#i can no longer have many starches and it's the worst

[totalspiffage]

It's a crime that I cannot have only potatoes forever and ever. I want a body that can eat potato in a way that benefits me (benefit of having potato in me) no consequences.

#i can no longer have many starches and it's the worst #diet cw i guess #there are no good or bad foods only foods that don't provide you as much nutritional value and those are fine too #anyway #I'm fine with reducing amt of bread and even pasta but god.... popato.......

[writing-the-end]

LoL Chapter 42- Crossfire

Masterpost

A Wizard Hermits tale (AU, designs, ideas belongs to @theguardiansofredland)

When the Forest has control of lightning magic, someone is bound to be struck.

Warning: mentions of abuse, invasive thoughts

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The deeper they got into the forest, the worse the illusions got. No one was safe, no matter how many talismans, potions, and mental exercises they run through. Sometimes the hermits have no choice but to stop and console a team member who’s being affected by the Forest. Warm hugs bring Cleo back from the long locked away memory of her death, how she became who she is now. It wasn’t until three potions and the welcoming press of his zweihander resting in his hand that Wels is able to ignore the illusions. And Grian nearly flies away as the Forest reminds him of how many times he’s been thrown out of every orphanage and guild he entered. If it weren’t for the hermits, he’d be alone, lost. And at the will of the Hangman’s Playground. 

Scar feels the sting of torn skin, right along where he got his namesake, before the rest of the illusion appears. Such a peaceful, normal forest. He tries to focus on the trees, the creek he passes by, with gentle animals of all kinds drinking from the fresh spring water. Of the perfect placement of rocks, ferns, even the way the dirt curls over roots. 

“No merchant’s son will be seen playing in dirt!” The hot sting of blood, of torn skin marred by rich jewels and gilded rings. His father’s voice growls through the extravagant manor. 

“And he tracked mud onto the entrance carpet! There’s no possible way we can get that stain out!”

“I wasn’t playing in dirt.” Scar whispers, daring to defy his parents. To speak out without being told to speak. His voice is young, pitching up and down across his words, tinged with anger and contempt. “I was practicing my magic. I was creating something ahmazin’.”

“I forbid you from ever using your magic! It’s a disgrace that my son’s magic is so...is so messy!” Scar’s feet were no longer on the ground, though he can faintly feel the soft compress of dirt in the forest, the illusion tells him otherwise. His father’s opulent outfit, matched with the bloody rings he wears on each and every finger, his hand balled in a fist in Scar’s collar. “You will let your worthless magic die, and do exactly as you are told.”

But Scar’s own thoughts rebuke the forest, without need of a single potion or talisman. Because he remembers what happened next. He spent his youth practicing in secret, and as soon as he knew he could make it on his own, he set off. From that moment forward, he defied his father by nurturing his magic, rather than letting it die. From that moment forward, he never did what he was told. 

And that led him to the hermits, his best friends, his family. He remembers the fateful day he met BDubs, pure happenstance and Scar’s own proclivity for disaster. He was in a tree, trying to better understand how trees form and grow to mimic in his magic- he wanted to make it as perfect as nature itself- when he fell backwards and ended up crushing the hermit just walking through the woods. 

If it wasn’t for his act of defiance that night, he wouldn’t have found his true family. If it wasn’t for that night, he wouldn’t have become the S-Class mage he is now. He wouldn’t have won in the Chimaera’s Championship. The night the Forest of Memories chose was one of the worst nights of his life, but it was also the beginning of the best thing ever to happen to him. The beginning of his new life, with his true family. 

The illusion shatters, like glass, fractals dissolving and lost in the wind. Scar smiles, looking around at his friends. Those who welcomed his magic, let him nurture it. “Have I told you how much I love you guys?” 

“Look, I think we’re getting close to whatever is hidden in here.” Doc points out, his hand on his friend’s shoulder. In the distance, red light bounces and is absorbed by the warm brown bark of the trees. Another leyline, just as large and pulsing with stolen lifeforce. They’re so close, they’ve come so far. Certainly there’s no way they can lose themselves now, they’ve been fighting it off successfully for who knows how long. 

But not everyone is successful in fighting off memories. At the back of the group, Mumbo wipes away the tears in his eyes. He doesn’t warn the others about the memories playing around him. He doesn’t want to disappoint the hermits. 

Not like he disappointed his dad. The Forest of Memories, the Hangman’s Playground, has dug up his worst fears, and replays every time he’s failed his father. Every time he returned from one failed guild exam after another. The sidelong glances and long tirades of how much of a disappointment Mumbo was.  Every single one, from his first exam when he turned thirteen, to the last exam before he was disowned.

It was that one that hurt the most. And it was that one that the Forest replays not just in Mumbo’s mind, but all around him. The trees turn to pillars, and Mumbo is standing on the expansive steps of his family’s manor. His father’s stern face looks down at him, clean shaven and hair slicked back harshly. The tight pull of the starched white collar of Mumbo’s shirt is even harsher, but nothing compares to the dense silence between father and son. 

He was a disgrace to the family. Dozens of guilds, laughing at the family line for creating such a worthless progeny. Dozens of guilds, turning him away after he failed their gauntlets, exams, and prerequisites. No matter what Mumbo tried, no matter what he did, he could never be good enough for his father. Not the way he was. 

“Miriam.” Mumbo tips his head up to meet his father’s stern, cold eyes. “Come back a guildmember, or don’t bother coming back at all.” 

He failed his family. He’s failed so many. He’s failed his family, he’s failed to help Gildara, or Danes. Fight after fight, battle after battle, he’s always the weakest link. He’s always been failing the hermits. And he’s failing them now. 

He’s the weakest link, and the Forest knows it. It knows he will fail, just like always. Mumbo wipes away tears, and discovers he’s in total darkness. The memory is gone, but the illusion kept it’s grasp on Mumbo. 

“Why would we want to be your friends?” A sneering voice echoes through the darkness, an accent all too familiar, the words all the more painful to be held by Iskall’s voice. 

“You can’t even use your own magic. All that power, wasted on a weakling.” A shadow passes in the emptiness, and Mumbo barely catches a glimpse of the brown, furry dog tail. 

A high pitched laughter, followed by the scrape of metal against stone. “You can’t fight, you can’t defend, you can’t even heal. At this point, you’re just dragging us down. We should have cut you down long ago.” 

The swing of a saber appears in the night, and Mumbo staggers backward as Cleo’s saber nearly cuts his chest open. In the foggy darkness, he can just make out her eyes. Or where there should be Cleo’s sea blue eyes. Instead, all he saw was oozing, black goo, pouring like viscous tears down her seafoam green skin. She’s gone, disappearing back into the darkness, a shark cutting through the waves. 

Mumbo attempts escape, but no matter where he crawls, the ebony darkness has him trapped. Laughter, voices rise from the void, whispers and shouts. Voices he knows, like those of his friends. Scar, Jevin, Hypno, even TFC. Berating him for being a useless member of the guild, that he’s just the jester, the pet. Of his father, yelling about the shame, that he wishes Mumbo was better, stronger, worthwhile. And voices he doesn’t know apart from the words they spit out. Bullies in school, taunting him in magic class for not even being able to call on his magic. Bullies in guilds, casting him out and laughing with every mistake he made. The guild leaders, sneering and jeering before, during, and after his failed tests. 

There was no escape from these dark thoughts, not when the Hangman’s Playground plays them out before his very eyes. Memories of reality, and memories of the fears and ‘what ifs’ he’s played a thousand times over in his head. He hears the voices he knows, just knows the other hermits say behind his back. He feels the stinging betrayal as they kick him out, the very words dozens of other guilds have told him before. He watches Grian leave him for better, stronger friends. 

Mumbo reaches out for Grian, his best friend, shaking fingers just barely able to grip onto the tarlike wings of the agnel. Like a bird trapped in oil, each feather dripping with the black goo. “G-Grian, please, I promise I’ll work har-”

Grian turns around, hand slapping away Mumbo’s own, and the empty black goo of Grian’s eyes stare into Mumbo. Pinning him down, too afraid to fight back. To weak to fight back. “Forget it, Mumbo. You’re useless, you can’t even draw your own magic circle. I don’t know why I bothered to ever save you, that day so long ago.” 

Beside Grian, Iskall’s laughter pierces through Mumbo’s heart. It feels so cold, so abrasive, even though nothing has changed about that tittering laugh of his friend. Mumbo shrinks awake, wiping the tears that cascade like a waterfall down his face. “I-I can be better, I can do better! Please don’t leave me!” 

“Oh yeah? Prove it.” The hiss from Iskall, slicing across his beard, catching the sludge and twisting in his facial hair. “Prove that you’re this mega awesome multi-mage of doom, and not some puny mega weakling that we know you are.” 

Mumbo’s panicking. He has to do it. Just this once, he has to unleash his power. So he can keep his friends. Closing his eyes, he digs deep. He tries to ignore the jeers and laughter around him, focusing in on his magic. His hands shake, but he tears down the walls he’s set up to protect himself, protect everyone from the surges he’s prone to. Mumbo can’t hold back on his powers, not unless he wants to hold onto his friends. He feels the power rushing through his body, but he doesn’t stop. He will prove it- he’s not worthless. 

Grian turns around, noticing that there’s one less person in the group. They’re so close, he can feel a change in the atmosphere around him. It reminds him of when they were in Gildara, but stronger. Like the entire world is pressing on his shoulders. “Mumby?”

Mumbo’s on the ground,  kneeling with fingers clutched in the forest floor. His shoulders rise and fall, and Grian realizes that the Forest of Memories was playing with Mumbo. Grian walks away from the group, keeping his spirits high and fighting off the tendrils of dark thoughts that tickle his mind. He reaches Mumbo’s side, kneeling on the red illuminated leyline. 

“Oh gods…” Grian whispers, seeing Mumbo’s eyes as he tips the mage’s face up. Veiled by mist, Mumbo’s sight has swirls of grey blinding him to reality. He’s trapped, deep inside the illusion that the Hangman’s Playground. And he’s losing control of his magic, sparks snapping free from fisted fingers, redstone saturating the ground around him. Grian reaches his hand out. 

Hands rest on Mumbo’s shoulder, holding him down. The voices are louder, angrier, filled with spite and hatred. Drowning out any sense of Mumbo’s rationale, he lets go of his magic. He unleashes it all onto the world. 

Mumbo grabs his father’s hand resting on his shoulder, and lets loose as much of his lightning that he can muster. 

The darkness shatters, and Mumbo sees that it wasn’t his father, or any guildmaster, bully, or even Dolios himself holding Mumbo down. But it’s too late to stop the bolts of energy as it crawls through his hands and runs up Grian’s ruddy skin. One more time, the Hangman’s Playground toys with him once more, letting him see the truth. Letting him watch as the uncontrolled magic surges through Grian, sending the young angel crashing to the ground. 

“Grian!” Xisuma cries out, abandoning the track of red, skidding to the ground at Grian’s side. Mumbo scrambles to his feet, stepping forward. But then he sees the ricocheting of lightning, jolts of lightning still searching for escape from Grian’s body, and the writhing pain that his friend is in. Charred black wings, just like the ones he saw in his illusion. Mumbo’s not in control of himself- was he ever?- and the power of uncontrolled magic fills his body, blinds his thoughts. From one extreme to another. 

He hurt Grian. He could hurt any one of the others. He’s horrified by his actions, the thoughts that led him here. He’s all or nothing- too weak or too strong, and either way it destroys those he loves most. 

The ground moves beneath his feet, the shouts and calls little more than white noise as the Forest of Memories replays that second over and over again in Mumbo’s mind. Hurting his best friend, hurting a fellow hermit. The hermits could be calling for him, calling for Grian, calling for the goddess of the dead for all he cared about. 

Mumbo just runs. Far away from the hermits, deep into the branching teeth, into the belly of the Forest of Memories.

#hermitcraft #abuse cw #invasive thoughts cw #light of lairyon #lol #wizard hermits #wizard au #hermitcraft fanfic #hermitcraft au #wizard mumbo #wizard scar #wizard grian #mumbo jumbo #gtwscar #grian #grianmc

[goingsllightlymad]

Blinded By Your Light - Part 1. On Meeting

Pairing: Tommy Shelby x reader 

Summary: Y/N is the definition of ordinary. Studying at a medical school as far as she can get from her rainy hometown of Birmingham, she never expected to be shipped off the Flanders when the war was at it's peak. Much less to meet a handsome young patient with the most beautiful pair of blue eyes she had seen in her life who as fate would have it would fall into her lap.

Word Count: 5035 (I had to split this one up into two chapters because it was getting hella long).

Warnings: I have absolutely no writing skills.

________________________________________________________________

The sunlight on the windowsill was more depressing than it was bright. Wan and pale, you knew that you would find no warmth there in the light of that cool, indifferent sun, shining on a fate much more dire than even its own fiery glory. August had not been kind to either of you.

The last traces of summer were fading away, and everyone in the hospital knew it. Gone were the summery days when you could wake and catch the glimmer of hope that the sunshine had brought with it, the apple trees in the orchard laden with fruit and the last of the spring's bright blossom on their rich branches, the birds wheeling in the sky as though they could not hear, not far away, the rattle of machine gun fire and the sickening crash of bombs. In those clearer nights, sat upon your windowsill and gazing out at the unending sky, you could almost see the flames leaping from the wreckage of today's attack, the occasional flare shooting up into the sky in a sudden burst of bright green light, casting a lurid glow on the trees and fields below.

And now the cold was seeping in, with its grim promise of longer nights and the worst that was yet to come, and the war was far from over. Sometimes you had to wonder how many men were left, as through the doors to the hospital there came every day the steady flow of men half-dead and some already long since gone, draped in their funeral gowns of stiff brown uniform and the bloom of rich red blood like roses on their unnamed grave. This war would leave no man untouched, and you could see the poison as it crept into the eyes of those who made it out of here, chilling and colder than that false bliss that washed over the still faces of those who weren't so lucky.

It was the same routine as always - waking in the cool morning light to dress in the harsh white uniform and make your way to the dining-rooms for breakfast, eaten in silence in a crowd of sullen, sleepless faces, then working until late in the evening, all night if they needed you, as they did more and more these days. It was getting worse out there, though no one dared to mention it.

It would be an understatement to say that no day at Flanders General Hospital was without a new surprise, still today had to be an exception. Walking into the main ward at 6:00 in the morning, the last thing you expected was for the ward to be filled with bustling crowds of nurses in sharply-starched aprons and men carrying stretchers.

"Qu'est-ce qu'il y a? (What's going on?)" You turned to another nurse as she made her way past you, busying yourself with folding a blanket over the edge of a bed and scanning the room for clues of whatever had happened.

"Il y a eu une explosion dans les tunnels la nuit dernière.. Un gros, clairement. Des hommes de partout. La directrice dit qu'il semble que nous allons courir pendant plusieurs jours. (An explosion in the tunnels last night. Big one, clearly. Men from everywhere. Matron says that it looks like we'll be running around for several days)." she whispered quickly, raising her eyebrows and gesturing wildly at the rows and rows of narrow white beds, already filling with bloodied men. You took in the pained expressions of the wounded men and the frantic ones of the nurses, and all at once you had to fight the urge to run away. You had never seen so many patients at once, and the noise was something that you knew you could never forget. The screams and wails and sobbing drowned all of your senses, and you wondered if Hell could ever sound so bad.

"C'est affreux... Que puis-je faire? Dis-moi que je peux faire quelque chose. (It's awful... What can I do? Tell me I can do something)." You followed her as she set off briskly down the ward, collecting soiled towels from beside the beds.

"Faites tout ce que vous pouvez voir qui doit être fait. Habiller les plaies, nettoyer les lits, transporter l'équipement. Tous sur le pont, vous savez. Ne les laissez pas vous voir rester les bras croisés. (Do whatever you can see that needs doing. Dress wounds, clear beds, carry equipment. All hands on deck, you know. Don't let them see you standing around idly)."

You sent her a quick nod as she ran off with her armful of towels, then turned to the bed beside you, where a man painted with soot and thick red blood was splayed across a bare mattress. Grabbing a basin of warm water from the bedside stand, you set to work scrubbing his tired limbs gently, eyes wandering across the thin and broken form. Reaching up to his face with the now-blackened washcloth, you brushed the heavy mass of matted blonde hair away from his face, swiping at the cracked skin underneath in slow movement. He flinched, tensing up involuntarily, and the eyes that flew open to stare at you were deep and hazel and terrified.

"Tu vas bien, tu vas bien. Je ne vais pas te faire mal. Sûr ... tout est en sécurité maintenant... (You're okay, you're okay. I'm not going to hurt you. Safe... all safe now...)" you murmured to him in your stumbling French, rubbing soft circles on his stained cheek with a shaking fingertip and wetting the washcloth once more. His whole body trembled and his eyes rolled around madly in his head like the eyes of a God forgotten. You wished you would never know what it was like last night.

For the rest of that day, you were rushed off your feet with helping the patients. More and more seemed to flood in from all directions, filling the wards and drawing the nurses in like a swirling cesspit of blood and gore and pain. Grime was washed away, leaving behind faces that were somehow worse, haunting in their shell-shocked horror.

By the time dusk rolled in through the windows high in the stark white walls, the ward was only beginning to quieten, the last of the soldiers carried in almost an hour ago. In a gradual tide of hushed movement, the nurses retreated once more into the dorms and the backrooms of the hospital, the last few remaining to sit by the bedsides and wrap and rewrap the same wounds in the soft glow of candlelight.

Sitting alone on the windowsill of your dorm, you tried again and again to read, your brain dizzying in some other realm of thought that was nowhere near those bleak black letters and the story you'd read before. You'd moved here in a hurry, leaving behind everything you'd known before, and the books were no different. In your carpet-bag when you'd left had been only the three small novels you knew you could never live without, and only enough clothes to last you your journey there and back. You were meant to be home by Christmas, with all the books you could ever hope to read, but as time passed it was becoming increasingly clear that Christmas was going to be a long, long time in coming.

A knock at the door startled you out of your thoughts, making you jump slightly and slam your book shut. You opened the door cautiously, and were met with the sympathetic face of another nurse.

"De quoi avez-vous besoin (What do you need)?"

"La matrone a envoyé pour vous. Il y a un homme dans la salle, anglais. Il est agité, il parle dans son sommeil. Vous êtes anglais, n'est-ce pas? (Matron has sent for you. There's a man in the ward, English. He is restless, he talks in his sleep. You are English, are you not?)".

"Je suis. De quoi a-t-elle besoin pour moi? (I am. What does she need me to do?)"

"Parle lui. Voyez ce qu'il a à dire. Il vaut mieux qu'il parle à voix haute plutôt que de déranger les autres avec son sommeil (Talk to him. See what he has to say. It is better for him to talk aloud than to disturb others with his sleep)."

You sighed, pulling on your apron, wrinkled and creased from the day's hard work, and stepped past the nurse into the corridor. She placed her hand lightly on your arm and gave you a small smile, directing you down to the west ward, where all the British soldiers were lying.

