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edensungilda · 8 months

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New story on wattpad | Your Demise

Hey guys! Just published two chapters on a story I'm working on. I'm still practicing and writing on "FIREWEAVER" and will finish that first before I continue on "Your Demise" just wanted to get feedback on how the first two chapters are before I continue working on it. Would mean a lot if you take a look because I hope to self publish <3

-Description-

Lunaris Sernet, an outlaw who narrowly escapes her execution, finds herself entangled in the arms of one of the very rangers who could have her killed. Arson Chaucer, a ranger who risks it all for a girl he barely knows, chases phantoms and memories as he tries to unravel a decade old plot. Can the two learn to trust each other in this country filled with serpents and thieves, or will they be the others demise? Isarapho is a country in the fantastical world of Irevia, filled with brimming biomes of deserts and timber forests, a mountain with century old secrets, and a political conflict that threatens to explode into an all out war. For Lunaris Sernet, all she cares about is surviving the wildfire and hiding within the ashes. She's tired of running. And she'll do everything she can to leave the Wild West of Isarapho, even if it means leaving her heart behind. **SLOW UPDATES**

-PREVIEW-

Well this put being six feet under into a whole new perspective.

I lay in a coffin, staring blankly up at the wooden surface that kept my small space separate from the outside world. It was surreal, but my dreams had a funny way of tricking me like that.

I couldn't feel anything. Or maybe that's just what being dead feels like. I wasn't sure. Oddly, I was okay with either outcome. So long as I got out of this place one way or another.

I pressed my palms against the veil that kept my surroundings hidden, sliding the cover off with a bit of effort on my part.

Sunlight met my eyes and I winced, fluttering my lashes before adjusting to the light.

My breath caught in my throat. I was in front of my little cabin, surrounded by a beautiful field of poppies and tall stalks of grass.

Just as I was about to step out I felt myself pulled through the world, the poppies becoming smaller and smaller as the dream slipped through my fingers. I crashed into what felt like cold water, before my eyes flashed open, my lips inhaling a mixture of air and liquid.

I sputtered, coughing as a man clad in armor stood above my form, holding the bucket that had assaulted me.

I caught my breath after a moment and looked up at him with a vice. Not only had he interrupted what very well may be my last dream, but he was late.

'I thought an execution was supposed to be on time?'

I was ushered from the floor to stand in my humid hot cell, my hands quickly restrained behind my back. Heavy, muffled breathing of the guard who awakened me seemed to be the only noise that filled the silence.

I fidgeted, twitched, and tapped my foot in every known possible way to show my impatience. Yes, here I was, impatient for my own demise. All I did for five sennights was await this day, and now even my executioners seemed to take delight in drawing out my suspense.

The guard finished binding my hands, leading me out of the cell and into a dimly lit hallway. My eyes adjusted to the drastic change between my shrouded cell room to the oil lamps illuminating dark shadows against the walls.

I was guided to walk to the left- or more so poked and shoved forward as the chains around my wrists bit painfully into my skin. The clinking echoed down the hall as we walked, my legs aching with a numb sort of pain, like the kind of tingling when one sat too long in one spot, or like pin needles stabbing over and over.

My hands ached and I tried to readjust my wrists, earning myself a sharp jab between my shoulder blades. I stumbled ahead, gritting my teeth and regaining my balance.

I walked past a puddle on the floor, water dripping from a crack in the ceiling. I licked my chapped lips. I wonder if they would be so merciful to allow me a last drink and meal before my execution?

I seemed to walk down an infinite passage, counting the graving on the wall, each lamp and wooden beam to try and retain some sort of time frame to how long I was walking for.

Finally, I faced another wall as a corner came into view. I felt the guard's metallic grip tighten around my arm, moving me around into the passageway and facing a stair case.

The stone looked blankly back at me, stark grey and making my throat tighten as I looked up at its height. I hesitated. I hadn't walked in ages, my bare feet already sore from traversing the tile. It looked intimidating, and I wondered how many steps I'd survive before falling to my death. Maybe this was their way of killing ne.

I wasn't allowed much time to swallow my nerves though, the guard yanking me forward and beginning to climb the extensive flight of steps.

I could feel sparks fluttering to my fingertips as my heart rushed to my ears. It was finally sinking in, the uneasiness of knowing your fate lied just at the top. That in a quick short succession of being condemned and imprisoned, your life was just a fleeting moment away from being cut short.

And my crime, I wondered? I wasn't sure anymore. I had been running before most could even walk. Now it seemed I had finally found myself at the end of those tracks, unable to escape as I looked at the edge of a very high cliff, the world closing in and threatening to shove me off.

I counted the several balusters that emulated the timber trees up north, the framing etched with carvings surprisingly fancy for a staircase leading out of a dungeon. That explained why the rest of the place was in shambles.

As I finally reached the top, I let out a sigh of relief to finally see sunlight. The hallway's left wall was covered with tall glass pane windows, suffusing my surroundings with warm yellow. I didn't bother to familiarize myself with the rest, I didn't want to have my prison be the last thing I remembered.

Instead I found myself thinking of the fields the sun must be basking right now, filled with poppies and tall stalks of grass that tilted in the wind like rolling waves.

I wondered if they'd spare me the favor of burying me there. It was a silly dream, why would they ever do that for an outlaw such as I? And how were they planning to kill me anyway? I speculated it must be something of equal punishment for an individual like me.

For thieves, their hands were cut off before being hung. For murderers, they usually were sent to the guillotine. Blasphemers had their tongue cut out and burned at the stake.

Liars and betrayers, hung by their legs upside down, waterboarded til they asphyxiated.

But for my crime, oh the council would not be so merciful. They were very meticulous, treating every execution like artistry. Everything had to symbolize something. Had to be a punishment equal to the crime, balancing the weights lady Justice held.

I snapped out of my thoughts as we entered a large courtyard. Sand filled it with an open view of the sky above, the only coverings overhanging on either wall with marble pillars etched with the same illustrations of timber trees, except this time including the imagery of huge birds, their talons claiming the shoulders of their victims and lifting them into the sky.

I looked to the middle of the clearing, a wooden platform with a rosetted trim. Two armored sentinels awaited me. A tall wooden pole stood in the middle of the platform, rope woven into a noose meeting my eyes.

A dull way to die. Quick and easy. Not a gaudy execution or showy display. I see why the council had chosen it. They were trying to tell me that my life was too insignificant for the effort. Which also played in part the lack of audience.

I closed my eyes, willing myself to move.

One second. Two seconds. Three seconds.

#wattpad #enemies to lovers #medieval fantasy #science fantasy #cowboys and knights #original character #writing #new story #sword fighting #outlawed #romance #forbidden love #lovestory #action

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theacevampire · 2 years

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A Princess' Duty IV

Pairing: Kita x fem!Reader

Genre: Royal Au, romance, forced/arranged marriage, betrayal

Wordcount: ~2.1k

Warnings: mentions of parents' death, (attempted) murder but nothing graphic

Track: Indila – Dernière Danse

A/N: After two months, I hope you enjoy this chapter!

A Princess' Duty masterlist

At the crack of dawn two days later, the three of you set forth in the direction of the town, surrounding the mountain Inarizaki’s castle sat enthroned. Despite the sun only lurking above the horizon, the streets were already busy, filled with people, scents and noises. Clatter of hooves, farmers calling for anyone to buy their wheat and potatoes, sacks of flour landing on the ground: everything came to a halt when the carriage passed by. Through the curtains, you saw people staring at your group.

They bowed to your convoy, knowing someone important was coming through. When your carriage passed them, they had their upper bodies down, though you could hear them whisper.

“His Majesty has returned.”

“It looks like there’s someone else sitting in there!”

“Who is it?”

The wider the murmur spread through the crowd, the more grew your discomfort. You didn’t know the townspeople. Were they allies or opponents? Friends or enemies? Did they know what plans their regime had? Would they applaud the downfall of your kingdom? Or would they be appalled by the royal dynasty’s actions? Whatever they were or thought, they were quick to come up with rumors. A shiver ran down your spine.

“I heard His Majesty was looking for a bride when he left.”

“Why is there so little luggage if they are sitting there in twos?”

“Do they only have a horse with them?”

“His Majesty wouldn’t marry someone so scrubby they only have a horse. He deserves better.”

It stung. You had brought nothing but your horse and the clothes on you because you were told so. They had told you, you wouldn’t need to bring anything. They had told you, they would provide you with everything you needed. It wasn’t fair that you were getting judged now for something they had demanded from you.

You were about to turn your gaze away when your gaze fell on something – or rather someone. Despite his age, the man was tall, with a lean and muscular build, standing out in the bulk of shorter people. His gray hair was short, his hairline receding, and across the distance the beard on his chin was hardly noticeable. Between the smaller wrinkles, you could make out two wider ones on his forehead, which would deepen when he was deep in his thoughts and you knew there were laugh lines next to his eyes and in the corners of his mouth from hours of laughter from when the children in his care would do something stupid. You knew every crease of skin because you were the reason some of them had formed.

Before you could examine him any further, he disappeared through the doorway to something that looked like a bakery.

“Excuse me?” The word left your lips before you realized it. From the corner of your eye, you saw Kita turn his head to you, an eyebrow raised questioningly. “Is that a bakery over there?” He nodded. “Is it possible we stop for a moment? I’d like to pay it a visit.” Kita nodded again, before calling for Ōmimi to stop the horses.

In an instant, every whisper died. The townspeople’s eyes widened in shock, curiosity or fear, sometimes a mix of all. Still, they bowed again when Kita stepped out of the carriage. The metallic clanking of his armor drowned every other noise.

Then it was your turn.

Your gaze roamed over the sea of heads, before landing on Kita who held out his hand to you. With trembling hands, you took it and set your foot on the step. Your head lowered, you moved your other leg, thankful for Kita’s grip tightening to steady you when your body trembled, only loosening when you stood safely on the ground.

Lifting your head again, you ignored the gasp going through the crowd and had a look at the town itself: small, brown half-timbered buildings were scattered around, creating narrow, contorted alleys. Their plastered walls, once white, were now gray from years of being exposed to unforgiving weather conditions, and slate roofs alternated with tiled roofs and thatched roofs. A lot of them were damaged and some even looked like they wouldn’t survive the next bigger thunderstorm.

A tug on your hand attracted your attention, reminding you Kita was still holding onto your hand.

“You wanted to see the bakery, right?”

Not trusting your voice in front of all the eyes staring at you, you gave him a nod, before following him, hands still touching. When you felt confident enough to walk on your own across the uneven cobblestones, you gently pulled away from Kita, avoiding eye contact.

From the outside, the bakery looked like every other house, however it harbored a beautiful scent of a diversity of breads and other baked goods, carrying you off to another world: loafs next to loafs were displayed on shelves on the wall to the right, each made with a different kind of grain. On the wall to the left were sweets: croissants, tarts, brioche braids and many other treats.

But as delicious as all the goods were, they couldn’t distract you from the man standing behind the counter. While from afar, one could still argue they only looked alike, now, up close, you looked at a ghost. Though he had lost a significant amount of weight, every crease, every feature, every hair was like in your memory.

Even the little scar on his chin was there. The one he had gotten after he had saved you when you had fallen off Cinders at the age of nine. He had thrown himself on the gravel trail, ripping open the skin on his chin. Although he must have been in pain, he had taken care of you first, only thinking about himself after the tears had dried and the laugh had returned to you. The cut hadn’t been too long, however one particular pebble stone had cut deep into his flesh, resulting in the scar.

He stood there, frozen in place like you and eyes wide, as he couldn’t believe who was right before his eyes. “Your Majesty! Your Highness!” he greeted you after overcoming the first shock. “What brings you to our humble establishment?”

Hearing his voice caused your chest to tighten and your stomach to twist. Your hands were getting sweaty and breathing was harder with every passing second. Were you seeing a ghost? Or a twin nobody knew of? But his family had worked for yours for decades, sure you would have known of twins being born, right? And Kita seemed to see him too, so it wasn’t your imagination. So who or what was he?

“My fiancée noticed your bakery and asked to have a look. It’s her first time here.”

His gaze flickered to Kita before setting on you again and when your eyes met again, you searched for any glimpse of recognition. To no avail: either he was that good at hiding it or he was really only shocked to have members of two royal families in his baker’s shop.

Panic continued to run high as he remained silent.

“I–I–” you stuttered, breathing short shallow breaths.

“Shūichi!” someone called from the back before coming around the corner.

The man was in his thirties, just as tall and very broad.

“Shūichi?” you pressed out, your vision getting blurry. Why was he calling him Shūichi? His name was–

Everything turned black and you felt your legs giving in. Regardless of the panicked voices calling for you being crystal-clear in your ears, you couldn’t move your tongue and respond to them. Your knees hit the ground and you heard someone kneel next to you. After blinking a few times, your vision slowly returned, so you could make out three concerned faces watching you.

“Are you alright, Princess?” the man they called Shūichi asked.

“I am. It must be exhaustion from traveling. Some fresh air should be enough,” you answered with a weak smile. It was ridiculous how many times you had lost balance in the last few days.

Kita nodded. “Would you like something, still?” When you shook your head, he nodded again and guided you outside.

“Sire?”

Another nod and Atsumu disappeared into the bakery. Frantically, you turned around, panic rising in your chest once again. They weren’t going to hurt him, right? You had played your act of the unsuspecting, naïve princess good enough, right?

“There’s a market down the street, if you’d like to see it.” As always, Kita’s face was cold, expressionless and you wondered if you had only imagined the indication of a smile a few days ago.

Numb and mindless, you followed Kita, ignoring the people gawking at you. You figured it was better to get used to it quickly as it would hopefully make things easier for the time you were forced to spend in Inarizaki.

Your heart ached. Since your departure, only a few days had passed but you missed home already: the gardens, Yamaguchi’s cuisine and – above everything else – Daichi. You realized now, how unfair you had been to him, demanding he put you above the kingdom, the thousands of people in his care, completely dismissing the difficult situation he had found himself in so suddenly. The next time you saw him, you were going to apologize to him – if you were ever going to see him again, that was.

Trying to distract yourself, you focused on the market, though your mind still compared it to Karasuno’s. While the market at home was settled on the streets, between the houses like flowing water, this one took up a whole plaza, the stands forming a border around the huge fountain in its center. A huge stone fox towered in the middle of the water with its nose protruding in the sky, multiple streams showering its body in water. The chest and feet were already covered in moss.

The booths displayed all different kinds of goods: from flowers, over delicately crafted pottery, to skillfully woven fabrics in all kinds of colors and patterns, everything could be found. A particularly soft fabric had you run your fingers through the creases, your skin reveling in its smoothness. It was green with a second layer of red lace on top, though the merchant assured you he could weave it in any color you wished for and you couldn’t stop your mind from picturing it in white.

Automatically, your gaze shifted to Kita and you wondered what he thought about it.

“It suits you,” he remarked without looking at you as if he had read your mind.

To your surprise, you felt your cheeks heat up instead over a shiver running down your spine. What probably should’ve crept you out, actually flustered you. You hadn’t expected him to pay attention to the things you were looking at, much less notice when something caught your fancy.

“Thank you.”

When you continued walking, despite the crowd parting when the four of you neared and Ōmimi and Atsumu having your backs, Kita held out his arm behind you, though never touching you and keeping an eye on your surroundings. While it caused you to raise your guard at first, you felt oddly protected, like nothing could hurt you then, and with every step you took, the tension left your body.

The only time he left his post was when a little boy, not older than ten years, tripped and fell over, dropping a basket filled with apples. The apples rolled in front of your feet and Kita crouched to help the boy pick up the apples.

“Are you hurt, little one?”

With a sniff and his hand brushing away his tears, the boy shook his head.

“That’s good.” Kita caressed the boy’s hair, a smile tugging on his lips – a real one.

Your breath hitched. Aside from the curve of his lips days ago, this was the first real reaction you saw on his features – and it was pretty. His usually wide eyes narrowed a bit and there was a tiny crease forming on his forehead, right between his dark eyebrows. You felt the urge to trace it with your finger tips. Shinsuke Kita could show emotions. A warm feeling wrapped around your heart, making you forget what had happened at the bakery earlier...

A bottle was handed around.

“She’s sharp-witted.”

An agreeing hum echoed through the air. “Indeed. She knows something.”

“We only have to figure out what exactly.”

“Little naïve, though. Don’t ya think?” The man sneered. The alcohol had already gotten to his head. “But I think it’s cute. Our king is one lucky bastard to get to marry someone like her.”

Calloused hands grabbed the bottle from the blonde. “We’re keeping an eye on the bakery and Amuro in particular.”

Tagging: @hanayanetwork

#kita x reader #kita shinsuke x reader #kita shinsuke #kita a princess duty #vampire:SSD #vampire:haikyuuOS

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jargonautical · 5 months

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Somewhere To Be / A chapter at a time

The chapel and the tinker

ALFRISCOMBE SHRINE, 1654

THE SHRINE HAD been there for as long as anyone could remember, marking the spot where the spring bubbled up through the rocks; a single standing stone as tall as a man with grey-green lichen filling its carved spirals, and a second stone laid flat at its foot like an altar. There used to be a third stone but that was smashed to pieces years ago, its scattered fragments buried somewhere in the weeds.

Some villagers kept to the old ways still. Desiccated posies bore testament, dark splashes of wine in clay cups, and antlers hanging off nearby branches like a particularly gruesome crop. All to be cleared away now at the baron’s command, all of it; the stones, the rotting timber hut behind, and those disgusting relics as well. No superstitious peasant nonsense must remain to sully this holy site.

As the ground was cleared, the remaining stones pushed over and broken down, a wanderer emerged from the forest path. Tall and swarthy with a heavy pack on his back, he looked like any other gypsy the stonemason ever saw; but since he was a decent man at heart he wished him a good day, enquiring after his health and his travels, even offering a cup of water and a bite of his own meal if the man would care to share.

It bore an unexpected dividend, and not just the warming gleam in the tinker’s eyes as he stepped out of the shadows. He accepted the water gratefully but wouldn’t take more than a sip. “Your men will be needing this more.” he said with a glance up at the sun. “As for your meal, let me contribute.” From the depths of his pack he produced a well-wrapped haunch of venison and cheerfully shared it around. “It’ll spoil before I can finish it.” he insisted against their protests. “It’s you who’s doing me the favour, or would you have this go to waste?”

Over the meal they were happy to discuss the chapel’s plans, since the fellow was so polite and so curious. He particularly admired the design for the roof bosses, a rosette with deep-cut petals that the mason was particularly pleased with. Just as well, as four dozen in all would be needed for the ambitious vaulted ceiling before they’re done, and a few gargoyles besides.

“It’ll be a fine chapel indeed.” the tinker said with a lopsided grin, “If it ever gets finished.”

Long afterwards the mason reflected on that day; it seemed from the moment the tinker said those words, nothing went right. Sinking foundations, cracking lintels, and collapsing walls - before too long the men flatly refused to return to work, even for triple pay. Some curse lingers over the site, they agreed, and as soon as other jobs arose they moved on with relief.

The chapel fell to ruin so quickly you’d barely know there’d ever been a structure there at all. Fine dressed stone gradually got robbed away for doorsteps and windowsills and mounting blocks until there was nothing left but a tumbled mossy outline of the tower base. A generation past you’d barely know it was there unless your horse stumbled on one of the hidden stones. The only sign a chapel was ever planned was the jeering stone demon carved by the stonemason after a heavy night drinking the tinker’s ale. Its twisted grin seemed to be mocking the whole endeavour, perched up on the wall where he left it until the brambles eventually claimed it.

