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highhhfiveee · 6 months

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safety net [p2] (pornstar!mike schmidt x reader)

part one: 💸 | part three: 📹

are we excited???? prepare your hearts cause the feels kinda took over

tags: fluff, lots of internal pining, porn mentions but nothing graphic. mike and reader are both genuine people and that draws them to each other. should be error free bc i actually proofread this one but if there are any, my sincerest apologies

“you have to be, like, evading taxes or something.”

mike chuckles behind you as he closes the door to his apartment--sorry, penthouse.

you're stood with your jaw unhinged, eyes scanning over the wide, sweeping space of his open concept living room and all of the furniture that decorates it, expensive-looking but cozy in a way that you wish you could replicate in your own place. you stalk over to tall windows that line the farthest wall, creating a corner that allows for you to see the bustling city below; all of the flashing lights, people drunkenly stumbling around street signs, and cars zipping and weaving through traffic.

you'd never seen anything like this, just a girl used to the urban suburbs on the south side of town, and your cheeks flush with embarrassment when you feel mike's presence behind you. you don't turn to him, dropping your shoes and purse to the ground and keeping your eyes trained on a street corner below.

"the view's what sold me on the place. i'm able to watch the sunrise on that side," he points to the windows on the other side of the kitchen, offering a view of the green space nestled in between skyscrapers. "and the sunset on this one."

"must be nice," you reply, backing away from the glass and observing the rest of the space. it was the size of, like, three of your apartments combined, organized and free of mess. "i only have a view of a corner store, and a really really busy bus stop. it's super annoying."

"where do you live?"

you give him the name of the neighborhood you'd known your whole life. you didn't recognize any of the area's flaws when you were a child. it was never a red flag to you that the street off of the one you grew up on had two storefronts of the same fast food chain on either end, or that the closest supermarket was twenty minutes away. you hadn't even batted an eye when some of your school “friends” would tell you about visiting gourmet cupcake restaurants and vintage consignments stores. you just went along with it, saying, "that's so cool. the fanciest place by my house is the $7.99 buffet." they all laughed at you.

it wasn't until you were older, freshly graduated from high school and looking to be on your own that you realized the disparity across the region. only people with certain attributes got the nice things, and you'd been conditioned to be grateful to have a daycare in a plaza with a smoke shop and tax preparation office.

"it's just too expensive for me to move anywhere else. i can barely make rent now, with the way they keep raising it every year. kept the tag on this dress just so i could take it back." you look down at yourself and mike can see the longing in your eye, the twinkle in them that wishes you could hang it up in your closet tomorrow.

after tonight, you kind of wish you hadn't bought it at all. you thought that simon would’ve found it insatiable, wining and dining you before taking you back to his place for a night cap, but all you think about now is the embarrassment of walking back into the luxury department store, handing them your receipt for the item you wore once and couldn’t keep.

it fills you with distaste and you find yourself desperate to peel the item off your skin. “is it okay if i shower?”

mike nods furiously, apologizing for not offering. he’d just been staring at you while you talked, admiring you. he was used to people with perfect appearances around him, done up by professionals that costed $200 an hour, but you were different, uncaring about your unruly curls and smeared eyeliner. you were unbothered and carefree, and that fascinated him.

he leads you down a long hall, coming to a stop once it forks into three different directions: left, right, and slightly diagonal right. the walls are lined with paintings and photos of mike and people that share his features, and at the end of the diagonal path is a giant trophy case, filled to the brim with plaques and trophies of various sizes, shapes, and finishes.

“jesus,” you murmur, abandoning your escort. mike’s walked ahead of you, but he makes his way back when he notices you’re not behind him.

“everything okay?”

you point to his trophy case, letting out an incredulous laugh. “are all of those for you?”

mike nods, and you laugh again, shaking your head in disbelief. “okay, so you’re obviously some sports star because no way someone living like this wouldn’t be.”

mike goes rigid next to you. he never knew how to bring up his career to new people he met, sometimes ping-ponging between “i work for a world-renown production company” and “i’m an entrepreneur”. he had no problem lying to other people, his guard all the way up from years of rejection and disgust at the mention of “sex worker” and “pornstar”, but something felt wrong about lying to you. he swallows hard, racking his mind for a semi truth.

“not sports, but definitely still physical.” you scrunch your nose at this, blinking at him in confusion, but you stop when he grabs your hand and nudges his head in the direction of the bathroom. “didn’t you want to shower?”

you nod, allowing him to pull you down the hall but not without a second glance at the case. what other physical career presented you with that many awards?

the bathroom is a star in it's own right, modern in a way that you fawn over when you're watching hgtv. the gigantic, complicated looking shower invites you from the corner, nestled in between the gadget-rigged toilet and garden bathtub.

all of the decor in here was clean, pale blue, a nice offset to all of the white tile and gold-accented appliances.

you're half-listening, your conscience replaced with static as mike explains where everything is. "so...towels are over here..."

his shower had a rainforest head and a small, handheld one clipped into a holder, with a screen embedded into the wall. there was a bench and railing to hold onto, a speaker on the back tile....your eyes cut to the toilet, and the smaller one next to it. a bidet??????

"...and, the bidet remote's right next to the soap. i'll lay some clothes out for you on the hall table, but let me know if you need anything, okay?" you react a little too late, raising your hand and squeaking, "wait" right as mike's backed out of the room.

"fuck."

you try to look around for things, eventually finding the towels in a closet concealed as a part of the wall and, as a bonus, a knob to turn on the heated floor?????

you strip down, completely bare under the dress, and fold it up, retail employee coded, delicately placing it by the sink with the tag on top. it was exactly how you'd return it, with a shitty excuse and plastic smile. you do the same with mike's jacket.

you throw your hair up before wrapping yourself in the towel, delicately cloaked in what had to be egyptian cotton, and pace on over to the shower. you tap the daunting screen, and it lights up with a flourish, displaying the date, time, weather, and a host of different icons.

you don't know why it's so hard for you to turn the shower on, scrolling and bumbling through a collection of options that weren't simply turn on. why did you need to use a screen anyway? why reinvent the simple wheel that was a faucet lever?

you decide you need mike's help after a bit, though self-conscious about having to ask after he probably told you earlier. you splash cool water on your face before leaving the room, attempting to wring the anxiety out of your body.

you're at the fork in the hallway again, the view of you obscured from the living room by a wall, and you turn your attention to mike's trophy case again. you're too far to see any of the engravings on anything and you're so curious to find out what they say.

you feel your muscles attempt to pull you down the lonely hall, but you halt, reminding yourself that mike was a kind person who'd invited you into his home, and you were supposed to be showering, not snooping. still, even with the moment of morality, untrustworthy interest prodded at your brain.

mike's exiting his room with a handful of clothes for you when he catches you, arms wound around yourself to keep your towel up. you haven't seen him yet, your gaze fixed on something down the hall. he gulps softly, unaware that he would see you like this so early in your connection. your long neck cranes forward to see better, and he prematurely wonders if you're sensitive there, mind swirling with musings of bites and marks.

"something wrong?" you jolt, blinking and stammering and damn near jestering as you attempt to defend yourself. mike doesn't look at you with malice or cynicism, simply stepping closer as your eyes flitter around. "i, uh...i need help with the shower. i don't know how to turn it on."

mike huffs, squinting his eyes at you jovially. "that the only thing?" fuck.

you drop your shoulders with a deep sigh, throwing a pointed finger down the hall. "i also wanna know why you have all those awards." there's a small, almost undetectable change in mike's face, his eye twitching. you watch him shrug it off, placing a hand on your shoulder to lead you back to the bathroom. "i'll explain after you shower."

you're puzzled as to why he's so cagey about it, but you don't question it, accepting his statement and finally listening to him as he explains what to do

you're alone again after he sets the clothes down and leaves. he took your dress, easing you with "just going to hang it up. no worries" and a sheepish smile, and you're eager, ready to hear about what he does and how he's able to afford all this, including this shower that provides you with the best shower you think you've ever taken.

you're able to get the water to the perfect temp, scalding, with the perfect amount of pressure to sting your skin and make you feel clean. you wash away all of your worries; thoughts of keeping a roof over your head, being okay, and finding a genuine connection extinguished with the hum of soft jazz and lather of ylang ylang scented soap.

you lotion yourself with one of the various creams on mike's counter, soothed by the powder smell, and slip into the clothes you're provided--a pair of soft, heart-covered boxers and a university t-shirt, faded into burgundy from countless washes.

mike's sitting on the couch, scrolling aimlessly on his phone when the the demure pitter patter of your feet sounds against the floors, and he swears he almost dies when he sees you.

maybe it hadn't been totally random when he chose the clothes for you, deciding to give you two of his favorite items so he could see how they looked on you. the shirt, very lived in and from his alma mater, skirted your thighs and covered up his boxers, draping over your lithe body in a way that made his mouth go dry.

"okay," you call, dropping beside him on the couch. the wispy hairs around your hairline frame your clean face, guiding his attention to the smattering of dark moles around your eyes and temples. "tell me. what are all of those awards for?"

"do you want some water or something?" he interrupts, and while you accept, you furrow your eyebrows at him. he gets up with the swiftness of a nascar pit crew, and you hold your gaze on him, pivoting your body as he moves.

"mike, c'mon, what gives? you can trust me."

his back is towards you, filling a glass with water from the filtered water faucet. he hunches at your baffled tone, your voice all soft and downcast.

he wants to scream because it's so easy to just come out and tell you what he does. you didn't say anything at the restaurant, but maybe you'd put two and two together when he finally told you truth, remembering a thumbnail from the porn site of your choosing. he wasn't ashamed---nowhere near that. he'd been in the industry almost a decade, moving past the internalized and societally-imposed scrutiny he felt for his career. it was other people that were ashamed, other people that turned their nose up at him because of what they assumed he was; sleazy, devious, a player. he'd had so many connections blow over because of it, and he wasn't sure he'd be able to handle that happening with you.

you just stare at his back, watching it rise and fall with every laboured breath he takes. what was so bad about what he did that he couldn’t just tell you? he was obviously good at whatever it was, and you wondered if it was a front for something. maybe he disarmed you with his nice guy act, and he lured you here to kill you an—-

the clink of glass on glass brings you back to reality. mike is beside you again, staring blankly ahead while he wrings his hands.

“i’m a pornstar,” he utters plainly. he squeezes his eyes shut, expecting you to make a noise of disgust or get up and leave, but you don’t.

he opens one eye, and then both. you’re staring at him with no concrete expression, lips pursed. he closes his eyes again, counting in his head before opening them once more.

you’re still there, and it almost makes him cry.

“that checks out,” you muse. you’re fairly non reactive, but not because his admission freaks you out. you’re thinking back to the awards, the sheer amount of them in that case, and how good he really must be at what he does. “why didn’t you want to tell me?”

he runs a hand through his hair, melting into his couch with boyish reserve. his eyes are a mixed bag, bouncing between relief and despair. “people run every time i tell them. lots of them act like i just told them i killed their childhood pet and it's just so...disheartening, y'know?

"i just don't get it because it's just like any other job. you work, fucking hard, because you want to perform at your best, just like anyone else. the stigma around it never goes away, no matter how hard you try to convince people. they think you get around outside of it, having sex every second of every day, or that you're gonna mess around with your coworkers and give them something. it's like the trust level is in hell before you're even able to prove yourself." you scoot closer to mike without a word and place your hands over his. his rings are cold against your palm.

it's a gentle gesture. the airy smile you give pacifies him and he swears he's never felt anything like what he feels now.

"i'm not here to judge you, mike. i never will. sex work is a completely valid career, just like anything else. i'm sorry about all those shitty people who made assumptions about you."

"no need to apologize," he whispers, adjusting his hands so that they cradle yours now. you tilt your head down bashfully, lashes fluttering. "all those times led me here."

you two chat for a long while. mike tells you all about the production company he works for, how he got into the business, what his work schedule's like, the community of other stars that he works with, his stage name. you can tell he's passionate about it, lost in his rambles and talking with his hands. certain words segue your convo into other topics, like books and food and pop culture. you two have a lot more than coffee in common.

"i was surprised you didn't recognize me, honestly. not in a douchey way, but just because everyone does. it's usually the first thing they come up to me with." you could only imagine, being approached with "i've come to all of your work" in the condiment aisle at the grocery store.

"i don't watch professional porn really. too staged for me."

"i get that. i think you'd like our content. we really found a good balance between professional quality and ethical, genuine, safe fun."

you try to stay nonchalant, not wanting to betray the fact that you're itching to watch something of his work. "that's really nice. i bet you have quite the catalog."

"almost ten years worth so, yeah, i'd say," he chuckles, bringing his bottom lip between his teeth. "enough about me though. what do you do for work?"

"nothing as exciting and well-paying as porn. i type letters and numbers into a computer in a cubicle. it barely pays the bills, but i've worked in too many customer service jobs to ever go back." mike agrees. you're about to say something else when you're interrupted by a yawn, unhinging your jaw like an animal. you quickly cover your mouth, muttering, "jeez. sorry." you didn't realize it, but you were tired, exhausted from the night you had.

