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#because i forgot how it displays love in a way that is not linear
nymphomatique · 3 months
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your nerd miguel fics are so good i didnt even know id like dom!reader this much
imagine slutty!reader getting ready for another party and she's barely wearing anything, pretty tits n ass spilling out of her clothes. she's leaning forward over the vanity to do her make up, and miguel cand help but get distracted from (her) homework, and just looks at her plump ass peeking from under her flimsy skirt. he begs her to let him rub himself on her and with hesitant hands he grips her hips and dryhumps her like a dog in heat
well, yes!
cw: slight dom!fem reader, sub!miguel yall know the vibes, me indulging in fashion for a moment, dry humping, miguel cums in his undies, this one’s a lil sweet i fear, awkward ending soz, edited AND proofread y’all 🙏🏾 (can’t guarantee no mistakes however)
wc: 1.6k
❤︎ a/n: i’m a dirty liar and forgot to upload this yesterday but!! she’s here and she was a labour of love! everyone who survived the great barbie drought of winter 2023-2024 gets a pin and goodie bag at the door. nevertheless, enjoy!! 💋
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“hey, four eyes, this dress or should i wear a skirt instead?”
brown eyes you’ve come to know so well, more than you’d like to admit, flit up to meet yours momentarily until they look at the two articles of clothing hanging on hangers between your manicured fingers. in one hand, a mesh cut out dress with a deep plunging neckline, and a khaki mini skirt in the other.
“um, skirt. y-you looked pretty in it when you bought it, so um- you should wear it,” miguel mumbles, a pink tint sweeping its way lightly across his face. you’re feeling particularly sweet on him today. it’s been hard to keep your eyes off him as of recent, his chiseled jaw, thick lips, and who could ever forget the resplendent pools of brown that takes form of his eyes. eyes that make your face heat up, setting your body ablaze and feeling feverish under the slightest of glances.
he’s classically handsome, that much you won’t deny, as much as it kills you.
you silently take his suggestion in heed, quietly stripping in front of him to change into the skirt he suggested, and pulling on a black long sleeved crop to to match. you silently lament on the memory of the day you bought the skirt, how you had dragged miguel by his shirt alongside you that day to the mall to sit and watch you buy clothes at any and every store, designer or department, and shuck your bags into his strapping arms. you had wandered into miu miu, miguel trailing not too far behind you with your bags from blumarine, versace, cavalli and more comfortable in his hands. he sat patiently in the waiting chairs as you picked up an array of shirts and skirts and accessories, until you were ready to try them on. miguel sat and watched as you said no and turned your nose up at nearly everything until you tried on a khaki skirt, sitting so low on your hips the straps of your red thing peeking above the waistband.
you turned and twirled in the mirror, admiring the skirt on yourself until you turned to miguel himself, walking up to him as he’s sat to ask him, “you like it?” and like it he does, a hefty hand trailing up from your thigh to your hip, tapping your your hip softly. “you know i do, baby,” and you giggle at his answer, twirling for him before walking back the dressing room to change, not before biting your lip and beckoning miguel to follow at your heels with a pink painted acrylic nail. and follow he does, because he’s such a good boy.
you feel roused at the memory of your dressing room quickie in the same skirt you’re wearing now. and you’re sure miguel feels the same, and you don’t miss the opportunity to provoke him at any moment.
you bend over, slow but curt, fixing up your makeup in your large vanity while your ass sits out in direct display, the short fabric of the skirt lifting as you bend. your black thong is made visible as you bend and wiggle you hips. you steal small glances in the mirror to where miguel is on your bed, sitting in a sea of linear calculus books, and sure enough the methods of linear are long forgotten to focus on your exposed backside. you giggle and turn your head to look at him, and his lips purse when he realizes he’s been caught. before he can sputter anything out, you stand and turn to him and ask him, “see something you like, dontcha?”
a silent swallow and a nod is miguel’s response, his growing erection answer enough for you.
“beg me for what you want.”
and there’s a brief fleeting moment after the words leave your lips. an unspoken fervour in the air, perhaps a mix of what hasn’t been said and all that’s left to say about the two of you. you feel hot, your gaze burning through miguel’s clothes, burning his skin all the way across the room. you want him, you want him, you want him. and he’s looking back at you, a subdued but still present lust in his eyes. you see the submission, his compliance. yes, mistress.
his knees hit the floor, and then his rough palms follow suit and he’s crawling towards you until he’s not, and his sat like a good little boy in front of you painted feet, and he does what you ask, he begs for your touch, your taste, your mercy.
“please let me touch you, i need it, please please please. can i have it? can i touch you, mommy? i don’t even have to be inside you, j-just your touch and i can- i can cum. please? oh god please-“ miguel babbles, his hulking form looking up at you from the floor. you feel like the wind has been knocked out of your chest. he just needs your touch. you card a hand through his thick wavy locks, gripping at the nape and pulling his head up to look at you.
“just need my touch, hmm?” you look at him and he nods. whimpers. so fucking pathetic. “i’ll let you hump me like you want. my subservient little puppy needs it, huh?” you coo mockingly. a string of yes’s and thank you’s leave miguel’s lips and you get up and turn around, bending over to brace yourself on your vanity.
you’re fully presented for miguel, and there’s an empty beat of stillness between you both, you make eye contact with him in the mirror and quip, “gonna keep me waiting?” and he knows better than that. he’s up on his feet, unbuckling his belt and shucking his jeans down and off him, standing in his boxers, swollen and full with his erection. he moves behind you, placing his hands on either sides of your hips.
“no ma’am.”
you can’t help but pulse in anticipation. you look at him in the mirror and find that he’s looking at you already and you feel yourself heat up. please don’t make me wait anymore, you think. like he’s read your mind, miguel’s covered erection is pressed up against the gusset of your panties, perfectly slot between your ass cheeks.
and experimental hump sends you bouncing forward a little, your breasts jiggling a bit, a soft sigh of satisfaction leaving you. finally. another hump, miguel’s strong hands pulling your hips back towards his crotch and you gasp a bit and the pleasure. another thrust of hips, and again, and again until it becomes a steady rhythm of soft sighs and low groans. and it goes on from a thrust to a trust and grind, and oh! the meat of miguel’s dick rubs up against your clit and you can’t help but moan.
your moans are joined by miguel’s whimpers, his hips rocking so intensely it has you burning up inside so much that you think you might cum from the stimulation. “s-so good baby, fuck,” miguel let’s out and you keen at his praise. you’re so good, you’re his baby. you push and grind your hips up in time with his, feeling yourself begin to soak through your panties and maybe onto miguel’s dark boxers. you can’t hold yourself together anymore, feeling yourself come apart so you drop your head onto your vanity’s surface, hoping to salvage some semblance of your pride.
the thick hands on your hips move to find purchase within your skirt, grabbing fistfuls of the short fabric before pulling your hips back with a staggering strength. you feel your knees buckle a bit, and your head shoots back up with an accompanying moan.
miguel pulls you down while pushing himself up into you and it feels so fucking good. your palms feel clammy and you feels as if you’re still sanding by the grace of god. every nudge of your clit feels as if it’s short circuiting your motor functions temporarily and you feel so overwhelmed to the pleasure, you can do nothing but succumb to it, and the man granting you it.
“m’gonna cum miguel. so good, so fucking good. wish you were inside me so i can feel you. wish you could feel me cum around you. f-feels so good please don’t stop! i’m gonna- oh!” you’re mumbling and babbling incessantly, canting hips and soft whimpers that turn into heavy groans only further pushing you past your limit through this titillating pleasure.
“fuck, gonna come with you baby. come with me, please mommy i need it,” miguel moans. his hands release your skirt and dig into your hips once more and you’re sure you’ll find salacious marks there in the morning but you don’t care, not when you’re so close.
a particular hard thrust sends you reeling forward, head almost hitting your mirror and you can’t help but give out within your legs. you feel them shake and almost go numb at the pleasure. you’re left helpless, cumming violently and soaking the fabric separating both you and miguel as miguel continues his assault against your poor pussy. he fucks it- humps it?- raw, overstimulating you to the point of pain when finally he finishes with a final thrust, his nails digging into the meat of your curvature. you feel his cum seep through the material of both of your arguments and you moan as it hits the gusset of your thong.
miguel lets go of your hip and you wobble a bit, using your upper body upon your desk to stabilize you. you’re both panting and heaving, taking in the intense and carnal display of lust between the two of you. you’re quiet before you hear miguel pipe up, breathlessly, pulling you from your daze.
“thank you, mistress.”
smug bastard.
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lunarbard · 4 months
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It may just be the online communities I end up following, but I see a lot of complaints around modern D&D about XP and a favoritism for milestones / "level advancement without XP" (which, in fairness, is somewhat fostered by the adventures built around 5e).
The secret to XP in modern D&D is that, by the book ("XP for combat, and maybe quests") it sucks. But, done right, it's fantastic, because it's some perfect little positive reinforcement for your players.
Assign XP rewards to the actions you want to encourage in your game.
I ran a short-lived (for other reasons) sandbox campaign last year where I told the players up front that I would reward XP for recovering treasure, completing contracts/quests, and slaying named foes (we were in Roll20, so I could display the names of such foes for the players to see).
For a group that had spent three years just diving into whatever looked like a combat without a second thought, they became significantly more cautious & calculated on where, when, & why they fought. When they'd find a tough named foe, they'd buy every advantage they could before engaging them, excited for the mass of XP they would earn. The main problem was I forgot to assign XP to heroic actions (like saving innocent people), so it turned to a far more mercenary/cut throat game than I had originally hoped.
I fixed that in my Toldren campaign by rewarding XP for:
helping/rescuing people
significant exploits (mainly completing objectives, regardless of which side of the screen they came from)
making it through an encounter regardless of method. Talking your way out of a dangerous encounter earns XP, as does using a monster's weakness to escape (such as abusing a giant worm's fear of sound to drive it away from eating them).
The party still chooses to fight some foes- such as hunting down a couple of werecorvids who had been skirmishing with them over several days - but they give proper consideration to their approach & purpose. Then when the party saves people, or talks a potential enemy into allying with them, they get a mechanical treat to match the diegetic reward they've earned themselves.
That all said, XP can have its issues, particularly as how it scales in 5th edition. I love XP as a tool, but it would be a far more useful tool in my campaign if it was linear and predictable - say 100 x current level XP to level up - I could pretty easily eyeball how much XP certain actions should resolve. But since XP is built around CR, the math's been (theoretically) done on the backend. The obfuscation works well to hide the proportional XP stagnation in Tier 2, but it makes it difficult to employ XP in better ways. I've just taken the XP difference between levels & recorded 1/10th and 1/100th in my notebook to determine XP rewards, but ideally that wouldn't be necessary.
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sarah-dipitous · 9 months
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Hellsite Nostalgia Tour 2023 Day 172
LARP and the Real Girl/Closing Time
“LARP and the Real Girl”
Plot Description: Sam and Dean investigate the mysterious deaths of two LARPers who were engaged in a game involving a real fairy
Would I Survive the First Five Minutes??: I mean…if the fae get you, the fae get you…
I did cut out the part in the description where they said what LARP stood for, just full disclosure
Honestly, they DESERVE to go see a movie or hit up a bar. Just one night off
Omg I love that Dean really has accepted Garth as the new Bobby
God…I’d love that LotR poster.
Fuck you, small town cop. Look. I don’t know what this guy’s whole deal was, but as long as he treated women right and wasn’t a gatekeeping asshole, “toys” on display at your residence (read: replicas of weapons from fantasy series and probably figurines of some sort. (Remind me to make a post about how much I’ve spent on the anime figures at my work desk…and the look on my work bestie’s face when she saw the amount)) are not a sign that you can’t be in a relationship or get laid.
“These kids today with their texting and murder…” I wanna kiss whoever wrote that line of dialogue on the mouth.
Felicia Day’s hair is so pretty
The dramatic thunder is…well, it’s something
Sometimes I get so sad about how much Dean has missed out on due to John. THIS is one of those times. He’s so excited to help Charlie with her battle strategy!! And he never got to foster that because he had to grow up WAY too fast and ALWAYS had to keep the tough guy persona. He’s such a little nerd at heart
Dean and Charlie should have gotten wayyyyyy more time together
You know, for being known as the nerdier of the two brothers, Sam is having zero fun with this and really just wants to get the job done. Dean’s in costume and following Charlie around as she flirts with every woman she encounters in their investigation
Noooooo don’t abduct Charlieeeeeeee
Oh. Looks like Charlie is no longer disappointed in her kidnapping
I love the boys getting sidelined in favor of the rules of this LARPing community
Of COURSE it’s that dude
Did he really think that the sword, once it turned back into foam, was going to stop Dean??
Omg is he……….HE’S GIVING THE SPEECH FROM BRAVEHEART. Deeeeeeeean
“Closing Time”
Plot Description: The Doctor, in his final days of life, encounters a mystery as he visits an old friend
Don’t love that we’re back with James Corden
What is happening with the…no that’s not how you ask about lighting in this show. Hey, who turned out the lights?