It was not difficult to see which one she was talking about. In the stillness of the ward, one bed was rocking slightly, the patient thrashing wildly in his sleep. His cries echoed throughout the room, piercing through the whimpering and sniffing that hung heavy in the air from all the other beds. A particularly loud wail stopped you in your tracks, and you wanted to throw your hands up to your ears and block out the dreadful noise, but you forced yourself to keep moving towards his bed, biting down on your lip hard enough to taste the hot, metallic blood gathering on the tip of your tongue.

You sat in the chair beside the bed, pulling the curtains tight around the two of you until there was only the bed and you beside it, and in it the man flailing blindly in his horror-stricken fever dream. His hands dropping to his sides to clutch and tear at the bed sheets, you used the opportunity to reach out and stroke his cheek gently, hushing him and pushing the hair back from his sweaty forehead. Over his eyes there was a strip of warm, wet cloth, and you didn't even want to know what would be there should you move it back.

"Who are you." his voice almost made you jump. Low and husky, with a thick Brummie accent, it filled the enclosed space around the two of you like cigarette smoke hanging in the night air. You had not sensed him waking up, but now his breathing was steadying and his body smoothing down against the bed.

"A nurse." you soothed him, still tracing the soft white skin of his face. He made as though to sit up, trying to push up off the bed with unsteady hands, and you pushed him back down lightly, "Shh shhh... Lie down, Mr Shelby. You're weak."

"'M not weak." But his voice was broken and uneven and you could almost hear the smoke in his lungs in the slight wheeze when he breathed.

"Soon, no. But for now let's just let me do the work." He relaxed into your hands, his hands falling back to the bedsheets and you rubbed the back of one of them with your own.

"Where am I?" he croaked.

"General Hospital, Flanders. We found you out by the river, near dead." you spat out the rumour that by now everyone had heard. Five of the men half-drowned, half-suffocated, lying on the riverbank in a pool of soot and blood that seemed to spill from within them, like the war was in their very veins. Five men with no homes to go to and no way to get to them, and four without names. Only Mr Shelby, a name you could swear you had known in some distant lifetime, had been identified, and only he out of the five had survived, although no one was quite sure how.

"Should have left me there." He stiffened, removing his hand from yours and trying to turn away from you, but his ribs ached and it was all he could do not to cry out aloud at the sudden movement. He made do with turning his head to the other side, and you caught the trail of dried black blood that ran down his neck and disappeared under the stiff collar of the white hospital robe. "Y' don't know what I did." His voice was hard and bitter, sad as you had never heard sadness before, but sad at himself, as though even the war was better than what he saw in the mirror every night.

"And I don't particularly want to know. But I can't just let you die, considering my job." you joked lightly, smiling a little at him to cheer him up and then realising that he couldn't see you anyway, and your smile faded away into the evening gloom of the hospital ward.

"Why don't you go save someone who actually deserves it."

"I am, right now." you persisted, and he didn't know whether to laugh or to scream at you or to break down and cry. There was something about you, know you as little even as he did, that drove him a little insane, listening to you challenge him and contradict him as no one had ever done before, and he thought perhaps he liked it. Liked you, but that was cruel and that was weak, and that was something that Tommy Shelby would never do to another soul.

"If you only knew the things I've done-" he chuckled lowly, bitterly, and you got the feeling he was laughing more at himself than at you.

"If I only had a pound note for every man who's come in saying that, I wouldn't be washing and fixing your filth, now would I." and it was true - war was the cruellest thing you know, and it broke men like nothing else. First their bodies, then their minds, then their very souls themselves. In a job like this, it was very difficult not to think about souls, but you were sure that, somewhere within the prison of his broken body, Thomas Shelby had the most beautiful soul that you had never seen.

"Would that you wouldn't, eh." He almost smirked - almost. His lips settled back into a grimace as he tried to laugh.

"I'd have bought meself a set of uniform and be standing in the trenches as we speak."

"So desperate to get to the front line?" He tilted his head as though studying you, and you had to remind yourself that he couldn't see you from beneath his blindfold, or else you were sure you would have squirmed under his scrutiny.

"So desperate to get away from it?"

"Need a way home. 'S work for me back there, and work must be done."

"Then," you spoke decisively, smoothing out his blankets and straightening his chest onto the mattress, and he wheezed painfully at the action, making you flinch instinctively, "I suppose you ought to lie back and let me help you, else you'll never be out of here." you tapped him on the cheek softly, a motherly thing that you hadn't even thought about but now seemed too close, too patronising and at the same time too affectionate. You stood quickly, anxious to run away before he could react and tell you that you were being unprofessional, but as you turned your back to the bed you heard from behind you a quiet chuckle, breathy and honest, and the shifting of bones beneath weary skin.

"Suppose I ought."

You smiled at that, and walked away.

________________________________________________________________________________

Early the next morning, they called on you again to make up his bed linen, ladling into your arms the thick reams of bleached fabric and shoving you in the direction of the west ward. As you saw him, lying on his back and grinning at you as you approached, staring into you with those unseeing eyes as though he had known all night that you would be coming back, you couldn't help but smile. You weren't one to pick favourites but this man was really testing your morals.

"You're back." his voice was still monotonous and weak, and his words hung heavy with exhaustion and a bleak, dark emotion that you hoped you would never feel, yet still you caught a hint of amusement. His statement seemed so decisive, like he had wished you back and here you were, just as he had wanted you to be. Even broken in his bed, Thomas Shelby had a curious power over you, and you hesitated to say you didn't like it.

"Are you so disappointed?"

"On the contrary, love. I quite look forward to our little chats."

"And what's on the mind of the great Thomas Shelby today?" you laughed, snaking an arm around his back and lifting his torso off the bed a little, then pausing as he coughed forcefully to cover up the whine of pain that had slipped out.

"Well wouldn't you like to know." he shot you a trembling smile as his body settled back into your arms. A thrill of pity shot through your heart and you pulled him a little closer into you, gazing down thoughtfully into his weary face and covered eyes. Somewhere between today and yesterday, those eyes had become the most important thing in the world to you, the only thing you wished to God you knew. Something deep within you was stirring when you looked at them, trying to make out the shape through the tough white blindfold, and you knew it wasn't good at all. Men like him weren't made for girls like you, and men with pretty eyes were only ever trouble.

"Well now, let's suppose I do." you pulled back the covers and folded them over the foot of the bed. Looking back at his uncovered form, you couldn't stop your eyes from roaming. From the scars on his legs to the blood that hadn't washed away, to the tired bones that jutted out unnaturally from under withered skin, Thomas Shelby was exhausted, physically as well as mentally. Beautiful, so beautiful, and irreparably fucked up.  

You wrapped your free arm under his knees and pulled him into your arms in an awkward bridal position where you could smell the sweet, metallic blood in his skin and on his clothes and he could almost taste the harsh carbolic soap from that awful night before, you kneeling in the water in the darkness, scrubbing the taste of war from your skin again and again until your very soul could bleed white blood and the darkness within you seeped out through every breath into the darkness without.

You almost threw him onto the spare bed that had been cleared beside him.

"If you must. I'm thinking about you." he murmured thoughtfully, as though those words were much deeper than you could ever see, and you longed to see the meaning in his eyes as he stared, unseeing, up at you.

"Nothing too saucy, I hope." you joked, but part of you wondered if you really meant it. You thought perhaps you wouldn't much mind it if he did.

"Never! Get that a lot here?" He tried to gasp in mock indignation, but the breath ended up catching in his throat and he hacked and coughed violently, his eyes stinging with tears at the pain in his chest. Your hand flew out to grab his, and you rubbed small circles on the back of his hand reassuringly, holding him against your chest and rubbing his back with the other hand as he collapsed into you once again.

Once the coughing fit passed you pulled yourself away, trying to ignore as best you could the empty feeling that rushed into your arms in the space he left behind, and the way he tensed up again as soon as you had parted. A trick of the early morning light, and you were beginning to get the feeling that that was a common feature of this man, with all his tricks and secrets.

"Wouldn't be too surprised. Lot of lads missing their gals, and I'm just walking sex appeal. Or so I've been told."

"Bothers you, does it?" there was a cold edge to his voice, protective, possessive even. If you didn't know better, you might say that Thomas Shelby was laying a claim on you.

"Not too much. Flatters my ego, 's all. Got a girl at home, Mr Shelby?" and now it was you that was keeping secrets, trying to control your voice in what you told yourself was a perfectly professional question. Had to know if he had any emergency contacts, that's all there was to it. Still, as he let out a weak laugh and grinned up at you, you could not help but let out a long, shaky breath that you had not known that you were holding. Well, that was one thing cleared up at least, and you thought perhaps you might be happier because of it."

"Tommy." you tested the word, let it roll off your tongue and fill your lungs with its false air, stain your lips and taint the sanctity of that unholy mind. A name you wanted to shout, to scream and to whisper and to plead and to say into the darkness in places you knew were much less professional than this white corner of the hospital ward. It was a name you wanted to keep all to yourself, and it was so much more than just a name. It was a confession, and it was holy.  Nah, nothing at home for me but cold and dark and office work."

"No family?"

"None at all." he said far too quickly and you knew not to push it any further. There was trust and there was Thomas, Tommy, Shelby, and something told you that the two didn't coincide much.  

"Must be awful lonely." you almost felt bad for him, living all alone in his cold town with his dull work and his tiny little life, and you knew that you and him were not so different after all. For a moment it felt almost like you were lying in the bed beside his, and that these two worlds were somehow one. You felt united, and you understood, because this was a secret the two of you could share, and god, wasn't it domestic?

"I shouldn't say so. Look on the bright side - I'm lying in bed with a pretty girl next to me right now. Not sure I should be so excited to go home just yet." your heart sped up a little with the last statement, aching and leaping at once with the fear of him leaving and the knowledge that while he was here there was nothing you could do but stay by his side. You almost didn't want him to go home at all.

"Aren't you just incorrigible! What must the others all think of me?" you teased, pretending to scold him as you giggled and how long had it been since someone had made you laugh like this?

"Hopefully not what I'm thinking of you, love, else we might have a bit of a fall out." his smooth, easy words and comfortable tone made your smile falter a little despite yourself, and you wondered how many girls he had told the same thing to before.

"Been here too long. Bet you're just itching for a fight."

"Told you I was no good." he said, half-joking and half-sincere, and there was an unnerving depth in his words that really should have made you turn and walk away, back to the others in their little back rooms and the laundry that really did need doing now. But you were right - it had been so long since you had seen the light of a proper day that didn't dawn on the cold grey wards and chambers in a country you had never loved before and now could never stand, and in your bones you longed for a story to take you far away, so against your better judgement you stayed, and all the more thought none the less of yourself for it.

"And I told you that was bullshit." you chastened him softly, lifting him back into your arms and returning him to his now-made bed. You laid down his limbs carefully, straightening out his arms and legs and smoothing down his hair against the pillow as he sighed into the crook of your neck, thick, hot air that burned like kisses down your jaw.

"You should really watch you're mouth while you're working."

"Why don't you watch it for me?"

"Take this bloody thing off my eyes and maybe I will." he grinned, but this time there was an earnest, almost pleading note in it that had your hands already reaching up to his face, and to the cruel blindfold that had so robbed you of the truest beauty that you had ever wished to know.

With soft, tentative movements you peeled off the strips of adhesive that held the cloth in place, pushing aside the blindfold and, cupping his jaw with the other hand, tilting his head to look at you. Those closed, scarred eyelids, and suddenly they were twitching and fluttering, lifting heavily as he forced his eyes to open. And there they were - such bright blue stars that burned your blood and sent your heart to frenzy. And time had stopped around you, arrested in their brilliance, blinded by their light, and a bolder girl than you might say that this was all that there would ever be, for he was here and so were you and didn't it seem a lot like fate?

"Beautiful. Nurse (Y/LN), you've been holding out on me." he almost gasped, holding your hand to his lips and pressing a small kiss against the back, his eyes on you like you were all that he'd been waiting for and you wished, you wished, you were.

"Mr Shelby..." you blushed against your better judgement, and he hated himself for doing this to you. He wasn't entirely sure how it had happened, but somehow and so suddenly he was holding the hand of the most beautiful girl he had seen in a very long time, and she wasn't trying to run away. This was the most afraid that Tommy Shelby had been in his life.

"Tommy." he chided gently, and your smile widened.

"(Y/N)."

"So beautiful."

Your faces were closer than you knew you should be, the hospital far away and all around and you wondered if the others were watching you two now, pressed together and so close and still too far away. It was all you could do not to bridge the gap and kiss him, and in another world perhaps you would because then perhaps there was a chance that this could be something more than just a week in a crowded hospital in the grim hell of war. But as it was, you pulled away, closing your eyes so as not to see the light in his flicker and dim as you parted, a thousand times the worse to want his light.

"I should-" you choked out, and his eyes were large and pleading and Tommy had no idea what was going on but he knew that this was the worst that he had ever felt and he could feel his very heart splitting in two a little as you stood to leave.

"Or you could stay."

"I really shouldn't."

"Please." he whispered, and you wished and wished, and you began to walk away again, bed linen under your arm.

"Sleep. I'll be back tomorrow."

________________________________________________________________________________

It was not for him to know that, later that night when the other nurses had retired to their chambers and the dimly-lit backrooms of the darkened hospital, you crept once more out of the nurses quarters and down to the west-wing, where he lay, for once, asleep. Sitting by his bedside in the gloom, you longed to reach out and touch him, and knew that you wouldn't wake him for the world. He looked so peaceful while he slept, and you ached for him as you had for no other, wished that life would bring him rest like this again as you could not seem to bring him health no matter how hard he tried. Even now, in the purplish shadows of evening, he looked so small and thin, a ghost among his fellow men. He looked a world away from when he'd boarded his train to the front line, know that man as you did not. Something in him whispered that, just as it whispered that you should leave, and just the same you pushed it back and sighed into the palms of your hands, drunk with your bittersweet melancholy and the fear with which you loved him endlessly.

And of course it would not mean anything that, when he stirred in his sleep, early in the morning and you still beside him, and began to shake and sob, you rested your hand on his shoulder gently and, for the first time since this bloody war began, you let yourself sing quietly to him. Snapshots of memories from a lifetime that had come before, softening in the blurred blue darkness and painting the world around the two of you, and for a moment you could almost believe that there were only the two of you in all the world, playing at games of war and house that were too old and too dull to tie you down. You could almost spread your wings and fly away to greener gardens where days were meant for living and nights for dreaming dreams that did not wake you colder than you began.

To the sisters who would ask the next morning, when they caught you half-asleep in the chair beside his bed, you were afraid that he would have another nightmare and disturb the other patients, but even you knew that that was not the case. You were there because you wanted to be, and you wanted to be there because he was there, and there was no where else on Earth that you could breathe as freely as you did when by his side.

But you didn't need to tell him that, because he was Tommy Shelby, and it seemed he had problems enough on his own.

________________________________________________________________________________

A/N: so here it is! This was originally going to be a really long oneshot, but then I got really into writing the plot and making it more and more angsty so it kind of became the first part of a REALLY long series plan (I have no self-control, this is a problem). Just a warning, this is the fluffy chapter. Like, one of literally three or four or whatever chapters with no heartbreaking angst (I say optimistically, knowing this is all gonna be so underwhelming I swear to God). ALSO (this is the last thing I swear), this is gonna take me so long to update I don't even know any more, I have a shit ton of exams between now and July, so any of y'all that actually like my shitty writing skills ARE gonna end up hating me for this.

Taglist

@actorinfluence @captivatedbycillianmurphy @stressedandbandobessed7771

#peaky blinders #Tommy Shelby #Tommyshelbyxreader #fanfiction

[bekahdoesnerdshit]

one of each for each otp,,,,, for brilliance/sienna: 3, 10 (prose boy...... ), 19, 31! for raini/ecstasy: 1, 14, 23, 26!

YES now my plan to make you care about my paladin you’ve never met can really come to fruition.....it worked for cog it can work for this gay bitch too.....

Super super minor nsfw for 23 and 26 for Raini, and I guess technically 31 for Brilliance but honestly not really. Enjoy!

Brilliance & Sienna

3. If they complimented each other, what would they say? Not to sound like a lesbian, but Brilliance thinks Sienna hung the moon. She’s so beyond smitten with this woman, and if anyone makes the mistake of asking her about her fiancée (which her party would never do because they’re a) hets who b) don’t care about rp) Brilliance would easily be able to spend hours talking about everything that makes Sienna the absolutely amazing woman she is. Brilliance admires Sienna’s patience, her quiet determination to get things done right, and her easy, calming presence. She’s compassionate and honest, and she makes the people around her want to be better than they are without having to say a word. She’s beautiful, inside and out, and Brilliance thanks Sune every day that fate brought them together. And check this out! Sienna loves Brilliance just as much! They’re in love! Sienna admires how willing Brilliance is to take charge in difficult situations, and that her primary concern when taking charge is making sure the people under her are safe. She’s intentional and unwavering in her resolve and devotion to the people she loves. Sienna loves how Brilliance is able to find beauty in just about anything, and how fiercely she’ll fight to protect the light and beauty she sees in the world. She loves her insistence on giving people second chances, even when they may not deserve it. Brilliance embodies the phrase “get behind me”, and while Sienna often wishes Brilliance would let her share that burden, she understands that Brilliance does what she does to show love.  10. Write a ~300 word argument scene for them.  It’s been three days since Conviction’s death. Since they found his body at least; he’d been missing longer than that. It was murder, anyone could see that, but no one has any delusions about it being investigated as one, let alone prosecuted. He shouldn’t have been involved with those rebels, people say. It’s his own fault for stirring up trouble where there didn’t need to be any. There’s been multiple times where Sienna’s quiet touch to Brilliance’s arm has been the only thing to keep her from lashing out at someone who implied that and while she’s grateful for the temperance, part of her can’t help feeling that grief hardened by anger might hurt less.  It’s been three days since they pulled her brother’s body out of the sewers, and Brilliance knows she needs to go home. Her mother is devastated, her father considers his obligation to help fulfilled by paying for the funeral, and as loathe as she is to return to her childhood home Brilliance knows it’s her duty to be there. Sienna comes back to their tiny (Sienna calls it cozy to make Brilliance laugh), dingy (”lived in!” she insists) apartment to find Brilliance packing, and the pity in her gaze makes Brilliance tugs her arm free when Sienna reaches out for her.  “I have to,” Brilliance says, resolutely keeping her focus on the suitcase laid out in front of her. “Sienna, my heart, I have to. My mother--” Sienna reaches out to cup Brilliance’s cheek, to tilt her face toward her. Brilliance, though reluctant, allows it. “Your mother,” Sienna chides gently, “is a grown woman, who is welcome to stay with us. We’ll make room. But starlight, you don’t need to be in that house. Not ever again, and certainly not right now. Stop for a minute, sit down, we can talk about this...” The conversation begins to unravel from there. Sienna is right; her father’s house is the worst place for Brilliance to be to grieve. Brilliance is right; Sienna is an only child, who lost her mother when she was young. She has no context to understand what Brilliance is going through. Neither of them raise their voice, but there’s an edge to their words that normally has no place in their home. Brilliance gets frustrated, feels herself start to get angry, and she makes the decision to walk away and cool down. She comes back to find Sienna asleep or feigning it, back to the door in a way that feels pointed. At that point it’s well after midnight, and Brilliance doesn’t know what to do about the conversation she’d walked out of. Eventually she goes to bed as well, facing the door, sleeping further from Sienna than she has since they moved in together. She knows better than to go to bed angry, but right now Brilliance can’t stomach the thought of reigniting their argument again that night. She closes her eyes, and hopes they can work things out in the morning before Brilliance leaves for home. 19. If they could each write a single line in their marriage vows, what would they be? Brilliance: You are my peace, my joy, my steadfast foundation; my world is better for having you in it, and I will work for the rest of my life to make sure you can always say the same. Sienna: Whatever I did to earn it, thank you, starlight, for trusting me with you heart; it is my privilege and my honor to be for you what you are to so many others. 31. What do they love to do after sex? Probably, like. Kiss a bunch? Ew!!  But like honestly? Yeah! I think they’re a Big fan of soft, sleepy morning sex, especially on days where Brilliance isn’t needed at the church until the evening and Sienna has the day off. Why not indulge on those days when you can doze off again for a little while, with your beloved asleep on your chest? Brilliance is running her fingers through Sienna’s hair and pressing the occasional kiss to the top of her head, Sienna is tracing absentminded shapes against Brilliance’s collarbone, and they’re just enjoying being warm and sleepy and together with no prospect of that changing anytime soon. 

