#but the fur trimmed cloak looks so much better

[juniperberries-canisroot]

I grinded my PickPocket skill to 100 to get the Perfect Touch perk so I could steal Bryling's fur cloak right off her back.

She's essential. Perfect Touch doesn't work on essential NPCs like her or Jarls.

Some posts say they killed her without mods or console commands but I don't really believe that in a game where mods/cc are a thing and I don't want to kill her, even if I could. Not until after I've done the quest for Pactur atleast. Again, if I could kill her.

[aurumalatus]

𝐂𝐋𝐎𝐒𝐄 𝐐𝐔𝐀𝐑𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐒

pairing. kinich x fem!reader

word count. 2.5k

genre/warnings. pixelprincess!au (princess!reader x knight!kinich), one bed trope, princess is nervous to sleep alone with a man (who isn't)

summary.

after a long journey, kinich and the princess finally turn in for the night at an unfamiliar inn. the only problem? there's only one bed.

author's note. i'm finishing this at like 5am so if there's any errors i'll look over it/fix it when i wake up LOL. for now, please scream and cry about knight!kinich with me. reblogs/interaction highly appreciated!!

𝐩𝐢𝐱𝐞𝐥𝐩𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐜𝐞𝐬𝐬!𝐚𝐮 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

It’s too warm.

As a princess born and raised in the land of Pyro, you’re accustomed to heat—thrive in it, even. It’s one of the reasons you dread trips like these so much. Foreign nations, even those with the mildest of temperatures, tend to feel a bit too chilly for your taste. Your father often jokes that you could withstand the heat of the Sacred Flame itself.

At the moment, though, you wouldn’t mind cracking open a window or two, even in the dead of winter.

The journey here had been difficult enough, boring as it was. Kinich had threatened to leave you alone in the woods a few times if you kept poking at him, but it was all you could do to not fall asleep. Attending foreign dinners always resulted in long journeys like these, though you know how important it is to maintain close relations with allied countries.

A few bumps in the road made this trek especially long, however—a number of bandits and blocked off paths added an irritating amount of time to your travel, until you and Kinich decided to rest for the night before heading home tomorrow. It had been difficult to even find a place—most inns had been full by this time, but you’d been fortunate to find one with a single open room.

A single, open room containing a single, solitary bed.

That aside, it’s a nice enough room, really. The dark mahogany furniture is carved with intricate nature-like patterns, flowers and leaves that crawl up the legs of the chairs and the foot of the bed. The whole place smells pleasantly of teakwood—a scent that, for better or worse, you tend to attribute to Kinich.

Your knight sits in front of the darkened fireplace, fiddling with a flint until it strikes with a small flame, then enkindles the rest of the wood. A flushing warmth instantly permeates the room. Usually, you would thank him for his efforts—he knows how cold you get—but now, you feel a thin sweat forming at your brow.

Kinich stands, brushing off his hands and admiring the firelight. The lighter strands of his hair glow in its radiance. “That should last us for a bit.”

He tugs at the clasp of his cloak, pulling the garment off and tossing it onto the chair in the corner of the room. It’s a thick fur with ornate green and gold trim; you’d given it to him as a gift during the Winter Festival a year ago. You let your eyes follow the motion, watching the dark cloth drape over the furniture—somehow, you feel too awkward to look at your companion right now. He glances at you, as if wondering what you’re doing just standing there, but doesn’t comment on it.

“Actually, I’m a bit warm,” you say, thumbing at the edges of your sleeves. Kinich raises a brow, genuinely concerned.

“...It’s wintertime,” he says, an obvious statement that seems to ask what the hell is wrong with you.

“Yeah, and I’m warm,” you retort, arms crossed. He looks at you, then looks at the fire, then looks at you again.

“Alright, but if you get cold later, don’t come crying to me,” he says, kneeling down again. Then, under his breath, he mutters, “though I have a feeling you will anyway.”

He toys with the kindling for a bit longer, until the raging flames die into smaller embers and the room cools down. As much as he gives you a hard time, he prioritizes your comfort as much as he possibly can. 

With the temperature now taken care of, there is still one other source of discomfort in the room, you think, glancing back toward the bed. It looks temptingly comfortable, with thick sheets and fluffy pillows, but you can’t fathom sleeping in it at the moment. 

“You realize that we can’t sleep here, right?” you say, staring down at your feet.

The dark-haired knight is busy rummaging through his rucksack, only half paying attention to what you’re saying.

“I don’t see why not. The bed is big enough.”

He’s right; it’s a king-size, and the two of you would have no problem fitting. Still, the thought of sleeping in a bed with him makes your face warm in a way that can’t be blamed on the fire.

“...There’s only one,” you manage.

Kinich looks up at you, deadpan. “An astute observation. Maybe you’ll be able to count to three by next year.”

“You little—”

The nervousness turns to irritation at his nonchalance—honestly, the thought of sharing a bed with a man you aren’t married to seems a bit inappropriate. And though you won’t admit it, you’re a bit offended that he doesn’t seem even slightly nervous to sleep with you. Kinich isn’t a nervous person by nature, that’s true; it takes quite a bit to get him to show any sort of strong emotion. But a small part of you is disappointed that he doesn’t seem to care about the situation at all.

“You realize it’s just us, right?” you say, urging him toward the root of the issue. Even just stating that fact makes an anxious lump form in your throat.

Kinich considers your words for a moment, pausing his ministrations, before meeting your gaze directly.

“I’m not going to do anything to you,” he says, raising a brow. 

The implication makes your face heat up, and you find it almost worse that he had addressed the elephant in the room.

“It’s not that!” you argue hastily. Kinich seems unbothered by your protests, fiddling with the intricate straps of his armor and the laces of his boots. He works about removing them in a fashion that’s so robotic that you’re sure he must’ve done this millions of times. 

“What is it then?” he retorts, glancing at you out of the corner of his eye. “Do you snore?”

“I do not—”

“Sleep talk?”

“No, it’s just—”

“Sleepwalk?”

“No! But—”

“Great,” Kinich decides, clapping his hands together as if to end the discussion. Rising to his feet, he gestures to the bed, even going so far as to pull the blankets back invitingly. “Then sleep.”

It’s hard for you to win against him, especially at times like these—truth be told, you actually are quite tired. With a huff, you begrudgingly climb into bed, nearly hanging off the edge with the ample space you leave.

Kinich doesn’t join you yet; he’s still fixing his clothes and tidying his other belongings. He takes good care of his things, you’ve noticed, almost neat to a fault. There’s a strict routine he follows during the night; before bed, he always takes special care to maintain his weapon.

You watch as he oils and sharpens his blade, brow furrowed in concentration. He’s always been very particular about the thing, as if it was an extension of himself, as long as you've known him. His movements are notably precise and intricate, and overwhelmingly gentle. Lost in watching him, you just about jump out of your skin when his eyes suddenly flicker to you. 

“You know, most people rest with their eyes closed,” he hums, amused at having caught you in the act.

“You’re annoying,” you mumble, sinking deeper into the pillows to hide your embarrassment.

He shakes his head. “And you’re supposed to be sleeping. So I guess no one’s happy.”

You pull the blanket up until it brushes your chin. You don’t need it; your skin feels like it’s on fire, but somehow it feels too vulnerable to be uncovered right now. 

“You’re telling me you don’t feel weird about this? At all?”

He sets the sword aside and finally removes the last of his armor, simply left in his training tunic and loose pants. The shirt is tighter than you remember, you think briefly. You force yourself to look away.

“Should I?” he asks, brushing off his clothes. “Are you going to do something to me?”

The corner of his lip twitches, and you nearly roll your eyes—he amuses himself way too much.

“No!”

“Then we’ll make a deal. I won’t do anything to you if you don’t do anything to me. Then, we’ll both peacefully sleep so that I don’t have to deal with your crankiness in the morning.”

Irritatingly, he’s right about that too. The two of you will have to head out early if you want to make it home for your lessons, as well as Kinich’s other guard duties. And, truthfully, you don’t tend to be a morning person—it’s all Kinich can do to even wake you up on time.

You huff, shutting your eyes. “Fine.”

“Oh?” You can hear the mirth in his voice, and it only makes your irritation grow. “So you were planning on doing somethin—”

“I wasn’t!”

Kinich doesn’t say anything more, likely sensing that you’re on the precipice of genuine frustration—he always knows your exact limits, even when you don’t say so. 

For a few minutes, you really do try to sleep. But your heart is still pounding, and as much as you try to ignore it, it threatens to burst out of your chest. You reason that you would feel this way no matter who you were sharing a bed with—it’s just not a feeling that you’re used to. It’s certainly not because it’s Kinich.

You imagine him sleeping beside you, and your fists tighten until your nails form crescent-shaped imprints in your palms.

Definitely not because it’s Kinich.

Your stomach turns as you listen to your companion move around the room, organizing his things. Everything about him is so calm and quiet, including his footsteps—they’re barely a whisper across the floor. The anticipation nearly swallows you whole, and you wait for something to happen—the blankets to pull back, or even a dip in the mattress.

For several long, torturous minutes, nothing happens at all. In fact, you can’t even hear Kinich anymore, not even a single breath.

Did he leave the room? 

Gathering your courage, you silently will yourself to open your eyes, afraid of what you’ll see. It takes you a bit, too absorbed in the awkwardness, and three silent mental countdowns later, your eyes finally snap open. Instantly, you discover two things:

Kinich is not in bed with you.

Kinich is nowhere near you at all.

Instead, the knight is sitting across the room, back against the door, head leaned back and both eyes shut. His greatsword lays across his lap, fingers already curled around the grip—he’s always ready, as usual. 

“What the hell?”

You don’t mean for it to come out so loud or so aggressive, but your hand is too late to clamp over your mouth.

Kinich cracks one eye open, fixing you with a lazy stare.

“I thought you said you don’t sleep talk,” he murmurs, voice thick with exhaustion.

“I don’t—forget it, what are you doing over there?”

He sighs, pulling a knee to his chest and resting his chin on top. He looks much softer like this, in training clothes and lacking his headband—the curtain of his hair parts a bit as he leans over, and you catch a glimpse of the scar there. It’s thin and silver, barely peeking from his forehead.

“Unless I was mistaken, you seemed uncomfortable with the prospect of sharing a bed with me. I may not have been raised a prince, but even I wouldn’t force something like that on a lady.”

Your teeth sink into your lip. The explanation makes you feel stupid and guilty at the same time. Stupid, because you’re really not sure what you’re even afraid of if Kinich climbs into bed with you. Guilty, because you’d been so argumentative with him, even when he was trying to respect your wishes.

There’s three beats of silence.

“I changed my mind,” you manage to squeak out.

“You don’t have to,” he says, tracing the blade of his sword. An expected answer. “I’m fine sleeping here, really.”

And you know he really would be—he’s certainly slept in worse places. But something about him sleeping there while you warm up under thick blankets leaves a rotten taste in your mouth.

“Well, I’m cold now,” you say, shifting under the covers, “so can you come sleep?”

He looks unconvinced by your plea, head tilted. “Weren’t you the one who said it was too warm?”

You pout in reply. “I changed my mi—”

“—changed your mind, yeah, yeah, I get it.”

Kinich rises to his feet, slow and steady. He seems more tired than he lets on, likely the result of the events from earlier—he had been the one to deal with the bandits, after all. You merely watch as he strides toward you.

“Just remember, you’re the one who offered,” he warns, crossing to the other side of the bed. “So don’t kick me in your sleep.”

You don’t say anything at all, firmly fixated on staring at the wall—you don’t think you could stand to look at him right now. When the sheets get pulled back, you suck in a breath.

To your embarrassment, something warm draws up from your quick-beating heart as Kinich lies down behind you. You chalk it up to natural human reaction—you’ve never shared a bed with someone like this, after all. He’s gentle as he lays down, the mattress barely reacting to his movement. You squeeze your eyes shut as he adjusts, shifting the blankets and pillows, hoping he won’t sense your overwhelming nervousness.

“This okay?”

You chance a look in his direction. His eyes are half-lidded, heavy with sleep, but they seem to pierce right through you. He’s being very particular about the distance between you—close enough that you can feel a bit of his warmth, but far enough that none of your limbs are touching.

This is fine, you think to yourself, drawing in a long, slow breath. This is totally fine.

You nod meekly, and Kinich sighs, shuffling into a more comfortable position as you turn away.

“Good,” he murmurs, warm breath pooling at the back of your neck. It makes you shiver, somehow both relaxed and on-edge, even as he curls slightly closer to you. “Go to sleep then, Princess.”

He’ll be awake for a while, you know. He never goes to sleep before you do—even once you do, it’ll probably be another half an hour before he follows suit. The thought leaves you hyper-aware of his every breath.

So, for the next fifteen minutes, you lie awake, hopelessly thinking of the man laying next to you. And, for the next fifteen minutes, he lies awake too. Your mind grows foggy, begging for rest, but you still feel something tugging at your chest. You wonder if Kinich feels the same way.

“Kinich?” you finally whisper.

There’s a pause, like he’s deciding whether to reply seriously or to scold you for not sleeping. His voice comes out hoarse, a deep rumble from his chest.

“Yes, Princess?”

A yawn crawls out of your throat.

“...are you warm enough too…?”

Your voice trails off as you finally succumb to the clutches of sleep. Kinich listens as your breathing turns to an even rhythm, calm and serene. For once, he’s glad that you’re not looking at him—if you did, you would see the way his skin is flushed a deep red, from his ears to his neck.

“Yeah,” he murmurs, letting his eyes flutter shut. “I am.”

[innerchorus]

Just a few more disjointed thoughts about Chapter 130 after rereading again (sign of a good chapter that I've been thinking about it throughout the next day, too).

Arslan repeating Hilmes's own words back to him ("Let the true Shah be revealed by his mastery of the sword") 👌👌👌

Zandeh trailing blood on his way to Hilmes 😭 (I'm still not over it, but thankfully the wound on his arm doesn't look serious.)

Andragoras broke Arslan's sword with one swing. If Innocentis hadn't entered the scene, what would have happened next? I think we'd have seen Andragoras vs Daryun, personally. They're inside the tower so no possibility for Gieve to save the day with an arrow, but Daryun being prepared to fight and kill the Shah for Arslan's sake? Looking at his expression in the panel before Azrael shows up, I think he was readying himself to do just that.

I'm going to need a scene of Team Hilmes waiting together inside that room next chapter. I need to see the look on his face. I need to hear the words that might be spoken between them.

Also someone please go and fetch Irina! At least let her know Hilmes is okay and make sure she's safe, but ideally bring her to his side!

Hilmes going through all of this while still wearing his fur trim coronation cloak 🥲

A few characters were conspicuous by their absence... Estelle (who I'm sure we'll see searching for the Lusitanians she previously helped soon), Jaswant and Farangis. We saw what Gieve was up to in this chapter, maybe next chapter we'll see what their role was during this time?