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DAY ONE OF the dig dawns on a fine sunny morning. Rain clouds are massing out to sea, but with barely any breeze it’ll be hours before they reach the museum.

The site manager consults her clipboard - mainly for show, since she knows everything is in place, from the permits acquired and carefully entered into the system to the license for the skip out in the drive right through to decades of blueprints consulted in case of underground cables. The interns are busy stacking find trays and hand tools ready beside the paved path bordering the lawn. On the other side of the garden wall a catering truck is dispensing a breakfast fit for people with serious work to do; bacon rolls, crumbling dark fruitcake by the slice, scalding builder’s tea in chipped china mugs. ‘Vegan Option’s Available On Request’ according to a handwritten addition to the menu, but a second bulk pack of bacon is already out to defrost in anticipation of the morning’s bestseller.

Approaching eight thirty the lawn fills with people shouting incomprehensible instructions at each other, collecting cones and pulling up stakes, winding up orange tape as they go to clear the way for the backhoe rumbling along from the main driveway.

Archchancellor Cooper himself has graced the occasion, a forty-something man with the shaved head and solid build of a prop forward and with much the same immovable air. Despite his bulk he’s wearing a beautifully-cut suit in heavy charcoal wool; spotless white cuffs emerge precisely half an inch from his jacket sleeves, no more and no less, and the silk tie around his thick neck displays the colour blocks and badge of the local Rotary Club. He’s not here to dig, obviously; the presence of the local newspaper signals he’s here to be photographed shaking hands and possibly holding a polished silver trowel that’s never touched dirt.

Mainder maintains a low-key brooding presence somewhere on the edge of the action, leaning against the high stone wall that borders the lane on the far side. He wasn’t expecting roll-away-the-stone levels of discovery, but despite the scattered cheers from the assembled crowd it’s distinctly anticlimactic. The driver takes up position and, with a theatrical hand raised high for all to see, brings it down on the lever to lower the bucket. It’s some skill, delicately breaking the surface and cutting a neat strip of turf, that he grudgingly agrees is worthy of applause. But after that it’s just doing the same thing another three times before turning the backhoe in a neat manoeuvre and trundling back across to the driveway. The trench is begun, six feet long and roughly the same wide, and all of three inches deep.

Mainder takes a hint from a sudden unobtrusive bustle, of multiple people realising there’ll be nothing more to see for several hours, all simultaneously and spontaneously deciding they have something they just need to go and check on and good Lord, is that the time?

He himself has nowhere in particular to be, but there’s no point loitering in this spot until something is uncovered. The office looks to be open for the day already, a suitable haven, and no sign of the girl yet.

Good. He’s more than a little uncomfortable with what it might say about his psyche that he’d be dreaming a half-naked woman-child into his midnight bed. That requires some self-reflection, ideally before he next has to look her in the eye. He claims the couch and stretches out for a power nap, still fuzzy from his pre-dawn waking.

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“Ssshhhh.” Chris mimes as Evie comes through the door. “You’ll wake the baby.”

Confused, she follows his glance to see Mainder stretched out on the couch. “Wow.” she mouths, and moves up the room. “He really made himself at home, didn’t he?”

“I know, right? I keep wanting to fetch him a blanket.”

Sleeping Mainder is a treat to behold, she has to admit. The brooding tension that he usually radiates is entirely absent, with his lean face perfectly relaxed and his long body twisted awkwardly half-on and half-off that much-too-short couch. He looks - there’s that word again, safe, when all the information so far suggests he’s anything but.

#a chapter at a time #fantasy #fiction #somewhere to be #books #booklr #reading #faerie #storygraph #goodreads

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exalted-dawn-drabbles · 2 years

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The Halla and The Hounds

Rated M: Fluff, Mentions/Depictions of Blood and Death, Fantasy Racism, Dark Themes. ~4k words Elvhen Translations: ma'falon [my friend], ma serannas [thank you] ~*~*~* When was the best time in the day to weave a story?

Every taleteller had their favored answers, but the wise ones would tell you it was in the first hours after the last light had died, when the day was stretched thin and the shadows long. When imagination and reality blurred under the touch of fatigue and a tall glass of ale. When the mind wandered and dallied.

Aye, that was the best time for weaving stories– and that was why Talenna had stalled her shift until the sun overhead had long disappeared behind Skyhold’s battlements, blanketing the world in a midnight sea. Luckily for Cabot’s patrons, they needn’t have waited too long. Clipped by autumn’s wraith, the days were now shorter than they'd once been. And unluckily for her, that also meant the nights now grew colder with equivalent haste.

The thought soured her mood as she perched herself lightly atop the stool by the fireplace, nursing her mug of hot cider as she eyed the rattling windows in their frames. When she had arrived earlier in the day, the courtyard had been littered with leaves carried by unseen eddies, their red and gold colors churning in small whirls that danced around her feet. Now though, the wind howled, muted only by the low, murmuring chatter that filled the room as she took her place.

At least, on account of the weather, she could reasonably expect no sudden arrivals in the middle of her performance. Nothing shattered a carefully constructed atmosphere more than a couple of loud, late-night-drunks looking for their next cup.

“Quiet down you lot,” she said, raising her voice above the crowd that sat huddled around the rough-wood tables. “Unless, of course, you want me to go home before I’ve even begun? I don’t mind taking a short day if you would all rather your whiskey do the talking.”

Her jab was met with a wave of half-minded cheers, laughter, and just a couple of raised glasses, but as was the ritual of these nights, conversation steadily died as the room’s attention was drawn slowly inwards, until all but the tavern’s farthest corners were quiet.

Talenna took another sip of her mug, and stared out across the crowd. She smiled and lowered the rim from her lips. “So who then has a theme for us tonight? Surely there must be someone in so talkative a room that can offer forth an idea? A tale for me to tell?”

Like a surging wave, voices rushed to fill the hastily-made silence, suggestions swarming in cacophonous turmoil until only snippets could be picked out from the noise. Calls for comedies and bawdy sonnets flooded her ears, accompanied by the occasional request for a romance or tragedy. All good options, but none the right one. Not for an evening like this.

She waited, turning over pitch after pitch in her head, sifting through the din for one that caught her ear. A couple of moments passed her by before the recognizable timber of Bull’s voice cut through the rabble, lazy and sure. “It’s been a while since I’ve had a good scare. Give us something spooky.”

Her grin widened and she raised her mug, signaling to the room that her decision was made. As always, Bull had an impeccable sense for atmosphere. “Hmmmm… On nights like this, I can think of few better ways to make use of this damnable chill than by setting it into your bones with a good haunting story. Perhaps something to set your hair on end?”

She left the question hanging for the audience, despite it being mostly rhetorical. In the more recent months, it had become a rare thing for anyone to outright object to her choice of story for the evening, and now most who did typically went back to their business and ignored her entirely.

But still, Talenna chose to wait a moment, listening for rebuttals she knew wouldn’t come, and upon hearing none, relaxed fully into her seat. The night would not be growing younger, and there was little point in stalling for more than what dramatic effect demanded.

It was time for the performance to begin. ~~~

In days past, in a place where the plains were as vast as the seas and forests just as untamed, there lived once a Halla. A beautiful creature of starlit eyes with branching horns that even the most majestic of trees would envy. This Halla knew no fear, for the land in which it lived was golden and full of light. Untarnished and perfect. A veritable paradise.

However, just as the Halla knew not of fear, it also knew little of the World outside its glade. It dreamed of the wonders and beauties that lay just beyond the treeline– all secrets waiting to be discovered. Greener fields yet to be found. After all, if the wood of its home, in all its humble smallness, could hold such treasures, what then must the World beyond be hiding?

A foolish question to ask. And a naive one. But the Halla, who had been swaddled in such perfection from birth, could not have known that beyond its meadow and trees lay a vast and uncaring wilderness. A land scarred by iron and rot and blood. Beasts that hunt in the shadow of night, and revel in the screams of the prey in their teeth.

…It could not have known.

And so the young one went to the elders of its herd and boldly announced, “I am off to see what lies on the far side of things! I tire of these same grasses and leaves, day in and day out, and I yearn for what I do not know! I will not be stopped or persuaded.”

Predictably, the elders were incensed by this. The years had made them wise, and not always had the herd clung to these fields. Some still remembered the horrors beyond the goldwood, and they despaired, for they knew the young Halla stood little chance of evading its grasp unharmed. They begged and pleaded and bartered and cried, but still the young Halla would not be swayed.

It could not have known.

So in spite of the many warnings given by those who knew better, the young one deafened its ears and strode on undeterred. Across the meadow. Through the thicket. Past the timber grove. And the first steps it took into the unknown? Why, they looked exactly like the steps they tread every day before that, of course.

Perhaps, it would have been better had the Halla been faced fast with rioting storms and blades of steel. It would have learned quickly of such unkindness and run back to its glade where it would be safe and happy. But this safety and sameness in itself was the World’s first cruelty.

After all, the Halla could not help but laugh! The elders of the herd had raised such a fuss, and yet there was nothing to be scared of here! No sign of the demons and nightmares they had wailed of. The Halla had been right to leave. The World was tame. The World was lovely.

It could not have known.

The second of the World’s cruelties was the Night, because it fell only after the Halla had wandered far from its home. Too far to find its way back, once lost. The Halla was left to wander the murk, trapped in shadow so thick and silence so deafening, that it could hardly tell which way was forward, let alone back. The Night was clever that way, and did not give up those that it had captured in its tendrils gracefully. And so, as the Halla pressed on, it did so to the cracking of hollowed bones beneath its hooves. The remnants of the lost, whose last words were whispered with each crunch and step.

Turn back.

Be gone.

Run.

However, remember that the Night was thick with silence. So thick that most any sound was smothered beneath its weight. And so too were these whispers stifled, and their warnings forfeit. Aye… Only the snap of death, jagged as the shards of bone underfoot, were sharp enough to cut clean through the dark’s vigil. ~~~

Talenna paused as the door flung open, heralded by wailing winds and a wash of cold air that swept across her bare feet. A group of soldiers– wrapped tight in wool and furs to keep the weather out– stalked into the tavern, keeping to the room’s dimly lit corners as they edged their way along the wall towards the tables in the back.

She watched them quietly for a while, taking the moment to sip from her cup and wet her throat as she waited for the party to be seated and her audience’s attention to focus back on her.

A breath in and a breath out again. Another drink from her mug. A thick silence, like the one in her story.

She let them sit with it. She breathed it in, remembering. And she spoke again. ~~~

Many Nights passed as the Halla tread ever forward, ever deeper. Escaping. Estranging. Entangling itself further. Though it could not have been long since the young doe had left her home, already she felt her memories begin to fog with uncertainty. No longer could she clearly recall the curtains of golden light that danced between the pines, nor the rhythm with which the tall grass swayed. Things she had known as intimately as breathing were drifting beyond her grasp.

However, the World, with its lies and shadows, was not the only thing that sought to steer the wandering creature’s path. The Mother of Halla, the first of Her kind and creator of all after, watched over the foolish fawn with fear in Her heart, for She cared deeply after all Her herd, and did not wish to see such an innocent soul hurt.

And so, on a pitch black Night, when only the sound of snapping bones and the hushed weeping of the Halla was heard, the Mother gathered her strength and granted the creature a boon. Her snow white fur began to glow with moonlight, and her branching horns with soft golden flame. Where she walked, the Night parted. The darkness could no longer harry her.

The next steps the Halla took were made in confidence– her head held high. She no longer sulked or shrunk, but instead strutted. For the second time since she had left, she truly believed that she had had the World beaten.

She could not have known.

For though the Night’s grasp held no dangers to her now, the World still held many perils, many cruelties, and it did not tolerate being bested. If she would not be swallowed by shadow, there were still many beasts with sharper teeth that could have their fill.

And the Halla, who shone as bright as a waytorch, was now their singular beacon.

Hours… Days… Weeks passed without sign of danger– the Halla wandering ever further from the safety of the quiet woods, now carried on misplaced confidence. Each dawn further lulled the creature into a sense of security. Each sunrise dulling her caution, blinding her.

She could not see that she was being stalked from the bushes. She did not know of the Hounds.

Terrible beasts, made clever by man and taught not to fear the things other beasts did– like foul ground or fire. They hunted for sport, making games of death and life. They killed because they could, or because they were ordered to, but never out of need. ‘Need’ was predictable, and desperate. ‘Desire’ was not.

The World, and the Hounds, were patient. So they waited, and watched, and listened, and learned.

The last dusk of the first month was when they struck.

The moon had faded fully from view, and grey-wraith clouds fogged the sky, dampening stars and plunging everything in a sickly yellow miasma. A halo of orange-gold outlined the trees in gilded relief as the Halla found its rest in a copse of fir for the night, her legs weary from her travels and her vigilance tried and worn.

Her starlight eyes slipped shut as sleep claimed her, and she fell into sweet darkness. Into silence.

She should have known.

The brisk crack of a branch beneath paw was the only warning she had before a slavering maw closed around the base of her twisting horn and tore upwards. With a sickening ‘squelch’, the Halla cried out as her antler was ripped from her skull, crushed to bits between rotted fangs and shattered into shards of glowing ember.

Scrabbling to her feet, the Halla did the only thing she could, and bolted. Some deeply ingrained instinct, a fear beyond fearlessness she never knew she had, drove her deep into the wood. Blood stained the stars of her eyes, half-blinding her as she ran, and suddenly the quiet of the night was not so quiet at all. Her heart pounded in her ears. Each breath a ragged gasp. And too close behind her, the mocking jeers of the Hounds at her heels.

“Run, little deer. Run!” they called to her. “Run before we catch you and make you into a meal for our Master!”

And she did. She ran so hard that her hooves bled– but even then, it would not be enough. The gifts she thought herself blessed with– her light and fire– were nothing more than a burden now. A glaring signal that followed her as surely as the Guide to the Beyond. The shadows she had sought to escape from now could not be escaped to, and so she was followed relentlessly.

“Why do you chase me?!” she cried, chancing what little breath she had left on a plea. “In what way have I wronged you that you’d laugh at my terror?!”

The closest Hound, the first of four, bit at her heels with a twisted laugh. “Sweet, naive, little thing! Did your herd not tell you?”

The second Hound neared, closing by her flank with a snarl-like smile. “You’re nothing but a trophy to be won, poor child. A play thing for now, and a gift to our Master for later.”

“If you did not wish to be hunted, then you should not have been born with so fine a pelt, or so tender of meat,” the third called, its voice echoing from beyond the tree cover.

Tears mingled with her blood as the Halla then realized that begging for her life would be useless. She could do nothing about her pelt… or her meat– the things she was born with. If her existence was a crime, then the only possible penance she could offer was her death.

In desperation, The Halla kicked out blindly behind her, certain of nothing other than the eager jaws waiting for her to fall. An eye for an eye– her hoof met bone and something softer. A pained yelp pierced the veil of night, but still the Halla dared not slow. Using the distraction and what wisdom her instinct still offered, she forged on towards more treacherous paths– leaping above roots, climbing rock faces, and charging through long stretches of too-open glades. Where she once tread carefully, she now trampled without concern. Dirt and mud coated her body, matting in her fur and dimming her light.

To the Halla’s amazement, the sounds of her hunters began to fade with the passing ground– either dissuaded by the twisting terrain or abandoning their chase in favor of circling back to check on their injured comrade, she cared not.

She had no energy to care, nor could she afford the time to. She didn't even allow herself to think.

She should have known.

With breathtaking force, the Halla was suddenly thrown sideways as a muscular body had barrelled into her side, throwing her to the ground. Before she had the chance to find her legs again, a large paw had came down on her neck, crushing her windpipe under heel.

The fourth Hound stared down at the Halla, unblinking. “Stupid thing– Run all you like. I will always find you. Not for your pelt, or your meat, or to appease my Master. I chase you because you are prey, and I am hunter. I will kill you because I can. Because you are meant to die.”

The Halla struggled, kicking and thrashing on the ground as the paw pressed down harder upon her neck, choking all word and breath from her throat. Silenced, she wept for her fate.

‘Why must she have been born a Halla?’ she asked herself. ‘Why must the World try to smother her simply for being?’

She should have listened to her herd. They had warned her– ‘Out there is no place for a Halla! If you leave, you will not survive it.’ And they had been right. She should not have left her grove.

In a final desperate bid for help, the Halla turned to the one being she knew was still watching over her. She prayed to the Mother, frantic and full of sorrow. “Oh merciful Creator– My Guide. My Friend. I am sorry to have squandered your gifts to me, but I must now ask for one final kindness. You, who have made all Halla before me… I ask that you unmake me now. Out here is no place for a Halla. If I stay this way, I will not survive it.”

That was right. The World outside her home killed creatures like her, so if she were to live, it would have to be as something else. Something new.

The Mother of Halla, who had been watching on in despair, heard Her creation’s request and knew that the young doe was right. She reached into the creature's heart and touched it, stealing back Her light and Her fire. Immediately, the Halla’s fur went from brilliant silver to a dull, muddy grey. Her twinkling eyes had turned steely, and dark. And the glow in her horns, that had once burned as bright as a sunflare, now began to wane and die.

With a strength she did not know she possessed, she surged and snapped her head up just as the Hound’s jaws had stooped to close about her throat. The single, remaining spear of twisting prongs atop her head plunged deep into the beast’s chest, piercing the thing’s heart.

The Hound howled out in pain, but even then the Halla did not stop. She continued to push– shoving to her feet with a rough shake of her head. Her antler sunk deeper, and firmly lodged between the Hound’s ribs, broke free at last.

She stood, hornless, over the unmoving form of the beast in numb detachment. She sneered, and snarled. “I am no longer your prey, and you are no longer my hunter,” she said. “I killed you because I could. Because you were meant to die.”

And with that parting note, she turned her back to the gruesome scene and slipped silently into the darkness. Behind her, she could still hear the distant baying of the Hounds, calling out for a scared, little Halla.

They would not find one.

The bones that would crack and break beneath her hoof now groaned in whispers under her padded feet. The shadows clung to her like a second cloak as she went, hiding her from searching eyes. The Night, that had shunned her before, now welcomed her with open arms. And she welcomed it too.

Aye… she should have known.

In a land where prey died in the teeth of beasts, the only option left to her was to become one. ~~~

Talenna let herself grow quiet as she finished her tale, marinating in her rueful sorrow as the crowd around her emerged from their stupor.

Dead silence grew into hushed whispers, and then to deafening, raucous applause. The patrons of the Herald’s Rest raised their glasses with wide smiles and approving laughter, some even tossing a few sovereigns to her feet. She stared at them for a moment, her eyes carefully blank, before stooping to gather them, one by one, into her coin purse. Each disk was a cold, heavy weight in her hand, but Talenna didn’t allow herself to ruminate on them as she righted herself again, pushing to her feet.

“Talenna…?”

Already having turned to make her way towards the door, she froze still, sorrow spearing her heart as she recognized the voice of her friend. She ducked her head in shame. “Katja… I did not know you were here tonight.”

“That story…” she started, clearly unsure of how to approach the subject with any appropriate measure of delicacy. Katja’s hand reached out to settle on Talenna’s wrist, but she simply shrugged it off. She was in no mood for pity.

“I know,” Talenna sighed, her voice a whisper. “I had been working on it for a good while now. Figured it was about time to test it in front of an audience. Was it any good?”

“Talenna-” Katja’s voice cracked in sharp reproach as the dwarf stepped between her and the door. Her friend stared up at her from beneath a wave of dark brown hair, her eyes blazing with stubbornness and pain.

