#tris homines

[sforzesco]

WILL NO ONE RID ME OF THIS TROUBLESOME PRIEST ROMAN?

When Caesar arrived in pursuit on the third day, Theodotus showed him Pompey's head and ring, but Caesar was offended and wept.

-Liv. Per. 112.4

the title quotation is referring to the famous quote associated with the henry II-thomas becket conflict. the uhhhhh. the themes match, somewhat. feels the same, in some kind of way. anyway, fucking RIP to caesar and pompey. it's gotta be lonely, to start off as three, and then two, and even locked in conflict, there's a familiarity of being known that you're never going to have again. ah, what loss. what tragedy. etc etc etc.

[attila-werther]

headache finally tapering off but I have to get up early :(( I want to post about calamus!!!

[avafaye-vnyl]

What is this romeo and juliet situation 🤨

[chenfordfanficquotes]

Tim sat drumming his fingers on his truck’s steering wheel, parked beside his sister’s van in the hospice parking lot, wondering why he was dreading this moment so much. He regretted not telling Lucy where he was going. She would have come with him. This would be easier if she was with him. “Get it together, Bradford,” he said aloud to himself. “Sign a piece of paper, get rid of that damned house, and you never have to come here again. You don’t have to see him. You don’t have to go past the lobby. Win-win-win, so go do it.” He didn’t move. He tried to picture Lucy beside him.The sooner you get this over with, the sooner you get to go back and tell her you just made a million dollars, and you’re taking her out to celebrate. This time Tim opened the truck door, climbed out, and headed towards the front entrance of the hospice. He imagined the actual conversation with Lucy, trying out different ways of asking her. He wondered if he should ask her out on a date. If he should ask her to go out to celebrate with him as friends. He imagined making the invitation ambiguous and Lucy asking him, “Is this a date?” And he’d know by the hope in her eyes that she wanted it to be, so he’d tell her, “You decide.”

- Omne Malum ab Homine by @cleromanticon (submitted by @come-rain-come-shine)

[zmaragdos]

ok i'm sorry but just one more thing about the Apocolocyntosis/'the Pumkinification of Claudius': one of Claudius' capital sins (according to the goddess Fever is BEING FRENCH)

And he would certainly have fooled Heracles who was not very sharp, if the goddess Fever had not been there, who, after abandoning her temple, was the only one who had come with Hercules; she had left all the other gods at Rome. “He,” she said, “tells only absolute lies. I, who have lived with him for so many years, tell you: he was born at Lyons; you see in front of you a fellow townsman of Munatius. I tell you, he was born at the sixteenth milestone from Vienne, a true Gaul. And so, as a Gaul should do, he captured Rome. I guarantee that he was born at Lyons, where Licinus was king for many years. But you, who have tramped over more places than any long-haul mule driver, ought to know that there are many miles between the Xanthus and the Rhône.” At this point Claudius flared up and expressed his anger in the best muttering he could manage. No one tried to understand what he was saying. As a matter of fact, he kept ordering that Fever be taken away for punishment. With that gesture of his shaking hand, which was steady enough only on such occasions when he was accustomed to indicate that people should be decapitated, he had ordered that her neck be severed. You would think that all those around him were his freedmen, the way no one paid him any attention.

Et imposuerat Herculi minime vafro nisi fuisset illic Febris, quae fano suo relicto sola cum illo venerat: ceteros omnes deos Romae reliquerat. “iste” inquit “mera mendacia narrat. ego tibi dico, quae cum illo tot annis vixi: Luguduni natus est, Munati municipem vides. quod tibi narro, ad sextum decimum lapidem natus est a Vienna, Gallus germanus. itaque quod Gallum facere oportebat, Romam cepit. hunc ego tibi recipio Luguduni natum, ubi Licinus multis annis regnavit. tu autem, qui plura loca calcasti quam ullus mulio perpetuarius, {Lugudunenses} scire debes multa milia inter Xanthum et Rhodanum interesse.” | excandescit hoc loco Claudius et quanto potest murmure irascitur. quid diceret nemo intellegebat. ille autem Frebrim duci iubebat. illo gestu solutae manus, et ad hoc unum satis firmae, quo decollare homines solebat, iusserat illi collum praecidi. putares omnes illius esse libertos: adeo illum nemo curabat.

Seneca, Apocolocyntosis, 6

[mobiledoll]

A man is a loser, uncontrollable.

[iamnotbored]

To my star 2: on love and forgiveness

watching this show as it was airing and seeing all the “hate” towards jiwoo was a revelation, a lot of viewers thought that seojoon forgave jiwoo too easily, and i get that, jiwoo was so harsh on him, seriously who ghostes their bf with a f’cking post-it? on their birthday?! and if i was seojoons friend i would scream at jiwoo til his ears bleed.

but seojoon loves and seojoon forgives, that is who he is and that how he has been since the beginning. when his actor friend tried to put the blame on him for the fight, he didn’t say anything to anyone, not even pilhyun and homin, he waited it out believing that his friend would come clean, not many people would do that. but seojoon is not a pushover, he knows his limits and he will let go when he is ready. 

when it comes to jiwoo, seojoon is not blind to his shortcomings, he likes him despite those, because to seojoon (who knows jiwoo better than any of us) jiwoo is not defined by his misstakes. 

“you hide away as if you are the only sad person in this world. you don’t think about facing the problem and solving it. you have unnecessary pride and you never tell people your real feelings, making people go crazy!” 

“but still, i’m saying i like you” 

seojoon only gave up when he was convinced that jiwoo wanted to be with his ex, and that he is standing in the way of jiwoos happiness, as long as jiwoo loves him he would have continue to pursue him, again this man loves jiwoo more than jiwoo loves himself 

for those who thinks that seojoon deserve better, i also get that, “jiwoo hurt seojoon this much so seojoon should hurts him just as much before they can get back together”...i used to believed that input and output of love should be equal in a relationship, but how do you keep score when one person is swimming and the other is playing badminton? seojoon and jiwoo are very different people and they have different love languages, and so when we say for better or worst, this is jiwoo at his worst, this is where seojoon get to decide if their relationship could survive this, and because this is seojoon and he knows how hard those steps jiwoo took were, he choose to love and forgive 

some of my favourites lines are these, 

“if you keep pushing me away, i can’t continue to chase after you like you did for me” 

“is that a threat?”

