fine silk

A Roll of the Dice

Miraculous Ladybug fanfiction/oneshot

Word Count: 10,254

Rating: Teen for sin

Pairings: Marichat/Adrienette

Summary: Alya gives Marinette a pair of adult love dice for her 18th birthday. Later that night, Chat Noir suggests to Marinette that they play a game with them to see if they work.

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OK Piper McLean fans, listen up

I’m Cherokee. I’m a Cherokee girl. I’m a major Piper fan because she’s a Cherokee woman like myself. There’s been some Discourse© about her hair. Sit down, buckle up, because you guys are about to some knowledge dropped on you. 

So the issue is about her hair; people keep drawing my girl with undercuts. I don’t think she would have one, and if she did there’s only one good reason. 

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9

everyone in harry potter is a poc: beauxbaton girls

Harry noticed a dozen girls- all, by the look of them, in their late teens- had emerged from the carriage and were now standing behind Madame Maxine. They were shivering, which was unsurprising, given that their robes seemed to be made of fine silk, and none of them were wearing clocks. A few of them had wrapped scarves and shawls around their heads. (based on this post)

Jeff Atkins Imagine (request2)

ahhhgggg, this was extremely difficult to write but I hope it’s good!

AU where Jeff didn’t die in the crash and Clay stayed with Hannah

WARNING: i’m pretty sure all of my imagines are going to mention weed in them

~~

“He doesn’t remember your relationship with him.” 

Those words were like an atomic bomb to you. In all of your years of life, it never crossed your mind that something this tragic would happen to you. No one expects it, you guessed. No one knew that your boyfriend of six months would get in a car crash and lose all of his memories of your relationship. Sometimes you blamed yourself. Why did you let him go on that beer run? Why didn’t you keep him at the party? Why did you let him leave drunk?

It could have been worse, you concluded. Jeff could have died, but it felt as if he did. And at first you had been in denial. You pushed passed persisting nurses and held is hand as he slept, but when he would wake up he would always just smile and say “Hi Y/N? Did you make cheerleader?”

So you stopped seeing him, because the first thing you told him on the first day of school was that you hoped that you would make cheerleader. That’s where his memory ended. He didn’t remember that the years of friendship had slowly begun to knit into something more, he didn’t know the intricate stitches of your shared secrets and nights on the roof of his car. But you could never forget because you loved him too much. Maybe that love is what sparked the hope in you, the hope that maybe in some way you could make him remember. 

It had been two weeks after the accident, fourteen days of crying yourself to sleep and finding comfort in the bottom of red solo cups and rolled joints of cannabis. A Monday to be precise, when Jeff returned to school. You were dressed your best and had your makeup done after hours of being in front of a mirror, as if you were barely meeting him for the first time. When he walked in people crowded around his figure, giving him pats on the back and passing their condolences for his lost memory.

“No, it’s cool guys! Obviously nothing worth remembering happened during that time.” He replied with a laugh, oblivious with his giant forehead scar.

People turned in your direction, where you stood at the edge of the crowd, trying your best to hold back tears. Part of you was traumatized because you were thinking of what would have happened if you had truly lost Jeff in the accident, but you couldn’t even gain comfort from him because he didn’t remember that just those months ago you had shared your first kiss together.

People dissipated like ants, scattering away while staring at you. You knew some of them were scared to make you cry, because it had happened in the last week while you were at a basketball game. The others simply didn’t care so they stayed. The majority of them were the jocks like Monty, Zach, Justin, and Bryce. 

“That’s got to burn,” Monty made a face while walking over to you. He placed his arm around you while you stared at Jeff laugh with his friends. “You know, Y/N, I’m all free, and since our little Jeffrey over there doesn’t remember a thing about your ‘relationship’ with him, it would be better if you just acted like it never even happened. You can’t get him to fall in love with again.”

You made a noise of irritation and sadness before turning around under 
Monty’s arm and pushing his chest. “Shut the fuck up, Montgomery! Fucking fascist asshole!” 

You took his arm from your shoulders and turned on your heel, storming to the red room, where you knew you would calm down. Pictures were a great hobby of yours, and it mean usually that you had to spend time with Tyler the school ‘creep’ but you didn’t mind very much. 

“Bro, what’s her problem?” Bryce asked as you stormed way, Monty shrugging his shoulders like it didn’t hurt his feelings. 

“She’s probably still pissed off because I didn’t go all the way with her Saturday at your get together. She was stoned as fuck.” The guys all laughed except for Jeff as they started to head in the other direction, talking about that night. 

It was partially true, you had made out with Monty at Bryce’s party two days ago, but you had been desperate, stoned, and drunk and in desperate need of some relief. You were stressed out and depressed, what else were you supposed to do? Find help? Shrinks were a joke in this town, you would be laughed at. He was twisting the whole story, you were the one who would not mess with him, though. 

“You coming, Atkins?” Justin asked when they were a little ways away, his eyebrows raised. All the guys looked to see that Jeff was shaking his head and scratching his head. 

“I feel like I should go after her. I mean we are really close, right?” Jeff asked them, adjusting his backpack.

“Very close,” Justin smirked. 

“What?” Jeff asked, knowing that he was missing something. 

Zach reached over and smacked Justin, a look of pity coming over his handsome face. “It’s not about if you should or not, it’s if you want to go after her, man. It’s only if you want to see if she’s okay.” 

Jeff stood there for a second as Zach watched expectantly, his fingers crossed. The other jocks rolled their eyes and took off. Jeff turned back to Zach and pointed to the way you had ran off to. 

“I want to go after her, I don’t know why.” He said with his eyebrows furrowed. 

Zach grinned and pointed to the hall as well. “You don’t need a reason. Just go.” 


You placed the picture you had just developed on the clothespin line and hung it, a picture of you and Jeff at the beach, the both of you wrapped in each other while making panicked faces and pointing at a crab. It made you smile but you heart ache, and Tyler, who was standing next to you sighed and placed a hand on your shoulder. 

“I’m sorry.” He breathed he looked down at his camera and ran his hand behind his neck. 

“Stop apologizing!” You snapped, wiping a tear from under your eye. “I’m so tired of it. I know it’s tragic and I know it’s sad and pitiful, but don’t pity me. It’s all my fault anyways. If I would not have let Jeff leave that party for that stupid beer run he would still remember us. The things we shared with each other, the kisses, the love. He would remember that he loves– loved me and he would be in here right now making out with me and telling me I’m beautiful. But instead this happened. HE DOESN’T REMEMBER, Tyler! He just thinks we’re friends, and he just thinks that even his name means nothing to me. But Jeff Atkins means everything to me.” 

Tyler put his camera down, wrapping his arms around your shoulders. You hugged him back, ignoring the small line of yellow light on the floor as you squeezed your eyes shut and cried into Tyler’s shoulder. 

“Monty was right, I can’t make him fall in love with me again.” You sighed when you were calm, simply resting your head on Tyler’s shoulder. He had been patting your back but at your words he shot back and grabbed your shoulders. 

“Y/N, are you kidding me? You and Jeff were relationship goals. I loved taking pictures of y’all and if I know one thing in this world is that you never truly forget a love like that.” 

You looked into Tyler’s eyes to see that he was excited. You slowly began to get a feeling in the pit of your stomach. Maybe you could help him remember…or if that was impossible, maybe you could make him fall in love with you again. 

“How do we do that, Tyler?” You asked, a smile growing on your lips. 

“Easy! First, we make a plan. Do you remember the things that led your relationship to grow into more than friendship?” He asked, running around the room for a pen. 

You sighed and looked back at the picture, your mind spinning into a fine silk of memories. “Every second with detail.” 

“Perfect.” 

~

The plan wasn’t easy, but one step at a time you seemed to get closer to Jeff, slowly feel a lot better about him falling back in love with you.

Step 1: Pull an all nighter with Jeff at the neighbors pool without getting caught (x) This is where you and Jeff first shared your deepest thoughts and even though you already knew what he had to say you still listened with your utmost interest and attention.

Step 2: Convince Jeff to let you do his makeup (x) this is where Jeff started to notice your beauty, or so he told you, when you were makeup less and your eyebrows were furrowed in concentration as you ‘carved out’ his eyebrows. This time Jeff was a little more compliant, pointing out colored eye shadows he wanted you to use and getting closer when you were contouring his nose (not that he needed it). 

Step 3: Have a Star Wars movie marathon (x) this is where you started to show Jeff the nerdy side in you, and you figured out he had one of his own. This is where you two first cuddled, and where you finally realized you didn’t want to spend those long hours with anyone else. This time Jeff was quiet and didn’t ask much questions about what was going on, but you did catch him staring at you a few times. Eventually you both fell asleep on each other during the last scene of the empire strikes back, which was a shorter time span than you had thought you would last. 

