The Guns that Brought Down Constantinople,

By the mid 15th Century, the might Eastern Roman Empire had suffered under centuries of conquest by Arab and Turkish invaders, resulting in the empire stretching no father than the ancient capitol of Constantinople itself. The great city was no better off than the empire as a whole, its population reduced from a million inhabitants to less than 50,000, while the Byzantine Army could muster little more than 7,000 men. In contrast the Ottoman Empire completely surrounded the city, and was amassing a force of 50,000 - 80,000 men to complete the final conquest of Byzantium.

The last hope of the Byzantines were a series of large walls and fortresses which had successfully defended Constantinople since ancient times.  The city walls had fended off many invaders in the past, and Constantinople was considered the most heavily fortified city in Europe at the time. Storming Constantinople would certainly not be easy, however the Ottomans had an ace up their sleeves.

In 1452 a Hungarian military engineer named Urban offered his services as a cannon maker to the Byzantine Emperor Constantine XI.  The Emperor had neither the money to pay Urban, nor the resources to craft the cannon which Urban offered. As a result, Urban went to the Emperor’s rival, the Ottoman Sultan Mehmed II, who certainly could pay Urban and had the technology and resources to produce his cannons.

To bring down the walls of Constantinople Urban directed the casting of several large bronze siege guns.  The largest was a massive cannon that fired massive 25 inch stone balls.  Weighing 19 tons, it took 2-3 hours to load and had to be transported by a team of 60 mules.

The Siege of Constantinople began on the 6th of April 1453.  Over the next 53 days, the Ottomans pounded the city walls with Urban’s guns. After nearly two months of constant bombardment, the walls of Constantinople could no longer hold out against the attack resulting in several breeches. On May 28th, the Ottoman Army stormed the city, easily overwhelming the outnumbered Byzantine defenders.

With the exception of the short lived Empire of the Trebizond, the Ancient Roman State had fallen for good. Mehmed II made Constantinople the new capitol and quickly sought to take on the mantle as emperor of a new Roman Empire, declaring himself Kayser-i Rum (Caesar of Rome), and declaring the Ottoman Empire as the “Third Roman Empire”.

anonymous asked:

8 and 83 with Prinxiety

8. You’re so f*cking hot when you’re mad.
83. You’re just leaving me here? At least have the decency to finish me off with a stick.

Believe it or not, I was hoping somebody would give me #8. I’ve got ideas, and prinxiety fits perfectly into them. That other one is really random though. And again, I don’t cuss and neither does Thomas so forgive me for using substitute words.

Roman ran through the fairy tale forest as fast as he could. He felt fire catch on the trees behind him because the heat was so intense.

Today’s daydream wasn’t exactly going according to plan.

“GIVE IT BACK” a voice boomed across the landscape.

“Never! You will have to defeat me first!” Roman yelled behind him.

Though, this was pretty fun. Maybe he should trick the emo jerk into playing with him more often.

Roman ran into a huge stone wall. A fortress? When did that get there? Was Anxiety adding to his landscape? That fiend. He had just gotten it the way he liked it.

He stood his ground with his back to the fortress and his katana in hand. A fire burned to form wall in front of him, barring his escape. Anxiety emerged from the fiery wall not wearing his hoodie. The snow on the ground melted around him. He pointed to the black hoodie tucked into the prince’s belt.

“Give it back, Roman,” Anxiety said. “Or at least let me make a new one. Or do you want me to ruin you day?”

Roman smiled mischievously. “You’re so amazingly hot when you’re mad,” He said.

Just as he predicted, Anxiety’s flame grew hotter. Roman laughed dramatically. “Wasn’t I supposed to be the fire elemental, you witch?”

“Oh, so you want a witch do you?” Anxiety said. “Be careful what you wish for, your stupidness,”

“Alright, that is your worst insult yet. I can stand being burned, but if you are not going to put half an effort into your insults then… What are you doing?”

Anxiety moved his arms, and the fire turned black. It twisted and turned and warped until it formed itself into a tornado around the prince, trapping him. Then it forced him further and further back until the tornado of black magic collapsed the stone wall behind him, pinning him under several feet of stone bricks.

Anxiety began walking away. Roman didn’t know what to say here, so he just blurted out the first thing that came to mind.

“You’re leaving me here? At least have the decency to finish me off with a stick!”

Anxiety broke a stick off a nearby tree and pointed it at Roman in a very Harry Potter type fashion. The hoodie flew out of Roman’s belt and Anxiety caught it and put it back on.

