#Children's Woven Leather Belts

[latenightdaydreams]

Perhaps you have plans for things, but can you please write part 2 of Viking! Konig? I'm so curious how would reader get used to her new life and her new husband

Husband upgrade🤭

Viking!König x Reader Part 2 (fem)

MDNI🔞

Part 1, Part 3

Master List

>cw: fem/afab, p in v, breastmilk

2.1k word count

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Two middle life blonde women gently help you out of the tub they were bathing you in. Small drops of water fall to the wooden ground beneath you. They speak in a soft tone, but in a language you cannot understand. They’re telling you how beautiful you are and how lucky you are to be König’s queen.

You’re seated in a wooden chair, drying off from the bath. One woman stands behind you and combs through your hair. The other leaves out of your view to grab something. You shiver slightly, being naked and wet.

“Vi varmer deg opp snart.” The woman’s voice is kind, and she stops combing your hair and caressing your arms, trying to warm you.

You don’t respond, not knowing what she said. In a weird way, her touch feels familiar and calming. With a simple nod of your head, she goes back to combing your hair.

The other woman walks in front of you, holding up a beautiful blue dress. Again, she speaks and you just gaze up at her. Her blue eyes are bright as she’s speaking. Your head pulls back slightly as the tension on your scalp grows from your hair being pulled into a long braid.

Once your hair was done, she stood you up to dress you. The indigo blue dress fits you tightly, extenuating your breasts and the curve of your waist. A woven belt placed around your waist and a necklace with a medallion of a wolf dangles for it. Leather shoes tied to your feet as you

“Hun er klar.” She exclaims as she sees you totally transformed into a queen. “La oss gå.”

You leave the small house, their arms wrapped in yours as your guild you down a pathway. Inside, you feel as though you are about to throw up. Your feet drag beneath you, dreading seeing König.

“I can’t” You try to turn but the women’s grip on you is firm.

“Du blir bra.” One speaks as she pets your arm.

König paced back and forth in his house waiting for Hilda and Thyra to finish cleaning you for him to enjoy. He walks shirtless and without a mask, exposing his sculpted body covered with battle scars, tattoos on his pecs, and scars on his face. His light blonde hair falls to his shoulder, some pushed behind his left ear.

His head turns as he sees the door open and you enter. The same worried look that has plagued your face this whole journey is still there. König walks to you and takes your hand, thanking the women and sending them on their way.

Worried or not, you’re still the most beautiful woman he has ever laid eyes on. You look as if a goddess decided to come live amongst men. He will never understand how he got so lucky as to find you. Your breasts are full and swollen with milk, he can’t wait to taste you.

“You look beautiful, Liebling.” The door closes, and it’s just the two of you.

“Please, I can’t stay here.” You instantly plead, voice shaking. “I need to go home.”

“You are home.” He looks down at your face, studying you in the low light. “Don’t be so sad.”

“My children—”

“Are safe at home.” His hands caress your arms up and down.

“I need my children here.”

“I’ll give you new ones. Stronger ones.”

König’s hands grasp yours and bring them to his chest. You look at his body, turning your head away to gaze at the ground. He lifts your chin to face him.

“How about you come with me? I’ll help you forget about your troubles.”

There was no room to protest as he grabbed your hand and led you to the large bed in the corner of the room. He sits on the bed and keeps you standing in front of him. His hands roam over the curve of your body. On the journey back he refrained from touching you so you could mourn your last life, but now- now you’re all his.

“Are your breasts sore?” He asks as his hands feel how swollen they’ve become after days away from your child.

You don’t answer, but just look him in the eyes. It’s clear to see that you’re too full to be comfortable. His hands squeeze slightly and the indigo fabric begins to darken from the milk he expressed. Thyra and Hilda got you all dressed up only for König to ruin you.

König grabs at the woven belt around your waist and slowly undoes it, pulling it towards him, and laying it on the bed beside him.

“Please stop, I’m a married woman.” You step back.

“You are. To me.” He wraps his arm around your waist and brings you closer.

“In the eyes of God, you’re not my husband.”

“God? Which one?” König teases as his hand runs down to rub your plump ass. “Here, in my land, you’re mine. Unless your old family comes to my shore and fights for you back…you’re mine.”

You just stare into his eyes and nod. Realistically, your husband will never come for you. He wouldn’t even know where to look. The memories of your life with him, with your children flashes before your eyes until a tap on your ass takes you out of your own mind.

“Let’s get you more comfortable.”  His voice is a soft whisper as he stands to get you naked in front of him. The last piece he grabs is your necklace, setting it down on top of your dress.

You stand naked. Your breasts are full and round. Body soft and curvy. A small white pearly bead of milk lingers on your left nipple. Between your legs is a soft patch of hair, he can’t wait to feel it rub against his face. All you can think about is how God will smite you for infidelity, you can only hope he understands.

“Look at you. Beautiful.”

König wraps his arms around you and places you gently on the bed, as if you were a delicate jewel he didn’t want to harm. He looks down at you as he finishes undressing. As he steps out of his pants, you can see his massive cock bounce, leaning down. He notices you looking at him, making him feel cocky.

“Big, ja?” He walks to you, parting your legs. “Let me show you how a real man fucks.”

Instantly, a blush forms on your face as you look at his blue eyes. His blonde hair falling forward as he looks down at you. You hate to admit that, compared to Callum, König is far more attractive. Your eyes travel all over his body, inspecting his tattoos as he moves on to the bed with you. He notices your gaze and smiles.

“It’s for my family name.” He whispers as he rests his large body next to yours.

“Oh.”

König moves his lips to yours, tenderly kissing you.  You don’t kiss back at first, and that's okay. He knows you’re nervous. His lips leave yours and travel down your neck, he lightly nips at your flesh. A small whimper leaves your lips causing him to smile.

Lifting his head for a moment, he moves his hand to your breast and squeezes. A fountain of milk begins to spurt out. König moves his mouth to your other nipple and begins to suck. He continues to squeeze the other to spray himself with it.

A mixture of relief and pleasure rushes over you. Callum has not touched your breasts since the milk came in, finding it repulsive. König acts like a starved man, as if your milk is the only thing that can save you. It’s…hot.

Milk begins to drip from the corner of his mouth, rolling down your breast. He slowly pulls away, licking his lips. “So sweet.”

König licks in between your breasts and over the other, cleaning up the mess he’s made. His hand slowly trails down your body and touches your pussy. The feeling of your wet folds between your fat pussy lips drives him wild.

“I can’t wait to bury my cock deep inside of you.” He growls as his lips kiss up your neck.

König moves his body between your legs, running his hands from your breasts down to your hips. He brushes his hair back and out of his face with one hand as he presses his cock against your entrance. You gaze up at him before he moves his hips forward.

“Wait.”

His eyes move to your eyes. “What’s wrong?”

“I- I can’t. My husband—” You were cut off by the euphoric sensation of meaty cock being shoved into your tight little cunt. A moan spills from your lips as your eyes go wide.

König grins looking at your reaction. He leans over your body to kiss the tip of your nose. “I am your husband now. Don’t forget that.” The words leave his lips as he slowly shoves the rest of his cock into you.

Your nails dig into his arms as you squeeze your eyes shut. König looks at your face, your mouth hanging open and eyebrows pinched together. His hips slowly pull back before pushing back into you slowly; enjoying the look on your face as he does. A small chuckle leaves his lips as he pulls away.

“My perfect queen.”

He grabs your hips, pulling your rear up slightly off the bed as he bucks forward into your tiny cunt. Your back is arched as his fingers dig into your ass. Loud moans leave your lips, loud enough people passing the home can hear the two of you.

“König, I- it’s too much.” You feel a tingle run over your body as a heavy pressure builds in your core.

He realizes that you’re about to cum, “beg for it.”

“For what?”

“To cum.”

“I- I can’t.” You feel shameful. Shame for having sex with someone other than Callum and shame for feeling this pleasure. You’ve always been taught to not give into this type of lust.

“It’s okay to let go.” He whispers in your ear as he leans over you, his arms on either side of your head. His lips meet yours, pushing his tongue past your lips. You open your mouth accepting him in as you mewl pathetically.

You turn your head away, desperately begging. “Please…harder.”

He grabs your head and forces his tongue back into your mouth. Moans leave your lips into his mouth as your legs tremble around his waist. His kisses begin to trail to your cheek and down your jawline as he feels your walls flutter around his cock.

“There you go.” His kisses travel down to your breasts.

König pulls out and stands from the bed, grabbing your legs and pulling you to him. His arms wrap around you and hold you up. One arm holds you tightly to his body as the other reaches down to line himself up with you. He pushes forward while lowering you slightly. A groan leaves his lips, your arms wrap around his shoulders.

His fingers grasping the supply flesh of your ass as his hips thrust into you; your tight little cunt squeezes his cock as he bounces you on his length. The lustful daze you’re in makes you gaze up at him as if you’re in love. The sound of your wet pussy and little pitiful sounds leaves your lips mixing. König glances down to your breasts bouncing. Everything is just perfect.

“Y/n…” He groans as his cock pulses, face scrunching with pleasure.

The next morning you take up to an empty bed. You rub your eyes and stretch, slowly stepping out of the bed. That’s when you noticed König sitting nude and watching you with a smile. Your eyes travel along his body before meeting his eyes, trying to sit in a way that conceals your body.

“Don’t try to hide your beauty, Liebling. It’s just us here.” He stands and walks over to you, caressing your face. Your braid is barely together and face flushed with an afterglow from last night’s activities.

“We have a long day ahead of us. You’re going to be introduced to my people as their new queen. They will be astonished at your beauty.”

You look into his eyes and nod. There is still a lingering sadness in your eyes, he is aware you miss your old life. It will take time for you to move on, but he knows you’ll be happier here with him. No longer are you poor and working the fields. Now you’re a queen.

Part 3

[velvet-paradox]

Stay (ch. 7)

A victory - Alone time with The Collector - A soft space - Where are the sons of KorTac? - An engagement - The Challenge Warnings: NSFW 18+ ONLY, strong language, explicit content, here we have some smut, oral (f receiving), fingering, foreplay.

You're a mess. You're sweating and sticky, out of breath and longing for just a pinch of reprieve. But Kruger is unrelenting in his training.

Long gone are the practice swords at your request.

"I agree; I think you are ready." He'd announced amongst the clacking of wood against wood on this chilly afternoon, you can see both your breath. He brought out a sword, nice and smooth in your hand as you wound it around, getting a feel for the blade.

"Finally! It has only been six months, you are well aware." You counter, rolling your shoulders.

"Ah, yes dear pet, six months of your sassy, witty little mouth. Six months of banter. Six months of 'when will I train with real weapons', well today is that lucky day, woman. Come now. From the top!"

You fell into step and formation, eyeing your opponent while the others who were out in the field among you, quieted down to see your two in action.

Your blades met with a sharp CLANK, it rang out like song through the open air. A stunning contrast to the wooden blades you were used to. It rattled up your bones, thrummed through your body. An evil grin tugged at the corner of your mouth.

This was exactly the challenge you were looking forward to.

You rushed him, made him grunt at your speed. Dodging and angling your body just so. Of course you were in ordinary clothing, your leathers from Gaz, a newly woven shirt with a fitted belt. If you had armor on you might not be as quick, but you'd worry about that later.

That thought shortly stumped your brain; you were thinking more and more about the future. Not just in general but with KorTac, belonging to the clan long enough to be forged armor for battle, for defending this village.

He tripped you under your boots while caught up in thought, landing hard on your back, your sword across your chest when Kruger brought his down against you.

"Pay attention pet!"

"I'm trying!" You barked as you swiftly got up.

"Well try harder, I know you can. You know you can."

His beratement only made you hone in your next moves, the gathering and cheering of the others, Anso in tow whooping your name as you battled. It made you faster, lunging with your sword, shouting at him, advancing and retreating in a dance. Even Kruger was quite impressed.

Out of breath and the victor you laid out in the grass next to him, he put his forearm to bump together in solidarity and praise for your hard work.

"Do you have any heirs Kruger?"

"How many times must I tell you; you are safe enough to call me Sebastian."

"Just sounds odd. At this point it would be as if I ask you to call me Y/N instead of pet." You snorted and covered your face in hysterics, your stomach tight as you chuckled. You hadn't heard your birth name in so long. And honestly the last time you did hear it, it was being sobbed out by your parents. Not exactly the best memory to come to mind.

"Surprised you remember your official title! I have a little one on the way, since you asked."

"Are you nervous for them?" You rolled your head over to him in the grass.

"Nervous? To raise an heir? Nein." He shook his head and sat up on his elbows as he explained. "Look at all the children on KorTac, we all have taken turns watching over another ones' babes. It's the communication between friends and families. Prices children are my children, their yours as well. You can teach them something only you know for certain, what sagas from your village is new to them. You help, as you helped Keeva birth the twins, where help is needed, so no pet, I am not nervous." Kruger said with a shrug and groaned when he got up, extending his hand out to help you up.

….

You're now a mess in a very, very different way.

After your bath, before you could even cover and shield your dignity König was on you. Not in a predatory way by the way he grabbed you up in his arms, laughing and swinging you around, water dripping and staining everything in sight. You giggled for him to put you down, which he did, enjoying watching your naked and wet body fall and bounce onto his bed.

"König!"

"Yes my pet, say my name. Fuck it; scream it, shout it, cry it out." He said, crawling on top of you, his hands dipping the bed at such an angle. You felt a little silly with the way your legs opened up to him. "I heard from a little birdie that you bested Sebastian out on the field today."

"I did." You sang and cupped his face, his stubble tickling the softness of your palms.

"Oh my, I told you pet. You're stronger than you give yourself credit." König snuggled into your hands, a smirk on his face as he pushed your knees apart with his own, spreading you wider. "I think a reward is in order, don't you?"

"We cannot have sex. You know that." You were startled by the sadness in your tone, you wanted this man. You wanted his eyes on you, his hands on your body, your face, in your hair. Inside you.

When you two fooled around the other night it was everything but that. You did not not in fact regret what you did with him. Quite the opposite. Gods how you wanted it but both of you knew, in order for your marriage to be true you'd need at least one witness. He hadn't even proposed and you were already unraveling yourself to him.

"I know. But I can still reward you in another way… if you let me." He wiggled his eyebrows and quirked up his face. You bounced your thumb off his bottom lip. "You remember what I did last time?"

How could you not?!

You've laid with men before but none had ever put their mouth on your sex! To your surprise you enjoyed it so much so that you came rather quickly and in quick succession it left your breathless.

You licked your lips and nodded.

"Use your words."

"Bitte, put your mouth on me once more. Reward me for my triumph." You panted, brushing back his hair from his face.

"What a good pet I have, so obedient, well trained." König cooed, delightfully teasing you. He leaned down and kissed your forehead, rubbed the shape of his lips over your eyelids, the tip of your nose before giving in to desire, slotting his mouth over yours. You both moaned at the hotness of each others breath, how perfectly you fit together.

The crackles of the fire, the glittering of the candles, the weight and heat of the man above you made you needy. You wanted this. You needed this. Adrenaline from the victory of the day and now this new sensation, this act König was enjoying and willing to give.

What a treat!

The Collector worked his way down your throat, holding your jaw in his heavy hand, turning your head to his liking as he left sloppy, open mouthed kissed over your still damp and cooling flesh. He bit you, he licked you, he sucked on your skin, familiarizing his hands on your body, the shape of you, your curves. The dips of your body, how your legs fit over his shoulders, how you smelled. How you tasted.

With a devious grin and wink König opened his mouth, a long line of his saliva slipped between your legs, hitting the hood of your clit only a second before he slurped it back up making you arch. He kept you open and vulnerable, raw and exposed as he hummed against the apex of your thighs. He's loud as he laps at your center, enjoying your yelps and wiggles, writhing from this newfound pleasure.

He holds your thighs over his bare shoulders, your heels dig into the scarred muscles, you can feel the blades of his shoulders shift when he holds you open with the palms of his hot hands. His thumbs oh so politely peel your folds apart, the point of his tongue pokes at your hole. You whine and grab at his hair, tugging him further into your cunt. This sensation is new and delightful. Your hips roll on their own, bucking up for more, more suction of your clit, more tongue fucking into you.

He's continues his torment, chuckling darkly against your center, taking turns to kiss your clit or take a chunk of thigh between his teeth, scratching his blunt nails down the inner muscles of them.

