#Josephine was wasted on him | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

theheraldsrest · 9 months ago

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Hey! I really really love your blog! If I may request, during downtime, how would the members of the inner circle react to find the Inquisitor drawing/sketching them?

“Companions react to Inquisitor drawing/sketching them”

After our *cough* little thing with Bull, let’s have some fluff, shall we? Thank you anon for the ask!

-Lord Lex

Cullen

“You did this? It’s certainly…it’s…how did you even…it’s amazing.”

-So surprised, no words. It makes him feel a little special that you’d choose to sketch him but also very embarrassed. In return, he tries drawing you. Might not be as good and there are a few rough sketches that were thrown in the fire, but he wanted to return the favor.

Josephine

“Oh! Look at the detail and the softness! I wouldn’t have even thought it was me from how stunning it is!”

-Absolutely gushing over it. Josey’s always had a fascination for the arts and to be the subject of the piece from someone close to her? Adores it, even asks to keep it. She has it tucked away in one of her favorite books. Will always compliment your art even when talking to dignitaries.

Leliana

“I commend you on your artistic talent. Though, I’d ask you not to sketch me. Perhaps one of the ravens would make better practice?”

-Like Josephine, Leliana has an eye for art. She loves looking at the little details in your sketches and finds it a surprise that her face is amongst the papers. As much as she appreciates it, she’d rather her face remain a secret. She is your spy master, after all. Though, if she becomes Divine, she keeps the sketch as one of her favorite pieces of her.

Vivienne

“Darling, as much as I’d like to say you're wasting your talents by leading the Inquisition instead of honing your skills, you are equally talented in both. Most usually fail to make me look this stunning.”

-It might not show on her face or in her words but she loves it. Several times people have been commissioned to paint her yet none come even close to your level of detail. More points if it’s of her smiling or laughing, the lines on her face as well as the wrinkle around her eyes gives her a sense of…normalcy. If she becomes Divine, she commissions you to do her portrait, no one else.

Varric

“You drew me? I think that’s gotta be one of the scariest pieces of your art I’ve ever seen! When you're done, can I keep it?”

-Though it doesn’t sound like it, he brags about it constantly. Even when he’s making fun of his slightly crooked nose or how his eyes might seem smaller than other dwarves, he’s complimenting the skill you put into the very minute details of his face. Varric will try to pay you for it even if you refuse, later trying to commission a drawing of Hawke when they come around.

Cole

“Oh, it’s me! Not really, but it’s Cole. But you’re trying to draw me…I can still remember his face, then.”

-He’ll stare at it for hours, his shoulders down. It’s been sometime since he’d been able to see his own face, forgetting that he even had a face. To see you draw that face, the real Cole, just from looking at him makes him happy. Will ask to look at it every now and then, just to make sure it’s still the same.

Solas

“I must say, you are quite talented and steady with your hands. It does allow others to see how the artist sees. You certainly make me seem…at peace.”

-From one artist to another, he gives you high compliments with very few complaints. It is unusual to see him drawn in such a way since he’s so used to seeing only the mosaics. He meant to get rid of it when he left the Inquisition, but just couldn’t bring himself to do it.

Cassandra

“Inquisitor, though your craft is very beautiful and I admire how you can make these pieces, I must ask you not to sketch me.”

-Don’t get her wrong, she loves seeing your sketches but it’s mostly out of formality (and somewhat embarrassment) that she asks not to be your subject. If she becomes Divine, it’s one of the only pieces she prefers over the paintings. Though she does ask you, if you have the time, to draw something for her. When you give her a perfect picture of her brother and her, it’s one of the few times she truly hugs you.

The Iron Bull

“Holy shit. I’m alright when it comes to sketching, but you make it look pretty damn easy while so complicated! You even got my scars and the detail on my patch! Damn, boss!”

-Bull is used to doing quick sketches, usually of small details to make sure he could track someone or to remember something easier. Never had he really seen himself drawn so picture perfect that it completely baffles him. He looks at all the details with a smile on his face.

Dorian

“I can’t believe you managed to get my good side! In all honesty, though, this is remarkable. And not just because it’s me.”

-He had studied some art pieces before and never really found any he liked, but he has now found one of his favorite artists. Constantly asks if you’ve done any new pieces just so he can look at the heart that goes into them. Ask if you could teach him to sketch as such so that he can add better drawings to his research notes.

Sera

“What the fuck! That’s me! How the fuck! How did you do this! You even got my eyes to be lined up! How the hell did you do that?!”

-We all know Sera’s drawing style. She keeps saying the same things over and over again because she’s at a loss for words. Except for cuss words. Along with the rooftop hangouts, she insists that you two just draw together sometimes. Some of the goofiest drawings come from these times, especially one of a cartoonish Coryshit falling from a very detailed tower.

A little speech bubble near it says “Oh shit, I shat myself!”

Blackwall

“I…I’m honored to be one of your subjects. Not to blow my own horn, but this looks stunning. You really are something special, hm?”

-Blackwall has done a lot of sketching himself and finds your art a breath of fresh air. Other than looking at bits and pieces of his reflection, he usually tries to avoid seeing himself. So when he sees your drawing of him, he almost doesn’t recognize himself. You both trade sketches of each other just for fun and even sketch together.

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aheathen-conceivably · 9 months ago

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The wooden floorboards in the hallway that connected Zelda and Antoine’s bedroom to Violette’s slowly grew more worn with time. On some nights it was Zelda’s feet that walked back and forth over them as Antoine got to spend a few moments alone with his guitar; on other’s it was Antoine’s as Zelda read a few pages of a book between her hours of work and sleep.

On that night it was Zelda’s steps that echoed down the hall. Before she even opened the door she knew that the sounds of guitar awaited her; but not even that could make her feel better, so she didn’t bother to look at Antoine as she entered the room. Instead she walked straight to the vanity and reached for the zipper between her shoulder blades. As she struggled with it Antoine spoke behind her, “Is she asleep?

His playing hadn’t stopped, because his months of practice had already made it so that he could easily speak without ever missing a note, just the way he could at the piano. Despite herself, Zelda let out a small laugh with her answer, “No. She acted like she is, but I know the second I closed the door she opened that book again.”

His voice kept coming, unbroken alongside the music when all she wanted was silence, “There are worse rules to break. I would wager a bet you were much the same with it when you were young.”

Zelda kept her eyes on her reflection as she gave up trying to unclasp her zipper, instead redirecting her fumbling hands to her earrings. She offered Antoine nothing but a terse nod in response, but the void of her silent answer was quickly filled with the vibrations of guitar strings. As her earring back refused to budge she turned away, retreating into the cold silence of their bathroom to undress alone.

When she emerged the room had grown quiet, the guitar neatly set against the opposite wall and far out of reach. Antoine was on the edge of the bed, looking at her intently. She looked back at him, wondering how she could deflect the pain that she knew he had detected. Before she could think of anything he spoke, asking her what the matter was. Her hands fluttered as she avoided his gaze, “Nothing, it's - it's the corn. It’s not growing as well as last year, no matter how I try.”

But he wasn’t fooled, and when he said her name, it was filled with an honest imploration simply to talk to him. She started to spiral, because she knew that the moment she spoke, she would reopen the wound that they had both been trying to ignore for months. But again, he said her name, this time even calmer and softer than the first time. Another half dozen lies went through her head, but each of them seemed like a paltry waste of energy; so instead, she sat beside him.

“Zelda, I know it's not the corn. I know your face. Don’t lie to me.”

He’s here, telling him won’t jeopardize that. You know that. You know. “It’s just - it’s just in those brief moments when she opens up to me, when she’s kind and excited to be around me, I realize just how much more she likes you, how much more she likes Josephine…”

His hand immediately went for hers, a tangible guilt driving his touch that she had been fiercely trying to avoid, “Don’t say that. It's not true, you know it's not true.”

“No, no. It’s fine, it is true,” she tried to brush it off, to look at their hands and stop herself before her words went too far, “I suppose it’s only natural. I was more like my father. It just makes me wonder, makes me think if we had another, maybe they’d be more like me, maybe they’d…”

But she had already done it, and she knew it. She had shattered whatever tenuous peace they had found in their untenable solution to preventing any more disappointments. She dropped his hand and tried to move away, but his arms immediately went around her. “Zelda, we can try again. We can try all you want. I didn’t want to push you, to make you uncomfortable.”

“No, I know. I’m — I’m sorry, I just didn’t want to be disappointed anymore. If we didn’t — then I wouldn’t — then at least I would know there was no chance. I should have told you…”

With the words spoken it was easier to let him pull her closer. Immediately the guard she had so carefully constructed crumbled, “Please don’t apologize, please. You didn’t need to explain. I knew. I understood.”

Half of her was crying with relief as he pulled her back onto the bed against his chest. They had never consciously decided to cut out this part of their relationship, only drawn an inevitable link between the pain that wouldn’t stop coming and any sort of intimacy that wasn’t purely domestic and mundane. It had become a way of doing what they did best, ignoring the problem until it became a problem itself. Only then it was even harder to tell him why, because as the physical distance grew between them, so did the emotional one.

So now, both seemed to unravel together, the spoken words lifting the wall that had risen and seemed impossible to break through before. As his hand traced along her face, it became easier to speak too, “I just…I don’t want to try anymore. I don’t want to plan it or time it or think about it. I just want us to go back to the way that we were when we first got here. I just want it to be about us again.”

