#'humans taught us to have dreams' is bull as long as all those dreams are 'to serve humans'

[firebirdsdaughter]

Okay…

… No one wants my opinion on the Izu situation, but I’m tired as all hell and looking to ramble, and I want to get this off my chest.

I’ve seen a number of takes on what happened floating around. Some people see it as the same as at the start, when they’d just ‘reset’ the HumaGear who had been hacked (Nigiro and Mamoru spring to mind), some people are furious and think this new Izu is a whole new being Aruto is trying to force old Izu onto and think it’s out of character for him, there’s a lot of ‘she’s not the same’…

For me? Well… I said I had salt, but I also said it’s not what most people are thinking/might expect.

My reaction can be broken down into two things, and both, I admit, are pretty harsh:

This isn’t out of character for Aruto at all.

I don’t see anything different between ‘this’ Izu and the ‘old’ Izu.

Now, I haven’t been quiet about my opinions about Aruto, but, like other things in the series, he started well, he had potential, there was def something in there, Fumiya did the best he could, bless him. But as the show went on, it became harder and harder for me to like Aruto. Oh, he had a few good moments, the potential he’d started w/ was still there, in many ways, but… Eventually, I just stopped waiting.

From what I saw, Aruto was never into HumaGear establishing their own identities, he just wanted them to be how he wanted them to be. That line from the Frozen song—‘it’ll be just like it was, except for we’ll be best friends.’ He never really seemed to want ‘freedom’ or ‘equality’ for them, just wanted them to be ‘happy’ where they were. I’ve never been comfortable w/ that ‘dream’ ever since he blows up Jin for being a confused, frightened child soldier and then he and Izu stand around all pleased about pre-singularity HumaGear ‘smiling’ together w/ humans… Aka, dutifully serving humans w/ smiles painted on their faces. For the entire show, his sympathies and his definition of ‘good’ HumaGear where ones that lived to work, lived to serve humans w/out complaints or wanting anything for themselves. As long as their dreams were convenient for humans, they were a-okay. He also ended up veering into implying he knew exactly what HumaGear dreams were. He thought Izu was the pinnacle of good HumaGear bc she was adoring and devoted, revolved around him. His alleged urging her to choose for herself fell flat bc there was never anything for her to choose between (that scene was weird from all angles bc since when did Jin care about Izu and we never did bring up that time she rubbed his father’s defeat in his face and he stabbed her). He says they have to ask G-Pen what he wants, but then won’t let Jin talk to him bc he’s ‘a human’s partner!’ He seems relieved when G-Pen wants to draw. And like I said, eventually, he seems to have just decided he knows that HumaGear dreams will be to have warm fuzzies doing their jobs to serve humans. He yells at Horobi about how he was made to serve humans, only later bringing up the fact that he can have an identity outside the Ark. He can’t seem to fathom the fact that HumaGear could be upset at humans outside of ‘evil hacking.’ (I was groaning so loud when he was like ‘there’s no reason for us to fight anymore’ at the rebelling HumaGear, bc I’m sorry, isn’t that their decision? Seems like they think there is still a reason). He never seems bothered or concerned about the fact that HumaGear have no rights, can’t be in control of their own fates. He’s a-okay that they can’t be in positions of power and live completely at the whims of humans. Apparently, never even tried to give Izu a back up and taught her to be fine w/ not having one bc it ‘benefitted’ humans. To him, HumaGear existed to happily do their jobs, to serve humans, that was all they should live for… Even though a fully self aware being could never truly live the life HumaGear are made to live. He waxed about seeing HumaGear as people, but would only revive them when there was a request for them, didn’t tell Delmo she didn’t need to ‘prove’ anything to be allowed to live. He assumes Horobi will instantly magically see things his way despite everything Horobi has been through, when things get complicated, he spends more time running around and trying to make the other HumaGear go back to being the ‘good little servers’ he thinks they should be, devaluing their feelings by claiming there’s no reason to fight (again, that’s their decision), rather than actually going and trying to talk to Horobi. Then the show spends ages painting him like a tragic victim and making excuses for him, when Horobi is literally a traumatised and abused AI and Aruto immediately jumped at the chance to grab the fucking Ark Key. I know grief was involved, by why the fuck did Izu still not have a backup, why did he let her go in there along in the first place, why is he more tragic than the brainwashed and mentally conditioned child soldier AI who literally had never learned how to handle emotions and had been conditioned his whole life to resist them and to respond violently. But no, Aruto’s the only tragic one, not the mind rape and abuse victim that everyone pointed guns at instead of recognising what happened to him and trying to rehabilitate him (and then literally doing that to a ‘good’ HumaGear the next fucking day, wtf). Admittedly, I more blame Gai, the Ark, and Yua and Fuwa, the first two for being responsible for everything in the first place, and the second two for being the ones to escalate the situation and triggering Horobi in the first place. And then he just… Lets Horobi blame himself for everything at the end. This after originally specifically saying that Gai was responsible. Like… All that would have need was something like ‘it’s more complicated than that.’ Bc yeah, Horobi’s done some stuff, but he’s mentally unwell and they were all manipulated. This isn’t cut and dry. Recognise that.

Ultimately, I am incredibly frustrated by Aruto bc there was stuff that could have interested me about the character, but it ended up being outweighed by the negative stuff. Of course he’d just try to ‘remake’ Izu, HumaGear aren’t people to him, they exist to benefit humans. Izu exists to be his adoring cheerleader.

And… Well, that brings me to the second thing. When I heard the ‘he’ll try to make her the real Izu’… My immediate reaction was ‘how’s that hard?’ Literally, Izu’s character ultimately ended up being worshiping Aruto. All he’d have to do is program her to serve and support him again, and tada. Which is exactly what happened. Horobi has been dumped w/ all this mental trauma and guilt, and… Aruto doesn’t seem to have suffered at all. She gazes adoringly at him, she’s all cutesy, she interrupts his jokes… Sure, maybe she lost some memory, but… Ultimately, none of those memories changed her at all, so it’s not a big loss. I don’t see what’s so ‘different’ about her that’s making everyone so upset. It doesn’t feel like anything was lost. I really think they should have just had her data be in the 02 or some shit bc her not having a backup was bull in the first place, her ‘death’ was also bull bc she could easily have dodged even after Horobi fired, and pretending that Aruto ‘lost’ something that he should blame Horobi for is also bull. Izu didn’t have a personality outside of ‘adores Aruto’ (I see you, sexy leg lamp anon, I’ll get there eventually, I promise). W/ the added fact that she chose to not get out of the way and to be hit, and that she was apparently a-okay w/ no backup bc it allegedly benefited humans… It’s all just very frustrating. Also bc, like Aruto, there were a lot of places they could have gone w/ her, she could have been a great set up for ‘HumaGear can choose to work w/ humans.’ But Izu never had anything to choose from, she remained blindly adoring of Aruto and humanity. Her conversation w/ Horobi could have been good, if not for an underlying tone of ‘she’s right, he’s wrong.’ Izu should have to recognise that there is negative aspects of humanity and the good things don’t make it all okay. Horobi shouldn’t have to come all the way around to agree w/ her, it should be recognised that humanity have capacity for both, HumaGear should be allowed the capacity for both and have it not be treated like they’re going ‘berserk’ or have it be assumed there’s an ‘evil AI’ hacking them. Anger and even hatred are natural feelings—benevolence should be respected, appreciated, recognised, but not constantly expected.

Basically, Izu didn’t feel like a person. She had no identity or character outside of adoring Aruto, or any strong relationships outside of him (for ex, she really could have benefited from a relationship w/ Fuwa (slight favouritism at work, sure), where he does something like teach her to punch or something), and revolved completely around him, just like she was programmed to be. Funny how Will was depicted as ‘evil’ for wanting to know how humans would benefit HumaGear, but Izu and Wazu are ‘good’ bc they’re a-okay not having any of the safety measures available to their kind bc it will allegedly ‘benefit’ humans, and bc all they live for is pleasing their owners. Wazu didn’t even save Izu just bc he cared about her and didn’t want his younger sister to die, it was ‘you can support Aruto.’ I’m sorry, what? I just… Don’t see what was lost here.

So… To try and wrap this up bc I’ve been complaining for too long: Aruto never cared about HumaGear having their own identities or them being their own people, he just wanted them to be exactly the same as before, expected the only thing they needed in life to be making humans happy, and I cannot find the difference between these two Izus.

And I am so fucking frustrated.

[lavellander]

hello im feeling extra “touch the stove”-y today so. i was looking for any dialogue where solas just straight up lies and (of what i could find online/transcribed, obv) i didnt find anything that was 100% untrue. he’ll completely avoid the question, change the subject, give part of the truth, etc etc etc, but nothing was just Entirely A Lie

what really gets me is that there’s a handful of convos where someone infers something from what solas says, and he will even point out that he didn’t directly say that. like, he tells people how to see through his shit, lmao

here is an embarrassingly long ass list of examples, all sorted by what kind of not-lying he’s doing lol, just bc i am unhinged<3

*note that some of these are cut from longer bits of dialogue or have been split up from one conversation into different categories*

literally just Not Answering The Question lol

Dorian: How much “will” do they have? They’re amorphous constructs of the Fade. Solas: Hmm.

Dorian: Solas, have I offended you? Solas: If you have, why would it concern you?

Dorian: Solas, what is this whole look of yours about? Solas: I’m sorry? Dorian: No, that outfit is sorry. What are you supposed to be, some kind of woodsman? Dorian: Is it a Dalish thing? Don’t you dislike the Dalish? Or is it some kind of statement? Solas: No.

Dorian: Let me get this straight, Solas. Dorian: You’re an apostate – neither Dalish nor city elf – who lived alone in the woods studying spirits. Solas: Is that a problem for you?

Solas: [has a whole tactical moment about the red jennies lmao] Sera: Where d’you get all this, then? Solas: Do you wish to be unnerved by another tale of my explorations of the Fade? Or do you wish to learn something?

Vivienne: You must be pleased with what was revealed at the Temple of Mythal, Solas. Solas: Why should those ruins please me, Enchanter?

changing the subject before he backs himself into a corner

Gatt: I don’t see any tattoos, but you’re carrying a staff. Are you from a Chantry Circle? Solas: No. And I would prefer not to discuss it.

Solas: I find the fall of the dwarven lands confusing. Varric: What’s so confusing about endless darkspawn? Solas: A great deal, although that is a different matter.

giving the truth, but not the whole truth

Blackwall: Skyhold. How did you find it? Solas: I looked. Blackwall: Now you sound like Cole. You looked? Solas: This world is full of wonders for those who seek them.

Blackwall: You spoke of seeing death and destruction. Did you fight in a war? Solas: There are struggles across Thedas at any given time. I doubt you would have heard of it. Blackwall: An elven skirmish? Solas: In a manner of speaking, yes.

Cassandra: Solas, have you always lived alone? Out in the wilderness, as an apostate? Solas: For the most part.

Cassandra: Have you ever encountered templars before? Solas: Only at a distance. I am an apostate, after all. Cassandra: And they never caught you even once? Solas: I am a very careful apostate.

Dorian: We found elves, living ancient elves, at the Temple of Mythal. Does that bother you, Solas? If Inquisitor allied with the Sentinels: Solas: I am pleased we were not forced to kill them, if that’s what you mean.

Iron Bull: You’ve got an odd style, Solas. Your spells are a bit different from the Circle mages or the Vints. Solas: That comes from being self-taught. Solas: I discovered most of my magic on my own, or learned it from my journeys in the Fade.

Vivienne: So, an apostate? Solas: That is correct, Enchanter. I did not train in your Circle.

Solas: You are a man who made a choice... possibly the first of your life. Iron Bull: I’ve always liked fighting. What if I turn savage, like the other Tal-Vashoth? Solas: You have the Inquisition, you have the Inquisitor... and you have me.

from cutscene at beginning Inquisitor: [mentions the anchor closing a rift] Solas: Whatever magic opened the Breach in the sky also placed that mark upon your hand. I theorized the mark might be able to close the rifts that have opened in the Breach's wake – and it seems I was correct.

from cutscene at beginning Solas: [to a Dalish Inq] You are Dalish, but clearly away from the rest of your clan. Did they send you here? Inquisitor: What do you know of the Dalish? Solas: I have wandered many roads in my time, and crossed paths with your people on more than one occasion. Inquisitor: [Crossed paths? dialogue choice] Solas: I mean that I offered to share knowledge, only to be attacked for no greater reason than their superstition.

from “I’d like to know more about you” convo in Haven Inquisitor: What made you start studying the Fade? Solas: I grew up in a village to the north. There was little to interest a young man, especially one gifted with magic. But as I slept, spirits of the Fade showed me glimpses of wonders I had never imagined. I treasured my dreams. Being awake, out of the Fade, became troublesome.

actually telling the truth but no one picks up on the gravity of it

Solas: [...] I believe the elven gods existed, as did the old gods of Tevinter. But I do not think any of them were gods, unless you expand the definition of the word to the point of absurdity. I appreciate the idea of your Maker, a god that does not need to prove his power. I wish more such gods felt the same. Cassandra: You have seen much sadness in your journeys, Solas. Following the Maker might offer some hope. Solas: I have people, Seeker. The greatest triumphs and tragedies this world has known can all be traced to people.

Cole: No, inside. I don’t hear your hurt as much. Your song is softer, subtler, not silent but still. Solas: How small the pain of one man seems when weighted against the endless depths of memory, of feeling, of existence. That ocean carries everyone. And those of us who learn to see its currents move through life with their fewer ripples.

Cole: You didn’t do it to be right. You did it to save them. Inquisitor: Solas, what is Cole talking about? Solas: A mistake. One of many made by a much younger elf who was certain he knew everything.

Solas: Empires rise and fall. Arlathan was no more “innocent” than your own Tevinter in its time. Solas: Your nostalgia for the ancient elves, however romanticized, is pointless.

Solas: Our people used to be here. Sera: Pfft, you say that everywhere. Solas: It is more true than you want to believe.

Vivienne: You must be pleased, apostate. With the Templars dissolved, your rebels will be most difficult to pacify. Solas: My rebels? Am I an agent for their cause, whispering poison into the Inquisition’s ears? Solas: How comforting. Vivienne: You enjoy seeing yourself as a villain? Solas: No more than any other clever man who wonders what he could do if pushed.

Vivienne: [about the Temple of Mythal] Now you know the elves were once a mighty nation. Solas: I always knew, Enchanter. The Temple of Mythal is just another reminder of what was lost.

(in the Emerald Graves): These forests have changed much since I was last here.

during the Fade!Haven cutscene Solas: It seems you hold the key to our salvation. You had sealed it with a gesture... and right then, I felt the whole world change. Inquisitor: [romance option] “Felt the whole world change?” Solas: A figure of speech. Inquisitor: I’m aware of the metaphor. I’m more interested in felt. Solas: You change... everything.

pointing out that people assume he means things he did not directly say

Cole: There is pain though, still within you. Solas: And I never said there was not.

Solas: You may well become fully human, after all. I never thought to see it. Cole: When did you see it before? Solas: I did not say that I had.

Iron Bull: We’ve got the alliance with my people. Given how much you love the Qun, I figured... Solas: I might scold you? Berate you for your decisions? Iron Bull: Hey. The Chargers died as heroes for the good of the mission. Solas: I never said otherwise.

Sera: Don’t you start. Solas: I’m reasonably certain I said nothing.

Vivienne: [talking shit about grey warden mages] Solas: I never claimed mages should be above the law, Enchanter. Vivienne: No, darling. You merely implied it, while offering no viable suggestions for improvement.

after infamous “side benefits” dialogue Warrior Inquisitor: You find my muscles enjoyable? Solas: I meant that you enjoyed having them, presumably. Warrior Inquisitor: Ah. Solas: But yes... since you asked.

diminishing things he does actually know by saying he he “believes” or “thinks,” or that things were vaguely “said” or “told”

Solas: I say what I believe to be true, even if it gives offense to those who prefer the lie.

Dorian: That orb Corypheus carries... are you certain it’s of elven origin, Solas? Solas: I believe so. Why do you ask?

Solas: It is said that we lived at a pace that sustained us for... ages.

making it sound like he’s talking about something/someone else, but it’s just him lmao

Cole: Do you know a lot about wolves? Solas: I know that they are intelligent, practical creatures that small-minded fools think of as terrible beasts.

Solas: No man can kill so many people without breaking inside. To survive... those you fight must become monsters. Iron Bull: The ones that kill innocent people, yeah. The rest... I don’t know. Solas: The mind does marvelous things to protect itself.

during In Hushed Whispers Inquisitor: I’m glad you understood what he just said because I’m not sure I did. Solas: You would think such understanding would stop me from making such terrible mistakes. You would be wrong.

misc

this one i wanted to include because it’s the only circumstance (that i came across) where someone directly asks solas to lie and he literally says he can’t

during the fucking crestwood breakup scene Inquisitor: [angry option] Tell me you don’t care. Solas: I can’t do that. Inquisitor: Tell me I was some casual dalliance so I can call you a cold-hearted son of a bitch and move on! Solas: I’m sorry.

*also note that most of these are banter transcriptions from the wiki; some are cutscene / other dialogue posted by either @/daitranscripts or u/karinini on reddit; it’s not all his cutscenes obv, but I’m not about to look up every single one individually sdlkfj*

[nekojitachan]

Okay, so this is... IDK what this is. I guess this is the bare bones of my take on The Old Guard with the Monsters/AFTG.

Uhm, warning for people dying/violence, not in very nice ways, some of them (Nicky’s is vaguely tied to canon if you think about it).

*******

Somehow, it didn’t come as a big surprise to Anders when he and his twin came back to life after being killed by the raiders who’d stormed their longhouse, along with everyone else. The strangers had sneered at him and Aron, the ‘living’ vessels of their people’s twin gods, then invoked the name of their own unknown god as they shoved their bronze swords repeatedly into their flesh. Anders had a small knife he’d hidden beneath his robes, but he hadn’t been able to put up much of a fight against trained warriors.

(He’d repeatedly asked to be taught to fight, but Tilda had just laughed and ignored him, too busy soaking up the attention she garnished as the mother of a god’s vessels. Too busy drinking fermented berries and milk to care about how Knut, the elder, mistreated them.)

No, unlike Aron, Anders considered being unable to die (well, to remain dead) a curse instead of another sign of the twin gods’ favor, proof that the Fates took great pleasure in tormenting them. They didn’t age and they healed no matter how badly they were hurt, yet they weren’t immune to starvation, cold temperatures or other things which made life difficult.

They had no choice but to constantly move on, with no family to take them in and strangers suspicious of them if they remained in one place too long. Aron soon grew bitter when he realized that no woman would want him anymore once she continued to age and he didn’t, and it was much the same for Anders if he felt an attraction for another man.