You're an absolute wreck. König is smart and clever, he can read your tells like none other. The moment he sees or hears something you like, you are done for! His middle finger sinks in deep, your pussy has been patiently waiting for some form of penetration, fluttering around the thick digit. He gawks up at you in adoration. His lips swollen and covered in your shiny arousal. You've never seen anything any more beautiful.

The flat pad of his thumb barely, just barely touched your clit and you were moaning and drooling.

He knew what he was doing and he wasn't a slouch about it. He was testing you, helping you teeter off the edge of an orgasm. One you were ready to let go of.

"König…" You sobbed feeling his twist and roll his wrist, flicking your clit lightly, adding extra pleasure and pressure to your current state. You felt feral. As feral as König was looking up at you, between your thighs, resting his face there.

"Do you know just how stunning you are? You have made me feel more alive than any hunt, any raid. I am so so ready for you, pet." König confessed, eyes lowered so his lashes touched the tops of his cheekbones, watching where his, now two fingers, were splitting you open.

"R-ready for what? What do you mean?" Your breath hitched your throat, your free hand holding your breast.

"You have got your teeth in me, pet. I want to give you everything I have got. I promise you pet, you are all that I want. I may have stolen you that day but in turn you have stolen my heart." König was confessing his love for you. A blessing and a curse, you thought. He hands that were on you, the hands that were in you had been used for malicious intent, cruelty and thirst. So why did they feel so fucking delectable enough to make you cum?

"Can I ask you something?"

Your finally calmed down, your breathing had finally evened out after three soul crushing orgasms. He picked up on how squirrelly you were getting from his actions, bucking and rolling your hips. His hands couldn't hold you still any longer so a few rapid slaps to your pussy to keep you in line seemed to work. He sucked you off his fingers as he came over your mound, smearing his seed all over your cunt. Staining you, marking you as his own.

"Of course." König hummed, holding you close to his chest. He kissed the top of your head.

"When we marry, officially… will your heirs be in attendance?" You craned your neck to see his curious expression. Thick eyebrows twisted, some of his dark red hair had stuck to his forehead at random angles from his exertion.

"My heirs?"

"Ja silly, your sons. Where are they? I have not heard a word about them since I came to KorTac," you shrugged and were a little more confused when a smile, a handsome one at that, graced his face. "Are they raiding? Traveling? Where are they?"

König cleared his throat and tilted your chin to meet his still sultry gaze. "There is something I have been meaning to tell you, pet. I did not know when or how to tell you but… I do not have any heirs, no sons, no daughters."

"How do you mean?" you worried your bottom lip after he ran his thumb over it. "How are you the leader of a clan if you have no heirs to inherit KorTac?"

"Not yet. I have had plenty of sex in my lifetime, most meaningless and there for me to drown out the noise and expectations of being a leader. A lot of energy to expel but, I can never fully reach that realm of being able to cum with a partner. With myself, absolutely. No question. But it had always been something I have dealt with. The clan dare not ask why."

"But you cum with me, every time we have fooled around." You pondered.

"Exactly," König slowly moved to roll you on to your back, his forearms caging you in, the weight of him crushing into your ribs in the softest way possible. "You are the only woman to do it. It must be fated by the Gods that you can do this to me, make me safe enough to complete. Which means, my dear dear pet, you and only you," König pushed up on one hand to cover your lower belly with his palm, his fingertips digging into the skin he found there. "You will carry the sons of KorTac. You will be the mother of KorTac, so round and full of me. Of us. The sagas and all who come to live after we have arrived in Valhalla will know your name."

Your mouth went slack. You would have fame, a legacy, a saga of your own. One that would be passed down from generation to generation. You didn't even think of that bit! You thought he would have surely put you in the ground by the end of month one. Your mouth also went slack at the way he was talking about fucking you, how you would be pregnant with your children.

"You are going to cum inside me? How will you know when it will take?"

"As long as it takes, my dear. I will fucking cum inside you every night from our wedding night on, you will always be full of me whether you are with child or not." You shuddered at his words, König smiling at your pretty face, pressing his forehead to yours, looking so deeply into your eyes. "Does that excite you?"

You swallowed hard, watching his tongue come out to lick over his lips. "Ja."

He chuckled darkly before kissing you hard and fast on the mouth. "As you can feel, I am too."

….

"I am too small, pet! I cannot reach." Tove whined as she wobbled over your shoulders, her added weight up there made you tighten your core.

"You can reach, raise your arms all the way up."

"And just what are you two darlings up to?" Keeva asked, coming outside of their homestead, carrying the twins.

Price had requested your help in celebrating Keeva's birthday, hanging a banner outside the house to signal any and everyone who happened by. Laswell had also been asked, her job was to make a special cake, hiding it in the back of the yard with presents. She at least had not been caught red handed.

"Happiest of birthday's Keeva!" You sang, holding her daughter once the banner was finally in place.

"It certainly is," she beamed and kissed Tove's head before you brought her down to hug your friend. "I have a healthy family, great friends and you this year. Hopefully for forever."

"Did König say…"

"Price. Can't tell that man anything! We are all excited for your extended stay."

She didn't say no when you reached for one of the twins, giving your friend a bit of a reprieve for even the briefest of moments.

König gave you a look when the party started, eyeing you with a baby cradled against you. You could feel his blue eyes darting to your belly, his eyes did that thing that you had picked up where you knew he was smiling under the hood.

Laswell and her wife brought the surprise cake out later that evening, everyone cheered and sang songs. Games were played. Flowers were given, presents of new boots, cloaks and salves were given to Keeva as well.

You missed that part though, too pre-occupied with König's mouth against your throat on the opposite side of the house, his thigh pressed up between your legs.

"We should not be doing this." You whined, trying to deter him to avail. One thing you learned about König is that he would do as he pleased, when he pleased. "We'll get caught."

"I am the leader, my pet, who will stop me from devouring something so sweet, hmmm?" He groaned when you started rocking your hips against his leg, even a little friction was better than nothing. "Be good for me and I shall reward you again."

You lifted the bottom of his hood and ducked beneath it to kiss him, you grabbed at his cloak, at his thicker sweater, imbedding your fingers into the designs.

"You look so pretty holding a baby."

"Imagining one of our own are you?" you smiled against his soft lips.

"Several in fact," König licked the seam of your lips, pressing himself further into you. "You will be full of me whether you are pregnant or not, keeping you seeded, rooted with me. I cannot wait."

He kissed you hard before spinning you around, pushing you face first against the side of Price's house, your hands up against the smooth wood as König leaned into your ear.

"Do it now then." You panted.

"Afraid not sweetheart but know this," his heavy chest pressed into your back, making sure you felt his full weight against you, thick hands covering your own against the house. "Gods help who we have as witness on our wedding night. I will be breeding you."

…. König wasn't breeding you that night but he was for sure rutting up into, your hands in his hair, holding his face. You two raced home, through the doors of the great hall, eager to grope and fondle each other. You tore off his mask, his cloak, his shirt, leaning your head back for him to kiss and suck at your flesh while you moved down to his pants.

Everything was rushed until you were both naked, climbing into his lap now with a wicked grin.

"You are going to be the death of me." König admitted, moving his hips against your own, his cock getting slicker by second, your arousal coast the throbbing muscle between you.

"Not before I give you sons." You smiled into the first kiss, holding him tightly to your chest. "And daughters." König sighed into your mouth, licking at your tongue, nipping your lip before assaulting your mouth in a fervor.

You lazily stroked the head of his cock, circling the forming pre-cum around the crown of it, smiling even more when you felt the big man jerk and moan. You kept a decent pace, feather light touches, you were so tempted to just get on your knees already and take him into your waiting wet mouth. He has already put his mouth on, why shouldn't you return the favor?

But König had other such plans, grabbing your arms and holding them behind your back, rocking and bucking his hips up at just the right angle to make you squirm. He pulled away from your mouth, all swollen lips and glassy, passionate eyes. It would take a thousand lifetimes to get over that look.

You awoke that morning in a fever, König had tangled himself up behind you, covered only from the waist down, loosely. The fabric of the blankets on your skin, his face pressed up against your shoulder, surprisingly not snoring. His large hands resting on your waist looked massive, especially when you covered it with your own.

You had just rolled over to face him, brushing away some hair from his eyes when you heard heavy footfalls in the distance. Your smile faded and turned into a look of shock. The door to König's bedroom was being pummeled from the other side, making the man jolt awake and grab you close.

"Whose there?!"

"I am sorry to wake you," Soap opened the door, looking wild. "Good morning, pet. There are boats arriving to shore, wanted to make sure you were awake to greet our guests."

König nodded and waved him off before rubbing at his eyes. "Well that is one way to wake up. You look… well rested."

He popped an eyebrow at you before sitting up, bringing you with him to rest against the wall.

"I am. You are as well, you did not even snore last night." You smiled and went to rise, only for König to drag you back to his warmth. You looked so cute in the morning, you thought.

Your old life was slipping through the cracks like sand through your fingers.

"Roach!"

"Horangi, brother." König grabbed Kim's hand and brought him to knock their foreheads together.

"Keegan, hello brother!"

"Alejandro."

König ushered you around, greeting these old friends and acquaintances as each one of their boats slunk up to shore. The colorful banners to signify each clan that sailed towards you was beautiful. Cardinal reds, lilac and lavender borders, a shade so close it might mistaken for the sun. You didn't know why they were all arriving, a possible meeting of the minds for s successful future raid after the winter months. Possible sharing of gifts, maybe? You didn't know but you bowed and shook hands, excited for what news anyway.

….

After a terrific dinner spread, König touched your shoulder and made his way up to his throne, taking a wide seat, hands clasped beneath the hood, under his chin.

The great hall noticed at once, attention was quietly required. The music faded to a stop, all of KorTac and its' guests set down their horns and food. So quiet and still you could hear a mouse scurry past. Even the baby goat in Anso's hands quieted their bleating.

"Friends, I have some news I wish to share."

You swallowed hard. What was he to say?

"I have made a decision, a sound one at that." He continued as he leaned forward, somehow seated looking massive to the halls' crowd.

"Are we joining forces with Los Vaqueros come spring?" Someone asked.

"Are we raiding North again?" Another questioned.

"Nein nein. Something far more important," you watched König turn his head towards your table, tempted to pull your pillow from beneath you and cover your face with it. "It appears I have found a suitable partner, a relationship I did not foresee, the Gods had not granted me such a luxury until now. My future wife, is among this lovely crowd."

Hooting and hollering rang out, everyone looking amongst themselves, you could see The Collector was pleased with his gesture.

"You may know her or of her by now. If you have not, I ask that you greet her with excitement," you started to panic, you weren't one for large gatherings like this. KorTac was big enough on its' own let alone all these guests. "Pet, will you join me?"

You got up from the bench, shifting on nervous feet you made your way over to him, he stay seated for a moment before snapping his fingers. Gaz appeared with a grin, opening up a beautifully carved wooden box. He opened it to show you its' contents.

A braided and dyed beautifully colored ribbon, it was both hard and soft. The blue an identical to the shade of König's eyes, a softer shade, matching your eye color woven together.

"Go ahead. Take it out." Gaz said.

It felt so smooth in your palm, fascinated with its beauty you didn't realize König had stood, looking down at you before the audience hushed.

"I had Gaz make this for us, pet. You already have your arm band from your village, now you will have this for the ceremony," König took the other end of the handfastening ribbon and wrapped your wrist before his own, slotting his fingers between yours. "Will you be my wife, my pet?"

It didn't take long before you let out a breath to say, "Ja."

The great hall lit up, whooping and clamoring, someone banged on a shield somewhere when he leaned down to hug you. You held onto him tightly, this felt so real, so official now. You were to be married to The Collector.

He kissed you through the hood, getting more of a reaction from the clan.

"I also have something else to tell you, my dear."

"Oh König you spoil me!" You smiled against the mask, cupping his jaw.

"As one so should. I have bought your--"

"I object to this union!"

A rushed gasp hung in the air over the excitement of your engagement. Everyone looked about the hall, eyebrows narrowed, more questions than answers until you all witnessed Ada begin to stand from her place by the hearth. She looked around the room with her head held high.

She made her way through the rows of tables and benches, pushing people aside, her eyes locked on yours as she righted her self in front of you.

"And what is your reasoning?" You voiced. You were surprised your voice didn't break.

"Because it should be me. I was here first! I should be the wife of The Collector, everyone here knows I am his favorite." Another hushed gasp was felt collectively, König squeezed your hand, giving your the confidence to stand your ground.

"Aren't you everyone's favorite?" Soap chimed in with a confused look on his face, eyes darting back and forth.

"Shut up Soap! It should be me getting that handfastening, not her!"

"What makes you think that you, Ada, are eligible to be The Collectors wife, hmm? Throwing a tantrum in front of guests and the clan, shameful."

Ada scoffed. "Like I stated before, I had him first. I know him better than you do, I have slept with him more times than I care to count, both Soap and Ghost can attest to that fact!"

"Actually a woman named Sloane was my first." König grumbled low enough that note everyone nearby was privy to it.

"You know what I meant! So tell me, pet; what makes you worthy to be König's wife?"

"Because…" you straightened your back, standing tall and speaking loud and clear with the aide of the big man next to you. You cleared your throat. "I was chosen by the Gods to birth the heirs of KorTac."

"What?" Ada furrowed her brow at you, anguish on her face if she wasn't being so cunty to you. She looked up at König with a sour expression.

"Is this true, brother?" Kruger's voice echoed the chamber.

"Indeed it is."

"You lie!" Ada pointed at you, on the verge of tears it looked as well.

"What good would it be to lie to you?"

"Because that's just not--"

"Just not what, Ada?" You lowered your voice, narrowing your eyes at her, reminding her that only herself and you knew what was being said.

"How is this possible?"

"I think you and I know why."

"You… with her?" Ada ground her jaw then and made a brash exclamation. "I challenge you to a duel."

"For what?"

"For his hand! For KorTac."

"You cannot be serious." You balked, the hall anxious and full of uneasiness.

"Oh I am very serious, pet. I will win his heart and you shall fail."

"Oh I doubt that."

"And why is that?" Ada sneered and crossed her arms over her large chest.

"You and I are very different. Your job is to fuck. My job is to fight."

Tagging: @powerfultenderness

[the-starry-seas]

Finally designed U'Rajya's armour!

The colours are brown, tan, and cyan for valour, loyalty, and love; and also because they wanted to keep the main colours similar to their robes. Their flightsuit is made of the same material as their robes, with the exact same top half, and the bottom modified to fit the pattern of regular flightsuits.

Their gloves, belt pouches, holster, and boots are leather. Their cape, sash, bandoleer, gloves, belt, and boots are clothes they already had, and besides the cape, are their normal daywear.

Their helmet shell is slightly bigger than normal so that they can wear their regular head wraps under it (minus the horns). It has four horns set on top in the same pattern as their head wraps. The brown markings are a pair of bantha horns that cover most of the sides. The design is a copy of their bantha's horns, because Rayyan is the bestest girl. It has no targeting systems or other internal electronics.

The shoulder pieces have cloth backings to keep them from clinking against each other. On the bottom side, hidden by the backing, are engraved some love poems that they wrote for their spouses.

The iron heart is cyan because that's the colour that represents their riduure, who belong in their heart.

Their cape fastens in the front, just under their chin. It's made of bantha hair combed from Rayyan, and the sash around their waist is woven from the same hair.

On their right chestplate are two markings. One is an aces symbol, which is the name and symbol of the clone squad that one of their husbands belongs to. The other is the symbol for the Children of the Watch Covert, which their other husband belongs to. The red on the left are status indicator lights which they can turn off.

The marking on their belt is a coloured engraving of a strawberry. That's their ship name! In-universe, the explanation is that those are their collective favourite food, so it's become their calling card slash inside joke.

The blaster was given to them by Fury, one of their husbands. They prefer their own rifle, but it's a good backup weapon. It was traded from another Tusken, and Fury hand-engraved a prayer of protection in Mando'a along the inside rim before giving it to them.

The beads are the same kind of gem as the ones in their mother's favourite bracelet. They handpicked each one from the same spot she once did. The claw is from their trials of adulthood, which was hunting a local predator. The feather moulted from the first hunting hawk they had as a teenager.

Their knee pieces have the same backing as their shoulder pieces. They also have an extra bit of padding so they're more comfortable to kneel in for long periods.

The pocket on their left shin is magnetised on the inside so the tools don't fall out of the top. The spikes on their boot are not magnetised, but can be taken on and off, since they're attached to the outside of the boot.

[poodlepincushion]

I was lucky enough to go to New York for a friends birthday and I made sure to pack my best outfits!

