#flint sucks but at least i have THAT brag

[double-features]

watching an evan interview and physically recoiled when he mentioned flint youth theatre

[rittywritestdp]

Omg just found your blog ahhhh I love it !! Could I request the reader is an elf who Soren finds when on patrol in the woods or something! Could it be a cute and fluffy fic?? Sorry if this is too specific

Oh my gosh! Thank you, that’s so sweet of you Anon. Of COURSE you can! That’s so cute. It’s not too specific at all, it gives me something to run with when y’all tell me what you want! Elf in the Woods Part 1/Part 2Soren

  ♦ The trees of the forest protected decently from the downpour, had it not been raining all day, his patrols horses would’ve had dry ground to walk on. As it stood, the squelching of hooves in mud and pattering of the rain against leaves above them made it impossible to stay vigilant. They were practically sitting ducks, if anyone used the rain as cover for an attack. “Let’s turn back.” Marco called forward, his torso bobbing with the gentle pace of his horse. “There’s no point in patrolling when we can’t hear or see a thing.” He said, looking quite miserable with sopping wet matted black hair hanging over his forehead. Marco knew it was a lost cause, however. There was only one thing in the entire world that Soren took seriously, and that was his duties. He didn’t get to the rank he was at by the age of 18 by slacking.     “If we push you down that hill over there, we could go home to get your injuries taken care of.” Soren suggested, laughing. Marco, however didn’t have time to form a quip. A crack of lightning illuminated the darkening sky and all three of the horses spooked, darting this way and that. Soren’s mount sped straight, a secondary crack of lightning silhouetting the blond man as he was thrown from his saddle with the lurch of his horse skidding to a stop in the mud attop the embankment he’d joked about tossing Marco down. Mud gathered on every piece of plate he wore, his sword jabbing him in the side as he tumbled. Jagged rocks snapped against his skull and saplings caught on his legs, turning him mind tumble.     The moment a sullied knight in less than shining armor skidded into the path before you, you stopped. Your eyes widened with recognition as you saw blood matted with his hair and squinting, disoriented blue eyes squinting at the sky. “Augh.” you heard him give a pained groan and instinctively stepped back as he started to move. With your cloak up, he wasn’t likely to recognize what you were, but you still weren’t ready to take a chance with a Katolis guardman.     You didn’t tell your hand to offer itself to him, but there it was. Perhaps the pity of watching him struggle to right himself won over your better judgement, perhaps you had a death wish. You would know soon. He seemed surprised to see you, as if he hadn’t even seen you before. “Mom..?” He blinked rapidly, wiping equally dirty gloved hands over his grimy face.     “You…really hit your head good, huh?” You asked, knitting your brow at him in concern. Maybe you needed to take him to a doctor. ‘No, don’t be stupid y/n, you can’t do that.’ you mentally scolded yourself. “Let’s get out of this rain.” You said after a moments debate, grasping his wrist and hauling him to his feet before he could object. You were a bit shorter than him, but with your hood up and his dazed state, he was unlikely to see anything out of the ordinary. “You can lean on me if you need to.” You told him, watching the path ahead. He seemed reluctant to take that offer, despite his struggle keeping pace while he was busy favoring his right ankle. “Shameful to lean on someone, Mister Guardman?” You prodded, pursing your lips.     “I’d have to kneel to lean on you.” He snickered, causing you to shoot him a cross look. “Can I lean on your head?” He joked, raising his arm as if he was about to prop his forearm at-top your head. You deftly ducked out from under his reach, knowing full well there would be issues if he felt the horns that resided under your hood. He fell quiet after that, a bit uncertain.      “Where are we going, anyway?” He asked, a moment later.      “There’s an outcropping not far from here. I can look at your injuries there, if you want me to.” You replied easily. The rest of the walk was quiet, a thin tension slowly growing between you and the guardsman. Your brain told you to run, but you didn’t want to. You were interested, intrigued…compelled to see this through. Not to mention if you ran now, they’d be looking for a suspicious cloaked figure if you ran now.      The moment you made it to the outcropping, Soren slowed. “Have you been…living here?” He asked, looking around the camp and then finally letting his eyes land on you. “This place is a mess. Are you on the run?” He asked, all at once. At best, you would now be forced to move camp.      “Yes…and no.” You started. “Yes, I am living here, and no I’m not running from anything, Guardsman.” You replied, sitting down on an old stump and attempting to start the fire. Soren was quiet, and moved to sit across from you on the ground - there was no other chair or anything that could be used as a chair.      “You can’t light a fire in a thunderstorm.” He said, though you had a feeling he’d never lit a fire before. It certainly took more than a couple strikes from the flint stone, but you managed to get a small fire going. The wood you’d collected for the past few days would keep it going for the rest of the day, if you were lucky. He stared at the flame for a moment before opening his mouth to undoubtedly say some quip.      “I’m y/n.” You introduced yourself, despite your better judgement. “What were you doing out in this storm? You had to have known it was dangerous.” You asked, standing to rifle through your pack and find a cloth, some gauze, some bandages, and a bit of poultice to ward off infection. You came to sit beside him, wiping all the un-wounded places off his face clean first. He seemed a bit perturbed at some strange woman cleaning him, but he let you.       “I’m Soren, and I was patrolling. My job is dangerous all the time, too.” He said, almost in a bragging tone. You gave him a dry look. “And, just saying, wearing a cloak up all the time is totally not suspicious at all.” He let the corner of his lip curl up slightly as you searched around for a water basin to wring the cloth out in. You stood, fetching your canteen and a pot to empty it in. You wouldn’t have drinking water, but that didn’t bother you. At this point you just wanted him out of your camp. Or did you? The moment your eyes settled on his face though, you were a bit taken aback. You hadn’t gotten a good look at him before now, what with the mud and all. He was actually…quite nice on the eyes…and you weren’t sure how you felt about that. You certainly weren’t going to tell him that. “You’re staring. I didn’t chip a tooth did I?” He began to raise his hand to feel of his mouth but saw how dirty his gloves were and thought better of it.       “No..no it’s just you…have…pretty…eyes?” You said, feeling awkward every word of the way. It was the first thing that came to mind and you regretted it the second he looked surprised. A tinge of pink on his cheeks betrayed his stoicism and his hand raising to rub his neck sunk the ship. His sudden bashfulness was amusing to say the least.      “Thanks, I grew them myself.” He said after a moment, and you let a laugh escape your lips. He gave a toothy grin and leaned back on his palms. “Fix me up, doc.” He said, tilting his head to give you a better look at the bloodied mat of hair on his forehead. You leaned over him, pressing the damp cloth gently to his head and attempting to rinse the blood out of his hair enough to see what had happened. Just as you leaned back to rinse your rag out, Soren caught your hand. “You…know I know right?” He asked, looking at your fingers briefly before releasing your hand. You felt your blood run cold, swallowing heavily before mustering the bravery it took to look up at his face.      “…I was hoping you wouldn’t notice.” You hushed, dropping the cloth and pulling your hood down. He just eyed you for almost a full moment, you think you even saw him swallow…as if he was nervous. “Nice eyes.” He said. “Grow them yourself?” He joked, yet you missed the joke completely. Instead you knitted your brows at the man.     “You..aren’t mad? Upset?” You were confused. Beyond confused. This man wore Katolis’ colors and yet he was willing to make nice with an elf? He opened his mouth a couple times to reply, but fell flat each.       