There's a part of me still hanging on to the whole 'what if Team Arslan DID go the Mount Damavand before their arrival in Ecbatana?' theory. As I said before, they had time... And Arslan once more stating "This sword was bestowed on me by the Hero King Kaykhusraw", this time to Andragoras... what if there's some truth in that? What if his bluff in the previous chapter was mixed with truth? He cannot draw the sword (yet), but something happened to indicate Kaykhusraw's will that he possess it? Perhaps Kaykhusraw's wishes are that the blade is only used to shed the blood of the Snake King, meaning that Arslan will be able to draw it when he faces Zahhak? Ah, I don't know, though, because would a flashback to that moment even work now? Well, maybe if they had captured a mage and next chapter we see Farangis guarding their snakey prisoner, we could then backtrack to see how that happened.

Surely there will be a full Team Arslan reunion next chapter, right? Kishward's forces are right outside, meaning that he, Isfan, Tous and Kubard can soon join forces with Arslan, given that Andragoras is now out of the picture.

I wonder whether Arslan will have his own coronation before or after the matter of Zahhak is settled? I imagine, unlike Hilmes, he wouldn't rush to do something like that until the city is in a better state. But how ready are they to to defeat Zahhak? How much do they even know about him, his servants, where they might be hiding, and what their plans are? This is why I keep saying they need to capture a mage. Though really, good luck getting anything out of one of them, they're unlikely to be willing to talk.

[whumpninja]

Should I be doing another event when I haven’t even finished my Whumptober fills? Probably not. But I’m doing it anyway because @writingwithsnails’ Twelve Days of Whumpmas looked fun and chill. And predictably, I am already three days late. But who cares. NEW STORY GO BRRRRRR-

Featuring: elves (not the Santa kind), emotional whump and angst (it’ll get physical later don’t worry), magic whump, magic rituals, fantasy whump, my attempts at worldbuilding

Taglist: @whumperofworlds wanted to be tagged, and this is a brand new story, so. You are my taglist, you’re my taglist, boogie woogie woogie-

Prompt used: candle

——————————————————————————

Twelve Days of Whumpmas Day One: Hollyoak, Part One

From the doorway, Kelyn watched his father put on the Crown of Two Realms. The silver half, with snowflake shapes worked into the metal, King Cyprian positioned so that the tallest central point reached up just between the base of his antlers. The golden half- engraved with sunbeams- faced the back of his head, its tallest point turned downward. When the Oak King took the crown tonight, he would turn it over and place the golden half upright and forward, while the silver half faced back and down.

"Is it heavy?" Kelyn asked.

The Holly King turned around, and attempted a smile. "Not on most days," he replied. "But today, yes. It is very heavy."

Kelyn slipped into the room and put a hand on his father's shoulder. King Cyprian sighed deeply, and his voice trembled. "It's a hard thing, you know, Kelyn. For half the year I am not a king. And that I could stand. But for half the year, I am also not a father."

"I'll be all right, Father." Kelyn forced cheer into his voice. "It's only a formality, really, there's never been any trouble. The Summer Realm isn't all that far. Don't worry about me. I'll be enjoying myself exploring the forest and seeing if I can make friends with the deer this year."

King Cyprian chuckled. "Still won't let you near them, eh? Flighty things. Not like our reindeer." He fastened his fur-trimmed cloak around his shoulders. "Speaking of the reindeer, we had better get them going soon. If we're not at the Tree by midnight-" The Holly King didn't finish his sentence. He opened the door of the royal lodge, and the two of them stepped out into the clearing.

The procession was a fairly small one. Not all the Winter Elves could come to witness the exchange of magic- most imitated the ceremony with their own families. Still, there was a small herd of reindeer saddled and bridled, and a dozen or so guards mounted on their white bears. There could be no weapons at the Tree, but the guards came anyway.

Three reindeer waited patiently at the front of the procession- one already had a rider. The Oak Prince, Adaire. He sat somewhat awkwardly on the reindeer's broad back, clutching the reins. His bag had been strapped behind him.

Kelyn's heart twisted a little at the sight. Adaire was going home tonight, while Kelyn was leaving it. The Summer Realm was only a day's journey away, but in that moment it felt like it was much too far.

Kelyn shook himself. You've done this before. It'll be all right. He tucked his staff underneath his arm and whistled softly to his black reindeer, Duff. The handsome bull blew a gust of air out of his nose and knelt down, letting Kelyn climb onto his back. Kelyn's own bag had been tied behind the saddle, and as Duff stood up he placed his staff in the special holder that had been made for it at the side. At the head of the herd, King Cyprian clicked to his own reindeer, and the procession began the solemn march to the Tree.

The Elves called it the Tree, but really it was two. An ancient oak, heavily laden with mistletoe, and a young holly, their roots intertwined with each other. It stood on the border between the Winter and Summer Realms, and that was where all meetings between the two kingdoms took place.

The most important of those meetings were the Solstices, winter and summer, when the crown and the power passed from one kingdom to another- and when the prince of one realm spent the next half a year in the realm that was not his own. In the old days it had been a hostage law, but now it was considered a show of trust and solidarity between the Oak King and the Holly King.

Kelyn stole a glance at Prince Adaire. His small horns and green skin marked him obviously as not belonging to the Winter Realm, and he looked strange on the back of a reindeer. But soon enough, he would be home among his people, and it was Kelyn who would be the outsider.

"Hmm," King Cyprian said softly, just loud enough for Kelyn to hear. "They're impatient tonight."

The Tree stood in front of them, only a little distance off. The Summer Elves already filled the edge of their half of the Circle surrounding it, dismounted from their mounts of brown bears and much smaller deer. At their head stood the Oak King, Adaire's father, King Aritz. Adaire leaned forward to wave at him and nearly fell off of his reindeer.

Kelyn wasn't looking forward to spending six months with Adaire in the Summer Realm. The two of them had been together in one court or another since they'd turned twelve, and had never quite gotten along. Kelyn was quiet and preferred to be by himself; Adaire loved the company of others and could talk for hours on end. And he always seemed louder and more boisterous when he was in his own kingdom.

The Winter Elves lined the edge of their own half of the Circle. The glances that passed between the two realms were tense, but not hostile. The exchange of power did its job in keeping the peace, but Kelyn suspected there would always be unease between the two.

He whistled to Duff, and climbed down from the reindeer's solid back, slipping his staff and bag from the saddle. He patted Duff's soft nose. "See you in six months, my friend," he whispered.

Adaire now stood on the other side of the circle with his father, and Kelyn moved to join King Cyprian, leaning on his staff more than usual because of the rocks that jutted up from the ground. The Circle and the Tree could not belong to either realm- it remained in a perpetual state of spring thaw or fall freeze, Kelyn could never tell which.

The elders waited under the Tree, one Winter Elf and one Summer Elf, their inside wrists tied together with a cord. King Aritz stood in front of them. King Cyprian gave Kelyn a glance that said everything, squeezed his shoulder, and took his place beside the other king. The two elders moved as one person, bending down to light a white candle that had been implanted in the ground. As they lit it, tiny blue candle flames sprang up at the feet of each Winter elf. Kelyn bent down to brush his hand through his- it was cold fire, magical. It clung to his fingers as he pulled it away.

"We are well met," began the Summer elder, his voice deep and sonorous. "Upon this Solstice Eve, when dark passes into light, when Winter gives way to Summer."

The Winter elder took over. It was always mostly the same speech, but who began it depended on whose solstice it was. Kelyn always liked to see the Winter elder, for she too leaned on a staff with her unbound hand. Hers was to assist blind eyes instead of a weak leg, but it made him feel better anyway. Blind or not, she seemed to be looking at Kelyn as she spoke. "We relinquish our power, to keep the peace between us hale and healthy. It is a sacrifice that we make freely, and await in peace the days when we will receive our magicks once again."

The Summer elder bowed to her. "We accept and acknowledge," he said quietly. "King Cyprian, King Aritz- the Crown of Realms."

The two kings stepped forward as one. Kelyn saw his father shift, straightening his back and lifting his head, before he knelt. King Aritz remained on his feet, his expression impassive.

The Summer elder moved behind King Cyprian. Kelyn braced himself, digging his staff more firmly into the ground. I hate this part.

The elder spoke words of magic in the secret language only magicians knew, and then lifted the crown from King Cyprian's brow. As he did, the Winter Elves collectively gasped, and a few cried out with the shock. The blue candle flames sputtered and died with a gust of wind like a last breath. Kelyn gritted his teeth and stayed silent, feeling the magic drain from his body. He couldn't explain how he felt it, he just felt it. It didn't leave fully- that would kill an elf, having their magic drained- but the spell left them just enough to keep them alive. Not enough to use any longer. For six months, there would be no winter magic. The snowstorms and cold would fade away as the magic sustaining them died, replaced by green leaves and sunshine.

It had to be this way. Kelyn understood that. But he hated it all the same.

King Aritz accepted the crown from the Summer Elder. Kelyn watched him turn it over in his hands, flipping the sunbeams upright, before he placed it on his head, golden half in front. The Summer Elves sighed almost as one, and a ripple of energy coursed through them as their own magic returned to them. Flames sprang up at their feet- hot golden flames, shimmering like the blue ones had, and Kelyn saw Prince Adaire reach down to touch his just as Kelyn had. The Tree shivered, and the grass in the Circle seemed to grow just a little greener.

"The wheel turns again," both elders said together, and ended the ceremony.

Kelyn breathed out, once, twice. Now was the part he had been dreading most of all.

Now, he had to say goodbye.

[justaghostingon]

With Enemies like These Chapter 3

In Which Prince Canute makes an appearance at Gorm High

It goes about as well as you’d expect

Canute stood in front of his closet, paralyzed with indecision. Today would be his first day at school not as Canute Ragnarson, but Prince Canute. After three years of doing the absolute most to not draw attention to himself, he would have to face his peers, pirates and peasants alike, as a prince. Every little thing he did, from the way he walked to what he wore, all of it would reflect back on the Danish crown.

Which led to his current conundrum, staring at his wardrobe and trying to figure out what to wear. Because after all these years of hiding, he had completely over looked what clothing would make him look like a proper, “hip” prince.

He could try asking Harald, as the firstborn who had not been shoved to the side to live on some backwater planet, he had a much better grasp of what was in “style.” But no, he thought as he glanced at his tablet, open to the sibling group chat that Estrid had set up for them all. Harald had been so busy these days, barely even replying to Estrid, much less him. He had better things to do that help his useless younger brother with fashion.

Which left Canute back at square one. With a sigh, he reached blindly into his closet, his fingers running over the fine fabrics. He stopped at the feeling of soft fur beneath his fingers. He pulled out his cloak, soft white fur lining a brilliant red wool that seemed to light up the room.

It had been a gift from Estrid and Harald at his last birthday. Estrid had been quick to clasp it around his shoulders while Harald had bragged that he’d been the one to catch the ice bear who’s fur lined it. The tale had been as wild as it was untrue. No prince had time to hunt down the monsterous ice bears among the frozen rings of the outer planets for there pure white fur, much less managed to stab them through their three hearts in one stroke, dodging all six of the razor-sharp pincers. Father would never have allowed it. They had people for that.

But hidden in the warmth of his cloak, he’d not corrected his brother. Better to pretend they had the time to love each other like that, rather than focus on the harsh truth that come tommorrow they’d be enemies once again.

Shaking his head to clear the memories, Canute swung the cloak on his shoulders, admiring the way it swished at the motion. The red was dashing, the white trim regal. He stood a little taller underneath it, lifting his chin and giving his best princely stare. It almost looked impressive, until one looked beneath the cloak and saw he was still in his pjs.

Feeling a little embarrassed, he looked back into his closet. Maybe he could use his classmates as an example on what to wear. Unbidden, his mind slipped to Thorfinn and the lurid pink patterned shirt. There was no way he was going to wear something like that. But perhaps pink wasn’t a bad place to start. (And he would match Thorfinn, a threacherous part of his mind whispers.) He held up a pink collared shirt against his chest and frowned. No, the pink and the red clashed horribly, making him look like a washed out monochrome. The perhaps a complimentary color instead? He pulled out a soft blue tunic with fine gold thread embroidery. A little oldfashioned, but some skinny jeans should solve that, they never went out of style. Some soft white fur boots to complete the look and he finally felt ready to face the nightmare that was school.

“Ah, my prince!” Ragnar called as Canute stepped into the cozy kitchen, following the sweet scent of freshly cooked food. “I’m so glad you’re up, I was beginning to get worried you were having a relapse.”

“Its nothing,” Canute waved a hand, then stopped short. “Thorfinn?!”

For there he was, sitting at the table, a steaming cup of tea in his hands which he was eyeing like it was some kind of poison. He was back in practical furs, none of his newly discovered pink monstrosity to be seen. -And wasn’t that a tragedy, that the ever closed off Thorfinn would be forced to give up the one new outlet he’s allowed himself? As much as Canute was glad to see the ugly shirt gone, it hurt that he was the cause of it. - He barely glanced up at Canute’s cry, only scowling harder at his tea.

“He showed up half-an-hour ago!” Ragnar smiled, placing a tray of scrambled eggs and thick sausage, seasoned to perfection in front of both boys.

“H-half an hour?” Canute stuttered, heat flooding his cheeks.Thorfinn had been here, waiting while he’s been dallying in front of the mirror. What must he have thought?

He snuck a glance at Thorfinn, mordified, but Thorfinn wasn’t looking, his eyes were fixed on the food on the tray in front of him. His knuckles were white around his tea cup, and Canutr was reminded of Estrid’s pet pooch, with a treat on his nose.

“You can have some,” Canute whispered to Thorfinn. Thorfinn’s eyes snapped to Canute’s then to Ragnar, Suspision clear.

“You heard the prince,” Ragnar gave Thorfinn an encouraging smile. “Eat.”

Thorfinn hesitated for a second, then fell upon the food like a man starved. He had absolutely no table manners to speak of, shoving as much as he could into his mouth with little care for fork or spoon. It was, objectively, disgusting. So Canute really had no idea why he was smiling, and slipping a bit more onto Thorfinn’s plate.

_________

Grom High was worse than Canute expected. Ragnar and he had predicted some things, like the press swarming Ragnar’s clunky hovercraft as he navigated the streets towards it. They’d gotten permission from the principal himself to drive right into the campus, not stopping at the gate like all the other parents had to. Canute knew from experience the tinted windows were cameraflash proof, but that didn’t stop him from sagging down as low as he could in his seat.

Thorfinn, who was sitting up uncomfortably straight, scoffed at Canute’s cowardice before delibrately turning his back to Canute and looking out the window. Canute sank a little further into his seat. He knew he looked pathetic, but Thorfinn didn’t have to rub it in.

When they arrived, the front of the school was strangely deserted, likely another foresight of Ragnar and the principal’s to allow Canute privacy in the undignity of unloading.

It was there, the problems started.

First, Ragnar insisted that Canute couldn’t just get out of the car, he had to be helped out. Specifically by Thorfinn.

“He’s a prince,” Ragnar argued. “It’s tradition.”

“I don’t care,” Thorfinn snarled. “I’m not his servant!”

“Technically,” Ragnar began, but Canute cut him off.

“It’s fine Ragnar,” he said as he carefully swung his legs over the edge of the hovercraft. Then with far more spite them was warranted he added, “Thorfinn can’t help his height.”

It was mean, and something he would absolutely need to confess to the Shepherd in evening prayer, but the stress was getting to him, and Thorfinn’s judgement from earlier still stung.