Step 4: Go on a mini adventure to all of the museums he loved (because, once again, that hidden nerdy side); this is where Jeff realized that you were really funny, as you kept cracking history jokes and just jokes in general. This time he told you jokes and you had a joke war, eventually getting lunch together and sharing a milkshake (cheesy, but Jeff had suggested it). (x)

Step 5: Party hard, smoke a joint together, and share your first kiss. (o) That’s where you both told each other how you felt, where you had engaged in a drunken make out session with Montgomery and he had gotten extremely jealous and nearly beat his ass for it. When you were sober he had taken you to the porch and watched you sip a cup of water before spilling his feelings out. This was the one step you were going to have the most trouble reenacting. 

Good thing in this town, there was never a weekend that someone was not throwing a party. This time it was Zach Dempsey, because his family was out of town for a family reunion and he had faked sick, so he had his whole giant house to himself. The thing was that you were extremely nervous, and the only person that had been of help lately was Tyler, who had wholeheartedly given his all trying to help you with the plan was not invited to this party. 

You were currently at your house while he sat on the floor sifting through photos of you and Jeff. “Who took these? They’re amazing.” 

“My cousin, Angela. I think you would like her. She’s a fanatic for photography.” You giggled, putting a blouse across your body. You shook your head and threw it into a rising pile. “Ugh, I have absolutely nothing to wear.” 

Tyler stopped looking at the photos and got up, shaking his jacket. “What do you mean? You have a million clothes…” You made a face at him. “Why don’t you just wear what you wore during step five the first time?” 

You turned back to the closet and pushed the remaining clothes aside, spotting the striped t-shirt dress immediately. You reached over and pulled it out, letting the smooth material run through your fingers, memories flashing. There was the click of a flash and you turned slightly, to see that Tyler was looking at his camera. He walked over and showed you the screen. 

“Look how much emotion is running through your eyes… you’re ready for this.” He said, patting your back as you looked down at the picture. 

“I am.” 

~

You flattened the dress on your body when you got out of your car, your hands slightly damp with sweat.  You had paired the dress with a pair of flats, but this time you curled your hair and put it in two buns.Your makeup was done unlike that night and you were more nervous, that was for sure. 

You finally pushed yourself to walk to Zach’s house; the music was already playing, vibrating your teeth and the smell of sweat and weed was so strong you needed to stop and take a breath. Of course it was a party after all. You made it to the front door after what felt like ages, and you took a deep breath. 

“YN!” Someone yelled behind you, and you groaned. It was Clay Jensen and he was walking to the house as well with Hannah Baker. 

You had been avoiding Clay like the plague, because he was a good friend of yours, but ever since that party where you and Jeff convinced him to stay with Hannah you couldn’t face him. You knew he was all about pity. 

“Can’t talk, Jensen!” You yelled, running into the house and immediately going towards where you knew Jeff and the others were. 

Jeff was always a careful person at parties, never letting himself go and usually occupying himself with things other than the drugs and sex. You knew he was in Zach’s game room, and where Jeff was, his followers were as well. No one liked to admit it, but Jeff was the best and most liked of the whole group of jocks and he wasn’t really like them but he hung out with them anyways because Jeff never judged. 

“HEYY!” You yelled once you entered the game room, seeing that all of the guys and a few girls were crowded around the pool table. Everyone turned. “The life of the party is here.” 

The guys clapped, whooping when you did a turn in the air, bringing out your special bag of weed from your bag. They got louder when they saw it. You laughed and walked over to the table, taking off your purse and setting it aside while you looked them over. 

“Y/N, we were wondering if you were ever going to come.” Justin spoke, his hand not so discreetly laying on Jessica’s ass. 

You rolled your eyes. “Foley I’m a cheerleader, I’m literally nearly obliged to come.” 

You walked over and stood next to Jeff, who was smiling slightly as he looked you over. 

“Now that is not true.” Zach started, placing his arm around your shoulder. “You’re a party animal.” 

“You’re so right” You grinned, shaking the bag of cannabis. Zach gave you a high five and took it from your hands. 

“Who is ready to smoke a good one and get high?” Zach yelled out, raising his hands above his head. You cheered with the others and they all went to the couches at the far right of the room, talking loudly. 

Jeff stayed behind as you went to your purse and grabbed your cell phone. “Y/N?” He asked softly. 

You turned to him and a piece of hair fell into your eyes, while you dug through your purse for a lighter now. He got closer and your breath sped up while your heartbeat increased, but on the outside you stayed casual. He reached a hand forward and removed the hair from your eyesight. “You look beautiful tonight.” 

You could feel your heart swelling in your chest, like it was the first time he said it all over again, a smile creeping onto your face. You stood up straight, getting closer and patting his chest while leaning your head up. “Thank you, Jeff. You don’t look too bad yourself.” 

Jeff rolled his eyes as you pulled your head back. “You gonna have a little fun with us tonight?” You asked him, looking over at his cup and seeing only carbonated soda. 

Jeff sighed and shook his head. “I swore off everything when I got home from the hospital. I can’t let my senses become dull anymore, I can’t risk everything for a little high. My mom and dad were scared to death for me to come tonight. They shouldn’t be. So I’m not doing anything, Y/N. I’ll just watch and make sure you don’t do anything too stupid.” 

He chuckled slightly and then touched his arm, squeezing it reassuringly. “That’s good, Jeff. I don’t know what I would do if I lost you again.” 

You had said it without thinking and your eyes widened. He made a face of question but you quickly turned on your heel and sped to the group, squeezing yourself between Zach and Monty. Zach had already rolled one joint and yanked the lighter out of your hand, taking a big hit as he sparked the end of it. You took it from Zach and tried to one up him, smoke coming out of your nostrils as you did. The girls cheered and booed Zach for being beat by a girl. You handed it to Monty and he took it with a wink your way. You rolled your eyes and leaned your head back. The smoke drifted from between your lips and your nose, the feeling of it sending you to bliss. You looked up to see that Jeff was staring at you distantly, sipping his coke. You looked away quickly and distracted yourself with the others, suddenly forgetting about the plan.

When the joint was shriveling and Justin was rolling a second you had forgotten Jeff was there at all, and your legs was in Monty’s lap as he rubbed your thighs and you two laughed like nothing bad was happening. Like the rising anger that Jeff was trying to hold back. Because the plan had done it. When the others started on the second you grabbed the butt end of the old one and sucked in whatever was left, coughing and then grabbing Monty by the shoulders, bringing your mouth to his and blowing the smoke into his open mouth. He sucked it in them let it out, licking his lips and then catching your lips with his. 

“OK, that’s enough!” You heard someone say loudly, but you kept on, kissing Monty’s mouth with force. 

Then two arms were under your arms and you were being pulled away, both you and Monty protesting. You looked back and saw that it was Jeff, and the plan came to your mind again and you smiled lazily. He shook his head at you and then glared down at Monty. 

“Don’t touch her again. Or I’ll kick your teeth in.” 

The words echoed in your head and you bit your lip. He was being much more aggressive than what you expected. Especially with his words. Monty stood up like he was going to fight Jeff, a hurt look on his face but Zach placed an arm across his shoulders, pushing him back.

Jeff lifted you so you were standing straight and wrapped his hands around you elbow, dragging you through the house and to the front door. You two passed many people who looked like they wanted to ask questions, like Clay and Hannah but Jeff did not slow down in his angry march. 

“Jeff, what’s up?” You asked with a slight squeak to your voice. 

Jeff let you go when you two were on the foot of Zach’s porch, sitting down and then patting the spot next to you. You sat down as your heart beat faster with each second. This was starting to seem familiar, even with the clouds that were surrounding your mind. 

“I mean, listen, I have no control over what you do but I really don’t like seeing you getting stoned.” Jeff said, looking away from you. 

“Just getting stoned?” You asked while your hope started to deflate like a balloon.

“Not you just getting stoned.” He sighed, turning to face you formally. “I don’t like seeing you with Monty.” 

You scooted closer without thinking and placed your hand on his shoulder, tears coming to your eyes involuntarily. “Why, Jeff?” 

He pulled you closer and placed his forehead on yours, breathing you in. “Because I remember that I love you.”

Tears spilled out of your eyes and you pulled him into a long awaited kiss, your arms wrapping around his neck and his around your waist. The plan had worked and you had Jeff back, just like you wanted. 

~~
 This took forevverr and it had such a shitty ending but thank you anon for the request! I hope you like it. (NOT EDITED)

Imagine: Thorin and the Company Defending you from Alfrid

Originally posted by drinkupmeehearties-yoho

   You struggled against the soldier’s grip, managing to break free.  This gave you a moment to make a run for it, but the crowd of people that had begun to gather in the cold night kept you from escaping.  The soldier took hold of you again forcefully, shoving you into the clearing among the rest of the Company.

   “What is the meaning of this?” the mayor of Lake-town demanded, storming out of his manor.  He was dressed in long nightclothes, and what remained of his greasy hair was combed to the side.  He rested his hands on the porch railing as he glared down at you and your travelling companions.

   “We caught ‘em stealing weapons, sire,” a guard replied.  You felt someone behind you push you forward.  “She was standing guard.  Apparently, she’s one of ‘em.”