"it's okay, it is pretty late." he checks the time on his phone and turns it to you. 2:23 am. had you two really been talking on this couch for 3 hours? "i can show you to the guest room if you're tired. i have a shoot tomorrow anyway so i should get to bed too."

"sure," you whisper, grabbing his hand when he extends it to you. he pulls you to your feet like you weigh nothing at all, and you tail behind him like a lovesick puppy.

you're feeling that tingly ball of warmth in your stomach, the one you've felt with every person you thought you'd marry. you usually indulge in it, but with mike, it scares you. why do you feel like this after one night with a man you barely even know?

it's rash and inappropriate, you decide, and you're still convincing yourself as you slide under the black satin sheets and duvet on mike's king sized guest bed. you recline on the satin-covered pillows, sinking into the memory foam. it's a nice departure from your noisy childhood mattress back at home.

"do you have work tomorrow?" you shake your head, and mike claps his hands together with a cheer.

"yay. i'll be leaving around 8 or so, but feel free to sleep in and hang around as long as you want. the remote for the blinds is right there, i'll put a toothbrush out for you, and there's all kinds of food in the kitchen. help yourself. just let me know when you're leaving so i can lock the door."

your eyes squint. "you're gonna lock the door after i leave?"

mike nods, smiling excitedly and geekily diving into his rationale. "mhm, i have a smart lock. i can do it from my phone."

you're so tired that the words just foolishly tumble out of your mouth. "you must have great dick."

mike lets out a laugh that's a blend of flattered, nervous, and amused and you're both red-cheeked and flustered. "i am so fucking sorry, i, uh..y--" you stammer over all of your words, finally able to wrench out, "a smart lock just sounds expensive."

mike stares you down with fascination, backing towards the door. "watch the videos and find out for yourself, yeah?" he winks at you, and you gulp so loudly you're sure he hears. "goodnight, y/n. sleep well.”

"you too,” you croak.

you're out like a light once he leaves, but not before telling yourself to put up a new sticky note at home: “watch mike's porn."

you awake what feels like days later, refreshed and made anew. you click on the remote for the curtains, and they rise slowly, flooding the room with rich early afternoon sun. the clock on the nightstand reads 12:38 pm.

you hop to your feet and make your way to the bathroom to brush your teeth and wash your face before stalking to the living room. it's filled with light, and you think about how you'd probably never be depressed living in a place like this.

a box, red and moderately sized, sits upon the kitchen counter. you think you should ignore it, but as you get closer, you see a paper with your name scrawled across it. you like your name in mike's voice and handwriting.

you pull up the lid and inside is your dress from last night with the tag missing, two fat wads of hundred dollar bills, and another note that reads, “you deserve to feel beautiful and pay your rent <3 call this number when you're ready to go home. -m”.

in this moment, you're 100% positive that you're falling in love.

wow wow wow wow. they are so fucking CUTE! i love themmmmmmm <3 hopefully this tides y'all over for a bit because i need to outline the rest of their story, and i wanna work on some other stories for a little bit 💜 more parts are definitely coming, have no fear!

i'd also like to say that while i use y/n in my stories, reader is typically a character that i'm inventing. using your own name and likeness while you read is totally fine, of course! i just use y/n as a placeholder name for my reader character bc i don't feel like coming up with character names all the time <3 sorry if that doesn't make sense 💔

i hope you all enjoyed! happy reading my seedlings 🌱💜

faire's seedlings ✿

@leahdhopkins4321-@pyr0-kai-@angstywhore-@sunazroo-@nyxthoughtsss-@mirophobic-@fayethor-@marixsimps-@regretfulme-@ithinkitszeph-@707xn-@cattt777-@violetta-ximena-@amnesia33-@topnerd03-@fastnights-@laprvphette-@savage-aespa-@mfdxz

#mike schmidt x reader #mike schmidt #mike schmidt fluff #fnaf #fnaf movie #fnaf fic #faire is writing stuff #faire's (pornstar) mike schmidt <3 #they are so fucking cute #like omg #i get the feels from them and they're my characters #rooting for them fr #josh hutcherson

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an-asuryampasya · 2 years

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The book I ordered - Rebel Sultans: The Deccan from Khilji to Shivaji by Manu S. Pillai - is hereeeeee! :D

(This might end up becoming a reblog chain, so if it starts clogging up your dash, feel free to block 'placeholder tag for the deccan book' - I'll be tagging all posts with that!)

Anyhoo, it's my first pop history book, and I got it almost entirely because it includes Krishnadevaraya (he ruled the Vijayanagara empire at its peak. I'm interested because there's this world heritage site, Hampi, that I am very fond of despite barely remembering my visit there because I was just a kid back then. But idc, Hampi is the coolest.). Also I attended a talk by the author of this book last month and holy shit, he's such a good speaker. Like, damn, he can speak. I really wanted to read his stuff after that talk, but there isn't a paperback version of his newest book so I went with this one instead.

Anyway, three pages into the intro and ayyyy we have a Hampi mention! :D

AND. The introduction itself references the fact that the name 'Deccan' is ALSO an anglicisation. ARGH. So some context: I recently realised that almost all of the cities/towns that played a role in my life have two names. One is the official and traditional name, and the other is an (erstwhile official) anglicised name that was used during the times of colonial rule and remains very common today as a nickname. I mean, the switches from the anglicised names to the traditional names happened in either my own lifetime or in my parents' lifetime. It's far too recent for the anglicised names to be dropped from cultural memory so they stick around as a nickname for the city. And I'm not sure how I feel about the fact it's often the anglicised names that I'm more fond of. So mhmmm mixed feelings there about how the colonial rule may have officially ended almost a generation ago, but it still has a huge impact on so many aspects of my daily life. Anyway! So technically the Deccan plateau is this huge place - practically the entire south of the country I think. And the fact that even the overarching region I'm from is called by an anglicised name - what part of my geographical identity doesn't have British fingerprints all over it, y'know? I know it shouldn't really matter and why can't we reclaim the name for ourselves etc. and also after a point - as in the case of the Deccan, wherein I didn't know it was anglicised until years after learning about it - maybe it doesn't really matter if no one knows the origins and the British connection means nothing if it isn't known. Or maybe it's alright even if it is, because ultimately colonial rule was a part of our history and that can acknowledged, it's fine, not everything has to be (or even can be, I'm literally speaking in English for this to be possible and English is very British) erased. Idk I just have conflicting feelings about this. also I've completely lost the thread - basically "huh, Deccan is an anglicised word derived from 'dakshina', the Sanskrit word for 'South'".

Next up, unearned regional (what's the southern-only version of nationalistic?) pride courtesy of this line:

To some it was a kingdom of tantalising treasures and marvellous opportunity; to others, however, the Deccan became also something more sinister: the undoing of mighty kings, a graveyard of glorious empires.

yeah that's right, we were where empires came to die :3

this is very silly but for some reason the fact that "there could be no lasting triumph in the south, and no distant lord prevailed forever" gives me a sense of glee because heck yeah!! become ungovernable we weren't easy to subdue and rule over? Or something. Idk, I just like that fact.

yeah okay so not sure what this post is supposed to be - guess it's me ✨ documenting my thoughts as I read ✨

....mostly I imagine I'll be ranting about anglicisation and stuff though.

#placeholder tag for the deccan book #i rant about the hegemonical power held by english and hindi but tbh I'm one to talk #when i can barely speak my own native language #no wait not having that identity crisis today abort aborttttt

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barker11wind · 2 years

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merrill05mahler · 2 years

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stephansen60guerra · 2 years

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mckinnon21lambertsen · 2 years

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mypersonmyg · 3 years

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The Misery Chick | MYG

thank you to my favorite @kimtaehyunq for the wonderful banner, ily you talented cutie <3

pairing: Yoongi x reader

genre: fluff, a lil tiny bit of angst, college au

wc: 5.2k (issa short one)

warnings: language

summary: maybe yoongi has a fat crush on you OR he notices, that’s all

a/n: happy birthday to the one and only min yoongi! i am so so fond of him and i couldn’t not write something for him, so I hope you enjoy :D and as always feel free to send in drabble requests for the fic and blah blah blah...

honorary tag: @gukssunshine

masterlist

To wonder about the quickened stride of the beating appendage in Yoongi’s chest, would be to question the routine catch of gaze to the lone figure at the far end of the classroom, dwarfed by cuddled fabric, consumed with the rapid turn of the lengthy page. His arm rests atop the desk’s surface, supporting the chin that minutely dips with your every flicker of expression, the parting of your lips in gasp mimed by his own. His eyes are glazed under bright light, lids threatening to blink, the passage of time too fast, but oh so slow.

Yoongi’s knowledge is second hand, rumblings of your demeanor spread through the vine of dialogue that floats coincidentally through his ears to connect with the edges of his brain, chewed and regurgitated without second thought. He holds his refusal to high regard, refusal to believe that you’re nothing more than a student, disgruntled by circumstance. It’s not simple attraction that guides his mind to the eye of logic, the region of reason, though it was the peak of initial interest.

He notices, and that’s all.

He notices the round of your puffed cheeks that follows a particularly surprising piece of narrative. He notices the seat left empty between you and the wall, open but not a forced invitation, and he notices the way your posture straightens when someone grazes a hair too close. He notices the deflation of your shoulders when you’re left without pair during lessons framed with the inopportunity of interaction forced to simulate the false reality of reality itself. He notices the things others are blind to in their half squint, though the picture is still blurred like the edges of a polaroid.

The numbness of his wrist, angled by the rest of his chin, draws him from captivation despite motivation to outlast the congregation huddle before you, their fronts focused toward him, his view obscured by obligation of association. His lips form the curvature of amiability necessary for pleasantry, neck craning to the defense of blue jeans offending his locked gaze.

“Can you stop staring so hard? She’s gonna eat you alive,” Hoseok’s finger nudges at the round of Yoongi’s jaw, urging his attention completely away from his person of interest.

“Fuck off, you don’t even know her.”

“Neither do you, despite your dedication to staring holes into her side every chance you get. They don’t call her ‘the misery chick’ for nothing, I don’t think I’ve ever seen her smile.” The jab rubs the wrong direction, Yoongi’s hand landing with a thud to the thick of Hoseok’s skull. “Come on, it’s a joke.”

“Maybe to you, and to everyone else, but she is a person. You guys just don’t look beyond what you wanna see because then she’s more than just a good laugh.” Every utterance of the moniker draws is lips to a downward twitch, fists balling in the pocket of his hoodie or scraping at the fabric of stressed jeans. It’s knowing that if he’s heard it you have ten fold, the thought harboring the wish that he could fold you inward, close to the beat of his chest to shield from the displeasure of words half baked with stupidity and the ignorance of hilarity.

“Well not everyone wants to see her between the sheets.”

Interruption of the education saves Hoseok from the verbal spar pending within the fire engulfing Yoongi’s pupils. A place of love harbors the words of war, he knows this, knows that Hoseok’s plan is to rile to the point of action, but he’s driven to the brink of insanity by twisted words of encouragement. The kindest person on the planet playing into the stereo of broken records hurled toward the edges of your delicate framing, .

Yoongi’s hands curl around his pen, ballpoint and already dancing the page, jotting words flown from one canal to the other and back to the atmospheric toxins of brains shorting caffeine. His sleeves are suddenly burning, neck itching with the heat of nerves crawling outward from within the confines of his collar. He glances toward Hoseok staring absently at Yoongi’s decorative scrawl, raising a brow to colliding gazes.

“Is it hot?” Yoongi puckers in mumble, swiping at the skin kissing the fringe sweeping his eyeline. Hoseok’s head careens in the negative, averting gaze to the front of the room, professor droning about the coming assignment, a project that Yoongi barely catches wind of.

The plague responsible for his discomfort of familiarity is comfort enough to stop the distant tremble of shoulders keen to the stare that meets his eyes from the room’s opposing side. He jolts, or rather the calm of his heart picks back to pace, when his eyes meet irises reflective of his own. They’re gone as soon as he finds them, but he’s confident that the cool of his neck is confirmation that sanity isn’t all lost.

“Dude, could you take your notes? I’m gonna need those later,” Hoseok nudges at his forearm, limp from distraction. Yoongi hurries to scribble missed lecture, patient for a lull in speech to make room for declaration.

“She was looking at me.”

“What?”

“Y/n, she was looking at me. I saw her...I felt her.”

“Maybe she was just staring off into space because this class is a snooze-fest.” Hoseok speaks through the timing of yawn, perfectly punctuating his point. “She probably doesn’t even know you exist. Though, I guess everyone knows you exist, so maybe she just doesn’t care.”

The words aren’t false, Yoongi’s following his beyond the definition of quaint, his celebrity following him from the rush of the court to the thrill of the keys. He’s hard pressed for a moment of peace, but he often finds it here, lost in you.

“I’m serious.”