“I can hold your stupid hand just fine!” Thorfinn snapped, grabbing Canute’s hand and yanking him down to the ground. “I’ll hold it all the way to class! Happy princess?”

So saying, the boy began marching up the stairs, dragging Canute behind him.

“Thorfinn wait!” Canute cried, desperately trying to catch his footing. It would not do for a prince to be seen stumbling after his bodyguard, much less now, when they all knew!

“Thorfinn!” He’s repeated, tugging hard with the hand still clasped in Thorfinn’s smaller one. Canute was by no means stronger than Thorfinn, but the shock of the sudden tug pulled Thorfinn off balance, stumbling to a stop directly beside Canute when the doors swung open.

Thorfinn’s mouth was open, but Canute couldn’t hear his words because the next few seconds were nothing but roars and flashing lights. As Canute blinked his eyes into focus, he saw the entire student body.

Recording him.

On their phones.

While he’s still holding Thorfinn’s hand.

Oh Shepard Almighty, he’s holding Thorfinn’s hand. He should let go. He needs to let go. Why isn’t he letting go? Everytime he tries, his fingers won’t budge, they just hold Thorfinn’s even tighter. Thorfinn isn’t even holding his anymore, its all Canute’s grip keeping them together.

He needs to let go.

He can’t.

There are to many voices clamoring for his attention, to many faces staring with to many eyes and it’s as if all that is keeping him grounded is the feeling of Thorfinn’s rough palm under his. He can’t let go. He’s trapped.

He hears the soft brush of Thorfinn’s hair on fur and out of the corner of his eye he can tell the other boy has turned his head to look at him. But Canute can’t look back at him, can’t even speak, frozen in a fear greater even than when they stood against Thorkell. And Thorfinn must find him such a coward for that but he can’t help it. Thorkell was scary and loud, but he never held any expectations for Canute outside of being his kidnapping victim. Unhinged, but unjudgmental.

His classmates would not be so merciful.

Thorfinn is still watching him. Then his whole body tightens beside Canute, a ripple of muscle he feels through the slight squeeze of his hand.

“What in Hel are you looking at?” He snarls to the crowd. Gotta problem?”

The crowd goes silent. No one so much as breathes.

“That’s what i thought.” Thorfinn grumbles. “Now SCRAM.”

Their classmates scatter. Some even running into each other in their haste to get away from Thorfinn. It seems their fear of him outweighed their curiosity over Canute.

Canute feels light headed. Was it really that easy? All those times with the press and the pushy nobles…Did he just need a grumpy Space pup to scare then away?

“C’mon.” Thorfinn said, pulling Canute forward once again. “Just because I gotta babysit your ass doesn’t mean im gonna ruin my perfect attendance.”

A hysterical giggle forces his way through Canutes lips. “No. We wouldn’t want that.”

Thorfinn scowls at him, trying to work out why he laughed, before tugging him forward once again. Canute lets him, feeling oddly light.

Neither of them let go the whole walk to class.

[eolewyn1010]

Downton Abbey Fashion 71 - outdoors fashion in 1925

Last season, last chance for Violet to stroll up in masses of fur. Although she doesn’t do a lot with the chance because she mostly repeats two coats from the last couple seasons, the lilac one with the white meander trim and the pale blue one with the lacey lapels. I’m not sure why, after five seasons of an ever-increasing wardrobe, they suddenly take a step back, but there we are.

Violet’s new walking suit this season could honestly use a little more color. How does everyone get so inclined toward beiges and greys now? It is a little blue in the right light, and the embroidered applications to her collar, sleeves and pockets are nice. I just wish it wouldn’t leave such a washed-out impression. Check out her sweet new hat though! A big square aigrette with black feathers, a lace ribbon – I may not love the hat shape, but I love the decoration.

But Violet wouldn’t be Violet if she didn’t go big one last time. This is more of a cloak than a coat (different than two others that I’m saving for special occasions because she introduces them at the weddings), and it seems to be made of a ton of grey velvet and another ton of just fur. Definitely for chic evenings and entertaining a minister, and luckily Robert didn’t get a chance to spit blood on this one.

--------------

A walking suit for Isobel of which I would probably have a higher opinion if she had anything in this category for the season that is not grey. This is her dark grey walking suit to which she wears the zigzag-trimmed shirt; in a moment, we’ll see her light grey walking suit to which she wears the zigzag-trimmed shirt. Whatever. I like the black applications to the pockets and cuffs and in the back of the coat, my only point of interest here.

For the most part the same shirt, a different walking suit and hat. I guess if you squint and put the right light on it, the skirt, lapels and cuffs could pass for a lavender shade, but honestly, it just looks grey and streamlined, and I have seen this one entirely too often, so now not even the buttoned elements catch my fancy anymore. Uhm, nice hat? The first two or three times I saw it, anyway.

A pretty simple dark grey or black satin coat that she curiously only wears to the Dinner Of The Burst Ulcer. It’s nothing special, but then I really don’t see much of it here. It sure has lapels.

Would you believe it, a grey coat. In all fairness, this is some very pretty damask. And it’s another of those 1920s coats like we’ve seen on her walking suits that only buttons all the way down at the hip. I also admittedly like this wide sort of collar better.

Hurray for gray. And I do quite like the lower half of the coat, grainy and small as the shot may be; that is some nice decoration. Only, when it comes to the collar, it really doesn’t look great up close. It looks like the paper folding a kindergarten child does for a garland. I don’t know why it looks like that. Previous outfits incline me to think that both people in the 1920s and costume makers for the show were able to do decent rosettes or spiral coils even with the pleating, so… Why does this give such a sloppy impression? Sweet hat though.

Wasn’t sure if I should take this into the festive occasions post because Isobel wears this coat to two weddings, but I think she also wore it in everyday. Not that there’s anything special about it because it’s just grey felt with some black fur slapped on it. I do like the arrow shape of the cuffs, and she bought a new hat for the final wedding with some black lace and glittering blue beading and… a triskele in rhinestones? Okay, I’ll take it.

--------------

I almost want to praise Lady Shackleton for bringing a little brown into Grey Country, but girl, what is that hat? Why is one side of it so crunched; did you sit on it before you out it on? Oh well, at least the flowers match the embroidery on the coat lapels and cuffs, and while she’s still marching up in Edwardian blouses, the coat shape definitely says 1920s.

Much nicer, her coat for a dinner with the Crawleys. There’s just something about black-and-white combinations that catches my eye. It’s the most basic play at contrast, but it works. That collar looks very fancy, although I cannot quite tell if it’s a fur or an especially fluffy velvet.

[gatheringfiki]

The following ficlet was written by @marigoldvance​ based on this photoset.

Fili/Kili, Gen

You might also be able to read this story on AO3.

If you’ve enjoyed this story, please leave a comment either in replies or on AO3. :)

Druidbury

—

The town of Druidbury was nestled in the Valley of Magic, the place where all lines of all energies converged above the Crossroad of the Realms. An idyllic little town built of brick and stone, blending traditional architecture and modern conveniences. Trams jangled along behind horse-drawn carriages, clocksmiths worked elbow-to-elbow with sculptors of the finest sundials, tailors and dressmakers offered fashions from countless eras.

It was a charming town that Kíli enjoyed visiting when he wasn’t bogged down by coursework.

Druidbury was almost exclusively occupied by Wizards, though a few magical creatures (and entities, like Brodrick the Shadow Wraith who haunted the local inn) had made their home there as well. Master Dwalin’s Sanctum was above the cobblers, and Mistress Minerva’s took up an entire block behind the community library.

Wizards who had married outside of Wizardry brought their families to live in Druidbury, and so there were schools to accommodate the magically impaired, jobs to support those who couldn’t perform spells, and all manner of inclusive event or club.

The ladies of the local knitting club were fond of Kíli, always gifting him sweaters and socks, or baking him cookies (that wouldn’t accidentally turn him into a snail).

            “You asked me about Christmas the other day,” Fíli said, striding ahead of Kíli by a few paces. He was dressed finely in a three-piece brown suit under a thick tan cloak trimmed with fur. Unlike Kíli had seen previously (that is, in public), Fíli’s hair was loose around his shoulders and his eyes were bare of his glasses (those still misplaces in the chaos of his desk). It suited him, this casual appearance, and Kíli found himself somewhat more bashful whenever Fíli looked at him directly.

            “Yes,” Kíli said, hurrying to keep up as they strode down the main avenue. “Well, I was more wondering if I’ve missed every Christmas since I got here. I’d imagine I have.”

Fíli stopped at the corner and turned to face Kíli, “Technically, you have so far. But, you could amend that if you decide to travel through the doors in the Cave of—”

            “—Names.” Kíli finished for him, “Yes, I remember.” He looked disheartened. So, he had missed several Christmases, his family moving along without him. Had they even tried to get in touch? Or was there an unspoken rule that once a child is taken to the University, he’s erased from the family tree and never heard from again?

A finger hooked under his chin lifted his gaze to meet Fíli’s. “No need to be upset, Kíli. I’m sure your family loves you.”

            “I suppose but…do they even know who I am anymore?”

Fíli moved his hand to cradle Kíli’s cheek briefly before letting go. “Of course!” He said cheerfully, “The University sends families letters whenever its learners achieve something.”

Kíli’s stomach dropped, “But…I haven’t achieved anything!” He really hadn’t, apart from a soap-bubble shield and an Apprenticeship with Fíli his gap year between The School of Tutelage and The Academy of Information. And that hardly counted; Kíli had made more mistakes than he’d made strides toward bettering his skills as a Wizard.

            “That’s not true.” Fíli told him, taking Kíli by the shoulders and leading him across the street and down the next block. “You’ve achieved far more than you give yourself credit for, Kíli. Trust me.”

Kíli did trust Fíli, but it sometimes felt as though Fíli regarded him through rose-tinted glasses and not as who Kíli was. Which was a paltry Wizard who’d fumbled through the last leg of his lessons under the School of Tutelage trying to earn a vocation as—Kíli sighed—a Harbinger.

(He had mastered herding crows into lines on tree branches, at least. Not that that required much strain on a learner’s Flare.)

            “You asked me about Christmas,” Fíli said, smiling and tipping his head to those they passed as they walked. “And today, I’m going to show you how we celebrate it here.”

Bug-eyed, Kíli blurted, “I didn’t know we celebrated it at all!”

            “What do you think the Yule Feast is all about?” Fíli asked, a twinkle in his eye.

            “It lasts twelve days, sir, that’s hardly Christmas.”

            “Maybe not as you celebrated it back home.”

            “And there are no presents.” Kíli added, giving Fíli a pointed look, as if that was entirely what Christmas was about.

            “Not true!” Fíli countered, taking Kíli gently by the arm, “Which is why I’ve brought you here.”

Here being a dimly lit shop squished between a cobbler’s and an apothecary. The Cabinet of Curiosities the sign above the shop read in swirly gold lettering. Unlike the prettily decorated shops along the street, this one was dark and somewhat autumnal. The storefront was painted black and had gold runes carved into the wood. Thousands of candles illuminated the interior from gothic chandeliers and tarnished candelabras.

            “I don’t understand.” Kíli said, frowning through the glass door. “What does this have to do with Christmas presents?” A thought hit him, “Wait, are we buying presents…here?”

Even from outside, he could see the strange and unusual objects littering the shelves within. Twisty branches embedded with jewels and tiny skeletons in glass belljars. Books and old maps and what looked like a well-preserved mermaid’s tail without the rest of the mermaid attached.

            “No, Kee, we’re not buying presents.”

That was a relief. Until now, Kíli hadn’t had to consider what currency was used in Druidbury, but he knew he didn’t have a cent of it to his name. Whenever he and his friends visited the local, he assumed someone else always took care of the tab as he’d never been asked for payment.

            “So…”

            “Come on.” Fíli encouraged Kíli through the door with a gentle push to his lower back, the weight of Fíli’s hand making Kíli blush.

The shop smelt of leather and dust and was a comfortable temperature compared to the wintery outdoors. A fire roared in the massive fireplace on the farthest wall. There were rows upon rows of floor-to-ceiling shelves, some with long tables between them, all filled to capacity with gruesome and weird trinkets.

An old, webby gramophone crackled to life on the service counter, telling them, “Back room!” as they wandered further into the shop.

Fíli obliged the voice, leading Kíli to the back of the shop and behind a heavy curtain. He held it open for Kíli politely, jerking his chin in the direction of a monstrous worktable cluttered with instruments and materials of all sorts.

Kíli eyed it warily, unsure what he was supposed to look for.

            “Although the Crossroads and, therefore, the University, exist outside of time, we are still effected by it.” Fíli said, coming to stand beside Kíli. He spoke as he removed his cloak and hung it on a stand in one corner. “And some of us even participate in it.”

Just then a large man kicked open the splintered wooden backdoor, pushed inside with a gust of wind. He was as tall as he was wide with a jolly face and snow-white beard, round cheeks, and a bulbous nose. In his arms he carried a box bursting with scraps of fabric and small pieces of weathered wood.

            “Hullo Fíli,” He boomed merrily, clearly happy to see Fíli there. He set the box down and began to empty its contents on the table. “Glad you could make it.”

            “Wouldn’t miss it for the world.” Fíli said. He’d removed his suit jacket and was rolling up the sleeves of his light-coloured shirt when the man greeted him. Now, he put a hand on Kíli’s shoulder and introduced him, “This is my Apprentice—”

            “Former,” Kíli corrected.

            “Not quite, lad.” Fíli chuckled and then resumed, “This is my Apprentice, Kíli. He’ll be helping us today.”

Kíli looked between the large man and Fíli, confused.

            “Kíli, this is Nícolae.”

Kíli bobbed his head cordially, “Pleasure to meet you, Master Nícolae.”

            “Please, boy,” Nícolae smiled, “It’s just Nícolae.”

            “Good luck with that.” Fíli teased, “Took ages to get him to stop calling me Master.”

            “Hey!” Kíli pouted; he hated being spoken of as if he wasn’t there. Even if what Fíli said was true. “It’s wonderful to meet you, Nícolae.” He said out of spite, though it felt strange not to use the title he’d been taught to use whenever he met an elder Wizard.

Nícolae smiled at Kíli’s deliberate cheek. “Shall we get to work, then?” He asked, tilting his head toward the table. More specifically, the items he’d deposited on it.

            “Absolutely,” Fíli said, clapping his hands, “Where would you have us start?”

Nícolae explained how things were to be done: no magic, no miracles, no mystifying feats. Just simple toolwork and some elbow grease. Kíli didn’t narrowed his eyes when he was given his instructions and encouraged into a tall tinker’s chair at one end of the table.

            “No magic?” He asked.

Fíli shook his head, a secretive smile arcing his lips. “Can’t have anyone with an undetected Flare interacting with it.”

            “Undetected…” Kíli peered at Nícolae, who took his seat on the other end of the table, the chair groaning under his weight. There was something peculiarly familiar about Nícolae that Kíli couldn’t quite put his finger on. “What exactly am I supposed to make?”