He looped his arm around her shoulder and her entire body responded to the movement, letting go of it’s tension and relaxing into every point where their bodies met. He sensed her movement and tightened his grip, “Then we don’t have to, my love. It can be what you want it to be, okay? If it’s meant to happen, it will happen. We don’t have to worry beyond that any more than you want to.”

She reached over to take his face in both of her hands as she leaned over onto him. Then she kissed him, truly kissed him, for the first time in months. If it’s meant to happen, it will happen.

#1933 #sims 4 historical #ts4 decades challenge #ts4 historical #sims 4 decades challenge #the darlingtons #sims 4 legacy #ts4 legacy #sims 4 story #ts4 story #1930s #Zelda darlington #Antoine Duplanchier

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apollosgiftofprophecy · 4 months ago

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The Copollogism Essays - Part 3: Lester's Reaction

This is a short scene, but a powerful one in my opinion. Let's break it down :3

“His name is—” “Don’t, Meg,” Josephine warned. “—Commodus,” Meg continued, then frowned. “Why am I not supposed to say his name?” “He pays attention to such things,” I explained. “There’s no point in letting him know we are talking about—” Meg took a deep breath and yelled, “COMMODUS, COMMODUS, COMMODUS! COMMODE CITY, COMMODIANA. COMMODE DAY, MONTH OF COMMODES! COMMODE MAN!” The great hall shook as if the Waystation itself had taken offense. Emmie blanched. Up in their roost, the griffins clucked nervously. Josephine grumbled, “You shouldn’t have done that, hon.” Leo just shrugged. “Well, if Commode Man wasn’t watching this channel before, I think he is now.” “That’s dumb,” Meg said. “Don’t treat him like he’s so powerful. My stepfather—” Her voice caught. “He—he said Commodus is the weakest of the three. We can take him.” Her words struck me in the gut like one of Artemis’s blunted arrows. (And I can assure you, those hurt.) We can take him. The name of my old friend, shouted over and over. - The Dark Prophecy

Apollo calls Commodus his old friend. And while calling your lover your "friend" is usually gay-speak for significant other, in this case...it is referring to Commodus as a friend.

Because that was what they were- before they were even lovers, Apollo and Commodus were friends. Their relationship was that of friends-to-lovers (-to-enemies), and a tragic one at that.

Something small. But something so gut-wrenching too :')

Also amazing how even Apollo's carwreck of a relationship has platonic undertones. hello fandom of the aspecs we just keep winning <3

I staggered to my feet, gagging, my tongue trying to dislodge itself from my throat. “Whoa, Apollo.” Leo rushed to my side. “You okay?” “I—” Another dry retch. I staggered toward the nearest bathroom as a vision engulfed me…bringing me back to the day I committed murder. - The Dark Prophecy

This final line that ends the chapter has always struck me. It preludes to the assassination scene, but this is actually SO FACSINATING because the next chapter has this:

I KNOW WHAT YOU are thinking. But, Apollo! You are divine! You cannot commit murder. Any death you cause is the will of the gods and entirely beyond reproach. It would be an honor if you killed me! I like the way you think, good reader. It’s true I had laid waste to whole cities with my fiery arrows. I had inflicted countless plagues upon humanity. Once Artemis and I slew a family of twelve because their mama said something bad about our mama. The nerve! - The Dark Prophecy

Wait for it.

None of that did I consider murder.

These two lines combined paint SUCH a scene. Apollo at this point is still trying to convince us, the reader, how terrible of a person he is. That's why he's so blasé about the murder of Niobe's children.

That's why he's so distraught over murdering Commodus.

He tells us, straight-laced, that this act, this one act, was unjustifiable.

That is was more unforgiveable than slaughtering thousands of people.

But that's the kicker- we know it was wrong for Niobe's children to be killed, and we know it was right for Apollo to kill Commodus.

Apollo is trying to throw us off the trail. He's trying to make it look like he's okay with child murder/mass murder, but specifically him assassinating a tyrant is unforgiveable.

(hello, therapy? yeah i have a patient for you. yeah he's a piece of work but i have faith in him and also he's babygirl so. <3)

He's trying to be such a dichotomy we don't know what to do or say or think about him.

To bad for him, for the ToA fandom is quite good at catching his tells and slight of hand ;)

You ain't fooling us Apollo, just like you didn't fool Leo and Meg the very next day ;)

#ramblings of an oracle #copollo #the trials of apollo #trials of apollo #pjo apollo #toa apollo #pjo commodus #toa commodus #the dark prophecy #meg mccaffrey #the waystation #lester papadopoulos #toa #pjo hoo toa

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mudstoneabyss · 5 months ago

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It's really such a waste that they haven't done anything more with Charles considering how interesting of a character they set up. Aside from being the canon "Desert Bluffs! Carlos" and therefore being connected to two of the most beloved characters in the podcast, which is obviously something that would make people interested in him, what we see of his character outside of that is compelling.

he's from outside of Night Vale and Desert Bluffs, but not from a "normal" place like Carlos and any of the other characters who we actually see something from, like Nilanjana and Kareem. He's explicitly from Cactus Park, a town we know next to nothing about but is close enough to be competing in local football matches with nv and db, and Pine Cliff, the town we know the most about outside of nv and db, and I find particularly interesting with the way Night Vale talks about ghosts. notably, both are, even without having a lot of info on them, canonically weird places. which we even indirectly see more of with Cactus Park in the Mudstone Abyss, with them sharing the experience of having certain "weird" things in both their childhoods

and that kind of adds to this almost duality Charles has, where he's both seemingly one of the most responsible and put-together characters in the show and, well, an insane freak. He's a good father who puts his son first and makes an effort to be clear and direct in communicating rather than avoiding or lying about any matter that might be unpleasant- but he's also a self-identified theocrat who is actively into some of the cult and dictator shit Kevin was doing, and it does take a special type of person to want to fuck Kevin from the moment he met him, at no point lose that desire after all the blood and gore decoration and aforementioned cult and dictator shit, and then afterwards decide that this is the guy you want to help raise your son. fascinating behavior I would love to know more about how much is because none of this is new or shocking to him. he lived in a ghost town and who knows what went on in Cactus Park

Perhaps the most interesting thing about him, though, isn't even anything i think we need to know more about, but does make me want to know more about him in general. It's the one thing that completely contrasts him from so many other characters throughout the entire podcast- which is his reaction to Kevin. He is the ONLY one we see meeting or even just seeing Kevin for the first time who isn't completely horrified and/or disgusted by him and his appearance. Relistening to the Sandstorm, I had to pause the part where Cecil says for people to "pray, too, that no one should ever have to meet this vicious wretch of a man" to listen to, well, Charles meeting that "vicious wretch of a man" and treating him like any other person. Like someone deserving of knowing and loving without an initial hurdle of judgment. and, again, he is the Only one we see doing this after Kevin is met with fear and bias throughout the entire rest of the podcast. Fuck, we even see some of the db citizens being afraid of him. The only other person, aside from the other db citizens like Lauren or Josephine who are used to the... everything, who maybe didn't have a negative reaction to Kevin is Carlos, but we never actually see that. And personally, I do hc that he was scared of Kevin at first. So having someone react differently- and kindly- to Kevin after years and years of no one else doing that? That alone would make me obsessed with Charles

#joyousposting

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cafiffle · 7 months ago

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ok it's time to be cringe on main (like I ever wasn't)

in honor of the new game finally maybe happening, here is a collection of the Dragon Age OCs I've developed over the last decade or so. only two of them were my actual video game protags and have evolved a lot from there, SEE IF YOU CAN GUESS WHO (or don't, I'm not your dad)

(L to R, top to bottom)

Sina, Keeper's First of Clan Dahlasanor and baby lesbian who had to leave her clan in search of healing for the anime wasting sickness that claimed her life in her early twenties. She was all about that good good Dalish nature magic and thought of it as a sort of healing. A gentle soul with strong convictions, she spent her last months securing the union of her (small, decimated) clan with a larger, thriving one by marrying their male First.

Cade Harimann of Starkhaven, the second son of a noble family who gave him to the Chantry at a young age. He endured Some Bullshit at the monastery, leaving him already somewhat unhinged before he served in Kirkwall prior to the Mage-Templar war. He was kicked out of the Templars "for his own good" due to his massive PTSD-induced emotional problems, and now lives in the woods with his chill elf gf who doms him when he needs it.

Teren von Skraedder*, from a po-dunk town on the border of Nevarra and Orlais, is every bit the Grey Warden stereotype: a liar, a convict, and just generally kind of an asshole. She was recruited in her early 40's as an alternative to being executed for treason against the Nevarran crown, and has settled into Wardening over the last twenty or so years. She loves her younger siblings-in-arms, even if she's mean to them, and she gets a little more deranged every time one of them gets their Calling or dies in combat while she continues to grow older.

Benedict Quintus Artemaeus is an Altus mage from Minrathous who preferred to spend his days getting high and fooling around with other rich boys, shirking his studies and the politics of his Magister mother, nearly into his twenties. He finally had to get serious when his tutor aligned with the Venatori and got them both captured by The Enemy (the canon good guys), leading to a rocky but gradual ascent from hedonistic fuckup to Sort of Competent Guy Who Cares Occasionally. he's been compared to Emperor Kuzco and that's not inaccurate ok

Josephine "Fifi" Mariette* is a regular ol elf from Val Royeaux who, after failing to make it in the city ballet/opera/ye olde whatever, made her way as a cabaret dancer and prostitute until her marriage to a human accountant, Jacques. His family never accepted her, so when he was drafted and killed in the War of the Lions, she left town to briefly join the Freemen of the Dales. Finding that she was as invisible there as anywhere else, she opted to put her status to use and become a spy for (and on) the Good Guys while working as their housekeeper.