The cybermen? Maybe
Stormaggedon, Dark Lord of All is quite the name for a baby to give themself
This Farewell Tour he’s on doesn’t hit as hard as Ten’s because he’s really been with just Amy and Rory and River most of the time, with the exception of Craig (who he’s visiting now), also I know he has at least two more seasons
Hmmmmmmmm a motorized toy…the cybermen are hijacking TOYS??
Omg…I don’t like how often Moffat-run shows have the joke “oh these two men seen together and/or show any sort of affection toward each other MUST be gay.”
He just went straight for the lingerie department?? Come on…
Oh they didn’t hijack shit, they just put a weird robotic rat thing in a department store
I forgot we jumped ahead some time….we still get a little bit of Amy and Rory, but Amy’s already a perfume model
The cybermen gave the cybermat TEETH??? WHY???
These….oh, yeah. Those are things to cry about later. For sure
Oh…that baby’s ceiling is the ideal. Like, real project galaxies
Aw man, James Corden only ALMOST got mauled by the lil rat thingy
Ugh, the Doctor is doing the whole “I shouldn’t have anyone around me” thing again
Did they actually kill Craig???? What is happening???? Ahhh, rats. Like, of course they didn’t but STILL
So the cybermen just exploded? Because Craig felt emotion again??
This episode is just eh. Except for the Doctor’s coat. The coat’s good
Why DOES linear time affect him now??
Oh that’s where he got the hat River’s about to shoot off
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humbuns · 2 years
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to a love that knows no bounds.
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mrsbarnes32557038 · 4 years
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Spectrum Part 6 - Hey Buck
A/N - Yay finally some Bucky! As you may notice we have jumped to 2014 for this part. This story is not linear so you’ve been warned.
Warnings - Language, some angst I suppose, some fluff, some smut.
Word count - 5,352 it is a longer one, buckle up.
2014 – Washington DC - Smithsonian Air and Space Museum
“Hey Buck” you say gently. You’re standing on his left a few feet behind him, he can see your reflection in the display he is looking at. He doesn't immediately book it, that's a good sign. You close the gap between you and stand by his side, he looks over at you and you meet his eyes. His baseball cap shadows his face a bit but you can still tell that he looks tired, so tired. The look in his eyes breaks your heart, you just want to take him in your arms and never let go, to make everything better, to take all his pain and… but you can't. You also don't want to push him, you know you need to go slow and let him set the pace. He turns his attention back to the display in front of you both, an image of Bucky back in the 40’s is etched into tinted glass along with a short biography, he continues to attempt to take this all in. You slip your right hand into his left, he welcomes it with a firm grasp. You can't help yourself, it just happens instinctually, you lean over and rest your head on his shoulder, your left hand curling around his bicep. Bucky turns his head to kiss the top of yours and lingers a bit, breathing in the scent of you. You can feel his warm breath through your hair, every part of you has missed him so much and it wasn't until recently that you really understood what you were feeling. 
It was just days ago that you'd reunited with the Winter Soldier. That your memories had been sparked. It wasn't a flood of everything all at once but things have been coming back to you ever since you tackled the man with the metal arm on top of Sam's car. Bucky starts towards another part of the Captain America exhibit and the gentle tug on your hand pulls you from your thoughts. You hold hands in silence, making your way through the exhibit, letting Bucky take all the time he needs. You both stand in front of the display of uniforms, Bucky stares at the reproduction of his old Howling Commandos uniform his right hand reaching out to it, to touch it. Your silence is broken by a familiar voice “Hey! You!” it rang out.
Bucky’s breathing quickens but before panic can set in you squeeze his hand and reassuringly say “It is okay Bucky. He is a friend.” You turn in the direction of the voice and smile at the older security guard making his way over to you both, he slows his pace and gives a big grin when he notices it is you. “Hi Stan.” you greet him.
“I shouldn't be surprised to see you here, you've been here everyday lately. More than usual!” Stan chuckles. “Oh but you’re not alone. That's new.”
You lightly scoff at him “Yes. Stan I’d like you to meet Bu... James. James this is Stan, he is a good friend of mine.”
Stan holds out his hand “Nice to meet you young man.”
“You as well sir.” Bucky politely replies.
Stan stares at him for a moment “ You seem… familiar. Have we met before?”
“Hey Stan what happened to the Captain America uniform?” you quickly interject hoping to change the subject.
Stan shakes his head and sighs “It was stolen… Probably by some punk.” he looks discerningly at you “You wouldn't happen to know anything about that would you?”
You look at him feigning offense, not wanting to lie to your friend. “Do you really think I would do something like that?” you beat around the bush. You might not have taken it but you know who did.
“Oh what am I saying! If you were going to take a uniform it would be that Barnes' fellows. Goodness knows how much time you've spent staring at it.” You flush at his words. “Hey! Hands off the display!” he shouts past you. “Excuse me, duty calls. It was nice meeting you young man, treat Y/N right, she is one of a kind.” he wags his finger at Bucky, emphasizing his point.
“Yes sir, she is.” Bucky nods in agreement. With that Stan shuffles off towards the young men he was yelling at.
Turning his attention back to you “You spend a lot of time here?” Bucky implores.
“Yes.” you respond simply not wanting to really get into it at the moment.
“Hmm.” is all he says as he leads you on to the next part of the exhibit.
Stan watches as the two of you continue on, he looks up at the image of Bucky on the wall and back towards the man holding your hand. He shrugs his shoulders “I guess she has a type!”
You spend the afternoon hand in hand with Bucky as he meticulously reads every detail in the exhibit. Eventually he had had enough and you both walk outside. It is a lovely spring day, a light breeze caresses your face, you always loved Spring in DC.
Bucky just watches as the breeze gently moves your hair. He can't take his eyes off of you. You're so beautiful inside and out, my angel. I don't deserve you. If you even want me after all this time, after everything I've done… “I should go.” is all he can manage to say.
“What? Bucky…” you plead. He just looks at you and doesn't say anymore. You recognize that look in his eyes, you've seen it before over the years, not often but a handful of times, fear. What is he afraid of?
He starts to release the handhold you've been relishing. “I'm not that guy Y/N.”
“What guy?”
He motions towards the museum “That guy. The one they are making out to be some hero. I'm not him, I'll never be him again.”
You look at him bewildered “Of course you’re not Bucky! No one goes through what we went through and comes out unscathed. Hell, even if we lived an average life people grow and change that is normal! Is that what you think I want or expect? For you to go back to that charming young man I met all those years ago?”
“You've spent so much time here dreaming of him. I can't be what you want.” Bucky looks down trying to hide his sadness from you.
“The only reason I spent all that time here is because my heart, my soul, every fiber of my being was longing for you. You!” You lay your free hand on his chest causing him to look back up at you “The flesh and blood, well mostly…” you squeeze his left hand and give him a teasing grin “man standing in front of me. This you, exactly as you are. Its always been you Buck.” You sigh. “Look I know that you have a lot you need to work through, to process, and I guess you feel you need to do that on your own… But I need you to know that you are not alone. You have never been alone. Just… come home with me.”
“Home?” Bucky interjects.
“Yes. Home. It is safe and quiet, you can rest, have some food, take a shower. I'm not trying to push you into anything here. I get that this is a new beginning for you, a chance at a life. The one that was stolen from you. A life without… me.” You have to look down for a moment to swallow the lump in your throat and hide the darkness that has clouded your eyes. The very thought of a life without him is pure anguish. Get it together. For Bucky. You meet his eyes again once you have control of your emotions. “I know that just because I still feel for you doesn't mean that you do. You know that I will respect whatever decision you make. It doesn’t have to be forever, just come and figure out what your next step is.” Please don't walk away from me again. Please…
“Okay.” he replies.
“Okay?” you confirm.
“Okay. I'll come home with you.” He feels you give his hand a squeeze while you flash him a smile, it is impossible to hide your happiness as flashes of bright yellow zip across your eyes. He can't help but give you a small smile back. I forgot how much I missed your smile. I hope I don't screw this up, I can't hurt you. Above all else, I can't hurt you.
“I parked close by and I don't live too far.” you explain as the two of you begin waking towards the parking garage where your car is.
You point to a dark sedan, very inconspicuous in a city full of them “That's us.” You grab your keys out of your pocket.
Bucky stops moving forward so you follow suit. He doesn't say a word, just holds out his right hand towards you.
You place your keys in his palm and watch as he turns towards you putting himself between your car and you. A bleep sounds out as he unlocks the car, he waits a moment. Starting towards the vehicle he reluctantly lets go of your hand to get down on his hands and knees and examine the undercarriage, engine, trunk, then inside. Standing by the diver’s side he gives you a look, you take a few steps back and take cover behind a neighboring vehicle. Once satisfied he starts the engine, it roars to life and nothing else happens. He makes his way over to the passenger side and watches you intently as you hop in the driver’s seat.
--
A few minutes later you are rolling up to your Georgetown apartment. It is an older building, on the smaller side, each floor only has four units, you live on the top floor which only has three. The owner of the building and her husband had converted two of the units into one larger apartment for themselves, he had passed years ago but Greta still lived there. Your other neighbor had helped you get the place, it was a rent to own situation and you’re certain that he had made a significant down payment without your knowledge, that or Greta just gave you a really great deal, otherwise you never would have been able to afford the place on your own. You could now with what Tony pays you but not before, not on your diner salary.
You can feel Bucky’s eyes on you as you make your way up the stairwell. In fact he hasn’t taken his eyes off of you since you got in the car. You stop at your unit and unlock the deadbolt and doorknob. “This is us.” you say to him with a smile.
“On my left.” he quietly instructs, his voice low and gravely. His words echo in your mind as flashes of memories flood your senses. You've heard those words countless times. That was your safe place, on his left a couple steps behind. You watched his six and he protected you above all else. Even when he was the Soldier.
You comply. You always do when it comes to Bucky. Enough people in his life ordered him about, treated him like an object. You had decided a long time ago that you wouldn't be one of them, you respected his wishes and his commands. You follow him as he makes sure the apartment is clear, safe, even though you know it is unnecessary, Jarvis would have alerted you to any unusual activity or unauthorized entrance.
Entering he scans the main living space, to the left of the entrance is the living room which you had utilized half of for training space. A heavy bag hung with enough space to work around it and a treadmill faced the exterior wall so you can look out the windows while running. Your tv is mounted to the interior wall just left of the front door with a coffee table and loveseat directly in front and a chair off to the side to round out the seating. To the right of the entrance is the kitchen, which overlooks the small dining area in front of the windows that line the exterior wall. Past the kitchen is the bathroom and bedroom. He makes his way through the apartment and ends in the bedroom. Relaxing his stance and holstering his weapon he quietly says “All clear.”
You nod in agreement. The lights are still off but enough of the early evening light is still steaming in through the windows in your bedroom that you can see clearly. “I'm really glad that you're here.” You give him a smile as he gives you a small nod. “I need to introduce you to someone.” Bucky looks at you unsure but you continue. “I consider him to be a very good friend and since you’re here I think it is important you meet him. I’d like to introduce you to Jarvis.” you motion your hand towards empty space as if presenting someone “Jarvis, this is James Buchanan Barnes but you can call him Bucky.”
“It is a pleasure to meet you Mr. Barnes, Miss Y/N has told me a great deal about you. A great deal.” Jarvis’ voice chimes in.
Bucky's eyes widen in surprise and he looks around trying to find the man who is speaking to him.
You put your hands on his shoulders to gain his attention “Buck it is okay! Jarvis is an AI.”
“A what?” he looks at you confused.
“Artificial intelligence.” you try. He just continues to stare into your eyes.
Jarvis jumps in “Artificial intelligence is the theory and development of computer systems able to perform tasks…”
“Jarvis, honey, that is going to help him less than it helped me.” you interrupt.
“Oh, certainly.” he chirps back.
Bucky just looks at you incredulously as you have this conversation with an invisible man. “What the hell is happening right now?”
You give Bucky’s shoulders a squeeze “Okay, think of Jarvis like an electronic guardian angel.”
“Electronic guardian angel?” he repeats. “So he isn't real?”
“He doesn't have a body like you or I do but he is still real.” You shrug. “I know it is a lot to take in but he is here to help. In fact… Jarvis, please activate Home Safe protocols.”
“Of course Miss.” The sounds of the electronic locks on the front door sliding into place ring through the apartment and the lights flicker on.
“I'm going to go lock the manual ones.” you say to Bucky as you head back towards the front door.
After sliding the dead bolt in place and locking the knob you spin around to go ask Bucky what he’d like to do now but instead you collide with a wall of muscle.
He grabs your shoulders to keep you from falling backwards. “You’ve become complacent.” he criticized then looks past you to the door “Extra locks, that's good at least.”
“Complacent? You've always been able to get the drop on me.” you begin “Maybe I just feel safe enough in my surroundings to let my guard down a little.”
