#but are now left with a stubborn and deep tree stump that is difficult to remove? Hacking away at it with an axe

[ddarker-dreams]

Out With the Old. Yan Childe x Reader [COMM]

Warnings: Brief mentions of injury and blood, typical yandere undertones. Word count: 3.2k. Notes: i absolutely loved writing this!! i never realized how badly i needed a yandere childe that’s so obviously whipped for his darling. :’))

i.

“Dearest [First],

I can only imagine the look that must be on your face as you read this. Don’t be too harsh on me for saying so, but I promise not a day goes by where I haven’t thought of you. Now stop scowling at the letter, it won’t do any good, after all; it’s just a piece of paper. I’d hate to come back home to see that you’ve aged from all that frowning at parchment.

Somedays I wake and fail to notice I’m in Inazuma instead of Snezhnaya. The scenery has its differences, of course, but it’s only when I realize I can’t see you that it truly sinks in. Writing this, I realize your judgment about my honesty only appearing in written form rather than in person is true. You’ve always had a penchant for keeping me in line, haven’t you?

Not that I can blame you.

You’ll be relieved to hear that the reason for my being here turned out to be a simple misunderstanding. There’s no grand coup d'état waiting to unfold amongst the lower ranks, so, unfortunately for me, it turned out to be a waste of time. On the bright side, that means I’ll get to come back home all the faster.

Tonia tells me that you’re doing well and I’m glad to hear it. I know your parents aren’t that fond of me, which is a smart call all things considered, but I hope they’re both in good health. Let me know if they need any help with their shop and I’ll see what I can do. Just don’t let them know it was from me, or they might blow a gasket.

When I come home, I wonder if I’ll see your face among the crowd on the pier this time.

At the very least… consider not discarding this letter like the others. Really, I can’t tell who is more stubborn, me or you.

-Yours eternally, Tartaglia”

This is the first letter of his that you’ve bothered reading in some time, as he made a point of mentioning. It’s difficult to identify the exact feelings his handwriting and characteristic word choice inflicts upon you, ranging from relief to exasperation. He has some audacity, refusing to see you in person for months on end, only to carry on as if nothing happened between you.

With the letter in hand, your mind wanders back, hoping to find some hints of where it all went wrong.

You remember the words said to you on that late, fateful winter evening. The confident timbre of his voice then still resonates in your head at random, never muffling despite the years that have passed, ringing as clearly as a bell. Does he ever think about it? It’s hard to say.

“One day,” Ajax, or Tartaglia as he claimed his new identity to be, had told you, “I’m going to conquer this world.”

His breath materialized in front of him as white, vaporous wisps. There’s something about that particularly frigid season that felt like magic, more so than the Cryo Vision wrapped snug around your neck. You bit back a scathing remark and instead focused your energy elsewhere. Your gloved hand raised and hovered just above his split lip, a prominent frown etched onto your face at the fresh wound. Likely the first of many to come, you lamented.

Your Vision pulsated with life and light blue shone through at your command. The tender, bruised flesh on his lip began to close, before it faded away altogether. Tartaglia raised his hand to gently touch where it had been, now nothing but a faint memory.

With that out of the way, you placed your hands onto your hips and gave him a stern look. “I wish you’d stop saying things like that. It’s going to get you into trouble one day.”

He laughed and waved off your concern.

“If only. Things have been so dull lately, I wouldn’t mind stirring up a little trouble.” Tartaglia hummed, much to your displeasure. It was no secret in your quaint hometown of Morepesok that this boy had been spiraling down a dangerous path. Your parents said as much and even encouraged you to break off ties with him. This just won’t do, you thought.

“Ouch!”

You flicked his forehead and offered up your most intimidating glare. “So you are capable of feeling pain, huh? Good. If it keeps you out of fights, then I won’t heal you anymore.”

Tartaglia rubbed the spot and smiled sheepishly.

“You say that, but I’m sure you’d change your mind if I came to you all bloodied and battered. You’re just that kind of person.” When he paused to reflect, you raised an eyebrow and challenged him.

“Now what’s this? I’m what kind of person, Ajax?” You pinched his cheek, much to his vocal displeasure, mischief gleaming in your eyes. “Say it loud and clear this time.”

“The kind that always looks out for others, even those who don’t deserve it.”

Your arms fell limp by your side. At that moment, your heart twisted in a way it never had before. It could only compare to how it felt when Ajax had stumbled back home after missing for three, long days. You weren’t sure if you had heard him right — his eyes widened as did yours like he felt equally surprised — and he rushed to save himself. The flush that dusted over his face was most certainly not from the cold weather.

Tartaglia shot up and made way for the door at a record speed. “I told my old man that I’d be home before dark. He already worries about me enough as is, so... I’ll be on my way. See ya around.”

Your rebuttal was slow as your tongue felt frozen. Tartaglia waved to you over his shoulder and took off, leaving you to wallow in your muddled thoughts. What exactly had he meant by that? Why did his gaze soften and his usually boisterous voice drop in volume?

Questions flooded your mind, questions that wouldn’t be answered for years to come.

ii.

You’ve always found this area of Morepesok to be serene. There’s no buzz of the community gathering, chattering about the latest gossip and notable news, no vendors vying for people passing by to purchase their fresh early morning catch. The surroundings are nothing but peaceful, and most importantly, silent. In the summer, there’d only have been the sound of the rushing rivers that are now frozen over and humming insects.

Twigs and dry leaves crunch behind the tree stump you’re hanging out at, signaling an approaching figure.

“I thought I might find you here.”

Tartaglia sits down next to you, blades of grass rustling against him as he did so. You don’t bother to look up, instead feigning interest in your fingernails, staring at them intently. Anywhere other than his face, which most likely than not would be boasting his trademark grin. Seeing the fake expression that he plasters on daily would only add fuel to the fire that rages inside.

Your lips part after an uncomfortable silence settles in, the atmosphere growing tenser by the second. “So you’re a Harbinger now, huh?”

“You don’t look impressed like everyone else,” He notes, his language notably more tentative than usual. It strikes through your heart, piercing flesh and blood, your fingers curling painfully tight. If he notices, he decides not to comment. Tartaglia gives you the time to process your overwhelming thoughts as if it’d make any of this easier on you.

“How could I possibly be happy about that?” You snap your head, catching how he’s momentarily caught off guard before it’s covered up just as fast. “This… this is going to be the death of you, Ajax. And Archons, the worst part is, I know me saying that won’t matter in the slightest. That death would just be the result of a fulfilling fight to you.”

Your breathing grows erratic, to the point you’re forced to stop speaking to regain yourself. He doesn’t dare utter a single word — uncharacteristically silent — watching your every movement with calculating precision. It’s taking all your strength to keep yourself together, not wanting to come undone in front of him, feeling weak just for showing this much. This is why you were hoping to avoid him, but figures he’d go out of to seek you out.

“And if I don’t die? Would that make a difference in how you feel?” He challenges, tilting his head, voice dipping in volume. “You can be honest with me, [First]. It’s not just that you’re upset about. No, there’s something else.”

He knows you too well and it’s beyond frustrating. Your body language might be difficult for others to read, but not Tartaglia, who picks up on every little nuance with ease.

Your lower lip trembles. “I hate that this is what you’ve become.”

“So that’s it then,” Tartaglia nods his head, once, coming to terms with it as soon as the words left your lips; like he already knew it all along. “I figured as much, but to hear you say it… haven’t you heard of mincing your words before?”

Hugging your knees to your chest, you internally plead with yourself not to let the nonchalant words get to you. It’s his way of dealing with strife to act unbothered, you know this, and still, it strikes deep. What if this isn’t a façade, but who he really is now? That boy you knew and grew up with — Ajax, your dearest friend — he may be physically sitting next to you, but his soul is gone. Whatever happened in those hellish three days changed him forever. Now his flesh and bones are nothing but a vessel urged on by bloodlust.

How ironic, you think. That your Vision lets you heal physical wounds, but not the unseen kind, which runs deeper than any gash could hope to. Maybe you were a fool for thinking you could fix him, revert him to how he used to be like nothing ever happened. Or maybe he let you try just to earn more time together for whatever twisted reason. Knowing that once reality settles in, you’ll go someplace far out of his reach, where he can never get you back. Sitting here, you realize that it won’t just be you losing him. He’ll also be losing you.

Is that why he is sticking around? To prolong the inevitable?

“When I look into your eyes,” you clear your tightening throat, not willing to let yourself cry. “There’s… there’s no light, no humanity, and you know it. That has to be why you chase all those stupid fights, all so that you can feel alive again.”

Tartaglia allows you the room to ramble without interruption, your venomous feelings that have long festered gushing out. When you work up the courage to look up, you find Tartaglia frowning, staring far off but at nothing in particular. So even he can sometimes be rendered to a loss for words, huh?

He sucks in a deep breath through his nose, the chilly air invading his lungs. “You’re wrong about one thing.”

