#anyone else remember the mouldy bread

[saphirered]

Hey there! Can I please request a Percy x reader where Percy and the reader grew up together and she is a sorcerer of some kind and she helped Percy and Cassandra escape from the Briarwoods and they get separated but are reunited years later and the reader then starts travelling with Percy and Vox Machina. Also, can it based on the show because I haven't started watching the stream yet.

Went a little angsty with this one but we get a nice and wholesome end. Hope you enjoy it! 😘

Thankfully those closest to him outside of family are completely and utterly insignificant in the eyes of the Briarwoods. They didn’t hold the power, and those who did were easily disposed of or turned to their side. Sure there was a massacre, but those who submitted would at least live. Child of nobility resigned to nothing more than a servant. That too was a ploy. It takes guts to tell a boldfaced lie to the face of the people-no monsters who could make you beg for a swift death in so many ways. Guts or stupidity. Yet his friend still did and so Archie blended into the shadows, away from the dangers looming within the castle. The cook-dead. The child? Missing for a few days but turned up again. Yet that cook’s child; not Archie. No that would be you. You were resigned to the role of the help. Thank the gods you’re a fast learned and have uncanny survival instincts even though you sometimes are reckless. 

Your fine silks and velvets had been exchanged for rags torn and stained. Instead of books you’d hold dirty dishes. Instead of ink staining your hands, they would be raw from the cleaning. Percy thought he’d cry when you entered that cell, head low, plate of food-if it could even be called that-in your hands. You’d kneel at his side, and if no one was near you’d hug him. You’d hold him and tell him everything would be alright. He came to realise that for those visits, for those times you’d come to comfort him when he needed it most you were risking it all. That alone made you braver than he could ever be. Then a fateful day came. Dinner was prepared for the devils in the castle. You’d had a personal hand in it. Not but waste would be fed to the prisoners. Potato skins, whatever meat left on the bones the good pieces were cut from, stale mouldy bread. You’d earned some trust, were given the key by the guard on duty because the proper meal you brought for them was much more appealing than escorting a child to a prison they couldn’t leave anyway and wait for a prisoner to eat. 

From that moment on Percy realised you’d go to any lengths to make your promise to him come true; you’d get him out. He’d live a life beyond these walls. You’d poised the meals. It did little to the Briarwoods, obviously but it was plenty to knock a few people off their feet; including the guards in the dungeons. Instead of helping him through another terrible painful day of torture you’d open the door to his prison, to his sisters prison. You’d grab their hands and drag them through these haunted halls. It didn’t take too long before they caught on what happened and chase was given but you gave them enough of a window to escape, enough of a heads start to stand a chance against their torturers. All they had to do is make it to the river. They had to get past it. Lady Briarwood would not allow her darling husband to set foot near it and they’d be gone before anyone else could catch up. That was the plan. Until Ripley…

You fell first. The first shot, well aimed, meant to stop you from running. The second, that one was meant to hurt; the warning of the punishment you’d endure should you live long enough. You shouted for them to keep running. Shouted- no commanded through your pain for him to go. Ripley seemed to have little interest in you and next him and Cassandra had to dodge arrows. She too got hit. He still remembers the look in her eyes, as she fell, she begged him to save her and he ran. He wasn’t brave. He was selfish. He keeps telling himself she was beyond saving. Yet he knows the truth; he left her to die. He left you to die. Those are the moments that haunt his dreams even now. Years later he wakes from the nightmares. Wakes with the guilt and pain and regret and it haunts him.

He finds himself back in the pits of his rage. He finds himself wallowing in pain and driven by fury, commanded by another entity that promised him revenge. It hardly matters this comes at the cost of his soul. Souls are but worthless after all. His own misdeeds are worthy enough of damnation. He has nothing to lose. So he will end them. He will remember their names; remember the names of those they condemned to oblivion and will tear apart the villains of this story, even if that means he might become just like them. If his inventions cause the world to burn it will have been worth it for his vengeance. But then he remembers the people he’s grown to love, who see him for who he is, and even though they know not the full truth, he feels that spark of regret, quickly doused by the smoke demon within. 

The brink of insurrection. They want a leader. Rebels scattered. He can’t be their leader. He’s driven by revenge. He was never meant to lead. His mind has no shortage of excuses why he can’t-won’t. Then he sees your eyes. Your eyes. You stare back at him. Is this a dream? Some twisted imagination? No. You’re here. You’re alive. It’s definitely you. 

“Percival.” You breathe. You’d never expected to see him again. You’d hoped he’d ran far and never looked back yet here he stands. He’s grown quite a bit. Handsome too you suppose, but what were you to expect? Eyes still the same yet heavy with pain and haunted by past ghosts. You suspect you somewhat look the same. For a moment the somewhat stoic nature of the role you'd taken on the past years, falls away. You’re the first to move. You stand in front of him, toe to toe, study him as he does the same. He breathes your name, barely even audible, as you throw your arms around him. He returns your embrace albeit in disbelief. 

“Is this real?” Percy whispers in your shoulder. 

“I could ask you the same question.” You pull back, brushing your thumb over his cheek. The tightness in your throat grows. It’s been years. You’d hoped to never see him again, knowing where your fate lies. You hoped he’d found a new happy life for himself but here he is; haunted by the same demons you fight on the daily. You suppose you have the Briarwoods to thank for one thing; the powers you found. Even now you hear the ticking mechanics and the comforts of turning gears. It’s just a little louder in Percy’s presence even though no one but you hears it. Still, more pressing matters are at hand. Keeper Yennen tries to get the de Rolo heir to lead the rebellion but you know it’s not his place. Perhaps if he chose the path he’d one day make a good leader, but his current path leads elsewhere and he has no intentions to change. Though that doesn’t mean him and his merry band have no use for you and you for them. Archi still needs to be saved. You’d go in alone as was the plan, not wanting to risk a skirmish but with their aid, the odds look pretty good. 

A planning sequence follows. Percy manages to shoot down the stupid plans of some of his companions but his eyes and mind drift to you occasionally. He applauds your patience and ability to take the others seriously despite their idiocies. Every once in a while your eyes will meet his and whatever brews in his heart and mind; the anger, willingness to let himself succumb in this plot for vengeance begins to come into question. Don’t get him wrong, he’ll do whatever it takes, but he might be just a little more inclined to intend to make it out alive, rather than walk into certain death. Perhaps that’s why he even entertains the prospects of working with the rebels to free Whitestone; not just because they’re an advantage to himself but to leave something behind, to give you a chance at life. Things move fast as he’s caught up in his own thoughts and before he knows it you’re off to save the real cook’s son Archi from the Briarwood’s lackeys. 

Obviously things don’t go as planned entirely. Goodness of the heart leaves the others to decide and set free the other imprisoned rebels. He’d have left them. They complicate things and as proven; the leader is much more significant in this whole thing than a couple dozen of loose cannons looking for bloodshed and vengeance of their own against their wardens. It’s proven true as given by the fight that followed. The demon within sensed something. The demon within acted on it and so a name was crossed off. Percy got reckless- no the demon did. He simply lost control, became a victim to the whims of that dark power to fulfil the deal he made. The mask came on, and the name on that barrel disappeared. A life taken. He felt no regret, no remorse, only purpose, but when he turned that cursed weapon of his on his ally-his friend that made him feel a certain way, despite what he might have put forth. 

Not much time can be spent to linger. Time to run. Time to fight. A move was made. Secrecy was off the table though Percy doubts it would have lasted much longer anyway. The Briarwoods knew they were coming. Let them see they were right. Let them see the threat. Smoke them out. But then a legion of undead raised, chased them and killed so many. Like rats trapped they had to scatter. You’d gone with him. You fought well, sure you were decently skilled with a sword; training you received as a child but it was your magic that stood out. You didn’t have that last he saw you. Chased and running, Vox Machina ends up being flanked but that doesn’t seem to be an issue to you. You stop. In your hand you spin a simple copper rod covered in some kind of script he can’t even begin to decipher and slam it in the ground. Save for the release of a wave of magical energy, nothing seems to happen. Nothing-until it does. The hoard of undead coming from behind through all streets and side alleys sent to chase you run against an invisible barrier. 

You notice Percy has fallen to a halt as the others continue looking over their shoulder. Quick as you can you run, grabbing his hand as you dart past and drag him along with you. He says something but you don’t have the mind to listen; the ticking clockwork in your head too loud. Since you had fallen behind more undead have gotten between you and the rest of the group. Not a worrisome amount like the ones you’re keeping at bay for now, but enough to be a nuisance. Percys shoots, they drop like flies but not fast enough. So you do what any good magic user of your caliber would do and summon a bead of red energy in your palm, sling it at the undead and watch it explode in a blaze of glory, nothing but burning corpses left as you keep running. 

Eventually you get a moment of respite. A moment to recover. Everyone catches their breath, This is going from bad to worse and the odds aren’t looking good. The rebels hide, a safe-house gives them some cover and a moment to rest though Percy doubts it’ll last long. There’s no way back, there’s only forward or death. Once again they try to urge him to lead, take up the mantle left by his family, kept by his people but he can’t- no won’t. They can’t make him. He sees you in a corner, looks at you while he responds. He expected some kind of disappointment, or even have you try to urge him to take his rightful spot but you don’t, you don’t say anything, nor is there judgement in your eyes. Instead he sees your weariness. Your exhaustion doesn’t come from your escape from the undead. It comes from the years you’ve been fighting to survive, fighting for freedom. You’ve given your all and you’re running out. The end is in sight, sure but the chances of success are abysmally low. You’ve proven yourself one of the leading parties, and it’s worn you down. You’ll be right at the front lines, first to the slaughter of this disaster. He can’t let that happen. He won’t condemn you to a death that can be avoided. 

“A word, please?” Percy approaches you as you wrap an injury you sustained. Your attention turns to him and with a wordless nod you follow him into another room of the building. As mannered as you remember him, he holds the door for you, and steps in after, closing the door as he does. You wander around the room, picking up trinkets here and there, placing them back where they belonged. You wait. Percy reminds himself he’s the one that called you here. 

“Leave Whitestone.” No use in dancing around the subject, is there?

“What?” You turn to look at him as if he had grown a second head. 

“Leave Whitestone. Run while you still can. You showed you can keep these creatures at bay. You’re more than capable of getting out on your own before the streets run red with blood. Save yourself while you still have the opportunity to do so.” Disappointment. Like a spear to his chest you look at him the way he had never hoped to see, not from you. 

“I’m not going to run, Percy. I can’t leave behind these people.” You counter, a hint of disdain in your voice despite you trying to simmer it. 

“You’ve already given enough for this cause. I’m asking you to live.” 

“Are you going to take my spot then? Are you going to lead the rebels in our fight for freedom while I go off galavanting through Exandria? For years I’ve stood with them, fought with them and held them as they took their last breath. I know my value to them, and I won’t just abandon them, like you’re asking me to. I’m here to make a change.” 

“Is that why you saved me then? To take your place in this worthless war? Is it too much for me to ask you to save yourself and not be so self-sacrificial for once in your life?” Percy ridicules. Stupid sense of righteousness. It doesn’t matter if you’re dead in the end. Your memory won’t be but ashes upon the wind. You won’t die the hero you are. You won’t become a martyr. You’ll just be dead. Another soul lost in another futile battle. Another corpse for the ravens to feast upon. 

“I saved you so you could have a chance at a life of your choosing. Not because I needed you to pick up arms to lead a rebellion. I’d hoped you of all people would give me that same luxury; to choose. This is my choice, Percival. My choice. I’ll pick up the sword especially if you won’t.” Words like venom poison him and his next response. Driven by anger, perhaps not at you directly, but are you deserving of it? No you are not. Still he lets it go because even if he loses all your respect and love for him; at least you’ll be alive if he can convince you to leave. Then again, you are more stubborn than he is. 

“And you’ll die with it too! Can’t you see this only ends in ruin?” Percy all but shouts. 

“Of course I do!” You return with the same gravity but then your look softens to something he hates much more than your own anger. It changes to what can only be as someone who’s come to terms with an inevitable end. Someone who’s made peace with it and has done so a long time ago. He hates it. He hates you’ve reached that point, even though he is very much in the same boat. Two sides of the same coin. He’s shown exactly how similar you’ve become despite your different paths here. 

“I will lay down my life to give these people a chance. Not for my own survival, but for the people who would be next. But most of all I want blood. I will make the Briarwoods bleed for every soul they took, every life they ruined and even then it wouldn’t be enough but at least the world will be rid of them and those lost names will have been avenged. I refuse to run.” The silence that follows is killing. The tension even worse as you study Percy’s every expression. You watch that familiar pain spark to a flame, a hint of anger; not at you, though but at something within himself, then it turns to embers and all that is left is a sadness, acceptance, defeat. His head lowers as he takes in a deep long breath, holds it and breathes out. He nods. You wait. 

“I suppose you’re right. Righteous I should say. Even on your own road to revenge you manage to consider the living. Not just the dead. You’ve always been the better person.”

“If only you knew my misdeeds of the past years.” You manage a dry laugh.

“And if only you knew mine but let’s not turn this into a pain game.” He retorts mimicking your laugh. “If I can’t convince you to run and save yourself, will you at least entertain the thought of staying with me to see this through?” He beats himself for suggesting it, knowing the monster that will come out to claim those on his list and wanting to keep you far away from it, but he’d also rather have you at his side, knowing wether you’ll be alright or not than have you at the front lines of a head-on attack heavily outnumbered. Both lead to potential death, he’s well aware but perhaps with this one he could assure some survival through his friends. And let’s be honest he’d rather have you to have his back than the bard. 

“You want me to come with you?” You think out loud. 

“I’d feel safer knowing I’d have you there to help me erase the Briarwoods existence for good and I certainly wouldn’t be opposed if you decided to stick around after, even if just to celebrate.” Percy admits. The pained undertone in his voice remains, but his statement couldn’t be more genuine. He speaks truth. you know that. The implication of going back to some semblance of normal is both exciting and frightening. So much has changed, and are you even remotely the same people? It doesn’t matter you suppose. You can relearn each other and let bloom something new from what was viciously torn away by the devils in the castle. But then you are reminded; Percy has a life to. He found friends, he built his life and yes it might be built on a desire of vengeance, everything he built doesn’t just fade once he’s completed his goal. Neither is yours but you know just like everyone else in your life, they have their own to rebuild. You’ve already lost everything. The life you had is nothing but ashes and that means you can determine where your future leads. But does that future lie with Percy? 

“And your friends, they’d be fine with that? I don’t want to impose on your group.” Percy would call your sudden insecurity at the idea of joining his friends, cute if you did not once kicked his arse for calling you so. You’d fit in well with them, he knows that for sure. Though, it’s the thought of having you in his life again, getting to rebuild from the ashes you both share, together. You can do this together, and if anything he fears he might just be more likely to crumble without you in his life. Your sole presence keeps him on track. 

“They’ve already grown to like you in our brief adventure. I’m sure that won’t change in the next one. They could use someone like you in their lives and I’m sure our resident cleric could do with another moral compass in the group. Besides, nothing screams forced bonding like a probable death mission, does it.” He manages that half smile of him. You purse your lips and for a second his heart sinks, thinking you’d say no. You don’t say anything. Instead, in a flash of movement you’ve thrown your arms around his middle, burying your head into his chest and hold on. Percy’s shoulders lower from that proper posture he’d been trained to always portray, and he finds himself at ease, gently wrap his arms around you and kiss your crown before leaning his chin atop it. 

“I’ll take that as a yes, then.” Your muffled laugh is enough of a reply for him. You’ll join into the chaos that is Vox Machina. You’re in for a wild ride, wether you know it or not but Percy will gladly take your hand and drag you through it. He’ll be there for you, no matter what, same as you’ve been there for him. Still a dark cloud lingers. A final battle, for now. There’ll be countless battles to come in your future but you may face them together. Whatever dares stand in your ways; you will face it together. 

#critical role x reader #vox machina x reader #tlovm x reader #percy de rolo x reader #percy x reader #percival de rolo x reader #critrole x reader #critical role #critical role fanfic #critical role fanfiction #critical role imagine #percival x reader #percival de rolo #percy de rolo #legend of vox machina #vox machina #critical role x y/n #tlovm x you

[julek]

julek..... perhaps.... if it pleases you.... Lambert and Aiden reminisce about how they first met for the angst for fluff???? <3

There was dew on the grass when he opened his eyes.

Lambert awoke to the sound of Aiden sharpening his dagger, the rhythmic coming and going of the wheatstone against silver comforting as he came out of the fog of his dreams. He rubbed his eyes, sitting up on his bedroll.

It was a cold morning. "Hey," he said, half-asleep.

Aiden paused his movements, looking up in surprise, then flashed him a smile. "Hey." His blade hit the stone once again.

Leaving him to it, Lambert stretched his arms over his head, his limbs protesting. The sun filtered timidly through the trees, bathing the forest floor in the golden shapes of dawn. Lambert got dressed, unhurried, before sitting on a log opposite Aiden, around the now consumed fire from the night before.

"Want some?" He asked, holding out half of an apple to Aiden. He shook his head. "Alright."

He ate his apple in silence, simply enjoying the early morning. The birds flying out of their nests, coming back with a fresh meal for their excited nestlings. The gentle sound of water following its course from the creek nearby, a deer snapping a branch in half under the weight of its hoof.

Aiden spoke first. "Lam," he said, setting his blade aside. "Remember the barn?"

He did. "Yeah," he said with a smile.

Aiden grinned, too. "You weren't smiling much that night."

It was true — Lambert hadn't been too keen on sharing a hay-filled barn with anyone else, let alone a Witcher. Let alone a Cat.

"You were singing that godsdamned song," Lambert groaned, shaking his head. "Sang it even after I punched you in the jaw."