            “Just follow the illustrations there, boyo.” Nícolae said, pointing at a small pile of illustrated parchments. They were step-by-step instructions of how to put together a—

Kíli frowned, “Dolls?” He glanced at Fíli, “We’re making dolls?”

            “We’re making everything on our lists.” Fíli said, patting his own little pile of parchments. “There isn’t much left.” This, he said to Nícolae.

            “The others have been very helpful this season.” Nícolae grabbed a thick piece of wood and a carving knife and started scraping away the bark. “Master Pallando and his brother have been by every week since the end of summer.”

Pallando. He was the Wizard who’d escorted Kíli to the University when he was a boy. Kíli hadn’t heard from or seen anything more of him since. It was interesting to discover that Master Pallando was still around.

            “How did they fare without use of their magic?” Fíli wondered with an undercurrent of animosity that Kíli didn’t understand.

            “Horribly.” Nícolae said, “but they got the hang of it quickly enough.”

They worked in silence for some time, until Kíli’s back began to ache, and his bum lost all feeling. He’d made approximately seven dolls, two wooden cars, nine stuffed rabbits, and six wooden soldiers.

It was as he was finishing the paint on the sixth wooden soldier that he realized, “We’re making toys.”

Fíli tried to hide his amusement and failed. “Spot on, Kee.”

            “No, that’s not—” He glared half-heartedly at Fíli, “Why are we making toys?”

            “Because you asked about Christmas.”

Kíli stared at Fíli for a moment, gathering his thoughts, and then looked at Nícolae, who was hunched over a beautifully crafted dollhouse. White beard, jolly demeanor…He couldn’t believe he hadn’t seen it sooner.

            “My word…You’re Santa!”

Nícolae cast his gaze to Fíli. They shared fond looks before both turning to Kíli.

            “Some call me that, yes.” Nícolae acknowledged. “But I prefer Nícolae.”

Kíli didn’t hear him, too busy filling the air with questions, “Santa’s a Wizard?! How long has this been going on? Do you really deliver all these presents yourself? Don’t you have a village of elves to help you make toys?”

            “No elves, I’m afraid. Just the charity of fellow Wizards such as yourself.” Nícolae said with a wink. “As for how long, I can’t be sure.”

            “Fíli,” Kíli implored, “He’s Santa.”

            “I’m well aware, Kíli.” Fíli said, not looking up from his work on a gorgeous tea set. His tongue poked out the corner of his mouth while he concentrated on his intricate brushwork. “Which is why I brought you with me.”

            “To meet Santa.”

            “To meet Santa.” Fíli echoed, finally meeting Kíli’s gaze. His eyes sparkled warmly, an expression of adoration adorning his features. “I could only answer your questions about time, and even then, only so much. But Nícolae has been a member of the University since its earliest days.”

            “Why, you’re positively ancient!” Kíli blurted before he could stop himself. He slapped a hand over his mouth, his apologize muffled but sincere, “Sorry…”

Nícolae threw his head back and laughed, a rich chorus of sound. He flapped a hand in dismissal, wiped a tear from his eye and said, “I can’t deny that it’s true.” When he calmed, he looped his thumbs in his belt and said, “Now, you have questions, I have answers, and we both have a lot more to do. Why don’t you ask me while we work, hm?”

Kíli checked with Fíli that it was alright, knowing that he had the tendency to ask more questions than most were willing to answer. Fíli gave no indication that Kíli should restrain himself, so Kíli started with the most pressing thing on his mind:

            “Do you really eat all those cookies yourself?”

Fíli bit his smile, willing himself not to laugh.

This was either the best or the worst idea he’d ever had.

[perlukafarinn]

Rating Star Trek TOS costumes because why not! (part 7)

I, Mudd (2x08). The vibes in Mudd's outfit are all over the place - it's pirate meets military meets used cars salesman. You know this man wears waaay too much cologne. 5/10, the belt should at least match the boots.

I'm way more into the androids' outfits. I love an asymmetrical shoulder and they've got that "one pant leg" thing going on that TOS was so fond of. I also adore their hair and their glittery tights! The chains look a little randomly placed, though, and those ugly ass necklaces sadly drag the whole fits down. 7/10.

Metamorphosis (2x09). Super cute! The whole outfit is very mod, maybe a little bit cheap looking but still stylish. The colors could match better but I love the cut of both the coat and the mini dress, and the headscarf and short gloves are just the perfect cherry on top. 8/10.

Journey to Babel (2x10). They did Amanda so dirty, introducing her in this ugly, shapeless coat. You can't tell from this screenshot but the collar looks like a cone of shame from certain angles. The dress underneath looks fine but we don't see too much of it. Sarek's outfit is boring but at least it's dignified. 5/10 for them both.

Sarek changes his outfit once (not counting his sickbay gown, which I don't), and it kind of looks like the same suit with a different decoration slapped on top. I do like this better, there's more of that dramatic flare we've come to expect from Vulcan fashion. 7/10.

Amanda's two other outfits this episode are a marked improvement. The first is a cute cocktail hour number, simple but colorful. 7/10. The second is my favorite; a pink wide-legged jumpsuit layered with a red knitted poncho with a pink fur trim. I'm a sucker for a red and pink color combo, and the fur trim is just the right amount of tacky for me. Amanda knocked it out of the park with this one, 9/10.

Then there's the various alien delegates we see this episode, which I'm lumping together because I don't have a whole lot to say. You can tell they had fun coming up with the aesthetics for the different alien races, though one group was clearly an afterthought. The rest of the aliens get prosthetics and bodypaint and then there's two regular dudes in cloaks. At least they're colorful? 7/10 for the whole lot of them, this is some delightful worldbuilding.

[peakdeer]

Witchcraft request- Scott sarcastically teasing Joey who takes everything seriously and thinks Scott is complimenting him

Scott had been on yet another trip to Bertha, as many berries as he could carry at one time. He’d like to begin working towards the runes, but perhaps a staff would be better…

Not that he had enough gems for either. He was close to a staff, but not quite there yet. He’d spent most of his berries so far expanding the farm, and it was so annoying to pick the berries by hand. He might set up an automatic farm if he could find a fox…

Back to the task at hand. He handed over the berries to Bertha, pocketing the gems when he received them. He’d head back soon; he could try to clear up his area and perhaps go mining. As spiffy as his hat was, the robe was ugly, and it didn’t protect him as much as he’d like.

“Hey!”

He had just turned to the waystone when he heard an unfamiliar voice call out to him. He briefly considered teleporting home without turning around, but he’d already been spotted. If nothing else, he could at least learn more about this witch, maybe—the weakness and strengths; just enough to help him take the witch down.

Which meant social interaction. Ugh.

“Yes?” Scott asked politely, turning towards the witch. He had a nice cloak, evidentially not wearing the one provided for them; it had a white fur trim and was half blue and half red. The pattern continued to his corset, the white collar neatly matching with the cut of ocher below his collarbone. The ocher was accented by gold-lined strips of red and blue on either side of the corset.

So, in other words, he looked over-the-top, gaudy, and rich.

“Hello, mister witch! You’re so… dark and mysterious. I like your outfit; the ominous shadow vibes really suit you. You could stand to get a bit more sun though, you look a bit pale. Or can you go in the sun? Do you burn?”

“No, but I presume you burn, from your choice of outfit. Not just that it looks very flammable, or that it’s an eyesore, but I’m guessing it means you’re the Fire Witch?”

“Joey the Fire Frost Witch, actually. I have Frost magic as well.” Joey declared proudly, puffing up his chest. Scott wasn’t sure what there was to be proud of—it just meant he’d be good at two magics than great at one.

Scott wasn’t jealous. No, not at all.

“Sure, snowflake. I’ll believe it when I see it.” Scott scoffed, rolling his eyes. He reached up to adjust his hat slightly, pulling the brim down until it blocked the annoying sunray that was blinding his vision.

“I—I can prove it! When I get my next spell, that is.” Joey protested, losing his composure in the span of a second.

“Sure you will, sweetie. I bet you’ll have another reason to brag in no time.” Scott mocked Joey, offering an insincere pat on the shoulder.

“Really? You think so?” Joey looked up at Scott with shining eyes, his face a bit too close for Scott’s personal boundaries. Scott took a step back before answering, wiping his hand off on his robe as if the Fire Witch had germs. If he did, though, they might be sterilized by the amount of warmth radiating off of Joey, and he was probably somewhat resistant to minor diseases such as colds—no, no, he couldn’t be thinking about curious magic side affects right now. He needed to focus all his energy on not turning around and leaving.

“Of course,” Scott laid the sarcasm on extra thick, even adding a roll of the eyes. Yeah right. As if this upstart witch would ever be a challenge for the title of the supreme witch.

Joey brightened at that. “Thanks, uh… what’s your name? It’s really nice to hear someone believes in me.” Joey appeared genuinely delighted at this, as if he actually believed Scott had been expressing faith in him.

“Sure. Yeah. That’s what I said.” Scott’s voice was blank for a second—he wasn’t sure how Joey had gotten that from his overly sarcastic reply, but he supposed the witch was too dumb to pick up on sarcasm. “My name’s Scott,” He added after a beat of silence.

“Oh, wow, really? Scott? It’s a nice name, don’t get me wrong, it just doesn’t fit the vibe. Then again, no one’s really does,” Joey rambled, making Scott wish he could tune the man out. “My name’s Joey, by the way,” the witch added, as if he hadn’t already said that.

“Thank you, Joey,” Scott spit out through gritted teeth. He didn’t want to seem impolite���it wasn’t good to make enemies—but the cockiness of this man was driving him mad.

“I’m really glad the people here are so friendly,” Joey began, waving his arms about, “The people back home—” He paused for a minute, eyes beginning to water. The sight alarmed Scott—he hadn’t been aware this stuck-up witch could cry, and he was worried he’d be expected to comfort Joey, something he both had no idea how to do and had no will to do. “They banished me. Exiled me. Just because I didn’t have frost powers! After—I spent my whole life there, Scott.”

“Ah. Well.” Scott could think of no more words to say, embarrassed to have caught the witch at an evident low point. The seconds stretched on, feeling like minutes. The awkward silence cast a sort of spell on the area, no sounds but the soft rustling of fabric and Joey’s muted sniffles.

The spell was immediately broken by Joey opening his mouth, though. Honestly, Scott liked him better when it was closed. Maybe he could find a way to curse it that way.

“Oh! I must be going; it’s late and I should get my beauty sleep in order to make more progress on becoming the best witch here! I’ll be seeing you around, Scott,” Joey burst out in alarm, dashing to the waystone to teleport home. Scott had to step aside to avoid getting his cloak stepped on as he rushed past. Joey mumbled something under his breath as he activated the waystone, offering a quick wave as he vanished.

Well. That was… enlightening. And annoying. And honestly really sad.

None of which particularly mattered. He just had to beat him. That was all.

[nightcourtreader]

Elain Archeon deep dive

This is a long one, bare with me.

I think Elain’s character is easy for ACOTAR fans to mold her into what they want her to be because we haven’t really seen a lot of Elain from the series and but I also think we still have enough information about Elain to know her to an extent.

I like Elain’s character, she has so much potential in the future. Whether people agree or not she will have a major role to play in the future of the ACOTAR books and her character would be more fleshed out in her book, but the theories some fans come up with about Elain is crazy and I don’t think they fit her character or who she is.

The number one thing I see is, Elain is going to become an assassin/spy.

I know people say this about Elain to make her be better suited to be in a ship with Azriel & there is textual evidence to show that Elain is good at sneaking around and keeping secrets.

• “Elain was the only one who guessed. She caught me vomiting two mornings in a row.” She nodded toward Azriel. “I think she’s got you beat for secret keeping.” (Page 235, ACOSF)

• “Elain had already departed with Feyre, claiming she had to be up with the dawn tend to an elderly faerie’s garden. Cassian didn’t exactly know why he expected this wasn’t true. There has been some tightness in Elain’s face as she’d said it. Normally when she made such excuses, Lucien was around, but the male remained in the human lands with jurian and Vassa.” (Page 311, ACOSF)

When Elain lies, her face tightens up. Azriel confirmed this in his ACOSF bonus chapter.

• “You came,” Elain said behind her, and Nesta started, not having heard her sister approach. She scanned Elain from head to toe, wondering if she’d been taking lessons in stealth either from Azriel or the two half wraiths she called friends. (Page 596, ACOSF)

There’s also evidence that Elain becoming a spy/assassin might not come to happen.

• “Gentle grower of things.” (Page 488, ACOMAF)

• “Elain had always been gentle and sweet—and I had considered it a different sort of strength. A better strength. To look at the hardness of the world and choose, over and over, to love, to be kind. She had been always so full of light. Perhaps that was why she now kept all the curtains open. To fill the void that existed where all of that light had once been. And now nothing remained.” (Page 156, ACOWAR)

• “If the faeries who attack possess magic,”Cassian said, and Elain recoiled at the harsh tone, “then thick stone won’t do much.” (Page 471, ACOWAR)

• Elain was blinking, wide eyed, at the camp. The army. Devlon let out a grunt at the sight of her. But Elain wrapped her own blue cloak around herself, averting her eyes from all of their towering, muscled warriors, the army camp bustling toward the horizon…she was a rose bloom in a mud field. Field with galloping horses. (Page 485, ACOWAR)

• “Graysen leveled a seething look at Rhysand. “Is this the start of it? You fae males will come to take out women? Are your own not fuckable enough?” “Watch your tongue, boy,” his father said. Elain turned white at the coarse language.” (Page 500, ACOWAR)

• “Nesta and I climbed inside one of the supply caravan’s covered wagons to change into illyrian fighting leathers. Nesta even buckled a knife at her side. Elain…she’d taken one look at us in the swaying grasses outside that wagon, the legs and assets on display and turned crimson. Viviane stepped in, offering a winter court fashion that was far less scandalous: leather pants, but paired with a thigh length blue surcoat, white fur trimming the collar. In the heat, it’d be miserable, but Elain was thankful enough that she didn’t complain.” (Page 609, ACOWAR)

• “She refused the knife Cassian handed her though. Went white as death at the sight of it.” (Page 609, ACOWAR)

• “Fae fertility cycles had never been something I’d considered, and explaining them to Nesta and Elain had been uncomfortable, to say the least. Elain had blushed, muttering about the impropriety of such things.” (Page 49, ACOWAR)

• “She gave it back”….“Elain had given it back—had pressed it into Azriel’s hands after the battle, just as he had pressed it into hers before. And then walked away without looking back.” (Pg 41-42, ACOFAS)

• “Elain, surprisingly, held her ground. “I wasn’t drinking myself into oblivion and—and doing those other things.” “fucking strangers?” Elain flinched again, her face coloring.” (Page 204, ACOSF)

• “And he knew the cruelty of the Hewn City troubled her.” (page 580, ACOSF)

• “So Elain had let her golden brown hair down tonight, and pinned it back with twin combs of pearl. He’d never once in the two years he’d known her found Elain to be plain, but wearing black, no matter how much she claimed to be part of this court…it sucked the life from her.” (page 580, ACOSF)

Elain is seen to be the most gentle Archeon sister. She’s seen to be sweet and innocent. But I know that Elain can grow out of that innocence. It’s very obvious that Elain is just not going to be sweet and innocent all of her life. I think she will seem to grow bolder with her family, the IC and go do things that she actually wants and not do what people expect her to do or be the person people expect her to be.