   “Ah, enemies of the state then, hm?” The mayor’s eyes narrowed. 

   You shot him an irritated look while the one called Alfrid paced up to you.

   “You might want to step away from the Lady,” Dwalin grumbled.   Alfrid ignored his warning.  

   “Strange for a young woman to be traveling with a bunch of dwarves.”  He grabbed your chin and tipped your head up slightly to meet his eerie gaze. The way he leered at you was a bit unsettling. It didn’t last long before you smacked the hand away and elbowed his chest to make him keep his distance, and he went stumbling back.  You smirked as some of the Company chuckled in amusement while he tried to regain his balance.

   “Why you-” he snapped, reaching to grab your wrist angrily.  

   “Stop!” Thorin barked, starting forward.  “You will not lay a hand on her!”  The other members of the Company voiced their agreement, ready to jump to your defense if Alfrid neared you again.

  “Yes, leave her alone!” Ori said bravely.

  “Or you’ll have to answer to us!” Bofur added, straightening his back to look as tall and intimidating as he could.  

  The dark-haired man before you shrank away, startled, as Balin came forward to usher you closer to the others.  Though Alfrid tried to look threatening, you knew he was afraid of your friends.  “A desperate bunch of mercenaries if there ever was, sire,” Alfrid spoke over his shoulder.  Seeing as he was no match for the Company, all he could do was spout insults.

   “Hold your tongue!” Dwalin growled from beside you. “You do not know to whom you speak. This is no common criminal.  This is Thorin, son of Thrain, son of Thror!”

   Thorin stepped forward. “We are the dwarves of Erebor.”

    Whispers and hushed conversation arose in the crowd around you.  People knew exactly who he was.  

   “We have come to reclaim our homeland.”  The Company leader took a step forward, his eyes scanning the crowd.  “I remember this town in the days of old.  Fleets of boats lay at harbor filled with silks and fine gems.  This was no forsaken town on a lake!  This was the center of all trade in the North!”

   Shouts of agreement rang out.  

   “I would see those days return.  I would relight the great forges of the dwarves and send wealth and riches flowing once more from the halls of Erebor!”

   Pride welled up within you as Thorin’s speech gradually earned the respect and support of the people. The sad people that you saw when first arriving in Lake-town had been filled with hope.

  “Death!”  Bard’s voice called from the back of the crowd.  You turned to look at him, shocked that he was opposing you after helping. “That is what you will bring upon us.  Dragon fire and ruin.” He made his way to the front. Thorin stared him down, and the two of them argued it out. You took the opportunity to do a quick scan of the Company. Kili was looking as pale as ever from the arrow wound.  Fili seemed to be paying more attention to his brother than the situation at hand. Bilbo stood there in nervous silence as he watched the exchange that would decide whether the Company could continue on the journey or not.

   Thorin made his promises, Bilbo vouched for him, people cheered; but the mayor of Lake-town didn’t seem too convinced at first.  Alfrid did not hesitate to voice his suspicion.  Finally, when the matter had been settled, the mayor paused dramatically.

   “I say unto you…” He pointed his finger at the company.  “Welcome!” The crowd erupted in cheers, and you exchanged hopeful looks with Bilbo.

   Relief washed over you when the soldiers backed off, and the mayor came forward to invite you all in for a feast.  It was a wonder that he had some much food to spare when it looked like the entire town was struggling to feed their families.  It was also interesting how all of a sudden Alfrid was showering you with compliments and being ridiculously nice now that you were deemed a guest.  Thankfully, Thorin approached you almost immediately.

   “Stay close,” Thorin told you, gently pulling you to his side and shooting Alfrid a cold look to frighten him off.  “We may have won their favor, but I do not trust them.”  

   “I can look after myself, you know,” you replied, though you weren’t objecting.  You cared for a certain Company leader, and there was a part of you that enjoyed his concern for you.

   “I know.”  You thought you saw an amused smirk on his face as his eyes locked with yours. The light-hearted expression vanished as quickly as it had appeared.  “It would still be wise if the Company stays together.  Especially you.”

   You nodded, smiling.  “And you stay close too.”

   This time, he couldn’t hide the smile as the two of you followed the others into the hall for the feast.

(Gif is not mine! Credit to original owner!)

When a blind woman was named Inquisitor, none of her inner circle expected the task before her to be easy. Neither did any of them expect her to face it alone. Each of them has their own task, a duty they have assigned themselves to make Elera Lavellan’s life just a little easier, a role they carry out with stubborn dedication. None of them say it, but they all know that every one of them would rather die than see someone else take their place.

Solas walks with her in the Fade, drawing her into his memories, conjuring up images of the places they’ve been. Only her body is blind, and in the Fade, she can see the echoes he creates for her. They stroll the ramparts of Skyhold together, a smile flickering around her mouth as she looks out on the rolling mountains, and he helps her memorise every staircase and passageway so that she might navigate them more easily in her sightless waking world. He shows her the Emerald Graves, so that she can stand beneath the trees and gaze at the million different shades of green the sunlight creates as it falls through the leaves. He shows her, despite his scorn, the Dalish camp they visited in the Exalted Plains, so that she can remember her own clan and feel, for a time, at home. They walk the paths of his memories together, he her hahren, and she, a student and friend he is proud to teach.

Varric does what an author does best - he puts the world around them into words. When they reach the top of a slope and let out gasps of awe at a view that Elera can’t see, he steps up to describe it to her, painting every detail with the best words he can think of until she smiles and whispers, I can picture it. He does the same with the people they meet, telling her everything from the colour of their hair to how high she has to look to meet their eyes. Leave it to the others to do the basics, helping her to make it through the world. Varric’s duty is to make that world beautiful.

Sera is the one who climbs. Up the piles of rocks, balancing on beams and narrow ledges, clambering onto rooftops and jumping between gaps. She hates those creepy shards, but Elera says they’re important, and Sera’s damned if she’s letting a blind woman go hauling herself up those frigging rock piles to reach them. Elera would do it if someone else didn’t, stupid stubborn woman, and Sera doesn’t want to see her fall and get herself killed. Because even though she’s an elf, an elfy elf, a really elfy elf who wants those pissing elfy shards to open that elfy temple… somehow, they ended up as friends. Real good friends. And Sera was never one to let her friends get hurt.

Vivienne picks out her wardrobe, not only for all those soirees and balls that the Inquisitor is obliged to make an appearance at, but for day to day wear. Just because practicality is Elera’s greatest concern - finding something with few buttons she needs to fumble at and few fastenings to struggle with - doesn’t mean she should be forced to sacrifice fashion. Vivienne seeks out fine silk and velvet for her, fabrics that a Dalish elf could never have heard of or touched before. She finds tunics in rich turquoise to match her vallaslin, and, for special occasions, a ballgown in pale silvery-blue, so unearthly against her pale skin that she almost seems to be wearing moonlight.

Dorian reads to her. It starts with him making some remark about a book on spirit magic he’s been browsing through. That sounds interesting, she says, could you read that passage to me? And before long it’s a tradition. She comes to the library, he finds a book, they sit in chairs facing each other and Dorian reads. At first it’s mostly tomes on magical theory, but soon, he’s narrating a new chapter of Hard In Hightown every evening, and a little circle gathers around them to listen, all of them catching their breath in unison over the dramatic parts and groaning whenever Varric ends things with yet another cliffhanger.

Cassandra has always been at home on the battlefield, and right from the start, she appoints herself the task of making sure that Elera can feel at home there too. Two rage demons, approaching from the right, and three wraiths, she roars, as the rift splits open and pours the Fade’s denizens forward.  One Red Templar in heavy armour, one archer. Just the simplest things, the things that tell Elera where to stand and what spell to use. There’s nothing she can do to make the bellowing of demons and the clashing of weapons less chaotic - but she can try to bring some kind of order out of the chaos. That’s what she does best, after all.

Bull takes it upon himself to make sure she can indulge in all the things the others won’t let her. Honestly, they treat her like she’s made of glass sometimes, and he knows it infuriates her, knows that she doesn’t want to be coddled. She’s blind, not a child. So he’s the one who makes sure she drops into the Herald’s Rest like all the others, the one who buys her a drink and lets her vent. She rarely has more than one or two, but all the same, he walks with her back to her room afterwards. Leaders have as much right to let themselves go as anyone from time to time. The fact that this leader can’t see doesn’t make the damnedest bit of difference to that.

Cole helps. He appears from thin air to guide her up staircases and through passageways when she needs it - but only when she needs it, because he knows she wants to stand alone as much as she can. And since she can’t see the curl of another man’s lip or the twitch of his brow while she speaks to him, Cole reads people for her, telling her the things she can’t pick up from their words and their tone. To him, her lack of eyesight means nothing. She’s a person, like all the others, and her thoughts are the same as everyone else’s. 

