#I'm not saying things would be better if it were more like dwarf fortress

[waterloggedtomorrow]

It is actually pretty fucked up that we are all expected to prepare 3 meals for ourselves every day. Like. Cooking is basically an artisan skill but instead of expecting some people to do it for everyone, Everyone’s gotta do it all the time?? It’s like if everyone had to sew all their own clothes? I am definitely complaining about just having to do a task I don’t wanna, but?? Like we have at least twice as many tools for cooking as tools for Everything else combined. + Juno’s got a Lot of leather-working stuff + I’ve got a lot of sewing + knitting stuff + Juno is also Very into cooking + cooking tools, but?? It’s just fucked up. + like we’re all supposed to be up to date on the trends and techniques and material storage as if we are?? Professionals?? I’m not!! If you’re a blacksmith, you should not also then have a second workshop in the kitchen where you have to do a whole other professional task!!

[platoniccereal]

decided to do the thingy and check whatever theories i believe/like according to this iceberg. honestly, da fandom should make an ask game out of it. there are some thoughts on it under the cut. i was reminded of it bc of this video, give it a shot, it's v interesting and well-made.

ok i checked everything in the first tier, but honesty, i'd like to give andrastians some crisis of faith and make their god a spirit and their prophet an elf or a dwarf. and most definitely she must be a mage. that would fit so nicely morally. don't like maker being a demon though, it would be too far stretched and gotcha, and the maker didn't seem malevolent.

i didn't check dwarf andraste because i don't remember the explanation behind it, but honestly, it's still curious.

i prefer skyhold being the place where solas created the veil over the solasan temple because i believe it would evaluate skyhold's significance beyond being just a fortress for a main character with some shady shit here and there.

i didn't check sandal being connected to a titan for pretty much the same reason i didn't cross stuff like sandal, or solas, or dumat being the maker, or andraste being connected to flemeth, or her straight up being mythal. connections here and there are interesting, but i don't enjoy over-connected plot points. they're fun for fucking around, but it's always better to have multiple complex scenarios and characters than to load this weight on a great few. leliana as the descendant of andraste, shartan anyhow connected to solas are also in this category. there were history and historical figures, i don't feel like it always needs to be associated with whatever figures thedas has now.

i crossed qunari being a result of the experiment, though i'm not sure about the implications because it may go even deeper into the selection stuff. ew. i'm even more not sure about that the qun might really be something to restrain their nature, it's just an unsettling theory with even worse implications. it would turn whatever the player was saying to the iron bull on its head, because suddenly qunari would be beasts that need to be controlled. as to their origin? i think it's still interesting that kossith were very different from modern qunari, and they could have been created by someone out of someone different and may have gone through the process of alteration due to the dragon-related stuff.

my understanding of the older lore is pretty common. evanuris are the actual old gods or at least have some type of a bond, the remaining two are the twins, so there would be a double blight. evanuris are captured and hidden in the sealed black city. since they'd hunted down titans, the latter created the blight and darkspawn, yada yada yada. i'm also not opposed to the idea that the taint ascended from the void. so it was something discovered by andruil. or she rather discovered titan's blood + the taint, i.e. red lyrium, since the taint doesn't cause the same symptoms as the red lyrium.

i like the idea of halla being sentient descendants of elves turned into them long time ago. it's even more sick if they're still not quite animals. it's not my canon, but that's cool. beings with consciousness suffering from their silence? yeah, definitely cool.

sera=andruil is also a pretty common one. i have a headcanon that solas is a creator of tarot cards as well, it seems to be quite in his style, and the boy loves drawing, too. considering that, sera's card would be an intentional thing.

[dhwty-writes]

Congratulations for your follower milestone!!! Prompt if you like: Jaskier's first winter at Kaer Morhen and he finds out about the witcher cuddle pile in front of the fire every evening and is delighted to be invited to join them.

Thank youuu~ You have discovered my largest weakness. Cuddle piles! This was a wonderful prompt. I hope you like it :)

Read on AO3

There were certain things in Jaskier's life that fell prey to exceptionally high standards. His students at Oxenfurt, the wine in Toussaint, or the longevity of the colours of his doublets to name a few examples. But all of them were dwarfed by the looming shadow that was the ruin of Kaer Morhen.

