And Naruto, who lost his godfather Jiraiya to Pein, fixated on revenge against Akatsuki and working *so hard* to get stronger, but still somehow managing to be kind and bright and hopeful. They get punt into a team with Rin, the only surviving member of Team Kushina, as their sensei. The rest is history.
OKAY NO. NO. YOU CANNOT JUST DROP THIS ON ME, BECAUSE NOW I WANT TO WRITE IT SO BADLY FUCK.
(Thank you anon, oh my god I’ve been fiddling with like 15 different WIPs for the past 6 hours and didn’t realize that THIS is what my brain was looking for, but IT IS PERFECT.)
Kakashi is about halfway through
the display copy of the newest Icha Icha book, idly swirling the dregs of the mocha
Obito had brought him earlier when he stopped in to yell about Kakashi needing
to fend for himself for dinner because he had
adate goddamnit—Kakashi is
skeptical, because this is Obito, and he’s willing to wager an empty stomach
that whatever bastard has set their eyes on Obito is going to end up needing a
trip to the emergency room when they show their creep colors before the second
course—and vaguely contemplating whether he should reorganize the self-help
section again. It’s always amusing to tell people who ask him where things are
in it that he can’t help them, because they need to help themselves, and the
joy those moments provide keeps Kakashi more or less sane on lazy days like
this.
Sometimes he thinks he should
have opened that dog-grooming parlor Gai suggested, rather than a bookstore,
but then he remembers the Poodle Incident that followed shortly after and is
quietly relieved all over again.
Then, without warning, the door
slams open with a force that’s usually reserved for hurricanes, setting the
cheerful bell above it clanging like it’s rolling down a mountainside. Kakashi startles,
almost dropping his coffee, and looks up just as a pair of hands in fingerless
gloves slam down on the counter.
That, Kakashi thinks, eyeing the
man as he lowers is book, is a very
tight tank top and a lot of very, very
pretty golden skin. And muscles. Sweaty
muscles, and while one would think Kakashi got more than enough of those living
with Rin, who actually enjoys training
with Gai and has the six-pack to prove it, these ones are particularly ropy and
lovely.
The guy’s face isn’t all that
bad either, even if his expression is currently just about the same level as
deadly Obito’s was after that especially disastrous date with that Madara creep
and the introduction to the quasi-cult he hosted in his basement.
“I swear to god,” the man says,
and the words might be even, there might be a flower tucked behind his ear, but
the spark in his eyes is very close to incandescent rage, “if you don’t have a
book on flower language I’m going to murder
my customers.”
Ah. Kakashi closes his book
carefully, studying the man. That would explain the apron wrapped around his
hips, embroidered with a smiley sunflower and the logo of the flower shop down
the block. Kakashi hasn’t ever had reason to go in before, but now that he
knows eye candy like this works there, he might just have to change that.
“That depends,” he says,
offering the man a lazy smile. “Did you want Victorian flower language,
hanakotoba, Hindu flower language…” It takes effort not to laugh at the
expression of mingled horror and disgust that crosses the man’s face.
“God damn it,” the florist
sighs, dragging his bandana off. Chestnut hair falls into his face, and he
smooths it back with a grimace. The muscles in his arm and shoulder flex in
ways that kind of make Kakashi want to bite them.
Kakashi isn’t staring. He’s just…observing.
That’s it. Definitely not ogling. Or drooling.
“You’ll probably get the most
mileage out of Victorian,” he offers, as soon as he can scrape up enough brain
cells to do so. “They tend to be the most common, too.” He pushes up, stepping
around the desk, and it’s a narrow space filled with displays, so he has no
choice but to brush past the florist on his way by.
On an entirely unrelated note,
the man has a truly fantastic ass.
“You’re a lifesaver,” the
florist sighs, tucking his bandana into his back pocket and following Kakashi up
the staircase to the second floor. “I’ve been open a month and I already have
people asking for bouquets that are subtly
vengeful or possibly interested if
you try harder or—fuck, I don’t know. Why not just get a damn card? If I
have to Google this shit one more time I’m going to scream.”
