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bluestar22x · 2 months

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Something More

The Outcast - Something More

Summary: Spring arrives early and it is time for you and Pero to say goodbye

Pairing: Pero Tovar x F!Reader

Rating: 18+

Word Count: 2,900 (ish)

Warnings: Smut (of the rougher, desperate kind), pull out method, mentions of pregnancy, slight breeding kink, fowl language

Author’s Note: With this part posted the main story is officially complete, but there's going to be a very indulgent epilogue if you wish to see a few bits of their future.

Another note: I listened to "Nothing I've Ever Known" by Bryan Adams while writing this. I swear I don't just listen to animated movie soundtracks.

xxx

When you stirred from your slumber that morning and stumbled from your bedroom to peer out the kitchen window your heart dropped at the sight of water dripping steadily off the cottage roof under the intense sunlight beaming down on it.

The previous day had been shockingly mild, and now the snow on the roof had melted. You knew what that meant. Even if the weather was temporary, even if spring was not truly early, even if tomorrow everything froze right back up, that did not change how it was that day.

If it was warm enough for the snow on the roof to liquefy, it was warm enough for the passage to become accessible. With the direct sunlight it got, you had no doubt Pero would be able to leave, so long as he left before nightfall.

You twisted in your spot, hands pushing against the counter, eyes quickly drawn to his prone form by the fireplace, covered with a single wool blanket, supported underneath by a few layers of furs and the arm pinned under his head.

His eyes were closed to you, his breathing soft and steady, for once having not startled awake to your movement.

You absorbed his image, tried to memorize the crease between his thick eyebrows that had actually managed to relax in his sleep, the gash over his left eye that somehow just made him more appealing, and the plump lips that you wished you could delicately trace with your fingertips. He looked younger like this, asleep, not burdened by the memories you knew haunted him when he was conscious.

How could he return to the life that had given them to him? But how could he not? He'd chosen it for most of his life. Why would he change his mind just for you?

You returned to your room and dug his weapons and armor out from the chest you'd been keeping by the foot of your bed, skimming your fingertips over the chainmail that he'd soon wear around his neck once more.

You carried it all into the main room, laying them out on the floor beside him, and as you did, he finally blinked awake.

"What are you doing?" he questioned, frowning as you displayed his belongings in front of him.

"The unusually warm weather has melted much of the snow," you explained. "If you wish to leave, you must now, or you may have to wait another month."

"Do you wish for me to leave now?" he inquired, sitting up, and you found yourself disappointed that he was wearing a loose cream colored shirt. You'd have liked to memorize his expansive shoulders and defined chest as well.

"You've been a pleasant guest, a friend," you answered carefully, "And I would not mind your company for another month or so, but if you wish to return to your normal sooner, this might be your only chance. In either case, keep your things."

You headed for the door, keeping your eyes shielded from his, afraid he'd notice the tears forming in yours as a sharp pain in your chest overwhelmed you.

"I'll be tending to the animals," you managed to tell him. "Join me when you've made your decision."

He nodded and you made your escape to the barn.

Pero made himself a bowl of oats and honey as he contemplated what to do. Stay or leave?

He didn't want to take advantage of your kindness, to selfishly prolong the inevitable, but leaving would be so final. Though he was a free man, he doubted his path would cross with yours again, and saying goodbye to yet another important person in his life would sting. He'd spent too much of his life learning to say goodbye.

The easy answer would be to never leave, but you'd both agreed he'd be gone in the spring, that was the deal, and here it was. You'd laid out his armor and weapons for him and you had not given him the option of staying permanently. He was smart enough to get the message. It was time for him to go. You wouldn't press it, but he figured he must have outstayed his welcome.

Pero ate his bowl of oats and donned his armor, slid his swords back into their sheaths against his back, hid his knife back in his boot. The armor had never felt more heavy, the weight almost unbearable.

He stepped out of the cottage with a heavy heart and strolled past the barn, towards the goat paddock, your giggles tinged with joy wafting through the air, guiding him to you.

You were kneeling in the brown grass beside a mostly black doe with a white heart shaped marking between her eyes who was busy munching on the hay you'd provided her and the rest of the herd. You had a hand pressed against her barrel of a belly, the definition of about to pop.

Your smile was so brilliant he could only watch, spellbound, as you interacted with the creature, as you felt her offspring kick out at you through her hide.

"Got a strong one in there Sweets," you rambled to the young mother goat. "If not two. I can only guess, of course. Sometimes I wonder what you think of it. Do you know it's your baby doing that? Or do you just think something weird is going on inside you?" The thought that came with your words made you snort and though it was still one of the most unladylike things you had a habit of doing, Pero's heart hammered at the sound of it.

He'd never wanted you more before that day, listening to you talk to that damn goat, noting the wonder shining in your eyes while you experienced a connection with her unborn kid. He wanted to kiss you right then and there, pin you to the ground, make love to you over and over until he was overflowing out of you, until you were round with his child.

The explicit image that crossed his mind stunned him, made him ache, made him shake his head. He couldn't remember a time before when he'd considered becoming a father, let alone craved it, but his desire for you had somehow stirred it up within him. How could he leave when he wanted to do anything other than that?

But how could he stay?

Even if you'd hidden your feelings from him, even if you wanted him like he wanted you, he didn't deserve you.

You'd rescued him from the fate he'd deserved a few months ago. Freezing in that field, with Thor helpless but to observe his passing. The cowardly mercenary, always running, rarely fighting for the right reasons.

Like you had a sixth sense, you felt his presence and spun around, onto your feet.

"So you've decided," you stated, words hollow, eyes taking in his armored form.

He gave you a simple nod and you sighed. "I hate to say it, but I'm going to miss you, Pero."

"As I'll miss you," he admitted awkwardly.

"You're just leaving early to avoid helping with the kiddings," you figured jokingly. "Lazy bastard."

"That is a good deterrent," he agreed, though he hadn't actually taken that into account in his decision. He was not squeamish about such things, unlike many men of his era. He’d witnessed far too many lambings on his parents’ farm during his youth to be bothered.

"Is Thor out in the pasture still?"

You nodded and Pero left you to finish tending to the goats as he fetched his steed and saddled him up alongside the barn, making sure to pack all of the items he'd brought with him, and stuffing some meat and oats into a couple of his saddlebags as well. He was sure you wouldn't mind.

You joined him once more as he swung up onto Thor's back, and you were both unsure of what to say, so you stuck to the basics.

"Goodbye, Pero. Take care of this guy." You rubbed Thor's forehead, directly under his forelock, and the horse butted his head against your stomach gently, making you grin. "I'll miss you too, buddy."

Your eyes eventually met Pero's again and he gave you another stiff nod. "Goodbye, sunshine."

Your eyebrows shot up. "Sunshine?"

"Because you're warm," he explained. "And you saved me from the cold. Thank you." He felt silly saying it out loud, but couldn't find it in him to regret it.

"I told you before," you said, pausing to give him a small smile, "You don't need to thank me. Just be safe, as safe as you can be, and do some good out there, alright?"

He shook his head yes. He could do that for you. Pick only the worthy battles.

He dug his heels into Thor's sides and the horse took off at a trot, through a thin layer of snow with tall grass sticking out of it, carrying him away from the cottage. Away from you.

Pero waited a full minute before checking on you over his shoulder, discovering that you'd disappeared, probably back to the goat paddock. His heart sunk, regretting not looking sooner, not allowing himself to see you one last time.

He wondered if this was how William had felt when he'd decided to leave Lin Mae behind in China. If that was why he'd been quieter after. If that was why he'd hardly hesitated to stay when he met the woman who was now his wife.

Was he making a mistake? Not even asking how she felt? If she'd rather he stayed?

Maybe he didn't deserve her, but life wasn't about that, was it? Worst men had more than he could ever dream of having. More than he'd ever need or want.

And if you felt the same as he, wasn't it also selfish to abandon you?

Thor must have felt his hesitance because the stallion slowed, balked at going any further away from your farm, even after Pero squeezed his sides several times.

Pero patted his shoulder, the edges of his mouth twitching upward. "Ready to run, amigo?"

Thor snorted as he guided him into a turn with his reins before kicking him into a gallop, letting him fly. His thudding hooves matched Pero's heartbeat.

Pero dismounted the horse at the front of the barn before he could come to a full stop and immediately dropped his swords on the ground, then rushed around the corner to search for you, nearly crashing into you in the process.

"Pero!" you exclaimed, eyes wide, startled. "You came back!"

"I couldn't leave without knowing," he told you, daring to palm your cheek, to stare into your soul. "If you feel the same about me as I do you. If you want me as I do you."

You lunged forward, impulsively taking possession of his mouth with yours, sucking on his bottom lip in an unspoken passionate answer, before gaining back your senses and pushing yourself away from him.

"Promise me you'll stay," you pleaded, and Pero felt himself hardening just from hearing the need in your voice.

You met his dark chocolate eyes with your soft ones and his stomach flipped. He realized then that he'd do anything for you, give you anything you wanted, so long as he was able to look into those expressive eyes whenever he wanted to.

"As long as you'll have me," he promised with a growl, pulling you back to him, kissing you just as fiercely as you had kissed him before, slipping his tongue into the wet heat of your mouth, deepening it.

He pushed you up against the barn exterior roughly and pressed himself flush against you, hands flat against the wall, one on either side of your head, enclosing you as you gladly embraced him, clawing at the armor on his back, gasping when you weren't busy kissing him.

There was no stopping you both.

After sharing several more crushing kisses with Pero, you reached between your bodies for the strings of his breeches blindly, trying to undo them all the while keeping your lips in contact with his, but it was a difficult task, and eventually you lost your patience, jerking away from him forcefully.

"Need you, Pero," you told him breathlessly, observing the way he marveled at your almost pained expression before he peered down between you so he could finally help you untie the strings.

His cock was already rigid and sprung forth when you tugged his pants down just enough to expose it. You eagerly fisted its thick length and glided your hands up and down the shaft a few times, eliciting a shamelessly loud groan from him. You watched as he snapped his eyes closed to focus on breathing through his nose, noted how his knees trembled as you swiped your thumb over its head.

Seeing him that way, barely in control of his own body, at the mercy of your hands, damn near made you lose your mind. You were tempted to keep going, to make him come by your touch alone, but your throbbing center begged for more, until you were consumed with the thoughts of how it would feel to have him inside you, to break with him. It had been so long since you'd been intimate with anyone that the mere idea of it had you moaning.

You reached for the laces of your own pants eagerly, but Pero beat you to it, his hands making quick work of your strings, untying them in record time. He yanked your pants down to your knees and clutched your ass with both of his massive hands as he settled between your thighs, licking and sucking at the column of your neck as he did so.

Your world was spinning as you stared out at nothing through hooded eyes, as you threaded your hands into the thick hair at the back of his head, and simply focused on his presence. He was all around you, all you were aware of, and it was heavenly.

Even more so when he finally notched himself at your entrance and burrowed deep into you, all in one move. You leaned back, head hitting the wall behind you, and sharply inhaled with the sensation of him stretching you out, slotting perfectly inside you like you were matching puzzle pieces. "Pero."

His hands trailed up your spine, underneath your shirt, and drew your body even closer to his as he nuzzled your cheek. "Fuck," he murmured into your ear, gritting his teeth, "You feel amazing. Better than I ever imagined, cariño."

Your stomach swooped hearing his underlying confession, that he had thought about doing this with you before. You had too, sparsely, afraid to allow yourself to dream about it in fear it would never come true. You were far from disappointed yourself.

After giving you a minute to adjust to him, lavishing you with kisses in the meantime, Pero drew back only to plunge into you again, jolting you. You squeezed your eyes shut, fixated on how good the movement felt. You hung onto his broad shoulders tightly as he set a feverish pace, hips pistoning into you. You could only gasp and cover his mouth with yours as you happily took it, took him.

It was still fairly cool outside despite the thaw, but that did not stop you and Pero from breaking out into a sweat as your heavy breaths warmed each other's faces, as your hearts both thrummed from your efforts, your passion.

