hereticpriest
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hereticpriest · 9 hours ago
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I’m new to Dragon Age series
I played DA:I about a month ago, and now I playing DATV
and this is my emmrook
I don’t know I can upload this without filtering
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hereticpriest · 9 hours ago
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based on this clip (I think it makes more sense with the audio but idk dsfsdf)
whatever a bike would be in dragon age world~
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hereticpriest · 1 day ago
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youtube
Emmrich finally on my channel!
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hereticpriest · 1 day ago
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Emmrook "the echoes of the dead abide me" romance scene is one of my favorite romantic encounters across the entire franchise of Dragon Age because wow that's some stellar writing of intimacy and trust. Knowing how much Emmrich values his studies, how much time he spends learning what he can about spirits, how enthusiastic he is about the Fade and magic overall, to have him confide in you and share this moment of pure closeness with you through letting you in on how he, perhaps, sees the world, full of wisps and magic and mystery, is extremely valuable to me personally. Like wow he's letting Rook in on something that's extremely important to him and it works out with both mage and non-mage Rook equally well.
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hereticpriest · 2 days ago
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The Last Unicorn Elvhen
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hereticpriest · 2 days ago
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.... Anyone else flashback to the banters between Solas and Bull in Inquisition where they played a mental chess game and Solas won because of a play with a pawn? And how he slowly inched that pawn across the board during those banters? (Like he positions Rook and helps slowly "inch" them across the "board" to checkmate the Gods?)
Or about the banters between Solas and Sera about the Friends of Red Jenny, and how he couldn't really wrap his mind around the group's entire goal just being help in small ways without any significant goal truly in mind? (Like how he couldn't wrap his mind around facing, accepting, and processing regrets the way Rook does to escape the Fade prison because he's always thinking too big picture and grand purposes)
Or, perhaps one of the most interesting, the banters between Solas and Varric about Orzammar and how it is in the current time of the games? (And how all the questions Solas asks echoes or points to both what happened to the Elvhen empire and what he intends to do to try to fix his mistake?)
Or the banter where Viv asks if Solas enjoys seeing himself as the villain? And their banters discussing the Circle, and Viv's political prowess, and how "in another age" she "would've ruled an empire?"
Or banters with Dorian about spirits and magic, and how they are used in Tevinter? And on slavery in general? (And how those conversations are a very big part of Dorian actually thinking about the slaves in Tevinter in a meaningful way)
Or with Cassandra about the burdens of leadership and how Cass stepped aside from leading/making decisions for the Inquisition as a whole cause she recognized/felt she wasn't the one to wield such power? Or the one where Cass wonders if the Archdemons are "pets" to beings who no longer exist?
Anyone else thinking about the banters that weren't with Cole about spirits and how to "ground" one's self in the real world, or with Blackwall about being men that have seen war and done cruel things and have had to live a lie until caught in the lie? But were more about the nuances of lives lived and currently being lived; and the status quo and how it was vs how it is vs how it maybe should be; and the very core of his being and true beliefs and how he could find some kind of echo of each with the members of the Inquisition, reflecting and foiling in turn?
Just me? Cool, cool, cool
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hereticpriest · 2 days ago
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So our Rooks have all been reduced to giggling, blushing piles of goo by Professor Volkarin and his very adroit wielding of Praise, but I come bearing strange and intriguing gifts. Hear me out:
Emmrich has a praise kink too.
Rook can reverse Uno him with (genuine) flattery. Things like simple compliments about how good he is at explaining the Veil so that people can understand; how refreshingly kind he is; how patient he is with Manfred. He's a gentleman about it, but he GOBBLES it up. He LIVES for it. He's a fucking career academic - his life is literally built around people actively telling him that he's smart and useful.
So imagine the absolute undoing of him the first time Rook whispers breathlessly into his ear while he's balls deep in them that he fucks them so good.
He tastes like heaven.
He knows just what to say. Knows how to find just the right spots every time.
He is so, sooooo good...
Meanwhile Emmrich is like "No, no, wait - I'm supposed to be pleasing you. Stop it!"
And Rook just continues heaping praise and compliments on him until he goes over the edge, unable to help it because these honest, genuine words from his person are confirmation that he is loved and valued and is a positive presence in their life. He matters.