“no, i’m begging you”

this perfectly showed us how different these two are and how their traumas and history shape who they are as people today, jiwoo doesn’t love seojoon any less than seojoon loves him, but sometimes we messed up and we hurt the people who loves us the most. and this is when we need those people to say “its ok, when is hard i will go to you” and i will love you and i will fight for us

i want bring up one last thing, should they take a break to get some therapy before getting back together? uhm, yes to therapy always, but no on the separation, i dont believe in the idea that we have to be healed and complete before we are allowed to be in a relationships, who is to say that we can be 100% healed from our traumas? aren’t we just learning to live with it and not let it get the better of us as we go? to love and be loved is a big part of our journey to heal, you don’t have to struggle all by yourself untill you are fit to be loved. 

life is short, if you have found your forever person, don’t let them go. as much as we should cut out toxic people from our lives, we should hold on to the people that makes us happy. i dont know if those among us who identify with jiwoo will ever find their own seojoon, god i hope we do, but i think that if we all just learn from seojoon to love and forgive more we would be one step closer to our own happiness. 

credit of the wonderful pictures: twitter user @_ouruniverse09

[whomst-art-thou-whomst-whomst]

Whomst Rambles: To My Star Season 2, episodes 1 and 2 (spoilers)

Okay, I am loving this season. I think that the writers did something clever by showing us the boys at their worst while making it clear that within all of that, they are still the same people the other person fell for, and they still adore each other. The course of true love never did run smooth. Le sigh.

With Kang Seojoon, they didn’t just give us heartbroken puppy, they gave us a heartbroken and worryingly reckless puppy who leverages his whole ass career to find his ex, shows up in the ex’s village to confront him after driving all night, and in like 12 hours he’s managed to turn around his ex’s failing business and make the leader of the village (not sure if there’s a title?) his best friend. This is so Kang Seojoon.

And Han Jiwoo, who we’ve gotten much less of so far this season—which I think has to be on purpose, we are gonna get to dive into tsundere chef’s heartbreaking reasons soon IM SURE. Bc otherwise the full wrath of Kim Pilhyun will fall on his emo ass. But even his reactions to Seojoon’s little “surprise bitch, I bet you thought you’d seen the last of me” antics are perfectly on point for the character and give us hope—he’s still himself at his core, he is still stoical and off putting to strangers, he still gets exasperated with Seojoon in a hilarious way, and he can’t look at Seojoon at all when he’s giving him the reasons for breaking up with him (I love that Seojoon calls him out on how obviously fake and rehearsed they are). He can’t really stand to watch Seojoon in pain, he tries to get rid of him as soon as he can because it hurts to see him. Not to mention, the reasons he lists? They are the kinds of little pet peeves that a person secretly misses once the other isn’t there. Jiwoo’s “explanation” was a full on Ten Things I Hate About You speech.

Other Characters: I like that they kind of give Hyung Ki a redemption—he wanted to apologize, he pays the money back and decides to go to Italy—while also using him to show how much Jiwoo is not over Seojoon. Hyung Ki’s little pause while talking about Italy is such a clear invitation for Jiwoo to join him, and Jiwoo is staring into the middle distance like y’all hear something? Baek Homin’s ride or die protectiveness is *chef’s kiss* and can someone get Kim Pilhyun a spa weekend bc he is tired. The village gossip chain is the best. The single mom and kid are so cute. Fantastic that it’s been a few days and suddenly everyone is Invested in this mysterious, grumpy chef. AND WHO IS THE BRACELET AD LADY? I think the implication is she is Han Ji Woo’s ex? I thought it was a clever little cinematography move, making it seem like Kang Seojoon was looking at her when he’s staring hopefully at the door. Am I prepared for jealous Seojoon? Yessssss. SO MANY QUESTIONS UGHH

(I also have to imagine that throughout this year, Pilhyun has left Seojoon’s house drunk and annoyed after another night of pining and sobbing, speed dialed Kang Gook and Han Taejoo and wakes them up by yelling into the phone that if they EVER so much as DARED CONSIDER breaking up, he will push them both in the Han River bc he is not doing this shit again, YOU HEAR ME. And Han Taejoo, the little shit, just dramatically pretends to their friend that they are constantly on the verge of a breakup, “he and I do share the same last name, maybe it’s fate,” while Kang Gook pulls Han Taejoo into his arms and tells him to shut up.)

[sforzesco]

it’s like

And he had great influence, both from the favours which he bestowed and the fear which he inspired, but more from the fear. At any rate, Sicinnius, who gave the greatest annoyance to the magistrates and popular leaders of his day, when asked why Crassus was the only one whom he let alone and did not worry, said that the man had hay on his horn. Now the Romans used to coil hay about the horn of an ox that gored, so that those who encountered it might be on their guard

Plutarch, Crassus

and a redraw of this lmao

⭐ places I’m at! bsky / pixiv / pillowfort /cohost / cara.app / tip jar!

[attila-werther]

I miss the tris homines. like, these three are giving me a headache

[kyberphilosopher]

Dᴏꜱᴄᴇɴᴅᴏ Dɪꜱᴄɪᴍᴜꜱ

The reader tries to paint the Colossal Titan from memory, and Bertholdt seems to know more than most people. 

Requested: no.

Word Count: 2092

Docendo Discimus is a Latin proverb meaning "by teaching, we learn." It is perhaps derived from Seneca the Younger, who says in his Letters to Lucilius: Homines dum docent discunt., meaning "Men learn when they teach”.

.✫*ﾟ･ﾟ｡.★.*���･ﾟ✫*.

The human body is home to somewhere between six hundred and eight hundred muscles. There are two hundred and six bones, seventy-eight organs, one hundred thousand miles of veins, and roughly ten pints of blood. Every individual cell has a purpose, important and needed for the body to continue to function. 

Assuming the anatomy of a titan was the same to that of the average person’s, the Colossal Titan should be easier to render than this. You’d sketched the face of muscle and teeth over a hundred times by this point, and each one of them seemed to draw further away from realism than you liked. 

Sure, it was arguable that the Colossal just didn’t have the same anatomy in his face as the average human. But then there should’ve been more factors in his face that shouldn’t have worked. 

For example, the monster didn’t possess a muscle called the orbicularis. You could remember that specifically from the time you and your fellow cadets had gotten a bit too close for comfort. But based on the lack of orbicularis, he shouldn’t have been able to blink. And yet, he had. There was also a strange muscle in his temporal region with horizontal fibers, that couldn’t have simply been his temporal. It doesn't seem to have any particular function, either. 

God damn it. It’s appearance should’ve been the one thing about this bastard to make sense, but instead it had confused you just as much as the rest of it. Never mind how smart you were. If you couldn’t solve this simple turned complex mystery, why hold out hope for studying anatomy when the world would return to normalcy?