You could not keep your eyes open for most of it, but what you did see was scorching hot. Pero gazing into your eyes with fully blown ones and, moments after, Pero's eyes low as he concentrated on the delicious friction that was causing you both to be incredibly noisy.

Somehow he held on long enough for you to start fluttering around him, for you to feel that invisible coil in your belly tightening fast.

"That's it," Pero rasped encouragingly as he felt you begin to constrict around him, dropping a hand between your thighs to press the rough pad of his thumb against your sensitive nub, making you see stars. He kept his thumb firmly against it as he continued to drive himself into you again and again, until that coil inside you finally snapped.

You fell apart with a loud cry, eyes wide, mouth agape, body quaking, and as your body relaxed Pero ripped himself from you, rubbing his length furiously. You watched, entranced, as he worked on himself before you. His breaths coming out in puffs, the chords in his neck straining gorgeously, and his biceps repeatedly flexing tight until his body locked up and he lost his load with a guttural growl, his spend spurting onto the ground between you.

Panting, he turned his attention back to you, planting kisses along your collarbone. You smiled at the tenderness of them and carded your fingers through his soft hair, reveling in his affection, in your shared body heat.

He lifted his head to meet your gaze once more and raised his right hand, gently brushing the rough prints of his fingers over your cheek, a smile tugging at the corners of his lips. "Mi amor," he whispered, and your heart jumped, your breath caught.

You knew enough of his homeland's language to know what those words meant, knew him enough to know that he wouldn't use them lightly.

My love. At first you thought you’d imagined it, but the look in his eyes told you otherwise. He loved you.

You kissed his palm and repeated the words back to him. His expression mirrored the stunned one you'd had when he'd spoken them moments before, neither of you quite believing yourselves worthy of it.

Unable to find more words, he rested his forehead against yours affectionately and you closed your eyes, soaking in the moment.

You'd gladly chosen a life of solitude many years ago to free yourself for this kind of love, never expecting to actually find it, but you finally had, in a fellow outcast.

You would not have had it any other way.

xxx

Tagged: @elegantduckturtle @harriedandharassed

xxx

Series Masterlist

Main Masterlist

xxx

#Pero Fanfic (Mine)#The Great Wall Fanfic #X Reader #The Outcast Series

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sass-squat · 1 year

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Do the Avians stick to their main outfits or do they mix it up? What are their cozy/relaxing clothes?

Excellent question my friend! I would say that for the most part all the Links generally just stick to their usual outfits. This is mainly because the chain is almost always traveling/on the road and their "canon" outfits are much more suited for adventuring then any other alternatives. However, their "everyday" clothes have been modified to have slits in the back to allow for their wings to slip through while still not compromising the integrity of their armor/chainmail underneath. In other words, there aren't really any major changes to their main outfits aside from having thin holes in the back to make room for their wings.

As for the Links cozy/relaxing clothes? They all have their own interpretations of what cozy or relaxing means for them, so I'm just going to group them into 3 general categories that I think they would be in.

Shirtless Gang:

Time - Listen, Time walks around in a suit of armor all the time so pretty much anything else could be considered cozy/relaxing clothes compared to that.🤣 But this man has some MASSIVE wings so I believe that he enjoys clothes that give him the chance to free them and let them breathe easier. Because of this, I would say his standard for "comfortable" would probably either be just a loose tunic or just some regular pants and no shirt.

Twilight - Like Time, this man works on a ranch and likes to wrestle Gorons for fun. Because of this, and definitely not because I'm a simp I believe he's very accustomed to working shirtless and so his definition of "cozy" clothes is honestly just sitting around shirtless in some comfy pants.

Warriors - I don't even have a proper justification for why I believe this man walks around shirtless I just feel it in my soul. He's a very very pretty man and I'm selfish and a simp and I want to see him shirtless. But in all seriousness, Warriors wears a LOT of layers all the time so I just want him to be able to take some off and relax a little bit.

Sweatpants/Pajamas Squad:

Sky - Look me in the eye and tell me that this man wouldn't wear cozy clothes like pajamas and the Zelda equivalent of a hoodie and sweatpants. Sky just gives off such warm, SUNny (pun intended) vibes and I believe he deserves cozy clothes that match that same energy.

Hyrule - This boy deserves all the love in the world and if I could give him the equivalent of a snuggie hoodie I would. Plus I can just 100% see him doing that thing where he forces Legend or Wind or just another member of the chain to share the same hoodie with him.🤣 He is basically the walking equivalent of the, "Get Along Shirt" meme and I will die on this hill.

Wind - There's literally an option in Wind Waker for him to be able to go through his entire adventure in basically his pajamas and for that reason I believe his cozy clothes are just a casual long sleeved shirt and pants. He also just seems like the kind of guy that can and would kill a grown man while in his pajamas and I love that for him.

Shorts/Tanktop Team:

Legend - Legend gives off baggy shirt and shorts vibes. I know he doesn't wear pants but listen...shorts don't count as pants. Give this boy his t-shirt and boxers combination please.

Wild - Wild could honestly fit in any one of these categories because he seems pretty easy to please when it comes to clothing. However, when it comes to relaxing I believe he prefers a casual tanktop and shorts combination because it allows his wings and feathers to breathe while still covering some of his many scars.

Four - Listen, Four is a pretty practical kind of guy so I think he really appreciates the mobility and freedom that a simple tanktop and shorts provide. Plus, I feel like whenever he has the chance he likes to run and crawl around talking to the Minish/Picori and shorts and a tanktop aren't as easy to get grass stains on.

Anyways I hope this answered your questions friend! As always, these are my personal interpretations but feel free to tell me what ideas you have for all the boys! Thank you again for you question!

#winged au #LUWAU #linkeduniverse #linked universe #legend of zelda #loz #loz link #lu time #lu twilight #lu sky #lu warriors #lu legend #lu hyrule #lu wild #lu four #lu wind #One eternity later and I'm finally responding to this #But in all seriousness this was such a cute fluffy question and now I have the urge to draw the boys being all soft

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writingplotsonflashcards · 9 months

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Brainstorm: what would missing-nin!Kakashi wear?

For those unfamiliar: I'm currently writing a Naruto AU on AO3, in which Kakashi is a missing-nin (I won't spoil much more of the story ;)). The fic is currently eight chapters long.

I was writing along, happy as a clam, when I realized a thing. I'd written in one of the earlier chapters that Kakashi was wearing a flak jacket and hadn't given much more thought to it - of course he'd be wearing a flak jacket, he always wears a flak jacket.

Except, in this fic, that didn't make any damn sense. And thus ensued a brainstorming session that I absolutely devoted far too much time to (and, if any of you has a good suggestion, I'm absolutely prepared to devote even more time to).

Just because my process might be helpful to someone else, or maybe just fun to read, I'll share my clumsy process here. (I'm studying Communication and Multimedia Design, so I know a thing or two about the process of designing, but I'm relatively new to AUs, so bear with me ;))

---

The knowledge we're working with

By chapter 8 of my fic, we've established a handful of things about this version of Kakashi:

He is a missing-nin, and has been since the day after the Nine-Tails' attack.

He still finds himself in fights occasionally (so his clothes need to be comfortable enough to fight in, while also protecting him).

He does not like the title of missing-nin; he would rather not be recognized as one, and doesn't wear his Konoha headband. Also, Naruto thinks that he might be a civilian when they first meet, implying he also does not dress like a shinobi.

...It's specifically the third point that made me realize I'd overlooked something. Yeah, a flak jacket ain't gonna cut it.

---

Commence the Brainstorming!

If a flak jacket wasn't going to work, then I'd need to give Kakashi some other kind of armor or protection from weapons - something that's hidden.

Does something like that exist in canon? Yep!

According to this Reddit post, it's probably chainmail or kusari. We can at least assume that it's something that helps protect against weapons, because that makes more sense for shinobi than, say, mesh would. As we can see, it's canonically easily hidden underneath another layer of clothing.

So, that was my first major decision. No more flak jacket: instead of that, Kakashi would wear chainmail that he'd probably hide underneath a sweater or something. (More on that later.)

These were my earliest sketches:

More changes that I decided to make:

His hair is slightly longer than in canon, long enough to cover his Sharingan, since he no longer has his headband to cover his Sharingan with.

Since Kakashi left Konoha when he was in ANBU, I like the idea of him outgrowing his ANBU boots at some point and swapping them for civvy boots instead.

(I had some space left in the lower right corner and decided to sketch out what a wrist splint would look like, just in case I messed that up in my writing as well. Thankfully, it looks like I described that one correctly even though I originally used the wrong source '^.^)

If you look closely, you can see "cargo pants??" written in pencil in the middle of the page. That's because my sister made this suggestion as a joke and I ended up liking it a lot.

---

Commence Round Two of Brainstorming!

Another issue with removing the flak jacket, is that Kakashi is missing a bunch of pockets that he would normally store scrolls in. Additionally, since he prefers to look like a civilian, he wouldn't be wearing weapons pouches either.

Enter cargo pants. And hoodies. Which both have pockets, and both would probably look inconspicuous enough to be mistaken for civilian clothes.

It took me a second to figure out whether hoodies and cargo pants even exist in the Naruto universe, but fortunately they do. There's a couple of kids in hoodies in this screencap, and there's at least cargo shorts (the third kid on the right (edit: also Naruto lol)).

So, here comes the second round of sketches:

I wasn't originally sure about the hoodie, since the emo vibes are Pretty Strong and I'm not sure if that's what I'm going for, but then I painted with it a bit and... well, it's growing on me, honestly. It's also practical, since Kakashi could use the hood to hide his Very Recognizable hair from shinobi without having to use a henge or genjutsu. Not 100% sure about the colors yet, but I figured something dark would make sense, as it'd be practical to not stand out in the night.

I also tried to pull inspiration from Kakashi's canon civvy outfits, but I gave up pretty quickly. I feel like my version of Kakashi takes himself a little too seriously to walk around like Sukea or like he does in the Steam Ninja Scrolls arc in Boruto (though it was really fun to draw hahaha).

---

Conclusion?

I feel pretty good about the combination chainmail-hoodie-cargo pants, though if you guys have any suggestions, please let me know! I'm very new to this sort of thing, so if you can give me some advice or ideas, it'd mean the world to me!

#naruto #kakashi #fanfiction #writing #i really tried with the drawings and the painting hahaha #it'd been a Real Long Time since i'd last drawn

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of-elitiism · 2 years

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Marcus - skills and abilities

Coming from a not very honorable past as a mercenary as well, Marcus is well trained to be resilient and long lasting in a fight where he’s at a severe disadvantage. Multiple foes at once, blades and firearms alike, unconventional spaces, he’s the kind to tank a lot of damage, tire his opponents out and then obliterate them.

It’s no secret Marcus heavily uses his impressive height and weight in a fight. His tolerance to pain is also quite big, being capable to sustain multiple rounds of wounds before finally starting to feel any fatigue from them. He used to train his body aggressively in his youth to build up muscle mass and strength, which he maintained well into adulthood and current times. It’s reached a point where he can create a crater in the face of a mountain with a single punch, uproot old oak trees from a full frontal charge and easily flip over a bus worth several tons of metal weight.

His choice of a weapon used to be heavy polearm gauntlets which added more weight and rigidity to his punches, his primary form of attack. He’d very rarely use firearms or blades, preferring the brute strength of his own body instead. The main downside of it all is that he is quite slow in a battle. Due to his increased weight and heavy form, he cannot outrun or chase his enemies for long periods or time so his main strategy was to simply bulldoze into a fight and stay in the middle of it until he comes out the last one alive. For defensive reasons, he used to wear a thin but tightly linked chainmail underneath layers of leather attire, to compensate for his lack of speed that might get him repeatedly wounded.