But honestly, who could blame him? Everyone knew he had a soft spot for history and legends, he was a bard after all. And what was Kaer Morhen but the decaying visualisation of said stories? What were witchers but living and breathing ballads and epics?

He vividly remembered his days in Lettenhove when his tutor had first mentioned the ancient castle that was now crumbling beneath the crushing burden of centuries, still defiant even after being sacked nearly a century prior, but rotting. The waves of time lapped at its foundations and soon it would see its end, consumed by the ocean of the ages that eventually wore down everything created by humankind. That evening he had stolen the tome his tutor used to torture him and practically inhaled the section about Kaer Morhen.

And then he had met Geralt — of course he had met Geralt, of all witchers, who suffered from selective muteness whenever he tried to ask him about his childhood. The little information he had been able to glean had barely been enough to conjure up an even more grandiose image than before.

In his dreams Kaer Morhen was an enchanted fortress, frozen in time and ice and snow. It was cloaked in an eerie charm, abrasive and inviting at once. Maybe there were even some vines encapsuling it in a thorny coffin, like in that fairy tale he had been told as a child. In any case it was majestic. Monumental. Mind-blowingly magnificent, even.

He had never experienced a worse disappointment in his entire life.

Alright, maybe he wasn't quite fair to the damp old thing, but after weeks of freezing his balls off while traipsing through the late autumn Kaedwen mountains he really shouldn't be blamed.

Despite Geralt equipping him with a whole new wardrobe fit for a winter up-north both of them had arrived shivering and soggy. Never in his life had he been more thankful for a bed with scratchy furs and lumpy pillows.

Since then a week had passed, but he hadn't quite forgiven the castle of his dreams, the frankly heinous journey it preceded yet. Not only was Geralt's home in the middle of fucking nowhere, it was also icy and drafty and, on a bad day, even snowy.

Jaskier had known, of course, that Kaer Morhen was a ruin. He just hadn't imagined it quite so... ruined, if he was honest. Nor had he imagined himself being tasked with aiding in the never-ending string of repairs that appeared to fill the majority of the winter days for the four remaining witchers of the wolf school and Coen, the last of the griffins. 'Oh, that's a title for the songs,' he thought as he handed Geralt a hammer.

"Are you alright?" the witcher asked from somewhere above him, where he was fixing a broken beam of the truss.

"Who, me?" Jaskier answered and tucked his frigid fingers into his armpits. "Of course, why are you asking?"

There was an alarming creak from above followed by the CLANG CLANG CLANG of a hammer. "Because I can hear your jittering from here. Are you dressed warm enough?"

He scoffed. "Who are you? My mother?"

The hammering stopped. "Well, are you?"

Jaskier couldn't help but smile. "Yes, Geralt. I'm a good lad who's wearing his undershirt, knitted sweater and lined gloves."

"And the woollen hose Vesemir gave you?"

"And the woollen hose Vesemir gave me."

"Good. Let's go back, it's getting late." There was some shuffling that meant Geralt was packing up. Moments later he dropped out of the rafters to land before Jaskier.

"Gracious gods!" he squealed and leapt back. "Geralt, you know I hate it when you do that!"

"I know," he said with a smile and began walking down the hall, "and you know that you mustn't get sick here. There's only so much we can do about pneumonia up here."

"Hmph," he answered and hurried after him, "I'm trying. Which is why you don't see me complaining."

Geralt shot him a condescending look.

"Alright, alright," he amended generously, "I'm only complaining a little. But honestly, why didn't you tell me I'd freeze my buttocks to the benches if I sit down too long?"

He snorted a laugh. After a short pause, he added solemnly: "I thought you wouldn't want to come, then."

"Not want to come? Have you listened to a word I've said since meeting you? I mean, of course you haven't, that's a rhetorical question, darling, but still. I've wanted to come here since... forever! And even if you'd told me, do you seriously think I'd have listened? Don't be ridiculous, I never listen to your warnings."

"True," Geralt agreed. "Still, no one comes to Kaer Morhen on their own volition."

"Do I look like no one to you?"

He squinted at him to size him up. "Hmm."

Jaskier laughed and punched his shoulder. "Arsehole."

"Perhaps I am," Geralt answered with a sly smile.

"Probably you are."

"Maybe."

"Definitely!"

The witcher pouted, which, quite frankly, looked ridiculous. "Don't be mean, Jaskier. You're a guest, after all."