Finally he looked to the fire instead, it seemed to make it easier for him to speak if he wasn’t looking at you. “I know they say you’re evil and monstrous.” he began. “You went out of your way to help me. You could’ve killed me plain and simple, right then and there…but you didn’t. I’ve just got this feeling.” He said, his voice like a wisp on the wind, growing quieter as he continued on. You wanted to reach out and touch him, to show him how much it meant that he was willing to say that, but you were still frozen. “And I mean, if that gets a bit of my blood sucked or my eyeballs roasted on a skewer, I think that’s a fair trade.” He laughed again, pausing a second later and shaking his head lightly as he realized his error. “I mean, I don’t actually. Please don’t take my eyes.” He said with enough sincerity to send you into a fit of laughter.       Once you recovered from your fit, you wiped a lonesome tear from your eye and just grinned at him. “Ah, my plan, foiled before it even began.” You mocked. “Do humans really fear think elves eat eyes?” You asked, beginning to clean his head once more.       “I mean, they say all kinds of stuff.” He said. “Believe it? Psh, not at all.” He said in a Totally Convincing Voice. You just grinned, leaning closer and pulling his head down under your chin so that you could see the wound.       “It looks like you just got a cut, and probably a concussion. When you get home, see a doctor.” You said, dabbing it onto his skull. The rain sounded like it was letting up, that meant his patrol would be looking for him soon. However, the thought of him returning to his people made you feel a bit lonely. He was the only company you’d had since you left Xadia. You let him sit back up and grinned as soon as you saw his flushed cheeks. “You okay, Guardsman?” You teased.        “Much better than I would’ve been laying in the ditch back there.” He said, giving you a lopsided grin.       “I…was going to put some bandages on…but if your men see you have a bandage they’ll have questions.” You said, nervously, looking to the fire once more. It was quiet between you for a minute, save for the crackling of the fire and the cascade of rain outside. Your fingers fumbled together nervously in your lap while you watched the flames devour the logs and sticks before you.        “I won’t tell them.” He said, voice low. “About you…or your camp.” He said, and you felt him bump into your shoulder as he scooted closer. “I owe you that much.” He added. You didn’t even know what to say. You didn’t know how to express your gratitude. You didn’t know if you could believe him. “Can I…come visit again? Will you be here?” He asked, and you wiped your head around quick enough to give yourself whiplash to look at him in bewilderment. His face was beat red, you placed a hand to his forehead. Was he running a fever? Or was he blushing more than humanly possible? He slowly turned his face to look at you, looking like a child who was trying to apologize for something tragic. He looked so vulnerable, sitting in the flickering firelight, hair still drooping with the weight of the rain, and his armor dented and sullied as if he’d left it on a road for a month. You almost wanted to pull him into a hug and tell him that it would be alright. “That’s weird. That’s weird to ask.” He hushed, seemingly to himself as he mentally scolded himself. You brought your hands to his cheeks and turned his head to force him to look you in the eyes, nearly nose to nose.      “I would love a visit.” You hushed, the look in his wide blue eyes amusing you enough to drown your own embarrassment out. He just stared. Even after you’d settled back down beside him. He just stared. Until he pulled his left glove off with a quick tug and slid his palm against yours.       “There for a moment I thought you were about to take my eyes.” He joked and you shoved him with your shoulder. The two of you sat in comfortable silence, watching the rain slowly let up outside and enjoying each others company while it lasted. I hope this is good! I’ve not written nearly as much fluff as I have angst and stuff but I like it! I wrote a bit more than I was planning but hey, I’m not complaining. -☼