Kakashi chuckles, finding the
correct book and pulling it down from the shelf. And if he stretches a little
more than he might otherwise, making a very subtle show of it, well. No one who
would mock him for it is currently here (a true miracle, and Kakashi thanks all
his lucky stars for it) so he’s really got nothing to lose.
“Of all the pitfalls of the
flower business I had considered, that wasn’t one of them,” he says, turning to
offer the hardcover to the man. “This is the only copy I have, and it’s leather-bound
and illustrated, so it will cost more. If you want to wait a week, I could
order another version.”
The man smiles, and wow. Kakashi can practically feel his brain shorting out. The scowl
was hot; the smile, a little crooked and very warm, lighting up his hazel eyes,
is nothing short of gorgeous. “This is great, actually,” he says, taking it
carefully to avoid touching it with his dirt-streaked gloves, and that is yet
another mark in his favor. Kakashi appreciates a man who takes care of books. “I
can display it in the store and write it off as for the business. Thank you.”
“Not a problem.” Kakashi wonders
if he should push his luck, but for all his muscles the florist doesn’t look
the type to deck someone for making a pass, so he decides to take a chance. “You
know, I’ve got a one-time-only sale going on right now.”
The man glances up, one brow
rising, and damn. Kakashi is bought and sold. Take off the price tag, no
returns. He makes his smile as charming as possible—Obito calls it skeevy, but Obito
also keeps dating assholes and weirdos, so he doesn’t get an opinion—and
offers, “Buy me coffee and you can have it.”
Brown eyes flecked with green
and gold widen, and then the man laughs, bright and warm, and grins.
He has dimples. No one should be
allowed to be simultaneously that cute and sexy.
“I don’t know,” he says
thoughtfully, rubbing a light finger over the engraved cover. “This looks more
like a buy-me-dinner book, unless you like really spendy coffee.”
“Well.” Kakashi makes a show of
considering it. “I suppose I can make allowances, seeing as I’m the owner. And since
it’s in the name of keeping you from murdering people.”
“A civil servant, huh? I like a
man who knows his civic duty.” The florist reaches into one of the pockets of
his apron and pulls out a pale green card, flipping it between his fingers as
he glances up at Kakashi through long lashes. A pause, and then he flips to Kakashi,
just the barest edge of a smirk pulling at his mouth. Kakashi catches it—without
fumbling, which, score—and the man
steps away with a lazy wave. “I close at six. Give me a call or swing by
whenever.”
Kakashi watches his retreat—and
damn, that is one fantastic ass—and only glances down at the card when the bell
on the door chimes again. Genma Shiranui,
it reads in neat, darker green lettering. There’s a business number and a cell
number both printed under it, a small smudge of dirt on one corner, and it
takes a concentrated effort for Kakashi not to beam like a fool.
“Genma,” he repeats out loud,
and chuckles a little at his own ridiculousness as he heads down the stairs.
There’s the thirty dollars he
was charging for the book sitting in front of the till, with the flower that
had bene behind Genma’s ear resting on top. Kakashi picks it up, spinning it
between his fingers, and…
He’s read that flower book, and
he remembers perfectly well what meaning a white violet holds, even if Genma doesn’t
have any idea. What a perfect twist of fate, Kakashi thinks, and snags one of Rin’s
teacups for a makeshift vase.
White violets mean let’s take a chance on happiness, and Kakashi
is more than willing to do just that.
Oh boy let me tell you my Kawarama headcanons. I need happy thoughts right now so let’s call this an everyone-lives!AU.
– Youngest of 4 brothers. Not 1 ounce of mercy to be had. He’s learned through experience, okay.
– Cheerful, friendly, happy to fuck you up if you mess with him. While smiling. Tobirama is so proud.
– Some unholy blend of Hashirama’s charm and Tobirama’s focus. Born diplomat. Possibly born conman. Really, what’s the difference in the end.
– Likes fire.
– No, you don’t understand, he really likes fire. No affinity? No sweat. He likes it when things explode, anyway.
– Eternally disappointed that the Uchiha won’t share their Katon jutsus.