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hereticpriest · 2 days ago
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Nevarran Locations & Landmarks
Nevarra City– This is the capital of Nevarra. Home to the Grand Necropolis among other things. This is also primarily where most festivals and balls are held, as well as where the Palace of King Markus is located. Nevarra City is also home to the  residence of the Anaxas house, and location of the Duchess Games. [Though the current ruler of Cumberland hails from this family: Duke Sandral Anaxas.] It is also home to the Castrum Draconis as well as the Minanter River which carves through it.
Castrum Draconis– Vast Botanical Gardens with hundreds of statues depicting Royalty and Heroes of legend [Powerful Generals, Dragon Hunters etc.] Along the roadways leading up to the Castrum are stately columns of black marble amidst which statues of Kings & Queens of Nevarras past are on prominent display. In Autumn there is a festival held [ see Ancestral Pageant in my Nevarran Culture Post] where many great families hire performers to recreate famous moments in the statues lives by lantern light. Often draping the statues themselves with their house colors. Notably the Pentaghasts and Van Markhams tend to compete for the best show each year.
Blackthorne Manor– The estate was gifted to a family who then took on it’s name by Queen Vanneska the Fourth. [codex: ‘A Tale of the Blackthornes’] Twenty Generations have walked its halls, [meaning if a generation is estimated at 25-30 years, I would potentially date both the manner and Vanneska to 500-600 years ago, placing somewhere around 3:50 Towers to 4:50 Black.] That said, the codex this is from is annotated by Emmrich stating this must have been written in better days– that no one knows what horrible fate befell the Blackthornes. Noting rumors of suspicious deaths, untended crypts and salacious affairs. [This means that my date estimates could be to young and the manor could be even older.] At some point since its abandonment, it became the base for the Necromancer Johanna Hezenkoss.
Grand Necropolis– A large mausoleum sometimes said to be at the heart of Nevarra city while other sources say it's on the outskirts of the city. This is the main base of operation for all Mortalitasi, including the Mourn Watch. There are open-air gardens, crypts, and mausolieums. The structure is as large as a city in its own right, some royal burials being described as palaces of their own. [Lead concept artist Matt Rhodes remarked while designing the structure that, at least in early concepts, his inspiration was an inverted Tower of Babel. The Mortalitassi, instead of seeking knowledge from the stars, they seek it from their dead.] It is also of note that the geography of the Necropolis shifts quite a bit. Chambers are known to shift and change sporadically. [Note the Memorial Gardens being lost until Rook discovers they had moved to the Vault of the Beloved & also the lack of panic over the Basalt Hypogeum at first because it was thought they moved within the Necropolis, not that they were stolen.] Though Emmrich does say during the 'Walking the Graves' questline that it is unlikely for a section to move while people are inside of it, impling it's more common for less traversed chambers to shift. Unless I am mistaken it appears the cause of this is shift is largely unknown, if not gently implied that it's something to disuade tomb raiding. [I cannot remember which dialogue it is said in, I will search, but I am pretty sure looting deterents are mentioned at one point.] While some areas like the gardens are open to the public for days of mourning, many of the lower wings are heavily restricted even among the order.
Basalt Hypogeum– A vast section of the Necropolis that was stolen and transported to Blackthorne Manor to facilitate Johanna Hezenkoss’ experiments. Many Watchers were curious of its disappearance as it was sudden, though the Necropolis does tend to shift often. Myrna noted it was a ‘matter of strange obliquity’. Once Johanna is defeated Myrna notes a great magic will be required to attempt to transport and restore the wing to its place in the Necopolis. Design wise we know this is one of the more impressive and old sactums within the Necropolis, the basalt being shipped from Rivain in 4:57 Black. We also know the name of the Stonemason who crafted its impressive halls: Othmar Gerdebrand.
Cascades– One of the ‘Lost Watcher’s Wings’
Chamber of the Unforged– This is a hexagonal chamber with several small treasure caches on each spoke. Notably this is where Rook faces the Formless One when it possessed the body of a taxidermied high dragon. It is considered one of the ‘Lost Watcher’s Wings’. The hallway leading to this chamber seems to hold several important memorials, as statues, paintings and gated off rooms of gold and urns line each side. [Knowing that the Tanhausen family commissioned the high dragon to be taxidermied it could possibly be a wing for their quite prominent family. However we do know that the ‘last’ crypt of the Tanhausen’s is in the Memorial Gardens.]
Charnel Bridge– Mentioned briefly in banter between Bellara and Emmrich for good places to learn more about undead. It’s briefly mentioned that the ‘nightmare fog’ has overwhelmed it.