It’s also worth mentioning that, while he doesn’t resort right away to it, Marcus’ bite force is immense, very easily crushing a man’s skull like a ripe watermelon, and biting and ripping through metal like wood skewers. His claws are razor sharp and can slash through flesh and bone without any problem. When fully shifted, his thick, coarse fur also adds another layer of protection to attacks as well.

Besides competitive abilities, Marcus is good herbalist and flied medic, to say so, capable of tending and patching his own wounds quite seamlessly. He knows which remedies to look for, how to prevent infections and how to alleviate pain using mostly just herbs and plants he gathered and prepared himself.

#[ vibes - Marcus ]#[ visage - Marcus ]

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aceofwhump · 4 years

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The Weeping Monk’s attire- a summary

Okay so I may have just spent two days studiously researching medieval clothing and comparing it to images of the Weeping Monk (thanks to farfarawaysite and danielsharmanews.com for those great hd images!!), trying to figure what exactly he's wearing so I can accurately describe it in this very small scene in my Cursed wip in which Gawain has to take off some of his clothes in order to assess the man's injuries after he passed out from pain. #noregrets

I found out some interesting things (at least this history nerd found it interesting) so here it all is under the cut. (It’s more interesting than it sounds, bare with me. This got looooong.)

I apologize that this is not at all remotely whump related but I’ve been talking about him a lot on this blog and it’s related to the whump fic I’m writing so.... yeah.

Under a cut for the length

Note: I am by no means an expert so I apologize if anything is incorrect

First up is your base layer consisting of a linen undershirt, as seen in this on set photo of Daniel wearing the cloak and undershirt (photo courtesy of farfarawaysite.com), and historically linen underpants (called braies). This was typical “underwear” for the medieval period.

You can also see that undershirt in this photo (from danielsharmanews.com) if you look inside his sleeves

Next would the medieval equivalent to trousers, called hose, which would look something like this. The hose were attached to the braies with leather or cloth cords.

Sexy am I right? But because this is a tv show, he’s actually wearing trousers as seen clearly in this shot (from danielsharmanews.com)

And in the video where the weeping monk aka daniel sharman teaches us how to make a cup of coffee in medieval times

And this collage of him kicking the crap out of arthur and gawain (photos from danielsharmanews.com)

Then throw on a pair of boots over that.

Next up is the arming doublet/gambeson/aketon

This part was kind of tricky. At first I thought he was just wearing a tunic but upon closer inspection I could tell he wasn’t. The sleeves we can see appear to be thicker than a typical tunic. So I did some research and found these three garments (the names of which are debated on as they seem to be used synonymously at times)

I believe Lancelot is wearing an arming doublet over his linen undershirt instead of the gambeson or aketon.

What are those things you may be asking? Good question! Let me explain.

A gambeson was a thickly padded garment meant to be worn as standalone armor. It was made of either linen or wool and made with a quilting sewing technique so that fabric could be added in it to make it padded, usually 10-20 layers thick.

Meanwhile, an aketon was a thinner padded garment than the gambeson, about 5 layers thick, and was made to be worn under maille as padding against blunt trauma. An aketon might have also been worn under a gambeson and these two names are sometimes used interchangeably.

They look like this:

Since what Lancelot is wearing clearly isn’t that thick, I am under the impression that he is wearing an arming doublet which was much more popular in the 15th century while the gambeson and aketon were earlier.

Arming doublets were typically thinner and worn underneath plated armor. Arming doublets were not quilted like the gambeson or aketon and looked more like civillian tunics or jackets. Maille could be attached to most doublets or you could wear plate armor over it. It was also shorter than the gambeson or aketon. They weren’t too different from typical civillian tunics just made a bit thicker. That also meant that they didn’t provide too much protection without the plates attacked. Still, it was something.

An example of an arming doublet:

You can see Lancelot’s doublet better in this photo (from farfarawaysite.com). You can see the color difference and the thickness of the sleeves here.

And I’m posting this photo again because you can really see the thickness of the doublet sleeves in it

And with this one you can see the shoulder seams better (photo from danielsharmanews.com)

For comparison’s sake, Gawain wears an aketon, the type of quilted padding that goes on under your plate armor, with removable sleeves. You can see the thick padding, quilted sewing technique, and the difference in shape versus what Lancelot is wearing.

(photo from farfarawaysite.com)

Next up, Lancelot has on a surcoat (also spelled surcotte or surcote). A surcoat is a long sleeveless outer garment that goes over your head and reaches just below your knees. It also has slits in the bottom front and back so the wearer can move and ride easily. It is typically worn over your plate armor and depicts your coat of arms but it was also worn as civilian clothing.

Example of a surcoat:

Lancelot is clearly seen to be wearing a surcoat over his arming doublet.

(photo credit: danielsharmanews.com)

(photo credit: farfarawaysite.com)

And if you look close enough, you can see that there is a cross on his surcoat

And here’s a shot of the ties on the side:

And then, to finish up his ensemble, The Weeping Monk dons his signature cloak and straps on his swords (One long Paladin sword and a shorter dagger).

(photo credit danielsharmanews.com)

In summary, The Weeping Monk wears:

Linen undershirt and pants (called braies)

Hose/trousers

Boots

Arming doublet

Surcoat

Cloak

Swords

So the feels I got from all of this is that the surcoat and the arming clothing were most commonly worn not by your average dude and definitely not by monks. They were worn by.....

*drum roll*.....

KNIGHTS!

That's right! Knights are the ones who wore a surcoat over their armor and a gambeson/aketon/arming doublet went under your chainmail or plate armor. Most recognizably the knights during the crusades wore bright white surcoats with big red crosses in them on top of their plate armor. They are the ones who made them popular and afterwards knights began to wear them and had their device emblazoned on the front so people would be able to identify them. That's what led to the medieval coat of arms btw.

So the weeping monk is out here wearing garments that knights typically wore, with a cross emblazoned on the front so people could id him as the weeping monk as if the hood and eyes wouldn't already do that, instead of typcial monks robes. He’s wearing an outfit that

But if that's not foreshadowing I don't know what is.

THE WEEPING MONK IS WEARING THE TYPE OF GARMENTS THAT A KNIGHT WOULD WEAR AND I’VE GOT FEELS OVER IT!!!

It makes sense that he would wear something that offered a bit of protection since he's a master swordsman and needs to be able to move efficiently and be protected but come one. Knight’s garments. Lancelot. In knight’s garments.

And then I got to thinking about how he’s wearing a doublet but is not wearing any maille or armor which makes the doublet pretty ineffective and I got to wondering why. Like Father Carden gave him the doublet but nothing else because “If your enemy is able to land a blow then you deserve the pain from it” or something and then I got sad.

And thus concludes my extremely long and unnecessary ramble on clothing.

#long post #not whump #cursed #cursed netflix #the weeping monk #lancelot (cursed)#clothing #costume #the weeping monk's clothing #fic writing #writing research #mod post #mod rambles about her favs #adventures of fic writing #ace writes stuff #the weeping monk's attire #ace does research

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punk-pandame · 2 years

Text

DnD on the brain, its hyperfixation time!

the campaign hasn’t even started yet but i got so excited i fleshed out a whole ass character today! his name’s honan zaredar. he’s a chaotic good half-orc fighter, and also a himbo who loves his mom and using his beefy arms to help others.

i’m still working out a few design details so here he is in just his basic chainmail armor. the battle axe is his primary weapon- he’ll have a couple more later. usually i don’t post art before it’s finished in its entirety, but i think having him up now might help me hold myself accountable for continuing to update him instead of forgetting him in the depths of the WIPs folder! anyway, since it’s so early in the process with him, some things might change along the way. all i know for sure is i’m definitely keeping this face:

i love him

image descriptions under the cut, as well as some more pics of him in... less clothing haha

[ID: first image is of a large half-orc dungeons and dragons character. he is tall and very muscular. the perspective makes it seem like he’s even taller than he is. he has greyish-tan skin and long, curly blue-black hair pulled half-up into a bun. he has gold eyes, and the one on the left is narrower because of scars running vertically through the eye from forehead to chin. he is looking at the viewer at a 3/4 profile, the hint of a smile on his bluish lips. he has small tusks that jut upward from his lower jaw; the one on the left is broken, consistent with the scars on his face. he is wearing long chainmail armor with a thick, draped cowl trimmed with brown leather to help it stand up against his neck. it is also cinched at the waist with a matching brown leather belt with a gold buckle. he is wearing brown leather boots with grips on the bottom for traction in snow, and trimmed with off-white fur. one can see the blue padded bodysuit he wears beneath his armor on his thighs between the chainmail and boots. one hand is on his waist, and the other is holding a battle axe over his shoulder. End ID]

[ID: the second image is a close-up on the same character’s face. End ID]

husband infomed me that there is supposed to be padded clothing beneath the chainmail, but didn’t specify, so i made it up! i want to have him from someplace cold, so this design could double as warm insulating layer. i feel like there are stranger things in this world than turtlenecked long johns/padded bodysuits.

[ID: an image of the same character without his chainmail armor, revealing a dark blue bodysuit underneath. it has long sleeves, a turtleneck, and long legs that disappear into his boots. the front is secured shut with gold buttons and bands down the middle. there is a flap around the crotch with an extra fastener that could be released if needed. End ID]

pls ignore my anatomy errors on this one, just appreciate hunky half-orc with tatts ashgkjaslhg

[ID: final image of the same character. he is wearing nothing but pink underwear that may or may not be a thong. the hair on his arms, legs, chest, and stomach is visible now, as are sharp, abstract tattoos on his arm. he is still holding his battle axe in the other hand. his nipples are bluish in color like his lips. End ID]

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the-ventriloquizt · 4 years

Photo

descriptions under cut

i hadn’t noticed how many things i just hadn’t posted... so many, there’s even more than this that are Just scarface and ventriloquist or related to them

[ image 1: a black and white drawing of rose wilson in her costume, wearing a long sleeved chainmail shirt and chainmail pants underneath some overall shorts, with two katanas on her back, kinda hidden by her messy hair. she looks displeased in an annoyed way, a katana on her hand.

image 2: a goofy, very cartoony doodle of lex luthor standing with his hands on his hips, a big smile on his face, with an insert of text that says 'Lexcorp Loves You!' with 'you' underlined.

image 3: a very doodly superboy standing with his hands up and a big smile, yelling 'Tactile Telekenisis!', his leather jacket billowing around him.

image 4: a very doodly batman grabbing a very doodly clark kent's shoulder as he stands around with a big smile and his hands on his hips, asking 'Clark do you have coffee in the break room I haven't slept in 36 hours'

image 5: a very detailed drawing of metallo but like, as a dragon. he's basically a wyrm with big curly horns, and layers of 'fur' that's actually just more metal, layered over fluted metal with seemingly random bits of metal patching over the fluted bits. there's a bulb on his tail that holds the kryptonite, and there's a bunch of tubing around his neck that goes through the body and connects to the bulb. ]

#rose wilson #lex luthor #metallo #superboy #batman #superman #john corben #ravager #conner kent

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phantomphangphucker · 5 years

Text

Ectober Day 2 - Homecoming - We Welcome Back The Lords Of Chaos

Danny, Sam, Tucker and Valerie - lovingly known as the defect quartet - may have been held back one year but there’s no way they aren’t starting off their last year with dramatic bullshit. Because, honestly, they're tired of wearing masks and the lies. Besides, they’ve all moved to the Ghost Realm anyway, so what does it matter.

Danny lounges across the arms of a high backed chair, lazily swirling a half-filled wine glass of ectoplasm. Sighing up at Sams’ bedroom ceiling, “so we’re really doing this huh?”.

Tucker huffs from where he’s sprawled out on the floor, “might as well dude. It’s our last year to really throw Casper High through a loop”.

“And sources say, all the fuckers we should have graduated with last year will be there”.

Danny tilts his head down to look at Valerie, who’s repairing an ecto-blaster, chuckling at her, “is that your way of saying you spied on everyone?”.