– (The Uchiha are So Tired of this cheerful little menace ambushing them on missions to figure out their jutsus. Peace would be worth it just to get him to stop.)
– Fully supports peace, because peace means 24/7 access to Uchihas and their ability to set things on fire.
– Also likes swords. And shuriken.
– Probably like 83% of the reason why Tobirama’s hair is white.
– And 100% of the reason why Itama’s is half white.
– Hashirama is the sibling he’s closest too, mostly because Hashirama is easily manipulated and fun to get reactions out of.
– Calls Tobirama mom without a hint of shame.
– Itama gets grandmother even though they’re like. 17 months apart. Kawa, have mercy.
– He’s a menace to his family, but as that one Uchiha who keeps eyeing Itama found out, he’s a damned Horror to anyone outside of his family.
– (Izuna is scarred, okay. And Hikaku hasn’t stopped laughing in a week.)
– Doesn’t tend to get interested in inventing jutsus the way Tobirama does, because he’d rather just learn them and then use them. People are more interesting than jutsus anyway.
– Knows the name/face/history/interests of every person he’s ever had a conversation with.
– Doesn’t understand why this is scary.
– Good memory. Especially for anything that might be considered blackmail.
– Loves his family. Hates being the youngest. Will gut anyone who tries to pick on him.
– Has given up on being an overachiever (come on, his brothers are Tobirama and Hashirama, there’s no way to outshine them without resorting to, like, actual godhood). Will settle for being Terrifying.
– Has achieved this, and is quite happy with it, thanks.
Sigh….looks like I need to make some more brofessions when I get on my lunch break…
Well, I can be pretty scary. >.>
I agree with this confession actually. Anders is a truly interesting, complex, and tragic character. He sees the, pardon the pun, injustice in how Mages are treated and how admittedly Meredtih’s methods are getting out of hand and he feels he must do something. But blowing up the Chantry and killing innocent pledges and mothers and the grand cleric; I do not see how this helps his cause other than to make people notice to what extreme a Mage would go to in order to be free. Do I think what he did was right? Absolutely not. What scares me are the fans that are so obsessed with how “cute” and “adorable” he is when he’s not consumed by Justice, that they completely ignore his completely unstable crazy drastic side.
*******************
Actually, the reason I adore Anders is because of the things he does, not in spite of them.
It took me quite a while to wrap my head around it- on my first playthrough when he blew up the Chantry I ached. I actually went and cried a little, then went to bed with an ache in my chest. I couldn’t believe what he’d done, that he’d forced Hawke’s hand like this, and actually asked Hawke to kill him.
But then I thought, and thought, and thought some more.
I thought about the fact that mages have been imprisoned, lobotomized, or killed for one thousand years.
That’s a one with three fucking zeros.
There are very, very few worldviews in our universe that have subjugated/denigrated/de-humanized/tortured/murdered a specific group of people for ten centuries- not surprisingly, most of them are religions.
But consider this:
Many of the templars in-game that you fight come right out and say “They’re not really people.”
Mages can’t get married. They can’t have children, or families. If they have children, the children are taken away and they never see them again. If they fall in love, that person becomes emotional collateral and you’ll do anything, anything, as long as the templars don’t hurt them.
They’re ripped away from their parents as soon as their magic manifests, or in Anders’ case, thrown away because they are “cursed.”
They are told, over and over again from the time they arrive at the Circle and throughout their lifetime that their very existence is a sin. They are the next thing to demons.
They are put through a ritual designed to test their willpower and ability when they are little more than children, pushed into the Fade where the magical equivalent of a dinnerbell has been rung, and a demon waiting to possess them. If they fail they will be killed. If they take too long they will be killed. There are men with swords standing by and waiting to kill them.
And all of that at the ripe old age of 17-18.
They are subject to the whims of their often sadistic jailers, who will beat them, rape them, and try to provoke them into becoming possessed simply to have an excuse to cut them down.
They are rarely allowed outside- no sunshine, no fresh air, no running in the fields or playing ball games. No frolicking in the snow, or ice skating, or even standing in the rain. They are kept inside, under guard, where their existence is regulated from sunup to sunset- classes, meals, and sleep, all under the watchful eyes of the guards who are there to kill you if you fuck up. Some of the mages are five or six years old.