In your frustration, you slam the paintbrush back into your cup of water. A stain of red clouds erupts in the liquid at once, angry from how direct the solid hits the surface. In front of you, the canvas shines with the new layer of red paint. Beside it is a coat of salmon, also fresh and lined with the titan’s muscles. 

“So stupid,” you hiss, half to yourself. You grab your cadet corps jacket, shrugging it on swiftly before crossing your arms and stepping back. 

It was supposed to be a gift for Eren. He knew you were something of a painter and had once jokingly asked you to make a dart board for him. The moment you conceived this idea, you knew it had to be a stroke of genius. But you wanted to get it right, and for that, the artist and realist inside of you seemed to be punished for it.

Was it something with the eyes? No, it was definitely the anatomy of the titan overall. “For fucks sake,” you wave off finally, turning on your heel to walk away for a while. But when you turn around, you’re face to chest with one so broad you nearly stumble back. 

The figure tenses up immediately. You tilt your head up to see who it is, recognizing the nervous, kaleidoscope eyes of your comrade. Bertholdt, you’re sure his name is. You haven’t talked too many times, but you’ve seen him in your circle of friends. There’s a memory in your brain of asking your bunkmate, Annie, about why Bertholdt would hang around someone so upstanding and obnoxious as Reiner, but you can’t recall her specific answer. 

“O-oh, Y/N!” Bertholdt nearly wheezes. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to stand so close.”

“It’s fine,” you mutter, rubbing the side of your head as you step away. “What are you doing here?”

Yes, what was he doing here? A little closeted off room by the girl barracks? And aside from that, how does someone as tall as he even sneak his way inside? It’s suspicious, to say the least. 

“I was just-” Bertholdt stares down at you, sweat already beginning to form on his face. Oh, goddess. How is he to get out of this one? If Reiner was with him, he could just lie his way out of it. But now, looking down at your apathetic, borderline tired, frustrated face, he knows he’s never had much luck with girls. Especially not pretty girls like you. 

His gaze shifts to behind you. There, on a perfectly square parchment of thick paper, is a rough sketch of a long face without any skin. It seems to be all muscle, labeled and detailed. Half the sheet is colored in with pinks, browns, and scarlets, with the other half marked with insane little scribbled patterns that remind him of words. 

You’re still waiting for an answer. He sees your steady, patient eyes and your balled fists by your hips, and Bertholdt wonders if you already know. “I saw you bring in those cans of paint, and I guess I got curious.”

“Oh,” you reply flatly. “Yeah. That.”

“It’s um...” Compliment her. Compliment her painting. “It’s a nice painting. What’s it supposed to be of?”

“The Colossal Titan,” you tell him as you rub the back of your neck. Then you turn on your side so you can view your art, immediately narrowing your eyes in disgust at it. “It’s not my best.”

Bertholdt’s words come out a bit louder than he intended. “Actually, I think it’s really, really great, Y/N!”

You turn back to meet Bertholdt’s nervous, almost quivering eyes. You certainly wouldn’t call yourself an expert on the male gender, but this tall bastard was exactly the stereotype of someone who wasn’t an expert on the female gender. It was almost funny. No, it was almost ironic. 

“I just mean that... it’s really good. It’s easy to see that you have heaps of talent,” the brunette reiterates, seemingly calmer this time.

What a nice thing to say to someone. 

“That’s not really my point though,” you borderline sigh. “The point is that no matter what I seem to do to him, it doesn’t seem realistic does it?”

“What do you mean by that?” Bertholdt questions, his eyebrows furrowing. That’s right, he wouldn’t be able to squint without his orbicularis. Something your art model was currently lacking. 

Do you even bother to explain it to him? It’s not like either of you are close, or like he’d exactly understand what you were saying to him anyway. But where was the harm, really?

You walk back towards the parchment, with Bertholdt just a few steps behind. 

“See this area?” you ask, gesturing to the Colossal Titan’s eye area. “There's a muscle here that’s supposed to let people close their eyes. But the colossal titan doesn’t have that.”

“W-why is that?”

You shrug. “Damned if I know. But doesn’t it look wrong on him?”

Bertholdt observes the painting. He sees all the details, all the time you’ve put into it. While you are right about the image and the titan’s strange features, it’s now that Bertholdt realizes just how intelligent you really are. Unlike other people, you actually knew things. If he were an enemy, he might be starting to feel threatened right about now. Ironic indeed. 

“Yeah, I guess you’re right,” the boy says shyly. “Why does it have to be perfect, though?”

Good question. 

“No real reason,” you tell him, trying to hide the hint of smile. “I guess it’s just how it is. Eren is the one who asked for this.”

“O-oh... you mean like a...”

Your eyes flit back to Bertholdt. “Like a what?”

Bertholdt can feel the sullen wave of anxiety wash over him. He hadn’t meant to let the stray thoughts fall from his lips, but now he can’t take it back. Now what does he say? “I just mean, is it a gift or something like that?”

“Sure.”

Were you and Eren...?

“I might be able to help you with it,” Bertholdt stutters, again, louder than he’d intended. He’s lucky at least one of you is level headed during this interaction. 

“How so? Do you paint?” 

“No, but I think I might know some things about the Colossal that you don’t,” Bertholdt offers. His right arm reaches behind to rub at his sweaty neck. In that instant, you can see that the boy has an almost identical structure to that of your subject. You’d have to note that the tall boy would make a brilliant model for something like this.

“Like what?” you question. “Could you give me some feedback on my piece then?”

Shit. Shit. Shit. You were going to find out. 

Bertholdt pretends to be in deep thought for a minute, knitting his dark eyebrows together. His green, blue eyes sweep over the picture, watching the slick settle. “Well, you’re right about the muscle around the eye. I’d take that out, but maybe place the shadow of it?”

“The shadow?”

“The outline. And maybe make his eyes more glossy than this. Titan’s have a second set of eyelids.”

You don’t have time to question him further. Bertholdt continues the onslaught of information. 

“I think you should also make some of these areas here a bit lighter,” he says, pointing to the side of the Colossal’s face. “From the steam and the high body temperature, it would get a bit smoky.”

“Yeah,” you begin slowly, watching the shine in Bertholdt’s previously nervous eyes. “I hadn’t considered that.”

The lanky male in front of you lets his lips curl into a sheepish smile, closing his eyes as his fingers thread themselves between his hair. “I doubt most people do, so you’re not really in the wrong.”