Aiden's laughter was beautiful whenever it reached his eyes. It did, now. "I had an earworm!" He exclaimed. "They're supposed to be shared, you know. Besides, you were the one who suddenly appeared in my quarters, demanding for a place to sleep."

Lambert huffed. "Your quarters? How fancy."

Ignoring him, Aiden continued. "Little did I know you were going to share my bed for a long, long time..." His face was dreamy when Lambert smacked him. "Hey, hey— just tellin' it like it is."

They smiled. Aiden's scar glistened in the sun, white from his forehead down to his cheek, a half-moon shape Lambert had teased him for the night they met. "You were the weirdest person I'd ever met," he admitted. "You kicked me in your sleep like, twelve times. You gave me shit when I breathed on your neck. All you had for breakfast was mouldy bread, and you insisted I have some."

Aiden snorted. "That's when you knew I was the one."

It gave him pause. "Yeah," he said. Aiden's eyes were almost blue in the light, emerald green in the shadows. "Yeah."

They looked at each other. Lambert drank him in, his unruly hair and his day-old stubble, the tear in his armour and the dimple on his left cheek. He looked beautiful.

"Must you really go?" He asked quietly.

Aiden looked up at the bright, cloudless sky. Then he nodded. "It's time."

Lambert knew. Still— "Couldn't I—"

"Lam," Aiden murmured, a rueful smile on his lips. "It's time."

Lambert nodded. He knew. "Bring me some bread next time," he said, his voice breaking, and closed his eyes.

He heard Aiden laugh. "I'll keep it in mind."

Soft lips brushed his for a second, a moment. Lambert wished they had more time. He opened his eyes, and Aiden was kneeling close. He took his face in his hands, pressed their foreheads together. His voice was a raw whisper as he murmured, "If there is a place further from me—"

Aiden huffed a laugh, broken, and Lambert couldn't look at him, couldn't look away. "I beg you," he continued, looking into Lambert's eyes with love. "Do not go."

Lambert closed his eyes. He kept going, thought of the day he promised, "And if, still, I should part—"

"I beg you," Aiden finished, "be the one that buries me."

There was dew on the grass when he opened his eyes.

The cat in his medallion glinted in the sun.

#mywriting #YOU WANTED ANGST? #you made the julek cry. are u happy em #lambden fic #lambden angst #mcd #answered #contemplativepancakes

[pinkcatharsis]

I dunno if I should legit continue this because I can’t remember where I was going with it. Read a prompt at @sloaners anon or a comment in one of their posts (fantastic art btw go check it out!) about Tsunade adopting a bb Tenzou and well. I wrote this and it’s unfinished and yeah.

I actually don’t even have a title for it. Was supposed to be an eventual YamaIru, too. Oh well!

—

Names have power, they say.

Tenzou can agree to a certain point because his experience from his missions, his targets, countless reconnaissance on high profile politicians has proven that people tend to cower from the syllables of a name if they are a threat.

Names carry prestige more than an identity.Names give history, are the pillars for legacy provided it is a name the people can accept. More often than not, it is a vessel for fear, control

They’re also a convenient excuse for people to either sing with high praise or forget because the truth is always a pill too hard to swallow.

Sometimes it lies ignored despite its great sacrifice to stop a rampaging monster, when the womb still bleeds fresh and a goodbye too soon falls from crimson lips. It is ignored because it is easier to hate someone helpless than to acknowledge a name that saved everyone.

Sometimes it is indifferent, distant, as cold as the unreadable, white irises of its clansmen.

Sometimes it lies abandoned, walls cracking, dust collecting over blood stained tatami mats where the weight of shame fueled enough strength to slice through flesh. Shame because of a choice to save one’s comrades as opposed to prioritising the mission.

Sometimes it is soaking in blood, whispers of its massacre echoing loud, and towards the end of it, the word traitor.

And sometimes, they’re just old, only remembered through history that is a core subject within the Academy walls, a prerequisite in terms of knowledge for every Konoha shinobi. They’re faded, scattered, heirless, visually only present through the carvings of stone that towers over the village.

Tenzou is conditioned to not pay any heed to something as trivial as a name. Not when he’s been conditioned, trained extremely well, that the only thing that matters is servitude to the village. That the name Konoha is the only thing of true value.

Greater people have sacrificed themselves for the good of village and now, their heir wanders Konoha’s walls shunned, sneered, hated, ignored. Their names hardly mattered in the present -- it’s like the Yellow Flash only exists as a tier to be achieved in terms of talent, hard work and mission success and nothing else. As if the man behind the legacy hardly existed.

Legacy means nothing, Tenzou realizes, in the grand scheme of things.

When you die, you just die.

It’s okay to die nameless.

*

Tenzou hears about Tsunade’s arrival tucked behind the cover of an open locker door. Apparently, Tsunade-hime is in the village for a visit. And like always, she has spent her first day sitting with her former sensei, having tea until she had flung the table across the room, out the window in a fit of uncontrolled, roiling rage.

“I think it’s because sandaime is asking her to stay,” one fellow ANBU says.

“No, it’s got something to do with her gambling debt for sure,” another says.

“Monkey says it has something to do with the council pressuring her to produce an heir,” a softer voice says.

“I thought she couldn’t?”

“Or she doesn’t want to?”

The conversation explodes, only coming to a sudden stop when the sound of a door opening puts a halt on the outright gossip that Tenzou shamefully has been eavesdropping on. Someone dares throw a table out the window in front of the Hokage? And the Hokage does nothing? Tenzou thinks back to Danzou an Root -- if any of them dared show such insubordination, that would mean at least half a day’s worth of lashings under the scorching sun and then dry fasting isolation for thirty-six hours. Not many tend to survive that but that would just mean they’re too weak to remain in Root, anyway.

“Don’t you guys have better things to do?” Kakashi’s voice cuts through with a drawl. It is followed by a series of locker doors shutting, rapid shuffling and then silence. “Oi, Tenzou. The Hokage needs you.”

Tenzou straightens, tugging his clean armor on and running a comb through his damp hair. He slams his locker shut and gives his senpai a wordless nod, acknowledging the summon.

*

A summon that suddenly renders him not so nameless anymore.

Tsunade is a towering figure, heals almost five inches high, back straight, eyebrows narrowed, hands on her hip and staring down at him like he’s a two year old.

“How old are you?”

“Fourteen,” Tenzou responds, keeping perfectly still. He isn’t intimidated by Tsunade’s persona. He’s just feeling a little too awkward because if Tsunade leaned any closer to examine him, her breasts would be ten centimeters too close to his face to be called professional, let alone proper.

“You are awfully small for a fourteen year old,” Tsunade tartly says, almost disappointed.

“I am a hundred and twenty nine and a half centimeters,” Tenzou agrees, well aware of how stunted his growth is. Danzou always factored his slow growth to the radiation and chemical exposure, a side effect to the experimentation Tenzou miraculously survived. But small doesn’t mean weak, Danzou had said, one of the few times he had been encouraging.

“Do you even eat, boy?” Tsunade scoffs.

“Yes. Five meals a day when I am in the village, continuously supplemented by calorically dense ration bars that Danzou-sama advised to--”

“Hah! Which one -- the one that tastes like sweet wet newspaper or the one that tastes like mouldy bread?” Tsunade snorts.

Tenzou finds himself stammering a little, glancing a little cluelessly at the Sandaime who is taking a very, very long drag from his pipe. Tenzou’s mouth quickly clamps shut before he can voice out his confusion. He can’t honestly say he knows what mouldy bread tastes like nor can he say he’s actually tried eating wet newspaper, let alone a sweetened one. So he goes with what he thinks is the correct response to this kind of inquiry. “The N-4150?”

“Sweet, wet newspaper. At least that old fart chose the better formula.” Tsunade rolls her eyes before taking - thank heavens - a proper step back.

Tenzou blinks once, altering between Tsunade now very put-upon expression and the Sandaime who is standing there as if he were part of the book shelf. “Hokage-sama, should I not continue consuming the N-4150?”

Sandaime rumbles an amused noise, blowing out a slow stream of tobacco smoke before he stands, rounding the table. “Why don’t you demonstrate your Mokuton skills for Tsunade, Tenzou? After all, that is the reason you were summoned here.”

It gets another eyeroll, with a bit of a scoff from Tsunade, who crosses her arms under her breasts.

“Yes, Hokage-sama,” Tenzou acknowledges.

He puts his hands together, channels just enough chakra and forms a small pot in his hands, slowly filling it with roots coiling until it sprouts green leaves, topped with large, black centered white poppies.

“Oh, white poppies,” Sandaime smiles, his face wrinkling. “An interesting choice. You see, Tsunade, Tenzou here has been studying botany for a year now. He’s a bit of an artist with his gardening. Tenzou, didn’t you recently start studying architecture as well?”

“I have only started reading some reference books three months ago, Hokage-sama,” Tenzou responds, with a bit of a nod, as his fingers tightens a little bit around the pot in his hands, not quite sure what to do with his creation-demonstration.

“Hmmm,” Sandaime hums, a touch bemused before he brings his pipe back up to his lips. “Reminds you of someone, doesn’t it, Tsunade?”

Tenzou looks at Tsunade, who in a space of a heartbeat looks far too young in a show of vulnerability, as her throat bobs when he swallows. It gets washed away when he clicks her tongue and turns to look at Tenzou, giving him a once over.

“Well, no one fucks with grandfather’s DNA, gets away with it and then keep it from me. Had it been anyone else but Danzou, Root of all places, I wouldn’t take issue! When did you discover your Mokuton skills, boy?”

“A year before I graduated from the Academy.” Tenzou swallows. “I was five years old.”

“Nine years! With that creep!” Tsuande shouts.

Sandaime’s tobacco inhale had to be the longest one Tenzou has ever seen.

Sandaime exhales, responding with a sigh, “Better late than never, hmm?”

“Fine.” Tsaunde grouches. “I’ll do it. Tenzou, you can call me okaa-san when you’re ready.”

The pot drops from Tenzou’s hands.

“Eh?”

Tenzou thinks it's a good response. Given the proverbial punch to the face he’s just received.

*

It’s not that Tenzou wants to say he cares much for the idea of family.

It’s more like he doesn’t quite know what to do with it.

(What does family even mean?)

So Tenzou, much like every other time he gets moved around like he’s no more than a potted plant, agrees.

Not like it really matters, right?

He thinks of it as just having another sort of… superior?

*

A superior that Tenzou apparently now gets to live with after all of those paperwork.

In a large, inherited estate, closed off, covered in wildly growing flora and fauna. The estate does not look like it’s been lived in for decades. There is damage from the growth of vines, some of it poking through the tatami doors, and getting to the interior of the house. There are a few soda cans littered around the gate, some old, some new. Likely the result of dares from the younger crowd of Konoha.

The once heralded Senju estate that Hashirama and Tobirama and their families once resided in is now nothing more than a shadow of its former glory. Uncared for. Outdated. Obsolete.

“Well,” Tsunade huffs. “I haven’t seen this place in, hmm, ten years maybe? Maybe twelve? Tche, what a dump.”

Tsunade toes an old, faded orange soda can by her heel, kicking it further away.

Tenzou wishes he’s no more than a spore in the ground. Should he say something? He may be a Senju by name and by experimental DNA, but that doesn’t really make him a Senju-Senju.

It’s just circumstances.

“Well? What do you think, kid? You like the house?” Tsunade holds her hand out at the once upon a time regal grounds, now overgrown with weeds and littered with random junk.

Tenzou looks at the estate again and decides to go with the most diplomatically acceptable response there is in this case.

“It’s a lot bigger than my apartment,” Tenzou politely responds, as his eyes stray towards the patch of wildly growing rosary pea and oleander growing by the gate.

Tsunade’s booming laughter echoes throughout the entire compound, bemused and real. She doubles over, slapping a hand on her knee, her laugh tapering off to a bit of a wheeze. It almost sounds nervous. A little hysterical even.

Tenzou tilts his head to the side, staring up at this woman, this new mother of his, a legendary sannin, one of the most if not the best, medic there is in the country.

Would it be rude to ask her if she is okay?

“Kid,” Tsunade snorts, shaking her head, reaching out to ruffle Tenzou’s long hair. “I like your sense of humor. You and I are going to get along just fine.”

*

Tsunade asks to see his apartment.

And then proceeds to wear what Tenzou can only assume is her analytical face. It’s peppered with a little judgment, too.

Tenzou’s current apartment is a shoebox in size, with enough space for a single bed, a small sectioned off wall by the door turned to a makeshift kitchen and a connecting bathroom that Tsunade, no doubt, will have to carefully manage her long limbs.

“You like it here?” Tsunade asks, her lips twisting at the sight of the old hotplate on the tiny kitchen counter.

“It serves its purpose.” Tenzou shrugs.

“That wasn’t my question,” Tsaunde prompts, turning that analytical gaze back to Tenzou.

Tenzou frowns, resisting the urge to reach up and rub the back of his head in partial confusion, partial irritation. It’s a comfortable space -- what is she on about? Having an opinion on something as trivial as a living space serves no purpose in the betterment of Tenzou’s skills in the field. It has no correlation to his successful mission counts. Liking something or anything for that matter doesn’t make missions easier or harder, either.

Unsure of how to respond, Tenzou resorts to Danzou’s advice when it comes to undercover. If you’re caught in a tight spot, the easiest thing to slip out of attention is to either blend with your surroundings or mirror the person in front of you.

Tenzou goes for the mirror, sloping his eyebrows down the same way Tsunade is, relaxing his shoulder to what looks like a wary slump, canting his head just the tiniest bit to the side, and responds with what he hopes is a conclusion to this conversation, “It’s all right.”

Tsunade goes quiet for a while, before she sighs slowly and curses under her breath.

“Let’s try this again,” Tsunade sighs, gesticulating with her hand towards the entirety of the small apartment. “What do you think would make this space better suited for you? Take into consideration that you are also currently studying botany and architecture.”

Tenzou looks at the small stack of reference books he had borrowed from the public library, how he has to do most of his reading on the bed. If he had to sketch on drawing paper, he usually does so on the ceiling given the lack of floor space and a full flat wall that isn’t lined with bulging pipes or the sil of the window, with the paper taped on the corners. Makes it easier for him to get on his knees and practice his pencil sketches.

“Then that’s something you should consider when you fix our house, hmm?”

Oh. So he’s fixing it.

Well.

Okay, then.

—

And yeah that’s all I got. 🤷🏻‍♀️

#yamato tenzo #anbu tenzo #tenzou yamato #yamairu #tsunade adopts tenzou #tsunade is wine mama #senju tenzou #please help yamato

[king-finnigan]

I Think We’re Alone Now

What a Wonderful World Masterlist. Also on AO3!