Raini & Ecstasy

1. What are things they both find funny? I’m gonna take a shot in the dark and say. Shitty people’s misfortune? Not necessarily objectively shitty people, just people they’ve decided they don’t like. Ecstasy telling a story about the dumbass fantasy customs agent she “tricked” (because tricked is a strong word, really. It wasn’t all that hard, and that’s what makes it So funny) into marking her ship with its cargo full of stolen goods and also probably like fantasy weed as “clean” to enter some city? Hilarious. Raini talking about casting Mage Hand under the table at some stuffy negotiations and pulling just hard enough on the chair leg of the asshole who’s already leaning back further than he should be and sending him crashing out of his chair? Fucking hysterical. They’re assholes, but they’re assholes together. And, at the end of the day, that’s what matters! 14. What would be a dealbreaker? At risk of sounding too predictable, for Raini it would have to be something along the lines of finding out that Ecstasy is and has been seeing someone else seriously while they’ve been together together. It’s one thing to sleep around a little when you’re still just a booty call, or even to meet someone pretty and check with your partner that they’re okay with you having a one night stand. If you’re communicating, and everyone involved is okay with it, that’s fine! However, it’s another thing entirely to find out that you’ve been playing second fiddle in terms of your long term girlfriend’s affection for god knows how long. Honestly, I’m not sure Ecstasy would survive an argument started by Raini finding something like that out. I won’t speak too much on Ecstasy’s dealbreaker so I don’t overstep or guess Wrong, but I feel like if we hadn’t gotten our memories back things would have eventually fallen apart. I don’t know if I think there would have been some big climactic fight to end things so much as a sort of just... fading away? A heartbreaking parallel to how slowly they’d entangled themselves in each other’s lives before, and really? Who could blame Ecstasy for pulling away from a situation like that. And without the memories and the context to know why it hurts so much now that things are different, I don’t know if Raini would have gone chasing after her.  23. Write a ~300 scene between them with no dialogue, only body language. They’re supposed to be keeping an eye out for some diplomat, Raini thinks. It’s some trouble about wanting to make sure he hadn’t been intimidated into feeding information or supplies to some foreign power, potentially by doing some intimidating themselves. It seemed important at the time, when they made plans to secure invitations to a ball they’d knew he’d be attending. It had seemed important when she’d stayed up the night before sewing hidden pockets into the folds of the dress she’d be wearing so that she would have some way of smuggling spell components in with her. In fact, it had seemed important up until Raini looked up toward the source of commotion across the ballroom and found herself staring at a tiefling who had absolutely no right to be here. She’s wearing a starch pressed naval uniform -admiral, at least, and almost certainly stolen- that looks like it was made for her, golden buttons and unearned medals gleaming in the candlelight, boots that hug her calves like it’s their damn job, head thrown back as she laughs at something she said-- Raini’s eyes widen then narrow, shocked then indignant that this criminal had the gall to show her face here. They make eye contact seconds later and Raini scoffs at the way the pirate’s eyebrows shoot up at the sight of her. And then she has the audacity to wave? A lazy, two fingered acknowledgement that has Raini glaring daggers in return and setting aside the champagne she’d picked up so that she can stalk across the room to give the pirate a piece of her mind. The pirate seems to have the same thought, and excuses herself from the conversation she’d been having to intercept Raini halfway.  Her cocksure grin has only widened by the time their paths collide, and she effortless cuts off the scathing diatribe Raini had at the ready by extending her hand as an invitation to dance, and raising an eyebrow as a challenge to refuse. Raini, at a loss for words for one of the first times in her life, huffs and crosses her arms, turning up her nose in disdain. The audacity! The gall! The sheer impudence, it’s- It’s staggering. ...still. Raini’s eyes cut back to the fit of the pirate’s stolen uniform, to the shine of its gilding and her buffed leather boots, to the way she holds herself with the confidence that she has every right to be here and every expectation Raini will agree to dance. It’s absolutely infuriating; it’s the hottest thing Raini’s ever seen in her life.  The pirate’s hand is warm when Raini takes it, and the hand that settles low on her waist is even more so. The hand that slips around to the small of her back when the song finishes, turning her toward the open glass doors that lead out to a well-manicured, dimly lit garden sets a similar heat burning across her cheeks, and the hands that lay her out in a dark corner of the garden and creep up her thighs under the hem of her dress are a searing, white hot. 26. What are their favorite parts about physical affection/sex? Raini enjoys the chase! The flirting, the banter, the circling around one another and drawing each other in inch by inch until one of you caves and makes the first move. She loves feeling eyes on her back even though she acts like she doesn’t notice, loves feeling her own pulse begin to race and knowing that across from her Ecstasy’s is doing the same. She loves watching the edges of Ecstasy’s grin go sharp, watching her tail lash against the floor, while all the while she’s carrying on their conversation like nothing has changed. She loves the way her robes start to feel too hot, too heavy, and the way Ecstasy’s gaze tracks her movements as she reaches up to pull the collar open just a bit wider. The brush of a hand on her waist when the tension becomes too much, a silent order to follow to somewhere more private so you can both make good on everything your flirting promised. The sex is good, without question. But the build up? The anticipation? The Showmanship? That’s how you get repeat customers!  She also loves getting her pussy ate to the point that her thighs tremble and resent having to hold her up afterward, but really who wouldn’t? Nothing hotter than your sexy pirate girlfriend fucking you senseless then coming up for air, face wet from nose to chin, wearing an absolutely shit eating grin.

#brilliance #dia #rainivere #amnesia campaign #celebreultimaverba #YES I cheated with the semicolons for the vow one idk how I'm supposed to just write 'one line' like wtf even is that #DIDN'T write that brilliance prose in second person and yes i WOULD like a medal for it #also there's a mini epilogue to that bit that undermines the energy of the question so I'm putting it in the tags but #'she wakes up in the middle of the night with a warmth pressed against her back and soft breath against her hair' #she sighs but slowly reaches back to drape an arm over sienna's waist before drifting off again‚ secure knowing they can fix things tomorrow #GAY hours! #answered

[vands38]

things i wish someone told me about coeliac disease (UK edition)

apparently some doctors are still not telling coeliacs what they actually need to know so here’s some fun facts --

*coeliac disease is likely to go undiagnosed if you don’t have digestive symptoms. for a lot of folks, their first symptoms are odd things like weight loss, bloating, mouth ulcers etc that take ages for doctors to correctly diagnose as coeliac disease. I know someone whose only sign was tingling in her fingers (nerve problems are a Thing sometimes). I don’t wanna freak folks out but check this list of symptoms and if you’re worried, ask your doc for a blood test to check for coeliac disease. I went in and out of my docs for years with various symptoms (mostly from the anaemia) and no one caught it until I was finally having noticeable digestive trouble.

* coeliac disease an autoimmune disease. not an allergy. not an intolerance. when you eat gluten, your gut just screams NOPE and throws everything out of there.

* this means if you keep eating gluten you will have serious long-term health problems because your gut can't absorb shit 

* as I mentioned, anaemia is one of these associated health problems. a lot of people have this at diagnosis b/c your gut hasn’t been absorbing the nutrients it needs. it leaves you very weak and tired, and the longer it goes on, the worse it gets. 

* long-term anaemia / malnutrition causes so many fucking health problems I can't list them all. basically, if your body sucks, there's a good chance it's a side-effect of your coeliac disease going undiagnosed. I got shitty joints and a shitty heart and shitty bones and godknowswhatelse and every time my doc is like "hey, guess what? it’s coeliac disease!"

* you know what a common side effect is? LACTOSE INTOLERANCE. this is because, once again, your gut hates you from all that gluten you've been killing it with, so it starts to muck around and kick out other things too. but good news! most of the time this is reversible!!! lay off any lactose for a couple of months, reintroduce it to your diet slowly, and you -- like me -- might be a-ok 

*some folks with coeliac disease can’t digest oats either as they contain a similar protein. I found that I was kinda squiffy with them at first but as soon as my gut had calmed down I was a-ok with GF oats (this is good b/c 99% of good GF biscuits are made with oat flour, RIP to everyone that can’t eat them)

* so... your bones are probably fucked. if you were diagnosed early and your doctors are on it, you might be okay but for a lot of people it means osteopenia, and further down the line, osteoporosis (meaning it's v easy to break bones). you need to be eating, like, double the regular amount of calcium every day. most people are put on calcium tablets with combined vitamin D (to help absorb the calcium) but even on top of that, you need to be getting a lot in your diet. If you're still lactose intolerant then switch to lacto-free versions of dairy products or eat tofu like there's no tomorrow. It's super important that you get enough.

* relatedly, bone health!!! You should be doing MODERATE impact exercises like jogging to strengthen the bones but nothing high-impact like tennis. load-bearing exercises are good too. here’s some examples (in detail) given to me by the rheumatology dept

* people have different sensitivity levels. in the UK, certified gluten-free products have to be 20 parts per million or less, but in the US this is 100! marmite lives somewhere between these two and can cause some coeliacs to have a reaction. please be aware when you eat international gluten-free foods that they might have more parts per million than your body is used to

* because you're super sensitive to gluten, not only do you need to check the bold allergens on the ingredients, but the small print too. it might say "made in a factory that handles gluten" or "may contain traces of gluten" and that’s a no-go

* similarly, be careful in restaurants. Apparently it's still perfectly legal for restaurants to say a dish is "gluten free" and then put your nice GF bread in the same fucking toaster as regular bread and have you shitting your pants for days. Just because the ingredients are GF doesn't mean they're cooking it in an allergen-conscious manner. If its not a Coeliac UK certified restaurant, always ask about their methods. Is that milkshake made in a GF blender? Is your fry-up cooked in a separate pan? The first time I got glutened after my diagnosis it was because my GF naan bread shared a tray with a regular one. A lot of places won't even fucking think about this stuff.

* if you're in a gluten-eating household, you've got a big expense coming up. you need to buy a GF toaster at the very least and I would recommend also a separate baking tray (because pizzas, garlic breads etc stick to that shit like no tomorrow) and a saucepan (or anything else that regularly contains pasta/noodles/etc). You'll also need a separate bread knife and board. Separate butter. Separate strainer if you're the type to drain your pasta. Line anything suspicious (e.g.your sandwich toaster, a communal baking tray) with baking parchment. Don’t use bare rungs in your oven or hob. And buy separate spreads and condiments, unless your household is very well trained in not dipping their crumb-covered knives into those things. I've even got separate plates, kitchen utensils, and cutlery. It seems extreme but I haven't had a cross-contamination incident since. Just think: has gluten touched this? And if so, do your best to minimise the risk.

* living GF is expensive long-term too. GF bread costs twice as much as regular bread. Restaurants often charge extra for GF alternatives. I had to switch from having toast in the morning to cereal because it's much more reasonably priced. I eat more fruit than I ever have before just because GF snacks cost so much. I used to have breakfast bars lol say goodbye to that shit unless you wanna be broke

* things I didn't realise I couldn't eat: crisps (a lot of your standard crisps are made with ??? production methods), candied nuts (most of these are made in factories that handle gluten), soy sauce, strawberry laces and a whole bunch of fave sweets (contain wheat starch to bind them - check this list for safe sweets), marmite (you can buy a GF yeast extract that is only 50% worse than the original)

*good food you actually can eat: most cadburys but not most nestle, GF beer which tastes exactly the same, schar pretzels are actually the shit, so are their BBQ pringles and those little chocolate bars with hazelnuts, Morrisons free from frozen mini hash browns will cure your depression, M&S do these bacon tortilla rolls which... OH BOY. Quiche alternatives are pretty damn good but I've yet to find a pizza that doesn't make me want to cry.

*speaking of supermarkets... Morrisons stock a good range of stuff and tend to have everything in one aisle, M&S have many yummy (and expensive) treats, Sainsbury's has good own brand things including bread, Tesco's are fairly decent and stock a lot of baking things, ASDA are the king of GF cake, if you're still lacto-free then Waitrose sell LF cheese including halloumi, and check your your local hippy food store because I found the best goddamn bread in mine (Incredible Bakery Company - you are £4.50 a loaf but I have no regrets)

*party risks: if there's a BBQ, insist that your things go first or have a separate BBQ, or, if worse comes to worse, just eat cold snacks. (Beware of sausages! Many aren't GF!) If its a chip and dip situation, either everything has to be GF (easily done) or have your own dip. BUFFETS ARE LITERALLY OUR WORST NIGHTMARE. the amount of coeliacs I know that have been glutened at one are INSANE. even if those tasty treats are labelled 'gluten free' they've probably be contaminated. everything at a goddamn buffet is contaminated. Dinner party? Well meaning friends will want to cook for you but unless their kitchen is set up as above, it's safer to bring your own food -- if you're very lucky, you will have friends who take the time to learn about allergens and will clean every item in their kitchen before cooking and serving an entire GF meal. these friends are to be treasured -- nay, worshipped.

*fast food. there’s no good way to put this but you’re never having that guilty pleasure 2am burger again. mcdonalds fries are miraculously GF though. (a lot of takeaways recycle oil so even if the ingredients are GF it’s often not safe but mcdonalds always use a separate fryer for chips). indian takeaway is great as most dishes don’t contain gluten. on the flip side, you’ll only be able to have about 5 items on the chinese menu (soy sauce is in everything, yo) so be prepared to learn those 5 items by heart. dominoes do Coeliac UK certified GF pizza!!! (buuuuut not during covid). chains like pizza express have got our back and will even serve you GF doughballs

*coeliac UK are your best friend! most of the things I’ve mentioned are described in detail on their website. they also have a barcode scanner app that will tell you if foods are safe, and they have a restaurant guide, and useful things like translation guides for when you go abroad. 

That's all I've got right now but hmu with any questions or corrections. Take care of yourself, folks. <3

#coeliac disease #celiac disease #gluten free #info post #allergens #i just could not see another incorrect comment on the coeliac uk facebook page without doing something #i'm sorry #i'm well aware this is of interest to approx three followers #but #someone might need to hear all this #because my god i definitely did when i got diagnosed #long post

[drferox]

@lmaodies said to @ask-drferox: 1/5  Hi, sorry-this will be long,and mostly about raw with cats! I've been reading your blog and have a few q's.1-Do you believe the digestive systems of modern house-cats differ overly much from their wild counterparts? I ask this bc of the whole raw debate,a vet I work with said something along the lines of "Modern dogs/cats are no longer [obligate] carnivores" wrt feeding grain/veggie heavy diets to both dogs and cats, and vehemently against RAW diet.

2/5My main concern w/dry food is-is the veg/grain even bioavailable to cats and dogs& if it isn't, why are we even bothering to feed it? If cats and dogs' GI system doesn't differ much from their wild relatives,why would raw diets be so dangerous or frowned upon?2-in your post about raw diet with dogs, you mentioned you would not want to feed raw for any kidney issues because of the high protein/phos. content. Considering the feral diet-birds/mice/etc-do these not have similar nutrition content?

3/5 (lord im sorry)also wrt kidney cats, ive heard/read that moisture/lack thereof can be a key component in cats' kidney health. In your opinion, would raw/wet food be better for cats because of the moisture content? 3-would a raw food diet be particularly dangerous for a cat who is FIV+? wrt your advice for cats with CKD, are carb-heavy foods like potatoes, rice, grains, etc. particularly nutritional for cats?

4/5 I want to clarify that i'm not here to antagonize or belittle, or disagree with you, but so many vets I have met are utterly unwilling to discuss the topic of raw feeding apart from "don't do it" so I'm interested to hear your thoughts! I'm new to your blog but I enjoy that you're really honest and that everything is backed up with evidence, and that you're not saying that one way or another is best/worst for every animal. You're dispelling a lot of bad rumors about vets, which is fantastic!

5/5 I really do appreciate your time and opinions! The fact that you spend the time you do here on tumblr asking questions and responding to, im sure, no small amount of inanity, is admirable. Now, question tax; What is your favourite non-domestic animal? Do you have a preference on which kind of animal you work on--"large" animals, "small" animals, or wildlife? Thanks so much for your time! (also im so sorry for the word vomit!!!)

I will try my best to pick through all these points in order.

Cats are highly specialized and obligate carnivores. This means they have an absolute, non-negotiable requirement for meat in their diet, but they are capable of consuming other things in addition to that meat.

Cats are still obligate carnivores, but they don’t require a 100% meat diet. They just require a high meat diet, compared to a dog diet anyway.

Cooked starch is very digestible by most species. It’s easy energy. Not everything is digestible to a cat, and some things only partially so, but sometimes we include these components deliberately to bind up hairballs or bulk up the stool. No diet is 100% digestible, otherwise there would be no poop. You’ve probably heard the terms ‘indigestible fiber’ before, it helps them have nice poops.

A feral animal with kidney disease is just going to die as per a natural progression, if it gets to live that long in the first place. I’m rather hoping the pet cats I see get to live for 20 years or so, while a feral or wild cat is doing super, amazingly well to reach just five years of age. Their kidney health is the very least of their concerns.

A feral cat that kills a mouse or bird is also now eating the freshest possible raw meat (and organs, and stomach contents). If you buy raw meat for your cat, it has likely been dead for at least a week, transported long distances and been in storage for quite some time. The risk of contamination is much higher than in a prey item killed a moment ago.

Cats with advanced kidney disease I tend to feed them just whatever they’re willing to eat as they will lose their appetite as they get sicker. Eating moisture is great but they’re going to drink a huge amount anyway. Plus, you can always add water to dry food. I would much rather these chronically ill cats be on a cooked diet than a raw one, and increasing their carb and fat content can help delay the worsening of their disease.

Yes, raw diets are an increased risk for cats with FIV, especially raw lamb and kangaroo because of the Toxopalsma risk, which is difficult enough to treat at the best of times but especially difficult to treat in an immunosuppressed cat.