[wow-its-me]

Rewatching all the the Spider-Man movies because marvel controls me

Pt. Spider-Man 3

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Why are these opening credits so long pt.3

“Stick around”

Gwen!

MJ!

Harry!

Uh oh

Uh oh

This got really sad all of a sudden

Rip Ben I guess

Green goblin pt. 2

The new gliders a lot less pointy,,,, wonder why

Rip Harry I guess

🎶 I fell into a pit🎶

Rip flint I guess

Never mind on the rip Harry

Never mind on the rip flint

At least one Spider-Man can catch Gwen

Suck up

He got his own parade?!?!?!

Idk maybe don’t shoot at the sand guy

I’m sand man without the nman

Way to brag and make your girlfriend feel bad

Flint killed Ben!!! 🤭🤭

Why are his eyes so blue?? It’s honestly weirding me out

Have they always been this blue???

Is he wearing colored contacts???

Venom!! Venom suit!

Mud man

YOULLL GET YOUR RENT WHEN YOU FIX THIS DAMN DOOR 😡😡😡

Did he not learn anything from the first movie

“You say “ you are good woman 🧍‍♀️ I am good man 🧍‍♂️” so”

Her eyes are weirdly blue too

Cheater

I’m not over the eyes thing

Is it like a weird filter

I love Ursula

What’s even going on anymore

Gaslight, gatekeep, girlboss, green goblin

Spider-Man vs emo Spider-Man with bangs

Imma put some dirt in your eye 🧍‍♂️

You want forgiveness 😏 get religion 😒😒

🎶🧍‍♂️🎶✨🎶👉👉🎶👈👈🎶🕺🕺🎶

Wtf is going on

Steals the show

“ now dig on this 🤫🤫 🕺🕺🕺”

What just happened??

He really forgot that bens last words were “don’t start fights”

Eddie really did listen to his advice!!

“dear God please kill Peter 😊😊”

I guessed his prayers working??

Ok ok ok I think I know what’s going on now

Did I miss him putting the suit in the box?? Wasn’t it just in the closet?

I think I’m reading too much into this

Aww their friends again

Rip Harry

They shouldn’t have made the sides so pointy

Rip Eddie

It was an accident!

Rip Harry again

The end

Well that sure was a movie

5/10 i guess??

[starbinds]

so, i’ve been wanting to make a sort of character analysis of jack rackham for a while, because i think there’s a huge misinterpretation of him in fandom.

warning: if you love jack and don’t want to see anything said about him other than positive things, it’s probably better for you to skip this. i’m not saying this to be mean, and this is not really a hate piece, but it shines a different light on jack that may not always be favorable or good. so, if you want to avoid negativity, which is perfectly understandable, please don’t read this. because a) i don’t want to upset anyone, and b) quite frankly, as much as i love to talk to people about these things, i’m also not in the mood to deal with defensive fans who refuse to see him as anything other than a saint.

now that that’s out of the way, let’s get down to business. let me start by asking something of you: mentally describe jack in 5 words or less. what are his major characteristics/personality traits? you see, i guarantee you that most people, when confronted with this question, would probably have “smart” or “intelligent” somewhere in those 5 words. maybe you did too. it’s the 1st thing you think off when you think about jack: he’s smart and funny. he describes himself as such. “my only assets are my wits”, right? jack is supposed to be the archetype of the dude who’s not physically capable, but that makes up for it with his smarts and humor. except that this is not true.

at the risk of sounding annoying and condescending, i’ll ask something else: what has jack accomplished on the show that has been done so through his own merit? because the answer is, not much, if anything at all. jack consistently is only able to achieve something through either the help of someone (and by help, i mean getting carried there by them, pretty much) or through simply using someone else to prop himself up by throwing them under the bus.

i’m going to give you a rundown of jack’s major successes and general most important achievements and plot points:

1. getting the brothel? vane is responsible for that, since he was the one who killed noonan. jack’s only merit is getting mrs. mapleton on their side, and he basically only had to offer her more money.

2. backtracking a little bit here (sorry for that, but this is very important), how is jack even alive and well at this point, having suffered no major consequence after his colossal fuck up with losing all that money? max is suffering the consequences for him. which he has no problem with btw, even though he’s really the one to blame.

3. getting back to chronological order, what about actually running the brothel in an efficient manner and actually making profit? max’s there for that too, and she’s the sole responsible for this tbh, because jack, for all his talk of how smart he is, cannot seem to accomplish anything here (spoiler alert: this is a pattern). anne herself says, "ain't you always the one telling everyone how fucking clever you are? figure it out." except he never does, really. max comes along and solves all of his problems for him.

4. getting his captainship and a ship back after vane “disowns” him? max again! hurray, isn’t she awesome? he also achieves this by throwing anne under the bus, when she would have been just as legitimate a choice for a captain as he was. it’s not like you can tell me he’d be more competent.

5. getting the gold? max! AGAIN. fantastic.

6. getting an important position in running the island in s3? well, he’s sure not there because he’s good at it, that’s for sure. he’s there because of the gold, which in turn only exists because of max. also possibly because vane and him are buddies.

6.1. now, this is not an achievement per se. or an achievement at all, because it is disgusting. but it is a prime example of jack using and abusing others to make something of himself or fixing his own messes, and that’s rebuilding the fort. so, like, think on this: this man goes on and on about how smart he is, right? anne attested to that, as previously mentioned. and what’s the best idea he can think of to deal with his own incompetence? slave labor! i mean, it sucks, but, hey, at least he feels bad about it!