Day 8 of Whumptober! On the menu today is: isolation.

~~~

There is no window in his cell.

Geralt’s alright with being captured, bound, and left to rot on his own, with the occasional clump of mouldy bread and cup of water shoved through the small window in the door. He’s not so alright with the dimeritium handcuffs, slowly leeching away his strength – but it’s nothing he’s never had to endure before. And he’s even fine with the fact that he hasn’t seen or spoken with anyone ever since they put him in here.

But he hates that there’s no window in his cell; the constant darkness, only broken by the one ever-burning – probably magic – torch in the corner of the room, is making him lose all sense of time.

He doesn’t know whether it’s the middle of the night, or morning, or afternoon. He doesn’t know how many days it’s been since he was thrown in here – it could be months, at this point. He doesn’t know.

Maybe his family is worried that he didn’t make it to Kaer Morhen for the winter – if it’s even winter, already. Maybe they’re out there looking for him. Maybe they’ve already given up on him, maybe it’s been so long since he went missing that they presume him to be dead. He hopes not. It’s starting to get boring in here.

Although, he figures maybe it’s not a good idea for his family to try to come rescue him; there’s obviously a mage wandering these halls. If he hadn’t known that yet from the everlasting torch, he surely would’ve known by the way that every time he goes to sleep, the chamber pot is emptied by the time he wakes, as well as his clothes cleaned, and his face freshly shaven.

He’s just glad he didn’t find princess Cirilla. At least, he assumes that’s why the Nilfgaardians took him. The soldiers bearing the black sun that had surrounded him, all those weeks or months ago, had called to another group to go find ‘the girl’ – and since his Child Surprise is the only girl Geralt really knows, the conclusion was easily drawn.

He doesn’t really know what had happened after that, though he assumes it had something to do with the mage. He’d woken up in this cell, hands shackled in front of him with dimeritium, and no one else in sight. And he’d stayed there, on his own, abandoned and left to rot. The Nilfgaardians probably have no use for him for now, since he wasn’t with the princess, and they’re obviously not prepared to just let him go, but killing him would be a potentially bad move – who knows what use Geralt might have for them in the future. Especially if that mage can find a way into his mind.

Though, there are certain moments where he feels like the mage has already found a way into his mind.

When he sees the shadows the flames cast move in the corner of his eye, and for a split second he thinks it might be Jaskier or Yennefer or one of his brothers there to save him. When he swears he hears whispers coming from the corners of the room and from the ceiling. When he needs a few moments to remember what Lambert looks like or how Jaskier smells or what it feels like to brush Roach after a long day on the road. When he looks at his own hands and barely registers them – feels as though they’re not his and he’s hovering an inch or two above his body. When he finds himself wondering if he even exists at all, or if he’s died somewhere along the way and is now just a ghost, reliving the same day over and over again for all of eternity.

Those moments when he feels his sanity slipping through his fingers, when he has to press his forehead against the cold stones or scratch his arms to ground himself, to feel something that reminds him that he’s alive and he’s real and he’s a Godsdamned Witcher, he shouldn’t be losing his mind like this.

But he is.

It’s one of the only things he knows for sure, at this point. He’s Geralt of Rivia, he’s a Witcher, he loves Jaskier, Yen, and his family, and he’s losing his mind.

Time stretches on, thick and sour like curdled milk, every second emptier than the last. There are no sounds, no signs of life, no indication that he isn’t the only person left on the Continent. Or, well, there was no sound. He cocks his head; the whispers are starting up again. They’re coming from the ceiling, once more.

He looks up. Dark stones and flickering shadows. He swears he can see faces in the uneven surface.

He bends forward, touching his forehead to the stone. “Keep it together,” he whispers to himself. “Don’t lose your mind.”

Someone touches his shoulder, and he jerks up, frantically looking around. There’s no one there. He snaps his head around again when he hears scratching at the door, metal on wood, and goosebumps raise along his arms.

There is a monster out there, something trying to get in, to kill him when he’s at his most vulnerable. Maybe it’s a demon, maybe it’s all those people he failed to save over the years, maybe it’s those he wronged and are now here for justice, for his blood. Maybe it’s Renfri – here to return the favour. Maybe it’s Pavetta and Duny – because he couldn’t find their daughter in time. Maybe it’s Jaskier – for what he said on the mountain.

The scratching grows louder, and his heartbeat thrums in his ears, mixing with the noises coming from the door and the whispers still falling from the ceiling.

The scratching is getting more and more frantic, and he braces himself for the inevitable, for the monster to break through the door and tear his throat out. But then-

“Fuck, I can’t see anything with this bloody helmet.”

He blanches, blinking at the door, wondering if he really heard what he thinks he just heard. Probably not. The whispers aren’t real, so why would this be? But then the scratching stops, and he hears a small, triumphant “ha!”, before the sound of a key turning in a lock breaches the silence in the room.

The door swings open.

A Nilfgaardian soldier steps into the cell clumsily, wobbling from foot to foot awkwardly as he nearly trips and falls in his effort to half-close the door – as if he’s not used to wearing armour at all. Geralt frowns at him, not sure if he’s real or not, and if he is, why he’s in this cell with a dangerous Witcher, all on his own.

The soldier smells like chamomile and lavender, and it hits Geralt like a sack of bricks, his mind reeling from how familiar it is.

The soldier closes the door completely, and Geralt hears running footsteps go past the cell. They both wait in silence for the noises to disappear into the distance, and before long, the unknown soldier turns back around, facing Geralt.

“Right. I think we’re alone, now,” the soldier says with Jaskier’s voice.

He gasps, mind reeling and stumbling over itself with relief and joy and apprehension when the man removes his helmet and- yes, it is him, it is Jaskier.

“What��?” he manages to ask, voice raw from disuse.

Jaskier drops on his knees in front of him, the Nilfgaardian armour clattering loudly as he fishes into his pocket for a ring of keys, trying to jam one of them into the cuffs around Geralt’s hands. “Hi, yes, we’re here to save you. Time for you to go home, Geralt.”

He gapes at Jaskier, drinking in the familiar sight and smell and sound of him. He opens his mouth a few times, a hundred different things running through his mind, not sure what to say first. He eventually settles on: “I’m sorry. For the mountain.”

Jaskier looks up at him through his lashes as he tries different keys on the handcuffs. “Yes, yes, you can apologize for that later. Let’s get you out of here first, shall we?” He groans in frustration as yet another key doesn’t work. “Bloody things, would it have killed them to label these?” he mutters under his breath, and it’s so familiar and so Jaskier, Geralt nearly cries with it.

“You said ‘we’.”

Jaskier frowns, then nods absentmindedly. “Yes, Yen’s here, taking care of that mage that was wandering about, trying to stop us from finding you. Oh, and Ciri’s here.” He does look at Geralt, then. “I found her, right outside Brokilon. I- I couldn’t just leave her there, so I went to find Yen, and she took us to Kaer Morhen. Your brothers are here, too, by the way.” He focuses on the keys again, biting his bottom lip as he concentrates.

Finally, the lock clicks and the cuffs fall off Geralt’s wrists. He rubs them experimentally, flinching a bit when he touches the raw, red skin, irritated by all that time spent under those cuffs.

“Thank you,” he says softly. For the first time in days, he feels one with his body again, grounded in time and reality, and all because of Jaskier. “For everything.”

Jaskier smiles at him. “Don’t thank me just yet, we still have to get out of here. But…” He leans forward, pulling Geralt into a tight hug. “I’m glad you’re alive, Geralt. When I heard you’d disappeared, I was so scared that… that…”

Geralt nods, feeling salty tears on his neck and shoulder, and he rubs soothing circles into Jaskier’s back, revelling in the feeling of someone holding him, being close to him for the first time in a long while. “I know. I know, Jask.”

Jaskier pulls back, and Geralt’s trembling hand instinctively comes up to wipe the tears off his cheek. Jaskier leans into the touch for a moment or so, familiar blue eyes content and relieved, before he pulls back and stands up, offering Geralt his hand. “Right, let’s get going, then.”

Geralt takes it and stands on shaky legs, taking a moment to gather his strength before he follows Jaskier out of the cell.

And when Geralt steps into the hallway, he can see through an open window that it’s the middle of the afternoon.

The ceiling stops whispering.

#whumptober2020 #no.8 #isolation #the witcher #fic #geraskier #geralt of rivia #jaskier #what a wonderful world

[jj-ktae]

Papers, III

Title : Papers Pairing : Park Jinyoung x Fem!Reader Genre : Victorian Era, Romance, Fluff, Angst, smut-ish, Words : 4881 Summary : In the merciless 1850′s, Park Jinyoung finds solace in tiny pieces of paper and their owner.

Will be updated every Wednesday at 9 p.m CEST. (I will probably have to change the schedule because of tumblr.)

Thank you @jaebeomsmullet​ for the amazing banner ! 

Prologue - I - II - 

III, 

You feel odd. Your encounter with that gentleman is still printed into your head, the words repeating and causing a whirlpool of unusual anxiety.

Why did he sound so indignant? What caused such a hatred toward rich people when he obviously studies in an expensive school?

Maybe he is one of these rebellious kids, preaching peace and equality around the country. You’ve seen them in your neighbourhood, all kind and sweet with people like you who “are as deserving as the rest of the population”. They are usually from wealthy families and try to fight for what they think is right.

Maybe he is studying while fighting inequalities.

Vivienne quickly kills your theories as soon as you go back to work the next day. No one seems to mention the incident, even though you both came back home feeling paralysed from shock. You thought you were going to be yelled at, but it is like nothing happened.

“Aunt told me there are students who aren’t rich. It is now common for rich people to do charity.” She explains. Her arms are getting sore from the intense scrubbing in the offices but she works harder, eager to get it over with. “She mentioned it is usually directed toward homeless children.”

You stop sweeping the solid oak floor, head tilted to the side. “These people help random children in the streets? Why would he hate them, then?” It doesn’t make sense, this gentleman sounded like he was about to burst.

“I thought so too…” Vivienne continues, before taking a deep breath and stretching her arms. “but then Aunt said these actions were not made upon real kindness of heart.”

You aren’t surprised.

You finish working quietly, your mind troubled with theories about who that gentleman could be. Your peacefulness isn’t as lovely as what you predicted and upon realising your mind cannot forget about him, you enter yet another room.

--

Jinyoung is unable to erase the memory. It is so unlike him to lose his temper. He knows himself, he knows he can be choleric but control had always been his strongest weapon, especially in that jungle they call society.

At the same time, he hates having to keep himself composed.

“That is a very barbaric way to greet a young lady.” Jaebeom utters. He lifts his head to peak at his silent friend before leaning against the wall.

Jinyoung snorts, eyes opening to find a rotting ceiling. “You are unbeatable at consoling people.”

“You tend to function with admonishment. If no one tells you where to stop, I’m afraid you’ll end up killing someone with your hatred, Jinyoung.”

Jinyoung knows. His anger is swelling along the years, probably because with age comes realisation. What was unfair back then is unbearable now. He turns around abruptly from his spot on the dirty couch, his face aiming for Jaebeom’s composed presence. “She looked exactly like we used to when we were frightened of being beaten to death. You should have seen it, how she was expecting me to destroy her whole existence with the back of my hand. Is this what life is supposed to be about?”

Jaebeom thinks for a minute and almost seems moved; he knows too much about that fear he has yet to exorcise.

But he shakes his head, too slowly to announce he is going to agree. “Only us are responsible for our fortune. No one is going to take us out of here. Charwomen and maids have enough to do, they do not need you to add to their misery.”

“How are you suddenly taking everyone else’s side?” Here it comes again, the wrath. Jinyoung has no idea how it became to uncontrollable.

“Jinyoung, I am on your side. I, too, have been beaten, have lost my parents, have been trying to survive. No one else understands you better than I do. Jackson has been working for us and all I can do is watch him kill himself and for what? Look at this room, look how disgusting it is. Nonetheless, we cannot hate everyone. We can blame the rich if it pleases you, but we cannot hate the poor for following them. We are on our own already and I don’t want to end like a recluse.” Jaebeom parts from the wall, his hands now into the pockets of his stained jacket. “Hatred is going to destroy you more than it will build you.”

He pats Jinyoung’s shoulder before leaving.

From his spot on the dirty furniture, he closes his eyes again as he hears his friend utter about the bread being mouldy again.

--

“I will definitely pay you back for your help! Thank you!” Vivienne has other things to do today. She mentioned her aunt being very sick so you decided to stay and finish cleaning in her place. Only a couple of offices are left so it shouldn’t take long. You are thankful for that; your back has been in pain for the past weeks.

It happens a lot when the weather is humid.

Being a charwoman is hard, but it is easier than any other occupation available. It is convenient for you don’t have to meet with anyone but your direct superior and it is quiet. The school is always empty whenever you arrive, making the tasks more peaceful and bearable.

That is, until someone makes a scene for no acceptable reason.

Come to think of it, it is ridiculous for someone to be mad at you for not despising the rich. How did he expect you to react? Doesn’t he know how easy it is to maim one’s life? You brush the thoughts away when you’re finished. It’s a little mistake bound to never happen again. Everyone has their own worries and you have plenty already.

After all, there is so little you can do to change things.

You feel your bones crack when you stretch lazily, your neck now stiff and hands burning from the strong detergent. You are thirty minutes away from bed and board - it sounds less pitiful that way - and you cannot wait.

The evening is moist and warm, adding to your damp skin and tearing shivers down your spine. You grab your holed cardigan, letting it swipe the floor as you pass the big wrought-iron doors and stop when you find him, again.

He wears no sign of resentment for his face is relaxed, lost even. He takes a few steps toward you when he finds you staring.

“Good evening.”

His voice is deeper than you remembered, but you don’t have the time to ponder on his tessitura. Your hand hurriedly goes to your stained dress in order to bow respectfully. You don’t know who he is and you would rather not risk it a second time.

He seems to have quite the bad temper.

“There is no need for such greetings.” He stops you mid-way, a careful hand prompting you to abandon the useless movement. “I am of the same...social standing.”

You blink at him, Vivienne’s words echoing at the back of your head.

“Is there…. anything you need?” You try carefully, your face straight. You cannot let the incident affect you.

Jinyoung looks around the building, expecting to see your friend arrive and silently hoping she would come just a bit later. “I wish to discuss...about our previous encounter. Do you happen to have time to spare?”

He seems too careful to be that gentleman who almost barked at you. Still, you don’t feel like pushing him away. Despite all the commotion, his eyes captivate you whole.

You nod, turning around when these same orbs appear to be restless and looking for something.

“My friend is already gone.” You explain, sensing he might be looking for the person who is too familiar to be a mere workmate.

Jinyoung nods, reacting quickly before someone walks by. “There is a garden, this way.”  He takes a step back and nods toward an empty bench between trees; the one you oftentimes find when your legs hurt too much to walk back home just yet.

He lets you lead the way, his hand into his pockets and looking prudent.

You sit without waiting, the thought of him being of same class enough to erase all plans of acting according proper etiquette. You see he doesn’t mind, or probably doesn’t care for he sits slightly away from you, his legs and arms now crossed. He leans and turns, his face now on full exposure and absorbing all the clouds’ hues.

He is surprisingly gracious, even wrapped into miserable clothing.

“I would like to ask for forgiveness. I didn't mean to be such a brute and speak so harshly. I lost my temper. If anything, I am relieved you are the one I have been corresponding with. Before you ask, I knew it was you as soon as I saw the way you were looking at the notes.” He begins, his tone steady.

“Why do you...speak this way?” You ask. He seems awfully polite for someone of the same background; god knows how uncommon it is for the lower-class to be so conscious of each-other.

Jinyoung doesn’t understand. “How do I speak?”

“Like I am of high upbringing.”

“What is a high upbringing?” Jinyoung cannot help but ask, his face now genuinely confused.

You sigh, not grasping the situation. “I am poor. You can speak comfortably.”

“I am only respecting you. Everyone shall be addressed with respect, regardless of upbringing or whatever you want to call it. Do you not agree?”

It doesn’t surprise you. You’ve heard enough of him to understand his intentions. It matches with his previous words and actions. This gentleman can’t abide this society.

“I do. I do but it doesn’t matter nor changes anything.” You answer, turning around on the bench to face him.

Jinyoung hums, before the hint of a smile blooms on his usually stern features. “It just did. While I am sure no stranger ever treated you with respect, it just happened. How does it feel? Do you not want it to happen every day?”

“It is unusual. I am not sure whether I feel comfortable or not.” You admit, quite amazed by his tricks.

“I wish everyone would. Do not misunderstand; I am no idealist but I wish for things to change.” Jinyoung continues, his arms now relaxed as his hand finds his cheek to let his head rest on it. “It is why I acted the way I did. My passion is bigger than my brain.”

You chuckle at the comparison. Passion is something you’ve lost long ago. “You’re not the regular type of student.”

“When I see my fellow classmates, I can definitely take it as a compliment.” Jinyoung hoped for a serious conversation. He had prepared a ton of sentences, full of apologies. Now everything is gone and he is left with only himself and your rather composed self.

“But, what makes you so different?” You question, eager to know more. Maybe it is because he looks and sounds mysterious.

Jinyoung hesitates and takes a proper position on the bench, before clearing his throat. “Background. It makes a big difference and it is not a story you wish to hear but I am willing to share if you do the same.”

You nod, adopting the same posture on the bench. You have all the time you need.

--

This gentlemen’s name is Park Jinyoung and he is an orphan. It is the first sentence he uttered when he recounted his story. He probably left a lot of gruesome details aside but it looks detailed. From the burning of the building where he lived to how he ended in coal mines like every kid. He mentions a man who paid for a couple of the kids’ education as the reason he ended here, before explaining how he wishes to become a famous writer. He is smart, brilliant even, from the way he speaks to how he expresses his emotions.

He looks nothing like the enraged gentleman in the amphitheatre.

“When I put that first piece of paper under the table, I was convinced I would correspond with another boring and over-mannered student.” Jinyoung finishes, glancing at you.

“I might not be as entertaining.” You admit, eyes glancing back but unable to hold the same intensity.

“What is entertainment anyways…If anything, I am glad it was you.”

You freeze, the mere thought of being sufficient to anyone enough to block your every joint. No answer leaves your mouth, but Jinyoung doesn’t need any.

“How about you share your story now, art student?” He even jokes, his smile building wrinkles around his eyes.

You cough.