Just about everything can digest cooked carbohydrates. in terms of macronutrients food can only consist of either water, protein, carbohydrates or fat. Animals can digest some molecules from all of these groups, I don’t understand why the internet decided to believe that cat’s can digest carbohydrates at all. Glycogen is a carbohydrate, it’s the energy storage molecule in muscles and it’s really very similar to starch.

I do hope you’ll forgive me as it’s fairly late at night from finding previously links, but you sound like you’ve been searching the blog on this topic already

For the tax, I am quite fond of most wild canids, with wolves holding a special place in my heart, and I work mostly on small animals these days. Much better for my old knees, tbh.

#veterinarian #vetblr

[shiro-ai-writes]

Prompt: Finding a baby in your doorstep on a winter morning (Rebirth scenario test)

A spin off with my OCs so that test out scenes for my other more important stories... I call it a prompt but it’s actually all of the research that I had collected in a fun little side story :D

For this one, I have my first ever OC, Aestia Goldlink

Some additional information (that I had marked for my own benefit, but I thought would be fun to add):

Location: a mansion/estate

Scenario: home alone(ish), she's 27+, her place since she's well to do, finds baby when putting out milk bottles

All that said, enjoy.

She squirmed when the pin prick of light peeking through her blackout curtains reached her eyes. She turned, curling into herself and snuggling into the fluffiness that was her rich cotton sheets before sighing in relief. She chased after the sleep that had threatened to escape her but quickly gave up after what felt like half an hour of half-hearted unconsciousness.

She sat up, eyes still closed, stretching her arms far back with her body contorting into quite the tight arc. With a tiny grunt accompanied by an inelegant series of pops and cracks and a sigh, the woman blinked blearily as she slipped off the bed, yawning as she went.

Only to freeze the moment her bare feet touched the wooden panels that was her floor.

In an action that was almost too quick compared to her stiffened state, she jumped onto the thin rug she had by her bed, any last remnants of sleep batted away into space in her haste. Her toes and feet curled into themselves. So cold! She thought, and she scanned the ground for her slippers.

It took a while—partly because she refused to take even a step out of the square that wasn't the winter-chilled floor—but she finally located her slippers, camouflaged brown puffy ends sticking out from under her disheveled duvet. Idly, she debated putting on a pair of woollen socks but decided to leave the thought for after she freshened up.

So she went about as usual and if she soaked her feet in some hot water in the bathtub, no one can fault her.

Settling down on her dresser, she continued her routine of creams and powder. After swipe of lipstick in a decidedly neutral tone of red, she fished out a pair of long socks from the drawers beside her as well as the accompanying calf garters.

She pulled them on and clasped the last garter right when the grandfather clock down the hall chimed nine, telling her that this morning's milk would be here in another quarter or so. Just enough time for her to change and gather up the bottles she had washed the night before.

First her blouse, thick and soft, lightly starched to perfection. Then her skirt, thicker than she would usually have opted for but at her preferred length with no one able to judge her conservative tastes because of how cold it was. She forgot how soft it was—she hadn't had many opportunities to wear it—as expected of merino wool, softest as wools go. It was really warm too. The more she felt at it the more she was fascinated by it. I really should wear this more, she thinks, humming. This grey really goes well with this particular shade of cream. Wonder if it will look as good with my other blouses.

"Oh! Almost forgot." She muttered and rushed to fix herself and grabbed her dressing gown.

She near-dashed—because dashing is uncivilized—down to the kitchens and picked up the basket filled full with five little glasses packed neatly, thanking past her to have had the presence of mind to have done so last night.

From there, she began to stroll to the front gate, where hopefully she didn't have to wait or make the David, hardworking man he is, wait too long in this dreadful weather. She was halfway there when a small breeze blew by and she began pondering if she should have taken a little longer to grab one of her larger coats. Right now all she had against the frigid air was a warm skirt and a thin dressing gown. Not really ideal for facing the weather that decided to instantly become freezing when just yesterday it had been warm enough for short sleeves.

At least it isn't snowing yet, she sighed.

Upon seeing the the cloud of her breath frosted over, she pulled the gown tighter over her shoulders. She sped up, wincing a little as dry leaves crunched under her boot. Internally, she notes down to tell the gardener after to sweep after she returns. Normally, it would be the butler's job to clear the leaves but John was on holiday, a well deserved one and to visit family overseas, so she'll delegate it to the gardener for the time being. The man hasn't much else to do otherwise with all the plants all shed and ready for winter. Goodness gracious, even the ones in the greenhouse were prepping for the chill... Such thoughts and others of a similar vein kept her occupied that she might have gotten herself a face full of metal bars.

Might have.

If it wasn't for what she saw that stopped her.

Sitting there, right on edge of her gate, was wicker basket. She stepped closer, brows rising slowly on her forehead and head tilting unwittingly.

It wasn't a basket.

But a cradle.

And a baby.

Her hands flew to her face, glass bottles jostling as the basket in the crook of her elbow swung. Warm fingers met cold cheeks and she scrambled to unlock the gate. How long has this poor child been left here? The cold metal bit at her palms when she pulled the gate back but she ignored it in favour of grasping at handle of the cradle.

The chill of the wood handle burned her more than the gate bars did. And the cold air burned her throat as she took in a sharp breath, eyes wide and unseeing. The child, its lips, they were so blue. Its face so pale, it was as if it had no blood. Cold. The child must be so cold. She tore off her dressing gown, tucking the thin bit of additional warmth into the basket. Then she realised something.

There was no cloud.

A strong gust of wind blew.

The child, it...

Her hand stuttered as she reached towards under the baby's nose. Deep inside, she didn't want to for fear that she would be met with the worst possible outcome. Her lips pulled itself thinner and thinner the longer she couldn't feel anything on her chill-reddened digits. She was praying to whatever God there was out there that it was just her fingers and not any other dreadfulness. Finally, a tiny tickle of sensation graced her index, one she would have definitely missed had there been even the smallest of winds. She let out a breath she didn't know she held and pressed her fingers down to the small gap between the loose blanket and the child's neck, checking for a pulse.

When she was suitably satisfied by small and weak but consistent thumps, she scooped up the basket and powered back to the mansion for fear of jostling the wain.

Though her gate was left wide open and the basket of bottles laid messily on the ground, that was the last thing she could be concerned with in this moment. David, he's a good man, he can be trusted to exchange the bottles left out. She would just have to take another trip out to collect them later, is all.

When she burst through the nearest door, she was met with a loud yelp followed by the clatter of something fumbling its way down to the ground. She resisted the urge to look towards the noise, instead focused on making her way to the kitchen where she knows has a fire roaring in its hearth, as it does everyday.

"Milady-" the maid started but stopped short.

"Not now." she called out curtly and marched on.

Legging through the door as much as is allowed, she turned sharply trying her best to not shake the basket.

It took a while, even if she was running with all her might, to get to the kitchens, having had to cross several hallways  before she reached. Maybe she shouldn't have been so hasty to get inside the house. But there was a definite change in temperature when she entered so she deemed it fruitful since the child need not stay in the cold for any longer—few minutes or not. She couldn't bear the thought of circling around to the back door of the kitchens she came out of.

Anywho, there it was, the hearth! She quickly put the cradle by it. And slumped down to the ground, huffing and puffing. Only to then realise that she was being stared at by her chefs and a footman.

"M-milady! What is-" the footman began when a second voice cut in.

"Milady Goldlink! What in the world has possessed you! You ran like the devil himself was after you." The maid sputtered worriedly.

"Sorry Pristine," the Lady said sheepishly, still slightly out of breath. She looked over her at maid, whom was living up to her namesake with not a single hair out of place after what? Running from the front end of the building to the back. She wasn't even out of breath. Why, if it weren't for the faint sheen of sweat decorating her forehead, Lady Goldlink would have thought she had just come in from the storage room next door.

Then again, she could argue that she ran more and harder, and it completely was not because she was utterly out of shape.

With a final intake of warm air that felt like honey being smoothed over her cold burned lungs, she continued.

"Could I get some hot water and towels?"

At the quizzical look on her staff's faces she dragged the basket onto her knee as she took a seat onto a stool one of the chefs drug out for her.

"That's... Milady that's... Is it?" the footman stammered, brows knotted together, seemingly having caught on to what her package was.

"Yes, it is."

She flipped open the flap of the basket.

There was chorus of gasps followed by silence.

Then a flurry of motion to get the things she requested and more.

Amongst the chaos, she found that the baby basket had been relieved from her grasp and a warm cup of tea replaced the spot between her hands. She watched as all the servants present halted all they were doing then to bustle about tending to the near frozen child.

She watched quietly as the footman twirled about the kitchen tending to various things at once and chewed on her lip. She couldn't quite put a name to his face for some reason. Maybe he's a new hire? But at the sight of the young man lifting the baby tenderly out of its icy prison made her decide to pursue the thought later.

The child was wrapped in a makeshift cot of cloths and the head chef was pressing wet towels to the baby's face. And oh, was it such a tiny thing, face growing utterly red and painful looking. In the background, she heard the footman coordinate the maids to prepare a place for the wain as well as to send for a doctor. For a new face, he was so well adjusted to lead, she wondered if she give the man a raise or a recommendation for a butler’s position when the time comes. The young man’s ability would be wasted as a footman… And, any excuse for her to pile more work on John was always a plus in her books.

Somewhere along the line, between sips of her sweeter than usual tea, a blanket had been draped over her shoulders and Pristine leaned over her, saying, “We need to get you all warmed up now, drink up Milady, we have plenty more."

Other than that, she assumed the standing orders the Lady of the house had, which were to sit and look pretty as John liked to nag. And oh, would he be giving her a good lecture if he were here, no doubt for leaving the house in unsuitable attire, without an escort or doing menial tasks on her own instead of being waited on.

She simply didn't see the point of having servants for such frivolous reasons. It's not like she couldn't dress herself well enough and she needed a reason to stretch her legs in the mornings. It wasn't that hard to collect by herself some milk—oh right the milk! She had completely forgotten.

It should be by the gate which was wide open since she left it as is in her haste. Seeing that everyone's attention was on the child, she put down the cup and sneakily turned to get off the tiny stool only to come face to face with Pristine squatting beside her, eyes rapt on the chaos. A basket full of milk resting on the ground

Right. Of cour—

"Green room's ready!" A clean voice called over and the baby was swiftly cradled in the arms of one of the maids and hustled off by the footman. All the maids present, of which there weren't many, followed after swiftly. In an instant, the din was replaced by the deafening ring of silence.

Lady Goldlink made to stand up and Pristine—quick as ever—hooked an arm under hers to help. She looked towards the cooks and began,

“Mrs Ramirez, Cora, Bella. I’ve interrupted your breakfast preparations for your help. I thank you sincerely for you readily assistance a-”

A short cacophony of ‘of course’s and ‘always’s as well as a pat on the shoulder from the cook had her grinning brightly. And the dry ‘being all upright and proper doesn’t suit you at all lassie’ that followed sent her giggling hopelessly and dropping her sad attempt at lady-ing.

“Well, I’m glad to be able to enjoy your continued service, my chefs.”

Nodding at their bows, she made her way out of the kitchen.

She started towards the green room but a certain handmaid of hers still had an iron grip on her elbow.

"Now milady," she started, "you don't have anything on your schedule today, but I suggest you get started on some paperwork. John tasked me to make sure you're done on time."

"John... He…" She sputtered.

"Now now, I'm sure it be quick work.”

“Unbelievable!"

And she was dragged, ahem, assistedly brought—with completely no resistance—to her office.

She sighed when she saw the stack in her tray and then again at the sight of a bigger stack beside it.

Damn you John.

#My writing #me writing #writing #writeblr #original character #original writing #original work #original story #story #short story #oc #scenario #test #prompt #Aestia Goldlink

[transgenderteensurvivalguide]

im going to florida and staying at the Universal theme park for a week, what are some good tips for binding/dressing in the heat for a trans masc individual?

Lee says:

You might want to shorten the time your wear in your binder if you feel yourself getting lightheaded, dizzy, or sick in any way, so you should carry a sports bra in your knapsack that you could duck into a shop bathroom (or something) to change into if needed, and in that knapsack make sure you carry a water bottle with ice in it to avoid dehydration.

And of course ditch as many layers as you can, so sweatshirt on top of your t-shirt and binder.

I also recommend putting some corn starch/baby power on your chest before you put on your binder. I used to pour a bit right down the front of my binder after putting it on and it helps keep things for a little bit longer.

“Adults usually develop heat rash in skin folds and where clothing causes friction. Anything that makes you sweat heavily, especially if you’re not wearing clothing that allows the sweat to evaporate, can trigger heat rash.”

Here’s another post on binding in hot weather.

Followers, any tips on binding/dressing in the heat for a trans masc individual?

Followers say:

draco-alexander said: I was there a month ago and I recommend not wearing a robe (Hogwarts one) I strongly recommend sticking to a shirt and shorts with binding I recommend making sure to keep hydrated and if you get to warm go to a cool place and sit down a bit if you can’t take your binder off for any reason. That’s all I have to say but if you have any questions message me

meanfemme said: Lightweight fabrics! This may seem like a no-brainer but really try to pick thin, lightweight fabrics to wear. Think cotton or linen. Always stay hydrated. Always bind safe ESPECIALLY when it’s hot. No ace bandages or duct tape. Please take care of yourselves. Try a mid-length or sports bra style binder. Try an undershirt under your binder. People I know swear by it. It helps absorb sweat and adds an extra layer between your binder and your skin. (For me it bunches up and gets uncomfy but pls! Try it out) Try to give yourself a break. If you arent going anywhere and youre just lounging maybe skip binding that day. I know sometimes dysphoria is too bad to totally skip. Dysphoria sucks. I get it. Maybe try a break in the early afternoon when the heat is the worst. I love y'all and stay safe this summer! 💙💗♡💗💙

beelzebuddy said: Check out my tutorial on an underbinder spray: https://beelzebuddy.tumblr.com/post/160016345822/hey-friends-who-bind-thought-id-share-my-recipe

tauntedoctopuses said: I wear a running shirt under my binder, and I never ever get sticky and gross.

diseased-sociopath said: I opt for sleeveless shirts with a denim vest (patches and studded to hell hah) and skip binding when possible.  Beh

lycansforce said: i find using a spray-on antiperspirant/deodorant on my chest before putting on my binder helps a LOT, too!

who-am-i-yo said: Gold bond powder spray is totally amazing. Keeps you dry forevvvvvverrrrr and some are cooling as well, which is nice lol

jackdebbie said: I find lightweight genie pants help with overall heat and they are great for any gender or size

alltimelime said: Youtubers jammidodger and Noah Hella have done videos on this topic too which are pretty helpful

#Lee says #hot weather #caps #Anonymous #transgenderteensurvivalguide #trans #transgender

[themuffinbee]

Relationships: Jester Lavorre/Caleb Widogast

Additional Tags: Fluff, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Scars, Touching, Caleb is touch-starved, He also has a crush on Jester, He does not know either of these things, Touch-Starved, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Widojest 

Summary:

What if a certain inquisitive cleric and a certain scruffy wizard had taken watch together in that crystalline cave on the way to Xhorhas? And what if she wanted to get a better look at what he’s been hiding under those bandages?

A little missing scene that could have happened in episode 50.

A/N:  Many, many thanks to Jadesabre301 ( a.k.a. Jade_Sabre on Ao3) for beta-ing this fic. She’s an amazing beta AND a fantastic writer, go read her sweet, fluffy Widojest stuff!

Drip. Drip. Drip. Drip.

A stream of droplets trickled down the side of the bubble, no doubt from one of the jagged crystals gleaming up above. On the other side of the magical hut, the Mighty Nein slumbered away under the cover of Caduceus’s stone shell, the air punctuated with an occasional snore from Beauregard.

Caleb scratched at his arms.

Try as he might, he just couldn’t help but dig under his bandages to get at an itch that wasn’t actually there. Their current surroundings were stunning, true, but the glittering shards covering every visible surface only served to stoke unpleasant memories. Some much more recent than others.

“Hey, Caaay-leb, whatcha thinking about?” his companion whispered to him in a singsong melody.

Five minutes and forty-six seconds. Jester had lasted longer in the silence than he had expected.

“Oh, nothing much. You?”

“Just trying figure out if there’s a way to hollow out a cake, like, a small one, and fill it with the jelly they put inside doughnuts,” she replied, plopping her head onto her hand and tapping her chin, “The problem is, it would glop all over the place when you cut into it, and maybe make the cake all soggy.”

He pondered this for a moment, more than happy to escape his own thoughts, “I don’t know much about baking, but what if you made it thicker with some kind of starch? Or gelatin? Would that work?”

Her eyes brightened. “Maybe! I don’t know too much about baking either, but it would be delicious, wouldn’t it?”

He nodded. “That it would.”

“Thank you!” She paused, brows beginning to furrow. “I was also trying to make sense of the last few days. Things have gotten pretty crazy.”

Caleb stiffened and made a vague noise of affirmation, gaze drifting off to the side. His mind flashed to all of the things he had said, and left unsaid, two days ago. A subtle sense of panic began buzzing along his nerves, years of practiced self-preservation taking hold in an instant.

Change the subject, you don’t want to open the door to this conversation.

He could ask about her mother, but that might make her sad…Maybe her art? Better yet, asking her about the Traveler might–

“You know, that’s actually why I wanted to keep watch with you tonight.” She scooted closer to him. “I have a question for you…”

Scheiße. Too slow.

Thinking back, he should have turned her down the moment she volunteered for second watch right after he did. She had been far too eager, raising her hand with such force that she practically jumped off the ground. Why hadn’t he suspected anything then?

“…And you don’t have to say yes if you don’t want to.” She waved her hands in front of her. “It’s totally fine if you don’t.”

He cleared his throat. “Jester, I don’t think I–”

“Oh, and I wanted to thank you,” she cut in.

“Thank me?” He frowned. He had done nothing worthy of special thanks.“Whatever for?”

“I wanted to thank you….” she plunked her words out one by one, like a child practicing an instrument “…For trusting us. I know that must have been pretty difficult.”

She beamed at him, and he felt something loosen and tighten in his chest all at the same time. That had been happening a lot as of late. Far too often, actually.

That needs to stop.

He swallowed and cast his eyes to the ground, “Ja.”

Why was she looking at him like that? With those violet eyes filled with sincerity and a smile so warm it could melt winter itself within half a second? He had revealed that he had been lying to the Nein for months, using them as a shield, a front, and she thanked him for it?

She would never look at him like that if she knew what he was, everything he had done. His general allusions of being trained to torture were the least of his sins in his past life.

She doesn’t have to know any more than she already does. It’s not too late, change the subject.

Gluing his eyes to a pebble by his foot like it was the most fascinating thing in the world, he asked, “So, what was your question?”

It was a rare thing for him to ignore his instincts. After all, his abundance of caution had kept him safe for years, kept him from getting caught, from getting killed. Tonight, however, he found himself rebelling against his better judgment. Whether it was out of curiosity or masochism, he had no idea. Maybe he was just tired of hiding, of peddling in secrets and lies, of fearing what she thought of him.

“Well, you see, I was wondering if it would be all right,” she leaned in and whispered, “if I could take a closer look at your arms.”

