Just Copying Pasting An Ask Warsofasoiaf Got Because I Would Looooove So Much To Hear Your Thoughts About

Just copying pasting an ask warsofasoiaf got because I would looooove so much to hear your thoughts about it. World building question: you've talked about regional cuisine, but how about regional clothing styles and so on? We got a pretty good idea of how it is for the Dornish, but how about the rest, if you don't mind putting your world building hat again? I love your blog so much and all your insightful metas.

Oh thank you so much! What a fun question! @becauseforoncethisisme was also asking me about this, so I’m just gonna answer you both here, if that’s ok!

For the Targaryens in their prime, I imagine prominent collars for the men, and the open-fronted 1590s Elizabethan-style ruffs, with a large supportasse for more formal occasions, because when I think about dragons, I think about the prominent spikes around Smaug’s head or the spitting dinosaur or the bony frill on a triceratops. (GRRM himself can’t take this headcanon away from me.) 

For the North, I imagine clothing like medieval Russia, layered styles, lots of fur and wool, colorful, elaborate, lots of embroidery, much heavier looking than the tv show, hats are a must. Appearance is important but warmth is the primary concern. (Wanna see the Kingsroad through the Neck? Check out Russian swamps. Also.)

For the Riverlands, which are the heartland of Westeros, something like medieval German clothing. For the Vale, which is more isolated, something like the clothing in medieval Denmark, Norway, Finland. 

For the Westerlands, I have two words: Wearable Wealth. If you got it, bb, flaunt it. I picture this a lot like medieval England but lots of cloth of gold, lots of gemstones sewn onto the clothing, such as the rubies Cersei has sewn into the bodice of her mourning gown. Elaborate styles of both clothing and hair (updos) that require the assistance of lots of servants to help you get ready everyday. Innovative ways to waste fabric, including pleated sashes on men and pleated gowns on women. Completely useless articles of clothing like half-capes. Lots of imported textiles, like Myrish lace, silk. Velvet. Elaborately tooled and/or dyed leather. (The westerlands cattle industry is actually canon. tywin’s tooled-leather, bright golden yellow boots may not be canon, but they’re canon to me.)

For the Reach, I picture styles resembling medieval France.  Similar to the Westerlands, but adjusted for warmer and sunnier climes. (No immodest midriff cutouts like Marg on tv.) 

For the Stormlands, I think there would be some influence from Dorne, the way Eastern styles influenced the Byzantine Empire, so I would kind of go with something Byzantine for Stormlander fashion, maybe think about the styles worn by crusading knights in Jerusalem to take into account the martial / spartan culture of the Stormlands. 

What regional clothing styles do other people imagine? Feel free to reblog and add your own headcanons / worldbuilding!

Sandor and Sansa can't stop, won't stop touching each other

So after having another attack of Sansan feels, I was compelled to blog about them again, and it occurred to me that these two are ALWAYS touching one another. In fact, in nearly every single Sansa chapter, from the beginning to the end of their interactions, they are making bodily contact. Here’s the proof for your shipping pleasure:

AGOT: 

1. Their first encounter:

Strong hands grasped her by the shoulders, and for a moment Sansa thought it was her father, but when she turned, it was the burned face of Sandor Clegane looking down at her, his mouth twisted in a terrible mockery of a smile. “You are shaking, girl,” he said, his voice rasping. “Do I frighten you so much?”

2. After the Hand’s tourney, when he is escorting her back to her room:

Sandor Clegane put a huge hand under her chin and forced her face up. He squatted in front of her, and moved the torch close… His fingers held her jaw as hard an iron trap. His eyes watched hers. Drunken eyes, sullen with anger. She had to look…

The silence went on and on, so long that she began to grow afraid once more, but she was afraid for him now, not for herself. She found his massive shoulder with her hand. “He was no true knight,” she whispered to him…

The Hound caught her by the arm and leaned close. “The things I told you tonight,” he said, his voice sounding even rougher than usual…

3. In the aftermath of her father’s death when Joffrey comes to her: 

Sandor Clegane scooped her up around the waist and lifted her off the featherbed as she struggled feebly. Her blanket fell to the floor. Underneath she had only a thin bedgown to cover her nakedness. “Do as you’re bid, child” Clegane said. “Dress.” He pushed her toward her wardrobe, almost gently. 

“Here, girl.” Sandor Clegane knelt before her, between her and Joffrey. With a delicacy surprising in such a big man, he dabbed at the blood welling from her broken lip. 

ACOK:

4. Returning from the godswood:

She was racing headlong down the serpentine steps when a man lurched out of a hidden doorway. Sansa caromed into him and lost her balance. Iron fingers caught her by the wrist before she could fall, and a deep voice rasped at her… 

The Hound gave her a push, oddly gentle, and followed her down the steps. By the time they had reached the bottom, he had lapsed back into a brooding silence, as if he had forgotten she was there. 

“That one there is nothing to fear, girl. The Hound laid a heavy hand on her shoulder. “Paint stripes on a toad, he does not become a tiger." 

"A hound will die for you, but never lie to you. And he’ll look you straight in the face.” He cupped her under her jaw, raising her chin, his fingers pinching her painfully. “And that’s more than little birds can do, isn’t it? I never got my song." 