It went on that way for almost eighty years, the two of them isolated from the rest of the world by some terrible curse, until they were driven from sleep one night by the image of a teenaged boy with long, dark auburn hair and pale blue eyes, beaten and bloodied, being held down by two men while an older man with similar pale eyes and red hair cut close to his scalp grinned as he slit the boy’s throat.

Only the boy didn’t remain dead, because the next image showed him alive (and covered in blood) as he stood by a pyre with a woman’s body on it, then as he scavenged through the ransacked sheep farm for anything useful he could find before he took off running. Anders stared at his twin as the images faded away, at the shock in hazel eyes the same color as his own, and knew they shared the same thought as well as appearance; it wasn’t just a dream, and they were no longer alone.

They set out to find the redhead, but the young man proved as elusive as a dream. Anders took to calling him the rabbit, because it felt as if they were chasing such a creature through a forest during the night, fumbling along like a bunch of clumsy fools while it vanished with ease into the thick foliage. The occasional dreams were of little help, because as soon as they figured out the redhead’s location in the dream, he always was gone by the time they finally got there.

Anders was going to cut his tendons a few dozen times when they finally caught up to the flighty bastard.

So six hundred years later, when they had another dream of a tall youth with black hair and green eyes being killed in battle, they wasted no time tracking him down to the island of the Celts. Caoimhín wasn’t a runner like the rabbit and refused to leave until he (along with Anders and Aron) almost ended up as a solstice sacrifice.

Funny how almost being set on fire while alive motivated one to see the world.

Anders began to regret the whole ‘let’s save a fellow immortal’ thing after a decade or two, when Caoimhín proved to be an annoying know-it-all. If the tall bastard wasn’t so good at fighting… he did come in handy whenever Anders managed to ‘upset’ the locals for interfering whenever the assholes were selling slaves (especially children) or mistreating servants – which was often. Aron yelled at him for having the subtlety of a raging bull, but the Persians got on his nerves, as did the Romans, and the Huns and the Franks, and… well, any bastards who thought because they had a bit of land and enough people with pointy weapons that they could boss everyone around.

(Caoimhín said he had a problem with authority. Aron said he was an asshole.)

And through it all, the rabbit. Kept. Running. And. Running.

They finally ran into another immortal who’d been ‘reborn’ a couple decades before when in Damascus, of all places, as Salah ad-Din fought Europe’s Crusaders, and learned that perhaps there was a reason why the rabbit kept his distance. Riko was a viper in human form, and after he did his best to dismember Caoimhín, Anders ‘killed’ him in front of some of Salah ad-Din’s men, leaving them to believe that the other immortal was a djinn when he ‘came back’ to life.

The three of them had no problem abandoning Riko in Damascus, wrapped in iron chains and sealed in a cave.

They kept wandering and fighting what seemed to be hopeless battles, especially with the rise of the Catholic Church. There were times when Anders (now Andrew) wanted to retreat from the world, to find an isolated, empty island and never leave it, but there was Aron (Aaron) and Caoimhín (Kevin), who weren’t quite ready to give up, and a damn rabbit with the clearest blue eyes he’d (sort of) seen who haunted his dreams and taunted him by always being just out of reach.

Then in the 1600s, the three of them dreamed of a new immortal born in the New World, one beaten and starved to death by monks. Unhappy about the thought of the long voyage, Andrew and his fellow ‘monsters’, as he’d come to think of three of them, headed across the Atlantic. It took them almost four years to find Nico, the son of a native woman and a conquistador, who’d been killed because of his attraction to men. The young immortal broke into tears to finally be with his ‘own’ kind, to be safe at last, and was a cheerful presence.

He was even more annoying than Kevin.

They spent a few years wandering the New World, but were drawn back to chasing the rabbit once again; he’d gone to ground in China, leading Andrew to hope that for once he’d stand out and be easy to find, but the damn bastard had developed an almost inhuman skill for learning the local language and blending in wherever he went. Kevin grumbled about him being a damn chameleon, while Aaron wondered if perhaps he’d truly died and they were hunting a ghost.

For some reason… that thought bothered Andrew.

Things carried on as they had before, only it seemed that every time Andrew turned around, the world had changed in some manner. A new country had formed, an old government had been overthrown, a new religion had been invented, yet another senseless war broke out, someone created an invention that upended things in a startling way…. He still remembered how for so long everyone had used bronze swords until someone had figured out how to smelt iron, how there’d only been longhouses and small farms until all of a sudden towns and then cities began to appear.

Change was inevitable, as was the fact that humans would twist some of those changes into something bad.

Still, he never thought that those changes would lead to things that would enable him and his monsters to travel the world in days (and then hours) instead of months or weeks, that wars would break out that spanned continents and could destroy entire cities in minutes. The four of them saved what they could, but soon it became impossible to keep up, not just because there were so many lives in danger and so much being destroyed, but because they could no longer fade into the shadows with ease with things like digital records and cameras in existence.

They learned as much as they could about modern technology; Nico (Nicky) and Aaron took to social media without any problems, while Andrew and Kevin picked up some hacking skills. They bought the best fake IDs possible and did everything they could to leave no trace online.

Yet they couldn’t stay in one place very long, not when they kept working, when they used the skills they’d honed over centuries to help people in need. Which was why they were traveling from France to England via the Chunnel; Andrew refused to give up his customized Maserati just yet, so they’d take the car with them on the train.

They didn’t expect any issue with their papers, especially since they’d used them a few days ago, so it was a surprise when a customs official in Calais frowned when he scanned Aaron’s while the machine beeped several times. Then the same thing happened with Nicky’s. Andrew tensed and tugged the cap on his head further down as he prepared to fight while Kevin did the same; their weapons were hidden in the special compartment in the Maserati, but they were good at improvising.

However, before they could react more than that, a familiar voice called out in French to the customs officials, one Andrew recognized with ease from his dreams over the last three millennia; the rabbit, dressed in a customs uniform, his dark auburn hair pulled back in a ponytail that trailed just past his shoulders, tapped the official who held Aaron’s documents and said he’d check it out, that there was an issue with the scanners. He purposely didn’t look at any of them as he did something to the scanner then ran the passport again, which beeped once in an ‘all clear’. Then he went to do the same for Nicky’s as the fool gaped at him.

As soon as Andrew was cleared, he stalked after his quarry, who to be fair didn’t try to run (for once). He grabbed the other immortal by the wrist and spun him around, part of him noticing that the rabbit was only a couple inches taller (which was a welcome change, considering how for the last few centuries, everyone towered over him). About to curse the bastard out for leading him on a merry chase for over three. Fucking. Millennia, he found himself stunned silent when the rabbit smiled.

(Maybe he should have considered what would happen when he finally caught the redhead.)

*******

Yes, Andrew, what does happen next???

I’ve never taken the Chunnel, so sorry if I messed something up there (I wrote what I did to fit the story). It’s a bit vague, but the twins are Scandinavian Bronze age, Neil is England Bronze Age (around Middle Bronze Age), Kevin is Ireland @ 600 BC, and Nicky is Mexico @ 1600′s. I debated having Andrew and Aaron separated, until I saw the twin gods thing. They were together, but per Tilda’s crappy parenting, they had a very rough childhood with Andrew protecting Aaron.

Mary raised Neil (Ram) to be cautious/wary of strangers. I’m thinking Nathan was a sea raider and... well, he came back years later and that time, he wiped out the farm. Neil heeded his mother’s lesson a little too well, but over time he finally came to learn that Andrew and the others weren’t all bad and finally stepped in to help them (and in a way, protected his own hide).

[yeojaa]

SUGAR HIGH, chapter xv. (w. JJK)

You're not entirely sure when it happened, though you'd come to terms with it. You'd counted the days, waiting for the inevitable. You'd truly thought you'd be okay, but by the broken, half-beating thing in your chest - you knew you'd never really been prepared.

alt summary.  You thought you’d known real love and maybe you had - it just wasn’t with who you thought.

pairing.  jeon jungkook.  mentions/involvement of ot7.

tags.  angst, break up, post-break up, comfort, OT7, slow burn, friendship, moving on, hurt/comfort, emotional hurt/comfort, emotional baggage, fluff, canon compliant, jeon jungkook is bad at feelings, jeon jungkook is a good friend, jeon jungkook is a sweetheart.

rating.  general (for now?)

word count.  1900

chapter 15.  Bandaids

Instead, he regards you with the most unfathomable expression he’s ever given.  “So what?”

“What’re you sorry for?”  He sounds so confused, every word dredged in the word.  His brow furrows, following the question that tips off his teeth and crashes against you.  His fingers flex in his lap, furl and unfurl in unconscious motions that immediately catch your attention.

You watch the way the ink moves over his skin, stretched taut over his knuckles and disappearing into the sleeve of his shirt.  You think to reach out and bottle the nervous energy, tuck it among your hidden words of affection and cobweb-lined shelves.  Instead, you shrink further into the side of the couch, gaze bouncing around the room.  It finds his face – briefly, with guilt – and then darts to the painting of his hung on the far wall.  Off it goes to his hands again, the silver that glints around his wrist, and then the hangnail adorning your own thumb.

The silence has stretched on, immeasurably long, but he doesn’t push you – as much as he wants to.

Not for your sake, but for his.  He’s walking on eggshells, terrified one false move might send a glass into his vein.  Shards of the home that’s been crumbling right before your eyes, reduced to ghost of its former glory.

“I’m sorry,”  you repeat as if it’s the only thing you can say – the only words you know how to speak.  Perhaps it is, because there doesn’t feel like there are any that can properly convey your emotion.

You owe it to him to try, though.  That much is clear.

“You haven’t done anything wrong.”  Unless being too good, too kind, too perfect, was a crime.  You knew it wasn’t and yet, with each offer of patience – of unconditional love – it felt like a cleave to the heart.  It wasn’t his fault you were bleeding out before him.

The reassurance only serves to confuse him more, the emotion heavy in the pretty dark brown of his irises.  You both love and hate when he’s like this – not your precious best friend but a man with the weight of the world on his shoulders.  It doesn’t fit his boyish charm, the sunlight that spills out of every pore.  It’s too much.

“Then what’s going on?”  You’re both surprised by the hard edge and how it forces itself into the equation before he can even consider it.

Your eyes meet for the first time since you’ve sat down and you regret it immediately.

Because your dear sweet Jungkook has oceans in his eyes, moisture threatening to spill over like a crashing wave.  They’re so glassy you feel lost, trapped in the galaxy and the stars and unknown. 

How could you keep doing this?  Time after time, he’d sought you out and each time, you were nothing but a godforsaken mirage, promising him everything and stripping him bare.  When he needed you most, parched and on his last legs, you’d compelled and beguiled him only to leave him just as quickly.

When had you turned into this person?

The sound that escapes your chest isn’t human.  It’s hardly even a sound.  A breath that hasn’t quite formed and cracks itself in two, lodging one half in your lungs and the other over the threshold of your teeth.  How fitting – like a heart split in half.

You see the way he instinctively leans toward you, caught in your gravitational pull, but holds himself back at the last minute.  The movement almost reads like a flinch, as if he’s afraid he’ll hurt himself by getting too close.

That’s right, you think.  I’ll only hurt you.

Another sob comes, tearless and miserable.  You wish the burning behind your eyes would abate but they won’t come that easily.  The settle like poison and wine, corroding your insides.  They sink into every part of you, climbing each vertebrae and slotting into every crevice.  No part is left untouched by the miasma.

Except for the Jungkook-shaped hole in your chest, centered in the throbbing muscle of your heart.

His silhouette remains lily white and lovely – a silver lining.  A beacon in your darkest times, a lighthouse in the storm.  It calls to you and reminds you of better days, of unconditional love and soulmates.

“I love you.”  It’s meant to be an apology but to his ears, it’s the same three words you’ve repeated your whole life.  He doesn’t understand why you’re saying them now, on the precipice of coming apart at the seams, torn open by something you won’t share.

Regardless, he says it back.  Needs to.  “I love you, too.”   

“No!” 

Your rebuff explodes out of you, followed by another cry that lands like a bull’s eye between his ribs.  He thinks he might finally crack, feels the carefully constructed resolve splintering.  Was it so terrible to be loved by him?  He shrinks back, suddenly far smaller than he’s ever seemed.  He’s almost to his feet, blinded by the wetness gathered there.  He can’t be here right now.  He’d been an idiot to try.    

It’s the straw that breaks the camel’s back.  Yours, and his, in tandem.

“I’m sorry.”  You’re across the couch in a single motion, fingers seeking his wildly.  “Please.  Don’t go.”  It’s the first time you’ve ever had to ask this of him, and it feels foreign coming from you.  That, and it’s barely coherent, spoken around tears that have suddenly made themselves very apparent.

You don’t miss the look he gives you, a mixture of exasperation and heartache.  You’ve never seen that specific combination and it cuts like a knife, severing your seeking hands with one fell swoop.

“Why, Soom?”  He’s begging for a reason to stay.  (A part of him thinks he shouldn’t, but he’s never been able to think straight when it comes to you.)

“Because I love you,”  you repeat, like that’s an answer.  He doesn’t say it back this time – too afraid of whatever explosion will shatter the remains of his ribcage and eviscerate his heart. 

Instead, he regards you with the most unfathomable expression he’s ever given.  “So what?”

Whatever you’d expected, it wasn’t that.  It’s a smack to the face, a backhand so severe you’re winded by the blow, staggering back on your haunches as you look up at him.  So what?  What did he mean, so what?  Even through your tears, you can see the flat line of his mouth, his teeth sucking his bottom lip into submission.  The beauty mark smack dab in the centre winks at you.

He’s tired of the dance you’re doing, exhausted by the choreography he hasn’t been taught and is expected to somehow know.  He’s done his very best, poured every ounce of himself into it.

“I’m always here.  I always come running.”  Gone is the golden maknae, replaced by the same, uncertain boy you’d met all those years ago.  “Even when I don’t know if you want me, I come.  I would do anything for you.”  The words are a searing brand straight into chest.  “But you can’t even talk to me.”  There’s something hidden amongst the sadness – resentment, maybe?  You’ve never heard it from him, so it rings unfamiliar and strange.  “I’m trying so fucking hard!”

The way he snaps, words ricocheting off one another, has you alarmed. 

All this time – you’d thought you would hurt him.  So you’d held yourself back for fear of doing so and yet, you’d already done it, torn him to shreds without even thinking.

The knowledge has you babbling, tripping over yourself.  If you’d already hurt him, what did it matter now?  The damage was done.  One more nail in the coffin wouldn’t make a difference.

“I love you!”  How many times you can say it, you’re honestly not sure.  Each time, it’s more agitated, more broken – only held together by the red string that’s connected you all your lives.  It’s barely hanging on though, frayed at the edges and in terrible disrepair.  “I’m so in love with you I don’t know what to do with myself!”  You don’t mean to shout but it comes nonetheless, clawing its way out of the cavity of bones and careening off your lips in a wet sob.  “I feel like I’m going crazy.  I’m so afraid of losing you and everything we have.” 

You’re like a meteor tearing through the upper atmosphere, hurtling toward your doom.  You can’t stop, speaking a mile a minute.  You’re not even looking at him, blinded so by the saltwater in your eyes.  “Being around you is so hard.  It’s impossible to act normal around you after—”  

The silence is deafening as you slam to a stop, beet red and embarrassed.

“After what?”  You hadn’t noticed he’d fallen back into his seat, his face mere inches from yours.

“What?”  You squeak out a hiccup and scramble back, though go nowhere.  A steady weight holds you in place, strong fingers curled around the dainty turn of your wrist while the other forms itself to the slope of your neck.

“After what,”  Jungkook repeats.  He’s so close you can count each individual lash, the way they shimmer with fallen tears.  Gone is the resentment, the anger, replaced by what closely resembles awe.  You don’t have time to consider the meaning behind that when he asks again, harder this time.

You answer without thought, compelled by the heat of his breath and the way his eyes twinkle.  “After I dreamt about you.”  Hesitation because you hadn’t expected the relief that washes over his every inch, releasing the tension in his jaw.  “About us.”

His mouth is on yours in an instant, swallowing the last word whole. 

It’s better than any dream.  Because he is real and he is home and every pass of his soft, dry lips is like sinking further into bliss.  It holds you up in the form of his hands and slots itself in the broken places you’d never fixed. 

You get lost in the sensation and the way he sparks electricity everywhere he touches.  You’ve finally got an outlet for the current that surges through your veins, standing the hairs on the back of your neck and thundering in your ears.  It’s far from perfect – too much clumsily knocking teeth – but the passion is there, years of love swept into the drag of his tongue and the sweet ache of his bite.   

“I love you so fucking much,”  he pants when he’s forced away, cursing the necessity of air and breathing and anything that isn’t you.  “I’ve wanted this since— forever.”

It’s music to your ears, sweeter than any song you’ve ever heard because it’s his voice.

“I love you, too.”  This time, it sounds different.  More.

But more doesn’t seem like enough to him, because he’s pressing sloppy, open-mouthed kisses across every inch of skin.  The corner of your lips, the line of your jaw, the column of your neck that he’s wanted to devour a million times before.  He dresses you in sweet nothings and affection, sucking his devotion into the sensitive point beneath your ear.  He likes the way red blooms beneath your skin – a reminder of his love – so he does it again and again, creating the prettiest mosaic.

It’s all for him, at first.  He’s waited his whole life for this and he takes his time.

When he hears your voice, the soft breathy calls of his name, he realizes he wants to give you more.  Needs it like he needs you.

notes.  here it is, people!  after fifteen excruciating chapters, the cat's out of the bag.  who knows if that's a good thing, tho.  kidding!

[sparklyjojos]

CARNIVAL DAY recaps [10/13]

Today’s recap: Finally some explanations, or: the R language, bulls and deers and horses, and everything’s connected.

--

FIFTY-ONE

26 Jul 1997 — 01 Aug 1997

LABYRINTH

--

(Amagi Hyouma was one of RISE’s guests along with Ryuuguu Otohime, Tsukumo Nemu, Christmas Mizuno, Yaiba Somahito, Diana Hosey, Hanto Maimu & Kuraimu. During their time in the Sanctuary, they learned the identities of the Rainbow Sophists.

Below is Amagi Hyouma’s testimony. [Originally in first person.])

Hyouma had never seen this Fabian woman before, but she seemed to believe (or convincingly pretended to believe) that he was Yemon. She claimed she didn’t know any Yakuma Suzume.

Well, it was true that Yakuma hadn’t shown himself since that day when Hyouma had been taken to the Sanctuary. White even said Yakuma was “no longer here”.