Yoongi sighs an audible defeat, Hoseok’s dropped lids and the rest of his chin atop folded arms a clear sign that his mind is beyond the classroom and beyond Yoongi’s own romantic woes. The end of the lecture appears miles from the start, the wave of dismissal a spell releasing its hold on the shackles chaining the ghoulish appearance of sleepless students.

Yoongi has worked himself to the brink of decision by the end of the lecture, sure enough that his stride to your desk will prove a build in the shy tint of his cheeks when he musters a faint ‘hello’. The pan of his half thought out plan doesn’t sort as well as he hoped, the rush of legs scurrying for the door tripping him up in his rush to the chair where you patiently filed notebook to bag.

His vision is blurred by the passage of sweaters and hoodies, emblems emblazoned on sleeves and beanies sagging from the tips of bedhead. Hoseok follows after his stride in a confused wake from the desk that housed his sleepy head for the last seventy minutes, stumbling along with the drag of feet on tile.

When destination is met, your chair is neatly housed, your figure nowhere to be found, Yoongi paces back, his sizable sneaker just scuffing the metal recline of an adjacent chair.

“What are you doing?” Hoseok clutches the muscled fabric of Yoongi’s shoulder, stopping near disaster following the weighted displacement of the two.

“Nothing, let's get lunch.”

The passage of days are a haze in the midst of the craze of midterms and Yoongi’s attempt to find reason to believe your glance was more than a passing innocence. The press of his back to his mattress, sheets freshly laundered, linens, scented of the artificial makings of fresh lilac courtesy of Jeongguk, are used to his mid-day collapse for a pre-study snooze. He’s swallowed whole beneath the dense of his comforter, fingers curling into the soft material, lips emitting a sigh of satisfaction.

The buds in his ears are a dull hum, white noise to saturate the crevices of his brain still vibrating from the surge of knowledge consumed at the twice rapid pace of the semester’s schedule. His lids are aflutter, pupils rolling to the dark precipice, the unconscious already tugging at the bits of his subconscious manifested to snooze.

The muscles of his pillowy cheeks fight upward against the smush to the firm cushioning of his mattress, arms cuddled around the decorative cushion of deep blue. A pitched giggle echoes in the receptors of his brain, bouncing against the walls, a comforting sound. It’s foreign though, the melodic stutter, yet it engulfs his chest with the warmth of affection, his stomach turning with nerves of the giddy sort.

He teeters on the edge of more, features dancing between streams, a waterfall blur. Yoongi aches for the reach, his physical and metaphorical being extending from the depths of his full size bed, yearning for the exploration of the four walls and beyond. He can swear his fingers graze the soft of skin, the trace of lip curved in sensuality just visible through sleepy haze. The giggles grow in volume, almost as if guided toward his hasty reach.

“Jeongguk, shut up!” Yoongi falls forward, just catching onto the ledge of his dresser, quick reflexes doing wonders for his physical well being, but the skip in his mental and the stop of his heart are undeniable.

He's heard the voice a handful of times, an arm eagerly shooting to respond to a professor’s quarry, the hidden mumblings that he swears he’s the only one to pick up on, his smirk almost never enough to stop impending chuckle.

It’s you.

He knows, but can’t quite grasp that just beyond the barrier of belief, past the door sealed to keep from disturbance you’re somewhere laughing with Jeongguk. He listens for a moment, unmoving, to attempt a deciphering of your intentions, but laughter has turned to the inaudible mumblings from the room across the hall. He’s silent in his trek to the door, pulling it on rusted hinges, cringing with every scrape of copper and wood.

He slips down the hall on tiptoe, unsure if you’re attune to the other members of the house, but not ready to face you if Jeongguk’s door swings back to reveal the occupants of the small cubical. Yoongi makes way to the kitchen, surprised to find the rest of his roommates crowded into the sizable space, each occupied with their own endeavor of strewn textbooks and half frozen toaster strudel.

“Well well look who’s awake,” Jimin sneers playfully in Yoongi’s direction, drawing attention from the rest of the room.

“Bet I can guess why,” Taehyung snickers, glances exchanged with a conspiratorial air, the shift of Yoongi’s feet not unnoticed by his personal tormentors. “We told Jeongguk he might wanna keep it down, we know how you like your rest.”

“Jeongguk didn’t wake me,” Not the correct turn of phrase, realized just moments late, the flicker of pupils raising with the feigned ah ha! Yoongi side steps them all, settling on the sphere of orange grabbing his interest from the bowl on the table, plopping into the nearest chair.

“Oh he didn’t? Well what other reason could you possibly have to forgo your pre-study nap, hmmm?” Jin pokes at the slightly greened peel of Yoongi’s fruit, hand smacked away with haste. He withdraws to card through his hair, lengthening by the day, framing his face with more beauty than should be allowed by the ethereal senior.

“I was hungry, s’all.” He tosses scraps with each peel of fruitful flesh, eagerly sliding bits of tangerine past his puckered lips. Anything to keep his mind from the fresh dose of giggles eating at his brain like a love bitten parasite. “Who—umm, who does Jeongguk have over.”

“Oh, Kookie has a friend over? We had no idea,” Namjoon hums, glasses perched to the bridge of his nose, arms eaten by the sleeves of his hoodie.

“Maybe you recognize their voice? I mean, you’re the only one close enough to hear it.” Hoseok’s grin is shit eating, half hidden behind the length of his hand, fingers curling in position at the tip of his chin.

“Oh, oh! I think I recall him saying something about a...Y/—hmmm was it…” Taehyung fakes stumbles over the name, tips of his fingers tracing the glass of his crumbed plate.

“Y/n.” Yoongi speaks through teeth clenched, his cheeks rosy from snatched sleep and the scrutiny he’s placed himself under, the heat of a lamp concentrated in the five pairs of eyes trained on his every movement for their amusement.

“So you do know her, why don’t you go say hi?” Jin pats him with vigour, the sound of an echoed frame permeating the air of what Yoongi has affectionately titled, friendly toxicity. Those same muffled voices grow with the trek down the stairs, threatening to give way with each step. Yoongi lifts his eyes from his half eaten fruit for the first time since he sat down, daring them to say a word out of turn with a single look.

“It’s pretty quiet considering seven guys live here,” Your voice is audible from the front door, Yoongi’s grip tightening, juice spilling down the crevices of his hand, soiling his shirt sleeve, palms already sticky from the stress. “I have one roommate and, as you’ve seen, she can be loud enough for the both of us.”

“I’m just as surprised as you are actually. I know Yoongi is probably asleep,” Yoongi sinks into his chair, knowing glances threatening to drop him straight through the wooden surface. “The rest are probably out.”

“Yoongi?” Your voice strays a bit, Yoongi’s lip twitching, unsure what to think of the sudden strain in pitch.

“Yeah, do you know him?”

“Oh, um...kinda? Not really, we share a class together, but we’ve never talked. I’m pretty sure he’d think he’s too cool for me anyways. You know, ‘misery chick’ and all.” Yoongi levels a stare at Hoseok whose arms lift in readied defense, though his own face conjures frown at your words. Your attention clearly never spotting the longing with which he’s leveled you for the past few months.

“You’re not the ‘misery chick’,” Jeongguk’s voice holds firm reassurance, something Yoongi wishes he could give you, but he’s glued, too curious for the thought of impromptu interruption. “People are just jerks. Besides, Yoongi-hyung isn’t like that at all. He likes to pretend he doesn’t know how cool people think he is.”

“Guess I’ll just have to take your word for it. I have to go, but I’ll see you tomorrow, Koo.”

The door closes, Jeongguk just as soon rounding into the kitchen, tracks dead when there are six pairs of eyes trained on his figure. “Wha—have you all been here the whole time?”

He only takes pause momentarily, his stride leading to the fridge, a juice box of all things pulled from metal confines. The naked eye would never guess the soft interior of Jeongguk, his features contrasting with the boots swallowing his feet and the tattoos eating his arm, tracing his digits. But he’s the walking embodiment of the careful youth painting each man posted in the room, a piece of him nursed by a piece of them with each day passing.

“Yeah, we’re just hangin’ around, Jeonggukie.” Hoseok shrugs, ruffling the base of Jeongguk’s wild curls.

“Well you’re doing it pretty quietly, Y/n thought it was weird.”

“Are you guys dating?” Jimin’s question is thrown with abandon, eyes trained on Jeongguk with absolute focus, Yoongi sending a glare toward the silver haired fiend.

“No.” Jeongguk pays little mind to the question, too busy squeezing every last drop from the box clutched in his fist, doe eyes glistening with concentration. “We met last semester in lit and she’s really cool so we started hanging out. You guys should meet her sometime, she doesn’t have a lot of friends because of this dumb rumor that she’s ‘the misery chick’ which is ridiculous because she’s one of the nicest people I’ve met here.”

“Yeah, you can bring her over any time.” Namjoon encourages, book lowered to the table, face scrunching in mental agony when he realizes the corner of his novel is soaked with the spill of orange juice.

“She said she knows you from class Yoongi, but she doesn’t think you’d like her. I think you would though! Maybe you should try to talk to her next class.”

“Yeah,” Yoongi readily agrees, new found vigor in his speech. “Maybe…”

Over the next several weeks, Yoongi is sure that coincidence isn’t what found his stare locked to yours, Jeongguk’s overheard conversation clearly leaving your interest peaked about Yoongi who was forced to make his own gazes less frequent for fear of being caught. His first sighting after he floated the walls of his home like a ghost in haunt was next lecture.

The nerves that ate at his skin the first instance of your curious scan was turned bearable by the itching of excitement to his every nerve, skin alight with the tango of possibility traversing his very being. His attention was wayward, standing at the head of the class, scooping the pages required for lecture from the overflowing desk, a minute ‘excuse me’ cutting through the thick of his cogged brain.

“Yes?” Was his response, regurgitated dumbly despite the forming line waiting for him to budge to his waiting seat.

“Uh...could I get by...papers.” He smiles, unintentional, but the effect is the duck of your head, refusal to meet his eyes under such a heated gaze. He’s left to stare a moment longer before the snag of his sleeve, Hoseok forcing him away, calming the mob of students too impatient to momentarily still for the fruition of his romantic interest.

Lately, your exit from class seems somehow quicker than usual, the practiced haste too much for him to master, another obstacle to his formal introduction. Though it seems your professor can read the tension that hovers the expanse of the classroom, a thread itching to be linked by two lovers, one unknowing of the delicate pull she has on her soul suitor.

“Okay!” The professor stands at the front of the room, barely holding the attention of the class, barely holding Yoongi’s attention until he speaks once more. “Instead of a formal midterm, I want you all to complete a joint essay, yes you heard me correctly! I want you to pair up and write an essay on the topic of your choosing—as long as that topic is related to the course.”

Yoongi perks up, ignoring the telltale that Hoseok hopes to grab him as soon as the class is dismissed because Yoongi has a plan of his own.

“Of course I won’t force you to choose a partner, I know some of you prefer to work alone. But no more than two people to a group. Now I can see that you’re all on the edge of your seats, but I’m feeling generous today, so you’re dismissed, but your pages are due on my desk beginning of class Monday!” The final words of the professor send the class into frenzy, those who were paying attention quick to grab hold of their half and those who weren’t suddenly catching up and scrambling for someone who’ll make do.

“Hey, we’re partners, right?” Hoseok looks at Yoongi hopeful, but Yoongi already has his sights set on you, watching everyone link up, resigned to working solo.

“Nah, I’ve got another partner in mind if that’s okay with you.” Hoseok catches the drift rather quickly, wide smile forgoing slight disappointment at his loss of the sure A on his midterm.

“Go for it,” Hoseok gives a light shove forward, much appreciated by Yoongi whose heart threatens to burst from his chest, sure that the nerves are painted on his face like a slice of Van Gogh. He’s just in time, your hands shoved into your pockets, ready to leave the suffocation of a space smothered in unwelcome.

“Hey.” Yoongi can see the uncertainty, your eyes glancing to either side to ensure that he is certainly addressing you.

“Hey…”

“So, this midterm thing is kinda weird, right?” He can already see the snicker on Hoseok’s face, though his friend is posted at the door opposite him. Your own lips quirk, his only thought of coherency aimed at how cute the action is. You rock on your heels, he notes your style isn’t far off from the bones of Jeongguk, hoodie black and heavy boots ready to stomp through endless waves of the nauseating sea of university.

“Yeah...I guess it’s a little unconventional. But great for people who get test anxiety,” You humor him, hands withdrawing from jeaned confines to gesture wildly to the room void of anyone but the three remaining vessels, two of which are engaged in unlikely exchange. “Did you need something?”

“Huh?”

“Sorry! I don’t mean to be rude, but I have a class to get to and I have a thing about being late. I figure there’s a reason you’re talking to me seeing as we’ve never actually talked before…” You catch yourself in ramble, tripping over phrases whilst Yoongi watches without missing a beat.