Caleb blinked. “You what?”

“Your arms,” she motioned to his threadbare bandages, “I’d like to look at them. I just wanted to check them out, healing being my thing and all.”

Well, that made perfect sense, now didn’t it? It wasn’t the worst thing she could ask of him, not by a long shot. He had expected the ever-inquisitive cleric to dig straight into the sizable holes he had left in his story. But still…

“I’d really rather not, they’re a bit of a…uh…a bad memory.”

“Oh.” Jester’s face fell a tad, then brightened once again. “That’s okay. Just let me know if you change your mind.”

He frowned. “Why do you want to look at them anyway? They’re far beyond healing, there’s nothing you could do.”

“Well…” she began rummaging around in her component pouches, “I figured, now that we may be coming up against some big bad magic guys, it might be a good idea to know if they have a little extra somethin’–somethin’ up their sleeve, and maybe how it works, you know?

“Aha! There you are!” she whispered in triumph as she pulled out a tiny striped lollipop, a miniature version of her confectionary Spiritual Weapon. She held it out to him. “You want one too?”

“No, but danke.”

“You sure? They’re reeeally good,” she half-sang in that cadence of hers. “I got a bunch of them in Nicodranas right before we left, so they’re still pretty fresh.”

He shook his head with a wan smile and a small chuff of air through his nose that might be construed as a chuckle.

This seemed to appease her. Jester nodded happily and popped the sweet in her mouth, speaking around the candy. “Could I ask you another question instead?”

No.

He sighed, watching his fingers fiddle with the hem of his coat to keep them from tugging at his bandages. “You can ask, but you may not get an answer.”

This is a bad idea.

“Yeah, of course.” She nodded and thought for a second, “Do you think there are more people out there like you?”

Caleb looked up, “Do I think what now?”

“You know, others. People that ran away from the Assembly or the Academy?”

“I…I don’t know. I hadn’t ever considered it.”

He hadn’t. Not really, anyways. When he had first been thrown into the institution, he had near-feverish fantasies of Astrid or Eodwulf getting thrown in with him, of them being together once again and escaping far from the reaches of the Empire.

But it had never happened.

There had been no rescue party. His hope has been crushed into dust long before the end of those eleven hellacious years.

“Well,” Jester continued, “if there are others, maybe we could help them. That’s why I was wondering about your arms. If, like, they still had magic stuff in theirs and wanted to get it out. Who knows? Maybe even Yeza has some, since he was working for the Cerberus Assembly.”

“I see.” This conversation hadn’t gone the way he was expecting at all.

Then again, nothing ever seemed to go the way he expected if Jester was involved.

They sat in silence for a few minutes before the cleric fished her sketchbook and pencils out of her haversack.

“I’m going to make some drawings for the Traveler for a little while, is that cool?”

He nodded but said nothing, staring off into darkness as a flurry of thoughts whirled between his ears.

In his five years on the run, he hadn’t even dared to hope that there may be someone else like himself out there. The power of Trent Ikithon and the Assembly had grown to near omnipotence in his mind, their controlling influence in every realm of the Empire being an insurmountable barrier against other dissenters.

Hell, even someone like Pumat Sol was a member of the Assembly. The genial firbolg may have spoken well of the organization, but that brief flash of fear in Pumat’s eyes when he talked about Headmaster Oremid Haas spoke louder.

No, it was doubtful there was anyone else.

Caleb turned his attention back to Jester as she flipped through the pages of her sketchbook, catching glimpses of the Nein’s various exploits recorded in ink and graphite. Every once in a while, he would spot sketches of Kiri, Nila, Shakaste, and so many others. Though he may not entirely understand it, Caleb knew the cleric’s drawings were more than doodlings for her metaphysical best friend; they were prayers to her god. It was staggering, really, the number of portraits she had etched into those pages, the number of people she managed to care for all at once.

Consternation gave way to uncertainty, and perhaps the most minuscule bit of guilt, as he thought about what she had said, that the scars of his past could aid someone in the future. Granted, the chances of that were slim to none. Even still, he had told her not seventy-two hours ago that he believed in her, that he trusted her…What was the harm in testing that faith out a little?

You’ll ruin everything. Don’t taint your friendship more than you already have.

But she already knew what his arms looked like, didn’t she? There was nothing to hide. At least, not on this front.

“…All right,” he whispered, his voice almost inaudible to his own ears.

“Hm?” She looked up from her drawing. “What was that?”

“I said all right, you can look at my arms.”

Her face split into a smile, “Really?”

“Really really,” he responded, shrugging out of his coat and unwrapping the bandages at his elbows before he lost whatever speck of courage he had managed to gather.

Idiot. You’re as big a sucker as that candy she has in between her teeth.

Jester scrambled back over to him until they were sitting knee to knee, watching with an intensity and focus normally reserved for her sketches. With an absent-minded crunch, she bit into the lollipop and placed the stick back in its wrapper.

Fighting off a small wave of nausea, Caleb held his arm before her.

She gently took hold of it, “Now, just tell me if you change your mind and I’ll stop, okay?”

He nodded, then held his breath.

Jester closed her eyes and whispered something he couldn’t quite make out, a prayer on playfully reverent lips. Her eyes opened, and a quick flash of green light filled her irises before it burned away like verdant embers.

Smart girl, casting magical detection like that. Caleb knew she wouldn’t find anything; he hadn’t felt the sting of magic under his skin for years, but it was a good thought nonetheless.

He was mostly fine for the first few minutes, surprisingly so, as he watched her turn his arm this way and that. But as the process went on, he noticed the look of focus on Jester’s features sink into an expression of uncomfortable concern. Her lips pursed together as she took in the numerous faint scars spidering across his skin, the corners of her mouth dipping as her eyes and fingers met with each wound.

Soon, she asked to see his other arm, to which he obliged without protest. However, a sick feeling had begun to eat away at the insides his stomach, like he was watching her search through a pile of filth and rotted garbage.

Then it happened.

Memory and present merged into a single vision, as they so often did for him. This time there were no screams of anguish rending the air as ash and the smell of burning flesh gagged him from the inside out. No, this was much quieter, but just as sinister.

Instead of her fingers sliding over the faded remnants of his past sins, Caleb saw Jester inspecting a crystalline rainbow consuming his flesh one inch at a time. He nearly cried out and pushed her away – he couldn’t let them take hold of her too, encasing her fingers in a prismatic prison that would eat its way up her arms, her chest, mouth, eyes. Hollow laughter rang out from somewhere in the depths of the cave, a sound he wished he could forget.

It’s not real. He’s not here. Götter verdammt noch mal, es ist nicht real.

Willing his arm to keep from shaking, Caleb took a deep breath and hoped she didn’t notice how it shuddered in his lungs. He trained his gaze on his boots, knowing that closing his eyes would only make the vision worse. How long had it lasted? Ten seconds? Three? Less? It was hard to tell.

“Caleb, are you sure you’re okay?”

Damn. He looked up to find her staring at him, concern etched into every inch of her face.

“Caleb, we can stop. You don’t have to do this.” She looked back down at his arm. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

“You’re not, it’s not you…It’s…It’s a bad memory, like I said.” His words were a halting mess, but even the simple act of speaking them helped ground him to reality.

A memory, yes, that’s right. Only a memory. She was safe, he was safe, there was nothing to fear. Only a series of faint scars on skin as white as bones.

“That doesn’t make much of a difference if I’m the one bringing back the memory, and it looks like it’s worse than just ‘bad.’ It’s okay, I’ll stop now.”

Her grip slackened on his arm, and a whole new kind of panic took him. He knew only one thing, and that was he did not want her to let go. If she let go, then he had failed her, broken his word, lied to her. Not too long ago, he wouldn’t have cared a wit if someone were disappointed in him. Why did he care now?

“Wait, hold on. You’re almost done, aren’t you?”

“Yeah, but–”

“Go ahead and finish. It’s no good to leave the job half done.”

“Are you sure?”

Her fingers were barely touching him now, like birds perched on a branch, ready to fly off at any moment. She needed a sign that he was actually okay, not paltry words that could be guilty lies as easily as earnest truths. With a slow, deliberate motion, he relaxed into her hand until his arm was flush with her palm.

He held her gaze with his. “Yes.”

She looked at him for a moment or two, trying to find any sign of uncertainty. Then, one of the corners of her mouth rose into a half-smile. “You know, recently, you look different, Caleb.”

He frowned, more than a little confused by this assertion. “I look exactly the same as the day I met you.”

“No, not physically. Well, maybe a little, in a way.”

“Jester, you are not making very much sense.”

She cocked her head to the side. “You seem… lighter, less heavy. I don’t know…You’re different, but a good different.”

“If you say so.” He didn’t feel any lighter. If anything, he felt tired from carrying around too many secrets for too long, but maybe that was her point.

“I can see it. ” She gave him another appraising look and nodded. “Yup, definitely a good different.”

He shook his head, knowing he was more pleased than he should be at that nonsensical assessment, “You are a very silly tiefling.”

Her teeth flashed in the low light. “Good.”

Now more grounded in the present, Caleb felt his heartbeat slow in his chest, the wave of panic and nausea subsiding. As he watched her resume the study of his scars, he could see faint specks of light in her hair and on her skin, reflected from the glittering walls of the cave, mixing in with the myriad of freckles on her face. The tip of her tail curled and uncurled idly at her side, a behavior he found rather reminiscent of Frumpkin. Her face wore the same look she had while painting, with one pointed incisor peeking out as she bit down on a cerulean lip. It was as though every fiber of her being was directed only to what was in front of her, like nothing else mattered or even existed.

And then there were her hands, inkstained and delicate, but also strong and steady. Cool fingertips trailed against his skin, more soothing than any healing balm. Each gentle touch was a ripple of sensation, leaving tingling goosebumps in her wake while relaxing the muscles beneath. It was almost too much for him, and yet still somehow not enough.

It had been…what? At least sixteen years since he’d had real physical contact with anybody else? No sleeves, bandages, or gloves acting as a barrier? He had forgotten how nice it was to feel another person’s touch in the most basic of ways, especially when said person exerted such care with every movement.

“You know, you…” The words were out of his mouth before he realized he was speaking.

“Hm?” She looked up, eyes glowing amethyst in the dim light. “What did you say?”

That was a good question, what was he saying? He felt his voice wither away, somehow forgetting how vocal cords were supposed to work.

“You…ah…” He fumbled, unable to transform the half-thought, half-feeling into any kind of verbal sense. He was fluent in four languages, gods damn it, yet words escaped him. It didn’t help that she kept staring at him with those eyes, neither did the sudden realization that their faces were much closer together than he had thought. “Um…Du bist ein guter Kleriker.”

That was definitely not Common.

She wrinkled her nose with a grin. “What?”

“What I meant was…” He backtracked, trying to find the right term.

“Yes?” She wiggled her shoulders back and forth in a little expectant dance.

“Just that…You’re good at being a cleric, at healing.” That still wasn’t quite right. “ You have…I think they call it a nice bedside manner.”

“Well, of course!” She waggled her eyebrows with a wicked grin. “I grew up at the Lavish Chateau, after all, so I know a lot about bedside manners.”

An inexplicable heat rushed into his cheeks and his mind went as blank as unused parchment. He could hear the echo of her words from two days ago bounce around in his brain: “Are you secretly in love with me?”

No. Of course not. That would be…

Caleb coughed into his free hand. “I don’t think those are quite the same thing.”

“You never know, there are some preeetty crazy religions out there.” She gave him one of those mischievous little smiles, the kind that always made the corners of his mouth want to tug upwards as well, then her eyes softened. “And thanks, that means a lot.”

He nodded, hoping she couldn’t see the furious flush across his face.

“Now, Ha-err Widogast.” She settled back and raised a finger in the air. “I’d like to ask some post-examination questions. You’ve been really good about everything, so I’ll try to keep this quick, I promise.”

He sighed. “We really need to work on your Zemninan.”

“Is that a yes?” She pressed her hands together in playful supplication with imploring eyes, leaving his arm cradled in her lap. “Please?”

Gods, how was he supposed to say no to that face?

He blew out a long breath, somehow feeling amused despite himself. “I wouldn’t expect anything else. You would make as decent an Expositor as our monkish friend over there.”

She grinned. “I’d be pretty good at it, wouldn’t I? Too bad those Cobalt guys aren’t anywhere near as cool as the Traveler.”

“It is most certainly their loss.”

“So…That’s a yes?”

“Ja.”

“Ja. Okay, good.” Her hand slid under own and up his arm, her fingers grazing a scar on his wrist. Another small shiver shot across his skin. “Do you know how many you have on each side? Scars, I mean.”

He cleared his throat. “Thirty-three on the left, thirty-five on the right.”

“Mhmm, that’s what I counted.” She nodded. “Do you have more anywhere else?”

“There are four more on each upper arm,” he answered, then added, “There’s also one on each calf.”

She cocked her head to the side. “Oh? Why just one on each?”

“Ah, well, they, uh, they made it harder to walk.” He hoped she’d be satisfied with that vague of an answer, he didn’t want her to know the more gory details.

She looked as though she might press him further, then paused. She thought for a moment before asking, “What kind of crystals were they?”

His vision from a few minutes before flashed to the front of his mind. “It was hard to tell…They came in an array of colors, but most of the ones I saw weren’t cut, or even polished.”

“Rubies? Emeralds?”

“Sure, rubies and emeralds seem likely.”

She paused for a second. “What about aquamarine, or maybe fire opal?

That was…oddly specific.

“Perhaps? I’m no geologist or jeweler. Like I said, the few I saw were all sorts of shapes and colors, and all in their rough forms. We were never told what they were, or what they were supposed to do. It might have skewed the experiment otherwise.”

“Okay,” she responded, but said no more.

After several seconds of silence, he looked up to find her staring at his upraised palm with her mouth scrunched up to one side, as if she were trying to remember something.

“Jester?”

She blinked a few times. “Oh! Sorry, I was just…thinking.” She set her shoulders and flashed him a smile, but it was tighter than usual.

“What about?” It was a rare thing for the talkative tiefling to drop out of a conversation like that. “You went pretty far into your head for a moment there.”

“Well,” she began, “you remember how Orly told me about those magical tattoos?”

“Ja, you were pretty excited about those for a while.”

“And I still am, they’re really cool! But it just hit me…” she trailed off, one of her fingers absently tracing small, rather distracting circles on his forearm. “It just hit me that they’re basically the same thing as what you had, the only difference is that the crystals are ground down and inside the skin, instead of under it.”

“There are…definite similarities, yes.”

“Isn’t that kinda a weird coincidence?” Her finger stilled its movement, and he told himself he did not feel disappointed.

“I’m sure that the practice of tattooing with gem dust had been around long before I ever went to Rexentrum. The Assembly most likely took something perfectly harmless and…changed it to suit their purposes. It’s sort of what they do.”

“Yeah, that makes sense.” She nodded, but still looked a tad uneasy. Which, in turn, made Caleb feel uneasy.

“Or,” he continued, leaning forward with a conspiratorial whisper, “are you worried that our trusted navigator might actually be a spy for the Empire?”

She snapped her fingers and pointed at him. “Yes, that’s it exactly! It’s a perfect cover!”

He raised his eyebrows. “We cracked the case?”

“We cracked the case!” She grinned up at him and pushed a strand of hair behind her ear before glancing back down at his arm. “So, um, where did they go?”

“The crystals?”

“Yeah, like, did you learn how to shoot them out like a superpowered porcupine, or did you absorb them and that’s why you’re so good at magic?”

“No, they, uh, they were removed.”

“Like, a surgery? And they were put in the same way?”

“Ja. They knocked us out with a potion, inserted or removed the crystals, then a cleric healed the cuts over afterward, just enough to close the wounds.” Then he hesitated before saying, “If we ever did meet anyone with something similar, it most would most likely require certain tools and training to extract the crystals.”

“Oh.” She deflated a little.

“Sorry to disappoint you.”

“No, no, it’s good to know.” She contemplated his arm for a few moments more. “There was something you said…about the crystals themselves.”

“Yes?”

“How did you know what they looked like if you were asleep during the surgery and the cuts were healed up?”

“Ah…Ja, uh, the crystals were supposed to stay under the skin. But that’s the thing about experiments.” He rubbed the back of his head with his hand, tugging at his hair. “They don’t always go as planned, especially when you add magic to the mix.”

Her hands, the ones that had been so gentle and sure as they inspected his scars, stiffened around his wrist. “Supposed to stay under…?”

Realizing just what he had said, Caleb bit the inside of his cheek.

Scheiße.

Her eyes widened and a slow, unsettled look crept across her face as she began to pick apart his statement. Though she may play the fool, Jester was far from stupid. There were only so many ways to interpret what he had said, and none of them were pleasant.

Scheiße, Scheiße, Scheiße.

Caleb could have kicked himself. Jester had such an abundance of natural charm, it was like she cast a Friends spell every time she spoke. He never should have forgotten that, never let his guard down so easily. He had always had a soft spot for the cleric, but when did he allow her to have so much power over him?

With an almost excruciating slowness, Jester ran her thumb over his palm. His breath stuck to the inside of his lungs.

She opened her mouth once, twice. Finally, she asked in a voice almost too soft to hear, “Did it hurt?”

Never had he thought a single question could make his insides ache like they did right now. Sadness rang through her voice and struck him straight to the core. “Oh, Jester.”

This was a mistake.

He cleared his throat, trying and failing to swallow back an emotion he did not care to name. “I think that’s all the questions that need to be answered tonight.”

She raised her eyes to meet his. “That’s a yes, isn’t it?”

Looking at her small form, shoulders drawn in and tail now tucked underneath her, Caleb wanted to lie. He never should have agreed to be truthful with these people, and especially not with her. Instinct begged him to go back to the way things had been, all protective lies and secrets to spare their feelings, as well as his.

It was too late for that now, though. He had tasted the briefest bit of honesty, and bitter though it was, it was also warm and reassuring. These stupid, crazy people had woken him from the half-life he had been living and sustained his tenuous existence with a kind of security he had long forgotten. They had come to embrace his dirty, intentionally unpleasant self and placed their trust in his singed hands.

If Jester, who always wore a clown’s mask for the sake of others, could reveal to him an honest sliver of her own pain and worry like she had that night in Darktow, then he could pay her the same respect now.

“Ja.” His whisper sounded more like a rusty hinge than a voice. “Ja, it hurt. It hurt like hell.”

Before she could formulate a response, he moved his hand down to wrap around hers and looked her dead in the eye, “But you know what? They don’t anymore. It’s in the past now, they’re healed. You don’t need to worry over them.”

A half-truth was better than none at all, he supposed. His arms were indeed as healed as they were ever going to be. As for his past…Well, he would cross that bridge when he got there.

Or burn it forever.

She nodded and smiled, and he hoped to whatever gods there might be that those weren’t unshed tears lining her eyes. “Sorry I asked so many questions, I know it sucked. I just – I worry about you, Caleb.”

“I know.” He squeezed her hand, only now realizing that he was still holding it. Then he heard himself say something he would definitely regret later. “I’ll tell you the rest someday.”