“Daydream over, Princey,” Anxiety said. “And don’t let me catch you barring me from doing things again,”


Words: 6,985
Sam x Reader
Warnings: language (Umm, ya, I wrote it so obviously there’s swearing… you should just take this warning as a given always for my fics), mentions of blood and injury, anxiety and fear
Summary: Sam tries to get to Y/N and wake her while Dean, Cas, and Crowley wait for their showdown with Rowena.
A/N: Alas, all good things must come to an end, and so it is with this story. I hope you enjoy reading this conclusion as much as I enjoyed writing it. This is the final part of our Mess Is Mine series.
This is part of a series! Read the other parts here! 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16

Your name: submit What is this?

Dean was watching the flames and smoke rise higher and higher beyond the point where Sam had disappeared into the tangled mass of thorns. He paced in his fiftieth frantic circle and stopped in front of Cas.

”I don’t like this,” he said. His green eyes were wide and frantic, and his stomach was twisting.

The angel nodded. “I know. But give him time.”

”How much time?” Dean asked. “There’s no way for us to know if something goes wrong. We can’t see shit in there!” Dean turned again to face the crumbling, smoking ruins feeling helpless and sick.

Suddenly, Crowley’s voice behind them snapped their attention elsewhere.

”We’re about to be otherwise engaged,” he said. “Hello, Mother.”

The angel and Dean whipped around to see Rowena standing just beyond Crowley, a fierce and wild light in her eyes, her red lips pressed together in a thin line. “Fergus,” she said through her teeth. “Have you not yet learned your lesson about meddling in things that don’t concern you?”

“It’s not that I don’t learn,” Crowley said. “It’s just that the thought of torturing you forever and having you at my complete and utter mercy after your betrayal is much too appealing.” He raised a hand and pressed his middle finger and thumb together.

Keep reading

anonymous asked:

So in many Zutara fics Zuko is afraid of being like his father and especially when he has his first child with Katara in the fics they show him being really worried that he might turn out like Ozai, to me this is totally fine but you see these antis they say Zuko is a "pussy" or an "emotional ass bitch" acting like this and it's very ooc of him, I totally disagree, I just wanted to ask what are your thoughts on this since you write as Zuko and are prolly one of the best at it.

First of all, thank you so much for the compliment! That means a lot as I try to portray Zuko as accurately as possible, sometimes in line with more Ehasz’s material and writing. Thank you!

Now to address this– that disappoints, but does not surprise me. This is a horrible way of thinking. It’s incredibly sexist and horrible. To call a man a “pussy” for showing emotion is so sexist and wrong. This is the reason why men feel they can’t be vulnerable or express themselves ever, and a great deal as to why the rate for suicide among males is so high. I know Zuko is just a character, but the claims being made carry over into real life. As they say, art imitates life. 

Zuko was severely abused, neglected, and berated to feel like nothing as a child. He was emotionally abused, belittled, called names, put down, insulted, and also starved of love intentionally. He was also physically abused extremely. Zuko’s trauma is very severe and I think people underrate what he went through. From the time he was born, his father was grooming him to believe he was worthless and inherently a failure. That fucks with a person’s head so much. Nothing he did was good enough, he was never given love by his father, and it was intentional. When Ursa left, he had no one for years until Iroh came back. He was alone, with no one as a little boy, not only unloved, put abused. He was so severely physically abused as well. Then, he was kicked out from his own as a seventh grader. It’s so sick and disturbing what happened to Zuko. 

He is an incredibly strong person and character to withstand all of that hardship at such a young age, yet still come full circle, stand up to his abuser, and take on a crown all by age seventeen. He is anything but weak or a “pussy”. The fact that he grows to let some people into his fortress, and put his walls down shows even more strength. That’s so hard, and he does it for those he trusts. How could he not show emotion? Any human being would show emotion being put through what Zuko was. Every human being, regardless of gender, has emotions. I don’t know why people assume that men are this alien creature devoid of feeling. 

When I portray Zuko on the brink of fatherhood, expecting a child, I always like to delve into the natural fear that he would become Ozai. In the comics, we see this fear fleshed out. He’s scared of politically becoming Ozai. He’s seen the hell and havoc his father has wreaked upon the world, and it’s a nightmare scenario to him to come close to the tyrant Ozai was. Now, put this into fatherhood, something that has so deeply wounded Zuko even worse than politics and war. Of course– of course– he is going to be fucking terrified. It’s natural. 