Creators, bless her.

“Peace, ma'falon,” she urged softly, reaching out to grasp Katja’s shoulder with a placating hand. “I was only trying to make a joke…”

“It wasn’t funny,” Katja retorted.

“‘I know.”

Silence fell over the two as the tavern came to life once more around them– jaunty strings kicking up in the absence of her performance. Would-be dancers flooded the central floor of the Herald’s Rest, turning the world at her back into a swirling mess of bodies and color. It was too much.

With a deep exhale, she squeezed her friend’s shoulder once more. “It’s late and I’m afraid I've had a rather long day. I think it’s time that I retreat for the night and get some rest.” She hazarded a small smile– more a peace offering than anything– and then dropped her hand. “Stay here and enjoy the festivities. You don’t have to worry about me– I’ll be fine.”

The look in Katja’s eyes was far from trusting, but with reluctance and to Talenna’s relief, she stepped aside. “Alright. But by the Stone’s name, Tal, if I find out you are lying to me, I am going to rat so fast to Calder about what you pulled here tonight that your head will spin.”

Talenna huffed a quiet laugh. She didn’t doubt it. “Ma serannas. How lucky I am to have so doting a friend.” And she was lucky. That much she would never forget. But still, the uproar of the tavern was beginning to wear on her heart, and she longed for little more now than to collapse into her bed for the evening and drift off into sleep, warmed by her hearthfire. It was time to go. “Good night, falon. I will see you in the morning.”

And with that, she quickly slipped towards the exit, her friend’s well wishes a muffled call at her back.

The outside air was, predictably, chill and biting, but Talenna welcomed the silence it brought her as the door fell solidly shut in her wake. Above her head, the stars twinkled from beneath veiled curtains of cloud, almost entirely obscured from view unless one looked hard enough.

Perhaps it had been stupid of her to tell that story on such a whim.

Chuckling to herself, she pinched the bridge of her nose to stave off the tears that had been building behind her eyes since before she had left. “Creators… What was I thinking? I must not have had my right of mind.”

“My thoughts exactly,” a new voice crooned, deep and gravelly. Unfamiliar and yet not. The door to the Herald's Rest slammed shut behind her and steel-clad boots clamored against the cobblestone as a figure approached, circling like a vulture. Talenna froze, icy dread seeping into her veins. The figure’s teeth flashed yellow in the darkness– a snarl and a smile, full of rot. “The way I remember it… the prey the Hounds were hunting was nothing but a scared, little rabbit.”

Another ring of steel against stone. Another step closer.

Talenna’s breath tightened in her lungs.

“And honestly-” She heard a blade sing loose from its sheath not but inches at her back. The Hound laughed. “It would seem not much has changed since then, after all.”

#talenna ethera #dragon age fanfiction

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beermebc · 3 years

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Mt. Begbie Brewing Co. - 25 Years of Brewing Craft Beer in B.C.

MT. BEGBIE BREWING CO. - 25 YEARS OF BREWING CRAFT BEER IN B.C. Mt. Begbie Brewing Co. will be celebrating a significant milestone this April – It’s hard to believe we have spent 25 years in blood, sweat and beers! We’d like to thank our customers, staff, community, friends & family for the support over the years.

April 1, 2021 – Revelstoke, B.C. – This month, Mt. Begbie Brewing Company celebrates their 25th anniversary of brewing! Armed with his Ph.D in nuclear physics and a proven track record of exceptional home brews, Bart Larson and his wife Tracey left Vancouver and opened their first location in Revelstoke B.C. In April of 1996 they released Begbie Cream Ale, followed by Tall Timber Ale, Alpine…

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#25th Anniversary #Alpine Amber Ale #Bart Larson #Begbie Cream Ale #High Country Kolsch #mt begbie #Mt. Begbie Brewing Company #Patio #Powerhouse Pale Ale #revelstoke #Tall Timber Ale #tasting room #Tracey Larson

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maggyme13 · 4 years

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Why Licking?(15/?)

AN:Hello again :) I was so thrilled by your comments that ai was able to write another chapter. Thrilled to know what the dwarfs were planing?

Wordcount: around 2400

Warnings: the usual

Why Licking-Masterlist

Masterlist

Part 14

Boom. Boom. Boom.

The door vibrated under the heavy knocks.

This took longer than I thought it would. Almost three hours.

“A moment please.”, you called out to take a last look around your little home. Heaving a last sigh you finally opened the door to face – one single dwarf. Again.

He was tall for a dwarf, and burly. His head bald with tattoos and beard short but impressive. On his back, two heavy looking battle-axes rested on is back and metal plates covered his knuckles.

“Dwalin, at yer service. King Thorin sends me. He is waiting for you in Erebor.”, Dwalin´s words held authority and no room for arguments.

“I thought that much. But I have to inform you, that my eyesight is not as good as it once were. Especially with the changing lights now that it is late.”, you nodded, taking your coat and pulling it around your neck.

“There is a carriage waiting.”, he stated, flexing his shoulders. Though it looked like a habit of his and not a tactic of intimidation.

“I will follow you then. Please lead the way Master Dwarf.”

“Good.”

You did as you had promised, and when you turned a corner in the road a goat drawn carriage was waiting for your companion and yourself.

Half an hour later, you believed you saw the gates of the great mountain appear in the dark.

Arriving at the gate, warriors saluted the two of you.

“The king is waiting in the throne room.”, a white haired dwarf stated.

“Thank you brother.”

“Miss, my name is Balin. I am the kings advisor and will be escorting you to him. Please follow me and my brother. And if you need anything, please let me know.”

“Will do.”, you frowned.

Why are they this polite? They know who I am. What is going on?

The two dwarfs lead you through the huge halls that had been carved into the mountain by skilled masons.

Entering the throne-room, you at once noticed the young dwarf you had met that fateful day. The prince and your reason for being here.

“Is that her?”, a deep timber voice asked and the blond dwarf nodded.

“Yes, Uncle. That is her.”, the prince answered, “Tabrok?”

“Yes, King Thorin. That is the one they call Mabrotnosh.”, now you saw the ex-slave standing next to the King.

“Dwalin?”, he asked an unspoken question.

“She did not resist, and followed every order.”, he sounded almost surprised.

Every single pair of eyes was concentrated on you.

“Why am I here?”, you finally asked, “If you wanted me dead you would not have treated my as good as you did.”

“Why do you think we want to see you dead?”, this time it was the blond prince asking and you answered.

“Of all these dwarfs present, you and Tabrok(?), should know best why I think that.”

“And that is exactly the reason why you are here.”, it was the king. “You saved my nephew and were nearly killed in the process. I want you to thank you for this. But you are right, this is not he only reason why you are here. It was the reason how found you though. Bring him in!”.

The last part was a direct order and not long after the sound of many armored boots echoed through the hall.

Turning around towards the sounds, you noticed thirty dwarfs that surrounded a much larger figure walking towards you.

An Orc.

Dressed in leather armor and wearing a warg- skin on its head.

“Drago.”, you breathed in confusion and wonder, “What-”

“He surrendered earlier this morning close to the boarder of our territory. He was bearing a message.”

“A message?”

“Yes, a message regarding your person.”

“I don´t understand.”

“You see, we were awaiting the arrival of a large caravan of our people migrating to our new home. They were intercepted in a small canyon by a band of orcs. Five hundred lives. Woman, children and men are in the hands of those orcs. The orc you see over there was bearing a message. If we want so see our folk again we have to return their own. Their Queen for the lives of our people. A queen no one knew about. A queen no one had even heard about. You must understand the dilemma we faced. They want us to return something we did not even know we have.“, the advisor continued for the king.

In the meantime Drago and his guards had stopped close enough for you to see his red eyes. Your guard growled, his throat and chest visibly vibrating, in anger or threat you did not know.

“Mabrotnosh. I am sorry that I could not protect you from harm as I had sworn.”, he bowed his head, “But I will make it up to you. I came to bring you home.”

“They said you have taken hostages. Is that true?”, you asked.

“Yes. My orcs are in charge under Ska´al´s command. They are ordered to not harm anyone until your save return.”

“Who gave the order?”, you breathed, needing to know if Azog was still alive, or who now was ruling over your fate, “Was it Azog, or maybe Bolg?”

“You are our Queen.”, was the only answer he gave.

“What if I do not want to go back? Not after what happened to me?”, you demanded to know, the question meant for both dwarf and orc.

The prince was the first to answer. “Then we will have to fight to free our people. Many will die. Many will suffer. My brother and I might lose our mother.”

“Nothing will happen to you, ze Mabrotnosh. We can arrange for you to stay in different quarters. You chose who gets close to you”

You were able to hear the hidden plea in his voice and thought about thinking to return to the mountain.

If you don´t, then hundreds of lives were in danger. Their blood would be on your hands.

Without saying a word, or thinking, you turned around and walked the same way back from once you had come. Well, you tried as well as it worked with your blinded eye. Footsteps followed you, multiple dozens, and you heard someone shout after you.

But you ignored it, only coming to a stop a hundred meters away from the main gate and whistled. One loud high-pitched whistle.

It did not take long for a shadow to close in on you. A shadow on four legs. A shadow with ice blue eyes and sharp teeth.

“Unless you want me to walk all the way to the exchange, I do not recommend shooting or hurting him in any way or form.”, you declared, staring the closest dwarf down that had drawn his weapon.

“Hello Akul. I knew you had stayed close.”, you hummed into the black fur of your warg, “And you have become so big in just five months.”

“Is that your decision?”, King Thorin asked one last time.

“What is one life in exchange for hundreds? Mine was over the day my village was raided.” It was more than a statement than an answer.

“So be it. Dwalin, you know what to do. Bring back our people.”, he ordered and within twenty minutes one hundred dwarfs were mounted on war- goats and ready to ride alongside Drago and you.

-..--..--..--..--..--..--..--..--..--..--..--..--..

Close after midday of the second day, the camp that held the hostages came in sight at the horizon.

“We will return to our people, than yours can return to you.”, Drago declared and with no way of arguing or demanding another way, the dwarfs accepted.

That was how you rode alongside your guard into the camp, where every single eye was on you.

“Drago, give the order to let them go unharmed. And then let us leave.”, you ordered and he nodded.

“Get ready to depart! Leave the Dwarfs unharmed. We ride to Moria.”

The two of you stopped in the center of the area, when a dwarrowdam caught your attention. She was clutching her side and looked scared.

“What happened to her?”, you asked no one in particular.

“An orc happened, what do you think?”, another dwarrowdam laughed dryly. She looked an awful lot like the king.

“Which orc did it?”

“Blue skin and white markings.”, she answered with a bit of wonder in her eyes.

“Find him and bring him here.” you ordered and five orcs scurried into every direction. It did not take long for them to find three Orcs fitting the description the dwarrow had given you.

“Who of you hurt the female?”, you demanded to know, “Answer me. It was ordered to not hurt them and yet someone did. That order was given in my absence but in my name. So who of you did go against it?”

The orc in the center and the one on the right looked buffed, it was obvious to you that it wasn´t them. The third one behaved like a little child or dog, he looked everywhere but at you.

“You two,”, you motioned at the two innocent ones, “can return to whatever you were doing. You”, pointing at the third orc,” will answer my question now. Tell me the truth and no harm will come by you from any orc or dwarf. And if I don´t like the answer, you will be banished from the orcs of Moria.”

Dammit, when they want me to be their queen, I can behave like one and use my powers to save others, and maybe change the way the orcs behave.

“Now tell me: did you attack the female, and why did you do it?”

“I wanted to have her, but she refused.”, he sneered and the fierce looking dwarrow clutched her fists.

“Understood. As you can belief, I do not like that answer. Because you behaved unprovoked. If she had tried to kill you and you were merely protecting yourself. I would have understood. But like this. Leave this camp at once. Do not look back. If any Orc sees you from now on, he will be allowed to kill you and will not be punished for it.”

The orc snarled at you, showing his sharp teeth and almost white eyes. He tried to intimidate you into rethinking you judgment, but an even deeper growl from both Drago and Akul had him whimper in submission.

“Mabrotnosh.”, he nodded before standing up and turning towards the trees.

“You let him leave without any harsh punishment? How dare you to speak like this for us dwarfs?”, the king´s twin fumed, “letting him go with the promise that no harm will come at him. He will continue his dark thoughts. He will be looking for his next target.”

“You did not listen. I exclaimed that no DWARF or ORC will be causing him harm. I said nothing about the wargs. Sometimes, predators should know how pray feels like. Don´t you think? Drago, I believe your Wargs have not been hunting for weeks now, am I right? Give him another half an hour, then send them out with one of your riders . Make sure to bring me back his head.”

“My Mabrotnosh.”, he smirked, giving the order to one orc you knew to be Nasck.

“There is a little army send by your King waiting a few leagues down that way. You are free to go and join them. Once the Wargs have returned we will be leaving for Moria. It is your choice when to leave to your blood.”

“Who are you?”, the dark haired dwarrow finally asked the question that was plaguing her mind since the first second she had seen you.

“I am (y/n). I was taken from my village by the pale Orc Azog. Everyone else was killed. He took me with him and made me his Mate, his wife it seems. And apparently that also made me the Queen of the orcs of Moria. Most of these orcs you see here, at least the bigger ones of them, have become my personal guard. Apparently they made it their task, to get me back from the life I was given after the battle of the five armies, and took you as hostages to force King Thorin to release me. This is a hostage exchange.”

She looked baffled. “But in the end, you are nothing more than a hostage yourself. One with a lot of power, but still a prisoner or hostage. If you ever need advice or just an ear that listens, send a raven. My name is Dis, daughter of Thrain, son of Thor, and sister to the foolish king under the Mountain and mother to two sometimes idiotic princes. Should you ever feel the need to relocate your home. You will always be welcomed by me. You gave up your freedom to return ours. Farewell Queen (y/n). May you live long and prosper.”

“Farewell Lady Dis. May I ask you a favor before you go though? Tell your sons to not walk into an enemy fortress alone. Next time, there might me no one to save them like it happened during the battle.”

“THEY DID WHAT? I will tan their hides so long they can´t sit for months. They told me they were taken from the edge of the battlefield. And my doofus of brother …. Thank you for this information.”, now grumbling and muttering, Lady Dis walked over to the injured woman.

“WE WILL BE LEAVING NOW! PACK YOUR THINGS!”, she ordered and within fifteen minutes no Dwarf was in sight anymore.

“I changed my mind. Send out your wargs. And then we will return to Moria.”, you spoke, knowing Drago was standing behind you.

“Nasck will leave at once.”

Growling and snarling went through the camp when the Wargs gathered to hunt, Nasck mounted his warg and the hunt began.

.--..--..--..--..--..--..--..--..--..--..--..--..--..--..--..--..--..--..--..--..--..--..--..--.

“Nasck has returned.”

“Send the head to the dwarf as a sign that I kept my word.”

“I will Mabrotnosh. What then?”,Ska´al asked.

“Then we will return to Moria.”

“Yes Mabrotnosh. Let´s return home.”

Home. My new home. What ever there will be waiting for me.

Part 16

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castielsangelsx · 4 years

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Lion and the Lamb (Ivar x Christian!Reader) Part 2/20

summary: officiating your marriage calls for the start of confusion and an eventful wedding night

lion and the lamb masterlist

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I had woken up to the abrupt sound of metal clattering onto the floor. The sound echoed into my room and caused my light sleep to be broken once again. Sitting up in the bed I'd had been given, I got up and hurried to the door that leads towards the large hall. Opening the door slowly to have it open, only to allow me to hear the conversation.

It was Viking language, but I recognized the voice of Ubbe and Ivar. Ivar's voice stood out, it was louder and angrier. I could make out small aspects of their conversation like "marriage", "will not" and "Christian woman".

By the little words I'd recognized, I could sense his anger. I'd heard too much about Ivar and Viking men who despised Christians. It confused me because, at dinner, it almost seemed he was comfortable with my role in his future. Yet, I heard something completely different.

Maybe we both were equal in not wanting this marriage. I'd hoped that was the case. Their voices got louder, peering my head even closer out the door, I attempt to make out the rest of the conversation before I made a mistake by pushing onto the door. The door squeaks lightly against the door frame, and their yelling stops.

Shit. Racing towards the bed, I dive under the fur spreads and clench my eyes shut in an attempt to appear asleep. The sound of crutches dragging along the timber floor causes my heart to race. I was going to get caught, I shouldn't have pressed against the door.

I was stupid, God was punishing me for my stupidity. The door is opened, the light trails over my shoulder towards the wall I face, opposite to the door. After a second, the door is then shut quietly. Oh, thank God.

------

That next morning I had been given food by the thralls. I was advised to not leave the room until the wedding later tonight. I was beyond upset and angry, I never thought the wedding was coming so soon - that it was coming in a few short hours. That my innocence would be taken in time to a man who I barely knew, who was beyond cruel.

My father had come to see me once to tell me of the news, I said nothing. In an attempt to show my discontent by staying quiet, a pure motive to get my way. But my father did nothing like a King would, he ignored my discomfort. One of the thralls fretted at my side to get my sleeping gown over my head. My father waited for a moment before motioning towards one of the knights my father had come with us. A medium-sized chest with substantial aspects of England with the crest in gold stamped on the front was presented at me. Planning on opening it after the wedding I promised myself I would ensure no Viking man or woman would open it but me.

Peering around the cane shade, I study it curiously. Attempting to blink away tears in my eyes, I smile lightly. "I understand the difficulty of the situation y/n, just know you're doing good by England. These heathens will make peace with us and ensure the future of the Monarch. Your brother will be able to rule strongly once he is of age. Trade will be common among these people, also." The thralls seemed to tense at his words, yet continue working. I loved the things he was saying, how much would actually occur? Would Ivar truly wish for trade, free from being raided?

Promising me a pleasant future and announcing his return to England in a day, I cried behind the shade. The thralls seemed to continue preparing me for my marriage of loneliness, abuse, and utter hell. I was going to be hated here, no one would respect me like a queen.

Even as Ivar's queen, they would judge my Christianity and my quiet nature. I couldn't rule, I just want to paint and judge Saxon ministers in the court.

One of the thralls secured a simple white dress, it was simple and had a slight v-neck. I was confused, English weddings were elaborate and filled with silk textiles and jeweled bracelets.

Yet, here I stood in front of a fuzzy mirror in the middle of the bed-chamber. "You are ready," one of the thralls said. Her voice laced in a foreign accent. She had soft hazel eyes and was quite tall in comparison.

Most women I had seen were much taller and very confident in stature. I'd heard of the shield-maidens. The women who would raid with the men, it was a fantastic thought. If only England was like that.

They had braided my hair to wrap around the back of my head. It was beautiful, but I didn't feel the need to feel happy about it. This was the end of my future. I'd just hoped that this wedding and marriage would end as quickly as it started.

----

Standing across from Ivar was very different from sitting across from him in the hall. He was tall, about a head taller. Leaning on his crutch causes him to hunch slightly, but he remained tall. He too adorned in white, hair that was slicked back. His brothers stood at his side, watching me intently. I dare not look at Ivar in the eyes, I tried not to cry in the presence of people I did not know. As their Queen.

Reminding myself of the lessons my own handmaid had given me, I'd wished I could bring her. Asra was getting old, I'd doubt she could have made it by boat. I was the queen, I had to remind myself. I will be the queen, I must remain strong. Chanting in my head over and over again, I remind myself of my role.

Completely ignoring the priest that was officiating the process. Their words were not anything I could understand, so I chose to stare behind Ivar himself. I dare not to look at Ivar, his face was in complete fury and anger. Jaw clenched and eyebrows furrowed in annoyance. After some words exchanged, in a language, I could not grasp a bowl filled to the brim in thick blood was handed to likes of Ivar.

