in between laughs.

Tikos shook his head though.

“First, I’m taking you somewhere special.”

Before she could argue, Tikos had her hand laced in his own as he led her through the town. They headed for the edge opposite the sea surprisingly. Before long the town was a fair distance away and the fields opened up before them. As the almost reached the crest of a hill Tikos stopped.

“Up you get, Bee. I want to see your reaction.” He pushed her by her lower back just slightly.

Kip shot him a confused look but stepped forward to the top.

Below them a field of wildflowers spread almost as far as they could see. Beautiful reds, yellows, oranges and every variation filled the area.

Kip gasped and her mouth fell open slightly at the sight. Tikos grinned from her side as he watched her take it in.

“Oh, T! It’s beautiful!”

They made their way into the field and found a soft place to sit. Once they were closer to the ground, little purple violets could be seen under the bigger warm colored flowers. Tikos reached out to pluck one and slipped it into one of Kip’s buns.

“Sweet violet, it suits you.”

Kip smiled brightly back at him.

“I thought you didn’t know anything about plants?” She asked.

Tikos shrugged trying to look casual as he gazed over the flowers.

“I picked up a book or two...” He trailed off.

Kip’s smile only grew as she realized he’d learned because of their conversation from that night about how much she loved plants. He could have never known they’d see each other again but he had learned just in case. It was a bit of a heartwarming thought to her.

Slowly she weaved the flowers around them together. The warmth of the sun mixed with the spring breeze created a perfect sleepy little paradise out in the field. Time seemed to move like warm honey.

Kip focused on her task as her fingers expertly wove through the stems. Finally, she looked up from the crown in triumph. Only to find Tikos stretched out on the grass, fast asleep.

She should wake him up, she really should, but as she looked at him she realized just how peaceful he looked.

Instead, Kip crawled over to lay down about a foot away for a better look. Golden eyes roamed over his suntanned face. Without the grins, the jokes, or the walls it was easy to appreciate the little details of his face. Freckles scattered across his nose like constellations and seemed so innocent next to the scarring that covered much of his body. Slowly she reached out to trace the large scar running down his left eye, partially covered by the patch.

“Mm, if you wanted some attention you could have said so.” Tikos chuckled, his voice even deeper with sleep.

Kip jerked her hand back with heat rising up to her face.

“I- uh- I didn’t mean to-“

“It’s alright, Bee.”

He lifted himself up to his elbow and set his head onto that hand. Kip wanted to look away in embarrassment but she couldn’t seem to draw her eyes away.

Carefully she reached over and placed the flower crown onto Tikos’ white curls.

“I made you this,” she almost whispered.

He reached out to grab her hand as she pulled back and placed a small kiss to the inside of her wrist.

“Thank you,” his brown eye caught hers.

It was as if a magnetic force started to pull and then their lips met. It felt like the most natural thing in the world.

Out in their own private oasis, all that mattered was the moment.

[atypicalacademic]

Springtime

(A/N: These two were clamouring at both of us, just- fighting to run into each other’s arms- so here. Love Kipling, and thank you for her, Coco!)

Words: 1.9k 

Zurkhi x Kipling Bronne from @asras3rdeye

*

Zurkhi feels a season’s shift.

*

Papers in hand, shawl-collar coat rippling in the wind, Zurkhi paced up and down the rows of begonias in the Palace Gardens. His voice was only partly muffled by the fountain’s gentle rippling and the staff’s distant chatter; enough of it carried over the soft spring breeze to make his impending address to the Court apparent to anyone who made it their business to linger nearby.  

They never did, however. Though he hadn’t ever made a demand of it, those around him tended to steer clear of the Suasor when he was in one of his spells- letting him mutter and pace and gesture wildly to his heart’s content. He suspected it to be more for their benefit than for his own.  

And so, when he turned around at the end of the walkway to make his quick way back down, the sight of her, only a step away from him, startled him enough that he jerked to a halt, boots dragging on the dirt and his papers nearly flying out of his grip.  

“Oh,” She smiled, bright and warm, fidgeting with the braided lock of hair by her temple, her eyes widening just enough that Zurkhi could fully appreciate the shade of them- shining like raw honey in the spring sunshine. “I’m sorry,” She stepped out from behind a stack of potted begonias. “I didn’t mean to intrude.” 

Zurkhi swept his bright red hair out of his eyes. Loose, bell-capped sleeves hung off her shoulders, her crop top cut over her midriff, her shorts over halfway down her muscled thighs, showing off enough of the gleaming brown of her skin that it took a moment, and then another, for him to realize that he was staring. Cursing himself internally, he prepared to apologize- but when his turquoise eyes met hers- the Suasor found neither reproach nor confusion- but a faint spark of something else in them. 