Another cautious pause. He’s giving this a lot of thought.

“My fighting is not for the sole sake of the adrenaline rush, as enjoyable as that is,” he scratches the back of his neck and forces a laugh. “It’s so that I can get stronger. I told you, didn’t I? That I intend on conquering the world. To do that, I need to be the strongest, or else I can’t fulfill my promise.”

Your lips part, eyebrows furrowing together in irritation, but he places a finger to your lips before you can tear into him. The leather feels cool against your skin, and it’s just now that you realize how close he is to you. Having been so absorbed in your emotions, you failed to notice his stealthy movements, the two of you now shoulder to shoulder. Your heart thrums, reminiscent of that day ages ago.

“When the entire world lays defeated at my feet, what I want is to have you by my side. Until that dream of mine comes true, I’m afraid I’ll have to continue making you sad, but know that it’s for a reason.”

Tartaglia pulls his hand back, his finger lingering just a second over your bottom lip, finally allowing you to speak your piece.

You’re drawn like a moth to a flame to his lifeless eyes, which have seen more bloodshed in the past few months than you could ever fathom. Murmuring, you find it within yourself to respond, albeit so quietly he has to cant forward to hear. “If you accomplish just that… who’s to say I’d want to be by your side? The side of a killer?”

“Hm? Did I ever say you had a choice in the matter?” Tartaglia returns your inquiry with a bold one of his own, one that sends you recoiling in astonishment. He lets the words settle like fresh snow on the ground before laughing them off. You cross your arms over your chest, making your displeasure over his comment evident.

“Please, I’m kidding! Don’t look at me like that,” he puts his hands up in mock defense. “Ah, it’s suddenly feeling colder than usual. You’re doing that on purpose, aren’t you? I never thought that humble [First], the child of the town’s apothecary at that, would be so bold as to freeze me to death.”

Your nose wrinkles up and you hold back a laugh, swatting at his shoulder. “Yeah, right. Like I could ever stand a chance against you in battle.”

“You might be surprised! I could make a warrior out of you yet. Think about it, Her Royal Highness the Tsaritsa saw fit to bestow a Vision upon you, didn’t she?” He accents his words by pointing to your neck, where you prefer to keep your Vision. Subconsciously, your hand raises, delicately touching the icy gem.

“I’m not like you,” you shake your head at his jest. “Hurting others is the last thing I’d ever want to do, trust me.”

He hums, your words taking him back, memories flashing in his mind. “I know, that’s why I’ve always done it in your stead.”

“Whoever would’ve thought fending off bored kids with a wooden sword would escalate into you climbing the ranks of the Fatui.” Had it not been for the final part of the sentence, you would’ve found it endearing to reminiscence back to your early childhood together. Still, the frost around your heart melts at the sweet memory, despite your attempts to keep it hardened. This goes to show how much I cherished it, you muse.

Lips curling into a smile, you take him by surprise and lay your head onto his shoulder. His muscles go tense, body unresponsive to the affection you used to bestow upon him in heaps. It’d been so long that he forgot the warmth you radiate like you were the sun incarnate. He had once commented that he expected a Cryo user to be cold, only to be delightfully surprised by how warm you were.

“Maybe I was always terrible, and you just didn’t notice?” He proposes, to which you snort.

“That most certainly is not the case. I’m a better judge of character than that.” You scoff at the mere idea. No, little Ajax had been nothing but a darling, there’s no doubting it. Wherever you’d go, he’d follow as if his life depended on it. There was hardly ever a time where the two of you wouldn’t be seen paired together.

“You’ll get no argument out of me there,” Tartaglia rests his head on top of yours like he used to. The circumstances have undoubtedly changed, but it’s nice to feign ignorance for a few minutes. “Say, you remember when we used to sneak off and meet here, right?”

“How could I forget?”

Tartaglia nods his head in agreement. “I was always dragging you into trouble, even then. I’m not one to dwell on the past, but I guess it’s hard not to when we’re here.”

Now that he mentions it, it wasn’t an immediate shift into his now unhinged personality; like all things, it began as a gradual descent. You should’ve noticed something was awry with how frequently he’d come to you, boasting injuries of all sorts. Each was accompanied by a rehearsed explanation as not to alarm you. Unfortunately for him, in a small town such as this, word travels quickly. It was inevitable that you’d find out the bitter truth behind his wounds.

Maybe you always knew but didn’t want to face reality.

“There was this one time in particular that always stuck out to me,” he closes his eyes, reflecting. “When I said I intended to marry you when we got older, or whenever you’d have me.”

You’re amazed at how Tartaglia recounts it without so much as stuttering, the humiliating memory sending your head spinning. There were so many memories he could’ve mentioned and that’s the one he decides to go with? You’re certain he’s messing with you at this point.

“I-I thought we swore never to mention that again!” You exclaim, blood rushing to your cheeks.

He blinks when you abruptly lift your head and shrugs off your concern. “I don’t remember ever agreeing to that. It was you who kept insisting to take a vow of silence on it, for whatever reason. Personally, I find it cute, you were so eager to accept my proposal then.” 

You sigh, running a hand through your hair. This irksome teasing quality had reared its head alongside his other new shortcomings. The best way to deal with it, you’ve learned, is to keep the conversation going. Dwelling on it for too long never ends well.

“So, Liyue, huh?” You recall the gossip from the marketplace earlier. Some locals were fussing over the news that the Fatui’s latest Harbinger, Tartaglia, would be sent abroad for more work. There were murmurs of excitement over how a child from this seaside town managed to make it so far up the ranks. And to think they used to bemoan Ajax’s violent streak, you remember. Now that it’s beneficial to them, they sure have changed their tune.

“I wonder what it’ll be like,” he muses. “Anthon seems to think the people there eat rocks, for whatever reason.”

“Kids always say the craziest things unprompted.”

He seems agreeable to that statement. Neither of you utters another word for some time, instead thinking of both the past and the future. It’s not a comfortable position to remain seated in, yet neither you nor he complains about it. For a few brief, glorious seconds, everything almost seems normal again.

“Hey, [First].”

You hum in response. Tartaglia’s Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows thickly, his eyebrows knitting together in contemplation. In the silence that follows, you swear you hear a sound akin to electricity crackling, the hairs on the back of your neck standing from the drastic shift in atmosphere.

“I meant what I said. Someday, you will be by my side. I don’t care what it takes, I’ll make it happen; even if you come to hate me.”

“Because once you make a promise… you keep it.”

And he intended to do just that.

[wolfkissed-drengr]

Female Eivor - Drabble pt  3

Still in her childhood.

Link to Part 1

Link to Part 2

Still in the younger years, pre game!

A/N: These are some headcanon that were stuck in my head. (One of the first times a game has given me any, outside of dragon age!) Most are very short, and go in order, starting from Eivor’s childhood. Maybe I will expand on them later, who knows.

*spoilers for my writing*

I begin to touch on some body issues Eivor has, but I do not suffer these issues in my real life. If I do it misjustice, please let me know and tell me how to make it better!

*spoilers over*

Synopsis: Eivor meets a good friend.

Word count: 1418

Warnings: There are some childhood crushes happening, but nothing of note happens here. Some descriptions of gore, and the beginning of body issues.

Years had passed. She was a young woman now, and Styrbjorn’s eye wandered to her form one too many times for her to be comfortable in the longhouse with him anymore. In the end, it took Sigurd speaking to his father on her behalf to be allowed to raise a house herself. Eivor did so gladly, and by herself. It took time, and many attempts, but in the end she had a home to call her own.

Almost as soon as she left the longhouse, the dreams started in earnest.

Eivor spoke of them first to Valka’s mother, but the woman’s mind had begun to slip and be less and less present. Soon, she chose to tell Valka herself. With Valka taking on more and more duties of the Völva, their friendship had grown more distant- but no less weak.

The dreams always began with Eivor on a snowy mountain, she tells Valka. Sigurd it kneeling before a wolf, and she is desperate to get to him. Except… in those dreams she is not a woman. She wears a man’s body. Usually she wakes before the weavers, but sometimes it carries passed that. The gate was always difficult to open, snow bunching around its door as the blizzard raged. But there before her stood Sigurd, always. Same as how he always called her Havi. And upon being called such, she would realize her vision was off because she could only see through a single eye. Clutching the stump of an arm, Sigurd would speak on how their fates were always to be, before leaving her behind and walking into the storms heart. Pulling her eye away from the dead flesh of Sigurd’s arm on the ground, she would rush as well as she could to her brother, begging for answers he would never give. The moment her hand clutched at him, he was sucked off the edge, but it always felt like she was the one to push him. A ferocious growl would sound, and a monstrous wolf would emerge from the storm, lunging at her. 

From these dreams she would always wake with a scream in her throat, icy and cold. As though she just stepped away from the mountain’s blizzard.

Valka grew more worried each time the dreams happened.