Father had told me plenty of their processes at celebrations and weddings, a common practice of sacrifice. Seeing the blood in person made me clench my stomach, and all I wanted to do was knock it out of the priest's hand and run towards the nearest boat and go home. Yet, I knew that was never going to happen.

Passing it to me first, I looked towards the priest then to Ivar in hesitation. Must I?

Dipping my fingers into the blood, I swallow hard in an attempt to keep the contents of my stomach at the sight and smell. In hesitation, I rub the blood on his forehead and cheeks in small strokes from my fingers. His crystal blue eyes stared deep into my own e/c ones.

He takes the bowl from me, daring to not look away from me, he then repeats it onto my own face. The blood was cold, yet his fingers were harsh and quick. He pulled away quickly as if touching me had burnt him. It stung a little, but I remained straight in posture.

After a few words in exchange, the priest signaled to us both. Ubbe began to smirk, and Hvisterk seemed to knock his shoulder to make sure he was watching.

My father was watching everyone was watching. I felt like I was going to throw up. I had never kissed anyone before, I did not want his lips on mine. Not now, not ever. Ivar huffs loudly before leaning closer on his crutch for the support, he grabs at my wrist and pulls me closer roughly.

Putting my hand out to stop at his chest for support, our lips meet. His lips are dry, but they're soft. Cheers are heard, and all I could feel was my heart sinking into my chest, and before long, it was over, and the relief swept my gut. Yet, that feeling returned when I realized this wasn't going to be the last.

------

There we sat beside one another. A horn of ale in my hand. Alcohol was sinful for women to drink. Raising it to my lips felt wrong, and I just let it down to the table in an attempt to ease the guilt. Ivar said nothing to me, he stared off into the distance. I dare not break the silence between us.

His grip on a food knife remained even from the start, he was digging it into the table. The hall I had just been in the day before was bustling with people now. All drinking and laughing, some even playing games with the knives.

It was mayhem, I had never seen anything like this before. I could tell my father, the King, was beyond shocked because I watched him leave and the anxiety intensified. He was to be moving in a day, I was going to be left here.

Ubbe and Hvisterk hadn't said anything to us, Ivar seemed to ignore them. Every one looks our way, Ivar seemed tenser and would dig the knife further into the table. Getting some courage, I gulp, "Ivar-."

"Shut up." I gasped. His interruption shocked me. In an attempt to be friendly, his words were harsh and cold. I studied his face, he did not look at me but continued to stare in the distance with pure distaste on his face. Ignoring his words, I play with the braids in my hair, feeling the different hairstyles on my head.

Two men soon joined the table, one with tattoos adorning his face and the other with hair covering the side of his. Beards trailing from their mouth to their chin. Smug smiles laced their features.

"Ivar!" One of them boomed, voice loud. Yet his boisterous voice did not receive the attention of the room. Something completely different from the response that would be received back in England.

Ivar's words still struck me, anxiety was bubbling in my gut. The bedding was going to be anything close to natural, and I was ready to just get it over with. "Harald, Halfdan." Ivar acknowledges the pair individually. They take their attention from Ivar to me behind him. I don't know what to say to them, so I just nod.

"She's a Christian." One says, disgust laced on his face. Their language shifts from one to the other, something unfamiliar, something I need to get used to. Looking at the three of them I try to make out something I understand. The pair chuckled at Ivar's words. They exchange a few more conversations before directing their attention back to me. "Welcome to Hel Christian." I nod, in agreeance but more in complete horror. It was better than being ignored. “Skol,” one says loudly. The room erupts in joy as they raise their cups and swallow the liquid.

It stayed silent for a few minutes between us before I noticed Ubbe was pointing to the table we sat at as he spoke to Hvitserk. Ivar seemed to see this as well before heaving himself up from the chair, using the table as the support, he used his crutch to wander off.

Disappearing into the crowd, I grow uneasy, no one was there to protect me if something were to happen. Who knows where my father was. Surely being Queen would determine my safety, would it?

Watching out in the distance I watch as Ubbe wanders towards me. Before I could protest I find Ubbe in Ivar's spot, a horn of ale, and a warm smile on his face. "Why you so sad, Princess." The horn of ale met his lips and he seemed to take a couple of gulps whilst watching me intently. I didn't know what to say, so I smiled. "Do not worry about Ivar, he will speak sooner or later." He turns his head to face Hvitserk across the room. One of the thralls I had met in my chamber clutched to his arm.

"You are allowed to speak. We are not Christians, we do not judge you." Furrowing my eyebrows, I tilt my head to the side slightly.

"This is my first time in Kattegat, I am confused, and my own husband dares not speak to me", I say honestly. Ubbe smiles into his horn. "The Christian speaks," he laughs, and I say nothing. "It will take time, my wife Torvi will happily teach you our ways if you see to it." I nod. "Thank you, Ubbe is it?" Confirming my doubts on the pronunciations of his name, he chuckles.

"Yes, well-done Christian." I smile, but before I could question him further on his brother's name, they cheer towards me. I find the two men who had just previously occupied our table had Ivar on their shoulders.

"I think it is time for the Ivar the Boneless and Christian to share their first night together." Ivar cheers along with them and my heart drops. Oh dear god. Some of them chuckle and whisper to one another, even Ubbe's face is laced with amusement.

Letting Ivar down, they pass him his crutch they moved out to me. I try not to burst into sobs, trailing behind him slightly as we took our exit to the last chamber of the hall. He received pats on the back, the men roaring encouragement, yet their support seemed forced in some of their shouts. He gripped on my arm, harshly to keep me close, as he hobbled towards the door. I walked into the room, first noticing the place that would be shared. Reminding myself of the chest I must fetch, something in my mind to keep me occupied.

I wince as he wobbled towards me, I took off my cloak, waiting for him to grab me and drag me to the bed. Instead, nothing happened. Ivar limped past me, clutching his crutch as he came to sit on the bed. I didn't know what to say or do, was I meant to make a move? I thought to be the King, he would have done something.

However, he lay with his back turned to me as far on the edge of the bed as possible. The furs wrapped around his legs and waist. "Aren't you meant to do something?" I question. I was beyond confused. I had heard countless stories from England from my married friends. It was the first thing women are told in terms of their roles in a marriage. Yet, he said nothing, not even a 'shut up' was heard.

Slowly walking towards the bed, I finally notice the warmth of the room. The fire lit in the fireplace, fur rugs adorning every surface. Seeing the braces and crutches of all sizes and variety leaning against walls and laying aimlessly on the mats.

Hopping onto the bed, I lay against the edge, as far away from Ivar as possible. Wrapping myself in the remainder furs, I snuggle in them. Shutting my eyes, I dream of England and my father and my brother. Yet, Ivar's soft breathing seems to eventually lull me to sleep.

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nxrdist · 4 years

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𝕺𝖆𝖙𝖍𝖘 𝖔𝖋 𝕷𝖔𝖞𝖆𝖑𝖙𝖞||TLK Fic|| FinanxOC||Six

AN: Two updates in a week! I’m on a roll~ And this one’s a long one! Also, I’m trying out a more dynamic form of narrative at this point because there’s more going on than can be learned just through what Tove sees. In light of that there will be more non-Tove centered scenes in the making, but I feel like it makes for a more rich reader’s experience. Please let me know what you think! I hope you guys enjoy it :)

Story Summary: Tove chose to surrender rather than be killed, after Sigfried was defeated at Beamfleot, giving herself up to the mercy of the Saxons. Thanks to Finan’s intervention, her life is indeed spared and she is brought into Uhtred’s service. With the sting of defeat fresh on her tongue and her new life fighting for the Saxons secured; Tove is left wondering what tricks the Gods have in store for her next.

Words: 5517

At Haesten’s return there was a mixture of celebration and grumbling. Some of the assembled Jarls were more than pleased to have won riches without having to sacrifice any of their men -a thing they were quite wont to avoid whenever possible. However, there were still those who were rather sullen. One such Jarl, Ketill Frodeson, tall and broad of chest with long dark hair was the loudest of the dissenters of the arrangement.

“I have sailed many leagues for my sword to taste Saxon blood! And you -swine- have robbed me,” exclaimed Ketill before turning to the gathered men. “How are we to conquer this land with leader like Haesten? Haesten the spineless. Haesten the lazy.”

There was silence in the hall as Ketill stormed out, the doors slamming soundly behind him. Chatter rose again with his exit. Some of the assembled were angered by the derogatory words and raucous exit while others who knew better of the man’s character were not surprised. It was the latter who reminded their fellows of the moniker Ketill had earned; Ketill the Eager.

Ketill did not simply hunger for gold and silver. Of course, all men wished to be rich but there was more to be won than just that for a man like him. Men like Ketill sought battle -bloody, savage, and ruinous- of the kind that would bring reputation. The highest accolades for any Viking were won with reputation. For those were the ones who the great poets sang their songs about. Those who had it were the men that others followed. And so there would be no convincing Ketill to stay.

That same day Ketill railed his men and instructed them to ready the ships for them to leave on the morrow. There was not much for them to do other than the gathering of provisions and checking the ships readiness. All three ships were of Danish make with long oak timbers high prowed and adorned with different beast heads. When the sun rose the next morning, they were ready to set sail. The ships had been recaulked, ropes stored, planks inspected, and oars waxed with great efficiency. Their only minor delay was a wasted solicitation from Haesten entreating Ketill to reconsider. Dismissing him out of hand, Ketill hopped aboard his ship and they sailed.

The sum of their company was one hundred and twenty men between three ships for an even crew of forty per vessel. Once they were at sea Ketill shared his planned destination with the men at oars with a great level of fervor. Harald Bloodhair landed some ways to the south of them and was spreading word of his intent to form a Great Army who would harry and vanquish the King Alfred in Wessex. It was even said that he had a witch as part of his force; a seer called Skade. She was even rumored to be such a great beauty that to look upon her was to want her though she had eyes for no other than Bloodhair himself. Harald had been drawing forces all winter for his plotted assault. With his abandonment of Haesten it only made sense for Ketill to join with Harald.

Exhilaration spread through the three ships like wildfire; though, there was one man among the crew whose gladness was unmatched. A stocky axe man pulled his oar with a renewed vehemency, Halvar Ulfson. Sharing the bench with Halvar was another Dane called Geir who Halvar knew in passing. Noting the grin on Halvar’s bearded face, Geir nudged the dark-haired man.

“Do you think the witch is as beautiful as they say?” Geir asked.

Halvar scoffed. “I care not for a witch who may or may not speak for the Gods.”

Dismayed, Geir’s expression faltered a moment. “They say her hair shines with their light…”

“Perhaps Harald will let you hump her,” Halvar snickered.

Geir rolled his eyes. “Then what is that look on your face?”

“Aside the prospect of glory in battle? Riches to take home to Denmark?” Halvar’s tone was incredulous.

Geir prompted Halvar to continue with a nod.

“My brother. Not by blood, but of battle… He sailed to meet Harald when I joined Ketill in Frisia.”

The look on Geir’s face revealed his understanding as he glanced at the man seated on his other side.

Several days later they came into sight of Harald Bloodhair’s camps when the sun was highest in the sky. Sighting them, centuries sent messengers to the camp to fetch their Jarls and by the time Ketill’s vessels reached the shallows a party was there to meet them. They were greeted warmly by the large Dane who had come to meet them as they disembarked. He grinned broadly at Harald and embraced him warmly. Harald then addressed the newly arrived men in a booming voice.

“Is that the banner of Ketill Frodeson I see?” boomed a large Dane with thick dark hair.

“It is my friend!” Ketill yelled back from his place at the steering platform.

“Come ashore!” Harald called.

So, they disembarked, Ketill was the first to make land as the crews ran the ships aground. Harald surveyed them until Ketill came to his side.

“You have abandoned Haesten then?” Harald asked with a broad grin.

“I will not speak of that milksop,” Ketill bit out.

“Relax my friend! I will not question you,” Harald responded in an effort to quell him. “Come drink with me. We have so much to speak on!”

Ketill have an affirmative nod and his posture relaxed some. Bloodhair clapped him hard on the shoulder grinning again. Then he turned to Ketill’s men.

“You are most welcome my friends! The Gods smile on your coming. We are glad to welcome you to our army! Please eat and drink you must be weary.”

The warriors cheered heartily. Bloodhair put an arm around the slightly shorter man and led him away to his tent. Taking it as their dismissal the men dispersed themselves to make camps of their own and rest after having rowed many days to reach the place. Halvar followed along with some others to an open area where they could pitch themselves tents to sleep under. To the practiced Vikings it was a simple task which was finished with haste being that their desire for fresh food and ale was paramount.

Food was shared freely with the newcomers and Halvar talked and ate with several old friends whom he had not known would be there. With the afternoon waning into evening Halvar began to wonder how he had not yet come across the one individual whom he had been certain to find. He had not seen his best friend in months and sorely regretted parting with him in Frisia. Finally, just as the evening fires were being lit Halvar came across someone who pointed him in the direction that Kåre Ødgerson had last been seen.

Dark fell before Halvar reached the other side of the encampment to find Kåre gnawing a chicken thigh in front of a fire. From his vantage Halvar only see him in profile, but the slight upturn nose and sleek cornsilk blonde hair were unmistakable. Grinning guilefully to himself, Halvar ducked behind a barrel of ale and scooped up a small stone from the ground. In one quick smooth motion, he peaked up over the barrel, lobbed the rock at Kåre’s turned back and ducked back behind the barrel. There followed the sound of a brief scuffle and a few shouted words of anger.

“Hey! I wasn’t me alright?! It came from over there,” said one man.

“You had better not be having a laugh,” Kåre responded irritably.

Halvar crouched waiting until Kåre was about to come around the side of the barrel to stand. Startled Kåre’s hand went to the hilt of the sword that hung at his waist. Nevertheless, it only took a moment for him to recognize his friend and in doing so he immediately swung a punch at Halvar’s shoulder.

“What in the hel did you do that for!” he exclaimed.

“Keeping you on your toes?” Halvar offered with a laugh.

Kåre swept forward and embraced his best friend in a crushing hug. “You lousy shit.”

“Aw he missed me,” Halvar called over Kåre’s shoulder at his companions who sat by the fire chuckling.

“Come and eat,” Kåre offered.

“As long as you’ve got ale.”

“Of course!”

And Kåre guided him over to the fire where he sat with two companions. The two men were familiar to Halvar and he greeted them warmly. Erik and Arne had been part of Kåre’s crew when Halvar parted from them in Frisia to sail with Ketill and meet Haesten. Arne offered Halvar a piece of chicken with hard bread and a cup of ale which he accepted with thanks even though he had ate only hours ago.

“What news of the Jarl Haesten?” Kåre asked eyes alight with humor.

Halvar huffed and moved to bump his shoulder hard against his friend’s. “You know what news. Seeing as I am here not with him.”

“Oh, I know,” said Kåre a purposeful smirk spreading across his face. “I would hear you say it though. It is quite a thing -to so often be right.”

“Alright you damn bastard,” Halvar rolled his eyes. “He treated with the Saxon dogs. Gold and priests in exchange for peace…for a time at least.”

The laugh Kåre gave at his friend’s admittance was loud enough that Erik and Arne looked up briefly from their own conversation in question. Kåre waved them off with ease. A frown marred Halvar’s face and he stared down into the dirt. Eventually Kåre subsided and patted his companion consolingly on the back .

“Perhaps the gold I would have taken,” Kåre admitted. “Priests? No, never.”

“An affront to the Gods,” supplied Halvar moodily.

“Did I not tell you to stay when Ketill made his intentions to join Haeten clear? He is a pitiful and gutless coward. The way he abandoned the Thurgilsons at Beamfleot…” An expression of rage flitted across Kåre’s face before he composed himself. “But who was I to stop you. You are your own man.”

Halvar sighed raising his eyes to meet Kåre with an exasperated look. Cautiously, the elder of the two considered how or whether he ought to tell his fellow of the full encounter that had taken place prior to their abandoning Haesten. Surely, he ought to on account that they could likely be facing the Dane-slayer in battle at some point. The momentary flash of temper he had just seen gave Halvar pause though.

“You did tell me,” he assented, brightening a bit he continued. “And I told you then, perhaps I needed a break from looking at your ugly mug every day. You scare away all the women.”

Kåre snorted indignantly. “My friend, I think you are mistaken! Women love me.”

“Do they?” Halvar’s eyebrows rose high on his forehead as he spoke. “Is that why your lip was bloodied when we departed home? Igna has finally grown wise and tossed you out?”

Shaking his head Kåre chuckled. “She would never do such a thing.”

“Aye, she would not,” granted Halvar. “Ridiculous, truly, but she loves you far too much.”

“And I her.” Kåre’s expression softened.

Both men lapsed into a companionable silence and were contented to drink from their cups for a time. Kåre watched Halvar picking at his chicken. It seemed to him that his friend was troubled by something which he was reticent to speak on. In the end Kåre broke the peace.

“What bothers you?” He asked.

“At the negotiations…I thought I saw a ghost,” Halvar said grimly.

Finan stared unseeing at the seat across from him which was usually occupied by Tove. After her ill-tempered mood during their journey back he had thought it best to give her some time, though a night in her own bed appeared to have cured that. She had turned up the following day to train with a smile and her normal relaxed demeanor. He assumed all that had caused her previous temperamental behavior was travel weariness. An understandable thing which had been easily brushed aside by all.

Thinking her back to her usual self, Finan had expected to see her at the tavern that evening as they often congregated there when the days’ work was done. When Tove did not make an appearance that night or any of the four nights after, he truly started to suspect something was wrong. Of course, it was not unlike her to take time to herself occasionally, but he had hardly seen her outside of training and patrol since their return -and that was decidedly not normal. Even so, she gave no outward indication that anything was amiss other than her newfound aversion to anything sociable. Still, Finan suspected and he was not the only one.

Just the previous evening Uhtred had commented upon her elusiveness mentioning also that Tove had not visited Gisela since their return. The eyes of Sihtric and Osferth had immediately gone to Finan as if he would surely know the reason, but all he could offer them was a shrug. Though no further comment was made on the issue he decided then that if she did not come the next night, he would seek her out.

“‘Ave ye seen Tove since ye came in from patrol?” Finan looked up, directing his question at Osferth.

The former monk paused midbite thoughtfully. “Now you mention it, I can’t say I have.”

Finan exchanged a significant look with Sihtric. He had confided in the half-Dane his plan during training that day. Sihtric had noted that perhaps he was overreacting but conceded that if she did not show then it would not be unreasonable to check on her. Finishing his bite, Osferth glanced between the two a hint of his confusion touching his expression.

“I’m sure she’s fine,” Osferth added when no explanation was forthcoming. “She probably just wanted a quiet evening.”

“Another one?” Finan challenged.

Osferth shrugged noncommittally. “Women do strange things at times do they not?”

The Irishman sighed. “I’m goin’ to check.”

Neither of his companions made any protest as Finan got to his feet and made for the exit. Once he had left Osferth turned his attention back to Sihtric who did not look at all bothered by Finan’s behavior.

“Is Finan well?”

Sihtric snorted. “I am beginning to think our Irishman feels someway about her.”

Osferth furrowed his brow but did not question the assertion. Shortly their conversation turned to other topics as they waited for Uhtred to arrive. Their Lord had taken to joining them later in the evenings after the children had gone to sleep.