“What is that like?” he sighs and lets his hands drop from your shoulders to your waist.
You gently interlace your fingers behind his neck “You’ll get there Buck, I promise and I'll help you in any way that you'll let me.”
He just gazes into your eyes taking pleasure in your soft and gentle caresses. No one has been kind to him in a long time, not since, well, you.
Your thumb traces his jaw line and you can feel him relax a little with your touch. “Are you hungry?”
He barely shakes his head not wanting to interrupt your caresses. “Not really.” He murmurers.
He is still tense, understandably. A thought comes to you “I remember something that would always help you relax. Do you trust me?”
“Of course.” He says with a conviction that warms your heart. It is myself I don’t trust…
You take his hand and lead him to the bathroom. Your apartment is simple, and minimally furnished but the bathroom is luxurious. Greta had updated it before selling the unit to you, she said that it was a good investment. The shower was your favorite thing about this place, besides your neighbors. It is a beautifully tiled walk in shower, with multiple shower heads and more than enough room for two people, not that you had tested that yet. You lean in and start the water.
Bucky keeps his eyes on you “A shower?”
“Yes.” You walk back, stand in front of him and begin taking his jacket off. “I'll help you. I mean… that sounds silly. Of course you know how to shower. I meant that I will join you. You always liked that. Before.” You take your jacket off, then slip your tee over your head and discard them in a pile with Bucky's jacket. “If that's okay with you that is.” You flush a little, embarrassed, hoping that you haven't pushed a boundary he isn't ready for. It is a strange thing to be starting over, in a way, with someone that you have so much history with.
He takes in the sight of you, it is nothing he hasn't seen a thousand times before but you always manage to take his breath away. “Have I ever said no?”
You think for a moment “Not that I remember.”
“Well, I'm not about to start now.”
You take your time in undressing the two of you. First his shirt, then your pants, then his, underwear is next. You are mindful to keep yourself more undressed than him until you are both completely naked. You don't want him to feel more exposed, more vulnerable than you.
The care you show him doesn't go unnoticed. He relishes in the moments your fingers brush against his skin as you gently remove his clothing. You say he always enjoyed this before, he doesn't remember that yet but so far he is very much enjoying it.
You toss your hair up out of the way, you showered earlier and don't need to bother washing your hair again. You lead him into the shower and position him under the overhead rain shower. Bucky keeps his attention on you as you start to help the water soak his hair, gently massaging his scalp as your fingers rake through it. “Okay, now close your eyes please.” you request as you grab the shampoo bottle from the niche.
“What… what if…” Bucky croaks out, fear evident in his expression. “when I open my eyes again you’re not here..?”
The pain, confusion, uncertainty and terror he is dealing with is breaking your heart. He is such a gentle soul and no one in this universe deserved his fate less than him. He should have had a life full of happiness and light and instead he got abuse and darkness… You set the bottle down and take his beautiful face in your hands “This is real Buck. You are real. I am real. And I am not going anywhere.” You slide your hands down his arms to his hands “If it helps you can hold on to me.” You place his hands on your hips. “That way even though you can't see me, you can feel me.”
He nods in agreement but still hesitates a moment before closing his eyes. He let's out a deep breath he didn't realize he was holding and tries to shake the fear that this is all just another dream away. The subtle scent of tea tree and sage oil fill the air as you begin working the shampoo into Bucky’s hair. You can feel him tightly holding on to you and his thumbs tracing circles into your hips. You've missed his touch, the sound of his voice, the feeling of his very presence. You love him so fully, so completely. You always have. You watch as the water drips down over every muscle, his broad shoulders, strong arms, his abdomen so perfectly chiseled all leading your eyes down to his manhood. He has always been an impressive man, you were struck by his perfect smile when you first laid eyes on him and nothing about him has ever been disappointing. You could feel him start to relax as you massaged the shampoo into his scalp and a quiet moan escaped his soft pink lips. Arcs of hot pink, red, deep purple, bright blue, and more jumped from your fingers to Bucky’s scalp. His grip on you tightened and he quickly pulled you into him, your body pressed firmly against his.
“I'm so sorry.” You say breathily, surprised by his quick movements. “I. I didn't mean to. I was distracted by my thoughts and then you…” you look into his eyes, his sparkling blue eyes. “I'll control myself better. It will not happen again.”
Bucky's breathing slows once again as he listens to your voice and he closes his eyes signaling you to continue but he keeps his tight hold on you. As you rinse out the shampoo he softly says “You don't have to control yourself around me. I know how exhausting that is for you.”
Your touched by his generous offer. It isn't physically or mentally easy to feel someone else's feelings as well as your own. “I think you have enough going on right now that you don't need to be burdened by me as well.” You pull him back out from under the stream of water “Okay now I'm going to put some conditioner in your hair.”
Bucky opens his eyes and looks at you as you smooth the conditioner through his hair. “You know. In all of our time together I've never once thought of you, your feelings or your ability as a burden.” he says softly but with sincerity.
Your heart nearly jumps out of your chest at his words. In the last few years on your own you have been lucky to meet a handful of wonderful people who actually seem to care about you but not like Bucky. You swear you can feel his love for you as surely as if he also possessed your ability to manipulate and share feelings. You just want to lean into his warmth and kiss those perfect lips… but you hold back, wanting him to make that choice for himself. You smile warmly at him and begin rinsing the conditioner out. “Thank you.” is all you manage to say.
Bucky closes his eyes again as you gently run your fingers through his hair. He loves how it feels when you touch him, he loves how it feels to be near you. You truly are an angel, one he didn't think existed in real life but here you are. He isn't sure why you care for him, he isn't sure he deserves you, all he knows is he wants to stay with you forever.
Suddenly a vision comes to him. You are both in the shower, a different shower, a different place, a different time. There is blood, the water swirling down the drain is tinged with blood. Bucky's eyes fly open in a panic. He is met by your concerned face. Your gorgeous face.
“Bucky what is it? What's wrong?”
“Blood. I saw… this, us…” he sputters out.
A memory. One that had come to you after you were washing the Potomac out of your hair a few days ago. “Yes.” You say calmly.
“Mine?” he asks referring to the blood.
“Sometimes.” Is all you say not wanting to remind him of whos blood it usually was.
With dread in his voice he croaks out “Your’s?” not knowing if he wants to know the answer.
You look him straight in the eyes and make sure he hears you, that he isn't too lost in his thoughts “Never by your hand.”
He nods, taking in the information. He looks up at you with tears in his eyes “How can you look at me like that? How can you touch me like you do? How can you…”
“Love you?” you interject softly.
“After everything I've done. You know what I've done…”
You reach for the bar of soap “Bucky do you remember the first time we met?” and begin building a lather in your hands.
You can see him thinking, trying to piece together the things he has remembered over the past few days. “No. I don't think so.”
You start to wash his body as you begin to remind him of your first encounter. “It was in Kreischberg, after your battle at Azzano. I was up on the catwalk with Schmidt.” You said his name through grated teeth but your demeanor softened once your thoughts returned to Bucky. “You were down on the main floor being forced to work on munitions. I could feel you before I laid my eyes on you. I've never felt that kind of… strength.” Bucky noticed how your eyes sparkled when you recalled his energy and the small giggle you let out remembering what happened next made his desire for you swell. “I guess you could feel someone watching you because you looked right up at me. You were the most handsome man I’d ever seen, you still are.” you add softly. “I was a bit embarrassed that you caught me staring but I couldn't take my eyes off of you and then you smiled.” You started rinsing his arms, chest and back off and began washing his legs. “I didn't understand. I…”
“Looked behind you.” Bucky recalls. Looking down at you while you tenderly wash him.
“To see what you were smiling at. Surely it wasn't me. I couldn't understand how someone like you could look at me like that. For as long as I remember I was told I was a monster and I was treated as such.” You finish rinsing his legs off.
“You're not a monster Y/N.” he assures you as you stand back up in front of him.
“Neither are you Bucky Barnes. You are the light that chases away the darkness. You are everything good, pure, and worth existing for in this universe.”
He catches your chin delicately and skims his thumb over your lips “That's my line.” he murmurs as he closes the distance between the two of you and softly kisses you, his hands roaming up your back to hold you tightly to him.
“I know.” you breath after he releases your lips. “I think you needed to hear it this time.”
“What did I do to deserve you Y/N?”
“Funny, I've always wondered that about you.” You smile at him. “Well, you are pretty much done getting washed up there is just your…” you let your hand slowly trace down his abs and let your fingers flutter just above his member. “I’d always help you with that too but I don't want to cross any boundaries you’re uncomfortable with.”
Now it is his turn to flush a little, excited at the prospect of you touching him so intimately. “I trust you.”
You lather some soap in your hands and wash him. You see his breath pick up with your gentle touches as you make sure he is all rinsed. Kneeled down in front of him you make eye contact as you start to stroke him making sure he is enjoying this attention. He gives you that small half smile and brings his hand to your cheek, skimming his thumb along your cheek bone softly. You keep your eyes locked with his as you bring your mouth to him, first just taking his head in your mouth and swirling your tongue around it, then licking up the length of him. His head falls back at the sensations and subtle moans escape his lips. You take your time sucking him off, enjoying his pleasure. Subtle moans are replaced by fervent exclamations and guttural groans.
“Oh fuck. Yes Y/N. I'm going to cum.” he warns as he takes himself out of your mouth and spills his load all over your glistening, wet breasts. He picks you up and sits you on the built in bench kneeling in front of you capturing your mouth in a heated kiss. “Your turn.” he says his voice deep and gravely, eyes admiring you lustfully. He grabs the bar of soap and tenderly washes your entire body, admiring your beauty and strength, the length of your legs, the curves of your hips. Taking the opportunity to look you over for any new scars, he gets to your back which is littered with scars, they aren't new though. He remembers how you got those scars… Your entire body feels electric with his touch. The way he looks at you makes you feel like the most beautiful woman in the world. As he finishes rinsing the suds away his hands slowly run down your sides, thighs and to your knees, he gently parts your legs and begins kissing a trail up to your ready and waiting cunt. Bucky looks to you for permission only to see you biting your lower lip in anticipation. You nod at him and he dives right in lavishing you with his tongue, focusing on your clit with his mouth as his fingers enter into you. His fingers pump into you steadily, he curves them to hit you just right. Your moans and groans are the sexiest damn thing Bucky has ever heard and you calling out his name in ecstasy is the most beautiful sound to grace his ears. Your hands are laced in his hair, not forcefully just out of a need to touch him. His left arm is wrapped around your backside holding you close to him. He doesn't relent until your body is writhing with waves of pleasure, your cunt tightening around his fingers. He smiles up at you quite proud of himself as he watches you come down from your intense orgasm. “You’re right. I definitely feel more relaxed.”
Your body is still buzzing from the pleasure Bucky’s skilled tongue just imparted you with and the sight of this beautiful man kneeling in front of you with such love in his eyes is just too much. Your heart feels so full, you feel so complete being with him again. You smile at him as you attempt to stand, legs a bit weak from your escapades. He stands to steady you as you shut off the water. Thank goodness for on demand hot water, that was a long shower. “Come on, let's find you some clean clothes.”
“Okay. Can we have some dinner soon? I'm feeling pretty hungry now.”
--
You rummage through your dresser and grab a few things for Bucky as well as comfy clothes for yourself. You look to Bucky as he is sitting on your bed, finishing drying off. Damn I’ve missed you.
“What?” he notices you staring at him.
“Just debating giving you clothes at all.” you smirk. His laugh warms you from head to toe. You walk over and give him a sweet kiss on the cheek and place the sweats and tee on the bed next to him. “I'm going to go order us some dinner. Chinese sound good?” you ask while throwing on your tank and sweats.
“Perfect.” Bucky states while watching you.
“Okay great!”
“I was talking about you.” He pulls you to him and gives you a soft kiss. “But yeah Chinese sounds good.”
You leave him to dress and head to the kitchen to grab your phone and order dinner. “Dinner will be here shortly.” you inform Bucky as he walks into the main living area.
“I'm sorry to interrupt.” Jarvis chimes in “However due to your Home Safe protocols I must inform you that Captain Rogers has parked outside and appears to be heading into the building.”
--
Spectrum Masterlist 
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Only Time Will Tell - Chapter 2: The Linear Disturbance
Alright, everyone. Here’s a wonderful little update for this weird fic. We learn a little more about the girl that found Lena in the lab, and we meet someone new.
Read on AO3.
~
“It’s 2048.”
The girl took her phone back from Lena and looked at the display like she was trying to find something wrong with it. When she couldn’t find anything, she put the phone back in her pocket and came to a realization. “The disturbance Liv told me about wasn’t an interdimensional disturbance. It was time-related.”
Lena slumped back into the seat that she woke up in and tried desperately to fight off the rising panic. She couldn’t remember anything. She couldn’t remember what happened before she woke up in this lab, and she had no idea how she could’ve woken up thirty years in the future.