Day 1: Totally Teal is one of my favorite outfits ever. The dress is a handmade, velvet, flared sleeve with lace lining, vintage piece. I had to bring it in to fit me well, paired with an 80s button down sporting shoulder pads to help the silhouette and a detailed collar. The tie is a clip on children’s vintage tie and what you can’t see if my floral, silver belt!

Day 2: Small Clown, Big City was chosen specially for my museum trips and meeting long distance friends. I wanted something with impact so I went rodeo clown inspired, red leather, fringe vest complete with sheriffs badge. The vintage colorful, polka dot button down is held together by my lizard bolo tie, wool shorts, red tights, mismatched gloves, and a big red belt close off this look. But how could you forget my banana in the holster that was paired with my nana hairclip you can’t see here.

Day 3: Astrological Anomaly gets its name from the Leo belt, cancer pendant, and Capricorn necklace I wore. The romper is a 70s handmade romper with front pockets and the most fun pattern. Complete with a bunch of terribly loud bangles and a little makeup!

Day 4: Mime Chemical Romance, I was told I looked “French” and with the red wool beret I see it. Sporting my pants from hot topic with extra chains and my Ethel Cain tshirt layered with a vintage bowling shirt that once belonged to Kay.

Day 5: Bowling Alley Apex Predator, I was very tired and refused to do makeup but these 80s glitter tiger face jeans pack such a punch. I picked up the hand embroidered 70s style shirt for $8 in the city!

Day 6: Exotic Cat in Training, because some people on the train said I looked like “I could become a cat”. They’re not wrong, this woven cat print dress is from Cider (boo fast fashion I don’t shop there anymore) and the shirt is a vintage 70s ascot button down. Finished with my Leo belt and a locket pin this was a great last outfit for the trip!

[outofangband]

from @welcomingdisaster's amazing list of world building prompts here

My world building Masterlist

“Weaving or fiber crafts”

(I got the prompts people sent for the list, I’m getting to those too! I’m also still accepting them!)

I hope this is an ok use of the prompt, it’s not a fic, just some general headcanons/world building

Cloth production in Ladros (with some discussion of how it changed post Bragollach)

The Bëorians keep goats, sheep, alpacas and rabbits for wool and it is from these that a majority of their clothing production comes from. The landscape and environment of Dorthonion made fiber crop production on a large scale difficult.

Mostly through trade, flax based fabrics are also sometimes available, usually used for lighter clothing which can be more difficult to make with woolen materials

Ceremonial and noble cloaks are sometimes made partly with linens and then painted with sigils or designs.

Leather is also used from goat and alpaca. This is especially used in shoes, bags and satchels, and belts.

Nearly everyone partakes in some aspects of clothing production, regardless of gender or status though there are certainly parts that tend to be more gendered.

Children are often tasked with aiding in sheering and preparing wool before its washed and spun into yarn. Yarn is then dyed and woven or knitted into clothes and blankets and other materials

People who can create lighter weight materials or smoother textures are especially valued as are those who can incorporate designs and patterns into their ware.

Most people wear stockings throughout the year except for the summer. Children tend to wear dress like frocks until the age of twelve to fourteen.

Men and women tend to wear tunics/ blouses and breeches or skirts with dresses worn for some formal events.

Different styles and patterns of embroidery are used for different parts of clothing. There are special patterns that are used for children’s clothing. This tradition is one of the few Bëorian fiber arts that survived the Bragollach

Shoes are often made from leather with lining of down or wool. The nicer ones tend to have elaborate embroidery patterns.

Color is very important in ceremonial clothing and dyeing is a significant trade among the Bëorians

Red madder root, woad, dyer’s croton, common marigold, dayflower, yellow chamomile and black mulberry are among some plants valued for dyes. Earthen and stone pigments are also used.

Red madder dyes are of particular significance to the Bëorians. The deep red color is used to dye sashes and headwear that is traditionally worn during formal occasions.

As the climate of Hithlum is different from Ladros, red madder could no longer be used after the Bragollach among Bëorian refugees. The deep red it yields is also considerably less common among Hadorian clothing and customs.

Many Bëorians in Hithlum had to relearn trades they had been doing their entire lives because of the differences in materials, processes and customs. As most had come with nothing, their clothing and possessions having been destroyed during the sudden flame, this was extremely disheartening and yet another aspect of the devastating losses of culture and customs

(I'll go more into patterns when I do my sigils and symbols post for the humans!)

[vicit-vim-virtus]

OPEN STARTER // open to all

The bells chimed, bellowed, ultimately trying to lure passerby into the House of God, to school them, to cleanse them, to purify them — or whatever obnoxious rituals they conducted here to exonerate people. A cacophony of thundering bells and people murmuring incomprehensibly amongst themselves, resonated in the cavernous cathedral hall. The benches were filled with all sorts of people from all walks of life, though the majority were distinctly elven in mien and garment — not a surprise, since they were the dominant race in the capital city of Landoria. Finding himself amongst the commoners, albeit several meters above, all the way in the back, and on one of the balconies, he was struck by the peculiar sensation that he was being watched. The God they worshipped, no doubt. The presence of the allegedly omnipotent and ubiquitous Spirit, who could smell sins from leagues away — and he had sins in abundance. He disregarded the feeling. Not interested in ascertaining its origin. Besides, he hadn’t ventured to the centre of the metropolis to pray or confess, he’d travelled here to converse with his uncle, one of the high-ranked clerics and only relative, aside from his older brother, with whom he’d retained contact, although sporadic. There were some pressing matters to discuss, but unfortunately, he’d have to wait until after the service. It was a shame that not even an advisor of his stature was above some invisible, non-existent God...

Luran’s sapphire blue eyes skimmed the heads of the crowd below. Throughout the centuries, the Paragon had gained in popularity. Perhaps because it challenged the other major religion in Landoria, the one that corrupted rather than improved the demeanours of its acolytes and worshippers, and deliberately hampered the lives of all the peasants who were continuously subjected to its discriminatory directives. The Paragon protected and healed, where those worshipping the Goddess of the Sun stripped the poor of the little gold they had, and confiscated their possessions if they failed to cough up sufficient taxes or rent. It was the King’s religion. A dangerous and inequitable religion... When a familiar voice gently hushed the congregation and commenced with his usual opening, the advisor’s gaze rested on two young tiefling boys. Neither took a particular interest in listening to his uncle’s speech — not that he could blame them —, and instead, were flicking each others’ tapered ears. A symphony of mischievous chuckles was produced by them each time an elderly elf glanced over her shoulder and glared at them — evidently vexed by their lack of reverence. A small, wistful smile grazed Luran’s lips as he regarded the scene while it slowly escalated. In a way, the juveniles’ impish conduct reminded him of his own brother, who now lived two and a half day’s ride outside of the city...

A sigh escaped his lips while he peeled his eyes away from the puckish children and forced himself to focus on his uncle instead. The older elf was wearing, from what he could perceive, a blue velvet tunic, girdled with a brown leather belt. A dark cloak, with an intricate embroidery woven into the fabric, was draped over his broad, yet elegant shoulders. A holy symbol, the Paragon’s crest, a honeybee, hung around his neck, and his hands were neatly folded in front of his abdomen. Everything was so scrupulous, so ethical, so noble. Luran loathed it. Whatever purpose they were striving to obtain, they would never succeed. The King would never permit it. He’d whack them down, dispose of them — like he did all who inconvenienced him, who defied him —, and wipe the Paragon and all its disciples clean off of the face of this and any other plane of existence. Not a single vestige would persevere...

While his uncle enunciated a rhythmic hymn, the feeling of a pair of eyes piercing through the back of his skull, garnered his attention. Again. A shiver of uneasiness ran down his spine. Someone else was on the balcony with him. Someone he hadn’t noticed prior — or someone who’d slipped up here after him...

‘If you require something of me, cease skulking in the shadows and face me,’ he said softly, menacingly, to the person he’d heard shuffling behind him in one of the unlit recesses. ‘Whatever your plans are know that your every move is being watched by their almighty God,’ he added scornfully, glancing over his shoulder, awaiting the reveal of the mysterious figure lingering in the tenebrous depths of the cathedral.

[kariachi]

Okay who wants some actual worldbuilding rather than just updates on bits you aren't really seeing?

How people carry shit around day-to-day per species.

Erinaens

On Eri you'll find that every person you meet has some form of bag on them, generally coming in two most common styles- either belts with pouches or something more akin to a satchel or tote. You won't normally see anything similar to a backpack or the like on Eri for the same reason you don't often see clothing in Erinaen-majority areas- not so comfortable with the quills, lessens natural defenses against predators, makes it harder to track kittens. Meanwhile anything that hangs in the front risks getting in the way of climbing.

Belts with pouches are rather self explanatory- a belt with a pouch at each hip typically of a semi-framed construction to keep them from moving too much, that closes generally at the front though in some areas the back is preferred. Traditionally the pouches tie or button shut, but nowadays zippers and magnets are also a thing.

The satchels normally sit a little higher on the body, resting more against the waist than hip. They come with at least two straps, sometimes three, with one or two that go over the shoulders and one that belts around the waist. The idea on this is that you want minimal moving around so that it doesn't get in your way if you have to bolt or climb something. Like the pouches, they come with a flap top that traditionally buttons or ties shut but in the modern era also can have zippers or magnet closures.

Which a person uses in day-to-day life is generally up to personal preference. You can normally fit more in the satchels, but since the bag is on one side it can mess with your balance and make it dangerous to go on thinner branches, far from the colony, or out in the open. The pouches meanwhile have less space, but are better for your balance. On the other hand, some satchels are able to have things hung from the opposing side of the belt, which interferes with movement but can allow for better balance.

Pretty much any Erinaen above a certain age can expect to have one or the other, though few have both. Adult guardians will normally provide one to each kitten when they get old and large enough to wander the colony without direct adult supervision. Normally this'll be a satchel, in a sort of attempt to discourage them from wandering into more dangerous areas. Sort've putting a hobble on your children to keep them from running onto small branches and where the equivalent of eagles can grab them. Teenagers and adults, meanwhile, can normally get their own shit and so go with whatever their preference.

You can expect an Erinaen, on any given day out and about, to be carrying some amount of money, a few small personal effects that they want to ensure other people aren't using or that they're particularly attached to, personal utensils, communicator, some snacks maybe. Some people will carry collapsible bowls, water flask or bottle, a book or puzzle or some such to pass the time, medications. If one has small kittens then their utensils, definitely a collapsible bowl, maybe some small things to keep them occupied. There might even be a place for a knife somewhere. All of this stowed away in various sections or pockets, with a main space that can be used to carry goods when shopping.

How personalized these are really varies. Normally they're made from plant fibers or leather, but in depending on the area and owner you can get everything from a plain plant fiber thing to an embroidered patchwork of specially shaped leather pieces. What has become the norm is that colored ribbons- or in areas with high Osmosian populations chains- will be woven through straps or belts to denote general profession and therefor pronoun use. These colors don't always align between colonies, but they're normally similar enough to get by.

Osmosians

In day-to-day like an Imperial Osmosian is most likely to use something akin to a backpack when carrying shit around. It allows to no change in usability when shifting between bipedal and quadrupedal, encourages keeping a bit of personal space, etc. You might see something more similar to the belt pouches Erinaens use, or saddlebags, but the pack is more common. And I use 'common' lightly, as most Osmosians don't carry shit around with them, or not enough often enough to really worry about it day to day, and you'll rarely see anyone below teen growth using one. If you do it's generally because they wanted to feel grown up.

These packs tend to sit lower than those used by humans, with longer straps, and to be smaller as well. They can be made with organic or synthetic materials, but most are going to be chainmail of either metal or some sort of stone. This makes them very interesting as far as closures go, because they generally come with excess links that can be fused together to keep whatever portions of it shut you'd like- most will have a side pocket or two for more daily needs- and then absorb this links when you need to open it. Eventually you run out, but it's just as easy as getting some new large links to throw on.

As a rule you can expect an Ossy to be carrying around a few potential trade goods, more valuable tools, medications, maybe something to entertain themselves in quiet moments. Mostly you carry things from your personal den to your worksite and back so, it's not a load of items. Even snacks and water are kept pretty available through the public areas of a packden, so they're mostly carried back to the personal den at the end of a day rather then out. Generally it's just bits and bobs.

As far as personalization goes, the sky is the limit on this one. Colors, materials, patterns, as long as you can make it or find somebody to make it there's really no end to your options. Some people prefer to do them in clan colors, or designs with personal meanings, but it's really all down to what you the owner would rather.

Perison

At least in the region Kwarrel grew up, Perison have pockets. Like, pockets. 'If I hold my arms straight down I only just don't hit the bottom' style pockets. They normally don't need anything else, there's nothing they're going to be carrying in their day-to-day life, but some individuals do choose to utilize something vaguely similar to a fanny pack if there's larger items or more items they want to have on hand. You'll see those more often in the bachelor herds, but also from farmworkers during harvest seasons and under similar 'I'm going to be outside and active all day' situations.

The pockets are self explanatory, but the bags are actually a little unique. More of a cross between a fanny pack and a pair of saddle bags, while they're strapped around the middle they're draped over the base of the tail, with the bag portion stretching from the hips down the length of the accessory. These are most often held shut with magnet clasps anymore.

As a rule Perison in this region can be expected to be carrying keys, identification, communicators, tablets, winterwear (you would be amazed the number of people who still have a winter hat in a pocket come summer), sewing kits, hobby materials, something to keep them busy, any medications they may need. Somebody might be carrying a pocketknife, some water, some food. Water and food are very common if they have a pack, alongside first aid supplies and maybe a few tools depending. It's really a lot, and they have the space for it.

As far as customizing the packs, it goes the same as anything else. Typically plant or animal fiber, sometimes leather, dyed, undyed, but if they get the chance that shit is being embroidered and beaded all to hell and back.

Lenopan

Lenopan are really easy because as amorphous fuckers who are really big they don't so much carry shit as subsume it for a brief period. Day-to-day, you don't need any bags, you take shit without yourself and move the fuck on.

On a day-to-day basis your average Lenopan will have on hand some money, maybe identification depending on where they live, a little something to entertain themselves maybe, any supplies they may need wherever they're going. Much like with Ossys, not really a lot.

[dailychapel]

Matthew 3:1–17 NLT - 1 In those days John the Baptist came to the Judean wilderness and began preaching. His message was, 2 "Repent of your sins and turn to God, for the Kingdom of Heaven is near." 3 The prophet Isaiah was speaking about John when he said, "He is a voice shouting in the wilderness, 'Prepare the way for the LORD's coming! Clear the road for him!'" 4 John's clothes were woven from coarse camel hair, and he wore a leather belt around his waist. For food he ate locusts and wild honey. 5 People from Jerusalem and from all of Judea and all over the Jordan Valley went out to see and hear John. 6 And when they confessed their sins, he baptized them in the Jordan River. 7 But when he saw many Pharisees and Sadducees coming to watch him baptize, he denounced them. "You brood of snakes!" he exclaimed. "Who warned you to flee God's coming wrath? 8 Prove by the way you live that you have repented of your sins and turned to God. 9 Don't just say to each other, 'We're safe, for we are descendants of Abraham.' That means nothing, for I tell you, God can create children of Abraham from these very stones. 10 Even now the ax of God's judgment is poised, ready to sever the roots of the trees. Yes, every tree that does not produce good fruit will be chopped down and thrown into the fire. 11 "I baptize with water those who repent of their sins and turn to God. But someone is coming soon who is greater than I am--so much greater that I'm not worthy even to be his slave and carry his sandals. He will baptize you with the Holy Spirit and with fire. 12 He is ready to separate the chaff from the wheat with his winnowing fork. Then he will clean up the threshing area, gathering the wheat into his barn but burning the chaff with never-ending fire." 13 Then Jesus went from Galilee to the Jordan River to be baptized by John. 14 But John tried to talk him out of it. "I am the one who needs to be baptized by you," he said, "so why are you coming to me?" 15 But Jesus said, "It should be done, for we must carry out all that God requires." So John agreed to baptize him. 16 After his baptism, as Jesus came up out of the water, the heavens were opened and he saw the Spirit of God descending like a dove and settling on him. 17 And a voice from heaven said, "This is my dearly loved Son, who brings me great joy."

Father God, we bow before you, and recognize our great need of a Savior. Today we want to lift our hearts and give thanks for Your Son, our Lord, Jesus Christ. We lift our hearts in praise to our Savior, and as your loved children and your redeemed servants, we lay our lives before you in worship.