Finding her turned out to be more of a task than Finan had anticipated. He had gone directly to her home where he knocked on the door for several minutes before a neighbor tartly informed him, she was not there. With that hope dashed, he sought out the few places he knew she frequented for solitude. Checking first at the wharf where she had given him the rune a month before, then the old Roman ramparts where he’d seen her staring out into the countryside, and on his last limb the stables as occasionally she visited the horses.

Frustration mounting, Finan exhaled a deep sigh and kicked the dusty stable floor. A quiet cough from the doors caught his attention and he looked up. The stable hand stood at the threshold carrying a pail of oats looking a tad surprised to see him there.

“Evening,” said the young man.

Finan observed the lad for a moment. It was likely the boy has been there all day and was just finishing his evening chores. If Tove had been to the stable since returning from patrol with Osferth and the others he would’ve probably seen her.

“Has a woman been here?” Finan asked abruptly.

Blinking, the stable boy shook his head.

“Blonde, fair height, ...pretty face?” He paused.

Again, the young man shook his head looking less surprised and more confused. “No one like that.”

“You’d know her,” Finan pressed, annoyance rising. “The Danish shield maiden.”

He flushed. “Ohh, she came in with the last patrol...but her stallion isn’t in his stall. Coulda gone back out?”

Thanking the boy shortly, Finan rushed past him in the direction of his horse Gúthwine’s stall and quickly set about tacking up the steed. When he had finished, he led Gúthwine from the stall, past the stable boy who’d since resumed his chores, and out into the street. Swinging himself onto the stallion’s back, Finan steered the beast towards the gate only stopping briefly there to question the guards. They were more helpful than the stable boy and were able to indicate to Finan the small wood Tove had headed towards.

He rode hard and reached the trees just as twilight was approaching. The wood was not thick, but still he couldn’t see far into the trees with the fading daylight. Up to that point Finan had been merely frustrated by his search for her, but as Gúthwine trotted along the edge of the wood he wondered what brought her there in the first place. Wandering the woods at night wasn’t particularly safe even if one knew them well, though with the light fading there was hardly time to dwell on the matter. So, without any further delay, he dismounted and tied his reigns to a nearby tree. Gúthwine gave a snort as he watched Finan work. Upon completing his task Finan patted the stallion’s shoulder reassuringly.

“I’ll be back. Got to fetch our friends,” he murmured.

Twilight descended into dusk and Finan started to wish he’d thought to bring a torch. It was too late for that though as he’d already walked for almost ten minutes into the trees. Silently he continued on for another five or so minutes until he clearly heard the sound of slow-moving water over rocks. Having no other apparent direction, he followed the sound to locate the flowing spring. As he came to the edge of the bank Finan saw a flicker of firelight from the corner of his eye and turned towards it. From his vantage point, it appeared to be a little less than two hundred meters off.

Full night descended on the wood as Finan made his way toward the beacon of light. Tove’s horse -Alvis- startled as he approached, pawing at the ground, and watching him closely. However, the muffled sound of Alvis’s hooves did not cause Tove to stir. Instead she sat shoulders slouched apparently staring deeply into the flames.

Finan purposefully made his steps louder as he approached her from behind. “Tove?”

Genuine shock flared in her tone as Tove whipped around to face him. “Finan!”

His step wavered. “Fancy seein’ you here.”

“What are you doing here?” Her brow creased, a hint of accusation in her words.

“Oh ya know,” Finan began again pacing toward her coming to a stop within arm’s length of where she sat. “Thought ta take an evenin’ stroll, perhaps even happen upon one of the fairfolk.”

Tove snorted in consternation. With their closer proximity the frustration in her eyes was plainer to see, Finan offered her a placating smile. When she did not soften right away, he sighed raising his hands in supplication.

“Perhaps na’, it would be a sight though, wouldn’t it?”

Tove made no dissent as Finan lowered himself onto the ground next to her. Finally, after a moment of weighty silence where she stared at him enigmatically, Tove nodded her assent and turned back to the fire.

“And what would you venture to ask of them?” she asked softly. Her eyes still fixed upon the flickering flame.

Humming as he feigned deep thought, Finan pursed his lips, though when he spoke none of the humor of his performance tinged his words.

“I would ask to know what troubles my dear friend.”

Instantly her head snapped up and she fixed him with a scathing look. “Could you not simply ask? To risk guileful nature of the fae would be a folly.”

“Difficult to manage when they are so distant.” His wry smile had withered measurably under her gaze.

Tove’s cheeks flushed at Finan’s words though it was mostly hidden by the glare of the flame. Biting the inside of her lip she looked away again suddenly feeling quite trapped by his intense mahogany eyes. Had she not averted her eyes, she surely would have told him every thought she’d had over the past several days and the knowledge of that unsettled her further.

Most of her thinking revolved around Halvar, his disgust when he named Uhtred the Dane-slayer, and the flush of anger when she had defended him; all of which left a bitter taste in her mouth which was determined to linger. She’d had no concern in the moment over the fact it was an apt title -despite Uhtred’s disdain for it- only that her Lord had been insulted. Uhtred was her oath lord even if he fought the Danes. Halvar being honorable as she thought he was should understand that. But he didn’t seem to.

Altercation with Halvar aside, Tove could not help but agonize over what had also not been said or rather asked. She had not even thought to ask after her twin and the guilt of that weighed on her consciousness like led. Halvar told her they all thought her dead. Kåre would still think it. Yet, she had not spared the moment to ask after his health -or even that of his child. What kind of person did that make her?

From his place beside her Finan eyed what he could see of her partially obscured face with interest. When she turned away a few locks of hair had fallen from behind her ear and effectively hid most of her profile from his view. If finding her far out in the wood were not enough proof, he had been correct in his assumption that something was off, her reaction to his query was. The confirmation was bittersweet though as it shed no light on the source of her dismay.

Feeling doubtful that she would speak again without his prompting, Finan took a moment to search for a lighter topic of conversation.

“Uhtred mentioned Gisela had asked after you.”

Patiently, he waited for her to respond nothing the slight downward tilt of her lips.

Finally, she did and it was but a whisper. “She should be focusing on the baby.”

“Perhaps I am not the only one who is concerned for a friend?” Finan replied in the same volume.

Tove turned her face a fraction toward him and Finan swore he saw the shimmer of unshed tears with his limited view of her eyes. It seemed his attempt to lighten the mood had failed. At a loss, Finan asked the question he truly sought an answer to.

“Tove, what are ye doin’ out here?”

She inhaled deeply possibly to hide the sniffle he thought he heard. “Being questioned by an Irishman who seems to have quite a habit of intruding on my peace.”

Finan frowned.

Turning to survey him fully, Tove’s expression was filled with tell tale signs of instant regret. “I don’t know why I said that…”

“You’re upset.”

She nodded. “Still…I am sorry.”

“There is no need to be.” Finan reached over to rest a hand lightly on her knee.

“Thank you.” Once again, her voice was barely a whisper however she did manage a weak smile. “You are a true friend and I appreciate you.”

Something in Finan’s chest clenched uncomfortably at her words, but nonetheless he smiled in return.

After a time Finan convinced Tove they ought to return to the city arguing there was no reason to sleep upon the ground when their beds were so near. Having no fair defense against it, she yielded. They doused the fire with water from the spring and he rode behind her on Alvis as he picked his way through the trees to where Finan had left Gúthwine.

Upon reaching the grey stallion, Tove brought Alvis to a stop so that Finan could dismount. Despite the fair weather that night a chill ran through her with the sudden loss of his assuring presence at her back. Before that night she had not fully realized what a comfort he was to her. And as she watched him climb into his own saddle, she almost called to stop him, but then the moment passed and Tove had managed to stay her words.

Once he was seated Finan gestured for her to lead the way and they were off. Neither spoke as they rode at a leisurely pace back toward Lunden. Their silence was companionable as both seemed to be lost within their own thoughts though as they came within a hundred meters of the gate Tove broke it.

“Do you have siblings?” Tove asked suddenly.

Finan hesitated in his answer, but eventually he said, “Yes -a brother.”

“What is he like?”

He snorted. “He is an arrogant turd.”

“Not like you at all then,” Tove said dryly, though her eyes sparkled with humor.

“And what of your brother?” Finan asked.

“Kåre,” she supplied and Finan nodded. “He is…strong -a fierce protector- but also quite funny when he is not so busy being serious.”

Finan nodded along absently as she spoke staring off into space. “Sounds a bit like Lord Uhtred.”

Tove chuckled. “In that way, I suppose he is.”

Commotion was spreading through the camp with news that Bloodhair’s witch had made a prophecy of Alfred’s imminent death. When the news reached him, Kåre was in the middle of a duel with one of his subordinates. The man who carried the news had been present when Skade emerged from the wood to proclaim to Bloodhair what she had seen. Instead of waiting around to find out the truth of it, he abandoned his sparring partner and set off to find Bloodhair because surely this was a sign they were to move. At Bloodhair’s tent he found several other Jarls were already there including the newly arrived Ketill who was speaking animatedly to the group.

Eyeing the older Jarl with some interest, Kåre surveyed those present. Other than Ketill those he recognized were Jari, Einar, and Bjørn. Then there was Harald who was listening to Ketill as he spoke about his hopes for their coming victory. Kåre waited for a moment so Ketill could finish speaking before he interrupted.

“It is true then?”

Everyone’s attention turned to Harald at Kåre’s words, as a number of those present had only just arrived, to hear confirmation of what they had been told.

“It is. The Saxon King will die,” said Harald triumphantly. “At my sword.”

A soft murmuring began to rise as the assembled Jarl’s and captain’s exchanged glances excitedly.

“We must strike first!” Ketill asserted. “They know we are here. Surely they are already amassing their forces.”

Harald nodded in agreement.

“From what you have told me of Haesten, he will not aid us?” It was phrased as a question, but the words carried the air of a statement.

“He will not,” spat Ketill.

“And how many horses do we here possess?” Harald asked.

“No more than two thousand.” Someone answered.

Harald was thoughtful for a moment. “It is enough.”

Kåre felt inclined to disagree but was reticent to do so. Two thousand was more than enough for effective and aggressive raiding, but he had never fought the Saxons. All his previous raiding had been in the Irish land where the fighting was bitter and difficult. However, he had been drawn to Wessex though by the prospect of a Great Army which might finally conquer the Saxons. Seeing as no others objected, he supposed perhaps two thousand was enough for an initial assault.

From there debate began over who would be staying behind and that brought a much more heated debate. Harald began by taking account of how many fighters they had amassed in total -which was at an estimate near five thousand. Once that was settled, they began to argue over who was to go and who was to stay -protecting the ships and raiding only in the surrounding country for the things they required. It took several tedious hours of bickering to come to a final decision and predictably not everyone was happy with it. Though for Kåre, luck was with him and he had been chosen by Harald to be among the riders considering most of his men already had horses.

He returned to his own camp site that evening with a feeling of anticipation growing in his chest. Kåre called for his second and instructed him to inform their warriors to make ready. Harald was intent on leaving in the morning to begin harrying Alfred’s lands. After packing the few belongings he would require Kåre settled in to sleep.

In the morning Kåre waited by the stallion who had been gifted to him by Tove before she had set out for Beamfleot. She had called him Roar saying that it was a fitting name for his companion in battle as he himself was a fighter worthy of much praise. At the time he had teased her for being so sentimental, but just then he wondered if he had not been grateful enough of the gift. Though he was not able to dwell on the thought for long when Halvar appeared.

Kåre’s expression smoothed to a look of objective calm at the sight of his long-time friend despite the frustration he still harbored over their last conversation. At first, he had of course been overjoyed to hear that his sister still lived, but that she was in the company of the Dane-slayer unsettled him. A part of him was also quite angry though he was unsure of with whom. It would be easy to direct his anger toward Halvar as the messenger and the one who had left her behind; however, nor had Tove deserted the Saxons at Scaepege when she had the chance. So Kåre was left in a strange limbo in regard to the whole ordeal.

“Should you not be with Ketill?” Kåre asked somewhat stiffly when Halvar reached him.

Halvar let out a long-suffering sigh at the mention of the Jarl. “He is intolerable to be around just now.”

Kåre was unable to suppress his chuckle. “I’d imagine so. Abandoning Haesten for his inaction, only to be left behind due to lack of horses.”

“He’ll not stay put,” Halvar commented mildly.

“What makes you say so?”

Halvar only shrugged.

Turning away for a moment, Kåre busied himself checking his saddle bags. He still didn’t really feel like things were quite normal between them. Clearly Halvar felt the same if the tension that hung between them was any indication. Sighing to himself, Kåre spoke again when it seemed Halvar did not intend to.

“I am not angry.”

At first Kåre thought his friend had not heard him over the surrounding din of activity.

“Aren’t you though?” Halvar finally asked.

He conceded. “Perhaps.”

“At me.”

It was not a question. Kåre secured the ties on his bag and turned back to face Halvar. The stockier man’s nose still bore some mild swelling from where Kåre had punched him. He had the good grace to look a shade guilty.

“It isn’t broken,” Halvar supplied.

Kåre nodded.

“I am glad,” he paused before adding with a bit of humor. “Then you would have truly been ugly.”

Breaking out into a grin, Halvar laughed. “Such a bastard.”

Kåre chuckled along with him until they both subsided.

“I am sorry.” He said as the smile faded somewhat from his face. “There was nothing you could have done under such circumstances. I see that now.”

“Well…I suppose I could have suggested to Ketill that we kidnap her?” Halvar joked. “Though, I do not think you would have thanked me for that.”

Kåre shook his head.

“What will you do?” Halvar asked tentatively.

“I can not believe she is loyal to this Saxon as you say,” Kåre said firmly. “So, I will do all that I can to reach her and bring her back safely.”

Halvar’s expression was neutral as he nodded in understanding, but he did not believe it could be done. He had seen the way Tove’s eyes had flashed with anger when she corrected him; though, he was not surprised by Kåre’s resolve. Tove was his sister from birth and they had been close for as long as he had known them. No matter how much he liked her, Halvar was not sure he could forgive aligning herself thus. Objectively, he supposed it was better that Ketill had been instructed to stay close to camp for if he were to meet Tove in battle he would not hesitate.

Feeling the matter resolved, Kåre moved on to lighter topics until warriors started to mount up and they had to say their goodbyes.

End note about Finan and Tove’s exchange about fairies. I only have a base knowledge in Irish or Norse folklore so I hope I haven’t misrepresented what the common attitude towards talk of fairies/fairy deals would have been at the time. It’s a topic I’ve always wanted to study deeper, but just haven’t gotten around to. Also according to google Gúthwine means “battle-friend” in Anglo-Saxon which I thought was fitting for a war horse. And Alvis means “all-wise” in Norse which seemed like something Tove would call her horse because as I wrote this chapter I started to realize she has a great reverance for them.

taglist; @lauwrite1225, @queen-manning, @for-bebbanburg, @bells3333, @othermoony, @iwillboilyourteeth

feel free to shoot me an ask or a message if you’d like to be added to the tags

#finan #finan fic #tlk #tlk fic #The Last Kingdom #the last kingdom fic #ool fic

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nwbeerguide · 3 years

Text

Revelstoke brewery, Mt. Begbie invites you to celebrate their 25th anniversary during the month of April

image courtesy Mt. Begbie Brewing Company

Press Release

April 1, 2021 - Revelstoke, B.C. – This month, Mt. Begbie Brewing Company celebrates their 25th anniversary of brewing!

Armed with his Ph.D in nuclear physics and a proven track record of exceptional home brews, Bart Larson and his wife Tracey left Vancouver and opened their first location in Revelstoke B.C. In April of 1996 they released Begbie Cream Ale, followed by Tall Timber Ale, Alpine Amber Ale (now Powerhouse Pale Ale) and High Country Kolsch.

A quarter century and dozens of awards later, Mt. Begbie Brewing Co. is now in their third location. The custom-built brewery overlooks the city of Revelstoke, boasting a fantastic view of the iconic Mt. Begbie. The brewery features a dedicated tasting room, expansive patio offering an artisan food menu and beers from 16 taps (including exclusive experimental brews), as well as a retail store with cold beer sales. Mt. Begbie has a team of ~20 staff dedicated to exceptional beers and service (two of their brewers have been part of the team for more than 12 years)!

“Mt. Begbie Brewing Co. will be celebrating a significant milestone this April – It’s hard to believe we have spent 25 years in blood, sweat and beers! We’d like to thank our customers, staff, community, friends & family for the support over the years. 2021 will be an exciting year as we roll out new beers and launch a fresh new look – watch out for upcoming charity support, contests & giveaways!” says Tracey Larson, owner.

…

Mt Begbie Brewing Co. Revelstoke, B.C. has been brewing award winning beer since 1996. For more information contact Darryn Shewchuk at 1.250.814.1950 [email protected]

from Northwest Beer Guide - News - The Northwest Beer Guide https://bit.ly/31QEJiM

#Beer #News #Brewery

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shortpirateking · 4 years

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2,11

Ja(*reeees in confusion and how to come up with good qualities*)

2. What’s 3 things your f/o likes about you?

I have....literally no idea- especially on specific F/o’s... I guess for the general it’d be creativity, adventurous, and silly???

11. Free pass to gush about your f/o

Okay so!!! I have many many many *MANY* f/o’s- all from different fandoms and even to a few of my friend’s oc’s!! so it’s hard to list every single one but I am ABSOLUTELY going to list many of them with a little ramble(and the fandom because sO MANY CHARACTERS. (not counting transformers characters, book characters, or Oc’s/ readers for the sake of space)

Dark Crystal(first ofc)

SkekTek: oh do I LOVE this boy!!! His intelligence, his backstory!! I just wish to hold him close, protect him from the world and go on a vacation with him and Sidetic!!!

SkekVar: Originally I wasn’t so fond of him- but his dumb himbo self has grown on me- i remember having a dream a long time ago of the skeksis turning human after saving thra(long plotline) and becoming like teasing partners who playfought a lot. I wantthis still.

SkekGra and Urgoh: They’re just!!!! So sweet!!! I want to snuggle with them, make puppet shows together with them and just enjoy being hermits!!!!

UrVa: Husband material?? yes?? His voice is amazing and i just want to be wrapped in his arms in the forest, learn archery and!!! AAAHSUAIHSA

SkekMal: Scary forest man who shits in the woods with a dark and sexy voice??? sign me tf UP *So many things i’d do with this feral lad*

UrSol: I just....love him so much- I want to snuggle, spoil, tease, and sing with him.

UrTih: I would do ANYTHING to make him blush, embarrass him then snuggle him as he hides his face. UrTih is mY LAD

UrSan: She’s literally a mermaid and she’s so!!! PRETTY I’M SO GAY FOR HER

SkekSa: EVEn GAYER FOR thIS LASS HOLY SHIT SHE COULD STEP ON ME AND I’D THANK HER DUOIS

SkekLi: As a musical/history/folklore nerd. I’d kill to sit by a fire, sing folk songs and tell stories, make up our own plays, and just...enjoy being silly without the worry of being ridiculed.

SkekShod(Sorry shroom-): My??? My love?? I want to give this Skeksis my treasure chest of shiny rocks- I want to hold him close, love and kiss him- if he ever told me he loved me i’d *melt*

Assassin’s Creed

Ezio Auditore: he is *beyond* handsome- and good golly is he just!!! PERFECT. He has so much character development- i just want to learn Italian, follow his adventures and see all the things he has seen!!! (and befriend all of his friends)

Yusuf Tazim: Turkish lad??? Dorky, and just so silly??? yes??? I just....want to run through Istanbul with him---

Federico Auditore: HE WAS ONLY ALIVE FOR LIKE 5 MINUTES OF GAMEPLAY BUT I WANT TO MARRY HIM OK

Altair Ibn La-ahad: Oh boy have I had so mANY DAYDREAMS WITH THIS MAN. I’d kill to have the frenemies to lovers romance with him, aid him in his quests, become his right hand man and just....Share life with him and Maria- being the weird aunt of Darim and Sef

Malik Al-Sayf: SAME HERE WITH MALIK. I just...want to grow up with him and Kadar, learn to be an assassin with them and just- help him through his grief, change the course of time- or if not, be there for Tazim as he grows.

