#or at LEAST a couple of those tunic style dresses you know the ones

[blujayonthewing]

as soon as I have more clothes that would go with an over-the-clothes belt it's over for you bitches*

*me cause this is kinda expensive

[jeannereames]

I know this can be too much of an outlier, but do we have any idea if Alexander was a particularly fashionable person? Either if he was into fashion itself or if he was considered fashionable in his clothing style for example

Clothes Make the King?

Alexander’s clothing choices weren’t about fashion, but about POLITICS. What he wore sent a message.

First, three quick points about clothes in ancient Greece:

They were relatively simple with few sewn seams, and by Alexander’s day, any patterning largely along the edges. Most was made of wool, linen being very pricy.

They were made at home by one’s female family members. Yes, even the wealthy. A woman’s worth wasn’t measured by her pie crust or biscuits, but her weaving quality.*

They were expensive if one had to purchase cloth (as opposed to having it made at home). Most people had only a handful of tunics, one cloak and/or one himation (wrap), and one pair of shoes.

And finally, pertinent to this discussion:

By the 4th century, especially austere clothing was associated with moral virtue, while highly patterned clothing + lots of jewelry with moral decadence (the East/Persia).

Ergo, descriptions of Alexander’s clothing in the sources send a moral message: as he descended into vices and Asian tyranny, authors show him wearing extravagant, Asian-style clothing.

BUT he also did make choices of what to wear (insofar as we can be sure they were his choices), that conveyed his own messaging. Detangling his messaging from later author’s messaging is a continual problem, but sometimes it’s possible.

We’re told Alexander dressed the same as his soldiers. Differences in wealth would have been indicated by the quality of the wool and COLOR, but not the style. Being able to wear, say, black (made from the wool of baby lambs born black but who turn white as they age), or saffron yellow (made from the tiny pistils of flowers), or dark blue or purple (made from murex snails and imported at a hefty price)—THOSE tell you the person has money. The cut and drape of the clothing mostly doesn’t. You can pick out the king by the bright dot of yellow or black in a sea of dun, browns, dull reds, darker greens, and ecru.

What message is he sending? “I’m one of you…except the king”: primo inter pares (first among equals). Similarly, his armor was the same type, just brighter and better-made. His (iron!) helmet must have looked like he raided a mop closet with a big red horsehair crest and two fluffy white feather prongs beside it. But otherwise, it was a Phyrgian-style helm like the rest. This makes him easy to spot during battle, by his own men—but also the enemy. That’s also the point: he has the bravery to make himself a target.

After the death of Darius, he began to adopt some Persian royal dress, at least when dealing with Persians—with a couple exceptions. He refused to don trousers, the kandys (a special sleeved coat), and (maybe) the upright tiara. There’s some debate on the latter. Basically, he adopted Persian clothing that was less likely to offend the Greeks. It offended them anyway (because it was Persian), but he stayed away from garments especially associated with Asia: hated Asian trousers, the kandys, and the Persian “crown,” or upright tiara, going with the less offensive diadema that was already in use in Greece, albeit not as a symbol of royalty. Men already regularly wore a fillet; it was as ubiquitous as a ballcap in the US (and equally associated with ��sporty” types).

So, he was trying to walk a middle road with the symbols of kingship while avoiding the more notorious. Again, he seems to have let COLOR stand in, giving purple cloaks and hats (kausia) to his Companions (Hetairoi), and Persian-style red horse trappings.

So he wasn’t a fashion guru in the usual sense. As king, he set style, he didn’t mimic it. Below is a late Hellenistic-era statue of him (Demetrio Alexander) wearing what seems to be standard Macedonian soldier dress.

Here are two earlier posts (with pictures!) about Macedonian (top) and Greek (bottom) clothing.

* There’s a funny story of Alexander getting in trouble by sending the Persian royal women a gift of weaving material for their entertainment. In Persia, slaves and low-borns did the weaving, so they thought he was telling them they were to be slaves and/or insulting them. He’d meant it as a compliment! His own mother (and/or sisters) made his clothing, so he was offering them status as his family members.

[little-mad]

A Seat at the Table Pt. 1

~ Prologue Story ~

~ Part 2 ~

Guess who's baaack? Yup, it's Gavin and Rael, ready for another lil adventure. This one is gonna be shorter than Downsides of Thievery, but I have several little pieces planned for this universe so don't worry, these lads aren't going anywhere.

Gavin just wanted to sleep in. Considering he had been...let’s say “self employed” ever since graduating high school, he was unaccustomed to being dragged out of bed at an unholy hour. The past two mornings had been the same way, but somehow he’d managed to scrape himself out of bed. This time however, his body seemed to be holding a protest.

“You need to get up,” a familiar voice called, the same voice that had already urged Gavin awake a couple minutes ago.

The only response Gavin offered was burying his head deeper into the stunningly plush handkerchief that served as his makeshift sheets.

There was a pause, then suddenly he felt a gust of warm air roll over his back. “If you don’t get up on your own, I’m going to have to make you,” the voice was much closer now, in fact it sounded as though the speaker was only a few inches above Gavin. A shiver ran across his spine, but still his tired brain refused to signal any action from the body. The only thing he did manage to do was shoot back an irritable groan.

The hot breath remained for a moment before disappearing. “Good, maybe he’s leaving me alo--” The blanket that had been protecting Gavin from the early morning chill was suddenly ripped away. Before he could even let out a complaint, a firm pressure took hold of either side of his waist.

A less than dignified yelp slipped out of Gavin’s mouth as he was effortlessly snatched out of his bed and lifted up into the air. He didn’t need to turn around to know what had happened, even in his groggy state he could put together the pieces. “What the hell, dude?!” he yelled as he squirmed angrily.

“You can’t say I didn’t warn you,” came Rael’s response as he rotated Gavin around so he was now dangling facing towards him.

Unlike Gavin, the teal-eyed alteon looked perfectly content being up at the asscrack of dawn. He was already dressed in his uniform, and his long black hair was neatly tied back in its usual style. He looked down at Gavin with an amused smirk on his lips, as well as a mischievous glint in his eyes that Gavin couldn’t help but feel responsible for encouraging.

Gavin scowled. “Put me down, Rael,” he ordered with as much authority as an action figure sized person could muster.

Rael’s grin widened, making him look alarmingly like the cat that ate the proverbial canary. “If you insist.�� A sharp gasp got caught in Gavin’s throat as the hand holding him abruptly lurched into motion. The last thing he saw was a swath of tan before he was unceremoniously plopped down on the unidentified surface.

Scrambling to his feet, Gavin whipped around to try and make sense of where he’d been placed. It only took a moment before he realized, and when he did his face instantly began to flush red. “I didn’t mean on your lap!” he hissed, his cheeks now a bright red color as a result of being deposited on Rael’s left thigh.

There were several places that Gavin didn’t much like to be due to the fact that being there made him feel like a giant’s pet. On Rael’s lap was a big one. Other ones included being cradled in hands or set on a chest--which Rael had actually done the other day without seeming to realize how embarrassing it would be for the human.

Rael gave a small snicker, something that a couple days ago would have sounded foreign coming from the Imperial Guardsman. “Consider it punishment for not getting up the first, or second time I told you to,” he remarked, looking down at Gavin with unconcealed mirth.

Rather than try to argue, Gavin just glared up at his...mentor? Was that the right word? Parole officer was the closest thing he could think of that fit properly, but it didn’t really fit in with the medieval vibe of the alteon dimension. “Master” was maybe a better term, but Gavin would be damned if he ever referred to Rael as “master.”

Thankfully Gavin didn’t have to suffer in Rael’s lap for long, because a moment later the giant reached down and carefully scooped the human back up.

It was hard to believe how much less skittish Gavin had become about being around Rael’s hands. Over the past couple days they’d made a surprising amount of progress. That wasn’t to say Gavin’s heart rate didn’t pick up every time those oversized appendages came near him, but at least he didn’t have the urge to run for the hills anymore.

Gavin was only in transit for a short moment before being deposited back on the bedside table where his improvised bed resided. Until the palace craftsmen completed the miniature furniture set that the Emperor had commissioned, Rael had provided Gavin with a small wooden crate filled with fabric to sleep in.

Atop the table was also a small pile of clothes. The gray jumpsuit he’d arrived in the alteon dimension in was folded up neatly after having been washed for him. There were also several sets of simple garments that had apparently been painstakingly sewn by giant fingers. The work was certainly impressive, and apparently Gavin could expect even more intricate articles in the future.

“I’m going to get breakfast,” Rael announced, already making his way towards the door. “You’d better be dressed by the time I get back.” He glanced over his shoulder to shoot a warning glare back at Gavin, however the edge was taken off by the slight smile on the man’s lips.

“Yeah, yeah,” the human replied, waving a dismissive hand.

As soon as the alteon was out the door, Gavin let out a low sigh. “He still doesn’t think I can handle eating in the dining hall,” he muttered to himself as he went about getting dressed.

Ever since Gavin had started out as Rael’s assistant, Rael had insisted upon bringing their meals back to the room rather than joining the rest of the members of the Imperial Guard. At first, Gavin had been grateful. After the Ashryn incident, he had no desire to interact with any more soldiers. However, on the second day he’d begun to wonder why exactly Rael seemed so adamant about it. When he had posed the question to the alteon, he had simply responded with “it’s easier this way.”

Despite what many of the people in Gavin’s life might say, he wasn’t stupid. He knew each and every alteon was a potential danger to him. But everyone in the dining hall would be soldiers--soldiers who were bound by the Emperor’s order that Gavin be protected. Surely he would be perfectly safe there?

“I can’t spend this whole year hiding,” he grumbled. Tying the laces of his sneakers was the final touch on his outfit for the day. The human-sized shoes that were being crafted for him by a cobbler would take some time. He’d wondered why, if alteons had magic, they couldn’t just conjure a pair of shoes. But according to Rael, it didn’t work like that.

Either way, until the shoes were completed, he’d have to stick with the ones he’d arrived in the dimension with. They clashed pretty terribly with the loose fitting cotton tunic and fitted brown trousers, but looking fashionable had fallen pretty low on his list of priorities ever since he got arrested.

With no mirror around, Gavin could only hazard a guess as to what he looked like. He ran his fingers through his frequently disobedient brown locks. He felt pretty confident that his hair was a mess, aside from the fact that it pretty much always was, it had also dried uncombed after bathing the previous night.

Rael had taken Gavin to a massive stone basin to bathe in, and the experience was positively magical for the human. While the basin was intended for washing hands, at Gavin’s size the thing was almost like a small swimming pool! The water had been wonderfully warm and filled with lavender scented bubbles. It had been just the thing Gavin needed to unwind after the whirlwind past couple days he’d endured.

“They have the sausages you like again,” Rael announced as he pushed open the door, balancing an enormous tray of food on one hand.

“So you’re not letting me eat at the big kid table again, huh?” Gavin questioned, ignoring the sausage comment despite the fact that he did in fact like them quite a bit.

A stiff look came across Rael’s face as he snapped the door shut behind him. He said nothing at first, remaining silent as he took a seat on his bed with the food tray on his lap. Gavin began to think the guy wasn’t even going to bother responding until finally, “There’s nothing to gain from doing so.”

Gavin folded his arms over his chest, stepping closer to the edge of the bedside table closest to Rael. He hated when he took on that tone. It was the same tone he’d constantly used when they had first met. Gavin had started to think it was dead and gone, but clearly not.

“There’s nothing to gain from staying in here,” he countered.

Rael pressed his lips tightly together, as if there was something he wanted to say but also didn’t want to at the same time. Finally he blew out a long sigh. “I’ll think about it,” was all he said.

His tone wasn’t exactly promising, but Gavin didn’t want to pick a fight so early in the morning. His brain wasn’t full awake yet so any argument he got into, he’d no doubt lose. So for the time being, he let it go.

[i-drink-and-i-write-fics]

Peredhel

Chapter 2: Party Prep

Summary: Erestor meets the whirlwind that is Sam in the kitchens.

Notes: I girl bossed too close to the sun. Just like the last NaNo I did. I really need to do NaNo when I only have one fic and no overtime at work.

It took Eomer time to find Sam when he didn’t spot her in the kitchen right away. He went to her room first, figuring she went there to change from her travels. Then the Eowyn’s chambers, the gardens, and finally the stables where Eowyn and Sam were feeding Sam’s horse. 

They looked over as Eomer walked over and the smile on Sam’s face slowly died. “Oh God, that look. Even after being gone a few years, I still recognize it. Though, it used to be accompanied by your Uncle yelling at us across the city.”

Eomer gave a faint smile at the memory. “To go back to those simpler times. Or at least, to have our dear Uncle back. I’m afraid you have a visitor.”

Sam raised an eyebrow. “I haven’t even been back a full day. Who the hell could know I’m here already?”

“Lord Elrond knows of your life here before you began your travels. He has sent his Chief Counselor Erestor to speak with you about the upcoming feast.”

She tried to hide a scowl, “nothing ever goes well when an elf tries to tell me how I should be cooking the food. My modern techniques seem to worry them. Though, I have heard Lord Elrond is to be very kind and I can only hope he surrounds himself with similar people.”

Eomer sighed, “he seems...cautious.”

“Joy,” Sam rolled her eyes. “I’ll go clean up and then head to the kitchens. Try to buy me some time before I have to interact with this walking rule book.”

Sam didn’t even wait for an answer before she left the stalls for her room to clean up and change. The idea of being watched over by some elf gave her major Mirkwood vibes. Feren had been cool to chat with and occasionally hang out with after a shift, but the other guards always kept a cautious eye on her. When Gandalf came to visit, he explained it as the elves of Middle Earth knowing she was not from Arda. Even if they hadn’t met her, they knew the story. And anytime something different came to Middle Earth, major changes usually followed.

So when she entered the kitchen, she wasn’t surprised at the taller figure in the middle of the room looking down at Eomer. His back was to Sam, but it was obvious he was an elf from his clothes. Long layers with a silver circlet around his dark hair, the royal blue of his robes complimenting his pale skin. He turned at the sound of her footsteps and Sam noticed how handsome he was. Though, that didn’t surprise her as it seemed every elf in this world was good-looking to some degree. This one...this one seemed different. As if those grey eyes were looking into her soul. 

Erestor was rarely taken by surprise, but this human hit the mark. Gandalf had been very serious when he said this woman was from another world. Everything about her screamed it to his old eyes. She wore clothes similar to what could be found around Rohan but she had put a twist to it in the way the fabric was cut and how it laid on her body. No doubt to mimic the style of her home. She didn’t wear a dress as did the King’s sister, but trousers with a longer tunic with what seemed to be a belt cinched around her waist and the sleeves rolled up. Her raven-black hair was braided to drape over one shoulder and the hair on the right side of her head was cut very close to the skin. The style showed off one of her ears that had a couple of gems along the rim of her ear and a silver hoop that dangled from her lobe. And on the side of her nose was a tiny, shiny dot of metal.

This is who the Rohan trusted to make their food? This woman who could easily be part dwarf with her odd piercings and disregard of Middle Earth traditions. How could Erestor allow this woman to prepare his lord’s food?

Eomer instantly noticed the tension and slid himself in between the two in a manner that wouldn’t arouse suspicion. “My Lord Erestor, this is Samantha Johnson. She was a chef back in her world and now cooks for the Rohan. Sam, this is Erestor Peredhel, Chief Counselor for Lord Elrond.”

Erestor waited for Sam to do the human tradition of holding her hand out to shake, but she surprised him again by placing her hand over her heart and gesturing outward.

“My lord, it is an honor to meet you. Rivendell was one of the locations I had wanted to visit during my travels. But word of the past war reached the Grey Havens where I had been last and I hurried home.”

Sam caught the look of surprise in Erestor’s eyes. He clearly hadn’t expected her to know the traditional elven greeting, but Sam had been a quick learner while out there on her own. 

But the look was quickly gone as Erestor composed his face once more. “I have been sent early by Lord Elrond in hopes that you will prepare some of his favorite foods for him and his children.”

Sam nodded her head, “that won’t be a problem. As long as I get the list well in advance I should have plenty of time to prepare. Will Strider be arriving at the same time or earlier?”

Eomer internally cringed at Sam using Aragorn’s old alias. She had written home as often as she could, but many letters were lost especially as the war grew more fierce. No doubt Sam didn’t know until she had spoken to Eowyn who Strider really was. And someone as proper as Erestor may not care for the casualness of her language.

And sure enough, there was a tiny scowl on Erestor’s face. “King Aragorn, Queen Arwen, and members of his court will be here before Lord Elrond.”

Sam raised an eyebrow at his tone and started to walk around to wash her hands in the sink. “Cool. It’s weird to know he’s been a king this whole time. He and I will have to have a talk about that later.”

“And why would you think that would be appropriate to do so?”

“Excuse you?” Her head whipped in his direction at lightning speed. “I don’t really think it’s any business of yours. But if you must know, I’ve known Strider for years. We met back when I was working at the Prancing Pony.”

“That does not answer my question.”

“It actually does, Lord Stick-Up-Your-Ass. Strider is my friend and therefore I can talk to him about things like that. It’s how friendship works. Perhaps one day you’ll have friends and you can know that feeling.”

Eomer quietly groaned. This was exactly what he was afraid would happen. Erestor would push and Sam would push back. He waited for the inevitable explosion and yelling that would follow.

But this time it was Sam’s turn to be surprised. Erestor gave her a small smile, “despite what you may think of elves, we do socialize from time to time. I do, indeed, have friends. Now, if we may discuss the food for the feast.”

Sam eyed him for a moment and it was the longest moment of Eomer’s life. But she finally smirked and went back to setting up her part of the kitchen. “Ok, go for it.”

Eomer watched as Erestor rattled off a list of foods to make in a rapid manner and Sam keeping up in her shorthand in a book she had started before she had left for her travels. At first, Eomer wanted to tell Erestor to slow down, but he quickly saw that it was a weird, unspoken game between the two. Erestor would tell her something that seemed impossible for someone not familiar with the land and Sam would counter with a modern technique she knew that would work just as well.

Round and round the two went, causing the entire kitchen to come to a halt to watch the chaos unfold. Finally, Erestor tilted his chin up very slightly and it was clear the dance was over. Sam closed her book and looked Erestor up and down, not even trying to hide the fact she was measuring the elf. 

“None of that was impossible and your Lord will have everything he and his children desire. Is there anything more, my lord?”

Erestor followed her lead and gave her a look up and down, not fully convinced but not entirely worried about her cooking either. “That will be all for now, my lady.”

She shook her head, “uh uh, hell no. There is only one thing I ask: I’m not a lady. Please call me Sam. And if that’s too informal for the elf lord, you can call me Samantha.”

"Very well, Samantha. I await to see and taste what you will be providing for the feast."

Eomer’s jaw dropped and he quickly closed it before anyone noticed. Sam didn’t even allow him or Eowyn to refer to her as Samantha. 

Something had clearly happened in this kitchen today even if no one was exactly sure what it was.

Chapter 3

Tagging Crew:

Everything

@itsafansworld07​​

@that-chick212​

@keetnerj01​

Peredhel

@themerriweathermage​​

@moony-artnstuff​

[entishramblings]

It’s Not That Bad [Legolas X Reader]

A.N: I’m so sorry I have not been writing as often. I’ve had zero time. But anyWaYS...here is a fic that has been requested by someone who has always been into my writing so thank you for supporting me and here is a fic for you! Additionally, I did some research on herbs and stuff so I could make this at least a little accurate!

Request: @quilledinkpen — Hellooo i hope you're having a good day ^-^ I was wondering if I could request a Legolas x reader? Something like she's travelling with the fellowship and is kinda the unspoken "mom" of the group, like she's always doing her best to make sure everyone's safe, and reminding Pippin and Merry to be careful and stuff like that. Just an all-around motherly person lol (mainly to the Hobbits bc they're her babies but she looks after the other guys too) I think it'd be cute ^^ Thank you!

Pairing: Legolas X Reader

Summary: (Y/N), a healer, travels with the fellowship. She takes care of everyone and is basically “the mom friend.”

Word Count: 2, 510

Warnings: battle wounds that are kinda graphicish?

(gif not mine)

MASTERLIST

(Y/N) was a well known healer throughout all of Arda. Many traveled to her for treatment for life threatening ailments. But now, now it was her time to travel throughout the lands of Middle Earth in search of a salvation for all. A gruesome quest to destroy the evil ring of power had begun and someone well versed in natural apothecary was needed. (Y/N), of course, volunteered for this role for there was no one better suited than her. Besides, it was her duty to contribute to the survival of this world as she was one in it and relied heavily on what the earth produced. And if Sauron was to rule.....well, we all know where that would lead: no earth, no life, just darkness.

(Y/N) ruffled through her dark-brown leather satchel as she sifted through her healing herbs. Little pouches filled with athelas leaves, echinacea stalks, alder bark, valerian roots, and more piled inside the confinements of the fabric.

“Sam,” She called out. “Would you mind making hot tea for Frodo while I take care of Strider’s cut?”

The little hobbit ran over instantly and she passed him a couple pouches naming each one out loud, “Valerian root, dried chamomile pedals, and sycamore bark.” She then lowered her voice and leaned it, for it wasn’t anyone else’s business to hear. “It will help him sleep and deter the anxieties the ring bestows upon him.”

Sam nodded quickly and set to work as (Y/N) moved towards Aragorn who sat upon a large rock.

“Let me have a look.”

The dunedain rolled his eyes, “(Y/N), it is not that bad. Just a scratch.”

The young women sighed in annoyance and pulled up his sleeve to reveal a slash across his bicep. He was right—to an extent—it wasn’t terrible. He would not need stitches. However, it did need to be cleaned and wrapped for infections were nasty things.

(Y/N) started by pouring some alcohol over the wound; receiving a harsh hiss from the dunedain in response. She muttered a quick apology before continuing. The young woman ground athelas leaves into a fine paste and expertly smeared it onto the cut. She then unrolled gauze and placed it upon the wound. Lastly, she pulled white dressings from her satchel. She gingerly wrapped it around his arm, yet she was careful to still pull it taught as the goal was to keep the athelas paste in and bacteria out.

She stood up and brushed her hands off before placing them firmly on her hips. “See Strider, it takes only a couple minute.”

He grumbled at her comment but thanked her for the medical attention.

(Y/N) nodded quickly and went to check on the rest of the fellowship. She made her way to Boromir who was also sitting in rest. She put a gentle hand on his shoulder.

“Boromir, how are you doing? Any wounds?”

He seemed slightly startled at first for his mind had been elsewhere, but he looked up at her with a soft smile.

“I’m quite alright, My Lady.”

A light chuckled escaped her lips. “My friend, how many times must I tell you? It’s (Y/N), no lady of any sorts!”

He shook his head and grinned at her, “Well, my lady, I am doing quite fine.”

She let her eyes circle into the back of her head as the corner of her lip pulled into a smirk.

The healer turned and made her way to Gimli who was sharpening his axe.

