Kamilah A.
07 August 2019 @ 10:31 pm
Active Characters  

The man who has no imagination has no wings. )
 
 
Kamilah A.
20 January 2015 @ 10:24 pm
Legend of Korra: 64 Kai Icons (Book 3)  
A whole herd of baby bisons! )

 
 
Kamilah A.
01 December 2013 @ 08:53 pm
Frozen Icons Pt. Two - (Trailers & Artbooks)  

Total Icon Count: 67
Teasers:



There'll be magic, there'll be fun... )

 
 
Kamilah A.
30 November 2013 @ 02:09 am
Frozen Icons Pt. One - (Trailers & Previews)  

Total Icon Count: 60
Teasers:



For the first time in forever... )
 
 
Kamilah A.
29 April 2012 @ 11:31 am
Activity Tracker  

All of my change I spent on you... )



 
 
Kamilah A.
23 March 2012 @ 10:18 am
 
The first time, the arrow simply drops with a sad thunk, while the string makes its displeasure at being handled improperly known with a slap to Merlin's arm. Literally. Merlin yelps, but doesn't let go of the bow, which is a feat in and of itself. Moments later, the skin begins to redden and puff up into a welt, and Merlin heaves a sigh as he hears a muffled laugh from his side. Probably Arthur--Leon's much too polite to be caught laughing at anyone's misery during training, even if it's a servant. Not that either of them are doing much better. The longbow might still be a bow, but it is so different from a crossbow, the knights aren't having much luck figuring out the mechanics of it, either.

"Let's have a look at that," says another familiar voice, this one much closer. Albion glances at his arm critically. "Not the worst I've seen. At least you know what happens when you're holding the bow wrong now."

The hour drags on from there, Albion lingering at his side, tutting as he occasionally repositions Merlin's arms, and doing the same for Leon and Arthur.

The twelfth arrow finally flies, though it misses the target by a mile. The twentieth burrows into the ground several feet away. It's the thirtieth arrow that lodges itself in the outermost ring, and no one is more surprised than Merlin himself.

A silence falls. "Try again," Albion says, grinning. There's no doubt what's on everyone's mind at the moment; for clumsy Merlin, who even after a few years under Arthur's ruthless careful instruction, could not handle a sword skillfully, it must have been a fluke.

Merlin forces himself to look at the others, but he finds none of the ridicule he'd been expecting. His eyes then focus on Arthur--Arthur, who raises his eyebrows and gestures with a gloved hand in very much the same way he'd done that day at the Round Table. Take your place, it says.

The encouragement is all he needs. When Merlin raises the bow again, he releases the string with a sharp, satisfying twang, and this time the arrow finds its mark.
 
 
Kamilah A.
26 January 2012 @ 01:52 pm
It's no use going back to yesterday // I was a different person then  
The sky was clear when Roderich and his Emperor Francis set out for the dragon breeding grounds in Zeller See. Roderich slid his gloved hands into the pockets of his coat, breath coming out in small, visible puffs upon meeting the winter’s cold air. The Emperor set a slow pace as he inspected the grounds; his attention was divided between the dragons themselves and the head surgeon, who served as their guide. Suppressing a sigh, Roderich followed them with a weary glance at his pocket watch. Manners—and duty, of course—kept Roderich from abandoning his Emperor, but he rather hoped the tour would reach some manner of conclusion before the dragons’ feeding hour. He grimaced. It was a messy business that he did not wish to view at such close quarters.

To his relief, the surgeon beckoned them toward the large structure that held the eggs. Dread quickly replaced relief, however, when the panicked shouts of “No, don’t—” were heard once the surgeon had the door open. A smallish figure sped out of the structure, maneuvering past the half-opened door with admirable skill. Just as it seemed the hatchling—and Roderich assumed that it was a hatchling, given the circumstances and its size—would seize the opportunity to flee, it suddenly wheeled around. Seconds later, it was circling Roderich with obvious curiosity, wings clumsily beating at the air. It landed just as unsteadily in front of Roderich, then sat on its haunches and peered up at him.

“Hello,” the hatchling said, voice smooth and feminine—the sole indication of its actual gender.

“Hello,” Roderich replied automatically. Then, with growing dismay as the situation began to register: “Oh.”

The hatchling tilted her head, examining him with one inquisitive eye. “Do all humans have hair that stands up so?”

Roderich realized, with a jolt of unease, she was eyeing Mariazell. He resisted the urge to check if Gilbert had been among the egg’s handlers, teaching the dragon strange concepts even before she hatched.

“No, not all,” said Roderich, voice purposely light.

He studied the hatchling’s form and finally identified her as a British Winchester, probably acquired through trade or treaty. He leaned forward grudgingly to ask: “What is your name, young one?”

A soft, keening sound escaped her. “I have none yet,” she informed him. “Would you name me?”

Roderich straightened, finally remembering the Emperor and the surgeon, both of which watched the proceedings with a mixture of amusement and astonishment. He floundered in the face of the hatchling’s expectant stare, feeling as a half-witted servant might before a good lady of the court.

“Adelaide,” he said abruptly, with some inspiration that dictated that he should kneel down to better meet her gaze. “Your name is Adelaide.”



 
 
Current Music: wonderland's surprises (kh piano collection)
 
 
Kamilah A.
20 January 2012 @ 01:58 pm
Time, where did you go // I miss the moments as they pass  
Yukinari Ookido is, above all, a man who keeps his promises. There is one in particular that lingers at the back of his mind, unwilling to be swept away by the years that pass since it is first uttered. He often laughs quietly to himself, marveling that his memory is still intact after so long. Then, as he sits at his desk, flipping through an old sketchbook, he realizes again and again that it has nothing to do with his memory and everything to do with time.

Sometimes, if he closes his eyes, Yukinari can remember the feel of air whooshing past his ungrounded feet, the taste of red berries, and an old friend mouthing the words “Satoshi of Masara”. The last bit isn’t as odd as the two before it, considering he still hears them when the boy stops by his laboratory. Forty years later, Satoshi is still the same—to him, at least. It isn’t until the boy in question dons the familiar outfit that he really becomes Satoshi in Yukinari’s eyes. But, even then, there is something missing from the picture. His eyes land on the sketchbook again, and this time he smiles, knowing exactly what that “something” is.

The night before the new trainers pick up their first partners, Yukinari makes sure he sets aside the pokéball marked with a small lightning bolt. The creature inside the container is just as a five year old Satoshi had been to him: familiar and, yet, unfamiliar at once. Yukinari knows that Satoshi will be disappointed at first, but—Satoshi and his pikachu sit near the campfire with easy camaraderie—he has a feeling everything will work out in the end.

 
 
Current Music: time (chantal kreviazuk)