Obeisance "Just Barrow Please" Barrow*, a farmer's son from Crestwood, went off to join the Templar Order as a means of finding adventure, leaving home, and making his extremely religious parents happy without having to take over the farm. He served in the Jainen Circle for many years without incident, but very casually deserted when the Mage-Templar war began (hit da bricks, just walk out etc). He spent some time afterward as a mercenary, and his MO is to bop around being helpful where he can while also absolutely never talking about what he used to do. it's none of your business

*if you think you know her/him from somewhere else: you do, I recycle these shitheads constantly

there have been a few more but they didn't Take in the same way, so just these for now. ok byyyeee

#dragon age #dragon age ocs #dalish elf #templar #grey warden #orlesian #tevinter imperium #bioware #fan bullshit

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miffy-junot · 2 months ago

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Josephine Junot's love affair

As a young woman, Josephine Junot, the oldest child of Jean-Andoche and Laure Junot, entered a convent, possibly against her family's wishes. However she was not a nun but a canoness, meaning that she took no permanent vows and did not renounce her property, implying that she did not intend to stay there forever. Indeed in 1832, at the age of thirty, she returned to Paris to meet with a bishop, and then stayed with her overjoyed family instead of returning to the convent.

During Josephine's absence, Laure Junot had published her infamous memoirs and the Junot family became acquainted with many of the great writers of the time. Around 1830 the writer Honoré de Balzac, then lover of Laure Junot, introduced to the salon his friend Paul Gavarni, an illustrator. Gavarni soon became close friends with Laure and her three younger children: Napoleon, Alfred and Constance.

Josephine Junot was introduced to Paul Gavarni shortly after her return to Paris, and the two became fast friends. Gavarni became fascinated by this beautiful yet modest woman, two years his senior, and promptly developed romantic feelings for her. However Josephine retained her strong religious principles, quite contrary to Gavarni's more libertine views, and insisted that they should see each other as brother and sister, nothing more. Gavarni complied with her wishes, and even in letters with strong romantic undertones he still called her 'ma sœur'. In these letters there is no burning passion or desire for physical intimacy, but a deep admiration of the 'pure flower' of Josephine's soul.

The couple did not want to marry, each for different reasons. Gavarni did not believe marriage would suit him due to his independent spirit. Josephine was still committed to the life of a canoness, and even if she did wish for marriage, she would not marry a man unless he was a devout Christian, and Gavarni was a non-believer. Josephine felt that he was putting his good soul to waste by being an atheist, and tried to convert him - but her efforts had a rather unexpected consequence, as Gavarni wrote to her that his only religion was worship of her.

Over the course of the 1830s, their relationship, still a mix of romantic and platonic affection, went through several struggles. Napoleon Junot informed his sister that him and Gavarni often went to parties together and partook in a rather libertine lifestyle. Josephine was furious and harshly rebuked Gavarni; he fervently apologised ('forgive me, I'm on my knees, forgive me') but also defended his actions and said she was being unfair.

Josephine spent the decade oscillating between the convent and her family in Paris, committed as ever to her Catholic values. Gavarni began to feel frustrated by her serious disposition and her prioritisation of religion above all else.

While Josephine had returned to the convent for a few months, Gavarni spent a brief period of time in a debtors prison in Clichy. When he was released a letter from Laure Junot was waiting for him, demanding, out of concern for her daughter, that he either convert to Christianity and marry Josephine, or end the romantic aspect of their relationship. Gavarni chose the latter.

Although there was initially bitterness between the couple after this, they eventually reconciled as friends. On 1st December 1841, Josephine married Jaques-Louis (christened James) Amet, and in 1843 she gave birth to a daughter, Valentine Amet, who later married Comte Charles de Moüy. Upon Josephine's death in 1888, Valentine de Moüy found in her mother's bedroom a collection of letters from Paul Gavarni, available to read here.

#junot monday #jean andoche junot #laure junot #josephine junot #paul gavarni #1830s

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blakelysco-pilot · 9 months ago

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All Of Me

From the Love Letters Series

Robert “Rosie” Rosenthal x Josephine Harris (OFC)

Jo struggles with her response to Rosie's first letter but later finds help in an unlikely friend with shared common ground. It's his second letter back-to-back, however, that stacks her worry like wobbly apple crates, ready to tumble at a moment's notice.

Read part 2 Here Follow along with the Love Letters Playlist

October 1943

My Dearest Robbie,

Today is Halloween, so it would be remiss of me not to wish you a Happy one. I know you won’t be celebrating; not that we are either, but it’s still heartwarming to see some of the littles in the neighborhood running up and down the streets looking for sweets. I’m saving a Hershey bar for when you’re back, so that we can share it like we always do. The leaves have all turned by now, and Prospect Park is a beautiful shade of golden hues. I’ve taken to walking with your sister, as it fills a small void in my days. She’s excellent company, and somehow always has some local gossip at the ready for when I need cheering up. I couldn’t help myself and told her the story of your bicycling disaster. Please don’t be too mad at me. I hope that by now, you’ve learned to ride a bike properly, and that poor Pappy hasn’t had to fish you out of any more ditches. Please thank him for me, because I don’t know what I would have done if he had not been there to rescue you.

If I know you at all, I know that you’ve been hemming and hawing over the weather over there, but the longer it rains in England, the better I feel knowing you’re on solid ground. I’m glad to know you’re able to find some respite in the Officers Club, even if it’s just some jazz records and mediocre scotch. Good company can make all the difference and it warms my heart to know you have that in your crew and fellow officers. I’m putting my bet in now on Nash and the Red Cross girl. Having someone is important, so if he finds that in her, I’m glad for them both. Tell Pappy not to be so pessimistic though, I’m sure Nash will make her very happy.

Speaking of having someone waiting, I paid a visit to Harry Crosby’s wife, Jean. I thought she could use a friend, so we spent an afternoon in the city, having lunch and doing some shopping. It’s lonely enough moving to a new city, but with her husband overseas, I can’t imagine how she feels. I know how I feel waiting for you, and so she must feel it tenfold. With the holidays approaching, I’ve invited her to spend Thanksgiving with us. I couldn’t bear the idea of her spending it alone. She’s a darling woman, and I agree, we will have to double with her and Harry once you’re both home.

Sweetheart, how you could ever think that I will not worry about you while you’re over there, is a mystery. I will worry, and miss you, every single day until you’re back home. I will be holding you to that date, Robbie, and am counting the days until we’re on the dance floor, together. Until then…

Forever yours,

Reaching for the bottle of perfume on the dresser, Jo quickly spritzed a generous helping of the floral scent on the paper in her hand, to ensure it lasted the long journey, before folding it up and sliding it into its designated envelope. Carefully, and with a delicate hand, she addressed the letter to Thorpe Abbotts Airbase. She had received Rosie’s first letter earlier in the week, and had spent that time drafting multiple responses; all of which had ended up in the waste paper basket in the corner of her bedroom. She had spent three nights mulling it over, before deciding that she should clear her head, and write as if he was sitting next to her. Well, it was not so much her deciding as it was advice from Jean Crosby. If anyone had experience in writing these types of letters, it was Jean. And so, Jo had written as if Rosie was sitting next to her; as if he was leaning across the table and telling her the details of his latest adventure with enthusiasm, and she had written back with equal vigor.

Picking up the letter, and her purse, she made her way from the bedroom, downstairs to where her mother was having coffee with Mrs. Rosenthal. Entering the kitchen, both women ceased their discussion to greet her, her mother holding out an envelope for her.

“Josephine, this came in the mail for you.”

Jo gently plucked the envelope from her mothers hand, smiling when she saw the handwriting on the front was none other than Rosie’s. Carefully, she slipped it into her purse to read once she was alone.

“Another letter so quickly?” Her mother’s grin widened. “He must miss you terribly.”

“He doesn’t write to me that frequently,” Mrs. Rosenthal joked, sending a subtle wink in Jo’s direction. “But then again, he’s not in love with me.”

“Somehow, I think he’ll always love you most, Mrs. Rosenthal, and I’m quite alright with that.” Jo smiled.

“Where are you off to?” Her mother asked, noticing that she had her purse in hand.

“Off to post this to Robbie, and then to meet Jean Crosby for lunch.”

“Oh, well then, travel safely, and let her know she’s welcome to come here for dinner tonight if she wants.”

“I’ll let her know, mom,” Jo smiled, moving to bid her mother goodbye with a quick peck to the cheek, before doing the same with Mrs. Rosenthal. “Now, you two can go back to your gossip.”

“It’s not gossip, Josephine, if we’re talking about our children.” The older woman’s voice held a lilt to it as Jo exited the kitchen.

“Then stop planning our wedding!” Jo called back with a laugh as she exited their home and made her way out into the Brooklyn sunshine.