[demon-of-the-ancient-world]

ASOIAF House Fashion Headcanons Part 2

Here's part 2 of this post:

Riverlands/House Tully:

So first of all I think there would actually be a lot of overlap between the North, Riverlands, and Iron Islands, especially the latter two seeing as the Riverlands were historically invaded and ruled by the Islanders

So stuff like the styles of jewelry and other decorations would bear a lot of similarities, but the Riverlanders would still have their own distinct style for sure

I thought of a Celtic vibe for most Riverlanders

All shades of red, blue, green, and teal - they'd probably get the closest to purple with either deep wine reds or indigo blues

I can for some reason see children or at least younger generations wearing lighter shades of these colours though (sea green, eggshell blue, dusky pink etc.)

I even thought some kind of plaid? Or at least patterns woven into the fabrics

Knitting would also be big here, again with fancy stripes and patterns with different coloured yarns

Freshwater pearls as decoration on fancy clothing or as jewelry

And other blue stones like Lapis Lazuli (probably amber from the north too)

All kinds of cloak pins, brooches, clasps etc.

Hair would be well taken care of and an important part of appearance, lots of elaborate and delicate layers of braids, both for men and women

In general I think the three northern kingdoms would wear their hair longer and generally looser for practicality's sake - it's warmer after all

Idk I like the idea of them having some kind of decorative fringe on the edges of shawls or cloaks

Reach/House Tyrell

I see somewhere between regency era and 1930s elegance in terms of style inspirations

I feel like their fashions would look more "modern" to us, to add to the thematic significance of them being the "new" nobles in King's Landing, Margaery replacing Cersei as queen etc.

Light pastel shades of green, blue, yellow, gold, and pink, or delicate embroidery and lace over white cotton and silk

Plenty of rose imagery of course

Delicate yellow and rose gold jewelry, pearls and light coloured gemstones like peridots, aquamarine, topaz, and rose quartz

Elaborate hair updos, in warmer weather they'd want hair off their necks (but still long enough to style)

Hair jewelry, ribbons, and netting, and flowers as hair decoration

A lot of clothing would have short sleeves, sometimes sleeveless altogether

Though I can see intricately embroidered silk shawls being used for evenings and cooler days

Victorian-esque fan etiquette would have a place here I feel

Stormlands/House Baratheon

Tudor/late Elizabethan inspired; structured and heavily layered

Brocade fabrics in rich, dark colours; dark gold, burgundy, black, navy blue, dark copper brown

Lots of leather and hides worked in, emphasis on hunting

Furs

Heavy, blocky jewelry - I'm thinking copper and bronze with stones like garnets, jasper, and carnelian

Wide silhouettes and broad shoulders, long surcoats for men and sometimes women

Wide leather belts

A variety of hats and headdresses/headpieces

A general impression both strength and impressiveness given through clothing

Vale/House Arryn

They're an old and traditional house, so their fashion wouldn't have changed much over the years

Emphasis on the past, each noble house has its own heirloom jewelry (and I'd assume even some of the smallfolk would have something of that nature even if it's just a single brooch or ring that's been passed down)

I want to say 12th century Medieval is my inspiration, lots of drapey layered gowns and such

Hair nets and veils, lots of hair decoration and dramatic hair fashions

Mostly shades of blue, green, cream, and grey and white, and expensive fabrics like velvet, silk, delicate lace, and satin

Furs too! They're up in the mountains and even though it's not that far north it would get pretty cold especially in the Eyrie, but instead of heavier furs like in the north you'd have more delicate, sleek pelts of rabbit and ermine and even some kind of snow leopard

Lots of blue and white precious stones like moonstone, agate, sapphire, and opal, they're not close to the ocean but they'd be able to afford pearls which fits nicely into their aesthetic too

Possible feather decoration in some form, half capes, drapery, or other accents made from feathers sewn onto cloth (not unlike Sansa's 'raven dress' on the show), or at the very least feather designs embroidered onto clothing

White gold and silver

Gloves

I have no idea where this comes from, but I really really want them to have some kind of subtle face paint designs - not like the Islanders' style war paint but almost a high fashion-y imitation of it. Idk I feel there's a "removed" quality to the Arryns/ Vale inhabitants and even though they're involved in Westeros' conflicts, they'd want to appear "above it all" (maybe I just feel this way because of the mountain thing *shrugs*) and thus take something that seems like it should be for battle and turn it into a fashion statement ?? idk

Sort of like Lady M's subtle blue face paint stripe in the 2015 version of Macbeth - this is exactly the vibe I'm thinking

Dorne/House Martell

I'm thinking ancient India as a vague inspiration (possibly Mughal Empire?)

The book mentions this and I like it so I'm gonna roll with it; mostly warm shades of red, gold, pink, orange and yellow - offset with bright blue-greens

Though it seems contradictory, I feel like those in the mountains and the desert would tend to wear more blue, green, or teal to offset their warm-toned environment, while the coast dwellers would dress in more warm colours

Printed/stamped on patterns, but also lots of rich embroidery and bead decoration

Light, fine silks, linens, and cottons

I like the idea of armor-like jewelry; arm cuffs, anklets, torcs, decorative breastplates

Gold and copper jewelry, stones such as turquoise, opals, tiger's eye, topaz

Near the sea I can see coral being worn as jewelry too

Or glass? I like the idea of them having painted glass bracelets and pendants

Like the Iron Islands, I thought tattoos and piercings would both make an appearance (though in a very different style and with more of an emphasis on decoration rather than intimidation)

I think in such a warm climate it wouldn't be uncommon to see women with shorter hair, way more so than in the rest of Westeros

[kelyon]

Dark Mistress 4: Tradition

Baelfire goes through a typical market day.

Read on AO3

Baelfire walked away from the awful-smelling gong farmers and towards the town. He had sold a bucket of night soil and gotten a silver penny in return. Now that the worst, dirtiest chore of the day was over, he felt a little lighter. The burden on his back was gone, and he and Papa were one penny closer to building up their herd of sheep.

Next he would go to the Widow Glun. She was an old woman whose husband had died fighting ogres when the war first started. Since she didn’t have any family to support her, she’d earned her living by running a dame school. When Baelfire was little, he had gone to her house every day to learn letters and numbers and anything else she would teach. Other children had paid their way with apples and eggs and loaves of fresh bread. Mama and Papa never had much to spare, but Widow Glun had taught him anyway, out of charity. 

She never let him forget that it was charity. 

Now that he was grown, he and Papa would regularly stop by the school to give his old teacher extras they didn’t have before. Today it was a collection of oak galls that she could grind up to make ink. Papa called it kindness, but Baelfire thought of the transaction as paying a debt. An act of honor. It proved they weren’t beggars. It proved they weren’t worthless. It proved that they were better than what people always thought of them.

Widow Glun was just leaving her house when he came by. She had a basket over her elbow, and was locking her door with a big iron key. She always dressed respectably, with leather shoes and her hair covered by a starched wimple. She sniffed, when she saw Baelfire approaching her. He was pretty sure the smell of the shit bucket was gone from him. She was just the sort of person who sniffed all the time. 

“What is it, young man? I’m off to market and there’s no time to dawdle.”

Baelfire fished the round galls out of the pouch on his belt and handed them out to her. “My father says that I should give you these, as a way to pay what I owe you for my education.”

She sniffed again. “And what are you doing with that education? Running around like a ragamuffin? Carrying a chicken around with you like a lunatic?”

He looked down at Chut. The hen was wrapped up in cloth and tied to his waist, being very quiet and good. “She isn’t laying anymore,” he explained. “I’m going to sell her to Yahn the butcher.”

“As it should be,” Widow Glun nodded stiffly. “Those who do not work, shall not eat. It’s as true for animals as it is for people.”

For as long as he could remember, Baelfire had worked as hard as he possibly could. It had never kept him from being hungry. He wanted to say this to his teacher, but knew it wouldn’t be respectful. Even if you weren’t her student, Widow Glun had painful methods for handling disrespect.

 Instead, he kept holding out the oak galls. The old woman didn’t take them in her hands, she didn’t want to touch him. After a moment she held out her elbow so that he could reach her basket. Baelfire let the galls drop into the woven wood. 

“Have a good day, ma’am.”

She didn’t wish him a good day in return. She didn’t say anything. All she did was turn away and shuffle to the market with her nose in the air. 

****

  His last stop of the morning was going to his friend Morraine’s house. Yahn the butcher was her father. The family had a shop in town, where they lived. A butcher sold meat all the time, not just on market day. Their house was new, with strong timbers and whitewashed walls. In the shop part, they even had wooden floors instead of dirt. Baelfire didn’t go in the front door to the shop. He always went around to the back where the family lived. 

Most everyone was outside, Morraine and her mother and the little brothers and sisters. There were so many of them they always seemed to pour outside whenever the weather was nice. Morraine’s mother Tabat even kept a cookfire behind the house and they ate their meals there on a long trestle table. She was cooking now, a big vat of something steaming over the fire. It smelled so good it made Baelfire’s stomach ache. 

It looked like the little ones were supposed to be weeding the garden, but they were spending more time playing in the dirt. Morraine was sitting at the table, trying to feed her youngest sister spoonfuls of mush. When she saw him by the gate, she smiled. 

Morraine had a smile that crooked to the side, instead of being right in the middle of her face. It made the shape of a triangle. No one else had a smile like that, not in the whole village. He smiled back at her.

“Hi, Baelfire!” she called, inviting him in. 

Tabat looked up from her stewpot. She stood up slowly, with one hand resting over her belly. Her blue dress strained around the bump. They said the new baby was supposed to come sometime this winter.

“Morning, lad,” she nodded. “Have you had breakfast?”

“Yes ma’am,” he answered, even though the fried bread felt like it had been a thousand years ago. 

“Oh good, then I can fix you up with some lunch!”

Before Baelfire could say anything, Morraine’s mother had placed a full bowl in his hands and set him down at the table with a spoon.

Morraine giggled, but he knew she wasn’t laughing at him. 

“Actually, ma’am, I’m here to speak to Yahn,” he said.

“Yes, I didn’t imagine that you started carrying hens around just to visit.” Tabat winked. “Yahn and Toma are in the shop. I’ll let them know you’re here on business. Now you eat, before it gets cold.”  

“Yes, ma’am.” Baelfire nodded and took a spoonful of stew. It was much tastier than the watery pottages Papa made, and it was full of meat scraps from what Yahn didn’t sell. 

Next to him, the baby in Morraine’s arms kept wiggling and fussing, she didn’t seem to be interested in eating mush.

“So,” he said. “Toma is working with your father in the shop. That’s good, right?”

His friend’s mouth got small, her lips pinched together. “It’s hard to tell.”

Morraine used to have three older brothers. Toma was the one who was closest to her in age. All three of them had gone to fight the ogres, but Toma was the only one who came back when the war ended. Ever since then, he’d been… troubled. “Ogre-minded” was what people called it, when a soldier didn’t have a mark on him, but was just as injured as a man torn in two. 

“Does he talk at all? To anybody?”

She shook her head. “He screams when he sleeps,” she said in a low voice. “Almost every night. Mama goes to him, and I have to try to tell the little ones they’re just dreaming it. All of us wish on the Red Star and the Blue Star, but none of our wishes have come true yet.”

What could he say? What could anyone say to make something like that better? Morraine’s hand rested on the table between them. Baelfire put his own hand over it.

“I’m sorry,” he said.

She curled her fingers, but didn’t pull her hand away. “Thank you,” she said. She took a breath, and then it was like the sun came out. She gave him a small smile. “I’m just glad the war is over now. I’m glad it ended before…” She didn’t finish, but just repeated, “I’m glad it’s over.”

It was probably a coincidence that the Ogre War had ended on Baelfire’s fourteenth birthday, the very day when he would have been called up to fight. Morraine was three days older than him, so she had only been a soldier for three days. But even that was bad enough. 

He remembered that day, the day they took her. No one had known that the Duke had lowered the age again, until Sergeant Hordor came to Yahn and Tabat and demanded that Morraine go with him to the front lines.  That had been on a market day too, everyone in the village had been around to see. It was the first time Baelfire had ever seen Tabat cry. It was the first time anyone had publicly resisted the order to fight. If anyone had the right, it was Yahn the butcher. 

Yahn was a hero of the Ogre War. He’d fought in many battles when most soldiers were lucky to survive one. In his last battle, an ogre had roared into his ears so loudly the healers said he would never hear again. He had gone home with honors. As the years passed, he had sent three sons into the fight as they came of age, younger every year. And now the Duke wanted his daughter as well? His first daughter, who was still a child? It wasn’t right. He wouldn’t allow it!

In a fair fight, Yahn would have knocked Hordor to the ground in one blow, anyone could see that. But the sergeant came with a horse and a sword and heavy armor. Even more deadly, he came with the authority of the Duke of the Frontlands. That was a fight even a hero like Yahn would lose. 

Baelfire remembered how Morraine had cried when Sergeant Hordor picked her up and put her on the back of his saddle. The soldier had told her parents that he would take good care of her, and then rode off. 

Now, on this peaceful morning six months later, Baelfire squeezed Morraine’s hand on top of the table. 

“I’m glad the war’s over too.”

****

When Tabat came back, Yahn was walking beside her. Baelfire noticed how the big man took small steps in order to keep pace with his pregnant wife. He remembered when his mother was alive, how she would stride ahead of Papa and him, then scowl and yell for them to keep up. But Yahn walked at a slow, easy pace, and had a slow, easy smile on his face.

Baelfire stood up from the table, and untied Chut from her sling. He didn’t unwrap her wings from the cloth. He couldn’t risk her getting scared and trying to flap away. He held her under his arm and waited until Yahn was looking at him before he spoke.

“I’d like to sell you this chicken, sir.” 

He knew the trick for talking to Yahn: You spoke slowly, and clearly, and made sure he could see your lips moving. His deafness was kind of like Papa with his limp. Only no one ever made fun of Yahn for not hearing. The worst anyone ever did was talk to Tabat or the children, without trying to talk to him directly.

“Of course,” Yahn nodded. He spoke a little too loudly, but he always did. “I’ll give you five pennies for her.”

Baelfire’s eyes widened. “No, you didn’t hear me, sir!” He held Chut up in both hands. “I want to sell you a chicken! One chicken!” There was no way that a single hen could be worth five pennies!

But Yahn just laughed and put his big hand on top of Baelfire’s head. “Honest lad! I know what you said. And I’m giving you a fair price.”

Tabat explained: “As it happens, the Duke has a fondness for chicken meat. His man is in the market today and he’ll pay handsomely for a plump bird like you’ve got there.”

“What do you say?” Yahn counted out coins from a pouch at his belt. “Will you sell to me?”  

“Oh, yes. Of course.”

He placed Chut in one of Yahn’s hands and took the coins out of the other. Perhaps it was shameful, but getting so much out of the deal did take the sting away from sending his chicken to be the Duke’s supper. 

“Good-bye, girl,” he whispered as he clutched the five pennies in his palm.

“Well sold!” Yahn clapped him on the back, just like he was a grown man. 

Baelfire felt a glow of pride at that. When he saw Morraine looking at him, the glow only grew brighter. 

While Yahn walked back to the shop, Tabat and Morraine began to gather up the children.

“Now,” Tabat said to Baelfire, “that father of yours, what yarn is he selling today?”

“Um.” Baelfire thought a moment while he put the coins in his pouch. “Lots of undyed wool,” he said. “A fair bit of linen thread. And the usual dyed yarn--brown, yellow, madder red.”

“Hmm.” Tabat pursed her lips. “No blue today? I was thinking to make something for the new baby.” 

“We’ve got a green that’s sort of bluish. It’s the same color as the sea.”

“Nah, if I want the sea, I’ll go down to the docks and look at it myself.”

They began to walk out of the garden and down the road to the market. Somehow, Baelfire had been herded with them, part of the same flock as Tabat’s own children. It was nice.

Tabat shouted the plan to her brood: “We’re going all the way down to Rumpelstiltskin’s stall first, then make our way back up Market Street to get home. You lot know your jobs: Look after the one who’s littler than you and don’t get lost.”

Morraine turned to Baelfire. She only looked down on him a little, but it was enough to matter. “I guess you’re my responsibility.”

He smiled and felt his cheeks grow warm. “Girls grow up faster than boys,” he said. “I won’t be shorter than you forever.”

“But you’ll always be younger than me.”

He let her win the pretend-argument. Morraine smiled when she won, and seeing her smile was a good, good, feeling.