“Hey, Au—” the girl cut herself off and asked, “Are you okay?”
“No,” Lena said harshly, her chest tightening, “No, how can I be okay right now?”
“That’s fair.” The girl looked awkwardly around the lab trying to come up with a solution. Her fingers ran restlessly through her hair, and Lena watched her closely, trying to pick up clues to determine how she was related to Lena. There was something in her mannerisms, the small nervous ticks but overall confidence, that Lena was trying so hard to pinpoint. Nothing about her features felt familiar though.
“Well, to start, we need to get out of here,” the girl said after a few moments of silence, “Only a few people can access this lab, but we need to slip out without anyone noticing us.”
“Where are we?” Lena took deep breaths to lessen her panic, and it helped relieve the tightness in her chest.
“Your,” the girl paused, “Well, I guess not your,” she shook her head like it would help her straighten everything out, “Anyway, we’re in Lena Luthor’s personal lab at L-Corp.”
Lena looked around the lab. It didn’t look anything like her personal lab that she knew. Everything was more advanced, which was to be expected with thirty years of technological advancement, and Lena started to wonder just how far technology had come and how much she had to do with it.
“And you have access?” Lena asked, wondering if it was because the girl was apparently related to her in the future or if the girl really had the skill to help Lena on projects. The girl only nodded while motioning for Lena to stand up and follow her.
As Lena guessed, the lab led out into her office, but that was different too. It was warmer, more personal, and she saw framed covering her desk filled with pictures she couldn’t make out. There were even more trinkets here and there and an expensive bottle of scotch barely touched.
“Where are we going?” Lena asked as she tried to take in as much as she could before she left.
“The DEO,” the girl peeked outside the office, and when she found the assistant’s desk empty, she waved Lena through, “Liv called and told me about the disturbance and I figured the DEO is our best bet at finding out what’s going on.”
They got to the elevator at the end of the hall, and Lena followed the girl in, “Who is Liv?”
“Someone that can help. Oh,” the girl turned to Lena and offered her hand, “I’m Jules, by the way.”
Lena shook Jules’ hand and smiled, “It’s nice to meet you, Jules.” It didn’t help her figure out who this girl was, but she liked having a name to connect to her apparent niece.
“I’d say you too, but it feels confusing,” Jules said as she hit the button for the parking garage.
Lena breathed out a laugh, finally finding a bit of humor in her situation, “I think this is all a bit confusing.”
Jules smiled, “It’s definitely not what I expected to deal with at work today.”
Lena watched the red numbers at the top of the elevator count down and it dinged at their floor, the doors sliding open smoothly. Lena followed Jules to a car on the far end of the parking garage, and she took a step back as the doors slid up as Jules scanned her hand.
Her curiosity started to beat out the panic still ebbing in her system, and Lena started mentally mapping out exactly how she would build it.
“No hover cars?” She asked instead of the thousand questions swimming in her mind.
“Sadly no,” the car started, and Jules slid her phone into some sort of port, “It is completely electrical though.”
“Are all cars like this?”
“A majority,” Jules backed up easily and left the garage, “Some people like the feel of vintage vehicles, but with the lack of demand, the price for gas has gone up more and more over the years, making it difficult to keep them.”
Soft music filled the car, and Lena didn’t recognize it at all. It seemed to be in another language, but it wasn’t one that Lena recognized.
Lena looked out at National City as they made their way to the DEO, and she thought it was amazing how similar everything seemed. The sushi restaurant she loved still sat at the corner of the block, and as they drove by CatCo, Noonan’s still stood nearby, people sitting at tables with cups of coffee and sweet pastries.
There were major differences too. Aliens walked the streets in their true form, and no one seemed to have an issue with it. At a stoplight, Lena smiled at two small children, one with blue skin and spikes down their back and the other human-looking, pointing out different things to one another with excitement.
In no time at all, Jules was turning into a tunnel that led to underground parking, and Lena got out of the car and followed Jules through rows of cars to an entrance that she recognized.
The guard on duty smiled at the both of them. “You know, pipsqueak,” he said, leaning forward on his elbows, “For someone who doesn’t work with the DEO, you sure are here a lot.”
Jules rolled her eyes, “Majors, can we please just go through?”
“I’m not stopping you, queenie,” he sat back in his seat, and then his eyes narrowed at Lena, “Miss Luthor, I thought you left already.”
“I forgot to grab something,” Lena lied easily, and Majors shrugged, even if he still looked a bit suspicious.
“By all means, then.”
Majors motioned them through, and Lena and Jules were quick to head into the elevator before Majors figured out something was up.
The halls of the DEO were the same, and Lena found a small comfort in that. Even without Jules, she was confident she could find the command center on the top floor with ease.
Jules stopped her before they were in sight of the command center. “Wait here. I need to find Liv before we just walk not-Lena Luthor into a place filled with agents ready to assume everything is a threat.”
“Why would someone assume you’ve brought a threat into the DEO?” Someone asked from behind Jules, and Jules spun quickly, moving enough to see who it was.
Her first thought was Kara, but as she looked closer, she saw it was just someone who looked eerily similar. The girl had Kara’s wavy blonde hair, but it was cropped at the shoulder instead of flowing down her back, and there were other things, like her green eyes and the strong set of her jaw, that set her apart.
“Liv,” Jules rushed forward and threw a hand over Liv’s mouth, “Please, just announce that to the entire facility.”
Liv shrugged and a smirk evident in her eyes, and then she looked past Jules at Lena, and the humor disappeared from her eyes, shock replacing it.
“Before you ask, I’ll explain, but only if you promise not to blurt out your questions before I can even say anything.”
Liv nodded, and Jules let her go. Lena could see Liv look her up and down like she was analyzing every part of Lena, and Lena wondered what differences she was looking for.
“Okay, you know the disturbance you called me about?”
“Yeah,” Liv stopped analyzing Lena and focused on Jules again, “It came up on the monitors, and I just assumed it was someone visiting from Earth-1, but it didn’t look like any interdimensional disturbance I’ve seen.”
“Because it wasn’t interdimensional,” Jules said, “It was linear.”
“Oh great,” Liv’s hand went to her temple and rubbed at it, and Lena felt a ghost of familiarity wash over her, “Who even has the capacity for time travel?”
“You would know better than me.”
“Well, I would have to check my database to see what species even have the capability or technology, and then I would have to crosscheck it with the DEO’s files of fugitives of that species,” Liv sighed, “Unless it’s accidental. Then I would have to investigate the disturbance more to determine its cause, and all I know right now is that it originated over L-Corp.”
“I found her in the private labs, if that helps.”
Liv smiled at Jules, and she ruffled her hair a bit, “That actually does, Jay.”
Jules hit Liv away, and Lena figured they were sisters or something similar, because their interaction reminded Lena of being around Alex and Kara mid-play fight. She wouldn’t be surprised if Jules retorted by pulling Liv into a playfully headlock.
“What do we do about her?” Liv asked as she tried to ruffle Jules’ hair again, “It’s not like she can stay here without us explaining.”
“Her does have a name,” Lena said finally, putting herself into the conversation.
“Yes, of course,” Liv stopped messing with Jules, and she paused before saying, “Lena.” She seemed awkward as she said it, and Lena was curious why, but before she could ask, Lena heard something drop to the floor behind her.
“Oh my god.”
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firjii · 6 years
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Chapters: 13/13 Fandom: Dragon Age: Inquisition Rating: General Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Characters: F!Lavellan, Solas (Dragon Age), Keeper Deshanna Istimaethoriel Lavellan, Cole (Dragon Age), Varric Tethras Additional Tags: invented codex entries, background development, Inquisitor Backstory, Mild Language, brief references to canon-typical violence, Depression, Suggestions of PTSD, Epistolary, POV Varric Tethras
Summary: A non-linear epistolary story about my Inquisitor Bae Lavellan, told via invented codices.
I’ve been posting certain portions separately as they’ve gotten finished, but here’s the full text since I officially completed it and, well, why not inflict a bit of link spam when I have a legit opportunity? :D
Plain text under the cut.
[This is angsty throughout, but the darkest themes are mostly vague and open to interpretation, therefore I decided that “General” was a better rating fit than “Chose Not To Use Warnings”]
Chapter 1
Codex: Entry from a Skyhold Cook’s Journal
I asked Cole why he keeps stealing things from the kitchen. At first, he only said that it wasn’t stealing if it still went into someone’s stomach. It took me ten minutes to explain to him what theft was.
I shouldn’t really complain. He doesn’t take much, and it’s not even hearty food. He takes two-day-old bread, not the fresh sorts – or else he’ll take half-burned things. He takes honey, but only if I’ve spilled spices into it. I’ve offered him the better fare we can make, but he ignores me. He only wants the scraps.
I asked him if he wants it for himself. He asked me why he’d ever want food.
It took me a good hour of arguing to finally get it out of him. I asked who it was for. He said the Inquisitor. I asked him why he was taking scraps and spoiled honey to her. He said they were a feast in her eyes.
I’ll never forget his words: “When she’s seen death, she shivers like the wind that blows the ashes away after the fires. She remembers who they were. She sees embers. She sees the lives they might have been, and they make her forget the things she should remember instead. The only way she can stop shaking and eat is to bite into something old and stale and solid, something to remind her that the world is still solid.”
She’s got a weak stomach, then. That’s no surprise. I don’t think she enjoys killing.
I asked him what the honey was for. He said her throat’s usually raw for one reason or another.
I should tell our spymaster.
Chapter 2
Codex: A Letter in a Shaky Hand
I should’ve guessed that someone like you would know. You probably worked it out somehow as soon as they found me. Who knows what you spied on while I was asleep?
But never mind about that now. I don’t care. You’ve kept your silence well enough, whatever you know about me.
I don’t have to explain a damn thing to you, but I won’t deny it, either. Yes, it’s part of me. There shouldn’t be shame in it, but that doesn’t mean there isn’t. It wasn’t my fault, but it is my burden. There aren’t enough people in the world who understand the difference. You do, I think, so I owe you a debt: honesty.
I can’t escape it, but I’m almost not sure that I want to. It probably sounds horrible to say that, but it’s the truth. That’s as much of it as I can spare for you for now. It visits me every day. Every time I see it before me again, it reminds me of what I can’t let myself become. It reminds me of all the things I’m fighting. It reminds me that I’m not wrong. It reminds me that I’m not a traitor to my people for saying what I say. They speak the truth, but not always all of it. I don’t want to be like them. I don’t want to use our downfall as an excuse to ignore the crimes we commit against each other to this very day.
You asked me what I’ll do when this is over. You’ve asked me that from the day we first met. I damn well better answer you sooner or later. I don’t know. I can’t go back. I still can’t believe that I stayed as long as I did. I was unclaimed, but if you ask some among them, it’s more like I was unclaimable.
What you saw that day was a stumble, nothing more. They happen from time to time. I’m usually more careful, but it was such a scene, and there were too many people. I forgot myself. I forgot where and who I was. It was bound to happen. It’s been a long time since it came that badly. I’m glad I know that it can still be that intense. As you might say, it was instructive. I’m almost glad that it happened. My stomach will be well enough in a day or two. Don’t worry yourself about the marks. They’re old. That’s all we need to say about it.
I’ll be alright. They don’t need to hear about it. It won’t affect me. I’ll make sure it doesn’t interfere from now on. It’s like you said: it’s in the past. I thank you for being so graceful about it. I don’t know what you did, but those few moments were –
[illegible words vigorously crossed out]
I didn’t expect that from someone who loves facts as deeply as you do. I shouldn’t be surprised. You’ve seen so much, but I didn’t believe you until you acted as you did that day. I’m not sure that I could have trusted the others to see me like that, and you were right: the best thing for me in those moments is quiet.
You offered to help interpret my dreams. I don’t know to what end. I know already what they mean. I only have a few of them. But if you –
[illegible]
You understand. That’s all I need to say for now.
 – correspondence from Inquisitor Lavellan to Solas, carefully folded and hidden in an ancient tome in Skyhold’s rotunda
Chapter 3
Codex: A Letter to Sister Nightingale Regarding Inquisitor Lavellan’s Unusual Constitution
It is most strange: she flinches so easily at small noises as if they were part of war’s deafening din. She sometimes flies into a blind panic at the sight of fire. Throngs of people can agitate her, even if they consist entirely of her closest friends in the Inquisition.
But she rarely reacts to pain in the ways that most people would.
I’m certain that she feels it. I have seen her bleeding like a stuck pig. I have seen her face turn ashen from a dislocated shoulder. I have seen her tremble so much that she fainted (in fact, this is something that all in the Inquisition must be advised to watch for, regardless of the implications that such a fact might provoke). She weeps fiercely from ache and wound alike, but silently, and often only in seclusion. All told, I suspect that she has seen far more of injuries than any one person deserves in this life.