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

She had grown more or less comfortable in her body over the years. But each time the dreams happened, it was hard to pull back from the feeling that it was wrong. Each time one happened, she went to Valka for more runes, in hopes to protect against them. Soon, her whole arm was covered, and the other arm was growing a large collection as well. The new ones were tiny, and took a long time to get and to heal from.

Eivor relished in each one though. They felt like they bound her to Midgard, and to her here-and-now body, not the dream one.

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

Eivor circled the man in the training pit. An axe in one hand, and a shield gripped tightly in the other. He soon fell under her assault. And the next, and the one after. Soon, Dag stepped into the ring, under Sigurd’s encouragement. Eivor scowled behind her shield Sigurd’s choice, but she bore it as she would all his decisions.

Her and Dag circled each other in the ring, feinting and catching axes in shields. After parrying a blow from Dag, Eivor risked a look towards her brother, only to find him not watching. Anger bubbled up inside her, and she released a roar as the pumbled against Dag’s shield, it splintering under her assault. It crumbled, and as she raised her wooden axe for a final blow, Styrbjorn called for her to stop. “You’ve too much rage” he tells her, and she shouts again as she throws down her axe and shield into the muddy ground and stalks off.

He would never let her become a Drengr. What was the point of trying?

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

Sigurd found her later making a cairn atop a hill overlooking the village. “Sister,” he says- as though nothing is wrong, “you have come so far! You are very skilled. It would be a boon to have you on my longship.”

The words tear at her heart, because there is nothing she wants more.  His father will come around, he claims, just give him time. So she agreed, because what else could her fate lead to? She would kill Kjotve for vengeance of her clan, and then she would move on to become Sigurd’s right hand. The betrayal Valka seemed so sure of would never come to pass. Eivor would make sure of it.

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

Sigurd left soon after, taking Dag with him to go viking. The slice of her brother’s betrayal ran deep, and the dreams became more frequent. 

Her once bare arm was now covered in runes and designs. She pleaded with Valka to give her more, this time on her front. The amount of intricate tattoos means that wearing anything on them would burn and could infect, so she took to wearing a heavy cloak and nothing but her breastband. 

With Styrbjorn’s wandering eyes getting worse, she kept more to herself, feeling isolated in the village that was once her second home.

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

She began to spend more time with Gunnar. His eyes did not wander much passed the forge, and he gave good tips on how to manage a multitude of weapons and armor. From him Eivor learned how to make field broken armor work until she could return home. She also learned the basics of using different weapons. Swords, daggers, spears, all the things that Gunnar could make, he could use. Eivor would never have a true talent for smithing, but she learned what she could.

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

That was also the summer she met Vili. Styrbjorn sent her to summer there, as his daughter- to tie the clans closer together in trust and friendship. She learned much there, and gained fast friends. She felt more welcome there, sometimes, than in her own clan. And despite the closeness of herself and Vili, never once was there a mention of familial kinship like with Sigurd, though the same roiling of emotions sat in her belly.

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

The whole time she had been training herself, she always stood firm and never gave ground. She was a rock and did not move more than to attack. Vili changed that about her. They sparred, and she was soundly beaten for the first time in a long while. The man weaved and moved as she struck out, despite his large frame and love of heavy weaponry.

And so she trained her body to move like a wildcat, lithe and quick. Jumping from pole to pole over snowbanks, and falling in more often than not at first. But, as with everything she set to do, her stubbornness paid off. Soon she was leaping and tumbling better. Her fighting became more fluid and she even felt stronger for it.

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

They sat atop trees, throwing pinecones at the berserkers below them and laughing as they searched. The berserker brew made their minds dull. In the back of her head, Eivor was glad she never took that path- she almost did. 

Eventually her and Vili began to tire from sitting in the trees and began to pick off the berserkers, luring them into one on one fighting. Eivor was surprised at the ease she was able to overpower them. Vili’s insistence on her moving and training in this new way was a large boon to her strength.

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

Styrbjorn decided that she would winter there as well, and Eivor could not say she was saddened by it. That Yule was one of the best once since her parents were killed.

(She would never tell the story of the chickens though) Vili earned a new nickname, having drunkenly carved a dragon’s tail.

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

She was saddened to leave back to the raven clan. Vili and his father had taught her so much, and made her strong. She wondered if this was the beginning of her goodbyes to the Raven Clan, and if Styrbjorn planned on arranging a marriage between herself and Vili for alliances. She didn’t think she would be upset at the prospect. Vili seemed like a man who would not try to make her into something she was not. Much like (the little she remembered anymore) her father and mother.

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

Sadly it was not meant to be, with Vili and his clan sailing to England the following year.

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[ramblinganthropologist]

Writober 2020 - Moon

Summary: Anders just wanted to pick some plants. He didn’t expect to realize he had a crush on Avery Hawke. 

(Note: it’s a weird Fenhanders 4x4 in the end. It’s all consensual, and it works out just fine. But we’re not there yet.)

---

There is one over there.

There were a lot of them everywhere; it was kind of the point.

Anders could already feel a dull ache in his lower back as he bent to examine the plants in front of him. Without the light of a brilliant full moon high above his head, he would have missed the delicate leaves he had seen hours before only on the pages of a book. These, he had read, were good for the fevers and coughs that would plague all of Darktown come the colder months. With any luck, he would be able to pick and dry them before them.

That was if he was able to pick them, though. He wasn't exactly getting any younger...

“What, too far away from the ground to get it?”

The voice came from the left and was amplified by the solid bark of Ferelden's heraldic nightmare. Anders hadn't come alone that night – his companion had refused to let him do so. She was mostly there for protection, but... well she was lower to the ground than him.

He found her where she had stopped, sitting on a fallen tree stump and watching him as he examined the plants. Under the light of the moon, Avery's eyes were glowing. No doubt she had seen the light reflect off the leaves long before he had.

And of course, she hadn't deigned to tell him. Warriors.

“Just trying to pick the best one.” His back said otherwise. “But I am more than willing to take average specimens if you care to help.”

No surprise came when Avery hopped off the stump and bounded over to him, her faithful mabari Chewy at her heels. Much to his relief, the dog didn't start to paw at his bounty when she got close. That would have been problematic to say the least.

“Sure, it's those ones that are all shiny in the moonlight, right? How many do you need?”

As many as possible.

Justice was wide awake from the constant hum in Anders' head. He was used to it, but something about the warrior always woke the spirit up. He usually boiled it down to her being a reaver and left it at that. Any other thought gave him a headache.

Still, they had a point. “Leave enough for the animals and anyone who comes by, but it's going to be another bad cold season for sure.”

“Got it.” She got to picking; being lower to the ground, it was easier for her. “Good thing Moses was busy with Fen tonight, huh? He never would've gotten down here, would've had to freaking bend him in half or something.”

…

Maybe it was the exhaustion setting in, but Anders could practically see the large man folded in half in an attempt to pick the plants under the moonlight. He found himself similarly doubled over ,though this time in laughter that erupted from deep within his stomach. Breathing became difficult as tears stung at his eyes, unable to control himself.

At least Avery was laughing with him. He heard her bark of laughter somewhere to his side. Even in that respect, she was Ferelden. In a weird way, he could respect that as he felt laughter scrape against his insides. It had been a while, so maybe some spring cleaning had been desperately needed. Or, maybe the moon was driving him absolutely insane. Lunatics, all that.

Are you going to be alright? Peak moonlight is within the hour and the plants lose some effect after that.

“Sorry, Justice, I'm holding him up!” Avery answered as if she could hear what was going on in his head. She swiped a hand across her eyes and flicked the remains away. When she saw his face, she added, “You get that look when they're not happy with something. I figured you were getting read the riot act.”

I do not read the riot act.

Anders found it hard to contain a snicker as he dabbed at his own eyes. “Something like that, yes. I do appreciate the help, though. I know you usually work at night.”

At the Rose. Or at least she had before the Deep Roads. Anders had often heard about it when a worker found his way to the clinic. Avery had made somewhat of a name for herself as the Blooming Rose's favorite bouncer. If you asked anywhere else in town, people probably would've spit as they said that. That was of course probably because she had kicked them out, but that was a story for another night where he wasn't trying to collect herbs.

His companion kept picking, a small pile forming off to the side. “I was off tonight anyway. Besides, no way I was letting you out alone in fucking Kirkwall at night.”

Technically, they weren't in Kirkwall. Also technically, they were on the Wounded Coast so it was honestly just as bad. She had him there.

“I'm a bit surprised you still work there.” He paused, wiping his brow after pulling at a particularly stubborn root. “What with the expedition paying off and all.”

Avery responded by nudging him to the side to pull it out for him with way too much ease. They were close enough that he could smell her sweat and the soap they used to clean clothes. Often he smelled it on Moses' skin as they lay in bed together, but this was a new experience. Honestly, it wasn't an unpleasant one.

Focus. Besides, you have Moses.