****

   He knew that Papa would only find a spot at the very end of Market Street. It was the place where no buyers bothered to go, not when they could find what they needed without walking so far. Papa was the best spinner at the market, but the others were less out of the way. Baelfire passed two or three yarn stalls as he walked with Morraine and her family. 

It was amazing, how Tabat walked through the crowd. It was like she was a queen, or the leader of a parade. People got out of her way. People apologized for being in her way. Men touched their caps as she went by. Women made a point to say hello. And she said hello right back, she seemed to be friends with everyone.

Morraine noticed Baelfire’s shock. She nudged him. “Everybody wants the butcher’s wife to like them,” she whispered. “Besides, with Papa and my brothers being heroes, Mama deserves respect.”

“You’re a hero too,” he said. “You fought.”

Her mouth went small, but she didn’t say anything. 

When they found Papa, he was leaning against the side of a building. It looked like he was trying to stay in the shade under the eave. His face was pale with pain, but he brightened up when he saw them.

“Mistress Tabat,” he nodded. “Pleasure to see you.”

“And you as well, Rumpelstiltskin.” She came up to the barrow Baelfire had loaded this morning. To his dismay, it didn’t look like much had been sold. 

“We need eggs, Mama,” Morraine said. “You asked me not to let you forget.”

“I’ll take all five.” Tabat set her basket on the ground and took out a purse of coins. “That chicken your boy sold us was healthy as anything, I’m sure the others under his care lay fine eggs.”

“Fine indeed,” Papa said. “Fresh from the farm.”

“And I’ll take a spool of that linen thread as well.” Tabat turned to consider her children. “Which one of you was it who threw one of your mittens in the river last winter?”

A small hand was raised. Tabat nodded and turned back to Papa. “And a skein of yellow wool, if you please.”

Papa placed Tabat’s order in her basket and named a price. Tabat paid it without haggling. She was the only person in town who didn’t try to under-cut their prices.

“A fine day to you, Madam.” Papa gave a nod that was almost a bow. 

Tabat nodded back. “Say good-bye to Rumpelstiltskin and Baelfire, everyone.”

There was a scattering of waves and farewells from the family before they went on their way. Morraine was the last to go. 

“Will I see you before next market day?”

Baelfire shrugged. “If the stars are bright. I hope so.”

She smiled her triangle smile. “I hope so too.”

He watched Morriane walk up Market Street for a long time. When he turned around, Papa was looking at him. He was grinning.

“She’s a fine lass, that Morraine.” He spoke casually, while he re-arranged the yarn in the barrow. 

“She’s my friend,” Baelfire said. He felt angry and embarrassed, and he couldn’t say why.

 “Yes, a good friend,” Papa said. “From a good family. You know her parents were friends with your mother and your uncle?”

Before he forgot, Baelfire took the coins out of his pouch and put them in the strong box at the bottom of the barrow. “Yeah,” he said when he was done. “Tabat and Mama were pregnant at the same time.”

Now Papa’s smile seemed sad. “That’s right,” he said. “Two little war babies. Yahn, your uncle Micah and I, we all got the call at the same time. At the very beginning.”

Baelfire didn’t say anything, afraid to break whatever miracle was happening. Papa never talked about the war.      

“Of course, neither Yahn nor I knew about you and Morriane. Not until…” He shook his head. “Yahn was very lucky to live through the war.”

“You lived,” Baelfire pointed out. “Weren’t you lucky?”

Papa turned back to the barrow. He didn’t look at him. “No, son,” he said. “I wasn’t lucky at all.”

****

Business was slow for the rest of the day. A few women came by in Tabat’s wake, wanting to see what was so good about Rumpelstiltskin’s yarn that the butcher’s wife had seen fit to walk all the way down to the far end of the street. None of them bought as much as she had. Almost every woman could spin her own wool, after all.

The only things people couldn’t find at another stall were the rushlights they’d made yesterday. Those sold out after three or four customers. After that, there were a lot of people looking but not buying; and then there wasn’t anybody. 

Baelfire fell back against the wall, just as tired as he was bored. The sky was pink with the setting sun, and there was starting to be a chill in the air. Maybe he should have worn his cloak.

“No one’s coming all the way down here,” he said. “Do you think we could try moving up to the top of Market Street? A lot of the other sellers have gone home.”

“If they’re home, we should do the same,” Papa said. “We have a few stops we need to make as well.”

Baelfire began to tie up the wool again. At least the barrow was a little lighter than it had been when they’d left this morning. And the strong box was a little fuller. But was it enough? 

“Did you find someone willing to let us use their ram, Papa?”

“I did,” he said. “Farmer Dorn was in town and I spoke to him this morning. He named a decent price.”

“Can we pay it?”

The strong box was at the bottom of the barrow. Papa was able to kick it with his good foot. Both of them listened to the clink of coins. “Aye,” he smiled. “We can pay it.”

Balefire felt his chest shake and it took him a moment to realize he was laughing. “Really?” It seemed too good to be true. “We can pay the stud fee? We’re going to have lambs next spring?” 

Papa nodded, and Baelfire felt so light he thought he would float into the air. So it was all worth it. Chut and the gong farmers and everything. They could pay the price. They could make their lives just a little bit better.

The last time Baelfire had felt like this was when he had gone swimming by the shore. He’d dove down as far as he could to touch the sandy bottom, but when he had to come back up he hadn’t had enough air. Somehow he’d made it anyway. By the time he’d reached the surface it felt like his lungs were on fire. Even after taking deep breaths, his chest had still ached for hours. That was how he felt now--so relieved, so happy, so glad to be alive that it hurt. 

Gods, if he didn’t pull himself together he was going to start crying like a child. 

They packed up the barrow, and Baelfire began to push it up the hill. One of the side roads had a clear view of the docks. Ships came in all the time, with sailors and goods from all over the world. Most of the sailors never got further into town than the ale houses that lined the dock streets. Or the taverns where--Baelfire heard--they rented beds by the hour.

He remembered that Mama used to take him down to the docks to see the ships. The sailors were always very friendly to her and would buy her drinks at the ale houses. He remembered that he had told Papa about these trips once, and that Mama had never taken him there again after that. Instead, she had told him that he was big enough to look after himself now, and she would leave him alone at home.

“Do you think sailors need yarn?” he asked as he stared down the street. 

Papa put his arm over Baelfire’s shoulder. Both of them looked on at the drinking and carousing. “You think men like that are the type to knit?”

Baelfire shrugged. “Well, there are no women on ships, most of the time. They’ll have to patch their own clothes, won’t they?”  

“Oh, I’m sure they have to do all kinds of things when women aren’t around.” Papa didn’t usually mutter like that, all low and bitter. Without saying more, he took the barrow handles from Baelfire and pushed on up Market Street. 

Baelfire caught up and walked beside them. “They have coin,” he pointed out. “What we’re selling is more useful than anything the ale houses have got. Why not try selling to them?”

“No,” Papa growled. He looked Baelfire in the eye. Even in the dim light of the gloaming, he could see the determination in his father’s eyes. “I’ve told you to stay away from the docks since you were a child, Baelfire. Those are hard men down there. Killers and rapers and theives. We do not do business with them, ever. Do you understand, boy?”

He looked away. “Yes, Papa,” he said. 

In his head, he knew that his father was right. Baelfire wasn’t enough of a man to go among vicious people like that. But he couldn’t help wondering: If the sailors were as dangerous as Papa said, why hadn’t his mother stayed clear of them?

****

 Before they went home, they stopped by the miller’s shop. The miller was an old man, bent over his broomstick as he swept flour off the floor at the end of the night. When they came in the door, he set his full dustpan on the counter. Then he spat on the ground and scowled at Papa. 

“What do you want, coward?”

Papa made a polite smile. “Good evening, sir. I’d like a pound of the coarse brown, if you please.”

The old miller had beady blue eyes and a shining red nose. He was one of the few adults in the village who was shorter than Papa, though Baelfire supposed he was just hunched over with age. He shuffled as he moved about his shop, scooping up a measure of the cheapest flour and dumping it onto a scale. It looked just shy of a pound, and it seemed like the miller was about to scoop up more from the barrel, but then he stopped. 

 Baelfire saw the old man turn his head to the dustpan on the counter. He practically saw the idea bloom inside his mind. 

Shuffling again, the miller picked up the dustpan and took it over to the scale. Right in front of them, he poured in all the dirt and hair and dead weevils that had mixed in with the flour on the floor.

Baelfire’s mouth opened, but Papa squeezed his shoulder.

The miller examined the scale. Now it seemed to measure more than a pound, but he just nodded and dumped the flour--and the dust--into a cloth sack. He tied it up and set it on the counter.

“There you are,” he croaked. “Coward’s Special.”

Papa’s lips were pressed tight together. His hand shook as he placed a coin on the counter and took the bag. But all he said was, “Thank you, sir. Gods be with you, sir.”

It took all his strength, but Baelfire held his tongue until they left the miller’s shop. Then, he exploded. 

“What in seven hells!” he cursed. “How can he treat us like that? How can he treat anyone like that? They say all millers are cheats, but that’s just--that’s just evil!”

“You don’t know evil, son.” Papa was pushing the barrow again. They were finally going home, with nothing but the light of the almost-full moon to light their path. 

“Why didn’t you say anything?” Baelfire demanded. “Why didn’t you do something?”

“What would I do? Bluster and threaten him? I’m not going to fight an old man, Bae.”

“Yeah, but…” he trailed off. Did he have it all wrong? Was he going mad? Why wasn’t Papa angry? 

They walked together in silence for a moment. Then Baelfire spoke up.

“You just took it,” he said more confused than angry. “You always just take it. You never fight back. You let people say anything, do anything. And it’s always been like that. I don’t understand. Are you just afraid that they’ll do worse if you try to make them stop?” 

For a long time, Papa didn’t say anything. Then, he stopped walking, and set the barrow down on the ground. He sighed, before he spoke.

“Bae, you know about the war. Of course you do, it went on for your whole life. But I don’t think you know what life was like before. It was different, different in ways I don’t know how to tell. There were so many more people in the village than there are now.” He shook his head. “So many young men. A whole generation, who didn’t come back.”

That was something he had never noticed before, but it made sense now. There weren’t any men in the village who were the same age as Papa. At least, none who had been here when the war started. Men had moved in, to marry widows and take over shops that had been left empty. Most of the village was made up of them, or of old men, like the miller. 

“Before the war,” Papa said, “Miller Danp had a son whose name was Peder. Peder the Piper, we called him. He had hair like flax, and the bluest eyes, and he played the pipes. He was good, too. Good enough that the Duke’s man would call him up to the castle whenever there was a need for music. He made a handsome living playing for the lords and ladies. And no fair or festival in the village was complete without a tune or two from Peder.”

Papa looked down, looked at his hands holding his staff. “He played when I married your mother. He played at all the weddings that summer, when everyone wanted to get married before the men left.” He shook his head. “And he left too, Peder the miller’s son. He played the pipes to help the men march into battle.”

He sighed. “They don’t use pipes anymore, from what I hear. There aren’t any men left with the skill, and it turns out that the sound of pipes hurts the ogres’ ears. They run through a crowd of soldiers, straight to the pipers. Yahn told me once that he saw what happened to Peder, that an ogre picked him up, and bit the pipe out of his hand. Took most of the hand with it. When Peder screamed, the ogre bit him in the jaw. Half of his head was just… gone.”

“Gods,” Baelfire whispered. 

Papa looked at him. “That’s what happened to the miller’s son, Bae. And ever since then he’s had to watch a man like me live, and raise you and be happy, while his own boy died in agony.” He shook his head again. “And that story is the same for every family in this village. That’s why I take it, son. Any one of them can spit in my face every day for the rest of my life and it won’t make up for how I’ve hurt them, just by being alive when the people they love are dead.”  

Baelfire was silent, as his father picked up the barrow again. They were almost back home when he thought of something to say. 

“But Yahn and Tabat aren’t like that. Even though their oldest sons are dead. They don’t hate you. They don’t hate anyone.”

“That’s true,” Papa said. “In life, we are given many blessings that we don’t deserve. Good friends are one such blessing.” He pulled Baelfire into his arms, held him tight and didn’t let go. “Children are another.”     

[apexqueenie]

The Blood King (Bakugou x Reader, Medieval AU) Ch 3

Synopsis: In fairytales, princesses like you got to marry handsome princes like your best friend Shoto, but you’re not living a fairytale. You find the harsh realities a punch to the face as you and Sho run away outside palace grounds and into the real world. But the harsh brings out the beautiful, and in your case, it took the form of the scarlet covered barbarian king, whose territory you disturbed.

A/N: AAAAAAAHHHHH, I'm so sorry this took so long! It may have a few mistakes cuz I added on to this after I finished homework sooooooooooo I'm usually half asleep by then. This one is sorta long, so yah, enjoy!

Warnings: Swearing, blood, violence

[Ch1]->[Ch2]->[Ch3]->[Ch4]->[Ch5]->[Ch6]

“SHO!!!” You scream, snapping your torso up from the bed you lay on.

Wait...A bed..?

Your brain just tripped over itself as the memories came flooding back to you. The forest, the attackers, the beast, and then...that man.

You clutched your forehead in pain. Where the hell were you?

You place a hand on the furry and weighted blanket that covers you. It was nice. Quite a bit warmer than the blankets you had at home-

You shook your head. If this is how distracted you get now, you must’ve hit it at some point. You look around the room you were in. It was nice and dimly lit due to closed curtains, but plain. All that filled the space were you, the bed, and a small wooden dresser to your left with a tall cup of water on top.

Water. Sweet, sweet water. You chugged it down, throat parched from the previous events. The cool refreshing liquid woke up some of your senses. Slowly, your grogginess was replaced with the soreness of your muscles. You started to regret sitting up so suddenly. The side you were kicked on started to throb more and more.

You look down at the side in pain, seeing that your blazer and dress were replaced with a simple white wrap skirt secured with a knot around your chest. You felt almost naked, cold too. Never have your arms, chest, and legs been as exposed as they are now. Even your long nightdress had sleeves.

But that wasn’t important. You were in this strange place, Sho is nowhere to be found, and your things are gone. You needed to know more. Now, you may have been overreacting a bit, but what’s the harm in coming prepared? You break the glass you drank from earlier, grabbing the biggest piece and tearing some of the fabric you were wearing to wrap around the shard for a handle. You didn’t know what to expect, but at least you had something to defend yourself with.

You held it in the front as you slowly pushed the creaky door open. You thought you were ready for anything, but you weren’t expecting to be atop a balcony overseeing a complex combination of treehouses, bridges, and grounded buildings all surrounded by stone walls, complete with archers in loose armor patrolling the top. It wasn’t like any of the armor your guards wore though. It consisted of metal, like the knights in your father’s army, but they also wore feathers, leather straps, and colorful face paint. If you had to guess, you were nowhere near your own kingdom. They kept watch of the forest while the rest of the citizens of this odd town bustle happily below. Adults traded and conversed with one another while the children played with balls or kites below. All of them wear similar outfits to yours, comfortable and with a closer connection to nature. Some women wore clay beads around their heads like crowns paired with bright, multi-layered dresses made of choppy fabric. Most men wore loose shirts, some went bare chested, all wore slightly baggy pants, usually with multiple belts. A stark contrast to the puffy floor length dresses and tight pants of your people.

So where exactly were you?

“Do you like the view?” a voice said behind you.

It made you jump, and instinctively, you turn to hold out the makeshift knife you temporarily forgot about. The man you pointed the sharp edge at yelped and held both hands up as he rounded the corner.

“Sorry, I shouldn’t have sneaked up on ya.” he smiles sheepishly.

He was a red-headed man with spiky hair, a short vest, bandana, and baggy pants. Similar to the people below. From what you could see, no weapons. Still, you keep the blade pointed at his exposed torso. You’ve never killed anyone before, and the thought scares you, the overwhelming fear of being here in strange clothes scared you even more.

You take a step back, trying to distance yourself from the newcomer. “Who are you?”.

“Eijiro Kirishima, right hand man of King Bakugou. I’m glad to see you awake and well.” he says, not moving from his spot. “We’ve met before, your highness.”

“Huh?” You say, dumbfounded. You’ve never seen this man in your life. You would’ve known if you did, his face is...very memorable.

He pointed to the decently sized scar on his face. It traveled from his right corner of his lip and up to the bridge of his nose. It wasn’t bright red, but it still looked like it had only recently healed. A cut like that would’ve taken at least a week for it to stop being inflamed; you wondered how he’d gotten it or why he was pointing to it.