7. being able to come out of this whole mess with a shitload of money and the prospect of a peaceful future when england takes nassau? max, our always reliable friend, is there for that too. of course, jack threw all of that into the trash can because of his own hubris and self-centered crap, and his absolute need to have people remembering his name somehow. but we don’t talk about that. no, really. we don’t talk about it. but we sure do talk about how max didn’t risk her life to save him from his own ignorance, all the time! jack is still a child, you see! he can’t be held accountable for his actions, that he is well aware will endanger his life.

8. and, finally, becoming buddy buddy with blackbeard and apparently commanding with/beside him? yeah, that’s on vane. who died. oopsy. i guess we really are emotional beings after all and not even the almighty blackbeard escapes sentimentality. because he sure as hell did not give a single fuck about rackham before that.

so, there, let’s make a headcount to summarize:

max helped out/literally did everything for him/was brutally abused to save his ass: 6 times

anne was fucked over: 1 time

vane killed people/died/bros before throwing my buddy out for being an incompetent fuck: 3 times

slave labor is the way to go!!1!: 1 time

so, i think i made my point. all the major things jack was able to achieve were done mostly on the backs of other people. in fact, when left to his own devices, self-proclaimed “smart as hell” guy, is hilariously incompetent. and i really mean the hilarious part, because, at this point, the funny part of jack’s character doesn’t come from us laughing with him or what he says (making him funny), but from us laughing at him. at how utterly incapable he can be.

even prior to the show there are suggestions that it was pretty much the same. anne says, "i've put a lot of bodies in the ground for you, haven't i? [...] watched your back. cleaned up your messes. carried out your plans. i didn't always understand. didn't always agree. but i did it. some fucked-up, awful shit 'cause i knew you needed it done." i think it’s pretty self-explanatory.

you could say that this inconsistency with what jack says and what he actually is like is bad writing. and maybe it is. maybe the writers really want me to believe jack is smart by making him fail miserably repeatedly, but i don’t think that’s their goal at all. and even if it is, it doesn’t matter, because what they show me works in a completely different way. you think jack is supposed to be the smart and funny and less athletic stereotype, but in reality it’s far more complex than that. 

personally speaking, i think jack is deeply insecure. i mean this has been proven this season already (s4). he knows he’s never going to be like vane, for example, he’s never going to be able to fight like him or be feared or worshipped for the same reasons (which is okay, obviously. why would anyone want to be like vane tbh.), so he feels he has something to prove. 

and he thinks he can accomplish this through his smarts. and that by loudly shouting at the world how smart he is, people will believe it.(and apparently it works because a lot of the audience eats it up.) this in and of itself should tell us something. the fact that he needs to even proclaim and assert it. 

you know that scene in 1.02, where he says that he has slit men’s throats in their sleep without remorse, so the sex workers can’t hope to con him, or whatever? and it’s all bullshit, obviously. that’s what jack claiming to be so smart feels to me.

max, silver and flint are some of the smartest people on the show, and, most importantly, they are able to use their smarts to understand and manipulate the situations and people around them in the very way jack claims (and the fandom thinks) he can do. but they don’t brag about how smart they are. they don’t have to. 

so, jack, to me, works as a foil to these characters. they are what he wished he could be, but will ultimately never achieve. and that’s the ironic and somewhat sad thing about jack. what he really is all about to me. he’s is always trying so hard, too hard, but he’ll always fail to accomplish it, precisely because of that. he wants to make history, he wants to be remembered so badly, and while we know he somewhat succeeds, he will never be a flint, or a silver, people who will undoubtedly become legends in the world of black sails.

i’m going to end this here somewhat awkwardly, because i feel i’ve said my piece. like i mentioned, this is not supposed to be about hate. it’s something that i’ve been thinking about for a while and that has been bothering me. 

i also know there will be people that will be like, “well, but max needed jack too!” and yes, she did. but it doesn’t change the fact that she’s essentially the driving force behind everything jack accomplishes. it doesn’t change the times in which she literally does everything for him. max needs jack the way a captain needs a crew. you can remove jack from the equation very easily tbh, she could get the help of any other pirate (and probably not have had to deal with so much shit.) but max is the source. it all revolves around her. you cannot remove her.

so, the bottom line of all of this is: jack is not as smart as everyone thinks he is. but!! that’s also okay, because, personally speaking, it makes for a more interesting story and character. now if only people stopped acting like jack’s very smart and ignoring max’s role, that’d be great.