The fall air was chilly, but not unbearably so as she walked down the block to the Post Office, letter in hand and a prayer in her mind that it would reach Rosie safely. She knew that the post could be unreliable, and take time to reach those stationed overseas, but she hoped against all odds that maybe her letter would get to its intended recipient a little faster than all the rest. It was silly of her to think so, after all, she wasn’t the only woman in New York who was missing her sweetheart, but this was new to her. To both of them. Beginning a romance with thousands of miles between them. Some days Jo regretted not saying anything sooner, wondering if they would have had time before he shipped out. But, then she thinks to herself that they did have time; years together growing up, and learning the ways of each other inside and out, and for that she would always be thankful.

A short cab ride later, and Jo was knocking on Jean Crosby’s front door. When the door swung open, Jean on the other side, the two women greeted each other as if they were old friends. A kinship that was shared in the dark times of war, but somehow found a ray of light to brighten their days.

“Jo! I was starting to think you got lost!” Her friend teased.

“No,” Jo grinned, red lips stretched into a smile. “I had to stop by the post and drop off Robbie’s letter.”

“Finally finished it, then?”

“I did. And just in time to reply to the one I got this morning.”

“Back to back?” Jean looked at her, eyebrow raised in what Jo could only describe as concern.

“Why are you looking at me like that?”

Jean sighed, stopping mid way of pulling her white gloves on, to face Jo with a serious expression.

“Well…”

“You don’t think…”

“The only time I get back to back letters from Bing, is when something bad is happening over there.”

“Jean…”

“If it came from him, he’s fine, honey.” she reached out, hand coming down over Jo’s in reassurance.

“It’s in my purse,” Jo confessed. “I haven’t read it yet.”

“Do you want to go sit and read it before we leave?”

“I suppose I’d feel better if I knew for sure he was alright.”

Nodding, Jean pulled off her gloves, and dropped her purse back on the credenza by the door, before guiding Jo further into the house.

Once settled in the living room, Jean began to step away, to allow Jo the privacy that a letter from your man overseas deserved, when Jo’s hand shot out to stop her.

“Could you…?”

“Of course.” Jean smiled softly, settling into the sofa next to her, but with enough space not to read over her shoulder.

Jo carefully opened the envelope, fingers trembling as she slid the paper from its confines. Unfolding it, her eyes scanned over the paper quickly, before releasing a shuddering breath of relief.

“He’s alright,” her hand flew to her chest as the words escaped her. “He’s somewhere called the Flak House?”

“Never heard of that,” Jean looked confused. “What is it?”

My Dearest Jo,

Sweetheart, I can’t promise this letter will be as happy as my last one. What I can promise is that I’m alright, and spending the next week in the English countryside at a place called the Flak House. It’s a place used to help soldiers rest after rough missions. Jo, it’s been three rough ones, back to back, with what felt like no end in sight. I will spare you the details, because you shouldn’t have to read about all of the blood, and horrors, but I do sadly need to tell you that we lost Herbert Nash on the first mission. It happened so quickly, it didn’t register until I had my feet on the ground again. I broke the news to Helen, his Red Cross girl, and I pray that what I saw on her face, is something no one will ever have to see on yours.

One day, maybe, I will give you the details of our third mission, but for now, I know I should be counting my blessings. And enjoying this time, because sweetheart, this estate truly is something, but the kind of something I would want to be enjoying with you. Together, in the warm sun, reading our favorite books, or rowing on the lake. The boys are enjoying their week of R&R, but I can’t find it in me to relax. Though, I suppose you knew that already. Nobody knows me better than you, Jo, and it’s a time like this that I wish I had you near.

I couldn’t sleep, which is the reason for this letter, and I think a part of it is that I needed to make sure you knew I was alright. The other part of me, in some way, needed to get this all off my chest. I’m sorry for burdening you with these ugly truths. I’ll try not to do it often, and I hope that it doesn’t become a habit with every mission, that I’m left rattled to my core with fear. I can hear you telling me to take care of myself, and honey, I promise I’m trying. By the time this makes it to you back home, I will be long gone from my stay here, and back on base. I’m sorry for the short letter, darling. I promise the next one will be longer, and happier. Until then…

All of my love, always

Robbie

Jo finished reading, her stomach dropping as she turned to Jean, to confirm that the other woman had in fact, been right.

“Jo, what is it?”

“He couldn’t say much, spared most of the details, but he said it was rough up there.”

“Is he alright?”

“Robbie’s fine,” Jo confirmed. “But, Herbert Nash, is dead.”

“Oh that poor Red Cross girl!” She gasped, hand coming to cover her mouth in shock. “Didn’t they just meet?”

“They did,” Jo nodded. “I told Robbie I was rooting for the pair in the letter I just posted.”

“How could you have known?”

“I know, but that doesn’t mean I don’t feel sore over it.”

“I know you do,” Jean sympathized. The woman had enough sense to stand, and pull Jo up with her, knowing if she didn’t get them out of the house, her friend would likely spiral with worry. “Now come on, put that letter back in your purse, and let’s get out of the house for a bit.”

With a sigh, Jo nodded, and carefully put the letter back in the safety of her purse, before turning and following Jean towards the front door. For now, she could breathe easy, knowing that Rosie was safe. She knew that his mind was likely full of dark clouds, replaying events of the damage over and over, causing him grief and sadness; it brought with it a melancholy feeling that she wasn’t with him, and couldn’t be there for him to lean on. She knew he had his crew, and now, Harry Crosby, and she prayed that he had the sense to use that to his advantage.

Jo was grateful that she had Jean. Their afternoon out kept her mind off of the letter that was burning a hole in her purse, and the man who was an ocean away, suffering the loss of a friend. They had stopped by the Automat for lunch, before taking the train uptown for some window shopping, and at Jo’s insistence, a new hat for Jean. By the time she had gotten back home, her mother was already cleaning up dinner. Her father was in the living room, the radio on while he listened to the nightly news.

“Josephine, you missed dinner.” Her mother lamented at the sound of the front door closing behind her.

“I’m sorry, mom,” Jo sighed, entering the kitchen and sliding into one of the empty chairs. “We got a late start on our lunch.”

Turning from her spot at the sink, Mrs. Harris surveyed her daughter, before promptly shutting the water and moving to sit across from her.

“What happened? Are you alright?”

“I’m fine, Jean and I just had a busy day is all.”

“Josephine, don’t lie to me.” She spoke with the authority of a mother who meant business, and Jo couldn’t help the few tears that escaped from behind her eyes.

“Robbie’s letter,” she swiftly wiped away the first stray tear. “Oh mom, he lost one of his closest friends!”

Mrs. Harris let out a shuddering breath at Jo’s admission. The fear she had felt at the sight of her daughter's tears made her think the absolute worst for the young man who had become part of their family, and stolen her daughter’s heart.

“Who was it?” Mrs. Harris asked.

“Herbert Nash. He trained with Robbie in Texas, and he was killed on their first mission.”

“May his soul rest in peace.” Mrs. Harris made the sign of the cross.

“Robbie said it was so bad, three flights, back to back. He didn’t say much else, just that it was too much blood and horror to share.”

“Jesus, that poor boy.”

Jo fished the letter from her purse, sliding it across the table to her mother, giving a small nod for her to read it.

“Are you sure you want me to?”

“Just the once.” Jo smiled slightly.

“Well, alright then.”

Mrs. Harris pulled the paper from the envelope, and then the only sound in the room was the breathing of mother and daughter, and the muffled sound of the radio coming from the living room. The pair sat together until Jo’s mother folded the paper back up, and handed it back to her. The silence was growing thicker the longer they sat there, neither sure of what to say. When Jo’s father joined them in the kitchen, the two women seemed to snap out of their daze.

“What’s going on in here then?”

“She’s got another letter from Robert.”

“Didn’t you just get one? Is he alright?”

Jo nor her mother missed the recognition in Mr. Harris’ eyes. Having served in The Great War, he knew what could be in any one of the letters his daughter received, and he hoped for her sake, that none of them would make her cry the way she was now.

“He’s fine. Lost a man during his first mission, and was sent to an estate for rest.” Her mother filled him in for her.

“Jesus, already? Didn’t the boy just get over there?” Her father looked shocked.

“He said it was really bad, dad.” Jo spoke up, finding her voice again.

“Well, the best thing you can do is be there for him, even though you’re far away right now.” Her mother let her hand fall to cover hers, eyes filled with the understanding of a woman whose husband had been away once before.

“Your mother was what kept me going during the war,” Her father agreed. “I can promise you, Robert will take your words with him up there when he’s flying.”

“Go now,” her mother ushered her out of the kitchen. “Clean yourself up and write him back. You’ll sleep better tonight knowing you got your feelings out.”

She felt heavy as she stood from her chair, her legs like lead as she made her way upstairs to her bedroom, numbness encompassing her until she had the door shut securely behind her. The words blood and horror swirling around in her mind over and over, like the edges of a cyclone that showed no signs of slowing down. Is that what this was? A storm that would continue to speed up, with nothing to stop it, until the last bomb was dropped, the last round fired? She wasn’t sure, but she turned the ideas over and over, words sticking together in her head as she changed for bed, removed her makeup, until finally, she pulled out the chair at her desk to begin her reply to Rosie.

My Dearest Robbie,

Sweetheart, I don’t think there are enough words for me to express just how sorry I am for you after opening your last letter. To lose Nash so quickly, and in such a way. I hope that it didn’t pain you too deeply to break that news to his Red Cross sweetheart, and that she is able to find some happiness again soon. Do not apologize for the length of your last letter. Every letter from you is something I treasure, whether it’s three words, or three pages. I will always reply, so long as you’ll have me.