But what we have seen from her so far is that Elain recoils at harshness. She doesn’t like to talk about sex, menstrual periods, or even wear illyrian fighting leathers because she thinks that it’s inappropriate to discuss and to even wear. Night court black doesn’t suit her. She doesn’t want to train or hold a knife and she only did so out of necessity in ACOWAR. She doesn’t even like the cruelness of Hewn City.

So to say Elain is going to be assassin & spy when that job title includes killing & torturing in the Hewn City to the point that even Feyre couldn’t stand to see Azriel torture in the Hewn City and knowing Elain is the most gentle out of the 3 Archeon sisters and pretty much saying she’s going to to be ok with killing and torturing is beyond me.

Yes spy work is gathering information from observation which Elain is very good at doing but also you get information from torturing it out of your enemies as we seen Azriel do and I just think that’s not going to sit right with Elain at all.

And to claim that Elain is going to be an assassin & spy when she has no physical training to do either to me is far fetched, yes Elain could physically train in her own book, but I felt like ACOSF could have been a perfect set up for elain to train with Nesta since from ACOTAR, readers thought that Elain and Nesta had a really close relationship.

We also don’t know how Elain even feels about killing Hybern. He was her first kill. I’m pretty sure Elain is traumatized about that whole ordeal and I even think she has nightmares about it. Elain can claim that she’s fine but from what we seen from both Feyre and Nesta you can claim & appear that you’re fine all you want to but as the readers we won’t know the depth of her struggle until we get Elain’s pov.

But also, Elain doesn’t need to train and become a soldier to be a badass MC. Physical strength doesn’t define a person. Like Feyre said, Elain has a different type of strength and I would love to see that in the upcoming books.

Archeon sisters relationship.

Though I am a huge Feyre fan and I do like Nesta, but the way both sisters sometimes/most times describe Elain just really confirms to me that they really don’t know her fully at all and that the 3 Archeon sisters are not going to be as close as I really want the sisters to be. Though I know opinions can change.

• “It wasn’t that Elain was cruel. She wasn’t like Nesta, who had been born with a sneer on her face. Elain sometimes just…didn’t grasp things. (Page 11, ACOTAR)

• “It wasn’t meanness that kept her from offering to help; it simply never occurred to her that she might be capable of getting her hands dirty. I’d never been able to decide where she actually didn’t understand that we were truly poor or if she just refused to accept it.” (Page 11, ACOTAR)

• “She would have marveled—likely wept—at the gardens I’d become so accustomed to, at the flowers in perpetual bloom at the Spring Court. (Page 256, ACOSF)

• Saw Elain as barely more than a doll to dress up. (Page 130, ACOSF)

• “When human, Elain had easily been the prettiest of the three of them, and when she’d been turned High Fae, that beauty had been amplified. Nesta couldn’t put her finger on what changes had been wrought beyond the pointed ears, but Elain had gone from lovely to devastatingly beautiful. Elain never seemed to realize it. It was always that way between them. Elain, sweet oblivious. (Page 202-203, ACOSF)

• Elain is pleasant to look at, her mother had since mused while Nesta sat beside her dressing table, a servant silently brushing her mothers golden brown hair, but she has no ambition. She does not dream beyond her garden and pretty clothes. She will be an assist on the marriage market for us one day, if that beauty holds. (Page 203, ACOSF)

• “look who decided to grow claws after all,” she crooned. “Maybe you’ll become interesting at last, Elain.” Nesta saw the blow land, like a physical impact, in Elain’s face, her posture. (Page 232, ACOSF)

• Elain had always wanted to visit the continent to study the tulips and other famed flowers, but her imagination had stretched no further. (Page 281, ACOSF)

• Elain was like a dog, loyal to whatever master kept her fed and in comfort. (Page 348, ACOSF)

• Nesta's throat constricted, and she surveyed the swaying cherry blossoms overhead. Elain would love this place. So many flowers, all in bloom, so much green—the light, vibrant green of new grass—so many birds singing and such warm, buttery sunshine. Nesta felt like a storm cloud standing amid it all. But Elain…The Spring Court had been made for someone like her. (Pg 455, ACOSF)

• Nesta was wrong, Cassian realized, to think Elain as loyal and loving as a dog. Elain saw every single thing Nesta had done, and understood why. (Page 470, ACOSF)

• Elain and I had grown closer since the war with Hybern had ended. True, I might never go out drinking with her the way I did with Mor, and sometimes Amren. And while I might never run to Elain first with problems or for advice, we had a peaceful, amicable understanding. I found her to be a pleasant companion. I wondered if she’d resent that judgement. I certainly would. (Feysand’s ACOSF bonus chapter)

• “I mean, she’s been brave when she had to be, but she’s never been confrontational.” “Maybe she was never given the chance to be that way.” I whipped my head toward him. “You think I stifle her?” Rhys held up his hands. “Not you alone.” He surveyed the study as he thought. “But I wondered if everyone has spent so long assuming Elain is sweet and innocent that she felt she had to be that way or else she’d disappoint you all.” (Feysand’s ACOSF bonus chapter)

• “With some time and safety, perhaps we’ll see a different side of her emerge.” “This sounds dangerously close to what Nesta said about Elain finally being interesting.” (Feysand’s ACOSF bonus chapter)

• “You think Elain’s boring?” “I think she’s kind; and I’ll take kindness over nastiness any day. But I also think we haven’t yet seen all she has to offer.” A corner of his mouth tugged upward. “Don’t forget that gardening often results in something pretty, but it involves getting one’s hands dirty along the way.” (Feysand’s ACOSF bonus chapter)

From both sisters perspective I really don’t think they see Elain as more. The only thing they chalk Elain up to be is some pretty thing who only cares about gardens and flowers and she doesn’t think of nothing beyond that and that she’s content with just doing that. And that she’s need their protection for everything in her life since gardens and flowers is all she cares about. Feyre even stated that she only saw Elain as pleasant companion and that she wouldn’t liked to be known as a pleasant companion herself if she was in Elain’s shoes.

Its obvious that Elain wants to do more, because she wanted to help find the dread trove but she gets shot down by Nesta and Azriel, though Azriel didn’t say it to her face directly.

In Chapter 21 of ACOSF Elain said they can use her to find the trove. Nesta instantly said no, then absolutely not. Then Elain proceeds to say. “Why?” Elain demanded. “Shall I tend to my little garden forever?” (Page 232). The simple statement made Nesta flinch.

Page 311, in ACOSF. “Azriel stiffened, an outright sign of temper from him as he said quietly, “there is an innate darkness to the dread trove that Elain should not be expose to?” “But Nesta should?” Cassian growled. Everyone stared at him.

I don’t get why they were staring at Cassian crazy because I think it’s a valid question. Why is ok for Nesta to be exposed to the darkness but not Elain, especially when Elain said she wanted to help. Why do they get to decide what Elain can and cannot do?

Then after this we seen something from Amren. “She threw a nod toward Azriel. “Elain is more capable of defending herself against the darkness of the trove, if she chooses to. Don’t underestimate her.”

Why are the people (Rhysand, Cassian & Amren) that haven’t even known Elain that long are the only ones to seem to know that Elain is more than just being about flowers, gardens & being pretty? That she can defend herself if they really give her the choice to like she did in ACOWAR. And that Elain is going to be much more than what is happening in her life right now. Her family likes to stifle her and coddle her and I don’t think they will let her be to the best of her ability in the name of protection. Tho Feyre did say that Elain finding the trove was her choice.

But I still really think that Elain shouldn’t stay in the night court. As for right now, I don’t think Elain is seen to be apart of the night court despite the gardens she helps with around it and even tho she says she’s apart of the court. When she wants to help certain people shoot her down and make her play a smaller role.

Nesta was offered a title in the night court but what about Elain? Nesta is having a future of becoming a general of the valkyries for the night court. But I really don’t see a future for Elain in the night court, maybe as a courtier or an emissary since it’s stated how Elain threw a ball for Feyre’s return in ACOTAR and Nesta said Elain used to love balls and parties and flitter around the room greeting and talking to everyone. But Cassian was becoming a courtier in ACOSF already & lucien is their current emissary, but I know he’s not going to hold that position for long.

I know that Elain is pushed to the background to have Nesta’s story and we’ll get more of her when it comes to her book. But from what I have seen so far, I don’t think Elain would stay in the night court. When she’s described Elain is known to be a flower but she’s also know to be described with light. She needs light. She needs sunshine. When in ACOWAR, it stated, “The suite was filled with sunlight. Every curtain shoved back as far as it could go, to let in as much sun as possible. As of any bit of darkness was abhorrent. As if to chase it away. And seated in a small chair before the sunniest of the windows, her back to us, was Elain. (Page 154).” & “What can I get you Elain?”. But Elain shook her head once more. “Sunshine” (Pg 302)

The night court is the opposite of what Elain needs and want. And since she is described as a flower, what do flowers need? Sunlight.

But I also don’t think that Elain is going to be in the spring court. I know I’ve seen theories that oh Tamlin and Elain are actually mates or that Tamlin is going to die and that Elain and lucien will be high lord & lady of spring, yeah no. I think Elain would love to visit the spring court but it’s obvious that Elain likes getting her hands dirty and actually likes the work of creating gardens, what’s the point of her living in spring where there is already gardens and she can’t do the work that she loves?

But I am excited for Elain’s book, whenever we get it and to see all what she has to offer when it comes to her powers and personal growth.

[anastasiaskarsgard]

YES! Please continue the marquis x cop story. There is so much opportunity for angst. What was the story like from the readers POV? How did they find out he is the marquis?how does the marquis manage to convince the reader?

“So he just handed you his card and all it says is “the Marquis”? How do you even find these people?” Your best friend asked as she examined the aforementioned card. “We’ll call him! He was dressed nice and had a driver so at least he’s rich.”

You loved your best friend, but she was so reckless. She was the same age as you (27) yet she’d already been married four times. Rolling your eyes and snatching the card back, you threw it into the fire to kill the temptation, and save her from herself.

“WHAT?!?! You are no fun! There goes your castle. What if he is nobility or whatever? What if he spends his time and millions on making the world a better place? What if there’s a library or orphanage with his name on it?” With that your best friend mock fainted into a large chair.

Huffing out a sigh, you made your way over and poked her in the ribs. “I doubt he’d even remember. He gave me the card like 2 weeks ago.”

Eyes popping open, she groaned as though your words were physically painful, “I don’t know what’s worse, the fact you’ve been sitting on this that long, or the fact youre oblivious to how disgustingly gorgeous you are. Let’s go eat you silly woman.” Standing and taking your arm in hers, you both made your way to a fun new cafe, the papers couldn’t seem to shut up about.

1 week later

Even though today was your day off, for the past few months, you have been volunteering at the hospital. In spite of the fact that you were already a public servant,  you found joy in helping others. You felt like social media wasn’t as good as real people, especially in a nurturing setting.

Today was your day working with the children. Once a month, the volunteers and some of the doctors and nurses were dressed up as various characters in their favorite stories. So far, you have been Tinker Bell, the goddess Aphrodite, and a mermaid. Today you are a princess and you are not sure where they got these costumes, but they were extremely realistic and detailed. You really felt like a friggin princess right now! your dress was an ice blue, sparkly, chiffon number with a fitted bodice that had your girls so mushed together, when you looked down, you could nearly rest your head on them. The voluminous layered skirt was going to require hypervigilance to avoid knocking things over, but was breathtakingly pretty with color shifting fabric and hand sewn beading down the train. There was even a navy blue, velvet cloak, that had fur trim that felt real.

“Here’s the finishing touch!” Michelle exclaimed as she burst into the break room. “Oh you really look like you’re royal! Can I put this on your head?” She asked, holding out a beautiful tiara.

“Wow! Yes! This dress is so amazing! The kids are going to love it. I can’t wait to see their faces!” You enthused. You truly were excited to see their reaction. Children always had the most pure reactions.

“Not only that, that mysterious benefactor that just paid for the new pediatric cancer wing will be here today! From what I hear it was totally out of the blue. They’ve been trying to get that built for years, scraping and begging and then this guy comes along and just pays for the whole thing! He’s from old money and royalty, so it probably doesn’t even register how important this is to us…” she mused, as she secured the tiara to her head.

“I’m sure even a prince realizes the impact. Probably has a sick child he is close to, that needs treatment and he actually has the means to make it happen.” You stated. “Not all the wealthy are out of touch.”

“Yes your majesty.” She giggled. “Now come on, the kids are beside themselves, there’s a few you’ll need to make personal appearances for.”

Making your way out into the main area where everyone had gathered, you dramatically swept into the room, as Michelle swept your cloak away and you barked out orders in your most imperious tone. The next hour flew by, and everyone agreed you’d made an excellent princess.

You were still having a lot of fun, but your comfort was beginning to faulter. The dress was gorgeous but you didn’t know how women wore these outfits everyday! You couldn’t quite breathe properly, it was quite heavy, and several parts of it were rubbing you raw.

“Shall we go see the remaining children together?”

Turning, you found Dr Rete holding out the list of children unable to leave their rooms out to you. Taking it from him, you scanned over the list as you attempted to think of a reason you could decline. It wasn’t that he was a bad guy, he was actually a catch by most people’s standards, but he gave you the creeps for some reason.

All the other women on the floor encouraged you to give the gorgeous doctor a chance, since he made his interest very obvious, but you just couldn’t get past your instincts. When your instincts told you to get away from something, you listened.

Unfortunately, nothing came to mind that wouldn’t seem rude so you smiled and welcomed him to accompany you. Luckily two other volunteers were with you to help keep your dress from knocking over, or hooking any expensive medical equipment.

You were nearly to the end of the list, when you saw him. The Marquis. He was standing at the end of the hall, dressed in an impeccable suit, surrounded by people. You wondered if he was the new donor.

You debated going and saying hello, but decided against it. It’s not like you knew him, and you’d never called. You doubted he even remember you. He’d most likely felt bad that you fell and never would of actually taken you to dinner. You knew you were attractive, but a man that looks like him, with that kind of money and pedigree, isn’t allowed to date some random girl he ran into.

Dr Rete was really trying to impress you. You’d found out he’d actually gotten off hours ago, and was strictly here to spend time with you. He was tall and good looking, and he hung on your every word like you were the most interesting woman alive… maybe you were wrong about him.

Suddenly, the little girl you were reading to, looked like she was so happy she was going to explode. “Princess! Your prince is here!” She exclaimed excitedly.

Turning to Dr. Rete, you frowned a bit before you caught yourself. “I suppose he…”

“No not him!” She interrupted. “Him!”

Turning around, your eyes met cool green ones smiling down at you. At a loss for words, you turned back around and continued reading.

For the remainder of the story, you could feel his presence, and could have cut the tension between the two males with a knife. When it came to the end, and you had to sing and do your little routine, you couldn’t bear to look at the Marquis. You weren’t about to sell this girl short though, so you gave it your all.

As you made your way out of the room, you nearly ran into the Marquis, but Dr. Rete was there to be a buffer between the two of you. You sounded amusing at the normally overly polite. Dr was quite stand offish with the Marquis.