Oh. 

“Not at all,” he managed to say, collecting himself, and offering a smile of his own. “I prefer company to solitude. And,” he shrugged, tearing his eyes away from her to gesture to the pots around her. “I see you are at work.” 

“Only dropping off some deliveries.” She said sweetly, picking up one of the pots, the flowers bobbing beneath her wide smile, beneath the glinting turquoise of her nose piercing. “Don’t mind me.”  

She got closer to him, the cowrie shells at her neck and wrists singing with the bounce in her step, and, when she was close enough that she brushed against his chest, she got to her tiptoes to place the pot over the stone-ledge. Her thick, cascading curls, the half of which was not tied into twin-buns, swept over Zurkhi’s arms and the bare skin at his collar.  

Don’t mind me, she said. 

He flushed, all the way down from his scarred cheek to his chest. 

It never happened with him, never happened for him, really- and he had made peace with it as he had made peace with the scars on his face, with the ways of his own history. But he found himself eager as he read it anyway, this spark of her eager interest, this playful coyness with which she dropped back to her feet to read him right back. 

She dusted her palms, her eyes locked on his, and he held out his own. “Zurkhi.”  

He sensed that she could hear the breathlessness in his voice. Sensed too, that it pleased her as much as it surprised her. “Kipling.” 

“Kipling.” He echoed, letting his turquoise gaze trail over her face, lingering on her eyes, the faint flush on her cheeks, the curve of her lips. Her hands were calloused where his were scarred, palms warm where his were cold and grooved. 

 They were hands that built things, he thought, grew things- gentle, beautiful things like the bright begonias that splashed color at the corners of his vision. For a moment, he imagined her tending to them, these hands tilting a can of water, these gentle fingers stroking over tender leaves- her voice whispering to them, perhaps, soothing things, patient things, so that they would rise slowly from the earth and reach towards the light.  

He wondered how they would feel against his lips, against his face, against the tattoo that ran down his scarred back. Wondered if they would feel as the spring rain does to the hungry earth. 

All at once, he wanted to draw her by the hand to hold her in his arms, to rest his head against her shoulder, to breathe in the scent of cocoa butter and soft earth and springtime. 

“Are you alright?” Her eyes softened. Zurkhi nodded, and smiled. “It is a delight to meet you.” He lingered for a moment, and let her go, their fingers lacing gently into each other’s even as they parted. 

She took a step back, the backs of her calves brushing against the leaves. “I’d have thought you’d burn a hole in those plants,” she teased, “that’s how intently you were gazing at them.” 

Zurkhi chuckled, tugging at the end of his ponytail. “I do get lost in my thoughts-” he confessed, “I could only rein them in when I have, or well,” he glanced at the flowers, “pretend to have a listener.” 

Kipling raised an eyebrow, and walked past him to sit on one of the stone benches by the side of the walkway. A stray flower drifted to her lap, and she patted the space beside her. “I can listen to you. I’m rather good at it.” 

“Could you?” He followed her, sitting down close enough, that when she sidled even closer, their legs brushed against each other’s- her bare warm skin against the cotton of his palazzo pants. “I could.” She cradled her chin in her palm. “Unless, of course, you’d rather go back to gazing at the plants.” 

He savored the suggestion in her golden-brown eyes, the barely-teasing touch of her skin. Folding his papers to one hand, he let the other fall to her knee, and caught her eyes, their brilliant turquoise matching the jewels on her piercings, her breath catching at the intensity of his gaze. “I would much rather gaze at you.” 

She beamed at him, her cheeks flushing darker as she leaned forward a little more. “Talk to me.” 

Zurkhi took a moment to blink, distracted by her proximity. 

And then, he did.  

He ran through his address and then some, offering her his hope, his conviction, his beliefs, the parts he still had to parse through and string together, the parts he had considered and discarded, until the papers, and his voice, nearly ran themselves out.  

Kipling listened to him, her eyes brightening with every lift in his voice as though it held her in some form of thrall, her bracelets brushing against his knee, her legs knocking against his- nodding where he paused, asking questions where they needed to be asked, redirecting him gently when he went on a tangent for too long, and bringing him back when his words flew from him as they so often did.  

There was nothing life-changing about this address- Zurkhi knew that; only a few rather routine ideas- but she listened as though they held more meaning than he thought it did, with stars in her eyes and her palm to her cheek like she had hardly listened to anything so striking before. 

And by the seven seas, it felt so good. 

“And that,” Zurkhi sighed, finally, “was what I was thinking of- before you came along.” 

He tucked his papers into his pockets, feeling the knots in his chest ease, his heart lifting and rushing at that sudden lightness. At her.  