Hyouma pointed out how weird it was that only JDC-related people were chosen to be RISE’s guests. Fabian answered that they didn’t need anyone else; JDC was important, even more so considering the Billion Killer had chosen them for his first attack. Japan would play a great role in the events too, especially the Japanese language. R language had a very similar base to Japanese, but was much more fluid and freestyle, resembling the kind of language young people in Japan spoke these days. Basically, Fabian claimed that Hyouma had been already unknowingly using R language.

Just like Japanese words are often written and pronounced in many different ways, R language also has “the rule of no rules”. For example, the tower of the Moonbow Palace is called Tow Dreamer, a mix of English-like words “tower” and “dreamer”. However, this name is written 夢幻想塔, which would normally be read mugensoutou. The kanji convey “a tower where one can dream”, and mugensoutou also points to the infinitude (mugen written 無限) of their fuhrer (soutou written 総統).

...which sounded horribly farfetched to Hyouma. Was this entire R language just puns? Fabian claimed that it conveyed the entire history of humanity, and using it—seeing the meaning hidden in Japanese words—could help uncovering the world’s secrets.

At least they got an explanation for why all the guests were young adults from Japan [Yaiba is like forty, but I guess he still counts]. Diana Hosey came from the USA, but she had been secretly taught R language by her father Theodore, who always told her it was just Japanese.

--

Done with their conversations with the Sophists, all the guests returned to the round table and talked about what they had learned.

Since the Rainbow Sophists had been wearing masks and acting like the S-detectives all the time, none of them knew the true identities of the others before (only RS and the Master had known). This round table talk was the first time they learned about who their fellow executives were.

Yellow Bishop turned out not to be Ajiro after all. But then where was Ajiro? He’d been missing ever since the explosion. Hanto Maimu got that strange phone call allegedly from Ajiro, but it was just Tanna Sazen using his voice mimicry. Tanna would sometimes pretend to be White, and other times share a single role of Yellow Bishop with Theodore Hosey. (There was a bit of chaos when Tanna was chased off a cliff that one time, but he knew how to survive the fall, and then he simply cancelled the pursuit by calling the pursuers as Yellow Bishop.) Tanna hadn’t anticipated his child would inherit his knowledge, so RISE investigated the Hantos just in case.

Everyone wanted to know where Ajiro was (Hyouma especially). Yaiba had come up with a theory almost by accident. Back when he had been in Russia, the boy Amano noticed the number on the train engine was 999, which was 666 upside down. Inspired by this, Yaiba thought of the word Russia (Ro-shi-a), also turned it around, and it became A-shi-ro… Ajiro. Maybe Ajiro and Russia were connected? This would be just a ridiculous wordplay in any other situation, but Hyouma couldn’t laugh it off now that he’d been told about R language.

Seeing that the detectives wouldn’t leave the topic alone, Black said they would have a chance to see Ajiro soon.

Indeed, when they met by the round table some time afterwards (with Black, Red, and the real White also present), Ajiro was there and alive. However, he was seated in a wheelchair, unmoving and unresponsive, his eyes completely unfocused, like an empty shell of a person. White explained that they had been keeping him locked on the Russian space station Mir. No proper astronaut training and long-term isolation resulted in this sorry state. White claimed they had had no choice but to keep Ajiro in space, just like they had to drag Christmas through hell, and that it was all for the future of humanity.

It wasn’t impossible for Ajiro to return to his former self, but it would require everyone’s help. Maybe his friends would manage to break through the mental wall that kept him isolated from the outside world, and Ajiro would go back to being the JDC representative they know and love.

And speaking of JDC�� White casually informed them that JDC had been created by RISE. Not directly created, mind you—that was Ajiro’s doing—but RISE had pulled all the necessary strings to cause the events to run like they wanted.

The Ajiro Family Murder Case, the Saimon Family Murder Case, the Geneijo Murder Case and the Locked Room Lord Murder Case, the bombing of JDC—all of them had more meaning than the detectives suspected.

If they wanted to know more, they should get around to bringing Ajiro back to his former glory.

--

No matter how much they talked to Ajiro, he wouldn’t respond, but they never gave up. They recounted their times together at JDC, both joyful and sad. They all stayed in the same room with him as long as they could, then established shifts.

Two weeks passed and nothing changed. They even got a pack of Ajiro’s favorite cigars and put it in his lap, but he still didn’t react.

At the end of a shift, Yaiba left the room to call the next pair, leaving Hyouma alone with Ajiro. Though Hyouma had stopped smoking a few years ago, in this depressing situation he decided to help himself to a cigar, which mostly resulted in a fit of coughing. Then he noticed something—tears were running down Ajiro’s cheeks. Unsure of whether or not this was just an instinctual reaction to smoke, Hyouma experimented some more, until Yaiba came back with Otohime and Nemu and yelled at him for tormenting the patient with smoke—but then Ajiro just slightly moved his finger. After a short time of Hyouma desperately calling his name, Ajiro slowly moved his hand, then wiped his own tears.

“...don’t have to be so loud…” he murmured. “...I can hear you…”

--

Ajiro’s mind was back in working order in a few days more, but he still had to undergo two weeks of physical rehabilitation. He told everyone that he’d been able to hear everything they said to him even when he couldn’t respond, and he promised to do his best to help them solve all the mysteries around.

At the beginning of June, they all sat at the round table: Ajiro, Hyouma, Yaiba, Nemu, Otohime, Maimu with Kuraimu, Diana, Christmas, and also Black, White and Red. With Ajiro around, it felt strangely like yet another meeting at JDC.

Ajiro recalled the day of the JDC explosion. He clearly remembered sitting at his desk, his assistant Mito Muramasa working nearby. Then came a rumble and vibrations like an earthquake—and then Ajiro was suddenly floating in a small room in outer space. He did consider the possibility that he’d been rendered unconscious by the explosion and then transported to space, but it seemed to him like there had been no lapse in his consciousness. He really was just instantly transported from Kyoto to the space station. But how?

White only replied that there was a lot the guests didn’t know about the world. When people saw something they couldn’t understand, they would often give up on thinking and just believe in transcendent beings.

White tried to move to the topic of Beasts and Gods (or rather, those two groups and a third type that is neither), but he could see that Ajiro was more interested in how much influence RISE had on JDC, so Beasts and Gods would have to wait.

Ajiro could see how RISE could have been the masterminds behind Geneijo and the Locked Room Lord. But what could they gain from the family cases of the Ajiros and the Saimons? It’s true that his own family’s case had inspired him to create Nihon Tantei Club. It was also the first time he came in contact with Saimon Ryuusui, which would lead to getting involved in solving the Saimon murders.

White added that after that case, Nihon Tantei Club was renamed to JDC. Both the organization and Ajiro became famous as the ones who solved “the crime revolution” that was the Saimon Family Murder Case. Basically, had that case not happened, JDC would need much more time to become well-known.

All those great cases also led to Tsukumo Juku becoming famous and revered. The one who contributed to solving the Saimon Family Murder Case! The one who solved both Geneijo and the Locked Room Lord! Propelled by the trust and popularity given to JDC and Ajiro, Tsukumo Juku quickly gathered recognition as the God of Detectives.

And that was exactly what RISE wanted. They needed to raise Tsukumo Juku to become the world’s greatest detective so he could stop the Crime Olympics. That was RISE’s end goal, after all—it’s not them who wanted to kill everyone, but “the union of 666 worst evils”, Akuren.

(This was the first time the detectives heard the name Akuren, so Black Rook explained more about it—see Black Rook’s testimony from earlier.)

Way back when, RISE realized that Akuren was about to attempt the destruction of humanity once more. RISE got their hands on the Crime Olympics plan so they could hopefully mitigate the impact. Back then, the plan was a bit different; the Crime Olympics were supposed to start in July 1999 and last seven months, resulting in the human race being wiped out by February 2000. The Crime Olympics were eventually moved to three years earlier.

In order for RISE’s own plans to work, they had to keep Akuren’s trust, and so had no choice but to really prepare the Crime Olympics using their trump cards of Alive, the Billion Killer, and the Cosmic Bomb. Thankfully, Akuren didn’t plan on killing everyone instantly—they wanted to drown humanity in evil and despair first—and they determined a time limit before the Cosmic Bomb would drop.

Akuren wanted to make sure everything would go smoothly, so they sent one of them to oversee RISE’s actions—a man with the code name Tsukumo Jaki. He was actually White’s younger brother, Endou Masato. The detectives may have known him as their fellow Yakuma Suzume (actually an imposter).

Christmas wondered whether that minotaur “Great King Enma” he had met wasn’t also this fake Yakuma. According to legends, if you lied to Lord Enma, he would cut off your tongue. This could be connected through a wordplay to the Tongue-cut Sparrow, Shita-kiri Suzume, the same folk tale that Juku had used to guess that Jaki was Yakuma Suzume. Also, the first kanji of the name Yakuma (役間) could be read as en, making the entire name Enma. (Again, this seemed like just another strange wordplay, but knowing all that stuff about R Language…)

What about the horse mask man and the deer mask man that had assisted Enma? Otohime recalled that the short story Another Joker had a horse and a deer in it. That was specifically a man-eating horse, so maybe it was a hint about all the cannibalism in Shangri-La.

Lemuria admitted he’d been the one wearing the deer mask. He stated he was actually Jaki’s loyal underling, and it had been on Jaki’s orders that he first entered RISE and became Red Knight. The horse mask man who cooperated closely with him and Jaki was someone the detectives didn’t know. He had stayed behind and died in Shangri-La, as his role in the plan had ended—just like the horse in Another Joker, he ended up reduced to a pile of bones.

All those animal masks… Why would Minase Nagisa wear a bull mask when she killed Juku? Sullivan explained that the mask was the symbol of RISE’s leader, something they had inherited from the organization before them. Similarly, RISE’s second and third in charge were a deer and a horse. The bull mask symbolized that the wearer’s actions were done in the name of RISE’s leader. Nagisa was chosen to kill Juku because of her hatred for the man and her familiarity with the terrain around Gensoukan, and though she died from Alive in the process, she managed to fulfill her mission. Jaki’s true goal in killing Juku was stopping RISE’s secret plans—preventing the God of Detectives from ending the Crime Olympics early.

But why would Nagisa hate Juku so much? Black explained that when Juku had solved the Locked Room Lord case, Nagisa’s brother Dakushoin Ryuusui’s name was irreparably tarnished. Juku even personally confronted Nagisa afterwards and stopped her from hiding critical evidence. Cosmic and Joker further hurt Dakushoin’s reputation. With all that frustration already present in Nagisa, Jaki just had to redirect it all towards Juku.

But there was another reason why Nagisa wanted to kill Juku, the same reason why Fuumonji Jouka was killed, and it would be protecting someone’s (the third writer’s) true identity—but that would be explained later.

Ajiro noticed that something didn’t seem right. If Lemuria Sullivan really was working together with Jaki, that is with Akuren, then why were Black and White casually discussing RISE’s plans right in front of him? White admitted that no matter how stealthy RISE tried to be, Akuren still managed to know their every step, so there was really no point in hiding their true goal anymore. Both groups knew the other was ultimately an enemy, but RISE was still useful. After all, it’d be hard for Akuren to achieve their goal without the Cosmic Bomb.

Ajiro stated that it all seemed to have a single point of origin to him, though he didn’t yet know what it was exactly. RISE, the Sanctuary, the Billion Killer cases, Alive, the Cosmic Bomb, Beasts and Gods… White only responded that they would learn everything later. For now, they would make a short stop in the Moonbow Palace, and then the detectives would be taken to Heaven / El Dorado in the depths of the Mariana Trench.

With this, the meeting concluded. When Hyouma saw the news afterwards, he learned that Yuiga Dokuson had disappeared after leaving a strange message that he was the Billion Killer. However, Black said that Dokuson’s actions had nothing to do with RISE, and that it was still too early to talk about the actual Billion Killer.

--

(And in the latest news…)

...the number of Alive victims have been falling since New Years and finally reached zero in July. It’s estimated that 240 million people died from Alive, making it the worst pandemic to date. WHO and CDC announce the end of Alive, but warn that it can possibly come back. It’s still unknown how the number of infections diminished so rapidly without a vaccine in place.

--

[>>>NEXT PART>>>]

[hispeculiartreasure]

All We’ve Got is Time - Chapter Eight | B.B.

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

AU: If They’d Survived/Post-War/Window Washer!Bucky Barnes

Rating: Teen

Word count: 4,000

Chapter 8/24

Warnings: Just a bad word or two. Otherwise, intense amounts of fluff!

AN: This chapter gave me all sorts of fits and is nerve-wracking for me to post. Mostly because I’m putting a ton of pressure on myself. But whatever. Huge shoutout to @lucyyannabel for being a precious human being and beta-ing for me and helping me fill some plot holes. You da bomb.com. I also pulled a ton about cars from this helpful article and this article was referenced for the Harlem Hellfighters. Let me know what you think?

Chapter Seven

‘All We’ve Got is Time’ Masterlist

Bucky checks your distinctive handwriting for what feels like the thousandth time, double checking the address of the garage. When he thinks he’s only got a few blocks to go he picks up his pace. There’s really no need to rush, he’s going to be on time. After seeing you in his dreams and talking about you all day, intentional and not, he really just wanted to be with you.

A freshly-painted white building comes into view, the numbers on your note matching the ones painted in red block letters on the side. There’s several driveways leading into the garage; even with the rolling doors down, he can still see a flurry of activity through their windows. On his way to the front door he passes shiny cars parked out front underneath a sign proudly proclaiming “Durst & Co. Automotive”.

Cautiously he enters the sparse waiting area, unsure where you’d be waiting for him. It’s clean, tidy, with bare-minimum furniture of chairs and a reception desk. Looking out a window leading into the work area he sees a large room filled with popped hoods, tools scattered, and workbenches covered in spare parts. After a minute of awkwardly shifting from foot to foot in the empty room he hears a roar of laughter from a door behind the desk. Checking his surroundings one more time he slides around the desk. Hoping the door leads to the actual garage and not something terrifying or inappropriate, Bucky takes his chances and pushes it open. The chatter and laughter grows louder. He hears your voice and suddenly his feet are moving to follow it.

Seems to be organized chaos, Bucky thinks to himself. Looks were deceiving because the activity inside hinted at a much larger operation than what he had expected. The cars he passes aren’t junkers, they seem to come from a solid, well-paying clientele. Cars are on lifts, some engines have been raised out of the bodies. . . the only thing missing was people.

He rounds the corner and stops dead in his tracks. You’re leaning against a car that’s hood is popped, one saddle shoe-clad foot resting against its grill. Your stained shirt matches the bright red bandana wrapped around your head. Hands are in the pockets of your denim overalls, sass painted on your lips. Mechanics in coveralls surround you, attention arrested by your story.

Again, the garage is filled with howls of mirth - a reaction to a witty punchline, he’s sure. He can’t help but admire you from afar. You’re more relaxed than he’s ever seen you yet you still maintain an air of assuredness that holds its own among the group of men. A smile comes easy to your fresh face. All you really need is your sparkling eyes to highlight your naturally stunning self. And then those eyes meet his and the sparkle seems to intensify.

“Oh hey, Bucky!” You wave him over and then he’s encircled by strangers and a wave of uneasiness washes through him. All eyes are on him, obviously sizing him up. Bucky makes a conscious effort not to puff out his chest. “Boys, this is my. . . this is Bucky. Bucky, these are the boys.” He receives a litany of greetings from the large group to which he tries to smile and memorize all the names he can.

“Alright boys, back to work. Sassafras has distracted us long enough.” A gruff voice breaks through and prompts the other mechanics to drift back to their tasks. A man with a head of salt-and-pepper - well, mostly salt - steps forward, Bucky noticing a slight limp to his otherwise confident walk. “So this is the guy I’ve been hearin’ about.” He smiles a big, teeth shining bright white against his dark brown skin. Towering over you, he slings an arm around your shoulder in a familial hug.

“You’ve barely heard a thing, Harve,” you retort, leaning in to his embrace.

“Is that the way you’re supposed to treat an old friend when he’s doing you a favor? No. Your momma taught you better than that.” He turns back to Bucky, eyes wrinkling kindly behind his spectacles. “Harvey Durst.” His hand moves from your shoulder and h offers it to Bucky, who grasps and shakes it.

“Bucky Barnes.”

“Nice to meet you, Bucky. Heard you served, right?”

“Was in the 107th for a while, moved into special ops the last few years.”

Harvey tosses a thumb at himself. “Served in the 369th Regiment from ‘17 ‘til ‘19.”

That number, why is that number familiar. “Wait,” Bucky’s brow furrows. “You were a Harlem Hellfighter?” Blatant pride beams from your features as you watch Harvey bob his head reluctantly. “My father’s unit was in France around the same time, he said y’all were tough as nails. Never lost a trench, right?”

“Or a man to capture or a foot of ground to the enemy,” the veteran recites, as if he’s spoken the same information time and time again.

“Colonel Chester Phillips always spoke highly of your regiment. You’re the stuff of legends, sir.”

“The same could be said about you, being Captain America’s right-hand man.”

Your eyes immediately drop to examine the floor while Bucky feels heat in his cheeks. Seems like Harvey had heard a thing or two. Clearing your throat, you step away from Harvey and slightly closer to Bucky.

“Just kept him out of trouble, mostly. Nothin’ special.”

“I hear that. I fought alongside Miss Sassafras’ Grandpappy in the trenches,” Harvey points to you. “Talk about bull-headedness.”

“Sassafras?” Bucky asks, eyes flitting to you as his apprehension gives way to a grin.

“Oh yeah. When she was a youngin’ and I visited to chat with William she was always gathering up sassafras flowers and bringin’ ‘em to me as a gift. Was the cutest thing I’d ever seen. Then she really grew into the “sass” part.”

“I’ll say,” Bucky directs his grin back to you.

With an eyeroll you explain, “My grandfather enlisted right before he would’ve aged out. He’d owned the shop way before the war, my mom practically grew up here. Harvey has been around as long as I can remember.”

“Only out of the kindness of your grandpappy’s heart.” Harvey shifts his focus back to Bucky in explanation. “Once we got shipped home, I was out of work and William offered to teach me his trade. He graciously passed the shop on to me when he retired. Thankfully the neighborhood put a lot of stock in William’s character so I wasn’t totally run out of business when I took over.” Bucky grimaces in sympathy.

“Good thing people had the sense to see a good man who does good work,” you mutter, a bite to your tone.

“Alright ‘Fras, don’t get worked up. It’s not worth it, darling. Almost all the other mechanics here are veterans, so if you ever need anything just ask. We’ve got each others’ backs here too, ya know?”