Despite her relative youth (especially for an elf), she almost displays signs of a long-healed stroke – almost. I cannot confirm or deny it, but some of her lackings suggest a peculiar hemorrhage of that sort, albeit clearly something that she recovered from very well as she has no great encumbering loss to show for it. Nevertheless, they are distinct details which are rarely connected to other ailments or injuries. Yet she cannot remember (or cannot admit) any such incident.
As to her – well, I cannot share such details, chiefly because she herself refuses to elaborate on most of them. Suffice it to say that both the conclusion and the actions leading to it still pain her, though for different reasons. As a surgeon, I will attest that there is no immediate urgency or danger. I merely wonder how someone like her – her manner leads me to believe that she has surely always been sensitive in more than one way, perhaps even delicate – endured through it and managed not to succumb to despair. To have a grievous loss be the result of an already grievous offense would make lesser souls willingly hurtle themselves into the Void.
On that note, the scars you spoke of are quite suspicious. It’s true, they may be ordinary wounds, but that kind of coincidence would be unlikely. There is something strangely persistent and repetitive about some of them. They pose no bodily hindrance that I can see, but she acts strangely if questioned about them. I suggest leaving the topic dormant, but it would be wise to note if any new injuries of a similar sort appear at any time.
I have yet to see her howl in pain. Perhaps this is something that the Dalish teach their children – although it would not be altogether logical in her case since she has freely admitted that her umarked face is precisely because of her clan’s awareness of her intolerance to pain.
Perhaps she simply taught herself how to muffle her cries. Perhaps need forced her to learn the habit. In any case, do not assume that her silence is indifference to agony. If anything, she feels it far more acutely than the rest of us.
I sometimes wish that I could do something other than dull her senses for a few hours. I am now firmly convinced that such herbs and potions do nothing whatsoever for her mind.
– an unnamed Inquisition field surgeon 
Chapter 4
Codex: On Literacy - A Report Regarding Inquisitor Bae Lavellan, As Related by Keeper Deshanna Istimaethoriel Lavellan
She could count the beats of a butterfly’s wings if it suited her. She could memorize the patter of a lame man’s limp and imitate it with her own stride. She could breathe so silently that the most skittish of wild beasts scarcely noticed her presence.
But she could not learn Elven.
It puzzled me from the first early days when she could speak. Certainly she knew the words we use most often in clan life, and she always hid her confusion well. Yet she simply couldn’t understand it. She is a fine scholar, though doubtless she has made some in your Inquisition believe otherwise since she has a habit of dwelling on her weaknesses. She has a strong ear for animal calls and music, and she could always remember our campfire stories better than those whose position was defined by storytelling.
But she could never grasp our own language in the way that others in the clan could. No amount of my efforts seemed to help for her written or spoken attempts. It may seem strange to you that someone who did not grow up hearing Common the majority of the time somehow became more fluent in it than her people’s native tongue, but this is a true and fair accounting of your Inquisitor, as requested. 
In time, I chose to allow her to focus on other studies. Elves may live longer than the other races, but that does not mean that we treat time as less precious than it truly is. Magic is far more important to control than mere speech, after all. Others in the clan sometimes resented her for forcing them to speak the humans’ language – but in truth, she expected very little of them. She spoke to some people as rarely as possible. In fact, she was never very talkative at all. For a time, her parents even wondered if she was deaf or mute.
Thus she grew to think of her surroundings and the people within it, ever wary of offending. If given a chance to explain herself, she will admit that she often gathered her own herbs and fruits and attempted hunting in her own way so that she could avoid being harassed by certain hard people in the clan who insisted on tormenting her despite my reprimands. However you choose to use her talents, you must not bother her with questions about something which she is ignorant of through no one’s fault, including hers.
You need not worry about her knowledge of written Common. She can read it well enough, although elaborate handwriting may prove a struggle sometimes. I suggest using your considerable resources to obtain literate messengers who can read formal letters aloud, or else simply allow your Ambassador Montilyet to summarize them for her.
-Keeper Deshanna Istimaethoriel Lavellan
Chapter 5
Codex: A Letter to Leliana
Everyone keeps asking if I’m cold. I’m not, but I can’t stop shaking. It must confuse them. I don’t care about the climate. I enjoyed snow until now.
It’s everywhere. You can’t hike about for more than half a mile before you find more of it. It’s so warm near it. The glow is more than a glow. It seems like a heartbeat sometimes. I’m not a dwarf and I’ll never have stone sense, but this is too obvious to deny and too invasive to ignore. There are ripples in the air near it, and there are tendrils that move about like lightning, only much slower. It seems like they’re speaking, but I can’t hear anything.
The others don’t react, but I’m sure it’s not in my mind. Cole overheard my thoughts when we first arrived here and he seems as nervous as I am, but he doesn’t say much about it. Cassandra tries hard to help me, but her soldiering skills only reach so far when the fighting’s done, and she knows that. She’s careful to watch me eat. Everyone tells me I haven’t eaten as much as I should when I’m upset. That might be true, but how can I think about food when all I can see are those –  
Dorian only remarked on the dangers of lyrium. He’s hardly spoken of it beyond that. But I know what I’m feeling. It’s not the sort of thing you can wish away.
We claimed Suledin Keep easily enough – not that it was easy, but we’ve faced steeper odds. Imshael was difficult, but that’s not what worries me. He did exactly what his nature demanded. He’s not the one who started it.
We shouldn’t keep a presence there. Something’s still not right in that place. Corypheus is powerful, but I’m not afraid of him. I’m afraid of Emprise.
It can’t be mended. Everything’s wrong here. I wonder if this was what the last Blight felt like. Emprise was beautiful once, that much is clear. Maybe it still is. My thoughts wander so far sometimes. I haven’t dreamt as I should for years now, and this place seems to be shifting that balance. But everything here is sick now. It’s as sickly as the villagers who – [illegible]
I’m sorry for the scrawling. I lost control of my hand just now. My stomach will always remember what I saw here. You’ll read the agents’ reports soon enough. A few of the captives who weren’t altered have agreed to come back with us to Skyhold to confirm what happened – not that we need much proof. Red lyrium doesn’t appear like this on its own.
Please don’t make me explain it in person. I can’t do it. This time is different. I cherish your friendship, but there’s no advice you can give me. There’s only ice and ruin here.
– Inquisitor Lavellan
Chapter 6
Codex: Transcript of a Young Cook’s Helper in a Tavern
I was tired and I couldn’t think straight, but business is business and there wasn’t anyone else there to do it. It was already a warm day, but the stoves were burning hotter than usual. I could barely breathe in that place anyway. There’s not enough air in the best of times, even with the shutters open. But no one complains if it means somewhere warm in winter.
I was nervous, too. It doesn’t take much for Cook to clip me somewhere. I’m a bungler, and I know it. But Maker! All those scouts. All those Chantry folk, except they didn’t act like Chantry folk. They were too cheerful. I didn’t understand why. Soldiers don’t have a reason to be cheerful.
I didn’t even see the Inquisitor at first. She wasn’t in uniform. Maker, the scouts were in fancier dress than her! Not that she wasn’t well-dressed, but she didn’t look like – well, what does an Inquisitor look like? She didn’t have the Inquisition emblem on any of her gear – not even a brooch. I s’pose that only makes sense. Why put a target on your leader’s chest, eh?
She didn’t say a word. She barely looked at anyone. She traced dings and gashes in a table while she waited for her food. If she hadn’t been nodding when her fellows talked to her, I’d have thought her deaf or dumb, or both. She didn’t act like a leader. She didn’t even act like an equal. Swear to Andraste, she squirmed every time someone bumped her. She blushed when I caught someone calling her Inquisitor. But she wasn’t angry, either. She was patient, or at least better at keeping her annoyances to herself. I thought she was just dour. But what dour leader has happy agents, eh?
Anyway, I didn’t have much time to think on it. I was rushing around to feed all these extra folk. I don’t know where we found the food to do it, but we did it. But it was such a scurry! I barely had time to set food on tables before I had to go back again and again. I don’t know how many times I did it. It must’ve been dozens.
I had a dizzy spell. I didn’t see it coming, it came that fast. I don’t think anyone would’ve noticed, except I spilled one of the plates I was carrying on my arm. It was something with butter sauce. Butter burns are the worst kind. I screamed and fell. By the time I was on the floor, I’d spilled even more of the sauce. I screamed again.
And Maker’s breath, do you know who came over and stopped my head from banging on the floor? Not the cook, not the Chantry sisters, not the mages. The Inquisitor.
No one asked her to. No one told her to. She didn’t even hesitate. She just scrambled over like a horse. She didn’t make me stand up, either. She let me stay there until the dizziness passed. Cook heard all the noise and came out to yell at me, but the Inquisitor waved her away. No, she didn’t just wave her away, she screamed at her. Proper screaming. She picked me up and put me on a bench like I was no more trouble to carry than a baby. She knew what to do about the burn, too. She even gave me a potion before she left – she said it’d help the burn heal sooner. It did.
Now listen here. My mother was an elf, Maker rest her soul. She barely lived long enough to get me out of nursing age. There are other elf-bloodeds in this village – they just won’t admit it. They took me in as one of their own, and I know I’m lucky. But I’ve never met a kind elf. The alienages sound horrible and the Dalish sound fierce. But the only fierceness the Inquisitor had was against meanness in other people. She wouldn’t have known I was her kin. I look human – I’m just a bit short.
If she’s really the one running the Inquisition, I just wonder – what could the world be like if other folk acted like her?
Chapter 7
Codex: Correspondence Between Seeker Cassandra Pentaghast and Varric Tethras
Varric,
I need a favor and I’m unsure who else to ask. For whatever reason, our Inquisitor trusts you, so maybe you will succeed where others have failed. I’ve merely been asking her about her life. Understanding where someone came from is important, no? But she gets quite upset (or simply ignores me) whenever I ask after a certain name. That name. She claims that she never chose one, but I have my doubts. Leliana has been very standoffish about it, too.
-Cassandra
  Cassandra,
‘Succeed where others have failed’? Do you realize what that sounds like? Can you imagine what Mouse would say if she knew you’d said that? Actually, that’s not a bad idea. I should take note of that and remember it the next time you ask me to go ass-deep into danger when you could choose from half a dozen others instead.
Leliana’s right. As hard as it is to believe, there are some things a spymaster won’t do, even for her own side. For the last time, stop being so pushy. You’re not an interrogator anymore and Mouse isn’t your prisoner. It’s none of your business anyway. If she wants to talk about it, she will, but you can’t force her to do anything before she’s good and ready for it. I know better by now, and so should you.
And what does it matter? She has enough to worry about without you nagging her about something she doesn’t want to think about. Maker knows I wouldn’t, and I’m not even a woman. Don’t run out on brittle ice on a lake and be surprised when it breaks under your feet.
Back in Kirkwall, Aveline tried to ask Fenris a similar question. He didn’t want to answer it either. With all that’s wrong in the world, what the hell difference does a name make?
-Varric
  Varric,
It matters because no one can endure that kind of anguish alone forever. It matters because it will help her talk about it. It matters because when I’ve heard her cry out in the night, she doesn’t scream for the person who should have brought her happiness. She keens against her tormentors instead.
-Cassandra
  Cassandra,
I’d laugh, except there’s nothing funny about it. ‘Tormentors’? Is that really what you’d call them? I won’t even waste time on all the reasons why that was a shitty way to put it. Just stare at the word for awhile and come to your own conclusions.
Has it occurred to you that she might not remember everything? The surgeon told you in no uncertain terms: he thinks she had a stroke. I agree. I’ve met people who had them. Mouse is lucky that it hasn’t affected her more than it did. You can’t hear it in her speech and her movements look damn well close to normal if she’s carrying weapons. She does have her moments, but Maker knows she tries. And usually, she succeeds. End of story. She didn’t let it get in her way any more than we let our troubles get in our way.
But we don’t know what really happened. No one does. From what I understand about it, that’s one hell of a complication. Between wanting to block out what led to it and barely staying in one piece after that, she’s allowed a little peace from conversation about it. She has enough to worry about. And something tells me that she’s always been worried about a lot. You saw the letter from her Keeper. I’ll never understand how the world chooses who it wants to trample. But she doesn’t let that bother her, either – not that I’ve seen or that she’ll admit to, anyway.
So in no uncertain terms, my dear Seeker: BACK OFF. Mouse isn’t alone. I know what you meant, but it’s not true, and she knows that. I’ve told her that and I think she believed me. She knows where to find you if she changes her mind. She knows we’re here if she needs us. ‘Friend’ and ‘force’ start with the same letter, but they can never mean the same thing.
-Varric
Chapter 8
Codex: Personal Notes in a Frustrated Hand
I don’t understand it. It’s as if she doesn’t take pride in being a mage. It’s as if she doesn’t realize what a threat it can be to her own existence. Magic is as natural to her as breath is to me, but she neither boasts about it nor hides it. If anyone asks her a serious question about a spell or a ward, she answers equally seriously in turn, as if she doesn’t realize that she’s been an exotic oddity all the while.