He’s incredibly taken with the way the words flow without pretense, a nice change to the closed off demeanor people falsely associate with you. He would listen for a lifetime to the things you have to say, hopefully with the clasp of finger and longing glances. Your intent is nonsense, nerves eating away at the buds of your tongue. To him it’s a poetry specially curated, a tickle to his throat bringing forth the soft laughter that halts your speech.

“I’m sorry, you go ahead I’m just...nervous.”

“No no, don’t apologize, I like listening to you,” He coos when you smile, quick to recover before your eyes, wide and attentive find his own once more, now notably softer, safer. “I love your smile too…”

“You’re not so bad yourself…” Soft spoken and not altogether sure is the way you speak, your class long forgotten, a blip in rear view shadowed by the shining beacon before you. “So…?”

“Right, right...I was just wondering if you’d maybe wanna work together?” Despite compliments and hinted flirtation you’re taken aback by the offer, your eyes skirting Yoongi completely, raising question to the figure station by the exit. Hoseok offers you a smile you can’t help but return his thumbs raising in the affirmative.

“He’s all yours,” Hoseok assures, taking his leave prematurely, Yoongi still waiting for confirmation.

“No pressure, just thought I’d ask. I think we’d work well together,” And I wanna know you, he withholds for fear of frightening you more so than the sudden acknowledgement already has.

“Well I don’t know about that, but yeah I’d love to if you’re sure.”

“I’m positive. Wanna meet at my place after school?”

“Sounds good.” You pull your phone swiping at the screen before passing it over. “Just text me when you’re free.”

“I’ll text the address,” He knows it’s unnecessary, just taking precautions to shield from the admission of his eavesdrop the last time you occupied the residence. You wait until you’re once again clutching the spherical confines of your devices, checking and double checking that all digits are present, not unfamiliar with the harsh reality of falsehood buried beneath genuine interest.

“Oh, I actually know where you live. My friend Jeongguk is one of your roommates, so I know my way.”

“Well I’m sorry we’ve missed each other, that it took me so long to say hello.” Yoongi’s legs lead him half a step closer, an accidentally purposeful close of the gap between, your eyes avoid the bottom half of his face, focusing instead on the bill of his cap and the dark hair tickling the edges.

“Guess you’ll just have to make up for it somehow.”

“Guess I will.”

Your visits to Yoongi are routine over the next week, the laughter filling the hectic halls caused by him rather than his roommates. He’s seen more of you in a week than he could’ve hoped in a lifetime, even more confused about the way you’ve been outcast by a majority of your major. He’s awed by your lack of reaction to the judgement of peers, often citing it as a joke, sarcasm lacing the words.

It’s the day before assignment is due, you’re perched at Yoongi’s desk, he’s laying on his bed, tossing his basketball in mock free throw simultaneously with his toss of ideas while your fingers type vigorously in final draft.

This particular evening leaves you alone with Yoongi, the other members of the house trying and failing to convince you to join for their weekly outing to the nearest bar where they would no doubt drink their weight to poorly prepare for the week to come. Yoongi was swift to opt out, much preferring your company to the stench of stale beer and jokes poorly executed by Jin after he downs his fifth shot.

You were insistent that he let you handle the rest of the paper, just pages standing between you and your final product, but he’s too fond of the way your post-its decorate the shelf over his desk, different colored notes for every paragraph, the ink of your pens highlighting each point in magenta saturation. He’s obsessed with the way you hunch to close to the pages of your textbook while scolding him for getting too close to the screen of his laptop in the next breath.

He can’t help the thought of what could be, close calls and a hair’s breadth stepping between you all week. It’s the price of seven roommates and a lock loosened with the jiggle of a handle. The hesitancy that still fills your pupils despite the easy way his words lace with genuine interest.

Yoongi remembered what it was like to notice, deciding that it’s much better to experience you. The moment is delicate, your soft suggestions and argumentative replies tossed with a hint of tease lacing the bite of your tone. He doesn’t try to hide the smile that breaks the mold of his face, lips dampened by the press of gums prominent from healthy reach.

“Can I ask you a question?” He raises, your fingers slowing against the keyboard, chair swiveling to offer full attention. “Does it bother you...the whole ‘misery chick’ thing?”

He’s not sure what possesses it, but he is sure that knowing will make things easier, break a barrier that to him doesn’t exist. He knows your breath is baited, knows you’ve been waiting for the pull of the rug, so he offers a tug, a comforting teasing sort of thing to ease your mind and close the gap of misunderstanding that he could never blame you for.

“Can I ask you a question? Do you believe the whole ‘misery chick’ thing?” You counter, scooting along hardwood until your knees are pressed to his mattress, sinking into the cushioned flesh as far as it allows. Your stare is careful, not expectant of the negative or offended by the positive. “It’s okay if you do, just don’t lie about it.”

There's a sadness in your delivery and Yoongi notes it immediately. Your attempt to hide the twitch of your lip and the anxious fold of your hands in your lap don’t escape him. Your tone is even, your eyes much the same and he wonders how anyone could ever believe it, he’s grateful that he never did.

“Not for a second.” He responds almost immediately, waiting for any lingering doubt on your end. It never comes.

“Good.” Is your reply, just as even as the question itself. Your shoulders relax, posture not as stiff as before. “It does bother me, not as much as it used to, but it does. It bothers me that they don’t like that I’m not like them. I don’t mean that in the whole ‘I’m not like other girls’ way, but I’m just not Cathy college, you know? I don’t get excited about parties and drinking, I don’t need to go out all the time to have fun, I don’t think there’s anything wrong with you if you do, but I don’t and because I’m not like everyone else I have to be ‘the misery chick’.

He’s sure you don’t realize it, but Yoongi see’s the build of tears in your eyes, unshed but there and it breaks him. Breaks him that something so trivial could be the defining factor of someone’s experience, that you can hide it so well at the cost of your own happiness.

“I mean, it’s college, you’d think that people have better things to do than come up with reasons to ridicule someone, but I guess I have too much faith.” You finish, glancing up to find Yoongi all ears, lips etched in frown. “Sorry, you didn’t ask for all of that.”

“People suck.” Is all he says, hand extending toward you, inviting you to join him on his island, silent but sure. You crawl the length of the mattress, your back pressing the headboard, fingers laced with his own, warm and sweaty from nerves, yours or his neither of you are sure.

“People do suck.”

“I know what’ll make you feel better.” He offers, thumb running along the jagged edges of your knuckle, skin kissing skin. You lift your head, half leaning on his shoulder so your eyes meet, a reflection of picture perfect, a record in perfect sync.

“Yeah?”

“You should go out with me.” Yoongi doesn’t expect a snort, but the response is exactly what he receives your head averting to conceal your laughter, hands shielding your face from the expanse of an ego deflated by the graze of your accidental needle. “Why are you laughing?”

“No I’m not—I just—you’ve been looking at me like I’m completely insane all semester! I didn’t think you liked me, I thought you were looking right through me...I kinda thought you were just coming to class high every day.”

“I don’t even smoke, those were not the eyes of a stoner, they were the eyes of a man who’s very fond of you.” Yoongi defends his position, his usually dormant stare now bugged to exaggeration, unavailable for serious consideration.

“My mistake, though I don’t know whether to be weirded out or completely flattered.”

“You better be so flattered that I can see hearts in your eyes because you were pretty quick to agree to be my partner for this project!” Yoongi keeps the charade, glad to lighten the tension and draw from the heaviness of the previous conversation. It’s not a chapter that’s closed, but the beginning is the build and he’s planning an entire novel with you, so he figures his time isn’t limited by the tick of a clock nearing the midnight hour.

“I heard I’ve got a sure ‘A’ and I’d be an idiot to pass that up.”

“You could get a passing grade in your sleep, you can’t fool me. But you can go on a date with me.”

“So you, cool guy Min Yoongi, want to go on a date with me, ‘the misery chick’?” You gasp, hand clutched to your chest, Yoongi’s hand catching hold and bringing it to his own, to the beat of his heart, the bass begging for a melody that only you can satisfy.

“More than anything.”

“Well when you put it that way I have no choice but to say yes, but to be clear, I’ve definitely seen you looking at Hoseok with that same look in your eyes so you might wanna sort some stuff out first—”

#bangtanuniversity #bangtanidx #suganetwork #bangtanarmynet #thebtswritersclub #yoongi x reader #myg x reader #yoongi fluff #yoongi fanfic #bts fluff #bts fanfic #yoongi oneshot #bts oneshot #houseofddaeng

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heartslogos · 3 years

Text

newfragile yellows [1032]

He's been avoiding contacting Evelyn for information because it’d feel too much like ratting on the other three. That and Evelyn probably doesn’t know about the whole situation. She’s been deeply focused on the restructuring of the Exalted Plains’ branch of the Herald’s Rest now that Orlais has called for a temporary cease fire in the region.

And Evelyn would probably get on his ass for bothering her about something inconsequential. He could play the ‘but we’re friends’ card which would get him out of trouble just as easy, but it feels like a cheat. Then again, Evelyn could also know exactly what’s going on here and if he writes to her she’d write back with ruthless teasing. But she’d still tell him what he wants to know, anyway.

It’d be faster than trying to go through the others at the high table.

Josephine and Leliana are neatly dodging his attempts to get more details. Rutherford, when asked about who was coming down to Morrin, responded with a dry list of troop profiles.

Knowing Rutherford, it could go either way. Either the man is ignorant of the current gossip regarding Bull’s quest and the one woman who seems to be going through it like it was made for her to do in her spare time — which is entirely feasible. Rutherford isn’t the type to willingly gossip. And when he catches any of his soldiers doing it he’s always sure to break it up and remind them of their duties. — or he’s fully aware and reacting like this on purpose. That’s more likely. If he works in close quarters with Leliana and Josephine there’s some gossip that’s bound to make its way through his thick head.

It’s hard to tell on paper. The man’s sense of humor is so dry and rarely used it might as well be a withered husk buried in sand.

Thankfully, before he can make a decision on which pit viper he’s going to try and get information out of next to try his luck with, Grim unceremoniously throws his door open.

“Are you all just savage animals wearing people skin?” Bull asks as Grim points down the hall he came from. “What? I don’t hear anything breaking. It can’t be that bad.”

Grim rolls his eyes like he’s a sixteen year old, cranky teenager who’s got the weight of the world on his shoulders and an immaculate genius that’s being tarnished by breathing the same air as other people. The man should’ve been an actor.

Grim points again, free hand exaggerated as he spells out a name.

Bull it walking past him before he can sign the second ‘l’.

Someone (Stitches) has had the sense to ask the woman to stay put in time for Bull to get there and actually see her with his own eye. Or at least, that’s what it looks like when Bull bursts out of the dim hallway into he large public front of the Herald’s Rest.

He sees her in profile, first, examining the notice boards. An arm leans on the reception desk counter, fingers drumming on it. She doesn’t look irritated, though.

When he comes into the room she turns. There’s faint recognition in her eyes and nothing more. Unsurprising. That’s what he usually gets.

The Iron Bull is a famous name and with an easy to match description attached to it.

He breathes.

This is the person who collected the herbs for his vitaar. And brought in the hide of a fade touched great bear. This is the person who slayed an unannounced high dragon.

Bull approaches the counter. Stitches quickly makes himself scarce.

Dalish immediately takes his place — shoving Aclassi out of the way with a burst of magic that causes the man to go down with a high pitched yelp and a curse — because she’s nosy.

Bull ignores her in favor of studying Ellana Lavellan up close.

Dark eyes. Vallaslin for Dirthamen. Narrow lips, but the bottom is fuller than the top. Wide cheek bones. Straight lashes.

“Ellana Lavellan,” Bull says. It isn’t a question. It’d be one shitty question if so. Who doesn’t know Ellana Lavellan’s name, at this point? If he didn’t know her by now he should be sacked.

“The Iron Bull. Do you have business with me? Your man told me to wait for you,” Ellana says.

“After a fashion.” Bull wordlessly holds his hand out to the side. Dalish, with a certain amount of unearned glee, hurls the ledger at him. Bull quickly opens it. He knows the pages he needs by heart.

“Are you familiar with the running quests of Morrin Keep?” Bull asks. “The repeatable ones that are up all year?”

There’s only three.

There’s only his.

But Ellana frowns, mouth thinning further as she thinks it over. “I can’t say I am. To be honest with you I don’t pay much attention to the dates for the quests pinned to the board. I just pick whatever strikes my fancy at the time.”

Bull nods. He isn’t surprised by that.

“There’s a quest chain specific to the Morrin branch,” he explains. “Collection of felanderis, blood lotus, ghoul’s beard. Collection of one stone’s worth of fade touched hide.” His eye watches her as her eyebrow start to raise, mouth parting in a soft “oh”. “And lastly. Slaying and procuring the tooth of a high dragon.”

Bull turns the ledger to face her, tapping the next empty spot.

“Do you have one?”

Ellana slowly reaches towards her waist, hand sliding into what must be a bag of holding, as he watches her hand, then wrist, then arm up to her elbow, slide in. She pulls out a single tooth. Whole, wicked sharp, as thick as Bull’s wrist and as just as long as his forearm.