“Will you go get me some ice water, Doctor? I am parched and wish to get to know our Princess here.” The Marquis asked with a certain edge in his tone.

You nearly thought he’d refuse, but the Marquis smile never wavered, so he finally conceded and you were semi alone with the gorgeous mysterious man. “So it’s nice to see you again. Sorry again.”

“Do not apologize, it was the best day of my life so far.” He stated matter of factly.

Smiling, you rolled your eyes, “flattery will get you everywhere.”

He cocked an eyebrow and did a quick scan up and down, “is that so?”

“Mind out of the gutter sir! I am a lady after all.” You said in your best scarlet O’Hara imitation.

Chuckling, he stepped closer, and took your hand, before kissing it with those full lips, and looking up into your eyes. “May I take you to dinner Princess?”

Your breath caught in your throat from the intensity in his eyes. Nodding your head, before you even realized what you were doing, you couldn’t help but smile brightly. You were going to go have dinner with the single most attractive person, you had ever seen in your life.

“Keep the outfit on. You look perfect.” He said, eyes sparkling.

You scoffed. “Even the tiara?”

“Especially the tiara. It once graced the empress of Russia, and I doubt she wore it as well as you.”

Your stomach dropped and eyes went wide. “It can’t possibly be real! That would make it worth-“

“Millions. But it’s good to get them out now and then. See them on a beauty, rather than rotting in a vault with all the rest.”

“This is yours? Are you a royal?” You asked astonishment clear on your face.

He chuckled, “no. My title is one of the lowest, but during the revolution, my family was able to avoid the cleansing by the peasants, and attain considerable wealth from those in higher stations, wishing to save their treasures from falling into those dirty hands.”

“So your family were scavengers or bandits?” You asked not caring if it came off offensive.

“No nothing so dark. Everything we were given was by the owners own accord. No force or deception. They just wished to live on in some way. For example, your tiara belonged to a duchess that could never have children, so she was cast aside by her husband who moved to the city with his mistress and they had several bastards. She lived in their estate, since most of the money they possessed had been hers. She adopted many children and was said to have been very happy until the day they came to retrieve her for trial. She had been warned they were coming and dressed all her children as servants. Two of them were killed attempting to rescue her. Her husband had been so unpleasant in her name, she was executed at his side, while his mistress watched from the crowd.”

“What a terrible story. And this was hers?”

“One of her many jewels. Their family had been jewelers for all the European aristocrats and royals. They also collected, which I am sure is how they attained that.” He said pointing at the tiara playfully.

You reached up to touch the priceless piece of jewelry, “do you think she’d be pleased it was used in this way?”

Nodding his head, he offered his hand. “Shall we go eat your grace?”

Giggling, you took his hand. “I can’t imagine where we could go with me dressed this way. Won’t you be embarrassed?”

“We can go wherever we please, and lions don’t care about the opinions of sheep.”

“What if I’m not a lion? Maybe I’m something else.”

Looking at you thoughtfully, the Marquis smiled slyly at you before stating, “I know exactly what you are.”

Maneuvering your dress into the backseat of the waiting Rolls Royce, you burst out laughing at the Marquis, peeking over the side of your gowns considerable skirts. “Are you comfortable over there?”

“It’s like I’m riding in a cloud.”

“So what animal am l?” You asked.

“Oh I will not tell you so easily. You must guess correctly.

Folding your arms you pouted a bit, unaware of the Marquis watching you with adoration. “Fine. You can keep your secrets.”

“Hn.”

[madebymaryssa]

Do you have a specific idea for what the backs of these pieces look like, or the parts of the shirt we can't currently see?

A wrap skirt should accommodate the tail. You could also get a keyhole on the butt of the skirt (and have it fasten above the tail hole, so you don't risk messing up the prop by feeding it through), but a wrap skirt could also potentially be worn without the tail, making it more versatile.

A large indent on the skirt hem and a slit up the back of the cloak would prevent too much fabric weight from messing with the tail if it's poseable.

The character reference drawing doesn't have a structured waistband as seen in my diagram, but a looser panel could be added above the front and outer-back waistband to match the look better.

Based on the wrinkles and thickness of the sleeves, I'm guessing the top is a soft knit, perhaps with a more structured panel in the centre front. Those pieces will need a zigzag stitch or serged hems, to allow the fabric to stay stretchy.

The sleeves look like they might be lined? You'll probably also want a snugger, shorter inner sleeve of green minky or similar, so the 'bare' shoulder seen through the cutout looks like part of the character's pelt.

If everything is knit and you just pull on the blouse before adding the head and paws, it shouldn't need any kind of fastener; if the shirt is woven fabric, which has less stretch and more structure, you might want to turn that centre front stripe into a zipper or have a hidden button placket inserted. (Or a back zipper, but those can be hard to get on and off by yourself.) Depending on your torso shape it might also need darts, but those could be hidden by the panel shaping.

A lot of the bodice is covered by the skirt and cloak. How many yellow ovals are there? What does the collar look like? The hem? The bodice back?

Cloaks are BIG but the biggest part is often just a rectangle. This one is probably a bit more shaped because of the round collar (where does it fasten?) and because you wouldn't want a lot of bulk at the shoulder seams under the fur ruff.

Like the skirt, you probably want a slit in the back hem, so the cloak doesn't push your tail down. Cloaks often have hoods, but that did not appear in the drawing.

Based on the different pieces and materials; the long seams on the skirt, cloak, and sleeves; the piecing of the blouse; and the probable necessity to hand-embroider the vine and leaves on the skirt; I would estimate that this outfit would take about 70 hours to make. At the time of writing, I believe $15/hour is still considered a reasonable minimum wage?

70 x 15 = 1050

(Bearing in mind that's for pattern drafting and/or sizing, fabric cutting, assembly, embellishment, and pressing, not cost of materials [trim is bonkers expensive] or time spent acquiring materials, doesn't take mockups or fittings into account since online orders don't really allow for that, and doesn't include cost of shipping.)

So yeah, I can see where the thousand-plus-dollars quote was coming from.

November 2023

Asked three cosplay makers on Etsy for a quote, one said $1000+, one said "too complicated" and one said "what price do you expect"

I yearn for the sweet release of death

[michelleleewise]

Long Live The King

Pairing: Jotun Loki x Asgardian F!reader

Warnings: assassination attempt, not much this time, mild fight near end...

Summary: you are an assassin sent by Odin to kill the King of Jotunhiem, nothing could have prepared your for what happened......

Part one-

You sat in your chamber sharpening your dagger when a knock came at your door. "Come." You called out continuing your work. "Lady y/n, the king requests your presence." You heard, looking up seeing an Einherjar standing attention in your doorway. "What does he require?" You asked sheathing your dagger. "He requires your presence." He said again making you roll your eyes "very well, lead the way." You said getting up. Following him down the abandoned halls you came upon the large golden doors of the throne room. "Lady y/n to see the king." He said to the other guards as they opened the door.

You walked in seeing Odin sat on the throne gripping gungnir. "My king." You said placing your fist on your chest going down on one knee. "Lady y/n, glad you could join me." He bellowed through the room. "If I may be so bold, what is it you require of me?" You asked bowing your head. You heard him bang the spear on the floor "leave us." He called out, looking around you saw all the guards filter out. "Y/n, what do you know of the frost giants?" Odin asked making his way down the steps. "That they are cruel, evil beats, monsters your highness that the realms would be better off without." You gritted "very good, I have a task for you." Odin said. You looked up at him furrowing your eyebrows "come, I will show you." He said turning on his heel, his cloak billowing behind him.

"Why not send Thor? Does he not posess mjolnir?" You asked looking at him. "He is too brash, I need someone trained in stealth to sneak in under cover of dark and end him while he sleeps." Odin said "and that's me?" You asked raising an eyebrow "yes y/n, I have seen you train. You are quiet, agile. I believe you best suited for the task." He said. "Very well my king." You said placing your fist on your chest. "Very good, pack only what you can carry, speak of this to no one and meet me at the bifrost within the hour." He said "yes my king." You said bowing leaving the room. You went to your chambers layering your clothing, grabbing your thickest cloak with fur trimming fastening it to your shoulders you grabbed your daggers strapping the holsters to your thighs, slipping another into your boot you grabbed your gloves heading towards the bifrost.

You followed him into a small room behind the throne, walking in you saw a desk heaped with papers and maps. "Y/n, I do not give you this task lightly, but I trust you can handle it." Odin said rounding the desk "and what task is that?" You asked "the King of Jotunhiem has been attacking our allies on Vanahiem and Alfhiem, cutting off trading to the realms." He said shifting through some of the papers. "And there are talks amongst the people that they will try here next. Here, in case you are discovered." He said handing you a scroll. "Their king is ruthless, blood thirsty. He will not stop until he rules the nine realms." He said.

You walked in seeing Odin and Heimdall "my king... gatekeeper." You said bowing. "Y/n, we will have to send you by other means, the bifrost will alert too many." Odin said talking to Heimdall. "Here, take this." He said holding out a small bottle "if something happens and you cannot return you will freeze to death in Jotunhiem's frozen wasteland, This will make it more....bearable." He said as you nodded slipping it into your pocket. "Good luck y/n, may the God's favor you." Odin said "my king." You said bowing. You felt Odin place a hand on your head reciting some sort of spell, closing your eyes your body felt light as his words began to fade to the back of your mind. You felt a cold wind hit you face, opening your eyes seeing the barren landscape of Jotunhiem.

The cold wind blew through you as you squinted in the dark. You pulled your cloak tighter around you, shielding you from the snow while you looked around trying to get your bearings. You looked into the distance seeing Utgard shooting up to the sky "there you are." You said to yourself smiling beginning to walk towards the large structure thinking of a plan. The further you walked the worse the storm became, forcing you to take shelter in a near by cave until it broke. You huddled into a corner pulling your cloak up when you heard footsteps at the mouth of the cave. You got to your feet pulling your dagger out ready for a fight "h..Hello? Is anyone here?" You heard making you freeze. "Please..i...I n...need help!" They called out. You slowly stood looking around the rock seeing a man hunched over rubbing his arms.

"P..please....I don't know where I am!" He called out again. You sheathed your dagger slowly walking out "who are you?" You called out getting the man's attention. "My name is Magnus, who are you?" The man asked. You walked closer taking him in, his long black hair was stiff from the cold, his lithe frame only covered by a green tunic and black leather pants "how did you get here....Magnus?" You asked circling the man "I don't know! One minute I'm walking down the street the next I'm here." He said sitting down leaning against the rock wall. "And how have you not froze to death?" You asked watching him. "I..I j...just got here." He said, his teeth chattering. "Where are you from?" You asked keeping your distance. "I...I'm f..from V..vanahiem." be stuttered pulling his knees up to his chest.

You unclasped your cloak walking over to him draping it over his shoulders. "W..where are y..you from?" He asked looking up at you, his bright green eyes catching your attention "Asgard." You said plainly stepping away from him. "S..so you c..can call t..the bifrost?" He asked pulling the cloak around him. "Yes. But I have to do something first, stay here, remain hidden." You said walking to the mouth of the cave. "W..wait...don't l..leave me." He said getting up. "W..what if t..those monsters show u..up." he said looking at you. You sighed "fine, come on but stay out of my way." You said walking out.

You jogged to the capital, hoping that if you kept your blood pumping you wouldn't freeze, ducking behind a large block of ice you looked at the gates. "W..where is e..eveyone?" You heard Magnus ask next to you. "I don't know, just..stay here I will return shortly." You said pulling a dagger from your holster. "B..but..." he started "I said stay here!" You growled glaring at him as he sunk back down. You crouched down slowly making your way to the gates, noticing the only sound was the wind howling. Your gut was screaming something was off but you would not fail the king. Steadying yourself you continued, crouching down in front of the gated seeing them slightly opened. You looked back seeing magnus's black hair blowing in the wind waving for him to get down you slipped through the gate.

You stayed to the shadows, slowly looking for where the kings chambers may be when you came upon two large ornately decorated doors. "Well, this is probably it." You whispered to yourself. grasping the handle you slowly pushed it open slipping inside. You ducked behind a chair looking around, other then the fire the room was dark, the wall was lined with bookshelves, a desk sat in the corner with papers strewn across it. Seeing another set of doors across the room you slowly made your way to it, gripping your dagger you slowly pushed it open seeing a large four poster bed as someone shifted under the furs. You crouched down, slowly making your way to the side of the bed, standing up you held your dagger up ready to pounce.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you." You heard making you freeze. Looking over you saw Magnus leaning on the doorframe admiring his nails. "What are you doing you idiot, I said wait for me." You whisper yelled. You watched as he unclasped your cloak tossing it aside "you aesir....so naive." He laughed stepping into the room. "Wha.." you trailed off, seeing his skin begin to turn blue, his red eyes boring into you. You stepped back looking at the now empty bed "h..how did..." you stuttered hearing him laugh. "A simple illusion, although I don't expect your tiny brain could comprehend it." He snarked walking closer.

@vbecker10 @lokisgoodgirl @holdmytesseract @el-zef @ijuststareatstuffhereok89 @123forgottherest @lovebyloki @javagirl328 @loopsisloops @high-functioning-lokipath @immersed-in-mischief @chantsdemarins @lokisasgardianvampirequeen @midnights-ramblings @slpnbty2001 @angelaf1978 @sinsandguilt @usagishira @xorpsbane @lokifriggadottir365 @your-taste-on-my-lips @asgardianprincess1050 @cakesandtom @agentandreastark @sekaishell @dukes2581 @aniar4wniak @spork-fighter @stupidthoughtsinwriting @d1a2n389 @hypergamer7744 @buttercupbestie @cabingrlandrandomcrap @lokiprompts @daggers-and-mischief @kats72 @mochie85 @commanding-officer @lokis-coffee221 @huntress-artemiss @limiworld @lulubelle814 @idfkgabby @glitterylokislut @highkeysimpingforloki @myworldgoesboomz @lonadane @budugu @cloud-of-daisies @all-envy-suyu

You gripped your dagger "so, who are you really then?" You gritted watching him slink closer "oh, where are my manners, i am Loki Laufeyson King of Jotunhiem." He said smiling holding his arms out. Taking in his height he was much taller then you but much smaller then a frost giant. "I did not know the jotuns had a runt leading them?" You snarked. "You will take care how you speak to me asgardian." He growled "well, we won't be speaking long." You said lunging at him but he was much quicker, grabbing your arm he flipped you over his shoulder, your back hitting the floor hard. Gasping for air he straddled your hips, his knees pinning your arms down as he smiled down at you. "Oh, I disagree, we have much to discuss, but that can wait." He smiled placing his hand on your forehead he said something you didn't understand as you were pulled into darkness......

[queenfinehair]

The thorn in your side

Chapter six

Warnings: None, just a meddling Halfdan.

Song mood

Disclaimer: gif isn't mine but it's linked

The following week you wake to another gift; a beautiful dark blue hooded cloak with fur trim. No note was left this time but you smile at Harald's thoughtfulness all the same. The days were growing shorter and the nights colder, this item would come in handy.