We see Zuko with children as early on as Zuko Alone. He’s great with them. He’s sweet, patient, understanding, loving, and kind– intrinsically– even before his redemption. We see him with Kiyi, he’s sweet as pie. He’s a natural with kids, he loves them, and fatherhood would clear be a dream come true to him, so it seems silly to an outsider, or someone who knows and loves Zuko especially that he could even think he would be like Ozai, particularly in that regard, but Zuko was heavily abused and conditioned. He’s insecure from this already on all angles. He was conditioned to think he was inferior and useless. So take into account his greatest doubt? No question he would be mortified of being a bad father, and also horrified to be a bad husband. 

Of course, time would prove this wrong. Zuko would struggle with some things. He would struggle with punishment a lot. He would know that it is necessary, but he would be scared to inflict it. He would be adamantly against corporal punishment, but even grounding his kids would make his stomach go sour. With encouragement from Katara, he would ease into it gradually, but I think he’d always be uneasy about it. Fights would seem bigger, make him more anxious, despite knowing logically that everyone fights. Things can get warped and anxiety is fickle. You know it’s illogical, but your gut and heart can scream for reassurance amidst some trivial doubts. 

Zuko would be horrified to be like Ozai. This is canon. This is so obvious, as well. Antis always say Zutarians didn’t watch the show, but the things they say really make me wonder whether or not they ever have seen it, or if they paid any attention.

US 23rd Infantry Regiment, 2nd Infantry Division advancing into the port city of Brest in Brittany. (location - the junction of Rue de la Duchesse Anne and Rue Albert de Mun in St.Marc, Brest.)
9th September 1944.

US forces began their final move on Brest on 7 August 1944 and encountered heavy resistance from a very well organised defence.
The commander of VIII Corps, General Middleton, reported that the defence network was the original French works that had been improved upon by the German defenders. The Allies encountered a complex series of fortifications that blocked all the approaches to the city. The German defenders also had a huge store of artillery ammunition for the costal batteries that had been modified so they could fire inland.
At the heart of the German defensive network was the 2. Fallschirmjägerdivision led by General Herman Ramcke. In support were the 266. and 343. Infantrie divisions with various other supporting elements mostly in the form of anti-aircraft batteries and Festung kompanies. This elite corps gave the Germans a solid backbone to ensure that every inch of ground was contested.
The main objectives to secure the path into the city were hills 105 and 90. These were the two dominant terrain features of the countryside. The assault on hill 105 took place on 1 September 1944 by the US 2nd Infantry Division. The hill was heavily fortified and held dual-purpose anti-aircraft guns that dominated the area yet the infantry were able to succeed on the first day with the help of their engineers. Hill 90 could not be assaulted until after the artillery stores were replenished so the 2nd Infantry Division had to wait until 7 September to begin this assault. Hill 90 was fortified in the same manner as Hill 105 and, although it was very difficult fighting, by the end of the day the position was taken. Once these two hills were taken the drive to the city out skirts became much easier.
The last phase of the encirclement of the fortress wall began on 14 September as the Allies attempted to assault Fort Montbarey. The assault was led by 15 Churchill “Crocodile” flame tanks. The first attack was repulsed, but on the following day the fort fell. With the capture of Fort Montbarey the German positions finally began to collapse. On the night of 15 September US forces began crossing the old fortress wall and by 17 September they were closing in on the last pockets of German resistance. General Ramcke surrendered on 19 September 1944 and 20,000 German soldiers were taken prisoner.

The important port city of Brest was liberated on the 18th of September 1944 after a 39 day battle.

(Colourised by Royston Leonard UK)

anonymous asked:

Do you know when you'll be updating The God Key? It's really great so far and I can't wait to learn more about the characters!

I don’t know. I don’t write in order is the problem, I skip around the plot and then fill in the gaps, which means even if I have been writing it’s not necessarily the next chapter. But it’s coming along. The plot is starting to shape. 

But have a snippet anyway because I’m excited.

“And what alternative would you propose?” Archangel asked. “For someone who hates my idea, you’re not offering any of your own. But I suppose that would mean having an opinion on the future beyond ‘everyone gets an opinion.’”

Isaac glared at him.