I’ve tried asking her about Dalish life. She hasn’t once corrected me when I make an assertion, but she also refuses to elaborate. Perhaps that’s only the Dalish way, though. Our scholars don’t know everything, after all.
Even so, she hasn’t called a human a shem even once. She shares meals with them, confides in them, even has lengthy discussions with Mother Giselle when the garden is quiet. She banters with dwarves. She acts like that Qunari wall of a man is no different than one of her fellows. She treats city elves as well as some people treat their own blood relatives. And contrary to popular belief, she is not frightened of or daunted by beards – merely a little intrigued by Warden Blackwall’s.
I’ve even seen her lingering before altars. I haven’t dared to approach her in those moments, of course, but it is quite a spectacle: a Dalish elf with no vallaslin and – so it would seem – Andrastian beliefs. Where’s her resentment about being a descendant of an oppressed people? Where’s her outrage about the Chantry’s treatment of mages in the civilized parts of the world? Even I will admit to their severity, Maker rest my soul.
Where’s her vigor? Perhaps it all resides in her magic.
She’s not an elf – not really. It’s ridiculous. She goes around with her bare face as if there’s nothing she was denied. What kind of self-respecting Dalish doesn’t choose marks? What kind of traitor like that would’ve been sent to the Conclave? It’s almost as if the Dalish knew what would happen and wanted to be rid of one of the weaker strands in their weave.
– a page from the journal of an undisclosed University of Orlais student specializing in cultural studies
Chapter 9
Codex: From an Unpublished Anonymous Manuscript Written Twenty Years After the Exalted Council
The Inquisitor was said to have had more than one family.
True enough, she was raised among her own people, but her parents were exiled for some unknown reason while she was still a small child. Part of their punishment was that they leave their daughter behind, evidently for the good of the clan as her magic had already manifested and the Lavellans were in need of strong mage potential.
Curiously by Dalish standards, she and some others in her clan were apparently discouraged from fraternizing too closely with each other. One theory simply poses the notion that her shy tendencies might have been seen by her elders as tenderness exceeding common standards, or perhaps that she was not intelligent enough to understand such inevitable events. Another – the one supported by Mistress Lavellan herself – is that despite the Dalish tendency to shuffle people between clans to prevent inbreeding, perhaps she actually had other siblings or half-siblings. Still other rumors – of a more unsettling nature – can be inferred on close examination of some correspondences. 
The dynamics of her clan – or, rather, their dynamics towards her – at the time of her life were universally acknowledged as unusual, if not difficult. This was in no small part because of her neutrality with regards to other races and cultures, even by Clan Lavellan standards. While no document has ever been found to suggest that they ever disproved of her openness and diplomacy during the Inquisition, it has been strongly suggested that this somehow factored into her decision to not return to her people had they survived.
Though a retreating sort, she was said to have made fast friends with many people in the Inquisition. It would therefore not be an unreasonable stretch of the truth to go as far as saying that the Inquisition was perhaps her true family. One would be hard pressed to find an unflattering or angry description of her by one of her companions. It is even said that she eventually took to calling Varric Tethras ‘Uncle,’ likely the truth given that figure’s general conviviality towards the world at large.
It is said that when she disbanded the Inquisition, she was not dispirited about the organization’s troubles (those had become patently obvious to her by that time and the result was inevitable, however uncomfortable) as much as the prospect of watching her second, adopted family disintegrate or disperse. Indeed, while every companion and advisor thrived outside of the Inquisition and the Inquisitor was in frequent communication with all of them, she was said to have acted as if in mourning for various reasons following the disbanding.
Chapter 10
Codex: A Few Requests Put Forth to the Inquisition’s Advisors
As much as our dear leader enjoys all of your company, there are some things that just need to be said – and the Inquisitor isn’t very good at directness, in case you hadn’t noticed.
Leliana, for Maker’s sake, ease up on offering to threaten people. I’m not questioning your skills or your methods. There are times when there’s really no other way, and it’ll always be part of a spymaster’s job. Fine. Do what you need to do to keep us safe and informed. But please don’t talk about it to Mouse. If you have to do something, do it quietly. Don’t tell her. She won’t want to know. I’ve seen her stay awake all night just because she was re-thinking something that you casually mentioned to her a few weeks earlier. She’s realistic. She knows that death and war are inseparable. But she also tends to take sport in blaming herself. It helps no one and hinders everyone.
Josephine, please stop bombarding Mouse with cultural lessons as soon avs she comes back from a mission. She’s curious and a quicker study than she looks. I think she even enjoys it since it’s a change of pace from fighting. But she also overspends herself. A lot. She’s just too timid to admit it. Teaching her about the world is well and good, but at least consider breaking the lessons up into more manageable afternoons. Don’t try to intensively teach her Orlesian and make her memorize royal lineages in the same day.  
Cullen, stop moping about how we didn’t get the Templars. Fiona’s a powerful ally and there hasn’t been a single truly dangerous incident with the mages since we took them in. You haven’t seen what I’ve seen. Each and every one of them are every bit as much a refugee as Fereldan humans are right now. Half of them just want to be left alone. It’s not always about power. Mouse is stronger with magic than she’ll admit, but she keeps it quiet for a reason. She doesn’t like to feel powerful. I think you can say the same about a lot of our magically-inclined allies.
And as for all of you – look, whatever you do, don’t rush her…about anything. I don’t much understand it myself, but I don’t need to. It’s how things are. If one of my second cousins used to cut a hole in a frozen lake in winter and make his ass purple from the cold just to make him forget his arthritis for awhile, it’s not that strange if our Inquisitor likes to take things slowly. As long as it doesn’t hobble her in a fight, it shouldn’t matter.
– Varric
Chapter 11
Codex: A Letter from Leliana
Inquisitor,
I am pleased to inform you that seven farmers in Crestwood have agreed to your proposal. They hope to settle in the hallas by the end of the month. They were initially hesitant when we explained that they are independent creatures who tend to resent being penned in, but we assured them that this also means that they sometimes only need minimal herding attention and will manage themselves given the right conditions.
I was also delighted to hear that the blind halla taken along as a testimony for all to consider has chosen to bond with a young boy. The child is deaf, but his stillness apparently caught the halla’s attention, just as the halla’s graceful movements caught the boy’s liking.
I’m afraid that we could not find even more willing participants at this stage, but some families fled weeks ago, and others are still occupied with rebuilding their homes and making arrangements for the missing people recovered from the lake. I suspect that more will come forward in time.
Chapter 12
Codex: A Worn Page Filled With Random Phrases
Trees. Cottonwoods?
Cherries. Don’t know who got them or where they came from.
Laughter. They all had different laughs. Why do I remember them?
Warmth. It was a hot day. But my face was also flushed? Can’t remember.
Screams. Mine? Not a lot. I needed my breath for other things.
White. Gray pulsing stars every time I tried to focus my eyes. They throbbed so hard. I couldn’t see anything after awhile.
The laughter stopped. There was a fly. It was so loud. It felt like it was there for hours. It wouldn’t leave me alone. But I couldn’t move to wave it away. I was tired.
I wept. I was so thirsty. There was a river, but I couldn’t walk to get to it. I told myself to move, but I couldn't. I don't know why.
I crawled part of the way back to the camp. I made myself stand up and walk the rest of the way when sunset came. Got back to my tent at midnight or so. I was sunburned. I hadn’t noticed the sun.
Someone scolded me about a fray in my shirt but gave me clean breeches without question.  
 Varric you prick, this was a stupid idea.
 – from a small journal well-hidden in the Inquisitor’s quarters
Chapter 13
Codex: A Letter in an Unusually Formal Hand
We can’t know what will happen tonight, tomorrow, or next week. We don’t know what Corypheus will try to do to end the Inquisition – or the world.
I understand that a will isn’t worth much without any possessions to distribute, but I’m told that some people use them as an opportunity to give last messages to family and loved ones. Many of you know what I think of you, but in case you don’t, I’ll take this one chance I have left to say the unsaid.
Leliana – you frighten me. You really do. But we’ve trusted our lives to you so many times and you haven’t led us astray yet. I don’t see how that will ever change. Some think that your fierceness is unseemly. I think it’s marvelous. You’re the only person who might really have the will to change the Chantry. I wish you the best of luck.
Josephine – thank you for tolerating my whims about food. I know I have expensive and strange tastes (even by the wealthy’s standards), but you can’t imagine how much it’s helped for me to eat something agreeable when I’m too upset to stomach other fare. It’s a greater kindness than you’ll ever realize.
Cullen – I won’t waste time reassuring you about the future. It would sound hollow. You already know what you need to do. Remember what I said. Don’t give up on something just because it’s difficult. You’ve made it this far. I don’t doubt that you’ll make even more strides.    
Cassandra – Thank you for not hiding your battle scars. I know that won’t sound like much, but seeing them every day made me realize that admitting to my own isn’t as dreadful as I’d been told before now. I’m not sure what else I should tell someone who has been as determined as you are. You say that your faith is your strength as much as your weakness, but I don’t think it’s either. If it guides you to question as much as it pushes you to action, it’s worth protecting.
Dorian – you made me realize something that I hadn’t allowed myself to think about before now. I hadn’t thought it possible, especially given…well, you know what. We hardly have the same story, but we were both forced to be what we weren’t. You’ve shown me that my nature and my desires don’t have to contradict each other. You were the first to notice when I spent more time than was needed with Solas. Your reaction was nothing short of graceful. For that, you will always have my thanks.
Bull – I can’t believe you tricked me into killing a high dragon. Ten times, in fact. I’m sorry we couldn’t have gotten the Sandy Howler, but you saw how it was. At least Hakkon is gone. Thank you for your courage in the face of great and small struggles. Some people might have called you insane. Damned right you are, but I wouldn’t have it any other way.
Cole – I needn’t dedicate any space on the page since you already know my thoughts, but allow me a moment to indulge myself anyway. The others don’t understand you, but you should never let that discourage you. What you do and who you are is important. You’re doing exactly as you should. I never doubted your motives. We’re kindreds, you and I, and that’s sterner stuff than any words we might speak.
Sera – life always needs more arrows. I can’t pretend we’ve always gotten along, but your energy always reminded me to keep trying, striving, daring. Those are all things I’d forgotten how to do before the Conclave. Always question – but also always remember that there’s usually more than one way to solve a problem.
Vivienne – I’m sorry that I couldn’t do more to help your dear Bastien. You showed so much concern for me and I couldn’t even find the wyvern heart in time to save him. Friendships don’t always get the rewards they are owing, and I’m sorry that ours is one of those.
Blackwall – I hope you’ll forgive yourself someday soon. What you did doesn’t matter half as much as what you’re doing. By your deeds as much as my decree, you’re not that man anymore. Learn from your mistakes. Remember them if you must. But never use them as an excuse to hide. Only the truly wicked should hide. Only those who embrace their wrongs deserve to look over their shoulders more often than they watch their feet on the path ahead of them. 
Varric – you’re one of the only people in the Inquisition who didn’t make me grind my teeth every ten minutes. You knew when to persist and when to leave me be. You noticed things far sooner than most of the others. I don’t need to tell you what to do. Don’t let them weep for me. Whether good or bad, don’t let them say I was something I wasn’t. Just tell Maryden to play my favorite song. She’ll know which one.
Solas – banal nadas. Ar lath ma.
 -from an envelope covered with illustrations of various heraldry evidently drawn by the Inquisitor herself
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inktrailing · 3 years
Text
SPN: purgatorio (snippet)
Figured I'd post some snippets of my WIPs. This diverted in season... 7? Some of this concept I wrote years ago and I have to get further in my rewatch to see if I need to shuffle things around. Basically Lucifer was trying to use the hallucinations as a way to manifest through someone and ended up helping Cas out a bit but popped out in Purgatory when Cas got there (the chunk I took for this post gets into the bare bones of it).
I definitely take more liberties than I usually do XD But I've been having fun playing around with a significantly non-linear timeline. Fic so far is ~11k words, 2 parts (I don't imagine it'll go over 2 parts, but I've been wrong before). I am still jumping around for how long they're in Purgatory for so that time on chp 2/3 here might change.
Might actually change the title at some point. Mostly a placeholder right now.
This is slowburn Dean/Lucifer but maybe will also be Dean/Castiel I really don't know yet. Benny's just close with everyone lol.
Warning: Explicit Language, Canon-Typical Violence
purgatorio
1
Three months ago.
Dean's running.
The woods by now are a familiar brush against his clothing. He knows this forest, embodies the trees, breathes the wind. He became a part of it months—years?—ago and he doesn't think if he's ever free that it's going to leave him. His bones crack a song same as the creaking branches.
Purgatory is a piece of him.
The night closes in behind him, shadow in the shape of a maw, cleaving through the underbrush as he vaults a cluster of boulders—the landmark he's been looking for, finally. He ducks a split tree branch, nearly skids through a patch of mud, trips, catches himself, and stumbles just over the first ring of the bloodied magic circle. A second hop has him beyond the next tight-together rings and then he's gulping down a relieved breath of air as he falls, hard, into another body.