Charnel Pyramid– A section of the Necropolis that is ‘disagreeably cursed.’ [Codex entry: From Myrna, on Rediscovering the Gardens] Myrna recommended that the Pyramid should go through a lustration before the next Equinox. [Lustration: a policy that removes public officials or beings from positions of power associated with a repressive regime; this makes me wonder if it is similar to the situation with undead during the War of Banners.] The area surrounding the pyramid must also be quite sizeable as it was debated to be used as a backup location for public days of mourning in the event the location of the Memorial Gardens was not rediscovered in time.
Cobalt Ossuary– A resting place for skulls within the Necropolis. This is the location of the spiritual disturbance in the short story ‘A Flame Eternal’ in which a skull began to hiss and scream from it’s niche. [We know that some royal families and high nobility have full Palaces as their resting places. I would assume an Ossuary with skulls in niches more than likely is for lower nobility, or even commoners if they are able to be inturned in the necropolis, based oh how unextravagant in sound in comparison. But this is just a guess.]
Crescent Fane– Another chamber of burial, described vaguely as having sunken black walls, with bowls of silver flames [I am not sure if this is a descriptor for veilfire or something else entirely.] around each coffin. [‘A Flame Eternal’] The only known person interred here is a woman named Mathilde, whose husband’s skull became restless until they were once again joined together. [Fane, also means a temple or shrine, so it is possible this is a temporary resting place for the recently dead, maybe to prepare them or just until they are moved to a more final resting place, as Emmrich mentions Mathilde passed ‘in her sleep, last midnight.’]
Hollow Belfry– This seems to be a common area, or main spoke. Several hallways branch off into the other chambers of the Necropolis. The center has a lowered portion where Myrna and Vorgoth tend to be stationed, alerting watchers to hauntings & providing the guild market. It also has an upper atrium.
The Memorial Gardens– This is where public days of mourning are held, while we don’t know it’s original location we do know that this chamber went missing before appearing at the vault of the Beloved [Which, in my opinion is in some way the Necropolis foreshadowing Emmrich & Rook getting together (conditional) since this seems to be Emmrich’s favourite spot to wander, and well Vault of the Beloved… anyways I digress.] The Garden is a cemetery that spralls outward amongst an array of flowers and statues.  This includes the Tableau of the Dead, created from real skeletons in 7:20 Storm. As well as the large statuary monument ‘Love in Life and Death’ which displays two skeletons kissing among other posed figures, overgrown with a flower called shrouds kiss. This is a statue dedicated to the enduring passion of those bound by love. We know that the Rites of Rememberance can be performed by Watchers here as well as a meditative puzzle involving the cleansing bells. In addition to that, the only known/named people to be buried here are Rupert & Elannora Volkarin [Emmrich’s parents], and  the last tomb of the Tanhanhausen line. 
The Path of Glory– Just off to the Side of the Memorial gardens. It holds rooms featuring boardgames, grave mist, and such along with it’s skeletons. This is alo where Emmrich prepares an intimate dinner date for Rook if Romanced. [Trying to confirm]
The Path of Sighs– One of the ‘Lost Watcher’s Wings’.
Shrouded Halls– One of the ‘Lost Watcher’s Wings’.
Spectral Court– One of the ‘Lost Watcher’s Wings’.
Unspoken Valley- Mentioned briefly in banter between Bellara and Emmrich for good places to learn more about Spirits. It’s briefly mentioned that the ‘nightmare fog’ has overwhelmed it.
Upper Mortuary- in banter with Neve, Emmrich mentions he left several of his books in his apartment at the Necropolis. When questioned if most Mourn Watchers live on the Necropolis grounds, he simply replies that the ‘Upper Mortuary is quite pleasant.’ this to me signifies that he is not the only one, and/or this could be one of many more residential areas within the Necropolis. I would assume if this is an area for high up faculty, students and trainees may be housed elsewhere.
Vault of the Beloved– One of the ‘Lost Watcher’s Wings’. This is the new resting place of the Memorial Gardens.
Weeping Vale– We simply do not know much about what the Weeping Vale is, but dialogue between Emmrich and Rook (conditional to Mourn Watch) tells us that recently there was a problem solved by the Mourn Watch to stop wandering cenotaphs from appearing. [A cenotaph is a memorial or monument to someone whose body is buried elsewhere. This is typically done to honor those who died in war, but not always.]
Flora of the Necropolis– I cannot find much on plants related to Nevarra specifically, but some are mentioned directly: variegated weeping widower, shrouds kiss, & unknown willows capable of making their own noises [Codex: New Fauna].
