#chainmail veil

[theanoninyourinbox]

FINALLY FINISHED H I M

I know that's ominous but I've been trying to draw this one dude from a dream I had since 2021!!!! And he's not perfect but HE LOOKS CLOSER THAN BEFORE!! Absolutely influenced by watching Persona playthroughs and listening to someone explain Cenobites

Guy below the cut because Blood and uuuhhhh Body Horror I guess?

Behold Justice! The balance between Worldly Needs (the gold) and Spiritual Needs (the heart). His skin in the dream was like pearl and abalone, all nacre and shining colors...which did not translate here but OH WELL THE REST IS PERFECT! Yes he IS impaled, there were many more swords in the dream but they looked TOO Busy...anyway enjoy this Dream Man

[zegalba]

Paco Rabanne autumn/winter 2020

[streetmaille]

Another video of my chainmail corset belt, it shines so much ✨ I felt so magical modeling this belt I ended up taking way too many photos, it was a really fun day!

Check it out here: https://www.streetmaille.etsy.com/listing/1230578263

[artisticcrow]

The Sun God shines brightly on the Tree of Whimsy

[periodcostumefantasylover]

Guinevere's wedding dress and chainmail veil in Excalibur 1981

[zaldritzosrose]

Can't Stay Away (Feyd-Rautha x Princess!Reader)

Summary: Second daughter of the Emperor and you were well used to being ignored in favour of your sister. That was, until you met Feyd-Rautha, nephew to the Harkonnen Baron. A tourney of old, bringing back the traditions of champions and favours brought him to your side - but how close would he stay?

TW: Minors DNI, She/Her pronouns, afab reader, mild mentions of neglect towards reader (ignored in favour of Irulan), Feyd being a flirt, hot and heavy making out, fingering, lashings of sexual tension.

I've taken a couple of liberties with the veils the Bene Gesserit/Irulan seem to wear - making it an honour to see a Sister/Princess' face and given meaning to the paint on Feyd before the arena...because why not it's my story!

(There will be a part 2...maybe 3...I have no self control)

Words: 3508

THANK YOU to @tumblin-theworldaway for not only being patient over this but for listening to my months of related brain rot! I love you!

Being second to the Imperial heir had not always felt like a task. As a child, you did not mind being sent off to other tasks while Irulan was coached in the ways of an Empress. Your father had you both trained in the ways of the Bene Gesserit, and as a child it made you feel incredibly important. Being at the Reverend Mother’s side, and at times the only time you were ever praised for something you had achieved.

But the older you got, the more the feeling of being ignored crept in. Men would seek out Irulan's favour, not yours. Visitors would spend hours speaking to the elder princess before speaking to you. Irulan was the interesting one. She was heir, it made sense for her to be the one they wished to gain the favour of.

Second daughter, second best. You understood it, deep down, but that did not stop the hurt it caused.

Despite this, you always accompanied your father and sister on the planetary tours, following along as the Emperor would visit all his people and be lavished with grand feasts and parties as a welcome. Every House from Arrakis to Zanovar were granted a visit from their Emperor, some were happier about it than others.

Despite the tensions on Arrakis, the word of the ‘Messiah’ reaching the Emperor’s ears and being ignored and the rumours that the Emperor had ordered the end of House Atreides, the Imperial Tours continued.

Giedi Prime was the next stop. The home of the Harkonnens. You had heard of the Harkonnens. Fearsome warriors. Terrifying. Bloodthirsty. Brutal. In all honesty, they had fascinated you for the longest time. The manipulations that led to their rise. Their bloodstained history with House Atreides. You had read as much as you had been able to find.

And their welcome? A tournament, a battle of strength and brutality to impress their Emperor. Harking back to days of old when knights would compete in feats of battle prowess to show off. Men from all the Great Houses and more came to compete, including Feyd-Rautha. The Baron's nephew did not hesitate to volunteer to represent his people in something so prestigious.

The Imperial Ship landed and you, your sister and the Emperor were quickly greeted by the Baron and his nephews. You stood to your father’s left, Irulan at his right. Feyd’s eyes stayed on you, though you had not noticed yet. Trailing from the gold and pearl veil over your face, down to the matching white lace and gold dress that both clung and flowed over your body perfectly. He glanced briefly at Irulan, her silver and chainmail contrasting you, but his eyes ultimately returned to you.

"Your Imperial Graces, may I introduce my nephews," the Baron began, gesturing first to his elder nephew and then the younger as he spoke.

"Beast-Rabban and Feyd-Rautha."

Both men bowed, following their uncle's lead. First to the Emperor, then Irulan and then you. The order of importance seemed clear, as usual. But as his head raised, Feyd met your gaze and held it. Cool blue eyes boring into yours and you could not look away.

Your father nodded his head in thanks as did Irulan, but you...

You still stared at Feyd. Something about him, the way he held your gaze. The faint smirk forming on his lips. You could not do anything but stare.

His smile widened, black painted teeth on show as he stepped forward and taking your hand in his, a gesture that shocked even you. His lips found the back of it, pressing a surprisingly gentle but lingering kiss to your skin. No one ever focused on you like this, not when you stood by Irulan. It was something you had gotten quite accustomed to.

But the rough scratch of his fingers around yours, the heat of his lips on your skin, was enough to have you blushing. Then he spoke. His voice low, sending a shiver down your spine.

"A pleasure to meet you, princess."