And Blackwall stands beside her. Where he’s meant to be. He’s the shield between her and everything that could ever possibly hurt her, the hand that flashes out to catch her when she stumbles and the weapon that cuts down the enemy who dared to get close. He’s the arm she rests her hand on as they go about their travels, the voice that tells her the path’s getting steeper or take it slow, there’s a sharp drop to the right. At first it’s an obligation, the duty of a soldier who’s seen men suffer a thousand different wounds from war, losing eyesight and limbs and sanity and Maker knows what else. He knows how to help someone whose body isn’t quite whole. 

But it becomes more than that, so much more. She is so strong, so capable, so determined to face all the trials thrown at her by a world she can’t see - but she can’t protect herself from everything. Just as he has needed her, needed her calm kindness and her dauntless faith in him, so she needs him to be her first and last line of defence. He knows, as the rest don’t (all right, Cole probably does, but all the normal rest don’t) that the one thing Elera Lavellan fears is oblivion. Being lost and alone with nothing to guide her.

She won’t have to face oblivion while he’s still breathing. She will always be able to reach out for him and find him there, to hear him tell her, I’m here, my lady. To which she responds with a smile and a murmur - I know, vhenan. Thank you.

She is his fortress, he is her shield, and nothing in the world can touch them.

evergloriousoverlord  asked:

What are, or should be, the aesthetic differences between the armors of the different kingdoms, in your opinion?

Well, when it comes to aesthetic differences, there are two things to look at. The first and most obvious would be what designs would be used, but there’s also the question of what techniques are they using to ornament their arms and armor. We already know that Dorne paints shields, as Dunk tells us in The Hedge Knight. Depending on the skills of the craftsmen and the materials available in each region, we can see what techniques they would use.

A note about these pictures, these are from different eras during armor development, so they are used as conceptual pieces. Much of these are late medieval period, which might be just a touch beyond where Westeros is at the moment.

The North - I’d imagine that the North would be a place of very few frills. Catelyn mentions that Northmen like Ser Rodrik disliking frills. However, we do know that Rickard Stark’s armor was finely designed, as Jaime describes us during his recollection of Aerys burning him and talking specifically about the melting of the precious metals. I’d imagine that a lot of Northern ornamentation would be metal or fur. I could see the armor itself decorated with gold on the rivets and inlaid with any house crests. Here’s a nice example of a decorated rivet on a Scottish targe:

The Riverlands - Well, the Riverlands are a large area and you’d expect regional diversity between the different areas of the Riverlands. So, of course, you’d see more Westerlander-influences in places like Pinkmaiden, whereas places closer to the Bloody Gate might see more Valemen styles. However, I’d look for probably something closer to the styles of Bavaria for the Riverlander armor, with a nice patterned texture as you see here to evoke gently cresting waves.

The Iron Islands - While the culture itself would probably mock painted lords in their fineries as weak, buying fine ornaments with the gold price, the Iron Islands has too much metal and enough sensibility to understand symbolism that their armor would also be decorated. I’d imagine that Iron Islands armor would, rather than use precious metals, would instead use embossing techniques to put designs into the metal itself. This is a bit fancier than I’d expect the ironborn to use, but there would definitely be these sort of embossing on the nicer pieces of Ironborn armor, though most ironborn raiders would probably use lighter armor.

The Vale - The austere, highly rigid culture of the Vale would almost certainly be reflected in their armor. I’d imagine the armor would be ornamented rather simply, mostly with house crests and wings, while the rest of the armor would be gleaming white, perhaps silvered in places. Given the knight’s spend a good deal of time going against the mountain clansmen, developing a solid harness and a good suit of cased steel plate would be a high priority for the Vale to make themselves relatively invulnerable against the poorly-armed and poorly-armored clansmen. I’d imagine the Milanese style would suit the Vale, and here’s what it looks like:

The Westerlands - Almost certainly, Westerlander smiths would be considered the pinnacle of Westerosi metalcraft, since their region is rich in metal both functional and decorative. This is the easiest kingdom to determine decorations, since their vast mineral wealth would lead to gilding and silvering their armor, decorating them with gold and silver. This would probably be done through mercury-gildening, which is a durable process meant for things like armor. For large areas, gold foil would be adhered with mercury, while smaller, fine areas would use a melted gold-and-mercury paste in a 1-to-8 ratio, which would be painted on with a brush. The gold was typically applied over a layer of copper for better adherence, so it’s steel-copper-gold. Once this was applied, the piece was basically ‘cooked’ in an oven to vaporize the mercury and voila, finely gilded armor. For an elaborate piece, you can see here for the armor of the 3rd Earl Cumberland, George Clifford, which might be used for someone like Jaime if you add a couple lions:

The Reach - Given the high importance of mounted combat, the most distinguishing feature of Reachmen armor would be a very flexible skirt for use in horseriding (this would obviously be important in all kingdoms, of course), and of course, fine ornamentation. I’d imagine Reachmen would have rather ornate engravings on their helmets and armor, with fine embellishments, crests, and gildings, something that looks like this:

As for the rest of their armor, I’d say they probably would take after the Southern French style, again, finely detailed and engraved. Reachmen would probably also have richly decorated cloth to decorate their scabbards and the finest woven surcoats to showcase their wealth

The Stormlands - I’d imagine that the Stormlanders would invest in fine quality armor, to better resist Reachmen incursion. They would probably use coloring to color their armor. The color of armor depended on when the armor was removed from the flame (as in, what temperature it was), with the most desirable being a deep, rich blue, hence why it was called “bluing” the armor. The Stormlanders would probably have richly designed and ornamented armor as befits their warrior culture, and it would probably look like something in the German style, so like this:

Dorne - Fortunately, half the work is already done with Dorne. We’ve seen that Dorne prefers to use painting rather than metal coloration and stains. We also know that they wear robes over their armor to help with the heat, which helps give us a very distinct image that reminds me a little bit of Turkish janissaries:

The Dornishmen would probably decorate their robes and silks finely for ornamentation rather than their armor; it’s easier, more visible, and less resource-intensive. For their finest spears, they probably inlay their hafts with bone, horn, and tortoise shells for poorer houses, and mother-of-pearl and ivory imported from Essos for the richer houses.

Thanks for the question, Overlord.

SomethingLikeALawyer, Hand of the King

History, repeated

Originally posted by starsmahogany

So, I was cleaning up my google docs, and I found this drabble I wrote last June. For what reason, I no longer remember, but I thought I’d throw it up here. Nothing but fluff.


History, repeated

They play together in the meadow. The dancing girl with the dark hair and blue eyes. The laughing boy with blond curls and grey eyes. She’s lean and lithe, her musical voice ringing clear as she calls to him. He’s no longer a chubby toddler and can almost keep up with his sister now. My children.

And curled in my lap, napping; my little surprise, my baby girl who decided our family wasn’t quite finished before she arrived to join us two years ago.

Whenever the other inhabitants of District Twelve see her they inevitably comment on how she’s Peeta’s little clone, they joke about whether we’re sure who the mother is. Whereas my dancing girl and laughing boy are each a perfect blend of me and Peeta, our little unexpected bundle is someone entirely different.

At a glance, she is her father; pale skin, blonde hair and blue eyes, even his cleft chin. But I know better.

Her hair is spun gold, and fine as silk, unlike her father’s ashy waves. Her eyes are a deeper blue than Peeta’s, with flecks of grey swimming in their depths. My daughter is a perfect replica not of her father, but of the aunt she’ll never know.

And though she’s only two she’s already showing Prim’s nurturing nature, offering hugs and comfort freely, and utterly without reservation.

There are days, now that she’s toddling, when she walks into a room and the light shines through her baby-fine hair just so, and I’m transported back to a simpler time. To a tiny shack where a man and a woman loved each other deeply and doted on their children. To a home filled with love. Life wasn’t perfect then, but it was good. So good.

Then the spell is broken by my husband scooping the baby into his arms to blow raspberries across her tummy, by my little boy launching himself into my lap for snuggles and stories, by the songs my raven-haired daughter sings for her little brother and sister, vowing to look out for them always. And I realize that I have that life again. A man and a woman who love each other deeply, who cherish their three beautiful children in a home filled with love.

Life isn’t perfect. But it’s ours. All five of us.

the venus signs as  extracts I wrote

Aries:  As I was younger, I met a boy. Deep, deep in forest he lived in a cave, high up in the mountains. He was feared by his power, his long, sharp fangs, dark eyes, his animalistic behavior and hair, that was long and untamed. Wolf boy, that’s what my village called him. This boy was cold and forceful in everything he did, though he had a soft side. I saw it, once. I hated the narrow minded community in my home town, so I fled in the deep green of the nature to escape shallowness for a minute and explore reality in its purest form. The deeper I got into the forest, the more attention I gathered, by one specific creature. This was the first time that I met this boy. He was in my age and he asked me what I wanted here. I saw that he was careful with human beings - since he was something oddly different, I do not know till now if he was a spirit or guardian of the nature or just returned to the wild - but I saw that he had interest as well. The interest and fascination with the tiny amount of fear the both of us had grew to friendship, and soon, as I turned 18 I realized that I fell in love with this boy and the boy fell in love with me. The wolf boy remarked constantly that I was pure fascination, he could not stop thinking about the words I say, the actions I did, my face - not even at night. But the love took an ugly end. Though our relationship was a big adventure itself since the both of us were from another world, he kept tyrannizing my home town. He said it gave him joy and excitement and that I was just too prude and his pride did not let him feel just a little bit empathy for me. I tried convincing him to stay with me. We could have gone somewhere else, live in another small village together and just keep contact with my family since I loved them - but his raw love decided to turn against me. I turned to to his enemy and I became ‘one of them’. From this day on, he left the forest he lived in and I miss him still.’