“Yes, sir. Thank you.”

“Now,” Harvey’s voice drops an octave as he peers over his glasses at Bucky. “You keepin’ everything all honorable between the two of you?”

You choke on air before planting your hands to Bucky’s chest, urging him to take several steps back. “Thanks Uncle Harvey, we’ve got work to do, talk to you later!” Several more steps away and you groan. “Sorry about that. He can be a little protective.”

Bucky shakes his head, not sure whether he wants to laugh out loud or have the earth swallow him whole. It was a toss up. “‘Uncle’, huh? So he’s practically family.”

“I’ve known him my whole life. He’s not old enough to be my grandfather’s brother, too old to be my mom’s brother. Uncle just suits him best, ya know?”

“You didn’t tell me I was meeting family today,” Bucky teases, knocking a hip into yours.

“Steady on, he’s not technically family.”

He scoffs. “Technicalities.”

You face Bucky completely, taking him in for the first time that day. “Hi,” you hum.

“Hi,” Bucky practically beams. “Glad to see you again.”

“We were together less than 24 hours ago, huh?” Your lopsided grin whispers bashfulness. “Doesn’t seem like it.”

“Y’all gonna stand there giving each other googly eyes or are you goin’ to work on my cars?” a shout from Harvey reaches you both from his office.

“Mind your business!” You holler back before burying your face in your hands. Bucky can’t help but chuckle, his own relaxed state puzzling him. Seeing you a little embarrassed was more endearing than he thought it would be. “Anyway,” you perch your hands on your hips. “Let’s get you an apron and get to work. We’ll start with the basics.”

Passing a workbench you snag him an apron as you approach an engine that’s been lifted out of a car by chains. Trailing behind you, Bucky ties the apron strings and stops on one side of the machinery, you rounding the other side.

“How much do you know about engines?” you ask, zero judgment in your voice, only asking a basic question to find a jumping off point.

“Next to none. I know math and science are involved, which I’m okay at. But treat me like an idiot.”

“You aren’t an idiot, Bucky.”

“Never said I was. Just told you to treat me like one.” He winks at you which only earns a narrowing of your eyes.

“Anyway. . .” Your tone turns all business, motioning to the engine. “Cars have internal combustion engines, right? So it takes a fuel source, gas, and combines it with air. It compresses and ignites the mixture. A bunch of little explosions happen that cause these pistons,” you point toward a row of metal cylinders, “to move up and down. The pistons are attached to this crankshaft.” You move your hand to gesture the connection. “That motion makes the crankshaft turn. Then the crankshaft transfers that energy to the transmission, which ultimately powers the wheels to the car. Got it?”

“Got it. I think,” he amends, turning the process over in his mind, pieces falling into place after a few repetitions. “Okay, I got it.”

“Good. Now onto the fun stuff,” you smile a little wolfishly, signalling to Bucky that he was in for a long day of lots of information.

You run through the more technical version, explaining the physics and practicalities as well as the failings of the engine. Next, you explain what a tune-up would look like for a typical 1940s model. Soon you’ve drug him over to another car, making him clumsily replace the spark plug with your smaller hands guiding his. Next you set the mixture on the carburetor, fit new plug wires, and remind him these things should be checked on every 30,000 miles.

Currently he’s watching you struggle with a particularly rusty bolt, arm muscles straining as you finally break it free with your wrench. Your hair is a disaster, to put it kindly. Flying this way and that, becoming more untamable by the moment. But you’re so charming in this role of teacher that it only enhances your allure. Shaking his head, Bucky reminds himself to listen to your well-intentioned stream of information.

“What’s being produced right now are basically 1942s with tiny modifications. As you know, almost all production of civilian vehicles was halted in favor of supporting the war effort. So designers were stuck with getting something “new” on the assembly line as soon as peace was official. They’ve added some new body colors and a fancier bumper. We told them in the factory for years that they needed to seal the ignition so water can’t leak in and they’re just now starting to listen based on that brand new 1946 over there,” you wave vaguely behind you, nose still stuck beneath the hood.

“So what was your training like?” Bucky inquires, handing over a tool you’d asked for, hoping it was the right one.

With a hum you start, “My learning process was accelerated because of the war. It involved a ton of reading and studying, as well as a couple weeks of intensive training at a factory upstate. Usually a mechanic would need to find a shop where they could work at the lowest level doing the most rudimentary of repairs, like replacing the spark plugs like you did earlier. As they’re doing that they keep studying and move up through the system. Some people start at the bottom because they want to own their own shop or become a salesman. But most of the guys here just want to work with their hands and make an honest living doing something they don’t hate. Honestly, I’m not entirely sure what it would look like for you to start down this track.”

Leaning back you gratefully accept the rag Bucky offers, rubbing some excess oil off your hands.

“Was this too overwhelming? I know I just threw a ton of information at you. Hope it didn’t scare ya. Here, triple check my work for me.”

Bucky bends to the engine. “Overwhelming, yeah. Scary? Not really. You replaced this belt, right?” At your assent his fingers trail over it, inspecting it’s fastenings. “It’s interesting work. Don’t really know how to move forward with it, if I’m being honest.”

“Don’t forget about the third attachment,” you remind as he starts to back away. “I think someone here mentioned that the V.A. provides job counseling to veterans.”

“I think you may be right. They tell you that stuff when you get discharged but at that point all I was thinking about was Ma’s cooking and hugging my sisters. Worth asking about though.”

A smile graces your lips. “I don’t blame you one bit. All good?”

“All good,” he affirms. With Bucky’s help you set the hood in place, propping your elbows on the surface to take a breather.

“Then that’s all I really had in mind for today. There’s a lot more but you’ll pick it up fairly quickly.” He thinks it’s only been an hour, maybe two at the most. Then he notices the shadows at his feet and realizes the sun is slanting through the garage windows. You must notice Bucky looking outside because you follow his gaze. “It can’t be sunset already. Have we really been here that long?”

“Guess so.”

You wipe the sweat from your forehead, leaving a giant smudge of grease in its stead. Bucky finds it too endearing to tell you anything. After a glance around the garage you say incredulously, “When did everyone leave?”

Bucky doesn’t remember when the garage had emptied either. Neither did he recall the shop becoming so clean - almost spotless. Someone had turned on a radio; the crooning of Louis Armstrong’s trumpet floats toward you from a neighboring table. The sound of Harvey shuffling around his office is the only other sign of life in the building.

“I feel like I’ve done a full day of PT,” Bucky groans as he arches his back. “Who knew leaning over an engine all day could hurt so much?”

“There’s one way to loosen up sore muscles,” you hint cheekily. You hold out a hand, waiting for him to take it. “Dance with me.”

He grips your fingers but resists your tug away from the car. “I dunno, I’m out of practice.”

“C’mon, it’s just a sway to a sweet song.”

Bucky hesitates. His last few attempts at dancing were more akin to a stumble than anything else. He can vividly remember his first night out on the town in a peaceful New York City. He can see the blonde who’d herded him to the dance floor, her grimaces as he crushed the tops of her brand new shoes. She’d been kind enough to his face but had excused herself only a minute into the song. He hadn’t danced since.

He gulps. “I might step on your toes.”

“That’s alright,” you shrug animatedly. “I may step on yours.”

There’s something so genuine, so earnest about you that he can’t help but follow your lead.

Timidly he wraps an arm around your waist, reminding himself to keep a respectful distance. Your other hand grips his bicep lightly as you step into him. This is the closest you’ve ever been to each other. Breathing the same air, sharing space. It should feel awkward. But it only feels right. His hand on your waist snakes further across your back bringing you chest-to-chest. You lean a head to his shoulder, respectful distance be damned.

S’just a dance. He reminds himself.

Taking your suggestion, he simply sways back and forth to the tune. Shifting from foot to foot you follow his feet in a slow circle.

It’s effortless.

No one’s toes gets squished. In fact, Bucky feels like he’s floating on air.

You share a sweet silence. He looks down and notices your eyes are closed. If asked why, he wouldn’t be able to answer why his chest felt so tight.

He sighs your name, prompting your eyes to open. “I feel like I’ve known you a lot longer than a week.” The words slip out almost involuntarily, like an impulse. For a moment his chest tightens even more, afraid you wouldn’t react kindly.

You continue to gaze up at him and say softly, “Technically we’ve known each other longer than that.”

“You know what I mean.”

“Yeah. . .” your voice goes even softer, “I really do.”

Fear releases its grip on him prompting him to pull you ever-so-slightly closer.

Neither of you know when the song ended but you are jarred out of your reverie when the radio host’s jabber breaks the spell. Moments later a new, upbeat song starts up. Sounds like Glenn Miller, Bucky thinks, foot already tapping to the bouncing trumpets and steady tap of the bass.

With boldness flowing through him like adrenaline he gives you a cheeky smile. “Let’s see if we have more than a sway in us, huh?” He pulls away from you only to give you a quick turn so your back is to his chest, arms connected and crossed over your stomach.

“What happened to being out of practice?” you sigh over your shoulder.

“Only way to be in practice is to practice, right?” Your only response is a giggle and you twirl away before coming back to him - feet flying across the concrete floor.

It is by no means perfect. Every once in a while you bump into each other or take a turn too hard. But your laughter soothes the hesitancy in him, reminds him that dancing isn’t about being perfect with someone, but just being with someone.

The song is swelling and muscle memory leads Bucky, sending you into spins over and over and over again, just enough to make you a little dizzy.

“Bucky, the oil-!” It’s happening before he can stop it. He’s spun you directly into a puddle left behind from a leak. Your foot flies through the slick, disrupting your already precarious balance. Down you fall - hard - taking Bucky tumbling with you to the ground.

He helplessly watches it happen in slow motion. Feels your woosh of breath escape when his full weight lands squarely on top of you. Rolling to the floor he scrambles to his knees beside you, words rushing out of him.

“Shit, I’m so sorry, are you okay, did you hurt anything? What a fuckin’ idiot, I shouldn’t’ve - are you alright?”

Your chest is heaving, doing its best to recover some of the air that had been knocked out of you. Slowly you nod in response to his question, lashes fluttering as you seem to steady yourself.

Then you’re laughing.

A deep, unbridled, straight-from-the-belly laugh that brings Bucky back down to earth, reassures him that you can’t be hurt too badly. It doesn’t stop there - he’s fairly sure you snort in the midst of your giggles but he’s too overcome with his own chuckles to be certain. Your joy is infectious and soon he’s out of breath himself.

As the laughter subsides his hand clasps yours to pull you up to a seated position, watching you closely for any signs of discomfort. You seem fine, maintaining the grip on his hand as you join the vertical world again. You’re smiling that small smile of yours. The smile that caught his eye in the first place.

Your thumb swipes over the back of his hand and it registers just how close you are. Close enough for him to see the depth in the color of your eyes. To see every individual eyelash, to count each freckle he finds.

In a similar fashion your eyes rove his face. No doubt thinking what he’s thinking, wanting what he wants.

“Can I kiss you?” he breathes raggedly.

“You better,” you gasp, fingers curling into the front of his shirt.

Before he can lean down fully you’ve met him halfway, soft lips all his for the taking as your eyes slip shut.

Sometimes a kiss is just a kiss. A peck to the cheek, a smooch saying goodbye, a brief moment to show affection. Given freely, barely a blip on the radar. Kissing wasn’t something Bucky thought about often. He had enjoyed his fair share of kisses, sure.

But this. No other kiss has triggered the emotions swelling in his chest like this one. It’s almost as if he’s feeling sunshine on his skin for the very first time. Like a lamp has been lit in a room shrouded by black, glowing fiercely in darkness. Somehow he learns so much about you with this kiss. You’re soft to his chapped, pliant to his firm. Warmth to his breeze.

He leans back to catch his breath allowing his forehead to rest against yours. You hum contentedly, eyes still closed, mouth twisting sweetly.

“Hey lovebirds!” Startled, you jump away from each other. “I’m locking up, some of us have dinner waiting on us,” Harvey shouts from the office.

Grinning at your embarrassed moan Bucky helps you to your feet. “Since we don’t have dinner waiting for us, wanna catch a bite?”

With a raised brow you look down at your clothes. “I’m a mess and now covered in motor oil, no decent place would let me in the door.”

“Truly decent places welcome everyone.”

“Shut up.”

“Then at least let me buy ya a hot dog on the way home,” he compromises with a grin.

“No, it’s okay, my place is out of your way.”

“It’s almost dark, I’m not letting you walk home by yourself.”

“Bucky I can’t be that much of an imposition-”

He grabs a hand you’re waving wildly as you try to refuse. “Are you trying to get rid of me? ‘Cause it ain’t workin’.”

“Never,” you reply with a huff. “Fine.”

After your goodbye hug to Harvey, Bucky shakes his hand again before thanking him for his time.

“Get her home safe, alright?”

“Yes, sir,” Bucky ducks his head, fingers threading in yours.

Moving to leave the garage, Bucky stops you. “Hold on,” he snags a clean rag from a shelf. “May I?” he motions to your face. After you nod he gently wipes away the grease you’d relocated to your forehead during your work. He shows you the stain left behind, can’t stifle a grin when you look horrified.

“How long has that been there?” you ask incredulously then hold up a hand before he can respond, “You know what, don’t tell me.”

Spring may be on its way to summer but the evening still carries a light chill, tempting Bucky to keep you even closer than usual. Somewhere along the way you wrap your other hand around his arm, basking in the safety of being able to be this close to someone.

“I have a question for you,” he rasps.

“Yeah, Bucky?”

“Can I call you Sassafras now?”

“No.”

Chapter Nine

Tags:

@moderapoppins @lookwhatyoumademequeue @crazinessgraveyardsandcartoons @thinkwritexpress-official @fearless2tobeme @laneygthememequeen @past-perfect-future-tense @drhughgrection @wildsageleon @promarvelfangirl @connorshero @anditwasjustus @p3nny4urth0ught5 @just-add-butter @usernamemingmei @the-canary @thorfanficwriter @blueskiesbleakeyes @silverwing2522 @satansmushroom @nerd-without-a-cause @barnesrogersvstheworld @firewolf-marvels @reginaphlanageadams @kiliakit @forsaken-letters @bouquet-o-undercaffeinated-roses @part-time-patronus @biavastarr @ellaenchanted91 @ihopeyousteponarosepetal @handfulof-roses @bloatedandlonly @barnestruck @itsbuckysworld @captainsbuck @writemarvelousthings @havanaangel @animeflower26 @igotkatiepowers @clockworkherondale @iamthemaskhewears @buckybarneshairpullingkink @abovethesmokestacks @ursulaismymiddlename @hiddles-rose @thisismysecrethappyplace @palaiasaurus64 @fanfic-diaries @fangirlfiction @creideamhgradochas

[allmywardensaresafeandsound]

19. Do they allow Cole to stay? If so, do they let him become more human or more of a spirit?

All my Inquisitors allow Cole to stay because I love him.

Catherina met him as she was trapped inside Envy's "dream", and at first she had a hard time trusting he wasn't part of the illusion and there to trick her. Before really understanding what he was, I think her second reaction was that he felt even younger than he looked, and, in a way, it weirdly soothed her. She had two brothers dying on her in the past, and he reminded her about them a little, even if unconsciously. She had been lost, and suddenly, she was a bit in control again, just enough to wonder if he was fine, just enough to already feel a bit protective of a mysterious ghost too-grown-child.

Once at Haven, well, she lets him stay, but her Templar training agrees with Cullen in thinking it cannot be safe, and it's not like she particularly trusts Solas' opinion on the matter either. He's clearly very opinionated about Spirits, and she doesn't really know what to think about that. Fade and magic are not her forte, and conversations with Solas even less so, but at least it gives the boy a name. "Compassion" sounds too good to be true, but Cole is sweet, gentle, timid, and desperate to help, and after he saved her life, accompanied her through some of her worst fears without judgement she can't really bring herself to doubt his intentions to be good, even if she doesn't agree with all of his ways. He is the first one to say that mercy killings were bad, and Catherina insisted on leaving the Maker to decide if the sick would survive or not.

That being said, she has a peculiar background because her adopted brother, before he died at the Conclave, was merged with a Spirit as well. That doesn't mean she necessarily trusts Cole, if anything she's even more aware of what he's capable of, and, well, he doesn't even have a human side to him, unlike Ilamar had, so it's not a situation she underestimates or pretends to understand.

In time she cannot stop to grow very close to him. He truly does remind her of the brothers she lost, even if he is distinctively other, and the little gestures he gifts her with, the scent of lilac in her room after a long day, her horse never lacking a daily, mysterious portion of carrots. She is grateful, deeply so, to have this.

She makes him more human, in part because Solas says not to, and they have that kind of relationship. But also because that Templar deserved judgment, not forgiveness for the sake of a good gesture, and certainly didn't deserve to forget. Catherina is a believer of scars being a reminder of having to do better the following time. If one forgets they got hurt to begin with, they are just bound to repeat their mistakes.

She cannot judge if being a spirit is better than being a human, and it's barely the point in her opinion. Spirits don't live, and she wants Cole to live, for as long as the Maker will have him.

Ilamar has been merged with a spirit of Love since he wasn't an adult yet, and it brought him all sort of complications in relating with others. He risked losing himself in people's emotions far too many times, a part of him constantly aching to fulfill and soothe at the expense of his own identity, and he decided he was over with it. It means that rather than letting himself being used for his sensitivity to love and other people's need, he just decided to use them for his own benefit instead. He borders on Desire way too often, as his yellowed eyes are proof of it, but it allowed him to keep himself in check, and it's what matters to him most.

So when Cole comes knocking at their doors he can tell the boy is other, but he doesn't really have the time to think about it.

Once they reach Skyhold, well, he rather prefers recruiting Cole than not knowing where he is. It was the same reasoning he applied to the Iron Bull and Dorian, after all, and he understands better than almost anyone what Cole’s deal is, or, well, what his nature implies. He still has no clue of how it came to be that a spirit took a body without possessing anyone, but he trusts Solas would have been able to tell if the spirit boy truly was too unstable to be.

Later he kind of grows to like the boy, even if their attitude towards their own nature are quite opposite and it shows in their early interactions. Ilamar has been wearing masks for years, and he confuses Cole greatly, despite the boy insisting he has a good heart, which in parallel exasperates Ilamar, who doesn't like Cole plucking at his thoughts.

He trusts Solas in making Cole more of a spirit. He doesn't want Cole stuck in an unpleasant limbo the same way Ilamar himself has been and still is. A spirit on its own is free, knows its purpose, is at peace. It's the better option, in Ilamar's opinion. Unburdened by the influence of others, by their expectations, a spirit just is the literal best it can possibly represent.