Charles Vane: I have literally no reason to like this man, but I do.

Anne Bonney and Mary Reed: Amazing tough pirate gorls who kick ass and take names- what is there to NOT love?!?!?! (I just want to flirt and love on both of them- and many other NSFW things)

The Hobbit/Lotr

Aragorn: a king and warrior, strong and brave- and just!!! iosjdisada

Boromir: I really feel bad for this lad- he was merely a mortal, and sacrificed so much to regain his honor... I wish I could have saved him- or gave him comfort-

Bofur: He is the life of the party and I want nothing more than to dance on a table with him while singing at the top of our lungs. 10/10 best friends as lovers

Bifur: I want nothing more than to learn Khuzdul, speak with him and just...hold hands as I watch him make such intricate toys, see both that wild side and gentle side.

Nori: I just like his stupid starfish hair and shenanigans okay??? he’s a little shithead thief

Kili: babbi boi....babi

Tauriel: Strong independent woman??? Red hair??? badass?? I don’t care that she wasn’t in the book, I WANT HER HAND IN MARRIAGE

Marble Hornets

Tim Wright: husband?? I would have loved to hold him- before all went to shit- i’d love to be in a poly/open relationship with him, Jay and Brian(brian we’d share, but Jay would be is(As he is CANON GAY AND I’VE NEVER BEEN SO HAPPY BEFORE MY HC WAS RIGHT)

Alex Kralie: Honestly was probably an adorable dork before the sickness got to him- I still love the bad ending @probably-rabid and I roleplayed before-

Arata Kangatari(manga is the best)

Kannagi I just- love his character arc so much!!! even afterwards he’s such a dORK AND I LOVE HIM

Yorunami: Okay look- we both went through so much from our parents- so much trauma. I wish to hold him and help him to let go, to forgive but understand that doesn’t mean he has to excuse behavior.

Isora: He went through so much...so much... he didn’t deserve anything that he got, like at all... the fact he turned evil is not a surprise at all- i would have too...I just wish I could love on him, allow him to know there is love.

Eto: He’s such a good big brother....I just...want to love him... so much

Kuroshitsuji:

Hannah Anafeloz: She was my first gay crush I can remember(then again I can’t remember too much of my childhood at all so-) and I love her so much-

Claude Faustus: I fucking hate him- and yet I love him sso sosososo much(Legit he is more of a yandere f/o and I rEEEE)

Herman Greenhill: Idc what happened in the manga- Often daydreamed about getting into Weston high and just... having him question his sexuality(As I’d be presenting as male the entire time) and just--- !!!!

Wolfram Gelzer: Big bad guy who learned to love?? Like!!! He is so sweet!!! big scary Germany teddy bear. 10/10 would snuggle. Also I love sullivan so we’d team up to tease the crap out of him

Gregory Violet: emo boi...likes black and cloaks. He is my goth boi and just...I want to draw with him- save him from Bravat along with the others- and other things that are plot related

Lawrence Bluer: Same for him-and I love how he is! I feel like he’d be a blushing nerd sometimes- but also be calm and collected. gOD I JUST WANT TO HOLD HIS HAND AS WE SHARE A BOOK

The Triplets(thompson, timber, and canterbury): I have no reason to love them- yet i do.

Agni: *incoherent screaming and sobbing as I recall what happened* HE DESERVED SO MUCH AND I LOVE HIMMMMMMMMMMMM

Snake: Babbi boi...babbi pt 2- I love him so much- he was my first ever cosplay, tricked my uncle into naming his snake after one of his(Keats). I just want to snuggle this boi.

Joker: sweet boi put into bad situation- I wish I could have saved him and the rest of the circus act-

Jumbo: okay but he is literally like 10ft tall. I want his height. I WANT TO BE CARRIED BY THIS MAN. LET ME BE CARRIED BY MY SUPER TALL HUSBAND OKAY?!?!?!

(I have so so so so SO MANY MORE- but that’s the main ones. Thank you for my TedTalk)

#I can't feel my arms #I want to love all of them #i have so many #Black butler #kuroshitsuji #Assassin's creed #Dark Crystal #the dark crystal age of resistance #The Dark Crystal #Dark Crystal: Age of Resistance #arata kangatari #Marble Hornets #lord of the rings #The Hobbit #I don't even want to write all these characters down

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woollyslisterblog · 4 years

Text

1834 August Tuesday 5th

heaven save us from AL on a fact finding mission. she has her parasol out again and is measuring. She seems to have spent most of the day discussing land farming management with the coachman leaving AW to her cold fowl. Yes, she discusses horse poo prices.

no kiss not at all with her Ann better this morning – preparing for cousin- breakfast at 8:30 -agree about carriage 15/. (everything bonne main and all compris) for the whole of the day - off at 10:20 Anne and I (and took George) in one horse calèche George and driver sitting in the front - in 1/4 hour at and crossed the handsome suspension bridge over the Drac - finished only six years ago - the wood bad - taking it up and laying it down fresh - kept close along the track (north) till after its junction with Isère - just there two boats - three pair of oxen to each, the animals one man to each pair, hauling in the midst of the water, above their middles in the deepest part, towards Grenoble –

at 11:05 turn left and about 10 minutes at the village of Sassenage- drive up the hill towards the quarries - very steep and bad got out at 11:25 and left the carriage waiting – Ann and I walked forwards - she tired an left her at 11:52 while I went to the top of the hill or monticule a little above the quarries for the sake of the view- - Miss Walker’s bowels not yet well - walked quickish considering the steep ascent and the stony road and great heat – (thought fine air latterly on the high ground) and in 1/4 hour at 12:02 at the top of the hill - very fine panoramic view of the junction of the Drac and Isère and of the latter almost to Voreppe, and a considerable length of the former - pity the clouds hid in great measure the great height of the mountain range to the eastward - the plain or valley of Grenoble Graissivandau very rich and beautiful - enjoyed the view for five minutes then down again to Ann at 1:10 –

She with one stone for a seat and another for a table ate her cold fowl and took her malaga légèrement trempe de l’eau in 20 minutes - we were soon back where we left the carriage, went down the bad road in it, and alighted at the hotel des Cuves at Sassenage at 1:20 - the landlord went with us as guide - this little expedition took us from 1:23 to 2:28 between then we went considerably above the cuves in the wood to where our guide the proprietor is making a zigzag walk and going to erect a pavilion from a nice point of view - he had bought the property 15 days ago, 400 toises of rock and wood for 370 francs - we had a steepish ascent - along with the high wall of rock (left) very pretty valley-cleft with a pretty cascade and stream utilisé for a mill – passed an insignificant hole or recess in the rock yellow hoary compact limestone then a few yards higher up on the cuve a handsome cavern mouth with two streams meeting in and forming in it a very pretty cascade - the stream to the left on entering runs along the channel we could have gone up for a long and unknown length of way had we chose and had there not been rather too much water – (no depth, but not like getting wet shod) - the man lighted his candle, but we declined wading - another recess in the rock a little higher up - the man talked of making a pavilion here too - said he would spoil the place – advised merely a bench and rustic table - from the intended site of the pavilion above looked over a pretty green vineyard on the opposite little high plain backed wood and the out-peeping old tower part masonry part rock of the ancient Chateau de Sassenage - was straight with this little propriété, and joked to Anne about buying it –

Sassenage a very good village - the famous cheese is made at the chalets on the pastures on the rocks above - can buy here (said our Grenoble landlord last night) at ./75 what 3 francs a lb in London - off on our return from Sassenage at 5:35 - drove close under the high almost perpendicular rocks - at 3 passed by (left) very rich land vines on frames and under them fine tall hemp - 1200 toises of this land that (said our intelligent cocher, the owner of the carriage and horse - keeps 12 horses) lets for 100 francs a year - at 3:05 alight at the Barmes rock de Fontaine, a village near - the carriage met us at the other end of our walk, along the wide double avenued road close under the barmes and perpendicular wall of rock 2 or 300 foot high? A pity the trees of our avenue to near, broke the rock and spoilt the view - elms poplars and willows - one of the poplars broken off about a yard from the bottom (blown down?) quite sound - measured from the ground to where the top was cut off, at about 3 inches diameter, 28 of my parasol's long ie about 28 yards or 84 feet! Was perhaps about near 2 foot diameter at the surface of the ground –

to buy the ground (line six from the bottom of the last page) let at 100/ one must pay 2000 francs per stèré and 1 stèré (as they pronounced it) = 900 toises carrés - this rich ground produces several crops of hemp for year after year de suite, but rests (is fallow, sometimes or grows wheat) and produces three crops in a year beet and other things - the coarse reedy grass we passed sometime afterwards (the coarse product of wet uncultivated land) called la laiche or perhaps better la banche required no manure, no care, is merely and made into percés (little round stacks or piplings with poles run through the middle and sticking out the top) and sells for 80 francs the stèrè for manure for the vines and (ingrais pour les vignes) is put about the young souches or suckers in much if the weather be fine enough –

Monsieur Perrier (a cotton manufacturer and calico printer in the Chateau of Vezille - 800 people employed but - lately only a filature of cotton there) the richest propriétaire here - had from 2 or 3000 stèrés - lately dead - his son married a Madamoiselle the Lafayette petite fille to the general - the farm on which grew the coarse reedy grass noticed consists of about 2000 stérés-

back at the pont de fer suspension bridge at 3:35 - the river track and the bridge 410 feet long by 20 feet 8 inches wide - the handsome straight stone pyramidal pillars at each end and 45 feet high from the surface of the bridge and the bridge about 14 feet above the present level of the water which is now 3 feet deep in the deepest part under the bridge – (said the workmen on the bridge laying down new timbers) - some distance on the right (east) side the Drac before getting in the great high road to la Croix haute, and shockingly we were jolted - it made Ann sick and poorly -our cocher said engrais was very dear - people let the engrais of their horses per annum the farmer taking it finding and bringing the straw - the dung of horse (on these terms averages not too dear) 25/. per annum – our cocher for his 12 horses has 300/. a year - the richest part of Dauphiné therefore called the rognon de Dauphiné is about 3 leagues du pays from here,

at and about Voiron famous for its cloth from 2:52 6 francs l’anne - on getting into the route royale our cocher said it rose 6 liens feu pied i.e. 1/2 an inch per foot - called La course from Grenoble a to Claix - it is a fine double avenue chiefly of elms, large leaved maple or small leaved sycamores, poplars - since the pont de Claix straight before us from the moment of getting into the great road - the pont is about the same level as the Chateau or Bastile here - a great deal of the land this way reclaimed from the devastating Drac only 8 or 10 years ago and much reclaiming now - the water is drained off into reservoirs, and suffered to deposit it sediment (like our road sand at home) which is spread thick over, the gravelly ground that is theirs made into good land - this good road to Claix is new and is to go direct to Marseille - but will not be finished for a few years - the road by Gap is 10 postes nearer than by Valence and this new road will be 10 poste, nearer than by Gap – they are working too at the road to Bourg d’ Oisans meaning to make a good carriage road this way to Briançau- good now to Bourg d’Oisans - but not beyond there – Our driver tried it 2 1/2 months ago - had the carriage to take in pieces to pass and so much damage done would not engage to go that way again –

36,000 ârmes in Grenoble - principle trade gauterie, but not so celebrated for it as formally - Claix a good little village - new - only two houses here 10 years ago - the valley (called Les isles) beyond the bridge not in cultivation till 30 years ago - ascend the hill (would be 5 or 10 minutes walking) and at the Pont de Claix there, or down the hill a minute or two beyond it, chez Fournier, restaurat[io]n, at 4:40 – Ann so sick and tired and afraid of flies in the house would not get out of the carriage - I went to see the bridge then went back and persuaded her to go - fine bold arch, from rock to rock, - not of very large stone and built with cement mortar, so did not strike me as being Roman architecture, though they say it is - the outside line (particularly the northern) of the arch is not quite straight - as if the arch might have been built from each end and made to join in the middle –

off back again at 5:15 and alighted at home at 6:20 Hay sells at 5/+ and some sols the quintalordinaire i.e. 50 kilos (the quintal métrique = 100 kilos or (kilogrammes of which 1 equals 2 lbs) - the quintal used to be from 2/50 to 3/ or 4/. wheat should sell 6/. the bushel, to pay for the farmer it now sells for only 4/50 - so bread cheaper than hay and give the horses sold[ie]rs bread - could perhaps 1/3 or 2/3 rye with the wheat = a horse has sometimes 6 lbs a day of this - can only go in a carriage about or not quite 1/2 way up to the Chateau or Bastille - dinner 6:30 to 7:45 - dawdling with Miss W[alker] her bowels grumbling and she wanted petting - from 9:45 to 11:45 wrote out today – very fine day F69° at 11:50 PM

#gentleman jack #anne lister's diary #anne lister #ann walker

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snowycrocus · 5 years

Text

Frozen Fanfiction

Such a Cost Ch.8

See the previous chapter here

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Timber. Piles and piles of it. Plenty of wood for a fire, a never-ending supply of fuel for fires during the winter.

Fish. His mouth waters imagining the pink, light-tasting flesh of a fresh Arendellian salmon grilled over an open flame.

And ice. Blocks of it. Chips of it. Cold storage for meats. Refreshingly cold ale after a long days' work.

He can't wait. And it'll all be so easy.

He and his country's military have decades of experience. They've fought and won countless wars. And certainly harder wars than the one that is about to come.

He and his King are tired of Arendelle. They were ignored ever since the small kingdom essentially shut everyone out twenty-one years ago. No more trade, no more communication. And then they had the nerve to coronate a girl. And not just any girl- an abomination. A freak.

A threat.

And she had ignored them, too.

But no longer. No, now they would not be ignored. She's now weak, they've been told. She's now not a threat.

He's been given orders. Fuck the treaty. Fuck Arendelle. And fuck the Queen.

The last soldier boards the ship. All cannons have been loaded onboard, all artillery stowed safely.

He takes a long draw from his flask and breathes in the fresh, salty air, then gives the orders to set sail for their next, and easiest, conquest.

----------------------

"You're doing it again."

"Hmm?"

She looks down at where she was absentmindedly scratching her forearms and palms. Red lines mar her skin, scratches from her nails.

Anna snatches her hand away and examines it.

"You have to stop. You're hurting yourself, Elsa." She squints at the fingers she's clutching. "At least cut your nails so you don't injure yourself."

Elsa sighs and tries to pull her hand out of Anna's grasp. Anna lets her go.

"But it itches."

"I know." Anna's eyes grow dark and sad, remembering. "I'm sorry. But nothing's there anymore, Elsa. You have to stop doing this."

Elsa nods solemnly and pulls her thick woolen jacket back over her arms. She's had quite a few of them made ever since winter hit. Winter was terrible. She had never imagined just how deeply uncomfortable the cold could be. Sometimes she couldn't sleep it was so cold, no matter how much the maids stoked the fire. The cold wouldn't leave her.

At least that was one benefit of wearing sleeves and jackets now- they hid the scratch marks.

She still felt the pricks of ice under her skin. Her palms itched like mad ever since the first snow. It tickled and tingled and she could just feel it swirling inside of her. But it was all in her head, it must be. Her magic was gone - trapped in the pendant and locked away.

The feeling was driving her mad. With every snowflake that fell from the sky, her hands pricked and itched and she just couldn't help the scratching.

"I'm sorry Anna."

"Don't - don't be sorry Elsa. I'm sorry." Anna closes her eyes and takes a deep breath. This winter has been so hard on them both.

She's tried so hard to get over her guilt. She knows that Elsa would do it all over again for her, but every time she sees her sister shiver the guilt lances through her chest and her eyes threaten to spill tears.

She watches her sister bring the jacket back up over her arms and they resume their quiet breakfast.

Only a minute later, she catches Elsa mindlessly scratching at her hands again.

It she doesn't cut her nails, she's going to need to wear gloves again.

--------------------

They've been recruiting, Arendelle's supposed spy reported to him. But it was slow-going, as the people of Arendelle hadn't needed to be recruited for decades. The thrill of war and defending ones country had been lost over time.

Besides the lack of recruits, suddenly the Arendelle army was in dire need of weapons and uniforms, and workers couldn't keep up with the demand. It was winter now, and Arendellian winters were some of the worst of them all. It would be near impossible to trade for materials before the ice melted and spring began, the earth too frozen to mine for iron or other metals.

So their army was at somewhat of a standstill, desperately waiting on bodies and weapons and more.

But his was not.

His army was ready. They had everything and everyone they would ever need and more against the small defenseless nation.

All he had to do was wait for the ice to melt, and then he would see those pretty little fjords he had heard so much about.

The ice would melt, and so would Arendelle.

----------------

The ice block is nearly as tall as she is.

It gleams in the sunlight, and Elsa finally feels some warmth in her chest as she recalls the startling variety of colors found in ice. It's soothing.

There are pale shades of icy white, sometimes perfectly translucent. She recalls the concentration needed to produce perfectly clear ice, and the pride when she did it correctly. There were streaks of pale blue like spring cornflowers, like she favored for her dresses, and glimmering ice of richer, heavier blues: azure and lapis, blue like the ocean, the blue of the sky, and the blue like the river they used to picnic at.

There was the blue color of Anna's eyes.

But as beautiful as all the shades of blue and white are, she can't help but try to hold back a shiver. The workshop is kept at near freezing temperatures to keep the ice from melting, and it's all she can do to not rub her arms or let her teeth chatter.

She holds it in even harder when she catches the pitying glance Kristoff fleetingly shoots her way at the sight.

But he hands her a chisel regardless, and shows her how to artfully chip away at the ice until it forms the picture in her minds eye.

There's a delicacy to it; it's certainly an art. She doesn't know how to wrap her fingers around the tool and Kristoff's large, warm hand wraps around hers and guides her for the first few cuts.

She can picture it so clearly: her ice castle.

Her ice castle which is no longer. Her secret safe sanctuary that likely disappeared into thin air with no trace it ever existed.

She blinks back tears and asks Kristoff to leave her be. The ice castle was her special place, it's creation was a solitary one. She knows this one will just be a small model to look at in comparison, but she still craves the privacy of knowing it was made by her, for her. No one else.

Kristoff agrees, giving her a skeptical glance, and leaves her to make her first sculpture in the After.

But the chisel is unwieldy in her hand. She doesn't have the strength needed to constantly chip away at the rock-solid ice block, and her arm tires immediately.

Her fingers grow numb within minutes, and even after rubbing them together her cuts on the ice are chunky and indelicate.

She grits her teeth as the first tear falls. It's warm on her cheek, mocking her as it slowly trails down.

She makes cut after cut til the muscles in her arm are burning. She knows it looks like nothing recognizable, and it makes her cut harder and harder into the ice so that the impact rings throughout her arm and she lets out a frustrated shout with each chip.

The tears keep coming. They're the only warm thing she can feel, and they tickle her cheeks just like that stupid, stupid feeling in her hands that feels like magic but isn't.

Finally, after another chop the chisel slips through her numb fingers and the momentum carries it to clatter to the ground, nearly missing her toes.