Taurus: I am what they call a ‘femme fatale’ or, if you like, a maneater. I do not know my purpose, I honestly am as clueless as the poor creatures which soul I take every night. One day, I woke up, laying on a cold ground and the only thing that was in the room with me has been this giant mirror. I looked at myself. It is not like I had a life in the past or was I plainly made like this? Made for this life? I do not know. I just know that my full lips and curves are hypnotizing them and my deep, brown eyes are grabbing them so tightly, none of them would ever be able to forget me. And that is a fact. None of these men ever forgot me. Me or my voice, my soothing laugh and light touches. They bought me red dresses made out of fine silk, the wrote letters, telling me how they missed my soft, sun kissed skin. I loved that. Somehow it was nice to be spoiled. I drank the best champagne, ate the most exotic fruits and had my senses pleased by every good willed or desperate soul that crossed my way. That was my life before I got rejected. Rejected by a guy, so simple and dull looking, ugh, it gives me headaches just thinking about it. “I don’t want your company”, he said and ignored me. He even looked into my eyes but was still not reacting. Wasn’t I something different? Wasn’t I the demon that visited them every night just to slowly kill them? “Do you tell me, I am not appealing?” He dared to nod. “Yes.” I noticed how my real raging, evil nature wanted to show itself but I gritted my teeth and went back to my apartment. Hadn’t I everything I needed for them to fall in love with me? Wasn’t that what I was made for? As I cried hysterically, I noticed a little piece of paper lying on my desk. A little bit confused I picked it up and read the short sentence written on it. ‘Look in the mirror’, it said. Suddenly I was scared. What was that supposed to mean? A joke of some guy that in the end turned out to be vengeful, huh? So I looked into the mirror. And in front of me was an old woman. The woman was not ugly, but she did pass her best years in life already. I screamed and out of shock I threw the mirror to the ground, it shattered and little pieces of glass flew to my feet. I threw every mirror out of my house. What if it hasn’t been their souls keeping me alive? It doesn’t matter, because I refuse to believe that this is me.

Gemini:  I remember that my grandma told me many stories as I was younger. She told me a lot of her childhood, especially about her school time. Every dinner at her house ended with tears of laughter because of the memories she shared with us. One day though, she told me something I couldn’t believe at all. It was at her 74th birthday, the last birthday we celebrated with her. “As I was younger, there was not much to laugh about, I know, it doesn’t seem like it sometimes, but the times were harder than now, we had no time to be kids. And as I turned 14, I was an adult in the eyes of my parents. One day as I sneaked out of the house to play with a friend of mine - I wasn’t allowed to go out because I had to tidy up the house, but oh well, I didn’t felt like doing so this day - when I noticed that there  was a new family that moved in the house that was empty for years. I was and still am very curious, so I observed it all a bit. The family seemed regular, nothing really special, but the older brother out o these two - he was sixteen if I remember correctly - he was special. I don’t know what he was but for me he was a magician. No, something higher, like a chosen one. A story teller from another world. Since I was a polite girl I asked him if he want to play something outside - or if he wants me to show him the neighborhood - and soon the boy called Josh turned out to be my vanishing point, because the things he told me…they became real.” As my grandmother told me that I was highly alarmed. Maybe she was not right in the head because of her age, but then again she never showed any kind of symptoms or has been seriously ill. So I kept on listening and what she told me was unbelievable.
“ One day he asked me to close my eyes while he wanted to tell me a story he just heard and really liked. I did, since I did not see any harm in it and as his words - so full of energy and life - reached me, I felt a mildly stronger wind soothing me. “Open your eyes, carefully and don’t panic”, he told me and I literally could hear his grin. I was in a land mad out of clouds and everything gold, the sky was bright and blue, but somehow you could see the stars, planets, the moon and the sun. Even the earth. “What is that?!”, I asked as I started to feel anxious but he just kept smiling and told me that this was his own world. Well, from this point it was our world. Every day we tried to meet and every day we could imagine and create the world like we wanted. A world where we fought pirats like they did in Neverland and we talked to animals and I gained all kind of secrets the nature there bared. He was from another universe. He taught me everything beautiful and the power of imagination. If it wasn’t real of course. But one day as we actually wanted to meet again, he and his family strangely disappeared. As I asked the neighbors and my parents, they told us they never heard of their name before.

Cancer: You were innocence and brutality. You were the only sanity I had and somehow nothing but distraction of my mind. As I saw you the first time everything turned quiet and everything turned grey, except you. You shined in every color and my heard started bumping for the first time in years. I never talked to you, but sometimes I watched you reading your book in the middle of the class as you couldn’t care less about math and in the breaks you walked behind the school building with your friends and smoked a cigarette after another until there was no time left and you came late to almost every lesson and you smelled like smoke but that was okay. You kind of made me like this smell. You were the giant waves burying me every night as I realized it will never work out but you also were the gentle breeze at the beach in the afternoon as I sat down by the shore and thought about us - looking at each other and not even realizing what the other one thinks.
My heart ached just thinking about you and I flee into a world of lucid dreaming, lilac and pink toned skies with orange clouds adorning them, and I flee into a world filled with anxiety and fear of never being yours because I need you, but I guess you never thought about being with me. I search for broken sea shells because they remind me of something I wished to be, a thought, a wish, that was meant to fail from the beginning,
I wonder what I reminded you of me. Maybe I was only the boy who had math and history with you. Maybe I reminded you of nothing at all.
Maybe I was never a part of your world. 

Leo: Every night I walk up the sky. A ladder out of clouds appears in front of my window, I open it and make my way up to the sky where I will find the most bright and shimmering stars out of all. They are made out of something we human beings describe as ‘stardust’, but do you know what stardust is, actually? No, and I no clue either, but sometimes, when you look someone and you share  a deep, mutual feeling? Like love, joy, or even sadness? That’s how it looks like. I know, I know, it is complicated. But, every time i look at you I hope I will see this kind of shimmering in them, because your deep, brown eyes remind me of the darkness of the night sky and every night when I climb to the stars I sit among them and watch you having the most vivid dreams. Sometimes they are happy dreams, sometimes they are full of disturbing images, so horrific that I take a little bit of the golden dust and let it trickle onto you. And when you wake up and we see each other at the bus station I see you smile, no dark circles under your eyes: you must have slept well. You know, up there in the sky is a castle, the night told me it was created for me, and it is made out of gold and silver, jewels, little opals and rubies that are illuminating the walls and window sills and the ceiling is painted and the most glorious pictures are placed on it, like Michelangelo himself visited the dream castle. And on the ground made out of marble I dance, every night. All alone, once in a while in beautiful clothes made out of silk and satin but mostly in my casual clothes, like you tend to see me every day in. The instruments play on their own and I sing to the music. Everything is shining and my heart is pumping and you do smile at me from time to time but my heart feels very heavy, you have to know. I show you, I really do show you that you are blessed with the beauty of the stars but I am afraid and maybe asking you if you need money for food in school or telling you that I like your sense of humor isn’t enough.
Because I climb up to the stars for years now, the stars that do greed me once in a while, but do not love me as much as I wish you to love me. I dance alone, all alone in this castle and I cry all alone on this castle. Maybe one day, you will dance with me.  

Virgo: I was working for this family my whole life, since my little body was fished out of the lake by our dearest Lord, I was forever deeply indebted to him and his family. I was happy I could for such an honorable family. I was glad that I had something that I was able to call ‘home’. A bed. Some books. Education - not the highest, but enough. And a perspective. As a person maiden I was everything that the younger woman in the village sometimes wished to be: the true hidden gem in the most respected household in the country. But there was something missing. 
I looked at my shaking hands as I was washing the dirty clothes of my Lord’s wife. Suddenly, the water turned red. I felt a stinging sensation on my hands and pulled them out quickly, furrowing my brows I looked at them. 
They bled. 
It felt so wrong. Those hands that already looked like the one of a 50 years old, even though I would celebrate my 21th birthday this year. There was nothing I could truly give. From the bottom of my heart. There was nothing. 
Out of nowhere, a light touch on my shoulder gave me a shiver.
It was the Lord’s oldest son. “You, it’s late, go, get some sleep, let others finish it.” I wanted to protest - kindly of course - but he saw right through me. “You’ve done enough today. You deserve to rest - but let me help you with your hands first.” He smiled gently and his almond eyes gave me a feeling o security and warmth. “Thank you.”  From this moment on, I felt devoted to the son, it was a love made out of thankfulness and pure adoration. The Lord’s eldest son did not even care about my being and the effort I did, but he was gentle and not too harsh as some people here were. In special occasions he even asked for advice. I was able to give him a piece of my views and believes and he kindly treasured my words. I cried happy tears as my love’s wedding took place and I was allowed to give my opinion on the decoration and wedding theme. My love was unrequited but it was honest till the end. 