“How do you know so much?” you ask. “You’ve been quiet with everyone up until now. Do the higher ups even know all this?”

“I mean, they’d have to right? I guess I just took a lot of notes in class.”

You hadn’t remembered your professor mentioning most of these things during your Titan Studies period. But maybe it wasn’t really worth questioning him over. Maybe Bertholdt was just more observant than you had ever really considered. It wouldn’t have been the first time. 

Your eyes are fixated on him. Bertholdt was kind of cute, actually. His eyes are both big and slim, with pale green orbs. His skin was always a bit illuminated with a nervous sweat, and he was incredibly mild mannered. But maybe that was actually a good thing compared to all the boys in camp who seemed to lack any conception of manners. Pouty, chapped lips, a gentle smile, messy dark hair. He seems like someone reliable. Kind. Trustworthy.

“Yeah,” you say again, breaking eye contact. “So, are there any other suggestions you have for me?”

Bertholdt is still for a moment, thinking it over. “No, other than don’t think so hard about it, probably.”

“You two sort of have a similar face,” you say, staring at the muscled beast you’d attempted to replicate. “Maybe you should pose for me sometime.”

Bertholdt tenses. 

“I’m only joking,” you assure. Bertholdt’s broad shoulders fall as he relaxes, and a soft exhale leaves from between his lips. “But I would like it if you’d let me model after you.”

“Me?” Bertholdt stutters, shocked. “You mean you’d want to really paint me?”

“‘Course,” you say, nonchalant as always. “You’ve got one of those faces.”

Bertholdt smiles naturally. Soft, but noticeable. You return it after a few seconds, feeling your previous frustration and anger at the piece begin to wander away. 

“I should get back to work,” you say as you turn around. Bertholdt watches you unclip the parchment from your sturdy easel, place it on the stone floor, and grab another paper from a pile. 

“Y-you’re starting again?”

“Of course,” you say. Your dominant hand laces around a piece of charcoal, preparing to drag it across the page. In one swift and scratchy motion, an onyx line appears at the top of the paper. 

Bertholdt’s cheeks dust pink from behind you. He’s about to offer if you want him to pose for you so you can memorize what’s underneath his shy skin, but he stays quiet. Instead, Bertholdt is happy that he even got to speak to you in the first place. He wanders out of the room with butterflies in his stomach, and guilt in his heart. 

And you, with your eyes narrow, basing the monster that ruined your life off the boy who had just helped you. 

.✫*ﾟ･ﾟ｡.★.*｡･ﾟ✫*.

I didn’t proof read this. I feel like I’ve just been cranking stuff out lately. someone remind me to go back and edit thank you

[niwolah]

What can you find here?

Everything. I'm rebloging everything I like, be it animals, nature, fandom things, drawings, inspiring sentences, whatever.

I also share my progress on my WIPs.

It's a melting pot, serve yourself. Just don't be mean if you don't like my taste. It's mine and I'm not judging yours, okay? It's not my fault I like cilantro and you don't.

Fandom wise, what am I sharing?

I'm in a lot of fandoms but I'm still searching after Tumblr of specified fandoms so it'll be waves of one fandom after waves of another one depending on which Tumblr I find. Anyway. I'm also focused on a few things in my fandoms.

What you'll see here will be (and it's not limited to) those ones:

TVXQ! ~ HoMin

Twoset Violin ~ Breddy

How to train your dragon ~ ToothCup or HiccTooth

Scrubs ~ JDox

9-1-1 ~ Buddie

Sherlock BBC ~ JohnLock

Teen Wolf ~ Sterek

Supernatural ~ Sam and Dean of all ages (Weecest, Wincest, Weirdcest, you name it)

What am I? Who am I?

I would be a writer. I'm mostly a procrastinating writer who reads a lot.

IRL, I'm a nearly thirty years old introverted waitress. That means I'm always tired, always on the verge of a burn out, and that goes against my will to write. But I still write!

You need or want to reach me outside of this Tumblr?

I set up an email for that:

niwolah-tries-to-write@protonmail.com

Don't be shy. But be kind.

Enjoy your stay!

[mishkakagehishka]

Hiya Korka! I hope this doesn't come as a weird question; but how long have you been studying Japanese? And what made you want to learn? I like hearing you talk about your studies and languages so I thought I'd ask ^-^

Whew... okay, so here's the thing, it's been long enough that it's a bit embarrassing that I'm not fluent yet, I'll start with that HDBDBDBDB

I get the "when did you start" question often and I always feel bad to say "I genuinely don't remember" so, for you, I went to dig out my certificates. I started taking classes in 2015😭 Since then, I've been taking them every year until this one, actually! I reckoned, being a senior would drain a lot of my free time, so I ended up not going this year </3 which is, incidentally, why I downloaded enstars and twst last summer. It started as "Well, it's one way to make sure my Japanese doesn't rust" and here we are now, a fandom blog. If i never started studying it those seven years ago, i likely wouldn't have known ab the womb war, and i can't decide if that'd be a good or bad thing.

As for why I wanted to start studying, not to brag (totally to brag, it's my only profitable talent, sorry), I have a bit of a [hair swish] talent for languages. That goes hand-in-hand with a love of languages. So I was an 11yo who was just shown anime (WORST event of my life would not recommend /lh) and I thought to myself "Ayo, this language fucks" and God bless the internet, tried to find resources on it on my own after a while. Taught myself hiragana and katakana and grammar basics (and I mean basics-basics, like, present tense and sentence structure "this is a pen" basics) using different blogs and websites. Managed to convince my mother to let me take classes (which wasn't that hard, thanks to my independent studying, she decided I was serious enough about it, and we're a family that believes in quot linguas calles tot homines vales. Even not counting my actual school, I was always in some additional foreign language classes GDBDBDBSB) and here we are.

Don't worry ab weird questions, anyway HDBDHDJ unless they're like, rude, or way too personal, I'd be fine answering them👍

[lesetoilesfous]

Had the worst idea, but what about “mouth stitched shut” for Anders/Fenris? Perhaps an AU where Anders is captured by the Qunari and made Saarebas and Fenris finds/rescues him?

You both have EXCELLENT taste, this was exactly the kind of thing I was hoping for. I hope you enjoy!!!

(If you’d like me to write you a dragon age fic, send me a prompt from here!)