“Prisons?” Archangel suggested relentlessly. “Who the fuck are they serving? I could reform in a second what they claim to try and spend a lifetime doing, only to toss their charges back out and straight into a prison pipeline loop that they can’t escape from.” He leaned in, eyes aglow, so close to utopia that he could taste it. “I could be that escape.” How could Isaac not see that?

“What you’re talking about is mind control, not morality.”

“Mind guidance.”

“Anyone you don’t think good enough gets blanked and changed to fit what you think is the proper way to live,” Isaac snapped. “Some fucking guidance. You know, there are people out there that say love should only be between a man and a woman too and that anything else is just wrong. That people like us need guidance.”

“That’s completely different.” Archangel waved a dismissive hand. “They’re not telepaths, they are blind and see the truth of nothing. With you, Isaac…” Gabriel’s voice softened. “With you, I can see everything.”

“Omniscience. Omnipotence.”

“If you like.”

“Jesus fucking Christ, De Vere.” Isaac looked at him as if he were suggesting drowning puppies, rather than salvation, redemption. A slight green tinge spread across his cheeks.

“You would prefer the days of Capital Punishment?” Archangel kept his voice gentle, patient. Reminded himself again, painstakingly, that Isaac’s ignorance and his stubbornness was not his fault. He didn’t do it to be bad.  “You would prefer perhaps, like Morphina, to kill those you disagree with instead of reforming them? Rehabilitating? Or maybe we should leave the rapists and the murderers to it to express their free will. They’re only doing what they think is right, you know.”

“Don’t twist my words!” Isaac drew in a calming breath, drawing more and more into himself. Shoulders hunching like a crumbling fortress wall. “I disagree,” he continued in a steadier voice, “with prescribing personal views and beliefs universally. We have no way of knowing what is truly right. You’re not divine, Gabriel. You grew up in bloody Huntingdon.”

“Jesus was born in a stable.” He said it mostly to flush Isaac’s cheeks with anger instead of that pale nausea, to see Isaac’s passion flare again as he shot Gabriel a filthy look. Still, his chest ached. It would have been wonderful to have Isaac on his side, but he couldn’t expect it without further persuasion. Isaac, for all of his power and breath-taking possibility, was no telepath. He didn’t see the world like Archangel did. He was only human, however splendid. “But that is beside the point. Do you not think, as humans, we have a moral obligation to help as many we can? To save as many people as we can?”

“Sometimes it’s just not your business.”

“Not my business has always been the motto of cowards too scared to do what’s right.” He stared Isaac down all the same, only for Isaac’s gaze – like his mind – to slide away like an oil slick on water.

“You know I can’t go along with this, won’t go along with this.” Isaac’s jaw set in a hard line. “And you promised to let me go. So there’s no point talking about this.” He had the look of a man desperately trying to figure out what a man with a gun to their head was thinking. “We get rid of Morphina. We’re done.”

Archangel touched his cheek, just once, and felt him shiver.
“I promised, didn’t I?”

Isaac squeezed his eyes shut. Trembled for a half a moment, teetering like a glass about to shatter on the edge of the table. Then, he turned and walked away.

Of course he did. Walking away from problems was what Isaac Morton did best.


Day 4: Past/ Future of @daisugaweek2017 is here! I decided to literally drop the boys into the past. I dunno. I really wanted to write serious samurai Daichi. So sue me.

Enjoy. (Sorry it’s long and I’m a terrible spammy piece of shit.)

“Excuse me, oh Samurai-san!”

Daichi’s eyelid twitched and he lowered his hand to the hilt of the sword at his waist. He was outside for less than five minutes and was already getting heckled by the common rabble. He wrapped his fingers around the sword and turned, prepared to heed his mentor’s teaching and silence any pathetic commoner that dared think he was allowed to demand the attention of someone of Daichi’s status.


Daichi’s eyes fell on a young man in a simple grey kimono opened halfway down his pale chest. He was barefoot, with not a single thing on his back or in his hands.

At least he didn’t seem to be there to challenge him. Daichi was tired of losing perfectly good kamishimo to a few obnoxious blood stains and sword cuts.

“What do you want?” he snapped, not taking his hand off of the hilt of his sword. Even if the man wasn’t there to challenge him, Daichi knew better than to let his guard down around unnamed commoners. If he wasn’t careful, he could be stripped of his purse in an instant and forced to scurry home with his tail between his legs to be taunted by his peers and branded the fool robbed by a street urchin.


The man smiled warmly and Daichi’s spine stiffened in alarm, fingers tightening around the hilt of his sword.