"Ugh," he said and rolled his eyes, "fine."

"Fine," Geralt agreed and opened the door to the Great Hall. It was the only room in the whole fucking keep that was reasonably warm, so Jaskier felt confident to remove at least one layer of clothing while Geralt put his tools away. He was in the process of folding his sweater, when he spotted Lambert and Eskel in the corner, tightly curled up against each other.

"Oh, uh, Geralt?" he whispered.

"Hmm?"

"Your, umm, your brothers. Should we better leave?"

"Bard," Lambert answered, "you know that we can fucking hear you, right?"

"Right!" he answered quickly. "Sorry. Geralt?"

But his witcher was already on his way to the two of them. Once he reached the layer of furs and carpets that blanketed the floor, he stripped his boots and sweater and flopped down unceremoniously on top of them.

Jaskier couldn't help but stare. Not for long of course, no stares could go unnoticed for long when it came to witchers, but still.

Eskel raised his head with an amused smile: "What? You won't join us?"

"So, that's how you keep warm!" the words were out of his mouth before he could stop himself. "I was already wondering how all of you survived these winters as children."

The three witchers shared an awkward gaze. "Not all of us," Eskel answered.

"Oh," Jaskier said. 'Oh shit,' he thought. "Well, uhmm, I'm leaving, then. Yup, that's me. Leaving this room. Sorry. Again. Or for the first time. Have a nice evening!"

"Jaskier," Geralt growled and lifted his head from Lambert's back, "don't be an arse."

"Oh, uhmm, I'm trying not to be," he laughed nervously. "Well, you know me. I'm always trying. Sometimes I'm even successful. Yay..." He was suddenly feeling much too warm, despite the freezing temperatures.

"Then stop fussing and get the fuck over hear," Lambert grumbled. "I won't listen to Geralt's bitchin' for another evening. Fifteen winters is more than fucking enough."

"Mhmm," Eskel agreed and yawned noisily. "Fifteen years of 'Ohh, Jaskier gives the best hugs' and 'He smells so nice'. Wouldn't shut up about you..."

"Excuse me?" he squeaked undignified. Jaskier awkwardly cleared his throat. "Excuse me?" he tried again.

"Geralt," Lambert hissed and kicked him into his stomach, "I think we broke your bard."

"Hmm?" he answered and turned his head sleepily towards him. He blinked a few times before his gaze cleared and his eyes focused on him. "Fuck," he muttered and slowly at up. "What's the matter?"

"Nothing!" Jaskier assured him too quickly. "It's, umm... it's just that this situation is a tad awkward. For me. You see, I never think before speaking, and sometimes words slip past that were never meant to see the light of day and I'm truly sorry for offending you-"

He was interrupted by bellowing laughter at that. "Oh, he's cute," Eskel said, wiping tears of laughter from his eyes.

"Fuckin' adorable," Lambert agreed. "Look, bard," he said and leaned onto his forearm, "we're witchers. It takes a whole fuckin' lot more to offend us."

"I know, I know, believe me!" He rolled his eyes. "It's one of your most infuriating qualities. And the competition is hard, just so you know. I've-"

"Jaskier," Geralt interrupted him gently. "Just come over here? Please?"

He huffed and uncrossed his arms. "Well, if you ask so nicely." Despite his prevalent discomfort he crossed over to them, sighing when Geralt wrapped his arms around his waist. "That's nice..."

"Mhmm," he agreed and dropped backwards, pulling a shrieking Jaskier with him.

"Geralt," he complained loudly, writhing in his arms, "warn me for fuck's sake! I could've crushed someone."

"Unlikely," Geralt declared and began pulling off his boots, before rearranging the surrounding limbs, until Jaskier was safely snuggled between the three witchers. For the first time since he had set foot into the Kaedwen mountains, he was finally warm again. Slowly, he felt himself drifting off to sleep.

It was almost too easy with three warm bodies curled around him, all of them intently listening to his breath evening out. He was almost asleep when they finally dared to speak up: "Fuck," Lambert whispered and cuddled closer, "he does give great hugs."

He couldn't help but smile and tighten his grip on his waist a bit.

"Yeah," Eskel agreed, "don't think I'll ever get up again."

"Don't think I'll give him back," Lambert said. Geralt growled and he laughed quietly. "What do you say, bard? Come with me in spring?"