“It's coming,” he says quickly on his exhale, clasping a hand to Cas's shoulder and straightening unsteadily. He twists his wrist and flips his crude blade in his grip, shifting his stance in front of Cas after he's caught his breath.
“Did you lay the trap?” Cas asks.
“What d'ya take me for, huh?” Dean replies with a huff.
“You forgot last time,” says a voice from behind them.
Dean scoffs and looks back where in their makeshift camp, center of the ritual circle, sits the devil. Legs crossed, palms up, hands sliced through, blood and grace dripping idly between his fingers.
“Yeah, and I learned my lesson after that one time, thanks,” Dean barks at him, focusing his attention back on the trees further being swallowed by the tide of shadow. The rumble follows, thunderous as each tree snaps and tears from the ground. Dean sees the burn of yellow eyes somewhere far back in that sea of darkness, and then hears a loud yelp and the yellow blinks out, followed by an ear-piercing howl that he can't help flinch from.
Cas sucks in a breath. “Maybe we... should have waited for Benny for this.”
“Would've been nice,” Dean agrees. The howl sounds again, reverberating angrily through the wood. Even Lucifer makes a hiss of displeasure. “Doesn't seem like our friend was willing to wait. Lucifer, this spell is going to hold, right?”
“Oh, I don't know,” Lucifer sings.
“You don't know? You said yesterday—”
“I believe yesterday I said 'probably,'” Lucifer interrupts. “Would you like to offer some blood to the cause?” he says snidely.
“Would it help?” Dean asks, matching his tone.
“Unlikely,” Cas says.
“Mm,” Lucifer agrees.
The two yellow eyes flare again, and the very forest screams as the shadow coalesces into the shape of a massive—wounded—beast.
Dean laughs and bumps shoulders with Cas, who wobbles just slightly. “Awesome, great, I love this. This'll be fine.”
The beast charges.
2
Sixteen months, three weeks, and six days ago.
“Didn't think he'd just wing off, did you?”
Dean jerks around at the voice. He's jumpy enough as it is, hearing the monsters closing in on fresh meat, circling him for a snack, and Cas is gone. Cas is gone and Lucifer is here and what the fuck he's got nothing to deal with any of this. He freezes.
“My brother really doesn't like conflict, Dean,” Lucifer continues, sighing and staring up towards the starless sky. “He'll be back in due time, likely when he deems it safe, or has that overwhelming need to protect you that he often has.” His gaze flicks back to Dean. “But I think we'll be alright without him.”
“You're in Hell,” Dean blurts, unable to hide his panic.
“Was in Hell,” Lucifer corrects. “Then I was riding around in your brother's psyche, and then in my brother's psyche, and now it seems I'm here, free of any anchor.” Lucifer rolls his shoulders in a small, half shrug. “Not as planned, but it works, I suppose.”
“You son of a bitch—” Dean is saying as he moves to, what? Punch the devil? Because that's a smart plan, Dean? But then there's several furry wolf-like monsters leaping out of bushes towards the delectable human snack and suddenly Lucifer doesn't seem like Dean's biggest problem because Cas said things about being torn to shreds and Dean is going to die.
Sorry, Bobby, he may be joining you sooner than intended.
But then there's a snap and Dean recoils at the sound and the nearest wolves are torn asunder, blood spraying across Lucifer's side.
“You may want to rethink this suicidal plan of yours,” Lucifer tells the remaining shadows, fingers poised to snap again. He hears them shift, unsteady and he grins, wolfish in his own right. He sees the gleam of eyes watching him for a long moment, and then they blink out, and are gone.
All Dean could do was stare. Lucifer's fight had only encompassed a few seconds. Dean shakes. He hears the rest of the predators move off at the display and Lucifer's words.
Dean's not sure if he should be thanking Lucifer or running; surely Lucifer would only be keeping him alive so that he could torture him relentlessly. Though at the moment, Lucifer seemed more intent on cleaning the blood from his arm.
“You really should relax, Dean. I'd bet the creatures here can smell fear just as much as they can smell blood. We should move somewhere we can have some kind of advantage when my brother returns.”
Dean stares as Lucifer drops to one knee and settles for wiping his arm along the patches of grass.
Dean's mind just flatlines because yeah, sure, that all sounds peachy. Because Dean is totally going to obey the devil and go with him wherever he wants. Of course. “Cas isn't coming back with you here.”
“You would think that, wouldn't you? Since Castiel told your brother that he had stopped seeing me. Which was good of him; neither of you would ever believe that I was helping my brother. Because, for the record, his 'craziness' isn't my fault. He didn't need any help going that route.”
“What are you talking about?” Dean demands, and nearly snarls at the sympathetic look Lucifer shoots his way.
“Resurrection never goes easily, Dean,” Lucifer explains. “There are always complications, even if our Father is the one who keeps doing it. And this time? Maybe it was as a punishment. First free to not be himself, and then having all his memories slam back into him? It's not healthy, even for an angel.” He shakes his head. “Can he stabilize? I still don't know.”
Dean lets those words wash over him. He wonders if Lucifer is lying to him, but more often than not the truth hurts more than lies. He doesn't know how to reply to Lucifer. He's not even sure why he's still here, but if Cas does come back, he feels like he shouldn't leave the angel with his older brother. Cas wasn't just imagining the little twinge of forgiveness in Dean's voice. Not much, but it was a start.
“Oh. Good. You two aren't killing each other.”
Speak of the...
Cas.
Cas looks uncomfortable to be with them in the clearing, his weight shifting back and forth on his feet, glancing from Lucifer to Dean, then down at the remains of the wolves and making a pitied face. “I found a cave. Seems empty and without anything previously taken residence in it.” He looks back at Dean, biting his lip.
Lucifer nods to his brother. “Lead the way, then.”
Dean has barely five seconds to realize that Lucifer is in his immediate space, registering Cas taking off again and then a hand clapped to his shoulder and the disorienting tilt of reality as Lucifer pulls him across Purgatory. He staggers into a slick cave wall, suddenly having a new appreciate for Cas's flight paths because damn was it a lot more stable than whatever the heck Lucifer just did.
He takes a perverse pleasure in the fact that Lucifer teeters away, like the flight screwed with him, too.
Then he whips to Cas and points at the devil. “How do you lie about something like this?!”
Cas quails when Dean turns on him. “Don't be mad at me, Dean,” he answers, a warble in his voice. He fidgets, like he's unsure what he wants to do with his arms, awkwardly settling to hold an elbow up with a hand, not quite crossing his arms. “You would have only been bothered, and... Lucifer has... only been supporting me.”
“Of course I would have been 'bothered', Cas! He's the damn devil! He's not there to support you, he's just using you!” he yells.
“Oh, you mean like how you always use him?” Lucifer tsks. “I wonder which one of us is more at fault.”
Cas backs away from the two. “Please, don't fight.”
Lucifer sneers, then frowns, then cocks his head to the side and sighs. “I won't if he won't,” he says, just shy of a whine. He smirks at Dean. “We have to work together, you know. Purgatory isn't the safest of places. You won't survive on your own, and Castiel will not leave me. Besides, I do care for your safety, Winchester, whether you believe my intentions or not.”
Furious, Dean looks away. He can't believe they're in this utterly stupid situation. He shouldn't have to rely on anyone, let alone Lucifer, but he remembers his initial arrival, remembers how out of his depth he was, remembers himself as the hunted Hunter. He knows, with complete certainty, that the feeling is never going to go away. Even now something must be tracking them. They can't be safe. They can never be safe.
He wants to kill Lucifer, but he's incapable of it. Getting rid of Lucifer the first time had been nearly impossible. He can't do it now, not alone as he is.
He hates this. It's wrong. It feels like a betrayal to Sam. But what choice, really, does he have? Goddammit. Goddammit.
“Fine,” he spits out, so much anger in that one small word. “I don't have to like it.”
“Thank you,” Cas murmurs to them both.
3
Sixteen months, three weeks, and five days ago.
Castiel feels the brewing trouble surrounding him. He knew this... this wouldn't be easy. Knew the moment Lucifer was no longer a ride-along to Castiel's mind, a separate entity once again, one that Castiel couldn't... didn't think he could remove himself from, even for Dean's comfort.
There was too much quiet in his head and he didn't know how to cope with that. Yet even from the support Lucifer had been offering him, Castiel still expected him to leave now that he had his own freedom. But he hadn't abandoned Castiel at that first sign of freedom. These sorts of things happen to Castiel nowadays, after all.
He kept such strange company. Lucifer, Meg...
He wonders how Meg is.
Not in Purgatory, so likely better off than Castiel.
He feels uncomfortable, shifting weight back and forth on his feet, glancing from Lucifer to Dean, then towards the exit of the cave, the scent of blood fresh in his senses, a swell of pity in his gut at the violence. But Lucifer did take care of it for Castiel. He had the blood on his hands, literally, and Castiel managed to avoid that.
He starts to let himself relax. The alliance is by no means perfect, but it exists.
*****
The trouble returns just as quick, Castiel thinks, when Dean has to sleep.
“You'll take a watch, Cas? I don't trust something wandering in for a snack.”
Castiel is about to answer, when Lucifer interrupts, “You need sleep, too, brother.” Lucifer settles just within the mouth of the cave, sprawling legs out before him, head hitting stone. “I'll keep an eye out.”
“Oh no,” Dean argues. “No, that's not happening. Cas, I'll switch off with you so we both can get sleep if you really need it.”
“That's wholly unnecessary,” Lucifer sighs.
“Does it look like I care?” Dean says stubbornly. “I'm not sleeping in your vicinity.”
“I don't think...” Castiel trails off.
Lucifer throws up his hands and rolls his eyes in Dean's direction. “Then you'll have the pleasure of my company while my brother sleeps.”
Dean grits his teeth but doesn't argue further and it's the best they'll get. Dean wraps his arms around himself and wedges himself against a wall of the cave and shuts his eyes. Castiel sinks opposite of Lucifer and looks out across the quiet forest, knowing that even though he can't hear it, there is death all around them. Purgatory doesn't stop because it's night.
“Thank you,” Castiel repeats in a whisper, not so much afraid of disturbing Dean as he is Dean hearing him have a conversation with Lucifer.
Lucifer just shrugs and folds his arms almost petulantly. “Don't thank me yet. This isn't going to be easy. It would be simpler to ditch your favorite Winchester.”
Castiel slumps and mumbles, “It'd be easier if you ditched me.”
Lucifer groans, bumping his head against the stone several times. “Castiel.”
“I'm serious,” Castiel says. “You know they'll be coming for me. They'll never stop.”
“And I'll kill them, easy enough. So you've got some toothy little inkblots after you. He's potentially Purgatory's New Most Wanted and uncooperative to a fault. He's going to get you killed, Castiel.”
“It's what I deserve.”
Lucifer hisses through clenched teeth and leans forward. “Ah,” he berates. “None of that. If you're going to be a stickler about keeping him alive, I'm going to be one about keeping you alive. Understand?”
“No,” Castiel replies honestly. His response doesn't make Lucifer angry, only minutely frustrated. Castiel wishes he understood, but it isn't that easy. It's never been easy. He'd dragged Lucifer's manifestation out of Sam and into himself and Lucifer tore him apart in a days-long temper tantrum and then he sat in the center of all that disarray, looked at Castiel, and said 'you're very different than Sam.'
You're very different than Sam.
Like how? Like he wasn't enough? Like he couldn't even break the right way?
'What did our Father do to you? Lucifer had wondered aloud, eyes red and staring through Castiel like he was only good enough to be an experiment, and then Lucifer had flinched, and he voice had gotten quiet. 'Oh. This is going to take some time.'
4 (maybe)
Saturday, April 7, 2012
“Oh. This is going to take some time.”
The mess of Castiel's multiple resurrections are scattered beneath where Lucifer sits. Lucifer had torn down his brother's walls and threw open all the doors and now he's left with the sea of shattered fragments flooding around them, all Castiel, and all broken before Lucifer had anything to do with them. It's like someone emptied out three almost-similar puzzles and hoped that the pieces would fit together anyway. Tried even to force the pieces to fit, the care lessened each time.
It could only be their Father's work. Or lack thereof. Did it count as work if you only haphazardly rebuild someone and only rely on it all working out on its own?
It's cute that God thinks his children are so self-sufficient.
He fishes into the sea and takes his time to sift through and pick out a fragment. The most gleaming shard, perfection at its max, all choirs and holy light. An angel unmarred by any outside influence, though if he looks more closely he can see the beginning lines of doubt threatening to etch into the edges.
It's funny that Castiel always thought he was so different than Lucifer. Look where they are now.
Well, Lucifer remains a frayed connection, his transfer temporarily stalled by his brother ripping him away from Sam Winchester. He'd made such progress there. Sam was easy to pull apart slow, pick at each fiber and peel away the layers of the mind so that more of Lucifer could wiggle out of the Cage and sidle his subconscious, and then his grace, alongside Sam.