@dadrunkwriting

@badthingshappenbingo

Fandom: Dragon Age 2

Pairing: Fenders

Characters: Anders, Fenris

Tags: whump, torture, lips sewn shut, kidnapped by slavers, pre-relationship

Rating: Mature

“NO! Don’t touch him!! Let go of me you blighted cupis homines, immanissimum ac foedissimum monstrum!” The men holding Fenris laugh as he gives up on common to spit at them in Tevene, but their laughter falters when his brands flare like sunlight and his arms begin to phase through their hands.

That is until Anders makes a sharp, high sound of pain and Fenris freezes, feeling the heat of his blood in anger cooling to ice in his veins. The man - slaver - next to Anders, chuckles, and tugs the needle through the skin of Anders’ lips as blood rushes in a sudden dribble down his chin. Fenris feels the strength sap from his limbs so quickly he looks around in a panic, half expecting a magister to be standing in the entrance to the cave, hands crackling with Entropy.

But there’s no one - just the dogs barking, and the insects, and the other slaves weeping in the next cavern, and the hiccoughing, coughing sounds of Anders trying not to scream as the slaver pushes the needle back down through his upper lip. Anders squeezes his eyes shut, face a terrible mess of pain, and Fenris tries to look away - tries to afford him at least this dignity in all the horror.

One of the slavers grabs Fenris’ ear, pulling it hard enough for Fenris to huff a soft sound of pain as his face is yanked roughly back in the direction of his ally, his friend, his - being mutilated by these --- Fenris won’t call them dogs. He has never known a hound as foul as these men. One of them leans in close enough for Fenris to taste the days-old meat caught between his teeth. “You don’t get to look away from this, pretty. We want you to watch. Or we’ll take it out on your pet apostate.”

Fenris doesn’t doubt it. Anders’ back is a mess of bloodied, fresh wounds layered on old scars, and his arms and chest are lacerated with fresh cuts poisoned with magebane. Both of them are filthy by now, and bruised, but it was Anders who’d consistently drawn the attention of the slavers, Anders who’d picked fight after fight with them until Fenris was sure he was suicidal. Anders who’d admitted, when they were alone together in their pen, that he’d rather play the asshole than watch Fenris be tortured, too.

When Fenris looks back at Anders, on his knees, being held by another three men, the one sewing his lips together is four stitches in and his chin is striped red with blood. Fenris tries to breathe past the broken glass in his chest and watches as the needle breaks the skin again. He feels the sandy stone beneath his knees and hears the way Anders’ whimpers turn into a long, low keen as the slaver wiggles the needle against his upper lip until it pushes through, tightening the thread and crushing his bloodied lips together. Fenris watches as snot and tears and sweat run down Anders’ pale face, mixing with the blood. He watches the way Anders’ toes curl until they’re white every time the needle goes in.

Twenty seven stitches.

When the slaver’s done, he ties it off and spits in Anders’ face. Anders just shuts his eyes, crumpling to curl around his chest, shaking hands and broken, purple fingers blackened with bruising coming up to cover his face as he shakes and sobs.

Fenris barely notices the slavers letting him go. He barely notices them shoving him towards ‘his apostate’, hardly hears the jokes about Saarebas, the suggestions of collars and chains and electric rods. He’s thinking, with a sound like the ocean roaring in a cave ringing in his eardrums, that he is going to hold each of their hearts for twenty-seven beats in the palm of his hand as he crushes them, slowly. Fenris is thinking that he is going to rip out their tongues, and feed them to their dogs. He is thinking that he is never going to let anything like this ever happen again.

Then he gets to Anders’ side, and reality returns to Fenris like a wave, hitting him in the face with warmth and the putrid smell of the caves and the thick taste of salt and copper in the air with the fresh blood muddying the sand on the cavern floor beneath his knees.

As carefully as if he were handling Orlesian china, Fenris sets his own bruised, reddened hands on Anders’ shoulders. Anders flinches, violently, and Fenris finds his voice. It feels rough and unused in his mouth, as abrasive as sandpaper against his aching throat. Fenris realises, distantly, that he’s been crying.

“Anders. Look at me.”

Slowly, like a frightened, beaten cat or a small child, Anders uncurls. His eyes are bloodshot and red rimmed with tears, his nose an angry red too beneath the sick green of where it had been broken, which runs in a long stripe across his face. His mouth is an angry inflammation of swollen red skin and cherry red, drying blood. The thread is pink with the same blood, and when Anders looks at him blood and spit blows in tiny bubbles from between his lips as more tears fall from his eyes. Anders swallows, and makes a low frightened sound, and Fenris tries to remember how to breathe.

“It’s alright, amatus. It’s alright.” Unthinking, Fenris wets the cloth he’s wearing and wishes for anything clean in this blighted cavern. With a strange sense of deja vu, he damps the wet cloth against Anders’ bloodied mouth, trying to clear away the worst of the drying blood. More bubbles up as he does so, every time Anders lips move, and after a moment Fenris pauses, sitting back. Anders watches him, eyes wide and panicked, and Fenris tries to push away his own horror and pain and be the rock they both need him to be to keep from drowning.

He takes off the rags the slavers have given him for a shirt, and folds the cloth into a pillow. “Here, lie down.” Gently, cradling his head like a baby’s, Fenris guides Anders to lie down. That does something for the bleeding. With a scream of his aching knuckles, Fenris tears a strip off the fabric and spits on it to dampen the cloth.

Fenris pauses over Anders’ face, and takes a moment to push a hank of greasy, bloodied hair back from his face. Anders’ skin is cold and damp with sweat, but Fenris rests his hand there, stroking his thumb gently across one of the few unbruised patches of his cheek until Anders’ breathing eases, somewhat. Then he begins, again, to try and clean the wounds.

[vladdocs]