She lets out a moan and pauses, looking at what she's done.

It's shit. It looks like absolutely nothing, like a toddlers drawing. It perhaps could be some sort of structure, triangular at the top and squared off on the sides, but beyond that it's nothing recognizable.

Sucking in a breath, she stabs the chisel into the heart of the sculpture, wiping the hot tears from her face with her arm as she stalks out of the workshop.

--------------

She can't believe she made it through.

The last of the ice has melted, signalling the end of yet another brutal Arendellian winter.

Now she understands. She knows the cold now, the darkness and the depression. She knows the desperation, the yearning for warmth and the need for a fire.

But it's done now, and she breathes a great sigh of relief that soon spring will come.

She wraps her shawl tighter around her shoulders, relishing the warmth of the sun on her skin despite the chill morning air.

For the first time in a long time, she feels content. She made it, as a normal person. She can do this. She made it through the cold and can find warmth again. Can love again, maybe even love herself in this new, unfamiliar body.

She looks down from her balcony and watches the people. Her people.

It's obvious they're joyous from the change in weather as well. The morning market is bustling, and Elsa even considers going out to enjoy it as most people still don't even recognize her. Maybe it would make her feel like a part of something.

She smiles, closing her eyes and raising her chin up to the sky to let the sunlight on her face. She opens her eyes, looking out into the glimmering, glistening fjord. It's beautiful.

Wait.

Is that.....

She squints, peering further into the horizon. There's something there.

Trumpets suddenly sound, making her jump. An alarm from the guard tower.

Her heart races, her palms slick with sweat and hands shaking.

She squints once more out into the distance.

It's......a little more.....there!

It's a ship.

She sees one, then three, then seven, and before she knows it the entire fjord is speckled with far-away ships.

The alarm rings in her ears and she bolts back into the castle, her hands prickling with magic that's not there anymore.

-------------

Thank you all so much for reading!! Hopefully this won't all be moot after the movie comes out in a few days...

Please please let me know what you think! I love so much to hear your comments, they really make my day and keep me writing.

Tagging previous readers: @cocoaoreos11 @frozeninplace @thegeekogecko @everrealmdweller @above-d-clouds @lelitachay @maregnbue @ellacarter @wintermoonqueen @the-sky-is-awake @egoeas @butimaloneandfree @melody-fox @frozenartscapes @wandering-bard-from-the-id @aqueenthatisfrozen @justlookatthosesausages

#frozen #frozen 2 #frozen2 #elsa #anna #kristoff #Disney #frozen Fanfiction

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monstersandmaw · 5 years

Text

Male tiefling x male reader (nsfw)

Edit which I’m including in all my works after plagiarism and theft has taken place: I do not give my consent for my works to be used, copied, published, or posted anywhere. They are copyrighted and belong to me.

Here, for your delight and delectation, is Killygren the tiefling, another character from Starfall Springs! See this dashing rogue’s character art and bio info here in case you missed it.

His story has been up on Patreon for a little while, and now it’s time to put it up on here. There’s another Starfall Springs story that’s been up on there too, but you’ll have to wait for that one, featuring an orc.

Halfway through one of the hottest summers on record, you bought a bus ticket and rode it to the end of the line.

Unconventional, unpredictable, and possibly unwise though the decision may have been, you simply snapped and needed a break.

The city was stifling, the traffic overwhelming, and you needed green fields, perhaps some cool, breezy woodland, or the soft caress of an ocean breeze. Starfall Springs, you knew from an advertisement you’d seen on the Underground, had all three. And a huge number of non-human residents as well, which, you had to admit, made you curious.

Your travelling companion on the bus was a very elderly harpy lady who saw that you were travelling alone and proceeded to talk your ear off about the local area as you drew near to the town. In fact you didn’t mind because she was actually quite interesting and very sweet.

“That’s Jaime’s farm,” she said, nodding out of the dusty window at an old farmhouse in the distance, surrounded by open pasture. There was a round-pen for training horses, and a number of horses were standing in the shade of some huge beech trees beside a field of sheep and goats and another with a small herd of russet red cows. “He’s a sweetheart,” she said, but you had begun to tune the rest of it out by then. The lilting movements of the bus, and the warmth in the air, made you feel slightly sleepy, and it was hard to focus on her voice.

Eventually, you helped her off the bus and inhaled deeply. Already the air was different here; fresher, sharper despite the haze of pollen in the air. She thanked you for being “Such a polite young man,” and made her way off along the banks of the fast-flowing river which carved through the centre of the old collection of buildings.

Alone once again, you decided to head off towards the wide, paved market square in front of you. Stall holders yelled and called jovially, selling everything from fresh fish and meat to summer produce, cakes, handmade goods, knives, and even little witchy charms. You caught sight of a palomino centaur selling cider and apple juice, apple jelly, apple compote, and even dried apple crisps, and beside her was an orc wearing an apron which bore the logo of a local dairy. His stall had the most amazing array of different cheeses, and you paused long enough to be offered a free sample.

“Visitor?” he asked jovially.

You nodded. “Yeah, just thought I’d make an escape from the city for the day. Maybe even for the weekend…”

“Well, if you need a place to stay, Killy’s inn - the Inglenook over there - is great,” he said, pointing towards an old timber-framed building on the far side of the market square.

“Thanks,” you grinned.

The orc smiled back at you, and you marvelled at how open and friendly everyone seemed here, unlike the city where the majority of inhabitants were human, and they seemed singularly morose and unfriendly.

You wandered through the market for a while, your rucksack bashing uncomfortably against your back, until you came to the far side of the open plaza. Down the length of the main road out of the small town of Starfall Springs, you glimpsed the rolling countryside beyond. Gods, but it was idyllic.

The hills in the furthest distance were raked with lines of grapevines, the terracotta roofs of the vineyard buildings glowing in the heat of the summer sunshine, and a few miles away there looked to be a vast fruit orchard. Heat haze marred any real details, so you turned away and made your way back into the town, winding your way down cool, narrow, ancient streets where any number of little shops were tucked away, from antique stores to craft shops, some with pottery and ceramics made locally, to small greengrocers.

You emerged at the other end of town near the duck pond and you paused a moment in the cool shade of the poplar trees and gazed into the murky depths. A bubbling near the far edge drew your attention, and you stared, astonished, as a horse’s head surfaced from the murky water. The horse heaved itself out of the water at the opposite edge of the pond, duckweed and little water flowers clinging to its greenish-black coat and studding its flowing black mane. It shook itself and you continued to stare openly as it trotted off towards the temple which stood not far away from this end of town, in the middle of an open meadow.

“What the…?” you breathed, realising it must be some kind of water spirit, probably a kelpie. That just wasn’t the kind of thing you saw everyday in the city though; there were very few places left which were pure and unpolluted enough for creatures like that to survive. As if to drive home the point, a tiny, glowing fairy zipped past your face, laughing and trailing a wake of sparkling dust behind them that made you sneeze and take a step back. Wherever the dust hit, the plants turned a violent pink for a few seconds before fading and returning to their usual hues.

As enchanting as the whole place was, eventually your stomach started to rumble, and you looked about for somewhere to eat. Perhaps you might even get a cheeky lunchtime pint while you were at it. It was a weekend after all.

Back in the central marketplace, you saw the old, traditional pub sign of the Inglenook swinging slightly as a breeze sighed around the square. The orc’s recommendation from earlier floated back into your mind, and you decided that you’d pop in and see what it looked like at least. You didn’t have to commit yourself to staying there if you didn’t want to.

The inside was tastefully decorated, with both traditional and modern features, though the bar at the far end was a very old fashioned, high pub bar, with a huge number of beers and ales on tap, and a vast array of spirits displayed on the wall behind.

Tables dotted the bar area, and the place was packed. You sighed, thinking it’d take ages for you to be served, and were on the verge of turning round and finding a quiet cafe somewhere else when the shattering of a glass made you halt.

You glanced around, drawn by the noise, and saw a beautiful tiefling standing beside the bar, as if he’d been about to come around the end of it and go to a table with a drink. At his dark blue, cloven hooves lay the scattered remnants of a glass tankard, foam and beer spreading in a wide pool around him. And, improbably, his eyes were locked on you.

Well, one eye was locked on you. The other was covered by an elegant sash of cloth. His long hair was a very dark blue-black, tied back in a low ponytail, and his skin - flawless save for a pale scar that bisected his mouth from upper lip to chin - was a dusty, cornflower blue. There was no white sclera to the visible eye, and the iris was an intense, fiery gold, with a slit, catlike pupil, while his left eye was covered by a sash of Tyrian purple silk with gold thread here and there, as if to accentuate the colour of his right eye.

After a second or two of staring dumbly at you as if you were some long-lost friend, the tall, slender tiefling shook his horned head, and seemed to come to his senses. A faun appeared from behind the bar with a cloth and a dustpan and brush and told him to step back while they swept up the mess.

You turned to go, not wanting to linger, despite feeling there was something going on that you’d missed. A few patrons were looking from the tiefling to you and back again, but most had either ignored the incident or returned to their lunchtime chatter.

You’d barely made it to the door before you felt a soft tap on your bicep and you glanced around to see that the tiefling had come over to you. This close up, you took in the beautiful horns that curled first backwards over his thin, tapering ears and then up towards his forehead again. The left horn ended in a gold tip and you saw tiny gold hoops flashing at his earlobes too. He was a bit taller than you, and you swallowed nervously. He was stunningly handsome, and apart from the fact that you’d never been with a non-human before, he was exactly your type.

He smiled, showing sharp, white canines and a warm smile with little dimples in his chiselled cheeks. “Hi,” he said in a warm baritone. “I’m sorry about all that just now,” he went on, waving a hand and you caught the sparkle of silver on his fingers too. “Listen, to make up for being such an ass, how about I let you have some lunch and a drink on the house?” He had an airy, lyrical, lilting accent that reminded you, for absolutely no reason at all, of summer evenings and mayflies dancing over still water.

“Really, you don’t have to do that,” you said, perplexed. “I mean…”

He smiled again and stretched out his hand in a more formal greeting. His were those beautiful kind of hands with everything in the right proportion, the dusky blue skin flecked with intriguing scars here and there, and the sight of it suddenly, strangely, made you ache to feel his touch. Things had become a bit lonely in the city, and you raised your own hand and shook his.

The skin of his palm was smooth and callused, but warm, and he held you firmly for a moment and then grinned, “My name’s Killy. Well, Killygren, no one except my mother calls me that, and I’d thank you not to use it…” he chuckled. “It’s hot out there today - let’s get you a drink at the very least…”

“I don’t understand,” you murmured.

He laughed again, a free, musical sound, and winked. “I was so struck by the sight of you, I dropped that one and made a fool of myself. We don’t get a lot of humans passing through Starfall Springs you know, and I know all of the regulars.” He jutted his sharp chin at a distant corner where an orc and a young woman were deep in conversation, their hands linked. “She was the last one to arrive. Inherited a run-down old farm not too far from town.”

“The way you speak makes it seem like the humans who do come tend to stay…”

He winked again and turned back towards the bar. He had a tail, you noted, and it hung elegantly behind him like a panther’s as he walked, hips swaying slightly, hooves clonking lightly on the wooden floorboards of the old pub. It was only then that you remembered the name that the orc had said, and realised that this must be his pub.

Emboldened, you followed him to the bar and set your rucksack down at the foot of one of the worn old bar-stools, and clambered up onto it.

“Will you let me guess your favourite?” he grinned from behind the bar.

You frowned slightly, but then allowed a slow smile to creep across your lips. “Alright.”

The faun, who had finished clearing up the shattered glass, looked up and giggled. He had a nest of golden curls and the brightest blue eyes you’d ever seen, his cheekbones smattered with a myriad freckles. “Don’t encourage him,” he said, shaking his head and making his wavy hair toss this way and that. “He’s incorrigible, and he rarely gets it wrong… Must be that tiefling magic…”

Killy did not look away from your face for a while, and you thought you saw a faintly glowing light through the fabric of the sash covering his eye, but it was gone in a heartbeat, and you chalked it up to mild heat-stroke or dehydration or something.

As if he’d read your mind, Killy said, “Well, first things first, a pint of water for the gentleman, but after that…” he made a show of stroking his chin with his long fingers.

“Like you don’t already know,” the faun snickered. “Just serve it to him and stop flirting.”

Your cheeks heated slightly, but the reaction was welcome enough, as was the attention.

Killy clutched his heart and shook his head. “I’m hurt, Dizzy. I’m hurt.”

The faun, presumably named ‘Dizzy’, thwapped him round the backside with a damp tea towel and retreated to take another customer’s order.

When Killy turned his attention back to you a few moments later, with, yes, what just so happened to be your favourite drink in his hand, he was still laughing softly. “I'm sorry about him,” he said, sliding your glass across the bar. “So, how’d I do?”

“The hype is well-founded, it seems.”

He fist-pumped playfully and turned back to the faun, sticking his tongue out at him - it was dark blue, you were surprised to see - and then turning back to you. “So, what brings you to Starfall Springs?”

“You can’t work that out as well?” you asked, somewhat acerbically, sipping the drink and trying not to show just how much you liked it.

He made a slightly odd expression, somewhere between strained and embarrassed, and said, “I could, I’m sure, but I’d rather hear it from you.”

You snorted, but soon found yourself telling the tiefling everything. You felt stuck in your job, your social and sex life was stagnating, you’d not had a decent boyfriend in years, and that morning you’d felt like a change of scene would be a good thing. “So I bought a bus ticket, and here I am.”

“And here you are,” he murmured softly. Killy listened to the whole thing. He’d sunk quietly onto a stool on his side of the bar, leaned his elbows on the counter top, and had listened; really listened. You’d not had anyone do this for you since… well… not even your brief stint at the therapist had been this cathartic. You found your hand resting on the ancient, beer-stained wood of the bar, tracing idle circles with your fingertip, and you noticed how close his fingers were to yours.

“Tell me something?” you asked bluntly after your third or fourth drink.

“Anything for you, handsome,” he grinned back. Coming from anyone else, that line would have been nauseating, but the way he said it, with that flippant, light-heartedness just made it seem somehow astonishingly sincere.

“How’d you know this was my favourite?” you said. “And how’d you get so good at listening?”

“I know things,” he said with melodrama in his one visible eye.

“No,” you countered, “No, that’s not…”

He chuckled and gripped your hand. The touch was so sudden, so unexpected that you let out a little moan that was way more sexual than you’d intended.

Killy only smiled and reached both hands up to undo the sash around his face. His long, blue-black hair was tied back off his stupidly handsome face in a low ponytail, and as he dislodged it to untie the covering, you felt the urge to touch it and run your hands through it, maybe even grip it and tug it. Your fingers twitched, but you remained still as he revealed the other half of his face.

“I don’t show just anyone this,” he said conspiratorially. “This eye was a special gift from someone who shall remain nameless at the moment, but it lets me see all sorts of things.”

You snorted, but then you looked at him anew.

He just laughed and you stared openly at his now-revealed left eye. A perfect, black pentagram hung in the middle of a glowing, ice blue iris, ringed with two black outer circles. It was unusual to say the least.

You leaned closer, fascinated. “That’s… kind of…”

“Gross?” he said. “Unnerving?”

“I was just gonna go with ‘cool’…” you finished rather lamely. “Why do you keep it covered?”

He shrugged and wrapped it up again. “I don’t always want to be poking into people’s business, you know? That way it helps reduce the ‘unexpected visions’ factor. Though when you walked in, I got an eyeful - quite literally - of you and me.”

“Wait… like…” you gestured vaguely and he laughed.

Killy leaned across the bar and whispered right in your ear, his breath tingling, “I mean, I can give you specifics.”

“Go on then,” you said, feeling oddly bold.

Without preamble, he murmured, “I saw me with my mouth around your cock…”

“Holy shit…”

He shrugged and drew back. “I’ve never had that with anyone, by the way. Must be something special about you.”

“You sure you don’t say that to all the boys?” you sneered.

Something softened in his face and he leaned back. “It’s not set in stone, you know? You can still say no. But something must be keeping you here. You’ve been here all afternoon. It’s getting late, and the last bus back to the city leaves in half an hour.”

“Shit.”

“You can still catch it if you leave now.”

The moment hung heavily between you, but one look at the way his sharp Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed got you thinking about him swallowing your release, and you felt heat pool between your legs. “What the hell,” you said. “I’m leaving tomorrow.”

“That’s the spirit,” he said with open bitterness in his voice, turning away from the bar. “You’ll have to wait til I’m done working though.”

“Fuck, that’s not what I meant,” you hastened to add. “Look, you know my whole life’s story now. You know this was a spur of the moment trip - something I’d never normally have done. It feels… I don’t know… right?”

The corner of Killy’s mouth, near the vertical scar, twitched, and he smiled. “Drink some water. I’ll be done in an hour.”

You watched him work from a quiet corner of the bar, and you definitely sobered up a fair bit in that time. Not that you’d been necessarily drunk, but something about the atmosphere had gone a long way to helping you release your inhibitions. With the water in your system, you started to note the way Killy behaved a bit more closely. He was attentive with his customers, quiet and patient, and you couldn’t help noticing from your new vantage point that he rested one hock slightly against the other whenever he paused to hear someone speak. His eyes constantly darted around, and he had a nervous habit of playing with his right earring when someone lingered too long or got too close.

His trousers were loose linen, cuffed tight around his elegant, almost cervine ankles, and but from what you could see, his legs were hairless. He was not built like a faun, despite having the hooves.

Eventually he washed his hands and swapped shifts with a huge minotaur who came in and high-fived him as he left. Killy glanced around the bar and then spotted where you had parked yourself, and he smiled.

“You’re still here,” he said when he had drawn level with your table.

Your mouth was still dry from watching the way he had dropped his shoulders in relief and the elegant way in which he had walked over to you, hips swaying softly as though he wore heels. You croaked. “Yeah.”

“Look, just because I saw one future possibility… I really mean it. You don’t have to do anything you’re not comfortable with.”

“No strings attached, right?”

“Absolutely.”

“Ok.”

“Just like that?”

“No,” you said, shaking your head. “I’ve had a couple of pints of water and an hour to think it over. Why can’t I have something that’s still meaningful with a complete stranger?”

His lips twitched again. “Right. C’mon.”

He led you upstairs, his hooves clunking softly on the bare wooden tread of the staircase, and into a very humble bedroom at the top of the old pub. A double bed occupied one wall but the sloping ceiling took out practically half of the other side of the room. A little free-standing wardrobe stood against the far end, and a pair of low bookcases stood on either side of the bed, doubling as beside tables with little lamps. It was surprisingly spartan for such an apparently flashy tiefling.

As you dumped your bag in the corner, you looked at him in surprise and he smiled softly, standing so close you could smell the soft scent of jasmine on his long hair. He had a freckle on his cheekbone. Your eyes drifted to the scars on his lip, and you wondered where he’d got them from. Before you could ask, he was kissing you. He began slowly, hesitantly, but something about the way he treated you made you ache for more.

Blood pooled in your groin and you felt your cock stir as his hands took hold of your jaw and he groaned. He had a slight shadow along his own jaw and you relished the rasp of it against your skin. He pressed his body close, his hips rearing against yours, and you grunted softly as you felt the hardening line of his cock against your hips.

Killy backed you against the closed door and as the air left your lungs with another softly articulated grunt, his fingers found their way to your waistband. He glanced at you and saw the acceptance in your face before continuing. He let your jeans fall to the floor and he freed your cock, stroking it slowly, apparently enjoying the feeling of wrapping his hand around it, getting to know the way you felt in his hand.