They are forced into crowded quarters with 20-30 people (remember all the bunkbeds?) and no privacy. No doors on the bathrooms, no closed areas for bathing or taking a piss or a crap, no privacy for dressing or masturbating or sleeping or kissing your girlfriend or boyfriend or sex. Even the Harrowed mages are crowded into rooms without doors, where three beds, separated by a wall or a bookshelf mock the convention of privacy.
They are given no autonomy. As Emile says, he’s never had a drink, never cooked something for himself. They are treated like overgrown children all their lives and then punished for not being adult enough to resist temptation.
And if they are brash enough to want more, to hope for more, if, like Anders, they come to the Circle at an age where they remember what it’s like to run free, to have family, friends, crushes on the pretty girl next door, pets, work, freedom, they are branded rebellious troublemakers. If they run away from their stone prison they are hunted like animals (using what is, hypocritically enough, pretty much blood magic) and dragged back. If it happens often enough the punishments become severe, like being put in solitary confinement for a year.
And when a mage can’t take it anymore, he’ll either fall apart internally or externally. Anders says the most common way for a mage to die is by his own hand, and just imagine that for a moment- Anders has seen mages, multiple, kill themselves- has found their bodies, perhaps, or had friends that simply gave up the fight and didn’t come to breakfast the next morning.
If they fall apart externally the demons are there, taking them over and puppeting them in a grotesque parody of power before they’re cut down. Either way they’re dead.
*********
Now put yourself in his shoes. Remember what you were like at 5, or 7, or 12? Remember your parents, your family, your world? Now imagine that it’s been discovered that you have a trait totally out of your control- something dangerous and feared, yes, but no more so than a sword in the hands of a child.
Imagine your parents cursing your name, beating you, locking you up, handing you over to armed strangers. Imagine your mother tearfully pressing a pillow into your hands and knowing that in all likelihood you will never, ever see any of your family again.
Imagine these strange armed men then drag you across the countryside, screaming, crying, afraid, lonely, and bring you into a prison. You are thrown into a large room full of strangers, people you’ve been told to fear all your life until you realized you were one of them. Maybe they make fun of you, the new kid, the one who can’t read, who doesn’t know a fireball from a sleep spell. Imagine the first time you have to take a shit in front of dozens of strangers.
Imagine being thrown into a boarding school where you never get to go outside, where your days of working in the fields with your parents or playing with your dog or cat or sibling are replaced by lessons, lessons, and more lessons. Where you are taught to harness the power inside of you and simultaneously condemned for having it in the first place. Where you are taught to heal, to help others, but never allowed to actually do so.
Maybe you remember when Aunt Bernice was sick, or the cow sprained a leg, and you wish you could just go home and help, where you could fireball the damn wolf that keeps eating your family’s sheep. But you can’t go home, ever, and so you’re reduced to setting up sock blinds and performing ridiculous arcane exercises that may or may not have practical value, ever. You’re cursed, useless, and in the eyes of your jailers, a punishment inflicted upon the world. You’re less than human and you will be watched, always, in case you slip, and if you do, the templars will be there to cut you down.
**********
This is Anders’ reality. And when he fights back, does he immediately go blow up the Chantry? No. The first thing he does when he stops running is set up a clinic to heal people, to help, and to hide. He only gets involved in the mage underground because he came to help Karl, his first lover.
Imagine finding the first person you ever cared about and left on friendly terms lobotomized.
So he blows up the Chantry then, right?
No. He sits down and writes out well-thought out arguments, and goes around begging people to read it. He tries to send it to Orsino, Meredith, anyone who will listen and make changes. He tries the peaceful route.
But no one is interested in logic, in how mages, properly trained and cared-for are no more dangerous than a trained soldier. How they could help. No one is interested in the fact that mages are the Maker’s children, too, and as his creations don’t deserve to be punished for something completely out of their control.
And this is Anders with Justice riding sidesaddle in his head. Awakenings Anders would just have cut and run- he has a history of it, and after Dissent he tries to run, before he hurts anyone.