Libra: “My dear son, what are you looking at again?”, the father asked as he washed the dishes. They just finished breakfast. His thoughts being interrupted, the boy blinked before turning to his father. “I’m sorry father, I will help you instantly.” 
“You know, looking out of the window every day isn’t good, you will lose your sense for reality.” The son thought about this statement the whole day and the day after and even the day after that. “Why should I stay inside and help my father with his work? I am a living being after all. After all, I…I do feel as well.” The wooden boy went to the window in his bedroom and saw the neighbor girl, picking some flowers, probably for her ill grandmother. Once in a while when he was allowed to go out for a walk he chatted with her a bit - she was bubbly, but after all very soft and kind. Some people were fascinated by him, some told his father he should sell him to a museum or let scientist examine him, in the end no one knew how his father made the wooden boy come alive. And then there were people that were deeply afraid of him, calling him words like ‘monster’ or ‘accident’. “Oh my dear son, do not listen. You may think a little bit too rational sometimes, but after all you just came to live a few months ago - you still need to learn  and learning is one of the most common, human things on earth.” Yes, that indeed was true, but his father never saw what was going on inside his wooden heart. He was feeling like everyone else did. He wanted to help others, he wanted to socialize, but every time he gave, no one wanted to give this mutual feeling back - the feeling of someone special by his side was just too good to be true. This neighbor girl was the only one daring to talk to him and she even went picking flowers with him. The wooden boy was kind, talked politely and with his natural charm a fairy blessed him with the night he came alive, made her feel comfortable - the girl became special to him. One day though he saw the girl kissing a for him unknown boy. “What..what is that kind of feeling?”, he asked irritated and his father answered with the word: “heartbreak”. The wooden boy went to the shore a few days after that and with a wooden boat he made his way to somewhere else. “Pinocchio, where are you going?”, asked the sea concerned. The wooden boy did not know. “I guess I am made out of driftwood”, he answered. 

Scorpio: We sat by the shore and the setting sun let the world look even duller as it already was. His eyes searched for a fixed point, somewhere at the endless horizon, he always did that. Somehow, he never seemed to find one. Sometimes it got really quiet among the both of us. But it was pleasant. There were the crashing waves, the endless screaming of the sea gulls and the howling of the cold, hard wind. But it was pleasant. Somehow everything was pleasant. He was there and every inch of my body was filled with a vivid, magnetic feeling, I wanted to get closer to him, but I never knew if I wasn’t already close enough. I was attached. Attached  by one accidental, simple stroke of his warm hand when we walked through the city, attached by his deep, blue eyes and every time I looked at them I felt as I was jumping into ice cold water. He had a last drag of his cigarette before throwing it to the waves. They devoured it. “What are you looking at all the time, are you searching for  a fixed point?”, I asked simply and watched the cigarette swimming on the surface. He smiled shortly, lowering his eyes, before they moved to me. And it was quiet again. This pleasuring silence, and I knew he thought about something. There was something odd about his stare but in a good way. He smiled again before answering. “There’s no need for that, when you already have one, isn’t it.” 
I was too scared to say something, I was too scared to ask if it was me. Because I knew that he was mine fixed point. This love was like waves pulling me closer to the muddy ground, but I loved the coldness of the sea because he himself was the warmth that greeted me when I made it back to the shore once in a while. I really wanted me to be his everything, just as he was mine. 

Sagittarius:  “I once had a bird. It was the most beautiful,splendid bird I have ever seen, never ever had mother nature created such a beauty again. Once in a while, your eyes catch something so oddly beautiful, you just have to capture it. With his bright and shimmering feathers as it sat there on a branch. As it preened it feathers, I slowly crept up on it, taking my camera and took a picture. It stopped as it heard the clicking noise, but did not flew away. I had the feeling it looked at me, saw right through me. At this moment I thought this bird was new. A new species. I could give it a name, this majestic creature, I could make it my own. From this moment on I investigated all my time observing the time, drawing it, noting down some of my newest observations and thoughts to gain as much knowledge as I could get. But next to it desire to fly all the time, it sang. Often and passionately. Maybe it called a mate. Or some other bird of its species, male or female - it did not matter. Another thing I noticed was, that it was not a timid animal - no, in fact it liked to present itself - but it really had no place to stay. In fact, it rode down the wind, like it was searching for something. A nest? A mate? Sometimes I was scared, because the bird disappeared for days, but it always came back. Somehow, it always came back, but I could never be sure. One day, I was sick of it. ‘Goddammit, for the sake of science, do it!’, I did shout at myself and captured it. It was hard because of it sharp beak. I put it in the biggest cage I could find, I made my home as realistic as the actual forest it lived in. Excited it flew around its cage,a little bit nervous and scared, but over all very confident. I loved this unique, vivid bird, and it loved me as well. It answered me with some of its sing sang once in a while and it even dared to get closer to me. But something changed. The bird slowly started dying. There was no singing. No flying. No chirping. It lied on the ground, breathing heavily, it was exhausted. Moved and concerned by the picture in front of me, I opened the cage, carefully lifted the bird up and lied it down on the window sill. As I came back the bird was gone. I never saw it again.” 

Capricorn: As a florist I am deeply devoted to any kind of plant and the act of making them grow, creating a bouquet of flowers, nature itself - as I was a kid I already felt  like Daphne the nymph in the wood ,the green surrounding me soothed me, I found peace in the nature. Well, as I was 22 years old I got the idea to open my own flower shop - much to the liking's of my parents. I wanted to create something absolutely new: a flower shop with a touch of the unusual, kind of unique, maybe something that you won’t find everywhere.
I wanted to do black flowers.
My parents told me a thousand times that this would ruin me, an idea meant to fail.
But of course, they couldn’t stop me. Years later I opened my flower shop at the end of the city, it was small but cute and my flowers sure caught the attention of passengers and after a while I had some customers trusting me and buying my creations and flowers. But no one really seemed to appreciate the black ones. “They are..ahm…different, honey”, my aunt said as she visited my shop. “You really think that people want them? Flowers are meant to look good, make one happy and let the room look friendlier. This is…quite the opposite.” Before I couldn’t even respond a young man looking at small plants in one corner of my shop interrupted me, apologizing before speaking: “I see them as exciting. They draw attention to them and have something unique, maybe something that not everyone understands.” He smiled plainly before laying his eyes on me. “I’d like black roses. I need for a special occasion.” I nodded. I’ve never seen him before or even nearby but I did as he said. From this moment on he went to my shop every two weeks, only to order some new black roses, he usually was quiet but once in a while he dared asking me questions. A little bit odd sometimes, he was a bit cold, but otherwise kind of magnetic - I don’t know why. One day he stopped coming. After maybe a year. The year he disappeared was also the hardest year for my shop - my grandmother died and I neglected the shop to the point where I was close to abandoning it. It survived in the end, after they saw the rosaries I did for the grave more people gave me and my shop a chance. One day, as I was visiting her grave, I crossed a grave I have never seen before. I read the name out loud and wondered, before I gasped in shock and almost let the watering can fall down. Black roses were placed in front of the tombstone, they seemed old, almost rotten. I wondered if it was him laying six feet underground.

Aquarius: I was just watching. I saw her dancing on the other side of the room, like she was in a dream. The fluorescent light touched her skin softly and all I wanted was to talk to her. But I could not. I was not able to. Sometimes when she went to bed and suffered from nightmares - which she got pretty often - I started stroking her hair and she would sleep tightly and calmly eventually. When she forgot to pack her lunch I would carefully put it in her schoolbag and when she forgot to make her bed after waking up, I gladly did it for her once in a while. “Thank you, darling”, her mother would say. “But mom, that wasn’t me”, was her constant response. Her mother would smile then and lightly shake her head, but her daughter was going insane with her mother not believing her that she didn’t even touch the sheets till 7am. When she came back from school I listened to her soothing voice, humming to the songs that her phone played. I admit, I am not really fond of the music today, but I could get used to it, after all I was an open minded spirit, right? I just wish I could be with her and walk her to school and carry her books and pick flowers with her and all the stuff that she writes in her dairy - yes I admit yet again I read it once in awhile when she decides to write something down. But then I was afraid. I did not know how these things worked out. I mean, for me, things like love will never turn out again, but I was always a bit special when it came to occasions like those. Me, falling for a living girl? I was at the attic almost for 5 days before I decided to visit her. I listened to her calling a friend and she told her that she hated flowers. Hating flowers? Well,I guess I can cancel picking flowers with her now out of my imagination. And she complained about not having anyone for Valentine’s Day. I know, this girl would never ever notice me. Hell, she didn’t even believe in ghosts. But after all, that was the only thing left on earth that mattered for me - this strange love. So instead of flowers I made myself useful and I placed a jar with three fireflies I was able to persuade into being a gift for only one day in front of her door and happily she told her mom about a mysterious admirer. I know, I know, really cheesy. But that day I strangly fell asleeo. As I woke up I saw a bright, white light. Maybe it was my time to go.