“Well you see,” the man clasped his hands together and gazed at him from under his eyelashes. “I was just robbed. I was wondering if you’d kindly help me?”

Daichi’s eyes narrowed, “I don’t do charity work.”

“Of course not,” the man shifted closer to him and Daichi clicked his sword up slightly from its sheath. “Naturally I’d pay you for your efforts,” he cocked an eyebrow and smirked. “You samurai don’t do anything for free, do you?”

Daichi clenched his jaw. He was tempted to silence the peasant and continue on with his day. The only people allowed to talk to him like that were his fellow samurai and those men with purses fat enough to protect their hearts from the point of his sword.

Daichi straightened his shoulders and reminded himself that he was wearing his cream colored kamishimo that day. His favorite kamishimo, no less. It would be a shame to stain it so early in the morning.

“My services aren’t something that can be bought by rice and favors,” Daichi lifted his chin. “So I suggest you find someone else—”

“I suppose at the moment I do look like someone that couldn’t afford you,” the man interrupted, chuckling. He shifted closer and Daichi pulled his sword from its sheath. The man eyed it quietly but didn’t stand down. He turned an amused gaze to his face, “Help me this once and I promise your reward will be handsome.”

Daichi should shut him up and continue on his way. But now that he looked at him, he could see that the fabric of his grey kimono was much more lavish than he had initially believed. It was woven with silk even finer than that which made up Daichi’s kamishimo, in fact.

And he was much too clean to be some common thief or rice farmer, too. His pale hair, although unruly and shorter than the style- much like Daichi’s- was washed and he appeared well fed.

He really didn’t look like just some random peasant.

Perhaps he was telling the truth. If he was bold enough to approach someone like Daichi in broad daylight, disregarding the obvious threat he posed, he must be of a much higher status than he originally thought.

It may just be worth Daichi’s time to go along with the stranger.

If he ended up lying to him, Daichi could just always kill him.

Even if he was wearing his favorite, cream-colored kamishimo.

“Very well,” Daichi sheathed his sword once more. “I’ll help you. No… I’ll allow you to hire me.”

“How generous, Samurai-san.”

Daichi stepped closer to him, gathering up a fistful of his kimono. “If you break your word, I’ll kill you without hesitation.”

The man chuckled and lifted his hands, “Of course. I promise, your reward will be very handsome.”

Daichi glared at him for a long moment before releasing his kimono.

“Well,” he smoothed his hands over the wrinkled fabric. “I look forward to working with you, Samurai-san.”

“Working with?” Daichi frowned.

“You don’t expect me to just point you in the direction of the thief and then sit here and wait, do you?” he cocked an eyebrow.

“That’s exactly what I expect.”

“Do you think I’m stupid?” the man narrowed his eyes. “What’s to keep you from just running off with my property?”

Daichi gritted his teeth, “My honor—”

“Oh please spare me. The whole honorable samurai joke wasn’t funny the first time I heard it, and it’s definitely not funny now when I’m forced to actually hire one.”

Daichi clicked his tongue, “Joke—”

“My name is Suga,” the man clasped his hands behind his back. “What should I call you? Or do you like being addressed as Samurai-san?”

Daichi scowled.

“Call me Sawamura-san.”

“So formal. Can’t I just call you Daichi?”

Daichi blinked in astonishment, “How did you know—”

He chuckled, “A new samurai rolls into town and you don’t think I’d gather as much information as I could before hiring him?”

Just who the hell was this guy?

Daichi straightened his shoulders, “Regardless. You will address me as—”

“That’s enough chatting, I think,” Suga turned and headed down the street, a bounce in his step. “Let’s go Daichi, before that bastard spends all of my money.”

Daichi stared after him for a long second, mouth hanging open.

Just who the hell is this guy?

“Okay, you go be a distraction, and I’ll sneak in through the window and get my stuff,” Suga whispered, climbing silently over the clay tiles of the fortress’s roof.

Daichi followed behind at a slower pace, arms out at his side for balance.

“Distraction?” he grunted.

“Just make a fuss in the courtyard,” Suga insisted. “When everyone is looking at you, I’ll break in and—”

“I’m not a distraction,” Daichi argued. “I am a samurai. If this man stole from you, then I’ll just cut him down—”

“Don’t be ridiculous! Do you have any idea who—” Suga stopped.

Daichi’s eyes narrowed.