The next thing he knew, Jester had leaned forward and wrapped her arms around him, seeming to not at all mind his mud-smeared coat. “Thank you.”

Caleb did not move to embrace her back, but felt a smile curl at his lips as he took in her warmth. “You’re welcome.”

A few moments passed before she gave him one last squeeze and leaned back, a happy smile in place and not a tear to be seen. “Okay, I really am going to make a few sketches now.”

He nodded and grabbed at one of the bandages he had shed onto the ground, now somehow rough and heavy in his hands.

As he began to wrap his arm up from palm to elbow, Caleb realized it was so much more difficult than it had been before, his own fingers seeming to protest by fumbling and bunching up the fabric. With every turn around his arm, Caleb found himself wishing he never had to put the confining wrappings back on again, or that he had never taken them off for her in the first place.

His scars now hidden away under neat, suffocating rows of weathered gauze, Caleb glanced over to where Jester sat curled up once again with her sketchbook, drawing away with joyous fervor.

A fading warmth lingered from her embrace, and he never wanted to forget the feeling of it. He committed to memory the way the air had felt on his secluded skin, the full movement of his wrist and fingers after being freed from their bindings, the goosebumps that had formed under her cool fingertips.

Maybe next time he removed his bandages, he would leave them off for good.

#widojest #caleb widogast #jester lavorre #fic #critical role #cr #fluff #angst #hurt/comfort #my fics

[notbecauseofvictories]

Angua von Überwald - knighted under lady Sybil, anything with a woman in armor

Angua balked when the Patrician—old enough that the cane was no longer a statement but a necessity, and Drumknott sometimes loudly announced that Lord Kniepper was to his left, sir, yes, a little further left than that—informed her she was to be named a Duchess.

“Sir,” Angua said, and then found herself drawing several blanks at once, all of them equally unhelpful. She hoped His Lordship’s eyesight was bad enough that he couldn’t see her boggling at him. He was smirking, very slightly, which made her think he could. “With respect, but—why?”

“Tradition, Commander,” Vetinari said smoothly. “The Commander of the Watch, historically, is a ducal title. It seems only right that with the…passing of Sir Samuel, and your own ascendancy to—”

“Mister Vimes was only a duke because he married Lady Sybil!” Angua interrupted, too aghast to care about the breach of protocol. But then Vetinari beat her to it, with such a ludicrous suggestion; she was a von Überwald, she knew how pedigree worked.* No one got to be a duke except by marriage or blood.**

“Commander,�� Vetinari said silkily, “are you contesting tradition?”

“How is it tradition if it’s only been one man?” Angua said wildly, and then, at the look on Vetinari’s face very quickly added, “Sir.”

“All traditions begin with one man, Commander,” Vetinari answered, steepling his fingers before him. “For example, you will remember how, not so long ago, Ankh-Morpork was a dictatorship. They were dark times—but now we embrace a proud democratic tradition.”

Angua blinked, thinking about how just the other day Young Sam had been complaining to her about the fact that there was no mechanism to force the Patrician to listen to the new Witmoot.*** 

“Yes, sir.”

Vetinari looked at her, and the chilling effect was somehow compounded by the milky-white pupils, and the fact that he was staring somewhere over her right ear. “I insist, Commander von Überwald. Furthermore, Lady Vimes has agreed.”

“Oh, good. Er…agreed to what?”

“That the title of Duke—or Duchess, in your case—of the Ankh should pass with the command of the Watch.”

Angua stared.

She opened her mouth to—then shut it again with a quiet click of her teeth. And then, possibly, stared some more. “I’m sorry, I think I misheard you, my lord,” she finally said, in the same tone of voice she’d once asked Wolfgang where he got all that red paint from.****

“We both know your hearing is excellent, Commander.”

“What would—Young Sam will be the Duke of Ankh, when Sybil passes. That’s how….that’s how it works.” Angua felt as though she’d somehow stumbled into an alternative dimension. The wizards talked about those; Carrot had dragged her to a dinner lecture just the other week by Esk Smith, who’d talked at length about the trousers of time and the starched shirt of twelve-dimensional space. It’d sounded like a lot of silly buggers to Angua, but the wine had been good.

“Mm,” Vetinari said solemnly, a gleam somewhere in his deep-set eyes. “That’s how it worked, Commander—worked, past tense. We must move with the times, you know. And as of—oh, this Sunday, shall we say—the Duchy of Ankh will be a title granted and revoked with the command of the Watch.”

“Why?” Angua asked, though it sounded some very undignified combination of petulant and incredulous. Her hair was almost entirely grey these days, but something about Vetinari made her feel young and very snotty, all of five years old.*****

Vetinari shrugged, and it was so startling that Angua almost missed his next words. “Why not, Commander?”

.

“This is insane,” Angua moaned. The brand new armor clanked when she buried her face in her hands, it was extremely unfortunate. (All she could hear was Vimes’ voice in her head, complaining about the damn shiny dress armor, all the metal eagles and hippos and flourish-y nonsense. But Angua’s armor had molded breasts, so she felt fairly certain she’d won this round.******)

“Don’t be silly, dear,” Lady Sybil said, leaning forward in her chair—Angua could heard it creak—to pat Angua’s hand. “You know how Sam cared for you.”

“Mister Vimes hated being a duke, he’d only ever wish it on his worst enemy,” Angua snapped, and then immediately felt horribly guilty. She lifted her head up, grimaced at Sybil. “Sorry, your ladyship, that wasn’t…”

Sybil was laughing, Angua could see her shoulders shaking with it. The hand covering her mouth was faded to papery white, deeply lined; Angua felt an unexpected pang, the evidence that Sybil was not the indomitable and fearsome woman she had been. It wasn’t as though Angua had missed the last few decades—Young Sam becoming a man, Colon retiring and Mister Vimes quietly preparing to follow; new cadets every year, growing into their armor and even leaving, starting watch-houses elsewhere. There were Sammies wherever there were clacks towers these days, and some places too remote for clacks towers to reach.

Just last month a young woman had marched into Angua’s office clutching a notice from a Borogravian general, asking if they would please train her up as a Sammy, and then send her back post-haste. They had a peacetime law-and-order to be getting on with. (Angua mostly remembered the signature, “Polly” and crossed out, “Oliver” crossed out, and then just “Perks”.)

“He did,” Sybil chuckled. “Sam hated everything to do with it. More proof, I suppose,” she said. At Angua’s curious look, Sybil shook her head, smiling ruefully. “That he loved me. Enough to outweigh the rest.”

Angua decided not to mention the tears in her eyes.

“Why, then?” she asked, gesturing helplessly, and Sybil smiled. 

“Havelock has this idea,” she said, and it took Angua a moment to remember that the Patrician had a given name. “That eventually, he’ll die. And it’ll be harder for the various lords and dukes and—suchlike to fight over who will be patrician after him, if they’re all busy with the Witmoot, or trying to run guilds, write for the Times, and command the watch. If it’s expected that they have made themselves useful, in the interim.”

Angua blinked. “I thought Young Sam…?”

“Goodness, no. Havelock’s asked him, of course, but he’d rather community organize and have people pour Ankh-water on his head when he tries to register them to vote. He was the one who suggested we give up the title, you know.”

Angua thought—not for the first time—that Young Sam was an odd sort.*******  

“So making me the Duchess of Ankh—”

“Not you, Angua. The Commander of the Watch. When you retire, you will be recusing yourself from the title, and your successor will be knighted in turn. Havelock’s assured me it will all be very orderly. He made provisions for it.”

“Oh, good,” Angua said faintly.

Sybil smiled in a way that, in a less charitable light, might have been referred to as a smirk. “Exactly, Commander. Now, pull yourself together so you can wheel me out. I imagine it’s almost time.”

Angua exhaled gustily, and stood. (The armor clattered, which was still unfortunate. She wondered if she should have tried harder to change it, maybe Cheery could have buffed the nipples out—) Gripping the posts of Lady Sybil’s chair, she pushed her out of the tent, and toward where the crowd had gathered around the makeshift stage.

“Just…” Angua stared blindly ahead, her mind churning over. “Do you think he’d be proud?”

Sybil reached up, and squeezed Angua’s hand very tightly. “Dear girl,” Lady Sybil said. Her other hand was tight around the hilt of the sword—a blunt, ugly thing, standard watchman-issue, and Angua swallowed to see those knuckles so white around the hilt. “I very much think he already was.”

 * In several senses of the word.

** The blood did not have to be yours. There were many ducal coronets snatched up from corpses and plunked down on the victorious bastard’s head; saying, “You and what army?” tended to have that effect. But blood was blood, it would out. Especially if you stuck someone full of holes.

*** The name was from the Old Morporkian, meaning a “Meeting of the Minds.” But as Mrs. Crisplock-Worde had written, it was something of a misnomer. While their meetings were frequent, there were very few minds involved.This made the Witmoot either A Grand Experiment In Republican Representation, or the most ill-conceived band of young gadabouts elected to public office.

Before his death, Vimes had had some very interesting to things say about his son’s preoccupation with “cobblestone-level politics” and “community organizing.” Namely, that communities weren’t meant to be organized (an acceptable level of hectic chaos would do) and if the gods meant Vimeses to get into politics, they wouldn’t have given them axes.

**** Between being a watchman and being a wolf, Angua had a lot of experience talking to people whose grip on the ins-and-outs of reality was tenuous. Some of them were even people.

***** In human years, not dog years. The canine part of her brain put Vetinari in the same category as her Uncle Jorgen, who had once snapped a bear’s neck between his jaws, and still insisted on carrying her around by the scruff of her neck. It was the same sort of—terror and awe, the knowledge that gentleness was a choice. Not a natural state of affairs.

****** Angua could imagine Vimes now, going purple in the face and chomping on his cigar, insisting that his was clearly built for a bigger man, and wasn’t that embarrassing, a deliberate slight—but Angua’s had nipples. 

*******  Sometimes crossing a purebred with a mix resulted in a stronger bloodline. Other times, all the deliberate inbreeding collided with the bloody-minded perverseness of a mutt, and the result was a ball of wiry-haired crazy that enjoyed savaging bigger dogs. Young Sam was very much the latter.

#discworld #long post for ts #Anonymous #this is a thing I made

[thisbibliomaniac]

Would you hate me if I asked for all 200?

 I could never hate you my darling !

200: My crush’s name is: ohhhh I’m not posting that here XD

199: I was born in: hell 

198: I am really: average 197: My cellphone company is: stupid 196: My eye color is: brown 195: My shoe size is: inconvenient 194: My ring size is: 7 on my ring finger, 8 on my middle finger 193: My height is: 5′5″192: I am allergic to: according to my most recent rescan, egg yolks, corn starch, and ... something else 191: My 1st car was: a windstar 190: My 1st job was: ice cream shop! 189: Last book you read: Pride and Prejudice. loved it 188: My bed is: blue, green, purple, and pink 187: My pet: obi, who is so cute 186: My best friend: amazing wonderful beautiful incredible 185: My favorite shampoo is: maui vanilla 184: Xbox or ps3: nintendo 64183: Piggy banks are: for collecting cool money 182: In my pockets: scrunchie and box cutter 181: On my calendar: seeing @dangerously-human asap! 180: Marriage is: unlikely 179: Spongebob can: die 178: My mom: cool beans 177: The last three songs I bought were? these boots were made for walking, 9-5, idk probably something by kelly clarkson 176: Last YouTube video watched: steven crowder on the catholic boys. worth the watch 175: How many cousins do you have? oh gosh. so many. i was gonna add them up, but honestly? there’s at least 40, and aint nobody got time to mentally run through the whole family 174: Do you have any siblings? yes 173: Are your parents divorced? no 172: Are you taller than your mom? lol yes 171: Do you play an instrument? piano 170: What did you do yesterday? worked :/[ I Believe In ]169: Love at first sight: nope 168: Luck: i joke about it, but not really 167: Fate: no 166: Yourself: heck no 165: Aliens: nope 164: Heaven: of course 163: Hell: definitely 162: God: absolutely 161: Horoscopes: absolutely not 160: Soul mates: yes 159: Ghosts: no 158: Gay Marriage:  nope 157: War: yes 156: Orbs: ? 155: Magic: cats are magic [ This or That ]154: Hugs or Kisses: hugs 153: Drunk or High: neither 152: Phone or Online: phone 151: Red heads or Black haired: ahhhh. both 150: Blondes or Brunettes: brunettes 149: Hot or cold: cold 148: Summer or winter: nether D:147: Autumn or Spring: autumn 146: Chocolate or vanilla: vanilla 145: Night or Day: night 144: Oranges or Apples: apples 143: Curly or Straight hair: curly 142: McDonalds or Burger King: ew neither 141: White Chocolate or Milk Chocolate: milk140: Mac or PC: pc always 139: Flip flops or high heals: both!!138: Ugly and rich OR sweet and poor: ugly and sweet are not mutually exclusive 137: Coke or Pepsi: pepsi 136: Hillary or Obama: haahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahaha135: Burried or cremated: idk i wont be there 134: Singing or Dancing: singing 133: Coach or Chanel: walmart 132: Kat McPhee or Taylor Hicks: taylor hicks!!!!! 131: Small town or Big city: in between 130: Wal-Mart or Target: both 129: Ben Stiller or Adam Sandler: adam sandler 128: Manicure or Pedicure: manicure 127: East Coast or West Coast: east coast 126: Your Birthday or Christmas: neither 125: Chocolate or Flowers: both 124: Disney or Six Flags: disney 123: Yankees or Red Sox: Indians [ Here’s What I Think About ]122: War: a necessary evil 121: George Bush: i was like 12 so 120: Gay Marriage: wicked 119: The presidential election: ridiculous 118: Abortion: murder 117: MySpace: useless 116: Reality TV: depends on the show 115: Parents: not really sure how to answer this 114: Back stabbers: dump them 113: Ebay: sneaky 112: Facebook: another necessary evil 111: Work: the most necessary of the greatest evil 110: My Neighbors: enigmas 109: Gas Prices: too high 108: Designer Clothes: why? 

107: College: not for everyone 106: Sports: baseball is the best 105: My family: wild104: The future: D: [ Last time I ]103: Hugged someone: my coworker hugged me yesterday 102: Last time you ate: got shish tawook earlier 101: Saw someone I haven’t seen in awhile: havent really seen anyone 100: Cried in front of someone: i dont do that 99: Went to a movie theater: couple weeks ago 98: Took a vacation: went to see stell and danger 97: Swam in a pool: a looong time ago 96: Changed a diaper: longer ago 95: Got my nails done: never have 94: Went to a wedding: probably a cousin? so also a long time ago 93: Broke a bone: never 92: Got a peircing: ears 8 years ago 91: Broke the law: i do not do that either !90: Texted: stell just now [ MISC ]89: Who makes you laugh the most: @identityconstellations88: Something I will really miss when I leave home is: solitude 87: The last movie I saw: far from the madding crowd 86: The thing that I’m looking forward to the most: seeing danger 85: The thing im not looking forward to: work on monday 84: People call me: boring 83: The most difficult thing to do is: exist 82: I have gotten a speeding ticket: never 81: My zodiac sign is: nothing 80: The first person i talked to today was: my mom 79: First time you had a crush: high school 78: The one person who i can’t hide things from: i can hide from anyone ;) 77: Last time someone said something you were thinking: usually do 76: Right now I am talking to: stell 75: What are you going to do when you grow up: uhhhhhhh74: I have/will get a job: hopefully never again, but thats not my luck 73: Tomorrow: bible study! 72: Today: shish tawook 71: Next Summer: who knows 70: Next Weekend: sleep 69: I have these pets: obi, walker, punky, daisy, loki, and lady 68: The worst sound in the world: nails on a chalkboard 67: The person that makes me cry the most is: no one 66: People that make you happy:my friends 65: Last time I cried: idek 64: My friends are: amazing 63: My computer is: dependable 62: My School: over and done with 61: My Car: adorable 60: I lose all respect for people who: give up their pets , especially for petty reasons 59: The movie I cried at was: oh goodness i dont know 58: Your hair color is: red 57: TV shows you watch: so many 56: Favorite web site: i dont think i like any of them 55: Your dream vacation: paris 54: The worst pain I was ever in was: 53: How do you like your steak cooked: medium 52: My room is: purple 51: My favorite celebrity is: oh goodness i have no idea . tom hiddleston probably 50: Where would you like to be: ireland 49: Do you want children: yes48: Ever been in love: no 47: Who’s your best friend: stell 46: More guy friends or girl friends: girl friends 45: One thing that makes you feel great is: being with cats 44: One person that you wish you could see right now: any of my friends 43: Do you have a 5 year plan: no 42: Have you made a list of things to do before you die: no 41: Have you pre-named your children: no 40: Last person I got mad at: my boss 39: I would like to move to: ireland 38: I wish I was a professional: nothing. i dont want to be a professional anything. i hate working for other people. they suck. every single one. [ My Favorites ]37: Candy: reeses pieces36: Vehicle: corrola 35: President: RAND PAUL 202034: State visited: hawaii 33: Cellphone provider: they all suck 32: Athlete: jason kipnis 31: Actor: tom hiddleston 30: Actress: sandra bullock 29: Singer: lea salonga 28: Band: needtobreathe27: Clothing store: walmart 26: Grocery store: walmart 25: TV show: the office 24: Movie: so many 23: Website: already asked 22: Animal: cats 21: Theme park: not really a theme park fan 20: Holiday: reformation day 19: Sport to watch: baseball! 18: Sport to play: bowling 17: Magazine: none 16: Book: madman 15: Day of the week: friday 14: Beach: the one in jersey stell and i went to last year 13: Concert attended: tobymac and brandon heath together 12: Thing to cook: snickerdoodles 11: Food: shish tawook 10: Restaurant: idek 9: Radio station: majic 105.7

8: Yankee candle scent: cinnamon 7: Perfume: honeysuckle 6: Flower: roses 5: Color: pink 4: Talk show host: regis philban XD 3: Comedian: probably john mulaney 2: Dog breed: pitbull 1: Did you answer all these truthfully?  yiss 

thanks dan

#dan-the-fungus

[paleorecipecookbook]

Paleo Travel Snacks: How to Eat Healthy While You’re On the Go

Many of us following a Paleo lifestyle slide into a comfortable eating routine. Maybe you have perfected your meal prepping. Maybe you have a reliable rotation of favorite recipes. Maybe you eat have your basic breakfast down to a tasty science, switching up the veggies and protein as desired. When you’re in your own element and have total control over your food supply, it’s easier to stay on track. But what happens when you take a road trip or travel for your job? Take it from me, you’ve got this! I travel extensively, from book tours and conferences to vacations, so I know what it’s like to face this challenge of staying committed to this way of eating. But it’s doable—and I’ve gathered the best tips and tricks for staying Paleo while traveling, all in one place.

It can be hard to eat healthy while traveling. But with a little planning and flexibility, it is possible to stay Paleo on the road. Check out this article for my tips and recommendations on the best Paleo travel snacks. #paleo #healthylifestyle #chriskresser

Five Tips for Packing Paleo Travel Snacks

As you’re packing that suitcase, leave plenty of space for the snacks. Bringing your own food gives you the best control over the situation, so that you won’t find yourself hungry and cranky, tempted by a bright drive-through sign five hours into a long road trip.