I’d like to hear more about the Estate you spent the week at, if you’re willing to talk about it. It does sound like the kind of place I would love to spend time with you, though, anywhere you are, is somewhere I want to be. Maybe we can escape somewhere lush and green once you return, and spend our days under the sun, with nothing but time on our hands. Until then, yes, you were right, I do wish you’d take care of yourself. I know you will, but that sometimes it takes a bit of pushing. Don’t try and shoulder the burden all alone, Robbie. You have people who will shoulder it with you; Pappy isn’t just your co-pilot in the sky. Try and remember that.

I’d like to try and make you smile, if only for a moment. I found our mothers gossiping at the kitchen table this afternoon as I headed out. They claim it’s not gossip if they’re talking about their children; I suspect they’re plotting as usual. Speaking of your mother, try and squeeze in an extra letter for her, if you can. She misses you, though she claims to be alright with you writing to me more than her, I know she’d appreciate an extra piece of mail and to know you’re doing well. Don’t give her too much grief for the gossip, you know she can’t help it.

I’m counting the days until you’re here again, Robbie, and we can carry on as we were meant to; together. Until that time comes, I’m sending you all of my love.

All of me, always

Read Part 4 Here

A/N: Thanks for reading! This series will continue for Rosie & Jo, so if you enjoyed this, please like, comment, reblog- whichever is your poison. Feedback is always welcome & my ask box is always open. If you want to be added to my tag list, or removed, let me know!

Tag List: @winniemaywebber @sagesolsticewrites @rosiesriveter @bobparkhurst @victoryrollsandredlips @bcolfanfic @rowdy-redhead @major-mads @footprintsinthesxnd @basilone @at-1800-hours @justheretoreadthxxs @claireelizabeth85

#love letters #love letters: rosie & jo #oc: josephine harris #rosie rosenthal #Rosie & Jo #masters of the air #mota fanfic #rosie rosenthal x ofc #robert rosenthal x ofc #rosie rosenthal x oc #hbo war #Gina baker writes

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dross-the-fish · 6 days ago

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I'm curious! What kind of Inquisitor did you play and do you have art of them?

I tried all of the different origins for the inquisitor and I think the play through I had the most fun with was A Cadash who romanced Josephine. I was mostly indifferent to the romances in Inquisition but I found Josephine's to be very likeable. This was also the play through where I had the worst relationship with Solas. Some of the shit he says about Dwarves was just too much and I couldn't think of any reason my character would over look it and I eventually ended up punching him. I know the canon dwarf Inquisitor is a smuggler from the surface but I was really intrigued by the idea of playing someone with a background from the Legion of the Dead. I wish we could have had bigger reactions to running into mobs of darkspawn wandering around in some of the areas (Seriously, weren't those like...A BIG DEAL in origins? I get that the blight is over but why does encountering a group of them in the wild get almost no reaction?)

I imagine that in his personality he's confident. Easy going but has a flare of temper that surfaces when his patience is tested. If he can sense that he's not going to sway someone's opinion he will shut the conversation down rather than continue to waste his time negotiating. This isn't done rashly or out of spite, he simply has no interest in trying to win someone who's already made up their mind.

#Dragon Age #Inquisitor Cadash

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ic-napology · 1 year ago

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My Scott's Napoleon review (short version)

Ok so I'm ready for my Scott's Napoleon review (late of course).

The beauty of its form and aesthetics can't be argued. I'm not in awe though, because it was a standard I pretended from Ridley Scott and Apple. Sadly, the content made it feel a huge waste.

What do you do with the thought, be it accurate or not, that Europe was ruined by wars because a vile man might have been frustrated by a toxic relationship? Is this idea something worth creating such an e x p e n s i v e movie about? Why so much bling?

To a Napoleonic fan, it would cause a soul-bleeding, because of how shallow and inaccurate all this is. To a non Napoleonic fan, it would be just... I don't know, depressing? Lame? It would be even if they remembered that this movie would contain a personal and artistic re-elaboration of history by a filmmaker (known for doing that all the time).

My main issue with this movie, both as a fan of Napoleon and Josephine and... as a person I guess?, is about how it deals with the "humanizing Napoleon" thing. I am ok with the intention per se. I am ok with giving a personal touch to a story. I'm not ok if that means mortifying him, without leaving any redeeming quality nor charm for balance. It wouldn't sit well with me about any character, whoever they are.

It could have meant adopting a more empathetic frame towards Napoleon's life and character. It would have given insight to qualities, vision and goals of the character too. Empathy doesn't require to justify someone's eventual horrible sides. It could work even in a movie where you mostly want to point out a villain's faults. I would dare say that if you make the viewer empathise with a villain, just before showcasing the worst of his deeds, it would be even more shocking and hard to deal with.

Best villains are the ones you could get some insight and connection with. And this movie fails to connect you with Napoleon at all. "There's nothing we can do", other than despise him.

Ridley Scott can manipulate history and mansplain all the historians he wants, he still has become a coward storyteller.

#This is not inaccuracy #This is cowardice #It's easy to despise such a vile and miserable manchild #I don't even care about inaccuracy #Also I wish this was the only movie who offered me a delusional representation of Napoleon and Josephine #No okay I care about accuracy too #Because it would have made a beautiful story #Napoleon 2023 #Ridley Scott #napoleon bonaparte #Napoleon movie #napoleon movie review

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faded-mage · 12 days ago

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Solas

Solas opened his eyes to see the tent ceiling. Wisdom said she was alive, out there somewhere. That she was close by. The elf rushed out of the tent and almost knocked down Dorian in the process. From the deep lines in the snow, Dorian had been pacing outside the tent waiting for Solas to return. The mage looked to Solas, hopeful. The elf breathed out, “I believe she is alive.” The Tevene’s legs almost buckled under him and Solas held out a hand to steady the man. After a brief pause the two mages bolted towards the searching members of Haven with Cullen at its head.

Cullen looked to them as they approached, making eye contact with Solas. “She is alive. The Herald is close.” A flurry of emotions passed over the Commander’s face. He looked at Solas questioningly but relief ended up taking over and he asked no questions. Solas suspected no one cared about where the information had come from, only that it was true. The elf dashed past the standing Commander out into the blizzard, not wanting to waste time standing there. A scout to his right called out through the wind, “I think I see a green light!” Solas turned in the direction of the voice and saw it. In the distance there was a flicker. It was faint, it was far but the flicker was there. The green light acting as a beacon in the darkness. The same light that was anchored in Avise’s hand.

He moved faster than Cullen and Dorian behind them, the elf barely sunk into the snow as he ran. Solas was still wearing his tunic and pants, having removed his armor shortly after they set up camp but he did not care. His only thought was to get to her, to get to the green light. Her dark silhouette contrasted against the white snow falling behind her. The sound of wolves howling met his ears and he moved faster. His lungs burned, the cold bit at his face but he kept going. She was stumbling, moving slowly and hunched as she waded through the deep snow but she was alive.

Cullen’s voice drifted from behind him, “There! It’s her!” He did not slow down, watching as Avise crumpled into the snow as he reached her. “I have you. Don’t worry, I have you.” Repeating over and over in elvish as he picked her up from the snow. He felt her shivering against him as he walked with her. Dorian cast spells to help warm up the shivering elf in his arms as they made their way back to the relative safety of the camp. Cullen tried to take her from him and he refused adamantly. Now that he had her, he was not going to let her go until they arrived, he needed to know she was safe and in one piece until he could look over her injuries. The Commander ran ahead to assemble the healers and to locate an empty tent for them to work on her. Solas moved as quickly as he could through the encampment, Josephine and Leliana pushing away onlookers as he passed.

The elf gently placed her in a cot, immediately kneeling next to her and looking over her injuries as the other healers arrived. Her skin felt ice cold but she was breathing. Her breaths were jagged, likely some broken ribs. Solas hoped that none had punctured her lungs. Gently untucking the cloth shirt from her pants, he pulled up the fabric to check her ribs. The deep purple bruises along the entirety of her torso indicated he was likely correct. He rubbed his hands together to push out the cold, moving his fingers as he warmed them with his own magic. Moving his fingers up her torso, a soft glowing blue light encased his hands, pushing healing spells into her body. The ribs seemed to be one of the two particularly dangerous injuries the woman had. The other was however long she spent in the cold. Her body continued to shiver as he worked despite her being unconscious. With some initial healing done, he pointed to her ribs for another healer to continue while he assessed her other injuries.

The healing mages seemed to take to him as the one calling the shots, which he appreciated. He wouldn’t have let anyone else take over anyway. Her legs had some scrapes and bruises but overall they were fine. Solas noticed her shoulder sat at an odd angle, like something had pulled it from its socket. Gesturing to Dorian, the mage came over and knelt next to Solas as he inspected her arm. “Her shoulder is dislocated, I need to re-align it. But her armor is too restrictive.” The mage next to him nodded, pulling a small dagger from his waist as he cut into the fabric of her armor. Dorian chuckled weakly, “She is going to be pissed, she loves that armor.” Solas gave him a weak smile before he moved to check for other injuries while Dorian worked. By the time he did his full assessment her arm was free. Around her wrist was a large bruise in the shape of a large hand. Corypheus, thought Solas. The magister was not meant to have survived opening the orb. Guilt ate at him again before he refocused on Avise near him.