Michael had started to realize what he was doing. Saw Lucifer's little escape-artist plan and fought him for a time until exhaustion had worn him and his vessel ragged. Lucifer thinks it wasn't Michael, but Adam that let Lucifer continue with his plan. Poor, abandoned, disenfranchised Adam.
One of them had laughed at Lucifer when he was shunted into Castiel. He hadn't taken it well at the time—on either side of his connection. Now they were back to ignoring each other and Lucifer kind of wishes they weren't; Michael's insight in regards to their brother could prove invaluable.
He could just leave it. He should just leave it. Unlike Sam, Castiel is so naturally frayed that Lucifer can crowd right in and be free of the Cage with hardly any hassle. Castiel did him a favor.
“Why should I hole up in the shambles of a motel? I'm not a Hunter, I'm not into that life,” he tells Castiel. “I wasn't expecting Five Stars, but come on, Castiel.”
“... What?” It's the second time Castiel has looked at him since he got here. Castiel's fear has taken a step back in favor of his confusion.
“In case I wasn't absolutely clear: I'm moving in,” Lucifer answers. “But I don't see why I can't spruce up the place before I fully do so.” He sighs and drops the fragment back into the sea. “We'll have to peruse your trauma and not in a fun torture way.” He holds up new fragments in each hand, pinched between thumb and forefinger. One is still almost white, the other has gone a smoky-gray, but their shapes are nearly identical. “The bits of you blown up by Raphael, and the bits blown up by me, those will line up nicely.”
Castiel stares at him for a long, long moment, unblinking, eyes glazed like he's thinking over each of his words before he dares to speak. “... Shouldn't all the exact matches go together?”
“Sure,” Lucifer replies easily. “If you want to be incomplete.”
A spike of anger surges through their shared link. “You'll be possessing me, what does it matter if I'm 'incomplete.'”
Lucifer mouths the words back silently in mocking. Then, “If you want to be 'complete' as Daddy's walking robot, devoid of the concept of Free Will, and whatever humanity—for better or for worse—did to you, then fine.” He leans back, staring at his brother, eyes aglow with... rage? … Sympathy? No, no. Never. But he doesn't understand why this is unsettling him. “A Hand of God,” he jeers, “ready to answer his will—even though he's the one partially responsible for the mess you are now.”
“I...”
“Don't get me wrong,” Lucifer continues right over Castiel, “I can't take credit for your mountain of mistakes, and neither can our Father. You screwed the pooch, Castiel. But this?” He rolls his head and indicates the sea around them. “There was 'Some Assembly Required' to this whole Resurrection Thing and someone sure skipped out on that—typical.”
Castiel lowers his head and doesn't react further.
Lucifer says nothing and seals the two pieces he'd been holding together and then Castiel full body shudders and Lucifer feels more than sees memories slide over the two of them.
“Oops,” he says, a little winded. “I hate this already.”
*****
((World's Worst recreation of Operation.))
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daisydaring · 5 years
Text
Cape Town Art Fair Questionnaire :
1. Blank- I recognised some of the artists I had seen before at their gallery like Bronwyn Katz and Igshaan Adams. I also recognised the gallerist Tyra Naidoo. The booth kept to their minimalist style and I felt there were quite a few hanging pieces. I also found it interesting that they had paintings as I’ve never seen that medium in their gallery. 
 Stevenson- At the booth, I recognised Zander Blom’s and Kemang Wa Lehulere’s work. A similarity to the gallery, I noted, was the use of lots of colour. They also had quite a few paintings. 
Goodman- I could not really get a grasp of what was similar and what was not similar to the gallery as I felt there was a lot going on. The booth displayed quite a few different mediums, from sculptural works to photography. The booth felt quite cramped compared to their spacious gallery space. 
2. Works I liked:
Cinga Samson 
Uboya benye (i)
2019
I always love Cinga’s portraits as I feel they draw the viewer in. The dark, monochromatic palette makes the work feel quite mysterious and spiritual which creates a curiosity around the figure. There is always a delicacy that contrasts the darkness like the use of flowers and the attention to detail of the clothes. The painting makes me think of youth, masculinity and beauty. 
Tabita Rezaire 
INNER FIRE: Shadelicious, 2017
Diasec print 
170 x 100 cm
Edition of 2/5
I really really liked Tabita’s series of prints and I found them quite refreshing compared to a lot of the works at the art fair. I was first drawn to them because of the kitschiness of the bright colour and iconography but I also love how their works explores the format of memes as a way to address gender, racial and political issues. 
Gitte Möller
Pushy passion, 2018
Oil and collage on panel 
120 x 120 cm
I think Gitte has a very unique painting style and I admire her attention to detail. I think she explores the use of symbolism in an interesting way to create these alternative video game-like worlds. This specific work is very satisfying to me as the composition and use of colour is completely balanced. The linear perspective and symmetry draws all the attention to the bleeding out heart in the centre of the painting which makes the work feel quite vulnerable and even a bit sad.
Works I disliked:
Afshin Pirhashemi
Power , 2013
Oil on canvas
78 7/10 × 118 1/10 in
200 × 300 cm
I struggled with this work because I really did not like the use of colour and painting style. The artist’s work always depicts what I assume to be women from Dubai and this gallery did not have any labels so I assumed the artist was a woman. I thought it was interesting that the fair was showing a woman artist from Dubai who was addressing women’s roles in the country. However, I then later researched the gallery to find out more information about the work only to find out that the work was actually done by a man. With this new knowledge I disliked the work even more. 
Kilmany-Jo Liversage
MACHINIKA119
198cm x 198cm
R170 000
Instagram: kilmany_jo
www.worldart.co.za 
When I see brightly coloured work painted in a graffiti-like, gestural style my mind just automatically puts into a category of work that I do not like. I just find this kind of work so overrated and commercially driven to the point that I do not even want to engage with it. 
Rory Emmett
Future Remnant II
Oil and acrylic on canvas 
120 x 90 cm
I did not like how the artist tried to bring colour into this black and white painting. I found this piece quite boring and it kind of remind of something an art student would do in high school. The style is something that at one point was maybe fresh and innovative but now it is overdone and quite out of fashion. To be honest the work felt quite cheap and not in a good way.
3.  I found that there were a lot of hanging sculptural pieces similar to Igshaan’s work and quite a few works made with found objects. I also always think there will be a large amount of paintings.
4. Some booths choose to create smaller enclosed spaces will others have one big space. The majority of the booths have white spaces but some choose to have colorful walls. I observed that Smac’s booth furniture resembled wooden school furniture but the rest of booths mostly had slick black or white furniture. 
5. Some labels where placed on the floor, some where written in pencil and some where classic placard labels. Quite a few of the labels where placed in perspex with screws and the rest were either stickers or stuck down with double-sided tape or prestick. I found it strange when the labels only gave the name of the artist and not the title of the work. Some label information went into quite detail with dimensions and price.
6. The fair felt bigger than last year but I think that is a result of the layout being more open. The layout of the fair and the signs want the viewer to turn right when coming through the entrance but I felt overwhelmed with which way to go. The main commercial galleries are in the centre of the fair which I think is because the fair knows buyers are coming to see the big names. This allows for people to see the whole fair without heading straight for one areas. The layout also insured there was hardly any congestion. However I also think the layout is designed to guide people to the food and drink areas. 
7. The lighting of the fair was neutral but each booth had direct lighting on the hanging works.
8. People visiting the fair were dresses fashionably but formally. Bright colours seemed to be the trend. As for the gallerists and assistants, black, white and neutral colours seemed to be the required dress ware. I think this for them to blend into the booths and to not distract from the work. 
9. I would say that the fair is aimed at upperclass art lovers who can afford the expensive food and drink, and maybe even an artwork or two. The types of products being sold were food, drink, art books, art magazines, apparel and accessories relating to the art, and of course the art itself. The fair is targeting wealthy tourists and locals who have the means to indulge in art paraphernalia. 
10. Athi-Patra Ruga 
     The Ever Promised Erection I, 2019
     High-density foam, artificial flowers and jewels
     Multiple 3 of 3
     Approx 126 x 74 x 64 cm
   For one, I know Athi’s work sells for large sums of money and the work itself exudes an air of    wealth and luxury.  The fact that this piece had its own booth tells us that this work is valuable and important. Even though the sculpture is made of artificial flowers and jewels, it feels expensive and the way the light catches on the beads and glitter holds the viewer’s attention. I also witnessed quite a few tour guides stopping at this piece and I found it hard to get a picture of it with the amount of people that surrounded it. 
  11. Tabita Rezaire 
INNER FIRE: Shadelicious, 2017
Diasec print 
170 x 100 cm
Edition of 2/5
Tabita’s work in general felt very different from the general work that was showing at the art fair. People I spoke to it about either loved it or thought it was absolutely terrible and that it did not deserve its place at the fair. I feel their work does not fit in because they are using newish form of art that not many people understand or appreciate. The kitschiness of the meme-like text and format is not something you see often in the art world. 
12. With a group of peers I found it very easy to ask for prices. I was speaking to Tyra Naidoo, who works at Blank, and she was saying that is not unusual for people to ask for prices and that it is her job to provide that sort of information. However, I found some of the foreign galleries were a bit taken back by us asking prices, as if it was slightly taboo. The prices we gathered were:
     Marina Abramovic
       Victory 
       1997
       R80 000
    Pierre Fouche
   Net Ons 
   2019
   R250 000
13. The main sponsor of the art fair is Investec which is an international company which deals with specialist banking and asset management. The sponsorship for food and drink was from Boschendal which is a wine estate. 
The target market for Investec could be almost anyone attending the fair, even the tourists as it is an international company. Boschendal’s clientele is most likely wealthy locals and tourists and therefore the art fair is a perfect place for them to promote their brand. Investec can benefit from promoting an art fair because it expresses their support for African culture. It shows that they are invested in the future of South Africa which benefits them as it promotes the idea that Investic is invested in their clienteles future. It also implies that investec is interested in what their clientele is interested in which creates a personal connection.
14.  The Cape Town International Convention Centre is a convenient place to hold an event such as the art fair because it has the means to host such a huge event. It is also placed in a accessible location close by to many hotels that could host potential guests from around South Africa and the rest of the world. The centre also hosts events like Comic Con, Cape Town Jazz Festival and various conferences. 
15. I actually struggled to find old artworks this year. I think the oldest work I could find, which was somewhere in the 1930s, was in the Norval Foundation booth but I forgot to right down the label information. So I will go with a work from 1952 which was by Albert Newall, ’Untitled’,
watercolour and ink on paper.
16. The youngest artist I knew of was Talia Ramkilawan, 23, who was showing at Smith. I found Smith often takes artists who are straight out of Michaelis. 
17. I felt the solo booths were obviously more cohesive as it was one artist’s work. I sometimes felt like the gallery booths were a bit overwhelming or chaotic, where as the solo booths were more effective in the engagement of the artists’ concepts. 
18. I think the big names that kept popping up this year were very similar to last year. Georgina Gratrix seemed to be one of the most sought after artists right now. Her work is very on trend, as her use of brightly coloured oil paints makes for an aesthetically pleasing centre piece. I think her thick application of oil paint and her abstraction of the figure intrigues viewers. Her work sits on the line of bad art which makes it so good. 
Ed Young is someone who seems to be getting quite a lot of attention this year. The fact that his balloon intervention/performance was the first thing that guests experience when entering the fair shows that he is a trusted enough artist to set the tone for the fair. 
19. I think identity as a subject matter is always something you will see a lot of in art fairs because artists often look to themselves to draw inspiration from. I found there was a lot of abstract pieces which focused more on the use of material than on subject. The use of found objects such as toothpicks, dice, and bindis seems to be a common trend this year. I think this is due to the fact that in a postmodern world people are fascinated by using objects and materials for a different purpose than their intended function.
20. I think I would like to be represented by Smith gallery because I like the fact that they are not afraid to take on young artists who are coming straight out of art school. I actually think by doing this their range of work is much more varied and unique because their artists have not yet been manipulated and influenced by the commercial art world.  
21. I think I would want to work for Smith based on the fact that they represent a lot of young, emerging artists. I think it would be easier to engage with artists who are of similar ages to me as there will be more of a relatable understanding of what it is like to be an emerging artist in 2019. I think I would want work directly with the artist and the work, so maybe as a curator.
22. A question that came up for me was, why do some galleries choose to not label the work?
23. I think I would want my gallery to show at the fair because it is a great way to get recognition and to network. I like the idea of having one or two solo booths, alongside the main booth, to push artists who have more potential. I think I would play around with different hanging techniques and paint one or two walls a colour that compliments the work. Like Smac, I found it more interesting when the booths felt like multiple spaces and not one empty room. At first I found it quite annoying with some of the galleries created nooks in their booths but I actually think it is a good way to get the viewers to engage with their surroundings and get closer to the art. 
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