1. If Possible, Bring a Cooler

Logistically, it’s definitely easier to pack a cooler for a road trip than for air travel, but however you’re hitting the road, being able to bring one will expand your eating options considerably. If you can bring a light-weight cooler—which you certainly can do if you’re traveling by car (or bus or train), there are loads of food possibilities:

Hard or soft-boiled eggs, perfect with cherry tomatoes and avocado

Thinly sliced leftover meats to pair with Paleo mustard or mayo

Lettuce wraps with leftover meats and veggies

Pumpkin hummus*

Full-fat yogurt or kefir (though not technically Paleo, some people tolerate dairy and incorporate it into their “Paleo template”)*

Cheese from grass-fed cows’ milk

Paleo “granola bars”

Raw veggies or fruit, like carrots, sugar snap peas, sliced bell peppers, and apples

“Dump ranch” dressing to dip veggies in*

Nut butters for dipping fruits (macadamia, almond, and hazelnut butters are best)*

Baba ganoush, but if you’re on the autoimmune protocol, you’ll want to skip this one because eggplant is a nightshade*

Fruit smoothie, with coconut milk, almond milk, yogurt, or kefir as a base*

A note on the foods starred with an asterisk: If you’re bringing these liquid or liquid-like foods through airport security, they will have to meet national Transportation Security Administration (TSA) restrictions—that means packed in clear containers and in amounts that are 3.4 ounces or less. (Check with your carrier for the latest TSA guidelines.) On top of that, bringing melting ice and cool packs can get a little tricky with the TSA.

Here is one workaround: Don’t use cool packs. Instead, use a freezer-grade resealable bag with ice to keep your food cool when you leave home, and bring some extra bags. Throw out the bag of ice at security, and then replenish the ice in a new bag at a food vendor in the airport. Most vendors will charge you for cups of ice, but it’s definitely worth it because you’ll have a cooler-full of Paleo snacks to satisfy your hunger. (And it’s worth pointing out that if you’re checking your bag, you can pack extra items that don’t require refrigeration, and just bring enough on the plane to get you through your flight!)

2. Try Paleo-Friendly Packaged Food

In general, I try to avoid packaged foods, which likely contain industrial seed oils, added sugars, excess sodium, preservatives, artificial colors, and other questionable ingredients. But, traveling can be an exception to this rule. I would rather have high-quality beef jerky and some dry-roasted nuts on hand than be forced to choose between fast-food restaurants after not eating for 12 hours. The key here is high quality. Learn how to read a nutrition label and ingredients list.

Sneaky names for gluten, sugar, soy, and more are hidden in ingredient lists. Don’t ever assume you’re in the clear with packaged food without first reading the label. I’ve seen added sugars lurking in places you’d never expect, like in canned kidney beans and feta cheese!

Some of my favorite packaged Paleo travel snacks include:

Grass-fed beef jerky

Prepared meats like salami, pepperoni, and coppa

Organic lunch meats, served with mustard

Smoked salmon (make sure it’s soy free)

Nuts and seeds (dry roasted or raw are best, as most manufacturers roast in industrial seed oils)

Olives to eat with nuts, cheese, meats, and pickles (watch out for artificial colorings)

Canned salmon or tuna (packed in water or oil)

Nori chips or sheets

Pork rinds

Siete “tortilla chips” made with cassava flour

Kale chips

Individual containers of plain yogurt, kefir, or nut milks

Freeze-dried fruit

90 percent cocoa dark chocolate

Coconut flakes (these are surprisingly satisfying and filling)

Energy bars are often considered Paleo because they only contain “Paleo” ingredients like dates, cashews, and egg whites, but I would only buy these in a pinch. This type of calorie-dense, semi-processed treat walks a fine line between real food and a dessert.

3. Go Plastic Free

Don’t put your grass-fed beef taco lettuce wraps into plastic storage containers! Plastics are among the worst environmental toxins. Even BPA-free plastics have been shown to disrupt the endocrine system. (1) Ditching the plastic wrap, bags, and containers also cuts back on waste.

My favorite containers for packing food to go are stainless steel LunchBots. Also check out reusable beeswax wrap, glass mason jars of all sizes, and Pyrex glass containers with lids.

4. Fuel Up before You Hit the Road (or Consider Fasting)

I deliberately eat a big meal at home before leaving for a trip. If the trip is half a day or less, this is often enough to tide me over until I reach my destination.

As an alternative to eating before you leave (or if you didn’t have time to prep any snacks), don’t be afraid to fast! Occasional fasting was common for our Paleo ancestors, and regular intermittent fasting has been linked to many health benefits, including weight loss and improved cardiac health. (2, 3, 4)

5. Shop Smart and Get Creative

Even if you’ve packed snacks and have a good meal before leaving, eating on the road is inevitable, especially for longer trips. Typical rest stops, gas stations, or convenience stores generally don’t have much to offer, but some might sell hard-boiled eggs, cheese sticks, or roasted nuts. Thanks to smartphones and GPS, it’s easy to search for other food options beyond the fast-food places that populate most interstate exits. But instead of searching for “restaurants near me,” type in “grocery store.”

It’s not even a contest—if a grocery store is near the exit, you’re much better off shopping there than at any fast-food chain. As a bonus, you’ll get in some light exercise walking around the store.

Not every exit will have a Whole Foods, but even an average grocery store will have some reasonable options, including the Paleo-friendly packaged foods I listed above. If you’re unable to find those, or you’re looking for something different, try one of these creative meals instead:

A rotisserie chicken (remove the skin since the seasoning may contain sugar)

A shrimp cocktail ring (just skip the cocktail sauce)

A raw vegetable or fruit platter (these can be pricey, but items are conveniently already washed and sliced)

Pre-washed sugar snap peas, green beans, or other veggies

Salad bar items that are Paleo friendly, including grilled chicken, veggies, and olives

How Eat Paleo in a New Place

When you’re away from home, don’t expect to wander into the nearest food establishment and find grass-fed steak and organic, locally grown grilled vegetables on the menu. When eating Paleo in a new place, planning is the key to success.

First, whenever possible, I book a hotel with a kitchen or at least a kitchenette in the room. That way, I can brew my own tea, keep my kombucha in the fridge, and save any delicious (but large-portioned) leftovers from a nice dinner.

Next, research nearby restaurants ahead of time. If I’m heading to a book signing in a new city, I always get great recommendations from social media. Or try searching for keywords like these:

Local

Foodie

Gluten-free

Grass-fed

Organic

Pasture-raised

For a group dinner, take the initiative and suggest a restaurant from your research. If you can’t choose the restaurant, visit the menu online and call the restaurant to inquire about special accommodations. If the menu is severely limited, eat a healthy snack before you go.

Here are some other tips for navigating a restaurant while staying Paleo:

Opt for grilled, steamed, or roasted meat, steamed or baked veggies, and a simple starch like potatoes or white rice.

Avoid sauces, which usually contain sugar, gluten, and/or soy.

When ordering a salad, request dressing on the side to avoid industrial seed oils. Try asking for olive oil and vinegar instead.

If you’re gluten intolerant, always ask if a dish has gluten. Restaurants notoriously have sneaky gluten additives, in spice blends or as thickeners in sauces.

Don’t be afraid to be “that person” who asks the server a million questions. Maybe if more people kept requesting the same menu adjustments, restaurants would better accommodate Paleo customers.

Remember: You Can’t Control Everything

Obsessing over every morsel of food during a long trip can be downright exhausting. In fact, I don’t think it’s healthy to be so rigid that there isn’t any wiggle room to try the world’s best beer when you’re in Belgium or authentic, freshly made pasta if you’re in Italy. Likewise, when your flight gets delayed five hours, it might be better to buy a chef salad or have a burger without the bun than end up grumpy, “hangry,” or light-headed.

Live by the 80/20 rule—80 percent of the time, adhere to the ideal Paleo diet, but the other 20 percent of the time, loosen up and eat whatever you want (or, if you’re stranded while traveling and starving, whatever options you have on hand).

More Holistic Health Travel Tips

Eating nutrient-dense, whole foods is just one aspect of healthy living. Don’t ignore other aspects of health while traveling:

Find time to move around. Walk around the airport terminal, do chair squats on long flights, and try some jumping jacks at car rest stops. Taking a long morning walk in your new location will familiarize you with the area and is especially beneficial for your circadian rhythm if you’re traveling to a different time zone.

Stay hydrated. When flying, it’s recommended that you drink a cup of water for every hour in the air.

Make sleep a priority. It’s important to maintain the same healthy habits you follow at home. If you normally go to bed at a certain time, try to stick to your established routine as much as possible.

Meditate, practice mindfulness, and find time to relax.

Now I’d like to hear from you. Do you have any other tips on how to eat Paleo while traveling? What are your favorite Paleo travel snacks? Let us know in the comments!

The post Paleo Travel Snacks: How to Eat Healthy While You’re On the Go appeared first on Chris Kresser.

Source: http://chriskresser.com February 21, 2019 at 05:05PM

#paleo #recipe #food #delicious #healthy #yum #diet

[marilena-monachus]

Claustrophobia: a SnK fanfic

Rating: M

Characters: Levi, Mikasa, Marleyans

Blurb: Nothing quite as claustrophobic as being thrown in your sworn enemy's underground cell with little to look forward to except a towel to wipe your own soiled self with, is there? What if there are two sets of pliers - for you and your comrade? Levi and Mikasa have been captured following the move on Marley. Their secrets are on the line. So is their sanity. Canon!compliant up to c104.

Pairing: Eventual Levimika, not of the fluffy variety, and you will have to wait for it.

Merit: None.

Link for the ff.net relics among you.

Claustrophobia

Chapter 1

i. One stone

The air smelled of fresh wounds and disinfectant and, strangely, citrus. The bright oppression of artificial lighting close to her face forced her eyes closed. People came and went, their elongated forms casting shadows over her eyelids like cardboard puppet theatre.

"Get the doctor, I want a word," a man spoke. As the haze of sleep lifted off her, Mikasa wondered if she heard a foreign accent on him and why she had the worst headache of her life. The fact that she had to ask both these things in the same setting did not bode well, she thought with a note of alarm. She noticed her left thigh radiating heat. Something was tethered to it. She tried to touch it but was held back by cuffs on her wrists and a sharp lashing of pain made her stomach churn. Turning on her side, she convulsed and let the acidly bitter tasting contents of her stomach out until she could muster nothing but dry heaves. A hand came to rest on her back; another one lifted the strands of hair off her forehead.

The white light had been knocked over when she lifted her head. Mikasa opened her eyes at the sight of her own vomit. Scanning the room with barely contained wariness, ready to pounce at the first opening, the details of her situation lit up like red ink on parchment. She was in enemy territory, Liberio presumably. Captured by Marley, she lay on a hospital bed; her leg was slashed open seven inches long and finely stitched. A brace was holding it in place because her luck would have it be broken too. A military man sitting upright in a chair by the window threw his unfinished tangerine in the bin. Her heart raced fast, her mind faster. She breathed deeply, painfully, and considered both escape routes, by window and door, with or without taking someone hostage, killing everyone, lying through her teeth or playing innocent.

The military man had twin pistols on his hips, wore a mean face, and this was clearly not his first rodeo. Mikasa would have risked her chances against him, even in her injured state, had she not been physically restrained at the knees and ankles. She also knew nothing of the layout and location of the building, the terrain and the fate of her comrades. She calculated her chances of achieving something positive through early action to roughly nil. Breathe in once, breathe out long. Perhaps, if the gods were favourable, the others would have escaped and none of this would matter.

"That's all right, child," said a matronly woman in many layers of white robes. She was the one that had stood over her and puller her hair out of the way. Mikasa noticed her starched cap and calloused hands. She must be a nurse. My helpful enemy nurse. There was a roadmap of lines on her face. "You are lucky to still have that leg but it will get you in a world of pain, don't you doubt it," she said, stooping low to clean the vomit off the tiled floor with a tired sigh. "How is your head feeling?"

"Now that she is awake, I really need you to get Dr. Mann," the military man barked. Everything on him was square, his jaw and nose, his shoulders and air. "I can't very well go get him myself and leave her alone." At that, Mikasa though she heard a note of real apprehension. All soldiers were dangerous, as they had proved with their blood-drenched operation on the enemy capital, but she was more so. Did her ill fated name precede her?

"I am keeping watch," the nurse said calmly and continued to go about her business of wiping up the mess. "The young lady is hurt and cuffed and seems like a smart girl. So, don't go causing trouble now, hear?" she said to no one in particular.

"Don't be stupid. This is no young lady, it's a stinking pest," he said. He was suddenly bridling with passion, overflowing like a box someone poured all their bad mornings into. "Do you know how many innocent lives you twisted devils took yesterday? It runs in the hundreds. Thousands. "

And yours runs in the hundreds of thousands, Mikasa wanted to retort but said nothing and refused to look at him for good measure. The situation was too unfamiliar and her gut feeling and training told her to be as interesting as a drying piece of jerky. She desperately tried to gather her thoughts but there were gaping holes in her recollection of what had happened after they sounded the retreat. More importantly, her heart ached with the need to know whether the zeppelin made it out of Marley safely. She knew she should never ask. She would not show any weakness before she knew what was up, and not even then. Only when they let their guard down, when the chink in their armour would glow bright as day, she would strike and it would be clean and deadly.

Her thoughts were interrupted when the man rose, crossed the room in two long strides and struck the kneeling old nurse with a kick strong enough to send her sprawling on her back. She yelped, a shrill noise that grated on the nerves. Mikasa gripped the sheets tightly, discreetly, and through sheer force of will did not move an inch.

"I told you to get the doctor, pig! I don't know why you'd want to care for the devil that has ruined the lives of your filthy race and caused the deaths of so many noble Marleyans. I shouldn't have to ask twice. I am thinking your family should get a one-way trip to that cursed island," the officer said, spitting at his feet.

The doctor, a slight and troubled fellow, stood at the door, his mouth slightly twisted. "Koslow, it is noontime and I am here, like I said I would. Other patients need tending to. Nina meant no disrespect. She is very serious about her job and has helped us save countless brave men," he said, coming over to help her up. Nina was doubled over her abdomen, but her eyes had undergone the most significant change, gone dull like a dead rat's.

"I am very sorry, officer Koslow. I only wanted to clean up this disgusting smell for you. We are grateful for all your hard work and can only hope you will be able to squash these vermin that make our children's lives so hard. Glory to Marley! Glory to the Motherland!" she rasped quickly, leaning on the doctor first, then the doorframe. "Please don't hurt my grandchildren. They are all I have left. They will give their lives for Marley one day."

"I sure hope so," said Koslow and, in that moment, bathed in the light of his own hateful determination, he seemed forged out of ultrahard steel. Mikasa did not know what the future held, but she had an idea or two. She braced herself for impact, all kinds of unforeseeable impact, all of which she would bear easily if it could keep Eren, Armin and the others safe.

The good doctor Mann had not put up a convincing argument for her continued recuperation at the hospital. She supposed that he wanted officer Koslow and his entourage out of his hair as soon as possible and she could hardly blame him for it. They had tied, blindfolded and manhandled her onto a wheeled chair and then they were off on what Eren's reports had called a "car". It was faster than a carriage and noisier by far, but it was no longer in her nature to be perturbed by odd experiences, if it had been ever. She did not keep count of the turns. Even if she could make her way back to the hospital, it would not help her.

"It is best if you don't push her too much until her leg and head injuries are mostly healed. Someone hit her hard with a piece of debris when she was captured and she came in with a severe concussion. It was touch and go for a bit," the doctor had said before they left. "She may not remember everything at once. Likely to faint if you pull and shake too much. Godspeed."

She really did not remember everything, at least after the commencement of their operation on Liberio. She did, however, remember every little bit and piece of information about Paradis, Eren and the Survey Corps that the military government of Marley would be interested in. The doctor's disclosure could buy her some time and maybe a modicum of lenience until she figured out what to do, if she played her cards right.

When they arrived at their destination, Mikasa heard the familiar bustle of a town that was trying to return to normal after an unforeseen tragedy. A booming man's voice was calling out in the distance. "Newspaper, new issue! Newspaaaaper, our glorious Marley emerges victorious after sneak attack on civilians! New issue, two enemies captured by our brave military and warriors! Newspaaaaaper!"

Mikasa growled quietly in her throat. They had caught another one. Who was it? Was he or she all right? Would they play them off each other, hurting them in turns until they got what they wanted out of the weakest willed one? She would resist! She carefully mulled these dark thoughts over as the Marleyan officers lifted the wheeled chair and carried her down several flights of stairs. An increasing sense of foreboding mixed with the cold dampness in the air made her clothes stick to her skin, and she caught herself labouring over the mental image of hurt Eren or terrified Armin being tortured before her eyes, pressing questions boring into them, knots unravelling everywhere as she broke her silence and told them –

The blindfold was ripped off her, tossed aside along with her restraints, and she was picked up from the chair and thrown into a cell. She landed on her injured leg and bit her cheeks mournfully to keep from shouting out. This Koslow was clearly not one to defer to anyone else's advice, even the advice of a doctor. She looked at the men. There were three of them – middle-aged, probably mid-ranking except Koslow, entirely hostile.

She turned her gaze to the cell, noticed how hard it was to breathe down there as though a cool, thin goo settled over her lungs when she took breath. The walls to her back and left side were of stone, big and smooth chunks overflowing with dungeon moss. On her front and right side were tall, rusty iron bars, sparse enough for a hand to go through, too tight for a leg or head. The artificial Marleyan lights in the corridors glowed dim orange. There was no sunlight – there wouldn't be any, she guessed.

In the musty oppressiveness of this place, Mikasa had a very human thought. I don't want to stay here. Would that someone could come and help – but no. Not. She could handle this on her own, she should. For her sake and that of her captured comrade's. She was stronger, firmer than the others, better equipped…

A taut invisible string was trying to pull her throat, heart and the pit of her stomach in alignment.

"Think long and hard what it is you're going to say when Commander Magath interrogates you," Koslow growled after they were satisfied there was nothing in her reach except a wooden washbasin and some straw. "He is a man of manners. Personally, I think manners are reserved for humans only, but he may disagree. Don't mistake it for weakness." The lock on the cell's door turned with a clink and she remained still until well after the men's footsteps had faded up the stairs.

ii. two birds

Hours passed. After she picked herself up and tried to have a thorough look at her surroundings, she discovered that her leg really was in rough shape. Limping and wincing would have to do, as she was already doing her best to ignore the deafening pounding sensation in her ears every time she bent her head low or at a sharp angle.

The cell was no bigger than two cots long and wide, and that was a strange way to think about it, Mikasa admitted, because there was no cot in sight. Only straw, a layer so thin she could see through it. Some of the large rectangular stones on the wall were cracked but none seemed weak enough to be pried apart without a pick, and even if one was, there was no guarantee that the whole wall would not collapse under a mountain of debris. The washbasin water was murky and contained more than a few drowned spiders. Not for drinking, she decided. Was it for that other business then? The time would soon come when she would need to relieve herself. She preferred to do it in the water than outside.