She places it on the counter between them, pushing it towards him with her fingertips. She slowly raises her hands to her neck and pulls off her adventurer’s tag, placing that next to it.

Bull holds his hand out and Dalish nearly stabs him handing him the pen.

With steady hands he records Ellana Lavellan’s name, and the new details of her upgraded tag.

“And what happens now?” Ellana asks, dark eyes cutting him down to the bone to examine him and appraise him and his intent. “As I am unfamiliar with this line, I don’t know what the reward is.”

“If you wish to claim it,” Bull answers, “The reward is myself. My time. The only question is if you want it. Do you?”

#heartsfic #gather your party and venture forth

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warfesgts · 3 years

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some cruel test to see what he would do if they gave him a horse and set him free

Jon backed away. Appropriately, the 7:30 pm concert is at Reed College's Kaul Auditorium. Ask, and it can be restored to you. Judge Hall, who delivered the dissenting opinion in the above case based his conclusions, as we conceive, upon erroneous principles, by considering the laws of Rome applicable here. “And what besides! Why, time. It errs on the side of more juice, which is a little scary when you're hitting the limits of your llantas 4x4 online chip or cooler.). The humble tent of Yezzan zo Qaggaz proved to be a palace of lemon-colored silk. If the little varmints were lurking and caught adidas fg you threatening the local outlaw, they might hear expressions such as, "Go to Jericho, Geeswas, Dodgasted, By Jing, Dagnabbit". The result would be an atmosphere which is hotter near the surface and colder higher up. She could find the kitchens by their smell, tell men from women by their scents. Some are getting help with homework.. Some are sick and will need nursing. Waterfront home located in beautiful Portsmouth, RI. We humbly ask for the opportunity to come along side Governor Abercrombie and be the work engine todevelop and enhance his ideas and goals for building a better Hawaii.We will work in partner with 80 organizations to:Be able to incubate hundreds of start up entrepreneurship companies and develop hundreds of jobs that never existed in Hawaii before.HDSC will help over 5,000 people in need (homeless, elderly, youth, veterans, gangs, or anyone that needs help. “Watch the maester’s tower. Reek did not dare to look back, for fear that Damon and Yellow Dick and Grunt nike black tn 001 and the rest were coming after him, that all of this was just another of Lord Ramsay’s japes, some cruel test to see what he would do if they gave him a horse and set him free. Another boomed "good shot, good shot" when Chase drove R Ashwin down the ground. The choices are relatively limited, with T shirts, posters, tote bags, keychains, tambourines, pingpong balls and the like. New to biciclete rusesti vechi

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scullyfemme · 4 years

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Tasting More Than Wine

From the prompt sent in to @baronessblixen: M&S going to Napa Valley for a case, eventually they visit the wineries, get drunk and make out like there’s no tomorrow

I hope you like this!

s7 | 2k words | Mature | Tagging @today-in-fic | Read it on Ao3

---

In hindsight, they probably should have expected this from a case involving a winery.

“Oh, please stay for the wine tasting!” Mrs. Lancaster clasped her hands together in a pleading gesture that didn’t quite fit her upper-crust style and demeanor. “It’s the least we could do after you saved our crops. Free of charge!”

Mulder and Scully both stumbled over their words as they tried to refuse the offer.

“Oh, that’s-”

“We just-”

“We have our-”

“Our flight.”

Mrs. Lancaster simpered. “Why, that’s not until tomorrow!” She moved between the two and hooked each of their arms in one of hers, surprisingly strong as she led them into the ornate building. Inside, a crowd of other upper-class strangers were mingling before the tasting.

“Mrs. Lancaster, we couldn’t-”

“Oh, what the FBI doesn’t know won’t hurt them!” She winked before slipping back through the doors and closing them, virtually locking the two in with some of California’s most affluent.

It was one of the top wineries in the region with very “exclusive” tours and tastings. And by exclusive, they mean expensive. So much so that it was nearly only millionaires who could afford to attend in their crisp linen shirts and thousand-dollar sundresses. Which meant that Mulder and Scully — in their department-store business wear — stuck out like sore thumbs.

Everyone in the room seemed to give them a once-over at the same time. All drew the same conclusion that whoever these two were, they were not worth their highly valuable time. But the tasting soon started, which gave them something to do.

Mulder and Scully, as usual, stood apart from the crowd. They hung near each other and made no attempts to try conversing with the people who likewise were not interested in conversing with them.

Mulder looked around at the women in the room, who reminded him of his childhood summers at the Vineyard. The older women resembled his mother’s DAR friends in their pristine dresses and perfect, sparkling jewelry. The younger women — who were few and far between — made him think of the privileged, prissy rich girls from his boarding school and Oxford days. Ignoring the five S’s of wine tasting, he downed his next sample like a shot. Scully noticed.

Scully, meanwhile, observed the men in the room. Unlike Mulder, she hadn’t had much childhood experience with rich people. But she’d rubbed elbows — well, more like jabbed elbows — with a fair few in med school. The older men who used their status as esteemed doctors to try and take advantage of her, who didn’t care one lick about a patient’s well-being as long as they got their paycheck. The younger men who slept in class while their fathers paid for their grades, then would shamelessly hit on her as if she wanted anything to do with them. She downed her next sample like a shot. Mulder noticed.

Half an hour later, the two were on the verge of tipsy when one exceedingly brave soul decided to debase himself by speaking to them.

“So, are you two…” The younger man eyed them both up and down in assessment. “Businessmen?”

“Uh, FBI agents, actually,” Mulder said while Scully bristled at the fact that the man’s eyes had lingered on her chest for far too long.

“Ah.” They could both see the man’s mind failing to connect the dots between FBI agents and super-expensive wine tasting. “Well, if you’ll excuse me.” He left without waiting to see if they would.

“Must have been hoping to close a deal,” Mulder muttered.

Scully rolled her eyes. “If it weren’t for the alcohol, I’d say this is the worst thanks we’ve ever gotten for a case.”

He chuckled. “Then what would you say is the worst thanks we’ve ever gotten?”

She thought for a moment. “That time we were drugged and the whole town left.”

“I wouldn’t call that a thanks.”

“Well, it was still a pretty shitty end to a case.”

His eyebrows shot up at her curse. Her tongue must have been loosened by the alcohol.

“I’d say chasing a bug man through the California vineyards is pretty shitty,” he countered.

“Mulder, it wasn’t a bug man. It was a swarm of bugs.”

“No, I told you, Scully, it dissolved into a swarm after I shot the bug man.”

“Mulder, that doesn’t make any sense. How could one giant bug — or bug ‘man,’ as you put it — just dissipate into thousands of smaller bugs? Just because you shot it?”

“Wh- It left after that, didn’t it? And what about those fish that, uh, that school together to form one big fish?”

“They don’t actually form one big fish, they just look like one big fish in order to scare away predators.”

“Okay, well what if these bugs did the same thing? Or used to do the same thing, but now actually forming one big bug was the next step in the evolutionary chain?”

“That’s not how evolution works. And where does the ‘man’ part come in? You specifically said it was a bug man, Mulder.”

An older woman wearing a pearl necklace shot Scully a horrified look as she walked by, overhearing the conversation. Scully resisted the urge to stick her tongue out at her just to show her what she thought of this upper-class decorum.

“So you’re saying you’d rather believe it was...what? A plague of locusts? In Napa Valley?” Mulder asked.

“I never said it was a plague of locusts, Mulder. But infestations happen all the time. I still don’t even know why we were called out for this case in the first place instead of an exterminator.”

“Well, apparently if you own the best winery in the Valley, you can have the whole of the FBI at your beck and call.” Mulder’s tone was dry as he sipped his wine.

“Here, take mine.” Scully offered out her glass.

“You don’t like it?”

“Smells like vinegar.”

He had to agree, but at this point alcohol was alcohol. He knocked it back and put her glass down nearby, not noticing how she eyed him.

“Ladies and gentlemen!” The man who was leading the tasting spoke gently but still managed to gather everyone’s attention. “If you’ll gather ‘round, our next bottle is quite the specialty.”

Mulder went to follow the crowd, but was stopped by Scully pinching his jacket sleeve to hold him back. He looked down at her curiously, and she tilted her head as she turned away, indicating for him to follow her. He obliged, watching with raised eyebrows as she checked to make sure no one was looking before swiping an open bottle of wine and ducking out the side door. Stomach twisting with giddiness at her behavior, he quickly followed.

The side door led to the large processing area of the winery, which was thankfully empty at this time of day. Their quick steps slowed to a leisurely stroll as they got farther from the door, both feeling fueled by adrenaline as if they’d escaped some monster as opposed to rich people who couldn’t care less that they were gone.

“I hope you didn’t grab the bad wine,” he joked, sticking his hands in his pockets as they moved through the warehouse-like space.

Scully sniffed the open bottle before taking a large swig, making a loud pop sound as she pulled it away from her mouth and offered it to him. “S’alright.”

He tried to ignore how his heart skipped a beat as he watched her drink, clearing his throat before taking the bottle. “Where are we going?”

She shrugged. “I dunno. I just figured you were getting as tired of being around those people as I was.”

He nodded thoughtfully, taking a swig from the bottle. As he handed it off, he noticed her eyeing him with an unfamiliar expression. He thought he knew all of Scully’s looks, but this one was different. It was a cross between intrigue and...desire? No, that couldn’t be right.

But the way she averted her gaze, her cheeks flushed, made him wonder if maybe that was the right guess.

They rounded a turn and found themselves in a surprisingly secluded corner with a machine that could easily function as a bench for the two of them to sit on. Scully sat casually with her legs apart — the way she often did while in pants — and drank from the bottle.

They sat quietly for a while, passing the bottle between them. It was a companionable silence, both mulling over their separate issues with the people at the wine tasting. At one point, mind slightly numbed by the wine, he spoke up.

“We should probably stop drinking if we want to be able to drive back to the motel.”

With a look of defiance, Scully swiped the bottle from him and took a large gulp, holding eye contact the entire time. Mulder shifted in his seat, wanting to look away but feeling trapped in her gaze. She pulled the bottle away with another pop and continued staring him down. The room felt hot — nearly suffocating — and he wondered if she could hear how irregular his breathing was.

She arched a brow. “Only one of us needs to drive.”

He dropped his jaw in mock offense, grateful for the opportunity to play off how turned on he was. “So you’re just gonna keep drinking without me?”

“Mulder, this is thousand-dollar wine. It shouldn’t go to waste.” She smirked. “No matter how bad it is.”

He huffed a laugh and stole the bottle back, watching her raise her eyebrows in question as he took a sip. Eager to remark, he pulled the bottle away too quickly, a drop of wine rolling down the neck. He quickly caught it with his tongue on instinct, used to doing so with his beer bottles. What he wasn’t used to was Scully’s expression, which had rapidly switched from curiosity to something drastically different. He stared back at her, thinking how his desire was mirrored in her expression, as he slowly lowered the bottle to rest beside him.

In the blink of an eye, they both leaned in, lips crashing together with the urgency of two people who wanted each other more than they cared to admit. Her nails dug into his shoulder as his hand gripped her hair. They’d kissed before — minor ones, like the one at New Year’s. But this was messy and hungry, nothing at all like their previous encounters. She was straddling him before he’d even realized she moved, her hands grasping at any part of his torso she could reach. His hands moved in a similar way, both of them desperate to touch each other — to feel each other — as much as they could.

Scully moved from his lips to his jaw, then down his neck with fervor. He let out a sigh that was almost a moan. He swore he felt her grin against his pulse before grinding down on what was now a prominent erection. His moan wasn’t stifled this time as he tugged her back up by the hair and captured her lips with his again. Her hands wandered down to palm him through his pants, eliciting another moan before she started working at his button and zipper. Was she—?

The loud sound of a door slamming shut on the other side of the large warehouse interrupted them, making it so he wouldn’t find out what she was about to do. They both froze, then jolted apart for fear of whoever was here finding them like this. They righted themselves as quietly as they could, then ducked down in hopes of staying undetected by the intruder. Mulder didn’t dare look over at her as they both tried to calm their heavy breathing that was caused by multiple types of adrenaline.

Heels clicked loudly on the concrete floor, never coming near them as their owner briskly walked from one door to another. The second door clanked shut just as loudly.

They stayed stock-still, listening for any hints that there was anyone else in the room. After a few moments, they both let out equal sighs of relief. Mulder looked over at his partner, who was eyeing him with what he could clearly identify as lust. But there was reservation there, too. Maybe due to almost being caught. Maybe due to the fact that they’d almost just fucked for the first time in a winery. After seven years, it was far from how either of them had probably imagined their first time.

“We should-”

“Yeah.”

They stood up straight, fixing their hair and clothes even further. Scully glanced up at him, then mimed wiping the corner of her mouth with her thumb, a sheepish expression on her face. Mulder took the hint and ungracefully wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. He eyed the lipstick that came off with a small smile.