You shook your head, not understanding.

Kirishima chuckles nervously, “Well uh, it might be hard to explain, but uh first things first, I came here to check on you. How’s that rib feeling?”

“My rib? It...hurts a lot” you admit, lowering the glass shard. ‘Hurt’ was an understatement though, it felt like it was on fire. Your side throbbing painfully with each breath you took. Adrenaline could only mask it for so long.

He nods and slowly approaches you again, hands out where you could see them. “Let’s get you back in bed” he says, gently scooping the glass out of your hand and placing it in his back pocket.

Hesitantly, you complied, weary of the shard being in his possession. At least, he seemed like he didn’t want to kill you. You leaned back into bed, muscles screaming from the short encounter. It’s only now you truly realize the extent of your injuries. You hissed as Kirishima readjusted your pillow as best he could, shaking the bed a bit.

“Now that you’re awake, I’ll let Deku take a look at you. He’s our medicine man, or doctor if you like.” And with that, he walks out, closing the door behind him.

But you couldn’t stay still. Even though your ribs hurt, you couldn’t sit back and wait. If you’re being nursed here, Shoto must be nearby. And besides, they don’t want to hurt you, right? After all, as you hauled yourself up and headed to the door once more, you found it still unlocked. You weren’t their prisoner.

You took a peek around the corner that you saw Kirishima come around last time. It led to a free hanging wooden bridge to another tree. The other side of your cabin led to some steps that took a wide curve around a wooden pillar of some sort, but taking a look upwards only showed you that it wasn’t a pillar at all: It was an absolute unit of a tree. Incredibly thick, and at least 500 feet tall, the tree had stairs carved from all over its sides and bridges split off to smaller trees holding up houses. An even more intricate pattern of pathways sat above your head than what you saw the first time when you looked on the balcony.

You clutched the railings, making your way up the stairs and onto the first platform branching off into other paths. Your “room” was just a simple block, fitted halfway into the trunk of the big tree. Woven branches and leaves make a simple flat roof; not much different from any other building here. Guess you’re just gonna have to find someone who knows this place. Preferably not Kirishima. You had a feeling he’d just bring you back to your room.

You hauled yourself up more stairs, opting to take the paths closer to the tree. Traversing mazes was never your strong suit, and this place could get you lost in a few seconds.

The further you went along the stairs, the harder it was for you to breathe. Your injury was draining your energy fast, making your body feel like a thousand pounds. Maybe going back to bed wasn’t a bad idea at all.

Just as you were about to give up and sit down, you came across a wider bridge, one that was definitely a lot more extravagantly built than the last. Thicker, and with decorative railings. It was built between the tree itself and a large mountaintop so tall, you couldn’t see the top. The bridge extended in a T shape, the horizontal bit from the tree built to the length of one wall of the kingdom to another with stairs down to where the guards patrolled. At the smaller section of the T sat a huge double doorway, carved from the wood of the tree you’ve been climbing around for the past 10 minutes. It depicted battles, warriors wielding swords and fighting alongside winged beasts of enormous size...Dragons. Then it clicked. Kinda. You swung at that large beast before, at its snout right when it was right behind you. And Kirishima had a scar along his mouth and nose...

Kirishima = Dragon?

You shook your head, unable to fully convince yourself. It must be your pain fogging your mind a bit. You guess it was the same reason you were walking through those double doors. Big doors were the norm for you, being a princess after all. In your state of confusion, it’s better to go with more familiarity. You pulled it open with a bit of difficulty and slipped in as the doors slowly closed behind you without a sound. Just as you suspected, it was a grand hall for royalty that was almost as big as your father’s. The room was curved, thanks to the tree’s natural design. Flowered vines decorated the plain walls. An empty throne of wood and bones sat in front of what you thought must be the opening to the other side of the tree. You could see the sunshine bathe the throne in its gentle light.

You straightened your composure subconsciously, as you’ve been taught to in throne rooms like these, and walked to the throne. Bones and wood, delicately intertwined with one another to form a beautiful crest along the top of the backrest and pair of armrests. You dragged your fingers along the sanded wood gingerly, admiring the craftsmanship. Swords were stabbed in between, like trophies. Some chipped, others completely broken in half. All went through obvious signs of battle. Losing battles, that is. This was a throne for a King that should be feared. Unlike your father and birth giver’s thrones, which symbolized elegance and formality, this one was fierce, powerful, and dangerous. For some reason, your mind was reminded of the man with the Vermillion eyes. How he strode proudly with bold movements, the same way you’ve seen your father or King Enji act when confronted. Was he the one who owned this throne?

A few feet behind it were steps leading up to a large balcony, open to give an extraordinary view of the kingdom you saw before. You walked up the steps slowly, entranced by the calm sight of the sky and trees. A warm breeze lifted the stray hairs from your face, and you felt calm, your injuries temporarily forgotten. You thought you saw everything from the height you were at when you first woke up, well, you were a couple hundred feet higher now and so much more had been revealed. You could see the exact boundary of walls that protected the civilians, previously hidden by other trees. A huge, open gate on the other side of the kingdom guarded by tiny soldiers both on ground and up on the wall. The complex bridges you saw earlier seemed to build around this area so as to not obstruct the view. You dared not to go straight to the railings though, it felt out of place for you to be watching over someone else’s civilians. So just at the top of the stairs you stayed.

Along the sides of the extended walls where the stairs were built, hung swords of all shapes and sizes, snugly staggered amongst each other like decorations. Each one told a story, from the blade type down to the hilt decorations. You wonder who wielded each magnificent weapon. The man you fought had a sword worn down from no doubt years of battle, more so than any of these blades on the wall.

“I wonder where he is.” you spoke out loud.

“Where who is?” a gruff voice responded.

You froze in place.

Speak of the devil. There he was. He appeared around the left side of the throne, nonchalantly leaning an elbow above his head on it. He wore the same attire as before, cutlass hanging at his side- only this time, tribal beads and threaded teeth hung around his neck. The sunlight coming from the open spaces behind you revealed his hair to be golden, as well as uncovered the many battle scars that previously blended with his skin underneath the pale moonlight. He made your shrink a bit in his presence.

He cocked his head to one side, lifting an eyebrow at your staring. “Well?”

Snapping out of your thoughts, you forced yourself to say something. “Sorry, You, you’re..and then...Uh…” you managed to spit out, ears burning. You couldn’t look at him straight. He only narrowed his eyebrows in response. ‘Great job (y/n), he thinks you’re a moron now.’ you scold yourself.

“Maybe that shitty Deku got it wrong, and you’re the one with the concussion.” he scoffed.

“I have no such thing!” you blurted out. You tried to look him in the eyes again, but the dominance they radiated made you feel like a pup caught disobeying her master. But why? You’re royalty, a future Queen! You shouldn’t let the likes of him intimidate you like this!

So you stood up straight again, taking a deep breath and raising your chin to address the man in front of you properly. Your insides felt like they were being stabbed with a flaming rod, but you refused to succumb to it now. “I lost myself a bit there. I’ve come here for answers.” you say, clasping both hands together. “Where is the leader of this Kingdom?”

Unfazed by your new composure, he stared right back. “You’re lookin at him.”

“And your name?”

“Why does that matter?”

“It matters because I’d like to know to whom I’m speaking with.” you grit your teeth.

“Oh, and what gives you the right, little thief?” he says, raising an eyebrow.

“I’m not a thief,” you growl, “I’m princess (y/n) of the Northern Kingdom, first and rightful heir to the throne. As a fellow royal, I deserve the right to know who you are.”

At your words, his body went rigid. “You deserve it, huh?” He moved from his spot at the throne, up the stairs towards you and towering over your figure. You shuffled backwards in alarm. “You, a Northern pansy with your tea parties, lazing around in your kingdom, not giving a damn about the ecosystem around you. You call that royalty?” He spat, raising his voice. You could feel the heat radiating from his body, physical heat, fueled by his anger. “Destroying more of my home to make room for your stupid roads. Killing my people’s food for sport and leaving the skinless carcass to rot so you could have your stupid exotic rugs- I’ve seen how much you people take for granted. If it weren’t for the size of your army, I would’ve conquered you assholes by now. Why did I even listen to that damn Kirishima, I should’ve left you and your boyfriend in the forest. At least you’d be useful for once-”

“Wait, I think you’re overreacting here, and he’s not-” you tried to reason, stumbling over your feet. You completely lost your composure now, your heart practically beating out of its chest.

“Or your brother, I don’t give a damn who he is, my people are running out of food because of yours- but I don’t think you ever knew, huh? Probably worried over some bullshit like what you’re gonna wear, or if some other pretty boy prince out there thought you were cute.” He continued. You back found the edge of the railing and you latched your hands onto it. Taking a quick glance backwards, you found the height a little terrifying now.

“Well, I’m over here hunting day and night to find meals and what do I get? Two more mouths to feed. Useless, pathetic weights on my back. If you wanna talk about being my fellow royal-”

“Bakugou, stop!” you hear Kirishima’s voice echo.

Kirishima. Oh thank god Kirishima is here.

The newly identified “Bakugou” snaps his head to the side at the voice. You look around Bakugou’s figure to see the redhead entering through the doorway, a stranger with green hair trailing behind him.

“You need to eat, Kachaan.” the stranger says. “We’re not starving, Denki found a whole new area with more game- but you can’t hunt it if you’re the one hungry.”

“Stop telling me what to do, I’ll eat when the provisions are restocked.” he turned to the side to face the pair and glared.

Kirishima in the meantime had already ran across the hall, climbing the stairs up to you two. “It’s been three days, brother, you’re getting aggressive.”

Bakugou took another glance at your shocked figure, and for a moment, you could see a pang of guilt hit him. But it was fleeting. His face returned to and scowl and he scoffed, fully turning around and heading down the steps past his comrade. “Aggression is what’s kept this kingdom prosperous.”

“Well, yelling at her highness isn’t very prosperous.” he shot back, tracking the blonde with his eyes.

The stranger made his way next to you, placing a reassuring hand on your shoulder. Kirishima acknowledged him and rushed off towards the doors with his leader.

“Well they’re always talking about equality for some goddamn reason, why can’t I yell at them like men?” Bakugou threw his hands up in the air.

“That’s not what they’re talking about…” the other man responded.

Their voices grew distant as they left the hall, leaving you and the kind stranger. With Bakugou gone, you released the breath you didn’t realize you were holding and fell to your knees, groaning.

So, that was Bakugou. You didn’t wanna think about what could’ve happened if Kirishima hadn’t stopped him.

“Woah, hey, uh, we should get you back to your room.” he says, cradling your shoulders. “I’m Izuku Midoriya by the way, but you can call me Deku.”

“(Y/n)” you strained. “Nice to... nice to meet you Deku, but I can’t go back yet. I have to make sure Sho is ok…”

Deku brought you back up to your feet, sliding an arm around your waist and a head under your arm. “Sho? Is that your friend?”

“yeah,” you nodded as the two of you began heading to the door yourselves, “my childhood friend. We were...we got lost...”

“Lost? We could send a messenger out to your kingdom and let them know you’re here-” He says.

“No!” You yelled. Deku looked taken aback and gave you a concerned look. A little embarrassed, you cleared your throat. “No. It’s ok, I uh, I’d prefer we don’t make a huge deal about this.”

Deku chuckled, “Oh, of course my lady, but, are you sure you’re ok to go visit him?”

“Please, I was the one who caught him in all of this mess.”

He smiled as he pushed one of the doors open with his foot, and headed down the steps almost as far as where your own room was, only before the last flight of stairs he took a bridge across to another tree where a small cluster of buildings sat. He gently slid out from besides you to open the front door. Sho laid flat on the bed in front, quietly sleeping. He looked much better now. The lump on his face had almost disappeared, wrapped heavily in clean bandages. He was shirtless as well, only more bandages covering his chest and parts of his arm. He had bruises everywhere, but otherwise, he looked taken care of. In addition to the bedside dresser, there was a small wooden table to his right with tools, bandages, and washcloths. He must’ve needed stitches. You teared up at the sight, feeling guilty again for all the trouble you caused.

Deku gently placed a hand on your shoulder again, leading you to a couch on the side of the room. “He’s got a concussion as well as deep cuts here and there, but he’ll make a full recovery in about three weeks. I’m going to have him stay in bed for a week and a half and then go from there.”

“It’s all my fault,” you whispered, voice cracking. At this point, you couldn’t hold back the tears anymore.

“What? No, it’s those people in the forest. Wild people. They like to mess with anyone caught out at night. Except for kach- erm, The King. They’re terrified of him.”

You sniffed, “Bakugou, right?”

“Y-yeah,” he rubbed the back of his neck, “we grew up together, so I’m used to calling him Kacchan. It was just a name and uh, oh, and, I’m sorry for the way he acted, he’s been out scouting food for a while, not eating at all. He thinks the forest is slowly going dry. He’s a good person, I promise, he just has a mean face. He must’ve scared you.”

“It’s ok,” you shook your head. “He was...he was right. About my people.” You wiped the tears from your eyes, staring at the wall in front of you. “My father, he likes money and power. He likes seeing happy and rich citizens. I used to think it was because he cared about them when really, it’s so he could show off to other kingdoms. I could hear them sometimes, talking about expanding towards the forest, cutting down more trees for a new library or something. He liked the pelts too, making me little stuffed rabbits when I was younger. I always thought it was ok though, I never knew people lived here. Now I feel awful.”

Deku gave you a kind smile. “Hey, but it wasn’t you, right? That was your dad. Don’t beat yourself up over his decisions.”

“Yeah” you sighed, “I guess.”

Deku’s smile grew bigger, and he pushed himself off the couch. You watched him walk over to the dresser and opened up one of the drawers to pull out a small blanket.

“Here” he said, unfolding the blanket and handing it to you. “I’m gonna go grab the medicinal tea I brought to your room, it’ll help with the pain. Uh, I’m not quite sure, but I think you may have slightly fractured a rib, so the best thing we could do is let it heal itself for a week. Who knows, it might just be bruised.”

“Thanks.” you say, laying yourself down on the couch in the meantime. After Deku came back with that tea, you passed out fast.

You had a dream. Your father was right in front of you, raising his sword above his head. He was scared of something, but you couldn’t tell what. The background was fuzzy, but you could see it was destroyed. You were raising your arms, protecting someone. Everything was in slow motion, fading slowly to white.

You spasmed awake, inhaling sharply. The image faded fast out of your mind. Shoto was snoring lightly on the bed, arm lazily resting atop his stomach. Good. Sighing, you set aside the blanket and walked out the door for some fresh air. The tea helped you a lot, even now. You didn’t even feel any pain. The moon shone brightly again as the breeze cooled your skin, giving you deja vu of the whole fiasco from before. Except this time, this was peaceful. You weren’t lost. No one was chasing you. And most importantly, you and Shoto were safe. Everything was good for now.

A large shadow fluttered in the corner of your eye, causing you to jump a bit. A red dragon with magnificent wings landed in the clearing by the kingdom gates, which were now closed shut. Its rider, the buttholeish King, yelled at the guards. They notched their arrows, shooting into the forest with expertise. A roar of some sort of animal retreated, rustling trees in its wake. Bakugou slid down from its neck to untie the fresh animal carcasses secured on the dragon’s back. Other soldiers came from the buildings to help carry them. Then, as Bakugou hopped to the ground, the dragon began to shrink back into itself. Wings folded into his backside, neck shortening, and body losing its color to turn into...Kirishima. It blew your mind. So you really did hit him hard back there. You had to apologize.

You rushed down the steps to find them, not really thinking about the fact that you had absolutely no idea where you were going. Nor did you really think about your stamina. Five sets of stairs and you were already panting.

As you leaned against the tree, trying to be careful with your breaths. It still didn’t hurt, but damn did you get tired quick. Just as you were turning to tackle another flight, a head of blonde hair appeared from below, scowling.

“Again? What is it with you and not sitting still?” he grumbled. You could hear the fatigue in the way his voice cracked.

You sat up from the tree, surprised that he climbed so fast. “I, er, wanted to apologize to Kirishima for the wound is all.” you rubbed your arm nervously as he stopped in front of you.

He eyes you with skepticism, probably wondering if you were telling the truth or not. “He’s gonna be taking care of the fresh meat for a while, and probably sleep till late afternoon knowing the lazy idiot.” he grumbles.

“Oh.” you say, still kind of embarrassed.

“And besides, he’s fine. He heals like it’s nothing.”

“Because he’s a dragon…?”

“Heh, something like that.”