Hunter Fell– A small city west of the capital. This is where King Caspar Pentaghast is from, as well as the location of the tea house that Charter calls a meeting of spies to discuss the movements and motivations of Solas. [Tevinter Nights: The Dread Wolf Take You] The only other thing to really note is that when Tylus Van Markham seized the throne from King Nestor Pentaghast [5:37 Exhalted], several surviving Pentaghasts fled to Hunter Fell. Eventually in 9:42 Dragon, the Inquisiton was called in to investigate Duke Tythas Pentaghst, ruler of Hunter Fell. He commanded a network of spies and warriors called the ‘Five Belles of Hunter Fell’ suspected of being tied to the Venatori.
Cumberland– One of the largest cities in Thedas, it sits South of Nevarra city, where the Imperial highway forks and portside to the Waking Sea. Not only does it function as a major trading port but also as a seat of immense knowledge. Home to the College of Magi, which is thought to bear the brightest mages and scholars throughout Thedas. It is also where many tournaments of combat, and archery are held. The current ruler is Duke Sandral Anaxas.
College of Magi– The college of Magi sits at the center of the city the Sun Dome’s golden exterior and massive spires making the city itself seem gilded and brilliant.  The palace itself was gifted to the Chantry by  a Nevarran Duchess. Keeping with the Nevvarran tradition of statues, the College of Magi is no different, the entryway featuring busts of ever Grand Enchanter from the last 600 years since this is the place from which they are chosen by a council of First Enchanters. The College of Magi is thought to bear the brightest mages and scholars throughout Thedas, some of which then move on to recruitment with the Mortalitasi.
Additional notes about historical events at the College of Magi [& some Dorian and Ashur lore]: In 9:38 following the Kirkwall Rebellion, the Chantry disbands meetings of the College of Enchanters [Based on context and what I am able to find, it seems the College of Enchaters is the name of the council of First Enchanters.], as well as any unsanctioned mage gatherings. This meant the dissolving of mage fraternities. This is also around the time that former Warden Fiona is elevated to the position of Grand Enchanter. [Wynne blames this as the reason the conclave was disbanded.] Grand Enchanter Fiona was quick to begin campaigning for independence, leading a vote among the College of Enchanters to secede from the Chantry entirely. Though the vote did not pass, the existence of the vote was enough for the Templar order to call for the dissolution of the College of Enchanters. More political unrest insues leading to Divine Justinia II calling for a meeting of the College of Enchanters, now disbanded, to the White Spire instead of their traditional seat in Cumberland. This lead to Grand Enchanter Fiona once again pleading for secession, causing High Seeker Lambert to declare the College of Enchanters treasonous. After a daring rescue of some of the enchanters, Fiona once again led a vote on succession in Cumberland. This time since too few first enchanters remained, some having died in capture, the fraternities casted their votes. This lead  ultimately to the dissolution of the circles and the movement towards mage freedom. The factions mentioned above include:
Aequitarians– This is the most dominant of the fraternities in the College of Magi. Their ideology is moderate, and thus popular. It is that mages must use their abilities ethically, and responsibly within society regardless of Chantry law. They believe mages have the power to help people, and should be doing so. Historically leaders of this group include Wynne & Rhys.
Isolationists– While less popular, this smaller faction simply believes mages should separate from the Chantry, and society as a whole. Creating their own systems and culture without any scrutiny towards the practice of magic or danger towards those without.
Libertarians– This group desires the Circle to become self governed and separate rom the chantry. While on the surface the Libertarians seek to do this peacefully, a subgroup of resolutionists within the faction have no issue usng violent means to achieve this. This group has been led historically by Fiona & Adrian.
Loyalists– As the name implies this group is the most devout, following the word of the Chantry. They are often viewed negatively by other mages for being apologists to the oppression faced by mages.
Lucrosians– the smallest fraternity amongst the College of Magi, these mages simply align themselves with the priority of gaining wealth, and political influence over any social cause.
In Veilguard we receive a conversation between Dorian Pavus and Ashur [who may or may not be Divine Aequitas II] in which Dorian comments, ‘Speaking of brash rebels, remember Cumberland? Spring of ‘38?’ to which Ashur replies ‘I wish I didn’t.’ This has had me so curious as to why they were present, were they part of the fraternities that helped vote against the circles since fraternities voted in the place of first enchanters? Or were they simply there as support to keep templars from intervening the College of Enchanters meeting. Either way. Super interesting additional lore on Dorian & Ashur. We know Dorian was part of the Lucerni [a faction dedicated to redeeming and restoring Tevinter] but that is a group exclusive to the Magistirium and not one of the fraternities of the College of Magi. In fact it is more than likely closer tied to the Shadow Dragons. [If you want a less summarized version of 9:38 Dragon, most of the information comes from Dragon Age: Asunder.]