He did. And Moses was currently with Fenris. The two had grown close over the months together, to the point they could share a bed now. It had been a somewhat awkward discussion among the four of them, but things were working out so far. The only downside was that the mage had been too busy to help him – thus borrowing his frequent shoulder accessory had been somewhat required.

But at least she talked a little more. That was nice. Moses was kind of the strong and silent type, though that was plenty attractive too in its own right.

“I like the people there, and I can get paid for tossing creeps on their ass. Seems like a dream job for me.” She wiped the sweat from her brow, trailing dirt in her wake. “Besides, it pisses Leandra off when her annoying noble friends talk about me. Might as well give them something to discuss over tea, am I right?”

And then she grinned, exposing her reaver-sharpened incisors that glinted in the moonlight. Anders felt his mouth go dry as his heart skipped a beat. Face heating up, he turned away on the guise of looking for more plants to pick.

Damn his brain. And his loins for that matter.

“Well, as long as you get to annoy your mother and it keeps the workers from being harassed.”

Your voice almost cracked. I take that to mean you do find her attractive then?

Leave it to Justice to announce the dragon in the room.

Anders scowled at the ground as he continued to pick. Over all the turmoil, Avery chatted with her dog as she worked. Clearly, she had missed his mild turmoil. That or she was enjoying it. With the half elf, it was hard to tell.

Did he though? When she turned, he stole a quick glance. There was dirt on the knees of her pants, and it looked as though she had forgotten to brush her hair again. The smudge of dirt on her nose was a secondary kaddis as she chatted with Chewy, laughing at the mabari's antics. Every so often, he caught those incisors and glowing eyes as she worked.

…

Shit.

“Hey, Anders. I think we should move spots. It's starting to get a little sparse around here.”

There were those glowing eyes, focused on him as she straightened up to her meager height. Avery had more dirt on her face now, but it didn't seem to bother her as she deposited her work into his waiting basket. Then she wiped her hands off on her pants as she whistled for her dog.

The mage managed to nod dully as realization crashed over him in waves. “Good idea. I believe there's a spot not too far ahead.”

“I'll keep my eyes out for the shiny leaves. Just stay close and try not to break an ankle.” She paused. “I mean, you could probably heal yourself but that seems like a real pain in the ass out here with infection and all. I dunno, I'm not a mage or anything that's more your thing.”

Avery shrugged, oblivious as she started to walk off. It left Anders to watch her as she slowly disappeared into the darkness, her footsteps and the bark of her faithful mabari the only indication she was there at all.

Shit.

I would advise following.

Anders scowled as he came back to himself. “I am.”

She is almost out of sight.

Leave it to Justice to know how to bring him back to the task at hand. Anders swore under his breath as he sought to catch up to the half elf. At least he had the moon to guide him as they traversed the rocky edges of the wounded coast, searching for herbs.

He had found plenty, all right. What he wasn't expecting to find was a damn crush on his friend. How the hell was he going to get out of this one?

Shit.

[woodedcove]

Gratitude during Adversity

Photo by my sweetheart, Dave Hogan. Taken in Stanley Park Vancouver, B. C.

I write this post from bed today because my body doesn’t have the energy to be up and about. It’s one of the adversities with which I’m afflicted and I have to say that sometimes I find it pretty difficult to deal with. Then again I think it would be safe to say that most people find adversity to be a very unwelcome guest. Yet, in Mosiah 26: 38-39 The Lord gives the commandment to “give thanks in all things”. Paul writes in 1 Thessalonians 5:18 “In every thing give thanks”. When in the midst of a struggle this seems like the last thing we should be expected to do, yet it’s a commandment. How can we do this? I don’t have the answers for everyone, but I do have a lot of experience, and being older has given me a bit of hindsight.

When I was around 16 years of age I started having severe backaches and I was often sick to my stomach. It wasn’t until I was 28 years old that I was diagnosed with Ankylosing Spondylitis (a form of arthritis that affects the spine, eventually fusing it into something that looks like bamboo) and Crohn’s Disease (a disease that causes pain, inflammation,  and ulcerations in the small and sometimes large intestine). It was quite a blow to realize that I had two diseases that I would have to live with for the rest of my life. No matter how many blessings I received, prayers I said, or cures I tried, the Lord hasn't released me from these trials.  They have been my companions now for nearly forty years.

Some might be tempted to believe that the reason why I have these diseases is that I’ve done something wrong and that I’m being punished. But that just doesn’t fit with what I understand about God. See, I know that God loves us; we are his children and He wants us to grow and become more like Him. That’s the reason why he gave us commandments and scriptures; to help us, to teach us, and to bring us closer to Him. Yes, when we choose to ignore those commandments we can bring adversity on ourselves, but I also believe that when we truly repent the Lord will take from us the shackles of bondage sin can bring. So, if I'm not being punished then why do I have these health problems? How do they fit in the picture of a loving God?

Looking back I can see some of the many choices I could have made that would have taken me in a very different direction. I was interested in opera and wanted to go to Milan Italy to study opera there. But my Dad and I had a sincere talk about my future and he pointed out that I was often sick, and that many times I lost my voice. This would make it very difficult, if not impossible, to sing. I also knew that sometimes I had a really hard time getting a deep breath. This was because the Ankylosing Spondylitis wouldn't let my rib cage expand so that I could take in more air. Again, not something that would help me sing opera.

I had also thought about going into acting, (something that I see now would have been a major mistake as I think I could have become spiritually lost very quickly in that field). At the time I was thinking of this profession, my neck stopped working and my spine became stiff, both problems which were due to arthritis.

So I chose animation. It was a good direction and it seemed to be the direction that the Lord wanted me to go for a time. But there came a time when the Lord wanted me to go a different way. A way that I really didn’t want to go. It would mean I would be teaching and I was scared to death of having to get up in front of a bunch of people and teach. But, with teaching came consistent health insurance, and with health insurance would come access to a very expensive medication, one that improved my ability to move tenfold. So I started teaching and learned that I actually enjoyed teaching more than working in the animation industry. I also started to learn that the Lord might, just might, know what was best for me. I began to trust Him.

The time then came for me to leave teaching. A serious kidney infection put my life in danger so I was given a very strong antibiotic that, while it cured the kidney infection, it also destroyed my energy. I have never regained the energy I had before that infection. Instead, the treatment left me with a plethora of added health issues that made it impossible for me to keep up with the demands of my job. I was heartbroken. I had been teaching students that I truly loved and now I couldn't do it anymore. Every time I've tried to do the amount of work that I would usually do in a normal workday ten years ago, I pay for it by having to recoup in bed for several days. What can I do in bed? I’ve tried drawing, but even that takes more energy than I have sometimes. So, I write.

Do you see how the Lord has used these health trials to guide me, to help me be open to trying a different direction or to doing his will? I can be pretty stubborn. Yet He helps me through giving me what I need to bring me unto Him, even if it means giving me a trial. Why would He do this?

Good timber does not grow with ease,   The stronger wind, the stronger trees, The further sky, the greater length,   The more the storm, the more the strength. By sun and cold, by rain and snow,    In trees and men, good timbers grow.

Years ago there was a leader in my church that told this story:

Sixty-odd years ago I was on a farm in Canada. I had purchased the farm from another who had been somewhat careless in keeping it up. I went out one morning and found a currant bush that was at least six feet high. I knew that it was going all to wood. There was no sign of blossom or of fruit. I had had some experience in pruning trees before we left Salt Lake to go to Canada, as my father had a fruit farm. So I got my pruning shears and went to work on that currant bush, and I clipped it and cut it and cut it down until there was nothing left but a little clump of stumps ... As I looked at this little clump of stumps, there seemed to be a tear on each one, and I said, “What’s the matter, currant bush? What are you crying about?”

And I thought I heard that currant bush speak. It seemed to say, “How could you do this to me? I was making such wonderful growth. I was almost as large as the fruit tree and the shade tree, and now you have cut me down. And all in the garden will look upon me with contempt and pity. How could you do it? I thought you were the gardener here.”

I said, “Look, little currant bush, I am the gardener here, and I know what I want you to be. If I let you go the way you want to go, you will never amount to anything. But someday, when you are laden with fruit, you are going to think back and say, ‘Thank you, Mr. Gardener, for cutting me down, for loving me enough to hurt me.’”

Ten years passed, and I found myself in Europe. I had made some progress in the First World War in the Canadian army. In fact, I was a field officer, and there was only one man between me and the rank of general, which I had cherished in my heart for years. Then he became a casualty. And the day after, I received a telegram from London from General Turner, who was in charge of all Canadian officers. The telegram said, “Be in my office tomorrow morning at ten o’clock.”

The next morning  "I walked into the office of the general. I saluted him smartly, and he replied to my salute as higher officers usually do to juniors—sort of a “Get out of the way, worm.” Then he said, “Sit down, Brown.”

I was deflated. I sat down. And he said, “Brown, you are entitled to this promotion, but I cannot make it. You have qualified and passed the regulations, you have had the experience, and you are entitled to it in every way, but I cannot make this appointment.”

