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#and learn to accept them – @bard-llama on Tumblr
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Because magic

@bard-llama / bard-llama.tumblr.com

Hi! I'm Llama and I'm a queer, disabled fic writer with chronic pain. 18+ only, please!
Check out my main AO3 account or my side account with shippy atla content. You can always find my writing in the my fics tag. Snippets and such posted for WiP Wednesday can always be found here.
If you're curious how I keep track of so many WiPs (literally in the hundreds), check out my guide on how to use section headers in Google Docs!
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Anonymous asked:

Roche's scars?

Ooooh, good choice! This was inspired by a mod someone made and for the life of me, I cannot find where I found this photo, so if anyone knows who made it/who deserves credit, please tell me!

75. Roche's scars

Okay, nothing actually graphic happens yet because I haven't gotten that far in the WiP, but the whole idea of the story is scars: getting them, having them, hiding them, accepting them, sharing them. And the first scar on the list is one on his neck that I decided looked like it was cauterized. So... yeah. Warning for that.

There are moments that define you for the rest of your life. Moments where you know, without a doubt, everything is about to change.
Vernon Roche experienced one such moment at the age of fifteen, when he spotted an arbalist hiding in a crowd and accidentally saved the lives of the royal family. From that moment forward, his life was different, and this difference would define him for years to come.
Everyone knew Vernon Roche would die for his King. He just hadn’t expected to actually do it. But now, struggling to breathe as he slowly bled out, all he could think about was how he hadn’t expected to actually have to die for his King. Not like this.
His eyes darted around the room restlessly, trying to find something, anything, that could save him. When the assassin had taken him hostage, holding a knife to his throat, he’d been dragged over by the brazier they kept burning at all hours in the throne room.
Vaguely, he was aware of things happening around him, of King Foltest sending guards after the assassin that had slit his throat when Foltest had dared him to. But mostly, all he knew was that he was growing cold, colder than he ever should have been. And right next to him, the warm embers of the fire glowed.
A stupid idea occurred to him. He knew it was stupid even as he thought it, but what options did he have? Bleed out here, on the throne room floor? Fuck that.
He reached out a shaking hand and grasped a fire poker.
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