Kasimir doesn't mind the boy but Cole greatly confuses him to a point where it makes him truly uneasy. He doesn't fault Cole for it, he can tell he's a good guy, but as a dwarf, this whole thing is just of out his comfort zone. Additionally, Cole's behaviors hit Kasimir very intimately, in the way the boy moves, fidgets, behaves. Kasimir does many of those things himself, but also differently enough that Cole's own stims tend to drive Kasimir to a wall. He doesn't fault the guy, and he's happy Varric basically adopted the kid, but he's better at appreciating Cole at a distance.

Kasimir totally trusts Varric' input in raising the boy, -Maker, he has known the man since he was a young boy himself. Basically Cole is family now, and Kasimir thinks of him as a lanky sibling, just the type you kinda tend to ignore by staying in your own room until dinner is ready.

Asala had always been very close to spirits, not to the point Solas is, but she still felt a kinship to them in the years she spent traveling with her father and the Valo Kas, and many spirits helped her learn new magics and see things in the Fade. Her father taught her to be careful, but also to be free, and keeping an open mind had allowed her to grow curious and smart and eager.

Cole and her are quick to grow close, and Asala could hear him and Solas talk for hours. She makes him more of a spirit, even if she grows to miss a bit how he used to be before, despite Solas assuring her he is as happy he can be. Asala makes sure to keep seeking him out, and helps him in his interventions every time she can.

[kissingagrumpygiant]

[lies seductively on the floor and 4 years later throws This out] 

Companion Name: Hera

Race, Class, & Specialization: Dalish (Free Marchers born), Wandering Keeper, Spirit Warrior

 Varric’s Nicknamefor them: Keeper

How they are recruited:

 My Brothers Keeper: After Val Royeaux, asking Leliana if there is anything you should know, she will note several new refuges that reach Haven speak of a strange Elf woman that helped them secure safe paths across the Hinterlands; away from the Templar-Mage conflict. She will suggest investigating.  Returning to the Crossroads, you will hear one of the Inquisition soldiers talking about a lone strange Dalish woman promising to accompany and protect passersby through the Hafter's Woods. Asking The solider, he suspects the Dalish woman is mostly helping out rebel mages and notes that there have been no reports of any Dalish clans residing in the area in months. After the conversation there's a marker quest near the Hafter's Woods.

Arriving at the spot, you overhear the strange Dalish instructing young mages to keep a low profile and follow her. The Inquisitor and the party stealthily follow her, overhearing her comforting the young children and telling them Dalish fairytales, claiming to be a Keeper and promising she will see them safe (if the Inquisitor is Lavellan, they will note that a Keeper is rarely seen away from their clan). At a certain point, a cutscene triggers where the Dalish woman will threaten the Inquisitor for tailing them for so long. The Inquisitor can attempt to explain themselves/accuse her of helping out the Rebel Mages/introduce themselves, but is cut when Templars ambush them and a fight starts.

When the fight ends, the young mages will thank the Inquisitor for securing the path and pledge themselves to the Inquisition for protection and tell them how the Keeper has accompanied them and tens others from the Crossroads to Haven for days. Hera will introduce herself and request to accompany the mages until they arrive safely at Haven, as they are under her protection.  

Returning to Haven, this will trigger a cut-scene where Hera accompanies the young mages to the Chantry sisters, while comforting one of the Elvhen children and urging them to join the others. Hera will then greet the Herald; thanking them again for keeping them safe. The Herald will ask Hera why she protected them- given they are not all Elves and clearly don't belong to her clan. Hera will introduce herself as a Wandering Keeper, tasked with acting as a Keeper and guide to any who come across her. "It does not matter if they are my People or not, I have some compassion in me yet to offer guide to those who need it. But I suppose that's your Inquisition's job now.". The Herald will offer Hera to join them, saying their reach is expanding to all of Thedas and that she will have a much easier time helping people that way. Hera will say that's what she fears, but will agree to join; for now.

 Where they are in Haven: Near the boats by the frozen lake.

Where they are in Skyhold: One of the empty rooms near the Skyhold gardens, now covered with papers, books and ink.

 Things they Generally Approve of: Hera will approve of pro-Mage decisions and statements, and Greatly Approve of any decisions helping out Elves across Thedas, while slightly approving when helping out regular folks. Decisions where the Inquisitor passes on knowledge to others or requests to receive it will gain her approval. Encountering the Dalish clan at the Exalted Plains and gaining their approval will raise hers as well. Choosing to explore Elvhen Ruins will earn slight approval.

Things they Generally Disapprove of: Hera will disapprove of pro-Templar statements. Overly supportive statements about the Chantry will gain slight disapproval from her, especially ones defending it. Dismissiveness of people's wellbeing and safety will gain her disapproval. Ignoring ancient rites and disrespecting sacred places, such as looting tombs and breaking tiles and amulets, will gain it as well. Killing and messing with dragons.

 Feelings on Templars: As a young Dalish mage, Hera was taught the clan is the only thing protecting her from the Chantry's grasp and their Templars. As an adult- and a Wandering Keeper, who's mostly traveling on her own she now knows it to be true. She openly expresses her mistrust of any Templar's intentions (including Cullen's and several Inquisition soldiers), claiming they will say and do anything to get their target.

Feelings on Mages: She is much more sympathetic towards Mages, regardless of origins. She thinks of so many times where she could have been captured by the Chantry for being a 'hedge mage', and cannot imagine the struggle of having to live in the Circles, away from their families and past lives. After the Conclave and before being recruited, Hera saw it fit to ensure their safety.

Friends in the Inquisition: Hera gets along with Varric, as an aspiring writer she looks up to him even if their genres are nothing alike. She also gets along with Sera, as long as they don't get into any "elfy" stuff and arguments. It took her a while to warm up to Dorian, and she has a cool respect for the Iron Bull and Vivienne, while preferring Vivienne and admiring her. While Cole can freak her out, she's gentle with him and will warm up to him after his quest is completed wither he's more Spirit or Human. Blaxkwall and her were close, and after his reveal they had a falling out which they are starting to recover from by the end. Hera relates to Solas as the loner wanderer seeking knowledge, and enjoys some discussions of Elvhen and Dalish histories with him, even if they mostly end in arguments. Hera will say it's only natural,"- as everyone knows, if you lock two Keepers in a room you will have three opinions.".

 Rivals in the Inquisition:  Hera butts heads with Cassandra often- about Templars, Seekers, the Chantry, the path of the Inquisition, false gods… She does not like Cullen, for obvious reasons, and refuses to report to him.

Romance: Hera is romanceable by any Inquisitor, but human ones will have a much harder time than then the rest. If not romanced, she will show open attraction to several of the other companions, but never act on them.

 Small side mission: Word of The Author: Hera will tell you about her journals, which she places in hidden Dalish campsites for migrating clans to copy. Hera explains that with the Mage-Templar conflict, most clans avoid the areas now and the journals are at risk of being looted and thus more knowledge will be lost. Hera marks five points on the world map. Once completed, Hera will thank the Inquisitor and offer the Inquisition scholars to study her findings. Visiting the Dalish clan at the Exalted Plains after this with Hera in your party will trigger a conversation between Keeper Hawen and her in which she offers them one. This gains her approval and the clan's.  

 Companion Quest: Prologue: After completing her first side mission, the Inquisitor is able to ask Hera about the purpose of her journals. Hera will explain her past as a Wandering Keeper, tasked with collecting and documenting as much history as she possibly can, and distribute it to any clan she passes in her journeys. Hera shares her dream of one day publishing her own book, detailing the Dalish past. The Inquisitor inquiries why it's only a dream, to which Hera replies that "-no Chantry-fearing Shem will ever dare actually bring our past to light. For now, my books will have to remain as hasty hand writings and messy sketches." After the conversation a war table mission opens, and if played right using Leliana and/or Josephine, a daring publisher will agree to take a look at one of Hera's journals and perhaps publish one. The Inquisitor will receive a first-hand draft of the book which they can gift to Hera. She will be speechless and thank the Inquisitor, stating they not only did a favor for her but her/their (if the Inquisitor is Lavellan) People.  

[theharellan]

misconception: that solas doesn't form meaningful bonds during his time in the inquisition other than with a romanced inquisitor

send me meta this is actually a different meme but shush | accepting

i’ll be talking about this until the day i die, but solas makes plenty of meaningful relationships beyond not only the romanced inquisitor, but the inquisitor, period.

game mechanics overly emphasise the relationship between any canon companion and the play character, so i sort of understand where this misconception comes from. their arcs are decided, in part, by their relationship to the player and so it would be really invalidating if, say, you has negative solas approval but he still made it clear that he had accepted the reality of the world around him b/c of his friendship with the iron bull, for example. it’s one of the ways the developers make sure their choices matter.

luckily, this is an rp blog, so i can say that an inquisitor can treat solas like absolute shit and he’ll still make ties in the world and realise how fuckin wrong he was, as he well should.

i’m on a tangent and i haven’t even rly started answering this yet, so here we go:

a befriended inquisitor is just as important to solas as a romanced inquisitor. just as important to his development, to his epiphanies, etc. much of the dialogue goes unchanged regardless of if a relationship is platonic or romantic. even if he doesn’t have romantic feelings for the inquisitor, he still feels the whole world change upon meeting them. he still compares them to the ancient wisdoms he’s known in a pre-veil world. i’ve seen jokes that say the lines have romantic overtones, but really i think solas is just the sort of person to form highly emotional friendships. falon’din and dirthamen are implied not to be brothers, but “twin souls,” something that myself and other a-spec ppl have likened to queer platonic partners. while those two have undoubtedly sullied the term for anyone who opposes them, what i’m trying to demonstrate is that solas comes from a society that doesn’t find close platonic friendships odd.

but like i said, this goes beyond the inquisitor.

the fandom vastly understates his relationship with cole most of all. often he’s depicted as one of his fathers, which i can appreciate as a joke, but i feel like it undercuts how important that relationship is– for both of them.

cole goes to solas first when he’s experiencing trouble after adamant, not the inquisitor. not even if they’re a mage. b/c he knows he can trust solas to not use him. solas involves himself in cole’s well-being potentially even if he loathes the inquisitor and everything they are, something he didn’t do for wisdom’s sake, but is willing to for cole. and regardless of the option chosen, solas continues to support him and ask after him:

Solas: How do you feel, Cole? Are you…Cole: I am me. I cannot be bound, broken. I will help the hurt and kill the killers.Solas: I see. I… let me know if I can help.

solas offers affirmation and support for cole, talking him down from what seems to be a panic attack at one point:

Cole: It’s brighter here. Glittering. Glaring. Glinting. I can’t…Solas: It’s a mild tremor in the Veil. Nothing to worry about. Focus on what is here, in this world.Cole: But… what is here?Solas: Feel the ground, the breath in your lungs, fabric rustling against your skin.Cole: (Breathes.) Thank you.Solas: It’s nothing. It can be overwhelming for anyone.

and when cole tries to fix what’s fundamentally broken in solas, solas doesn’t spurn him. this isn’t to say characters who do react with venom when cole oversteps bounds are wrong, cole being able to see in heads doesn’t mean he has the right to speak their pain aloud, but i think it demonstrates the patience solas has for cole being who he is. it has the potential to go down a path that solas doesn’t quite… get. assuming the trespasser line “he didn’t want a body, but she asked him to come” is referring to solas, solas is someone who desperately doesn’t want to have a physical body and is probably afraid of cole having the same regrets as he does.

their relationship also goes both ways. cole offers him support throughout the game, understanding solas in ways that others can’t. not necessarily through any fault of theirs, but being able to key into solas’s emotions goes a long way. and then you get to trespasser, where cole is the one person to speak fondly of solas and the only one to approve if you say you have to save him from the vidasala. imo if we go by game canon solas is closest to cole, even closer than a befriended or romanced inquisitor. since this is an rp blog, that obviously varies, but as it stands no one understands solas like cole and no one understands cole like solas. a cole who becomes more human is likely to become alien to him in some respects, but from canon banter it’s clear that solas is willing to try. this was a very long winded way of saying solas loves cole.

beyond cole, it’s hard to argue solas forms emotionally intimate relationships with others in the inquisition. that being said i also don’t think they have to be emotionally intimate to be meaningful.

it’s, like, 100% canon that he hangs out with people outside of when we drag him places. blackwall has banter that implies they talk regularly, at least enough for blackwall to conclude that solas “knows all there is to know about everything” and even ignoring that they canonically play diamondback together. in banter they swap their experiences at war, although given they’re both hiding something they’re both being vague about it. still, solas clearly comes to regard him highly enough that he’s mad about the revelations of blackwall’s personal quest. a combination of solas having more in common with him than he hoped, and that for all solas has done wrong “killing civilians for fun and profit” wasn’t one of them. and solas seems to have come to respect him enough to apologise, backing out of his initial reaction to accept that thom had taken a step to becoming someone better.

josephine also references speaking to him, despite them never speaking on-screen which was a crime. she says “he has the most fascinating stories” and in ambient dialogue with her agents references occurrences where they seem to speak to nobility together. again, i wouldn’t say they had a deep bond, but i think they developed a rapport.

as for people i do think solas was genuinely friends with, there’s cassandra, varric, and iron bull. unlike the former two there isn’t really a reference to them hanging out outside of banter, but given their relationship i at least like to imagine they spend some time together.

varric and solas clearly spend time together before you meet them in-game, for one. long enough that varric thought of a nickname, though whether “chuckles” was decided on right there or earlier it’s hard to say. the two have actually a pretty funny rapport going, varric being one of the people to bring out solas’s sense of humour without much difficulty. and when they’re not joking around, they have interesting conversations. i’ve actually been wanting to rewrite the balcony scene with thora, my dwarf inquisitor, and solas to incorporate the fact that varric– who makes his living writing– doesn’t match his narrow view of what dwarves should be. it’s just one way the game steers solas in such a way that he isn’t allowed to grow unless the inquisitor gives him permission to, similar to how his view of the qun will flip-flop depending on if he’s talking to iron bull or a friendly qunari inquisitor, but i digress.

with varric, cassandra, and bull alike he demonstrates that he’s more capable of changing his mind than people give him credit for, i think. he admits he might have been mistaken in his interpretation of the dream of a man living his days alone on an island.

cassandra and solas’ relationship started out very hostile from the sound of it, but the hostility is worked out before the inquisitor wakes up, so much attention isn’t drawn to it. solas says he gave up his staff, and while i don’t think he was ever technically a prisoner, i also don’t think he would’ve been allowed to up and leave after that point. he references that she threatened his life if he didn’t get results, and yet in banter he’s complimentary towards her, most notably her ability to surrender the chance for power when she feels she is unfit for the role and that she’s capable of changing her mind. idk, i think their relationship demonstrates the best of both characters– cassandra’s ability to be less hard-line than she is around the likes of varric’s, solas’s ability to respect people with differences of opinions to him, both of their abilities to change their minds about the other.

heck, there’s even the option for some emotional intimacy. cassandra offers her condolences about wisdom, solas comforts her when her faith is shaken, providing hope when she realises her power did not come from the maker as she was taught. he’s also at his misotheist finest in this conversation:

Solas: You seem troubled, Seeker. Still plagued by thoughts of your order?Cassandra: I… am reminded of what I was told following my vigil. They said my abilities were a gift from the Maker, a reward for my faith and dedication. But it was a trick, wasn’t it? A ritual no different that the Harrowing, simply magic…Solas: Do you know how rare spirits of faith are? How difficult it is to draw them to this world? You should be proud, having accomplished something so remarkable, not ashamed it was not what you thought.Cassandra: Thank you, Solas. That… does make me feel better.Solas: Your faith does you credit, Cassandra. I hope your Maker is worthy.

he’s well-aware that cassandra is resolute and uncorrupt, capable of fixing what went wrong with the seekers (even if he is cynical about the inevitable degradation of any organisation). i really don’t know how you read their dialogue and think solas didn’t deeply connect with her in ways that shaped him regardless of his relationship with the inquisitor.

now iron bull is someone whose relationship with solas varies wildly depending on the inquisitor’s choices, and another character whose choice is undercut by the realities of a choice-based narrative. if the chargers are sacrificed they’re under no circumstances friendly, ableit solas seems to pity him in that case. otherwise, solas engages with bull in a way other characters don’t. but to be fair to them, i think solas understands better than any other party member what it’s like to lose your culture and home to help the people you love. through their conversations before his pq– which often got very heated, possibly the angriest solas gets in banter– solas listened and learned and kind of sussed out what bull’s fears were, what was keeping him in the qun. and like, i also think solas has a lot of experience knowing what ppl who are trying to pry themselves out of a toxic religion are also dealing with? what i’m getting at is iron bull imo reminds solas of the elves who fought the evanuris, people who had doubts about the societies they were raised in and broke from it, but still carried the damage it did to them. and he takes steps to reassure bull that “madness” isn’t something he ought to fear, b/c he isn’t a mindless beast but an incredibly intelligent person, capable of playing chess without a board. something that takes considerable practise and was for centuries considered a miracle in our world. there are issues with how solas approaches it, his understanding of the qun is flawed and imperfect, but he literally offers himself as a means of support when bull expresses fear that he’ll “go savage”:

Solas: You have the Inquisition, you have the Inquisitor… and you have me.

and after that i have a hard time imagining that they would never hang out more casually. solas would never be as close to bull as the chargers by any means, and you may not even consider them friends, but again their banter really reflects a significant relationship that would effect him without the inquisitor’s input. assuming they save the chargers, anyway. personally, i consider them friends

i just hit 2000 words and i’m starting to see why i let this sit in my drafts for like a year, so i’ll try to wrap it up. there are other characters i think have an effect on solas despite their relationship having its ups and downs. sera, namely, someone he seems to respect and resent simultaneously, grudgingly admitting he envies her at one point. their relationship is one of the most frustrating in the game but also my favourite due to how similar they are when you get down to it, sera i think on some level reminds him of when he was young, hence why he tries to give her advice. in another world, given time, i think they could’ve been friends, albeit friends who sometimes drive one another up the wall. much of what they say in-game reflects itself– solas talking about organisations degrading, in time, sera saying if you chop off the head of a government another will show up and muck up all the work you did to overthrow the first. they’re both artists, elves who feel disconnected from others of their kind. we don’t get enough of their positive interactions for me to claim they’re friends in-game w/ a straight face. rp wise, however, it’s been one of my favourite things to write, as they navigate a strange not-hostile relationship. also i just adore sera as a character, i wish there wasn’t such a divide between solas and sera fans b/c they both parallel and contrast w/ one another really well.

for one final note i do want to talk about specifically my solas interpretation, the relationships i either hc he’s built or he’s built through roleplay. my solas had a part to play in the rebuilding of skyhold alongside freed circle mages, teaching them practical magic they were denied learning in the circle and becoming something of a role model (god help them) for the more radical mages. solas served with the inquisition for a year in canon, three years in my canon. once he works past the haze of how wrong the veiled world feels i can’t believe solas, who constantly tells the histories of people– real people– whose stories he felt were important enough to remember and retell, even seemingly insignificant ones about baking bread or seeing sunlight for the first time, would connect with precisely none of the people around him on a personal level. not when we see his ability to do just that in-game, even with people without a mark on their hand.

tl;dr give solas friends. remember your inquisitor is not the be-all and end-all of his life and that he’s had 1000s of years to forge relationships with people who have just as much as an impact on him, and his time with the inquisition is no different. i don’t doubt all of us have hcs about how the companions have changed our inquisitor’s life, for better or worse, so i can’t see why it’d be any different for the companions. solas included

[tiawritesgood]

Becoming Owen: Chapter 2

Owen wished the training room had couches.