ENG: 1459 and Basarab? Near Sighisoara, (1459) on January 21, a pretender to the throne of Wallachia, a certain Basarab, tries to find ways to win over the people of Brasov and promises the judges and the council of Brasov help against the oppressors of their city, and instead hopes for support in the fight against his opponent. Taking into account the behavior of Brasov regarding Wallachia, as well as the lesson taught by Vlad Voivode Tepes already in 1457, the letter is accurately dated to 1459. Some historians even note that it was precisely established that the letter was written in 1459, because it was in this year that the feast of St. Agnes fell on Sunday. I will note that Basarab was warmed by Transylvania, he writes already near Sighisoara and already in 1459 calls himself the voivode of Wallachia. Seal: 32 mm, red wax, on the reverse side, the letter is wrapped. Salutationem debito cum honore, domini et amici nobis honorandi. Noveritis me in sanitate, quam sanitatem audivi et valeo audire semper et in omni tempore de vestris dominationibus et amicitiis. Nos percepimus et audivimus quid vestra dominatio et amicitia nobis intimastis per Cresta iudicem et per alios vestros consocios et intimationes libenter recepimus et salutavimus et nos libenter venissemus inter vestras amicitias, sed bene scimus quod estis pradati et percruciati et ergo non venimus. Ideo petimus vestras dilectiones, quod si abueritis talem timorem de Transalpinarum vel de alia parte, unde esset vobis grave debetis, in brevi 1) intimare nos volumus adiutorem in persona domini regis vel quinque centum vel sex vel autem plures homines dare, quantos videtis quod possitis tenere. Si autem timorem proprium magnum abueritis vos debetis intimare. Nos in persona nostra erimus ibi inter vestras dilectiones et nobis apparet, quod post deum omnipotentem vel morio autem vestros malefactores et interdictos vestros recipere de vos. Manete cum deo omnipotenti et rogati deum quia dabit vos vultis. Datum in una villa 2) penes Segeswar feria 3) in festo sanctae Agnetis. Et 4) quid vobis dicet Zlaw de Fogaras ex parte nostra fidem et fabulam eius credere debeatis tamquam a nostro proprio ore etcetera. Bazarab waywoda Transsalpinensis amicus et minor vester in omnibus. On the other side: Circumspectis viris iudici, iuratis ceterisque civibus de Brasso dominis et amicis nostris plurimum honorandis 1) brev. 2) vita. 3) vna is crossed out. 4) from here to et cetera is taken out. It is interesting here that the author signs Basarab voivode of Wallachia, not Io Dan voivode, as Dan signed in letters dated March 4, 1459, April 2, 1459 and others (less than 2 months difference), but Basarab and only. Dan never called himself that in his letters, and even did not use the name Basarab, he never signed himself "Bazarab waywoda Transsalpinensis amicus et minor vester in omnibus", but " I am Given the Governor of the Mercy of the Leaders of the Lords (and this is even in his Latin letter from Marienburg 1459, April 2). The seal of Dan depicts a crowned figure turned to the right with a scepter and an apple, next to it is a bird turned to the left with a cross in its beak. Dan's seal was as follows: + The seal of the Iω Is given By the Voivode of the Gnh. Usually it was 20, 26, 2 x 27 mm. The same seal is 32 mm. In a letter dated March 1, 1460, the seal is generally outstanding- On the red and black silk cord there were as many as 15 seals (a number of which are the seals of the boyars), of which 13 are the following: 1. Round, 10 mm. There is a cross in the center of the circle, a crescent moon on the right, a star on the left, and a geometric figure on the bottom. 2. Another octagonal seal, 10 mm, with a primitive image of an animal 3. 13 mm, the seal shows a coat of arms shield, with a horse on the hind legs, an inscription on the edges of the seal. 4. 13 mm, damaged. 5. 19 mm, green wax. The seal shows a coat of arms shield with the image of an animal turned to the right, on the rears. Helmet cap . There is an inscription in Latin letters on the edges of the seal.

6. 24 mm, red wax, on the seal from left to right an inverted figure with a scepter, in the middle of a tree, on the right a raven with a cross in its beak. The inscription on the edges of the seal. 7. 12 mm. On the seal is a shield with a helmet. 8. 12 mm. 9. Round, 14 mm. A crescent moon and a bull's head , the sun on the left, the moon on the right. 10. Round, 10 mm. 11 and 12 are round, 12 mm, in the middle of the contour of the dots is a four-legged mythical beast. 13 Round, 10 mm. That is, neither the seals nor the signatures converge. So what kind of Basarab promised the Brashovians to deliver them from their troubles from the land of Wallachia. It turns out not only Dan III, but a certain Basarab, perhaps Layota himself was already aiming for the throne. Or it was Basarab II himself, because the exact date of his death is unknown (being a direct enemy of Dragul and his family, Basarab II , although a little-known person, seized the throne for himself and kicked out Vlad Dragul. Voivode Vlad Dragulya Tepes, despite such "merits" to his father did not chase after Basarab, he did not look for that, Basarab II lived calmly after 1458, which again does not fit into the character of voivode Dragulya Tepes imposed on many, as a" cruel tyrant ruler" who dealt with all enemies). It's too much like the signature "Bazarab waywoda Transsalpinensis amicus et minor vester in omnibus" and "Basarab senior wayvoda, dei gratia partium regni Transalpinarum dominus", "Bazarab senior Wayuoda, dei gratia partium regni Transalpinarum dominus", and on Tsepelusha "Bazarab iunior vaivoda partium regni Transalpinarum". Speaking about earlier studies, the same I. Bogdan hastily attributed the letter to the letters of Laiota Basarab, attributing to the letter his own assumed date of 1460. Thus, at that moment, both Dan III and a certain Basarab sought to seize power, which, with success, the Hungarian government used, pursuing its own selfish goals and further actively inciting conflicts in the land of Wallachia. * In the appendix there is an edition with an article analyzing in detail the Latin letters of the Wallachian lords -REVISTA ISTORICĂ - DĂRI DE SAMĂ, DOCUMENTE ŞI NOTIŢE , Voi. XXIX, № 1- 6, lanuar—Iunie 1943, "ACCENTE PERSONALE ŞI INFLUENŢE LOCALE IN UNELE SCRISORI LATINEŞTI ALE DOMNILOR ROMÂNI". ______ RU: 1459 и Басараб? Близ Сигишоары, (1459) 21 января, претендент на трон Валахии, некий Басараб пытается изыскать способы расположить к себе брашовян и обещает судьям и совету Брашова помощи против угнетателей их города,а вместо надеется на поддержку в борьбе против своего противника. Учитывая поведение Брашова относительно Валахии, а также урок, преподнесенный им Владом воеводой Цепешем уже в 1457 году, письмо точно датируют 1459. Некоторые историки даже отмечают, что было точно установлено, что письмо было написано в 1459 , потому как именно в этом году праздник Святой Агнессы пришелся на воскресенье. Замечу, Басараба пригрела Трансильвания, он пишет уже близ Сигишоары и уже в 1459 зовет себя воеводой Валахии. Печать: 32 мм, красный воск, на обратной стороне, письмо завернуто. Salutationem debito cum honore, domini et amici nobis honorandi. Noveritis me in sanitate, quam sanitatem audivi et valeo audire semper et in omni tempore de vestris dominationibus et amicitiis. Nos percepimus et audivimus quid vestra dominatio et amicitia nobis intimastis per Cresta iudicem et per alios vestros consocios et intimationes libenter recepimus et salutavimus et nos libenter venissemus inter vestras amicitias, sed bene scimus quod estis pradati et percruciati et ergo non venimus. Ideo petimus vestras dilectiones, quod si abueritis talem timorem de Transalpinarum vel de alia parte, unde esset vobis grave debetis, in brevi 1) intimare nos volumus adiutorem in persona domini regis vel quinque centum vel sex vel autem plures homines dare, quantos videtis quod possitis tenere. Si autem timorem proprium magnum abueritis vos debetis intimare. Nos in persona nostra erimus ibi inter vestras dilectiones et nobis apparet, quod post deum