Just then he went into the other room to answer a phone call, and I did what most every officer and man in the army would do under those circumstances: I looked over on his desk to see what my personal history sheet showed. And I saw written on the bottom of that history sheet in large capital letters: “THIS MAN IS A MORMON.”

Now at that time, we were hated heartily in Britain, and I knew why he couldn’t make the appointment. Finally, he came back and said, “That’s all, Brown.”

I saluted him, less heartily than before, and went out. On my way back to Shorncliffe, 120 kilometers away, I thought every turn of the wheels that clacked across the rails was saying, “You’re a failure. You must go home and be called a coward by those who do not understand.” And bitterness rose in my heart until I arrived, finally, in my tent, and I rather vigorously threw my cap on the cot, together with my Sam Browne belt. I clenched my fist, and I shook it at heaven, and I said, “How could you do this to me, God? I’ve done everything that I knew how to do to uphold the standards of the Church. I was making such wonderful growth, and now you’ve cut me down. How could you do it?”

And then I heard a voice. It sounded like my own voice, and the voice said, “I am the gardener here. I know what I want you to be. If I let you go the way you want to go, you will never amount to anything. And someday, when you are ripened in life, you are going to shout back across the time and say, ‘Thank you, Mr. Gardener, for cutting me down, for loving me enough to hurt me.’”  

I don’t know all the reasons why people go through what they go through. All I know is that my adversities have taught me about patience and waiting on the Lord. They’ve taught me that the Lord knows my worries and concerns and that He also knows what I can be. They’ve taught and are still teaching me that the Lord knows what’s best for me, that he sees the whole picture, the eternal plan, and that I can trust that He will do what is best for me. And that is something that I can truly give thanks for even during adversity.

[xuxibelle]

Blessing

Pairing: Ivar x Reader

Word count: 3,017

Warnings: angst, fluff

Requested: No. This was for  @geekandbooknerd’s writing challenge. I had the prompts “It was you the whole time.”, “It’s okay. You can leave. They all do.”, & “Did you mean the things you said?”

Summary: What happens when Y/N is forced to stay away from her best friend? Does she listen? Can she listen? Or does she fight?

At first, growing up in Kattegat was difficult. You were painfully shy and that made it hard to make new friends so you kept to yourself most of the time… until you met the one person you’ve never been able to hide from… Ivar. When you were smaller children, you would watch each other from afar, neither of you knowing what to do or say to the other, so you just kept your distance. Once you were a little older and able to start understanding things more, you understood that what was going on wasn’t right. The other kids were making fun of both you and Ivar, although for different reasons, you knew it was still wrong. This is what drove you to start talking to him in the first place, and once you did, you two became nearly inseparable. That is… until your father realized just exactly who you were spending so much time with.

“But, Father, he’s not like you think…” you try to explain to him one night.

“I won’t hear it, Y/N. You are to stay away from him, do you understand me?” your father said in his most authoritative tone.

“He’s my best friend… you can’t take that away from me… He’s the only one I have!” you nearly shout at him.

“You can make other friends. I don’t want you anywhere near him” he commands you. Feeling the tears welling up in your eyes, you stood and left the table to go to your room. You didn’t understand how your father couldn’t see that Ivar was really a good person. He always made sure no one hurt you and that if you needed anything, it was taken care of. The next day, you went about things as normal hoping that you wouldn’t run into Ivar. You always took a walk through the woods at some point during the day, but this time you decided to go a little farther and walk up the side of the mountain. Rounding a corner on the path, you thought you were just hearing things until you walked closer and realized that you were actually hearing the sounds of swords clashing together. Letting your emotions get the best of you, you rush towards the noise thinking someone was fighting and maybe you could help in some way. But when you ran into the clearing, you came upon something you did not expect to see… two of the princes battling in the center of the clearing and Ivar off to the side, seeming to delight in watching his brothers attacking each other and waiting his turn. His eyes snapped up to yours as you rounded the corner. The brothers stopped their swordplay when they noticed Ivar’s movement and where he was looking, turning their attention to you as well.

“Oh… it’s just you,” you say in relief.

“Just us?” you hear one of the older brothers laugh, you weren’t sure which one, Hvitserk you think because the voice wasn’t as deep, but you were still focused on Ivar.

“Yes…?” you say in confusion.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Ubbe asks.

“Well, I was walking and I heard the sounds of the swords so I thought someone might be in trouble. That’s why I rushed in. I didn’t think it would be you up here practicing,” you explain.

“As if you could do anything to help someone fighting,” Ubbe laughs. “You shouldn’t be up here anyway,” he tells you with a harsh glare as he starts to take a step towards you.

“Leave her be, brother,” you hear Ivar tell him.

“What?” Ubbe asks him.

“I said leave Y/N be. She didn’t know we were here,” Ivar explains to him. “Did you, Y/N?” he asks you, turning his attention to you.

“No! I didn’t, I swear,” you rush out in desperation, hoping Ubbe would just listen to Ivar for once and leave you alone.

“Come, brother, let’s go back to the hall. I’m sure the meal is ready for us by now,” you hear Hvitserk call to him from the edge of the clearing where he was picking up the other equipment they had used. Ubbe glared at you one last time before joining his brother in picking up the extra weapons and heading back to the town. You breathed a sigh of relief once he was gone.

“Thank the gods,” you say just above a whisper.

“Are you okay?” Ivar asks quietly.

“I’m fine, Ivar. Just trying to clear my head with a walk,” you explain as you try to leave.

“Wait, come sit with me a bit. You must be tired from your walk up the mountain,” he says in a soft voice. You hesitantly turn and go to sit near him, never fully looking at him. “Are you sure you’re okay. Something doesn’t seem right with you today.” You take a breath as you sniffle a bit.

“Not really,” you say quietly.

“What’s wrong? Has someone hurt you? Tell me who it is,” he blurts out making you laugh.

“It’s nothing like that. I mean, I am hurt, but not like you’re thinking…” you try to explain. You try to start again after taking a few breaths. “It’s father…”

“Is he sick? Or hurt?” Ivar asks curiously. You could tell he was genuinely concerned making it that much harder to tell him what your father had said and that much harder for you to understand why your father didn’t like him.

“No, he’s fine… Just being stubborn really… He won’t listen to me… He told me that I need to stay away from you… th-that you’re not a good person,” you say as you hear your voice crack and you feel the tears line your eyes. “But I know you are… I know who you really are and he can’t see that. He doesn’t understand.”

“Oh… I see,” you hear Ivar say quietly as you watch his posture and demeanor change. “It’s okay. You can leave. They all do.” You shake your head at him.

“You know I don’t want to,” you tell him with your voice barely above a whisper.

“Y/N, it’s fine. Do what your father says. I don’t want to get you into trouble,” Ivar tells you before sliding down off the tree stump he was sitting on and crawling away as fast as he could, leaving you behind as you tried to fight back the tears. Over the next few weeks, your father had you helping him with his work to help keep you busy and away from Ivar, yet you still saw him everyday when you went to the market. Exchanging glances across the way, you would give each other small smiles and the occasional wave if your father wasn’t nearby. The next few days you didn’t see any of the princes at the market and it had you wondering.  Few more days went by with you not seeing them before you started asking around. You found out that they had went to England on a raid and there was no telling when they would be back. About a month later a few ships returned, but not the princes, they had remained in England. Torvi was among the people that had returned and you saw that she was walking towards you, which you found odd. You knew her but you weren’t really friends. You spoke when you had to and you were nice to each other but with you being shy, you usually kept to yourself. When she reached you, she took your arm and pulled you away from the crowd.

“I need to speak with you,” she tells you as you walk with her.

“Alright,” you tell her as you give her a confused look but continue to follow her as she releases your arm. Once you were far enough away from the crowd, she looked around to make sure there wasn’t anyone nearby before she began to speak.

“Before I tell you what i have to say, I want you to know Ivar is well,” she tells you as you breathe a sigh of relief.

“Thank you,” you tell her quietly.

“He told us of what your father has done,” she explains with a sympathetic look. You nod your head in understanding.

“Is he mad?” you ask shyly.

“Mad?” she questions.

“At me? For listening to my father?” you explain.

“No,” she laughs. “Quite the opposite really. That’s why I’m here. He hasn’t told anyone but me, not even the brothers. He wants you to know that he’s coming back for you.”

“Wh-what…?” you stumble out. “What does that even mean?”

“I cannot say any more than that. He must tell you the rest. Just be prepared for when he comes,” Torvi says with a smile. You nod your head as you feel the tears forming again. “Don’t cry, sweetheart. You’re gonna be alright. And I want you to know, if you need anything, you can always come to me. I know we haven’t talked much, but I’ll be here for you too. I’ve always liked you,” she tells you as she pulls you into a hug.