After washing up from the small basin near the door you dress and get ready for another grueling day. Harald had been to watch you daily, conversing with you well after sunset. He had hoped for an immediate answer regarding you becoming his queen but you still weren't sure. Of course, it would be a far grandeur situation than your current state, but he also insisted you give up the horses to someone "in a lower position". Whenever he talked down on your profession you couldn't help but to grind your teeth and turn away.

Today, though, was a special day. A mare was heavily pregnant and due to give birth at any moment. That particular moment happened just after putting Baldur back in his stall. You scarcely begun to prepare his food when the mare began huffing and knew then it was time.

Throwing your new cloak on top of a barrel of hay you quickly go to the horse, shushing her gently as she prepared to welcome the new foal into this strange world.

"Is she ready, then?" Both Harald and Halfdan had appeared at once, but it was Halfdan who spoke. Harald looked on with some disdain, not enjoying you getting even dirtier with the task. You had come to know the King as a very clean person, but why he continued to pursue you was a mystery. You loved the dirt, the dust, the smell of hay and the handling of birthing horses. It was a passion you held deep within your heart.

"Yes, she's ready," you answer Halfdan, "without complications the babe will be here anytime. Will one of you get me a fresh bucket of water, please? I have some bits of cloth as well, just there." You point to them and Halfdan takes it upon himself to perform the task. He hands you the items needed and after a quick thanks you turn back to the mare.

"What a beautiful cloak," Harald says, finally finding something with beauty around, "is it new?"

"Oh, yes, it is new. I should thank you for such a wonderful and needed gift, my King. In the coming months I'm sure to stay much warmer. You're a very generous person, how can I repay you?"

Stunned on the spot, Harald takes a minute to answer. "Yes," he begins, "I am generous, although I should have gotten the red one. It would have suited you better." He turns to Halfdan who only shrugs, "I think you did alright."

You only half pay attention as the mare whinnies. "That's a good girl," you say softly, "it'll all be over soon. Then you'll have a beautiful little one to look after."

Harald rolls his eyes and continues on with his brother, "What do you think you are doing?" He whispers through gritted teeth, his eyes shooting icicles at the younger man. "I'm doing what I thought you wanted. She needs warmer clothes so I thought, and knew, might I add, she'd think it from you. I was right, so, you're welcome."

Biting the inside of his cheek and inhaling loudly, Harald continues, "Never do it again. You're lucky you got away with it this time. I might add though," he sneers, "red would have been a better color."

"Red, blue, does it matter? She thinks it's from you. Get over it, brother." Halfdan says in a harsh tone, turning his attention back to the horse. As angry as Harald is, he finally cools down enough to let it slide. After all, you had given him thanks and didn't know any better.

Guiding the mare to lay down onto the straw, you rub her stomach, ready to help. "Ya know," you tell her, "I've never done this before, give birth I mean, but you're doing a great job." Halfdan smiles at how you speak to the horses as if they were humans who could talk back and he opens the stall. "Can I watch, or help?" He takes off the fur stole from around his shoulders and places it on your cloak.

"Brother, we have things to do today." Harald says peevishly, clenching his fists. Harald had made his claim, had marked his territory with you and was furious that Halfdan kept interfering. Halfdan had suggested previously that they share you but Harald immediately halted that thought.

"I don't, you're the one with a kingdom to run, brother."

"How long will this take?" Harald asks you, turning his back to the scene. He was annoyed, again, and you weren't sure how to handle these moods anymore. One moment he was sweet as can be, the next moment he showed his jealous temper. You think that sleeping with Halfdan was growing to be a bigger mistake than you thought.

"Hard to say. Could be an hour, could be all day."

"Just... just come and visit me when you're cleaned up. Please." Harald says finally and leaves in a huff.

You sigh and shake your head, taking the bucket of water and placing it to your left side. Halfdan hands you the cloths and sits down next to you. There was so much he longed to say, to warn you of Harald but he had already tried to in vain.

"So," you say and make yourself comfortable, crossing your legs and leaning against the stall, "when were you going to tell me it was from you?"

Halfdan's eyes widen and he shrugs after a moment, "I wasn't. I was happy enough to know you'll be warm this winter. Happy enough to let Harald think it was from him. Although in hindsight red should have been the color I chose."

"I don't have time for this right now. We'll just let it be."

-----

It's hours later before the actual birth begins, the mare going through a rough labor and you begin to think it won't happen until finally, it does. "Okay, I may need to help her so have that bucket ready. Things can get dirty so I like to keep as clean as I can."

Halfdan gets to his knees and watches you get closer to the mare, sensing a struggle. He can't tear his eyes away from the process, fascinated.

"Atta girl, just keep it going."

Both of you look onto the mare as she stands up suddenly and both of you roll out of the way before joining her. She snorts in your direction and then do you see the foal coming out. "There you go, almost done." The horse whinnies some more before you stand closer, words of comfort placed to the animal who can't talk back.

The foal is finally born, with you helping so as to not let the poor thing drop to the straw and you set the babe down, still in its sac. You hurry and ask for Halfdan's help, "we need to get the baby out of there. Help me tear it off."

Unlike Harald, Halfdan doesn't mind the mess and he busies his hands with the birth sac, tearing it open to reveal the small horse. "Is it... alive?"

You bend down and pet the animal before it shakes itself and you smile with glistening eyes. "Yes, it-"

"He." Halfdan says, pointing down with gooey hands.

"Yes. He is very much alive. Good job, Halfdan. Let's get cleaned up." You grab the cloths and put them into the water bucket, picking it up, "Let's also leave the mother and baby be."

You both exit the stall and begin to get cleaned up, Halfdan watching you amazement, "you were remarkable, Y/n..."

Smiling, you nudge him with your shoulder, "wasn't my first time and that was an easy birth. It's you who should be commended. Thank you for the help and wanting to stay."

Once cleaned up and without thinking, Halfdan takes your face into his hands and kisses you deeply. Your eyes close as you kiss the man back, pulling away a second later.

"Halfdan... why? Why are you doing this?"

He looks around before shrugging, "I guess it just came over me, I'm sorry."

You shake your head, "We cannot been seen together alone anymore. I already walk on eggshells around Harald, if this gets back to him I fear what mood it'll put him in. Please, Halfdan, no more. No more gifts, or kisses or... generally wanting to be with me."

"Is that what you really want though? I can make you happy, I can-"

You hold up a hand to quiet the man, "Halfdan. Enough. In another life during another time, maybe. Right now though, you cannot."

Halfdan exhales loudly before he nods his head, "as you wish. You won't see me anymore." He leaves but not before placing a final kiss to the top of your head. He grabs the fur stole on top of your cloak and with one last glance at you, he leaves.

.

Tags: @naaladareia, @inmyfxith

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Hue and Cry IX

Warnings: non-consent sex and rape (series), mild violence, male-iinduced anxiety

This is dark!medieval!Bucky Barnes x reader and explicit. 18+ only.  Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Synopsis: The first day of the tournament arrives.

Note: My pupper had surgery yesterday and it was my longer day of work for the week so lots going on. Also had some bad Chinese but managed to get this out before it came back up. Feel better now and I'll have a shorter day today.

Thanks to everyone and thanks in advance for all your feedback. :)

I really hope you enjoy. 💋

<3 Let me know what you think with a like or reblog or reply or an ask! Love ya!

Lord Barnes’ mood did not improve in the days leading up to the first of the tournament. It grew colder in the capital and many feared the events would be cut short by an early winter. You didn’t care much either way. You had no interest in the sport or much of anything. You just abided the duke and in those times he left you alone, you laid in a void.

His want of you didn’t wane nor did your despair or the disgust you felt when he touched you. It was one thing to be a servant, to be a tool, a means to an end, but what he used you for now seemed little more than torture. He delighted in what he did, in how he made you suffer. Those times you remained unmoving and unfeeling angered him the most.

You dressed in yellow that morning. The horns announced the beginning of the tournament as you made your way to the stand amid the sea of guests. The wives, daughters, sons, mothers and fathers of those who would compete. You were out of place as you climbed the wooden steps between the benches and a green sleeve shot up to wave to you.

“Dearie!” May brushed past her husband to stop you at the end of their seat, “here, with us,” she insisted, “we did save you a place.”

“Oh, you didn’t have to do that,” you said quietly. You hadn’t seen her or her family since the night of the feast. Since Barnes had…

“I can’t have you sitting alone,” she trilled as she pulled you along with her and sat beside Lord Benjamin who bowed his head and issued a gentle greeting. “And I always longed for a daughter, you know? Peter’s a good boy but so troublesome. I did try to persuade him not to enter the lists but he just never stops.”

“The boy’s old enough,” Benjamin said, “when I was his age--”

“You married me,” May cut in, “a foolish decision indeed. He is on the roster for today. Sparring. I fear he might not make it past the early rounds but so long as he is not hurt.”

You nodded and covered your hands in your sleeves. Even with the fur-trimmed cloak Barnes allotted you, it was crisp. Your matching cap barely kept the cool air from your cheeks. Your leg shook from more than the cold as you recalled that Barnes was set to compete with the sword as well.

“A fine cape,” May commented as she touched the edge of your cloak, “with sleeves even.”

You looked down at the fawn-coloured garment that only allowed a peek of the canary yellow beneath. You fidgeted and kept your eyes on the field, “a gift,” you lied, well, maybe it wasn’t a lie, or maybe you’d bought it in sweat and tears.

Another horn blew and she quieted and clapped as all looked to the center of the arena. The wooden stands were hung in all shades of silk, the banners of each house, high and low, covered the rafters. By the end of the day, only one would remain. Lord Barnes’ blue and ivory flapped opposite your side and Benjamin pointed out his family's slender red and black crest amidst the panoply.

You were thankful for the distraction, not for you but for them. You didn’t know how many lies you could conjure or if you could keep the false smile on your lips. You clamped your hands together and watched a man in gold stroll out to the centre of the stadium with a cone to project his voice. You stood with May and Benjamin and the rest of the onlookers

“Fine ladies and gentlemen, princes, paupers, and everything in between, we welcome you in name of King Samuel to the Games of Goblets. For each competition, the victor is to be prized a goblet to bear as a symbol of his prestige. For the ax-throwing, bronze inlaid with amber, for the bow-and-arrow, silver set with citrine, for the melee, gold set with sapphire, and for the joust, a fine piece in gold set with opal and ruby.”

The crowd applauded and shouted. The man waited for them to quiet again, “This day, we begin with the melee, on the morrow, the axe, the next day, the arrow, and on the final day, we ride!”

Again, the audience grew rowdy and you were deafened by the cheers. The man laughed at the excitement and held up his hand for a final lull.

“Without further delay, let us begin. In our first round, the lower lords and the untested, before the second where they shall meet our season veterans, and so on…” he gauged the fervent tension of the people, “you will see me again upon the finale and perhaps you will be surprised by whoever stands with me.”

Again, the stand quaked with the energy of the people. You would have liked to sit but you stayed on your feet, afraid to draw unwanted attention. The first pair was announced but you didn’t watch. You stared at the sky or a rippling banner but had no interest in the games.

You only stopped to look as Peter’s name was called out and May grabbed your arm. She squealed as her nephew came out decked in his used armor, beaten out from its former user’s wear, and he unsheathed his sword to face his opponent. When the handkerchief was dropped, you were as stunned as his fellow competitor and the crowd by his swiftness. You’d never seen anyone move so fast, and in at least twenty pounds of armor.

The crowd awoke from their awe and cheered as his sword beat against the other man’s suit with tinks and tunks. It was like a bell, ding, ding, ding. It wasn’t until the other man was on his knees that the spar was ceased. Peter was declared the plain winner and sent on to wait for his next engagement. May wiped away tears of joy and Benjamin grumbled his approval.

You smiled, just a little. You were happy for Peter. You’d seen how joyful he was, he was likely dancing behind the curtain right now.

🏰

It wasn’t until the second round that Lord Barnes was introduced. He walked out fully armoured like any other combatant but his left arm was permanently bent, a shield strapped to it as he gripped his pommel in his right hand. He showed his steel and faced his match. He dealt hard and heavy blows until his opponent was on his back.

You shuddered at his unboasting victory as he wasn’t even patient enough to hear himself declared the winner. You touched your cold cheeks and puffed into the bitter air. The bodies around you warmed the stands but you were chilled to the core.

Peter appeared again in the second, then the third, fourth, and to his aunt and uncle’s delight, he soldiered onto the final. To your fear, he was to meet Lord Barnes. You tried not to squirm, not to show how nervous you were for Peter. You thought of running down and begging him to withdraw but what could you say? If anything, you’d both be worse for it.

As the last two banners were presented to the crowd, you sensed movement to your right. A familiar head of blond hair approached and the tall duke pushed past the row of people along the bench. Lord Rogers smirked as he came close, his sweaty hair drooping down his forehead from his last bout, the one he’d lost to his closest friend.

“Ah, I found you,” he said, “lady.”

You felt May peek past you and you gave a meek “my lord” as he stood close. He looked around you at the older couple.

“You have friends,” he stated, “please, do introduce us.”

You looked down and chewed your lip. You turned slowly to May and Benjamin, the latter peering past her only as he was torn from his fixation on the field.

“Lord Benjamin and Lady May Parker, baron and baroness,” you rubbed your hands together nervously, “Lord Steven Rogers, duke of Astrens.”

“Oh, we’ve heard of him,” May chirped, “my lord, it is an honour.”

“Indeed,” Benjamin agreed, “my lady, you did not inform of us of your lofty friends.”

“She is modest,” Rogers intoned, “we met by chance, really, through a common acquaintance.”

“You were skillful on the field, it is a pity you were bested,” May said.

“Very pitiful, I did put some gold on you, Lord Rogers,” Benjamin added, “alas it was a fine showing.”

“Wasn’t it?” he turned to stand with his arm pressed to yours, much too close for your liking, “however this one should be intriguing.”

“It’s our boy,” Benjamin said, “and your friend, my lord.”

“Perhaps you’d take another bet?” Rogers countered.

“I’ve lost enough this day,” Benjamin snorted, “I’d rather watch and be pleasantly surprised than paupered.”

“Prudence is wise but always so boring,” Rogers mused.

As the lower of the lords, Parker was announced first and you were saved from more uncomfortable banter by the man in grey. Rogers nudged you and bent as the introductions went long as the man with cone went into detail about the day’s fights all the way to the present match.

“I did look fine out there, didn’t I?” he whispered, “good form, even if I did lose. Barnes is in a mood and we both know that makes him… unpredictable.”

You lowered your head, “my lord.”

“You are quiet since last we met,” he remarked, “perhaps your thoughts linger on how else to use your mouth?”

You squirmed and stared at the competitors as they awaited their signal. Rogers laughed and stood straight as he focused on the field in kind. He played with your sleeve and tugged your arm down. He caressed the back of your hand and stepped even closer.

“When he wins, he might just be cheerful enough to share in his celebrations, hmm?” he said under his breath.

The gold cloth was dropped and the two men circled each other, eyeing their opponent cautiously. Barnes was the first to act but was evaded by the younger man. He didn’t not falter however as he swung again. Peter rolled under the strike and met it with his own steel, batting it away so that it nearly struck its holder.