Valerie just smirks making the halfa laugh, as Sam comes in the room. Everyone looks to her and takes in the deep red and orange knee-length dress made of felt leaves, dark purple under-bust corset; the arm sleeves long flowing sheer black and decorated in gold filigree. Black hair short and spiked, with leaves sticking out in places; her ever-present combat boots on, grapevines for shoelaces.

All three make a point of whistling.

Valerie kicks Tucker, “your turn to get dressed up, techno geek”.

Tucker grunts, “ladies first”. While Danny laughs, “Tuck fuck, you’re the one who’s going to enjoy this most. Parading around your royal ass for chics to fawn at”. Making Tucker groan as he rolls over and pushes to get up, “y’all are never going to let me live down that shit are you”.

“Nope”.

“Not a chance”.

“Wouldn’t think of it”.

Tucker just flips them off as he leaves the room.

Danny downs the rest of his glass and flips in the chair to be sprawled out on his stomach; chin up on the armrest and feet touching the floor. Blowing cold air at Valerie who sends him a dirty look as he speaks, “you’re not gonna take long are ya?”.

“I’m a girl”.

“But you’re well, you”.

“Asshole”, Valerie smacks him over the head with the butt of her gun, “but no, unlike you lot I’m not going all ghost royal to freaking homecoming”.

Sam rolls her eyes as she does her make up, “wait for prom, this is just basic lazy day royal garb”.

Tucker comes back in seconds later, a white intricately pleated kilt with gold trim and belt. Simple chain mail t-shirt and white robe, tied closed loosely with a silk rope. Topped off with a large bronze necklace etched with snakes and jackals, and wearing no less than fifteen gold, silver, and iron bracelets and rings; embedded with gemstones.

Danny, raising an eyebrow, “fucking speeding dressing? Is that a challenge?”.

“Dude no”, Tucker continuing to speak as he puts on a pair of sandals, “you can make your clothing appear instantly and out of thin air. Meanwhile, I simply calculated the highest rate off efficiency based on my clothing and accessories. You know, a real skill”.

Valerie snorts as she stands, tossing the ecto-gun on the bed, “I don’t know Tucker, creation and teleportation of damn ghost clothing sounds like a far superior skill. And less geeky”. Tucker makes a show of looking offended before pulling out black eyeliner and green eyeshadow; joining Sam at her vanity.

Danny flings over the chair, standing up as Valerie leaves to get dressed. Danny walks over to the vanity and squeezes his two friends' shoulders, “we are going to freak everyone out, now hand me an eye darkness stick”.

Sam snorts, handing Danny an eyeliner pencil, “drama queen”.

“King actually”.

Sam just rolls her eyes while Tucker points at her, “he’s right though. No one will be surprised by you, miss ooky spooky, but the rest of us? Just chaos”.

Danny snickers as he leans over them, pulling down at his eyelid as he lines his eyes, “poor Mr. Lancer’s going to have a never-ending stream of heart attacks this year and we’re starting it off today with a showy flashy bang. I’m surprised we even got Val to go along. The quartet’s truly complete”.

Sam smirks as she finishes off her lips with a metallic purple, gold shimmer layered over top, “I just want to see Paulina’s face. She couldn’t even afford Tucker’s outfit”.

“Isn’t she, like, a small-time model now or something?”.

“Yeah dude, for cars I think? Course she only stuck around Amity for your ghostly spandex covered ass”.

Valerie leans on the doorway after reentering, “well it is a great ass”.

Danny slaps his ass and winks exaggeratedly, “you mean it’s deadass drop-dead gorgeous”. While Sam and Tucker both turn their heads to take Valerie in, being the only one who isn’t some kind of ghost royalty. Knight was close enough to garner looking fancy as shit though. Having been knighted by all three of them.

Red titanium breastplate, waist plate, shin plates, and forearm plates; breastplate etched with black images of battling hellhounds, the rest etched with blood blossoms. Over top of a sheer black near floor-length pleated sleeveless dress, a dark cherry red silk knee-length long-sleeved pencil dress underneath that. Long curly hair pulled into a low ponytail and laying forward over her shoulder. Simple black titanium band rings on every finger and black dress shoes.

Danny makes a show of swooning as he hands her make up bag over. Which she uses to bop Danny on the nose with, as he leaves to change.

Shaking her head as she trades seats with Sam, who goes to sit on her bed and paint her nails black. Valerie only somewhat seriously asking, “so just how excessive is he going to look?”.

Sam chuckles, not even looking up, “good luck getting him to not wear a velvet cape”.

“My god what have I signed up for”.

Tucker snorts, “generalised suffering and ringing in the year of mischief”.

Danny dramatically swishes the vines covering the doorway out of the way, near shouting, “more like singing in the mighty reign of the defect quartet! Humanities rejects!”.

Valerie points towards his voice, “hey now, I still live in the Mortal Realm...mostly. I haven’t totally defected from normal human soci-”, cutting herself off as she turns around and gapes.

Danny’s standing there in a Superman pose, floor-length black crushed velvet cape with white plush lining; clasped together by two large green skulls, images of flames etched in pale green, and connected by a loosely hanging large blackened silver chain. Over top of a silk dark purple surcoat with black satin swirling embroidery, black leather double belt decorated with black spikes, and long-sleeved fine silver chainmail under it all. Black clawed titanium gauntlets and segmented knee-high boots of the same metal; both embedded with emeralds, rubies and onyx stones, at every joint and the cuffs. The whole ensemble finished off with a black leather choker, a green skull centrepiece with a large black obsidian ring hanging from its mouth.

Sam and Tucker start laughing at Valerie’s still gaping facial expression, while Danny slumps exaggeratedly, “What? Too much?”.

Tucker laughs hard, thankful his make up is already set, “dude! We’re going for street royal! Not ‘we’re going to the opera house’!”.

Danny sticks his arms out to the side slightly and looks down, “this is street royal”, plucking at the cape collar, “this cape is barely one step up from civvies”. Making Valerie finally lose it and start laughing her ass off. Wheezing, “you! You’ve been! Been here too long!”.

Tucker points at Danny’s shoes, “at least go for low top shoes and wrist-length gloves”.

Danny rolls his eyes and alters their length, before sticking in decent sized emerald earrings and giving himself black leggings, “happy?”.

Valerie shakes her head with a smile, “this school year is going to be a mess”.

Danny smirks, “perfect then. They have the audacity to hold these royal and knightly asses back a year then they deserve it. Plus”, pointing at everyone in turn, “how has no one figured shit out yet. Like this is getting sad, and it’s not like any one of us actually need the acceptance or even tolerance of the mortal world”.

Everyone sighs, “would still like it though”, before shrugging, “screw the lot of ‘em otherwise though”.

Tucker points at Danny, “really says a lot when even Mr. ‘Oh-Ancients-what-if-they-don't-accept-me?’ no longer gives a damn”.

Danny shrugs, “kind of hard to care when my folks and your folks, and maybe Val’s, are the only ones I’ll ever really be seeing again. And they’ve all accepted our crazy bullshit”.

Sam groans as she sticks her nails in Danny’s face for him to freeze-dry, “and lucky me, I get to be the odd one out in the acceptance train. But hey, it’s not like I ever actually cared. Not to mention Nana Ida is leaving the four of us everything”.

Valerie coughs, nearly messing up her dark grey lipstick, “wait, I’m included now?”.

Sam rolls her eyes, “duh. All of team Phantom is and you’ve officially joined the chaos”.

Danny smirks as he flops back down in the chair, “there’s no way out and nothing but dead ends. But rejoice! For death is only the beginning”.

Valerie squints at him as she finishes, “that's way more ominous than you think it is”. While Tucker gets up and rummages through Danny’s bag, lifting up their assorted headgear. Tossing it to each of them and smirking at Danny’s ‘simple’ three-peaked green crown covered in obsidian stones, “well at least this one doesn’t float, or burst into flames, or give off mist, or give off the horrifying wails and moans of the dead”.

“I’d like to actually be able to hear the music, Tuck”.

Danny adjusts his ‘small’ crown and admires everyone else. Sam in her silver elven like crown wrapped in ivy vines and leaves. Tucker’s golden band of coiling snakes and rubies. Valerie with a blackened silver headband with titanium black ram horns, green skull wrapped in vines with a snake winding through its eyes at the centre. Nodding curtly, “alright, y’all ready to go freak all our former and current classmates out?”. All three of them give devilish grins so Danny continues, “well then, it’ll be a pleasure doing this song and dance with you all”, nodding at Sam, “Botany Lordess NightShade”, nodding at Tucker, “Ranatheo Pharaoh T Duulaman”, nodding at Valerie, “High Dread Knight Rufescent”.

The three of them nod back, “Phantom, High Ghost King”. Before everyone bursts out into laughs as they hop into Sam’s pumpkin carriage drawn by three black horses with flaming manes. Deciding to save Danny’s skeleton procession and fanciful Litter, as their ride for prom.

They all agreed to arrive fashionably late, since being tardy was something all of them were well known for. So it seems no surprise to them that things have already gotten started by the time they get there. Danny’s the first to hop out and holds the carriage door for everyone else. A dude smoking outside going bug-eyed at them and coughing, though the quartet completely ignores him.

Tucker, snickering at Danny, “dude, you’re the highest royal of us all. The fuck you doing?”.

Danny smirks, “gotta take care of my underlings Tuck. And y’all are mortals after all”. All three of them flip him off before the defect quartet head inside sneakily; all of them seriously wondering how long it will take for anyone to notice them.

Valerie makes her way over to the food stand, which honestly seemed like a dumb idea to have in the same room as a high school dance. Munching on some cheesy snacks, there really wasn’t a Ghost Realm equivalent to this level of greasiness and synthetic cheese, when someone taps on her shoulder. Turning around to see Star with some curly-haired brunette. Star speaking with shock, “oh! Valerie?!?”. Valerie just waits and smirks into her drink as Star opens and closes her mouth before speaking, “why? How? Armour?”.

Valerie laughs, takes a sip of her drink and eats a few more cheesy snacks before responding, “yup, it’s the last year and none of you noticed just how weird we were. So we decided fuck it, let’s really be straight strange. And the armour is a status thing, Star. Kind of came with the whole getting knighted thing”.

The brunette speaking up while Star just stares, “you know, I heard there were some unusual people in this town but, uh, this is a bit above and beyond”.

Danny laughs from behind the two girls, “you really have no idea Brittney. There’s no place stranger”, making both girls jump.

But Star quickly collects herself, recognising Danny’s deep and rather unique voice before turning around and stopping. Rubbing at her eyes as Danny and Valerie laugh. Brittney nearly whispers, “how do you know my name?”.

Danny smirks and shrugs loosely, cape bunching up. While Valerie speaks, “oh don’t mind that. Danny knows everyone’s names”.

Star looks back to Valerie while pointing at Danny, “okay...What is going on here? Those are, that is a lot of precious gems”.

Danny waves her off, “these are my less decorated clothing. Probably the most dressed-down I’ve been in a solid month”, chuckling, “ah the joys of being royalty”.

Star chokes and it looks like they’ve finally started to get other people’s attention. Multiple girls are poking at Tucker’s finery, Sam looks to be arguing with some popular girls who took Paulina’s place after she graduated. Dash, Kwan and Dale slowly walking over while eyeballing Danny. “The Hell Fentit?”.

While Sam slips over, escaping the clutches of the younger A-Listers, “hey now, is that any way to talk to your future king”.

Dash scoffs, “Fenturd is no one’s king. What are you four pulling?”.

Danny laughs and pats Dash’s head, Dash goes to whack it away but goes through Danny’s intangible arm. Making Danny laugh even harder, smirking down at the stunned Dash, “I’m everyones king in death Dash. Well, if you become a ghost that is”.

Dale squeaks, “you’re a ghost!”.

Tucker tosses his arm around Danny as the two laugh, the jocks and girls changing to glaring at Tucker. Dash muttering, “what the hell”.

Tucker chuckles, “naw he ain’t flat out dead. None of us are. Ghost royals all the same though”, plucking at his gold bracelets, “comes with plenty of positives I’d say”, before flicking sand at Danny, who flicks snow back.