Not so he could sit, but because fabric would dampen the sound of the ten barking dogs in kennels along the far wall. Each high pitched yelp bounced off the walls and into Owen’s ears. He glanced around at the other interns, and none flinched. He supposed he would either get used to the barking, or he’d go deaf. Either would be fine with him at that point. “Welcome!” a young woman called from behind a short table. Her smile filled her face. “You must be the new intern from Indiana U. We’re glad to have you on board!” Owen closed the gap between them and held out his hand to shake. “Owen Grady.” “Tessa McCugh,” she said. “I’m the president of this branch. It’s nice to meet you.” The university set Owen up with an internship in his field of study: animal behavior. All of the kenneled dogs were up for adoption at the humane society, and he and the other interns would work with them on basic training. A dog who could sit was more easily placed than one who couldn’t. Tessa gathered the eight other interns into a circle. “Most of you are familiar with how this works, but we do have a newcomer. Everyone welcome Owen Grady to the team!” The interns waved and nodded in his direction. They all seemed to be his age or younger. A couple looked like they might still be in high school. He’d read on his welcome packet that you had to be at least eighteen, so they were probably seniors who needed community service credit to graduate. Each week they worked with a new set of dogs, so at least Owen wouldn’t be too far behind. He’d watched enough dog training videos to have a basic idea of how it worked. This should be a breeze. “Each of you will be working with one dog for the next two hours. I have treat pouches and treats for each of you, and we’ll start off as a group, but you will be working pretty much one on one with the dogs as they get the hang of each basic command. We’re working on sit, lay down, paw, and stay today. These tricks tend to catch potential pet owners’ interests when they see the dogs. It’s a way for them to show off a bit and hopefully get adopted.” Tessa gave each of the interns a card with a name on it. Owen’s read, “Oscar.” He found the kennel with a matching name and stared down at his buddy for the night. Oscar was a white pit bull. The dog sat with his mouth wide open in an excited smile. Following the lead of the other interns, Owen opened the kennel and attached a leash to Oscar’s collar. To his surprise, the dog didn’t try to run or pull away. He stared up at Owen with expecting eyes. “Oscar was brought to us after his owner was killed. He’s intimidating, being a pit, but he’s the sweetest boy. I have no doubt he’ll get adopted. In fact, he has three applications outstanding already.” “Then why is he here? Doesn’t sound like he needs to show off at all.” “A pit bull who can sit, stay, and lay down will be adopted. One that is too excited won’t. The applications are in, but he hasn’t had any visits just yet. We want to be sure he’s ready.” “He will be,” Owen promised. He led Oscar over to a quiet area in the room. The interns were spread out, far enough away to keep the dogs calm, but close enough to hear Tessa’s instructions. “First, we’re going to teach the dogs to sit. This is a simple command and most won’t have any trouble. Use this hand motion,” Tessa said, gesturing with her palm facing upward. Owen had seen this command a million times. “And also a verbal command. You may need to lure the dogs into a sit the first few times using a treat like this.” She demonstrated with her shelter dog, a small shepherd. She held a treat to the dog’s nose and lifted it up. The dog tried to jump for it, but she pulled the treat away and repeated the motion until it sat. She rewarded him with the piece of hot dog. “Got it?” Everyone murmured yes, and they got to work. Oscar was already sitting, so Owen had to coax him out of the position only to get him back into it. “Sit.” Oscar obeyed immediately. It looked like his previous owner had already taught him this trick. Owen glanced around the room and saw that almost all of the dogs were already familiar with the ‘sit’ command. That made sense; a lot of the dogs were abandoned, but for the most part, dogs are taught to at least ‘sit’ by their owners. After ten minutes of sitting, Tessa called the group back together and went over how to teach down. Oscar nailed that command, too. They had twenty minutes to learn this one before Tessa started them on ‘stay.’ This one was a lot harder for Oscar. He saw the hot dog on the ground and figured it was there for him to clean up. It took the first fifteen of their allotted thirty minutes to get a single repetition, but after that, Oscar had it down. “Good boy!” Owen said after five good ‘stays’ in a row. He petted the sweet dog, whose tail wagged excitedly from the touch. “You’re a natural.” Owen jumped. Tessa left her shelter dog with a younger woman at the front of the room. She’d shown up between lay down and stay, and Tessa introduced her as her apprentice, Emma. The help allowed Tessa to wander around checking on her other students. “Oscar is the natural.” Tessa smiled. “You know, Emma’s apprenticeship is over next week and I’m on the lookout for another. Is that something you’d be interested in?” Owen’s eyes widened. “Absolutely, but I’m not sure I have time. Between this internship and all my school work…” Tessa stopped him. “We can give you internship credit for the apprenticeship. I’ll talk with your adviser, he’s an old friend of mine. If you’re interested, I can work it out.” “I am very interested. Thank you so much, Tessa.” She left to finish her rounds and Owen’s head spun. He knew he would need an apprenticeship to get more hands on animal behavior learning, but he never imagined one would land on his lap. He thought he’d have to work over the summer to get one. He couldn’t wait to tell his dad. “Okay, class, let’s take a break and let the dogs socialize. Keep an eye on them and break up any fights. They usually spend time together outside, so we know they all get along, but you never know what might happen.” Owen unleashed Oscar and the dog bounded over to the shepherd Tessa had been working with. The two smiled at each other and ran around the room like best friends. Watching them, Owen hoped a miracle would happen, and the boys would be adopted out together. If he weren’t living in a dorm room, Owen would adopt them himself. After a thirty minute playtime, the dogs were leashed back up and they went through one last command: paw. This was Owen’s favorite, because it was more fun than practical. Oscar seemed to like it, too. He got it after a few repetitions. Tessa called for the class to put their dogs back in the kennels. Owen kissed Oscar’s head and walked away, but it was hard. He wanted nothing more than to give the sweet boy a home. All he could hope for was that one of those applications worked out. “That was a great class everyone. Thank you for all your help, and I look forward to seeing you all next week. Leave your snack pouches with Emma. Have a great night!” Emma took Owen’s snack pouch with a scowl. “You won’t last a week as an apprentice.” He laughed. “You’re right, I’ll last the full four months.” Emma scoffed. “Good luck.” “Thanks!” Owen didn’t look back when he exited the building. Instructors never kept apprentices longer than their term, so it’s not like he was taking her job or anything. He had no idea what Emma’s issue was, but he wouldn’t worry about it. Dog training wasn’t his specific goal, but it would get him to where he needed to be. Working with other animal behaviorists to explore how animals work and what they can be trained to do was his dream. If he had to last four months training shelter dogs to get there, he would do so happily. When he got back to his dorm room, Owen was exhausted, but he called his girlfriend, Samantha, anyway. “Hey, Sammy,” he said. “Hey, tiger. You sound tired.” He yawned. “Long day. What are you up to?” “Ugh, homework. You?” “Just got done with my internship. You still want to hang tonight?” Samantha sighed. “I’m sorry, can I take a rain check? I wasn’t expecting to get any actual work today but I ended up with two different assignments and I’m working tomorrow so I won’t have any time to get them done.” “That’s fine, I get it. I miss you though.” Owen could hear the smile in his girlfriend’s voice. “I miss you, too. Are we still on for Saturday?” “Yeah, sounds good. I’ll let you get your work done. Talk tomorrow?” “Sure. Night, Owen.” “Night, Sammy.” After he hung up, he went through his usual night routine before jumping onto his barely-long-enough dorm bed. It took less than five minutes for him to be out like a light.

[evolutionsresolve]

Dream further than the Universe

So, Why did i pick Yorimoi or “A Place further than the Universe” as my top pick for 2018? Well I’m not here to do a review, this is more of why it was a show that resonated with so many.

Living is hard. Whether an adult, teenager, or any age there comes obstacles that get in the way and tell us to slow down. Think about that big goal that you’ve had for years. That one thought or idea that you always come back to but push off as being too ridiculous, too out of reach. Call it a dream if you want but either way chances are you doubt that you’ll get there on your own right?

Yorimoi is a show that literally takes those obstacles and tells them to stick it. At the beginning of the show we meet Mari who is about as much a representation of that stagnant person that we all want to get away from. How do you push yourself out of that hole? Well, whether we like to admit it, Humans are sociable creatures. As much as we strive for solitude, we also have deep feelings of community that can improve us and drive us to do things that we wouldn’t be able to do otherwise.

Friends are something that are impossible to define. I’ve always been someone whose had a small group of tight-knit friends as opposed to tons of them but those friends aren’t the only ones that have changed my actions or outlooks. The girls in Yorimoi don’t start out as friends like in most slice-of-life shows. They aren’t even close. What they are, is a group that have a goal that they can achieve together with each bringing something either symbolically or practically to the cause and that allows them to reach that destination.

Along the way they find a friendship somewhere in the journey and its one that feels as natural as walking. As we watch their relationships grow and their bonds become sisterly and even protective, you see that their goal is now not just reaching that destination, but reaching it with the new group that gave them the courage to even take that first crazy step.

Reaching your goal dosen’t have to be by yourself, sometimes you need the right goofballs to push you in the right direction.

Yorimoi was gorgeous visually but also emotional yet somehow simple AND hard to sell to someone. I mean how many people have to talked to about this show and the best simple description was “Its about a group of high-school girls that go to antarctica”? Theres a good chance that they either looked at you confused or had already accepted that it would just be simple moe-blob with the classic trope of cute-girls-doing-cute-things.

What i find amazing is how just like your own real world dream, it manages to provide emotion and depth to their own dreams to the point that you laugh when they laugh and it feels genuine and deserved. You cry when they cry and it hurts. And you long for adventure when they do because their spirit of adventure hits home for you. The shows music lends to this experience and despite it not being a large soundtrack, the songs are composed and used in just the right ways to help highlight their milestones. Music is emotion and when its paired with scenes of accomplishment, heartbreak, or inspiration, it just allows those emotions to feel that more raw.

Yorimoi is a show that made me so happy and so sad in ways that felt completely natural. It made me want to get up and go and do the things that i’ve put on hold for years. It made me want to see my friends and do big things with them. It made me want to just go for broke and do what I want to do and be damned the consequences. “Thats just childish” “Thats unrealistic” “You’re kidding right” Sometimes you just need to take the bull by the horns and go for broke. Sometimes you need to say the things that are often left unsaid. Yorimoi taught me to start believing in those silly dreams, go after those hard friendships and bonds; it told me to look at the mountain in front of me and start climbing and see where we get. You might not make it to the top, but dammit you’re going to give it your all and those people that gave you that push will be behind you as you grab for the top.

The world is big...

make your next step be the first one and you can go anywhere.

[some-guy-writes]

FTB Ch 1.

50 Tungsten Bullets Chapter 1: Fifty

Summary | Next

“Who did you get this from?” Jeebs asked.

Spiv leaned on the pawner’s counter. “Who?” he smirked. ”Ain’t no ‘who.’ Found it ourselves, old man. Though, I might be willing to part with the where for something extra.” 

“I ain’t that old.”

“Twenty years my senior at least,” Spiv snickered. “Makes you old in my book.”

Truth be told, Spiv wasn’t sure as to the exact age of Mr. Jeebs. Looked just as wrinkled and grumpy as he did the day Spiv tried to steal the shoes off his feet as a kid. Spiv got caught and beat till he was seeing stars. But by the fourth attempt, Jeebs sat him down with some lukewarm soup and taught him how to make an honest living. Well, a more honest living.

Jeebs stared at the immaculate metal cylinder with a solemn glare. He didn’t even bother responding with one of his famous ten K curses. The device was silver in color, with a gold tint and despite the dim sunlight peeking through the cracks in Jeeb’s shack, it lit up the room as if being struck by mid day. Fifty thousand kollars, easy. Spiv hadn’t the foggiest what the thing he found was, but old world tech like that would fetch a pretty penny from collectors. He brought it to Jeebs because, fuck, even he got a little sentimental at times. Spiv figured it’d only be right for Jeebs to make the first offer. 

“Put it back,” Jeebs spoke without looking up. 

“Sun bake your brain while I’ve been gone?” Spiv pushed off the ancient dead wood table and paced in a circle. “Shit, Jeebs. My crew almost died a dozen times over to get that thing to town and now you’re saying put it back? This could really change things for us if we find the right buyer.” 

“Ain’t gonna be no buyers, put it back,” Jeebs growled. 

“Old man, I got nothing but respect for you. You’ve done a lot for us over the years, but now you’re talkin’ about taking money out of our pocket.” 

Spiv reached for the device. Jeebs slammed his hand down on its casing with such force that it knocked a crystal on the shelf behind him to the floor, shattering in a myriad of iridescent colors. 

“Take it past Yonder’s Mountain, to the bunker where you found it, and put it back.”

“How’d you-”

Jeebs eyes burned beneath droopy lids and a thick brow. “Because I’m the one who put it there.”

“You couldn’t have,” Spiv stammered. “The hull was sealed for centuries. We checked the logs.”

“User authenticated,” a synthesized voice spoke from the device. There was a hiss as white fog seeped out. A panel popped open to reveal a hollow interior. 

Spiv’s eyes bulged like a rock rabbit that’s been left dead two days on a dirt road. “Shit… You’re an old worlder. One the immortals.” 

“Ain’t all that. Can still die, same as any of you. Just don’t get any older is all.”

Spiv’s gaze drifted back to the capsule. Jeebs turned it around so he could see. Inside was a massive revolver and a single shell with a name on it. Gun like that put everything in the crew’s arsenal to shame. Probably put everything in the whole town of Bakersville to shame.

“It’s my gun,” Jeebs said. “Hideo model 12 hybrid, fifty cal. Made to fire tungsten rounds with ionized neon core. Could punch a hole the size of my fist in a tank from a quarter mile off. And that casing is from when I shot the man who killed my wife.”

“You could buy all of Bakersville with that thing. Fuckn’ shit.”

Jeebs looked away. “And all it cost me was two tickets to Fluorescent.”

“Bull crap,” Spiv laughed. “Old man Jeebs living it up with the rich folks on Fluorescent? I can’t even picture it.”

“It’s the truth. Would have been. If, well...”

“Sorry about your wife.”

“No need to trouble yourself,” Jeebs said, rubbing his nose. “Happened before your great great grandaddy could piss himself.”

“Why leave the gun in the ground?”

“Killed two dozen men with that thing. Didn’t want to be reminded of the kind of man it made me. Stuck it in a casimir vacuum chamber and left it at my wife’s grave.”

A minute of silence passed between them. Jeebs refused to look at the capsule. Spiv couldn’t look away. 

“What does it take? To become immortal, that is,” Spiv asked. 

Jeebs let out a sigh. “Wouldn't tell a soul even if I knew. Wars were fought over that question. Wouldn’t want to be the cause of the next.” 

“Does that mean you’re the last one left? Thought all the immortals were rounded up and killed off in the last conflict.”

“No, not all. They just keep a low profile, like me. Can’t be having any more joining the club neither. Just pray that you never meet one. Seen what happens when people live long enough to lose their humanity.”

Spiv took a deep breath, resting his hands behind his head. “Could just as easily turn you in and buy a ticket to Fluorescent myself.” 

“Do what you will,” Jeebs spoke. “You’re a good kid. Wouldn’t want my head to pay for nobody else’s trip to Flour. But I won’t be goin’ easy. Last thing my wife said to me before she died was to live a long and beautiful life. And I don’t intend to let her know how cruel that was to say.”

Spiv cracked a smile. “Wouldn’t dream of throwing my father off a cliff to save my own skin. Might never met him, but you’re sure as hell the closest thing I’ve got.”

Jeebs wiped his eyes. “Don’t say shit like that. Might even make this ol’ life worth living.”

“But what about the gun? Even if I put it back, someone else is just gonna come along and find it.”

“I know.” Jeebs said. “Just get it out of my sight. It’s yours. Spent too much time remembering things I’d hoped to forget.”

“Ey, Spiv,” a wary voice spoke from behind. 

“Well if it ain’t lil’ Kit,” Jeebs chuckled. “Still think you’re better off runin’ with Spiv than workin’ the brothel with your mum.”

“Fuck off, Jeebs. But seriously,“ she said, tugging at Spiv’s arm. “We gotta go. Like right now.”

Spiv glared at her. “What’d you do?”

“I got kinda bored waiting and I mighta scammed a few shady pricks. Now let’s go!”

“Weren’t wearing black masks, were they?” Spiv asked. 

“Yeah. Why?”

“Fuck, Kit! That’s the Faceless Gang from the down south. I warned you about them. Those fuckers will straight up kill you. Like chopped up into little bits and fed to livestock kinda dead.” 

Kit chewed on her cheek. “...Well that’s even more reason why we need to go.”

“Take the door out back,” Jeebs said. Right as the one in the front was knocked clean off its hinges by a large, black boot. 

Spiv scooped up the capsule and bolted. “Find the crew and skip,” he said to Kit as they crept out of the shack. “Not the usual place. Second cave past the landfill. Got it?”

“Yeah. What about you?”

“I’m staying for a bit. Gotta see if old man Jeebs needs my help.”

Kit nodded. She pulled her scarf around her face and dashed off. Like lightning on a sunny day the kids used to call her, and for good reason. Spiv breathed a little easier. Ice cube’s chance in winter on Sebrum anyone’d catch Kit when she got going. 

Spiv peaked between shelves filled with Jeeb’s junk. Just enough to see a cloaked figure in all black strutting towards the old man, an intimidating gun at his hip. 

“Lookin’ for a little roach that ran away with my money,” the stranger said. “Wouldn’t happened to seen where it went, would you pawn man?”

The man in black spoke through some sort of filter. His voice sounded distorted, robotic, like that of the AI in Jeeb’s capsule. 