“Gimli, I trust you are alright as I see you are already preparing for the next battle even though we just endured one.”

His gruff voice answered immediately, “Aye lassie! Those orcs can’t ensnare a dwarf that easily!!”

She laughed at his comment as Merry and Pippin came rushing up to her. As soon as she saw their faces she knew that the two mischievous hobbits wanted to claim her attention. She lowered herself down to their height as they flung themselves into her arms.

“Ahh my two hobbits! How did you fare in the battle?”

They pulled from her hug and began speaking at the same time.

“It was intensely scary but we were fierce!”

“Merry had hit one with a tree branch! It was quite magnificent!”

“Yes it was, I would have to admit! And Pip tripped another and he fell flat on his face!”

(Y/N) beamed at the two and giggled at their attempt to tell the story. As much as she was focused on caring for everyone, the hobbits cared for her—in another way that is. The four of them brought joy to her heart and glee to her spirit. Their innocence and appreciation of the simplest things brought happiness to her soul. They had offered her a welcomed visit to the shire at any time; telling her of the grand tour they would take her on. She had grown to look upon them as children for their smallness and way of perceiving life was similar so.

The two scampered off quickly, most likely to share their adrenaline filled story with Boromir, while (Y/N) did a final scan of the fellowship.

Her eyes soon rested on the elf. Legolas was off to a distance standing upon the rocky tundra. Something about his posture made her frown. His back was to her and his head seemed bowed, as if he was looking down at something. Furthermore, his one arm was pulled up at an awkward angle—strange, even for the elf. As the healer that she was, she was compelled to check on him.

(Y/N) weaved through the rocks until she was only a short distance from him.

“Legolas?” She questioned softly.

He immediately whipped around. His shirt fell to cover his form, but not before (Y/N) caught a glimpse of bright purple, red, and black. The young woman’s lips instantly parted in shock. She had seen many wounds in her life, on many people of many different races. However, it was not often that she had an elven patient with a wound like that. To state it simply, (Y/N) was worried—that looked bad, very bad. Legolas on the other hand was only flustered for he, an elf, had gotten snuck up on. He did not have great concern for the injury given that there were far more important things to worry about.

“Legolas,” (Y/N) stated firmly. “Lift your shirt.”

He sighed, “(Y/N), it’s not—“

She interrupted him, “Let me guess, ‘It’s not that bad?’” She shook her head, “You and Strider.”

She stepped forward and took the hem of his shirt in her hand. She cautiously lifted the fabric, not caring about the socially deemed scandalousness of the action—she was a healer after all.

(Y/N) sucked in a breath. A relatively large bruise stretched across his torso with a sizable cut in the center of it.

“By the Valar, Legolas!” She exclaimed with exasperation. “You should have come to me straight away!”

“(YN)—“

She cut him off again, “No. don’t ‘(Y/N)’ me. This is serious. It could be internal bleeding. I don’t care that you are an immortal elf, you can still die from this.”

The healer gently let her fingertips brush against his skin, tracing and examining the injury. He winced in pain at the contact and that did not escape (Y/N)’s attention.

“How did this happen exactly? I need every detail.”

Legolas groaned again when she grazed over the cut; and when he spoke it was with heavy breaths, “A harsh kick to the side into another orc....” (Y/N) hand pressed on the bleeding laceration and he hissed in pain before continuing to speak. “...who—who slashed downward.....with a jagged-edged blade that had a—a curved tip.

(Y/N) looked up at him with concern, his breathing was getting labored and that was not a good sign. Not a good sign at all.

“Alright, come on.” She ordered. The young woman practically dragged the reluctant elf back towards the group and pushed him down on a rock.

She knelt in front of him and, once again, ruffled through her satchel.

“Take your tunic off,” she commanded while pulling out various pouches and gauze dressings.

(Y/N) could feel all of the fellowships’ gazes on the two, which only intensified when Legolas removed his tunic. She could hear the hobbit’s hushed whispers and concerned tones for the wound was gruesome and ugly—probably the worst they have ever seen considering their simple lives.

Once she had all her supplies ready, she set to work.

(Y/N) was kneeling in-between Legolas’s legs while she studied the torn up, bloody, and bruised fresh for yet another time; it was imperative that she made a plan before starting.

During this examination, the young woman could not help but let her eyes wander across his chest and rippling muscles. The bends and curves of his form looked perfect against his pale complexion. He was incredibly toned and well built, even more so than humans. She would be lying if she said she wasn’t attracted to him.

Additionally, battle scars of various shapes and sizes littered his body—which was expected given he was over 2,000 years old. Here, she took a moment to study them for if one really looked at a warriors scars their fighting style would be revealed. Many stretched across his being—specifically on his ribcage, sides, pecs, and abs—it was clear that he was way more reckless than he would like people to think. He was fast with his moves, going for the quickest way to an oppenent’s death, but that often left him exposed. No wonder he ended up with this terrible bruising gash. He lived up to the Mirkwood elf expectation—less wise and more fierce.

As (Y/N) realized that her mind had wandered too far off task, she cleared her throat and reached for the flask of liquor.

“This will sting,” she stated before pouring it over the broken flesh. As expected, a loud groan escaped his lips and his fists clenched around nothingness.

Carefully she dabbed the area with a cloth. (Y/N) then threaded a needle and began to sew his skin back together. The elf was stiff as he clenched his jaw and flexed his muscles—a natural reflex in this kind of situation. She continued to pull his skin taught so their was no more breakthrough bleeding. It seemed that he had gotten used to the sensation as she went given he began to relax. Next, she made a paste for the wound, much like Strider’s. However, she decided to use more than athelas leaves because this cut was more severe than the Ranger’s. (Y/N) ground up echinacea stalks and mixed in alder bark to soothe inflammation and fight infection. Gently she applied the blended mixture into his torso. Lastly, she wound gauze and dressings around his midsection in order to keep everything in place.

Much time had past given stitches took long; luckily, the fellowships’ concerned glances faded.

(Y/N) stood up from her position and it was then when she released just how close the two were. She stood between his legs, their faces inches apart. If it was anyone else, she wouldn’t have cared for she often had to be in such proximities with others as she was a healer. But this wasn’t anyone else, it was him.

“You—you should be fine now,” (Y/N) whispered. She cleared her throat and stepped backwards. “I will have to check on it every day and redo the bandages. And I advise you: no sudden movements, and no lifting heavy objects—like the hobbits.”

Legolas cracked a smile at that last comment. “Thank you, (Y/N). I truly appreciate your skill.”

“That is what I’m here for, is it not?” She adverted her eyes and kept her hands busy by gathering her supplies for she feared her expression would betray her.

Legolas put his tunic back on as he spoke, “I suppose it is, but nethertheless I thank you.”

......

As the days went on she continued to check Legolas’s wound. (Y/N) tried to make it more private by dragging him off to the side or away from the group, given that she suspected it was uncomfortable for him to undress everyday in front of inquiring eyes (aka the hobbits).

It was dusk when she crouched down to examine it once again.

“It is healing nicely,” She said. “A lot faster than I suspected, but I suppose that is because you are elven.” Her nervousness caused her to continue speaking when she did not wish to do so. “I mainly treat men....and dwarves. It is not often that I have a wounded elf at my door. Do you know an elf named Feren? I recall he said he was of Mirkwood Kin. I treated him once years ago for a busted leg when he strayed into northern territories.”

A small smirk crossed Legolas’s face, “Ahh so you are the beautiful healer who patched him up so well?”

(Y/N) felt heat creep up her face, “I—I would not say that—“

“Nonsense! He spoke of your beauty and skill many times, and he was not mistaken. I am just surprised that I have been lucky enough to gaze upon you and have you heal me.”

These words made (Y/N)’s gauze wrapping motions falter. “It—it is my job, Legolas.”

“Yet you go beyond your assignment and duty everyday. I see how you take care of us all, especially the hobbits. You truly have a noble heart.”

(Y/N) smiled softly and spoke in a teasing tone, “Well I suppose you are right—all you boys would be lost without me.”

A deep chuckled hummed in Legolas’s chest and the healer joined in with a bright laugh.

The giggles settled soon enough and Legolas spoke, his sentence quite abrupt. “How would you feel about coming to Mirkwood and living there as a healer once the ring is destroyed?”

Shocked, (Y/N) stuttered. “I—I am unsure. I don’t know if—“

“(Y/N)...” He interrupted. “I do not wish for the end of this journey to be the end of our acquaintance.”

The young woman looked down, “As I agree, but—“

“(Y/N),” he whispered.

Something about his tone made her freeze.

Ever so gently, he lifted her chin to force her to look at him. His voice was quiet as he spoke, “I—I don’t think you understand what I am trying to convey.”

Oh....

Now she understood.

The healer glanced at his lips which hovered near her own before biting her bottom one and locking gazes with him. Legolas of course noticed this and waisted no time. He pressed his mouth against hers and she instantly responded. Her hands slid up his bare chest, careful to avoid the wound on his torso, and then tangled themselves in his blonde locks. His muscular arms wrapped around her waist tightly as he focused on the taste of mint tea and fresh honey. The two moved their lips in sync and the world around them melted away. Suddenly, there was no quest, no fellowship, no responsibilities—only the two of them and the thudding of their hearts.

.......

Everything Tag: @sokkasdarling @scxundress @quilledinkpen @hufflepuffinblr @lea----b @aredhel-of-gondolin @princecami @the-fandoms-georgie @jazziwritestolkienprimary @wellfuckmyexistence

Legolas tag: @dark-angel-is-back

If you want to be tagged lmk!

[zaptap]

ive made a few of these bingo sheets and theyre fun so i decided to make one not just for e3 but also JUST for splatoon 3 (not just for e3 but for like the whole lifetime of the game). also heres my updated list of characters id like to see in smash, ordered generally by which id like more and/or think are the most realistic

since min min got in i took out helix, and since i couldnt decide whether to add in waluigi or madeline i added another row (realistically i dont think any indies are getting in but i threw some in anyway). also i was like “oh yeah maybe theyd put in a gen viii pokemon” so i threw in hatterene since thats one of my favorites.

also as for waluigi (and shovel knight for that matter) i think it would be nice to see an assist trophy get in just to break that rule. also i remember being super surprised he wasnt in brawl (back then i thought he and wario were equally important) and even though that was based on a wrong impression ive still felt like he should be in there ever since

notes about the bingos under the cut

really is about time for those n64 games, especially now that mario is dead so theyre free to release sm64 on it. game boy games would be nice sometime too

would also make sense to include banjo-kazooie in that, nintendos had a good relationship with microsoft lately and the total absence of anything banjo-kazooie on the switch is odd since it’s a dlc character (every other one has a game on switch they can use for cross-marketing, even if joker’s took a while) and i think the best explanation for that would be that theyre holding off for the nso n64 app (this is easiest from a technical standpoint because all they have to do is make a deal to use the roms)

when are they putting octolings in mk8d

xenoblade chronicles x is one of the only wii u games left that they could port (aside from ones that wouldnt make much sense like splatoon and ssb4) so i guess that might as well happen sometime. also monolith soft might be doing something else besides helping with splatoon 3

im not ready for metroid prime 4 (im over halfway through mp2 and therefore the trilogy as a whole) but it’s been a while, they might show it and it could even come out this year

hal apparently recently hinted at a new kirby game or something

the upgraded switch is obviously going to be called the Nintendo Switch ͥ  since they already did the ds lite so theyre clearly naming everything in the family after the ds family, theres absolutely no flaw in this logic. idk if theyre showing it, but unlike 2019 they didnt say they werent showing new hardware (just that they were showing software, which could be taken as denying rumors, but they sometimes specify when certain things arent being shown)

metroid prime trilogy also might come this year. would make sense to release it before mp4 since not everyone is going to buy a wii u to get it (and at this point that doesnt get nintendo any money since they stopped making them)

where is detective pikachu 2. i hope it has the blue pikachu from that first tease they gave us in like 2014 (2013? that was a loooong time ago idk)

they said this was MOSTLY 2021 so i am absolutely getting my hopes up for splatoon 2

the two sinnoh games could likely be there

would be super cool if oddity came to switch. and almost as ironic as megalovania getting into smash

we havent seen the botw sequel for a couple years so we’re kind of due for an update on that

it’s ace attorney’s 20th anniversary this year so maybe theyre doing something. theyre already porting those games though so idk. maybe he’s getting in smash

whats with that watermelon mario render

i held off on watching a playthrough for ndrv3 on the off chance it came to switch and i could play a dangan ronpa game for real for once but it’s now been 4 years and we just passed the 10th anniversary of the series (albeit during a pandemic when i wouldnt expect them to have done anything) so it would be cool to see the series come to switch. i think if it still doesnt after this though i’ll just watch the playthrough, 4 years is long enough. amazed ive avoided spoilers this long, i still know next to nothing about the game

im about done with acnh but im still waiting on those splatoon items. and i ran out of storage in february so i need more of that too

nintendo did stuff for zelda’s 30th anniversary so i doubt theyre forgetting the 35th. maybe wwhd/tphd ports, idk

been a couple years since fire emblem, intelligent systems is probably up to something besides planning yet another paper mario spinoff

miyamoto forgot pikmin 4 in the oven 6 years ago and it got burnt to a crisp and thats why it hasnt come out yet because he had to start over

and splatoon

the inklings scared daft punk into quitting so now that theres no competition in the robot musician scene they should have a daft punk style group

i waited and waited and neither of my top two splatoon stages (flounder and d’alfonsino) came back in splatoon 2 so i hope just because splatoon 3 isnt in inkopolis doesnt mean they still wont return

would be sick as hell if there was a real hide and seek mode instead of just sticking to your own rules in private battles. havent played that since 2015 but it was super fun

show us the effects of the chaos world

i wanted mc craig to have a song in octo expansion and they didnt deliver. heres another chance

splatnet 3 baby

cant wait for nogami to do a funny 3 pose

abxy came back for splatoon 2.... am i gonna be that lucky again...?

salmon run doesnt make sense if youre friends with a smallfry but they could either change the story context (you just fight “evil” salmonids?) or replace it with an equally fun co-op mode

amiibo!!! i think i said this before but they should label them by weapons if these cephalopods dont have genders, would make more sense (the gendered ones had different weapons anyway)

returning characters!!!! would like to see everyone have a role of some kind

maybe #GearForAll wasnt successful in getting the emperor/spy/mecha gear, but perhaps theyll at least consider not making that stuff exclusive this time around

squid girl gear should be back. and they should call it a dress instead of a tunic because its a dress. and theres no gender now anyway

as ive said before... TRIPLIES!! you hold one in each hand and another in your mouth. and you can spin around like the tasmanian devil

remove splatfest tee annoyances: you should have a prompt at the end of a splatfest to pay to scrub your tee (to make sure you get the chunks) also it should be on a neutral brand so you dont end up with an overabundance of ink resistance up (or whatever else)

better online and cloud saves would certainly justify having a second splatoon game on the same console, as much as im loving that it exists

hopefully theres a global testfire again

sooner or later the workers will rise up and kill mr grizz

remember in splatoon 1 where if you had squid beatz (via the amiibo) you could “play” it in the lobby and change the music? then you were stuck listening to only bubble bath in splatoon 2? why did they take that option away they should bring it back

looking at those apartment buildings in the trailer i think it would be cool if you had your own room and could decorate it

an octavio redemption arc would be fun to see. in the manga he stole the zapfish because the octarians had an energy crisis, and in the end they worked out a deal to share the electricity

[random-imagines-blog]

Bare My Soul {Jon Snow x Reader Oneshot}

Requested by: Anonymous Wordcount: 3865 Summary: You couldn’t have picked a more unfortunate time to tell Jon Snow how you feel.

The people of Winterfell were a lot like the place that they inhabited. They were tough, they were a bit weathered, they held strong against whatever came against them. It was a great place to be raised, in your opinion. There was nowhere better, and no one under whom you would want to be a ward of than Eddard Stark. Living under his rule was better than anything you could have imagined if you had stayed in King’s Landing with your mother, where your father Arthur Dayne had served the former King. You might have been raised a Princess, but you were not the petty sort. That was more so for the likes of the girl who was like a sister to you, Sansa. There was another reason why you liked to be here so much, and that reason had a name - Jon Snow.

He had been one of the first to comfort you when you had been exiled from your home and brought here to live in an entirely new environment. It had taken you a while to thrive under these new circumstances, and he had been with you through each step. You initially depended on Theon, a fellow ward, but he had an easier time coming to terms with everything, and instantly became like a brother to Robb Stark. For you, things were slower. Harder. But those first few years taught you to be thankful for what you had, to rise above any of the negative thoughts, to accept challenges head on because there were very often amazing rewards. Such as an amazing family full of brothers and sisters - and Jon, who you always set apart from the rest.

You’d had a crush on him since you first saw him, with his thick black curls always just a touch too long. He was rather shy, quiet, and was treated different from everyone else. Perhaps he saw the same thing in you and why you two became such kindred spirits. Being about the same age, you had the same lessons together in everything - horse back riding, reading, writing, self-defense. The latter of which only because Ned didn’t believe that you should be learning to sword fight as a lady. But that was fine, because you grew up believing that you would always have your big brothers and Ned there to protect you.

Becoming a teenager was not an easy thing, whether a male or a female. You were lucky to have Catelyn Stark to walk you through your feelings and your changes, but you weren’t expecting just how big these things were! The things that you felt when you looked upon Jon almost seemed ... sacrilegious. So you kept yourself busy as much as you can, employing your time with things like needlework and sewing. It was meticulous but dreary work, but at least it kept your mind off of Jon, and what he could be doing right now. Once in a while, you would sneak a peek out your window and see him and Robb working on their sword skills, clashing against one another without actually attempting to cause any pain. It was a surprisingly nice day for Winterfell, and they were just wearing tunics with arms exposed.

His biceps were all that you could think about for three days, which confused you because who gets all swoony over biceps? You couldn’t even ask Catelyn about it because she would disapprove immediately of any feelings for people within the castle. Curiously, the thoughts evolved to those of his leg muscles, which were quite toned as far as you could tell. You hadn’t seen him wear anything less than pants so you could only assume.

During dinner time, you gazed over in his direction more times than you had wanted to, only to be pulled out of it by Arya nudging you to get to the bread. At least she could always be counted on to bring you back to reality. You passed over the basket of bread, taking a small amount for yourself, then allowed your eyes to return to where you were looking before. To your surprise, you met his dark ones which were situated right on you. At the exact same moment, you both turned away, missing the blush that appeared on each other’s cheeks.

-

You thought that after being a teenager, you would get used to change, but now that you grew older, and were past the age that most women of your standing would be getting married, things were getting more and more confusing. You searched for something that would stay the same, and the only thing that appeared to be like that was Jon. Reliable, stoic, moody old Jon Snow.

He had the same routine for over a decade now, and you knew it off by heart. He would take walks at the same time, fight with Robb at the same time, eat at the same time, snack at the same time, visit the horses at the same time, even take his direwolf Ghost out at the same time each day. There were a few times when he deviated, and your paths crossed, which you hoped for each and every time you woke up in the morning.

Today, though, as you rose up from your bed, with the thin morning light coming in through your slotted window, you felt a change was coming. The King was coming to Winterfell, and with him, the Lannisters. You narrowly escaped being picked to be Joffrey’s betrothed and a future Queen, and you were forever grateful to Ned for that. He had pointed out to his friend, the King, that you were just the daughter of a knight, not one of a Lord or a high-ranking noble. This had lead to the decision that Sansa was to be a contender.

You dressed quickly into your best dress for the occasion. It wasn’t everyday that you were going to meet the King and his Queen. The gown that you had chosen was of a light blue color, high-necked with ruching all around. The fabric of the sleeves was lighter, just about see through to show off your shoulders. It was a special gift from Catelyn for your last birthday, as you needed a new gown to show off how you have become a woman. It was accentuated with a white belt that matched the snow that often fell on this place. Your hair was styled upwards, with many pins keeping it up. A couple of splashes of cold water on the face to bring out a natural flush was all that you needed, and you were ready to descend and wait with your family for the King to come.

As you left your chamber, you came face to face with Jon. His hair was pushed back out of his face and held with a bit of wax, styled nicely for the occasion. “Heading down?” He asked. You nodded, closing your door behind you, as a lady’s room should only be seen by her and her chambermaids.

“You look nice, Jon,” You said, taking in the fur coat, and his dark and sparkling eyes. It wasn’t the first time that you had complimented him and it was unlikely to be the last.

“You do too, y/n.” He said, a small smile playing at his lips. “Shall we go down together?”

“I’d like that,” You nodded. It would be improper for you to hold hands, or even to link arms, so you had to settle for walking by his side. Everyone else must already be lined up outside for there was not a soul to be seen inside of the castle. The staff must be working on the feast that would be served tonight, for even they could not be found. “I suppose we’re going to have to be kissing the rear of the King and Queen the whole time they’re here, aren’t we?” You said, making a joke. You were at least comfortable doing that, since you had been doing it since you were a child. Jon let out a surprised chuckle, clearly not expecting that.

“I suppose we are,” He said. “Just don’t let Dad hear you say that.”

“Or Catelyn.” You said with a shudder.

You might have been taken in as one of the Starks but you noticed that Jon had not. The word ‘Bastard’ had been thrown around a lot, and when you found out what it meant, you couldn’t understand how it was an insult. More than once you had witnessed Catelyn being rude to Jon, and had asked her why, but she never gave you a good answer. It just made Jon all the more endearing.

“Definitely not,” He agreed. “The dress - it’s very nice.”

“Thank you,” You said, smoothing down the front of it. You didn’t have any more time to talk, for you reached the front gates, and went to your respective positions. You were beside Theon as the Ward, while Jon hung even further back. You kept looking his way though, because he did look good today. And you could have sworn that he was looking right back at you. Your cheeks stayed pink, not because of the cold water from earlier, nor because of the chill in the air.

-

You had a bit too much wine during dinner. You felt the eyes of Cersei on you more than once, and felt an almost jealousy coming off of her. You had asked Catelyn about it when you had a moment alone, and your motherly figure assured you that it was because she took a dislike to any beautiful young woman who might catch her husband’s eye. You shuddered at the thought of the King thinking that you were beautiful, or trying to seduce you. “I may just go on a stroll before bed, I’m feeling a bit warm,” You told her. She nodded, and sent you on your way.

On one of the open walkways that looked out at the courtyard, you paused as you thought you saw some drunk nobles stumbling back home. It was hilarious to watch so you leaned against the short wall and watched.

“It’s getting a little cold,” Jon Snow’s voice said after a couple of minutes. He joined you, standing a short distance away and leaned over to watch as well.

“I’m still feeling a bit warm,” You admitted. “I might have had a little too much wine,” You finished this with a giggle, further proving your point.

“I was watching,” He said with a chuckle of his own. “You seemed to be uneasy. Are you alright?”

“You know what - I’m not great!” You announced, turning to face him. “I was hoping that this visit would be smooth sailing, but Joffrey seemed like a -”

“Keep your voice down,” Jon whispered, but you carried on.