Diamond Lass– in the ‘Dragon’s Den’ district of Cumberland, this is a luxury inn. Drinks are said to be served with crystal goblets alongside runes said to keep the beverage cold.
‘Dragon’s Den’– This is a walled off sector of town, adjacent to the more wealthy quarters of the city. It functions as a Dwarven trading hub and due to his most of the buildings are described to have distinctly Dwarven Architecture.
Forsythia Estate– This is the ancestral residence of the noble house Forsythia
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Thank you all for the kind words on my first lore post. In this next section I tried to break down several key locations. If there are ones you'd like to see that I did not explore please let me know! If there is anything I missed or got incorrect, I am open to corrections! Additionally I would love any additional descriptions or information about the sections of the Necropolis, information is scarce, so any additional notes are welcomed. For more posts on this topic, they will be marked on my page under the tag Nevarran lore.
I hope for this to be a resource for fic writers but also knowledge for my fellow lore nerds. More will be posted soon as feel sections become complete.
Update Edits: More insight on the shifting chambers of the Necropolis, and additional lore on the Basalt Hypogeum. Thank you guys for the feedback <3
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hereticpriest · 2 days ago
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To be known is to be loved.
I LOVE THEM YOUR HONOR 🫡
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hereticpriest · 2 days ago
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peristalsis - i.
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selkie!soap x reader. suicidal ideation. strangers to "lovers." . Running away from life to the Scottish Hebrides, you meet a man who won't leave you alone. . Masterlist. Ao3.
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When your mother asks you if you’re planning to kill yourself, you have to lie to her.
To be fair to you, it’s a half-lie. You have no plans. Courage, you find, is as slippery as an eel in gloved palms—you don’t actually think you could do it if you tried. You’re deeply averse to pain of the bloody sort, and doing the deed would take a will and an energy you don’t really have.
But still. You’ve stopped looking both ways when crossing a street. You forget the stove is on, hot oil in the pan popping like the report of a handgun. The sound of shattering glass is the only thing that makes your heart sit calm in your chest, and the only thing that can make you fall asleep anymore is the notion that when you die, the earth will welcome the molecules of your body back into its folds.
So a half-lie is not the truth. You sit in the terminal, the afternoon smell of airport coffee in your nose as you swear to your mother that you’re not looking for a cliff to jump off of, or a convenient wave to pull you under. You’ve always wanted to visit Scotland, remember?
You can’t tell if she believes you. Probably not. People not planning to kill themselves don’t blow their savings on a first class ticket over the Atlantic with no scheduled return flight.
Especially not after quitting their job.
The flight over the Atlantic is uneventful. Quiet as money can buy. You sip champagne at your window seat, recline as far back as you can go, and watch the ocean, far, far below. Its depths exceed, you remember, the heights at which humanity can fly—but you can’t really tell, looking at it from so far above. It looks like nothing less than a thin veneer stretched overtop the crust of the earth. A puddle that could barely cover the soles of your feet.
There’s not a single murmur of turbulence across the fifteen hours you’re in the air. Much that you might’ve welcomed it.
Your connecting trip to the Hebrides is much shorter. The massive sprawl of Glasgow shrinks and recedes as you leave it behind, replaced not long after by a spit of an island chain that, from a distance, hardly looks worth populating.
You land on Barra, on a sandy stretch of beach still wet and compact from the receding tide. There’s a cottage here with your name on the rental agreement for the next month, and your mind is already there ahead of you, thinking about arranging your toothbrush and toothpaste on the bathroom counter and sitting and listening to nothing but cold island wind in the grass. The cottage’s owner has graciously agreed to drive you there.
When you step off the plane, you miss him at first. You’re expecting someone completely different—an older man in cable knit, perhaps more mustache than face, and the morose demeanor of someone for whom sunlight is as common on the island as veins of gold. So your eyes skip over the younger man, even despite the sign he’s holding with your name on it.
But then you look again. Because with a man like him, you can’t not look again.
He’s wearing a sweater, sure. But he also looks like a rugby team maverick—burly and tall, rugged, tattooed, flaunting a dumb haircut because he’s handsome enough to get away with it.