Jinyoung listens, looking really absorbed when you explain how your father left your family when you were a kid. You try to say as much as you can think at the moment. It is difficult to gather the information but you succeed, deliberately keeping some things to yourself and mentioning only the bearable details too. This gentleman doesn’t need to know everything right now, he has enough to be able to leave the stranger zone, but too little to be a confidant. You refuse to admit you are actually ashamed of sharing the darkest part of your life.

Jinyoung isn’t surprised. He lets you finish and claps his hands two times, speaking about unlucky people and misery. He insists on walking you home and you agree. He who was so out of reach earlier is now close at hand and relaxed.

And as you expected, you enjoy his company.

Jinyoung does, too. He was supposed to find you and apologize before disappearing but his literary personality brought him beyond borders. He doesn’t try to explain it, not in the mood to resolve the enigma.

Deep inside, he knows.

You are leaving when he stops you, his voice slightly quivering as he asks for another encounter. You tell him that he knows where to find you and he promises to show you something at school the next time he sees you.

When Jinyoung gets back home, he greets Jaebeom with a smile. The latter is surprised but not shocked.

That night, he lets them eat his share of food.

Sleeping is impossible despite your level of exhaustion. The evening repeats, endless and replaying Jinyoung’s careful composure. You let it invade you, captivated and curious to know more about him. You fall asleep to him and his unexpected ideas about a world where no one should suffer.

--

“Vivi, stop saying such nonsense!” You don’t want her to imagine things. Vivienne is into romance and fairy tales so it is normal to see her squeak in delight when you tell her what happened.

“Are you going to see him again? When?” She is ecstatic, her agitated hands doing a poor job covering her high-pitched voice. You shake your head, unable to find the answer to such a simple question.

You don’t know when he will find you again. You know nothing about his whereabouts but he knows your schedule and that makes it all extraordinarily exciting. You are almost eager to head to work in hope he will appear magically, at any corner.

But for a whole week there is no sign of Park Jinyoung. Even though you walk back home with heavier steps, even though you stay longer than usual, he is nowhere to be seen.

Maybe it was just common courtesy. He did act like quite the gentleman so he probably wanted to make it up for that first encounter. That must be it.

“Patience is a virtue.” Vivienne speaks one night upon arriving where you live. “He will show up.” she seems confident with her tiny smile as she leaves you by your door. She has obligations she cannot postpone.

“Y/N?” You hear when you close the door, a heavy smell filling your nose. You rush toward the voice, gasping when the horrifying scene appears before your eyes.

“Mother, what happened?” You almost cry, kneeling in front of a bleeding woman. Her face is soaked with tears and her body is so rigid it is almost impossible to make her move.

“A rough...client.” She speaks through gritted teeth, her split lip painting a red line on her chin.

It happens sometimes. Your mother would come back abused and hurt.

“Why don’t you stop, mother? You don’t have to- You don’t-” your tears are heavy with remorse when you find her, gasping for air that isn’t going to rip her probably broken ribs. “I can do it; I will do it so stop working there.”

She glares at you, looking more pitiful than threatening. “Do not think about setting a foot in that nightmare ever again. I will not let my daughter...sell her body.” She finishes, torn between rage and sorrow. “I am sorry for not being able to give you what you deserve.”

“It’s fine, mother. It’s fine.” You help her lay down properly and sit by her side, not reacting when she mentions she wasn’t able to bring money today.

It is the darkest point in your story. You like to think you can live with the thought of your mother working in a brothel but you don’t. She always does her best to show you a positive side of herself, celebrating when she brings enough money to buy two miserable sausages and silent when younger prostitutes are preferred to her company - leaving her without a single coin. She never talks about her occupation in hope it’ll be forgotten in the middle of hardships but you see it; you see the blood-stained fabrics and hear her cries deep in the night.

It is a common occupation. Prostitution is the easiest way to have sufficient money and a lot of young ladies and women resolve to work into brothels. The ones who wander the streets alone never end well, their encounters ending badly more often than not. Therefore, brothels are so busy; no one wants to sell themselves without any sort of support.

But for what? Brothels do not care about their workers; the women are abandoned when deemed useless and fired without any consideration. You hate that world, you hate how easy it is to lose all humanity for dirty money.

You have to survive although it hurts is what your mother said while taking your place in the brothel. She gave her dignity away upon seeing her daughter deprived of her innocence and ordered you to find a proper occupation.

She must have had enough of you coming back smelling like alcohol and tobacco, limping until your body would crash on the floor, shaking. You were never mad at her, it was your decision, as stupid as it was. You feel guilty now, guilty for letting her take your place and deteriorate her body even more.

“I will bring something to eat tomorrow mother, I will be paid.” Your income is ridiculous but it is better than nothing.

She answers incoherent words, her head lifeless on the dirty bed. You look at the blood stains on her dress and close your eyes.

You hate it here.

--

Jackson is exhausted. He walks with difficulty, his cough getting worse with every night he spends at the mine. He cannot attempt his training sessions anymore but he jokes about it being useless and not worth his time. He also refuses to let Jinyoung or Jaebeom go, pretending he prefers working there anyways.

Both Jinyoung and Jaebeom have to force him to stop.

“You can take care of him better than I will. I’ll take his place tonight.” Jinyoung says, already aiming toward the door when he hears Jaebeom begging him to be careful.

“I will try.” he answers, before leaving.

“You two shouldn’t go there…” Jackson speaks, his voice even raspier than usual. “You two have the potential to make it out of here. I have nothing but thick skin. I can do this.”

“You have to stop saying this.” Jaebeom looks mad but he is merely trying to hide his fear. “We can’t make it out of here and even if we do, we won’t sacrifice you. Stop being so stubborn and let us work, too. We won’t break.” He finishes, ignoring the flashing memories.

Jackson brings him back into reality. “Don’t be dumb. I haven’t been sacrificing myself all these years for you to fail now.  We all know I am lucky to be breathing. You two better become famous or I will haunt you in the afterlife.”

“I promise I will kill you myself if you ever joke like this again, Jackson. Just sleep, I’ll wake you up when I’m done with the potatoes.” Jaebeom orders, walking away before he starts sobbing.

Life is too messed up.

He knows he has always been the weakest one. Jackson has a strong body; he endures everything and never gives up. Jinyoung has immense willpower; his determination makes him the toughest. Unlike Jackson, he doesn’t cry.  

But what about him? He was the quietest as a kid; the one who would follow without questioning. He had the weakest body because of an accident where he fell right on his head and hurt his back in the process. He is the oldest but can barely support his own brothers. His eyes find his notebook, filled with poems he wishes to show the world. One day, maybe, he will consider himself as a man.

As Jaebeom pokes a potato he hears Jackson, way too loud to be considered in bad shape.

“You better not be thinking about negative things, I’m warning you!”

He chuckles, the tears stopping from falling into the boiling water.

“I’m not!”

--

“Hello.”

You jump, the broom falling from your hands and hitting the floor. Jinyoung is standing against the opened door, his arms crossed and a tiny wound visible on his eyebrow arch.

“Hello…” You trail of, bending to pick the fallen object.

“May I wait for you to be done with work?”

You blink, observing Jinyoung’s face which looks puzzled when confronted to your silence. He balances himself from one foot to the other.

“Are you okay?” Jinyoung insists, tearing you from your trans. You nod clumsily, barely able to answer before Jinyoung turns around to greet someone.

Vivienne appears from nowhere, sweaty and looking like she has been running around the building

“Oh- Oh! You are the gentleman from the other night!” She stops next to Jinyoung, her eyes communicative in a not so subtle way. “We are almost finished but,” she walks toward you and grabs the broom, wrapping her arm lazily around your shoulders. “I can do it by myself!”

You look at her, then at Jinyoung who snorts, looking slightly surprised to see such an upbeat person standing next to you.

“If you are free, I would like to show you something.”

“This young lady is totally free to go.” Vivienne bows, her arm now pushing you violently to make you react. “I will see you later!” She then turns around, signalling there is no way to escape your fate.

You look at Jinyoung with a timid smile which he answers quickly before taking a few steps back. “After you.” he almost chants. You thank him, still at a loss of words. You have to wake up at some point and try to hold a conversation but it is as if your brain stopped functioning.

You hear Jinyoung’s steps next to you, echoing in the halls as he proceeds to tell you where to go. The walk is silent but none of you mind; you both have issues you need to ponder over.

The school is filled with marvellous places and gardens. You never dared wandering at its heart but you couldn’t help but notice the few rooms and plants, full of flowers blooming in the thick nature. It’s an old but elegant building.

Jinyoung makes you turn a couple of times but it’s enough to take you to a new aisle, one you never set a foot in. It looks like it isn’t used because it is empty.  He takes the lead and stops in front of a door before opening it.

“It is my favourite room. I don’t come as often as I used to.” Jinyoung lets you enter, his hand revealing a big and illuminated room. “It’s the perfect time to come here.”

it is indeed. The room is filled with paintings, from the walls to the floor. Some of them are dusty, others look new. The colours are melting together perfectly and are drinking the last traces of the sun which invites itself behind the windows.

“This is where they store the paintings from the classes.” Jinyoung arrives behind you but doesn’t stop and aims for the windows. he opens the thick glass and takes a deep breath. “It is so quiet around here.”

There are only trees on that side of the school so no one walks by and Jinyoung is thankful for that. You watch him lean against the window frame, the wind sweeping his hair and for a second he looks like that gentleman in romantic books.

You join him quickly, his aura attracting you unconsciously. “Why did you want me to see this room?” you try, both glad and hesitant.

“You seem to be in need of peacefulness, just like me.” The gentleman explains, finally turning his head to find your distraught orbs. “Today more than anything, I want to pretend only I exist. Or maybe I want to disappear.” he chuckles.

“I feel the same, without the room to hide myself into.” You joke, raising a hand to hide yourself behind the last sunbeams.

“Feel free to use this room when needed. Once the school is closed you are free to wander these walls.” Jinyoung offers, his eyes not leaving your face as you start playing with the lights and their warmth.

How much of waste is it to look this stunning but to be considered like dirt.

He finds a tear falling down your cheek and it makes him speak faster than intended. “What is the matter?” he presses, leaning to arrive at your level and inspect your face.

You shake your head, observing his features and noticing a couple of tiny cuts signalling he must be shaving regularly.

“If someone were to be hurt while trying to make your life better, would you feel guilty or enjoy what you have as a token of gratitude?”

The question takes Jinyoung off-guard. It hits so close to home that it hurts for a second, the images of a Jackson wheezing and coughing already haunting. He opens his mouth, not noticing the proximity as he picks the words carefully before he ends in the same state as you.

“I would want to enjoy, but guilt would take over. Knowing me, I would be blaming the whole universe instead of doing something useful. there is so much I worry about, so much I can’t find the force to face.” He speaks words which are true. Jinyoung doesn’t know how to deal with the guilt so he fights. He haunts, in search of a new element to hate so he doesn’t end up despising himself for being so useless.

“What is worrying you? I personally don’t do any of these. I do not enjoy nor do I fight. I live through the days, ignoring the pain of my own blood which is too often spilled.”

“Is it about your mother?” Jinyoung knows this much. You mentioned living with her and your eyes are too bloodshot for it not to be about someone as dear as a parent.

He understands he got it right when you start crying. You cry so loud it almost scares him but he quickly recovers, his face turning toward the nature outside.

Unfortunately, he knows too much about the sacrifice of a parent not to understand your sorrow. “There is nothing a parent isn’t willing to do for their infant. I discovered this at a young age.”

It makes you stop crying instantly, remorse taking over once again. “I’m so sorry- I didn’t mean to-” you sigh, muffling more pitiful noises because you are being completely insensitive and complaining about your mother while he is an orphan. “I shouldn’t be so childish when there are people who couldn’t-”

Jinyoung’s head appears, almost like a whip. “Don’t. Don’t speak like you are pitying me. If you want to cry go ahead, I promise it will not make much difference. You have the right to worry about your mother and feel like you are useless. You are no dead weight though; you are alive and breathing and it is the most important thing for her. Parents want their kids breathing, let it be air or dust.”

You feel even more sorry when you hear his resilience. You nod furiously, melting in numerous tears as Jinyoung grabs his sleeve to wipe your messy face. He cleans it as thoroughly as he can, from the salty drops on your eyelash to your runny nose. He brushes your sticky locks away from your face before patting your head softly.

“Let’s leave my worries for another encounter, young lady.”

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[laurelsofhighever]

The Falcon and the Rose Ch. 58 - The Bear and the Falcon

Chapter Rating: Explicit Chapter Warnings: Animal cruelty, Sexual Threat, Canon-Typical Violence (incl. Torture) Relationships: Alistair/Female Cousland Additional Tags: Alternate Universe, Fereldan Civil War AU  - No Blight, Romance, Angst, Friends to Lovers, Slow Burn, Mutual Pining, Cousland Feels

Read on AO3 Or start at Chapter 1

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An ache in her arms; cool, damp stone against her cheek that held a faint, sour-animal odour; darkness. Her throat burned with thirst. The quality of the silence told her she was inside, and – after a few more careful breaths with her eyes still closed and tension forced out of her body – alone. Her heart throbbed, but the terror it compelled would be of no use to her until she knew more about her surroundings, so she swallowed it back and forced her attention elsewhere, to her arms bound behind her back and the pins and needles in her leg. Bruises, but nothing broken.

Finally, she cracked an eye and levered her protesting body up into a sitting position, flinching when her back met cold iron bars. Her oilskin and gambeson had been removed, along with her weapons, but as her examination passed from her self to her surroundings, she noted with a sick kind of relief that her shirt was still tucked into her breeches and the laces fastened neatly. Even so, it meant little considering who had taken her.

To distract herself, she examined her cage, and the rest of her prison beyond it. Light fell dimly through a grated door at the end of the room, just enough to reveal a narrow space with a low, vaulted ceiling above her, and more rows of iron bars stretching away from her into the darkness. Small windows were set high into the walls, but the pitch dark outside offered no help. It was night, then – but which one? Was it days, or merely a few hours since the battle at the cove? She couldn’t remember seeing Windcaller escape, only Cuno lunging for one of Howe’s soldiers, and Alistair –

No, she told herself firmly. Don’t think about it – either of them. She could worry about them later, once she had a better hold on her situation. Forcing a deep breath, she turned her attention back to her bound wrists, and the clink of the cuffs against the bars that told her she would never get them off. They still allowed a bit of slack, however, enough that if she curled her spine and wriggled, she might be able slip them down the backs of her legs and bring them in front of her. It wouldn’t be much, but it would improve her chances until she could snatch a key. 

As she worked, the nagging familiarity of her prison resolved itself in a moment part elation and part panic: she was in Castle Cousland, in the kennel run that stretched under the eastern side of the curtain wall between the keep and the Marl-land Tower. Cuno had imprinted on her in the whelping den at the end of the row. They were fools to bring her here. A childhood of running the roofs and hiding from Nan’s temper had given her every secret in the place, from the nooks in the ramparts left over from ages of building to the best handholds to climb the walls and reach them. Even if Windcaller hadn’t made it, a chance for Cailan’s plan still lay with her, and if nothing else, she would finish Howe.

She had almost managed to squeeze her arms past her hips when the bolt on the door snapped back and the latch turned. She threw herself back onto her side just as light spilled across the far wall. Heavy, booted feet made a slow approach, every step jangling with the telltale sound of mail, and she tracked it until it stopped outside her cell, behind her, and every nerve in her body screamed against the need to lie still, limp like a plucked daisy, and wait for a chance.  

Leather creaked as the guard squatted down. “My lady!” His voice emerged as a hiss, panicked and urgent. “Lady Rosslyn, wake up – there’s not much time.”

A hand reached through the bars to shake her shoulder, but when she kept still, whoever it was cursed and retreated, and then she heard a rattle of keys, something settled on the floor, and the door groaned inward. She waited. The guard loomed over her, hesitating.  

“My lady?”

As soon as his touch landed again she launched upward, throwing herself bodily against him regardless of the sharp jab of pain in her side as unprotected flesh collided with the sharp points on his armour. Before he could do much more than yelp his surprise she twisted, kicked out, braced her back against the wall of her cell so she could jam her boot against his throat.

“Please – my lady –” he gasped, clawing at her foot. “I’m here to help – help you –” His helmet fell back, revealing a round face and a mess of dirty blond hair.

“You’re Master Darion’s boy,” she realised, letting up the pressure in her shock. His name was Gareth. She had gone months thinking everyone in the castle had been killed in the attack, and yet here was a boy who had trained next to her in the lists, followed after her through the summer orchards. Blazing with the orange and white of Amaranthine.

He saw the moment her eyes settled on the Bear on his surcoat, and raised his hands as if to ward her away, but the cage door still stood open, unnoticed, and freedom just a few hundred feet beyond. She feinted towards him, got her feet under her. He flinched. She used the distraction to bolt for the door.

“No!” He tackled her before she made it three steps, bringing her hard to the ground with an impact that jarred all the way to her teeth.

“Traitor!” She spat, and lashed out hard.

A grunt of pain met her ears, but he didn’t let go. “You’ve got’a listen to us - Lowan’s sent for you, there’s not much time –”

“My parents were murdered by Howe and now you’re here in his colours, and I should listen to you?”

“It wasn’t just you! They killed everyone. Me Da, Canavan, Gilmore, all of ‘em what he thought would be loyal to you. Please – just listen –”

With a final heave, she kicked away from him and rose into a crouch, hating the limitation on her arms. “Get me out of these manacles,” she demanded. “If you are loyal.”

The kennelmaster’s son scrubbed a hand down his face, then across the reddened skin at his throat. “I canna. It’s a different key, Lowan’s got the only one. I’m sorry.”

“How are you still alive?”

He held up a hand again, asking patience. “After he killed the officers, the rest of us was given a choice – serve, or have the same thing happen to us. We knew you were out there, that you might need our help, so we let ‘im think he’d won, and waited for you to come back.” When she didn’t reply, he ducked his head and pointed to the lantern he had left just outside the cage. “I brought you water. And there’s some bread and cheese there, an’ all. It’s nowt fancy, but you’ve been out a few hours now. Can I –?”