“-a not very nice boy, the King does not act at all proper, and the Queen dearest was staring at me, no, more like, glaring at me! And do you know why she was staring at me? Because she saw me as a threat to her husband. How outrageous is that?”

“I wouldn’t say it’s outrageous,” Jon said, but you continued on before he could say too much more.

“As if I would ever want to sit on the lap of that man, like the loose women do. Oh yes My King, the smell of roasted mutton does suit you very well! Oh no my King, that tunic doesn’t make you look like a wild boar at all!”

Jon quickly put his hand over your mouth, and dragged you back to the stone wall, out of the ear shot of anyone who might be listening below. “Keep your voice down! You could be killed for saying some of those things!”

“Let them kill me then. Show them that I am owned by...” You noticed at that moment just how close to you Jon was, and that his hand was still lingering quite close to your mouth. It made you feel even warmer, having him near. Your eyes were on his, steam from both of your breaths meshing together in the small space between you two. “No one,” You said, a lot softer than before. “Jon? I - I might be a little drunk from the wine, but there’s something I want to tell you.”

“I have to tell you something too,” He said with a short sigh. But he didn’t move back. You were against the wall, feeling the cold stones against the thin fabric of your dress. Your hair was coming undone from the style that you had put it in, and thin tendrils were descending towards your shoulders.

“I want to say it first,” You said. Jon lowered his hand from where it was and nodded. But he was ready to cover your mouth once more if you said anything bad about the King and his family, no matter how warranted it was. “I’ll never belong to anyone, Jon Snow,” You breathed heavily. “Unless it is you who would have me.”

Jon studied you for a second. You couldn’t read his eyes. You were starting to grow light headed and rested even more against the back wall, nervous for his reaction.

“You’ve had a lot to drink tonight, perhaps we should speak in the morrow.”

“Don’t you dare do that,” You said, pushing him away from you now. Being close to him didn’t seem like it was as good an idea as it had before. “I’ve been in love with you since I was a child. Since I can remember. And if you don’t feel the same way, then that is fine, I can accept that. I hope that you find someone who makes you happy. But don’t you dare tell me that I’m lying. Or that I’m only saying it because I had too much to drink. If anything, the wine gave me the courage!”

Jon took your push quite easily, barely taking two steps back. He still remained quiet, as stoic as ever. It was lucky that you had learned how to wait for him. He had to rub his two brain cells together before coming up with what to say. You crossed your arms in front of your chest. “Well? Either break my heart or make it whole, I do not much care wish, as long as you say something.”

That was a lie, you did care. You cared very much. But you needed an answer. Your heart was beating so quickly in your chest, you could feel it throughout your whole body.

“I love you, y/n Dayne,” Jon Snow told you. That was all that you needed. The alcohol did the rest. You closed the distance, throwing your arms around his fur-lined shoulders and kissed him with all of your might. It was a bit hard, a little messy, tasted like leftover dinner and wine but it was an amazing kiss nonetheless. One that you had dreamt about on more than one occasion. A warmth spread from the top of your head down to the tips of your toes. Jon’s arms went around your waist, hugging you close. When you finally had to breathe, you stepped back, your eyes wide and awestruck at what had just happened.

“You love me! Then we must tell your father, Jon. Perhaps he may let us wed! He tried to make matches for me in the past but I refused them all because the only person that I could picture being with is you. If he’s in a good mood, he may just say yes!”

“I cannot wed,” Jon said, the happiness that he had been feeling slid off of his face. You’ve never seen him look more sorrowful in all of your life. You took hold of his hand and squeezed it.

“If it’s because you’re a bastard, you know that I don’t care. And neither does your father. We might get some opposition from Catelyn but if it really all that bad, we can run away! Take different names! Live as if we are a married couple. The Gods would surely forgive us.”

“I didn’t come here to tell you that I love you,” Jon said, turning away. “I wish that you said nothing.”

“How can you be so cruel?” Now it was your turn to have your happiness disappear. “That’s the most heartless thing that I have heard you say. Were you just lying to me now? Mocking my feelings?”

“No!” Jon said, squeezing your hand. “I could never lie to you. You know me too well. You were always able to catch me.”

“And don’t you forget it,” You said, pointing your finger at him. You saw in his eyes that he was telling the truth. He felt the same way that you did. “So why can’t we get married? Why do you wish that I had said nothing?”

Jon let go of you, and ran his fingers through his hair, the wax melting away and the curls parting beneath his touch. He looked at you once more than looked away. He couldn’t say it to your face, which made you realize that whatever it was.. it was terrible. “Just tell me, Jon. Just tell me now,” You whispered.

“I’m going up north, to the wall. I’ve pledged myself to the Knight’s Watch. I’m leaving as soon as soon as I’m able.” Jon told you, still facing away.

You stared. And you stared. And you stared.

All of those good feelings that you had dissipated entirely. Now you felt cold. You felt raw.  You felt as if you had been skinned and then salted.

“You were going to leave without telling me how you feel?” You asked, feeling glued to the floor. You couldn’t walk away from this conversation as much as you would like to. It had sobered you up quickly. “No - you have gotten better at lying, Jon Snow,” You whipped your hand away from his as quickly as possible, hiding it behind your back so he could not snatch it again. “Because I can’t see it in your eyes, but you cannot possibly love me. If you did, you wouldn’t bear the thought of leaving me, because that’s how I feel about you. I would have followed you anywhere, you know that, but you are going somewhere that I cannot go.”

Jon opened his mouth to say something but then closed it. The hallway was filled with a heavy silence until you broke it again. You shook your head at him, and walked backwards. “I wish I never cared for you, I wish I never met you.”

And with that, you tuned on your heel and went to your bedroom, locking the door behind you with a chair so that no one could possibly come in. You threw off your silly, frivilous gown and let it lie on the bed without you hanging it up properly. You crawled under the covers with it still there, and let your tears guide you to sleep.

-

Until the day that Jon left, you didn’t say a word to him. You refused to be in his presence unless it was absolutely necessary. And the worst part was - people had started to notice. Sansa had even left her ‘Joffrey’ mind-state to ask you if you and Jon had gotten into a fight, and if she should tell her mother.

“No - he’s leaving soon, and then things will get better,” You assured her, though you were not too sure of that yourself. Jon did sometimes linger near a doorway while you were in the room, such as in the library when you took your lessons with the maester, but otherwise, it was hard to spot him anywhere. He kept to himself, packing his things and preparing for his journey.

When he was about to set off, you were in your room, watching from the window. He was packing up the horse that he was taking, with the youngest Lannister going with him - Tyrion. He looked up and caught your eye, but you turned away and ducked against your wall so he  could not see your tears. Despite the best efforts of the maids, your gown was in wrinkles on the bed. May Catelyn forgive you for this for you would never forgive yourself if you did not.

Using your sewing scissors, you cut the high neck off of the gown, knowing you could fix the hem later. With it flying between your fingers, you ran out of your room and descended down the stairs, nearly tripping over the stupid long skirt that you were wearing. You rushed out into the courtyard to see Jon getting onto the horse, slipping his feet into the stirrups.

“Wait!” You called out, hair flowing loose behind you since you had not intended to leave your bedchamber today. Jon steadied the horse but did not hop off. He had those sad eyes again, the look he’d had since you two had talked in the hallway. You approached slower this time, not wanting to startle the horse, and lifted up the fabric for him to take. “Please - don’t forget about me.”

Jon did take it, running the fabric through his fingers. He lifted it to his face and took a deep breath of it - it smelled of you still. “I never could, y/n,” He said your name tenderly.

The rest of his company grew restless to the point where he was tutted at. “If we want to make good time, we must leave now,” Tyrion said from inside of his carriage.

You pleaded with Jon through eyes alone, begging for him not to go. It wasn’t too late for him to change his mind, he could get off of his horse, he could stay here with you...

But he didn’t. Instead, he tied the piece of fabric around his wrist. “It’s for the best, y/n,” He said, turning his horse around so he could no longer see you. Evading you, more like.

“For whom?” You asked. You were given no answer in return, just the sound of the horse neighing as it trotted it’s way towards the gate and away from you. You stood there until he was out of sight, and then an hour more, willing it with all of your heart that he would turn back and you would see him galloping his way back towards you.

But nay. Night came along and the weather became frosty, forcing you inside, forcing you to change the way you thought of your life for if the man who claimed he loved you ran away ... well, you had a lot of thinking to do.

[sisterofiris]

Everyday life in the Hittite empire

Have you ever wondered what your life would have been like if you had been born in central Anatolia 3500 years ago? No? Now that I’ve brought it up, are you curious to find out?

Well you’re in luck, because that’s just what this post is about. So sit back, close your eyes, and imagine yourself in Anatolia - that is, modern Turkey. Are you ready? Can you see the mountains, the red river and the towering buildings of your capital, Ḫattuša? Can you hear the chariots driving up the road? Can you feel the electric brewing of a storm in the distance?

Then let’s go.

(With a brief disclaimer: while I study Hittitology, this is not intended as an academic-level post. It was written to give general, approachable insights into Hittite culture and can be used as writing inspiration or to titillate curious history nerds around you, but if you’re writing an academic paper on the subject, I would recommend you check out the bibliography instead.)

About you

First things first, are you older than five? If so, congratulations on being alive. Child mortality in this place and time is very high, so you’re one of the luckier ones among your siblings. You probably have at least a couple of those; you may even have as many as six or seven, especially if you come from a well-to-do family with access to good healthcare. When you were little, your parents might have told you the tale of Zalpa, in which the queen of Neša gives birth to thirty sons then thirty daughters who marry each other, but you know this only happens in the stories - not to normal people.

When you were born, your parents rejoiced regardless of your sex, as sons and daughters are equally valued in your society (albeit for different reasons). Your father took you on his knee and gave you a good Hittite name: maybe Armawiya, Ḫarapšili, Kilušḫepa or Šiwanaḫšušar for a girl, or Anuwanza, Kantuzili, Muwaziti or Tarḫuzalma for a boy. Gender-neutral names, such as Anna, Muwa and Šummiri, would also have been an option. Many people around you have Hurrian or Luwian names, even if they are not ethnically Hurrian or Luwian themselves. (This is comparable to the modern popularity of Hispanic names like Diego, or French names like Isabelle.)

It’s hard to say what you would have done during childhood. While your earliest years would have been spent playing and babbling in grammatically incorrect Hittite, by the age of six or seven you may well have already started training in the family profession. If a girl, you would have been taught to weave by your mother; if a boy, you might have helped your father out on the farm, tried your hand at making pottery, or spent long hours learning cuneiform. (There may have been careers requiring gender non-conformity, as there was in Mesopotamia, but as far as I am aware this has not been proven.) You know that even the noblest children are given responsibilities - king Ḫattušili himself was once a stable boy.

Now, as an adult, you are a working professional contributing directly to Hittite society. You look the very portrait of a Hittite: as a woman, you have long, dark hair that you probably keep veiled, and as a man, your hair is around shoulder-length and your face clean-shaven. Ethnically, though, you are likely a mixture of Hittite, Luwian, Hurrian, Hattian, and depending on when and where exactly you live, maybe Assyrian, Canaanite or even Greek. There’s a fair chance Hittite might not actually be your native language. Still, you consider yourself a Hittite, and a subject of the Hittite king.

Well, now you know who you are, let’s get along with your day!

Your home and environment

Your day begins the way most people’s days do: you wake up at home, in your bed. As an average Hittite, you probably sleep on the floor rather than on elevated furniture. Your floor is either paved or of beaten earth, and your house itself has stone foundations and mud brick walls, with a flat roof supported by timber beams. Windows are scarce and small, to keep the indoor temperature stable.

Outside, the rest of the settlement is waking up too. Statistically, you live in a village or small town, surrounded by forest and mountains. Summers here are hot and dry, and winters cold and snowy, with spring and autumn being marked by thunderstorms. Most inhabitants work as farmers, relying on the weather for their survival. Contagious illnesses are a constant threat - under king Muršili II, the land suffered a deadly plague for twenty years - as are enemy invasions. If you live within the bend of the red river, in the Hittite heartland, consider yourself lucky; if not, your settlement could well be shifting from one kingdom’s property to another and falling prey to both sides’ raids on a yearly basis.

Admitting no enemy forces are in the area today, you take your time to get up. You might tiredly stumble to the outhouse to go pee. Eventually, you’ll want to get dressed.

Clothing

As a man, your clothes comprise of a kilt or sleeved tunic, with a belt of cloth or leather. As a woman, you wear a long dress and, if you are married, a veil. All clothing is made from wool or linen, and a variety of dyes exist: red, yellow, blue, green, black and white are all colours mentioned in texts. If you are rich enough, you may be able to import purple-dyed fabric from Lazpa (Greek Lesbos) or the Levant. You will also want to flaunt your wealth with jewellery, regardless of gender.

Of course, your shoes have upturned ends in the Hittite style. Historians will tease you for this. Don’t listen to them. You look awesome.

Mealtime!

It’s now time for one of your two daily meals (the other will take place in the evening, after your work for the day is done). This will be prepared at the hearth, a vital element of every home, and which is likely connected to an oven. The staple of your diet is bread; in fact, it is so common that “bread”, in cuneiform texts, is used as a general term for food. It is usually made from wheat or barley, but can also be made from beans or lentils.

Worried you’ll get bored of it? You needn’t be: your society has enough types of bread that you could eat a different one each day for a whole season. Fig bread, sour bread, flat bread and honey bread are just some of your options, along with spear bread and moon bread... yes, in other words, baguettes and croissants. (Something tells me the Hittites and the French would have a lot to talk about.)

You also have various fruits and vegetables available: cucumber, leek, carrots, peas, chickpeas, lentils, beans, olives, figs, dates, grapes, pomegranates, onions, garlic, and more. Your diet is completed by animal products, including cheese, milk, butter, and meat, mainly from sheep and goats but also cows and wild game. Honey, too, is common.

These ingredients can be combined into all sorts of dishes. Porridge is popular, as are stews, both vegetarian and meat-based. Meat can also be broiled and quite possibly skewered onto kebabs. And of course, food would be boring without spices, so you have a variety of those to choose from too: coriander are cumin are just two of them.

As for drinks, you can have beer, wine, beer-wine (good luck figuring out what that is), milk or water. If you’re well-to-do enough, you may own a rhyton, a drinking vessel shaped like an animal such as a stag or bull. Don’t forget to libate to the Gods before drinking your share.

Daily work

The next thing on your plate, after food, is work. What you do depends on your social status and gender, and most likely, you do the same work as your parents did before you. You could be something well-known like a king, priest, scribe, merchant, farmer or slave, but don’t assume those are all the possibilities; you could also be, for example, a gardener, doctor, ritual practitioner, potter, weaver, tavern keeper, or perfume maker.

It’s impossible to go into detail on every career option you would have in Hittite society, so for the sake of brevity, let’s just discuss four - two male-dominated, and two female-specific.

Farmer

As a farmer, you are the backbone of your society. You and your peers are responsible for putting food on the plates of Hittites everywhere, thus ensuring the survival of the empire.

Like many farmers, you live on a small estate, most likely with both crops (or an orchard) and livestock to take care of. You may own cows, sheep, goats, pigs, horses, donkeys, and/or ducks. Your daily routine and tools aren’t that different from other pre-industrial cultures, though you have it a little rougher than most due to the Anatolian mountain terrain. If you have the means, you hire seasonal workers - both male and female - to help out as farmhands, and you may own a few slaves.

You get up early to milk the cows, and at the onset of summer, you or a hired herdsman may lead your livestock up to mountain pastures to graze. Depending on the season and the work that needs to be done, you may spend your day ploughing the fields, harvesting grain or fruit, tending livestock, shearing sheep, birthing a calf, repairing the barn, or various other tasks. Make sure to take proper care of everything: new animals are expensive, and losing one could get you into a precarious situation. In particular, you’ll want to keep an eye out for bears, wolves, foxes, and even lions and leopards.

Scribe

Few people are literate in Hittite society, and you are one of the lucky ones. You have been learning to read and write in three languages (Sumerian, Akkadian and Hittite) since childhood, and after long years of copying lexical lists and ancient myths, your education is now complete.

As a scribe, you are the dreaded bureaucrat. In a small town, you likely work alongside the town administrator, recording tax collections and enemy sightings as well as corresponding with other towns, and with the capital. You and your peers are the go-to people for officialising marriage agreements and divorces, drawing up work contracts, and creating sales receipts. If not in the town administration, you could also work in a temple, recording the results of oracles, cross-checking the correct procedures for a ritual, and making sure everything necessary for a festival is available. If you are particularly lucky, you may be employed by the nobility or even the palace, and be entrusted with such confidential tasks as writing the king’s annals or drafting an international treaty.

Regardless of where you are, two things are essential to your job: a stylus and a tablet. You may be a “scribe of the clay tablets”, in which case you will need to carry around a bit of clay wherever you go (and some water to moisten it). Otherwise, you are a “scribe of the wooden tablets”, in which case you use a wax tablet in a wooden frame, which requires less maintenance. It’s unclear whether these types of tablet are used for different purposes.

Fun fact: you likely have a few pen pals around the Hittite empire. After corresponding with other scribes for so long, you’ve started writing each other messages at the bottom of your tablets, asking each other how you’re doing and to say hi to each other’s families. Your employers needn’t know.

Weaver

Weaving, to a Hittite like you, is the quintessential female activity, along with textile-making in general. Like farming, this is a backbone of your society: without weaving, there would be no clothes, and without clothes, well, you can’t do much.

As a weaver, you produce textiles for your family and in many cases also for sale. You work in an atelier within your home, along with the other women of the household, keeping an eye on your smallest children as they play nearby. While your husband, brothers or sons may transport and sell your handiwork, you are the head of your own business.

You are skilled in multiple weaving techniques, and can do embroidery and sew fabric into various shapes (including sleeves - take that, Classical Greeks). You create clothing for all sorts of occasions, including rituals and festivals, outdoor work, and winter weather, and if you are lucky enough to be commissioned by the nobility, you put your best efforts into clothing that will show off their status. Don’t try to cheat anyone out of their money, though; prices are fixed by law.

Old Woman

Contrary to what you might expect, you don’t need to be old to be an Old Woman - this is a career just like any other, though it probably does require a certain amount of life experience and earned respect. As an Old Woman, you are a trained ritual practitioner and active in all sorts of cultic, divinatory and magical ceremonies.

Most commonly, you are hired for rituals protecting against or removing evil. Your services may solve domestic quarrels, cure a sick child, or shield someone from sorcery (a constant threat in your society). This is done through symbolic acts like cutting pieces of string, breaking objects, and sacrificing and burning animals, which are of course accompanied by incantations - sometimes in Hittite, sometimes in other languages, like Hurrian.

Far from a village witch, you are high-placed in Hittite society and trusted by the royal family itself. You have taken part in major rituals and festivals, including funerals, and you perform divinatory oracles too. This last responsibility gives you a large amount of influence over the king and queen; if you establish that something should be done, then it almost certainly will be. Use this power well... or not.

Your loved ones

After a long day ploughing fields, writing tablets, weaving clothes or reciting incantations, it’s finally time to reunite with your loved ones. For adults, these likely - but not necessarily! - include a spouse and children. You may just live with your nuclear family, but living with extended family is also common, and there may be as many as twenty people in your household. Siblings, aunts and uncles, parents, grandparents, children and babies all share the evening meal with you, and some nights, you might gather afterwards to sing and dance, tell stories, and play games.

You also have relationships outside of home. Friendship is valued by Hittite society, with close friends calling each other “brother” and sister”. You might meet up with them regularly at the local tavern for a beer and a bit of fun. Someone there might even catch your eye... Interestingly, there are no laws against that person being of the same gender as you. So, same or different gender, why not try your luck tonight?

Greater powers

It’s impossible to spend a day in the Hittite empire without encountering religion. The Land of a Thousand Gods is aptly named: Gods are in everything, from the sun to the mountains to the stream at the back of your house to fire to a chair. You should always be conscious of their power, and treat them with respect. Though there are few traces of it, you may have a household shrine where you make libations or offer a portion of your meal. Your Gods may be represented by anthropomorphic statues, by animals such as a bull, by symbols such as gold disks, or even by a stone. Either way, treat these objects well; the divine is literally present in them.

You should also be wary of sorcery. Never make clay figures of someone, or kill a snake while speaking someone’s name, or you will face the death penalty. Likewise, always dispose of impurities carefully, especially those left over from a purification ritual (such as mud, ashes, or body hair). Never toss them onto someone else’s property. Has misfortune suddenly struck your household? Is your family or livestock getting sick and dying? These are signs that someone has bewitched you.

Some days are more sacred than others. You participate in over a hundred festivals every year, some lasting less than a day, some lasting a month, some local, some celebrated by the entire Hittite empire. The most important of these are the crocus festival and the purulli festival in spring, the festival of haste in autumn, and the gate-house festival, possibly also in autumn. The statues of the Gods are brought out of the temples, great feasts are held, and entertainment is provided through music, dance and sports contests. Depending on how important your town is, the king, queen or a prince might even be in attendance. All this excitement is a nice break from your regular work!

Sleep and dreams

Phew, what a busy day it’s been. The sun, snared in the trees’ branches, has set on the Hittite land, and you are ready for bed. Time to wrap yourself snugly in blankets and go to sleep.

You may dream, in which case, try to remember as much as you can. Dreams can be a vehicle for omens. Maybe, if the Gods are kind, you might catch a glimpse of what the next days, months and years hold in store for you.

Good night!

Bibliography

Beckman, Gary, “Birth and Motherhood among the Hittites”, in Budin, Stephanie Lynn, Macintosh Turfa, Jean, Women in Antiquity: Real Women across the Ancient World, Abingdon 2016 (pp. 319-328).

Bryce, Trevor, Life and Society in the Hittite World, Oxford 2002.

Bryce, Trevor, “The Role and Status of Women in Hittite Society”, in Budin, Stephanie Lynn, Macintosh Turfa, Jean, Women in Antiquity: Real Women across the Ancient World, Abingdon 2016 (pp. 303-318).

Golec-Islam, Joanna, The Food of Gods and Humans in the Hittite World, BA thesis, Warszawa 2016.

Hoffner, Harry A., “Birth and name-giving in Hittite texts”, Journal of Near Eastern Studies 27/3 (1968), pp. 198-203.

Hoffner, Harry A., “Daily life among the Hittites”, in Averbeck, Richard E., Chavalas, Marc W., Weisberg, David B., Life and Culture in the Ancient Near East, Bethesda 2003 (pp. 95-118).

Marcuson, Hannah, “Word of the Old Woman”: Studies in Female Ritual Practice in Hittite Anatolia, PhD thesis, Chicago 2016.

Wilhelm, Gernot, “Demographic Data from Hittite Land Donation Tablets”, in Pecchioli Daddi, Franca, Torri, Giulia, Corti, Carlo, Central-North Anatolia in the Hittite Period: New Perspectives in Light of Recent Research, Roma 2009 (pp. 223-233).