“Thank you, Torvi,” you say quietly as you hug her back. The next 6 weeks went by excruciatingly slow for you. With your anxiety levels up after what Torvi had said, everything was on edge so naturally when you heard the horns signalling that there were ships, you almost panicked. By the time you reached the docks, everyone was already off the ships and walking off the docks to find their people. You didn’t see Ivar anywhere so you looked for the other princes and found Hvitserk first, running to him. “Where is he?” you ask as you place your hand on Hvitserk’s shoulder to get his attention, making him turn to look at you.

“Good to see you too, Y/N” he laughs as you roll your eyes.

“You know I’m happy that you are all home safe. Now, please,” you beg as he smiles at you and you follow his eyes when they look behind you. Turning around, you see Ivar walking towards you with metal braces on his legs and using a crutch. “Wh-what is this?” you ask in excitement as you look down at his legs and up at him with a huge smile.

“Just something to make me more ‘normal.’ What do you think?” he asks you.

“It’s amazing! But you don’t need to be normal, Ivar. You know that. You’re perfect the way you are,” you tell him in response. Once you realize what you say, your hand flies to cover your mouth and you feel your face flush. “I-i’m sorry.”

“Don’t be,” he smiles at you. “I missed you while we were away. I missed talking to you like we used to,” he tells you. You bite your lip as you look up at him with a tear in your eye.

“I missed you too,” you say quietly.

“I’ve got some things I need to take care of with my brothers. Would you meet me later?” Ivar asks you.

“Yes, of course. Usual spot?” you ask to be sure.

“Yea. Down the beach, the place where no one else goes,” he half laughs as he looks at you, resting his palm against your face making your eyes flutter shut as he rubs his thumb across your cheek. “You look more beautiful than I remember,” he whispers in your ear before he begins to walk towards his brothers. “Alright, let’s get this over with,” he tells them with a laugh. “I’ve got things to do.” You watch as they all walk towards the great hall and disappear inside before you walk back to your house and go to your room, sitting on your bed and thinking over what just happened. Your father asks where you were going when you were leaving to meet Ivar.

“Just down to the beach. Just wanted some quiet,” you tell him as he nods.

“Don’t be too late,” he tells you before you walk out the door. You hated lying to him, but you knew he wouldn’t let you go if he knew you were going to see Ivar. He was already there when you walked up to the rock you usually sat on.

“You’re early,” you say quietly as you sit beside him.

“Couldn’t wait any longer,” he tells you as he looks out over the water.

“Is something bothering you?” you ask before you see him slightly nod his head. “What is it? Maybe I can help.”

“There’s this girl…” Ivar begins with a smile and you feel your heart sink. “She… I don’t know what to do about her…”

“You like her… a lot?” you ask. He nods his head yes. “Tell her.”

“I don’t know if I should,” he tells you.

“Why not?” you ask.

“Her family is complicated,” he explains.

“That shouldn’t matter. I know if I loved someone and my father didn’t like him, I would fight for it,” you tell him. Ivar turns his head and meets your eyes.

“You would?” he asks with hope in his eyes.

“Of course I would,” you tell him. “You have to fight for what you love, for what you believe in,” you say as you rest your hand on his. Looking at your hands, he takes a breath as he takes your hand in his and looks back at you.

“Y/N,” he starts slowly. “...it was you the whole time.”

“What do you mean?” you ask confused.

“It’s you… I’m in love with you,” Ivar tells you quietly as he watches your eyes grow slightly wider.

“You’re just saying that to make me feel better,” you half laugh as he shakes his head no.

“Did you mean the things you said? About your father… That you would fight for what you loved?” he asked you with a shaky voice.

“I-i did… I do,” you tell him, your voice just as shaky. “It’s always been you…” you say as he smiles at you. He cups your face in his hands as he leans his forehead against yours. “I love you,” you nearly whisper, making his eyes flutter shut as he smiles.

“Say it again,” he asks you quietly.

“I love you, Ivar,” you giggle as you look up at him, smiling. He presses his lips to yours in a soft kiss, making your eyes flutter shut again. You begin to move your lips against his while you wrap your arms around his neck to pull him closer to you and he wraps his arms around your waist. When you pull back from the kiss, he gently nips at your bottom lip almost making you whine.

“So, I guess the next step is talking to your father?” Ivar questions.

“Yea…. I guess so,” you say as you shrug your shoulders. “Are you sure you’re prepared for that?”

“No not really, but I’m gonna do it anyway,” he laughs.

“Dinner tonight?” you suggest.

“Sounds good,” he tells you with a smile. You stay in the spot at the beach for a while longer before you both return to your places. Ivar shows up for dinner as planned even though your father protested when you told him half an hour before. Dinner went surprisingly well, even the conversation between Ivar and your father. After the meal was finished, you still sat at the table and talked.

“Now, why don’t you tell me why you are really here,” your father tells Ivar with a knowing look.

“Father!” you whisper shout.

“No, Y/N. He’s right… There is another reason I’m here,” Ivar tells you with a smile as you give him a confused look. “I felt it was only right to come here and ask you for permission before I spoke with Y/N,” Ivar tells your father. You watch as your father nods his head, waiting for Ivar to continue. You were lost, had no idea what was happening. “Would you give me your permission? Would we have your blessing?” Ivar asked. You hear a heavy sigh come from your father before you look at him.

“You know I didn’t like you, but if you are what makes my Y/N happy and this is what she wants... then yes. You have my blessing,” your father tells Ivar and you see smiles on both of their faces.

“What’s going on?” you ask them.

“Well… I…” Ivar begins as he gets up from his seat and walks over to you, taking your hands in his. “Y/N… you know we’ve been close for a long time, and I don’t want to lose that, ever. What we talked about earlier today, it made me think… While I was gone, you were all I could think of… and I want to know that no matter what, whether I am gone or present, you will be protected and taken care of… What I’m trying to say is… Will you marry me?” Ivar tells you softly before he asks the question. You feel the tears in your eyes spill over the edge as he reaches the end and asks the question.

“Yes, of course I will,” you say in a shaky voice as you stand up and wrap your arms around him in a hug. He leans his crutch against the table so he can wrap his arms around you as well, nuzzling his face into your neck. “I love you,” you say against his shoulder before he pulls you back to look down at you, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear.

“I love you,” he says quietly before he presses a quick, soft kiss to your lips, not wanting to upset your father. “Thank you, sir,” you hear him say as he turns his head towards your father.

“Anything for my daughter,” he smiles at you both. “Just be sure to take care of her, or you’ll deal with me,” you hear you father tell him, making you laugh.

“Don’t worry,” Ivar tells him as he looks down at you. “She will be well taken care of.”

@nerdraging4point0 /  @bringmethehorizonandpizza​  /  @sunshine112  /  @summernykole  /  @empressdreams / @justasmisunderstoodasloki / @bisexual-sk8r /  @devildisguiseasangel​ / @fanficparker / @ivaraddict​ / @dangerousvikings​ / @lisinfleur​ / @honestsycrets 

[imaginetonyandbucky]

Tony Stark’s Guide to Being a Functional Adult

Step 2: Learn Basic Adulting (AO3)

Dinner that evening was a slightly awkward affair; Bucky was clearly self-conscious about having a virtual stranger in his home and Tony was too tired to turn on the charm like he normally would.  They had ordered cheap Chinese takeout that Bucky must be enjoying, judging from the way he was steadily emptying his carton of General Tso’s, but Tony mostly picked at his and wondered if it was possible to develop atherosclerosis from a single meal.

“So are you going to get the rest of your stuff tomorrow?” Bucky asked as he got up to pour himself another glass of water.

Tony toyed with his chopsticks and stared down at the glutinous mass on his plate. “That is all my stuff. My dad kicked me out of the house and that was everything I had on me when I left.”

“Oh, shit, I’m sorry.” Bucky’s face creased with sympathy. “You know, if you need to pick up some stuff I can take you to the store.”

Tony sighed and rubbed his eyes.  “I can go myself, if you just tell me where it is.”

“It’s not a big deal, I need to pick up some stuff too. We can go tomorrow.”  Bucky pushed back from the table and started cleaning up, tossing his empty food carton in the trash and putting his silverware and glass in the sink.  “I figure we’ll trade off doing dishes?” Bucky said over his shoulder as he grabbed a towel from his room and headed to the bathroom.

“Sounds fair,” Tony called back.  He put his almost untouched Chinese food away and eyed the pile of dishes in the sink like it was a nest of snakes.  But there was a sponge behind the faucet and one of the bottles below the sink identified itself as dishwashing liquid, so he was almost done when Bucky got out of the shower.

“Oh, you washed them all by hand,” Bucky said in surprise, toweling his hair dry, his t-shirt and sweatpants clinging to his damp skin in a way that almost had Tony dropping the slippery glass in his hand. “You could have put them in the dishwasher.”

“Oh,” Tony said, looking back down at the soapy sink, face getting hot.  “I, um, didn’t see it there.  I’m almost done anyway.”