Pisces: For you: War is over and I suppose it’s best for me to stay at the Summer’s islands. After such a dark period we would need the time to gather around again and work up the loss of our nation. I heard about your father and I deeply apologize, telling you my honest concern. But he was a good man, he fought for the right side and for justice and peace. After I heard that you are going to marry the oldest son of your dearest father’s friend I want to congratulate the both of you, may you live happily together. I want to be honest and please forgive me speaking so openly about my feelings, but I think it is the best if we would stop interfering with one another from this point on. This moment we live in right now, it is hard but the right time to start things over again. And I can not be a part of your life anymore. Since I was young and I was ordered to be your knight, I felt very attached to you. They describe magic creatures in those fairy tales my father told me not to read. They would make me weak, he said, I should see right in the dead eye of life. But I still read them. They helped me escaping out of the brutality of life. And you constantly did remind me of the dreamy fantasy these books told me about. Like those elves in the fairy tale you moved gracefully through the woods, going for a walk and your soft hair would blow in the wind and reminded me oh so often of the fresh and pure snow. I wished I would be able to vanish those feelings and memories, so I could watch you growing old, so I could see you in your purest form of the celestical being that you are every day. You made me stand up when I wanted to leave war and flee into the woods, when I wanted to escape life. You alone made me stay. And because I adore you with all of my being I wish you to be happy. I will let go. But I needed to tell you before I let you disappear out of my heart and mind. Do not write back, im asking you at this point. Do never change your heart.

CARANTHIR

Aqui esta la imagen para Caranthir (y Haleth!): apariencia.

En mi mente, Caranthir siempre viste con ropas oscuras, pero tambien tengo como headcannon la idea de Haleth regalandole cosas a Caranthir, como esta bonita chalina verde!

Y quizás esta chalina no combina para nada con el resto de la ropa de Caranthir, y tal vez el material es mucho más sencillo que las ropas de seda y bordado detallado de los elfos, pero rapidamente esta chalina de color verde y con caballos amarillos en el borde se volvió la pieza favorita de Caranthir.

…y solo me quitarán este OTP de mis manos frias y muertas.

+

So this is Carantir’s (and Haleth’s!) image. The theme: appearance.

In my mind, Caranthir always wears dark clothes, but I also have this headcanon that Haleth gave him a cute green scarf!

And sure, mayeb that scarf doesn’t match anything Caranthir wears, and maybe the materials are much simpler than the silks and fine embrodiery Caranthir uses, but I like to think this simple scarf with yellow horses quickly becomes Caranthir’s favourite item!

And you’ll take this ship from my cold dead hands.

The Unicorn in Captivity (from The Unicorn Tapestries), 1495-1505

The seven individual hangings known as “The Unicorn Tapestries,” are among the most beautiful and complex works of art from the late Middle Ages that survive. Luxuriously woven in fine wool and silk with silver and gilded threads, the tapestries vividly depict scenes associated with a hunt for the elusive, mythical unicorn.

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A fine brilliant yellow Spitalfields brocaded silk robe à l'Anglaise, circa 1750, 

Woven with brightly coloured large scale oriental poppies, posies and swags, the ground figured with arabesques and wine silk spotted cartouches, the robe with linen lining to bodice, pleated front robings, double tiered engageants with bows, the hem lined in fine yellow silk; with matching petticoat front panel trimmed with pinked furbelows; and a stomacher trimmed with rosettes and braid

anonymous asked:

Do you have any prompts for a quick tempered immortal goddess trying to convince a mortal girl to love her?

Like this?


1) “Love is cruel,” said the girl. “Particularly the love of the gods, everyone knows that. I have no interest in being your plaything.”
“I don’t quite know what god you got your definition of love from, but it is not mine. Passion is not cruelty and tenderness not possessiveness, my heart - be very wary of anyone who would try and convince you otherwise.”


2) “Why won’t you love me?”
“I didn’t realize it was a matter of won’t. We don’t get a choice who we fall in love with, it’s not exactly a logical debate,” the girl said. “At least not to humans.”
“Could you love me?” The goddess rephrased, trying to wrap her head around the volatility of the human heart. She saw the girl duck her head to hide a lovely smile.
“I suppose you can always try and persuade me,” came the lightness of her reply.


3) “I could give you everything,” the goddess murmured. “All you’d have to be is mine.”


4) The goddess plied her beloved with the nectar of the gods, bestowed her fine silks, the prettiest flowers, the sweetest of fruits. None of it seemed to work.
“What is it you want?!” She cried out finally, in frustration and despair. “What would make you love me?”
“Well, being yourself would be a start. I don’t need pearls, and you were of the earth and the sunshine once. Of storm and star and flame. Love me,” begged the girl. “Don’t try to buy me.”


5) “I could make you love me!” The goddess lost her temper. 
“Then that’s not love, it’s mind control.”
“Hundreds worship me, adore me, pray to me. You should be honoured.”
“I know, wow, I can’t believe we haven’t fallen in love already with that mindset.”


6) “I’ve tried to be romantic.”
“Yeah,” the girl tugged a hand through her hair and grimaced. “Kinda not…into romance. Like, at all. Aromantic. Don’t really want to swoon into a sunset.”
The goddess started her, astonished for a few moments. Then - “I have an amazing queen sized bed we could break fucking.” 
“Now that, love, sounds more like it.”

Fishy Feathers Chapter One

FUCK YEAH I ACTUALLY GOT IT DONE!!!!!!! :D
Here, have some cute baby Avian Lance and Mer Pidge! Aka Chick Lance and Guppy Pidge, for now. :3
—————————————
She hated thunderstorms. She didn’t like how they made the waves all out of control and rough. Her mother trilled worriedly as the sky darkened and the waves started turning choppy. They had been playing around in one of the rock formations near the coast, the rest of the pod in deeper waters, when her father called a warning about the incoming storm. She whimpered and clung to her mother, her guppy tail not exactly strong enough yet to swim through tough currents like the ones sweeping through the area.

Without warning, a huge wave came out of nowhere and slammed down on her, knocking her grip off of her mother’s fin and sweeping her away. She screamed in fright, her mother’s loud panicked calls fading as she vanished with the wave.

…………………………………………………

Lance whimpered, looking around the trees and cringing as another raindrop landed on his nose. He didn’t mean to fall from the nest! He just wanted to see that pretty bluebird again! The sky was still dark, the sun not quite risen yet, the storm fading into the distance with the occasional rumble of thunder. He didn’t know how to get back into the nest, his oversized brown and tan wings not quite able to lift him yet, so he stayed on the ground, sad and scared little chirps echoing from his throat.

His Mama was asleep with his siblings, his Papa out on a flight to the nearest human city to buy food. So nobody would notice him until they woke up. He folded his wings around his body clumsily, still not quite used to using them yet. He was only six, still a hatchling. He wouldn’t start flying lessons until he was at least ten or twelve. More droplets splattered his wings, and he huffed irritably. He figured there had to be a drier spot to sit and wait, so he got up and marched determinedly through the forest in search of a warmer and less drippy place.

He stopped at a hill of rocks that tumbled down to a beach, eyes wide. A huge body of water lapped at the white sandy ground and boulders, smooth and rough and his inner chick wanted to climb all over it! Chirping excitedly, he scrambled down the hillside, yelping when he tripped and landed face first into the sand, oversized wings flapping awkwardly in an attempt to stop his fall. He sat up, brushing grains of gritty sand from his cheeks and rubbing his nose with a soft whine of pain.

His head whipped up suddenly. He could have sworn someone had just gasped… getting to his feet, he shuffled forward in the direction of the noise, soft, inquisitive little chirps leaking from his mouth. His Mama always said to chirp before he talked, that way he could get attention on him when he spoke to an adult or stranger. There was a pause, and then something mimicked his chirps back! It didn’t sound like any kind of chirp Lance had ever heard before, it was kinda hollow and higher pitched than his own. Squeaky, like a baby pigeon. He clambered over the rocks to the source of the sound and…

He stared, star struck. Big golden brown eyes stared back, a soft pink mouth full of sharp teeth dropping open in surprise as the pale skinned, green scaled mermaid noticed the goofy, fluffy brown and tan speckled wings on his back. Realization registered to both children, and Lance shrieked and ducked back behind the boulders while the mermaid did the same, curling up into a scaly ball with fins flared and covering her non scaly torso.