Jaskier smiled and turned around to hug Geralt instead. "Not a fucking chance."

Send me prompts to celebrate my follower milestone!

[sidhelives]

Leather and Lace

Fen'Harem Gift Exchange 2020

For Jukkari 💕

Full text under Read More

They had spent months beating around the bush. Months of short, professional meetings punctuated by playful jabs and coy smiles. There was something there, even if no one else could see it, she felt it. Like flint and steel they struck against each other and made sparks. They had spoken about it once, agreed that the sentiment behind the flirting was mutually genuine, and… nothing had changed.

Julseithe wanted it to change. She wanted to cup that precious face between her hands and find out what her lips tasted like. She wanted to share a moment that wasn't surrounded by dozens of other people watching her, worshiping her.

She didn't want to be the Inquisitor and Scout Harding, she wanted to be Julseithe and Lace.

Seeing her in the courtyard, Julseithe made the sudden decision that today would be the day it changed. She didn't know how long the scouts would be in Skyhold: they were always moving, brushing in and out of the fortress with more regularity than she did herself, which said a lot. It had to be today, and it had to be now, before she lost her nerve.

Her legs felt heavy and awkward as she crossed the yard, like a newborn halla learning to walk, and she could feel her heart pounding against her ribs. She opened her mouth to call out a greeting and found her tongue bone dry. Before she could wet it and try again, Lace noticed her and waved. Julseithe saw a brightness come to the dwarf's eyes that she wished beyond hope was because of her.

"Scout Harding. Good to see you somewhere not infested with Venatori for a change," Julseithe managed, finding her voice.

"I do need the occasional break, and the free drinks are nice." Lace grinned, nodding her head towards the Herald's Rest.

She had such a beautiful smile. Her eyes sparkled like dew covered grass at dawn. "Would you care for one now?" Julseithe plowed ahead, not allowing herself time to think about the words spilling from her lips. "Since it's my treat either way."

If the invitation surprised Lace, she hid it well. She was, Julseithe reminded herself, the Inquisition's lead scout, it would be more strange if she did visibly react.

"I think I would. Thanks, Inquisitor."

"You can call me Julseithe you know." She spoke too quickly, her nerves creeping up on her.

"Oh? How about Jules?"

"You can call me whatever you want." Julseithe bit her tongue. Too much.

Lace chuckled. "Well alright then, Jules. Shall we go in for that drink?"

She was sure her cheeks were pink, she could feel the heat radiating from them. "Let's." She got the door, holding it open for the scout, and they wordlessly drifted to a table set into a nook in the wall. It was the closest thing to privacy the tavern contained.

"You a mead or an ale woman?" Lace asked as Julseithe sat.

"Mead. Thanks," she responded.

With a curt nod, the dwarf turned and headed for the bar. This left Julseithe alone with her thoughts, which was quite possibly the worst-case scenario. Anxiety ricocheted inside her, colliding with the butterflies in her stomach and making her momentarily nauseous. Get it together Lavellan, she chided herself. It was only Harding after all. They had flirted and joked together dozens of times before, this was no different.

Except that it was different. Different was the entire point.

"Here we are." Lace plopped the full tankard in front of Julseithe with a clank that made her jump. The dwarf laughed apologetically. "Sorry! Didn't mean to startle you. Can't really figure out how to turn off the sneaky anymore."

Julseithe returned a shaky laugh, uncomfortable with her own discomfort. She was the mother-fucking Inquisitor, this shouldn't be this hard. "What are you drinking?"

Lace slid into the seat opposite her and shrugged. "I'm an ale woman myself. Mead is just too, I don't know, sweet for me I guess."

You're sweet enough all on your own anyway. The words were there, they were perfect, but they stuck to Julseithe's tongue like raw nut butter. She cleared her throat. "So how are things going? I haven't seen you since the Hissing Wastes."

"Well, I'm still cleaning sand out of places it has no right being." Lace smirked. "But good otherwise. What about you?"

"Me? Oh, I've been keeping busy. Even when I'm not out closing Rifts and fighting dragons, Josephine keeps me busy with diplomatic meetings."

Lace made a face of disgust. "That sounds worse."

Julseithe laughed, some of her unease receding. "It is. It wouldn't be so bad if it weren't for the Orlesians. No matter how many I meet I never get used to the masks."

"It's weird, isn't it? Like they're always hiding something from you. How do you have a real conversation with someone when you know they're keeping something from you?"