The Emperor and the Baron led you, Irulan and the Baron’s nephews back inside the Harkonnen fortress. Despite trying not to, your focus always seemed to return to Feyd. The way he moved with confidence, the small glances he gave you with that smirk still on his lips.

Irulan was at your father’s side, as usual. Rabban walked beside the Baron. Which left you and Feyd behind that line. You were not purposely walking at his side, but you soon noticed that Feyd had fallen into step with you. Slowing his pace to match yours.

You kept your gaze forward, but you could feel his eyes on you. Like a predator and you were no more than prey. You knew you would be the one to break the silence before Feyd did.

“Are you looking forward to the tournament, Feyd?” You asked, glancing to the side to see him, as expected, staring at you as he walked.

Feyd hummed low in response before answering. You began to wonder how he was being so mindful of where he was going, whilst keeping his eyes on you.

“A fight is always welcome, princess. Are you excited for it?”

You did not answer immediately. No answer you gave, you felt, was ever interesting enough. Or at least, not in your past experiences. But, to your surprise, Feyd seemed genuinely interested.

“I am intrigued, to say the least. It is not often a House welcomes us with such an event.”

Feyd only nodded, before holding out his hand to stop you moving further forward. It was only then that you noticed you had reached the doors to the Harkonnen fortress. You had been so distracted by the man beside you, you had ignored your surroundings.

“After you, princess,” Feyd offered, holding out an arm to allow you to walk ahead.

You walked on, hearing Feyd’s boots against the floor behind you. Your father, sister and the Baron and his nephew were ahead of you. And your father had not looked back once to check on you, something you were well used to. But Feyd had noticed too.

His head tilted in curiosity but said nothing on the topic. He followed you inside, eyes glancing occasionally between you and your father, noticing the seemingly longing look you held. As the Baron led the Emperor and Irulan into the dining hall, you seemed to hang back, like you were waiting for permission to follow them.

When that did not come, you folded your hands before you and turned from the door.

“Are you not joining them?” Feyd asked, genuinely surprised at the situation.

Your head hung low, and you simply shook it.

“Not if I am not invited. Irulan is heir, not I,” You said simply and began walking away without a second glance.

You assumed Feyd would join his uncle and brother. But the sound of footsteps behind you told you otherwise. You did not look back as you walked, though in truth, you had no idea where you were walking to. You simply wished to be away. Feyd followed silently, only interfering when he felt the need to steer you somewhere specific.

“Princess, follow me, I have somewhere more comfortable you could wait over walking the halls?”

Feyd was not sure why, but he felt the need to be at your side. A strange draw that seemed to tug at his gut and keep him at your side. He was a man of pleasure, or so most people said. He held little care for the feelings of others.

Yet with you, he wanted to know. No, he needed to know. To know what bothered you. To know why your eyes dipped to the floor after looking at your father and sister. Why you seemed surprised from the moment he paid you attention upon your arrival. He was curious as to why you seemed to try to hide your presence at any given moment.

But he said nothing. He would not even know where to begin if he wanted to. Instead, he walked in silence, leading you to a wide balcony that looked out on to the expanse of Giedi Prime.

You took your seat and the two of you sat in a comfortable silence until you were called by one of your father’s attendants.

You listened politely as you walked beside your sister, Irulan’s arm linked with yours this time as you followed your father and the Baron towards the arena. Irulan talked on about how the tournament would work, that you, her and some other noble ladies from the Houses would choose their own champion to fight the tournament in their name.

It reminded you of the tourneys of old. Where knights fought for princesses and ladies to win favour. You had read so many stories, fairytales of times that were now a faraway memory. The idea fascinated you as much as the Harkonnens did. You were about to ask Irulan more, when your father turned to speak. To both of you, for once.

“My daughters, you will allow the ladies from the Great Houses to choose their champions, then you will choose.”

That confused you both, but you had little choice but to agree. He was the Emperor first, your father second.

You watched warriors from each Great House and some minor Houses line up before you, Irulan and the other gathered ladies with interest. And you could not hide your smile when Feyd stepped forward and joined them.

One by one, champions were picked. Irulan chose first out of the two of you, not surprisingly choosing a Corrino soldier as her champion. There were more warriors than ladies to choose, and Feyd remained in those waiting. That surprised you. He was known for his fighting ability, so you did not understand why he had not been chosen. Which only solidified your own choice.

“Princess, your choice of champion please?” the Harkonnen announcer asked, gesturing to the men before you.

Purely for the suspense, you paused before answering. Mere seconds, allowing you to enjoy the small amount of attention focused solely on you.

“I choose Feyd-Rautha.”

Everyone looked shocked, including your father and sister. Everyone, but Feyd. His smirk wide as he stepped forward, taking your hand as he had when you arrived. Eyes locked to yours as he pressed his lips to your knuckles.

“I shall win well for you, my princess.”

You were not sure if it was traditional, but Feyd had asked you to see him before the tournament. A guard led you silently to a round chamber, with only a black stone table in the centre, holding weapons of different kinds. You stood out so starkly against the black stone, the faint lights making the pearls on your veil shimmer ever so slightly.

Feyd was stood in the centre, and you could feel the heat in your cheeks you realised he wore only an intricately wrapped loin cloth.

“Princess, I appreciate you agreeing to come,” Feyd called as he strode to your side.

He smirked as he watched you avert your gaze from his bare chest. In his hand, he held a bowl of what looked like black paint. It was only when he tapped the stone bowl did your eyes find it. You looked back at him curiously.