omnipotentem vel morio autem vestros malefactores et interdictos vestros recipere de vos. Manete cum deo omnipotenti et rogati deum quia dabit vos vultis. Datum in una villa 2) penes Segeswar feria 3) in festo sanctae Agnetis. Et 4) quid vobis dicet Zlaw de Fogaras ex parte nostra fidem et fabulam eius credere debeatis tamquam a nostro proprio ore etcetera. Bazarab waywoda Transsalpinensis amicus et minor vester in omnibus. На обратной стороне: Circumspectis viris iudici, iuratis ceterisque civibus de Brasso dominis et amicis nostris plurimum honorandis. 1) brev. 2) vita. 3) vna вычеркнуто. 4) от сюда до et cetera вынесено. Интересно здесь то, что автор подписывается Басараб воевода Валахии, не Ио Дан воевода, как Дан подписывался в письмах от 4 марта 1459, от 2 апреля 1459 года и других (меньше 2 месяца разницы), но именно Басараб и только. Дан никогда так себя не называл в своих письмах и даже имя Басараб не использовал,никогда не подписывался «Bazarab waywoda Transsalpinensis amicus et minor vester in omnibus», но «Іω Дана Воεвода Милостιя Вожιя Господинь (и это даже в латинском своем письме из Мариенбурга 1459, 2 апреля). На печати Дана изображена коронованная фигура повернутая вправо со скипетром и яблоко, рядом изображена птица, повернутая влево с крестом в клюве. Печать Дана была такова: + Печать Іω Дана Воивода Гнь. Обычно она была 20, 26, 2 х 27 мм. Эта же печать 32 мм. В письме от 1 марта 1460 года печать Дана вообще выдающаяся- На красно- черном шелковом шнурке находилось аж 15 печатей (ряд из которых печати бояр) , из которых 13 следующие: 1. Круглая, 10 мм. В центре круга крест, справа полумесяц, слева звезда, снизу геометрическая фигура. 2. Другая печать восьмиугольная, 10 мм, с примитивным изображением животного 3. 13 мм, на печати изображен гербовый щит, с лошадью на дыбы , по краям печати надпись. 4. 13 мм, повреждена. 5. 19 мм, зеленый воск. На печати изображена гербовый щит с изображением животного , повернутого направо, на дыбах. Нашлемник . По краям печати надпись латинскими буквами. 6. 24 мм, красный воск, на печати с лева направо перевернутая фигура со скипетром, посреди дерево, справа ворон с крестом в клюве. Надпись по краям печати. 7. 12 мм. На печати щит с нашлемником. 8. 12 мм. 9. Круглая, 14 мм. Полумесяц и голова быка , слева солнце, справа луна. 10. Круглая, 10 мм. 11 и 12 круглые, 12 мм, посреди контура из точек изображен четвероногий мифический зверь. 13 Круглая, 10 мм. То есть, ни печати, ни подписи не сходятся. Так какой же Басараб обещал брашовянам избавить их от их бед с земли валашской. Выходит не только Дан III, но некий Басараб, возможно сам Лай��та уже метил на трон. Или же то был сам Басараб II, ведь точной даты его смерти неизвестно (будучи прямым врагом Драгула и его семьи, Басараб II , хотя и личность малоизвестная, захватывал трон себе и был выгнан с него Драгулом. Воевода же Влад Драгуля Цепеш, несмотря на такие "заслуги" перед свои отцом Басараба II за Басарабом не гонялся, того и не искал, жил преспокойно Басараб II и после 1458, что снова не укладывается в навязанный многим характер воеводы Драгули Цепеша, как" жестокого тирана правителя", расправлявшегося со всеми врагами). Уж больно походит подпись «Bazarab waywoda Transsalpinensis amicus et minor vester in omnibus» и на- "Basarab senior wayvoda, dei gratia partium regni Transalpinarum dominus", "Bazarab senior Wayuoda, dei gratia partium regni Transalpinarum dominus", да и на Цепелюша "Bazarab iunior vaivoda partium regni Transalpinarum". Говоря о более ранних исследованиях, тот же И. Богдан спешно отнес письмо к письмам Лайоты Басараба, приписав к письму свою собственную предположительную дату 1460 год. Таким образом, в тот момент и Дан III, и некий Басараб стремились захватить власть, чем, с успехом, и пользовалось венгерское правительство, преследуя свои корыстны цели и далее активно разжигая конфликты в земле валашской. *В приложении издание со статьей, разбирающей подробно латинские письма валашских господарей -REVISTA ISTORICĂ - DĂRI DE SAMĂ, DOCUMENTE ŞI NOTIŢE , Voi. XXIX, № 1- 6, lanuar—Iunie 1943,

"ACCENTE PERSONALE ŞI INFLUENŢE LOCALE IN UNELE SCRISORI LATINEŞTI ALE DOMNILOR ROMÂNI".

[xxxdragonfucker69xxx]

i am going to post this not because it is “good” or “relevant” but because seneca has lived in my head rent fucking free since i wrote this and i want him out. help some horrible teens flirt somewhere else. this is from a r*ven c*cle p*rcy j*ckson fic please respect my privacy in these trying times.

‘hoc nemus, hunc’ inquit ‘frondoso vertice collem - 

quis deus incertum est - habitat deus. Arcades ipsum

credunt se vidisse Iovem, cum saepe nigrantem

aegida concuteret dextra nimbosque cieret.’

‘A god inhabits this grove,’ he said, ‘and this hill with its leafy summit,

(which god is unknown): my Arcadians believe they have seen

Jove himself, as his right hand has often shaken

his darkening shield, and called up the storm clouds.