Lace's voice was casual, but Julseithe's anxiety spiked. She laughed, hoping it didn't sound as uncomfortable as she felt, and took a drink, hiding her expression with the tankard. She wasn't keeping anything from Lace, for Mythal's sake she was trying to tell her. Her diversion backfired as Julseithe choked on the thick, sweet mead in her haste and she ended up sputtering like a fool, one fist held against her mouth.

"You okay there, Inquisitor?" Lace tipped her head to one side.

"I'm fine," Julseithe coughed again. "Completely fine. What happened to Jules?"

A flush crept up Lace's cheeks. "Right. Jules. Old habits I guess." She rubbed the back of her neck in a way that reminded Julseithe of Cullen's awkward manner.

The blush made Julseithe's heart race. Do it now.

"There was something I wanted to talk to you about."

Lace recovered her composure, the blush fading, seemingly relieved for the apparent change in subject. "Of course, what's on your mind?"

"I know you said we should talk more about… things after Corypheus was defeated…" Julseithe took a deep breath before plowing ahead. "But I was thinking that we could talk about them sooner than that, like maybe now, or maybe not now but soon, just the two of us."

All the color seemed to drain from Lace's face. "Like… a date?"

Julseithe backpedaled as quickly as she could. "Only if you wanted to, of course. This is fine, just talking about not that, I don't want to put you on the spo—"

"Yes." Lace cut her off, color rushing back to her face until she appeared plum, washing away her freckles.

"Oh," Julseithe caught her breath, leaning back slightly. "Great."

"Where did you have in mind?" Lace didn't look at her as she asked, eyes trained deep into her tankard, and the blush had not faded.

Shit.

Julseithe had not considered that far out.

"I, well, I hadn't actually gotten that far," she blurted honestly, feeling her face approaching a similar hue to Lace's.

Lace peeked over the edge of her tankard at the other woman. "Maybe we could just, take a walk?" She gave an awkward shrug. "The ramparts are usually deserted."

Julseithe blinked at her, dumbfounded. "You mean now?"

Lace nodded, making the whispy curls around her face bob merrily. "I have nowhere to be."

Don't lose steam now Julseithe.

"That sounds perfect." Her voice sounded sure. Hearing it almost made her believe it. She pushed up from her seat too hard, making the chair bump roughly into the wall causing them both to start. A chuckle bubbled out of her throat.

The great Inquisitor, Herald of the Illustrious Andraste, making a fool of herself over a pretty girl.

The laughter was contagious and Lace's blush faded as they both fell into peals of giggles.

"Sorry about that," Julseithe offered, wiping her eyes.

Lace laughed again as she got to her feet. "Don't worry about it. Now when I trip over my own feet and fall on my face it won't seem so dramatic."

They left the tavern, silent except for the anxious buzzing in Julseithe's ears. She cleared her throat to break the strange quiet, which drew Lace's eye. "Do you really think you'd trip?"

"Nerves turn my feet to nugs," she offered as explanation.

Julseithe slowed her pace as they began to climb the stairs. "You're more nervous around me than when you skulk past enemy lines?"

Lace laughed, her perfect teeth catching the sun and making Julseithe's heart flutter. "No competition. The worst a bear or rogue Templar could do is kill me."

"What could I do that's worse than that?" They reached the rampart's peak and, clear of the walls, a gust of wind pushed Julseithe's nut-brown hair across her face. Sputtering, she brushed it aside to find Lace looking at her with a sweet, warm smile.

"That for one." She laughed, then sobered. "Or the way you chew on your lip when you think. The way your hands flutter around your dagger sheaths when you're nervous. You smile and everyone around you can't help but smile too. A million little things that stop my heart."

Julseithe was so red her mouth couldn't find words, she gaped at the dwarf, lips opening and closing before she swallowed hard and found her voice. "You're much better at this than me," she admitted.

"I've been… preparing for a while I guess you could say." Lace's smile was a mixture of sheepish pride

"You're definitely better at that than me." Julseithe remarked and they both laughed.

As Lace had guessed the ramparts were empty except for the two of them, and Julseithe found herself chewing on her lip as they walked. "Could I— I mean, would you be alright if I—" she floundered. Lace had known exactly what to say and she couldn't get out a whole sentence. "Creators save me. May I hold your hand?"