“You are my champion, it would be rude not to,” you said softly, your eyes still looking at the bowl.

It was only then that you noticed there was no one else in the room. Something that seemed extremely unusual.

“Do you normally prepare for a fight alone?” you asked, eyes flitting around the room and back to him, now trained solely on his face.

Feyd chuckled, a low, gravelly sound that you found yourself wanting to hear again.

“No, usually I am surrounded by servants and guards. But I thought I would try something different today. It’s a special day after all.”

He held the bowl up, tipping it slightly to move the paint. Your eyes watched it with interest, it slowly dawning on you what it was for. You had read up on the Harkonnens and Giedi Prime before you arrived, there was more lore to research than you had anticipated. One thing, now, came to your mind.

“Am I to paint you, Feyd?”

That earned you another chuckle. Though Feyd was actually quite surprised you knew of any Harkonnen traditions.

“I thought it would be interesting, to prepare your champion for battle, hmm?” he asked, holding the bowl out to you, careful however not to get the ink black liquid on your white dress.

You nodded, confusing him when you turned away from him. But what you did next, was not what he expected. Slowly, you lifted the veil that had covered your face since your arrival. Finally revealing your full appearance to him.

And you were beautiful.

“Then I suppose it is only fair I let you look at me while I do so.”

What Feyd did not realise, was the importance of what seemed like a small gesture. Almost all those trained by the Bene Gesserit veiled themselves in some way. The Princesses most of all. But Feyd knew even now, he was being honoured by you.

“Thank you, princess.” Was all he could manage, any words he said would never be quite enough, he felt.

You returned to his side, only now looking down at the full form of him. Thick muscle covered him from shoulder and down. A body sculpted for war, it seemed. And it was now a body that would fight in your name.

Feyd held out the bowl, watching with curious eyes as you took it and moved to stand at his back. He opened his mouth to instruct you but was stopped by the cold sensation of paint on his skin. You felt him stiffen a little and continued to paint as you explained.

“I have done my research before coming here. My father always tells me it is best to know our hosts,” you said simply, as if that should be enough to explain why you so easily began painting him.

He said nothing as you finished his back, the feeling of the paint drying telling him where you had painted each square and line. It fascinated him that you had so quickly learned the symbols necessary.

But when you moved to his front, he felt a wave of anticipation run through him. Tongue flicking out to wet his lips as he waited for you to begin. He could feel the warmth of your hands more intensely now he could see you.

You started on his chest, painting the four thick lines on his pectorals first. He watched the concentration on your face, the way your teeth gently nibbled your lower lip as your made sure every stroke was perfect.

You could feel his eyes on you, but you did not dare look up. The whole situation was intimate enough, without meeting his gaze. Feyd heard the soft breath you took to prepare yourself as you moved lower, pausing only briefly before you began to paint his stomach.

“Do you really believe these help you?” you suddenly asked, as though distracting yourself from the path your fingers took over the ridges of hid abdominals.

Feyd’s jaw clenched at the gentleness of your touch, the feeling sending goosebumps over his pale skin. He did his best to concentrate on answering your question about the symbols.

“It is the belief in them that makes them important, so yes, I do.”

You hummed in response, and Feyd’s breath caught in his throat when you began to kneel as your painted nearer his hips.

The tension in the air was thick. No sounds in the room except the scrape of your fingers against the bowl and the soft puffs of your combined breathing. Feyd tried his best to concentrate solely on the paint being smeared on his skin, but having you so close had desire settling in his belly.

Soon, you were done.

“There, I hope I have done a good enough job…” Feyd smiled at the mix of hope and pride in your eyes. But when you moved to take your hand away from his skin, he grabbed it quickly. His body acting on instinct and the words leaving him before his brain could control them.

“Would I be too forward in asking for a kiss, princess. For luck?”

You were struck silent by the question, but an aching part of you began urging you to allow him one kiss. No harm could come from it, right?

Tentatively, you stepped forward after setting bowl down on a table nearby. You pressed your lips softly to his cheek, letting them linger for mere seconds. But that was not what Feyd wanted.

You had barely stepped back before his arm wrapped around your waist, pulling you flush against his body. He revelled in the small squeak of surprise that left you and he appreciated the fact you were not trying to push him away.

Your face was mere inches from his as his hand moved to cup your cheek, tilting your head up to his as he pressed him plump lips to yours. The feeling was electric the moment your lips met, your own hand gripping the back of his neck. Not caring for the paint that was now smeared down the skin there.

You pressed yourself harder against him, letting your body mould to his as he deepened the kiss. Tongue swiping against the flesh of your lip, asking for entry which you happily granted. The moment his tongue found yours, Feyd was like a man possessed. Gripping your face tighter as your tongue soon surrendered to his, tangling together in a clash of teeth.

The paint on his body, barely dried, smeared against your dress but you could not have cared less. Your only thoughts were Feyd. The feel of his arm on your waist and hand on your face. The taste of him, combined with the black paint on his teeth. You were entirely intoxicated by him.

You were not sure when he had backed you towards the table, but you did not stop him when he lifted you quickly on to it. There was something so delicious about the danger of the whole situation. While realistically, you barely knew him, you could feel your body surrendering to every kiss and touch. The very fibres of you desperate to feel more of him already.

Feyd groaned into your mouth when you made space for him to slip between your legs, your dress parting either side to accommodate the movement. His hands took purchase your thighs while yours found his shoulders. Your paint-stained fingers leaving fingerprints all over his alabaster skin.