[stormyvixen]

Blog Tour with Excerpt! The Water is Wide (The Blue Bells of Scotland #3) Laura Vosika!

Pump Up Your Book is pleased to bring you Laura Vosika’s THE WATER IS WIDE (Book 3 of The Blue Bells Chronicles) Virtual Book Tour October 1 – December 14 2018!

Title: THE WATER IS WIDE Author: Laura Vosika Publisher: Gabriel’s Horn Press Pages: 451 Genre: Time Travel/Historical Fiction

BOOK BLURB:

After his failure to escape back to his own time, Shawn is sent with Niall on the Bruce’s business. They criss-cross Scotland and northern England, working for the Bruce and James Douglas, as they seek ways to get Shawn home to Amy and his own time.

Returning from the Bruce’s business, to Glenmirril, Shawn finally meets the mysterious Christina. Despite his vow to finally be faithful to Amy, his feelings for Christina grow.

In modern Scotland, having already told Angus she’s pregnant, Amy must now tell him Shawn is alive and well—in medieval Scotland. Together, they seek a way to bring him back across time.

They are pursued by Simon Beaumont, esteemed knight in the service of King Edward, has also passed between times. Having learned that Amy’s son will kill him—he seeks to kill the infant James first.

The book concludes with MacDougall’s attack on Glenmirril, Amy and Angus’s race to be there and Shawn’s attempt to reach the mysterious tower through the battling armies.

Author's Book Page -

http://www.bluebellstrilogy.com/Books.php#TheWaterisWide

Watch the Trailer:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=a1z7mHo-OxQ&list=PL1M7umb_F_hIUIeqM5z8oeaX4mGrj1afB&index=3

Add to your shelves -

Goodreads - https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/13498120-the-water-is-wide

BookBub - https://www.bookbub.com/books/the-water-is-wide-the-blue-bells-trilogy-book-3-by-laura-vosika

The Water is Wide is the 3rd book in The Blue Bells of Scotland Trilogy -

Goodreads - https://www.goodreads.com/series/93431-blue-bells-trilogy

Author - http://www.bluebellstrilogy.com/Books.php

Amazon - https://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B07BL4LW67?ref=series_rw_dp_labf

Includes - 

1 Blue Bells of Scotland 2 The Minstral Boy 3 The Water is Wide 4 Westering Home 5 The Battle is O'er

The Water is Wide is avialable in print or ebook -

Amazon - https://amzn.to/2ujdj3Z

Book Excerpt:

As the shadows lengthened, Shawn cleared his throat. “Any thoughts on where to spend the night? Is there a Holiday Inn around here?”

“There’s no inn of any sort.”

“Yeah, and that’s a problem,” Shawn said, “because last time I slept in the great outdoors, a wolf climbed into bed with me, and it didn’t really end well for either of us.” He rubbed his thigh, where a long scar would forever remind him of the night.

“You did well.” Niall cocked a grin at him. “It almost makes me glad to have you at my side, despite your infernal complaining.” The sky over the leafy canopy grew grayer as they climbed another hill.

“I haven’t complained for half an hour, and considering I’m stuck with you, that’s pretty impressive.” An owl hooted, low and mournful. “I’m pretty sure that knocks a couple months off any Purgatory time I’d racked up.” The river crackled, cold water splashing against thin ice on the edges, beside them.

“Any time?” Niall chortled, a candle against the darkening wood. “You’ll be fortunate to get as high as Purgatory, and if you do, you’ve racked up so much time there, they’ll have to kick the rest of them straight into Heaven to make room for all the Purgatory you need!”