“Oh.”

You two sit in silence for a moment after that. The awkwardness was almost unbearable.

“This reminds me, Shitty Hair wanted me to do something. Can you walk up the stairs?” he finally asks.

You shrug, “I’ll get up there eventually.” you respond.

“Well, I don’t have time to wait for ‘eventually’” he says, and lifts you up off the ground with both arms. He hugs you close to his bare chest and climbs the stairs with no problem, not even a slight change in breathing.

You help a bit, holding on to his neck for support. “Where-“

“I have to give you your shit back.” He grunts. “You lived so I don’t get to keep your sword.”

“What an awful mouth you have for a king.” You frown.

He smirks in response, “you haven’t seen the half of it, princess.”

Princess. The way he says “princess” sends shivers down your spine. You don’t know why, but you found yourself staring at his features again. Hair shining almost white again, gently waving in the wind. Piercing eyes, sharp jawline, defined collarbones…

“Oi, quit starin.” He interrupts your thoughts.

“Huh? Why...uh, why would I stare at you?” you say, your voice an octave higher.

He chuckles lightly while you try to look everywhere but him. He passes Shoto’s room and instead keeps heading upwards. Past the throne room too, taking a staircase to a room above it. He pushes it open to a gorgeous bedroom. The amount of oil lamps lining the walls could barely light up the entirety of the room. Giant bed with plush pillows along one wall, a balcony on the other side of the room, a door leading to what you think is a bathroom, and lots and lots of “trophies” hanging up on the wall. Helmets, swords, capes, horns, claws- must be from what he killed. One horn spread the length across the wall from his bed, being almost 10 feet long. You’d be terrified to know what creature that belonged to...or, had belonged to. Still, they were oddly beautiful. Clearly, they were a struggle to take down, judging by the damaged sword Bakugou wielded and the slight deformities in the trophies themselves. A crack down the middle of a knight’s helmet. Multiple tears in a blue and white feathered cape. It was almost surreal to you, that a man that could win all these vicious battles can gently place you on the soft cushions of one of the few couches that occupied his room.

Walking to his bed, he picked up an object propped up against the bed frame. He trunks to you, holding it flat against both hands. Your sword!

He unsheathed it, examining the blade in the dim lamplights with approval. “This is made of Awherian metal, better not lose it.” he says, sheathing it and handing it back to you. You take it gingerly, propping it by your feet.

“Awherian?” You repeated.

“Awherians used to be a tribe up in the North before going extinct a long time ago. Legends say they used to battle giants, cuz they ate their dragons...or some bullshit my old hag likes to talk about.” he crosses his arms.

He took notice of you lowering your head, and sighed, rubbing his neck awkwardly.

“I uh,” he cleared his throat, “I shouldn’t have said all that. Earlier, I mean. Kirishima was right about being hungry, I don’t usually yell at women. Unless they’re trying to kill me, you know.”

“It’s ok,” you lean back into the couch, “you weren’t wrong. I said this to Deku earlier already: I thought my father was doing the right thing because he, well, he’s my father. If I had known there was a whole civilization here...I just...I hope I can help.”

He looked at you for a few seconds, calculating. Were you genuinely being honest? Maybe, he thought. He has his doubts still.

Bakugou was always weary about newcomers, and didn’t take too kindly to them. The only reason these two were brought in was because Kirishima urged him to. The king refused at first, reasoning that this could’ve been a set-up, that the cult that pranced the outskirts of their territory had a plan to send in spies this way. Of course, Kirishima says that there’s no way they would possibly injure their own like this, leaving them one step away from death, but Bakugou has seen their ways. They would eat each other if they wanted to. Eventually, he gave in on the reasoning that they weren’t the smartest of people. You seemed different. He ordered his closest men, including that shitty Deku to keep an eye on you both.

“Maybe you could. Who fuckin knows” He says, “but not when you can’t even climb fucking stairs without wheezing like a granny.” He says, earning a slightly offended whine from you. He smiles lightly, then points to his bed with a thumb. “Go.”

You look at him, perplexed. “In your bed?”

“No shit, it’s the middle of the night.” He narrows his eyes.

“I’m, b-but we’re not married-“ you stuttered.

Bakugou rolls his eyes, “relax princess, you have it to yourself. I just don’t feel like taking you back down to your room, or to that half n half bastard.”

With a grunt, he picks you up off the couch and onto the bed. The plush blankets swallowing you almost immediately.

“Do you like insulting people?” you ask as he throws the blanket over you.

“I dunno, do you like breathing, or is it just something you do?”

“You’re impossible.” You rolled your eyes. “Where are you going to sleep?”

“The couch.” He replies, undoing the buckles on his cape. “Sleep, we’ll have you properly taken care of tomorrow, starting with a bath.” He wrinkled his nose.

“Hey!” you pouted. A bath sounds wonderful though.

“You were supposed to be in bed all day today, but whatever.” he sighs. He folded his cape neatly and placed it on his bedside dresser, then flopped onto a couch on the far side of the room, facing away from you. Eventually, his muscles relaxed and you could hear soft puffs of breaths as he slept.

It was calming in a way. Every night, even as a small child afraid of the dark spaces in your room, you slept alone. You had to overcome that fear alone, your mother definitely didn’t want you bothering her, and your father was far too tired from dealing with the kingdom all day. But knowing someone else was in the room felt, in an odd way, nice. You drifted off again, but this time, without dreams.

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[wearethewinx]

cultural fashion thoughts

Domino

roman-inspired. flowing, drapey fabrics that are either tied or pinned into shape

fabrics are usually either undyed or pale pastel, but aggressively accented with bright colors and strong textures with trim, cording, and jewelry

women’s clothing is accessorized primarily with flowers and decorative cording, and wealthy women especially can have an entire garden on a single dress. voluminous gibson girl updos are en vogue, usually with more flowers piled on top, always with 1-4 loose locks to frame the face or neck

men’s accessories of choice are feathers, greenery, and pins/brooches, and their clothes tend to be draped more asymmetrically than women’s. hair is short and neat on both head and face, to better show off elaborate earrings, and occasionally facial jewelry

a longer beard decorated with flowers or tightly tied hair decorated with feathers are typical indicators of gender nonconformity

at the time of the fall the most popular jewelry trends were statement rings in the shape of filigree flowers for women, and metal chokers in the shape of ferns for men

Melody

long years of political discord mean massively varying regional fashions, but in Musa’s area rich colors and intricate prints (for the poor) and embroidery/brocade (for the rich) are the style

the focus is on the fabric, with stiff materials and broad, flat cuts to show off the details. scenery and nature motifs are more traditional, and abstract patterns or gestural images are more popular with young people. accessories are usually practical or faux-practical, such as bags, pouches, books, spectacles, and parasols, and long hair is popular for both men and women

broad-legged pants and high collars are trendy for women, with panels of fabric often laced together with cording to allow them to move without bending and give a peek of skin. long, straight, silky hair is everything, held back from the face but minimally decorated, usually with a single comb. lights and lanterns are a popular motif

men’s trousers are usually softer fabric and narrower cut, with the focus on a tunic or jacket instead. sleeves are sometimes sewn with pre-determined crease lines to preserve their structure, and the breast is usually left slightly open. men’s hair is also kept long and silky, but tied back more securely with ribbons or pins

Solaria

Solarian fashion has exploded since Stella became a public figure, so there’s a stark before and after difference

more traditional clothing is typically minimal, either baring a lot of skin or wearing only the thinnest silks (or both) with glass and polished wood for accents. a wide, elaborate collar or necklace is The accessory, and veils and delicate headscarves are common, particularly when decorated with beads and metallic thread. a suite of earrings is also a must

post-Stella fashion incorporates heavier fabrics and ornamentation, voluminous skirts, and more artificial colors and textures, as well as asymmetry. there’s also greater variety in general, and her signature bangs became the definitive style for young women

male and female styles are very fluid, the distinctions usually being subtle or seasonal, but bracelets, armbands, and rings are more popular for men, where women lean more toward jeweled belts, waist drapes, and anklets

Andros

there’s very little overlap between Royal Fashion and Normal Fashion

royal clothing has been basically unchanged for several decades, with strong but conservative earth and sea tones, metallic accents in silver, never gold, and highly structured garments such as stays. massive sleeves, layered fabrics, and floor-length skirts are the order for women, and wide cuffs, collars, and very high boots for men

men wear rings on the left, women on the right, ears are pierced once regardless of gender and no more, hair is kept long for both sexes but girls wear theirs loose until the age of majority and then adopt one of a few elaborate, restrained styles. boys hair is put in locs early and kept that way through adulthood

non-royals have more relaxed gender roles and much more relaxed fashion. wrapped skirts, playful fringe, sunset colors, and starfish or turtle shells are popular across the board. men do usually wear locs, but not always, and they can be accessorized, and women style their hair with incredible detail. women’s tops are usually sleeveless and men usually wear open vests

Linphea

all natural all the time. no artificial materials ever. softened tree fibers, leather, and hemp are the standard, though very little children usually wear woven grass or nothing at all. intricately carved wood and polished amber are popular, and feather earrings, and going topless is normalized

women usually wear loose, jewel-toned skirts, and wraps, vests, and triangle tops, if they wear tops at all. armbands are classic and shawls are trendy, and dyed fingertips are becoming a style (linpheans naturally have green or darker brown tinged hands) especially in purple

boys often wear skirts, but adult men wear loose pants in shades of brown and green, always with a patterned print, sometimes with decorative draping or wrapping. they incorporate brighter colors in accessories, especially red necklaces, and carmine eyeshadow is starting to become popular as well

linpheans do wear styles inspired by other planets, but they almost never import clothing (out of objection to Artificial Materials) and since they’re making all their own shit anyway it’s just easier to make garments they already know how to make

Zenith

Almost no gender segregated fashion at all, although minimalist ankle-length skirts are having a moment with men, and geometric-print harem pants are picking up steam with other genders

whites, greys, and other neutrals accented with metals and neons are the current mood, especially magenta and cyan, and LED accessories are everything. hair is usually short or part-shaved, and an asymmetrical shave trimmed in an abstract pattern is especially fashionable. maximalism and minimalism play off eachother, with zippers, belts, decorative seams, and a variety of fabrics all in one jacket over a plain white shirt being THE look

silhouettes are either athleisure wear or focused on the clothes rather than the body. for some zenethes baggy clothing is representative of privacy, a la billie eilish, and layers are common regardless because it’s chilly year round

zenith haut couture is starting to take a turn toward skimpier, less practical clothing, playing with transparency and 3D structures, but those styles haven’t trickled down into the genpop yet

[worshiptoday]

John’s clothes were woven from coarse camel hair, and he wore a leather belt around his waist. For food he ate locusts and wild honey.

People from Jerusalem and from all of Judea and all over the Jordan Valley went out to see and hear John.

And when they confessed their sins, he baptized them in the Jordan River.

But when he saw many Pharisees and Sadducees coming to watch him baptize,fn he denounced them. “You brood of snakes!” he exclaimed. “Who warned you to flee God’s coming wrath?

Prove by the way you live that you have repented of your sins and turned to God.

Don’t just say to each other, ‘We’re safe, for we are descendants of Abraham.’ That means nothing, for I tell you, God can create children of Abraham from these very stones.”

Matthew 3:4-9

[little-ligi]

Febuwhump - No.25

No.25 - Alt.4 - Identity Reveal Fandom - BBC Merlin Wordcount - 1842 @febuwhump​

The loud clanging of the warning bell woke Merlin abruptly. He’d been sitting on the window seat in Arthur’s chambers, napping, one hand curled around the broom he had been sweeping the floor with. He’d only meant to sit down momentarily after he’d yawned a yawn so wide it almost made him fall over. The sun was now dipping low on the horizon.

“Oops,” he muttered to himself as he leapt to his feet, casting the broom aside to run from the room.

He sprinted down corridors, only tripping over his feet once, until he burst through the doors to the council chamber, where he ran head first into Elyan, nearly knocking them both flying. He snatched at Elyan’s arm to right himself.

“Merlin!” Arthur yelled. He was at the head of the council table, hurriedly buckling his sword belt around his waist.

“What is it? What’s happened?” Merlin asked in a rush, his eyes on Arthur even as his hand tightened on Elyan’s arm.

The knights were all bristling, their own hands on their swords.

“There’s a sorcerer out in the courtyard,” Leon said grimly. “Calling for Arthur.”

Continue reading on Ao3, FF.net or below! 👇

“There’s a – what?” Merlin almost fell over again.

“With me,” Arthur said, firmly and quietly, and swept out of the room, the knights striding behind him and Merlin stumbling to keep up.

They reached the front doors, the knights drawing their swords in unison as a guard threw the doors open. Arthur stepped out first, Leon and Lancelot flanking him with Gwaine, Elyan and Percival bringing up the rear. Merlin slunk off to the side behind Lancelot, trying to get a good sight line on the sorcerer.

The sorcerer was a tall woman, wearing a dark blue dress and cloak, which swirled around her legs as if in a breeze. Her long grey hair was intricately woven with black feathers and she had gold painted around her eyes which were glowing in the dusky twilight.

“Arthur Pendragon!” she shrieked as soon as Arthur’s foot stepped down from the palace steps and touched the cobbles of the courtyard.

“I am here,” he said calmly, his grip on his sword tight and ready to defend himself.

“The mighty king of Camelot,” she mocked. “But he is barely more than a boy. How does the crown fit, Highness?”

Arthur growled, raising his sword higher. “I do my best to be a just and fair ruler.”

“Is it fair the way you treat my people?” the sorceress asked. “Cume þoden!” A whirlwind sprang up in front of her. She pushed it towards Arthur with a flexing of her fingers and he staggered back.

“Miere torr windræs tohweorfe,” Merlin muttered and the whirlwind dissipated, swirling outwards like a gust, lifting the feathers in the sorceress’s hair and making the knights’ cloaks flap and billow behind them.

She hissed, her eyes darting across the knights, looking for the one who’d stopped her magic.

“You try to stop me?” She gave a cruel laugh. “You are weak.”

“Attack!” Arthur shouted and he and the knights ran forwards with a cry.

“Áblinnan,” she screamed, waving her hands at the advancing men. “Ic þe healte, min feondum ætstande!”

Arthur and the knights froze, as if turned to stone, their swords raised but unmoving.

“No!” Merlin leapt forwards, grabbing for Arthur’s arm. It wasn’t frozen, but warm and supple under his hand and he could feel Arthur’s muscles straining, as if trying to break free from the spell. He glanced at the others; they all looked in a similar state, unharmed but restrained in place with the magic.

“Release them!” he cried to the sorceress, stepping protectively in front of Arthur, anger seeping into his voice.

“Who are you?” She drew a dagger from within the folds of her cloak, gestured with one hand to make it fly at Merlin, stopping with the point an inch away from his throat.

“I’m no one,” he said firmly, taking a step back.

“You resisted my spell? You’re magical? Who are you? Forbærne yfel!”

With a shout, she drew fire up around him, trapping him within a circle of flames. More flames erupted all over the courtyard, tendrils snaking towards the others behind Merlin, lighting up the evening gloom.

“Don’t hurt them,” he warned, his voice low.

“Why should I listen to you?” she spat, the dagger at Merlin’s throat twisting as it slid forwards through the air. “Who are you compared to me? I am a High Priestess.”

Merlin shook his head slowly, taking a step forward, forcing the dagger to the floor with a simple glance of his eyes. He could feel the heat of the sorceress’s flames licking at his boots but he ignored it, his gaze fixed on hers.

“I wouldn’t underestimate me…”

She laughed. “I’ll crush you. I’ll kill these petty knights. Destroy your weak king.”

Anger flared through Merlin, his magic welling up to fill his chest, pressing against his skin as if about to burst free. He fought to keep from lashing out, letting the magic tingle in his fingertips, readying it in case he needed it.

“You will not touch my king.”

“Who are you to stop me?” she asked with a cruel twist of her lips, her tone teasing and spiteful. She raised her hand, her eyes darting to Arthur.

Merlin took a deep breath and grimaced, looking back over his shoulder at Arthur and the knights, frozen in place but still watching. Then turned back to the woman in front of him. He threw his arms up at his side, palms raised and filled with power.

“I am Emrys! I am the one the legends spoke of! I am the warlock destined to stand beside the Once and Future King!”

He flung his hands forwards, power surging in a wave across the courtyard, extinguishing the fires, whipping up dust in eddies around their feet, thundering through the still air. He could feel his magic blazing in his eyes, burning heat filling him up and exploding out of him like a halo of sunlight.