After a moment of hesitation, she nodded, and he scurried across to pick up a small horn cup and a parcel of food wrapped in a napkin. As much as she disliked being fed like a child, her current state allowed for little choice. Some of the water dribbled down her chin as she gulped it down, more eager than she had realised for the rush of cool liquid, but Gareth held the cup steady against her lips and the spillage was minimal. When there was none left, she wiped her mouth on her shoulder.

“None of us knew what’a do when they said they’d brought you in,” he said as he unfolded the parcel of food. “Reckon you’re lucky Howe’s got a bigger fish fryin’ him right now.”

“What do you mean?” she asked.  

“Loghain, my lady.” When she stared at him, his eyes widened. “Din’ you know? He’s here with his entire army waiting out in the orchard by the west gate.”

“We thought he was still on the road,” she muttered. “That means the king is walking into a trap… Tell me, is Queen Anora here?”

He frowned. “Anora? I don’t know about her… but there was someone brought in ‘bout a month back and put in the southwest room on the top floor, guarded day and night. The servers take meals up, but they never see who it is – the guards take the trays and say bugger all that’s not snide comments. My lady, what’s –”

“Gareth!” A voice thundered from outside. “Is that bitch awake or not? What are you doing in there?”

“It’s Commander Lowan!”

“Get rid of the cup,” she hissed. “And the rest of the food.” The bread had been little more than a scrap of crust, the cheese sharp, but her empty stomach was grateful all the same. She watched as Gareth stuffed the evidence out of sight beneath a mouldy pile of straw, their time slipping away with every growing echo of boots along the corridor.

“He’ll think you’re still out of it, so you’d best –”

“Listen to me,” she interrupted. “I wasn’t alone when I was caught. I have over a dozen soldiers who will be coming up the secret passage through the pantry to help. No matter what happens to me, you must make sure the queen makes it safely away and that the king’s army can get in through the gate.”

He shook his head. “My lady, I can’t just –”

“Gareth!”

“Just getting her up – that bloody second-rate apostate kept her too far under!” he shouted as he knelt next to her and hooked his hands under her arms. “I’m so sorry. We’ll get you out, soon as we can.”

The door slammed against the wall. Gareth flinched from the sound, and squeaked an instant later as he was knocked out of the way by a hand clad in a gauntlet made of stiff, scratched leather. Rosslyn let herself sag as that same hand grabbed her shoulder and hauled her off the floor. The rough action tore at her joints, but she refused to stand under her own weight – if he wanted to take her anywhere she would bloody well make him work for it.

“On your feet. Teyrn Howe wants a word.”

She rolled her head back to look at him through heavy eyelids, a man with close-cropped grey hair and deep lines around his eyes, and a jagged, poorly-healed scar down the left side of his face. “I don’t recognise anyone with that title.”

“Too bad for you,” Lowan snapped as he dragged her into the corridor. “If he didn’t want to play with you himself, you would’ve woken up in far less comfort than you did, girlie.”  

“This day will end with his head on a spike and yours next to it,” she snarled.

That made him pause. He turned to her with a leer, his grip on her arm bruising as he leaned close enough for her to see the broken capillaries in his cheeks. “I told him he should’ve passed a blade across your throat before you woke, but with that defiance? It’s going to be fun watching him break you.”

Revulsion coiled in her stomach as he reached up to wind a lock of her hair around his fingers. Every inch of him radiated the smug superiority particular to those who think themselves untouchable, and her lip curled. Baudrillard had been the same.

“And maybe after he gets bored, he’ll let the rest of us have the leftovers.”

She lunged forward and headbutted him in the face.

“Fucking bitch!” he yelled, as Gareth came forward to catch her. Blood was already pouring from his nose. “Get her out of here.”

She allowed herself a moment to admire her handiwork before she was pulled away, an ugly smirk still lingering at the corner of her mouth. She might face retaliation for it later, but even a small victory sent a message; she would not be cowed, not inside her own keep.

“Been wanting to do that for months,” Gareth muttered in her ear. He guided her down the corridor to the room that usually stored harnesses for dogs, though now the nooks set into the walls were empty. More men in Amaranthine colours waited for her there, and none offered anything but blank stares as her gaze flicked between them, no sign they could be trusted. Apart from the soldiers, she recognised the scrawny, mousy-haired man standing in the corner as the apostate from the beach. Several days’ patchy growth of beard disguised the weak line of his chin, and his dark robes cut off at his elbows to reveal forearms wrapped in fresh bandages and criss-crossed with lines of pale scarring, some more faded than others. He looked anxious.

She turned her attention away. Voices were growing beyond the door at the far end of the room. One held a gravelled quality, clipped with irritation, while the other was a thin, nasally whine she recognised from years of backhanded disapproval and family dinners. Gareth tightened his grip on her shoulder as her face tightened into s snarl, and she remembered just in time that she was meant to be helpless.

The door opened as she was forced into a chair in the middle of the room, and the conversation cut short. Gareth blocked her view, catching her gaze just once as he linked her manacles to a chain set into the back of the seat, far more loosely than he should have done; her legs were left free. He gave her the barest nod before he scurried away, full of trepidation, a last flash of solidarity before the storm descended upon her.

“Well, well, Bryce Cousland’s little spitfire!” Howe cried. “Finally awake! All grown up and playing the soldier, I see.”

As her mother taught her, she straightened and wiped her face clean of emotion, of the hatred surging like fire in her blood. Her eyes fixed unfocused on the far wall, but she could imagine his smile, spreading like the spill of lamp oil over water. Before he could say anything further, however, Lowan clattered in pinching the bridge of his nose, a torn rag held over the bottom half of his face that did little to stem the mess of blood pouring from his nose. She must have broken it.

“What happened to you?” Howe demanded.

Lowan spared her a glance, chewing on the inside of his cheek. “Nothing, Your Lordship.”

“Get out of my sight.”

Lowan’s scowl deepened but he did as he was told, ducking past his master with only a perfunctory murmur of deference to the man standing next to him. It was Loghain, Rosslyn realised. He looked terrible, hardly recognisable as the proud advisor who had stood beside the throne at every Landsmeet she could remember. His once military bearing was sunken, gaunt, his cheeks bloodless as tallow and his unkempt hair worn with grey where it wasn’t thinning completely. Only his eyes retained their vigour, but even then, when he fixed his gaze on her, something in them reminded her of the dead at South Reach.

“An interrogation now is useless,” he said, with only a thin veneer of patience. “There is nothing she could tell us we do not already know.”

“I disagree, sire.” Howe still had his smile. “And I’ll remind you she is my prisoner, to do with as I choose.”

“Your petty vengeances do not come before the task at hand,” Loghain snapped. “Cailan is already here, and only waits for the morning. You have until I have spoken to my daughter to deal with this, and no longer. Anything else will wait until after I have that fool boy in my grasp.”

“Of course, sire.”

The old general turned to go, only pausing in the doorway to spare Rosslyn a glance before whatever he wished to say was swallowed up by his better judgement, and he left without a word. Without him, Howe unfolded himself from his servile crouch, the sycophantic tilt if his head curdled into a sneer, and though she squashed it down, her fists clenched with the awareness of being surrounded by enemies commanded by a man who wished her nothing but ill intention. Only her rage kept her shielded against the chill in her spine, so she stoked it, channelled it, anything to keep the worm in her chest from clawing its way up her throat.

“Are you quite comfortable, my dear?” her enemy asked.

She gave him her most disdainful stare. “You should address me with my proper title, Arl Howe. I am the Teyrna of Highever.”

A muscle ticked in his cheek. “You are nothing, you’re the last of nothing. Your parents died begging, your brother’s body rots where no one will ever find it, and his brat was burned on the scrap heap along with his Antivan whore of a wife. There’s no king coming to save you, no prince charming.” At that, he grinned, and her heart faltered. “The way you threw yourself after him on the beach meant nothing, and in the morning, the last of those who claim loyalty to you will be swept from the face of Thedas once and for all. You’ve lost.”

She struggled to control her breath, and heat pricked at the back of her eyes, but she had learned her lessons well. She kept her voice level as she replied, “And yet you’re still scared of me.”

“What?”

“I count four guards,” she mocked, straightening. “Not including your right-hand, who you no doubt wanted present, and a blood mage. Why else would you need them all around one chained woman if you weren’t afraid?”

The soldiers glanced at each other. Howe saw it. He advanced on her, fury contorting his features, and though she saw the slap coming – braced for it – the strike sent her reeling, ears ringing, blinking away the sting.

“You are entirely at my mercy, you pathetic little whelp, and you will learn it sooner or later,” he spat.

She probed her cheek. Blood welled from a cut, but all of her teeth were still in place.

“The more you fight, the more I’ll enjoy it, but you will submit. And through you, my claim on these lands will go beyond anyone’s doubt.” The manic grin came back. “The regent will approve the match, no doubt.”

For an instant, cold terror held her in its grip, the knowledge that her only help lay beyond guarded walls twenty feet thick, that her crew was scattered, that Alistair was…

But she was the Seawolf’s daughter; she had faced down the dead. Rolling her shoulders, she turned away from Howe and casually spat a mouthful of blood onto the floor.  

“Don’t make threats you can’t keep,” she sneered, fixing him in her glare once more. “Everyone at court knows how your poor wife had to find her comfort elsewhere because her husband was impotent. The horsemaster, the cook –” Her lip curled. “And don’t think it went unnoticed how much Thomas looked so much more like the Vigil’s seneschal than he did you. We all knew, everyone knew, and everyone laughed at you for it.”

She saw it, the moment her barb struck its mark, in the wild flicker of his gaze around the room and the lift of a snarl over his teeth, and her battle blood rose in response. He wouldn’t win this battle of wills between them; she wouldn’t let him. And then, she would kill him. But even as she thought it, his shoulders lost their tension, and the scowl smoothed from his face as if she hadn’t scored a point at all.

“There it is, right there,” he murmured. “That damned look in the eye that marked every Cousland success that held me back. Your father would be proud. I, however, intend to wipe that defiance away once and for all.” He smiled, and her fingers itched for a weapon. “Bring in the animal.”

One of the soldiers nodded and hurried out. Rosslyn watched him go warily, aware of Howe’s smug expression and the anxious way the others shifted on their feet. Soon, a burst of shouted curses carried through, almost drowned out by the rattle of chains and the monstrous snarling of some enraged beast. Behind her, Gareth stirred in his place in the corner, as if to intervene, but his courage failed him and he stayed silent.

The wait took longer than it should have, but eventually two burly men in heavily quilted jackets with thick leather shields on their arms squeezed through door, dragging chains behind them. The creature on the other end was Cuno. He thrashed and snapped against the restraints cutting into the thick muscle of his neck, trying at once to twist free and attack the guards holding him captive, to fight, but two others hung on behind him, so that he couldn’t lunge in any direction without being wrestled back by the other three. Foam lathered in his gaping jaws, his breath wheezed from his throat in ever more desperate gasps as he threw himself against his enemies, and as she took in the blood staining his flanks, Rosslyn’s hatred of Howe set into a cold, hard ball in her gut.

“Put him over there,” he pointed, as if directing nothing more dangerous than a new piece of furniture. “And you,” he added, turning to Rosslyn, “will learn. there is nothing you can do but watch.”

“What are you going to do?” Gareth asked. His eyes were wide on the dog he had known since puppyhood, and who had now seen his mistress was in danger and broken into new ferocity as he tried to get at Howe.

“What is always done with uncontrollable beasts,” he replied as the first guard returned with a crossbow and a quiver of bolts. “Unless you want to tell him to be a good boy?” he asked of Rosslyn.

She stared at him. Her own thoughts were drowned out by the drum of her heart, Cuno’s mad barking, the desperation that surely there must be something she could do. He wanted her to beg. The glint in his eye told her it wouldn’t make a difference. Cuno launched himself forward again, jerked back by the end of the chains, his breath harsher than ever, trying to get to her, to help her, and her nails dug so hard into her palms she was sure they would bleed.

“Void take you,” she hissed, and spat in Howe’s face.

He grabbed her jaw. His fingers dug into her skin like claws as he moved within inches of her face, his eyes greedy in anticipation of what was about to happen. “I said, you will watch this. Hold it still.”

“Your Lordship, you can’t –”

“I’ll deal with you later,” he snapped at Gareth. “Take aim.”

For Rosslyn, the world slowed. Every click of the ratchet drawing back the string, the guards straining, the flecks of blood and saliva cast to the floor as the dog tried to reach her. The bolter raised the crossbow. Cuno roared. Her gaze turned to Howe, to his sneer and his eagerness and every line of cruelty held in the slack, sallow mouth.

The rage took her so quickly she didn’t have time to think. Past the first stirring of it, her mind went blank. She felt her body coil, felt the snarl curling at her lips, and before she registered the movement she threw herself at her enemy, blind instinct, raw fire, nothing but a snap of energy bent into pure vengeance. Greasy cartilage caught between her teeth. She twisted, tore her head away and kicked out in a spray of red and a scream. There was a thud of metal hitting flesh, a yelp. The chair back hit her legs as it fell over. It didn’t matter that her hands were still bound. All she could see was Howe, writhing on the floor, clutching the side of his head She was insensible even to the hands that grabbed at her shoulders to keep her from him, to keep her from ripping him apart with her teeth if she had to.  

“Get her out of here!” someone shouted. “And get a healer!”

She spat out his ear at his feet. “That was your last mistake. There’s nowhere you can go, nothing you can do that will save you. I’ll kill you.”  

The words caught hold of her, worked through her sinews like roots as the guards wrestled her back, out of sight and down into the bowels of the castle. She didn’t know where they came from, but they rang through her head, burned in her throat, reverberated in her bones like the clarion notes of a horn in an empty hall.  

“Whatever you do, I won’t yield!” she bellowed as they hauled her away. “Not until your head is mounted on a wall! There is nothing left you can take from me – run to the far corners of Thedas and I’ll find you! Set an army against me and I’ll slaughter them all to get to you! Even if you kill me, I will crawl back through the Fade over broken shards of glass to make sure you suffer. You won’t escape – do you hear me, Howe? You will never be rid of me!”

--

The screams echoed off the walls of the dungeon, distorted through the thick stone and hollowed until the words were lost beyond the guards’ curses. There was a lot of screaming these days. For those who had months since lost their hope, it made pity a distant thing. The noise disturbed the prisoner’s rest, that was all, and he resented being pulled from the meditative oblivion that these days came to him almost as naturally as his own breath as he waited for death to claim him. He shut his eyes in the near-complete darkness as the woman – more the shame – was dragged past his door, and with nothing else he could do he turned his head away.

Something moved on the other side of his cell. He could still hear screaming, but it was muffled behind doors and walls, and far more immediate was the sense of another body, betrayed perhaps by the rustle of cloth, or a breath, or the clink of a chain as whoever it was shifted into wakefulness, little more than a half-imagined outline in the gloom. A spark of curiosity lit in the prisoner’s mind. It was a novelty in itself, the first emotion to break through his despair in months.

“Who’s there?” A male voice, and then a groan. “Is someone there?”

The prisoner leaned forward, licked cracked lips, and in a voice scratchy with disuse, told the stranger his name.

#dragon age #dragon age: origins #dragon age origins #da:o #cousland #alistair x cousland #alistair theirin #alistair and rosslyn #the falcon and the rose

[geeky-introvert]

Numb . Ivar X OC X Hvitserk

Summary: There was no one else left in her life, alone to defend herself she settles in York, but only for a short time before the Heathen’s came. This is how Talitha’s life changed when two brothers take an interest in her, and she can’t help but feel wanted by them….One-Sot

Word count: 4908

In this story the OC has a rare condition called Congenital Insensitivity to Pain, and for those who don’t understand that it just means she can’t feel pain, heat or cold. I’ve tried to do as much research about it so I hope I’ve done alright.

Warning: Violence, swearing, smut and threesome.

Tag List: @lisinfleur @mdlady @didiintheblog @alicedopey @lupy22 @rekdreams247 @mblaqgi @oddsnendsfanfics @aphnxrising​ @happydaysandersen​ @therealcalicali​ @naaladareia​ @inforapound​ @captstefanbrandt​ @waiting4inspiration @tabalugax @p8tn0lish

If anyone else wants to be added to the tag list let me know please.

Since the day she was born pain was unknown to her. It was a struggle growing up. Talitha was different from others, but not by appearance, it was something much different. There was never an answer for why she was the way she was. For as long as she could remember she has been told she was the devils worshipper, but she didn’t want to be, however that was what many people thought of her to be when rumours started to spread.

Growing up wasn’t easy. She never knew her father and was an only child. Her mother did whatever she could to protect her only child from the harsh world. However, the flu got her mother not even two years ago and took her away. Left to defend for herself she chose to settle in the town of York. There she pleaded with the people of the church and priest that she wanted to cleanse her sins and give herself to god, if it meant for her own survival. In the end she was allowed to say but only as a servant for the church, or a slave since she wasn’t being paid anything.

All she got in return was old bread and a spot to sleep in the barn. She thought those were her only options in life. Talitha simply didn’t know what else to do.

Over the next year she grew used to the life and kept to her own, ignoring everything around her as she focused on surviving. Today was important. It was November first, All Saints Day, and the bishop of the church was expecting her to clean the church from ceiling to floor which was why she woke up hours before the sun rose.

It was hard work but she managed to get it done to the bishop’s satisfaction. As a reward she was given mouldy bread and was told to stay when everyone gathered. The bishop thought it might be good for her to ask god for forgiveness and cleanse of her sins, and hope for whatever curse this was would finally go away.

She didn’t hold her breath but she had to try, there was nothing else for her anyway.

As the people gathered into the church everyone remained silent as the bishop spoke aloud. Talitha stood aside in the corner, head bowed and eyes closed, silently praying to god.

Sometimes she wondered why she bothered but her mother always told her to never doubt herself or her place in life. Her mother was her world and she was taken from her, leaving her with nothing but only memories.

Her thoughts were interrupted by a woman’s screams echoing throughout the church. She turned around only to see more people screaming as a large group of people slashed their way through the crowd. She stood frozen, unsure what to do or how to react. Just judging by their clothes she could tell they were Heathen’s. Talitha felt her heart pound against her chest as the seconds went by as everyone was slaughtered.

She couldn’t move and stood there frozen until she was shoved back by a bulky Heathen who pushed his way through without noticing her. With her shaky hands she managed to pull herself out of their stomping feet and up against the wall. Blood soaked up her dress and covered her hands from the blood bath happening in front of her. It was madness.