“I don’t think it works like....” Shawn stopped at the top of the hill, staring at the sight before them. “Holy ruins, Batman. What is that?”

Niall and his pony halted by his side. The animal tossed its head, and nuzzled Niall’s arm. Before them stretched a wide expanse of broken stone walls, stone buildings with mouths and eyes gaping wide in the twilight, on either side of a long road. One vast length of wall held numerous niches. Thirty yards away, crumbling walls enclosed rows of short, stout, stone posts. Beyond it, a stairway led down into a dark maw. Bushes sprang from cracks. Trees grew in and among the abandoned structures. Shadows stretched everywhere, as the sun sank, sending fiery orange and pink rays down the center road, lighting the mist that swirled along it.

“That,” said Niall with a smile, “is our inn. God provides.” He touched his heels to his pony, starting down the gentle slope.

Shawn coughed loudly. “Uh, yeah, He sure does. The question is what has He provided? What is this place?”

“A Roman fort.” Niall led his pony down the center path, the remains rising on either side. A bird called somewhere in the trees.

“The Roamin’ in.” Shawn used English for the last two words. “God has a sense of humor.”

Niall smiled, pointing to the stairs leading down. “There. ’Tis indoors.”

“It’s a pun,” Shawn clarified. “It’s a whole lot funnier if you see it spelled out.”

“No doubt,” Niall agreed. “Shall we gather firewood? Keep any more wolves from climbing in bed with you?”

“Yes, let’s. And what keeps away the ghosts of the Roman legionnaires? Or their victims?”

“One sight of your face ought to scare any spirits back to the underworld.”

“If that doesn’t work,” said Shawn, “your pathetic attempts at music will.”

“Perhaps you could brag of your exploits with women.” Niall grinned. “Even Hades is better than having to listen to that.”

Shawn laughed. “You’re jealous.”

They picked their way over the darkening path strewn with stones. In the trees above, an owl hooted.

“What happens tomorrow?” Shawn nodded at the limping pony.

Niall’s mouth was taut. “We hope he’s better. If not, we let him rest, and spend the time learning to play the lute. We’ve shelter, walls and a roof, which is more than we expected.”

They stopped before their intended room. Shawn sighed. It would do no good to stay in the open, but the stone structure, with its empty eyes and stone stairs descending into darkness, was hardly welcoming.

“We’ll need wood,” Niall said. They tethered the ponies to a tree springing up near the ruin, left the lute beside them, and set out to gather branches.

The sky was now deep blue, the ruins cloaked in shadow. A wolf howled in the distance. The air grew chillier as they worked, till a night among ghosts looked inviting, even homey, as long as it was warm. They piled the kindling on the lowest step outside their chosen abode, where it would warm the room, but send its smoke up into the sky. Niall scraped flint, and soon, they had flickering light by which to eat their hard bread and berries. Shawn settled back, content with his stomach less than empty, and pulled out the lute. He adjusted a couple tuning pegs, tried a few chords, and began one of the songs he’d played on guitar. Niall relaxed against another wall, watching his fingers, humming along. “Let me try,” he said at last. Shawn handed it over, giving instruction as Niall leaned over the strings, working his fingers into unfamiliar positions for chords, and picking out melodies.

Outside, a pony whickered. Niall and Shawn froze, looking to the doorway, where they could see only black night beyond the glowing fire. Niall laid the lute down gently. “We've been careless,” he said softly. They reached for their knives.

“I’m kind of hoping it’s only a ghost,” Shawn whispered back. The familiar tingle of adrenaline began, a tremoring of the nerves in his arms. His muscles tightened. “Do we wait for whoever it is to come in?”

Niall shook his head. “And wait for a whole army to come in on us? If I’m to die tonight, ’twill be fighting for my life.” He rose, back against the wall, and inched around till he stood pressed by the doorway, where the fire crackled. On the other side, Shawn did the same, his heart pounding hard. Niall pointed to his chest, then to Shawn, and held up fingers in a silent count: One. Two. Three.