But Justice won’t let him leave, won’t let him abandon his people and the fight they both sacrificed so much for. You can tell him to leave, and cut him out of your party. Justice finds a way to make it happen.
At the beginning of Act III, in your house, Anders reveals that the mage cause is all but lost. Most of the people he worked with have been killed by Meredith. No one is reading his manifesto- no one is even considering his viewpoint, because the system as it is has endured for a thousand years.
How do you change something a thousand years in the making?
How do you incite your fellow mages to rise up, at last, to see the slow death for what it is, how do you fight for the freedom simply to live as a human being?
You do it by forcing the hand of your common enemy. Anders didn’t blow up the Chantry to kill the Grand Cleric, or to kill anyone, for that matter. He did it because it was the one thing that would guarantee that Meredith would order the Rite of Annulment on a Circle full of innocent mages.
He exposed, to all of the mages, once and for all, that their guilt or innocence doesn’t matter. The Templars have the power of life and death over them, and will exercise it at their whim. There is no one to protect them, no one to save them when the Rite is ordered.
Meredith would have ordered it anyway (had already sent to Val Royeaux for permission, as is revealed if you go and talk to the Templars in the Gallows at the end of Act III) but that particular execution of the Rite would have been cloaked under the guise of “They’re all blood mages and they deserve it.” They all would have died without a murmur, the Circle wiped clean, and no one left to argue their guilt or innocence.
Anders’ actions make it crystal-clear that he is the one to blame for the Chantry, the Circle was in no way responsible. But Meredith takes it out on them anyway, because the people will demand blood, and after all, they’re just mages, it’s not like they’re human, right? Keep in mind that the Circle is full of innocents, men, women, children, Bethany.
Anders reveals to all of the mages beyond a shadow of a doubt that they exist at the Templar’s sufferance, to be executed regardless of guilt or innocence. The Circle is a death sentence. Change and revolution won’t come from the outside- so he creates it on the inside, and pushes the Templars to reveal who they really, truly are- executioners.
There are fourteen Circles of Magi in Thedas, each with dozens, or even hundreds of mages. For a thousand years, untold generations of mages have come and gone, been imprisoned, tortured, killed. Unless someone does something, untold future generations will continue in the same vicious cycle.
Anders steps up, with Justice’s help. He takes on the mantle and burden of being the savior of his people. The compassionate healer kills a building full of innocent people (and it nearly destroys him to do it) in order to save thousands upon thousands of innocents in the present and future. He knows that he deserves to die for what he’s done and begs you to put him to the sword. As long as the revolution occurs, his own life is unimportant.
*****
Anders is an epic figure, a tragic hero, a cursed and blessed man. He refuses to accept that he, or any mage deserve their treatment, and he fights, unceasingly, for all of them. He sacrifices his life so that justice may be done.
I know exactly who Anders is, and I love the hell out of him. Vive la fucking revolution, baby. ❤
Do not go gentle into that good night, Old age should burn and rave at close of day; Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
Though wise men at their end know dark is right, Because their words had forked no lightning they Do not go gentle into that good night.
Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay, Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight, And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way, Do not go gentle into that good night.
Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay, Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
And you, my father, there on the sad height, Curse, bless, me now with your fierce tears, I pray. Do not go gentle into that good night. Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
-Dylan Thomas
—————————
“It is in vain, sir, to extenuate the matter. Gentlemen may cry, Peace, Peace — but there is no peace. The war is actually begun! The next gale that sweeps from the north will bring to our ears the clash of resounding arms! Our brethren are already in the field! Why stand we here idle? What is it that gentlemen wish? What would they have? Is life so dear, or peace so sweet, as to be purchased at the price of chains and slavery? Forbid it, Almighty God! I know not what course others may take; but as for me, give me liberty or give me death!”
-Patrick Henry
I have to laugh at all the tags on this post that go “I agree that Anders’ cause was a just one, but I would NEVER support KILLING anyone for it!” since, once again, to get to this point in the game you would have had to kill something upwards of 2,000 people through Hawke.