He stands out from the few people in the airport as if the whole world has adjusted its lens to bring him into focus, sharpening his image such that anything in his periphery is too blurry to notice. He does not in the slightest look like he rents out an old fisher’s croft in the least popular place in Scotland.
But then you catch your name. Do a double take. Clutch your suitcase handle a little tighter, because when you approach, the man’s eyes widen, look you up and down, and then crease with a too-confident smile.
“Bonnie!” he exclaims when you introduce yourself. He has a deep, rough voice, burred and low. More still, he’s kilted, plaid hanging at muscular knees, with an odd speckled pelt slung around his hips.
You’ve never seen that before—maybe it’s an islander thing.
“You must be Mr. John MacTavish,” you say. Up close, there’s a weathered look to him, as if buffeted by the salt in the wind.
“Johnny’s fine,” he says, winking. His eyes are a lively, vibrant blue. The color of the ocean in some place much nicer than this one. “Welcome to Scotland!”
Then, incredibly, “Johnny” pulls you into a hug before you even realize what’s happening, brawny arms closing around you like the noose of a snare. You go rigid—what the hell?—but this man, whom you have met only just now, doesn’t seem to notice, compressing you against the blazing pillar of his body in an embrace that flattens your lungs behind your ribs.
“Um,” you manage. He smells like axe body spray and diesel fuel, and cold ocean wind. It wipes the forefront of your mind blank, like sweeping an arm across drawings etched in sand.
After at least five whiplashed beats of your heart, Johnny pats your back several times and lets you go, grinning.
“Sorry, bonnie. Scots are huggers.”
Then without warning, he reaches for the handle of your suitcase, warm hand nudging aside your own. “Let’s get you down there ‘fore the tide comes in. Canny wait t’show you the place, I fixed it up m’self.”
You let him take your luggage and follow; he sets off at an energetic clip that you struggle to keep up with. He gestures with his free hand as he talks, motions rising and falling with the tenor of his voice.
“You know you’re m’first guest? Was startin’ to wonder if I was gonna have to sell the place, no one seemed all that interested. Guess I can see why, no internet, barely any signal. Me, I think that’s a good thing, people spend too much time on their phones, y’know?”
You make a noncommittal noise.
Were you this cold before he let go of you?
“But it’s a great little place to get away, I promise you, nice and quiet, and I updated everything m’self. Radiator in the bedroom and everything!”
Another noise from you.
Thankfully, you reach his car—a small truck, older than the both of you, with only one row of seats and what looks like large spools of rope in the bed. Johnny pauses briefly to secure your suitcase beside them with a couple of bungee cords, and then opens the passenger side door for you to get in.
“It’s not too far from town too,” he continues as he slides into the driver’s seat. You attach your seat belt. He does not. “You got your essentials there. A supermarket—think you call ‘em grocery stores? There’s that and a cafe and a pub. No bank though, so let’s get cash now if you need it.”
“I have some.” You’d exchanged for a few hundred pounds in Glasgow.
“Good! You want to stop by the store? Took the liberty of filling up the fridge too, but if there’s somethin’ you want—”
“No,” you say.
“Alrigh,’” says Johnny.
You feel his eyes on you—when you look at him, he’s smiling again. You are not pleased to find, through the benefit of close proximity, that he has dimples.
“What?” you ask, suddenly self-conscious.
“Nothin,’” he says.
Johnny drives you across the causeway from Barra to Vatersay, the latter of which, he helpfully informs you, is populated by less than a hundred people.
“More wildlife than anything,” he comments, as the ocean outside the window passes by. The water is dull and gray, hidden from the sun by an overcast sky. “That’s what the tourists come for. You here to see the seals?”
“Seals?” you ask.
“Aye,” Johnny says, grinning. “They come here for breeding season.”
You ignore the quirk of his eyebrows.
The cottage stands alone, a ways out from the island’s main village at the top of a modest hillock. Island grasses sway along the dirt road as Johnny directs the truck upwards, coming to a stop a few meters away from the house proper.
It’s quaint. Thatch roof, cobbled walls. A generator hooked up on one side. There are flower boxes flanking the front door, although nothing’s in bloom; it’s the wrong season for it. The window frames are unpainted, and the glass panes, despite looking recently cleaned, are crusted with salt at the corners.
And it’s smaller than it looked in the pictures online. Even close up to it, the blue-grey sky overhead, swimming with dun-colored clouds, swallows it up.