Looking down at her leg she realised that there was an arrow sticking out from below her knee embedded into her skin, blood was already dripping down from the wound. She could only gasp at the sight of it, but she couldn’t feel it. That’s what people worried about her unable to feel any sort of pain. There was also many scars covering her hands and arms from accidents from a young age, and now she has another to add, if that is if she survived the Heathen’s attack.

She looked up, watching with heavy breaths as the blood bath continued. There was a nun that was pulled by her leg down the steps as the Heathen pulling her laughed out loud in a humours matter. The nun was going to be raped, and she could only watch everything happen before her until it was over, and her death was given, if she wasn’t raped before she was killed that was.

It felt like hours and it probably was before the Heathen’s stopped the slaughter and started looting from everyone. Talitha could only hear the cries of a baby and the whimpering from some of the women who survived, huddled together and praying. She couldn’t even think anymore as she was ignored by everyone. There was no importance for a useless girl like her.

Something made her look up and noticed that someone was staring right at her. She felt his burning blue gaze on her, lingering over her body, and within seconds he was crawling his way towards her. It was like watching a snake slither, or a demon crawling up from hell, either way it made her heart skip a beat as he got closer to her.

The young man grinned at her with his face covered in blood. She watched as he killed the bishop, or poured melted gold into his mouth which ended up killing him then. He crawled up beside her and sat down huffing softly as he moved his fingers over his braided hair and glancing down at her leg where the arrow was.

“You don’t seem to be in any pain, Christian, and yet you have an arrow in your leg.” She was shocked that he knew her language so well and continued to listen to him as he went on. “Tell me beautiful, how much does it hurt?” His voice was mocking, he was teasing her as he purposely poked the arrow, but she didn’t give any reaction, just simply swallowed the lump in her throat.

“It doesn’t hurt…” She did wish she could feel it, just to know what pain felt like. His amused chuckle wasn’t settling.

“Really now?” He gave the arrow another poke, harder and watched for her reaction. When she didn’t give him he narrowed his eyes at her. “Huh? How is it you don’t feel that?”

“I…I don’t know. It was how I was born.” Her voice was so quiet, shy, and felt scared being in the position she was in. “A-are you going to kill me?”

The man continued to stare, studying her through her eyes as his fingers continued to poke at the arrow. More blood was drawing out but she didn’t react, thinking he was waiting for a reaction from her. She just stayed still and let him, there wasn’t much else she could do anyway.

Suddenly, he pulled the arrow out causing her to gasp. It happened so fast. She stared at the arrow head where her blood dipped from and looked at him, waiting for what was to happen next. Much to her horror he licked the blood from the arrow and moaned lowly like it was satisfying to him.

She looked on in disgust at him as he threw it aside and shifted closer to her, licking the blood from his lips with his curios eyes staring down at her.

“I am Ivar, Ivar the Boneless. What is your name?” His sudden change did catch her off guard, and his name was recognised from rumours she’s heard. Ivar brushed away some of her loose hair behind her ear and his rough fingers brushed over her cheek, making her swallow thickly from his tender act.

“Talitha.” His smile grew and he bit his lips.

“Well, Talitha. Today is your lucky day. I’ll be keeping you, you’re now my pet. Don’t you feel grateful?” He said as he tore some away some fabric and wrapped it around her leg like he suddenly cared.

“Pet?” It slipped out before she thought about it.

“Yes, you now belong to me.” He tied the fabric and leaned closer to her, his nose almost touching hers. “Now, can you behave for me? I’ve spared your life, you should be thanking me.”

Talitha looked down at her leg and nodded her head, quickly accepting his words. “I promise to behave. Thank you, Ivar.”

“That’s a good girl.” He seemed rather pleased with her response and even petted her head like a dog. Her life was changing once again, and she didn’t know what to expect out of this one.

Ivar waved over another Heathen and spoke in their tongue to each other. Next she was then lifted in the Heathen’s arms and carried away from the blood bath in the church. She didn’t fight it, move or say anything. All she did was just accept it and allowed herself to be taken away.

The town of York was taken by the Heathen’s, people slaughtered while others taken as slaves. This was the new life in York.

Talitha never expected what had happened after she was taken away. She had her wound tended and was given a bath by other slaves, then a dress, so beautiful and clean, then had her hair done up nicely making her feel like she was important. She wasn’t used to that and she didn’t know how to react, so she just sat there and let them do their thing.

Hours later she was taken to the large hall where things were already being set up quickly as the Heathen’s made themselves right at home. She was taken in by the same guard that carried her and when they entered she was greeted by Ivar and a few other men around the table that was piled up with food. The sight of it made her stomach gurgle and she placed her hands over her stomach in hopes it wouldn’t do it again.

When Ivar saw her he grinned widely at her.” Ahh, there she is! Come, sit with us my pet.” He pulled out a chair and she sat down next to him. Looking up she saw an older man with dirty blonde hair looking at her and Ivar with confusion. She then looked over to the other one, and recognised him as the man who dragged the nun away to rape. His stare and lazy smirk at her made her nervous and she quickly looked away down at her scarred hands where she twirled them together.

“Are you hungry, pet?” Ivar asked pushed a plate full of food in front of her. She looked at him and at the food, thinking there was a catch, but he just waited for her to eat. Her hunger took over and she started to carefully eat at the chicken pieces.

She couldn’t remember the last time she had such taste chicken. As she ate she heard the three men talking in their own language and she knew it was about her as they pointed and stared in her direction. Talitha finished the piece she was holding and went to pick up another only to have her hand grabbed by Ivar.

He noticed the scars.

As he examined them she swallowed the food in her mouth and looked at the men once more. She assumed they were brothers, they did look alike and she admitted to herself that they were all pretty handsome, even Ivar.

“These burns, how did you get them?” He asked as his rough fingers ran over her palms.

“I was young; I don’t even remember them really. My mother told that I liked the glow from the hot coals and would want to touch them. Sometimes she didn’t notice until it was too late.” I swallowed thickly and shifted in my chair. No one’s really asked about my scars before.

“Hmm, interesting,” he spoke to himself as he unexpectedly kissed her palms. The jester was kind and she felt a strange about it. These men killed and raped her people and now she was eating with them. It didn’t sound right.

“Why the girl, Ivar?” She glanced up to realise that Ivar wasn’t the only one who knew her language.

“Because, Ubbe, she’s special. She doesn’t feel any pain and I find that fascinating.” It did confuse her that he found her interesting like that. She saw the confusion from this Ubbe and felt herself look away from him, feeling suddenly shy.

The other man continued to stare at her like she was a piece of meat and Ivar slowly realised this. “See something you like, Hvitserk?”

“She’s pretty, can’t help myself.” She started to wonder if they were speaking her language on purpose so she understood everything. “Do you plan on sharing her?”

Talitha felt her heart drop from his words and glanced at Ivar from the corner of her eyes, holding her breathe for his answer. His hand was then on her thigh, rubbing her as he only briefly thought about it before smirking.

“Maybe, brother, just maybe.” He did that on purpose to imitate her, she knew that.

Just what had become of her in this new life and what did the Heathen’s plan for her?

Talitha found herself sitting in a very large and luxurious bed. It had been weeks since the Heathen’s took over and she had been Ivar’s new pet, though he didn’t treat her like a dog, that she was thankful for but he sure did like calling her ‘pet’ every chance he got.

The town had quickly been rebuilt and stocked again from the attack, and it was today that Ivar had sent her to his room for a bit and he’d come later. She was confused how she was feeling towards them.

She should hate them, and yet she felt herself starting to like there company. There was no doubt she was going to hell for her sins. But besides her mother, no one’s ever really liked what she was besides Ivar. He seemed to be highly fascinated by it and had her at his side for almost every day for hours before allowing her to do her own thing.

No one was ever aloud to touch her, he made that clear. His brother, Hvitserk would always look at her, eyes lingering over her body and smiling. One day she felt herself smile back at him without realising it and he seemed too really like that. It just happened, there was no excuse. Admitting to herself, he was very handsome, most of them were.

It was these thoughts that she was told all her life that were forbidden but she could help herself. She thought maybe that she wasn’t meant to be a Christian. It was a silly thought, but she did ponder about it.

Ubbe was kind but he never looked at her like that. He was caring, that’s the way she put it. He made sure Ivar was taking care of her and that no one bothered her as well. She didn’t think he was interested in her in that way, unlike Ivar and Hvitserk. Then Ivar told her that he was happily married and was a true man, not the kind to sleep around.

Now, she sat on the bed after eating dinner. She noticed some weight had been gained around her from the food she was eating. Never had she felt so full, it felt nice to have decent meals for once. As she was lost in her thoughts the door to the room opened and she looked over to see Ivar and Hvitserk come in.

Ivar crawled his way towards her and pushed himself onto the bed. Hvitserk came in front of them and sat up on a table, watching her. She looked at both brothers feeling unsure why they were there together in the room with her, feeling herself shift on the bed nervously.

“Talitha, let me ask you something.” Ivar started as he scooted closer and rubbing his hand over her thigh making her breath shutter. “Are you a virgin?”

She bit her lips, thinking about it for a moment. “I…Y-yes.” It was embarrassing to admit it.

Ivar looked at Hvitserk and both nodded to each other. “We both want to fuck you. You’re beautiful and Hvitserk has asked me more than once to share you. Do you want to have sex with us?”

She was feeling something she never felt before. There was a strange feeling in her, like her stomach was twisting into knots but in a nice way. It tingled where it was most forbidden at the thought of what they wanted to do with her. They were asking her though, they would have her whenever they wanted and yet they were asking if she wanted to have sex with them, two men.

Her eyes looked at Ivar and back at Hvitserk, feeling scared and uncertain if this was what she really wanted. “I…You’re both very handsome, a-and have been good to me.” She admitted while biting her lips and not missing their proud grins when she called them handsome. “I-I’m just not sure what to do.”

“That’s alright, neither does Ivar.” Hvitserk said so bluntly and Ivar shot him a glare. “What? It’s alright brother. I’ll show you both how it’s done. No shame here.”

Ivar rolled his eyes and looked back at her. “So, what do you say, pet? Do you want to be ravaged by Heathen’s?”

It should scare her, after everything they did she should be terrified and yet she didn’t. Maybe a little scared, but she felt more thrilled, excited at the thought of two very handsome men taking her in bed. She looked at both men, thinking about it before she felt herself nod shyly at them.

There was no going back.

“Good.” Ivar smiled lightly before he turned her face towards him and kissed her. She quickly leaned into the kiss, placing her hands over his shoulders as she savoured the tender touch from him. His tongue pushed passed her lips and she was met with his musky smell when she inhaled through her nose and tasted him with her own. Her soft moan made him smirk against her and moved away from her lips while chuckling softly.

Hvitserk stepped forward and sat down on the bed on her other side. She turned around to face him only to feel his hands cupping her face and leaning forward to kiss her. It was a little different from Ivar, but both were nice. The feel of his moving lips over her own made her let out another moan against him while Ivar behind her rubbed her waist. Shivers broke through her at the feel of both men touching and kissing her, it sent pulses she never felt before, it was addicting.

When Hvitserk moved away from the kiss he stood up again and removed his tunic leaving him bare chested for her. She gasped at his toned chest and even felt her mouth water a little much to her shock. Behind her Ivar did the same and she face him to see his smooth chest herself.

Automatically she reached forward and touched his smooth chest under her fingers. He bit his lips as he watched her, satisfied by how things were going so far.

“Talitha,” Hvitserk spoke her name gently. “Now it’s your turn.” He helped her stand and started to unlace the dress she worse. Her eyes didn’t leave his, worried that she would chicken out from what was happened in the room. She suddenly felt the dress pool around her ankles and her arms rose up quickly to cover her breasts from his gaze. “Looks like your pet is shy, Ivar. We’ll change that.” He moved her arms away from her exposed breasts and let his eyes linger over her perky breasts. “You’re so beautiful and innocent.”

“Quit hogging the view, Hvitserk. I want to see her.” Ivar complained before she turned to face him, letting him look at her naked body.

Ivar stared at her and over the scars she had received over the years. None were given by battled, but only because she was curios and very clumsy. She saw that they didn’t seem bothered by it and focused on her nakedness. It felt weird being so exposed, and yet it was still thrilling, in a way.

“How do we decided who has her first?” Hvitserk asked coming up behind as he kissed her shoulder softly. That was the question. Who was she going to lose her virginity to?

Ivar looked like he was thinking about it for a moment before nodded. “You may have her first.” Hvitserk seemed surprised by his answer. “What? You’ve experienced and I’m not. I want to watch first and learn before I have my turn anyway.”

Hvitserk smirked and leaned over her shoulder, kissing her neck as he rubbed his groin against her plump rear. Talitha breathed heavily as she felt his harden cock rubbing up against her as his hands rubbed over her waist. His lips brushed over the shell of her ear making her whimper a little from the contact and lean back against him.

“Lay down, beautiful.” He whispered. “I’m going to show you how we Heathen’s kiss our women in the north.”

She didn’t say anything but did wonder what he meant. Obeying she laid back against the bed and furs and looked down as Hvitserk knelt in front of her while pushing her legs apart. Ivar watched on curiously from his position as his brother positioned his face between his legs where her twitch core was. Talitha whimpered from the exposed position she was in and suddenly felt scared that she was making a mistake.

Ivar noticed this and laid down next to her where he started to kiss her, assuring that she was alright. Hvitserk kissed right above her core against her curls before swiping his tongue over her folds and against her clit. She let out a started cry that was silenced by Ivar’s mouth. He kissed her while Hvitserk lifted her legs over his shoulder and dipped his tongue over her moist core.

Hvitserk hummed lowly against her, sending shivers and thrills through her quivering body. His tongue dipped into her entrance where he swirled his tongue around drawing out juices from her. She had never experienced something like this before and didn’t want it to stop. Her legs wrapped around his head, holding him close as he lapped against her sex. Ivar started to kiss against her neck allowing her to moan and whimper out while Hvitserk ate her out.

“You make the most amazing sounds, pet.” Ivar softly said against her ear as he looked down at his brother. Hvitserk continued to tongue fuck her core, holding her hips down, ravaging her as more juices spilled from her.

Ivar grabbed her hand and moved it towards his trousers where his cock was, slowly hardening and twitching as she touched him. She gasped from the contact and breathed heavily feel a little overwhelmed by everything that was happening.

Talitha’s hand rubbed over Ivar’s trousers where his cock grew and moaned as Hvitserk suckled her core. When he moved away she squirmed a little making the two chuckle at her.

“You’re very needy, pet.” Ivar let out an amused smirk as Hvitserk stood up and removed his trousers before crawling up over her.

“Lay on your side, so my brother has a good view.” She turned around to face Ivar as Hvitserk settled himself behind her, lifting her leg up over his hip as his throbbing cock pressed against her moist folds.

Talitha tried to keep her breathing even and her eyes on Ivar as he stared right back at her. She felt pressure, no pain which was expected, and felt his cock push up into her past her virtue and fill her. She felt full from his cock and let out a shaky breath against Ivar’s face. Behind her Hvitserk moaned as he started to thrust, his cock moving back and forth in her, sending pulses of pleasure through her core making her moan herself against the Heathen’s in bed with her.

“How does she feel?” Ivar asked as he watched closely.

“So tight, so fucking tight, she feels amazing.” Hvitserk panted against her ear as his thrusts started to pick up. The sound of his groin hitting her rear filled the room along with their heavy breathing and moans. She held onto Ivar’s arm as Hvitserk fucked her hard, pleasured moans falling from her mouth never feeling something so amazing before.

“How does it feel, pet?” Ivar asked quietly grinning down at her rocking figure.

“So good…It feels so good!” She admitted without shame not caring about it other than the cock fucking her senseless.

“Oh fuck!” Hvitserk cried out as he shot his seed within her depths and continued thrusting until she reached her end. Talitha whimpered before letting out a startled cry and clenched around his cock, milking him as he pulled out from her with a heavy sigh. Ivar watched as he juices mixed with his brothers seed leaked out from her gaping core. His cock was painfully hard and he wanted to fuck his pet.

“Hope you’re not too tired, pet. It’s my turn now.” Ivar said as Hvitserk rolled away from her and allowing Ivar to lay Talitha on her back with him crawling on top of her.

Ivar kissed her, moaning as he pushed his hand between them to pull his trousers down, only enough to free his throbbing cock. Maybe one day he’ll show her his legs.

Talitha panted as she spread her legs for him and felt his cock enter her fully in one thrust. She moaned from the sensation of being filled by another and threw her head back against the furs with her legs wrapped around his waist. She wanted to be fucked again, to feel her crashing orgasm once more like she did with Hvitserk.

“Oh fuck. This feels amazing. My beautiful pet, you feel so good.” Ivar praised her as he started to move his hips against her, thrusting his cock back and forth into her.

Hvitserk leaned on his side as he watched them, licking his lips with lustful eyes. He hoped that Ivar will share her a lot with him, for he understood why Ivar liked the special girl so much. No words were said on how to have sex towards Ivar, he picked it up pretty quickly, and so he just watched and enjoyed himself.

Ivar moaned and huffed into her neck as he fucked her hard, earning loud moans of pleasure from her as she felt another orgasm build up in her.

“It feels so good! So fucking good!” Her unexpected words made both men chuckle at her and Ivar slapped her arse making her yelp from the sharp contact, that also strangling gave her another thrill.

“Naughty pet should watch her words.” Ivar chuckled as he thrust his cock into her more harshly feeling his cock twitch wrapped around her warm core.

Talitha cried out as she felt her orgasm crash down on her once more with Ivar still thrusting with harsh predatory growls before giving a final thrust and let out a loud cry as his seed coated her depths.

Ivar pulled out and landed on his back with a heavy huff with his eyes staring at the ceiling. He was pleased with himself that he was able to pleasure a woman, and this young woman was his beautiful pet and his forever, and would probably share her with Hvitserk as well, but no one else.

After the steamy heavy sex all three stayed in the large bed together with Talitha asleep against Ivar’s chest and her leg tangled around Hvitserk’s with his chest pressed up against her back. Hvitserk and Ivar were also in deep sleep, pleased how the night turned out for them.