[parnelbedlam]

12th century England and the Wayhaven Chronicles

Let me preface this with I am not trying to bash Sera’s work in anyway. I am a fan of the Wayhaven chronicles and don’t want this post to be seen in the wrong light. I love seeing fanart and writings of the text and in no way mean to hurt anyone with this post, rather I’d like to help inform on this particular area.

I understand that this work is fiction, that it isn’t reality but does seem to reflect our world just with a hidden supernatural spin. As such it stands to reason that the 12th century in Wayhaven is the same as in the real world (or at least closely resembling). But because it is fiction it doesn’t have to conform to reality and thus this may all be moot.

If you’d like to learn a bit more about 12th century England please read on if not just ignore this post.

(any pictures used that are not credited are taken from the Historia Normannis re-enactment group)

So straight off the bat, regarding Adam/Ava and the 12th century there are some things about them that simply don’t fit the period.

Now to understand why I care about a few small details; I have been a 12th century re-enactor in England for the past 6 years (and a multi- period re-enactor for around 8) . As such while there is definitely much more I can learn I do have a fairly good grasp of the early Norman period (in England as least). My group aims to portray Norman life in England from peasants to Nobles and I’m heavily involved in the drapery.

1. Adam/Ava’s name is slightly off

So ‘du’ means ‘of’ in French but here’s where every English school lies to their students; The Normans aren’t French. Rather they’re Vikings who were given land by the French. Anyway with that bit of history out of the way the connective used for names by the Normans in England at this time isn’t Du but De so De Lacey, De La Ware ect.

Fun fact; Adam/Ava would have had several ways you could refer to them as last names weren’t what they are now as such they would have been refered to as Adam De Mortain, Adam Fitz[insert father’s name here] (Fitz mean son of) or Ava of (wherever they lived in England).

From what I understand Adam isn’t the most popular name in the 12th century, he’s much more likely to be named William, Stephen, Henry, Steven, Robert or Richard (note how many kings and royalty of the time have those names). Adam become more popular as a name around the 13th cen but this is something I would have to look more into to properly comment on so take it with a pinch of salt.

Ava is fine I think? Ada works as an alternative that’s the name I use on encampment. Some popular ones of the period are Matilda, Eleanor, Margaret, Isolda is another (Emperess Matilda and Eleanor of Aquitaine are some incredible women who do not get enough credit in history)

The doomsday book is an excellent source for understanding names in England at the time (it’s basically a survay of England and a portion of Wales ordered by William the Conqueror a couple of decades after he became king).

2. Gender Roles in Norman society

Norman society had gender roles, it just did. Less so for peasants (some crafts were seen as more a man’s domain or a woman’s but that’s about it, didn’t see many men embroidering and women doing blacksmithing) but very clear ones for nobles.

Noble women basically ran the estate, they had the keys for the coffers, the doors and handled the money. Their power and status was signified by a large ring of keys they would wear on their belt with the only other person having this being a steward. After all if you have lots of keys and those keys are made of say brass which is more expensive then cast iron you must have a pretty big estate and wealth.

Men in contrast showed this with a sword at their belt. Contrary to media swords were not something anyone had access to in the middle ages, they were expensive (think luxury sports car) and only really good for killing people. You can’t really use it to cut your bread or skin a rabbit, if you did have some extra money for wargear you would buy a helmet or some armour before you bought a sword. Even most mercenaries didn’t use swords, it was symbol of wealth.

Noble men were taught from an early age how to fight and were squired to knights to learn the ways of warfare (they didn’t just learn how to fight but it was a large part of their education).

Women didn’t fight on the battlefield at all, knight Ava would not have been a thing. Women did occassionally command armies such as if their castle was being besieged but they didn’t fight as knights. I know this was done so that there weren’t any differences between the characters of Adam or Ava but in reality it wouldn’t be a thing.

Some of the things both were taught though was horse riding and hunting, as well as poetry and music. There were pleanty of noble men who were troubadour and women who were trobairitz (travelling musicians/composers, not quite like how bards are portrayed as today).

3. Battlefield Etiquette and armour

Knights don’t kill other knights they took them hostage. This was because a dead knight was worth what he was wearing but an alive knight could be ransomed back to his family for much more. As such it was seen poorly if you did murder a knight when you could have taken them ransom (most knights would surrender if they felt they were in danger, people aren’t stupid).

Plate did not exist in the 12th century, what was worn was maille (or chain maille except maille means chain so it was just called maille). This is more so what Adam would be wearing;

What he’s wearing is a badded gambison under the armour to protect against blunt blows (like from a mace) while on top of that he has maille to protect against slashes (he’s also got his cloth undergarments underneath is all). The cloth on top is a surcoat and would be of your heraldry or your lords heraldry and basically signified to everyone else that you were a knight (so difficult to kill and very good at killing).

Underneath the helmet the maille overs his head and neck (called a coif) and then under that he has a padded arming cap. As such it’s a little difficult to wip your helmet off movie style and you’re face would be covered in oil and sweat, hair sticking to your head. Maille is really good at pulling hair out so you would always have something underneath it (ealier periods, like the vikings, who didn’t wear gambisons wore their tunic underneath).

4. Fashion

This is more just to give an idea of what fashion in the 12th century was like. Media tends to portray the medieval period incorrectly, as dirty and dull and with random bits of fur and leather strapped to people (really Vikings tv show? fur on the outside of your cloak to get wet?)

Much to the opposite, people in the medieval period were clean (they washed) they didn’t just leave dirt on themselves and given peasants didn’t have too much money they kept very good care of their clothing as they couldn’t just get another one everytime they ripped their dress or tunic (or buy the fabric to make another).

Bright coloured clothing was also very popular, it’s harder to dye clothing a bright or deep colour and some colours (purple and black) could only be achieved through using rare dyes. So if you had a bright dress it showed you had more money. Norman’s weren’t so big on jewellry so they showed wealth through their clothing; the colour, the embroidery, the quality of fabric and if it had excess fabric.

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So lets start with Ava.

I’m going to assume that Adam/Ava’s family were upper nobility so had a fair bit of wealth behind them.

Firstly woman’s heads were covered, it was seen as immodist for a woman of age to show her ears (only harlots do that). Mostly what was worn was a wimple which is basically a linen head scalf like so;

But Ava is a noble so she has some other options open to her such as a veil (similar to wimple but flows down the back of the person) or the risque barbette which was very fashionable among the upper nobility.

(maniacal medievalist - wordpress)

Dresses covered the body and just barely touch the floor, low neck lines aren’t in yet so the only skin a woman would be showing is her hands and face (and neck if veil or barbette). You wouldn’t really be able to see her collar bones as that is about where the neckline of the shift and dress are.

Dresses were tight fitting and were worn with a shift underneath (made of linen and basically under garments), Normans (with more money) would dye the shift either white or a contrasting colour. The neck hem and wrists of the dress were often embroidered (if you were very rich you could embroider it with prescious stones and metal thread)

Noble women would often have long impractical sleeves that were embroidered and had a contrasting colour inside to show off their wealth (less wealth smaller bell sleeves). (If say hunting, tight fitted sleeves were recommended, bell sleeves are really impractical for doing anything)

Next we have Adam.

Men’s fashion in the 12th century was similar to women, they wore long tunics (longer the richer you were) with a linen shift underneath, they also wore linen braise (basically underwear) with tight fitting woolen hose (basically stocking). It was the fashion to show off your calves.

Men’s clothing was also embroidered and they wore hats or linen coifs on their heads (it’s only really recently in history where it has become the norm not to wear a hat). The neckline would also be about around the collar bones.

Also quick side notes; cloaks don’t have hoods, hoods are a separate piece of clothing that cover the shoulders

Rings aren’t popular yet, you’ll see much more metal studs on belts or precious stones on clock pins then you’ll see rings. Cross necklaces for men are common, rosaries on the belt for women (richer women would have precious stones on the rosary).

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If you’ve gotten this far thank you for reading this, I do appriciate it. This post was made because while I love Adam/Ava and seeing fanart of Ava as a knight, but as a 12th century re-enactor the inaccuracies grated on me (something that plagues many re-enactors who care about authenticity in media, aka the Vikings and Assassin’s Creed Valhalla are horrible representation of what the vikings looked like please stop media).

I hope this post has been informative of the 12th century, it’s one of the lesser known periods of the medieval age and there’s a lot of misinformation about it. As stated at the top this post is purely to help inform about the period and is in now way meant as an attack on the work, Sera or others.

I hope you have a good day.

[missingartist]

The Witcher's Mate Chapter 7

Geralt’s cat eyes followed the two walkers with predator-like focus. A deep growl pushed itself from his chest as he watched Jaskier knock his shoulder against the women gently as he told her another tale from his repertoire. The Witcher’s eyes narrowed as the Adva chuckled weakly and attempted to push him back. For the past three days, they had been travelling through miles of muddy roads and dense woodland; it was beginning to take its toll on the young women’s body. Despite Geralt’s best efforts Adva refused to join him on his horse even though he could see the slouch in her figure and the exhaustion in her features as they travelled. It took all of Geralt’s free will to stop himself from yanking her up, throwing her across his saddle. The smell of apples and the ocean was teasing him; he needed it closer; he wanted to bury his face in her neck and drinking in the heady scent. It was craving, a need, a yearning, burning him from the inside out.

In the darkening sky, there was a dim glow in the near distance, a small town. The Witcher surveyed the town for a moment before returning his gaze to his new travel companion. She had been subdued since her eruption the days previous, choosing to ignore his presence and focusing on the babbling bard.

‘Geralt…Geralt there is a town...wine…meat and beds. Think about it…real-life beds. Soft, fluffy warm beds. Come on Geralt lets stay the night. We might even find a new tale...or at the very least, a warm bath and a change of clothing.’ Jaskier prodded, shinnying his best puppy dog eyes at him.

Adva look up silent at the two men, there was almost a playful banter of faux hated from the older man. In truth she didn’t care where she slept, a bed, a muddy hole on top of a bed of nettle as long as she got some rest, her body ached, literal ached, she was used to being tired especially in the last weeks in Brightwater after the attacks, but this was on a whole other level. The sort of tiredness that seeped into your bones and made you eyelids feel like lead. Adva wrinkled her nose, the clothes she wore were stained, bile rose in her throat as she runs her hand over a sticky rust colour stain on her dress, a mix of hers and Tradi’s blood. It was only then she realised she hadn’t had a change of clothes since Brightwater. The same dress that has a massive slit in the side where Griffin’s talons caught her, an overshirt had been pulled over the bodice, and her old cloak flung round her. It covered her modestly, but she dreaded to think what a state she looked. She hadn’t bathed in a week, no hairbrush or fresh clothes, she had nothing, every possess she had ever own was gone, everything she owns was currently wrapped tightly around her body. Tears welled up in her eyes.

Staring up at the Witcher, she could feel his heavy gaze on her but refused to look away; instead, she shifted uncomfortably on her feet. It didn’t take a Witcher to see the line of water collect against her lashes. Casting his golden orbs back the town he sent his jaw in a tight clench as he urged Roach onwards.

‘Hmmm’

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Heavy spices filled the air, sage and rosemary, cinnamon and nutmeg. Merchants voiced echoed through the street as people rushed from one place to the other, in a rush to get the last of their supplies before darkness fell. Upon reaching the town gates, Geralt dismounted his horse and led him through the dwindling crowd. People parted allowing the trio to slip through, edger eyes cast upon them, intrigued at the white-haired hulk of a man.

Jaskier pranced across the ground, strumming his lute softly, making the pretty young girls laugh behind their hands as he blew them kisses. Adva fell as little way behind the pair, eyes scanning the town stalls as she went. People chatted and bartered with the tradesmen; carts served the busy people with spiced ginger cake and pies as they rushed off home, the hearty smell of soup lingered in the air. A low rumble bubbled in the girl's stomach cause a pale blush to spread across her cheeks as the Witcher turned slightly, watching her out of the corner of his eye as a seller pushed his wares. Jaskier was on the other side of the street purchasing spare lute strings and bathing salts from an overly busty young woman.

Flashes of vibrant colour caught her eye. Rich pinks and orange against the vivid blues and reds. Rolls of cotton, silks and velvets in every colour imaginable. They were hanging against the wooden frame where a full range of garments,  headdress, bands, girdles, overcoats, cloaks, tunics, gowns and dresses.  The blue eyes searched the overladen walls that hung various outfits. Fingering the soft cotton of a deep red dress, she traced the simple gold embroidery design that framed the lace corset of the bodice. The next thing that caught her eyes was a dark leather underbust corset, with a cross-hatched design. Never in her life has she seen such a garment; women in the brothels often wore such a thing but made of flimsy silk or whalebone to tuck and frame their waist and push their bust-up. This, however, was a work of art, probably made for lady judging from the quality. Next was a basic blouse one in royal red and the next in aqua blue, in the softest cotton.

‘Ahhh madam, you have excellent taste…those colours would complement your skin…madams’ figure is exceptional… perhaps a tighter corset, it would empathise your hips and waist.’ A chirpy deep voice cut in.

Out of nowhere, a large jolly man bounded in her eye line. The merchant was dressed in an elegant doublet, in a brilliant shade of emerald green. Fine white whiskers framed his plump red cheeks; a large belly jiggled when he laughed. The violent greeting almost made Adva flinch back in shock, but his large friendly smile relaxed her tense shoulders. The old man waddled over and lifted up the dark leather corset and inspected it with glee.

‘I pick up this little thing in Nilfgaard year ago…it belonged to a master craftsman…see this leather work he almost went blind making it. I could not part with it to a lesser specimen of womanhood.’ He gushed as he held it up firmly against the curly-haired woman.

Adva shrieked back as the man touch, bumping into the broad chest of the brooding Witcher, who glared down at the pudgy old man.

‘Ahhhh this must be your husband… such a handsome couple…perhaps I could persuade you with some undergarments for the lady…’ the man winked up at Geralt as he pulled out several nightgowns. A simple thing, of plain sheer cotton cut in a princess style. Followed by a short lacey thing with a silk ribbon belt. A deep red blush moved across her face as Geralt peered down at the man with an unwavering gaze.

‘Geralt…Adva…where are you? I found a tavern!’ Jaskier bellowed.

With a sigh of relief, Adva darted off toward the tavern, leaving the orange eyed man behind.

‘By gum, you gotta good one there…a homely figure, a good hand full there’ The man crowed as he hung the garments back on the rack.’

Geralt’s eyes burnt into the merchant as he moved around the stall, minutes past before the silver-haired spoke. The man busied himself with plucking various garments from the walls of the stalls and folding them neatly into a bundle.

‘I need some clothes for my…wife. We left our last town in a rush.’ Geralt grunted out

The man smiled up as she continues to fold what looked like a dress into the bundle. ‘I thought so… a husband like your self can’t have a woman like that dress in rags. These should do…’ the man smiled pushing the buddle across her.

Geralt glanced across as the bundle before his eyes danced across the stall. Never in his life had he taken an interest in women’s clothes, yes he appreciated the women who wore them, but as most of them end up on the floor or ripped apart, the wasn’t much point it taken an interest. However, in this instant, he took his time to access each item, ignoring the man grinning like an idiot behind him. He had seen her finger some of the items before and picked up the garment and throw them over his arm. Glancing around he examines the remaining items, there were several lovely dresses but nonpractical for travelling long and hard across the country. The golden-skinned Adonis picked some oiled skinned brown trousers and riding boots.

Geralt tossed 30 coins into the man’s hand as he picked up the role of clothes. Grunted at how light her purse now felt.

‘ere take this.’ The older man grinned at Geralt as he tossed the underbust corset. ‘I’ve had this thing for five years, and I couldn’t let it go to a less worthy filly. You’re a lucky man, and she is a lucky woman don’t know many men that would toss down 30 coins for their woman. You must be quite enamoured.’

‘Fuck’ Geralt grunted as he turned and left in the direction of the pub.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Adva sat in the snug of the pub nursing a small cup of mead from the pitcher Jaskier had brought before fluttering off after some barmaid with gorgeous Auburn hair and a pale, freckled face. The tavern was nice, large and open but most importantly, clean. Taking another sip of mead, she cringed as the yeasty drink run down her throat. It was sickly sweet and crisp in flavour but most importantly strong, the fumes for the drink along where enough to make her lightheaded.

Sighing, she forced down another gulp and rested her back against the oak seat and closed her eyes as her mind wandered over past few days. It took all her will power not to let the overwhelming emotion to pour from her. The shock was beginning to wear off, and she flight between hatred and gratefulness, she still couldn’t get her mind around what happened or why.

‘Well hello, little girl…looking for some fun?’ a voice roared drunkenly as his clumsy plopped himself down on the bench beside her.

‘Hullo love… fancy coming outside for a bit?’ the man slurred as he sloshed his flagon around.

‘No, thank you. I am waiting for my friends.’ Adva wrinkled her nose as the overpowering stench of ale the attack her, attempting to push herself to the other end of the bench.

‘That doesn’t make matta… they can join, well as long as they got nice tits.’ The man leered at her as he snatched his arm around her pulling her to him.

‘What do you think you are doing?’

Adva had never been so relieved to see anyone in his life. The hulking frame filled up the archway, his eyes were full of rage, burning away.

‘Nothing mate…Didn’t know she was your whore. Though mate I would have thought you’d have better taste…this one looks like she been dragged through a bush…though she properly has.’ A creepy laugh pushed itself through his teeth, making him hiss like a snake.

The brunette cringed as he laughed; it made her feel unclean. There had been those sorts back in Brightwater, lecherous louts who often tried to pitch her bottom as she walked past.

Geralt cleared to the other side of the room in two long strides. The supplies cast across the table as his gloved hands crumpled as he lifted the letch off the seat by his collar. The man's feet dangled off the floor, kicking weakly as the skilled arms of the Witcher lifted him higher. Adva tensed, the look in his eyes was murderous, raw and untamed, a look that she had never seen before.

‘You even look in her direction again, and I’ll gut you like the yellow-bellied fish you are.’ Geralt roared chucking the man across the floor where the landlord slammed down the pewter flagon he had been polishing to drag the man up.

‘Cumm ere Rodrol’ The older man grunted and pulled the young man by the scruff of his shirt and ejected him the muffled scream from the front of the door with a dull thump.

The landlord hurried over with some ale and a board of cold meats and cheeses, placing the offering in front of the pair with a grovelling apology before escaping promptly back to the bar.

Automatically, Adva began pouring a dishing out the mean onto the Witcher’s plate; cheese was soft and crumbly with a sharp smell. The meats moist and juicy, beef, chicken and pork, serves with chutney and mustards and thick slices of brown bread.

‘You know you don’t have to serve, you’re not a tavern wench anymore’ Geralt purred from deep in his chest.

Adva cast her eyes down and retracted her hand from the jug and placed them by her sides. It was right; she wasn’t anymore; she wasn’t sure what she was anymore. Plucked up and removed from everything she knew, stuck in an unfamiliar town with the man who had uprooted her not a penny to her name. A pained groan fell from The Witcher’s lips, so soft she was sure she imagined it. His face was pitched and concerned as he gazed at her

‘Where is Jaskier? The bard should have stayed with you.’

‘He went to sort out the rooms. A young maid was helping him.’

‘Typical’ Geralt quipped, taking a gulp of a cup in front of him and wolfing down a thick slick of tender beef, a trail of juices travelling down his chin. Adva’s eyes transfixed as tongue darted out and collected the delicious droplet.

‘Look..’ Geralt swallowed a mouthful. ‘I got you some clothing… and a few other things you might need..’

The Witcher voice was impassively soft now, almost inaudible, the deep rough sounds that made her feel safe. In front of her, he pushed a large bundle of clothing. Adva recognised them instantly from the market stall, the lush red and blues in the softest cotton she had ever touched, brown shammy trousers and a pair of boots. Digging deep a brush and soap lay on top of the red dress and undergarments. At the bottom of the bundle was the beautiful leather corset. Never in her entire life had she had new clothes given to her, instead of living on hand-me-down and cast of given to her from the working girls, that she had to stitch together into something respectable. These were her clothes.

‘These are for me, and I don’t need to do anything to keep the? No strings attached?’ Adva asked slowly, unsure and cautious.

Geralt looked up and held her gaze as he ripped a crust of bread with his teeth and washed it down with the last of his ale and refilling his cup. ‘What do you take me for? They are your clothes.’

Deep blue eye flickered across the expressionless face, her pupils darted to the deflated purse, no longer brimming with the coin from Brightwater. The Witcher had spent hard-earned coin to purchase clothes for her when he could have just thrown a pile of rags at her. No longer could contain the question that burnt at the back of the throat.

‘Why did you take me?’ the question sounded small, but it has the power to stiffen in his seat.

‘Because you weren’t safe there.’

They sat in silence for a couple of minutes, Adva’s mind reeling as her mind process the series of event that lead her to where she was today.

Carefully she asked her next question. ‘What Tradi did…the experiments… the things he did…Am I really in danger? Did he really do all those awful things to get to me? Did they all die because of me?’

‘They all died because Tradi of Brownstone was a cunt. People like Tradi want power, don’t care how they get it. That is why I took you, your safe with me. Most mages are so concerned with their self they don’t care who they step on to get it…or at what cost especially if it other people.’

‘Do you know many Mages?’

‘For my sins…and there are a lot of those.’ Geralt dryly joked as he shoved a chunk of cheese into his mouth.

Adva smiled warmly across at him as she brought the clothing onto her lap to sort out. ‘Thank you… I have never had clothes like this. Thank you.’

Air rushed from her lungs as the man gave her a warm smile. It lite up his entire face, it was inviting, and a tingling sensation sparked across her body. It caused her to wonder why she had never seen him smile, most of the time he strutted around with a permeant scowl, the disdain that kept everyone at a distance.

‘Aww fuck, don’t cry.’ Geralt growled, he sat straighter in his chair, looking alarmed.

Reaching up, Adva was shocked when her fingertips met the dampness on her cheeks. Geralt was quick, so quick that she didn’t even see him move till she felt him thick arm awkwardly curl around her shoulders, pulling her body to his. A strong pulse on energy ran through her, and her heart slowed, and the nervous anxiousness that she had been carrying round in the pit of her stomach for the past three days disappeared.

They sat like that for a few moments while Adva dried her eyes, he scent was comforting, spice, ginger and cinnamon and cedarwood, she could get drunk of the smell, and subconsciously she felt herself melt into his arms and his arms tighten around her nestling her into his chest.

‘Ahhhh Geralt that is where you are. A tiny problem with the rooms. The tavern only had one room available. The delightful Griselda has selflessly allowed me access to her bed chambers, but you two have got to make some arrangement… should be too difficult seeing how you to cosy up as soon as I let you out of my sight.’ The bard sang playfully as he slid into Geralt old seat.

Jaskier settled himself down and picked at the tray of food I fronted of him and poured his cup of ale. Adva moved away out of Geralt arms and instantly became fascinated in her cup, taking small sips as Geralt glowered at the man in front of her.