The sorceress raised a hand to shield her eyes, her hair and cloak billowing around her as she fell to her knees. The hatred that had filled her expression as she cast spells at the king and his knights was gone, replaced by reverence.

“Emrys?” Her eyes were wide with wonderment, her hands falling flat to the cobbles before her as she bowed low to the ground. “Forgive me, great one.”

“Release them,” he ordered.

“At once, my lord. Alíese.” The sorceress lifted her head, her eyes flashing gold to match the painted skin around them.

The rustle of cloth and clinking of chainmail evidenced the knights’ movements. Merlin cast a silent holding charm over the sorceress, not freezing her like she had done to the knights, but keeping her from trying another attack.

“Merlin?” Arthur’s voice called, uncertain.

Merlin spun around, aware that his eyes were still glowing gold, but unable to stop them. Arthur’s face was concerned, but he jerked back at the sight of Merlin’s eyes. Lancelot looked worried, his grip on his sword shifting. The other knights were looking between Merlin and Arthur, trying to gauge the king’s reaction.

“Merlin? What’s happened to him?” Arthur shouted at the sorceress. He didn’t believe what was in front of him. Didn’t believe Merlin was the one causing his own eyes to shine. Merlin squeezed them shut, pulling his magic back before opening them again.

“He is the great Emrys,” the sorceress answered.

“Is he possessed?” Arthur said in alarm, his sword coming back up to chest height. “Is this Emrys possessing him?”

Gwaine’s sword point dipped and he surged forwards, grabbing Merlin’s shoulders and shaking him, his eyes wild and scared when they met Merlin’s.

“No! Get out of him!” he roared. “Leave Merlin alone!”

Lancelot grabbed Gwaine’s arm, yanking him back away from Merlin. Gwaine fought against Lancelot’s hold, elbowing the other knight roughly in the chest.

“I’m not possessed,” Merlin said quietly. He reined his magic back completely, squashing it down inside himself until it was nothing more than a faint buzz. He locked eyes with Gwaine until he stopped struggling against Lancelot, then looked at Arthur. “It’s me… I’m Emrys.”

“You can’t be,” Arthur said immediately.

“I’m sorry.”

“No. No, Merlin. Stop being stupid.”

“You’re the stupid one, king of Camelot!” the sorceress spat.

Merlin held a hand up to her and she quietened.

“I’m sorry, Arthur, I’m sorry you found out like this…” Merlin gulped back the lump that had formed in his throat.

“But… I don’t understand…” Arthur’s sword sagged slightly.

Behind Merlin, the sorceress rose up onto her knees, lifting her head and speaking clearly.

“The legends spoke of a warlock – the most powerful warlock to ever walk this earth – and together with the Once and Future King, he would bring about the Golden Age of Albion.”

“You’re that king, Arthur,” Merlin whispered, but in the silence of the courtyard his voice echoed as loud as the woman’s had.

“But…?” Arthur shook his head, his face screwed up in disbelief, looking to his side at Leon.

“Are you certain it is him, Emrys?” the woman said scornfully.

“Yes,” Merlin snapped. “The great dragon told me so.”

“You’ve spoken to the great dragon? Kilgharrah? The last dragon?”

“Yes. I’m a Dragonlord,” he said impatiently over his shoulder. He was still focussing on Arthur.

Arthur dropped his sword, the clang of it hitting the cobbles making Merlin jump.

“But that’s just a story. It’s a children’s story.” He again looked to Leon, as if Leon would confirm it.

The tall knight nodded. “My nursemaid used to tell me the story.” He was frowning, looking like he was lost deep in thought. “The Once and Future King who would unite the land. I always loved that story.”

“What has that got to do with Merlin?” Gwaine yelled, his devastated expression making Merlin’s heart ache.

“It is my destiny,” Merlin answered.

“Destiny.” Arthur huffed derisively and snatched his sword up from the ground, ramming it into his belt with so much force it was a wonder he didn’t slice right through the leather. “I’ve had enough of this. Percival, Elyan, take her to the cells.” He jerked his hand at the sorceress.

“Go peacefully and you will not be harmed,” Merlin said softly, trusting that Percival and Elyan would keep to his word.

“Thank you, great one.” The sorceress bowed low to him again then allowed the two knights to take an arm each and march her towards the dungeons.

Lancelot put a hand on Merlin’s back, giving him a small amused smile. Merlin knew his friend would start calling him ‘great one’ in jest now. He grinned back.

“You.” Arthur jabbed his finger towards Merlin, who stopped grinning immediately. “Council chamber. Now. You have a lot explaining to do.”

The king spun on his heel, his cloak swirling behind him as he stormed up the steps into the palace, Leon and Gwaine following him after casting wary glances at Merlin.

Lancelot patted Merlin on the back then gestured up the steps.

“After you, great one.”

[the-fae-folk]

After eating they were led to a room with stone pools filled with steaming water warmed from some natural spring. The pools were decorated with tiles that formed images of trees and flowers and wandering deer. Noticing Sam’s slightly red face, Ardri smiled and turned away to give him privacy. Humans were very odd with their concepts of modesty. Once the dust had been washed away they found that new clothing had been set out for them and that their other clothing had been taken away, possibly to be washed. Or burned, Ardri thought to himself. He hoped the Autumn Court wouldn’t go that far, the human clothing had been comfortable. But some Faeries simply refused to have anything to do with any humans or their things. Instead Ardri donned the loose fitting grey trousers and the slate blue tunic that was incredibly soft. At his waist he was given a leather belt with a brass buckle that was ornately designed to be in the shape of an inward spiral. They had also left him a cloak of some black material. When he lifted it he gasped softly. It was woven entirely of shadows, a rare gift. It would allow him to walk in darkness and shade where the eyes of most could not catch sight of him if he didn’t wish them to. He would assume it was a gift and not a trade, because he had nothing such as this to offer in exchange, though he would have to find some token to give to their host in thanks. Vaguely he wondered if the fae of the Autumn Court had seen the cloak he’d worn before and decided that he must be given one to replace its loss. When Sam coughed slightly to indicate that he was finished dressing, Ardri turned around. Sam was wearing a tunic as well. Soft reds and golds were mixed in with various shades of brown and the occasional hint of green as patterns followed the hem and sleeves of the tunic. The belt round his waist boasted of a brass oak leaf, and his trousers were a soft earthy brown. He looked, good. Handsome even. Like a prince of the Folk. A smile on his lips and his hands spread out in a “what do you think?” gesture. Ardri turned towards the door to hide the blush that had begun creeping up his cheeks while admiring Sam. “You look well. We should hurry. The Lord of Autumn is waiting and we do not wish to be rude.” Sam fell into step beside him, and it astounded Ardri how easily he seemed to adapt to Faerie. How comfortably he seemed to fit in to Ardri’s life, as if they had always traveled this way. “Why does everyone do that?” Sam asked curiously. “Call them by the titles. Don’t they have names?” Ardri shook his head. “The rulers of the four seasons don’t have names. Nobody can remember why, but my mothers always thought it must be because of how powerful they are. As for everyone else, names are dangerous to give out. Not as dangerous for us, but still important. I give my name freely, but that’s because I was given gifts of magic by a creature in a well to ensure it can’t be used against me. I didn’t give your name to Nod or our host because then they would have power over you, it’s best if you think of a suitable name to go by while you’re among other Folk here. Some, like Nod, are under the protection of powerful people and don’t mind if we know their names. It’s... a very complicated part of our culture.” Their host promised to have places for them to sleep upon their return, and Ardri thought again about what token he might give to this Elf. Nod had come again to lead them on. Past the city to where the forest closed in on the high ornately carved stone walls decorated with their repeated image of seven entwined blossoms, for the Empire that had fallen. Sam stopped short once, his mouth agape at the sight of the enormous turtle which bore the city of the Autumn Court on its back. But he ducked his head in embarrassment and hurried after when Nod made a noise of impatience. Ardri gave him a smile, and thought to himself that they ought to wander and see the sights once the others had joined them, so that the humans could safely see some of Faerie’s loveliest sights. It wasn’t to the turtle which Nod was leading them, but down a path, and not a great road either. A half overgrown and forgotten pathway that had once wound about the woods was where he took them. The Empire had been known for its roadways, connecting all of its great cities and richest towns. But this trail must have been older, long forgotten once easier ways were made. Ducking beneath a branch that hung out over the path, Ardri spotted a low stone building hidden between the trees. Another shrine. It was overgrown and had probably been abandoned by whatever Fae had once made it, or claimed it as their own. But there was someone there. Someone kneeling upon their right knee at the little shrine. As Ardri held the branch aside for Sam, he got a better glimpse of the human, for it was a human. A middle aged man wearing a black cassock and a little white cotton band that showed at the front but was mainly tucked beneath his collar. The shrine itself had been filled with candles, all flickering softly in the growing twilight. And the man appeared to be speaking softly to himself as he fingered a kind of chain with little knots and wooden beads. A brief snatch of what he was murmuring made its way to them as they were approaching. “Hail, holy Queen, mother of mercy, Hail our life, our sweetness, and our hope. To you we cry, poor banished children of Eve; to you we send up our sighs, mourning and weeping in this valley of tears.” Was it a cry for help? Who was he asking? This man wasn’t dressed at all like any of the humans Ardri had met in his brief time to the human world, and he certainly didn’t seem to be suffering in any way that they could see. And where was the queen he was speaking to? Ardri looked to Sam, hoping for some kind of clue as to what to do. Sam was looking surprised. “That’s a priest,” he whispered to Ardri, clearly not wanting to interrupt. The priest’s voice lowered, obviously having noted their presence, and Ardri could no longer hear his words. A priest, that made sense. This must be a prayer of some kind or a ritual for this man’s deity. He had called the Queen an advocate as well as holy, so some figure who petitioned their deity? From the stories he’d always heard, humans had all manner of strange customs concerning their gods, rites and rituals, prayers and sacrifices. Some even tried to worship the Folk, though that never lasted. After a moment the man appeared to have finished praying because he stood up and turned to face them. It was then that Ardri saw the item he held very gently in his other hand. It was the Crown of Autumn. Silver entwined with hawthorn twigs, leaves of aspen and blackthorn, and rubies as deep and red as blood. “They told me you would be coming,” said the man with a calm smile. “I’m glad you arrived safely.”

[up-in-flames-writing]

Like a phoenix

I wrote a lil somethin' somethin' for Resident Evil Village. I kinda got hooked last week after seeing a playthrough of it (I don't play horror games myself) & now I've got my own OC. So, tis is meant to be a lil introduction forLord Garet Feniks. Enjoy.

~~==~~==~~==~~==~~

The uproar died down as Mother Miranda stepped up onto the pew, silencing the rowdy lycans with a wave of her arm. She surveyed the gathered, Donna sitting shyly at her right, Angie running around Moreau’s legs at her left. Alcina was inspecting her nails, sitting prim & proper to the right, & Karl was fidgeting, crossing & uncrossing his legs, grumbling something under his nose & scowling at the air on the left. Up above, in the rafters of the cathedral, the lycans were getting impatient too, small growls & snarls coming from every direction.

The sun was high up in the sky, filtering through the holes in the roof, & yet there was still someone missing from the congregation. The family gathering could not start until all of her children were present, after all, & yet one of her sons was still missing.

“Would anyone happen to know where Lord Feniks is?” The Lords all looked between each other, Angie scurrying across the floor to sit with Donna as all four of them shook their heads simultaneously.

“M...maybe he got lost?” Moreau stammered out nervously, looking around the cathedral as if the fifth lord would just pop out of the shadows all of a sudden with a loud ‘BOO!’

“Highly unlikely. He is not a child,” Alcina remarked, getting an offended ‘HEY!’ out of Karl at the subtle jab, “I would assume he would be busy with the lycans.”

“Yeah, with his friend.” Karl jeered.

“Maybe Urias ate him!” Angie cackled from Donna’s lap, looking as if she was about to tip onto the floor with all of her laughter shaking her tiny body. Miranda only shook her head, unsatisfied with her children’s answers, & disappointed with her son’s tardiness. He must have gotten it from Karl, or the other way around. Being late must simply be a family thing for them.

“If he does not arrive soon, we will just have to start without him.” She remarked, to the nodding of all her children. She cannot make exceptions for one unruly son, after all. The had to make preparations, they had to all be aware of the ceremony, all know the parts they were destined to play in this plan of hers. His had been long time coming, she couldn’t give up now.

“So, why did you gather us this time, M...” Heisenberg’s question was interrupted by a loud BANG from behind Miranda, as the chapel doors flew open, & silence covered everything like a thick, stifling, choking blanket. Not even the lycans dared to let out a noise, they didn’t even dare open their muzzles as a stench like burning flesh filled the air, a noxious, flammable gas lingering in all the corners of the building, a silent warning from Lord Feniks himself.

The figure standing in the doorway was tall, muscular, his body covered in a thick fur coat shining in the light of the sun, the grey fur skinned from a wolf. His legs were covered by leather trousers, crafted masterfully out of pig skin, leather of the same kind woven into belts hung around Feniks’ chest & waist, a dagger & liquid-filled vails sitting in sheaths at his waist, & round, grenade-like objects bound by more leather were attached to the belt at his chest. There was a war horn carved from bone hanging from his waist, string made from horse hair binding it tightly. Upon his head sat a skull, great antlers growing out of it, reaching towards the sky like the branches of a great behemoth. From behind the eye sockets of the deer skull came a faint glow, & a raspy, deep breathing. It was as if someone ripped him from his times, some sort of witch of the 13th century Poland, & thrust him into the quaint little village of Romania in the 21st century.

Lord Feniks took a step forward, horrifying burns & callouses covering his bare feet as he descended further into the cathedral, skin peeling at his ankles, presenting the melted flesh below. More of those scars littered his arms, seen even under the steel gauntlet that he wore on his left hand, clicking the sharpened claws together in a rhythm, click-clack, click-clack-clack, click-clack, click-clack-clack. More burns stretched across his bared collarbones, up his neck, covering any & all slithers of his face that could be seen under the skull he wore.

The closer he got, the stronger the smell of gas became, until it was near nauseating, that disgusting reminder that they could all go up in flames at any moment, should he so wish. Miranda could also hear a delicate squeaking as her middle child come closer, something that almost resembled the squeaking of a rat, or two rats, overlapping each other. Feniks approached her yet closer, & she could see the back of his head as he did a half-hearted bow before her. His brown hair had been tied in a braid that day, a slither of white leading from his right temple & to the very end of the braid. And, beneath that there was movement, a wriggling & wiggling as suddenly a rat peaked its whiskered face from below the confines of the skull. Then another head peaked out, one brown & one black, & then the greyish body followed suit, as the two-headed rat ran down Feniks’ arm & into his awaiting hand.

“If it isn’t Lord Garet Feniks. Took your time, cousin.” Karl snarled, finally settling on sitting with his legs crossed, his left ankle resting on his right knee. Garet huffed, the glow from behind the skull getting more intense as he glared at Lord Heisenberg.

“Zamknął byś się, Heisenberg, bo ci jeszcze język wyrwę.” Garet cursed the lord out, sneering as he stalked closer. His voice was deep & booming, a raspy quality to it as with every word he spoke, the room filled more & more with the flammable gas that his lungs began to produce after he was given the cadou.

“Halt dich still, Feniks!” Karl shot back, uncrossing his legs & bursting out of his chair to the chants of ‘fight! Fight! Fight! Fight!’ from Angie. He glared up at Feniks, trying to give himself some more height by bouncing on the balls of his feet, waving his hammer around like it was a toy & not a mass of metals. Feniks clenched & unclenched his left hand, holding it up & positioning his fingers as if he was ready to snap them, the silver of the gauntlet glinting from the beams of sunlight filtering through the rooftop.

Miranda shook her head, pinching the bridge of her nose to keep her cool, the stomped up to them & from her back burst out her wings, an echoing fwoosh sounding as the black feathers obscured Heisenberg’s & Feniks’ view of one another, “Enough! Both of you! Sit!” She commanded, sending them both a displeased & quite disappointed look. She couldn’t see what sort of expression Garet was making at her under his skull, but Karl had a decidedly furious scowl marring his face, & was clearly still raring to go. This would be a long meeting.

But, eventually, both of the Lords sat at their mother’s command, Karl first, & Garet beside him on the bench flanking Miranda’s left, together echoing “Yes, mother.”

“Finally. We can begin.”

~~==~~==~~==~~==

Hope you enjoyed, & I promised to be a bit more active on this blog in the future.