Sam glares and shoves her head in between the two boys, “how dare you leave me out”.

Danny points at her as she flicks leaves at them, Danny speaking with a shit-eating grin, “we’d never leaf you out”.

Star slowly looks back to Valerie, “when the heck did you all acquire powers and what’s up with the king thing?”.

Valerie chuckles as Star and Brittney join her in leaning against the food tables, Valerie replying, “like I said no one noticing was getting annoying so we’re not even bothering to hide it anymore”.

Danny sticks his head close and smiles, “if you recall, there was a point in time where the trio went from just the losers three to the weirdo trio. Quite a time that was. Ghosts popping up all of the sudden. The mad man king of ghosts stealing our town into another dimension only to be defeated and dethroned. Only for a certain someone to find out they were the rightful heir to said throne”.

Tucker joins in, “dude yeah, crazy shit. And then the school goes on weird field trips only for another certain someone to find their look-alike in an ancient museum while some crazy evil ghost awakens. And then of course, as things always happen, turns out that look-alike is the rebirth of the ancient ghost pharaoh and thus heir to the throne”.

Sam smirks, “and who could forget the time this dumb town decided to destroy all the plant life only for some crazy powerful ghost lord of plants to turn everyone into mindless zombies and fertiliser. Only for said ghosts to pick a certain someone as their queen and mother to all plants. Before, obviously, getting defeated”.

Valerie shrugs and smirks at Star, “and then what certain someone turns out to be a freakishly skilled fighter and ghost hunter, and friends with the aforementioned certain someone’s. A certain someone who only needed to share their secrets to unlock the door to knighthood”.

All four grin while everyone around just gapes at them, everyone in the room having gone silent shortly after Danny had started speaking.

Dash blinks before blurting out, “that’s bullshit”.

Danny rolls his eyes and snickers, “is that the ‘how dare you do better in life than me’ kind of ‘that’s bullshit’ or the ‘you are lying’ kind of ‘that’s bullshit’?”.

Dash glares at him and crosses his arms, “the second Fentoad. You four are weird but that’s it”.

The four exchange glances and snicker.

Star shakes her head and puts on a smile, “well whatever, you’re all here so things can actually start now”.

Valerie raises an eyebrow while Danny asks, “wait what?”.

Star nods to someone and suddenly a banner drops down reading ‘Respect, Protect And Never Forget. The Defect Quartet!’, and the music starts up in genuine, playing weird intense songs that are decidedly not normally played at any dances. Balloons and streamers start going off all over the place; most people breaking out into erratic dance, everything from the monster mash to the creep. One person appears to be doing a mash-up of the chicken dance and cotton eye joe. Anyone not dancing wildly in the whirlwind of streamers and flashing lights is leaning against the gymnasium walls watching the chaos.

Danny makes a show of looking like he’s about to faint, “they love us, they really really love us! Catch me”, before going to fall over.

All three others speaking in unison, “no”, as Danny just collapses on the floor.

Sam points at Dash who just finished doing the wiggle, “don’t you jerks hate us?”.

Dash shrugs, “Danny’s the only one I could pummel that would still stand up to me. Not to mention he never seemed to actually get injured”.

Danny blinks and tilts his head, still laying on the ground, “you actually noticed that?”, laughing, “sweet Ancients someone did actually notice something!”.

A couple of people who were just standing around come up, “plus you four are basically a staple of the school and town”.

“Your bullshit is Amity Parks hazing ritual”.

“You’re our mascots”.

Danny flings himself up and yanks the other three in for a tight hug, “guess we have to frequently visit our mortal lair now! Haha! The mortals have accepted their fate!”, before dragging them all onto the dance floor and all four of them break into weird ghost dances. The most ridiculous or over the top ones they can think of.

Danny’s bouncing around on his palms, cape dragging all over the floor and surcoat folding over his face. Sam is stomping and swaying her hands through the air like she walking through vines and pretending to have a seizure. Tucker looks to be doing a version of the robot that involves swords, bracelets jangling loudly. Valerie looks like she’s fencing while doing ballet, occasionally clanging on her breastplate for the sound effect.

The four bursting into an erratic mock fight as Freaks by Timmy Trumpet comes on. People laughing and eventually joining in. Danny notes that even Mr. Lancer, Mr. Lewis, Mrs, Testlauf and Ms. Trent seem to join in.

Danny shimmies his way over to Mr. Lancer, who’s now panting, elbowing the teacher who’s now shorter than him, “thought y’all would get back at us by making things as weird as possible huh? Try to shock us for a change?”.

Mr. Lancer waves him off, “as some would say, ringing in the new year and your last one”, standing up fully, “and yet you all still managed to startle everyone. What even is this Daniel?”.

Danny laughs exaggeratedly, “y’all only have the tip of the iceberg on our oddness. Literally in my case”, Danny swishes his cape out, snow falling out of it, as Danny goes back to the dance floor,

While Mr. Lancer is extremely confused, and then startled by Valerie coming up from behind and stomping her feet; making a show of standing ridged before bending over in laughter. Patting Mr. Lancer’s shoulder as she stands, “Mr. Lancer, you really should have expected us, especially Danny, to pull some shit. Out weirding him is honestly impossible. But hey, that’s the High King of Ghosts for you”.

Mr. Lancer coughs, “what?”, while Valerie winks and walks off. Mr. Lancer looks around, Samantha’s lifting a teacup made out of a leaf with a vine, Tucker seems to have a magically appearing red carpet of bandaging appearing in front of his feet and Mr. Lancer’s pretty sure he sees brown snakes winding around him in places, Valerie seems to be showing off a green and red board sword - where did that even come from? - to Mia, and Daniel is seemingly hopping around and changing the colour of the floor every time he lands. Mr. Lancer is officially both in awe and fear of what this year is going to be like. Watching as the Defect Quartet, which he honestly thought was a pretty insulting name for the group, all collapse in a heap on the ground; Daniel throwing his cape over the other three dramatically like a large blanket, while the music quietens down.

Star and Kwan, the previous years' homecoming queen and king, take the stage. Star grabbing the mic, “okay now that we’ve had a chance to adjust to the strange and bizarre again. It’s time for this years homecoming king and queen!”.

Star waits for the cheering to stop, though some are booing too, expected honestly. Clapping her hands, “so the votes were cast by everyone as they entered, meaning!”, Kwan holds up two envelopes that Star points at, “we don’t even have to wait!”.

People cheer and hold up cups while Star opens a pink one and Kwan opens a blue one. Meanwhile, Sam mutters about gender roles, stereotypes and colours.

Star smiling down at the paper and lifting up her head, “the homecoming queen is...Valerie Gray!”.

Valerie sticks her arms out to the side speaking as people cheer, “the fuck? I’m only here, like, half the classes?!?”.

Jesse elbows her above the metal, “but you have literally saved people's lives and not to mention basically taught everyone how to work ectoweapons”.

While Kwan leans into the mic, grinning like an idiot, “and the homecoming king is...Danny Fenton”.

Sam, Tucker and Valerie slowly look to Danny with expressions of mock horror, while people cheer. Danny blinks once, twice, three times before going stiff and pitching sideways, laughing and shouting, “you poor innocent fools!”.

Valerie sighs and grabs Danny’s arm, pushing up his cape to do so, and drags him with her towards the stage. Danny points behind him at Sam and Tucker, “chant as we rise”.

Sam and Tucker shrug and start stomping their feet, “before the armies, start the chaos. ‘Cause these boring skies will be no more”.

Dash snorts at Dale, “they are really going all-in on this act, aren’t they? Kind of makes me miss Highschool”.

“It’s only been a couple of months dude”.

While Danny bends forward to let Kwan awkwardly put the puffy homecoming king ‘crown’ over Danny’s actual crown. Valerie doing the same as Star tries to situate the tiara in between the horns. Star muttering at her, “this is absurd”. Making Valerie and Danny smirk.

Star and Kwan step to the side and bow at the crowd while Danny does silly hand waving; Valerie being more normal about it even if light is bouncing off her armour.

Star and Kwan hop down off the stage as Valerie grabs the mic and points at Danny, “the Zone were you all thinking putting him up here?”.

Multiple people shout at them about how they basically defined the town and school, were a vital part of the atmosphere and culture. And that Danny was basically the epicentre of it all.

Danny laughs and leans over the mic, looking at Valerie, “face it Val, I’m the perfect collection of blood, guts and other assorted candy store viscera”, before turning to the crowd, “Imma tell y’all a story. ‘Cause unholy guacamole, you have no clue”.

Valerie looks at him and snorts, “origin story time?”.

Danny just smirks before speaking, “you see, it was many years ago. Before you or I, but not really ‘cause I was here and so were most of you. I decided this reality wasn’t for me, space was always my shit. Hence why I get called space boy so much. Anyway, so I tried to aim for a better world. And then what happened? I accidentally opened a hole into the realm of the dead! And you know what I did? What I goddamn did? Waltzed in and screamed ‘Honey! I’m home!’”, clapping his hands before pointing them out at everyone, “and now I’m here with you fucks again, in a town known for its ghostliness. Which I am absolutely the epicentre, or whatever, for. So y’all want atmosphere, I’ll give ya atmosphere”, snapping his fingers making green mist appear in the air, “this year is going to be a dissection of weird for all to see!”, Danny leans against the podium, posture instantly becoming more serious, well sort of serious anyway, “but really, the lot of us genuinely debated whether to even stick ‘round Amity”, Danny laughs as multiple people gasp and some shout “no!” and “never leave us!”, most people just going along with the quartets dramatics at this point. Danny smirks as he continues, “this silly mortal plain can barely handle us, we are in league with the dead after all. But fuck it, this town’s dead enough for our asses and y’all clearly accept our shit”. Resulting in a bunch of cheering, even if most people are incredibly confused.

While Danny nods at Valerie to speak, letting her step up to the podium with a dramatic bow. Valerie chuckles and smiles at him before turning to the crowd, “so obviously I’m the least odd of the quartet. I’m also the only one that isn’t straight up accidental ghostly royalty”, Valerie shrugs, “up to you whether you believe any of us about our bullshit. But just keep in mind, we have been ‘away from town’ all summer. Take a good guess as to where. Anyway, let’s have a wild year and remember”, Valerie leans forward almost menacingly, metal wrist guards clanging on the podium, “this is your final chance to take us down”.

Danny throws his arm around Valerie, “and you call me ominous!”, turning to the crowd, “is our lives nothing but strange or just hard to believe? Question our behaviour but it’s never what you guess. So just let go of what you don’t know. You laugh at us and you laugh with us. But we can be anything you don’t want anyone to be”, snorting and laughing, “because we are humanities defects!”.

Valerie pushes him off the stage and grabs the mic, “he’s a drama queen, obviously”.

While multiple people whisper about how it seemed like the quartet are the ones who came up with their name, which honestly tracks.

Danny shouts from the ground, “KING!”, before springing up and adjusting the fake crown over top of his real one and smiling wide at everyone, “best boil my blood and gouge my eyes, for I’ll never learn to hold my tongue”.

Valerie shakes her head as she hops down from the stage, going with Danny for a dance, “you ominous bastard”.

Danny laughs as he takes her hand in his, “ah sweet sweet normalcy”.

While Tucker and Sam dance, snakes and vines weaving in a dance as well.

Mr. Lewis watches from the sidelines over the rim of a paper coffee cup, “you know, I thought aliens were the weirdest shit I was ever going to see”, shrugging, “but hey, at least no ones tried to kill me yet”.

While the defect quartet roamed the dance, confusing every person they talked to or stood next to or so much as looked at.

End.

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flourchildwrites · 4 years

Note

Can I request either a Royai or Edwin 'Game of Thrones' AU? maybe an action scene or a jousting tournament or something? (I'm not sure if you write a lot of action, but I bet you'd crush it T_T your writing is 11/10)

Witch, Please! Fictober 2019 (29/30)

A multi-fandom Fictober prompt compilation. Your wish is my command, but be careful what you ask for. You just might get it.