“Ah… I mean… don’t be stupid. There are too many guards. You’ll never win.”

“Don’t underestimate me.”

“I’m not. I wouldn’t have sought you out if I didn’t think you were strong. But… it’s just easier this way. And besides, it’d be such a terrible shame if you got blood on that real snazzy kamishimo you got there.”

“You’re mocking me.”

“Certainly not.”

Daichi glanced over the peaked roof they walked over, down into the lavish courtyard of the fortress. Just where the hell were they? He had never been to this side of the city. Was Suga really robbed by someone rich enough to live in such a large and ornate home? Who did it belong to? Just who was Suga that he had something that someone living in such luxury would want to steal it from him?

“Listen,” Suga grabbed his arm. “Do you want to get paid or not?”

Daichi stared at him silently for a long second. Suga lifted his brows.

Daichi did want to get paid. And now that he was there, looking at the building of the supposed thief, he was convinced that Suga would make good on his promise of a handsome reward. Even if it injured his pride to be a mere distraction, the appeal of filling his purse was too strong to ignore.

“Fine,” he muttered. “I’ll be a distraction. Just hurry it up, okay?”

“I knew you were a smart man,” Suga grinned and winked. “Alright. Give me a boost up here, and then go draw everyone’s attention,” he stood underneath a window and lifted his arms up towards the sill.

Daichi clenched his jaw and reluctantly offered his hands. Suga placed one of his bare feet in them and pushed up. Daichi lifted him up until he was scampering through the opening. Once inside, he leaned back out and looked down at him.

“Five minutes is all I need. Then we’ll meet down the road.”

“Five minutes,” Daichi agreed. “If you don’t show up—”

“Yeah, yeah. You’ll kill me or whatever. Don’t worry. I won’t betray you,” he glanced over his shoulder and then back down. “Okay. See you in five minutes,” he ducked into the building and Daichi let out a sigh and turned towards the courtyard.

He supposed it’d be suspicious if he just dropped in from the roof, so he climbed back down to the ground on the outside of the fortress walls and then walked swiftly to the front gate, which was open wide. He walked confidently inside, one hand resting on the hilt of his sword. Immediately, three guards approached him.

“Well, I’m here,” he announced loudly. “Bring him out.”

“Bring who out?” one guard asked suspiciously. “Who are you?”

“Don’t insult me,” Daichi snapped. “Your master was the one that sent for me. I’m willing to overlook the fact that he sent a messenger to fetch me, but only if you stop wasting my damn time and get him out here.”

The guards exchanged looks. One slid closer to another and said in a low voice, “Did Oikawa-sama send for someone?”

“Who the fuck knows?” the other guard muttered. “He never tells me anything anymore. Just go call him.”

The guard nodded, gave Daichi another look, and then ran across the courtyard to the fortress. He returned shortly, followed by a man dressed in an exquisite teal kimono, casually waving an ornate fan in front of his handsome face.

“What’s this nonsense about me sending for a samurai?” the man called.

“Well, I’m here,” Daichi crossed his arms over his chest. “What is it that you want?”

The man frowned. His eyes darted to one of the guards, “Iwa-chan did you—”

“Don’t look at me.”

He turned back to Daichi, “I didn’t call for you.” He hesitated, fanning his face slowly before a smirk crept over his lips. “But since you’re already here… I do have a job that you may be interested in.”

Daichi cocked an eyebrow, “I’m listening.”

The man let out a sigh, “Four times the past month a thief has broken into my home and stolen from me.”

Daichi blinked.

“He’s taken roughly eighty ryo, countless jewelry, bundles of my finest silk, family heirlooms, and my pet cat,” he continued. “He’s been a constant annoyance and I’d very much like him eliminated.”

Daichi’s eyes flicked over the man’s head in time to catch a flash of grey in a window high up in the luxurious building.

“It should be easy to find him,” the man went on. “He hangs around the south side of the city, usually gambling or pick-pocketing.” His lips pressed together, “He has short grey hair, hazel eyes, and a disgusting little mole in the corner of his eye.”

Daichi’s eyelid twitched.

“I believe he goes by the name Suga? Something common like that,” he waved his fan nonchalantly.

Daichi watched as Suga climbed out of the window, a bag slung over his back, a brand new royal blue kimono wrapped around his body. He slunk expertly down to the lower roof and then scurried up and over the peak, disappearing on the other side.

That son of a bitch.