Talitha never wanted to leave. She felt right at home with them and never wanted to lose that. Not when it all felt so right and amazing. Softly she nuzzled against Ivar’s chest, humming softly as she dreams on how good the future will be with them, even if it meant being as their pet. She kind of liked it anyway.

#vikings #ivar the boneless #hvitserk #ivar x oc #hvitserk x oc #ivar x oc x hvitserk #fanfiction #fandom #smut #hvitserk imagine #ivar imagine

[ialwayscomewhenyoucall]

Time Lord Technology and Hidden Depths

tentoo x rose

They stood together, holding hands, the air around them humming with anticipation and possibility. Rose had a messenger bag slung over her shoulder. The Doctor held a key.

“Here we are, Rose Tyler. Are you ready?”

She squeezed his hand. “Allons-y,” she said, unable to hold back her smile.

His laugh wrapped around her like a warm hug. “Allons-y!” he repeated, grinning. Then he reached out and put the key into the keyhole of their brand new TARDIS.

It had taken just less than a year and a half to grow from the “seed” the (other) Doctor had given them before going back to his universe. Today was their maiden voyage.

“Not that I’m complaining,” Rose said, “but why does it look like this? Isn’t it supposed to...blend? You said the other one looked like a police box because the chameleon circuit was broken.” Because their new TARDIS looked almost exactly like the old one. The blue was a bit brighter, maybe, and the door handles had a slightly different shape. Other than that…

The Doctor shrugged. “Maybe she knew what we wanted.”

Rose raised her eyebrows. “She?”

He winked.

Again she squeezed his hand, and then together--even though the sign still said pull--they pushed the door open and went inside.

It felt like home.

***

They could have explored for hours, of course, but they were too anxious to be off. The Doctor pulled Rose into a tight embrace and asked, “Where are we headed, then? Your choice. All of time and space are at our fingertips once again! The Doctor and Rose in the TARDIS, as it should be.” He spun her around, laughter spilling from both of them.

“I actually have something in mind,” Rose said, a twinkle in her eye. “Do you remember when we met Captain Jack, that time in London?”

“Oh yes. ‘I’m looking for a blond,’” he said, in a horrible imitation of his previous incarnation’s accent.

She pulled a face at the weird combination of old and new and pushed on. “Can we go around that same time period? London, war-torn, lots of kids on the streets? Only Christmas Eve, please.”

“Christmas Eve and street kids? What have you got up your sleeve?” he asked with a grin.

She grinned right back at him. “It’s in my bag, actually.”

***

Rose almost cried at the sight of the Doctor’s hands dancing across the controls, at the familiar grinding/whooshing sound of the TARDIS. The trip itself took less than a minute, and then there they were, opening the doors into another time.

A dusting of grey snow covered the silent street in front of them. There were no cars, just an abandoned, broken bicycle leaning against a lamppost and a tipped over rubbish bin. The snow, still falling, was unblemished.

“Does anyone live here?” asked Rose. “It’s spooky.” They hesitated to walk out the TARDIS door and onto the empty street, but they both felt the thrill of excitement when they stepped into the past.

The Doctor’s eyes darted from side to side, up and down, taking in their surroundings. “I don’t think it’s completely abandoned. I wonder if maybe there was a recent attack, and the people haven’t come out of hiding yet? They could be down in cellars and shelters.” He pointed to a sidewalk leading to a house three down from where they stood. “Look at that one. There are old footprints, under the most recent snow. And I hear planes. Far distant, but they are out there.”

Rose shook her head. She believed him, but she couldn’t hear anything but the soft sound of falling snow.

His head whipped around. “There!” he said, pointing toward a shadowy alley up the block. “I think if we go that way just might find those kids you’re looking for. Got your supplies?”

She patted her bag. She loved him for so many reasons, but in that moment she loved him for his utter faith in her. He didn’t ask questions, just trusted that she knew what she was doing. Unexpectedly tears welled up in her eyes; she hastily scrubbed them away and followed after her Doctor, careful not to slip in the newly fallen snow. The air was cold, so cold that her breath frosted in clouds around her head and the snow squeaked under her boots. The squeak of each step was loud in the quiet night.

She caught up to the Doctor and slipped her hand into his, finding comfort in the familiar warmth of his palm against hers. “This way,” he said, his voice soft as the snow. They stepped into the alley.

Rose knew immediately that they were being watched. The hairs on the back of her neck stood on end and all her senses were on high alert. She didn’t feel threatened though, not exactly. Just warned, like the the watchers were sending out a “We are here, be aware of us” message. The Doctor squeezed her hand. He felt it too, and again he was trusting her to lead.

Tucking these thoughts away to marvel over later, she said in a low, light voice, “It’s alright. We’re the good guys. English. We don’t want anything from you. I have something for you, actually.” She plunged her hands into her bag and brought out handfuls of Christmas sweets: candy canes and chocolate coins and gingerbread men and turkish delight. She also had oranges and bananas--the Doctor grinned at those--and small loaves of bread. The children, who had been crouched behind rubbish bins and stacks of boxes couldn’t stay hidden at these heaps of treasure. They peeked out from their hiding places, being careful to stay in the shadows, but they couldn’t hide the noise. There were gasps and moans of pure delight mixed with what was unmistakably hunger.

“It’s really alright. Happy Christmas,” said Rose, pushing her hands a little closer to the children in the shadows, trying to draw them out. “I’m Rose. And this is the Doctor. We just brought some Christmas treats, that’s all. Didn’t figure anyone else would.”

Slowly, slowly, a small dark haired boy, no more than six years old, stepped out from behind a mouldy box. “I’ve never tasted a candy cane before,” he said, his eyes fixed on the red and white striped candies. “I’ve seen them in shops, but never…” His voice trailed off as he stepped closer and closer, and finally reached out his hand to Rose. His bright green eyes looked into hers and said, “It’s really okay, mum?”

Rose couldn’t speak; she knew if she did the tears in her eyes would start to fall and she’d lose all control. So she just smiled and nodded and put a candy cane in the boy’s small, dirty hand. He unwrapped it with great care; then, when he couldn’t wait any longer, took a taste.

His eyes widened. “This is the best thing I ever tasted. Ever. Sally! Come taste this!” A girl with soft brown hair, perhaps his sister, clambered down from the pile of wooden crates she’d been perched on. While Sally looked at the sweets the boy said, “All of you, come on! This is good!”

Before Rose knew what had happened, she was surrounded by children; it was difficult to count because they didn’t stay still, but she guessed there were twelve or fifteen, none of them older than ten. Amazingly they didn’t grab, they waited their turn to choose from the pile of sweets. They must have been able to see that there was plenty to go around. Every time something started to run low--the candy canes were a definite favorite, followed by the oranges and the bread--Rose would reach into her bag and pull out more. Eventually the Doctor noticed. He left the little girl he’d been chatting with, and his eyebrows were puzzled when he sidled up to Rose.

“That bag,” he said, speaking right into her ear so none of the children could hear. “Where did you get it?”

She grinned up at him and winked. “The TARDIS made it for me. The old one, I mean. I asked and it--I mean, she--made it for me. Time Lord technology. Bigger on the inside. It got left on board when we were--” She faltered; it still hurt to think about how she had been trapped in Pete’s World the first time. Being separated from the Doctor had been like having half of herself amputated without anesthetic. “But when I was back on board I snatched it up again, made sure it got out the door with me. Bloody useful, this bag.”

“Why Rose Tyler,” said the Doctor, wonderment in his eyes and a smile curving his lips, “full of hidden depths, you are.” He kissed her fully, to the immediate disgust of the boys in the group. Some of the girls, too.

When all the food was passed out--the children were amazed to find that there was much more than they could possibly eat, including quite a lot of fruit--Rose exclaimed, “Oh! I nearly forgot!” She reached into her bag, her arm disappearing up to the shoulder, and rooted around for a moment before she cried out, “I’ve got it!” She pulled out a blanket. And then another, and another. The blankets were followed by wool sweaters, and socks, and scarves, and hats, and mittens. The children’s eyes grew wider and wider. They almost certainly thought they were dreaming, but what would they think when they woke up snug and warm and full the next morning? Rose would become a legend. The Doctor grinned. Quite right, he thought.

A moment later a siren echoed in the street. “What’s that?” asked Rose, clearly startled.

The children looked at her as if she was from another planet. You’re almost right, thought the Doctor, amused. A blond girl said, “It’s the all-clear siren, mum. The bombers are gone. People can go outside again.”

“That’s our cue to go then,” said the Doctor, putting his arm around Rose. The children clambered around them, jostling to get in close, to hug Rose, to whisper their thanks. She hugged every one of them, and ruffled their hair or stroked their cheeks. All too soon they were gone, the children deeper into the alley and Rose and the Doctor back onto the street they’d come from, holding hands again, walking to their TARDIS. The street was still empty but a few lights had come on in the once dark houses. The town was coming back to life.

“I know I can’t fix everything,” Rose said as they walked the last few steps on the dark, snowy street. “I just wanted to bring a little joy to some kids on Christmas.”

The Doctor pulled her through the blue doors, into the warmth of the TARDIS, the warmth of home. “You were brilliant. Absolutely brilliant.” He cupped her face in his hands and kissed her softly, first her cheeks, then her forehead, then her lips.

When they could breathe again, the Doctor said, “So, back home now?”

Rose, her arms still wrapped around him, buried her face in his neck. “I’m already home.”

After a beat to fix the moment in his memory he busied himself with the control panel. When the TARDIS flew into the time vortex he shouted, “Well then, allons-y!”

for @doctorroseprompts 31 Days of Ficmas || Day 5: Candy Canes

my ficmas masterpost

#lirael writes #doctorroseprompts #31 days of ficmas #tentoo x rose #tentoo #rose tyler #this was so hard to write #i re-wrote it about five times #and it's still not exactly what i envisioned #sigh #but i'm almost happy with it now #anyway #i'm going to queue it up and go to bed now #dw #dw drabble #doctor who drabble

[danny-redbard-blog]

I don't eat food on Mondays. There's always been this fire in me to question the narrative when it feels like bullshit to me. From the moment I asked myself, "I wonder if I can go a week without eating meat?" I was genuinely under the impression that we die without eating meat. Then my mind wandered back to the world wars, where prisoners of war survived in death camps by eating a slice of mouldy bread per week. I remember hearing that in high school & everyone expressing, 'Oh, so cruel. So sad.' My mind went, "People survived off 1 slice of bread a week?! What the hell is all this, 'must eat 3 fruit & 5 veg, can't survive without meat protein, breakfast is the most important meal of the day, garbage then?'" "Can't gain muscle on a vegan diet." Bahh. "We need red meat for our brain function." Hah! What's the agenda here? The Vedas say that fasting helps meditation & makes us live longer. So now I don't eat from Sunday afternoon to Tuesday afternoon. 40 hour fast each week. I shake myself up like this so that my willpower is constantly prepared for new challenges. I do this to hone the sharpness of my internal bullshit-o-metre. When someone says something has to be done a certain way, I open up to the opposite end of the spectrum. Have you explored this way of thinking? I ask you, what's bullshit in this society that you've always averted? And have you conformed to it because everyone else does? Sitting watching Netflix even though you know the powers at the top want you dumb & lazy. Drinking the coca-cola even though you know it's poison. Wearing the boring clothes, stock-standard tattoos, hair that's in fashion, because you don't want to stand-out & have people talk behind your back. Aren't you bored? Is anyone else bored of this monotony? Can we all deliberately shake up? Completely change what we look like, eat like, express like, just to remind ourselves that we aren't these skin-suits. No matter how much they want us to be. This life can be heaven if we step through the discomfort of the narrative. Our inner-compass is screaming at us to explore & experience the range of being a human being. Are you listening? 🌹 https://www.instagram.com/p/CAoRWHkHRDe/?igshid=kcj353mil6o9

[helplesslyinlovewithcharacters]

Surprises - Mick Rory x Reader

Request: “You can’t solve your problems by hiding in bed all day” and “I forgot to mention that I’m...I’m completely in love with you” with Mick Rory please.

Pairing: Mick Rory x Female Reader

“You can’t solve your problems by hiding in bed all day”

Without lifting her head from where it was snuggled into their pillows, she responded. “You seriously underestimate my ability to procrastinate”

A deep laugh rumbled through Mick’s chest as he shook his head at his girlfriend’s antics. If it had been anyone else, he would have pulled the covers away and forced them to get up but he couldn’t do that to (y/n), especially not when she looked so peaceful cuddled up in their sheets. Instead, he wandered over to the bed and settled down next to her. She was pressed against his side in an instant, relishing in his warmth. Pressing kisses to her forehead, Mick let her rest her head on his broad chest as he smiled absentmindedly at the ceiling.

He waited until she’d drifted back to sleep before he decided he would take some things off the ever-growing list they had of stuff that needed doing. Despite hating it, he sorted their washing, taking the huge load down to the washer on the ground floor of their apartment building. To kill some time while he waited for the washing to be done, he cleaned the kitchen, grimacing slightly when he pulled a loaf of mouldy bread from the cupboard. They really needed to go shopping.

Two hours later, there were two loads of clean washing drying around the apartment, filling it with the comforting scent of their detergent, and the kitchen was clean and stocked with fresh food. Mick had made sure to buy her a couple of packets of her favourite biscuits as well as some flowers that he could only hope she would love. In spite of the fact they’d been together for a couple of months now, it still all felt very new to him and he was always worried he would make a mistake that would end up upsetting or hurting her. But doing this for her felt right, he liked the idea of taking some of the weight off her shoulders and carrying it for her. He knew that her job was stressful and that his antics probably didn’t help so giving her more time to rest felt like the least he could do.

By the time another hour had passed, their clothes were neatly folded in their drawers and the bathrooms had been cleaned. Relaxing into the sofa, Mick allowed a sense of pride to bloom in his chest as he admired their now clean apartment. He savoured the feeling before deciding that he would definitely have to do things like this for her more often.

As the morning stretched into the afternoon, he fiddled with his lighter, impatiently waiting for (y/n) to wake up.

“Oh my god” Mick was so startled by her voice that he fumbled with the lighter, nearly dropping it onto their carpeted floors. He turned to her with a bashful smile, the feeling foreign as he watched her gaze at their apartment in wonder. “I don’t remember the last time it looked this clean”

They shared smiles as (y/n) laughed softly. His heart thumped against his chest as he took in her dishevelled appearance, his crumpled t-shirt hanging loosely by her sides as she tried to tame her bed head. “There’s more”

Amusement sparked in her eyes as she was taken back by his playful tone. Turning around, she made her way into the kitchen, trying to hide how excited she was. A gasp escaped her lips as she admired the flowers he had left for her in a vase she’d forgotten they had.

“Do you like them?” His deep voice brought her out of her internal swooning. When she’d met him, she knew he wasn’t the type of guy who bought flowers after a long day at work, but it turned out he was full of surprises, she’d never expected him to clean either.

“I love them” Mick turned his head away as a light blush heated his cheeks. Gently, she placed her hand on the centre of his chest before slowly trailing it upwards to cup the back of his neck. He bowed his head, meeting her in the middle. Their lips grazed softly, pulling a sigh from (y/n)’s mouth. Mick eagerly responded by wrapping his arms around her waist and drawing her against his chest.

(Y/n) smiled up at him when they eventually broke apart. “Thank you, for everything. You really didn’t have to go to all this trouble”

“I wanted to” He stared at her adoringly as she nuzzled his chest.

“Y’know, I forgot to mention that I’m” She paused, her breath hitching as their eyes connected. “I’m completely in love with you”

Mick’s eyes widened in surprise before he found himself responding. “I love you too”

A joyous laugh bubble in her chest as she pulled him down for another kiss, it turned out Mick Rory was full of surprises.

#mick rory x reader #mick rory #The Flash

[storyunrelated]

Cold Hard Hugs #18_Johnny Come Lately

I've run out of things to say at this point.

I have no idea what I would tag this with if I actually wanted more people to read it, you know. What does this even count as? Who knows? Not me.

By the time I woke up the next day both Tillie and Skaffen were gone. Not out of the country, merely out of the house, but still gone. There wasn’t even a note left to base my assumptions on, so my assumptions were baseless and mostly consisted of me picturing the two of them meandering around town doing...whatever girls do in town. With some differences. So basically I had no idea.

I wasn’t exactly going to bother Tillie by calling or texting and asking where she was or what she was doing or when she might be coming back from wherever she was or what she was doing there.

I’m not even sure if she actually took her phone out the house with her normally, and if she did where she would put it. Her bag, presumably. Did she have a bag for when she went places that weren’t uni? Like a handbag sort of deal? I did not know. I assumed no, since I’d never seen her with one, which made my decision not to call a sensible one, rather than merely an arbitrary one. Go me.

This all left me with a lot of time on my hands, and not a lot of idea of what to do with it. It felt like it had been a long time since I’d been left to my own device, and I had apparently lost the knack of how to do it properly. I didn’t even know you could, but there I was, staring into space and twiddling my thumbs. With Tillie around activity came naturally. Would that make her a catalyst? Not sure. I did miss her though. Or was that clingy? Best to distract myself.

I played some games, but none held me for long. I just couldn’t settle. The one which did turned out to be - by dint of its very design - somewhat frustrating. Difficulty of a brutally fair nature was sort of the point of the thing, but for some reason I just couldn’t quite hack it the way I used to. I thought I had been prepared to die, but apparently I had limits. I stopped playing and I went outside.

Specifically I went into the back garden, and this got me nowhere. We were overshadowed and overlooked by trees and a steep slope to the rear which made the back garden a touch dingy. That, and there was literally nothing to do in it. I questioned my decision almost immediately and did an abrupt about-face. Out the front of the house, post haste!

This proved just as pointless. What, exactly, was I planning on doing? Going into town? To what end? Standing in the street? Not my idea of a good time. Back inside, where you belong. Back in your room, back in your chair. Just sit still, be quiet and don’t fuss. No-one likes a fuss. Just wait to be told what to do next. If you can’t think of anything to do while you wait, do nothing. It’s not hard.

So basically I sat in my room for a few hours until I heard the front door being opened. I leafed through a book now and then, put some music on, half-watch half of something I couldn’t remember, but otherwise wasn’t really sure where the time had gone. Into nothing, really. Just aimless wanderings in my own head too dull to be memorable.

I’d also had lunch. ‘Lunch’. The bread had been mouldy so beans on toast became beans sans toast, but I’d had worse. At least they were hot. Ish. Mental note: buy more bread at some point. And this time don’t let it touch the back of the fridge. You’re a grown man now, mostly! You should know better.