The room felt like it had heated as his lips began to trail down your jaw and to your neck, following a path until he reached the swell of your breasts, just visible with the cut of your dress. His hands kneading the flesh of your thighs, the combination forcing breathy moans to slip from your lips.

Feyd revelled in every one of them. The dig of nails into his shoulder when he nipped at your collarbone, the soft moan when his hands found the apex of your thighs and squeezed.

“I will win for you, my princess…” he mumbled, his face buried in your neck as his fingers continued their path to your core.

And you were powerless to stop him, your body listening now solely to your base instincts. The first brush of his fingers over your underwear had your head falling back.

“Win for me, and I will reward you…” you sighed out, as his fingers slipped deftly beneath the fabric.

Feyd could barely concentrate on your promise, slipping his fingers further and further between your folds until he was buried to the knuckles. The smallest curl of the digits had you moaning his name.

“Reward me how?” he asked, already feeling your soft walls clenching around him as your release crept forward.

He could barely help himself, thrusting and curling his fingers over and over. Feeling the soft gush of your slick coating his fingers and palm with each movement.

You could hardly form words, Feyd’s fingers somehow speeding up again. You could only moan as you release surprised you, tugging Feyd by neck to kiss him as you spilled around his fingers.

He slowed his movements as you relaxed, not pulling them out until he could feel your muscles stop spasming. Your jaw went slack as you saw him reach for the bowl of paint, mixing your juices with the black liquid and painting over the now smudged symbols you had adorned him with. The smug grin on his face making your skin tingle.

You slowly came back to yourself, eyes meeting his as you finally answered.

“Win for me, and you can have any part of me you wish.”

Dune Taglist (requested and people I know who like Dune):

@blissfulphilospher @tumblin-theworldaway

@lady-phasma @anjelicawrites @aemondsbabe @alexagirlie

(if you want to be tagged in or removed from future posts, let me know!)

[victoria-grimesss]

Knight!Ghost Drabble

masterlist

->Pairing: Knight!Ghost x Princess!Reader

->A/N: A little something to combat my endless writers block

Since the night of her attempted assassination, she requested a knight be present by her side at all times. A wise decision many agreed. She had the pick of the litter, many knights vying at the chance to prove their worth by protecting her. She chose him out of all of them, the Ghost. She demanded he be in every room she was in, still scared from the attempt on her life. Even within the dim lights of the bathing room, there he stood, right on the cusp of the room.

He would lavish in the way the candlelight danced on her skin. The steam of the water coming off her skin like she crawled right out of hell just to torment him, to fill his mind with carnal sin. But he stood still just on the other side of a sheer curtain, leaving little to the imagination. The steam warming his armor and in turn himself. Sweat dripping on his skin within the metal, chainmail growing uncomfortable, but he could bear it.

The multitude of candles strewn around the room illuminated her in a godly way, he was tempted to get down on his knees and worship her as she was. But he was sworn to protect, lest the King calls for his head. His eyes are veiled by the helmet, making him appear more as a statue than a man.

She yearns to tempt him, see how much he can endure before that knightly training is cracked and thrown out her tower window. To pull the armor piece by piece until he’s revealed to him as she is to him now would rival any romance poetry or gossip she's ever heard. A fantasy is what it is. 

His touch was original sin, tongue gracing the side of your neck like hellfire. That’s where you were going right? For indulging in awful terrible fantasies of a man who could never be betrothed to you. One so near yet far. He was unlike others. Standing guard day and night, still as a shadow unless he was walking behind you, eyes forever scanning for danger, for an opportunity to pay the ultimate price and lay down his life for yours, the most noble sacrifice.

Unlike the princes you were presented in front of at banquets, he always stood there unmoving, as you were shown possible future husbands. None of them you wanted, but it would be foolish to run to your father and mother and proclaim your infatuation for a knight. You would be mocked and ignored. Your fate was sealed, a marriage already brokered long before your birth as a way to form an alliance with another kingdom. You pray each night to be rid of these fevers of a man who you know nothing about. A man who you could never touch, but his dark eyes, you get drunk on them. They are more intoxicating than any ale that could ever be crafted. Yet no gold could buy you such a gift.

[vixensdungeon]

For years I've had this on-again-off-again project about creating a D&D setting that uses edition changes to build a World of Darkness style metaplot. And maybe I should start parting the veil on it a bit.

The history of the world of Qwerth is told from the time of the Great War of Law and Chaos onward, anything before that being lost to the mists of prehistory. So basically I'm starting from Chainmail.

The changes in the game that affect changes in lore are those that actually affect how something works within the fictional world. Going from THAC0 to base attack bonus is nothing, nobody in the world talks about those things. But halflings having druids and then not having druids and then having druids again? That's something, that can tell us something about the world and its history.

There's a lot to cover, so I'm gonna crowdsource this a bit.

Whatever you vote for, I'd appreciate suggestions for that type of thing so I can make a follow-up poll.

[comfortless]

Syl, my lovely, please. I need to see this vision come to life through your words. Would König take his darling to the Ren Faire?🌷

VANI!!! my angel!! of course he would… König is a just a hapless knight at heart & it gives him an excuse to treat you like an actual princess! 🗡💕 i can not promise you that he will not force you to sit in his lap and play skyrim or something when you get home though…! /:

“Danke for agreeing to come,” he whispers to you once you’re out in the sprawling field, an abundance of colorful tents, partitions and others in similar dress surrounding the two of you.