“So?” the man drew his attention once more. “How about it? If you kill him, I’ll pay you your weight in gold.”

“Let me think about it,” Daichi turned and headed back towards the gate of the courtyard. “I’ll get back to you.”

He left the courtyard and sprinted down the road, muttering low expletives under his breath. Suga was somehow already waiting in the promised meeting place, leaning against a tree as he sifted nonchalantly through a small silk purse.

“You lied to me!” Daichi called as he drew near. “Fucking thief—”

“Oikawa-san is such a narc,” Suga pushed away from the tree. “He’s got more than he needs anyway. Who cares if I borrow a little bit of it?”

Daichi grabbed the front of his new kimono and dragged him close, “He offered me my weight in gold to kill you. Your handsome reward best beat that offer or else I’m hauling your ass back down this road and throwing you at his feet.”

Suga stared wordlessly up at him for long seconds. Daichi opened his mouth and prepared to hurl another threat when suddenly, Suga clasped his jaw in both hands, closed the space between them, and slipped his tongue inside Daichi’s mouth.

Daichi’s eyes widened and his grip on Suga’s kimono loosened. Suga kissed him long and deep, effectively muddling his mind and erasing whatever threat he had been prepared to spit before the unexpected attack. When his thoughts were ground completely to mush, Suga leaned away, hands sliding down the front of his kamishimo. He took a step back and smirked.

“How’s that?”

Daichi swallowed, “Wh-wh-what was that?”

“Your reward!” Suga lifted two fingers in a peace sign.

Daichi’s brows furrowed, “My reward? But that’s— no… where’s my money?”

“I never promised you money,” Sugawara took a step backwards, eyes glinting with amusement. “I promised you a handsome reward. And who is more handsome than me?” he winked.

“You son of a—”

“It was a pleasure doing business with you, Samurai-san,” Suga gave a deep bow. “I hope to play with you again in the future,” he blew a kiss, turned, and walked down the road, a slight bounce in his step.

Daichi would chase after him, cut him down, and take the reward Oikawa had offered… if his traitorous knees thought it prudent to stop shaking weakly.

“Fuck…” he slumped over to the tree and leaned heavily against it.

He had been thoroughly played. He had wasted an entire day. He had been taken advantage of by a common thief. He aided in a robbery and didn’t even get paid.

On top of that…

Daichi ran a hand along the inside of his kamishimo. Sure enough, his coin purse was nowhere to be found.

“Fuck,” he covered his eyes and leaned his head back against the tree.

And there he sat for the next two hours, a lone samurai, robbed clean of his money, his time, and his heart.

bearlytolerable-deactivated2017  asked:

For DWC: Human Emma explaining gravitation to Solas. Bonus if she provides examples.

For @bearlytolerable and @dadrunkwriting sorry if this little drabble was less sciencey than you were hoping for, but character wise I don’t think Emma would know a lot of the technical and in depth explanations, not about that at least.  So I went with a way she could show him that I figured most people in our world would be aware of ;).  

Emma crossed her arms over her chest as she leaned back on the corner of his desk.  At least he was sitting so she didn’t have to stare up at him as she spoke.  She always managed to hold her ground well enough but that didn’t mean it was particularly easy when he was towering over her.

“Solas, why would I lie about this?  I’m telling you if you drop a ball of steel and a ball of wood that are the same size they will both land at the same time.”

He gave that huff of indignation he did so well, “That is preposterous.  You are… what is the term you use?  Pulling my leg.”

“It’s gravity.”  

“You can make up as many words as you like—”

“Ugh, I am not making up words.  If I were to jump down from where Dorian is—”

“Why would you—”

“I wouldn’t just… I’m giving you an example.  So, shut it.”  She waited to see if he would resist but he simply leaned back in his chair, steepling his hands before giving her a nod.  “If I jumped from where Dorian is I would fall and land here right?  I would not simply float, correct?”

She paused and when he didn’t speak she raised a brow.  He copied her expression before saying, “Oh I apologize, I thought I was to shut it.”

“You. are. Impossible.”  She straightened and started out of the rotunda.  “I’m going to talk to Ivy before this turns into a thing.”

There was no more talk of it until several days later, at which point she had completely forgotten the conversation.  Emma was out working in the herb garden when a shadow fell over her.  She looked up, covering her eyes with her hand, to find the familiar lank of Solas looking proud of himself.

“What’s with the—”

“I have the balls.”

She paused, tilted her head, “I’m sorry, you have the what now?”