Barnes dodged that time, then the boy spun again. They danced around each other, both swift, both calculating, both determined. Steel met steel but never that which clothed the fighters. May grabbed your other wrist as she held her breath.

Barnes laid a hit across Peter’s chestplate that made him stagger but he turned it into another lithe evasion. He snaked around the higher lord and hammered his false arm. The shield cracked in half and Peter ducked again.

Barnes was angry as he stabbed out. His blade was shoved away again and Peter jumped over the foot that tried to trip him up, a true achievement in armor.

You realised as Barnes laid a flurry of blows at the air that he was angry. The crowd silenced as the realisation fell over them and they watched as time seemed to slow. The duke was losing and he was enraged.

Peter jabbed the other man’s chest plated with his sword then hit his true arm. The sword bobbled in Barnes’ grip but he regained his hold on it. Too slow as Parker struck over and over, throwing him off balance, and sweeping him off his feet with a low lunge.

As Barnes clattered onto his back, the breath went out of him and every other person in the stadium. The man in grey shook away his shock and finally stepped forward.

“Our victor!” he grabbed Peter’s arm and raised it, “the Lord Parker!”

May hopped up and down and hugged her husband. Steve tutted and shook his head. Your eyes clung to Barnes as he sat up, forgotten in the dirt. His left arm was stuck at an angle away from his body and he reached up to force it back down.

Peter offered him his hand and was ignored. Barnes sheathed his sword and offered a curt bow before he exited. Rogers’ hand crawled up your arm and he gripped you. “Well, looks like we both will suffer his loss.”

For once, he spoke the truth.

[bellsarefun]

𝕯𝖔𝖒𝖊𝖘𝖙𝖎𝖈 (Dragon! Bakugo x Reader)

【ｓｕｍｍａｒｙ：(Y/N) (L/N) lives a surprisingly domestic life alongside her husband, the powerful hot-headed dragon Katsuki Bakugo.】

【ｐａｉｒｉｎｇ：Dragon! Katsuki Bakugo x Female! Reader】

【ｒａｔｉｎｇ：PG-13 — All characters featured in this story have been aged up over eighteen. Also, there is gore and blood in this, so if you are upset by that this isn’t for you.】

【ｗｏｒｄ　ｃｏｕｎｔ：2.6k 】

【Ｎｅｘｔ　Ｃｈａｐｔｅｒ: Part 2】

(Y/N)’s hands kneaded soft, fluffy, pale dough on a stone counter top fitted in smooth grey stone, the flour falling like snow on her pale beige apron. Her mind wandered with the routine task; make the bread, let it rise, and then bake for one hour—she had done it all before.

Grabbing a nearby bread pan, she eased the freshly kneaded dough into the oak wood bowl. Her hands wiping the bits and pieces of stray batter on the fabric apron tied tightly around her waist. Once she had cleaned them in a nearby water basin, she laid a tea towel over the mouth of the bowl to rise for a few hours.

‘Finally, done. I can take a minute to relax.’ The woman thought to herself, untying the nice bow created by the laces of her apron. ‘Let’s hope he doesn’t get back early.’

Hanging the apron on a nearby hook near the entrance to the makeshift kitchen, she stretched her arms high over her head. Her neck muscles protested angrily as they were strained, but she smiled at the relief shooting across her form.

She looked around the kitchen, her (E/C) eyes scanning the beaten stone counter tops, the haphazardly hanging plants from the ceiling, and scratched wooden shelves for any sign of misplacement or grime. The rocky interior walls casted dancing shadows from the many flickering candles around the room.

Satisfied with her keen observation, she hummed to herself contently. Her feet spinning on their heels as she walked out of the kitchen, making a mental note to light the slab, stone oven afterward.

The kitchen lead into a larger room, large wooden support beams held up the ceiling in every corner. There was a large rounded bed pressed against the wall to her left, large furs and pelts were piled in a heap on the bed. On the farthest wall led a corridor where bright sunlight streamed through from the outside—a stairway could be seen in the corridor leading into a dimly lid spiral down.

(Y/N) noted a few of the candles had blown out in the room, presumably the breeze from outside had extinguished the weak flames. She sighed to herself, straightening out her white blouse and suspenders while she moved to a small table across from the bed.

A small green book embroidered with gold detailing waited for her on the scratched dark wood of the table. Her hands picking up the book she seated herself on one of the chairs, but she soon felt herself falling back onto the cold ground with a painful thud.

(Y/N) groaned, holding the side of her head carefully as the world spun around her in a warm blur. Her eyes managing to focus on the chair who had spitefully broken under her the moment she sat down.

“For fucks sake, of course.” She cursed under her breath, using her elbows to hoist herself up from her spot on the floor. Her hand searching for the book that had been flung from her hand, finding it a few feet away.

Looking at the chair, one of the legs had given out and the scratched up, claw-marked, and singed wood wasn’t able to hold weight any longer. It was a wonder how it didn’t break sooner.

“Fucker almost killed me.” (Y/N) voiced allowed to no one in particular, the stabbing pain in her head not receding and only increasing as she pushed herself to standing.

‘I really need to find other furniture that the ones he steals from his raids. A new set of chairs is something I’d pay money for.’ She thought to herself, running a through her hair and picking out pieces of dirt and splinters from her (H/C) locks.

A large roar shook the entire inside of the cave, the forceful vibration almost sending (Y/N) tumbling once again. The book nearly falling from her grasp, but this time she clenched it tightly in her fingers. The sound of scraping stone echoed wildly in (Y/N)’s ears, her face scrunching up at the unpleasant sound.

Her hand was quickly placed on the rocky wall beside her, watching the furniture, that had been fashioned to the wall with wires, to make sure nothing broke. ‘That bastard just had to come now.’

“Tiny! Where the fuck are you? I’m back if you hadn’t noticed.” The loud booming voice emanated from the corridor, the pissed of tone making (Y/N) roll her eyes. She scrambled to the doorway of the kitchen, her book forgotten on the table, and she checked to make sure the bread bowl hadn’t fallen off the counter—luckily, it hadn’t.

“I’m coming, I’m coming, you impatient bastard wait one minute!” (Y/N) called back to the voice, her eye brows narrowing as she noticed the plates and bowls that had fallen from their wooden shelves.

“Whaa? You calling me a bastard, you better watch your fucking mouth, human.” The voice responded sourly, the unmistakable growl that edged it’s way into the tone making (Y/N) chuckle lightly to herself.

She walked toward the corridor of the room, noting that most of the candles has blown out in the rumbling. The rocky hallway was rather small and led into a larger cave with a ceiling that stretched meters above her head. There were no stalactites, like they had been broken off purposely.

Sunlight streamed into the large cave from outside, giving it enough natural light to see around without any aid of candles or lanterns. In the corner of the cave sitting with his legs crossed, his hands tearing at the meat of a freshly killed deer, was Bakugo.

(Y/N) rubbed the back of her neck in defeat, seeing the blood already beginning to pool around the carcass of the poor animal.

“I’m here and already, you’ve made a mess.” She commented in disgust, walking over to the man as he turned around to face her—lips and cheeks smeared with thick red blood.

Bakugo swallowed the meat in his mouth, the hind leg of the deer had been ripped off the animal and was being held in his hands.

“I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but you’re a fucking clean freak.” He retorted, his mouth opening and taking a large squelching bite of the raw meat. “Only humans would worry about shit like this.”

(Y/N) hummed, rolling her eyes as she scanned him up and down—he would definitely need a bath after he was done his “meal.” The blood soaked into his pants and the beautiful white fur of his long red cloak around his shoulders. The red sticky ooze seeped over his toned, muscled body.

“If you’re eating all of it, just give me tender loins to cook please.” (Y/N) sighed defeatedly, the smell of raw bloody meat hitting her nostrils in an unrelenting attack of metal and gore. 

“You humans and your risk of worms.” He grumbled under his breath, his hand reached toward the back of the deer and shoved his hand into the back—through the pelt. (Y/N) winced at the sound of his hand pulling out the two strips of meat, his other hand shoving another mouthful of meat into his mouth. No matter how much (Y/N) has seen him rip flesh from bone, it still made her nauseous sometimes.

“You’re looking green, Tiny. Go back inside, if you’re going to vomit your insides out again.” Bakugo said, his crimson eyes scanning up and down (Y/N)’s pale face. His hand threw over the two pieces of tenderloin, the meat landing on the ground with a splat.

(Y/N) nodded her head silently, crouching down and delicately picking up the strips of deer. The blood was still warm in her palms and she groaned at the thought of getting the red stains on her nice blouse.

“If any of this gets on my shirt, I’m slipping laxative in your water.” (Y/N) threatened, hurrying toward the corridor once again and she heard the outraged exclamation of Bakugo behind her. 

“You better not, fucking tiny ass human. I will rip your precious books to smithereens.” Bakugo shouted after her with a growl, the woman rolling her eyes around her skull in response.

“Okay, dragon boy, let’s see you fucking try. I’ll bleach your cape pink.” (Y/N) jabbed back, calling over her shoulder at Bakugo who continued to munch on the meat. She could hear him grumbling curses under his breath and she giggled softly to herself.

(Y/N) hurried through the corridor, through the room, and into the kitchen. She could see a drop of blood preparing to fall onto the floor she zoomed toward a clean bucket and dropped the meat into it. Her palms leaned on the counter for support, for some reason the smell of the fresh meat made her feel sick to her stomach.

She sharpened a knife and began trimming the meat on the counter. It wasn’t long after she heard Bakugo come stomping through the corridor and she leaned out of the door to see the muddy tracks behind him.

“Clean your shoes off next time, I swear you lived in a barn.” (Y/N) called out, her lips frowned at the sight of the freshly mopped floors being covered in brown muck. Bakugo paused, turning around to look at the mud he was dragging through the room before he smirked deviously.

“I was raised in a cave.” He said, continuing to stride toward (Y/N) with an evil glint in his eye and her frown turned down into a scowl. “What’s wrong, Tiny? You’re looking a little pissed off.”

(Y/N) sighed and shook her head, looking at the blood still wet on his body.

“Don’t take another step, clean off the blood. We have bathing pools for a reason, dipshit.” (Y/N) demanded, pointing her sharpened bloody knife toward him. Bakugo faltered for a moment, a dangerous frown forming on his face.

“I’m not fucking that filthy. I washed yesterday, just like you asked, remember?” Bakugo retorted, his arms crossing over his chest. (Y/N) hummed at his rather adorable expression and continued flaying the strips of white fat from the meat.

“You’re covered in blood, Katsuki Bakugo, and that means your washing.” (Y/N) said, her eyes glanced down where she was happy to see that her work was pretty much finished.

Bakugo rolled his eyes and grumbled his way back toward the corridor, she was pretty sure she heard a imitation of her own voice. She simply giggled and packaged the meat in parchment paper to save for stew later and dropped any dirty dishes in the sink-bucket.

He returned a few minutes later, dripping wet and clothes in his arms. Bakugo wasn’t wearing a thing and (Y/N) noticed right away, her face turning a lovely shade of rose red.

“Okay! That’s- No clothes- Your other shirts are in the dresser!” (Y/N) said, looking away from the spectacle of a naked Bakugo. She heard his footsteps approach her and felt strong arms wrap tightly around her waist, pulling her snugly against him.

“I’ll get changed later.” He muttered against her skin, the warmth of his breath tickling the skin of her neck. “Nothing happened while I was gone?” (Y/N) was frozen in her spot, the feeling of the water dampening in her back, and her face flushing with a beautiful color of red.

“N-Nothing, the den’s been quiet as ever.” (Y/N) answered, her voice stuttering at the beginning but she managed to focus on the cutting board in front of her. “No one’s touched your precious gold horde.”

Bakugo hummed, his chin resting on top of her head, and he snuggled his face into her hair. His hands wandered about her waist, his toned chest pressing against the small of her back.

“I wasn’t worried about the gold.” He muttered quietly, the growl at the end of his voice made (Y/N)’s arms explode in goose bumps. “You smell different, tiny. Did you use the milk soap you bought a while ago?”

She paused for a moment.

“No? My smell changed?” (Y/N) asked, she had never really gotten used to the draconic abilities of her husband. Bakugo nipped at her earlobe absentmindedly, he’d always held this animalistic quality that he brought everywhere in their relationship.

“Your cinnamon smell is just different, alright? It smells like milk mixed with cinnamon.” Bakugo said, his eyes watched her hands move rhythmically as she finished up ridding the meat of any fatty tissue.

“I still don’t know why you humans are so picky.” Bakugo scoffed, shaking his head as let go of her waist and walked out of the kitchen in order to hopefully put some pants on.

“The fatty parts make the meat chewy.” (Y/N) said honestly, her eyes glanced over to Bakugo’s form but she refused to look for long—the blazing warmth in her cheeks forcing her too.

The conversation continued for awhile, (Y/N) was busily hurrying around the kitchen and chopping vegetables for the stew. Bakugo was making himself useful and watching her whisking around the kitchen from his spot sitting on one of the counters.

The stew shimmered on top of the stone oven, the bread was baking in the rocky blazing insides happily. The smell permeated the air and the warm smell making (Y/N) sigh contentedly.

“Shitty hair and pink bitch want to come over for dinner, they want to taste human cooking.” Bakugo started, the subjects of his yapping changed like the wind—it could go from hating Midoriya, to how great he is, or how he caught the deer earlier.

“Of course, I said no-”

“Why don’t you invite them over? They haven’t been over since fall, the winter’s been tough on them.” (Y/N) said, stirring the stew in the pot and sprinkling in a few herbs and spices into the shimmering pot. Bakugo scoffed.

“Hell no! They’re messier than me. That shitty hair is really fucking annoying.” He retorted, his posture straightened to a stiff board, and he muttered quietly under his breath. “He’s always touching you.”

“What is it with you dragons? Always so overprotective of your ‘mates.’“ (Y/N) sighed, looking toward her husband who huffed and shoved himself off of the counter. His shimmering ruby eyes glaring darkly in her direction, stalking over to her.

“Mates are a big fucking deal, tiny, I’ve told you this before.” (Y/N) nodded her head, her lack of listening made Bakugo snatched her wrist and pulled her roughly against his body.

“Dragons mate forever. You are mine, forever, you fucking idiot.” He growled, her smaller body was pressed flush against his. (Y/N)’s eyes widened at his serious tone, he usually wasn’t this sentimental and she expected a scoff from him instead.

Her heart fluttered in het chest, a large smile crossing her features

“I understand, Katsuki.” (Y/N) simply said, embracing her husband close to her and enjoyed the peaceful moments that followed. Two years ago, she didn’t expect to find herself here and married to the dragon that had quite rudely crashed through her house—hurting himself in the process.

For months, she nursed him back to health and somehow managed to love him in that time. Now, there they are, two years later and married. If (Y/N)’s younger self had a conversation with older (Y/N), she was sure that younger her would call her insane.

“I love you, dragon boy.” She said softly, her hand running through his spikey blond hair. Bakugo huffed and he laughed cockily.

“Who doesn’t love me?” A swift jab to the ribs made him cough and he nipped at her neck in retaliation. “Heh, I love you, tiny human.”