It’s a lot to take in, as though you’ve been whisked away to a separate world entirely; the air smells faintly of fresh food, a bard strums a lute somewhere out in the distance, and… was that supposed to be a dragon’s roar?

König dons a veil of tightly woven chainmail, only a glimpse of his jaw visible, lined with prickly stubble. The rest of his armor leaves little glimpses of him, his thick wrist between cuff and glove, the bob of his Adam’s apple as he curls his arm around you protectively. If it were possible, he seems even larger wearing the plates of armor, far more imposing like this.

Tucked at his side, stands you in your linen bliaut, a soft woolen cloak dyed a royal blue thrown over your shoulders; a stark contrast from the shimmering and hardened armor of the knight guiding each of your steps with his arm around your waist.

König has to look at everything— marveling at the handmade objects and shiny, smithed weapons in each booth.

When you give him a quizzical glance as he ghosts his gloved fingertips over the angular blade of an exceptionally smart spear, he pauses his frantic admiration for a time to explain to you that it reminds him of one he read about once— like Odin’s Gungnir, fierce and proud. Even you take a moment to admire its craftsmanship, to which the pale blue of his eyes seems to light up; he makes the purchase without a second thought.

You find yourself enjoying the atmosphere, especially with that ever-present grin on König’s face; he’s in his element surrounded by fantasies drawn from history. It’s a nice change, seeing him so filled up with whimsy as he whisks you from tent to tent, buying you anything that catches your eye, taking your picture any chance that he gets.

You humor him, lifting your skirts a little when you pass between two of the fabric structures, hidden away from the eyes of any other grinning merchants, pretty ladies, and bellowing bards.

Seated in his lap he tells you of holy grails and swordplay tactics while feeding you from a dish on a wooden countertop, a pastry stuffed full with apple.

You only think to offer a complaint once you note the three now emptied pewter goblets of mead in front of him as König proclaims he wants to act out a proper sword fight with one of the others donning armor in the small, hastily fenced in area serving as a knight’s training yard.

(It was certainly a coincidence that the one he chose to spar with happened to be the very same man who offered you a friendly wave in passing.)

He makes a display of his swordsmanship, swift knocks and parries that leave your eyes wide as you clasp your hands over your mouth; even a prise de fer as you dig your nails into the wood of the shoddy fence. You’ve never seen him so swift, so brutal, as when he finally knocks his opponent into the dust, the sharpened edge of his blade pointed downward. Had this not all been pretend, you could imagine the bloodshed that would have occurred here.

Thankfully, König backs off, dips his head in a begrudging bow to his opponent before wandering back to you.

Your hand is pried from the fence, a kiss placed upon every knuckle as you praise his talents. He smirks, proud, and whispers to you something about how he had to show off for his lady. Even has the audacity to tell you that he would kill for you, and you knew very well it was not said entirely in jest.

When the sun finally dims and lanterns are lit, bathing the green below your boots in a soft, tangerine glow, you find yourself helping to loosen the straps of König’s armor. Poor thing had not thought to wear a proper shirt beneath, or.. perhaps, that was intentional. The sweat glistens off of him when you’ve tossed his dark top and curved metal into a heap, the curls of his chest hair sticking to pale flesh.

You rove your hand over him to dull the ache of those straps digging into his shoulders. He groans, contented as he pulls you up to your feet, leaning down just enough to kiss you, to desperately grope at your hips, your rear, before the strumming of a lute and the cheers and giggles accompanied by dancing fills your ears.

Attentions turned, you find yourself curling your hand into his, tugging him towards the feathery songs and shuffling of feet.

“We should dance,” you suggest, all giggles when you tilt your head to offer a pleading glance to him over your shoulder.

“Anything for you, meine prinzessin.”

[serpentface]

Fuck we are under attack (Janeys armor reference image)

The Imperial Wardi military has no standardized weapons or armor (except for a few small, elite and specialized groups of soldiers). The vast majority of soldiers have to supply their own, and one's armor is only as good as they can afford. Janeys can afford very, very good armor, though this set opts more for comfort, visual appeal, and basic coverage of vital organs than truly comprehensive protection.

This set consists of a lacquered and finely scaled iron lamellar covering the torso, shoulders, and wrists, and two layers of thick padded skirts protecting the upper legs and groin, all worn over a standard skirt and a light undershirt. The veil draping from the helmet is externally decorated with fabric and conceals an internal set of chainmail (the rest of the mail that would complete the set has been neglected). While this armor is not as fully protective as would be ideal, it is designed to allow for an adequate degree of protection while maintaining freedom of movement to engage with versatile duties (riding, fighting with a sword or spear, archery, shooting a musket, verbally abusing your soldiers to cope with stress, etc).

This armor is substantially more decorated than is typical, while not outright being fully ornamental/ceremonial. The padded components and belt are trimmed with consecrated white lionsmane (a material typically reserved for Odonii and their kin, used to increase prowess in battle), and the helmet has a purely unnecessary skimmer gull plume flopping around on it (for good luck).

There is a great variety of armor produced in Imperial Wardin, but it tends to fall into the categories of lamellar (usually iron or leather) and chainmail, and/or thickly padded linen armors. The latter is of increasing importance in the contemporary, as it is the only armor that offers SOME degree of protection against musketfire. Padded armor certainly cannot withstand a direct hit, but it can sometimes absorb distant or glancing hits from ammunition.