+++

The classroom was sweltering hot. There was no possible reason for anyone to be wearing a sweater, indoors, in this weather, and yet Adam Parrish had never been sighted without it. He was supposedly Raven House, but Ronan had never seen him around. Ronan had never seen him, in fact, outside of three contexts. The first was when he was hanging around with Blue Sargent, discussing gods-know-what mystic bullshit. The second was picking through the herb garden behind Fox House. The third was, bizarrely enough, working with the horses in the Aglionby stable. Aglionby no longer had an official equestrianism curriculum, so the horses were kept around mostly as a courtesy to any of the wilder gods who might like to ride, but Ronan had never seen Adam on any of the horses. Just glimpsed, while crossing campus, Adam hefting hay across the fields. Or Adam slowly, patiently, stroking the knots out of a stallion's mane. Or Adam knelt down, tending to hooves that easily could have caved his skull in, as delicately as he might hold a baby. 

There was speculation, among those who bothered to notice Adam Parrish, that he was a scion of Demeter or Artemis, or maybe some flower-nymph elevated to Raven House by prophecy of greatness. Ronan put very little stock in prophecies of greatness. Gansey had one on him and it mostly seemed to make him mad when Ronan drank orange juice straight from the carton. The Barns had a stable, Ronan knew, though he didn't think it had ever been used for anything but storage. He tried to imagine Adam riding around the Barns and failed. He tried harder.

"And you, Mr. Lynch," an unwelcome voice interjected. "Perhaps you could be so good as to tell us what Seneca means by quoting Virgil here? In unoquoque virorum bonorum quis deus incertum habitat deus?" Mr. Whelk glared down at him, arms folded.

Ronan returned the glare with interest. He prided himself on looking unshaken, so he didn't bother trying to remember what Whelk had been talking about. Instead he let a corner of his mouth pull up and said, "You want me to tell you what the Romans meant about being inside a man? Sir, there are children here."

If Whelk could have spit on him, Ronan thought, he would have. But Adam Parrish's hand shot up between them, and Whelk bit back his anger to call on Adam. "I think you'll find the answer in the next section, sir." Ronan wanted to find him oily, contemptible, but Parrish's voice was even as a ship's keel. "Seneca talks about finding reverence for natural features, like springs and caves, which is why he references the Aeneid, but then he extends it to great people."

Whelk's gaze remained fixed on Ronan, but his attention was directed towards Adam now. "And I don't suppose you could find for us the relevant passage?"

Adam glanced down at his book -- purely for show, Ronan was sure, because he spoke so easily he must have memorized it. "Si hominem videris interritum periculis, intactum cupiditatibus, inter adversa felicem, in mediis tempestatibus placidum, ex superiore loco homines videntem, ex aequo deos, non subibit te veneratio eius?"

"Very good, Mr. Parrish. You remain a credit to your house. You could stand to learn something from him, Mr. Lynch." Whelk's watery glare finally swiveled away from Ronan. "In conclusion, we find that Seneca..." Ronan glowered at the back of Adam's head, and viciously imagined it bursting into flames. Under the table, he saw Blue kick Adam's shin, but Adam gave no sign that he had noticed.

+++

There was another figure, there, in the clearing that Ronan had come to think of as his. It knelt down beside the spring, as if looking down into the water, but its back was turned to Ronan and he couldn't see its face. Ronan was not skilled in sensing divinities, but power roiled from this figure in deep, unsettling waves. Quietly, Ronan held his hand out for his spear. He lifted it to throw --

The figure stood and turned, and Ronan lost his train of thought and his composure. He blurted out, "Parrish?"

Adam Parrish recoiled in shock. Ronan hadn't recognized him in the light, and because his trademark sweater was tied around his waist, leaving his torso in a faded red Coca-Cola t-shirt.  His left hand held some kind of soggy plant, and there was something like an old coin purse in his other hand. Both hands, Ronan noticed, were dripping wet and appeared to be stained with indistinguishable colors.

Parrish peered into the darkness and flinched again. Ronan realized his spear was raised and lowered it in a hurry. "Lynch?" Parrish called, an unrecognizable accent stretching his vowels. "That you?" 

Ronan stowed his spear back into nothingness and stepped forward into the clearing. Adam's body language relaxed as he did so empty-handed. Ronan said, "What the fuck?"

"I might ask you the same thing," Parrish replied. Now that he knew he was in the presence of a classmate, apparently, his voice had returned to its precise and clipped pronunciation. But Ronan was listening, now, and heard the accent pull at his words. "Shouldn't you be in bed at this time of night? Day," he amended, because sunrise red was overtaking the blue sky. 

"I asked first," Ronan retorted, and leaned against a tree. He was determined not to be outdone.

Adam shook his head and turned away. "Harvesting," he said as he knelt back over the water. He took the plants in his hand, something like stringy seaweed, and pulled them taut between his hands, wringing them dry. "Some of these have to be collected in darkness. Or by moonlight." He inspected the weeds, and finding them dry, opened the pouch and stuffed them in. Then he plunged his hands back into the water, though Ronan couldn't see anything through the reflection of the dark sky, and continued feeling around for more.

Ronan watched the process, fascinated. In Adam's hands the entire process looked matter-of-fact, like it was the natural thing to expect from some gross riverside weeds. Only habit kept his words sharp when he spoke. "And, what, you can't get this shit from the Fox House garden? Your usual dealer out of commission?"

Adam visibly elected to ignore the latter comment. Instead he said, "No, you can't. I didn't know most of these herbs existed until I found Cabeswater."

"Cabeswater?"

Adam gestured around them. "Cabeswater."

Ronan hadn't known the forest had a name, hadn't even thought to question it. Now that he knew it, though, he realized it felt right. To disguise his reaction, he said, "That doesn't sound Greek."

Adam shrugged. "It's not. Welsh, I think. But it turns out a temenos is a temenos." 

Ronan ran his mind back over his lessons like a tongue over teeth. Temene, sacred groves dedicated to a god or king. Good place to find magic herbs, he supposed, if Adam really was a witch. "What the fuck Welsh asshole is this place supposed to be dedicated to?" he asked instead.

"Does it have to be dedicated to someone? I always thought it was just generically holy."

"Si tibi occurrerit vetustis arboribus et solitam altitudinem," Ronan said, because he could, "illa proceritas silvae continuae fidem tibi numinis faciet." He said it in Ecclesiastical Latin rather than the Classical they had learned, though, crunching proceritas and faciet, because he could.

That got Adam's attention. He straightened up and turned to face Ronan, leaving his weeds in the water. "Magnorum fluminum capita veneramur, et stagna quaedam vel opacitas vel immensa altitudo sacravit," he said, and smirked at Ronan. It was a smirk of inclusion, though, a smirk that said he and Ronan in this sacred grove speaking Latin to each other were two people together and everyone else was outside.

Ronan smirked back.