“Don’t do business with roaches.” Jeebs eyed the man from where he sat. “If you’re here to buy or sell, then we can talk.” 

The man in black stepped closer and put both hands on the counter. “Well I’ll be. You are the spittin’ image of the man that killed the ol’ boss Joey Iron Rod. Grandaddy o’ yours? Grandaddy’s granddaddy?”

“Wouldn’t know nothin’ ‘bout it.”

“Nah. ‘Cause I know for fact the fuck never made spawn. You are the man that killed Joey Iron Rod. Woulda thought time’d do my work for me. Guess the only way to make sure a job is done is to do it yourself, right?” the stranger laughed.

“Might have a point there. Figured the rest of you immortal cunts got blown up in the wars with the rest.” Jeebs reached for a shotgun under his desk.

“Nah see, the old old gang made it through the wars alright. Hid out in the desert, got by. ‘Course, really should be thanking you. Made picking them off myself a whole lot easier.” The stranger leaned in closer. “Let you in on a secret. Reason my gang wear’s masks is so I’ll always be on top. Just gotta purge a couple cunts and call myself something new. ‘Course, now that you know, I’ma have to kill you.”

“Best move your failed fetal acohol abortion ass along,” Jeebs said. “This is my town. Been here forty years. Anything happens to me, posse of thirty to three hundred be after you.”

The man in black stepped away, turning his back, arms raised in a V. “Town might be yours, but the whole world of Sebrum is mine. I am its god. Its immortal ruler. Anyone who stands against my rule will be-”

Before the stranger could finish his sentence, Jeebs landed two rounds of buckshot in his back. The man stumbled from the impact, but he just laughed. 

“Gonna need more than that to kill me,” the man in black spoke. 

That voice made Spiv the coldest he’d ever felt. Tasting ice once when he was seven was now in second place. He swallowed, hard and dry.

The stranger rolled up a dark sleeve. Underneath was a metal arm. It gleamed like the capsule Spiv clutched in his hands. 

“While you been playing shop keep, I’ve been quite productive with my time,” the stranger said, admiring his body. “Took a few generations of scavengers to collect all this. Enough old world tech to make that ol’ cyborg Joey Iron Rod green with envy. Count yourself honoured. You’re the first to see this hand in the better part of a century.” 

He raised his palm to Jeebs.

Jeebs shoved another two rounds in his gun and took aim.

“Your wife screamed bloody murder as Joey split ‘er in two with his iron rod,” the man in black chuckled. “Thought I’d let you know, for when you meet ‘er again.”

There was a soft wine as capacitors discharged. A red light shined from the stranger’s hand, bathing the shop in blood red. Jeebs fired two shots.

Spiv blinked. The next thing he knew, the shack was in flames and Jeebs was on the ground in two pieces. Spiv shook. He’d feared for his life many a time before, but nothing quite compared to this. He wasn’t one to heed monsters. That was, until seeing one in metal flesh. 

The man in black strutted out the way he came, whistling to himself. Spiv wanted to go after him. Wanted to take him from behind and smash his deranged face in. But Spiv was scared. So scared. Too scared to move. He crawled out of the rubble, capsule in hand, tears in his eyes and a tremble in his step. 

It was night when Spiv returned to Jeeb’s shack. The poor thing was looted to completion in hours and the rest burned to the ground. A few people stood around a mound out front with a stone on top. Under normal circumstances, if someone fucked with this town, there’d be a posse after them in no time flat, for better or for worse. How places kept their peace and independence. Nothing like that tonight. By now, everyone had heard the rumors of what the Faceless Gang did to Westbrook Oasis a few miles south. Rumors Spiv was certain to be true. 

Spiv adjusted his belt. He wasn’t used to the weight of fifty tungsten rounds quite yet. Cost him one thousand kollars each. His hand went to the cloth wrapped revolver resting in a holster at his side. The barrel alone nearly reached his knee. He pulled his hat a little lower, spat and walked off into the night. Word was the Faceless Gang was headed up to Jepsum. As luck would have it, so was he. 

[moodboardinthecloud]

Everything I Say Is True: Poetic Bibliography

https://www.serpentinegalleries.org/art-and-ideas/everything-i-say-is-true-poetic-bibliography/

Performance artist Kite presents her script for Everything I Say Is True, now annotated as part of the Creative AI Lab’s database.

The Oglála Lakȟóta artist, composer and scholar Suzanne Kite (aka Kite) is quick to point out that the groundwork for her contribution to Artificial Intelligence (AI) is not obviously about technology: “I can’t point to specific papers about AI that I’m building my work on top of because I’m not building it on a history of technology. I’m building it on this other history of knowledge.” Kite and others in her network of thinkers are writing a theoretical framework for AI that isn’t just a deviation from existing technological protocols, but a new one altogether, built on Oglála Lakȟóta and other indigenous knowledge systems.

Kite’s pursuit to build an indigenous AI directly confronts prevailing Western anthropocentric ideologies that position humans as dominant over the resources and systems around them and technology as a tool used to solely meet human needs. In Making Kin With the Machines, Kite and her co-authors ask how they might conceive of technologies like AI as kin, with an obligation to situate the ‘computational creations’ of AI in partnership with their wider community.

Critical theories of knowledge inform how we distribute power not only in our personal relationships but ultimately in the technological infrastructure built around us. But critique alone doesn’t leave us with an alternative. Kite works generatively, employing the principles and ethics of Lakȟóta methodology to build new frameworks and technologies.

Her commission for the Creative AI Lab, Everything I Say Is True: Poetic Bibliography takes the form of an annotated script from her 2017 performance, Everything I Say Is True, originally commissioned by the Walter Phillips Gallery in Banff. Kite borrows a four-part framework for building collective truth from her grandfather’s sweat lodge ceremonies: first, teaching, then providing evidence, followed by the display of that truth, and finally an accusation to non-believers which introduces critical reflection. Using family ephemera and historical documents she considers truth in relation to Oglála Lakȟóta knowledge systems. These systems in turn signal an ethical method for the development of new advanced technologies.

A. Teaching

When I was 12 I kept a dream journal One night I dreamt it is a sunny day[1] I am in a garden and I look down I see the green grass, the leaves and branches of the trees Below me is a picnic table with an umbrella People sit around it in a circle[2] When I was 14 I went to Ojai with my mother and my uncle to meet my grandfather[3] We sweat and it was intense, lots of lights, lots of medicine[4] I was invited to smoke the pipe but I did not[5] We sat down for lunch around a shaded picnic table but no one ate I looked up and there is a blue bird jumping from tree to tree[6]

Looking down, Trying to get a closer look at us.[7]

Every time you look away I disappear and reappear Look here, I can prove it to you There is a need for constant vigilance, they say FBI calls, they watch Don’t forget COINTELPRO No bullshit, suicide by force is real They set fire to his family’s house during the speech, they say This is a long chain of events, of evidence Manifest destiny, they say[8]

Ogle wakhan kin iyuha kic’unpi They all wore the sacred shirt, they say[9]

How can I think in Lakota if I cannot speak Lakota? How could I have thought in Lakota if I could not have spoken in Lakota?

I’ll teach you some Lakota words I have taught myself Ehánni: always Wihiyayela: time Tohanyan: how long[10] Wowicala: belief Wochekiye: prayer Wakhan: sacred Zintkatho: blue jay Woihanble: dream Wakhangli: lightning

Ay what does this have to do with me? My auntie has to pee outside a gas station They won’t let her ndn mother come inside, It is so cold

B. Evidence

Okay, so. I wanted to share the evidence. How can I be Oglala Lakota? Membership Card? Enrollment documents? What does it mean to make something that is Oglala?[11] This, right now, is a piece of art. How can I make it Oglala?[12] How am I supposed to be Lakota, here? These are Lakota art object. Lakota Flute Lakota Beads[13]

Does making something Oglala require thinking in Lakota? Require wowicala? Belief? Wowicakhe? Truth?[14] If I am Oglala because of location, where am I? Am I in Kyle? Am I in Portland? Am I at my parents’ house? What about events, experience? The Indian Child Welfare Act? The Indian Relocation Act? Counter Intelligence Program?

In Lakota, past and present are much closer together. For example: -ble means “I went/ and I go” and -mni kte- “I will go”. If I think in Lakota, is there a difference between past and present? Time encircles my body on a flat plane, intrinsically connected with space.[15] Time, while appearing to be linear, is a flat circle. If time is collapsed, what has happened is happening NOW.

Maybe the Peltier Trial is happening now.[16] Wanted poster Map of Compound Affidavit of Wilson Bullet casings FBI says COINTELPRO ended in 1971; Still NOW it continues today albeit under other code-names. Memorandum Extremist Matters Referenced Right to continue investigation Investigate all Indians Those Programs are designed to destroy individuals they find objectionable Official lying and disinformation, False charges, Manufacturing evidence, Withholding evidence, Occasional assassination.

Still NOW there is radiation in the water supply. Nitrates and Uranium[17] Resident risk Mine Reclamation Cost

If ‘destiny’ is a “natural” unfolding of events, ‘conspiracy’ is its opposite. ‘Conspiracy’ requires an enemy with a preconceived plot;[18]

But ‘destiny’ is the fulfillment of a natural order. ‘destiny’ requires a beginning point and an end point: Linear time.[19]

Einstein proposed there were two mirrors. Einstein’s two mirrors act as a clock. With a photon bouncing in the in-between. In this model of spacetime,[20] The expanding distance is relativity.[21] Our perspective is faster Light’s perspective is slower. Future is unfolding light photo by light photon Einstein’s mirror, they say.

Are you still with me?

A light cone is the path that a flash of light From a single event Traveling in all directions Takes through spacetime. On a two-dimensional plane, The light from the flash Spreads out in a circle.

These are all the points I ever reach.[22]

All points which are the speed of light away from me at birth.

Speed of light is our limit.[23]

This dark part is everything outside our speed limit Relativity says you must go faster than the speed of light to exit the light cone; To see into the dark. To experience what cannot occur in linear time.[24]

Still now I am a blue bird.[25] Still now buffalo are coming over the hills.[26]

To think in Lakota is for it to be responsibly true for time to cease to be linear[27] For the actions of our past to be unified with the present.

To be eternally responsible for the decisions we make, responsible to ourselves, to our locations, to our communities.

These are decisions.[28] My grandfather constantly tells me to stop thinking.[29] I cannot. I am too indoctrinated.

But I have done the math, and I have designed the models,[30] and I have read the texts, and I have reviewed the articles, and I have come to the most logical conclusion.

This is the shortest distance on the light cone. Most efficient place to exit is NOW.

C. Display

∞ -∞

ehánni, long ago, already

Light cone edge

Linear time

Band separating in winter

Manifest destiny

Bureau of Indian Affairs

Bull Bear to Fort William

Bureau found corrupt

Wovoka Prophecy

Aleta Jo

Indian Relocation Act

Carol Jean[31]

COINTELPRO

Wounded Knee

Fire set

Leonard Peltier in prison

Cynthia Anne

Standing Cloud hears

Suzanne Nicole

blue bird seen[32]

bison appear

Teaching Evidence Display Accusation[33]

D. Accusation

Ah! One of you does not believe!

This conspiracy is an endless one.

They cut off her hands!

You don’t believe me?

I cannot lie.

This is given to me

I am just a conduit.

There is no ending.

Tona akhigle opagipi kin he iyena wochekiya kagapi.

Each time they filled the pipe they make a prayer.

Everything I say is true.[34]

Here I am going to do a magic trick.[35]

The performance of Everything I Say Is True was originally commissioned by the Walter Phillips Gallery in Banff, Alberta March 27th, 2017

Poetic Bibliography

[1]

Hélène Wallaert, “Beads and a Vision: Waking Dreams and Induced Dreams as a Source of Knowledge for Beadwork Making. An Ethnographic Account from Sioux Country.”, Plains Anthropologist.

The calculation of all the stars Kite could have reached so far in her lifetime if she was a flash of light at the moment of birth

[maiden-of-wolves]

OC’s as Inquisition Companions

Name: Ariel Grace

Race / Class / Specialization: Human / Archer, then must switch to daggers or sword/shield when her glasses break/are broken / Tempest (or Ranger, if we’re allowed to use other game’s specializations…)

Gender Identity: Female; she/her

Varric’s Nickname for them: Pixie

Short Bio: Having grown up with fantasy stories and playing games to escape her ever-mediocre life back home, she was very familiar with Dragon Age. Impressively so, by some people’s measure. Now, she’s here and she has no idea what to do about it. She finds that she has to relearn how to read and becomes ill often because she has not encountered the diseases of Thedas. Another curiosity is that she appears to either reflect or absorb magic, essentially making her immune to both offensive and defensive/restorative magic. She is able to expel it as well, but it often comes out as a different element than was used on her and is hard for her to control in the beginning.

What would their companion card look like?

<<Death Tarot>>

Recruitment Mission: It is an optional war table mission. It’s next to Haven on the map and is simply a notification from Solas about having gotten notice from scouts of an unusual rift. And that he needs to see them as soon as possible. If you choose to “Go to” you will go outside and towards the dungeons and Solas will come up dragging a bound Ariel with him.

Basically, she appears near Haven and is found by a scouting party before you decide to look for help from either the Mages or Templars. She’s taken to Haven’s dungeons and interrogated by Cassandra and Solas. Mostly Solas. He brings her to the Inquisitor to have them decide what to do with her, citing that she seems to have foreknowledge of the world, but he cannot place how she came there or even what she is. You will have the option to allow her to join the Inquisition or to kill her. If you don’t choose the mission, she will simply starve/freeze in the Haven dungeons.

Where would they be in Skyhold / Haven?

In Haven, she would be near the mines area you fall in while escaping or in the clinic, being treated.

In Skyhold she’d be in the library, with Varric in the hall, by the stables talking with the horses or with Dagna (if you recruit her) in the Underforge.

Quest 1: <<TBD>>

Quest 2: <<TBD>>

Quest 3: <<TBD>>

How to get their approval:

Help “the little guy” (aka people that are down on their luck and need help, beggars, slaves seeking freedom, etc.); Be curious, since she very much wants to know everything she can (if she doesn’t already know about it from the codex entries); Be snarky to nobles or those that are snarky with you; help/be nice to your fellow companions.

How to get their disapproval:

Protect nobility at the expense of those beneath them; turning a blind eye in exchange for gold; flirting with others if you are in a relationship (with her or anyone else); being abrasive when you could have saved people by being diplomatic/clever.

Are they romanceable?

Yes! By men and women, (race gated against dwarves and qunari - Sorry! T_T) but you will need to go VERY easy on the flirting for a while if you’re a lady. She’s not had a physical relationship with a woman before, but is open to the idea.

Can you have sex with them?

Only if you’re on friendly terms; none of this ‘rivalmance’ nonsense. If you’re on her blacklist, she’d rather stick some acid on your lips than kiss them.

Are they open to polyamoury?

Only if it’s talked through and everything is out in the open. She will be very upset for quite a while if you just randomly decide to add another person. And she will be VERY hesitant to join an already established relationship because she needs reassurance that she’s worthwhile.

If they can be romanced and are not will they begin a relationship / relationships with other characters? If so, who?

If Cullen isn’t being romanced, she’d probably start one with him. She’d be there for him during his lyrium withdrawal episodes and sing him back to sleep when he woke.

If Zevran was there and not romanced with the Warden, she’d go for him; same with Fenris not romanced by Hawke.

Who are they friendly with?

Varric is her best friend (except the Inquisitor, if they’re good to her).

The Iron Bull and she get along well; he’s curious about her and likes teasing her.

She likes reading those smutty novels with Cassandra and encourages her so she can “practice reading” ;P.

She and Cullen will be all but kindred spirits in temperament and will get along well; she invents a potion that tastes like lyrium to help his withdrawal (like a kind of placebo). She will also question him about his views on mages and remind him of how he used to talk about them. She wants him to really grow as a person, not just be forgiven for who is was and no follow-up made.

Dorian and Ariel have a kind of love-hate relationship, since he loves to tease her/play flirt and enjoys her easy-to-blush nature far too much. Still, she respects him for trying to change Tevinter and since she spends a lot of time in the library they’re near each other a lot. They often have discussions he has a hard time stomaching about his homeland (usually regarding slavery).

She respects Josephine but the Antivan is very confused by Ariel’s venomous reaction to nobility considering her background.

She also respects Leliana’s abilities but they argue over the Chantry and faith when either topic comes up.

She both likes and hates Cole. She appreciates that he helps people and often asks him to help her help people, but she hates when he reads her.

She likes Blackwall and they often discuss his past (after she reveals she knows) and she encourages him to just atone as Blackwall. She affectionately calls him “Dad” because he reminds her of her father and often gives her fatherly advice, especially about combat.

Who do they dislike?

She knows what Solas wants to do and she hates him for it. They often argue about it, as she’s trying desperately to change his mind. Still, he helps her manage her odd abilities and helps her deal with her odd relationship to the Fade.

Though in goal/opinion they are very similar, she dislikes Sera. She sees her as little more than a snotty brat with a vicious temper and a deplorable liking for “pranks”.

She dislikes Vivienne on principle, as she’s a noble in every aspect and enjoys that life. Eventually, she comes to respect her and it is somewhat mutual.

Cole’s reading:

“Thoughts… so much. Home. It’s not a game anymore. I can’t say it. What’s the point of knowing… if you can’t change it?”

Companion card changes

Loyalty:

<<Temperance Tarot>>

Romance:

<<TBD>>

Side Mission:

<<TBD>>

When nearing a hidden item:

“Looks like things have been disturbed here...”

When seeing a high dragon:

“Well, great! There’s death coming from every possible direction now.”

Or, if The Iron Bull is in the party:

“...No, Bull. I’m not dying today.”

Side quest reaction(s):

<<TBD>>

Low health:

“Some help would be nice!”

“I wonder...where I’ll go…”

The Inquisitor falls:

(If friendly/romanced) “NO! I won’t let you go!”

(If neutral) “Our Inquisitor needs us!”

(If low approval) “You can’t give up!”

Greeting(s) / Goodbye(s)

Low approval:

“What do you want now?”

“Yeah, you go have fun elsewhere. I’ve got actual work to do.”

Neutral approval:

“Do you need something?”

“Okay. Bye then.”

Friendly:

“Oh, hey! What’s up?”

“Let me know if you need anything else. I’ll be around.”

Romanced:

“O-oh. Uhm… hi!” o///o

“Hope you can spare some time for me later. I’ve… really missed you.” >////>

Opinions on mages / templars / how the world is going to shit?

She’s very much against mages murdering people to retain their freedom, but she is equally against all the abuses that templars had heaped upon them to bring them to this point.