‘Oh Geralt there was a man asking about you’ Jaskier mumbled his mouth full of cheese and meat.

‘Who?’ Geralt bite out.

‘Him’ the bard pointed as he stuffed another slice of pork into his already stuffed mouth.

Adva cast her eyes across the sparsely populated tavern to a group of three men, cautiously glancing at them. The trio stared suspiciously at the men as they whispered to one another. They were men of quality, at least for this small town, clothes of good quality, fur-lined cloak and full leather boots. Geralt’s hand inched towards his sword as they made their way across the small room.

‘Ahhhh Geralt of Rivia it is an honour to have you and your wife into our unworthy town.’ A middle-aged man greeted bowing lightly. ‘We hope you and your wife has been well looked after…we have something of a problem that we need help with.’

‘How much?’

‘Wife?’

[metellastella]

Mao Mao Pride Week Prompts, Part 3

A continuation of the prompts put out by @maomaosmother Part 1 https://metellastella.tumblr.com/post/621726687992872960/hello-everyone-happy-pride-month-to-all-of-you Part 2 https://metellastella.tumblr.com/post/621834183114932224/mao-mao-pride-week-prompts

7. Marriage

“But first,” Mao’s sister clapped her hands together, “I wanna talk weddings some more!”

“Right on!” the badger agreed. He whooped. 

“Oh good grief,” Mao rolled his eyes. “Fine. You two can chat with the king about the possibility. And I reiterate. Possibility. When you’re ready to make good on your promise, come find me.” 

She clucked her tongue in disapproval. “Fine. Be the usual stick in the mud. Don’t know why I’m surprised.” 

He grabbed a few more things off his plate and left. 

“So,” she sat back down, “I guess if you favor men, the animals here didn’t have to petition for marriage laws to be amended, huh?” 

”Correct.” the lion replied. 

“Though some thought I was … ironically … being ‘biased.’ Oh well. Can’t help that. Royal power is absolute, for better or worse. I’ve traveled to other nations and, during debates, have suggested that they not use the term ‘marriage’ as I have. Law is, at least in some peoples’ opinions, supposed to be ‘secular,’ and not ‘religious,’ anyway, so why cling to a specific term that isn’t? Simply afford all the exact same rights to civil unions or domestic partnerships. Or make up a third designation. Much easier to get it passed that way. Bypasses a whole lot of entrenched resistance. People can hash out in their own communities what to do with the non-legal angles and rituals and what to call it. But for a ‘marriage’ certificate? What, after all, is a rhetorical difference, in the end?” the diplomat and statesman snapped his fingers. “And like that, less angst for absolutely everyone involved. It’s not always that easy to reconcile or find middle ground. I can’t think of practically any other issues where simply altering one single word could have that effect. Despite a couple of decades worth of rhetorical experience under my belt.”

He sat back, and interlaced his paws contentedly. “Some countries insisted they were still going to adjust tax breaks because of the very unlikely event of children. Unless surrogates are involved, and properly registered as such, to try to avoid wrangling over child custody. That’s a whole other kettle of fish to get into, obviously.” 

She nodded. “Well like Mao said, I’m not here to talk politics. Let’s hear your fantasies about the most important day of your life!”

The badger shook his head. “Well it’s not like that for everyone, but don’t get me wrong, I wanna hear, too!” he said excitedly. 

“Erm … “ the lion looked down. 

“What’s wrong?” she asked. 

“It’s just … I’m more enthusiastic about the idea than Mao, but I’m still a long way off from that myself. So, I don’t want to insult you by making you think I’m further along, just because I have envisioned a marriage … regardless of who the groom is.”

She frowned a little, thinking. “All right then.”

“But I would love to hear about some of your customs, in that event.”

Her face fell some more. “I’m not sure that would be a good idea.”

“Oh?”

“The homeland, though the majority is plenty accepting of pairing in general, has not approved marriage between men,” she said, “so any customs you applied to each other or one of you … might be seen as disrespectful. For example. Would Mao dress as the woman, since he’s chosen to sub? Not only do I think he would never, ever do that …” she looked at the badger for confirmation.

He shook his head, “Oh most definitely not.” He thought for a second. “Maybe that’s why he got up out of here, for that matter. He thought we were gonna suggest doing that. We’ve been to weddings like that. Again, a little like misgendering, no? Even in the rare cases where he gets a mind for it, he’s not at all like a typical sub.”

The badger paused. 

“He doesn’t really fit in when I would hang out with other subs. One panda I met just could not wrap his mind around Mao. It was kinda funny. Irritating for him, though. I would be totally down for dressing like the female counterpart in a wedding, if it were me. I’ve pictured it both ways. Maybe even a costume change in the middle?” he waggled his eyebrows. “Or whatever my partner wanted? If a polar bear gave me any direction I’d melt under his strong paw,” his gaze unfocused, and he hummed appreciatively. “Tuxedo? Coming right up. What color? What style? White wool tunic and stole, as is customary for you big guy? I’ll match you! Usus? My Ursus. My dear ursine. Coemptio? Confarreati? Gown? Dress? You got it, my bae bear. I’m male, sure, but a lot more loosey-goosey in that way. But. It’s not me.”

He sighed romantically. 

“If I understand Mao,” the lion said slowly, “in general, he’s less sentimental, at the very least in expression, so maybe it’s simply that he doesn’t get as wrapped up in it as you or I would.” 

The badger shrugged. 

“Also, women tend to get more excited about wedding planning. Not a hard and fast rule of course, but I think we’ve established that you and I have a lot more in common with women, so it makes sense we’d be more enamored, even if it didn’t necessarily need to be that way.”

The badger slapped his forehead. “Oh yeah, wow. How could I not think of that!” He put his paw down and gestured towards her. “I mean this whole conversation we've had a vibe and Mao has seemed the odd one out, gender wise, but I didn’t consider that.”

The badger went on, “Even without a wedding on the table, which is usually headed up by women in this part of the world, it’s often awkward in the first place for a typical guy to be in a room with all women and vice versa … so this visit has kinda been like that for him, I think. I mean, Mao’s always eager enough to go to a wedding, excited about hitting on and dancing with some ladies, and all, but that doesn’t mean he’d necessarily enjoy planning one. He might even leave it all up to you even if he was totally ready for it!” 

The three femme animals spent the next few hours discussing flower arrangements, color palettes, the band of tolerant aristocracy he would invite, and who among the clan would approve enough to come. That was hard for the sister to get through, as she thought of those she loved who would refuse to give their blessing and ‘miss all the fun.’

8. Self-Acceptance

Mao threw up his hands in exasperation. “This was different than anything anybody knew of. Other clans’ elders who had wielders hurt badly were brought in to consult. We wielders can be slammed around by dragons, can be thrown into the ground and make craters, and walk away. With lesser wielders, bruises could be shrugged off and healed. But SOMEHOW, the universe had, like a homing pigeon bent on mouse’s blood, found one little chink in our armor. . . . Delicate tails aren’t resistant enough to damage to withstand direct crush force. Some of the visiting canine elders spoke of a time when groups of semi-sapient non-magical hunting dogs had their flowing, floppy ears or long tails surgically cropped to keep them from injuring themselves on hunts. To potentially avoid something like this happening again … by cave-ins, like mine, by boulders hurled by some types of dragons, even just being stepped on by a dragon big enough …  Should all wielder animals, intending to fight these beasts … should every species with long tails start doing this removal with our children, they asked? With consent, of course. Like removing tonsils or primates removing the appendix? Lizards probably couldn’t do it, because their slanted gait was too dependent and their tails too heavy. So maybe just the tips? Surely the thicker parts of their tails withstand something like this? They asked. The elders of felines and canines and rodents and otters … the later they waited to dock tails in a trainee’s life, the more they would have to adjust to the missing counterbalance just as I was. They swarmed me and questioned me about it relentlessly. They were asking among themselves … What age would this terrible offered choice be appropriate?”

His green eyes widened in horror at these questions. As if he needed any more psychological stress after being temporarily crippled, he seemed to have altered the entire course of history with the way clans viewed preparation for wielder heroes.

“Inwardly, I felt like …” he once again tried to force the words out he had started before. “I felt like I was causing an implosion of the whole clan. The tranquil meditation spaces were overrun with visitors. Children still hid from me. Our elders argued over whether they should move me for the duration of my recovery, from the clan’s circle. They argued over what to do about the little ones. But didn’t I deserve to feel safe, too? Of course I was ripping everyone apart! It was what always happened when I was around! When we were all younger, and my sisters occasionally came to my defense from one another or dad, I felt it was somehow my fault they argued, too.”

Even if the elders made these new procedures for children voluntary, he would still be virtually ‘responsible’ for possibly unneeded selective surgical alteration of innocents.

“Blue says that’s common, for bullied children to feel like it’s their fault.”

He looked towards the door, probably thinking of the dog’s unruffled voice of reason.

“I try to listen to him. I try to like myself. B-but I … it seemed l-like my family w-was disintegrating because of m-m-me. And my stupid ‘mistake.’ The whole world of wielders, even! Sometimes it still does, when they visit …! Arguing over father’s treatment of me. Remember when my sister said she wasn’t sure starting arguments over lesser wielders was worth unsettling future heroes? Now imagine what I was thinking when the little ones didn’t feel safe in the circle of the clan because of me. I was drowning in self-blame and the only way I felt I could escape it was to work harder, push myself more, and get away from there.” 

Could Blue even help him out of this? The lion pictured him like a seeing eye dog this time, trying for all the world to lead the black cat out of such darkness. 

Bonus:

From my second story, Outnumbered. Tanya sashayed around the red-caped cat. “Hello Mittens.” “Tanya I swear if you do not stop calling me that, I’m going to use the wrong pronouns for you,” the cat threatened. “Touchy, touchy,” the tanuki tutted teasingly, but her normally chipper attitude got a dent in it. “As if that’s an even trade, anyway.” The masculine magic cat said gruffly, “Maybe not. But I’m tired of you mocking me without consequences. Just because that’s the only thing that ever gets under your skin is no fault of mine. Perky little miss.” She rolled her eyes. “So, you try to make gendering me correctly even sound derogatory. No wonder I broke up with you.” The cat’s fists tightened, but he spoke cooly. “If you can’t handle all this. I’ll just find someone who can.” 

“Like the king you’re serving as a bodyguard to?” the fox-like animal said in a silken tone. “The only kind of lion with no birth mane. Are you a chaser, you dog?” “First off. No. How dare you. Targeting gender non-conforming animals may not be officially dishonorable, but as a concept, it is,” the samurai bristled, “We’re not involved, and we’re never going to be. We’re not attracted to each other, as my nose could clearly tell if he was. Second of all. Since when do you have something against dogs?” “It’s an expression.” “An expression that’s derogatory towards dogs,” the cat sneered. “I can’t imagine the blue therapist dog could be less like that. It’s like ‘sexist pig.’ The yellow pig back in Pure Heart would be crushed if he ever heard someone utter it. Yet outside that nice little paradise, it’s a common saying. King Snugglemagne is having to adjust mightily to the outside world. You may be used to it, steeped in it, but for magic’s sake, stop teasing him about it.” “Oh, a king can’t take a little hardship?” she said lazily. “Of course not, he’s been ensconced in his fancy-pants palace. Now that he has an idea of how it is for everyone else, he crumples at the slightest trouble. Sorry I can’t muster up enough energy to care.” “You should care. Given that he has the same problems you do.” “With pronouns? Puh. Since I’m a roaming outlaw,” the orange animal said flouncily, “I don’t expect either other crooks or enforcers I encounter to respect that my gender doesn’t match my body’s smell. The former doesn’t even respect the law, so why should I take that personally? And the latter are more focused on getting me behind bars. So, no, not my problem. Too much of a bother.” “If you settled down, and got a respectable job,” the cat pointed out, “Established yourself as a constant presence, people would probably collectively accept you.” She laughed derisively. “Oh no, I value my freedom far more than that, Mi-” she swallowed back the nickname. He laughed just as derisively. “I see you do value my word on the matter, though,” he said suggestively. “Are you just not as tough as you make out, or do you still harbor some feelings for me, my sweet little illusionist?” 

She opened her mouth, but then shut it again. 

“You slippery mirage master,” he said “you do, don’t you?”

He paused. “Hm. ‘Master,’ maybe I should say ‘Mistress’?” he amended. “There’s . . . really no good choice there,” she chuckled hesitantly. “There are ‘Head Mistresses’ at some schools in Snugglemagne’s kingdom,” the cat pointed out. 

“Yes but . . . still has connotations. I don’t break the law that way,” she said, normally carefree attitude wobbling. “Even I have standards.”

“Hasn't stopped you from dangling the offer to get what you want,” he said. 

She blushed.

“Yeah, word gets around,” he went on blithely as she uncomfortably gripped one of her arms. “Don't know why I should be surprised that playing with hearts isn't beneath you. But more to the point. I know you’re ultimately reasonably principled in that arena, if really flirty. You ever want to get back together, babe, the invitation is open,” he winked. 

“And endure your jealous behavior again? I think not. I’ll file that away with other useless knowledge,” she said icily. 

“Oh that’s not like you,” he said in a low baritone. “You’re sweet to everyone, even if they can’t catch the mocking tone sometimes.” “Not everyone’s as smart as you, cupcake.” He looked caught off guard by the compliment. “She brushed her fingers under his chin. “I guess you’ll just have to miss me.”

She somersaulted away from him, waving goodbye and blowing a kiss.  He said under his breath, “As if I’d ever misgender you. You may play a lot of mind games, love, but you didn’t catch that bluff.”

Comic page: https://metellastella.tumblr.com/post/621837213819437056/mao-maos-specific-trigger-should-not-be First chapter of Piercing the Swordsman https://metellastella.tumblr.com/post/617045879413719040/piercing-the-swordsman-chapter-1

@beesechurguer @king-himbo

[serceleste]

star trek: tos season 1

I’ve been rewatching Star Trek: The Original Series instead of starting anything new (of course) and I have some thoughts about season 1! I love this show. Here are some random things I love.

1. Kirk and Spock wordlessly communicating. They’re in love, okay.

2. In ‘The Naked Time’, everything is falling apart, the bridge is in chaos, Kirk loses his temper, Uhura loses her temper. Then Uhura takes a breath, and she is immediately back in ultra professional mode, damn whatever she’s actually thinking and feeling. And Kirk immediately apologizes. It’s amazing.

3. I appreciate random shirtless Kirk. And that time Sulu was randomly shirtless and attacking people with a sword. (The look on the two dudes’ faces when he is brandishing his sword at them in the corridor is PRICELESS.)

4. The unicorn dog. Fave.

5. Spock playing the ka’athyra, and then Uhura sings with him, and she’s totally good-naturedly poking fun at him the whole time, and Spock accepts it with such good humor and he has no feelings my ass.

6. Obviously Kirk’s shirt tearing all the damn time, sometimes with no plausible reason. My favorite is when McCoy just rips the shoulder open to jab him with a hypo on the bridge.

7. There’s some pretty nice work done in the pilot establishing that Kirk and Mitchell have a long history and a deep friendship, and that makes what happens in the episode so much more tragic. I also love Spock’s easy acceptance of Kirk wanting the record to state that Mitchell (and Dehner) died in the line of duty.

8. Uhura competently taking over other positions on the bridge at a word from Kirk. The implication that all members of the bridge crew/senior staff have their specialties but learned all necessary functions in case of emergency is really nice. (I’ve noticed Sulu taking over navigation sometimes, too, and Scotty’s taken the helm at least once, and Kirk himself operates various positions.)

9. One of my favorite things about Star Trek is its optimism, and also the enduring sense of hopefulness and compassion it and the characters embody. In ‘Charlie X’, even after all the shit he did to them, you can see that they are nevertheless moved by Charlie’s genuine terror and Kirk tries to come up with a different solution that will help him. Or in ‘The Corbomite Maneuver’, after the alien has threatened to destroy them, and he puts out the distress call, Kirk’s response is still to help.

10. Kirk is in love with the Enterprise and the show doesn’t even try to be coy about it, it just comes right out and says so. Multiple times. <3

11. It’s clearly a product of its time and some things are... not great, but I love that it tries, and it honestly wants to portray a future where everyone is treated the same and things like race and gender don’t matter, even if it isn’t quite there in the execution of it. (Yeoman Rand in particular gets some wince-worthy moments in the first season, unfortunately.)

12. Evil!Kirk wears eyeliner, because of course he does. LMAO.

13. The green shirt! I love Kirk’s green shirt. (Actually I love the TOS uniforms in general. Best Trek uniforms, fight me.)

14. McCoy and Spock making fun of each other. <3

15. The number of times Scotty tells Kirk he needs hours/days to fix/accomplish something and Kirk is like ‘you have ten minutes’ and Scotty is just like ‘...fuck, okay’.

16. In ‘What Are Little Girls Made Of?’ Kirk sabotages his android by thinking negatively about Spock because THAT’S the thing he knows will make it clear something’s wrong. OMG. And then Spock makes fun of him for using an unsophisticated insult. Hearteyes.

17. Every time Spock calls Kirk Jim. Also, every time Kirk calls McCoy Bones.

18. Their food is hilarious, it always just looks like little colorful blocks. And their idea of futuristic fashion is completely ridiculous and also the best. 

19. Kirk is so charming, but it’s so genuine, which is I think why it’s so devastating. When he’s looking at people, and smiling at them, you know he really genuinely gives a shit, and actually cares about them, and tbh I think I’d do anything he asked if he looked at me like that, lol. 

20. McCoy is a gift. He’s so grumpy! And he calls everyone out on their shit, especially Kirk, and he’d never say so but he cares so goddamn much.

21. I just ship Kirk/Spock so fucking hard, OMG. Every time they interact I’m just like YESSSSSS THEY’RE FUCKING IN LOVE DAMN.

22. “Fascinating.” <33333 Oh! And the eyebrow raise! Especially when he does it at Kirk. Or McCoy.

23. Kirk’s absolute faith in Spock at the beginning of ‘The Menagerie’. It’s a bit heartbreaking, considering. And the moment you can see Spock choose Pike over Kirk, at the end of Part 1, stabs me right in the heart. And when Kirk agrees that Spock is guilty during the “trial”. (Also I love that they found a way to use the rejected pilot and turn it into what’s really a compelling pair of episodes.)

24. ‘Balance of Terror’ is so good. It’s just a battle of wills between Kirk and the Romulan commander, with how difficult the pressure of command can be for Kirk, and that look into racism with the navigator who distrusts Spock.

25. McCoy and Spock having a battle of wills over Spock needing/not needing medical attention and raising their eyebrows at each other. Love. I understand the Spock/McCoy shipping. (Speaking of, in ‘Operation Annihilate’ when McCoy doesn’t want Kirk to tell Spock he said he was the best first officer in the fleet but Spock overhears and says thank you, McCoy’s face, lmao.)

26. When they find Kirk’s brother dead in ‘Operation Annihilate’ Spock actually attempts to offer comfort!!! Also Kirk holds Spock a couple of times in that ep, it’s great.

27. Every time Spock gets offended because they’ve accused him of having a human emotion or reaction. <3333

28. I think ‘City on the Edge of Forever’ works not just because it’s a truly compelling question of not holding one life, no matter how dear, over the lives of millions, but because Edith herself is genuinely lovely. You can see the tragedy in the death of a woman like her, and the soft romance between her and Kirk is beautiful.

29. And even in the midst of what’s easily one of the strongest (if not the strongest) of Kirk’s relationships on the show, you get Edith saying that she can see that where Spock belongs is by Kirk’s side. My heart.

30. The Gorn. Come on. Iconic.

31. As compassionate as Kirk is I also love the moments that remind you that part of the reason he’s such a good captain is that he’s ruthless when he needs to be. He will make the hard decisions firmly and surely and he won’t let his crew know if he’s internally struggling with them.

32. Kirk’s fighting style!! He’s just throwing himself at people and hitting them with his ass and clinging onto their backs and I LOVE IT.

33. In 'Court Martial’, I think Kirk’s lawyer ex might wear a female dress uniform for the only time ever on the show (certainly the only time in the first season). All the times when the dudes are wearing them, the women are all still wearing their regular duty uniforms. It’s sort of hilarious to me that the men’s look so fancy but hers is just a slightly different collar and a longer skirt, lol.

34. When Spock mindmelds with the Horta in ‘Devil in the Dark’! It’s so sad, and I think that’s the first time we really get a look into what it means for Spock to meld, to share so deeply with another being. 

35. I’m into how Kirk looks in that old-fashioned suit in ‘The Return of the Archons’ but definitely nothing beats him and Spock in short tunics and tights in ‘Errand of Mercy’. Plus Spock gets a half-cape!

36. ‘The Conscience of the King’, responsible for so much woobie Kirk backstory, even in AOS fic where it’s not even canon, lol.

37. McCoy strolling out with those women at the end of ‘Shore Leave’, all “well I am on shore leave”, lmao.

38. Of course McCoy’s iconic declarations of ‘I’m a doctor, not a ‘insert occupation here’. 

39. The computer programmed to seductively purr at Kirk is hilarious.

40. The origin of the redshirt. Classic. 

[arthurjdrake]

Painting By Numbers : Lydia & Arthur

TIMING: Current PARTIES: Arthur & @inspirationdivine SYNOPSIS: Arthur and Lydia are hired to restore a painting, little do they realise what else comes with the canvas. TW: None

When Arthur had received a rather cryptic call from Fran about the possibility of restoring a painting she couldn’t outright name that had unfortunately been damaged in transit from the Uffizi Gallery in Florence, his interest had immediately been piqued. There were countless in their collection - a great number of masterpieces and to have a chance to stand near to any one of them for any brief period of time would be an honour. Let alone to add in some small fashion to a legacy that had been revered and deified across the centuries. Apparently, it was such an important piece there had been a second specialist called in to aid in ensuring the job was done to the highest quality.

They were scheduled in for a week possibly more or work on this piece which had been placed in a moderately sized climate-controlled workshop attached to the gallery for any such necessary works. What Arthur hadn’t anticipated after swiping in with his ID on the reader and walking past a couple of security that were apparently an attaché to the painting was to come face to face with the one and only primavera. “Holy shit,” he breathed, the words hushed in reverence as he looked upon the intricate and detailed masterpiece that rested on a stand. Lifting his glasses up for just a moment to admire the piece with his natural sight before returning them to the bridge of his nose with a shake of his head, mesmerised by the piece. “Been a while since I’ve seen one of you…” he whistled under his breath, Fran hadn’t been joking about this one being important.

It wasn’t altogether uncommon for art restorers to collaborate on a piece together, although this was certainly the first time Lydia had collaborated with someone in White Crest. She’d heard of his work before, this Arthur fellow, and had only heard good things. So the call had been entirely welcome, although she wished she’d had a few more details as to the nature of the piece before she had arrived. Lydia stepped into the workshop and set down her bag by the door, before walking over to where the gentleman was that she was supposed to be working with. “Good afternoon. You’re Arthur, am I right?” she asked, offering her hand to shake as she turned to face the painting he was admiring. “Oh, wow, this is a beauty.”