Despite Avise being unconscious, he whispered to her anyway, “This is going to hurt, falon.” He moved to kneel next to her, placing her arm gently against his chest and placing his hands on her bicep and shoulder. Solas slowly applied pressure to the arm, trying to push the arm back into the socket. It took a few minutes but it was the easiest way to do so without significant additional pain or doing more damage to her arm if he went too quickly. He felt it pop into place as a soft groan escaped her lips, her brow furrowing in her sleep.

The healers finished their work, the largest concerns dealt with. Smaller cuts and bruises would heal with time but she was stable and Solas found he could sit down for the moment to catch his breath. He had been running on adrenaline the entire time. Dorian returned with some blankets to cover her, as she was still shivering. The last thing to handle was warming her up. He could do so through magic and he considered it but a selfish part of him wanted to sit with her and not let go. Once the healers exited the tent, Dorian and Solas placed the blankets on her before Solas moved so her head was resting in his lap and his legs were on either side of her torso. He would use his own body heat while also able to keep an eye on her in the process. Dorian took a seat on the cot next to them.

They sat like that for awhile, Solas was not sure how long. The Inquisition leaders stopped by every so often to check on their progress. She had warmed up significantly in that time, her skin no longer cold and she was not shivering. As Cullen stood there asking for an update, Avise rolled slightly. Soft sounds coming from her lips. The woman was asleep and dreaming. Her fingers wrapping around Solas’ leg that was pressed against her. The Commander looked relieved to see she was okay, that she was going to be fine. Giving the two mages a weak smile before leaving the tent.

Solas looked down at the sleeping woman in his lap and brushed her hair from her face. He had never been so happy in his life to see the vallaslin that decorated her face.

- - -

Once Avise was warmed thoroughly, Solas and Dorian had been kicked out of the tent. Mother Gisele took over watching the Herald in her slumber. Her body temperature was normal and the elf was sleeping off some of the more painful parts of the healing process. She was alive and on the mend but even then Dorian had to drag him away.

In a tent nearby the two mages sat, watching as the Inquisition leadership crumbled and bickered in the center of the camp for at least an hour until their shouts died down to awkward silences. Every single one of them looked tortured and unsure of what to do next, none of them able to agree on any course of action. It seemed that without Avise, they likely would not have been able to get as far as they had. She somehow became a deciding voice for the Inquisition. Movement from his right brought his attention to the healers tent, Avise standing beside one of the tent poles, watching the leadership before her. Her head bowed slightly and he saw her exhale slowly. Solas moved to stand, wanting to go to her. Talk to her. But a soft voice rang out from behind Avise in the tent.

He watched as Avise glanced behind her, startled to see Mother Gisele had begun to sing a song to the Maker. Solas himself frowned, noticing Avise grow more and more uncomfortable with the song. The cleric stood next to the Herald and he watched as the elf crawled into herself. Standing awkwardly as she looked to the ground. It only got worse as more people in the camp joined the song, her eyes flickered over the crowd as more of the people from Haven moved into the clearing and sang with the cleric. Then they began to kneel in front of the elf and she took a step back, clearly unhappy with the turn of events. More people singing, more people kneeling until the song was over and the entirety of Haven had knelt in front of the Dalish woman near the tent.

Solas recognized that look on her face, someone forced into a symbolic role that they never claimed nor wanted. Like one remembered as a god but had readily refused the title. He also knew that history would not be kind to her. She was a Dalish elf and a mage. The Chantry would happily scrub away and hide whatever made her remarkable. Her existence would not fit their view on who the Herald should have been.

- - -

Avise retreated once she could, sitting down on the cot inside of the tent with her face in her hands. Solas made his move, weaving through the people who milled around the campfire before stepping inside of Avise’s tent. “Avise, a moment?” The elf glanced up to see him and relief spread over her features. She stood, somewhat stiff in her movements, before wrapping her arms around his torso. He gently placed his arms around her to return the hug, “Thank you for finding me, lethallin. Dorian told me you were the one who found me and brought me back.” Solas chuckled, “I could not leave you in the cold. Even if you sent me away.” A choked laugh vibrated against his chest, Avise having buried her face there. “Come, we have something important we must discuss.”

He led her away from the prying eyes and ears of the main encampment. With a flick of his hand, Solas ignited a torch that sat at the edge of the camp. Avise had followed him silently, as Solas was lost in his own thoughts. He needed to give her more information, to tell her something. She needed to be able to protect herself from Corypheus and the aftermath of everything that would come. She looked tired, uncertain and afraid as he spoke. “The humans have not raised one of our people so high for ages beyond counting. Her faith is hard-won, lethallan, worthy of pride… save one detail. The threat Corypheus wields? The orb he carried? It is ours. Corypheus used the orb to open the Breach. Unlocking it must have caused the explosion that destroyed the Conclave. We must find out how he survived… and we must prepare for their reaction, when they learn the orb is of our people.”

He saw as his words sunk in, her body language betraying her as she slumped. Her hands rubbed her face, a small groan forming on her lips. Avise did not ask him how he knew. Whether she knew what answer he would give or did not care, he did not know. As usual, her words were filled with wisdom beyond her years, “Even if we defeat Corypheus, eventually they’ll find a way to blame elves.” The woman knew the precarious position she was in, that elves were in at all times. She lived it and seemed to understand what was at risk as much as Solas did. “I suspect you are correct. It is unfortunate but we must be above suspicion to be seen as valued allies. Faith in you is shaping the moment but it needs room to grow.” Her eyes raised finally to meet his and he moved forward, reaching out to touch her face before dropping his hands to grasp her shoulders instead. “I know a place. By attacking the Inquisition, Corypheus has changed it. Changed you. Scout to the north. Be their guide. There is a place that waits for a force to hold it. There is a place where the Inquisition can build… grow… It is called Tarasyl’an Te’las. The place where the sky is held up. Skyhold.”

- - -

The Inquisition arrived at Skyhold about two weeks prior after traveling for days in the snowy mountains. In that time, as Solas expected, the Inquisition named Avise the leader of the Inquisition, the title of Inquisitor. He knew it was only a matter of time. Her actions at Haven were heroic and many in their ranks saw it as another way Andraste had chosen the woman as her Herald. That her survival was through a touch of the divine.

In that time he had hardly seen Avise. She was dragged from meeting to meeting. Cleanup efforts of the fortress were going relatively smoothly. He was happy to see his previous home being used for something good. He once built another fortress in the Fade to protect another elf but she refused it. Then there was Avise who wholly welcomed the aid and made it feel like home.Despite it feeling a bit surreal to walk the halls again in his waking world. Most people stopped questioning Solas’ knowledge. The elf often cited he saw it in the Fade which was a very easy way to lead people where he wanted them to go. Off the main hall he took the rotunda for himself and filled his time with painting frescos on the walls.

The style was from his time. He needed a way to express himself and tell the story of the Inquisition, of the Inquisitor. It was the only way for him to process what she meant to him and to process how he almost lost her to the same man he gave his foci to. Solas feared the Dalish elf’s contribution to the world would be forgotten, cleaned away and tidied up for the masses. That her heroism and legacy would become one tied to humans and non-mages.

Late one evening she wandered into the rotunda as he painted. He felt her presence before he even saw her, her light footsteps causing little sound in the echoing room. “Solas these are beautiful.” She said quietly, breaking the silence. Leliana’s birds two stories up cawed loudly, echoing in the room below. “I should have known you were an artist, lethallin.” The elf stopped to look at him, a smile on her face. Solas finished a final stroke of what he had been working on, resting the paintbrush on a nearby table. He picked up a rag, unable to look at her directly. He felt a tight knot in his chest with her being so near and it tore at him. Solas knew he could not start anything with the woman but every other part of him screamed, wanting him to do it anyway. He wanted to touch her, be near her.

“Do you want to tell me a story from the Fade, I still want to know more about you.” Avise’s voice floated over towards him as she looked up at his most recent fresco. Solas finally glanced up towards her and their eyes met, he could not help but smile. “You continue to surprise me. If you would like, I can meet you in the Fade this evening. We can talk somewhere more interesting than this.”

The elf gave him a lopsided smile and nodded, “I would love that.”

- - -

Solas fell asleep on the couch in the rotunda shortly after Avise left for her own chambers. He reached out to find her, following the string that tied them together in the Fade before pulling her quickly to him. He had chosen Haven this time, before Corypheus. Solas did not want to risk bringing her to a memory of Skyhold, in case it gave something away he was not ready for her to see. As they walked up the steps towards the Chantry building, Avise looked at the snow and cabins as she trailed behind him.

He led her to the Chantry basement, the dungeon where she had woken up after the Conclave was destroyed. “I sat besides you while you slept, studying the Anchor.”

They stood and stared at the empty dungeon, the same shackles that were on Avise’s wrists lay on the floor empty. Avise stood beside him, her eyes locked on the shackles. “I’m glad someone was watching over me.” Her voice was soft as she spoke, a fondness there despite the memory being a time of anxiety and fear. “You were a mystery. You still are,” he glanced at her momentarily, a slight teasing to his tone. She frowned at him but she leaned in to whisper to him, “I wanted to know more about you.” Gesturing to the empty dungeon, “This feels more about me.”