You exit the truck into a cold breeze that tugs at the collar of your fleecy sweater. You’d read online that this time of year was the last gasp of summer into the autumn months in the Hebrides—it hardly feels that way, with the chill that drags its fingers across your hairline.
“It’s on a septic tank so y’ve got alright plumbing,” Johnny goes on, hefting your suitcase over one brawny shoulder. “Canny say much for the water pressure in the shower, but other than tha’ it’s alright. Matters more that it’s hot, ‘f you ask me—and it is! Come on, I’ll give y’the tour.”
The cottage is not big enough to warrant one. Johnny shows you the four rooms—kitchen, sitting room, bathroom, and bedroom—in under five minutes. It ends with him leaned up against the counter, arms folded genially across his plush chest, grinning at you like he knows some embarrassing secret of yours.
“Was thinkin,’” he says, scratching the stubble on his jaw with one thumbnail, “this’d be kind of a honeymoon thing, y’know? That woman with the time travel show, lots a’folks been comin’ here lately ‘cause a’her.”
“Is there anything else to do here besides look at seals?” you ask.
Soap gazes at you through half-lidded eyes, smirking. “I dinnae think you leave the bedroom much on a honeymoon, do you?”
You flush. “I never really thought about it.”
“So you’re no’ married, then?”
“No. Not—not interested.”
Johnny lifts one brow. “In marriage?”
“In anything.”
He keeps fucking smiling. You have a barely controllable urge to smack him; you settle for wringing the hem of your sweater, imagining it could be his neck.
“So what brings y’here, then?” he asks, tilting his head like a cat playing with its food. “If no’ a honeymoon?”
You frown.
The truth is, of course, that nothing brought you here. Vatersay, nor the Hebrides, nor Scotland itself were actually of any consequence. You’re ambivalent about the ocean, and you certainly don’t care about seals.
You just hadn’t been able to think of anything you wanted when you asked yourself that perennial question. You wanted nothing.
You wanted nothing.
So you found as much nothing as you could and bought the soonest first class ticket heading toward it.
Your only stipulation had been no language barrier—so here you are now, cursing the lack of such, because it means this man, who belongs on this island no more than you do, is bothering to try and talk to you.
“Just wanted some peace and quiet,” is what you decide to say.
“Needed a change, aye?” Johnny nods sagely, as if understanding. “I did too, when I came here. Was in the army. Special forces.”
“O-okay,” you say, because you hadn’t asked.
“Didnae plan to stay,” he continues.
He turns his head to look out the kitchen window; on one temple is the ghost of a scar. A starburst-ripple in the shaved side of his dark hair—nothing more.
But something about it suggests that the wound it closed around was a horror to behold.
Then he turns back to you, the corners of his mouth quirked. “But somethin’ about this place is hard to leave.” The quirk turns into another smarmy grin “Bet when your month’s up, you’ll know what I mean.”
It seems rude to say probably not. “Maybe.”
The radiator in the kitchen breathes a swell of warm air through the room, blooming with Johnny’s diesel-and-ocean scent. There’s very little space between you, him against the counter, you across from him at the sink. Johnny’s bulk claims what little room there is to maneuver, and if you tried to move away, it would require first moving closer.
“So,” you begin.
“Here,” he intercedes. “Wanna show you somethin.’”
The only reason you comply is because he leads you outside, which is a step closer to him finally leaving you alone. Johnny circles around the cottage, revealing a footpath that leads down the hill. The ground transitions from soil to sand as you both walk; the wind picks up as the sound of waves grows. Eventually you reach what turns out to be a small cove, hidden by the curve of the island, flanked on both sides by cliffs of only middling height.
The tide is only now making its way in; probably why you hadn’t realized it was here earlier. You think you’ll be able to hear the waves when you go to sleep tonight.
“Oh,” you say, unable to hide that it’s impressed you.
“Yeah,” Johnny replies, smug. “All yours. Come down whenever you like. Dinna recommend skinny dippin’ this time a’year, though.”
You look at him, intending some sort of flat response, but what you see stops your words up in the chamber of your throat.
There’s something…different about him. There’s a sharp glint in his eyes that wasn’t there before. A dangerous cant to the angle of his grin. He suddenly feels very real to you—
Like standing in front of a wild animal.
Realizing, at the same time it does, that there is no barrier between it and you.
He looks you up and down. He doesn’t even try to hide it; too-blue eyes jaunt from yours down to your throat, the span of your shoulders, lingering on your chest before drifting down your stomach and hips. His nostrils flare as he inhales deeply, shoulders lifting as his chest expands, and you get the strange sense that he’s trying to smell you.