Arthur was completely taken with the piece, it wasn’t often these days he could stand in the same room as something so magnificent. So Arthur was going to take all the time he could to appreciate this piece of work. That said, at the sound of footsteps approaching Arthur turned smoothly and smiled warmly at the woman approaching, “and you must be Lydia, I think we’ve spoken a little online yes?” he greeted in kind. Taking her hand to shake it, though the action while meaningful was brief to minimise skin-contact with him soon retracting his hands and tucking them into his pockets. It was hard to explain to people the excessive heat that seemed to radiate off him at any given time that was exceptionally noticeable on contact so it was easiest to try and minimise it if possible. “It’s stunning isn’t it? Have you seen a Botticelli before? It’s been an age since I’ve stood in front of one.”

“Yes, I believe so! You recommended the lighthouse as a viewing point. You were entirely right, by the way.” Lydia took his hand ever so briefly, thinking little of the warmth she felt ever so briefly. She turned her attention back to the painting, breathing deeply. Oh, you could see the Leanan Sidhe inspiration in this piece too, woven in to the inherent beauty of the piece. “Never for me to work on. I’ve seen one or two in private collections, recently.” She frowned as she heard a faint buzzing sound. “Oh, this is the worst part of summer. Insects get everywhere.”

“I did, yes,” Arthur’s grin brightened considerably to hear that she thought it was a nice place to go, “quite a vista up there wouldn’t you say? And rather peaceful with the waves rolling in.” But their respective attention turned to the masterpiece in the room. “No, I’m not sure that work of this calibre typically graces White Crest’s shores… But in this instance I suppose primavera has come to treat us both.” He stepped aside to where a few sets of gloves were placed alongside the necessary tools for the gouges that seemed to have taken out a fraction of Zephyrus’ face and Venus’ robes. He was pulling on a pair when Lydia spoke and he looked up “bugs? I didn’t notice anything when I came in… And I know Fran is particular about making sure this room is controlled to the best of her ability. Do you think it will be an issue?”

“No, I doubt it does, and certainly not on display that often.” Although Lydia knew first hand now that the inhabitants of Harris Island were sometimes older and much richer than one might assume. Or, thinking of Mercy, that they were more than eager to steal things that weren’t hers. “Do you have the report of what previous work was done on this piece?” She asked, slowly beginning her own analysis of the piece. Previous layers of paint and repairs - the back of the canvas revealed so much, like careful repairs to tiny tears. “I certainly hope not. I know Fran is meticulous, but… it is irritating. Can’t you hear it buzzing around?”

“No, it’s quite a gift. I just hope those that do get to see it can truly appreciate it for what it is,” Arthur remarked tilting his head to look once more at the figures poised within the frame. The classic Botticelli style apparent within their stances and the lengthened stature of their bodies delicate yet bold in its portrayal of the scene of Venus’ garden. “Yes,” he picked up a bound set of plastic wallets. “According to this the last restoration work done on it was around 1978 to restore the colouration of the paint which had darkened considerably over time.” He set the folder down once more, a small furrow appearing at his brow as Lydia drew his attention to focus on the buzzing. It was only when he moved nearer that he heard it, “oh dear… that’s not good.” He squinted wondering if he might be able to see what was making the noise but nothing came to view “can you see anything? I can hear the blighters…”

“I’m sure they will. How can you look at a piece like this and not appreciate it?” Lydia replied, reaching behind her to tie her hair back and out of the way so they could work. She picked up the plastic wallets, flicking through them to see what varnishes had been used and which had been removed. At least the last restorer had been meticulous in their notes, leaving a long trail of clues for Lydia and Arthur to follow up on. "I haven't the faintest idea where it is," she replied, as she heard something buzz right close to her ear. Lydia rubbed the back of her head. She froze, her fingers hovering over the skin just behind her ear, where her skin was swollen. "That horrible insect has bitten me!"

“You would hope so, unfortunately not everyone has the patience art often requires - particularly in this day and age.” It was a shame but not so many people wanted to walk through a gallery and few cared for the interpretation and meaning behind the pieces often put up on display or so he’d found. “That’s strange…” he remarked looking around and trying to spot the blighter, it was at Lydia’s exclamation that Arthur saw the bright emerald green critter just over her left shoulder. “There!” he tried to wave it away from her but it was faster than he’d anticipated, dipping mid-air out of the course his hand had taken and flitting behind him. Turning around to try and spy where it might’ve gone his eyes pivoted around the shop finding nothing but thin air. “That’s strange I was certain it was-- it was--” Arthur frowned, not realising the creature he was looking for had blended in with his own hair a mildly perplexed look crossing his features as a mildly disorentating sensation started to overcome him.

“Hey sweet pea, are you alright?” The woman speaking sat on a stool, holding a paintbrush in her left hand and easel in her right. She was tall and willowy, greying hair tied in a tight bun. She’d been painting, but not all of it was on the canvas in front of her - she’d painted her thighs, the easel, the window by which she sat. The girl she talked to glanced in the window, to find herself amongst the park scene her mother had been painting. It was dark out, so the windows were a mirror. Unlike her mom, her skin glowed. Where her mother had brown eyes, hers glowed blue, her teeth glinted pink, and her wings fidgeted uncomfortably. It was Lydia, still acne ridden as a teen. She held a loaf of bread in her hands, that she was slowly chewing.

“Mommie, I’m so hungry.” Her voice was plaintive, confused. Her stomach felt so heavy and thick, but her body still growled for more. She felt queasy with that gnawing, terrible hunger.

“Your father will be home soon. He’ll explain, my dear. You’ve just started early.”

“Started what early?”

Lydia’s mother stood up. She didn’t share her daughter’s ears, nor eyes, nor wings, but in so many other ways they were spitting images. They held themselves the same, and while Lydia’s hair was made of pearl it was undoubtedly her mother’s colour. Her mother smiled, cradling Lydia’s face in her paint covered hands.

“You know your father can explain better than I can. You’re being so brave, my dear. Just one more day, and he’ll help you.” She pressed a kiss to her daughter’s forehead, and Lydia hugged her gratefully.

Her mother staggered, and Lydia’s stomach felt less queasy.

“Oh non, pas encore!” the view followed a disgruntled man in his mid-fifties dressed in a sapphire blue tunic, black breeches and muddied riding boots as he swung down from the back of his mount who pranced with nervous energy. The moon sat high on the horizon illuminating vast farmlands otherwise deserted at this time of night as he walked towards the stone cemetery.

A group of three or four alghouls perched around the dug up remains of a grave busy stuffing their faces with decaying flesh and bone. The man turned moonlight reflecting off familiar features: Arthur, but older, black hair streaked with grey at the temples and a braided beard as he trudged into the space a familiar axe engraved with runes drawn from the scabbard on his back and a confidence of having done this several times before.

“Ça suffit,” the blade glinted in the moonlight before with a crunch it lodged in the neck of the first alghoul and dislodged with a forceful kick the other three hissing in anger and lurching back in surprise at the assault as a second swing had the head cleaved clean off leaving it twitching on the ground. How many times? They never learned.

The alghouls gnashed circling, but kept their distance taking the time to try and flank their prey. But as the second and third darted forwards, the axe was swung again, cleaving one clean through the shoulder near its neck causing it to wail inhumanly and topple ass over teakettle into a nearby set of rocks. But the third was faster, latching on to Arthur’s shoulder and biting down with razorlike teeth and ripping away with a bloody chunk of flesh drawing out a pained cry as he jabbed the tip of his axe forwards to pry the creature loose and shove it away staggering back panting with the effort. The second was trying to right itself, but limped from the tear of the freshly sharpened blade and where it tried to dive forwards Arthur side-stepped and grunted as he drew the axe back and down dispatching its head that rolled to a stop near another grave.

The scene played on, assailants taking swipes out of one another until a bloodied Arthur seemed to come to a conclusion and where he stood in the middle of the cemetery flames erupted around his body. A living pyre of flame and heat in the silhouette of a blazing gold and orange bird soaring up amongst them that had the two remaining alghouls screeching and trying to turn their eyes away as they stumbled, blinded. Using this to his advantage he lunged forwards, and two more heads were added to the pile as the flames died away leaving Arthur alone once more bleeding but alive in the middle of a graveyard. Exhausted, he dropped to his knees besides one such grave touching the piled stones carefully. “You’re safe… I’ll protect you.”

Lydia crumbled to the floor of Fran’s workspace. It wasn’t that the bite hurt, but it was the feeling that she had left something in the other room, although she never had. Something was missing. Unlike memories that faded over time, crumbled, but this was a sudden, sharp loss, something she couldn’t identify. The more she tried to remember, the more she tried to chase whatever it was she’d forgotten, the more she found something else. It sat in her head jarringly. Whatever it was, definitely not hers.

She saw it through his eyes. He was tall, his axe glinting in the moonlight. Lydia recoiled as he charged through the monstrous beasts, slashing into their necks without flinching. She remembered how the adrenaline had charged through him. She could smell the rain and mud as he worked, methodically. Lydia recoiled as she remembered the sharp pain in her shoulder. She - or he - was surrounded, the beasts readying to draw their last breath. She remembered weighing her options, both not what those options were until her skin burned, and erupted into flames. What followed was exhilarating, terrifying. Nothing like Lydia had never seen nor heard of.

Lydia blinked away the memory of the gravestones uncomfortably. “What was that? Did you see that? The man in the graveyard?”

Arthur wasn’t sure how he managed to stay standing at Lydia staggered and fell, perhaps it was the strange sense of fulfilling nourishment that seemed to have filled him as he blinked out of the strange vision that felt so achingly familiar. Away from a place that felt like home to the rather jarring appearance of a painting on a stand and Fran’s workshop.

How had he forgotten about that? No, he hadn’t forgotten… Or had he? There was a keen sense of something missing and yet in such a vast catalogue of memories who could say for certain? He’d forgotten many things over the centuries. His mother and father’s faces lost to the river of time. Yet this felt like an acute and sudden loss and the more his mind chased after whatever it was that felt as if it had been taken the more his head started to ache.

His hand went to his temple rubbing it at the throb and thinking back to the little girl and the painter. “See what? The little fae girl and her mother… She was painting I think,” his confusion muddled his mind enough that it didn’t catch up to what he was saying or who he was talking to. But Lydia’s own statement made him freeze for a moment, searching back because there were many graveyards but… “No... “ he said uncertainty lacing his tone, “what man? What graveyard?“

“What fae girl?” Lydia asked, standing upright sharply. What did he knew about fae? He was just some random art restorer. Except that he wasn’t in any sense of the word, if he knew what fae were. So now the question was how he knew and why. Nosy humans and monstrous hunters knew what fae were as much as every other species, but those were the ones that concerned her. “I don’t know. Maybe I’m misremembering. Do you think… Can you hear the insect? Do you think it bit you?”

The sudden change in demeanor was alarming but the more Arthur thought about the memory and looked at Lydia the pieces seemed to fit together. “I saw you I think…” there was still doubt in his voice but he could distinctly recognise certain symmetries between the girl in his memory and the woman before him even if other features didn’t match at all. But then again fae glamorous were powerful “and your mother? She was a painter too.” But if he’d seen that… Arthur’s frown deepened at her mention of being bitten, a hand going to rub at the nape of his neck in discomfort at the situation they’d been placed in. It was only then that he felt it, the little bump “oh that little bugger” he cursed his eyes widening in alarm at the dawning realisation. “What was he doing, the man in the graveyard?”

“There’s no way…” Lydia swallowed. Except that he was right. She didn’t remember much of her mother, or rather, she chose to forget as much as she could of the human woman who had withered throughout her teen years. She’d been a painter. Lydia still had some of her paintings, hidden in the deepest recesses of her home. “Whatever you think you saw, you’re… surely you’d have to be mistaken. How might you ever see such a thing?” Her stomach turned as she danced too close to a lie. She looked up to him, with deep concern. “Let me see,” Lydia said, stepping behind him hesitantly. “You have two bites. Another… there. The man in the graveyard, he was fighting. Ghouls, possibly?”

The denial earned a crease in Arthur’s brow, “but I remember it… Like it’s right there.” It was strange and perplexing to apparently have someone else’s thoughts at the very forefront of his mind. Like a strange intrusion of privacy that he had no right to view and yet they were stuck right there as if they were his very own. The song and dance Lydia - if she was this fae girl in his mind was understandable, but what was more concerning was what she might’ve seen. “Magic for one. Or a bloody magic bug.” He didn’t protest as she stepped around, pulling the collar of his shirt down and tilting his head forwards. His concern rose at the news he’d been bitten not once but twice, “what? Oh bloody hell…” He stepped away, scrubbing a hand through his hair eyes bewildered at the prospect of revelation by something so simple. What were the chances? They were both in it now. He grabbed a piece of paper and pencil starting to scribble a rough artistic impression of an axe with ornate filigree embedded on its metal turning he held it up. “Was he using an axe? Double headed? Like this?”

Magical insects. Lydia, in theory, knew that they existed, but she’d never been bitten by such disgusting creatures before. She shuddered, grossed out as he grabbed a piece of paper. Peaking over his shoulder, Lydia nodded, her mind going the same way Arthur’s was. She twisted her ring around her fingers as she watched him sketch the piece, cogs clicking into place. He knew something about whatever she had remembered, in the same way that she recognised his own vision’s description, if perhaps not in its entirety. Lydia had spent so much time with her mother when she’d been a child. “Indeed. I also felt an immense fire. Was he, perhaps, you?”

“Ugh,” he grimaced at the thought of being bitten by something foreign and unknown, in the name of Frigg, he hoped there were no magical diseases that could be contracted like that. That’d truly suck. His hand rubbed the little bump uncomfortable with the thought and the other thoughts that weren’t his own rolling around in his head. Perhaps it would have been smarter to play dumb, act like he knew nothing but there was a quiet kind of excitement that came with finding someone else… Someone unique. And her mention of burning well, Arthur huffed as he looked down at the sketch. The question was posed and Arthur lifted his head paper held gingerly as he tried to mentally compare the little girl he’d seen in a reflection to the woman standing before him now. “Perhaps, but I guess that answer would depend on whether you were the fae girl I saw.” Quid pro quo was a funny sort of deal after all. The fact she hadn’t bolted was a pretty telling sign in itself. “But... yes. I think you saw one of my memories… Just as I saw one of yours - you said you were bitten earlier didn’t you?”

“Which is an answer in itself, is it not?” Lydia smiled. “Fortunately for the both of us, neither of us appear to be human. Although I must admit I have no idea what you might even begin to be. You don’t think there are others, do you? I don’t know how to search my mind to find missing memories. Most are just remembered at the most inopportune times, when you smell something or hear something that reminds you of them.” Lydia sighed deeply, sitting down on a nearby work bench. “I hate this. I didn’t really mean to come here today to intrude on your past.”

“Well, sometimes there’s a joy in being mildly cryptic” Arthur smiled a little bashfully raising a hand to rub at a patch of skin just behind his ear in mildly erratic nervousness. “Apparently not… Which I suppose makes this uhhh- beneficial? I don’t make a habit of typically sharing that- well, my secret with strangers.” The claim to not know earned a quiet huff of laughter as the paper was set aside and he clasped his hands together bracing his elbows on his knees. “I’m… well, what some would call a phoenix. But I’ve been called a great many things over the centuries. Messiah, miracle worker, wiseman. It’s funny watching people trip over themselves trying to label what they don’t understand.” His smile turned into a mildly bemused expression as he thought on the question, “I don’t recall seeing any more… You said I had two bites? So it must have bitten both of us twice… And I guess taken and then transferred a memory with each subsequent bite.” His expression softened into something more amicable, “nor did I plan to intrude on yours. But I suppose we’re here…” His eyes glinted amicably as he processed the information, “but I guess we find solidarity in the strangest of places don’t we?”

“No, I don’t either,” Lydia replied, running her finger over the bite on her own neck. Imagine if he’d been a warden. Lydia pushed away the thought abruptly. That was more than enough considering of her death today. It was just a memory, not even the ones she valued so highly, of her terribly human mother. Who would have almost certainly died not long after he’d seen it. So why did her heart ache for the loss of it? Lost in her own thoughts, she almost missed his initial description of himself. Lydia raised her eyebrows very high as he described all the names he’d been given. “I imagine I’ll stick with phoenix, if it’s all the same to you,” Lydia chuckled. She kicked herself off the table, and back on to standing on her feet. “At least it is solidarity.” She smiled weakly. This memory wasn’t hers, and it felt like he’d been robbed of them. She might as well return them. “You were speaking in french. The moon was out, but it had rained recently, you could smell the wet dirt of the farmlands. There were monsters digging through graves. That you fought with that axe. One bit you…” Lydia pressed her hand to her shoulder, to show where he’d been hurt. “But you beat them. You were looking at a grave, and promised that you’d always keep them safe. It meant… The grave meant a lot to you.”

How many more memories would he lose? If not to magical creatures and parasites then simply to the ebb and flow of time. Had it not taken enough already? Arthur couldn’t even recall the face of his mother, or his sister or his brothers… Did he have one or two? There were only ghostly outlines of indistinct people with dark hair and kind eyes. Was that right or just his imagination? He’d never know. At least with more recent events he had a little longer with which to keep the memories. He listened to Lydia speak trying to place the thoughts of where they might fit. French was hardly distinct nor was the act. “I’ve protected too many graves…” a wan look crossed his features but the nearest he could place it was “maybe 12th century at a guess… Our gravesite was always being ravaged.“ Thinking of the memory he had Arthur folded his hands, pressing them together before he spoke in turn. “You were a teen standing near a windowsill with some bread… Your mother was painting… It was beautiful. But you were hungry… She said your father would help when he got home and then she hugged and kissed you. She didn’t look very well though…”

“Twelfth century? That’s… beyond belief. What a difficult memory to lose.” Lydia said softly, her eyes creased with empathy. That disappeared the moment he started describing what he had seen. It was as if a cloud had descended over her. “She would have died not long after that.” Lydia shook her head abruptly. She knew what he could not - that her mother’s hug had been what sustained Lydia. That just being around her had been enough for Lydia to unknowingly and unwittingly drain the life from her. No kiss required. Her father should have known better - her siblings had all taken years to control their hunger, and while growing up in an Aos Sí had protected her well, he should have never let her mother around her for so long. He should have never had children with a human to begin with. His love had killed her better than any knife. “There’s no need to dwell on such things. If you see the insect, let’s crush it before it takes any more.”

“I’d lose it eventually anyway,” Arthur admitted, his expression a little more misty than it perhaps was before. “There’s not much to be done for old age, hm?” A touch of humour in the face of a sad reality. “Oh… I’m sorry-- I didn’t realise...” it was his turn to look apologetic after all how could he, a glimpse of a moment of fractured time that didn’t belong to him, “I’m sure you miss her a great deal.” After all, what child didn’t miss their parents in some capacity? Not that he knew anything of Lydia’s life but the fragment seemed to show a good home with kind people. He grew quiet after that, clearing his throat a fraction “you’re right… It seemed to be coming from near the painting originally wasn’t it? Perhaps that’s where it was hiding.”

“All the same,” Lydia replied, looking into his wet eyes with concern. “I do not wish to discuss my mother, if I’m honest. It was a long time ago. She was not as good a mother as she could have been.” In that she wasn’t fae. In that she had never deserved to be a fae’s mother. Lydia’s heart felt tight all the same. She looked around, wondering if she might spot it wandering along on a surface. She picked up one of her big books, walking around with supernaturally silent steps. Lydia walked half way around the room before spotting it, a big bloated beetle resting against the table. Using her enhanced strength a little too keenly, Lydia smacked it with the book, and it squelched against the counter. “If nothing else, it’s dead.”

“Oh…” Arthur echoed unsure quite how to follow up a comment like that. So he chose to not say anything, sometimes it was better that way. Instead, he helped in scouring the room searching for any sight of the thing that might’ve been responsible. But ultimately, Lydia served the final blow, squishing the bug under a finer points to art book. “Well, at least it won’t be an issue for anyone else… I wonder how many other people it’s done this to.” It was a little disquieting but at least it was dealt with. “I suppose now that that little fiasco’s dealt with… Shall we get to work on this painting?”

“I hate insects ever so much. Which I realise is ironic considering my own beetle anatomy, but eurgh. Keep them away from me. At all costs.” Lydia shuddered at the corpse remains of the insect, squelched on her book. She looked up at Arthur with a smile. “Yes, let’s!” As she picked up her tools to start preparing to remove it from the frame, though, she couldn’t shake the memory of fire bursting from her body. Well, his. That quiet graveyard, and the ones he wanted to protect. He wasn’t fae, so… “Thank you for not pushing on the matter of my mother,” Lydia said softly, before turning all of her thought to their work, and enjoying the pleasant company of the ancient gentleman beside her.

Arthur couldn’t help but laugh quietly at the irony presented and while he could recall the reflection of what she had looked like, he couldn’t help but wonder what she actually looked like behind the glamour. His head tilted a little in acknowledgement, “you’re welcome. I understand some things aren’t the sort of things you want to talk about with strangers you’ve only just met.” He opened a small collection of tools attention focussed there for the time being. They’d need to file the gashes down and repaint from there and he had so many questions he wanted to ask. “I doubt you get much opportunity to not hide your true form do you?” Arthur remarked after a little while of working “I can only imagine it must be tiring… Hiding what you are day in and day out, it’s rather impressive. The capability of fae glamours… I’ve always wondered - does creating them get easier with time?”

Lydia nodded in response to his comment, and let sleeping lions lie. It twisted her stomach enough to just think about her mother, let alone have someone else know it. They worked in quiet for a moment before Arthur interrupted. “It is like maintaining good posture. After a while, it’s second nature to hold that tension in place. It requires thought, but I’ve worn this same face for decades. Same wrinkles around the eyes, pock marks, venation. It’s like putting make up on.” Lydia shrugged. “How does it feel to have lived so long?”

“Huh,” he mused thoughtfully, “it’s something I’ve always wondered… I’ve never really spent much time around many fae considering I know most of your kind prefer to stay in your own communities…” Arthur looked back to the painting considering the work “you think you’ve seen the breadth of what lies on the spectrum of the supernatural and yet there’s always so much you find out you don’t know.” He resumed working, hands moving in slow methodical strokes as he worked the groves down wondering how best to answer a rather loaded question. “Honestly it really depends on the day, some days it’s exhilarating - especially when there’s a new discovery or invention… Other days it feels like you’re carrying the weight of the world on your shoulders… It’s easier to begin with - when you don’t remember and life is just… life.”

