#Uncle Hawks

[wewerebornsextuplets]

i do my lil dancy dance

[moonlit-knightz]

this was genuinely the sweetest moment of the entire show!

hawk asking for permission to go out to fun uncle sensei chozen😭

[eliteseven]

Family dinners at Elfsong 💕

[majesticcorn2000]

mr stick as uncle ian. think about it.

once you see it there is no going back

[lilhawkeye3]

Hi, I was reading your post about the Super Bowl half-time breakdown and wanted to ask if there's any articles or information you recommend where I can read more about the racist connotations behind Uncle Sam (outside of its connections to US imperialism of course). I haven't had much luck with Google, bc most of that loops me back to the slave trade and the Civil War, except it's all mostly from a white or nationalistic perspective.

I'm a white Australian and I hadn't come across the term being used in a derogatory way towards black and African Americans before, so it exposed another gap in my knowledge that I would like to rectify and learn from.

Thanks for the post btw it was really insightful and fantastic to read!

Ah sorry let me clarify:

“Uncle” is the derogatory term. Look up Uncle Tom’s Cabin, Uncle Remus stories (Brer Rabbit etc), Song of the South (which Disney tried to scrub from history), and Sam L Jackson’s character in Django Unchained.

Below is the standard imagery of “Uncle Sam” (from NARA). It was WWII propaganda seen often for encouraging people to enlist or to represent the US military’s actions abroad (so like, in a comic strip alongside personifications for UK, France, Soviets, etc.)

Kendrick equated this ^ Uncle Sam with the Black “Uncle” stereotype, which is truly genius.

I hope that helps you in your searches! Thank you for reading and for your ask! 🫶🏽

[grits-galraisedinthesouth]

20 minutes of my life I'll never get back. 🤦‍♂️

I must be a glutton for punishment because I actually watched Kinsey Schofield's 20 min interview w/Valentine Low. May this rant save you from making the same mistake:

Valentine Low & Kinsey Schofield just reminded me that the British press is in desperate need of a grief recovery workshop to let go of their palace manufactured PR image of Sparry, "the CONSERVATIONIST," and accept the REALITY: Sparry has ALWAYS been a member of the lost boys who never intend to grow up. He loves drugs, perverted soho house sex play pens, and living a secret lifestyle in San Francisco, CA. As we saw in the South Park Documentary, Sparry has always wanted to be left alone so he can just bang on his drums all day.

The British media needs to accept that they never knew the Sparry aka Prince Harry. Much like Fergie & Andrew: The Meghans are two (2) intellectually below average individuals who married in haste. Both their academic & professional work histories indicate that these two (2) immature adults, lack even the basic skills necessary to function in society without the help of a PR "machine" whose job is to clean up their messes and repeatedly rebrand them into more acceptable members of polite society. It's past time for Valentine Low and other UK journalists to admit that they never really knew Sparry. All their Diana goodwill should now be invested into the future of the BRF (the family of Prince William)

No amount of hoping for the best or "covering up" for Sparry's misdeeds can transform the moral rot in his character. They bought and sold the PR image manufactured by the palace. It was the paparazzi & other "undesirables" who had the misfortune of observing the REAL Sparry. They watched him mistreat drivers, security, staffers, etc long BEFORE he was seduced by MEgain.

V Low believes Sparry flew a helicopter! 😳 Come on! Too many REAL service members have spoken out about Sparry's military character and performance and there's nothing good about it.

Sparry, like his wife is also a liar and a bully. He's not intellectually bright, he never was... He even bullied his grandparents before the "spectacle," he bullied Meghan's father...we heard reports about seeking a left wing wife and his interest in living in the US----all before MEgain.

Low also thinks Sparry loves his children. Has Valentine Low ever seen the invisibles? No. He's transferred a PR image to a couple of never before seen kids and their so called father. A so-called "father" who is willing to destroy his brother's children (and the innocent children of other couples) through the spread of destructive lies, has zero interest in the REAL wellbeing of anyone's kids, least of all his own.