They started heading for the nearest exit but Scully stumbled a bit, grabbing his arm for support as she steadied herself. She kept a hold of his arm as they continued walking.

“Jeez, Scully, how much wine did you have?” He teased.

She didn’t respond, instead turning her head away from him so he couldn’t see her expression. Maybe it wasn't the wine.

“I think we should get back to the motel.” Her tone was casual, but her grip on his arm was suggestive of something else.

He swallowed thickly. There was no way he could drive their rental in this state of inebriation and arousal. And Scully was definitely in a similar — if not worse — way.

“Maybe we should call a cab.”

She smirked. “Maybe Mrs. Lancaster would be oh-so-grateful enough to lend us a limo.”

#kai.fic #xf fic #msr fic #time to post this when no one is online ;P

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hereticpriest · 5 years

Text

Sparks Part 1

John Wick Post Chapter 2 AU

John was made excommunicado but without the bounty on his head. He moves away and lives a normal life for once.

Warnings: None for this chapter. Future chapters may become NSFW. Canon-typical violence and swearing may occur in later chapters. Will be tagged.

@lvngdvns

It took a while for John to feel comfortable after his expulsion from the world he’d lived in most of his life. Unlike when he got out the first time, he felt quite certain that someone would come after him just for the prestige of having killed John Wick. He wasn’t protected in the same way he was the first time. He didn’t have a contract out for his head, but he was no longer welcome at the Continental, and he had plenty of enemies around the world.

His new home was outside of the city, up in a less inhabited region of upstate New York. The town closest to his new home was quaint, with only a bookstore, a pet store/groomer home business, a grocery store, a bank, a family restaurant, a hardware store and a gas station. The neighbouring town had a Target and a couple of chain fast food places, but anything beyond that would require a longer drive into the city. He had everything he needed close by, he had his dog, and he finally had the time to grieve.

Peace didn’t necessarily come easy to John. It took him months to stop looking over his shoulder and pulling his gun over random noises at night. He stopped wearing his tactical vest suit every day after a couple of months, though he didn’t get rid of it. It took him a while to become comfortable going out, but after a couple of months, he became a regular at the local bookstore. It was a small business owned by a young local woman, and it contained the only decent coffee in town. The Nestled Nook was in the old bank, so it had a very old school aesthetic and a reading area in the back which was once a vault. It was also one of the few places in town that had free wifi, and the download speed was faster there than it was at his house.

Which is how he met Natalia.

Natalia owned and operated The Nestled Nook with only minor assistance from her sole employee, Courtney Holland. Where Courtney was loud and boisterous in her efforts to sell product, Natalia was calm and disarming. Where Courtney was the epitome of youthful optimism, Natalia was what one would think of when hearing the phrase ‘an old woman in a young woman’s body’. They were opposites in almost every way, including in appearance.

Courtney had a sunkissed tan, pin-straight brown hair, and brown eyes that were so light they looked like the colour of honey. She was younger than Natalia by only four years, but her youth shone in a way that made the age gap so much more pronounced. She was not so average in height, but extraordinarily average in weight, and carried both off quite well. Tall as a beanpole with a slight pear shape and thighs that she claimed could snap a man’s neck, Courtney was one hell of a woman.

John couldn’t claim to be very fond of interacting with Courtney at length, as she had a tendency to push boundaries and ask probing questions. That being said, she had also married the owner of the local pet store and had helped him quite a bit when he was choosing things for Dog. He liked her well enough but kept her at arms-length in order to avoid her prying.

Natalia, on the other hand, was as white as a porcelain doll if not for the freckles dotted across her skin. Her hair fell in red curls around her face when she let it down, but she generally kept it in a loose bun held with hair needles and a whole lot of luck. Her eyes were such a light shade of blue that they were nearly grey, framed by long, pale lashes and crow’s feet at the corners that she was far too young to have. Natalia was average in height at about 5’6, but her shape was closer to a typical hourglass figure. She was toned where Courtney was soft, but she always made the excuse that it was from carrying books all the time.

John didn’t believe her when she waved off Courtney’s questions with that excuse, but he wasn’t supposed to be listening from his place in the stacks. He was waiting for Courtney to head back into the coffee bar area so that he could speak to Natalia and get her latest recommendations. She always knew what to suggest, and she always seemed to know when he needed a distraction. Despite his best efforts, he found her to be a rather tempting distraction. Natalia was just over half his age, a gentle soul, and most certainly not his wife. That being said, he had spent quite a bit of time adjusting to his new life and thinking about Helen’s note to him. She had made her wishes quite clear before that as well. She didn’t want him to dwell and close himself off completely. She told him he needed something to love. It had been just over a year since Helen passed away, and he finally felt some measure of peace.

Courtney batted at Natalia playfully, then glanced in his direction and smiled. She leaned in to Natalia’s ear, whispering something he couldn’t make out right before tweaking Natalia’s ear. Natalia’s cheeks turned pink, the blush showing easily on her light skin, and she tried to punch Courtney on the arm but missed. Courtney danced out of her reach and laughed full and loud.

“Even just one good one would last you for a while, Nat. You’re not as old as you act; you can’t use being too busy as an excuse forever.” Courtney practically sang, moving past him through the aisles towards the coffee bar. As she passed him, the brunette winked playfully and threw out a quick “Evening, Mr. Wick.”

Natalia had turned away from him, fanning herself and muttering something about nosy employees sticking their noses into her business. She wore her typical uniform: a black skirt that flared out around her stocking covered thighs and a white button-up topped with a cozy cardigan. If she wasn’t wearing a button up, she usually wore a sweater or a book-themed t-shirt.

“Natalia.” John greeted her quietly, a bit of a smirk tugging at his lips when she jumped in response.

“Oh! John, sorry, you startled me.” Natalia turned to face him, offering him a warm smile that caused the corners of her eyes to crinkle and emphasized her dimples.

“Sorry, my fault. I didn’t mean to sneak up on you. I’ve finished the last couple of books. I was wondering if you had any more suggestions?” John murmured, rubbing his short beard. He certainly didn’t look as intimidating as he usually did, considering his suit had been replaced by plain blue jeans and a white crew neck. That being said, his posture had only softened a bit and he was still just as quiet as he used to be.

Natalia laughed quietly, offering him her arm as a joke. Her laughter grew louder when he actually took her arm, large hand closing around her bicep to feel out her muscle tone.

“Of course, Mr. Wick. What are you looking for today?”

“Fiction. I’m interested in something different today…” John trailed off, starting to over-think his choice.

“And what would that be, John?” Natalia asked, leading him in the direction of the fiction novels.

“… Romance, I think.” John said before he could worry too much and talk himself out of it.

“Oh, I see. What sort of romance were you thinking? Are you looking for something mixed-genre where the romance is only part of the story, or flat-out romance? Serious, or light-hearted?”

Well, apparently that had flown right over her silly ginger head. John thought briefly of what Helen would tell him in this moment, oddly enough. She wanted him to be happy. She would be upset with him if he wasted away by himself. She was his best friend, and she knew him better than he knew himself some days.

“Would you like to get dinner with me tonight?” John asked after using his grip on Natalia’s bicep to guide her to stop walking. Wide blue eyes caught his gaze, and he offered her a small, reassuring smile. The young woman was silent for a moment, and he started to worry for a second before the corners of her lips turned up.

“Oh, of course John. I didn’t mean to leave you hanging there, I apologize. I just… wasn’t expecting that.” Natalia’s smile was brighter than usual, and there was a humour to her voice that usually wasn’t there. He took that as a good sign, considering the redhead was usually quite reserved. He nodded briefly, stepping just a tiny bit closer so she would have to look up at him.

“Do you want to eat at the Old Chelsea, go out of town, or would you like me to cook?” He asked, releasing his hold on her bicep, though he couldn’t help a small smile when Natalia caught and squeezed his hand.

“If we eat at the Old Chelsea, we will not get a single moment of peace. If you want to cook, I’d be happy to help?” Natalia offered, then giggled softly, “And what you’re thinking is completely correct – I am most certainly using you for your adorable dog.”

John snorted, and Natalia’s smile widened in response. She led him through the stacks to the romance section, pulling out a book before he could catch the title. Three stacks over, she grabbed another book, and lastly, she led him over to a ‘New Releases’ stack to pick up the sequel to one of the books he had read recently. She stacked up the three and put them in his hands, then scribbled her cellphone number onto a piece of paper which topped off the stack of books. John smirked at the sight of the number and the heart drawn next to it.

“Here are my suggestions. Take a look, and then come see me if you need more help. Text me what time you want me to come over. And your address.” Natalia leaned up to kiss his cheek, then headed up to the front of the store, leaving a smiling John Wick with the slightest hint of a pink kiss on his cheek from Natalia’s lip balm.

Twenty minutes later, he purchased all three suggested books from a smirking Courtney. She didn’t say anything, but it was clear she knew, approved, and thought she was very smart for predicting this.

“Bye Mr. Wick. Have a good night.” Courtney sang cheekily after him.

“I intend on it.” He retorted, waving at her over his shoulder, then letting out a short laugh when he heard a thump followed by Courtney yelping.

913 Bois-Franc Ave. Any time after 4, dinner will be at 5:30. Dog is excited to see you again. – JW

Be there with bells on. I’m excited to see him too. What should I wear? – NJ

You just said you would be wearing bells. – JW

Dress comfortably. It’s just me. – JW

I need to wear something under the bells, John. – NJ

Don’t even. I realized it as I hit send. I will be there just after 4. PS Courtney says you have lipstick on your cheek. – NJ

#John wick #john wick/oc #sorry if this sucks guys #feedback welcome!#john wick/reader

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mytrashylove · 5 years

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Castiel’s music taste + Crowstorm’s sound: a headcanon by moi

alt title: i was bored

ok so this is my first time doing something like this, and english is not my first language so pls bear with me

the other day @mycandylavynder asked what Crowstorm would sound like, and then @principalshermansky made a post with examples of what type of music they think the characters listen to (check it out! it’s great), which got me wanting to compile everything i can find regarding castiel’s music taste and crowstorm, to see what the game points to as castiel’s music

disclaimer: this is not to say that one headcanon is more valid than other, because at the end of the day everyone can think whatever they please, specially about a fictional character in a fictional band. i just thought it would be fun to do this.

let’s take a look at Castiel’s room as seen in episode 40 of high school life:

there are three bands that can be easily identified:

Pink Floyd’s The Dark Side Of The Moon poster on the wall

Never Mind The Bollocks, Here’s The Sex Pistols album by Sex Pistols among the cd’s on the shelf

The Rolling Stones logo on the pillow

according to the My Candy Love wiki page, Castiel’s favorite music genre is grunge. tha trivia also says that his favorite band is Winged Skull, but since it’s a fictional band there’s no way to know which kind of music they play, although i’d guess it’s a heavy metal band due to the name and logo.

let’s break the four bands we know he likes (and the albums that appear on the picture) down to the basics:

PINK FLOYD (UK, 1965-1995) album rock, progressive rock, art rock, hard rock, british psychedelia, psychedelic garage. - The Dark Side Of The Moon (1973) hard rock, progressive rock, psychedelic garage.

SEX PISTOLS (UK, 1975-1978) punk, new wave punk, british punk. - Never Mind The Bollocks, Here’s The Sex Pistols (1977) punk, new wave punk, british punk.