“We often do, but not always,” Lydia agreed. “Then again, I hadn’t been too sure Phoenixes really existed until just now. Even for us, separating fact from fiction can prove challenging.” When he worked on the canvas, she didn’t, so that they weren’t applying tension unevenly, and didn’t want to knock each other. She focused on the solvents, the paints, setting things up for each next step. “That sounds like an intense existence. I am so old to so many here, but I am a child to my peers. My age compares nothing to yours, and yet it’s hard to imagine another three life times after this.”

“We’re a more inconspicuous type than most, I’ve never met another one of my kind in all the time I’ve been alive” Arthur admitted his brow creasing a little with the admission. How many were out there really? Who could say for sure. “It can be. Considering we have to restart our lives from scratch each time…” His smile grew a fraction, a knowing look passing his features “it takes time but you often end up coming to terms with it eventually… It’s different though - a sustained life and existence over that extended period you know? Fo rme it’s just like someone hitting reset every century.”

“That seems to me to be rather lonely,” Lydia said softly, listening to him curiously as he talked about his rebirth. She could not imagine. “There are many, many things one can get used to with enough experience, I suppose,” Lydia replied, trying to imagine it. Dying and restarting life afresh, over and over. She shed her name with frightening frequency, but she still remembered her past, and did not let go of those she loved. She wondered what Deirdre thought of it, people who died and lived over and over, with each new rotation of the clock. She had such interesting perspectives on death.

“It is, but you learn to move on, you have to or what’s it all for in the end? Plus I often meet people along the way that make it worthwhile. Like today I made an unexpectedly new friend.” Arthur smiled at her, eyes creasing kindly even if there was sadness with the admission. So many lives had flickered in and out of existence. So many friends gone and lost to the trial of time. But today he had made a friend, and in his mind that made today a good day.

She didn’t reply to that. Being Fae was fundamental to her identity, being part of the fae, that she couldn’t imagine being without them. People were fine, but fae were best. They deserved to be around each other. Lydia’s heart ached for people like Jared, and Regan, who had lived without other fae for so long and had ever so clearly suffered it. Lydia grinned back at him. “Boticelli and bugs sure have a way to bring people together, I must say.” She winked, and turned back to her work, cheerfully.

“Who knew?” and so the afternoon drifted on, light chat intermingling their progressive work in restoring the damage done to the painting. It would take around a week to complete but in good company Arthur was happy to take the time to do a job right, plus, if he’d made a new friend out of today’s shenanigans then there was nothing really to complain about. Maybe bugs weren’t so bad after all?

[loridrabbles]

Moon Festival (Rex x Reader)

@robotxtrash requests: Hi hello yes I love your writing and I’m in DIRE need of some more Rex x Reader stuff. May I request a Sniper!Reader having some down time with the captain? Whether you want it to just be fluff or lead to smut is up to you >:) Thank you!

Note: this didn't turn out at all like I expected, but I hope you like it. Might release a short smut drabble sequel. Also this festival totally isn't inspired by the sun festival from Tangled.

You are a sniper who fights for the republic alongside General Kenobi, Skywalker, and the clones. Rex convinces you to take a break.

Warnings: Cussing.

(h/t) = hair type (h/l) = hair length.

"Steady.....steady." You muttered to yourself in the faintest whisper. You decided to spend the day at the automated range by yourself. Personal time is something you have very little of. "Boom." You said, even quieter than before as you pulled the trigger.

Every single time, you hit your target. Maybe not always headshots, but always dead. Another droid shaped target passes by the range.

*Shot* "Stay down." Next target.

*Shot* "I'm running outta places to put holes in ya." Next target.

*Shot* "You're making this so easy I'm actually getting worse." Aside from your blaster shots and whispering, the range was dead silent. You were so focused on your sniping, you didn't even realize someone had walked up behind you, waiting for the perfect time to strike.

"Boom! Headshot!" Rex said, nearly yelling. You jumped and an AWOL shot from your rifle bounced off a metal canister that decorated the range. You turned around to yell at your "attacker."

"Dammit, Rex! I was in the zone!"

"I can see that." He said, eyebrows raised.

"And wipe that smug look off your face!" He laughed and sat on the bench next to you.

"What are you doing here. We've got a week off?"

"I could say the same to you."

"Shouldn't you be relaxing for once?"

"I never thought I'd hear the word relax come out of your mouth." You put the safety on and set your blaster aside.

"I may go by the book when I'm on duty, but even I need to kick back once in a while, believe it or not." He stood up. "Come on. Let's go see what this planet has to offer. I've never been here before, at least not for long."

"Thanks for the offer, but I'd rather keep practicing. I'd hate to get rusty."

"You, rusty? Not possible."

"You go ahead. I'm just gonna keep going this. It is relaxing. At least... kind of."

"You're coming with me."

"But-" You started. He put his hands behind his back and bent at the waist so his face was in yours.

"That's an order from your captain."

"Uhg fine. I guess it won't be so bad to have a little break."

You both left the range and headed into the planet's town. The streets were lines with shops and there must have been some sort of festival going on. There were decorations everywhere, lanterns and strings of lights, music, and people dancing around the fountains in the village squares. As the two of you walked around, taking in the sights you looked at him. It was unusual to see him in anything less than his full regalia, but today he wore a fitted black tshirt that had the republic emblem on the shoulders, his black pants, and boots. You were wearing similar garb; a black tank, green shorts, and boots. It felt weird to be this causal around your superior, even if you considered eachother friends.

It was growing dark, but the sky still glowed a dark, indigo blue. You had walked the length of the bazaar, meet some locals and talked to them about the culture and the festival. They were celebrating the "trimoon alignment" that happens once a year. The 3 moons of the planet line up perfectly in the sky, one next to the other, illuminating the sky until dawn. It became tradition to party in the moonlight until the sun rose.

"What do you say we grab some drinks?" Rex asked you as you finished your walk.

"Sure. There's a lot of places around here."

"Here. This one looks quiet."

You walked into the quaint bistro, ordered a couple drinks at the bar and sat down next to eachother in a circular booth.

"I feel like we have nothing to talk about since we practically live the same life." You said, sipping your drink.

"Yeah, but I don't mind silence. Its comforting to be with someone and not be responsible for their safety or wellbeing like Skywalker or my troops." He said, mesmerized by the ice in his glass as he stirred it.

"You're concerned about Skywalker?"

"No. I'm concerned for anyone around him." You both shared laugh.

"I don't think we've ever spent time together like this."

"No. I don't think we have." He said, sighing contentedly. "I like it."

"You...do?" You sat with your hand on your chin, leaning on the table. "I mean. I guess it is nice. Thanks for making me do this." You leaned back in the booth, tapping your finger on the table. You shared a moment of silence together and you stared off out the window at the 3 moons that near reached alighnment. You stared until you felt a rough hand grasp yours on the table. A little startled, you looked at your hand, then back up to Rex. A small, warm smile spread on his face and his eyes twinkled.

"I really like being with you, (y/n). I know its unprofessional, but I wish we could spend more time together like this."

Is he....flirting. He has to be (y/n) he's holding your hand. What do I do? He's my captain I can't be in love with him. But his smile...its so soft and genuine on his hard, stern face. And his eyes. That hazel gets me everytime. And when the light catches them and they light up....I can't look away.

"I....I really like you too, Rex." You confessed. He scooted closer to you, shoulders touching and pushed a stray piece of your hair back as he ran his fingers through your (h/t) (h/l) locks. He brought his hand back around to your cheek and kissed you. You didn't want it to ever stop. He was so rough, but soft. You never expected this tenderness from him, but here you are melting in his hands.

You broke the kiss and looked up into his eyes, smiling and blushing hard.

"Come on! Come on!" A local called. She was a little older, wearing traditional clothing. "How are you supposed to dance dressed like that? Let's go get you ready! The dance starts soon!" She was grabbing your hand, trying to get you to go with her.

"Uhh what?"

"The trimoon dance! The moons are about to align and all the couples are supposed to dance under the light and everyone else takes turn giving flowers to the couple they think will be married next. You can't possibly dance in that so let's go get you ready! There's no time to waste!"

"Uhhh." You stuttered.

"Your a couple aren't you?" She asked still pulling your arm. You looked back at Rex for help, but a male civilian was pulling him away from the table too.

"Ok I'm coming." You said, following the woman.

She took you to a hut, filled with what had to be hundreds of dresses of all different colors and patterns.

The woman put you in a velvety blue chiton dress that ended just at your knee and was made of the most beautiful flowing material, with shining crystals spread throughout the fabric. When you moved, you looked like a galaxy filled with bright, shining stars.

She pinned your hair up and finished it with a headpiece which had more crystals and pearls hanging from it.

Meanwhile, Rex was being dressed in a dark, fitted tunic. A similar style to the one Obi Wan wore before the clone wars, but the sleeves tapered in at the wrist. It too had crystals that formed epaulettes at the shoulders. He was given black leather gloves with pearl buttons.

Both of you were pushed out into the square, where some townspeople had already begun dancing. Everything was happening so fast your head spun and, being a stranger to having all eyes on you, you frantically searched the crowd of dancing people. Two young girls carrying bundles of flowers grabbed your hands and two more grabbed Rex's and they pulled you to eachother. Once you were close, they pushed you close.

You looked at him like you had no idea what in the galaxy was going on but he just smiled down at you with that damned smile and bright eyes.

"You look stunning." He said. Ignoring his compliment you asked.

"What the hell just happened?"

"I have no idea."

"Come on you two! Dance!" A young girl interrupted you. The crowd around her started cheering for you to join in with everyone else.

Nervously you both joined in, hand in hand. He spun you around, following the reel style dance of those who surrounded you. You hated it at first, but Rex was smiling. You both laughed together joyously and narrowed the distance between your bodies. You locked eyes, then were pulled away from eachother as everyone switched partners.

You never looked away from his eyes as you were passed from partner to partner. Being terribly shy, you reached out, trying to end up with him again, only to be snatched by another dancer. Finally, just as the music stopped, you were passed back to him. You landed in his arms, one hand on his chest, and your other hand in his. He was beaming.

"You're light on your feet." He said.

"I was just trying not to fall." You responded, making him laugh. You could do nothing but stare at him. You couldn't take your eyes away from his smile. You never knew he could smile.

Before you could say another word, townspeople started showering the dancers, including you with flowers. Little girls handed you the most beautiful bundles you had ever seen while they said things like "you're my favorite!" and "you're like a princess and a prince!" You both blushed and looked at each other, laughing at the awkwardness of the situation, but happy it was happening at the same time.

The night wound down and you gathered up the flowers you had been given, realizing it would be extremely rude to leave them behind. Side by side, mindlessly chatting about the celebration, you walked back to the outpost, both arms full of flower of all different types. You were met at the door by Obi Wan, who was getting some fresh air. You both greeted him, expecting him to do the same, but the sassy jedi thought he'd make a famous snide remark.

"Ah, attended the trimoon alignment festival did you? You must have been power couple of the evening." He stroked his beard, smirking in delight at the sight of your face turning bright red.

"You're just jealous that you and Satine wouldn't have earned half of what we did, Kenobi." You teased. The smirk fell off his face as he blushed himself.

Proud of your victory, you strutted into the outpost, Rex beside you, and began searching for anything to put all the flowers in.

[crackinglamb]

Fluff-uary Prompt 22 - Date Night

(ME - Henna and Garrus)

Henna had always been more comfortable in a hardsuit than a dress, which was why she had four sets of armor and only one set of formal wear that wasn't her dress uniform.  But at Nihlus's urging, she went out and tried to find something suitable for a nice dinner in one of the little boutiques that seemed to be on every corner of Nos Astra.  

It was strange to feel so giddy over this.  Especially since she felt like it should also feel weird to be going out to dinner with someone other than Nihlus.  But he wanted her to explore her options, see where her friendship and camaraderie with Garrus could go.  If anywhere.  She hesitated to call it a date, but Nihlus hadn't.  And he'd been genuinely happy when he said it.  

She made her purchase and hurried back to the ship.  Once tucked safely in the Loft, she pinged the extranet address Nihlus had given her as she changed.  She hoped that he would be able to vidcall instead of just chat this time, and was smiling when her terminal let her know she had an incoming call.

“Hi,” she said brightly when his red and white face took the place of her ship collection on the vid screen.

“Did you find something?”

“I did.”  She twirled around for him, letting him see the subtle shimmers in the tunic style top.  It hung down nearly to mid-thigh and she'd bought soft leggings to go with it for propriety's sake.  She couldn't do anything about her footwear, but at least her parade shine hadn't lost any of its ability to make even her everyday boots look presentable.

His mandibles flickered in a smile.  “Very nice.  Green is a good color on you. His mandible will be on the floor.”

“That's not precisely the idea,” she reminded him.  He gave her a skeptical look across the lightyears.

“Uh huh, sure. Henna...look...”

She met his eyes. “You said I should go with it and figure this out.  I'm going with it.  Unless you're having second thoughts?”

He relaxed.  “No, it's not that.  I just don't want you to feel like you have to do this because I want you to.”

“I like Garrus.  I didn't agree to this because you wanted me to.  I agreed because I wanted to.”

“All right,” he grinned, at ease again.  “Now get going.  Have fun.”

She blew him a kiss and watched the screen disappear back into the ceiling, shaking her head at his whimsical happiness in seeing his girlfriend go on a date with someone else.  Butterflies set up shop in her stomach, but she controlled them and went to meet Garrus at the airlock.  He looked rather handsome in black civvies with white piping.  Remarkably handsome, she corrected mentally, feeling those butterflies escape to batter around her stomach again.

The restaurant was a simple affair, with separate menus for each of them based on chirality.  She ordered something that claimed to be like a Cobb salad, eager for fresh greens, and Garrus ordered a dextro meal that resembled a whole shank of something that roamed a savanna.  She laughed.

“You know there's a cliche among humans that women only eat salads, while men eat steaks on dates,” she said when she could.  “But honestly, the thought of fresh produce was entirely too tantalizing.”

“Can't say I blame you there, shipboard rations can leave a lot to be desired.”

“Is that a complaint, Battery Officer?” she asked archly.

“No, Commander. Not exactly.”  For a moment he looked stricken, as if a line had been crossed.  She smiled at him, hoping to take out the sting, feeling like she'd really put her foot in it.

“Relax, Garrus. I'm not the Commander tonight.”

“So...just Henna?”

“That's right.”

Their food came and they ate companionably, sharing small jokes and stories as they dined.  They lingered over coffee and what passed for it for turians. Then Garrus suggested a stroll along a tree lined boulevard, something of a rarity in Nos Astra.  All around them other couples walked, a sea of shades of blue occasionally broken by alien faces like her own.  She noticed quite a few salarians taking in the sights, and even a volus.

“Is this all right?” Garrus asked walking next to her and seeming a bit discomfited by it.  He was too used to being on her six, she mused.

“This is lovely,” she replied.  She dared to link their arms and he subtly transformed from at attention to casual, his face plates and mandibles relaxing as they walked.  The boulevard led to a freshwater reservoir and they leaned on the fence overlooking it, watching birds settling down at the edges, causing ripples to spread out.   The sun was setting, turning everything a glowing pink with shades of yellow, making the skyline across from them softer.  

She shifted on her feet and brushed against Garrus's arm.  He didn't startle, exactly, but he did turn a little towards her, his face unreadable.  Suddenly she got lost in the blue of his visible eye and lost whatever murmuring apology she was about to make.  The moment stretched, and something like tension grew between them, an invisible string slowly pulling them together.  She noted idly that Garrus wasn't as tall as Nihlus as he bent towards her.  She leaned in a little and their foreheads touched.  She closed her eyes, feeling it every bit as strongly as if it were a human kiss.

“Henna,” he whispered.  “I don't know where to go from here.”

“I don't either,” she confessed.  Their heads were still connected at that single point of contact and she peeked upwards, meeting his eyes that were so close she could see the strands of color in them.  Buried deep in the blue was a hint of green she wouldn't have seen from farther away. She waited to feel conflicted, or confused.  But she felt only at peace.  Without thinking about it too hard, she slipped her arm around him, only making sure to rest her arm against his ribs and not his waist.  His returned the gesture, his hand coming to rest nervously on the upper curve of her hip.  For a second, she felt his talons tighten on her, then consciously relax.  “This is nice.”

“It is,” he agreed, his subvocals purring below his words.  

“Garrus?”

“Hmm?”

“Are we making out in public?”

He snorted a soft laugh and it broke the seal of their forehead kiss.  She worried that she'd ruined the moment, but he leaned towards her again, not quite touching, but definitely still present.  “A bit, yeah.”

“Should we stop?”

“Do you want to?”

“Not really, no.”

He closed the last inch between them, his brow plate brushing her forehead again. “Good.”

[yunasightx]

Names and Puzzle Pieces( aka , give me the Mcmercy fam fluff!))

(Behold this monster that has literally been sitting on my flash drive for a over a year and a half. I have no excuse for this fic besides the fact that I’m a sucker for wholesome expecting family fluff— and that goes double for this pair. Literally.)

Disclaimer:

As I stated before, this fic has been sitting around for a while .. so I really did not go through it with an ultra fine tooth comb (( and is also the reason why there are some characters, like Moria, who are not mentioned even though they have a strong relation to members of the original Overwatch---  especially in regards to Mercy and Mccree’s past. They simply were not around at the time when I wrote the bulk of this. I added Brigitte in last minute though , because it was a bit easier to mention her....and i may also ship her with a certain rocket-jump gal ))I did try my best, but I really just wanted to get it over with. So, apologies for Iand grammar issues. I may go back to edit later if I see anything insanely obvious.

In the meantime, happy reading and enjoy! ))

Tornborjn,

I just looked over the schematics you sent me. So far, the upgrade looks promising – but I’m a little concerned about stress the additional weight and momentum might put on the joints in Fig 4.  Reinhart is not  as young as he use to be  ( despite what he might boast about) , and while an extra booster might help the Crusader Suit have a little bit more of the “OOMPH” the two of you are looking for …. Osteoporosis is not just something that is exclusive to women.   Which reminds me…. I believe you are overdue for your yearly physical as well, Bärchen  <3.

Angela

Ps. I highlighted the issues I think need a second glance.  Maybe we can get lunch next Tuesday to look them over?  I have been craving grilled fish and sriracha something terrible lately.

Angela read over the email one last time, checking for the usual typos and general grammatical errors, before hitting the send button.  The email blipped out of existence from her computer screen leaving only the  default Overwatch logo quietly staring back at her.

The doctor leaned back in her chair with a content sigh, “Well, one thing down…. Several more to go.” She had spent the whole morning cleaning out her (what always appeared to be) constantly full inbox; replying to and sending out correspondences to anyone and everyone who had questions and concerns for the Head Doctor of the reinstated global peacekeeping organization. Angela supposed she could have been fielding most of them off to an intern, or even asked Athena for assistance, but she liked being proactive in things ---- and truth was… she needed SOMETHING to do for the next couple of months.

Angela glanced over to her Valkyrie Suit which stood like marble statue between the two pristine white and glass shelves behind her desk  while her hand came up to rest on her still- rounding  stomach.   The lighting of the room gave the enameled white coating a soft iridescent glow and illuminated  rest of the black, orange and gold details.  The sight of it rising over the back of her chair, even with the wings powered off, as someone walked into her pristine office was something  that she knew bordered on spiritual

She’d be lying if she said she didn’t miss the adrenaline, the rush, and energy of being on the field ,or being actively involved in something ; but while the she would always be incredibly proud of her first child ---- at the moment she now had other lives she had to care for first.

And she knew the others were in good hands; Lucio and Zenyatta were newer to the life style of being a Overwatch Field medic , but so far they had shown enough promise that most of Mercy’s fears had been eased.  And dear darling Brigitte had taken the helm of that group in stride after dealing with patching up Reinhardt for years. They often came to her for advice, and she was very happy with how far all of them had come since joining Overwatch.

Angela actually had the sneaking suppression that donning the Valkyrie suit for so long was the reason why her pregnancy had been going so smoothly —for the most part— in the first place . The results weren’t completely definitive, but it seems wearing and handling experimental bio- nanotechnology over a long period of time had had some unforeseen side effects.  One of which  being what basically boiled down to slowing down the aging of Angela’s cells. It wasn’t much, just a under a decade in difference to her chronological age—-she would still age, she just wouldn’t have to worry about things like grey hair , wrinkles , mammograms, and arthritis as soon as everyone else.

Ana had joked the she should retire and just sell her product to  a home-shopping network  as the newest “anti-aging skin care line” --- then buy a nice little vacation home in Hawaii for her , McCree and the little ones ( with an extra guest house  for their favorite “Nana”, of course).

But, Mercy knew that at nearly Thirty-Nine years of age she should have expected a myriad of complications with getting pregnant, at least naturally ---- especially with both her and McCree starting to push forty. So, when it had happened after their first try… it had come as a bit of shock.  She and Jesse had talked about the possibility of children, the idea of growing their family just a little, but they had still had gone into the whole thing with a mindset of “if it happens, it happens”.

And when they discovered it they would be having twins….

Well, Mercy made a note to add gynecology and fertility research to her ever growing list.  After she had to pick McCree off the floor that is.

But, aside from three and a half months of nightmarish morning sickness and the never ending whiplash of weird cravings, everything had been progressing surprisingly well.

Well… almost everything.  

Angela’s thoughts broke off when she felt what was quickly becoming familiar fluttering of movement pushing against the palm of her hand.  She laughed and lightly rubbed her fingers over the spot, “I guess nap time is over , hmm?” She hummed. She felt another little persistent nudge and sighed, “Right..... back to work!”  

Angela braced her hands against the armrests and pushed away from her desk, before awkwardly hauling herself back to her feet; grunting as her center of gravity and new constantly-changing weight shifted back to her pelvis as her very round stomach curved out in front of her and her lower back arched in.

Angela knew she was surprising large, even with twins.  She looked more like she was nearing the tail end of her third trimester with one child, rather than twenty weeks with two.

She had given up trying to button her lab coat and pants weeks ago, and forgot the last time she had been actually able to see her feet (were her toes still painted sky blue?  Or was it lilac? Rustic orange ? The world will never know. )  Now, she just opted for breathable tunic dresses and a nice pair of stretchy leggings with her favorite pair of flats  ——and when she was home, she all put lived in Jesse’s flannel shirts ( but, she had the feeling even they wouldn’t fit for much longer either at this rate..)    

She thought about the closet of cute, but sensible new maternity wear Ana , Lena, Brigitte and Pharah had eagerly  helped her shop for  just a few weeks ago (with the former captain letting Mercy know she should be very thankful she didn’t have to be stuck with horrible fashion styles that were around when she was having Pharah… or the lack there of).  She felt a bit guilty that she was growing out of them so quickly.

Then again….. technically the twins were farther along than twenty weeks.  At least, from a gestational stand point.

That was other thing . The other unforeseen side effect of donning her Valkyrie suite for so long and so often.  Besides slowing down her ownaging, somehow the twins were growing at a slightly accelerated rate.  Not insanely or supernaturally fast, but every test her and Winston had run had proven they were consistently three weeks ahead of any  normal development.