Kipling tilted her head, still curious- as though she had not heard quite enough. “And what were you thinking of, after I came along?” She was teasing, the lilt in her voice suggesting that she expected him to respond in jest. 

He chose earnest, instead. 

“Of you,” Zurkhi dropped his voice to a whisper, and took her hand again. “Of your hands.” 

Kipling swallowed, and looked away to catch her breath. “What about my hands?” 

“That they are hands touched with light.” He clasped them tighter. “That they are hands that could grow things- that they are hands that could hold the springtime and bring it home.” 

Kipling bit her lip, lashes fluttering. But she did not miss the faint wistfulness in his voice. “Anyone can grow things, Zurkhi.”  

He dropped her hands, opened his own palms in the space between them. Kipling reached out, tempted to trace over the deep lines of old scars on his brown skin. But then, she settled on placing a hand on his slender shoulder, instead, her throat tightening at the sight of them, so many of them, just as they were on his face, disappearing down his neck, running up his sleeves- 

“I cannot.” He said quietly, cutting into her thoughts. “I have not. Flowers do not bloom by these hands.” 

“Of course they do.” She argued, pressing his shoulder insistently. “Have you tried?” 

“I have-” Zurkhi’s smile was a tired thing. “I have never had the occasion to.” 

“Until now.”  

He searched her face, took in the quiet, sweet stubbornness of her expression.  

Until now. 

He remembered the voice of an old, distant friend. 

Seasons change, Zurkhi. 

“Until now.” He admitted. 

She got to her feet, and he rose with her. Kipling tucked a strand of his wild red hair behind his ear, lingering to graze his earrings with her fingertips as she drew back. “I have a shop, down at South End. You could ask anyone around for me. I can prove you wrong about that.” 

“Will there be roses?” He murmured. “Will you show me how to grow roses?” 

“All kinds of roses.” 

“I do love wildroses.” 

“I could bring you wildroses.” She stepped away, before he could reach for her. “Come over, after your address.” 

He had nearly forgotten all about it. 

She turned to go, but she did not. As Zurkhi laced up his boots, he noticed that she was pausing to fuss with the plants, straighten every pot, a subtle sway in her hips- her gait carefully languorous. 

As breathless as he was, as riveted and astonished, Zurkhi had enough of his faculties about him to know what it meant. 

She was waiting. 

“For the roses, or for you?”  

Kipling stopped in her tracks, looking over her shoulder, the sun pouring gold into the teasing, triumphant quirk of her lips. “What do you mean?” 

He jogged a little to get closer to her. “What I said, Kipling.” He leaned against one of the ledges, letting his eyes rove hungrily over her. “For the roses, or for you?” 

In the space of a heartbeat, Kipling closed the space between them, leaned up ever so slightly, and pressed a kiss to the corner of his lip, right where his scar seamed to skin. Her warmth suffused him, spread through him like wildfire from only the soft touch of her lips- but before he could wrap his arms around her waist and hold her in place, she had pulled back, sauntering away from him, throwing another, beckoning glance over her shoulder. “You’ll have to see for yourself, Zurkhi.” 

With that, she turned a corner, muffling a delighted giggle behind her palm, and was gone. 

Later, as he was rushing up the Palace stairs, smiling unabashedly, his cheeks still flaming from where she had touched him, one of his aides, predictably, took notice. 

“Spring in your step today, Suasor,” They narrowed their eyes playfully. 

He laughed. “Indeed.” He said, just as he straightened, adjusting the ribbon to his ponytail, the wrinkles in his coat, his mind still reeling with honey-warm eyes and the music of cowrie shells. “Has spring not arrived?”

[foolofarcana]

Boba Asra was amazing and so freaking adorable! 💖💖 It kind of got me thinking, what if he and my apprentice (Kipling) swapped wardrobes??? And then they just walked around holding hands, picking flowers and being cuties??

asra said heart eyes motherfucker

[the-melting-world]

I saw a friend of mine the other day and he told me that my eyes were gleamin' I said I had been away, and he knew Oh he knew the depths I was meanin' And it felt so good to see his face all the comfort invested in my soul Oh to feel the warmth of a smile when he said "I'm happy to have you home"

~ Ben Howard, "Keep Your Head Up"

🌻🌻🌻🌻

I cannot stop smiling over this absolutely wonderful piece by @missrabbitart 💞 Thank you so much for capturing Kip and Muriel's weekly garden visits! I just adore the idea of them looking forward to seeing each other, exchanging eggs, herbs and the stories they saved up for the occasion. The sunlight in this is so warm and their expressions are so bright and heartwarming.

Once again, I'm very happy I got to commission this artist! She's amazing and so sweet to work with. Please go commission her if you can!