“This is about me. I ran every test I could imagine, searched the Fade, yet found nothing. Cassandra suspected duplicity. She threatened to have me executed as an apostate if I didn’t produce results.” Avise bit her lower lip, unable to resist, “Cassandra’s like that with everyone.” Solas surprised himself with the quick chuckle that escaped him, “Well… yes.” Solas turned towards the door and shortly after the two elves exited the Chantry building into the blinding light outside. Avise continued to trail behind him slowly as he spoke.

“You were never going to wake up. How could you, a mortal sent physically through the Fade? I was frustrated, frightened. The spirits I might have consulted had been driven away by the Breach. Although I wished to help, I had no faith in Cassandra… or she in me. I was ready to flee.” Avise looked startled by his candor, he realized. She had not considered that before she awoke he wanted to run. “The Breach threatened the whole world. Where did you plan to go?” Solas smiled and shrugged, “Someplace far away where I might research a way to repair the Breach before its effects reached me… I never said it was a good plan.” The elf standing before him chuckled, now looking up at the sky. “But you stayed.” Solas leaned in, his voice dropping lower. “I did.” And he was glad for that. Despite everything, he would have regretted not knowing her more.

He took a few steps away from her, raising his hand towards the glowing Breach in the sky. “I told myself: one more attempt to seal the rifts. I tried and failed. No ordinary magic would affect them. I watched the rifts expand and grow, resigned myself to flee, and then…” He thought of the moment when he pulled her close to the rift, the magic flowing through her hand and sealing the rift easily. He remembered how he felt, how the world had shifted below him and he had hope again for the future. “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.”

Solas turned back to her to see she was standing close behind him. They were less than a foot apart and a curious expression had settled on her face. Her eyes met his and felt a vulnerability there before she spoke, “Felt the whole world change?” Avise’s voice sounded tight, strained. Solas felt the knot in his chest return. It ached when he looked at her, it ached as he thought about touching her. Kissing her. He felt nervous, “A figure of speech.” The elf shook her head at him, not breaking eye contact. “I’m aware of the metaphor. I’m more interested in felt.”

He felt his heart thrum in his chest as she stepped closer. She was barely a few inches away, his arms felt heavy. He wanted to hold her. “You change… everything.” He finally sighed out, unable to help himself. His brain screamed at him to stop it, to step away but every other part of him was relieved at his words. That he was finally speaking these feelings aloud. Her gaze averted, a slight pink settling on the tips of her ears, “Sweet talker.”

He smiled at the moment, looking away from her too. He felt helpless standing so close to her. If it weren’t the Fade, he might have even been sweating. Avise raised her hand up to his cheek to turn his face towards her, she stood on her toes to reach him and pressed her lips against his. Solas was stunned, finally able to feel the soft press of their lips together. The elf quickly pulled away from him, as if she were embarrassed by his lack of response.

He couldn’t hold it in any longer, every rational thought left him the moment her lips touched his. Solas wrapped his hand around her hip and pulled her close to him, kissing her hungrily like he had wanted to back on the Storm Coast. Like every kiss he daydreamed of since he realized his attraction to her. She kissed him back with the same intensity, her hands wrapping around his biceps as he held her in his arms. Avise’s lips parted for him and he slid his tongue between them. He never wanted to stop but he finally pushed her away. His eyes met hers once more and he pressed one more chaste kiss. Solas stepped away, speaking quietly and breathless. “We shouldn’t. It isn’t right. Not even here.” Logic had returned to his mind and he hated it. Avise looked confused, her cheeks flush after the kiss. “What do you mean, ‘even here’?” He realized then she did not remember they were in the Fade, the illusion had been so real and she was distracted by him that she had forgotten that was where they were meeting.

A smile danced across his lips, the sensation of hers on his still lingering there like static. “Where did you think we were?” She looked around them at Haven, glancing up at the Breach. Realizing all of the things around her were gone. They had been destroyed in the real world, it was a memory. “This isn’t real.” She sighed, eyes meeting his again. “That’s a matter of debate… probably best discussed after you wake up.”

- - -

Avise

Avise woke up in her bed with a start. How had she not remembered she was dreaming with Solas in the Fade? She could still feel his body pressed against her, his arms wrapped around her hips and his lips pressed against her skin and she sighed. It felt so real and reignited so many thoughts and feelings she had about the man. It was hard to push them away when he kissed her back like that.

She spent the remainder of the morning distracted, her fingers tracing her lips absentmindedly while her advisors spoke to her on next steps. The elf swore she could still feel his mouth on hers. Josephine had to repeat a question three times before she heard her. They all looked concerned by her distracted mood and she waved them off saying she just slept poorly. It only prompted Josephine to promise more pillows for her bed. Avise wasn’t sure she could fit more pillows on her bed but it was less embarrassing than admitting she made out with their apostate in the Fade.

It was past lunch time by the time she could excuse herself to find Solas. She needed to talk to him about what happened, she needed to know if it was an odd dream in the Fade or if he was really there. The minute she walked into the rotunda, his eyes met hers and she knew by the way he looked at her that it happened. There was a soft hunger in his eyes as his gaze darted down towards her mouth. Turning from her, he began to work on part of the mural in front of him, “Sleep well?” His tone husky, quiet. It pulled at her heart, he knew what he was doing. She could play coy too, “I had some odd dreams. Very odd dreams. Like how it ended, though.”

His laugh rang out, he turned his head and she could see the corner of his lips curl into a smirk. The same smug expression he had when he was right about anything, “I apologize. The kiss was impulsive and ill considered and I should not have encouraged it.” His words however did not reflect the look on his face, Avise’s lips curled into a frown. Did she pressure him into a kiss? Was he not interested? No, he had to be with the force he kissed her back, the hungry look in his eyes when she walked into the rotunda just now.

“You can say that, but you’re the one who started with tongue.” Solas turned to her, stopping mid stroke of his paint brush. A mixture of embarrassment and confusion on his features. “I did no such thing…” Avise canted her head to the side, “Oh, does it not count if it’s only Fade-tongue?” He looked at her perplexed by her words. Maybe he really did not want to kiss her and she had misread him. Her expression softened and she stepped closer, “Solas, I thought you were interested. If I misread you, I apologize.” The look on his face fell and he looked away from her, “No, you have no need to apologize. I… It has been a long time and things have always been easier for me in the Fade. I am not certain this is the best idea. It could lead to trouble.”

Avise considered what sort of trouble he could be worried about. It could be odd seeing the Inquisitor romantically involved with an elven apostate but she was also an elven apostate in the eyes of the Chantry and the Inquisition brought the rebel mages in as allies so if anyone would be surprised, they’d be stupid. Poking the inside of her cheek with her tongue, she decided to go for it, stepping closer. She kept her voice low in case anyone was nosy in the levels above them. “I’m willing to take that chance, if you are.”

She was uncertain and it was clear across her face. The elf rarely put herself out there, especially in cases like this, the fear of rejection being so high. Solas responded, unable to look her in the eye but there was still a small curl to his lips, a tempted smile, “I… may be, yes. If I could take a little time to think. There are… considerations.” She tensed but it was not an outright no at least, not yet. Avise nodded, “Take all the time you need.” The elf gave him a small smile and took a step back before turning to walk away, Solas’ voice behind her made her stop as she was halfway towards the stairs to the library. “Thank you, Avise. I am not often thrown by things that happen in dreams. But I am reasonably certain we are awake now and if you wish to discuss anything. I would enjoy talking.” She turned and flashed him a smile, “Well, now that you mention it…”

#dragon age inquisition #avise lavellan #fan fiction #inquisitor lavellan #solas x lavellan #sollavellan #dragon age #spoilers #lots of them #honey and wildfire are both the color gold #solavellan #solas dragon age #solas #ao3 fic #ao3 port

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aheathen-conceivably · 1 year ago

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🎶 All God's people find their place, and I love you like a mountain 🎶

Sometime before noon Antoine finally rose from bed. He had donned a plain vest and then rolled up his sleeves, both for the heat and knowing that his arsenal of robes and patterned ties wouldn’t get him far on the streets of New Mexico. His fingers exaggerated each movement, heavy with the weight of his need to succeed for his family’s sake as well as his own.

As he put his hat atop his head, he knew that he couldn’t drag out the inevitable any longer. He had never felt comfortable asking for help, much less begging for a job. A skilled pianist, a business owner, a decorated war veteran; what was any of it here? He was an unskilled laborer in a foreign land, saddled with debt and nerves.

He took a shaky breath and crossed his arms, a French prayer coming to the front of his mind. Rather than fight it he kept his eyes closed and silently went through the words before signing the cross and walking out the door.

When he walked onto the porch both Giorgio and Zelda were already standing in the middle of the yard, deep in conversation as Zelda pointed to the shed and the crops. He waved at them and asked where Josephine was; with a weary shrug Giorgio called back that she was still asleep.

Zelda gave him a knowing smile and whispered good luck, her words almost silent but clear to Antoine even across the farmyard.

He set off on foot toward town, following the directions that Giorgio had given him to the places that he heard were looking for workers. He had offered him a ride the day before, but Antoine knew that in their situation gas was a luxury not to be wasted. Besides, there was something about all of these cars and roads that he didn’t trust.

Zelda joked that it was the city boy in him, afraid of the open road. It was her new favorite nickname and one that he was growing increasingly delighted with as her Henford roots continued to show. Even her clipped English accent, softened by her years in New Orleans and his own Creole voice, had seemingly strengthened in the days since they’d arrived.