Mercy had gone back and doubled, even tripled checked her math, but it was hard to mistake the night that led to all of this.  It was enough of an oddity that even though there had been no other complications, both of them agreed to err on the side of caution and treat her as a usual High-risk case and closely monitor her and the babies’ progress.  

Angela huffed and braced one hand against her lower back as the other started rubbing circles along her upper right side, hoping to dislodge whoever decided to jam themselves between her spleen and ribcage. She waddled over to her stainless steel work station by the large glass wall that ran the length of the room and looked out into the hallway between her and the panoramic windows that viewed  the deep shimmering blue waters of the Alboran Sea.  She picked up the tablet she had left there and pulled up her own medical file, along with half- a- screen’s worth of notifications of upcoming appointments and tests.  The lab results from her latest round of blood tests had just come in; most of her levels were fine, except her iron levels which were a tad little low (Angela rolled her eyes at that. Of course, Jesse’s spawn would be as obsessed with red meat as their father.)

She quickly scrolled through the rest of the results, then sent them and the reminded of her next ultrasound away with a flick of her fingers before pulling up several medical files and the list of Overwatch agents who she still had to hound down for the yearly physical.  Thankfully, a majority of the list was already highlighted in bright blue, but there were still a handful of names in red ---and most of those she didn’t even need to look at to know who was dragging their feet to the medical wing.

Let’s see…..Genji came in for his exam Monday, so he’s done. Hanzo was on time, as always.  Lena is tomorrow—I’ll need to remind Winston about that.   Mercy tapped Tracer’s name and informed Athena to let her fellow scientist know about his needed assistance.

“Shall I also remind Winston that it is time for his exam as well, Dr. Ziegler?” The AI suggested helpfully.

Mercy laughed, “No, I don’t think that will be necessary.  I’ll just recruit Lena to help me hold him down, you know how he can be.”

The AI let out a slightly computerized sigh, “Unfortunately, all too well I’m afraid.”

I will  probably have to drag Torbjorn here myself after lunch next week …And I will probably have to ask Ana , Pharah, and Brigette to help with Reinhart, The doctor sighed as she turned back to her list, her fingers  briefly hovering over the names that were blocked out in black---- the white lettering spelling out the identities as sharp and finite as a row of marble headstones on a dark lawn.  The files had been pulled over with the rest when Athena had backed up the old medical records from the original Overwatch.

Gerard Lacroix --- Deceased

Jack Morrison --- Deceased

Gabriel Reyes --- Deceased

Ana’s name had also recently been shrouded in the mournful color, but she had given her blessing to correct the outdated file. Her active status was now in the same bright cobalt blue as her daughter’s name near the top --- although, she had objected to also having her “Captain” title receiving the same treatment.

“I’m retired now, malak. These old bones aren’t fit to keep babysitting you brats all the time. Just leave me in the back with the rest of the old timers, and we’ll bail you kids out when you’ve finished having your fun.”

“76” on the other hand refused to go by any other name---- no matter how hard Angela or the others tried to convince him to reconsider, the old solider stubbornly refused to budge.

“The commander of Overwatch died at the Swiss base.  If you want him, you can find him six feet under his tombstone in Arlington.”

As for the last two names….. well… despite their best advancements and research even science couldn’t truly bring back the dead.

And even then……….. Angela was not sure she would ever cross that line.  She had toed it with Genji, even the very reasoning behind her own nanotechnology research flirted with that perilous edge …

But sometimes, the line between Man and God was drawn for a reason, and the price that asked was just too much to handle. You could make life, mend it, repair it if need be ----but you could not return light to a candle that no longer had a wick to burn.

Enough of that, Ziegler. Angela shook her head to clear her thoughts, and leave the past where it was supposed to be.  She scrolled through the rest of the names until she came to one very familiar name that she wasn’t surprised was still in red.  

“What am I going to do with him?” Angela sighed and tapped opened the file, so focused that she missed the metallic jingle of spurs and confident clomp cowboy boots sneaking up behind her.

“Boo.”

Angela jumped in surprise when two arms grabbed her from behind and that mischievous, honey-whiskey -warm voice smirked against the back of  her ear.  She shot a pointed look over her shoulder ( which lacked any real bite), but Jesse just greeted her with one of his charming smiles---- completely unapologetic as he leaned down and placed a kiss on the back of her shoulder as both of his hands drifted down to the sides of her stomach.  

“How’re y’all doin’?”  

Angela could feel his warm chuckle and smile against her skin when he felt one of the twins jab at the underside of his human palm,  “Well, that one definitely takes after me. Not even out yet, and already tryin’ to start a fight.”

Angela rolled her eyes, but there was smile on her face as she turned her head and kissed his cheek. He had trimmed his beard a little bit from the wild bush he had during his vigilante days, and his hair was back to the style he had it during the prime of his days in Blackwatch .  It was still unkempt and disheveled as ever, but Angela has always liked that length on him. And Jesse said he finally got sick having it stick to the back of his neck in the blistering heat and finding beard hairs in his whiskey.

“Did you just get back?” She could still smell the salt, sea spray, and limestone of Ilios on him, along with a bit of gunpowder and a little bit of nicotine.   Jesse had reluctantly agreed to cut back on the smoking when they decided to try to start a family (only because she had  threatened that he would have to bunk with Genji , Hanzo and Zenyatta  for the next  eighteen  years  if he so much as thought about lighting up around her or the children) , but when he was out on assignment he still smoked at a cigar or two. Mercy was at least grateful he wasn’t smoking a pack a day anymore.

He had cut back on drinking too. Genji had mostly been the one to thank for that----he and Zenyatta had been helping Jesse slowly deal with his demons over the last year and a half.  For the youngest Shamada, it was the least he could do for his former Blackwatch brother and very dear friend, and the two now had a bond that went deeper than just former coworkers.

It was nice to see both of them smile so easily again.

Eventually, the two of them ganged up on her;  and while she originally dug in her heels and refused to acknowledge the parts of  her that she shoved and locked away in deep  into the shadows, far away from anyone else (her failures, her regrets , guilt and blame and what ifs)  ……it didn’t take a neuro scientist to know that something besides her work or adjustments to her suit was keeping her awake all night. And her heart was so much lighter for it.

“Just docked”,Jesse pressed another kiss against her shoulder before lifting his head a bit and resting his chin there with a deep content hum, “Figured I’d hide out here for a bit before having to face the paperwork.” He wrapped his arms under her stomach to pull her into his warmth, “Don’t think I’ll be able to keep doing this for much longer. What are ya feedin’ these kids ,Angie?”

Angela smacked his arm ,”Burgers and sriracha. And I wonder who I can thank for that.”

“Hey, don’t pick on me. I remember those paper bags you tried hiding under your desk,’ Miss McDonalds’.”

“It was Wendy’s.” Angela said automatically, not even phased about Jesse calling her out on her old guilty pleasure.

“Yeaaaaaaaahh,” Jesse drawled out with a lazy smirk that she could feel curl against her neck , “ but you’re gonna be stuck with a bunch ol McCrees so I figured it was more fitting.”

“Who said they were going to be “McCrees”?”

Angela had to bite down on her tongue from laughing as the charming “I’m winning this round” smirk slipped right off the gunslinger’s face.

“That ain’t very nice, Angel. Don’t be mean.”

“I am not being mean,” Angela had to try very to keep her voice clinical and matter-of-fact , instead of breaking out into the giggles that tickled in her throat. She knew it wasn’t nice to tease him like this, but it was cute when he pouted. “Technically, we are not married so—“

“And you told me you didn’t want that right now,” Jesse pulled away, and Angela knew instantly that she went too far.   Frustration mixed with the jet lag and three sleepless nights of clearing out stubborn Talon agents from Greek ruins that lined the cowboy’s shoulders, giving him a wounded look that was worse than any bullet to her heart.

She knew without asking what his plan had been the moment he stepped on to the helipad---- a nice cold drink, kick off those dumb boots, and to spend the rest of a quite afternoon with the woman and mother of his children who had basically stolen his heart almost twenty-two years ago.  

“ I offered it to you, but you said it wasn’t necessary. That is just a dumb piece of pa----“

Angela swallowed the rest of his argument by reaching out and pulling his head down to kiss him sweetly, putting a cooling balm on his temper.  He seemed to have gotten the message because his shoulders instantly relaxed under her hands as his went to her widened hips and he shook his head with a gravely sigh, “I really don’t like how easily you can get under my skin like that sometimes, woman.”

She shook her head and gave him another kiss before pulling back and reaching up to apologetically smooth back his hair, pushing back a laugh when he tried to puller closer but her stomach got in the way, “ No, that was a terrible attempt of a joke. I shouldn’t have said it.”

Jesse had always been the more emotional one between them; the sentimental, passionate, and sweet parts of their relationship --- a simmering slow southern day outside of Sante Fe. Even after all these years, she still had trouble accepting that when Jesse McCree loved you  he did it absolutely, openly,  and without holding anything back----it was all or nothing for him.

When she thought back on it, Angela realized she never stood a chance.

For Jesse, a ring and wedding was more than just a tradition.  It wasn’t a claim on her, or a way “to keep her an honorable woman” and their children from being born under questionable circumstances or the hundreds of other reasons people have married for over the thousands and thousands of years of human history.

It was a promise. One of the most important ones he could ever give, besides his oath to Reyes and Amari when they offered him a rank in Overwatch ----a chance to do something worthwhile and good.

Angela just didn’t know if she was worthy of that promise just yet.  

She still had moments where she worried if she could do this.  If they could really could do this. That whisp of doubt that had spread and thrived in the shadow of the ruins and rubble of the old Overwatch.  In the shadow of her every regret and helplessness and weakness when everything she held dear crumbled right through her fingers. The one thing she could never heal and fix.  

Those names flickered in her mind again.

....The names of those she failed to support.

But, she was more than willing to try.

As silly, confounding, confusing, reckless, and dramatic as her cowboy was ----she never really thought the idea of spending the rest of her life question her sanity around him sounded bad. Even back before the old Swiss base had been nothing but a pile of bitter-sweet memories, secrets, and rubble. Before they had answered Winston’s recall……and then decided to try to pick up the pieces each of them had been carefully tucking away during the years in between.

They weren’t puzzle pieces that fit together, but------

“ I think McCree is a lovely name,” Angela hummed as she pressed her lips to his cheek, just along the curve of the dark circles under his right eye, “ I also think you should have gotten more sleep. No offense, Jesse, but you look dead on your feet. And I am the doctor who is pregnant with twins.”

The cowboy gave a resigned sigh and sank down into a nearby chair, pulling her with him and across his lap since his arms had tried to find their way around her waist again. She placed her tablet down on the counter and shifted to make herself more comfortable, placing her hands over his as they followed the faint movements of the twins hands, knees, elbows, and etc  pressing against her sides.  “Just give this old cowboy a few minutes, Ange.  I missed you somethin’ fierce out there,” He muttered against her skin as he rested his forehead against her shoulder again.

“You really should be taking better care of yourself.”

The gunslinger gave a soft chuckle at the old scolding that had lost its intentional bite years ago, “Acknowledged”.

Angela knew Jesse had a terrible time sleeping when he was away on assignment these days;  which was more than unusual because she couldn’t think of a place at the Swiss base where someone had not seen him napping with his hat over his face and his boots probed up on a random surface. It would not have  be long before said hat was slapped off, and he was dragged off by his ear  for laps by a very grumbly Gabriel Reyes to burn off all that extra energy he had obviously been storing up.

“And just what are you smiling about?”

Mercy came out of the past, and shook her head at Jesse who was watching her with an amused smile before she settled against his him with her head on his shoulder, “ Nothing, just some silly memories. I can prescribe  you some minor sleep aids if you think that would help.”

The main reason for Jesse restlessness out on the field was because when his mind didn’t have to be focused on a gunfight, it was right back here with her and the twins.  It wasn’t so bad in the beginning, but as her pregnancy progressed the little fear of something happening when he might be several time zones away kept knawing itself a nice little home at the back of his mind---- like a mouse chewing its way through a baseboard.

Nightly phone calls and face -time sessions helped reassure him that Talon had not attacked the base,  Hana had not accidentally shut down the entire power grid by rigging up a super computer for gaming, and Winston did not turn her or the children into a tubs of peanut butter ( “………have you been drinking with Winhelm and Torbjorn again?”  “……No, but I did have some kind of weird Japanese fish dish Genji made.” )

Even then ,Hanzo had taken up  Mercy’s position of McCree’s common sense out on the field --- taking away the gunslinger’s phone so the bright LED screen didn’t give away their position when he kept checking in every five minutes as bullets whizzed by their heads.

Jesse gave a tired sigh as he raised his head and rest his chin on the crown of her head as he drew in closer, “I’ll be fine. I just need you and our bed , and maybe a hot toddy to dull the edge. I’m home now, that’s all that matters.”

Home.  After how many years that word did hurt to think about anymore.  

The two of them stayed like that for a while. Forgetting about emails and exams and desks full of paperwork, and just trying to enjoy this moment of absolute suspended moment of peace like a sip of Angela’s homemade hot chocolate or Jesses favorite aged whiskey.

If she closed her eyes she could almost smell the air of the Swiss alpines again, feel concrete lightly bite the backs of her thighs and the warm weight of a young gunslinger’s arm and serape around her shoulders as her knees dangled over the side of roof while  she and Jesse watched the sun rise over the base.  Watching as the light and sky started out deep and rich and slowly turned golden, blinding and bright.

Almost….. if it weren’t the constant movement jostling her insides.

“They don’t like keeping still, do they?”, Jesse grinned, his hands were tracking them across her stomach again,  eagerly moving from her sides and resting just below her navel now. He looked down at her, eyes lined with jet lagged and some residual signs of his drinking and smoking lifestyle--- but still the same soft and lively molten brown she first seen at seventeen.  

“Sounds like someone else I know,” Angela tilted her head up and teasingly nipped the tip of his nose.  

“ Hmmm….. How long are you goin’ to be cooped up in here? I was thinking you, me, some nice seared steak and pasta, and ---“

“If you even think about mentioning another one of your western movies again, Jesse, I am just going stay here and sleep in one of the med bay beds tonight.”

“…….Well, now who’s jumping the gun? I was goin’ to suggest that one old timey pirate movie Ana use to play all the time during break nights.”

“…….I’m sure you were, cowboy.”

Jesse held his hands up in surrender, “Alright, alright. You get to pick the movie tonight. Just don’t make it one of those boring educational flicks again. I’d like to be able stay awake with you tonight.”

“You liked the last few I’ve selected,” Angela pointed out, rubbing at her side to calm down whichever twin was unhappy bout suddenly being ignored.

“Yeah, well one of those was about those murders in Victorian London.  Of course that’s going to keep my interest.  But seriously Angie, as much as I want to know about what’s going on with you  and the kids, “ The Gestational Process and Bonding  of the Human Species  ; From Conception to Birth And Beyond”  isn’t exactly what I would call a “date night movie”.”

“……That is a fair point,” Angela relented, “ I just thought you would like it since you have pretty much checked out every single book we have about pregnancy in the library, and have  hounded Ana,Torbjorn, Winston and I with questions.  You even had Hanzo buy them for you in town.”

She watched as her cowboy turned a nice shade of pink under his beard, “ ….You weren’t supposed to know about that.”

“Jesse….” Angela chucked endearingly as she brushed his hair out of his eyes, “ Libeling, it’s been kind of hard not to.  But, it is sweet ----- a bit annoying sometimes, but it’s been a pleasant surprise.”

Jesse looked down at his hands, which had gone back to her middle, gently circling his thumb over the back of her hands. His voice was soft, almost unsure, like he was slowly trying to figure out an new language and did not want to mince up the words “ …..I’m just a fish out of water with all of this. I never thought I would ever have a shot at something like this. That it wasn’t in the cards for me with the shit show our lives became after everything.   But, God, did I want …… I don’t deserve an inch of you ,Ange. I  sure didn’t back then and I’m not sure I do----“

Angela kissed him before the raw emotion leaking into his voice broke both of them in two.  It was safe to say this was uncharted territory for both of them; two orphans who only had faded fragments of their own parents and a mismatch patchwork quilt they called family that had been made, ripped and repaired over the years as a reference.

There were a thousand things she wanted to tell him right then, but she would save that for when they were not surrounded by the cold, sterile, and professional environment of the med bay and her office.  She wanted to be wrapped up in one of his flannel shirts and his arms first.

“I do have something for you,”  She reached for her tablet and pulled up the file she had been saving for when he got back.

Jesse groaned the second end moved her arm, “ Angel…look, I know I’m due for that blasted checkup, but do you really—“

“You can relax, it’s not your physical. ..Yet.  I will be getting you for that later,” Angela handed him the tablet and watched as one of his eye brows raised at the sight of her name and date of birth at the top of the page. She offered him a sheepish smile, “ I know you wanted to be there, but I’m afraid Winston got the dates mixed up.  No one else knows about it yet…..but I thought it would be a nice surprise for you when you got back.”

She could barely hide her excitement  as his eyes flitted down past all the medical information and jargon the he did not understand, and landed on the one part of the report that was impossible to mistake.  She had to bite down on the corner of her lip to keep from beaming at him when his brown eyes went wide and looked between her, the tablet and back again. It was one of the few time she had seen the bombastic cowboy struck speechless,  “ …Both?”

Angela nodded, finally letting herself smile,“ Both. One of each. I guess that means we’re done after this.”

But,Jesse seemed to have missed her joke as he quickly set the tablet back down and demanded to know which twin was where. Angela laughed as she guided the one hand to where their son was trying to cozy up to her ribs again, and the other to where their daughter has kicked his hand earlier.  “ They do move , but I think that’s where they are for the most part, “ Angela titled her head as she took in the suddenly  serious look crossing on Jesse’s face that he only got when he was trying to whip a strategy during a mission , “Is something the matter, Libeling?”

“….. Figuring out how much I’m gonna have to stock up on ammo for when they get older. Maybe finally talk Torb into installing that finger gu-”

“Jesse Leon McCree!” Angela’s glare cut through his thought faster than one of her laser- guided scalpels, “For the last time, I am not installing finger guns into your prosthetic!”

“I didn’t say you, now did I?”

“ Torbjorn won’t do it either. I already warned him I would revoke his honorary grandfather card if I ever caught him with schematics.”

“ Awwwww, come on! That ain’t fair, Angel!” Jesse whined. “ How else am I supposed to scare idots away from little Annie when she gets older?”

“Are you thrity-nine or nine…? And I am sure you will come up with something. Also, we are not naming out children after wild- west outlaws.”

“…Dam.. I was sittin’ on that one for a while,” Jesse looked at her again, “ What about-“

“No.”

Jesse jutted out his lower lip and looked at her with those big puppy gold-brown eyes that had been bane of her existence for the last twenty- something years.  ….But, she would be lying to herself if said she wasn’t at least a little bit happy that genetics promised that there was a very good chance at their children would have his eyes as well.

“Fineeeeeeeee,” Jesse sighed when he realized he wasn’t going to win their  little stalemate, although there is more than a hint of a whine to it, “What about “Fenrir” for the boy then?  That’s something you’ve always liked.”

“Oh mein got!” Angela rolled her eyes, “Out of all the Norse myths I have told you, of course that’s the one you remember.”

“What? We could call him “Fen”,” Jesse pointed out innocently.  

“You do remember that Loki is the one who gave birth to him, don’t you?”, Angela pointed out with a sigh, “ Only you would want to name your son after the eater of the world and killer of Odin? How about “Tyr”?” She tapped  her finger nail against the scared- up skull engraved into the metal plating of his bionic arm. “The god of Justice. That seems a bit more fitting. “

Jesse watched her hand with a little smirk as he leaned his head against her shoulder again. They might have been playfully arguing about names, but she had never seen him look so content.  The look in his expression said it all… ….he held his entire world in his arms.  “Eh, it’s not as cool. Any kid of ours is going to be hell –in- a- hand basket and an angel all-in-one, they need a name goes with it.”

“I think it’s just in your nature to -- how do you Americans say it----“  Go Big or Go Home”?” Angela laughed as Jesse gently, but playfully pulled her closer against his chest, his hands resting on her hip as his lips grinned against her forehead and his beard tickling between her eyes

“Yep ,sounds like me. I’ve always dreamed big---- how else could I have gotten as lucky to end up with someone like you? You don’t get chosen by an angel just by waiting around and twiddling your thumbs.”

Angela rolled her eyes as she shifted in the cowboy’s lap as their daughter let her know she didn’t like being squished between them by trying to kick elbow her pancreas. Jesse’s hands instantly went to the spot and circled his fingers to apologize.

They were going to be fine.

“Well…..I do have one name in mind… ,”Angela hesitated.  She wasn’t quite sure how Jesse would react to her suggestion. She still didn’t know how she completely felt about it.  

It had started as a little idea that had just popped up in the back of her mind the moment the blood tests had confirmed everything, like one of the single little cells their children had started out as.  At first, she just shook it off as an impossible notion, just the increasing hormones her body being annoying ; but like Jesse, it just hunkered down and refused to budged until she begrudgingly paid attention to it.

It was name that had weight to it, memories and heartbreak. But, she knew it was a name that meant a lot to Jesse… and even herself and many others in their little rag tag family.  And the more she had thought about it, each week the name just sounded a little more right.  Her mind went back to the list of names of those she had failed to save.  

You could not return life to can candle that no longer had a wick , but the scent of the wax would always linger.

“Gabriel.”

She carefully watched his face as her stomach squirmed in a way that had nothing to do with her tumbling twins or morning sickness.  It only took a few moments, but it felt life time as she watched the confusion on his face melt into surprise then something so soft and speechless that she wasn’t sure if she wanted to smile or cry herself.

For now she would blame it on the hormones.

“I like it, Darlin’,” His voice was soft, like a warm camp-fire on a cool night as he reached up and tucked her side swept bang behind her ear. “ … Thank you.”  

She closed her eyes and leaned into his hand as his callused and tanned finger s trailed over her cheek, still the same as they had always been despite all the years.  They still felt like home.

“There is nothing to thank me for, Liebling. “

“…. I still want Fen as a first name though.”

Angela gave a heavy sigh, Andddddddd there went the moment,“ Do not make me kick you out of my office .“

Jesse just gave her another smug and charming smirk that made his right eye twinkle, “Gotta come up with a better bluff than that, Sugarbee. I’m your favorite pillow.”

“Well, since you are here ,Darlin..” She drawled a little too innocently , “ I do have a long list of overdue shots with your name on it.”

The cowboy blanched and Angela just gave him his smirk right back before breaking down into a smile and leaning forward to kiss him as he huffed against her mouth and pulled her as close as her stomach would allow. “ Woman, I swear there is devil in those angel eyes sometimes.”

No, they were not puzzle pieces that fit perfectly together ---  there were too many broken edges that had been worn and dented over the years.  They were more like pieces of a shattered glass that had been put together into a mosaic.  Something that was a little old and new at the same time , fractured and whole…  and made something  wonderful and beautiful when the light shone through.