“Your balls so that you may show me this theory of yours.”

“My… what?”

The smile fell and his brows furrowed, “You have forgotten already?  One wood and one steel.  This thing you were talking about… gravity, was it?”

“Ooohhhh,”  Understanding dawned on her and she stood, wiping the dirt on her leggings, “You actually had them made?”


She couldn’t help when the corners of her mouth twitched up, “I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised.  Come, let’s find somewhere to drop them where we won’t hit someone in the head.”

They found themselves up on Skyhold’s fortress walls in a corner without any traffic.  They would go unobserved and not risk hitting anyone in the process.  Solas glanced down as he felt the weight of the balls in his hands.

“You want to drop them or shall I?  Either way it is key they are dropped at the same time.”

His eyes came up to meet hers and he smirked,  “What shall we wager?”

She laughed and shifted putting a hand on her hip, “Oh I don’t think you want to do that on this one.”

“I believe I do.”  He played at thinking on it for a moment before he said, “Loser will be bound and winner may do what they wish to them tonight.”

She raised a brow, “You want to tie me up?  Or do you want to be tied up?  Either way, this seems like it is a wager where we both win no matter.”

He continued to smirk, but his attention shifted to look down at the ground below, “It is agreed then?”

“I agree.  Are you dropping them then?”

“Why?  Would you rather my balls be in your hands?”

At least she managed to keep the giggle down that threatened to bubble out, “This is science and should be taken seriously, now get to it.”

“Eager to lose are you?”

“No.  Eager to win actually.  Then I can have my way with your balls as much as I like.”

A chuckle as he held both hands out over the edge, “Impatient, woman.  On the count of three then?”

“Very well, one. Two. Three.”

He opened both hands at the same time and they both watched as the two balls fell to the earth.  At the same speed.  Directly next to each other.  Until they both fell into the dirt giving out little puffs into the air on impact.  At the same time, as she knew they would.

“Well,” a pause, “that was… unexpected.”

He was looking down at the ground still and she reached out.  Her fingers brushing along his jaw and forcing him to look at her, “Tell me Solas.  Should I use leather bindings or silk?”

I took surgical scissors and cut away my dress
With the precision of all the medical profession
Fabric was peeled away from my epidermis
Leaving me to wear only skin
The ultimate minimalist fashion statement
But even then
With my breasts hanging low
And my hands clenched into fists
I still remained a fortress
My walls impermeable
Yet the moment my lips moved
And my treacherous tongue slipped
To confess my affection made me
Completely vulnerable
Frontal lobes and vertebra exposed
Naked down to my atoms
As I stood on a stage
Facing seats filled by the world

After Corypheus is defeated, Adaar sends out a message to Tal-Vashoth and Vashoth all over Thedas. They arrives in dozens, then hundreds, people who were always feared and vilified for choosing their own path. The Vashoth get their own home, a chance to live without being hated for their horns, their height, their skin.

So many fill the halls of Skyhold that they begin to expand, forming a village around the fortress’ walls. The humans, dwarves and elves of the Inquisition are skeptical at first but grow to trust them, sharing drinks and stories with them. 

The first Vashoth minstrels struggle to find their own songs. They may play Qunari war drums, but their songs speak of peace, freedom, and the Inquisitor. Emerging Vashoth cuisine mostly consists of sweet desserts, an indulgence that few of them had been able to afford in the past. 

Qunlat is passed down the generations, but no one is called basra anymore. The other races are friends, are kadan.

She built a wall, a fortress so high
That keeps her a prisoner of her own mind
So on days she couldn’t glimpse the sun
Please don’t tell her just to get out and get about
Because darling, I assure you
She doesn’t know how to escape
This lonely castle she built
Out of her own tears, cuts, and howl of anguish
Where hidden doors are called Happiness
And keys are called Prozac
Or sometimes the usual,
‘It’s just in your mind.’
—  cynthia go // A collection of tears [61/365]

Gate And Garden

there is a gate…
steel that guards a heart of stone
impossible is it…to penetrate
rigid barriers of protection

inside a garden…
grows from flowing fountains
waterfalls from above
cascade and crash…
replenish an empty heart…
with love

open up your fortress
let the walls come down
unlock your protective gate
only you control the keys

love is the flower that sets you free
there is a gate
there is a garden
where there’s love…
it cannot be guarded

FollowCB | Copyright 2017

Photo credit: @denmysterywoman