But perhaps she was right, the city boy wasn’t prepared for the speed at which the cars flew by his shoulder. Yet as the loud engine passed him and disappeared down the road beyond, he was left in the peaceful desert air. It felt older and stiller than anything he'd ever known, so much so that it erased the worries from his mind until he forgot the task at hand and actually began to enjoy his walk.

Yet as the days went by the comfort he drew from the surrounding desert began to dwindle. One after another, shop owners and farmers turned him away. The kinder ones gave him a new address, another place to look. They passed the buck along, scared for their own security and unwilling to take on another mouth to feed as the newspaper headlines grew more grim and the line of unemployed longer by the day.

But many simply muttered under their breath and turned away. For others, he was lucky if their insults were so subtle. Hunger and fear had left the worst of them volatile and inhospitable, desperate for a scapegoat for their frustrations in whatever form it arrived.

Get off my land, grifter. Find another place to beg, Okie. We’ve got nothing for you, you damn migrant. He was no stranger to slurs, but these were new, and they held a whole different capacity for insult, new weight and freshly perceived inadequacies for him to digest each time they were hurdled in his direction.

So day after day, week after week, he went home to Zelda as his failures mounted and hopes dwindled down to nothing. Still, their creaky iron bed grew more comfortable and the peeling wallpaper an ever soothing sight. He laid there in her welcome embrace until the word went still and the panic quieted.

Each night it became easier to recount every moment of his day, coupled as it was with his growing fear and worry. When he couldn't, he listened to Zelda speak of the new things Violette had learned, or the progress that she and Gio had made on the soil. In the quiet of the desert air one of their voices filled the void that the world had created for them, until their eyes began to grow heavy and there was nothing left to worry about until the sun rose again on a new day.

#1930 #sims 4 historical #ts4 historical #ts4 decades challenge #sims 4 decades challenge #sims 4 legacy #ts4 legacy #sims 4 story #ts4 story #the darlingtons #1930s #antoine duplanchier #zelda darlington #giorgio mistretta

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therealslimshakespeare · 8 months ago

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Tell us more about the “ Those who can” couples.

Who is the big spoon?

What is their favourite sleeping position?

What are their pet peeves?

What do they do to make their spouse feel better while they have a cold?

What is their favourite thing to do as a couple ?

Do they prank each other?

Their favourite thing to eat that their spouse finds disgusting

Who proposed and how?

I can’t think of anything else to ask 😆 If you have more things to add , please do! I really want to know more about them. Love you 🥰

Oh, oh this sparks such joy, I love asks like these. Even when I’m floundering over some aspects as I’ve not fully thought them out as yet. So these always delight me with giving these parts a bit more thought.

Who is the big spoon?

Gale and Maureen: oh I’d say Gale, 90% of the time. He loves holding her, winding his arms around her with hands folded and secure over her ribs, it’s just a very unified feeling for him and she fits right under his chin and she adores the feel of him pressed fully against her head to heel.

Rosie and Ida: these soft babes spoon facing each other, legs thrown over hips, arms slung around each other, forehead to forehead. Sometimes Ida ends up spooning him as she wiggles closers at night, hugging his broad back as she grew used to doing the same with Bucky in the stalag and it makes her feel more at ease than a man pressed at her back. Eventually that too, when it’s Rosie, becomes alright. But these two tend to face each other.

John Brady and Tilly Macon: no, you’ve not met them yet but they’re utterly adorable, longterm serendipitous penpals, and she’s the girl he asked to marry him one whole week stateside. Johnny’s the big spoon although this must be tempered with the admittance of his many nights per week he falls asleep with his head in her lap as she reads to him.

Bucky x Josephine: Jo 100% is the big spoon, there’s nothing more to say.

What is their favorite sleeping position

Gale & Maureen: he sleeps, like an angel, on his side, with his hands, folded beneath his head, pillow perfectly supporting his cervical spine, an orthopedist dream, meanwhile Maureen is tucked or clinging to any part of him she can get to, not unusual for her feet to be hanging off the bed so that she can burrow up into his chest, under his folded elbows

Rosie & Ida: terrible insomniacs the both of them, usually fall asleep mid task, reading, Case files, stamp collecting, whatever it might be. I think this usually means Rosie falls asleep on his back, portfolio sliding off his chest, with Isa tucked under his arm.

John and Tilly: facing each other, clinging like twins, his chin atop her head or face in her boobs is legit their go to

Bucky and Josephine: he conks out wherever, usually sprawled out like a spider, all over the bed, often face down on his stomach, like a madman, and Josephine, just sort of pillows her head on top of his shoulder blades, holding onto an arm

Pet peeves:

Gale and Maureen: hmm ok so if this is like a shared couple pet peeves, they get pretty annoyed at people who jump to assumptions when they know 7% of the facts. Both of them can be withering in such a scenario

Rosie and Ida: Waste. Waste of time, of energy, of sentiment, waste drives them both a little nuts and they’re not the funnest on vacation as a result

John and Tilly: the sort of people that can make the Rosenthal’s enjoy vacation, not because they themselves are such grand partiers or entertainers, they just bring a level headed peace to what could otherwise develop into a hysterics over beach chairs and hot dog condiment requirements. The Brady’s keep the small things small, and don’t sweat the little stuff. Which means they to get annoyed by people who sweat the little stuff, and being unabashed homebodies, will remove themselves from recreational hysterics

Bucky and Jo: selfishness in any form. Legit don’t have any room for that in the Egan house

What do they do to make their spouse feel better with a cold?

Gale & Maureen: hilariously, both of these babies get to an all time low level of pitiful when they’re sick. Gale will never admit it, but he will appear like he is dying -if stoically- from a small nose congestion unless he is pampered with all the stops pulled out. Which Maureen is more than happy to do for him. And the exact same goes for her.

Rosie x Ida: he’s a decent cook, particularly at nourishing soups, and he will compulsively change the sheets – moving her gently to the couch in between – in order to keep the room fresh and tidy so it’s a little less disgusting for her. She will make him take warm baths, bring him tea made to perfection and gives the best neck massagers that make him forget about anything unpleasant

Brady & Tilly: oh, they are so doting, this man would likely take off work, just tend to her, but if she insists that’s absurd then he will at the very least get up early to prepare the kettle, to bring her tissues, to have medicine and water by the bed, insists she use honey from the local farm nearby in her tea, and leaves her love notes scattered around and beneath her pillows. She makes his favorite recipes that his mama passed to her, watches his favorite shows with him, and often reads to him while running her fingers through his hair. Forces him to walk around a few times a day.

Bucky & Jo: he may not be the best caretaker, but he is an excellent listener, and he will give all his time. He is at her disposal, she just has to give the direction for what it is she needs. She, on the other hand forces him to actually take his medicines, warms up a pot of steaming water with mint in it, to make him hang his face over and breathe it in, and insists he actually lay down and actually rest -novel idea- since he feels like such trash. Only she could ever persuade him.

Do they prank each other?:

Gale x Maureen: she pranks him constantly, he does it every two years or more and yet is far more devastating at it

Rosie x Ida: oh yes, of the competitive variety, not practical jokes so much is intellectual ones

Brady x Tilly: eh, no.

Bucky and Jo: yes, and only they find it funny

Their favorite thing to eat that the other finds disgusting:

Gale and Maureen: she eats fish eyeballs just to make him look at her like she’s lost officially lost it

Rosie and Ida: let’s just say she doesn’t assimilate to much of the Jewish tradition of cooking, ok? She tried desperately to be polite about it but at home? It’s rough. Meanwhile she grew an affinity for crawdads while living in Florida, and it makes Rosie shudder

Brady and Tilly: his wife’s one flaw is her love of ketchup and how she tried to kiss him after imbibing it

Bucky x Jo: his wife enjoys vegetables and actually expects him to eat them, he swear cabbage gives him flashbacks

Who proposes and how:

Gale x Maureen: not fully decided on this myself, but they have a talk in camp before his escape about being “it” for each other, that they love each other. I’m pretty sure Gale is the one to propose but it’s not a surprise sorta moment, it quite thought out and the wedding is very soon after coming home.

Rosie x Ida:: this man had to wage a field campaign to wear her down, to win her over and all the while she wanted it while also protesting that it would make them both miserable in the end yet he was having none of it. Shortly before going to Nuremberg he 100% pops the question in a well thought out but not overly produced manner, maybe a quiet dinner or over a drink while they’re working over hours in his cozy study. If she refused initially, he pops it again a few weeks later while flashing boat tickets for the both of them to go overseas and kick ass. By this point both their families are so invested in this happening, a quiet but inclusive ceremony isn’t hard to pull together in short order.

Brady and Tilly: sweet baby boy blurted it out at at the train station tey second his feet hit home soil and she gasped and said “yes yes one hundred times yes” and they got married two weeks later.

Bucky and Jo: she asked “so what are we Egan?” a month into dating and courting and after going home and talking with his mother, he bought a ring and caught Jo on her afternoon off and took her on a picnic and asked her to marry him.

Seeing as how I was SUPER long winded for all of this as is, I think I’ll chill out and not add more at this time but if you think of more, send them my way! I love these! ❤️

#those who can #I LOVED THESE #Rosie x Ida #Gale x Maureen #Brady x Tilly #Bucky x Jo

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