He stroked you, working you slowly, luxuriantly, while your knees felt like they were going to turn to water. “Killy,” you hissed, and he caught your meaning.

You stepped out of your jeans and abandoned them, allowing him to pull you over towards the bed and push you down onto it. The tent in his own soft trousers was obvious now, and you reached your hand for it, intending to palm him briefly and tease him, but he grabbed your wrist and placed it back on the bed as he tipped you expertly down onto your back.

He took your shirt off and let his palms play over your torso. As much as you may have been underwhelmed by your own body, he seemed to relish the chance to touch it. He lingered on your collarbones and on your nipples, even lowering his lips to them and kissing you over and over while his hands painted slow circles over your lower torso and hips, down towards your thighs.

“Fuck, Killy… please!” you grunted as your cock pulsed again, printing pre-come onto your skin. You felt like your skin was a size too small all over as he trailed a fingertip down the line between thigh and hips, dangerously close to your sensitive balls. “Fuck! Stop teasing me!”

He laughed and took you by surprise by lapping the tip of his dark tongue against the head of your cock, tasting you. His one visible eye rolled closed at the taste of you, and in one swift motion he licked his lips and took you all the way to the back of his throat.

As your tip hit the silky soft flesh of his throat, you gasped and cursed.

He closed his fingers around the base of your cock as he withdrew, keeping his cheeks hollowed, and he began to suck. The heat and slide of his mouth over your hard cock was incredible, and he clearly enjoyed the feeling too.

He was as clever with his hands as he was with his lips and tongue. Killy worked your cock with his mouth, alternating between long, regular strokes and teasing sucks and licks around the head of your cock, just sliding you in and out of his lips before dipping his head and letting you hit the back of his throat again. Time slid by, but all too soon you were shuddering on the edge of release.

“Killy…” you hissed. “I’m…”

White heat built rapidly and you knew you were very close.

He sucked just a little harder, his fingertips tracing just behind your balls, and you came hard into his mouth. He swallowed you down without breaking eye contact with you.

The intensity of your release had taken you somewhat by surprise.

Sure, it had been a while since someone had blown you, but still, the way he’d lavished attention on you had been something else. He stayed there while your cock throbbed and leaked the last drops of your release onto his tongue, only drawing back and licking his lips when you had completely finished.

“Did the vision live up to reality?” you finally rasped as you lay back, slightly dazed.

He smiled. “You don’t want to know what else I just saw…”

“Something tells me I might enjoy it?” you hedged. “Just… gimme a minute…”

Killy lay down on his back, still fully clothed, and smiled, glancing sideways at you. “I’m yours for the night.”

************************************

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celimunoz33 · 5 years

Text

Cute Turkish Nicknames for Guys

These cute nicknames for guys are generally used by their lady friends or by their family. Here are some good examples of these cute Turkish nicknames for boys:

Canavar (JUN-A-WAR) – It means “monster” in the dictionary. However, it is used in the sense of superior quality.

Cankuş (JUN-KUSH) – He is the very close friend that shares his/her everything.

Cano (JUN-O) – He is the one who is considered as a very sincere friend.

Cengaver (JENG-A-WHERE) – Its dictionary meaning is warrior, whereas it represents a very active person as a nickname.

Cesur yürek (JE-SOUR YEU-WRECK) – Braveheart

Çapkın (CHUP-KIN) – Casanova

Efem (EPHEM) – My daredevil boy

Ejder (EDGE- DEER) – Dragon

Fırtına (FIR-THE-NAH) – Its dictionary meaning is “storm,” but it’s used positively to explain a very effective

Gece kuşu (GE-JAE KOUSHU) – Night owl

Herkül (HARE-KEULE) – Hercules in Turkish. It is used to express an amazing physical strength.

Issız Adam (IZ-SIZ UH-DUM) – The man with no owner. It is used for the men who frequently change girlfriends but has no commitment for any of them.

Kanki (CUN-KEE) – Bestie, bosom buddy

Kaptan (CUP-THUN) – The captain. It is generally used for the men who possess a leader status in any environment.

Kara oğlan (CAR-UH OH-LAN) – Used for the guys that have darker skin color.

Koca bebek (CO-JUH BABE-ACHE) – Used for the adult guys who behave like children on certain occasions.

Kötü çocuk (KEU-TUE CHO-JUKE) – Bad boy

Kral (KRUHL) – The king

Kuzu (CUE-ZOO) – Its dictionary meaning is lamb, and it is used for calm people.

Lord (LORD) – Rich man

Maço (MACHO) – Macho man

Malkoçoğlu (MAL-KOCH-OH-LOU) – A brave warrior from the Ottoman History and was portrayed in the Turkish movies in the 70s, 80s, and It is still used to express brave guys or the guys that have that daredevil appearance.

Minik (ME-NICK) – In the dictionary, it means small. However, it is ironically used for the huge guys such as Hightower of the Police Academy movie.

Panpa (PAN-PA) – Bestie

Paşam (PASHUM) – Pasha was a high ranked official in the Ottoman Empire, and this means my Pasha.

Pilot (PEE-LOT) – Extremely drunk.

Prens (PRANCE) – The best guy of the manager or the teacher.

Rambo (RAMBO) – Very strong man

Reis (RAY-IS) – The leader.

Sert çocuk (SAERT CHO-JUKE) – The tough boy

Sırık (SI-RIIK) – It means the beanpole in the dictionary and used for very tall people.

Sünger (SUEN-GAIRE) – The person that drinks too much and keeps the liquid like a sponge.

Süpermen (SUPERMAN) – The best guy around.

Şaban (SHA-BUN) – This is the name of a movie character, who was famous for decades in Turkey, and this word is used to express a silly person.

Şampiyon (SHAMPION) – It means champion and fathers like to call their sons like this sometimes.

Şeytan (SHEI-TAN) – Satan

Tarzan (TARZAN) – It is the same Tarzan as in English, and is used for the people who do not wear anything to protect themselves during the cold days.

Tembel teneke (TAM-BELL TENEKKE) – Extremely lazy

Yakışıklı (YAKKA-SHAKH-LY) – Handsome

Zeus (ZEUS) – A very authoritative and furious boss or leader

Funny Turkish Nicknames for Guys

If you find out the secrets of the Turkish guys’ nicknaming each other, you will also fully understand the relationships among these guys. Here are only some of the examples of a million types of funny nicknames that Turkish guys use for each other.

Angut (UN-GOOT) – It is s kind of bird (ruddy shelduck), but it has the meaning of hammer-headed.

Armut (AR-MUTE) – Its dictionary meaning is pear, but it is used to nickname losers.

Ayıcık (UH-YEA-JUKE) – It means a small bear, used for a fat or huge

Azman (UZ-MANN) – Monstrous, overgrown.

Baba (BUH-BUH) – Means father, used for good hearted guys.

Balta (BUL-TAH) – This means an axe and this word is used for the people who pester

Baykuş (BUY-KUSH) – This word means owl, and it is used for people who do not sleep at nights.

Bukalemun (BOU-KHA-LEE-MOON) – Chameleon

Camış (JUM-ISH) – Water buffalo

Coni (JOHNNY) – It is used for the guys having an American lifestyle

Çakal (CHUCK-AL) – Jackal

Çakır (CHUCKAR) – It means greyish blue and this word is used for the guys who have colored eyes.

Dana (DUH-NUH) – Calf, cow

Dingil (DIN-GILL) – It means the axle of the car and is used for the guys who don’t have balance in their behaviors.

Fil yavrusu (FILL YUV-RUE-SUE) – The baby elephant. It is used for extremely fat

Hırbo, Hırt (HIR-BO /HIRRED) –) – Boorish, stupid.

İblis (E-BLIS) – Evil.

İnek (E-NECK) – Cow, it is used for nerds.

Kalas (KHA-LASSE) – Timber, it is used for indelicate guys.

Kelek (KHE-LECK) – Immature.

Kereste (KHE-REST-E) – Timber, again used for indelicate or non-skilled guys.

Kılıbık (KHA-LA-BAKK) – Wife-ridden husband

Kobra (COBRA) – The cobra snake, it is used for sneaky and effective people

Kova (CHO-WA) – It means bucket and is used for guys who are incredibly unsuccessful at sports, especially the goalkeepers.

Köse (KEU-SAE) – Beardless

Matkap (MUT-CUP) – It means the drill machine and is used for Casanovas.

Maymun (MY-MOON) – Monkey

Mezarcı (MEH-ZUR-JY) – It means gravedigger and used for extremely opportunist people.

Montofon (MONE-TOPHON) – A kind of cow, again used for nerds.

Optik (OPTIC) – The guy who wears glasses.

Öküz (EU-KUSE) – It is a commonly used word especially by ladies for the rude guys.

Pala (PUH-LUH) – The guy who has a huge mustache

Pislik (PISS-LICK) – Creepy, bastard

Sayko (PSYCHO) – Used for the psychopathic guys

Şopar (SHO-PARR) – Used for the guys who like dancing a lot

Şuursuz (SHOER-SUZE) – Unconscious, blind guy.

Tahta (TUHTUH) – Wooden, used for non-skilled guys

Tavuk (THA-VUKE) – Chicken, it is used for early sleeping guys.

Tilki (THILKY) – It means fox and used for sneaky guys

Tirbuşon (TEAR-BOUCHONE) – It is corkscrew, and this is used as a funny calling style between close friends.

Toprağım (TOP-RUAMM) – When one uses this word for another guy, it means that they are from the same hometown.

Tosun (THO-SUNE) – Bullock, it is used for fattish guys.

Totoş (THO-TOSH) – This is used for the guys with feminine attitude.

Uyuz (UE-USE) – Used for very slow and lazy guys.

Varyemez (WAR-YEAH-MAZZ) – The guys that are rich but never spend their money.

Yılan (YEA-LAN) – Snake.

Yumoş (U-MOSH) – This is again used for the guys with feminine attitude.

Zırtapoz (ZHIR-TOP-OZ) – Crazy

Zırto (ZHIR-TO) – Shortly crazy

Turkish Nicknames for Boyfriend

A Turkish girl would call her boyfriend in a lovely tone with thousands of beautiful words. Here are some excellent examples of nicknames for a Turkish boyfriend:

Aşk böceğim (ASHK BOE-JAME) – It means my love bug.

Aşkım (ASH-KIM) – My love.

Bebetom (BABE-E-TOM) – My baby.

Boğam (BO-UHM) – My bull.

Böceğim (BOE-JAME) – My beetle, my bug.

Canım (JOHN-UHM) – My sweetheart.

Canımın içi (JOHN-UHM-AN EACHEE) – Deep inside my heart.

Canımın ötesi (JOHN-UHM-AN EU-TESSEE) – Deeper inside my heart.

Can özüm (JOHN-EUSUME) – The essence of my life.

Ciğerim (JEER-EM) – My dearest.

Çağlayanım (CHU-LAYAN-UHM) – My waterfall.

Çikolatam (CHICCO-LATTE-UHM) – My chocolate.

Diğer yarım (DEE-ERR YUHR-UHM) – My other half.

Erkeğim (ERR-KEE-EEM) – My man.

Eşek (ASH-EKK) – It means donkey, but it is used positively as a sweet naming by the girls.

Fedaim (PHE-DAIM) – My Bodyguard.

Fırtınam (FIHR-THE-NUM) – My storm.

Gökkuşağım (GEUKH-KUSH-AH-UHM) – My rainbow.

Gökyüzüm (GEUKH-YUEZ-UHM) – My sky.

Güneşim (GUE-NESH-EM) – My sun.

Hayatım (HI-UTTAM) – My life.

Kalbimin sesi (KUHL-BEEM-IN SASSY) – The voice of my heart.

Kıymetlim (KUY-MATE-LEEM) – My precious.

Kralım (KRUHL-UHM) – My king

Kuşum (KUSH-UHM) – My bird.

Maymunum (MY-MOON-UHM) – My monkey.

Mabedim (MUH-BAD-EM) – My shrine.

Nefesim (NAEPHESSEM) – My breath.

Ömrüm (EUM-REUM) – My life.

Prensim (PRANCE-EM) – My prince.

Sebebim (SAE-BABE-EM) – My reason.

Serseri aşığım (SAER-SERRY ASHA-UHM) – My crazy lover.

Serserim (SAER-SERRYM) – My crazy man.

Sevdam (SAVE-DAMME) – My love.

Süpermenim (SUPERMAN-EM) – My Superman.

Sütlü çikolatam (SUET-LUE CHICCO-LATTE-UHM) – My milk chocolate.

Talihim (THALEE-HIM) – My luck.

Tatlışko (THAT-LEESH-CO) – The sweet thing.

Tosbağam (TOSS-BUHM) – My turtle.

Tosunum (THO-SUNE-UHM) – My fat thing.

Uğur böceğim (OU-URE BOE-JAME) – My ladybug (While “ladybug” is lady in English, Uğur is a male name in Turkish and has a masculine meaning).

Yakışıklım (YAKKA-SHAKH-LYM) – My handsome.

Yiğidim (YHE-EAT-EM) – My brave man.

TURKISH NICKNAMES FOR GIRLS

Cute Turkish Nicknames for Girls

The nicknaming stuff has recently been widely used by the girls in Turkey as well. However, the nicknames specific to the girls are unfortunately limited. This is because Turkish ladies are not as harsh to each other as Turkish men do.

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thenixkat · 5 years

Text

Animorphs notes 25

Book 25

Narrated by Marco

Marco actually has a love life and is a fucking dweeb about it. Neat

“Marian.

Not only is Marian gorgeous, with long, black hair, deep, dark eyes, and

dimples that make me want to cry every time she smiles. She's also

nearly as smart, charming, and charismatic as I am.

You can see we're a perfect couple. The only flaw I can find in her is

that she doesn't seem to think my jokes are very funny.

That, and her taste in music.”

Marco’s dad likes classical music

The school has served tainted meat to the students at least once

Apparently this is a shitty school if things are getting shut down b/c someone had to take it to court over asbestos

Marco did poorly on the date. Should not pretend to like things that you don’r actually like to get with people

Marco talks about his love life with Cassie

So… the animorphs can scope out someone that Marco’s date probably isn’t a host but do they do that for their families?

Yeah I’m still bullshit on the whole dogs are always good and happy b/c alien pacifist spirits. B/c like dog? Not always happy or friendly.

Jake has charisma like plain oatmeal has flavor.

AU where the free horks assassinate Visser 3 when they’re feeding their host

Visser 3 scracthers their butt in public

So bug ships are good with flying through a planets atmosphere

So… does Visser 3 get parasites often enough that they don’t immediately jump to the andalite bandit conclusion?

The animorphs continue to be the luckiest motherfuckers in existance

Visser 3 has a collection of tourture instruments in their private quarters

The animorphs getting hosts killed b/c they didn’t think their plans through again. Huzzah

“Rising up behind her was a pillar of glass. A cylinder ten feet, twelve feet tall, and half as broad. Inside the cylinder was a vague shape, blood-red and midnight-blue slashes highlighting a glistening silver body.

Yes, body. Because despite the frosted glass and the mist that filled the cylinder, that ten-foot-tall tube contained something biological. There was a row of the cylinders spaced across the cargo bay. Maybe ten in all.”

Venber hybrid design

I’m guess he means -200 F?

Also the animorphs are so lucky that the yeerks don’t belive in video survalence

So can the writer’s just not count? Or does teh editor just not exist? 4 fucking doors opened in that fucking sequence. Ach counted 6 doors in this sequence and i trust that she’s better with numbers than I am

Ah the animorphs getting more people horribly maimed and killed b/c who the fuck knows is in the cansister with the alien that lives in absurdly fridgid temps

The free horks should hate these children and they’d be justified

And Visser 3 continues to be a shit leader

Rachel saving Cassie’s bacon

I mean Cassie, yer a Californian wolf (already kinda odd) but like you don’t think that an animal that lives in a hot place wouldn’t be good in the cold. No mexican wolf is gonna do well if just dumped in the arctic

Rachel keeps Ax warm as he and the others morph to hide in her fur from the cold.

Jake, you have a Siberian tiger morph, why are you gonna hide in Rachel’s fur? That tiger should be doing just about as well as Rachel’s bear

Oh no I was wrong just Ax and Tobias hide in Rachels fur

Marco goes into shock b/c he stayed a tropical animal instead of at least trying his wolf morph

...Rachel, hitting someone in the head is a good way to give them a concussion or brain damage so not helping

Again at best yall have Mexican wolves or Timbers adapted for the heat, Rachel’s grizzly is better than that

If you’ve been heading north al this time the arctic is more likely

“There were two of them. About eight feet tall. Humanoid. Torso, head, and limbs in the usual places. Only their heads were shaped kind of like a hammerhead shark's, oblong with big, dark globs on each side that must have been eyes. Each creature had two thick upper arms growing out of broad shoulders. The upper arms split at the elbows to make two forearms.

Big, burly, nasty-looking beasts. Silver, with flashes of blood-red and midnight-blue along their flanks, along their shoulders, and converging in their faces.

They were sliding toward us on long, ski-like feet. They used two of their forearms, one right and one left, to propel themselves forward.

And they glistened in the light like diamonds or crystals.”

More venber hybrids

Who apparently look exactly like regular venber

“The Venber kept coming, making strange, crunching noises. Regular, repeated sounds that seemed to ricochet off the rocks behind us in a weird, distorted echo. ”

Venbers echolocate apparently

Huh, so they’re not that far north then if the sun is setting

There was a polar bear at the zoo they got their morphs from. Too bad they never whent and collected more morphs from there

And teh andalites totally commited some form of genocide against the Five

Just assuming that humans are the creatures with the most complex genetic info avalible to the yeerks. But noooo the series isn’t saturated with ‘Humans are special!’

There’s fucking grass more geneticly complex than fucking humans

Really bitches? Yall do worse than seal shredding to yeerk hosts on a regular basis and Cassie you should be used to fucking predation

Ok i checked and this is after the dinosaur book more or less. Why are they surprised by Cassie being ok with hunting/scavenging? She’s already demonstrated more survival skills than the lot of yall

Cassie you’ve broken that don’t kill a sentient creature unless in absolute self defense many many times. I have not forgotten book 19 when you decided to kill a downed hork-bajir host that didn’t pose a threat to you

I like how all dolphins are lumped together by that statement

… dolphins have no blubber? Marco you just joined Jake’s “bows and arrows are close combat weapons” level of the fuck?

Seals have the instint to run? Sure

Amazing how these orca have blubber and can survive the artic waters

Also isn’t it a bit all that all the natives that the animorphs encounter all imediately assume that these kids are spirits?

I like this new kid but uh not the writers

Derek has a job

Derek is friends with a polar bear named Nanook. This is not getting less suspect

Friends as in watches him from a distance is slightly better

Derek goes back to his own life.

You know animorphs you could warn him about the whole yeerk thing in case, ya know you guys loose. Spread some info around.

Also, ya know if his village gets cable they can probably communicate to other people

Also, so, this inuit kid named his bear friend a bastardized version of the word for bear in his presumably native tongue

According to Marco polar bears hunt for fun b/c they are capable of going without eating for awhile. Almost like its difficult to find food in the fucking arctic and requires time and luck. These fuckmothering writers

The venber are strong enough to bend steel in their hands

Poor venbers

So there might be two surviving venber at the lest. If the yeerks can’t track and recapture them. If their programming stopped and they still arent attacking all quadrupeds putting them at odds with the locals who probably own dogs.

The book is finished at least. Did not enjoy that.

#nix reads animorphs #animorphs

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