THE ROLLING STONES (UK, 1962-present) album rock, british invasion, contemporary pop/rock, hard rock, regional blues, rock & roll, british psychedelia, psychedelic garage, blues-rock, british blues, dance-rock, early pop/rock, am pop.

based on the information so far, we can assume a few things about Castiel’s taste

he seems to like rock music from the 70s

there’s a prevalence of british bands, but that might just be a coincidence

his taste might be summed up in the following genres, since they seem to be the most relevant ones: - punk, new wave punk - hard rock - blues-rock - rock & roll - psychedelic garage, british psychedelia - dance-rock - album rock - grunge

but what do all these genres mean? good question:

the 70s & rock music

aside from disco, funk, smooth jazz, jazz fusion, and soul, which remained popular throughout the decade, rock music played an important part in the Western musical scene, with punk rock thriving throughout the mid to late 1970s. other subgenres of rock, particularly glam rock, hard rock, progressive, art rock and heavy metal achieved various amounts of success.

highlights: (aside from the four bands already mentioned) Led Zeppelin, Queen, Kiss, David Bowie, Aerosmith, Joy Division, Fleetwood Mac, Black Sabbath, The Velvet Underground, Alice Cooper, The Ramones.

punk

a simple melody with three chords, but louder, faster and more abrasive than any other rock genre at the time. although bands like The Velvet Underground and The Stooged had a similar sound in the mid 60s, punk didn’t become its own genre until the mid 70s.

highlights: The New York Dolls, The Misfits, Generation X, Blondie, Talking -Heads, The Ramones, The Jam, Buzzcocks

new wave punk

where post-punk was artsy and difficult, new wave was, simply put, pop music that retained the vigor and irreverence of punk music.

highlights: The Police, The Cars, Blondie, Talking Heads

hard rock

hard rock is loud, aggressive guitar rock, but it isn't as dark and menacing as heavy metal, and it's rarely influenced by punk. it is (for the most part) exuberant, party music.

highlights: Led Zeppelin, AC/DC, Aerosmith, Janis Joplin, Van Halen, Jimi Hendrix, Guns N’ Roses, Queen, Pink Floyd, The Rolling Stones, Queens of The Stone Age

blues-rock

blues-rock didn't fully develop into a subgenre until the late 60s. it emphasized two specific things: the traditional, three-chord blues song and instrumental improvisation.

highlights: Fleetwood Mac, Janis Joplin, Jimi Hendrix, ZZ Top

rock & roll

in its purest form, Rock & Roll has three chords, a strong back beat, and a catchy melody. it drew from a variety of sources, primarily blues, R&B, and country, but also gospel, traditional pop, jazz, and folk.

highlights: Elvis Presley, Chuck Berry, The Who, The Beatles

psychedelic garage

instead of the concise verse-chorus-verse patterns of rock & roll, artists used free-form, fluid song structures. they also incorporated elements of Indian and Eastern music and free-form jazz to their sound, and experimented with electronically altering instruments and voices.

highlights: Pink Floyd, Jimi Hendrix, The Doors, Jefferson Airplanes, Grateful Dead

british psychedelia

british psychedelia was more whimsical and experimental than its American counterpart, and it tended to work within the pop song structure.

highlights: Pink Floyd, Cream, The Beatles

dance-rock

dance-rock was born in the mid 70s, when bands experimented with the simpler rhythms and heavy groove of funk and disco. they relied on keyboards and drum machines or used the standard guitar-bass-drums format of most rock bands, but they were performed many songs in a way that made them apt for the dancefloor, with simple, heavily repetitive choruses or hooks.

highlights: Queen, David Bowie, INXS, Duran Duran, Eurythmics, Talking Heads

album rock

the one thing that tied all album rock artists together was their dedication to the album as the vehicle for their music, as well as certain artistic aesthetic and constant exposure on FM radios. this broad criteria made it a fairly diverse genre.

highlights: Led Zeppelin, Aerosmith, Pink Floyd, The Who, Queen, Janis Joplin

grunge

hybrid of heavy metal and punk, grunge music adopted the lyrical approach and musical attack of punk. it had three waves: the first one was heavier, drawing from early 70s metal; the second one began with Nirvana and it’s more melodic sound, as well as distorted guitar sound that became a genre convention; and the third wave that came with Nirvana’s mainstream status, when grunge lost many of its independent, punk connections and became the most popular style of hard rock in the 90s

highlights: Green River, Soundgarden, Mudhoney, Nirvana, Pearl Jam, Alice in Chains

to be clear, dividing music into genres is a complicated matter, and even more so is trying to reduce someone’s music taste in genres, since it is entirely possible to like wildly different music as well as dislike certain bands that fit the same category or certain songs from the same band. this is all just meant to show an inclination that Castiel seems to have in order to see what kind of music Crowstorm might be influenced by.

that said, let’s get down to businees. what do we know about crowstorm?

popular and well-liked

has music videos that sometimes feature actors

at least one of their songs involves a piano (according to candy on ep3)

people dance to their music

the members (or Castiel, at least) have given interviews on radio

based on that, we can say that Crowstorm:

has mainstream appeal

has at least some danceable songs

taking into account the info about Crowstorm & Castiel’s inclinations that might influence his music, here are a few examples of what i think some of Crowstorm’s songs could sound like

(danceable songs, “mainstream” radio music)

Head Staggered - That Petrol Emotion // Blue To Black - That Petrol Emotion (this band is influenced by The Beatles, Buzzcocks and Public Image Ltd., all of them from the 70s/80s and within the genres Castiel seems to like)

Some Like It Hot - The Power Station // Murderess - The Power Station (influenced by Led Zeppelin, similar to INXS and associated to Duran Duran)

Never Let You Go - INXS // Mystify - INXS (popular dance-rock band)

Are You Gonna Be My Girl - Jet // Put Your Money Where Your Mouth Is - Jet (influenced by AC/DC and The Beatles)

(hard rock/blues rock songs)

Young Lust - Pink Floyd

Voodoo Child - Jimi Hendrix

Whole Lotta Love - Led Zeppelin

this is just my headcanon based on what the game says tho, but i am someone who personally believes that canon and canon “evidence” don’t really matter in the end, so although Crowstorm’s music seems to fit the dance-rock criteria, i ultimately prefer to think of them as a hard-rock/blues-rock band with a bit of punk and psychedelic garage influence.

so why did i even do all of this if i don’t really care in the end? i don’t know, but it was really fun and it kept me busy.

anyway, if you got to this point you might as well tell me your own personal headcanons regarding Crowstorm’s music! feel free to reply, reblog, tag me in your own post or hit me up via inbox

TL;DR: based on what seems to be Castiel’s music taste and what we know of Crowstorm, the band might make dance-rock/hard-rock music and might be heavily influenced by bands from the 70s. but at the end of the day canon doesn’t matter as long as you are having fun, so if you want Crowstorm to be a goth-rock, nu metal band it might as well be!

#my candy love #mcl castiel #mcl #mcl crowstorm #mclul #mcl headcanon #.text #long post

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skammovistarplus · 5 years

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Culture and Translation - S01 E06

This is a bit of a weird episode, in that it feels like not much happened. Because Skam España switched a few things around, it seems like episode 6 shouldn’t be the episode in which to hang out with the characters for a while before shit goes down. But one thing that got me hooked to Skam almost straight away was the way you got to “hang out” with the characters even in small, drama-free moments, and this episode has a couple of clips I really like.

CLIP 1: Monday blues

Es que le metiste un corte (You were razor sharp with him): “Meter un corte” is really hard to translate. It basically means to be really cutting with someone when they aren’t expecting it, in a way that shuts the conversation for good. Which Amira did, over and over, but the dude wasn’t getting the hint.

I do think Nora feels a little bad for the guy, but only because Nora is extremely empathetic with everyone in the world, to the point where it’s surprising when she’s not empathetic.

Viri is a great liar. We will come to find out much of what she says in this scene is a lie, but she has no tells. This is why I think the Selena Gomez shoe line thing was Viri teasing the girls, because she broke character almost immediately. If Viri wanted the girls to believe it, we can see here that she would’ve managed.

Nora’s shirt says, “No means no.” ‘No es no’ was first a slogan for an awareness campaign, promoted by several Spanish city halls, which aimed to curtail sexual abuse and rape during local festivals, such as Sanfermines. There’s also an Axel, Soledad song. And it has of course been slapped on all sorts of merchandise. Like shirts!

The sides of the mirror are tagged with graffiti, by the way.

And also, Eva and Nora are late for first period! They end up skipping it entirely.

CLIP 2: Lucas has feels; Eva’s are stronger

Eva and Lucas are listening to Molly Svrcina’s Fallen Angel. I think the point of the song was lost in how incredibly random the song is. This is a song Lucas recommends Eva listen to. It’s about Lucas, not Eva. Lucas is trying to give a hint to Eva about himself, but Eva’s too focused on the Jorge drama.

While this clip dropped during recess, Eva skipped school. Not sure if Lucas did as well, though.

It’s Viri who shares a birthday with Paris Jackson, as I already wrote in the post for last episode.

Alejandro Reina does a nice bit of acting with his eyes at the 5:22 mark. Lol, Lucas is so fucking tired of the Eva/Jorge drama carousel.

Y tú me caes de puta madre (“And I think you’re fucking great”): Lucas is not just saying that he thinks Eva’s great. He’s saying he really fucking likes Eva (as a friend, that is!).

Es que sigo enfadada (“‘Cause I’m still upset”): This is a sentiment that will be expressed often this week by Eva, Jorge and Lucas. I’ve seen subs that translate it “enfadada” as “angry” and it’s not wrong, but I feel Eva and Jorge are both more upset than angry during this week. Your mileage may vary, though!

CLIP 3: Ship wars

Cullera: Cullera is a beach city in the Valencia region that has been taken over by tourists (or guiris, if you will!). There are some nice sights, but people visit for the beaches. Many Spanish familes own some sort of apartment by the beach, but Cullera is a step up from the usual, which is Torremolinos. A hint about Inés’ parents’ economic status! Cullera means “spoon” in Valencian language, by the way.

Easter break: The 2019 Easter break runs from the 12th of April to the 22th. Coincidentally, there are some rumors that s2 will premiere after Easter break 2019.

Tú no te líes, que el viaje importante es el de Mallorca, ¿eh? (Okay, but don’t lose sight of the important trip, the Majorca trip, huh?): A closer translation would be: “Don’t get sidetracked, the important trip is the Majorca trip, okay?” Which is actually a shorter line, so we should maybe change that, lol.

Que parezcamos ahí dos lapas como estas parejitas que están por ahí (For us to look like two barnacles like those couples you see everywhere): The literal translation would be, “for us to look like two barnacles like those couples that are around,” but that sounded like shade towards Eva and Jorge, who are also broken up this week. It’s not meant as shade, and in fact Eva has no reaction to it, so I reworked it.

Viri’s economic background is hinted through her confusion with job titles. In Spanish, she doesn’t remember if Alejandro’s father is a “director” (which could be translated as director, manager, and even principal, but also CEO) and “directivo” (executive or CEO). I settled for initials salad.

There is a bit of dialogue at the end that was cut from the episode version. The girls present their final arguments in the Viriandro vs Aleviri debate… which ironically, foreshadowed the Norandro vs Alenora shipname wars. It appears as if most of the fandom has settled on Norandro, at last.

Viri: It’s that, it’s like a Greek god.

Cris: What are you, Voldemort or something?

Viri: It’s like, it’s funny because it’s like a Greek god, like Viriandro is a Greek god sort of name. Yeah, it’s super neat.

Cris: It’s a gladiator name, dude!

Almost totally off topic linguistics note: The girls use the English loanword “ship” in the fandom sense. The verb had obviously crossed language lines in fandom spaces years ago, but it became part of mainstream Spanish culture (yes, really) when Operación Triunfo became big last year, and everyone was shipping couples from the show. The interesting part is that Spanish speakers came up with two declensions for the Spanish form of the verb: “yo lo shippeo” (I ship it) and “yo lo shippo” (again, I ship it). People who had been in fandom longer leaned towards “shippeo” (and so do I!), so I find it aesthetically pleasing that the girls favor that declension.

CLIP 4: Eva shoots his shot. It doesn’t go well.

I was certain Jorge’s secret would have to do with one or both his parents being unemployed, so at the time I made note of the fact that one of the apartments he walks by is up for sale. It’s the reddish orange sign at the 10:06 mark.

The song that plays at the end of the clip is Zahara’s El Frío, but it has been edited. These are the lyrics that have made it to the clip: “I didn’t expect that the one who started all the fires would also be the one to put them out. How did you let the cold inside you, it has destroyed everything.”

CLIP 5: Speederman

This has to be a change from my high school years. I did the Cooper test in 3º ESO (the equivalent of 9th grade in the US) and never had to do it again through high school.

More info on the Cooper test, in case you care. Not only was I not tested on a standard 400 m tartan track, but we were also not trained to perform it properly. Ah, high school PE!

Venom premiered in Spain the 5th of October. This clip dropped the 19th of October.

Yes, that is actually how we pronounce Spiderman in Spain.

I love that Nora is into Viri saying she loves anything that has to do with saving the world. Nora is so earnest, lol.

¿O qué vas a hacer, tía? ¿Quedarte en casa llorando? (“Or what do you have in mind, dude? Staying at home, crying?”): Another translation could be, “Or what are you going to do, dude? Stay at home and cry?” but I went with the line in the subs because I thought it flowed better.

Cómo jode que te dejen, ¿eh? (It sucks to be dumped, doesn’t it?): “Sucks” is a lot less charged than “joder,” which is the word Inés actually uses. I guess you’d have to say “fucking sucks” to get the intensity across. You’ll have to make do with Inés’ line delivery.

CLIP 6: Ride of the Valkyries

As it turns out, Alba Planas is also a fan of og Skam, so I’m going to pretend Eva’s string of sorries is also an homage to Tarjei’s delivery.

This scene was shot right outside of Cine Paz.

Pero no me seáis pavas (“But don’t be silly”): Viri says “pavas,” which is hard to translate. Essentially, Viri’s afraid the girls are going to embarrass her in front of Alejandro, either unintentionally or (not unlikely given this group) intentionally. I.e. they’re not going to behave maturely in front of him.

Madre mía (Good heavens): Okay, so I already talked in the post for episode 5 about the way Amira uses interjections that aren’t swear words, and this is an example of it. “Madre mía” literally means “mother of mine” and it’s basically meaningless as an interjection. What matters is the tone you add to it. In this case, Amira’s impatient that the girls are getting distracted chatting about whatever, instead of going into the theater. I don’t love “good heavens” as it has Christian connotations. On the other hand, “geez” feels too short for how impatient Amira sounds.