For @an-unexpected-trollogy

Prompt: Game of Thrones-esque Jousting

Fandom: Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood & Manga, Fullmetal Alchemist - All Media Types, Fullmetal Alchemist (Anime 2003)

Relationship/Pairing: Riza Hawkeye/Roy Mustang

Genre: Alternate Universe - Game of Thrones-esque, Action

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences

Word Count: 636 words

Read on AO3

Roy lowers his spear and charges toward his opponent, body tucked tight and eyes narrowed. The hooves of his horse beat against the ground in a devastating rhythm, not unlike the drums of war. Cheers and jeers come from the crowd. However, Roy is too enraptured to feel anything besides the pain of prior attempts and the weight of his fine armor.

This exercise is not a punishment. It is a privilege – his reward for agreeing to marry a woman that he cannot love. His heart has been spoken for since the age of 14, but no one can know that. And, in any case, his father, the king, would not care.

Theirs is not a game of hearts. It is a contest of footholes and intrigue in pursuit of a cold iron throne.

The first pass results in a mighty blow to the prince’s shoulder. It pushes him back, and for a split-second in time, Roy’s body is caught in gravity’s pull. He nearly falls from his horse but recovers, gesturing angrily to his squire to retrieve his shield and weaponry.

And this is the first time he takes a good look at his opponent. Their horse is midnight back and impeccably groomed, proudly wearing the luxurious colored silks of a house Roy recognizes but cannot place. The rider seems to be a small man wearing armor two generations old, but there is instinctive dominion in the way they handle their steed. There’s strength in the hands which grasp reigns and weapons with finesse.

Roy’s ego writhes at the idea that he’s been bested, but he enjoys the way his belly burns with something other than remorse over the bride he is obliged to marry.

They go again, and this time, Roy’s spear strikes true, and so does his opponent’s. Both nobles fall from their horses, clutching their wounded bodies. But the prince’s opponent does not stay down for long.

Stumbling, they rise, accompanied by the heavy sound of chainmail, and the modest figure draws a sword. They wait, chest heaving underneath layers of heavy metal for Roy to recover. Though the prince notices his betrothed, Vanessa, clutching a handkerchief to her mouth from the spectator’s stand, he pays her little mind and obliges his opponent in combat, over much objection from crown and crowd.

Swords clash, blow matched for blow, and a wave a nostalgia washes over Roy as muscle memory follows familiar footwork. This is a variant of his training regime, a series of steps known by two people. One of those people, his cousin Maes, has already shuffled off this mortal coil. The other person… She’s standing across from him, panting and in pain, wearing the colors of her mother’s forgotten house.

Roy’s strikes grow softer as he recognizes the feminine grunts, power and weapon prowess all the more impressive for her lack of testosterone. He stops blocking all together when he sees her blazing copper eyes through the slit in her helmet. And finally, bested but not beaten, the prince falls on his knees in front of the woman he loves. She presses her sword to the chain mail covering his throat, and he swears the pressure against his Adam’s apple feels like a lover’s kiss.

There would be worse ways to die than at the hands of Riza Hawkeye, and yet, she does not grant him this mercy. Riza lowers her sword and offers him her hand.

But, for his part, Roy does not take the peace offering. It is all he can do to reach into the belt covering his purple tunic and retrieve a crushed blue winter rose plucked from the royal gardens. So fitting that the flower is meant for Vanessa but given to Riza. So telling that it is crushed by the game his father orchestrated.

A/N: Thank you for your kind words, @an-unexpected-trollogy! I was thrilled to see this pop up in my inbox. There’s one huge caveat to this work. I have neither seen nor read Game of Thrones. Everything I know is coming from secondhand info, lol. And on that note, I’d like to thank @teaplease1717. Anyway, feel free to stop by my tumblr, and if you read something you like, don’t hesitate to let me know in whatever way you want. Your kudos, bookmarks, subscriptions, comments, likes and reblogs make my day! One day more, y'all!

#fictober19 #writetober19 #fma #fmab #GoT #roy mustang #riza hawkeye #royai #blue winter rose #jousting #an-unexpected-trollogy #flourchildwrites #about things she does not know well

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in-arlathan · 4 years

Photo

I just realized that we’re already half-way through the story! Can you believe it? Because I certainly can’t!

Before we jump into the chapter, I wanted to let you know that I made an important change in naming. Until now, I have tried to simply describe the creature Solas was sent out to hunt. I came to realize that I need to give it some sort of name, so this one specific creature is set apart from all the other beasts that make an appearance in this story. So, from now on, when I’m writing about the “Black Dread”, you know this is the name for that big bad creature.

I will work the new name into the previous chapters at some point. For now, I wish you a wonderful time reading!

_____

Chapter Seven: A Convergence Of Wolves

The wolves came for him, covering the distance between them with incredible speed.

Solas shifted into a fighting stance and opened up to the magic of the skies. The world flickered and green mist began to dance around him as he gave himself to the Beyond. Its energy flowed through him, filling him up to the brim with power. For but a moment, he remembered how he had felt as a spirit, a creature of pure wonder, and he smiled.

With his mind, he warped the Beyond into flames and formed it into a fireball. When the wolves were close enough, he released the magic, casting of a wall of fire that reached seven feet into the air.

The pack leader snarled, commanding the remaining wolves to go around the fiery barrier, while it picked up speed, charging at Solas directly. Its mighty paws thundered on the blackened earth. Dust whirled around the beast when it jumped.

Solas dodged the attack, rolling over and drawing Felani’s blade from the scabbard at his belt in a single movement. The metal sang as he turned to face the pack leader. “I don’t want to fight you,” he said, enhancing his voice with the Beyond so that his words echoed in both layers of reality.

The only answer was a deep growl and second charge.

Solas stepped sideways, casting a fireball at the pack leader. Behind him, the remaining wolves encircled him, drooling and barking. In a heartbeat, Solas drew the ambient magic of the area toward him to create another barrier. It would protect him from a few attacks but not all of them. That much he knew.

With his free hand, he reached to the skies and called their power down to him. A moment later, meteorites of raw energy peppered the ground. The wolves howled in surprise, then scattered in all directions. Three beasts stumbled and fell, dropping dead with their skulls smashed in.

Solas had no time to enjoy his small victory. The pack leader was at him again, and he angled his blade to meet the wolf’s attack. He aimed for its side but the leader was too fast. It flung itself at Solas, clawing at his armor. The onslaught made Solas lose his footing, knocking him down. He landed on his back, and the impact drew the breath from his lungs. Warm salvia covered his face as the pack leader lowered its head over his.

“Stop,” Solas urged the creature, modulating his voice once more. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

And once more, the wolf ignored him. It barked and dug its long teeth into the pauldron of Solas’s armor. The force with which the beast tore at it reverberated in his body. Solas tried to push the beast away with his hands, but it only fought more vigorously.

I have no choice.

“I’m sorry,” he said while amassing magic around him. With a blast of air and thunder, he repulsed the pack leader. It landed with a painful howl, and the other wolves answered in kind.

They were incredibly close. Solas could feel the warmth of their bodies despite the cold. He got back up on his feet and let the Beyond take over. Another mind blast drew the entire pack backward, blowing up dust in a wide radius. He heard the wolves whimper as some bruised and others broke their legs when they landed.

But it still wasn’t enough.

As soon as the wolves were back on their feet, they coordinated again, coming at him from all sides at once. No matter how fast he cast his spells or how elegantly he slashed through the pack with his blade, the wolves would bring him down eventually.

And so they did. They closed in on him, rendering unable to move, and bit and clawed at his armor furiously. In a combined effort, they tore at the metal, ripping it apart piece by piece. Solas clenched his teeth, waiting for them to go for his legs and arms as he brought down his blade on his attackers. Charged with magic, the sword was ablaze with fire and cut through the wolves without effort. Blood sprayed and he tasted vile in his mouth. Dead beasts dropped around him, as the remaining pack robbed him of his pauldron and breastplate. They bit down on the metal and tossed it aside with rage and revulsion.

It’s the armor, Solas noticed. They’re after the armor!

Suddenly, it all seemed so painfully obvious. Andruil herself had told him that she had traveled these lands with her hunters in search of the Black Dread, and she had been corrupted with a new madness in doing so.

Certainly, the wolves had witnessed Andruil’s transformation or at least made a connection between the creature and the goddess and her party. And now, another elvhen appeared to follow in Andruil’s footsteps, wearing the same armor that she had.

No wonder they saw him as a threat.

“Wait!” Solas yelled, casting another blast that drove the wolves back. The wolves landed violently, dazed by the impact. In that instant, Solas dropped his sword and took off his gauntlets. He tossed them aside, then removed the greave and cuisse on his legs. He was fumbling with the vambrace–that long piece of metal that protected his lowered arms–when the leader howled at its pack.

And just like that, the wolves backed away.

Solas breathed a sigh of relief and divested himself of the remaining armor and chainmail. Clothed in nothing more than the linen shirt and trousers he had worn underneath the armor, he got to his knees and held out a hand.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” he repeated.

The pack leader stalked closer, sniffing and smelling. Solas waited for the wolf to make its assessment, panting heavily. He didn’t even notice how much he exerted himself in the fight until then.

The wolf growled and looked at him.

‘You are different than the others.’

The wolf’s mouth remained still, but its voice echoed in the Beyond. Solas could hear it in his mind, as long as he maintained his connection with the magic. The sound had a masculine quality to it.

‘You can call me Leader,’ the wolf told him.

“My name is Solas,” he said and bowed his head. “I’m pleased to make your acquaintance.”

***

After they had buried Solas’s armor, Leader and his pack brought him to their lair. They had made a home for themselves in a cave system that tunneled a range of ice-covered hills.

Solas followed them, shaking and shivering from the cold. Without the armor, he was left unprotected from the weather. He used his connection to the Beyond the heat up the air around him but soon began to feel the exhaustion the fight and his extended use of magic caused. He would be able to keep himself warm by supernatural means forever.

‘We will take care of you once we reach the lair,’ Leader promised.

More wolves waited for them when Solas and pack enter the caves. They were sleeping or chewing on the remains of an elk they had killed a while ago. Solas could smell blood, urine and wet dirt in every corner.

Leader stopped by a stone at the very entrance of the cave and asked Solas to wait there. He sat down and wrapped his arms around his torso. The rest of the pack watched him carefully, their eyes alight with suspicion and fear.

Soon after, Leader returned with two she-wolves that carried the dead body of another between them. They placed the dead wolf in front of Solas.

‘Our brother died from his injuries two nights prior,’ Leader told him. ‘Soon, his body will begin to rot. I assume you can use your magic to turn his hide into clothing. The elvhen still cloak themselves in wolf’s skin, don’t they?’

Solas opened his mouth and gaped at Leader.

“I cannot keep his hide,” he said.

‘Why not?’

He thought about all the wolves whose lives he had ended. If Leader or his pack were mad at him, he could hardly blame them. They were only doing what they thought was necessary.

“I already took to much from you,” he said. “I won’t to take any more.”

Leader looked at him for a long moment. ‘You really are different. The elvhen that came before you simply took what they thought was theirs without so much as batting an eyelid,’ he said. ‘Consider this a gift from my pack, then.’

Around them, the wolves stirred and let our low growls that got under Solas’s skin. He drew in a long shuddering breath.

“Thank you,” he said and reached out to the Beyond. The magic welcomed him and he redirected its energy to the dead wolf lying before him. Following the image in his mind, the magic stripped the pelt for them wolf’s body. It was a very clean affair without any blood. And when the skin was finally removed from the corpse, Solas wrapped the pelt around his shoulders and released the energy of the Beyond.

“Thank you,” he said again.

Leader didn’t answer. Instead, he growled at his pack. An order, Solas suspected, as the wolves immediately retreated deeper into the caves. They left the skinned body of their companion where it lay.