[zegalba]

Paco Rabanne spring/summer 2024 Model: Sora Choi

[the-grey-hunt]

i was encouraged for two seconds and now you all get to look at medieval ghost trick—heavily based on the medieval AU by @theriveroflight!

MORE WORDS BELOW THE CUT:

im gonna talk about each outfit specifically because again, someone encouraged me for 2 seconds and i love talking

YOMIEL (and SISSEL): Sissel gets a little medieval hood instead of a plain kerchief, because it's adorable.

Yomiel's outfit is based on this gentleman here, but with a longer doublet to mimic his suit jacket. His red clothes are plain and a common color, but the richness of the color (from an early dye batch) indicates that it's probably a bit expensive, and the rich black collar and blindfold (because sunglasses didn't exist) are also some flashy signifiers of wealth.

The white leather of his shoes and belt would also be pretty showy (even if those white shoes are a bad idea in medieval mud...). I couldn't figure out a way to make the hat work, but I kinda wanted to.

CABANELA: As a knight, Cabanela not only has some flashy white leather for his belt, but he's wearing a full-length chainmail shirt (expensive!) AND a deep black skirted tunic—lots of fabric that would take LOTS of expensive dye. This is conspicuous consumption to the max, showing off his status (indicated by his silver chain and pendant) as a royal knight.

His sword doesn't quite seem to match...as it's not his, but Jowd's old sword, still bearing Jowd's family's crest. Cabanela's outfit is taken from these two 12th/13th c. knights.

LYNNE: A younger and less established knight than Cabanela, she's wearing more common colors (red, blue, yellow) from cheaper dyes, and her armor is based on this 9th/10th c. fellow. Older gear and much less flashy—she has plain brown leather accessories—but she bears the green ribbon favor that shows her commitment to Jowd's case.

Plus, her hose (pants) are a pretty deep blue and her armor is polished. She's taking good care of her handmedown gear and has made a few splurges on clothes! Her sword may not have a crest, but there's still a few jewels set in the hilt, befitting a royal knight.

KAMILA (and MISSILE):

Kamila as a young noblewoman is referenced from this statue of a French queen. Her veil and circlet are typical for medieval women—most wore some kind of hair covering—but her circlet is metal, while most ordinary people would use fabric. I'm very proud of how nice all the gilding turned out. The power of shading!

Her little purse is not only expensive, but a royal favor—it's silk dyed Tyrian purple, a color that was often legally banned for anyone not in the royal family. I imagine it's a gift from her friend, Princess Amelie! Her clothes are pretty plain, light colors for a noblewoman, which is probably a matter of taste and/or youth.

The pose she's in, holding her cloak fastening down so it doesn't pull against her throat, is very common in medieval artwork of the period where this type of sash fastening was common.

Missile is Missile. you can't improve on perfection XD. I have given him a green collar, in a style to match Kamila's fancy gilt belt.

JOWD:

Jowd is dressed in his "prison clothes", this rough brown friar's robe and rope belt that I copied the pose from as well. However, being brought back onto the case as a knight, he's recovered his old green "coat", a very nice garment called a gardcorps. It's a simple green, not too expensive, but it's lined in a contrasting white, showing the care put into its make.

I switched the opening on his gardcorps to the front, rather than the side as in the original illustration, so that the rope belt would be visible because I really liked the belt. It's got most of the "penitent" vibes I was trying to give Jowd. Also, like the friar, he is barefoot (prison does not give one a big clothes budget).

The background shows the city, like the original green-monochrome city skyline from the game's promo images. This city, however, has fewer and smaller lights, indicating the palace and the castle wall—and over the sea, the Viking longships of Sith's country are swarming in! (it's explicitly not longships in the fic I reference, but the Vikings are just too suitable a reference)

[tongue-twists]

hello! just wanted to reach out and say: I saw your metal lace chainmail veil photos of your ample and wonderful breasts while very high on edibles and got a lil scared because I thought that death was posting selfies on tumblr.gov

in your last moments, as you expire, you will be thankful for the warmth of my chest, as I take you under my veil - and the cold face of death will give you a bony kiss goodbye

[thebookworm0001]

wip Wednesday

hi felt like sharing have some solavellan

“It appears your mind is elsewhere, ma vhenan,” he said, voice as level as if he were commenting on Skyhold’s continued frosty weather. Casually, he lifted his left hand from where it supported the open cover of the manuscript, and the whole of her attention focused on the soft skin of the inside of her knee as he curled his fingers around it, as it slipped just a hair lower to caress the inside of her thigh. “What has captured it, I wonder?”

“I’m perfectly focused, thank you very much.” The words came out higher than she’d intended. Not a squeak, thank the creators, but certainly not the low, settled confidence that would have been at least half-convincing. And though Solas’s expression remained cool and unchanged, his eyes sparkled with mischief.

“Is that so?” She made a small noise of affirmation, and his thumb began smoothing over her skin in a wholly distracting back and forth motion. Suddenly, she was sharply aware of all the places her body met his – every inch of her thighs and calves that rested atop his, the thin sleep trousers which separated their bare skin – and how much more effort it took to make her chest rise and fall in a calm, collected rhythm. Two pictures warred in her head, one where she retrieved her legs, tucked them beneath her and smoothed her slip back down over her thighs, and one where she indulged the urge to surge forward, slide her fingers around the near-translucent collar of his shirt, and leave the book to fall to the side for the night.