5. After the riot:

Sandor Clegane cantered briskly through the gates astride Sansa’s chestnut courser. The girl was seated behind, both arms tight around the Hound’s chest.

6. On the eve of the Blackwater battle, atop Maegor’s Holdfast: 

A stab went through her, so sharp that Sansa sobbed and clutched at her belly. She might have fallen, but a shadow moved suddenly and strong fingers grabbed at her arm and steadied her. 

7. Night of the battle; Sansa’s room:

"I could keep you safe,” he rasped. “They’re all afraid of me. No one would hurt you again, or I’d kill them. He yanked her closer, and for a moment she thought he was going to kiss her. He was too strong to fight. 

Some instinct made her hand and cup his cheek with her fingers. The room was too dark for her to see him, but she could feel the stickiness of the blood and a wetness that was not blood. 

My brief, completely unnecessary analysis: 

Physical contact has been a hallmark of their relationship right from the start. Whether Sandor is being gentle in his touch, or roughly holding her jaw in place,  he’s never been afraid of touching her in order to communicate frustration and anger, or comfort and reassurance. Sansa on the other hand, touches him mostly to confer empathy and understanding. Even in the chapters where there’s no physical contact, we still see a natural connection between the two: the name day tourney when the Hound backs up her lie to Joffrey, and later when she’s beaten in the court and he passes her his cloak. Their moments of contact can be classified in three main categories: accidental, intentional and instinctive, which happen to mirror the development of their relationship in King’s Landing, as they are gradually drawn together in a kind of perverse camaraderie. It’s fitting then that their final time together should see them reaching a climax of sorts in physical intimacy, as the dark confines of her bedroom provide the perfect setting to give vent to the emotional strains that have been building in both of them. Between his pulling her closer, and later when she cups his cheek and feels the mixture of blood and tears, they’ve each managed to communicate something that goes way beyond what they were capable of dealing with at that particular time. What is clear though, is that the familiarity they’ve achieved with one another and the desire it seems to inspire afterwards, holds within it a promise for future fulfillment (if, you know, GRRM doesn’t turn into a massive troll). 

soap bubble nebula’s Imagine Masterlist

Marvel

Bucky Barnes

Short

Frat Party

text me (masterlist)

11 blocks

Only Look At Me

Attached.

Left Behind

Crush

Missed Chances

Insomnia

Truth or dare?

Connected

The Experiment

Adore You (masterlist)

Going Under The Knife

The Wretched. [Bridgerton AU]

Thor

- Goddess Series:

Finding the Future Queen

I found you

Safe - Part 1, Part 2

Ascension

Unconditionally

Peter Parker

Far From Home - Part 1, Part 2

Steve Rogers

Teasing

Choose

Safe with Me. 

Stephen Holder

First Date

Injured & Afraid

Hostage

On Call

Draco Malfoy

When I Got to Know You - Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4

Reign

Bash

Bastards

How would Loki react to an unplanned pregnancy?

Secrets

Loki x Pregnant!Reader

Word Count: 1,829

Warnings: fluff :3

A/N: I got like, 6 requests for this exact scenario. Y’all REALLY hungry for dad!Loki huh 

“Oh, come now,” Volstagg thundered from across the table, a goblet of mead in his hand. “You sorcerers read minds all the time, I know it!”

“It’s not true!” You insisted, laughing. The midsummer banquet had long since ended, but Thor’s group of close friends – yourself included – had simply elected to move the party to his wing of the palace, where you could continue to revel and drink uninterrupted. “Seidr allows us to influence minds only.”

“I don’t believe it,” the red-bearded warrior decided. Finding your answer dissatisfactory, he turned to the more knowledgeable of the two sorcerers at the long table. 

Loki regarded his gaze with the faintest of smiles. “Yes, Volstagg?”

“Can you read minds, Silvertongue?”

Loki took a sip of his drink, which he had undoubtedly magicked into a finer, more sophisticated liquor besides mead, and raised one dark eyebrow, keeping the table in suspense before shaking his head. “No, I can’t read minds.” 

The group erupted. You and Loki shared a mutual smirk amidst the clamor, and you subtly leaned closer to him, speaking in his ear. “A good thing, too, or we would have no secrets between us.”

“Secrets?” He repeated, a confused smirk lighting his poet’s mouth as he lowered his goblet and met your eyes. “What have you yet to tell me?”

Butterflies fluttered in your stomach, and you forced them down with a nonchalant shake of your head and a light kiss to his cheek. 

“Nothing,” You lied, covering genuine anxiety with a coy and playful tone that, hopefully, he wouldn’t see past.

You hadn’t figured out a way to tell Loki yet.

Keep reading

everytime loki uses magic:

Do you ever think you'll stop drawing fanart? No offense it just seems like the kind of thing you're supposed to grow out of. I'm just curious what your plans/goals are since it isn't exactly an art form that people take seriously.

Ah, fanart. Also known as the art that girls make.

Sad, immature girls no one takes seriously. Girls who are taught that it’s shameful to be excited or passionate about anything, that it’s pathetic to gush about what attracts them, that it’s wrong to be a geek, that they should feel embarrassed about having a crush, that they’re not allowed to gaze or stare or wish or desire. Girls who need to grow out of it.

That’s the art you mean, right?

Because in my experience, when grown men make it, nobody calls it fanart. They just call it art. And everyone takes it very seriously.