As Bucky shrugged and turned away, Tony glared at the dishwasher and quickly finished scrubbing the plates.

(More after the break!)

After an abysmal night’s sleep getting used to the night sounds in an alien part of the city, Tony made himself a bowl of cereal and then spent a solid fifteen minutes staring at the blinking cursor on his screen, struggling with indecision.  He’d googled the proper format for a resume but got stumped at the very first step – having his name on the top of the document.  The word “Stark” marched black and ominous across the top and revealed the gaping hole in Tony’s plan: who in their right mind was going to hire him? Who would believe that a Stark was genuinely interested in working a wage job, and then could be trusted to keep quiet about it when any tabloid would pay good money for the hot tip that Tony Stark was punching a time clock? He couldn’t lie, like he had to Bucky, because he didn’t have a fake ID nor the vaguest idea of how to get one.  “Shit,” he said, raking his hands through his hair as he thought furiously.  He didn’t even know how to go about finding a job under the table; do you just go around to businesses and ask?

Eventually he closed the resume document – “No, don’t bother saving it,” he muttered resentfully, closing the dialogue box on his screen – and sent an email to his old professors, asking if they knew of any paid positions that were accepting students, carefully phrasing it so it looked like he just needed work experience instead of money. One guy got back to him immediately, but his response was not encouraging.  “Paid positions are usually limited to students with financial need,” Tony read. “Well, shit.”  He thought about writing back and explaining that he was one of those students, but again, the prospect of reading about his family drama on the New York Daily News stopped him.  With another curse of frustration he closed his laptop and set it on the floor, then rolled over to bury his face in his pillow.  How do people do this?

There was a knock on the door and then Bucky said “Tony? Are you ready to go to the store?”

Tony sighed and sat up.  “Sure, hold on a second.”

The drive was short but Tony spent most of it frowning to himself as he watched Bucky navigate the car’s controls one-handed. Doing almost anything, like hitting the turn signal or putting down a window, involved holding the steering wheel still with a knee and awkwardly reaching over; Tony imagined he didn’t listen to the radio very often because changing the channel would be a hell of a hassle.  But it wouldn’t be that difficult to move the important things to the right side of the steering column where Bucky could reach them, Tony mused.  If he could wire the controls for the radio and windows straight into the steering wheel that would be best, but you would need to-

“Alright, we’re here,” Bucky announced, putting the car in park and interrupting Tony’s thoughts.

“Dollar Tree?” Tony read the store’s sign as he climbed out of the car. “What is this place?”

“It’s like a Dollar General but cheaper.” At Tony’s still baffled look, he said, “You’ve never heard of Dollar General? What about Walmart?”

“Oh, yeah, Walmart,” Tony echoed, making a conscious effort to smooth the look of confusion from his face.  He obediently followed Bucky around the store with a shopping cart, wincing at the squeaky wheel that announced his progress through the store and using his best poker face to keep from wrinkling his nose at the musty smell and the crowded, overflowing shelves. When they came up to the register Tony handed over his credit card and prayed that his father hadn’t gotten around to cancelling it yet, because the cash he had in his pocket wouldn’t cover it and they still had to go get groceries.

“You seem like you’ve had some experience with this,” Tony commented as they loaded all of his newly acquired stuff in the trunk.  Bucky had been the one to take the lead, letting Tony push the cart around while he threw stuff into the basket, stuff Tony hadn’t even thought of needing like socks and underwear and spare toothbrushes.  His matter-of-fact attitude about the entire trip had gone a long way to making Tony feel better about not knowing what the hell he was doing.

Bucky snorted. “People like to think it’s all kumbaya out there for gay kids since gay marriage was legalized, but I know plenty of people that got kicked out of their homes for being gay or trans. So yeah, I’ve done this a time or two.”

Tony couldn’t help but wonder if maybe that was part of his dad’s problem with him going back to school, like maybe Howard thought that if Tony came home to work at SI he would settle down into respectable heterosexuality with some high society debutante.  “Did it happen to you?” He blurted as they got into the car.

“No, my parents were really cool about it when I came out,” Bucky answered, apparently not bothered by the fact that Tony had pretty much just asked him if he were gay.  “Where to now? Grocery store?”

“Yes please.”  As Bucky cranked the car, Tony took a deep breath and said, “By the way, I’m bi.”

Bucky flashed him a grin as he turned around in his seat to back up the car.  “Nice to meet you, Bi. I’m Bucky.”

“Oh, God,” Tony groaned with a short laugh. “Is that what your parents said to you when you came out?”

“Kind of.  When I told my mom I was gay she said, ‘Nice to meet you, Mr. Gay, you look an awful lot like my son Bucky.’”

“Yeah, my parents did not have that reaction,” Tony said with a grimace. His mom had looked confused and cried a little and his dad had locked himself in the office for the rest of the evening, and then they had never really talked about it again.  The one time Tony had brought a guy over for dinner his father left on a ‘sudden’ business trip that ended up lasting the whole weekend; Tony had gotten the message after that.

“I’m sorry,” Bucky said.

Tony shrugged and looked out the window to avoid the sympathy in Bucky’s eyes.  “Not the first time I’ve disappointed my family,” Tony said lightly, flashing a smile he didn’t feel, “and definitely not the last, I’m sure.”

That night Bucky showed Tony how to cook frozen pizza because it had been on sale at the grocery store.  Tony was chewing dismally through what tasted like damp cardboard when Bucky came up the stairs from the shop.  “Tony?  You’ve got a visitor,” he said as he opened the door, and Tony put down the pizza and wiped his fingers on his pants nervously as he stood.

“Oh, Jarvis!” He said in relief.  “I didn’t know you were coming. Let me help you.”  Jarvis’s hands were full so he took the boxes and bags from him, hurriedly cleaning his cheap thin-crust pizza from the table for him to sit.  Jarvis accepted the seat with an almost silent sigh, rubbing his knee a little after the climb up the stairs.

“Would you like something to drink?” Bucky offered from the kitchen, discreetly trying to straighten up the small apartment for their unexpected guest.

“No, thank you, I shan’t be long,” Jarvis offered with a polite smile.  “I was just bringing some things for Tony as a housewarming present.”

“Like what?” Tony asked curiously, and started digging through the bags.  “Oh my God, you brought me food,” he said with reverence, opening the lid to one of the storage containers and wanting to cry from the smells inside.

“Your mother also sent along some things,” Jarvis said, handing him a small box that was undeniably his mom’s, Tiffany blue and edged in silver.

“Oh.” Tony started to open it and hesitated, then closed the lid. “Thank you.”

“How are you doing?” Jarvis’s hands crossed and he leaned over the table, the lines around his eyes creased with worry.  “Howard is being stubborn and pretending that nothing has changed, but the rest of us are worrying.”

“I’m fine,” Tony said, trying to sound fine and not like he was terrified or homesick or lonely. “I like it here.  It will be close to my degree program when class starts in the fall.”

“Good.  You’ve already sent in your application?”

“It’s not due until February, but I’m not worried.”  Kind of a lie.  He was a bit worried, but it kind of seemed that a bit worried was just his life now, so what’s one more thing.

Jarvis smiled.  “No, I imagine not.”  He patted Tony on the shoulder, his knuckles swollen with arthritis. “I can’t stay long, I have dinner plans with Ana, but I did want to say that I’m proud of you for not letting Howard bully you.”

“Thanks, Jarvis. Say hello to Ana for me.”  Tony walked Jarvis back to his car and watched him drive away, taking a moment to feel sorry for himself before he headed back up the stairs.  He missed Ana and Jarvis with a physical ache; they had been the ones to make the Stark house a home, and he wanted to have that back so badly it hurt. Eventually though, he forced himself to go back up the stairs and help Bucky put the food in the fridge. “Have you eaten?” He asked, cracking the lid on one of the glass dishes.  “Want some of this homemade lasagna?”

“You had me at homemade,” Bucky said with a crooked smile and turned to pull a couple of plates out of the cabinets.  “Who was that? An uncle? He seemed nice.”

“Old family friend, though I did call him uncle when I was younger.  Kind of like Aunt Peggy, but Jarvis is more like a dad than anything else.  Better than my real one, most days,” he muttered under his breath, making a face as he put a slice of lasagna on each plate to reheat.  “So how was your day?”

After dinner and dishes, Tony debated opening the box from his mother, chewing on his thumb as he studied it.  After a moment, though, he put it in the bottom of the closet, not really emotionally ready for whatever was inside; probably some sort of emotional blackmail, like heartfelt letters from his dad when he was young or something.  Instead he pulled his laptop out and tried to relax by reviewing his application to the Tanden School, which required a thesis project proposal along with the usual essay.  Until recently, he’d been reviewing some of his father’s old scrapped designs with the idea that it would endear the old man to the idea of another doctorate, for all the good that’d done.  He’d been particularly excited to work on the arc reactor, hoping to make it more efficient and preferably smaller, but now just looking at the blueprints were making him angry all over again.