He sprang over the small flames, into the night. Shawn leapt behind him, knife ready, heart beating triple time, nerves screaming! The fire threw shadows across the pony, who balked against his tether. Shawn saw nothing. But he heard the crack of a twig just beyond the light. He and Niall lunged. The single crack grew into a panicked flurry of rustling leaves, cracking twigs, branches snapping back in their faces as they gave chase. Shawn ducked and swerved, saw Niall ahead, veered, and suddenly, there was a pile of arms, legs. He dropped his knife.

“Get down!” Niall roared. Shawn threw himself to the ground, hands over his head.

All became silent for a heartbeat...two.

Then the forest erupted with sound!

“I didn’t mean you!” Niall said indignantly.

“I’ve done naught, Milord! Don’t kill me!”

Then Niall was laughing, great gusty roars of merriment. “Shawn, get up! You’re hiding from a boy!”

“Don’t kill me! I can help you! I can help your hobin, Milord!”

Shawn inched his hand from over his eyes to see the dark shape of Niall sitting astride a boy who managed to flounder, fight, and cower, all at once, while protesting. He climbed irritably to his feet. “You said get down!”

“I meant him.”

“You staged this because your lute-playing sucks!” Shawn threw back into the night. “You needed a distraction.”

“Thank goodness at least you can play a lute, because the way you fight, a mouse would have gotten the better of us!”

The boy looked back and forth between them. He stopped struggling. “Milord?”

Shawn realized both their faces were showing. He recoiled into shadow. Niall climbed to his feet, his knife at the ready. “Get up.”

“He’s just a boy,” Shawn sighed. “Put your knife away.”

“Aren’t we sending boys to war?” Niall asked. “What makes you think a boy can’t kill?”

Shawn had no answer. He could think only of the boys to whom he’d taught trombone, so many years ago in the future—boys in sports jerseys, with trimmed hair, worrying about who to ask to prom. This boy stood before them in tatters. He wrapped his arms around his skinny body. His hair hung past his shoulders. Clarence. His father’s killer, as he’d last seen him, flashed through Shawn’s mind. Yes, boys could kill. He didn’t want to believe this one would. He just didn’t want any more ugliness in his world.

“What’s your name?” Niall demanded.

“I have none,” the boy said.

“No name? How can you have no name?”

The boy shrugged. “My parents died long ago, my mother in childbirth, and my father in battle. A farrier found me and took me in. He didn’t know my name.”

“Surely he called you something?”

“Red.” The boy’s shivering increased.

“Niall,” Shawn said.

Niall pressed the boy, ignoring Shawn. “And why are you not with him now?”

“He was....” Red’s teeth clacked together. He clenched them tight, rubbing his hands up and down his arms, and tried again. “He was killed when the soldiers came through. I ran into the forest and hid. They were afraid to follow me into the ruins.”

“Niall, he’s cold.”

Niall’s knife remained pointed at the boy. “Which soldiers?”

“They were English, Milord. Meaning no offense, Milord.” His teeth clattered again. “If you’re English.”

“Niall!” Shawn stepped forward, his anger growing. “He’s just a kid! He’s about to....”

Before he finished, the boy collapsed. Shawn was under him, catching his sagging body before it hit the ground.

Laura Vosika is a writer, poet, and musician. Her time travel series, The Blue Bells Chronicles, set in modern and medieval Scotland, has garnered praise and comparisons to writers as diverse as Diana Gabaldon and Dostoevsky. Her poetry has been published in The Moccasin and The Martin Lake Journal 2017.

She has been featured in newspapers, on radio, and TV, has spoken for regional book events, and hosted the radio program Books and Brews. She currently teaches writing at Minneapolis Community and Technical College.

As a musician, Laura has performed as on trombone, flute, and harp, in orchestras, and big bands. She lives in Brooklyn park with 5 of her 9 children, 3 cats, and an Irish Wolfhound.

Her latest book is the time travel/historical fiction, The Water is Wide.

Website - http://www.bluebellschronicles.com/

Facebook - http://www.facebook.com/laura.vosika.author

Twitter - http://www.twitter.com/lauravosika

Goodreads - https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/3057598.Laura_Vosika

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