‘Why have you come here?’, Leader asked.

“I'm here to hunt the Black Dread,” Solas replied. “It poses a terrible threat and has killed many of my people, both spirit and elvhen. I want to end its reign of terror.”

Leader regarded him for a long moment.

‘Come,’ he said and made his way to a small opening at the side of the cave. ‘I want to show you something.’

Solas conjured a small fireball to light his way, then followed him through the gap in the stone. He had to shuffle through sideways, but Leader waited patiently for him.

The ground lowered as they ventured on. Soon after, they entered a tiny cavern that smell of death.

Solas fought the urge to gag. “What is this place?”

The big wolf trotted to a pit that the pack had dug at the center of the cavern. In it lay more dead wolves. Their bodies were broken, the flesh burned from their skin. Black bones lay scattered around. Solas recognized smashed-in skulls and twisted spines.

‘This Black Dread has killed many of my kind, too,’ Leader told him. ‘We have tried to hunt it down, but the creature is too strong for us.’

Solas picked up a bone from the ground beside the pit and examined it. t was part of a jawbone by the looks of it, but the teeth were missing. The bone was marred by the magic that had killed the wolf. He brushed its surface with his thumb and pushed back the memories of the dead elvhen he found throughout the land.

Leader nodded towards the dead wolves in the pit. ‘These were my best fighters. The Black Dread brought them down like it was nothing. We have retreated to our stronghold to keep the pups safe. I’ve been patrolling the area with what remains of my hunters ever since.’

“Wait!” Solas said. “Does that mean⎯you know where the Black Dread is?”

‘Yes,’ he admitted reluctantly.

“Can you take me there?”

Leader considered his request for a moment.

‘You said that you wanted to end the Black Dread’s reign,’ he mused. ‘Why do you think you can destroy this creature? What makes you so certain that you will come out victorious when so many have died fighting against it?’

Solas swallowed. “Because I have to.”

He truly wished he had a better answer. Something that sounded competent and reassuring. But the truth was that he had no way of knowing whether or not he could win. He’d had to defeat the Black Dread or die trying. There were no other options.

Leader let out a snarl that might have been a resigned sigh if he were an elvhen. ‘I can take you there,’ he said, ‘but I will not risk any more lives besides my own. Once we reach the creature’s lair, I will leave you to yourself.’

“Of course,” Solas replied. “I am grateful for your help.’

‘We leave at sunrise,’ Leader said. ‘You should rest and eat to maintain your strength. I will tell the youngsters to clear a space for you. The pack will watch over you while you sleep.’

Solas thanked him once again.

“May I keep this?”, he asked, holding up the jawbone.

Leader’s ears flinched and he gave him a quizzical look. ‘Why would do this?’

“It will remind me what I'm fighting for,” Solas said. “Not just my own people, but for spirits and wolves and every other living creature.”

Silence.

‘Take it if you have to,’ the wolf said at last, then turned back to the gap in the wall. ‘Whatever good it may do you.’

#dragon age #fanfiction #da fanfiction #fanfic #rebels ascension #solas #fen'harel #origin story #ancient elves #elvhenan #arlathan #dread wolf

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mollyraesly · 5 years

Text

Time with Wolves -- Chapter 20

“You don’t approve.” Cat sighed and shook her head. “No, Sansa, dear, I didn’t say that. Of course, you can wear any dress you’d like, it’s just—" “Yowza,” Arya exclaimed as she walked into their parents’ bathroom where Sansa and Cat were already gathered among lipsticks and hair products. “I can almost see your navel.”

“No you can’t,” Sansa replied, rolling her eyes. “Perhaps you should lean over so we can double check—I wouldn’t want to have a wardrobe malfunction—" “Or old Mr. Mormont will swallow his tongue when he sees your nips pop out.” “Arya!” Sansa screeched. “Gross! Mr. Mormont is a nice man.” “A nice man who might catch a glimpse of what the good Lord gave you.” Sansa stuck her tongue out at Arya as she applied her mascara. “Sansa, though, really, have you thought about—“ “Mom, gods, I’m wearing double-sided tape, if you must know.” Cat sighed heavily. “Good. Well, then, if this is what you want to wear...” “It is,” Sansa stated firmly as she traced the silver sequins of her gown down her hips. It was floor length and form-fitting—and despite Arya’s comment—it did not reveal her navel. But Sansa might be battling Margaery for the role of Cleavage Queen. When she saw the dress yesterday, she knew it would fit and that it would be exactly what she needed for the day. The silver sequins reminded her in a way of chainmail, and she wanted a coat of armor to protect her today. She didn’t want to be shattered like porcelain or cracked like ivory; she wanted to be impenetrable steel. Yesterday had been difficult but not impossible. She hadn’t had to watch the rehearsal in the church because she—and by extension Dickon—has volunteered to wait in the lobby to greet people as they came in and direct them toward the main hall, the bathroom, or anywhere else they needed to go. Then she and Dickon walked over to the Dornish restaurant to make sure everything was set up and ready for thirty-some guests. “Are you all right, Sansa?” Dickon had asked her, his forehead lined with concern. “Of course,” she replied automatically as she flitted between the tables to refold the napkins. He reached out to still her hands. “I know you’re worried about seeing Jon Snow again.” Sansa sighed. She’d told Dickon bits and pieces about him throughout their relationship. She hadn’t given him that many details—mainly explained that she’d had a bit of a crush on one of Robb’s friends that she thought had been requited but apparently hadn’t—or at least not in the way she’d hoped. And Dickon, of course, knew that Jon had been in the Night’s Watch and that Sansa had worried about his safety. They’d talked about Jon a bit more after she met Sam; he’d been interested in her unexpected connection to his brother. But it was likely that one of her siblings might have gotten to him based on his tone. “I am nervous,” Sansa told him as she grasped Dickon’s hand in her own. “He really hurt me when I was still so young and impressionable, and it’s hard to see him again. Even with how much I’ve changed and grown, seeing him makes me feel like that stupid little fourteen year-old girl again.” Dickon kissed the corner of her mouth. “He didn’t deserve you then, and he doesn’t now. Don’t let him ruin this weekend for you.” “Cause it’s going to be such a stellar weekend otherwise,” Sansa deadpanned. Dickon smiled weakly and helped her fix the rest of the napkins before the guests arrived. He’d stayed with her as she helped to greet more people and play hostess to make sure everyone was settled and had everything they needed. And he held her hand during dinner. She could always sense where Jon was, even though she tried not to look directly at him. A few times throughout the dinner she recognized that him was trying to get her attention, but Sansa always found a way to avoid him. She doubted she’d be so lucky today. “What is it, Mom? Just say it.” Cat sighed. “Well, it’s just—seems inappropriate for you to outshine the bride.” That thought hadn’t crossed Sansa’s mind, and for half a moment she thought about going to her room to put on the other dress when Arya interrupted. “S’not like Sansa wasn’t gonna do that anyway, even if she wore a burlap sack. She’s always the prettiest girl in the room.” “Tied for prettiest,” Sansa amended. Arya rolled her eyes, but Sansa could still detect a blush underneath her younger sister’s layers of makeup. “You’ll wear a shawl in the church,” Cat told Sansa pointedly. “I’ve got a faux white fur one that’ll go perfectly.” She’d made it years ago when she’d cosplayed as Good Queen Alysanne from A Dance with Dragons at a Renaissance Fair in Torrhen’s Square. Cat sighed but nodded and smiled weakly at her two daughters. “I suppose it’s alright then.” Sansa grinned, and Arya whooped. “Is it cool if I take scissors to my hem then?” “Don’t you dare, Arya Stark.” “But what if I wear a cloak for the ceremony?” Sansa had to try very hard not to laugh at their bickering so that she wouldn’t screw up as she put on her lipstick—blood red to match her toes. Shawl in place, Sansa took Dickon’s hand as he helped her into the car that had come to take them, Gendry, Arya, and her parents to the church; her brothers were already there getting ready. “At the risk of sounding like a broken record, you look very beautiful,” Dickon murmured in her ear. Sansa gave him a wide smile. “Wait till you see the dress without the shawl.” Despite all the last-minute errands she had run on her brother’s behalf, everything was a bit chaotic still at the Church. Sansa was on her way to help her mother find Mrs. Westerling to figure out what happened to all the bridesmaids’ bouquets when she felt a tug at her wrist. She spun around on her heels. “Rickon? What are you—what is it?” “Sansa, can you help with the ties again? In Robb’s room, nobody can—" Her eyes dropped to the necktie in his hand. “Of course. I’ll get you looking perfect in just a second.” When she was done, she told him he looked like a dream, which made Rickon beam. “Can you come do Bran too? Theon can’t tie his either, and Robb—” Before Sansa could protest, Rickon grabbed her hand and was yanking her toward the groom’s dressing room. “Rickon, sweetie, I really don’t think this is the best idea—“ But he’d already shoved her inside. “Sansa!” Robb exclaimed. “My beautiful sister. Thank the Gods you’re here. I’m absolutely hopeless without you.” He handed her his white bow tie. “Could you help a brother out? It is my wedding day after all.” Sansa plastered on a smile and obliged him—and then Bran. While she was working on Theon’s tie, Jon walked in. “Everything with the priest is sorted, Robb. He says we’re ready to go in thirty.” Sansa’s hands stilled for a moment as she caught a glimpse of him. She’d never seen Jon Snow in a tux before. The sight proved to be a little too much, so she forced her eyes back to the task at hand. “Thirty minutes? Already. Wow. I guess this is really happening.” Robb sucked in a deep breath. “I’m getting married.” Bran rolled over to help Robb, and the movement drew Jon’s eye to the back of the room. “Sansa.” She peered at Jon over Theon’s shoulder. “Jon.” She began pulling at Theon’s neck that he groaned a little. “Sorry!” she fretted to him. “I’ll be done in a second. I’m just helping with the ties. Rickon—" “Sansa did all our ties for us!” “I see.” “She could’ve done yours too, but—“ Jon’s tie was already tied. Precisely, Sansa noted. “I learned in the army,” Jon explained in Sansa’s direction without quite meeting her eye. “Yes, of course you did.” “Just mine, though. I can’t do anyone else’s.” “No, that would be a strange training exercise.” A moment of pregnant silence passed, which Sansa ended by clapping her hands together. “Well, I should get going. Mom might need me. Best of luck, Robb.” “Thanks, Sans,” said Robb, looking only slightly nauseous. She blew a kiss to Rickon and shared a look with Bran before sweeping out of the room. Then, after nearly a half hour of dodging hairspray, welcoming guests, and searching for a missing bouquet, she and Dickon were sat on the groom’s side next to Arya and Gendry. “Here goes,” Arya muttered darkly under her breath as the organ kicked in. “Here goes,” Sansa chanted back. The procession went quickly and mostly smoothly. Luckily, the music was loud enough to cover Sansa’s choking laughter when Arya saw the bridesmaids’ dresses and announced with a snort of relief that she was glad Jeyne hadn’t asked either of them to be in her bridal party. Jeyne was grinning widely as her father escorted her down the aisle. She’d chosen the dress well; even though neither the capped sleeves nor the blush color were to Sansa’s taste for a wedding dress, it hid her baby bump well. She could really only spot it from the profile as Jeyne walked past their pew. Father Luwin, the priest Sansa had known since she was a little girl who’d baptized all the Stark children and even married her parents, would be leading the ceremony the next day. His gentle but strong voice and familiar face helped calm her nerves. Sansa focused on him rather than the happy couple and Arya, who kept pinching herself so she wouldn’t say anything or start laughing inappropriately.

Sitting through the ceremony felt tedious, even though it was finished within a matter of minutes. Sansa amused herself primarily by watching Rickon, who looked adorable all dressed up in his tux and was trying his best to listen but could not seem to stop fidgeting his legs.

“Did he take his ADHD medication today?” Sansa heard her mother whisper to Ned.

She didn’t hear the answer because as soon as the words “Love is patient, love is kind,” were uttered, Arya started pretending to throw up into Gendry’s lap.