It took me a while to realize this, but this clip actually has an og equivalent. This would be the clip where Vilde notices William and Sara hooking up, and looks devastated. Skam España chooses to go about it in a totally different way, with the girls backing Viri up as they walk in.

CLIP 7: Tout le monde veut devenir un cat

Sí, hija, sí (“Yeah, girl, yeah”): Jorge actually calls Eva “daughter,” lol. Much like with tío and tía, we might call anyone “son” or “daughter.” I’ve even caught myself using it on my own parents! If I have the right info, this is also common in Latin American countries, except they use “mijo” and “mija,” instead. “Hijo” or “hija” is more affectionate than “tío” or “tía,” although, much like with “madre mía,” it’s used to express a variety of emotions. Here, Jorge is dismayed that his chocolate romance went awry.

Pretty sure those are knockoff peanut M&Ms. Most likely from the Spanish grocery chain Mercadona.

The song that plays at the end of the clip and through the credits is Bely Basarte’s Mariposas. You can find a translation here.

Tomás Aguilera, who plays Jorge, has managed to be almost impossible to find online. However, his instagram bio makes reference to the French version of the Aristocats song Everybody wants to be a cat. It’s adorable.

Social media:

The girls talk about the Zaorejas random again, Cris notes that he looked young enough as to be in ESO, or MSE, Mandatory Secondary Education. MSE runs through the equivalents of 7th to 10th grade in the US.

#culture and translation #skam españa #skam spain #skames #skamesp

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galadrieljones · 6 years

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Inquisitor as a Companion!

I was tagged to do this a long time ago, and I can no longer remember who the tag was from. Anyway, it’s finished! And it was SUPER fun to write. Thank you for the tag, whoever you are <3

Inquisitor’s Name: Revasan Lavellan Race / Class / Specialisation: Dalish Elf/Warrior/Two-handed Gender Identity: Male

Varric’s Nickname for them: The Farmer, The Psychopath

Short bio: Revasan Lavellan is the Archivist and First of Clan Lavellan out of Ansburg, the Free Marches. Raised on a wealthy, isolated compound of Dalish farmers, distillers, and liquor distributors, Revasan is highly intelligent and possesses a shrewd business acumen. A historian and explorer in his blood, he speaks ancient elvhen and, in his younger days, used to dive elvhen ruins for the purposes o his research. He is thirty-eight years old, has been married to his wife Rasha for twenty years, and has one daughter, Sene, who is Clan Lavellan’s head huntress and #2 shit-talker (after Revasan of course). He drinks a lot of whiskey and is a heavy smoker of both tobacco and elfroot. He is highly assertive and an extrovert with a hidden compassion beneath his immediate bluster and high factor of intimidation.

What would their companion card look like? Probably him smoking, looking away and holding a glowing gold coin. But he’s not holding it toward the viewer. He’s holding it close to him. Behind him will be stacks of barrels, as if he is standing in a distillery. One of the barrels will be on fire.

Recruitment mission: “The Inquisition needs researchers,” says Josephine. With the Breach in full effect, and Solas busy in the field, it’s important to fill out the ranks with credible scholars who can dedicate a large amount of time and mental resources to the sussing out of what the fuck is going on. The Inquisition also needs deep pockets, and it needs…interesting connections sure to be untapped by the greedy hands of Orlesian and Fereldan nobility.

Cue Varric, sighing deeply, who suggests, with hesitance, that they get in touch with the Lavellans (aka the “booze elves of Ansburg,” lots of money, lots of power). “Revasan Lavellan is a good guy,” he says, sort of like he can’t believe he’s suggesting it. “He’s a bit of a psycho, but a good guy. He’s smart, well-connected, and brave as all hell. Not to mention, rich and an elf. He’d be a valuable asset to any rogue fledgling organization like the Inquisition…if you can stomach his particular eccentricities.” He is a diplomat’s dream. Josephine and the Inquisitor both jump at the prospect.

To recruit Revasan, the Inquisitor must travel to the Hanged Man tavern of Kirkwall, where he can be found chain smoking, playing cards with a table of surface Dwarves, swearing obscenely, and a little drunk. Just before approaching him, a couple of bad characters enter the bar and start harassing the lady barkeep, demanding free booze or they’ll start shit. Revasan casually dips his cigarette, summons them into the open, and beats the living shit out of them both. The Inquisitor is welcome to assist, but Rev needs little assistance. “He’s smart and he can navigate his way through a bar fight,” says the Inquisitor, fully enamored.

Revasan will initially be suspicious and highly questioning of any Inquisitor, regardless of race. He will use his influence and appear somewhat aloof, but it is clear he trusts Varric, who is a very old friend. He will be most trusting of a Dwarven Inquisitor, most curious toward a Qunari, dismissive of a Dalish Inquisitor (a total power play), and make merciless good fun of any Andrastian human. If Solas is in the party, he’ll comment on how he doesn’t look or seem like any elf he’s ever met. If Varric is in the party, he’ll invite him to a drink and refuse to speak to the Inquisitor until after the drink is finished.

Where they would be in Skyhold / Haven: In Haven, you’d find him in the Chantry, hanging out in the open, near Vivienne. In Skyhold, he’d be in the library, reading, smoking, and disheveled. Sometimes, his wife will be there with him. But for any personal quests, the Inquisitor will typically find him in the Herald’s Rest.

Personal quests:

Quest 1: The Redheaded Boon, in which you must bring his wife and daughter safely to Skyhold. They’re feisty! And Sene is prone to disappearance. Watch out!

Quest 2: Fucking Idiot, in which you must use Inquisition influence to get his brother Ellas out of jail in Highever. Ellas is a bit of a loose canon. This will require some…diplomacy.

Quest 3: The Farmer’s Errand. Assist Keeper Deshanna Lavellan in the successful purchase of 300 acres of fertile farmland in the Coastlands of Ferelden. You want a financial investment from the Lavellans? There are strings, Pinocchio.

How to get their approval: Be honest, even if it gets you into trouble or earns the disapproval of others. Even if he disagrees with your choice, he will still approve of your actions as long as you take them because you believe in them. Also, any casual assistance of Dalish elves or working class people who are generally struggling, he approves. He approves of chivalry and an honorable code. He approves of intellectual curiosity as well, a little like Solas. He approves if you listen to him and hang out with him, because he’s an extrovert, but he would also like you to share information about yourself with him as well. He needs to know that he can trust you.

How to get their disapproval: Basically, if you are trying to curry favor with someone (ie: another companion), and you let this cloud your choices, he’ll disapprove. If you lie to him, he’ll disapprove. (He always knows.) He’ll disapprove of power-hungry Inquisitors and refuse to work with them if their belligerence tips over into greed. He’ll disapprove of narrow-mindedness, even though he, himself, can be somewhat narrow-minded. He’ll disapprove if you tell him he should stop drinking/smoking for any reason. He’ll see this as sort of foolish pettiness and a power play that cannot be won. He’ll disapprove of poor moral fiber and any curbing of moral boundaries to take the “easy” way out. He will disapprove if you exile the Wardens. He distrusts the Wardens, but his wife trusts them, and her whole family died in the Fifth Blight, and she feels safer with them around. He will also leave the Inquisition permanently if the Inquisitor slays the Sentinels at the Temple of Mythal. ALSO: If the Inquisitor fails to speak to Revasan and/or to complete his first personal quest while at Haven, he will greatly disapprove the first time you approach him at Skyhold. He’ll tell you that he will be unavailable to help any further until his wife and daughter are safely in his midst.

Are they romanceable? No. His wife would be a secondary character who you would be able to talk to and interact with at Skyhold. So would his daughter. Can you have sex with them? No. Are they open to polyamoury? No. If they can be romanced and are not, will they begin a relationship / relationships with other character(s)? If so, who? No, but if the Inquisitor does NOT romance Solas, Solas will end up in a relationship with Revasan’s daughter Sene. This will greatly impact his opinion of Solas at the end of Trespasser.

Who are they friendly with? Solas, Cassandra, Sera, and Vivienne.

Who do they dislike? No one really? He will secretly distrust Blackwall and question him constantly, but once Blackwall comes clean, he will forgive him, because he believes that it was a difficult decision to make, and that his bravery in coming clean means he has strong integrity as a man.

Companion card changes: (use a text descrip. if you have no images)

Loyalty: A family portrait in which Revasan is standing between his red-headed wife and red-headed daughter. He will be holding a glass of whiskey out to you, the viewer, as if to toast. Vines will be crawling all over in the background to imply your connection to a great tradition of Dalish farmers.

Romance: (if any) N/A

Side Missions: (eg: fetch / gather / kill quests) He’ll ask you to collect a lot of Royal Elfroot. He will demand to meet with prominent Dalish clans in every appropriate region. In Trespasser, he will be very interested in collecting ancient texts from the ruins in the Crossroads. If there is a bar in the village where you’re at, he’ll want to go there and will disapprove if you don’t.

Opinions on mages / templars / how the world is going to shit? Rev doesn’t care for the Chantry, but he knows how to deal with them. The Lavellan clan has no mages, and so they have worked closely with the Templars for protection ever since the Mage Rebellion in Kirkwall. He distrusts magic because he does not know it, but he is quick to come around and approves of an alliance with the mages, if only because he finds it to be a real fucking problem that there’s a Tevinter magister who thinks he as any right to any faction in Ferelden.

Something guaranteed to make them leave the party: As earlier stated, he will permanently leave the Inquisition if the Inquisitor orders the slaying of the Sentinels at the Temple of Mythal. If this happens, the Inquisition will receive a major financial blow by losing the support of the Lavellens, forcing them to seek more corrupt means of funding for their operation. This will color the Inquisition’s reputation at the Exalted Council and make things significantly more difficult for Josephine.

Special Events:

Imprisoned at Redcliffe: How is your Inquisitor holding up in Redcliffe, being slowly infected with red lyrium over the course of a year? He’s not there. He’s not alive. If Solas, Vivienne, or Cassandra are in the party, they will explain that Revasan took his own life after learning that his family was murdered by demons. You will have the choice of telling this to him or not when you return to Skyhold. If you tell him, he will become sad but approve of your honesty. If you don’t, he will know you’re lying, disapprove, and this will persuade you to tell him anyway. Sorry, he’s kind of impossible.

At the Winter Palace: Does your Inquisitor enjoy the party, any special events with them at the Palace? Revasan will be hanging out with Solas. They can often be seen discussing something privately. They will cease their discussion when then inquisitor approaches, so you never quite get to hear what it is; however, once in earshot, one can briefly overhear Revasan bitching about the total lack of elves who aren’t servants or working class in Halamshiral.

In the Fade: Your Inquisitor’s reaction upon entering the Fade? Archdemon’s taunt, and Inquisitor’s response? Epitaph on their grave? Revasan would react with utter incredulity upon first entering the Fade. He will be terrified and this will manifest as anger. However, once he realizes he can manipulate and control his surroundings, he calms down, becomes deeply interested in any scientific and magical explanations for what is going on, and at some point professes he would like to stay for at least six months to conduct research. He will volunteer to stay behind and fight the Fear Demon, but the Inquisitor will swiftly dismiss his request.

Trespasser: What is your Inquisitor up to two years after Corypheus’ defeat? Any special events with them over the events of Trespasser? Revasan will have gone back to Ansburg to his clan’s farm after the defeat of Corypheus, but it is revealed that he has spent much of the past two years working secretly with Leliana to try and track down Solas. If the Inquisitor romanced Solas, she will be aware of this, and dialogue options will reveal whether the Inquisitor has been aiding Revasan in his search or disapproving. If the Inquisitor did not romance Solas, and Solas had been in a relationship with Revasan’s daughter, Revasan will become angry when discussing his private work with Leliana. He will mention that the only reason he is looking for Solas is so that he can beat the living shit out of him for breaking his daughter’s heart.

If Revasan is in the Inquisitor’s party at the Darvaarad, he will act strangely and become stand-offish. The reason for this will remain forever unclear unless the Inquisitor collects all manner of proof that Solas is Fen’Harel. In that case, a cut scene will trigger before entering the final battle sequence in which Revasan draws his sword and says, “Solas isn’t an agent of anything. He is Fen’Harel, and you know it. Don’t you?” The Inquisitor will seem troubled by his honesty, but there will not be enough time to respond before the fighting begins.

Other Major Events: Any other major events that happen with them over the course of the main game? Revasan has a unique relationship with Solas that develops organically throughout the game. Their banter in the field implies that they spend a great deal of time together off-screen and are very good friends. His sense of betrayal at the beginning of Trespasser will be palpable. He will, however, greatly approve when a solas-mancing Inquisitor proclaims that she most go after Solas to protect him from the Viddasala. He approves not because he approves of their relationship, but because it means he may be given the chance to confront Solas one last time (and beat the shit out of him).

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#inquisitor as a companion #revasan lavellan #long text post

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