And he could see her struggle, plain as if she’d spoken her thoughts aloud. And even if she could not see it in the twitch of his ear and the tension in his cheeks to keep them from betraying his smugness, it radiated off him, coloring the magic that always clung to him with a deep amusement – it danced across the surface of the veil, making her scalp tingle and the memory of sparks tease at her lips. It was bait – every bit as much the flower set inside the snare.

Apparently, she was keen to play the deer. But it wasn’t as if Halla had no horns of their own.

Ignoring the voice that wisely cautioned against rash actions, Ellana sat up, drawing a leg beneath her even as she swung the other across Solas’ lap so that she was perched firmly over his thighs – and settled her ass on the perch of his knees. She drew the book from his hand, the cloth binding snapping shut between her fingers, and made a show of leaning over to set it in the seat she had just evacuated – leaning over farther than she needed to so that her hair fell in in waves behind her back and the loose straps of her nightdress flirted with the cliffs of her shoulders. When she righted herself, Solas’s gaze snapped from her gaping silk neckline back to her eyes, an eyebrow quirked expectantly.

“Ask me anything you want.” Warm hands slid over her thighs, calluses formed by holding brushes and staves rough against soft skin protected by muscles, pillowy flesh, and chainmail. She did not bite her lips, as her nerves would normally bid her do, instead she wrapped her arms around Solas’ neck, casually crossing her wrists, momentary, foolish boldness overtaking the rapid beat of her heart. “I presume you remember the bulk of the passage?”

no pressure to play, but tagging: @dreadfutures @ell-vellan @shift-shaping @plisuu @rosella-writes @kcwriter-blog and anybody else who needs or wants an excuse to share their writing

[secretmage]

Gaming Heads Solas Statue (Fade edition)

very long unboxing-related post ahead -

So I was lucky enough to get my hands on one of these and it has arrived! My sister was at home when it was delivered by China Post (and my country's post for the last-mile journey) from GH's Asia warehouse in Dongguan, Guangdong province. I live in South East Asia, so that's the closest warehouse to me. Shipping cost me 120USD but that price is likely dependent on where you live from their nearest warehouse.

and let's just say the box is super big (boba for scale). The shipping box is 66cm x 30cm x 84cm (26" x 11.8" x 33") while the actual packaging box inside is around 60cm x 25cm x 79cm (23.6" x 9.85" x 31.1").

The packaging box is more than half my height and I unboxed in a really small space, so it was a little of a struggle. I kinda just dragged the styrofoam out slowly and carefully. Both sides of the styrofoam - image of statue embossed on one side, and on the other side, the authentication card:

The authentication card looks and feels like a credit card; the authentication code text is embossed in silver.

I lifted the styrofoam up slowly so the parts don't take a rough tumble. And found myself face to face with disembodied body parts - I never thought I would use those words in a sentence. (I already unwrapped the base for the first photo).

The base is really heavy! Unfortunately there was some really minor damage but nothing super glue (cyanoacrylate) can't fix. Just remember not to use too much, so the glue doesn't ooze out betwee the cracks when you press the pieces together. I didn't bother contacting GH over this.

Boba again for scale, and main attachment points in the statue - the robe attaches to a notch in his butt LOL. Ignore the crack on my wall, clearly the veil is thin in my house as well ;_;

Inventory of parts. The statue comes in 3 variants and here are the differences:

Standard Edition

Head with brown eyes

Hands clasped behind his back

The Veil Edition

Parts that come with the Standard Edition (i.e. Brown-eyed head, Hands clasped behind back)

Isana's Song

Acolyte's staff

One left arm

One right arm

TWO right hands for the staves. Okay this one tripped me up for a bit and I thought GH sent me two hands by accident. It turns out the sculpt is so detail-oriented that Isana's Song and the Acolyte's staves DIFFER IN DIAMETER so one hand is for Isana's and the other is for the Acolyte's (Isana's shaft is wider in diameter). Honestly if it were me I would have just standardised the diameters so only one hand is needed hahah

Fade Edition

Parts that come with the Standard and the Veil Edition

Head with light purple eyes

One left arm clasped across his chest

One right arm

But do check out GH's website for more details, they've itemised it better than I could. Currently, all 3 variants retail for the same price on GH's website so obviously, if you can, it makes more sense to grab the Fade edition to get more value for your money. Just note that the Fade ed. is limited to 500 pieces, Veil's is limited to 1,000, and the Standard has 1,500.

Isana's song has two points of magnetic attachment to his right hand, so he can grasp it slightly higher or lower. The points are marked out super subtly but sliding the staff up and down his hand will reveal the magnetic areas easily so don't bother looking for these marks! Acolyte's seems to only have one.

Height when Isana's Song is held at the upper position is almost 65cm, or 25.4". The entire length of Isana's Song is approx 53cm, or 20.9". The length is perfect as a real-life wand haha

Both staves are secured by magic magnets to his back (though not both at the same time). It feels a little fiddly to me though. But it also means that technically he can hold a staff and carry another on his back like a dual-wielding mage.

Some details (love the chainmail) and scale comparison with Dark Horse Direct's statuette (giving "don't talk to me or my son ever again" energy)

I would say the sculpt and paint quality are great, the only two complaints I have is that:

The fur isn't as vibrant as the master on the GH website. It's missing the contrast as the dark parts of the fur are nowhere near dark enough but this is in no way a dealbreaker for me.