The right-hand side bars… that was most surprising. Her cell seemed to form one half of a bigger cell parted down the middle with them. She could see little on the other side except that no one was in it. The design allowed for visibility, communication and limited contact with another detainee and made little sense to her strategically, unless the captors wanted to listen in on said communication above all else.

Not long after, she heard footsteps coming down the stairs again along with some light but persistent shuffling.

"That fucking shrimp," murmured someone with long, blond hair who came in first and opened the door of the other cell wide with a reverberating bang. "Get him in here, fast."

Mikasa watched intently as they dragged him in by scruff of the neck. He was gagged, hands cuffed behind his back, legs cuffed so that he could barely walk and visibly beaten… yet, there was no mistaking that stature or the furious eyes that peeked under his hair to shoot daggers at the Marleyan officer kicking him forward. With rising discomfort, she realized they had captured not one but two Ackermans and dealt a great blow to the manpower of their forces, knowingly or not. What had happened on the way to the zeppelin that neither Captain Levi nor she could have escaped?

"I have half a mind to keep that gag on you," the first person – a woman – said, as the officer kicked him again and he tumbled inside the cell. "You have quite the sewer mouth. It was entertaining hearing you say those things to Koslow, I'll admit." The grin did not reach her eyes. "And I'm sure you'll live to regret every single one of them."

Levi collected himself and sat on his knees as best as he could. He tossed a glance at the direction of her cell and Mikasa wondered if he could see her at all. She crept a little closer. From underneath strands of bluntly chopped black hair, he met her gaze briefly. Then he turned away, and Mikasa understood that he was already expecting to find her there. He most likely had not suffered a concussion from having his head collide with a rock; therefore he must know exactly what happened.

"Mmffmm."

"Take it off, Pieter. Watch your fingers."

The officer named Pieter took out a pocket knife and cut the rag with a sharp movement that nicked Levi's jaw. No one tried to remove his cuffs before locking him in.

"You speak a lot, little man, but you don't say the right things. We'll be back, so why don't you try harder next time? We even brought you this lovely girl to keep you company," the woman said with no emotion in her inflection. "Reiner Braun told us you've known each other for half a dozen years now, so you must care what happens to her at least a little bit, no? Or maybe you are a heartless little shrimp that would still like to "take a dump on baldy's head" even as we're pulling out her teeth. And nails. And innards, God forbid. Oh no. But maybe your comrades will strike a deal to save you both." At that she laughed and turned to leave. "The boys and I have a wager on who'll break first, you know."

Levi scooted backward and leaned against the stone wall not far from Mikasa. He tilted his head back. Under the orange fluorescence of their prison, Mikasa could not see his eyes, only the outline of his jaw and throat swelling slightly, his breath regular and calm. Calmer than hers, she'd have to admit. She tried to mimic his unruffled disposition, schooled her mouth into a line, and stripped her eyes of the spark of life. They would both need to bring their best calm game, if they were to have a single chance of getting out of this alive and with their country's secrets intact.

Levi murmured something.

"What?" the woman asked, and still he said nothing. "Spit it out!"

He turned to look at her ever so slightly.

"I said: good luck with that, bitch."

#fandom #fanfic #fanfiction #snk #shingeki no kyojin #snk manga #attack on titan #aot manga #levi ackerman #mikasa ackerman #levimika #rivamika #drama #angst #romance #prison #bad things

[thetravellingvagrant]

Day 8- Lviv: In Which I Am The Man In The High Castle

I spent the vast majority of my morning catching up on blog business, various pieces of travel admin and sleeping for longer than I should have done; consequentially (and shamefully), it was veering close to one in the afternoon by the time I removed myself from bed.

I walked, bleary eyed to the bathroom. The toilet was still running from the last time I had pressed the flusher. It was, I had learned through experimentation, possible to fix this problem, though each time I did, it would relapse at the next push of the plunger and require ever so slightly more drastic action for its next repair. Not willing to eventually have to dismantle the entire cistern, I had begun to just let it run in between uses; a barely acceptable, though mildly infuriating solution at best.

Barely acceptable, though mildly infuriating is actually not a bad way to describe this apartment in general. It hadn't taken long for the shiny white veneer of the place to crack apart, revealing the poo-brown mankiness that lay underneath (Not literally, though give me time...). The constantly howling toilet and genuinely stomach-turning décor of the place were among the steadily more and more irksome irritations which had begun to surface at this point and in no area was this more apparent than in the kitchen.

The kitchen had been stocked in a genuinely mind-boggling manner, boasting far, far too many of certain items- something like 20 plates, 15 shot glasses, a single pastry brush, because even one of those is too many in an AirBNB kitchen- and far, far too little of others. Zero bowls being the most egregious offender, though an utter lack of any kind of bread or butter knife also ranked fairly high on that list. Two types of spoon were available; teaspoons and giant-ass serving ones. Nothing in-between that you might, say, want to eat cereal with. Also whenever you turned the hob on, touching any of its corners would immediately result in a mild electric shock, which. You know,. Not great.

And so I found myself on my first morning in this apartment, in a bad mood, pouring cereal into a mug. I cracked open the milk I had bought the previous night, gave it a customary whiff to check its freshness and immediately wretched.

“Thaaaat is not milk” I spluttered to myself.

I took the time that I should have taken in the supermarket to translate the Cyrillic on the carton.

“Yuh...ooooh...guh...urt...” For fucks sake.

I tipped the contents of my mug back into the packet from whence it came and decided to have a sandwich instead.

Five minutes later, I was rewarded for my effort with a piece of mangled bread, torn up initially in the cutting and later in the butter spreading process- given that, as I mentioned, I was sans bread and butter knives respectively- topped hastily with clumps of butter, a couple of slices of plasticy Emmental cheese and a few bits of some thinly sliced, cured sausage. It wasn't the prettiest sandwich ever made, but begrudgingly I will admit that I still enjoyed it. Somehow. Nyerr.

And so I left my apartment, full of starch and rage, close to two in the afternoon, with only a few hours before darkness and the freezing cold of eastern winter set in. Unlike Brest, Lviv boasted a great number of worthwhile attractions and museums and whatnot, so I had had rich pickings for the day's plans. A great number of the things I really wanted to do were positioned in the area immediately adjacent to the city's Russian consulate, though, and so I decided to perhaps postpone them for a day or so, pending a check up on that whole pesky martial law thing. Instead I had opted to have a little walking tour of the city, taking me past some of the cooler statues (and this city has some very cool statues...), around High Castle park- which, as the name suggests, is a park, on the top of a hill with...a castle. I think, at least, I didn't see a castle, but I bet there is one- and finally to the arsenal museum, positioned right next to my flat, to gawp at all old weaponry and that for a bit.

I decided to head to the park, first and foremost, as time was getting on and I didn't fancy climbing a big hill in the dark. It was located around half an hour's walk outside the core of the city, so I had hoped the walk would give me an opportunity to take the city in, properly, this time after straight up forgetting nearly everything I had seen and done, the previous day.

I wasn't disappointed; Lviv is a nice city, seemingly walking a line in its aesthetics between its eastern neighbours and something altogether more...Scandinavian. The best of both worlds, really. Particularly, if like me, you enjoy wide open, freezing cold, borderline dystopian spaces. Mmmm.

Anyway, I progressed through its relatively lovely streets, freezing away- it is still routinely around -5/6 every day- and soon found myself at at the base of the High Castle.

The park was as pleasant as the city, itself and, save for a weird greenish, mustardy colour that the well trodden snow had somehow taken on, was an altogether lovely experience. I clambered my way to the highest peak, which was, I dunno, pretty high, I guess?

...I guess?

snapped a few pictures, as I am wont to do, before, after around twenty minutes, finding myself becoming just a little too cold to justify hanging around any further and unclambering my way back down. Despite the feeling in my fingers fading alarmingly quickly, I decided to continue around the rest of the park, having seen a sign pointing to a thing called a “grot” and having very little idea what that could have been but knowing that I absolutely needed to find out.

TELL ME YOUR SECRETS.

The rest of the park was equally lovely, save for the grot- which was actually a bit rubbish in the end-

Genuinely thought a troll would live here. Beyond disappointed.

though did, by the time I found myself leaving, strike me as being all a bit samey thanks in no small part, I imagine, to the snow covering everything, like the big white bastard blanket that it is.

After another half hour walk back to the city, time was marching on and I knew I needed to move quickly, if I was to make it to the arsenal museum with enough time to ooh and ahh at its pointy wares. My stomach, however, was growling with hunger and my core temperature dropping to genuinely uncomfortable levels and so I took a calculated risk to drop into a cafe quickly to refuel and warm up.

By the time I had made it to the museum, there remained only around half an hour before it was due to close. Perhaps just enough time for a whirlwind tour of the place (which, realistically was all I had really anticipated in the first place). Even this blitzkrieg visit was not to be, however, as I watched in (admittedly minor) dismay as the couple entering the museum ahead of me, were immediately turned away, presumably as they wouldn't have enough time to make it around the entire exhibit before the staff effed off home. I breathed a sigh of relief, grateful that the minorly awkward bit of social interaction had fallen on these other people rather than me and vowed to come back tomorrow, instead. All that was left to do, then, was pick up some food for the night and go home. My next stop was to be the supermarket.

I went to a different supermarket than I had the previous night; a necessity, given that I couldn't find the last one I had gone to and had since entirely forgotten its name. This new supermaket was the fucking worst. Tiny enclosed aisles, bustling with genuinely quite rude people who had seemingly very little in the way of awareness of the space their body occupied or how the way in which they used that space may come off as slightly antisocial; this coupled with the shop's bizarre, almost one way circular circuit of a layout and mind-boggling insistence to not stack like products together, saw me spending the better part of half an hour, walking round and round, being knocked into, tutted at and side-eyed in the pursuit of three paltry items, by, to put it as kindly as I can, wankers; a phenomenon not entirely localised to Lviv's supermarkets, by the way- there appears to be a general culture of being just honestly a bit rude and refusing to get out of other people's ways, here.

Audibly grumbling to myself, like a nutter might, I returned home to warm up and continue my desperate efforts to chip away at the mountain of vagrant admin.

My dinner for the evening was to be a hearty bowl of tuna-pasta. I boiled my fuisilli, diligently for as long as I could be bothered waiting and set about mixing two new additions to the vagrant larder- tuna and mayo- into some kind of grim, almost edible paste. I cracked the top off of the little pouch of mayonnaise I had just bought and, for some weird reason, thought it prudent to give it a taste before I let it touch my precious tuna. Be it due to some kind of weird psychic vagrant-sense, or because the packet, on closer inspection looked like it might not actually be mayonnaise in the strictest sense, I slurped a glob of it into my mouth. For the second time today, I wretched. I wretched hard. I wretched so hard that I was nearly immediately sick as my very nice and also total bastard of a girlfriend with whom I was skyping at the time, laughed herself feral at my obvious discomfort. My mouth was filled with a weird, putrid sweetness that immediately hit the back of the throat. It was like drinking a death milkshake.

[REDACTED]

“...are you sure its in date?” she queried, except more Geordie than that.

Again, I was fairly sure that it wa-ah, no. There it is. Mystery solved. It was more than one month past its sell-by date. I had just eaten a mouthful of rotten mayonnaise, with an audience. Perfect. What a perfect day this was. I put the mayonnaise in the bin, right next to that fucking yoghurt and the Arsenal museum. Fuck this.

Thinking on my feet, I ended up mixing the remnants of my sandwich fillings into the pasta, creating a sort of cheesy, meaty brick of carbohydrates, which I grimly and dilligently munched my way through, on the verge of tears before, almost immediately afterwards heading to bed, with an ominous churning beginning in my guts...

#travelling #vagrant #travel #europe #ukraine #lviv #grot #high castle #park #walk #snow #yoghurt #mayonnaise #gross #tat #REDACTED

[debra2007-blog]

Words of Wisdom for Daily Life 5/22/21 1. What Is Pride? There is nothing into which the heart of man so easily falls as PRIDE, and yet there is no vice which is more frequently, more emphatically, and more eloquently condemned in Scripture.

Pride is a groundless thing. It standeth on the sands; or worse than that, it puts its foot on the billows which yield beneath its tread; or, worse still, it stands on bubbles, which soon must burst beneath its feet. Of all things pride has the worst foothold; it has no solid rock on earth whereon to place itself. We have reasons for almost everything, but we have no reasons for pride. Pride is a thing which should be unnatural to us, for we have nothing to be proud of.

Again, it is a brainless thing as well as a groundless thing; for it brings no profit with it. There is no wisdom in a self-exaltation. Other vices have some excuse, for men seem to gain by them; avarice, pleasure, lust, have some plea; but the man who is proud sells his soul cheaply. He opens wide the flood-gates of his heart, to let men see how deep is the flood within his soul; then suddenly it floweth out, and all is gone—and all is nothing, for one puff of empty wind, one word of sweet applause—the soul is gone, and not a drop is left. In almost every other sin, we gather up the ashes when the fire is gone; but here, what is left? The covetous man hath his shining gold, but what hath the proud man? He has less than he would have had without his pride, and is no gainer whatever. Pride wins no crown; men never honour it, not even the menial slaves of earth; for all men look down on the proud man, and think him less than themselves.

Again, pride is the maddest thing that can exist; it feeds upon its own vitals; it will take away its own life, that with its blood it may make a purple for its shoulders; it sappeth and undermineth its own house that it may build its pinnacles a little higher, and then the whole structure tumbleth down. Nothing proves men so mad as pride.

Then pride is a protean thing; it changes its shape; it is all forms in the world; you may find it in any fashion you may choose; you may see it in the beggar's rags as well as in the rich man's garments. It dwells with the rich, and with the poor. The man without a shoe to his foot may be as proud as if he were riding in a chariot. Pride can be found in every rank of society—among all classes of men. Sometimes it is an Arminian, and talks about the power of the creature; then it turns Calvinist, and boasts of its fancied security, forgetful of the Maker, who alone can keep our faith alive. Pride can profess any form of religion; it may be a Quaker, and wear no collar to its coat; it may be a Churchman, and worship God in splendid cathedrals; it may be a Dissenter, and go to the common meeting-house; it is one of the most Catholic things in the world, it attends all kinds of chapels and churches; go where you will, you will see pride. It cometh up with us to the house of God; it goeth with us to our houses; it is found on the mart and the exchange, in the streets, and everywhere.

Let me hint at one or two forms which it assumes. Sometimes pride takes the doctrinal shape; it teaches the doctrine of self-sufficiency; it tells us what man can do, and will not allow that we are lost, fallen, debased, and ruined creatures, as we are. It hates divine sovereignty, and rails at election. Then, if it is driven from that, it takes another form; it allows that the doctrine of free grace is true, but does not feel it. It acknowledges that salvation is of the Lord alone, but still it prompts men to seek heaven by their own works, even by the deeds of the law. And when driven from that, it will persuade men to join something with Christ in the matter of salvation; and when that is all rent up, and the poor rag of our righteousness is all burned, pride will get into the Christian's heart as well as the sinner's—it will flourish under the name of self-sufficiency, teaching the Christian that he is "rich and increased in goods, having need of nothing." It will tell him that he does not need daily grace, that past experience will do for to-morrow—that he knows enough, toils enough, prays enough. It will make him forget that he has "not yet attained:" it will not allow him to press forward to the things that are before, forgetting the things that are behind. It enters into his heart, and tempts the believer to set up an independent business for himself, and until the Lord brings about a spiritual bankruptcy, pride will keep him from going to God. Pride has ten thousand shapes; it is not always that stiff and starched gentleman that you picture; it is a vile, creeping, insinuating thing, that will twist itself like a serpent into our hearts. It will talk of humility, and prate about being dust and ashes. I have known men talk about their corruption most marvellously, pretending to be all humility, while at the same time they were the proudest wretches that could be found this side the gulf of separation. O my friends! ye cannot tell how many shapes pride will assume. Look sharp about you, or you will be deceived by it, and when you think you are entertaining angels, you will find you have been receiving devils unawares.

The true throne of pride everywhere is the heart of man. If we desire, by God's grace, to put down pride, the only way is to begin with the heart.

Now let me tell you a parable in the form of an eastern story, which will set this truth in its proper light. A wise man in the east, called a dervish, in his wanderings, came suddenly upon a mountain, and he saw beneath his feet a smiling valley, in the midst of which there flowed a river. The sun was shining on the stream, and the water, as it reflected the sunlight, looked pure and beautiful. When he descended, he found it was muddy, and the water utterly unfit for drinking. Hard by he saw a young man, in the dress of a shepherd, who was with much diligence filtering the water for his flocks. At one moment he poured some water into a pitcher, and then allowing it to stand, after it had settled, he poured the clean fluid into a cistern. Then, in another place, he would be seen turning aside the current for a little, and letting it ripple over the sand and stones, that it might be filtered and the impurities removed. The dervish watched the young man endeavouring to fill a large cistern with clear water; and he said to him, "My son, why all this toil?—what purpose dost thou answer by it? "The young man replied, "Father, I am a shepherd; this water is so filthy that my flock will not drink it, and, therefore, I am obliged to purify it little by little, so I collect enough in this way that they may drink; but it is hard work." So saying, he wiped the sweat from his brow, for he was exhausted with his toil. "Right well hast thou laboured," said the wise man, "but dost thou know thy toil is not well applied? With half the labour thou mightest attain a better end. I should conceive that the source of this stream must be impure and polluted; let us take a pilgrimage together and see." They then walked some miles, climbing their way over many a rock, until they came to a spot where the stream took its rise. When they came near to it, they saw flocks of wild fowls flying away, and wild beasts of the earth rushing into the forest; these had come to drink, and had soiled the water with their feet. They found an open well, which kept continually flowing, but by reason of these creatures, which perpetually disturbed it, the stream was always turbid and muddy. "My son," said the wise man, "set to work now to protect the fountain and guard the well, which is the source of this stream; and when thou hast done that, if thou canst keep these wild beasts and fowls away, the stream will flow of itself, all pure and clear, and thou wilt have no longer need for thy toil." The young man did it, and as he laboured, the wise man said to him, "My son, hear the word of wisdom; if thou art wrong, seek not to correct thine outward life, but seek first to get thy heart correct, for out of it are the issues of life, and thy life shall be pure when once thy heart is so." So if we would get rid of pride, we should not proceed to arrange our dress by adopting some special costume, or to qualify our language by using an outlandish tongue; but let us seek of God that he would purify our hearts from pride, and then assuredly, if pride is purged from the heart, our life also shall be humble. Make the tree good, and then the fruit shall be good; make the fountain pure, and the stream shall be sweet.

Galatians 5:13 13 For, brethren, ye have been called unto liberty; only use not liberty for an occasion to the flesh, but by love serve one another. It is absolutely clear that God has called you to a free life. Just make sure that you don’t use this freedom as an excuse to do whatever you want to do and destroy your freedom. Rather, use your freedom to serve one another in love; that’s how freedom grows. For everything we know about God’s Word is summed up in a single sentence: Love others as you love yourself. That’s an act of true freedom. If you bite and ravage each other, watch out—in no time at all you will be annihilating each other, and where will your precious freedom be then?

Love, Debbie