“Nice day?” I asked and was informed that yes it had been a nice day. Their conversation - which had been going on throughout the entirety of their jaunt around town - continued as they moved in past me and took up residence in Tillie’s room, from whence they did not shift.

I wondered briefly if this was how anyone felt when I disappeared for vast stretches to just hang around with Tillie until I realised that no-one really depended or counted on having me around on-call at all times anyway. Most people probably didn’t even notice I wasn’t there or care why. That was probably for the best. I hung around outside her room for five minutes or so before noticing I was doing it and going back upstairs again. Later, I went to sleep, though I could still hear them talking. They must have had a lot to catch up on. And plan, obviously. Holiday plans.

The next day followed much the same pattern. That time I was around for their departure but it didn’t change much. Did get a hug though, and for whatever reason an itinerary of what the day would include. Yesterday was for showing Skaffen around town, I was informed; today was for holiday shopping for Tillie. Why those two activities couldn’t have been combined with a mystery to me, but I wasn’t going to question the methods of those who clearly knew better than me. What did I know about holidays? Nothing. What did I know about anything? Nothing. Best keep quiet. I knew Skaffen would appreciate that.

I also learnt that they would be leaving the following day. I probably should have been more attentive in listening to the shape of their travel arrangement, as this came as something of a shock to me. The third member of their holiday party - the mysterious Johnny, about whom I had heard little other than the fact he was either a policeman norw or going to be one and generally sounded like he had his life in perfect order - would be joining them by car and then taking them all hence to the airport, at which point I could only assume they would get into a plane. I went to a seminar, because I sort of had to.

Johnny, as it turned out, was probably the most humanoid looking living-machine I had seen up to that point. Two arms, two legs, head, eyes, mouth, nose; the whole works. The caveat (if you could call it that) being that he appeared to be composed of a light grey, sandy material that had coalesced into one solid shape. He moved not so by moving, but by every tiny particulate part of him shifting into the space he wanted to occupy at the time. It made my eyes water, but that wasn’t his fault.

He also used to be smaller, if Tillie’s immediate reaction was anything to go by.

“Johnny? You’re big now!” She gasped on his arrival. I happened to have been passing at the time, where she and Skaffen had been waiting for him and dashed to the front door the moment the doorbell went.

“Just a little bit,” he said, face unmoving. That was another thing. Johnny appeared to be smiling a fair amount of the time and he probably was, but his facial features did not move. At all. Anytime they did it was more like his face resetting into a different state. Again, not his fault, just how it worked.

Tillie turned to me.

“When we were kids Johnny was only, like…” She held her hand down, then lower, then lower still. Apparently that still wasn’t low enough. “Really small!” She concluded. There wasn’t a lot I could say to this.

“How times change,” I said, with what I hoped was appropriate levels of nostalgic whimsy. It seemed to work as Tillie turned, lights bright and happy, and practically dragged Johnny into the house. Skaffen was behind me, which made me jump, and also greeted Johnny in her own inimitable way. I really couldn’t imitate it if I tried.

“Ah, you must be the guy I’ve been hearing about,” Johnny said, making his way towards me after his initial hellos to the girls. Even when he spoke his face did not move, though there was a glow that flashed in time with his words from somewhere within his mouth. It was a touch unnerving, not helped by the expression on his face remaining an immobile and endearingly cheerful one. He meant well, I knew.

“Johnny,” he said, sticking out a hand. That made a refreshing change given the last friend of hers I’d met and I shook it. Despite looking like a big pile of grey sand in the shape of a person he had a surprisingly firm grip, which was also a nice change. Limp handshakes are of the devil. A very weak, flaccid devil.

“Most people are more reluctant to do that,” he said after the shake broke. I hadn’t been so I couldn’t really speak to that and I didn’t know much about it anyway, so I just sort of half-shrugged.

“Most people are impolite?” I ventured. That got a chuckle out of him.

“Well, that. And most people are a little nervous shaking hands with a nanohive. Afraid I’ll turn them into goo, you know.”

This rung a bell and I screwed my face up for a moment trying to remember why. Then I remembered.

“I always thought the grey-goo scenario was unfeasible? Something to do with...thermodynamics? Obviously my area of expertise…” I said, feeling very dim for starting a sentence but not knowing enough to finish it properly. Johnny didn’t appear to mind. His face rippled from bottom to top and when it finished his smile had grown noticeably broader.

“You’re the first flesh-and-blood person I’ve met who knows that,” he said. I probably looked more sheepish, scratching the back of my head and giving a full shrug this time - no holding back! No half measures!

“I’m sure everyone else just thought it was too obvious to mention…” I said.

From what I understand it had something to do with most substances requiring more energy to break down then they would give back. Rocks and dirt not making good fuel for the reproduction of complex machines. Also heat build-up?

I don’t know, I’d just read it somewhere. Not that the prospect of self-replicating nanomachines breaking down everything on the planet into an endless sea of themselves wasn’t a potent image, of course. Johnny seemed too nice for that anyway. Maybe I’m a bad judge of character. Hopefully not.

“No I don’t think so, I just think you’re on the ball. I can see why Tillie likes you!” Johnny said, which made me want to fold up like a card table. People saying nice things is unpleasant. It makes me want to be somewhere else. Somewhere there is no-one saying such things. Obvious, really.

“You’ll make me blush,” I said, failing to maintain eye-contact.

Tillie rushed up, tail thumping against the floor like a wagging dog. She probably wouldn’t appreciate that comparison, now I think about it. Best not mention that to her.

“You should totally come see the stuff I got for the holiday!” She said, grabbing Johnny by the hand again and hauling him off towards her room. His face had just enough time to switch over to what was a rather more apologetic expression before was yanked away and out of sight. Skaffen followed wordlessly, and I was left standing in the hall.

I needed a drink, I felt. Maybe more than one. I’d play it by ear.

#Cold Hard Hugs #Writing #Amwriting #Writblr

[faithfacts-blog1]

A Good General Identifies Dangerous Enemies by their Lies

And when the inhabitants of Gibeon heard what Joshua had done unto Jericho and to Ai,

They did work wilily, and went and made as if they had been ambassadors, and took old sacks upon their asses, and wine bottles, old, and rent, and bound up;

And old shoes and clouted upon their feet, and old garments upon them; and all the bread of their provision was dry and mouldy.

And they went to Joshua unto the camp at Gilgal, and said unto him, and to the men of Israel, we be come from a far country: now therefore make ye a league with us.

And the men of Israel said unto the Hivites, Peradventure ye dwell among us; and how shall we make a league with you?

Joshua 9:3-7

Joshua’s Greatest Mistake

The greatest mistake of Joshua, the General was made when he fell for the lies and deception of his enemy.  He was dealing with his enemy, someone he should have destroyed.  But they deceived him into thinking they were friends.  Joshua was deceived because he did not investigate whether the people were liars or not.  You must investigate whether people around you are liars or not.  Many people around leaders do not tell the truth.  Everyone wants to rise up and be favoured by the leader.  Because of this, leaders are often surrounded by clever deceivers.  This is why heads of state often do the wrong thing.  There are liars around the leader.  But you must not accept deceivers in your cabinet.  Identify them and stop them.  The deception will eventually feed back against you.  

A dangerous enemy is identified by his lies and deception.  

Your deadly enemy must be noticed by his lies and deception.  The liar in your life is the person you must learn to mark as your deadly enemy.  

Although most people tell lies effortlessly, lies remain the significant sign of the presence of Satan.  Jesus said, “He was a murderer from the beginning, and abode not in the truth, because there is no truth in him. When he speaketh a lie, he speaketh of his own: for he is a liar, and the father of it” (John 8:44).  This Scripture reveals that Satan is actually a killer and a murderer who tells lies.  Satan wants to kill you and destroy you.  The sign of the presence of the devil is always some kind of deception, lying or covering up of something.  A pastor and a Christian must be very wary of telling lies because it is a step into demonic territory.  

It is sad to see how lying and deception has become a part of the ministry.  It is a sign of the presence of the devil in the ministry.  If you are a man of God, do not tell lies or say things, which are not true.  Do not make promises that you will not fulfil.  Each time you do that, you reveal that there is some infiltration of demons in your life.   Satan is a part of your life and ministry when lying and deception are a part of your life and ministry.  

As a leader, you must watch out for signs of deception and traces of lies in those around you.  Do not be deceived by innocent faces and nice presentations of people.  Do not be deceived by the looks of a good liar.  Be more conscious of whether someone has told the truth and whether he always tells the truth.  A good general identifies enemies and marks them out by their lying and deceiving ways!  The Bible has no kind remarks for deceivers of any sort.  King David prayed that he would be rescued from liars!    

Rescue me, O Lord, from liars and from all deceitful people.  O deceptive tongue, what will God do to you?  How will he increase your punishment? You will be pierced with sharp arrows and burned with glowing coals.

Psalm 120:2-4 (NLT)

Mind you, good liars are impressive!  That is why it is difficult to believe that they are lying.  Do not think that a liar cannot look you straight in the eye and tell a lie.  Expert liars can lie to you without blinking.  They can act the part and pretend to be anything they are not.  Expert liars can undergo interrogation and even torture without ever changing their story.  Years will pass by as they maintain their lying stories.  Always remember; when you are dealing with a liar, you are dealing with a dangerous person.  Apart from everything else, many politicians are liars.  Adolf Hitler lied to the German people and led them to Hell.   Through his lies he caused the deaths of fifty million people.  

The Lies of a Head of State

The lies of Adolf Hitler were the greatest revelation of whom he really was.  The lies he told in his speeches revealed the presence of a strong satanic force.  Wherever there are lies and deception, you can be assured you are dealing with an evil presence.  It is worth investigating, asking questions, searching and querying until you are sure you are not being told any kind of lies.  

In this section, I want you to notice the many different lies that Adolf Hitler told.  He said one thing in public and a completely different thing in private.  He was lying all the time and the lies he told revealed that a great evil was preparing to manifest itself to the world. If you are sensitive to lying and deception you may save yourself from accepting the wrong people in your life.  

Great liars are also great murderers.  Adolf Hitler is a classic example of the fact that, “If you tell a big enough lie and tell it frequently enough, it will be believed.” “Make the lie big, make it simple, keep saying it and eventually they will believe it.”

How Hitler Lied about Invading Poland

Publicly Adolf Hitler lied and said: “Poland is about to invade Germany.  The Polish state has refused a peaceful settlement.  Germans in Poland are treated with bloodied terror and driven from their homes.  A series of violations along the German-Polish border has proved that Poland is not longer willing to respect the frontiers of the Reich.  Does anyone really believe that the German nation will stand for that act from such a ridiculous state:  To put an end to this lunacy, I have no other choice than to meet force with force.”  

To the German military he said, “Close your heart to pity.  Act brutally. Eighteen million people must obtain what is their right. The strongest man is always right.”

After destroying Poland in eighteen days of fighting, eighteen days of fire and killing 50,000 Poles, Hitler invited foreign journalists to view the destruction of Poland.  Adolf Hitler then said:

“A great crime has been committed here.  The Polish military went mad and look at the crime against their own people.  They were drunk with power and talked of marching on Berlin.  Then they barricaded themselves in the city, and look at Warsaw now!  Sheer sympathy for women and children caused me to make an offer to those in command in Warsaw to, at least, let the civilian inhabitants leave the city.”  

In truth, Hitler ordered a special SS unit to follow the army across the city.  It was their job to murder any living Pole they could find.  Doctors, police, the clergy, Jews, landlords and the nobility were all butchered.  Less than three percent of the Polish upper class remained alive after the attack.    

How Adolf Hitler Lied about France

Publicly Adolf Hitler lied and said:  “I have declared that the frontier between Germany and France is a final one. I have repeatedly offered friendship and the closest cooperation with Britain. Germany has no interest in the West and we have no aims there for the future. With this assurance we are in solemn earnest. As long as others do not violate the neutrality of Holland and Belgium, we will take every care to respect it.”

But in private Hitler said:  

“My decision is unchangeable. I shall attack France and England at the earliest favourable moment. The neutrality of Holland and Belgium is of no importance. If France and England strike, let them do so.  It is a matter of complete indifference to me. Today is Tuesday.  By Monday, we may be at war with someone.”

How Adolf Hitler Lied about Russia

Since the beginning of his political career, Hitler had considered communism one of the world’s greatest evils and frequently insisted that any cooperation with Russia was out of the question.  

Publicly Adolf Hitler lied and said:  “The government of the Reich is ready to cultivate with the Soviet Union friendly relations profitable to both parties.  Given the fact that Soviet Russia has no intention of exporting its doctrine to Germany, I no longer see any reason why we should still oppose one another.”  

But privately, Adolf Hitler said:  

“We will crush Soviet Russia. The German Armed Forces must be prepared, even before the conclusion of the war against England, to crush Soviet Russia in a rapid campaign. We need only kick in the front door and the whole rotten edifice of communism will come crashing down.  What matters is that Bolshevism be exterminated. Moscow, as the centre of the doctrine must disappear from the earth’s surface.  No organized Russian state must be allowed to exist.”

How Adolf Hitler Lied about England

Publicly Adolf Hitler lied and said:  “I shall arrange an interview with foreign journalists of the British attempting to land on the coast of Europe.  I will treat the subject in a manner that will come as a cold douche to the British. I will say that I do not believe in the possibility of an invasion.”  

But privately, he began preparing for the inevitable invasion.  “We must aim at securing a defensive line on Dutch soil because the war with England will be a life and death struggle. The idea that we can get off cheaply is dangerous. There is no such possibility.  When the enemy invades in the West, it will be the moment of decision in this war and that moment we must turn to our advantage.  I will emphasize the German military precision and thoroughness and ensure that we are prepared for every eventuality.”

by Dag Heward-Mills

[two-sides-to-every-story-love]

What’s your favourite type of bird? My bird buddy (budgie).

How many friends do you have on Facebook? 384 apparently haha

What was on the last sandwich you ate? Vegemite haha 

What sort of music did you listen to when you were in high school? everything. rnb, rap, pop, emo music, edm. just everything. i’ve changed now though.

Do you prefer gold or silver jewellery? Silver!

Have you ever gotten back together with an ex? Yep haha

How far away is the closest store to your house and what is it? about a 10 minute drive haha 

What is your favourite Thai dish? No idea

How many contacts do you have in your phone? i have no idea.

When was the last time you made out with somebody? it’s been awhile! About 3 months. 

What month of the year was your mother born? December

Do you have any friends that seem to know all the hot gossip? haha there’s a few.

Are there any candles in your bedroom, and what scent are they? yes. i have one a vanilla one 

What tv show(s) have you been watching currently? Suits, Derry Girls, The Good Place 

When was the last time you went to a birthday party? About a month ago

How many apps do you have on your phone? too many. I need to do a clean out too.

What pet names do you use with your significant other? Don’t have one haha 

Do you have to wear a name badge where you work? yes.

Do you have a dress code or have to wear a uniform where you work? uniform.

What brand is your toaster, if you have one? Coles probably haha 

Have you ever dated a smoker? If not, would you? yes two.

Are there any movies you’ve seen so many times? yes.

What was the last thing you purchased with cash? No idea haha 

Can you hear anything right now? Ice ice baby by vanilla ice haha!

Is there anybody else in the room you’re currently in? nope.

What’s the name of the store you usually get your groceries? coles.

Would you rather travel to Japan or Scotland? japan.

Does your house have a porch/balcony? porch.

What’s your usual order when you go to a coffee shop? frappe 

Have you ever seen a theatre show? yes.

What was the last movie you saw and who did you watch it with? Love Rosie and by myself haha

What is your mother’s first name? Ros

Do you like to dance? i would if i could! i do it anyway.

How would you describe your sense of humour? sarcastic.

What’s your favourite type of bread? Not mouldy kind? haha 

Do you receive catalogues and brochures in your mailbox? yes.

What colour is the sky right now? black.

Do you share a middle name with any of your siblings? nope.

Have there ever been any bushfires/wildfires in your area? forever ago.

Have you ever taken a ride in an ambulance? Nope 

How would you label your sexual orientation? straight.

When was the last time you took a nap during the day? yesterday.

What did you have to eat for dinner last night? Pork steak and chips 

Have you ever been a member in a band? nope.

Are you double-jointed? no.

What was the last thing you had to drink? water.

Do you currently have any bruises on your body? Yep haha 

Who was the last message you received from and what did they say? Bailed already? From my brother because I bailed on Warframe hahaha.

What colour are your eyes? Green

Can you cry on command? If so, have you ever used it to your advantage? not at all.

Do you consider your goals easily achievable or are they pretty grand? achievable if i was in the right mindset.

What’s your favourite kind of accent? i feel like i don’t have a favourite.

What time does the sun go down where you live at this time of the year? 8 or 8:30pm 

Do you prefer beer, wine or spirits? spirits.

When was the last time you ate Mexican food? i don’t remember omg.

Have you ever watched yourself on video? yes.

What time did you wake up today? about 10am

What time will you go to sleep tonight? soonish.

Do you have separate emails for personal and business? no.

Are you the eldest, youngest or a middle child? youngest 

What’s your favourite vegetable? brocolli 

What colours are you wearing today? I had a red top and black pants on my work uniform haha 

Do you have a subscription to any streaming services like Netflix? yes.

Would you rather eat Italian or Indian food? i’ve been in the mood for both.

Are you sitting, standing or lying down right now? Sitting

Have you ever missed a flight? Nope

Are you someone who always needs a coffee before you can function? Don’t drink the shit 

Do your neighbours have any pets? Have you ever met them? yes. And yes haha 

When was the last time you washed your hair? This morning 

What colour is your bedroom door? Cream

Have you ever seen a lunar eclipse? Yes

Do you know your significant other’s passwords? Nope don’t have one haha 

What was the last thing you said aloud? "Bye see you tomorrow Hazel!”

Do you know anyone who writes huge essays when they message you? yes haha.

What’s your favourite type of salad? Ceaser salad