The hand holding the staff feels both secure and fiddly at the same time. It feels like if I brush the staff the wrong way the entire thing will drop right off, but at the same time there is a pin and some magnetic attachment so I am probably overthinking it.

Right now I'm trying to get a case made as cheaply as possible so for now I've left it like this like a museum exhibit with some DIY stanchions (added a human for scale) -

If anyone has questions or wants measurements or more detailed photos feel free to ask away! I just like to add that I consider myself lucky to be in a spot where I can purchase this without going completely broke so I'm grateful for that ;_;

[baddybaddyadardaddy]

(adar pov) (kissing someone on saurons throne you say) (sfw but suggestive??)

You can smell Mairon everywhere in the great ruined tower of Eragion - he must have been living here for months. He's like metal on your tongue and down your throat. This place is layer after layer of forge and smithy, supplies, ores - for your former master, this must have been a heavenly kingdom to rule.

It's abandoned now. Your troops have made short work of the elves guarding it - you imagine this will make Mairon run back here as fast as he is able, when he stops being distracted by Lady Galadriel. If hte two of you stretch him thin enough, each armed with a piece of his crown, one of you will surely be able to strike him down.

There are no traps; there's not even a veil cast over this place. Just the increasing stink of smoke and ash both mortal and immortal, the same skin-clinging heat you'd feel in Mairon's forges back in Angband.

On the top floor is a locked door; your blackened knife breaks the lock easily. You open the door slowly in case of traps or a waiting enemy; none strikes.

The single spot of color in the room is an elf in green robes hunched over a desk, one hand on a machine you don't recognize. He was looking at the machine; now he's looking at you. His face and hair are streaked with forge-ash; his eyes are the only light in the room other than the candles.

"Who are you?" the elf asks, picking up a slender hammer better used on jewelry than on flesh. There's a long, golden chain attached to one wrist that clinks whenever he moves. "Did Annatar send you?"

"I do not know any Annatar. I am here seeking the one you elves call Sauron." You step forward; he steps back, hips against the desk. With the length of the chain, there's no way he can get around the table unless he crawls under it, and that will still give him little room to maneuver. You're glad you left your children to explore the rest of this place; this is exactly the right amount of fear for you to give a captive elf. "He was here. Where is he now?"

"Sauron? Sauron - what do you want him for?" the elf asks. He backs up until he's sitting on the table. You stand between his legs, palms open. "Are you one of his?"

You bark a laugh. "I have not been his for a thousand years. I have come to finish things with the Deceiver. I have little doubt he'd hate the theft of a prize he kept squirreled away so. If you wish for freedom, there are few others you can turn to."

"And few others I can trust. He weaves a veil over those in his power. How do I know you are not him? He has many names and wears many faces."

"Do you think he'd wear a face like this?" Your Mairon was always uncanny in his symmetry. You were not fair of form even before he made a ruin of your skin.

"He might, to fool me," the elf says. His eyes dart over you - the heavily repaired armor, the chainmail, the faded embroidery on your sleeves and neckline. "Though I suppose there are ways to test such things."

"I'd prefer you not stab me to check what my wounds do," you say dryly - if only because you bleed as black as Mairon does.

"That was not what I had in mind," the elf says; his hands curl on your shoulders as he pulls your face to his, mouth to mouth.

You respond on ancient instinct. His mouth is open against yours. You run your tongue across his mouth, tasting iron and copper; your hands settle on his hips to keep him steady as he lets you in, sating a hunger you do not let yourself indulge in often. He is blood-warm and his hands are eager on you, urging you to kiss deeper, plunder more from him.

His cheeks are flushed when the two of you finally break to breathe. He clings to you as you draw back an inch. "Satisfied?"

"Very," the elf says. "He does not kiss as gently as you do."

You cannot help but snicker at being called gentle; you are hardly that. It is that Mairon works his lovers to the bone. "I am no friend of elves, but the one called Sauron is a greater threat to both of us than we are to each other. Will you let me rescue you?"

"You may. I had thought I'd need to sever my thumb. Do you have any better ideas?"

"Yes," and you bring your black knife up and drive it into the cuff. It melts under the touch of a shard of Morgoth's crown, allowing you to pry the warped metal off the elf's wrist. "Are you satisfied?"

"Very," the elf says, rubbing his wrist. He takes a small bag from the table and tucks it into his robes, then gingerly clambers back onto the floor. You take his elbow to make the fall smoother. "Do I have the honor of knowing who my escort is?"

The dim light of the candles flashes over the steel in his eyes, the crooked smile, turns his hair rusty, and you remember where you've seen his features before. "I am Adar, one of the Moriandor who lead the Uruk legions of Angband against your kin, Nelyafinwe Feanorian and his brothers. Will that be a problem?"

"I've worked with plenty of people who wanted my family dead. At least you're up front about it," the elf says, and there's life returning to his eyes as you walk him to the stairs, crown shard in hand. "I am Celebrimbor Curufinwean, last of the House of Feanor and lord of this city."

"You are going to be just as much of a pain as your uncle was," you say fondly. "We shall battle for the fate of this land later. We have bigger fish to fry."

Including, you think as Celebrimbor takes your hand, the fact that you've stolen into Mairon's tower, Mairon's cellblock, and stolen the prisoner he must be using to control this city. Taken a taste of him in the very heart of the forges. You will take all this elf offers up so that when you face Mairon, he can smell just how much of what was his you have made your own.

BRIMBY!!!!!

Also fact that Adar ASKS for permission to rescue him... I DIED.