Robb and Jeyne stuck with the traditional vows, for which Sansa was grateful because personalized ones were so often overly long and too personal for a church ceremony. Besides, weddings were meant to be traditional.

Even though she was still quite peeved at her older brother and barely knew Jane, Sansa still felt a little tug at her heartstrings when they pronounced: “I am his; he is mine; I am hers; she is mine.”

At last, they kissed, and the procession began. Arya’s heavy sigh mixed with Sansa’s own.

“Just the reception now,” her sister noted. “Almost done.”

“Pictures first,” Sansa reminded her.

Arya groaned, but a quick look from their mother shut her up.

Taking the group photos in the church was a bit chaotic. The photographer kept telling certain Starks to sit down and others to get back up toward the altar. But after about twenty minutes, they were on their way to the reception.

“Can I get you a drink?” Dickon asked as they walked in.

“In the name of all the gods, yes, please,” Sansa told him.

As he headed off toward the bar, she found their table and finally removed the fur her mother had made her wear.

The first person who spotted her was Margaery—a fact which should have come to no surprise.

“Sansa Minisa Stark! I thought you said you were going to wear some old number.”

“I was, but then I changed my mind.”

“Indeed! Changed your mind and lost half your fabric in the process.” Margaery bit her lip, shaking her head with a smug look. “And here I thought I would win for lowest neckline at the wedding.”

Sansa smiled sweetly. “No shame in second best, darling.”

“You know, if Dickon doesn’t propose to you on the spot, he’s not just stupid but blind, as well.”

Sansa just rolled his eyes. “One wedding this calendar year is quite enough already.”

“Unless, this isn’t for Dickon’s benefit?”

Sansa straightened her posture and raised her chin. “I wore this dress for me.”

“And gods, do you look good in it,” Margaery observed with a smirk.

“Yes, well,” Sansa allowed, “there is that.” A smirk quirked at her own lips and had not quite faded by the time Dickon brought her a flute of champagne.

“Gods, you look….” he trailed off.

Sansa took the proffered drink and leaned up to give him a deep kiss. “Thank you,” she whispered in his ear as she smudged away the traces of her lipstick from his lips. “Shall we go? I think I spot Arya over by the corner.”

“Let’s.”

#jonsa #jonsa fan fic #jonsa fan fiction #jonsa fanfiction #jon snow #sansa stark #mollyraesly #molly raesly #timewithwolves

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thanidiel · 6 years

Text

Dominion

Sometimes, the soldier could force fondness to the ways of which Autumnvale has attempted to adapt to her world.

The pheasant, however, is braised.

The texture too soft and tender; less meat and more sodden. Neither is much appreciation to be had for the tang of white wine in its juices; a waste of drink, if she were to be asked. With every bite of fare, the grains of mustard within sauce had burst against her teeth; annoying, distracting.

Underneath, the cook, Dawnspire native, had attempted to appeal to her tastes. With her knife lifting up the side of the poultry, she discovers a bed of wilted and blanched dark-greens intermixed with a ‘rustic’ chopping of mushrooms - foraged from the woods along the mountainside, she thinks she heard some sod say.

It is, unabashedly, a homage to the woman’s tastes and the culture of cuisine in the colder regions of Quel’Thalas. Unfortunately, it is equally clear that the elves who fed the mouths of soldiers and officials to pass through this feast hall, had never seen such fare in their lives.

If such a combination of foods were to be prepared proper, the bird would have come charred and speckled with the mustard, crushed. On the side, perhaps, the vegetable and fungi would come raw or in a cloudy soup. And the wine would be in goblet than simmered down in a pot.

There is something to be said about effort, such as Thanidiel has preached when it was in turn to say something gracious, or morale-raising. And food, is food, after all.

She isn’t sure how much she appreciates the way this meal parallels with times of old, still.

Another portion to be slid off the curve of her knife and popped into her mouth - just for the etiquette of it - and the plate is pushed off towards the table’s center. A slow shifting of her digits like the movement of a piano’s hammers, and the blade rotates to a rest along the inside of her palm.

The handle is levered forward.

“Elinden, how many?”

Her gaze raises from underbrow to regard the man addressed. He looks tired. She can see it in the weight pressed upon his eyelids, even with the hacked red mussing around his head.

Good, he should be.

“Sixteen from the Thirteenth Regiment. Seven from the Southeast, Hallowleaf, they said.”

“Leaders ‘mongst them?”

“A former Knight-Master, Kielen Duskshield. From your people, they answered to a Ciril Farlong.”

“Aye. Stabled? Watered? Fed?”

“All being attended to, Captain. As of now, they sit cross-legged on the grasses outside of the Village, taking fill of the bread given.”

“Send them here; they will make their introductions to me before given right to make camp. In the meantime, the eastern-side should be cleared for their presence.”

“The whole of them as usual, Captain?”

“Aye. Be…” the Duskward draws off, the trenched gap between her brows closing into a knit. By now, the knife has been lowered the table. Still, her hand spreads over the blade.

“How many are we at now, Elinden? Last month was three-and-half-hundred ‘tween us and them.”

“With these additions, we number at four-hundred-and-six.”

“Growing a bit big for our britches, aye?”

“And the ovens.. and the grasslands, Captain.”

Thanidiel bows her head towards the mopheaded man standing at the table’s end, needing nothing more to convey the militant courtesy extended to the Lieutenant Brightvale. Again, the knife wheels in her grip; to be slid into breast from overhead with her comrade’s swinging hook of ankle around a stool leg.

“We’ll need to let the word spread. Another few dozens - less than a month’s time - and that is how many more I am willing to allow camp along the Village.”

“Twisting a cap on the jar?”

“Mm. I’m interested in maintaining an army, not a Great Herd.”

“S’that not an army?”

“Not my style, not my speed. Allow the Archon and his to lead thousands to battle. We’ll keep ourselves swift and effective for all of those death-defying stunts, aye?”

“You mean you will, Than– Captain. You do all of that, and it’s up to me and Harthen to calm the men behind us and assure them that we are, in fact, going to survive.”

“Give yourself some credit. It took the whole active company to fell the Reaver. If you’re willing to spread the rumour that I picked up and swung about chains the length of a warship twice-over, you are free to that ass-kissing, Elinden.”

“And Tyr’s Hand?”

“Your’s and the boy’s screaming spurred me on like dueling drums. Couldn’t have done it without you two.”

“One breath, you’re telling us both to shut our fucking mouths and keep quiet. Next breath, you’re saying our yapping inspires you. Which is it, Captain?”

“Whatever conveniences me to say at the time. For now? Shut it, duck your head, eat the vile they’ve been trying to feed me, and let’s both get back to proper work - Aye?”

“I can only shovel so much of it in my mouth at one time.”

“I’ve walked in on you placing at least three time’s the amount of breast on that plate, right in your mouth. Lying bitch.”

“Oi, watch yourself, Captain. Talk a lot of shit about who’s warming my bed; I’ve seen you want to shake your comrades bloody for even thinking about your’s.”

“The difference is that I have a woman and you have romps. Bring someone home to me and we’ll try some reverence.”

“Someone good for me?”

“Academy Diploma. Steady career. What else do those fucks at the top look for?”

“A certain paleness to the skin? A maximum of an inch of fat behind the arm?”

“Mm, toss all of that, then. Rubbish.”

The knife scrapes.

“–Eh?”

“Your attention span…” is drawn off. “Come on, get out. Bring them their first orders.”

“And the vile?”

“Give it to the hound on your way out.”

Thanidiel does not keep her eyes on Elinden with his exit from her hall. Her attention draws towards the knife. Coated in fat and spice, and pointed towards her own person. Out of place/misaligned. She grips unto its handle, and, carefully, wipes one of its two surfaces against the cloth placed to the right of her. Then, it flips as the action is repeated in another stroke. Idly, the thought passes on how the motions resemble Goose’s Formation.

In the midst of noise bubbling around her – Elinden’s stool scraping across rock and earth and weed; his footsteps aloud through even the soft dirt as it compresses under his boot; the voices of men and women filtering from the outside; the constant rumble of horse hooves vibrating underneath her feet – another thought materialises.

The Phoenix Guard wonders who, or what, would be caught between its wings.

Awaiting her answer, the tool is returned to the wood’s surface once more. There, it points outward in solemn welcome of every boot that begins to filter into the space before her.

She notes how they mimick army with the loosely packed southern volunteers at its fore, and the Knights at its back in rows. The number looks suffocated, sandwiched by the layout of the feast hall where its tables format in a folding flank. She can see how they shuffle uncomfortably as they are forced to settle over stone, coal, and ash, from the morning fire since-dead.

The audio of their march dies down to the shiftings of their clothing and roll of debris from underneath soles, then ebbs further into stagnant quiet.

And so it stays. For the Duskward does not immediately boom her greetings nor call forth the tradition of introductions to be made to her by each new head. Instead, she studies.

She studies the wear of their shoes, and how much the leather sags down their feet.

She studies how segments of plate strapped over chainmail, felt, and cotton, fit upon each new soldier’s person.

She studies the length of hair flying over their brows, speckling their cheeks and catching through beaming light.

She studies the roundness of them - the fat that builds upon their arms and bellies. Some look well-fed. Most, she can see how, already, the dwindling trade of Quel’Thalas has drained their bowls.

In particular, the soldier studies its leaders.

Such a thing has yet to be announced - nothing has been announced at all. But it is something Thanidiel finds easily determined.

The mountainpeople have not been trained in formal stiffness. They stood outside of the dutiful (painful, at times) parade rest the Knights beside them had adopted. Instead, those of her birth settle with a way known to her as vigourful, and to others, as defiant: a laxness to their shoulders, an uneven settle of the feet. ‘Round the one she has identified as Ciril, those close have all drawn back their adjacent legs. Protective, and hesitant to remove floor.

Kielen’s presence is louder than that. His garb is something bold and distinctive from ‘mongst the more uniform Knights. While his comrades were content with a single swordbreaker, or leather spaulder, strapped against their persons, she notes how plate layers along the length of his upper arms in broad, encompassing, pauldrons. Instead of a practical barbute hanging from underarm or belt like many others, an arrogant faceguard settles over his coif.

Loud.

Even idle, he is fucking loud.

She can sense the pacing of his breath from here; how it desynchronises from the calm of all those around him until the brute moves forward, like that would smear away the scrutinous glint underneath her brows.

“Former Knight-Master–”

“You are dismissed.”

“...Ma’am?”

“You may present yourself to Fury Company in a week’s time.”

The rest does not need to be given to the air between them. Again, the blade is in her hand, and, again, it is offered forth to the man opposite of her. Confidence removed, the Blood Knight reaches forward. It is an action hesitant and disbelieving as the bare iron is slid, and held, against rivets.

“Consider that your ticket.”

“The… men, ma’am?”

“Everyone here will be evaluated for entry. Grain, work, shelter, to be provided immediately thereof. Dismissed.”

The flicker of relief that goes through the harshness of his face is like a light through forest canopy. It is something redeeming to the butchery of his first presentation. Graceful, now, his surrender goes swiftly.

“Blood and Thunder, Kin’taris.”

“Sun at your back.”

With the turn of his body away from her, the Captain crooks her fingers towards the crowd.

“At random. I don’t care about any exploits or titles before you’ve stepped into this tent so I hope you’ve left it all in the field. Names first, then me and your two Lieutenants, Elinden Brightvale and Harthen Sunbright, will determine your skillsets, units, superiors, and standing orders.”

The small thing with as hastily shorn hair as Elinden, at the very back of Kielen’s former company.

“Yenette Sunshield.”

The giant with thick and loose coils, closest to Ciril.

“Byrran Morningheart.”

The man with copper red skin at the very center of the Knights.

“Oridren Bloodmist.”

The half-elf with an axe-bite on her jaw falling out of the southern pack’s formation.

“Shenuile Darro…”

#writing #thanidiel #autumnvale #sunguard

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