I can completely understand a mindset that believes that killing is always wrong, that advocates pacifism as the best/only way of advancing causes and improving the world. Totally understand! But if that also extends to the media you consume, then maybe you shouldn’t be playing a game whose main gameplay mechanic is literal murder?
This isn’t even a question of “okay with it in fiction but not okay in real life,” since the people that Anders kills – just like the ones Hawke kills – are fictional. They’re all fictional. Anders (who is also fictional) has an actual literal kill count of real people of 0. So if cheering for that makes me into something that scares you… well, I got nothing for you, buddy.
gets out megaphone: I BET ANDRASTE’S FORCES KILLED A BUNCH OF INNOCENTS WHEN THEY TORE THROUGH TEVINTER. THE CHANTRY EXPLOSION WAS AN ACT OF WAR, AN ACT OF INSURRECTION. THE CHANTRY HAS BEEN KILLING MAGES AND ELVES FOR CENTURIES. THANK YOU AND GOODNIGHT.
I mean people are allowed their opinions and all but i feel like we’d have better informed opinions if we can read and consider every source material. so yes you’re playing hawke’s story but how can you miss all of the mages narrative so much so that someone had to type it out on this post (and a hundred more posts like this)
and make no mistake when i side with anders and see the chantry blow up im grounded, hurt, i still ache because that is a painfully hard decision to make. nevermind that that very chantry proved to be corrupted beyond the standard chantry corruption. its powerful but heartbreaking even more so when you realise that is the only way a mage could make his voice heard and not have the templars’ wrongs be swiped under the rug by the chantry. its horrible bloody and painful and that is what makes the scene powerful not the “omg anders is crazy and a demon did a very bad thing” thats just shallow.
And this is you assuming that all those Chantry mothers, those faithful followers, those brothers and sisters…that they are as innocent as you claim. I never once saw these good men and women down in Darktown helping. I saw them in Lowtown – petitioning for money. I saw them walking sedately through Hightown. But I never saw a lick of charity, of compassion, of understanding. Not from this Chantry. And their leader – the voice of Andraste in Kirkwall – refusing to take any sides. That’s not the mark of a peace keeper. Not at all.
What really gets me hot under the collar. What really PISSES ME OFF. Is that We see Anders blow the Chantry and then suddenly it’s Inquisition and the cycle repeats itself. You can give the mages their freedom, yes, but in the end…the Circle is reborn. Because mages have been so ingrained to think they need to be locked up, they will literally create their own circles to hide in.
This is an entire portion of the population raised to believe that they are NOTHING without a jailer. That they lack self-control. That they are a stain upon the world. That their magic is a thing to be feared…and even those who find power with their magic will preach a locked Circle for “safety.”
You want me to feel remorse over a few hundred people in a building dedicated to the subjugation of all people in Thedas. How are they any different than the Qun? They aren’t – their manner of subjugation is just more familiar to you. More Western Religion. More CHURCH. You see the Chantry mother and think Nun. You see the Brother and think Monk. You see the building and think Holy. Because that’s what the game wants you to see – the gilded gold of an organized faith that preaches peace while threatening with the sword. Weep for the elves, the dwarves, and the mages who are viewed as less than by a faith that would rule and entire world through conquest and death because THAT is the Chantry. Pft.
“Ship means something you want to see happen.” Bitch, no it don’t. This weird-ass modern culture of lobbying show-runners to make your ship canon didn’t emerge until the advent of social media. (And recent social media like twitter, not shit-you-forgot-existed like MySpace.) Shipping and fandom in general have been around much longer, so you can stop acting like “this is the way it has always been uwu” right the fuck now.
Until relatively recently, most fans I’ve known have been perfectly okay with their ships never being canon. I, personally, would be actively offended if certain ships of mine became canon. That is not why I ship them. What I want from canon and what I want from fandom are often entirely different things that only intersect on the margins.That is why fanworks are called “transformative” ffs.
This exactly.
I’m so glad someone said this. A lot of my fav ships I specifically have no desire to see become canon, especially since they’re often in shows that don’t really do much with romance and I PREFER them that way. Shipping and fan fiction are, more often than not, separate things that I enjoy separately.
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