With a sigh he set his computer on the floor next to the bed and fell back against the pillows. Out in the living room he could hear Bucky watching a movie and wondered if he’d be imposing if he went out to join him. To be honest, though, he wasn’t sure that he felt like the company anyway, so he rolled over and eventually fell asleep.

[magically-strange]

Reunited

Strange Magic Week 2017 - Canon Divergence Theme

AO3 link

A year ago, Marianne thought she knew what true heartbreak was.  She had cried and wallowed, convinced that her pain was beyond measure. 

How miserably foolish, because now, kneeling here in the dirt, at the edge of a cliff, staring down into a dark, dusty void where a mighty castle and its equally mighty king had fallen only moments before sunrise, she realized…

…hell, that pain hadn’t even come close to this.

It was as if a falcon had ripped a chunk from her breast with its razor-sharp talons and she was bleeding a river from the wound.  Her frozen shock gradually melted into tears pattering the uncaring ground, and she found herself longing to fade with the waning night that had shown her such wonders.

As the cruel morning grew, so did her despair, for it was a reminder of the endless slew of days she would continue to face alone.  To think, she once had the gall to believe she was stronger that way.  Oh, the irony!  She was as fragile and tragic as frost on a wilting lotus.  

It was all her fault.  

Why?

Why hadn’t she listened?

She really was stupid.  

So, so, so STUPID!!!

If she’d gotten back, as he’d warned her to, he wouldn’t have had to slow down his momentum.  Both he and Dawn would’ve made it out safely. But no, she just had to be all stubborn and heroic!  Never counting the cost, just acting without thinking it all through!  And she’d finally paid the ultimate price for her recklessness.  

She’d…killed him.  

The one person she never thought could’ve existed, who had challenged her, accepted her, protected her, and of course, exceeded her expectations, though she’d teased otherwise.

But she’d lost him.  

It was all the worse that he was an innocent soul.  Yes, he had abducted her sister, but only in retaliation to being wronged first and trying to prevent mass chaos.  She honestly couldn’t say that her kingdom would not have done something similar, had they been in his place.  Damn the senselessness of it all!

When Dawn approached and gently touched her shoulder in comfort, she was quick to conceal the majority of her woe so she could embrace her, beyond grateful to the heavens that she was free from that cursed spell.  And though she was happy for Dawn and Sunny as she watched them take hands, she loathed herself for feeling the slightest twinge of jealousy.  

Their love was blossoming at last.  Hers had ended before it could begin.  

It just wasn’t fair.

Unable to bear it, she pulled away from her sister’s arms and gazed mournfully down into the pit one last time.  For what reason, she did not know.  Survival would’ve been impossible, and nothing but grey, lifeless fog stared back up at her.  She took a deep breath, despite how much it greatly hurt her to do so, and swayed to turn…

…but she paused.

.

.

.

She could’ve sworn she’d heard something.  Something unusual amidst the waking forest and the grief-stricken whimpers of the goblins in the mixed crowd behind her.  

It sounded…like a distant cough from….  

No.

It couldn’t be.

She was just hearing things.  

…Yet she still had not moved an inch.

Daring to hope that fate would be kind to her just once more, she crept to the edge of the cliff and tilted her head to hear, silencing Dawn’s inquiry with a wave of her hand.  

For several long, terrible moments, she heard nothing but her own breathing and the rapid drum of her pulse in her ears.

Sorrow tightened its fist in her stomach and she began to yield…

-but then it came.

Her heart shot straight up through her throat and into her very brain at the faint, but unmistakable voice calling for help from below.

Caught up in an immediate cyclone of emotions and energy she could neither name nor control, she acted upon pure instinct and threw herself from the ledge, shooting into the chasm like an arrow.  Thankfully, some semblance of logic gripped her mind before she could blindly dive into the fog concealing what she knew to be at least massive chunks of jagged rubble.  She spread her wings to catch herself and descended more slowly into the unknown.  

Once past the fog, visibility improved, but only just.  She was surrounded by immense clouds of dust and black, towering shapes of debris, stone, or root; she could not tell in the dim light.  

Her panic rose when she realized she had not heard the voice again.

“BOG?!  BOG, CAN YOU HEAR ME?!”

She tried not to flinch at the sound of her harsh echo bouncing through the abyss, making it seem all the more empty.  The following seconds were the longest of her lifetime, and she prayed she was not going mad.

Please, please, please!  Oh, please!!!

“…Marianne?!”

!!!

“Marianne, i-is that you?!”

A joy she had not known since the day she first learned to fly erupted within her chest at the far off, but blessed answer.

“BOG!  BOG, WHERE ARE YOU?!”  Marianne screamed, spinning about, trying to pinpoint the origin.

“Here!  Marianne, I’m here!”  

Selecting a seemingly northward direction, Marianne carefully, but urgently, made her way through the murk and gloom.  Lower and lower she flew, coughing on dust and occasionally calling out to make sure she maintained her path.  

Bog’s voice grew louder and closer, and eventually, she saw what appeared to be the floor of the trench. She reached out with the toe of her boot to test its stability: it gave way beneath her foot like sand.  It was not soil, but mounds of splintered wood. She was nearing the center of the wreckage.

Randomly, she was struck by the awful supposition that Bog might be mortally wounded; that she would find him only to lose him all over again.  She shook the offensive fear away.  No, she was being paranoid.  He sounded too strong to be badly hurt.

Venturing further, she soon caught sight of something white in the distance.  Picking up speed, it was revealed to be the skull that once marked the entrance to the castle, tilted on its left side, and half crushed under a mountain of dirt and broken bark.    

Breath too stolen for speech, Marianne raced to alight upon the dead face, eyes raking over the horrible cracks and chips in the bone, when suddenly, a hand, scaled and clawed, shot out through a narrow gap in the clenched teeth with such abruptness, she gasped in surprise, but was almost instantly grabbing and tugging at it to wind the whole arm around her.  

“Bog!  Oh, Bog!”    

Fresh sobs of pure, insurmountable elation sprang forth at the sound of Bog’s relieved laughter from within, and for what could’ve been a millennium, they awkwardly, but no less passionately held each other tight.    

“Marianne,” Bog managed to say after some time, “I-I can’t get out.  It’s too heavy, an’ I sprained my other arm.  Can ye help me?”

Reality crashed over Marianne like a felled tree, and she blushed as she entangled herself from Bog’s grasp and wildly looked around for an avenue of escape from his prison. Briefly, she considered going back to the cliff to gather assistance from the crowd, but she was far too impatient for that, not to mention seriously reluctant to leave Bog’s side.

Think!  There’s gotta be a way!

“Bog, your staff!  Do you still have it?”

“…Yes, why?”

“I’ve got an idea! Stick the top of the staff though the hole; about halfway out!”

Bog did as he was instructed, and Marianne seized the iron weapon just below the decorative crown.

“Now what?”  Bog asked.

“When I tell you, push the jaws open as hard as you can.  I’m gonna try to use the staff as a kind of lever to help you.  Got it?”

“Alright, I got it!”

“Ready?”

“…Yeah!”

“One…two…three!  GO!”  

It was difficult, knowing that their angle was off, and that her weight wouldn’t do her any favors, Marianne was forced to pull up on the staff instead of push down, using her wings to give her extra force. She could hear Bog grunting and straining inside the mouth, but the dull scraping sounds of bone sliding against bone egged her on.  The shattered, wooden remains of Bog’s home trembled from the gradual movement and rolled off the obscured cranium, lightening their load by degrees. Marianne pulled harder as she saw the mossy teeth parting.

Yes, yes!  Almost there!

What happened next, nearly scared her so bad, her hair turned white.  There was a deafening snap, and she felt the rod jerk unnaturally towards her.  She had not broken Bog’s royal staff, fortunately, only the top of the skull.  The weapon carved a vicious path through the brittle bone like glass.  

At the unsteady lurch, the dilapidated stump fragments cascaded down like a mudslide, but Bog was faster.  Fighting against the current of rubbish, Bog wriggled himself through the impromptu opening Marianne had created, and was free.

For a beat, the two just gaped at each other, one in gratitude and tenderness, the other in awe and rapture that she was lost in those beautiful sky-blue eyes again.

“Thank ye, Marianne.”

“Bog!”  Marianne breathed, dropping the staff and rushing to cup his thin, prickly cheeks, scanning him in vain for injuries.  “Oh, thank goodness!  Are you okay?!”

He nodded and smiled at her with his crooked fangs.

“Yes.  Yes, I’m fine; wings, shoulders, head…all good, Tough Gir-!”

Hearing his favorite nickname for her, Marianne tossed all sense of decorum and pride to the wind. She cut him off by throwing herself into his arms and kissing him as if there was no tomorrow.

But there would be, and as Bog shyly returned her kiss, she knew there would be many, and they would spend each and every one of them together.