The ice that slithers through your veins, drips down the rigid column of your spine, wars with the spike of heat that breaks across your face. You feel here. You feel very present, your heart pumping wet in your chest, electrical wisps zipping to every nerve ending and back up your cerebellum to remind your brain of every part of your existing body.
Suddenly you are in Scotland, thousands of miles away from home, freezing fucking cold, only half of all the money you have in the world left in your bank account. Tomorrow stretching out in front of you. The next day after it.
Panic, which you thought buried, turns over in your belly, grave-dirt too light to keep it down. Hard earth is beneath your feet. A light drizzle is starting overhead. You begin to shiver, your nervous system’s effort to warm your hairless mammal body up, to save you from the cold and the wet and the fucking predator standing two paces away from you while gazing at you like it can’t wait to break your bones open for the marrow inside.
“Okay,” you finally snap, though you’re unable to keep your voice from quivering. “I really appreciate you driving me, Johnny, but—”
His eyes flash. The ocean-depths of them shift with an awareness beyond your ken, the dark edges deepening, the vivid blue swirling. The expression on his face transmutes into something unknowable—like the difference between the look on a pet dog’s face and a wolf’s.
Something isn’t there that should be, and what is in its place is entirely unfamiliar.
What is in its place is something your species evolved long past being able to understand.
Then, as quickly as it appeared, the flash is gone. Johnny is human again, as if he had always been in the first place. The thin crows’ feet at the corners of his eyes crinkle, as he gives you what he probably thinks is a sympathetic smile.
He doesn’t seem able, or perhaps willing to hide how amused he is, though.
“Long flight, I know,” he croons, meeting your gaze again. “Dinna worry, bonnie, I’ll let you get your rest.”
Whatever you were about to say dies. Your mouth hangs open. Johnny backs away from you, hands casually in his pockets.
“I’ll take you to see the seals tomorrow!” he calls to you before he turns away. A sudden gust ruffles the pelt hanging around his hips. “I know all the best spots.”
He throws you a casual wave, and then disappears over the rise.
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You do hear the waves that evening, when you lay down to sleep. The covers are soft over you, cozy and warm even as the ocean wind hums outside.
You can’t stop shivering.
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next
a/n: last fic of the year (probably)! i'm so into this one tbh. i figured out the ending a while ago and i'm so dang excited to get to it.
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hereticpriest · 2 days ago
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Pdf of The Question of Palestine by Edward Said
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hereticpriest · 2 days ago
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There are a lot of great “Gale Approves” moments in the game, but I think my favorite might be one of the earliest (or possibly the very first?) one you can get.
It happens right after you ask him about himself and he gives you his “cat, wine, library” dialogue, ending with “didn’t that paint enough of a picture?”
If you press further by trying to peer into his mind via the tadpole and you succeed, you’ll only get a glimpse before he angrily shuts you out, and you’ll earn his disapproval:
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He’s pissed, and rightly so.
However! In the next dialogue, if you tell him curiosity made you do it, he not only immediately forgives you, he ALSO gives you approval for it (thereby canceling out his prior disapproval):
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I love this interaction for two reasons:
First, because it instantly tells you everything you need to know about Gale—he’s reserved until he gets to know you, he’s curious with a hint of mischief, and he’s very sweet and forgiving.
And second, because the whole interaction can be summed up as:
Gale: How dare you?!
Tav: Sorry, I’m a total nebshit.
Gale: OH! 😃👍 same
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hereticpriest · 2 days ago
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one of me and my brothers favourite bits to do is pretend we're cavemen seeing modern things for the first time. like an airplane passes overhead and i go 'caveman' and we both point and stare at it pass with gazes of abject horror and disbelief like we're about to experience the rapture and have seen the closest thing to god we ever will
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hereticpriest · 2 days ago
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THE WAY IT CUTS OFF AT THE END IS SENDING ME
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hereticpriest · 2 days ago
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I love old Emmrich but imagine the painting of young Professor….
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hereticpriest · 2 days ago
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do y’all remember before direct messages tumblr had a dumbass ask limit of 10 per hour and communication was impossible until they introduced dumbass fan mail and we were basically sending telegraphs back in forth trying to communicate those were…dark times
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hereticpriest · 2 days ago
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Dragon Age: The Veilguard, Nevarra, Necropolis, Mourn Watch Artworks [Click for better quality] [extracted via Frosty Editor]
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