She thinks the rebel mages could be brought to heel and likes the idea of them creating the College of Enchanters, outside the Chantry’s influence, and wants all mages to be free but to be taught how to control their magic and punished appropriately when they do not.

She knows the Templars are useful, but doesn’t like them as an order controlled by the Chantry. She wants them to be disbanded and made into a separate type of guardsman everywhere so mages could live as normal people but still be brought to heel if they went all abomination or killed someone/manipulated them with magic.

She knows what created the breach so she has to keep her mouth shut about it and thus doesn’t like talking about it.

Something guaranteed to make them leave the party?

If you help slavers, take a bribe to turn a blind eye or kill innocents.

                                          Imprisoned at Redcliffe

How is your OC holding up in Redcliffe, being slowly infected with red lyrium over the course of a year?

She heaves this incredibly dramatic sigh when she sees the Inquisitor. Basically just says, “FUCKING FINALLY, GET ME OUT OF THIS CELL.” She’s not infected but it’s been trying for so long that she’s weak as all hell from it stealing her energy.

                                                      The Fade

How they react:

Awe and nervousness. She dreams of this place but the interactions are all different. She is normally protected by spirits, who found her first as she slowly mastered her ‘gift/curse’ and became visible to the other denizens. She may have several whisps following her about as you wander, as they recognized and found her, but they are scared and weakened in the Nightmare’s territory.

Their tombstone:

Being Nothing but a Burden

What fears look like:

Goliath Tigerfish

“Okay, this is fucked up. I know this is the Fade and the laws of normal existence don’t apply, but still! You need water to swim, not air!” ~points accusingly at an approaching nightmare~ “Stop snappin’ your jaws at me you assholes!”

What the Nightmare says:

“And here is the talk of the Fade. The anomaly. The stranger in a strange land.” ~deep, booming laughter~ “Your spirits cannot save you here, child. I have long wondered what kind of creature you would become were I to claim you…”

OR, if romanced:

“Ah, the anomaly. Do you truly know what will happen here? I will tell you, since you crave knowledge. Your beloved will die and I will throw you back to suffer. Wilt away in your guilt and despair. You will feed me and my brethren for years to come, wallowing in it until it is all you know… just like your father.”

Hawke or Warden:

She understand the reasons for both

There will be a minor approval drop for choosing the Warden (large if it is a romanced Alistair)

If Hawke romanced Fenris, there will be a major approval drop

If Hawke romanced anyone else or remained alone, there will be a minor approval drop

The Wardens - Exile or Allies?

Again, she understand the reasons for both. Only a minor approval drop for exile and minor approval boost for making them allies.

                                                     Halamshiral

Where they linger:

If she’s not romanced she’ll probably be near Cullen, engaging him in conversation in order to help keep the “suitors” at bay.

If she or Cullen is romanced she’ll be seeking shelter with Varric and tells you to hurry up so she can get the hell out of this viper’s nest.

Are they good at the Game?

She could be, if she wanted to be. She knows how she just hates using the skills she was brought up with as a child of an upper-middle class family back home.

What people say about them:

(if neither she nor Cullen were romanced)

“Why must that homely girl take up the Commander’s time? Doesn’t she realize her betters need to speak with him?”

(if the Inquisitor romanced her)

“The Inquisitor keeps such homely company… I can’t see why there are rumors about them. She is unremarkable and abrasive.”

“Who is that mouse beside Master Tethras? A fan of his work?”

Gaspard, Briala or Celene?

Briala and Celene together! Always. OTP. Major approval boost for this option.

She’ll give a minor approval boost for Briala blackmailling Gaspard or Celene ruling alone.

Will have a major approval drop for allowing Gaspard to rule alone.

                                                Temple of Mythal

Rituals or Hole?

Ritual. This is their place and you must respect it. Plus, she knows that you’ll get there before it’s too late even if you take the time and knows how to do the puzzle.

Agree with the Elves’ bargain?

YES. She hates having to kill anyone if there’s another way… unless they’re assholes. Abelas kind of is, but not enough to justify being killed. Plus, it’s easier to get where you’re going if you accept and she will be taking photos of the murals and stuff you find along the way for safekeeping/inspection later.

Morrigan or the Inquisitor for the Well?

She leaves it up to the Inquisitor if they’re not involved.

If romanced or if they are friends, she will tell the Inquisitor that they really don’t want to take it in and to let Morrigan do it. “It will be helpful… you just don’t want the burden. Trust me.”

                                                    Trespasser:

Depending on who she’s with, she’ll have done different things.

If she was romanced by the Inquisitor she’d be busy helping with the Inquisition. Creating new tools/helping advance medicine for non-mages as well as mages/trying to recreate basics from home like running water that anyone can install on their houses. She’d go with them to the Exalted Council if asked and will be able to tell them about what’s going on if they asked/wanted to know. She could also be told to stay behind and use her knowledge of the attending nobles to help Josephine.

If she wasn’t romanced by the Inquisitor and Cullen wasn’t romanced, she would be assisting him. She would have expanded her making of the placebo to give to all the Templars that wanted to be off of lyrium. She will likely have also worked with advancing medicine and providing basic improvements to people’s lives. Again, if asked, she would attend the Exalted Council. If not, Cullen will likely ask her to come just to help him retain his sanity. He will ask her to marry him there, as he would have the Inquisitor. She would happily find the Inquisitor to let them know and tell them they need to survive so they can all meet up again for a proper party and feast for the wedding when they get back to Ferelden.

If Zevran was around she’d help him in dealing with the Crows and set up a library where she takes in and “homeschools” recruits that he liberates from the Crows. She’s soon surrounded by children and is unable to attend the Exalted Council. Before she left the Inquisition she acquired a pair of sending crystals so that no matter where she was the Inquisitor could get a hold of her if necessary. She will advise them on what to do if they ask.

If Fenris was around, they’d travel about tracking down slavers and eventually attempt to lead a slave uprising in Tevinter. Since, by the end of her tale she’d be a powerful proper mage she could do reconnaissance in full view and not be thought much of. She would have given the Inquisitor one of a pair of sending crystals to keep in contact and would offer her knowledge if asked during the Exalted Council. In Tevinter, she tips off the right people and kills those that won’t help and then Fenris inspires slaves to rise. She’d meet Dorian on his way back and chuckle, saying, “time to put out the fires and start again. I did the easy part. The rest is up to you.” She’ll probably get hit for that.

I’ll probably add more at some point. Still can’t decide about her side quests... so that’ll have to wait.

[monochromatic-stardust]

Foxes made of golden-silvery fur and too many tails who taught me to be clever and fast and how to use tricks as a woman and as a fox, wolves with eyes that glowed the truest gold who taught me how to hunt and sing and play and the strength of the Pack, women with seal skins tied around their shoulders who whispered secrets in my ear and listened to my blood smiling secrets and giggling mysteries.

An azure dragon who guards the East, the Earth dragon, she who gave me the tools to ground myself and protect myself, a pure white bull who could not sway me with his attempted charms and found that I was uninterested in much of what he had to say.

I've dreamed of cait sidhe with the greenest eyes I've ever seen, and tabby stripes in his hair when he stood as a man, his smile showed teeth too sharp to be human. Of pixies who were armed for war, and bannicks and hobs alike who tsk'd every time I came back from an adventure... one who bent to the task of cleaning me, the other who cleaned everything else than made sure I ate before I was allowed off again.

Of raven-maids who braided my hair with feathers in a crown and chattered to me about the paths of the dead and how one b day they'll be mine to travel as I please.

I've dreamed of monsters who were monsters, and monsters who weren't really monsters but who were made to play the role so long that sometimes they forgot how to be who and what they were before.

I've dreamed of Stardust and Shadow, of angels who make fear seem small compared to what they inspire in you, and their sibling who was much more human shaped and smacked them upside the head for scaring me... but whose job was somehow scariest of all.

My dreams have held ancient wolves of the deserts that people now call jackals since they didn't have a name for those who vanished long ago, and their master. Of three headed dogs and their lord and lady, and now sometimes I dream of a screaming skeleton who looks after stars and tells stories and fortunes.

TELL ME ABOUT CREATURES YOU MET IN DREAMS

[sciencespies]

Father Reginald Foster Used Latin to Bring History Into the Present

https://sciencespies.com/history/father-reginald-foster-used-latin-to-bring-history-into-the-present/

Father Reginald Foster Used Latin to Bring History Into the Present

The death of Latin has been greatly exaggerated.

Of course, Latin is no longer the default language for European learning and diplomacy, as it was from the Roman Empire through the early modern period. Since the implementation of Vatican II in the early 1960s, even many priests don’t speak the language in a meaningful way. Still, despite Latin’s decline in political and ecclesiastical circles, hundreds of folks around the globe continue to speak it as a living language—and no teacher is more responsible for the world’s remaining crop of latineloquentes (“Latin speakers”) as Friar Reginald Foster, the Carmelite monk who served as Latin secretary to four popes from 1969 until 2009, translating diplomatic papers and papal encyclicals into Latin, which remains the official language of the Holy See. Foster died on Christmas Day, at the age of 81.

In 2007, Foster himself lamented to the BBC that he thought the language was on its way out altogether. He worried that a modern world, illiterate in Latin, would lose contact with crucial portions of history, and half-jokingly recommended that then-Pope Benedict XVI replace Italy’s traditional siesta with a two-hour daily Latin reading.

The Pope never took up Foster’s suggestion, but the irony is that Foster had already managed, almost single-handedly, to reverse some of the trends that so troubled him. His deepest passion was teaching Latin at the Pontifical Gregorian University in Rome, starting in 1977, and running his famous spoken Latin course nearly every summer, beginning in 1985. Through these courses, Foster launched multiple generations of classicists who have used his techniques to bring their students into closer contact with a past that, until recently, had seemed to be vanishing.

Foster is well remembered for his boisterous, generous presence in the classroom and on field trips. He was beloved among students, and distrusted by Vatican grandees, for his eccentric habits, which included dressing in a blue plumber’s suit and issuing caustic statements about church hypocrisy. When he was teaching—in Rome until 2009, thereafter in Wisconsin—he often nursed a glass of wine. Known by the Latin sobriquet “Reginaldus” to his legions of pupils, who in turn refer to themselves as “Reginaldians,” Foster was a hero and a jester, a pug-nosed provocateur with a satirical streak who would have fit right into a comic epistle by Horace or Erasmus. “Like Socrates, his default mode in public was ironic,” says Michael Fontaine, an administrator and professor of Classics at Cornell University.

A portrait of Foster by artist Lucy Plowe

(Courtesy of Michael Fontaine)

Fontaine, who first met Foster in the spring of 1997, makes no bones about the extent of Foster’s legacy.

“Reginald Foster succeeded in reversing the decline in living Latin. He actually, really, genuinely did it. Reggie’s success is total: There is a burgeoning movement and critical mass of young people who have now learned Latin [as a spoken language]. Reggie taught some, his students taught some, those people are teaching some, and on and on. Some of the best Latinists in the world are in their 20s or early 30s”—a remarkable development that Fontaine credits squarely to Foster’s peerless influence.

Leah Whittington, an English professor at Harvard University, who first met Foster during a summer Latin course in 1997 when she was 17, recalls the friar’s “phenomenal, ebullient energy.” “He never sat down, never seemed to need rest or eat or sleep,” Whittington says. “It was as though he was fueled from within by love for Latin, love for his work, love for his students. I had never been pushed so hard by a teacher.”

Like all of Foster’s students who spoke with Smithsonian, Whittington recalls his visionary dedication to preserving Latin by keeping it alive in everyday conversation.

“For most classicists trained in the United States or in Great Britain, Latin was a learned, non-spoken language; it was not a language that one could converse in, like French or Spanish. But for Reginald, Latin was an everyday functional language that he used with his friends, his teachers, his colleagues, with himself and even in his dreams.”

Foster went to extraordinary lengths to make sure he was keeping his students as engaged as possible with their work outside the classroom, which the friar referred to not as homework but as ludi domestici—”games to play at home.” This playful approach often proved a revelation to students used to more staid ways of teaching a language they’d been told was dead. “It’s so rare to have an immersion experience in Latin that it couldn’t fail to improve and deepen your knowledge of the language and history,” says Scott Ettinger, a Latin and Greek teacher in the Bronx, who attended Foster’s summer course in 1996.

Daniel Gallagher, who in 2009 succeeded Foster in the Latin section of the Vatican Secretariat and today teaches the language at Cornell University, still marvels at Foster’s “extreme dedication to his students.”

“He told us, ‘Call me at 2 in the morning if you’re stuck,'” says Gallagher, who began studying with Foster in October 1995. “He said, ‘I’ll even come to your house to teach you Latin.’ And I learned that he wasn’t kidding—he really would come to my house.”

Foster launched multiple generations of classicists who have used his techniques to bring their students into closer contact with a past that, until recently, had seemed to be vanishing.

(Courtesy of Michael Fontaine)

Classicist Jason Pedicone recalls his first course with Foster in 2004: “He made me feel like learning Latin was a key that would unlock endless beauty and wisdom of history, art and literature.”

“Studying Greek and Latin with Reginald was spiritually enriching,” he says. “I don’t mean that in a doctrinal way; it was just really life-affirming and made me stand in awe of humanity and civilization.” In 2010, Pedicone co-founded the Paideia Institute with Eric Hewett, another of Foster’s students; the organization offers immersive courses in Latin and Greek.

Tales of Foster have long been common among anglophone classicists. Even those who never visited him in Rome had often heard something about this eccentric priest who gave free, immersive Latin lessons.

“I had heard for some time that there was a priest in Rome who spoke Latin and gave free summer courses where you actually spoke Latin,” says Alice Rubinstein, a now-retired Latin teacher living in Virginia. “I remember some woman telling me he was like a priestly version of Don Rickles.”

“[Foster] reminds me of the humanists I study in the 15th century, especially Lorenzo Valla,” says classicist Chris Celenza, a dean at Johns Hopkins University who took courses with Foster in 1993 and marvels at the friar’s unerring ability to bring the past into the present, to make old texts new. “Foster could almost ventriloquize the authors we were studying. He was a living anachronism, and I think he knew it and kind of delighted in that.”

In his obituary for Foster, John Byron Kuhner, who is writing a biography of the friar, sounded a similar note about Reginaldus’ uncanny ability to make ancient writers seem intimate and accessible—a closeness that he fostered in his students: “The writers and artists of the past seemed to be equally [Foster’s] friends. He loved them in a way we could see, the way we love our living friends who happen to be far away.”

Foster’s famous summer Latin course was full of day trips. Traditional jaunts included the site in Formia where Cicero was assassinated by Mark Antony’s men in 43 B.C. (“Reginald would weep while reciting Cicero’s epitaph,” Whittington recalls); the gardens at Castel Gandolfo, the Pope’s summer residence, where students sang Latin songs to “papal bulls”—that is, cows grazing outside the Pope’s house; to the port town of Ostia; Pompeii and Naples; the spot at Largo Argentina in Rome where Julius Caesar was assassinated; the castle in Latium where Thomas Aquinas was born.

“Walking with Reggie through these Italian sites made Rome come alive in a way that it couldn’t have without someone of his encyclopedic knowledge of Latin,” says Alexander Stille, a journalism professor at Columbia University, who profiled Foster for the American Scholar in 1994.

“Foster used to tell us that ‘Reading Augustine in translation is like listening to Mozart on a jukebox,'” Stille says, “and that being in Rome without access to Latin was to see an impoverished version of it. He made the city come alive.”

Foster is well remembered for his boisterous, generous presence in the classroom and on field trips.

(Courtesy of Michael Fontaine)

There are many classicists (I am one of them) who never met Foster but who benefited from his teachings by studying under his protégés, many of whom use techniques pioneered by Foster.

“When I led student trips to Italy, I modeled them on the field trips Foster used to take with us,” says Helen Schultz, now a Latin teacher at a private school in New Hampshire. “On one memorable occasion, he joined me and a group of my students to talk about their studies and his work at the Vatican. He didn’t just love Latin; he also loved and cared deeply about every one of the students who learned from him and were inspired by him to do our best to keep his legacy alive.”

Like many of Foster’s students, Ada Palmer, a European history professor at the University of Chicago, says the friar opened up a whole world of post-Classical Latin literature for his charges. Rather than falling back on the typical, and almost entirely ancient, canon taught in most classrooms, he introduced scholars to the Latin of St. Jerome’s autobiography, or medieval bestiaries, or Renaissance books of magic, or rollicking pub songs from the 17th and 18th centuries, Palmer says, and thereby widened the possibilities for Latin studies across the world.

“Reggie’s enthusiasm was for all Latin equally,” Palmer says, “and he encouraged us to explore the whole vast, tangled and beautiful garden of Latin, and not just the few showpiece roses at its center. He trained scholars who have revolutionized many fields of history and literary studies.”

Celenza agrees, referring to the millions of pages of Latin from the Renaissance onward as “a lost continent” that Foster played a central role in rediscovering.

Foster was famous for many of his one-liners, perhaps none more so than his frequent reminder to students that “Every bum and prostitute in ancient Rome spoke Latin.” (In one variant on this line, “dog-catcher” takes the place of “bum.”) His point was that one needn’t be an elite to appreciate the riches of a language that began, after all, as a vernacular. But Foster’s interest in bums and prostitutes was not merely rhetorical. “He did a lot of good for the prostitutes of Rome,” Ettinger says. Foster was known for giving what little money he had to the city’s downtrodden, even though, by keeping his classes free, he ensured that he had practically no income. (He was also known sometimes to pay a student’s rent in Rome for a semester.)

“In one’s life, if you’re lucky, you’ll meet a certain number of people who are genuinely extraordinary and who try to change your life in some way. Reggie was one of those people in my life,” Stille says. “There were few people on the planet who have the relationship to Latin that he did.”

In his final weeks, Foster’s friends say, he was as boisterous as ever, even after testing positive for Covid-19: He continued working with Daniel P. McCarthy—a Benedictine monk who began studying with Foster in the fall of 1999—on their book series codifying Foster’s teaching methods. And he maintained lively conversations with protégés, often in Latin, via phone and video calls.

Today, classicists, philologists and anyone else who wishes they had taken a Latin immersion course with Foster can console themselves with several options offered by his former students. Each summer, you will find Ettinger helping organize the annual Conventiculum aestivum (“summer convention”) in Lexington, Kentucky, an 8- to 12-day immersive program that welcomes 40 to 80 attendees a year. Other Foster protégés, including Whittington, Gallagher, Fontaine and Palmer, have taught immersive classes through the Paideia Institute. Foster may be gone, but his dedication to Latin as a living language, one that puts us in direct conversation with our past, continues to thrive against all odds.

#History