"I'd like that." She offered her hand.

Julseithe knew she looked like an idiot as she took the smaller woman's hand, wearing what Varric called her "shit-eating grin," but she wasn't much concerned with how she looked. Lace's hand bore the telltale calluses of bow work but between these rough patches was soft as silk.

"I haven't been preparing," Julseithe admitted. "So I don't think I can be exactly as eloquent as you were…" She glanced down at Lace's face and found her smiling encouragingly. "But I— well, I just think you're the kindest, prettiest, most interesting person I've ever met. I miss you when I'm gone, or you're gone, or even when we're both here but not together. I love your eyes, and your freckles, and your smile. I think about you all the time, I want to kiss you—"

She inhaled sharply and clenched her eyes shut, feet stalling midstep.

She'd said too much.

Dirthamen take her, she should have known she'd flub it up.

"I think you should."

Julseithe's eyes fluttered open in surprise. Lace was pink, one foot tucked behind the opposite ankle, nervously rubbing up and down.

"You do?" Her heart was hammering in her ears.

Lace nodded quickly. "I don't know if it's really allowed, you're the Inquisitor after all, and I'm, well I'm nobody, but I'd like to kiss you too—"

Julseithe cut off Lace's words, leaning down to press their lips together. She let her eyes drift closed and Lace squeezed her hand in surprise or excitement, but she didn't pull back.

Her lips were so soft and she smelled like fresh rain.

Julseithe relaxed into the kiss, letting her free hand drift up to cup the woman's face, thumb trailing ever so softly over her cheek.

It was better than she imagined, and she had imagined it often.

Reluctantly Julseithe broke the kiss and looked into Lace's clear green eyes. "How was that?"

"Better than I imagined," Lace replied with a breathy chuckle.

Julseithe couldn't stop the laughter that spilled from her throat, water coming to her eyes.

"What's so funny?" Lace tugged on her arm, blushing again.

"I was thinking exactly the same thing." Julseithe confessed.

The slight frown creasing Lace's brow cleared and she echoed Julseithe's laughter. "Do you think it gets better?"

"I think we should definitely try to find out."

[chaifootsteps]

I found adorable your short with warden and Anders on a hot night. I'm curious with your Warden and Ogrhen relationship development. Care to share?

Ahh, I’m so glad you liked it!

I’ve actually got two Wardens, and neither of them got off to a good start with Oghren. Itha, the Hero of Ferelden, came perilously close to knocking his nasty little ass into the lava when he decided to turn his sexual harassment on Leliana. It wasn’t until they were out of the Deep Roads and back in the camp that they began to bond over Berserker tactics, their shared bitterness at the world, and drinking. Eventually, he stopped trying to get into her pants, stopped making awful passes at her girlfriend and best friend, and settled on whatever bones Wynne was willing to throw him. 

By the end, somehow, they were fire-forged friends. And he named his daughter after her.

For Ain, the Warden-Commander after Itha turns down the job offer, Oghren is the living embodiment of everything horribly wrong about the situation he finds himself in. They told him he would be promoted to the Commander of all the Ferelden wardens and that he would be in charge of an entire keep; he arrived to find a fortress on fire, his new troops largely wiped out, and in their place, a disgusting, drunken dwarf who both calls him a woman and openly considers that to be a bad thing. For someone like Ain, who aspires to greatness and has laid out careful plans to get there, dealing with a drunken Oghren passed out in the dog kennels when important dignitaries are coming up the road was almost more than he could bear.

But Oghren’s got two things working in his favor. Number one is that he’s not hopelessly incompetent…throw a filthy, awful job his way as punishment for fucking up? He’ll do it, and do a damn good job of it, just to make a point. Throw him at the darkspawn and he’ll make a fine paste of them. For all their talk about only accepting the best of the best, the Grey Wardens are carried on the backs of the dregs of society, and there’s no better example of that than Oghren.

Two is that he’s both surprisingly open-minded in his piggish Oghren way (Commander says he’s a guy? Well then, the commander’s a guy with a great chest) and a relatively okayish person deep down. He’s loyal, unpretentious, and the kind of person you want to have behind you in a fight. The dude really is all bark.

 As time goes on and Ain starts to have more faith in his patchwork band of misfits, he and Oghren start to grow on each other, eventually considering each other friends.

Helps that Oghren’s kid is adorable.