After a few minutes of nothing happening, Lance peeked back over the rocks and scanned the ball of green fins warily. Mama had always said that an Avian who got too close to a Mer was sure to be dragged into the sea and drowned. But… then again, Mama said that the Mer were huge and vicious and would attack fearlessly… so why was this one so small? Smaller than him, actually? And… scared? Of him? Why? Plus the fact that she was several yards away from the water, and the rocks looked painful to lay on… and one of her fins, the webbed one on her lower back and further down was bleeding along the base, like something had tried to pull it off. He crawled over, carefully, because he was pretty sure this shaking ball of fish scales couldn’t hurt him right now, plus he couldn’t just stand by and watch her suffer! She probably had a family waiting for her, missing her!

He let out a soft, warning peep before he pressed his palm against the fin covering her face. It wasn’t slimy at all, actually kind of like the really fine spider silk his Mama bought for a dress once, super soft and smooth. The fin pulled back, and the mermaid was staring at him again. Lance offered a reassuring smile. “Um, hi! Are you okay?” He spoke up for the first time that day, words instead of bird sounds. It seemed to startle the guppy girl, because she clicked softly in surprise.

“So, uh, I’ve never met a Mer before, but you look kinda… dry? Do you need anything?” He asked, tilting his head and shuffling his wings nervously. Her eyes followed the movement before she swallowed thickly and blinked back tears. “Wah-der. ’M drai. Owie.” She whimpered, still too young to form proper words but trying to convey the message anyways. Lance recognized the babble as toddler talk, his little brother spoke in it currently. Which meant this Mer was at least two or three years younger than him. “Wah… der? Oh! Water! Okay! I’ll get you to the water then! Um… but first we should bandage your fin… I know!” Lance reached behind his back and tugged at the strings tying his shirt together, the design keeping his front covered and his wings free.

Tugging off the thin fabric, he started tearing it into strips. “Wha’ birdy doin’?” The little mermaid whispered, confused. Lance smiled. “Makin’ a bandaid! Hold still, ‘kay?” He reassured the younger creature, clumsily tying the fabric strips around the damaged fin. He tied it off tightly, so it wouldn’t slip off, and brushed some sand off of the guppy girl’s tail. “Okay, how’s that?” He asked, the mermaid blinking and wiggling her fin experimentally. “Owie bedder!” She squealed happily, propping herself up on her hands to stare to the bandaged fin.

Lance preened, proud of his work. “Okay, let’s get you to the water! I’m gonna hafta carry you though, ‘kay?” The Mer nodded, and Lance wriggled his arms under her body, grunting as he somehow managed to pick her up into a princess carry. “For a small girl you sure are heavy!” He yelped, staggering down the rocks and boulders to the waters edge. She let out an indignant, offended, squeaky pigeon chirp and smacked his cheek with a webbed hand, pouting. “Sorry, sorry, I’m just not used to carrying smaller people with tails. All my siblings have wings you kno- AAAAH!” He cut himself off with a startled screech as he slipped on a particularly wet rock and fell forwards into the shallows of the sea, the mermaid sent flying before she plopped into deeper waters.

She surfaced quickly, worried about the fluffy winged boy, and promptly burst out laughing. High pitched, joyful, amused chirruping trills of mirth practically leapt out of her mouth as she took in the sight of the shocked and soggy birdy boy in the water on his hands and knees, wings puffed up in surprise. Lance blinked and sat back on his knees in the water, still a little stunned. It was wet, yeah, but a different kind of wet. Salty and moving and warm and almost alive somehow. And… he loved it! He made an excited little chirp and spread his large wings wide, sweeping them low and getting them wet. The pigeon chirping mermaid swept closer, still making those happy little giggles, and splashed him with more salty water. His face lit up and he splashed her back, laughing. This was so much different from the rain! The ocean seemed to play with them too, small waves crashing into him when he went too far out and pushing him back to shore, tugging lightly at his shorts and wings, splashing him and getting him thoroughly soaked as he chased the little mermaid around excitedly.

A few hours later the sun was fully up, and he was resting against a boulder with his wings and everything under his waist completely submerged, leaning against his new Mer pal. “So… I never learned your name, by the way?” He asked the tired out guppy next to him, and she hummed quietly. “Mom named me-” a series of clicks and squeaks followed her words, and Lance blinked. “-bu’ my Word name is Kadie.” The mermaid finished, smiling. Lance thought a moment. “Katie? Mm… doesn’t suit you. But Pidge does! Can I call you Pidge?” Lance asked, tilting his head towards her in order to gauge her reaction. Katie’s face lit up. “Like a birdy?” Lance nodded. “When you chirp, you sound like a baby pigeon. So, Pidge!” The newly dubbed Mer clapped her hands excitedly. “Pidge! Pidge! I’m Pidge!” She cried, absolutely thrilled with the nickname.

"I’m Lance! And you’re Pidge!” Lance introduced, Pidge grinning enthusiastically. “Lance! Fluffy birdy Lance!” She cooed, and Lance giggled. The happy fun time was interrupted by distant, loud, trilling calls from Pidge’s pod. Lance perked up at the sound of his Mama calling his name nearby. “Aww…. I gotta go home now…” Lance pouted, Pidge drooping as well. “Play ‘morrow?” She asked the Avian boy, splashing him lightly again. Lance stood up and stretched. “Yeah! Course we can! But it has to be a secret okay? Nobody can know, they’d separate us.” He made a shushing sign with his hand, Pidge mimicking the signal. “Mhm! Nobody know!” She giggled, as her pod called again. “Bye Pidge! I’ll see you tomorrow!” He said, wading onto the beach as his fishy friend waved goodbye before diving into deeper waters.

…………………………………………………

Pidge pulled the shirt bandage off of her fin, swimming towards her mother. She was instantly engulfed in a crowd of worried pod members, her mother squeezing her tight and clicking furiously about how worried she’d been while her father and brother pressed in close, Matt examining her scabbed up fin. “Where have you been? We’ve all been worried sick!” The pod leader, Alfor, scolded her lightly, and she played with her fingers nervously. “Beached!” She shot back defensively, and gasps of horror echoed through the pod.

Many times a young beached Mer was either killed by drying out or by being killed because of another species looking for easy prey, as guppies hadn’t developed the shifting ability yet. The shifting ability allowed Mer to go on land, but only after puberty hit, around twelve years of age. The first time was pretty painful, and they resembled humans, which is why it was used as a last resort when beached.

Alfor softened instantly. “At least you made it to the water in time… I think you should stay in the cove until you’ve healed, alright?” Pidge nodded, already planning how to sneak out to see her feathery friend on land.

………………………………..

"Goodness Lance, you’re soaked! What where you doing out there, playing in the lake? And where is your shirt!?” His Mama berated him as she flew him up to the nest, his siblings already crowding around and chirping with questions. “Mama! I told you! My shirt ripped when I fell from the tree and I’m all wet 'cuz I fell into a big puddle!” He complained as she fussed over him, ruffling his hair with a towel and drying him off before she bundled him up in warm clothes and blankets, constantly checking for a fever.

His Mama sighed in exasperation. “My little chick, you’re too curious for your own good! Next time you fall from the tree, you climb the branches or wait for someone to come get you, understand? No more of this wandering off!” She scolded him, and he huffed quietly as she started working on drying out his wings.

Now to figure out how to get to the beach tomorrow…

—————————–
Chapter one is done and I am taking a nap, goodnight- ugh-
*flops onto bed and sleeps instantly*
(The Shance comes into play later, I just wanna focus on the Pidge and Lance sibling dynamic for now ;3)

Juban. Early to mid-Meiji period (1868-1900), Japan. The Kimono Gallery. A fine silk juban (underkimono) featuring the rare motifs of ‘Suzume Odori" (Sparrow Dance). Painting on silk. The Sparrow dance originated about four hundred years ago - in 1603 - as an improvised dance by drunken Osaka-based stonemasons at the formal celebration in the presence of the area’s lord Date Masamune in honor of the construction of Sendai Castle. With its upbeat tempo, energetic movements and hopping dance which resembles sparrows pecking their food, and because the family crest of Date is “bamboo and sparrow”, the dance came to be called “sparrow dance”. This is the only extant 19th century Sparrow dance kimono that we have come across. It was likely created and worn in the Sendai area in northern Japan, the homeland of the Sparrow Dance tradition.

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Italian Decorated Parade Armour of King Philip III of Spain from 1585 on display at the Victoria and Albert Museum in London

From top to bottom, the Burgonet, breastplate and gauntlets comes from a a series presented to the Spanish royal family in the 1580′s. Tailor-made parade armour was iron clothing: the pointed ‘peascod’ breastplate imitated fashionable doublets. Draped with fine silk sashes and with helmets sprouting plumes of ostrich feathers. Such armour was for effect and display rather than protection in battle. Inspired by ancient Roman armour it transformed Renaissance nobles into classical heroes.