As for the Wife: her ability to earn a college degree as an American teenager/young adult without even the offer of an ACADEMIC scholarship means that she too is mediocre and overrated. Her university commencement program states that she was a candidate for a degree in "communications" NOT some whip smart area of study like biochemistry or engineering! 🤦‍♂️

As a university student, thanks to her dad's brother (mike), she spent a measly six (6) weeks in Argentina on an exchange program (paid by her father) until she failed an exam that would have allowed her to apply for (real) jobs in the States. An intellectual or any hard worker would have studied until she passed the test. Not Rachel Meghan Markle. If no one was willing to make an exception for her low marks, then she would whore her way up a series of ladders until she found someone dumb enough to give her a platform.

No, this is NOT a "smart" couple. This couple is a cautionary tale about how Water seeks it's own level: Sparry's mother and teachers did him a disservice, just as MEgain's father did her a disservice: SPARE the rod & SPOIL the child

Kinsey believes that MEgain is "smart" because she achieved a Duchess title. (What does this tell us about Kinsey's IQ. 🤦‍♂️😳)

MEgain became a "Duchess" because she was a professional "seductress" employeed by Markus Anderson & Soho House. Everything this couple achieves is smoke & mirrors based on TRANSACTIONAL relationships where they bully & harass anyone standing in their way.

They don't even possess good work ethics, let alone above average IQs. Please call a spade a spade (or in this case a spare a spare) and stop gaslighting the public about what Sparry could have done had he not been involved with the wife.

We watched the wife verbally abuse KP staffers over bereavement flowers and feckless Sparry stood by in AGREEMENT. Wicked queen Jezebel 2.0 and traitorous king ahab 2.0. Let them go!

[vanilladella]

anders meeting forrests kid (his namesake btw.) goes abt as well as one could expect

live anders reaction:

[rewrittenwrongs]

I need a fic where Dick finds out abt Bruce abusing Tim + him training with Lady Shiva and flips his shit, blowing up at Bruce and Alfred and ‘kidnapping’ Tim for a month or two to stay with him in Blüdhaven, and when Tim does go back to the Manor Dick does too specifically to keep an eye on Bruce and make sure Tim’s alright after every training session/patrol, and when Jack dies there’s a voice in his head screaming that Bruce is unfit to parent him and Dick should adopt him instead

[shivunin]

for the tarot card prompt: the world for Fenris/Maria!

Thank you my dear! Have some fluff c:

From the tarot prompts for "the world" (fulfilment, experience, completion)

No End

(998 Words | Hawke & Varric, Fenris/Hawke | No warnings)

“You happy, Hawke?” 

Hawke, roused from the scene before her, leaned back against the porch support and looked at Varric. 

“Do I not seem happy?”

“Nah,” he waved a hand. “Not an observation, just a question. It’s, ah—not the ending I might have written for you. That’s all.”

“No?” she smiled. “Let me guess the ending, then, hm?”

Varric chuckled and leaned back, mirroring her position. Hawke could hear the lilt of Merrill’s voice inside and the answering hum of Leander’s response. She’d been rather worried her son would harry poor Merrill with questions, but the two had taken to each other easily enough. She rather supposed nobody had ever found the bounds of Merrill’s knowledge when it came to magic, and if there was one thing Leander never stopped asking about, it was magic. 

“I know you too well to suppose you’d want a tragic ending, so I suppose I can set aside all notions of a valiant and heroic death fighting against impossible odds,” she began. 

Varric snorted. 

“As if I haven’t tried to talk you out of danger half the time you’re thinking about getting into it again.”

“As if you didn’t talk me into the other half to begin with,” she laughed in response, taking a sip of sweet, dark wine and remembering a crossbow bolt through the shirt of a thief, a stranger in an alley and the offer he’d made.

Her rose arbor bloomed in the far field before them. The heads of the blossoms bobbed every now and then when the wind blew through them, an unending dance of crimson and pale cream. The twins had gone through the lot of them last spring, fingers yellow with pollen, and the bevies of roses that’d followed had been striped red and white, pink with red tips, and any number of other bizarre combinations. When she’d realized what’d happened, Hawke had laughed so hard that she’d had no choice but to sit down or fall. 

“I’ll admit that much,” Varric allowed, but gestured for her to go on. 

“Well, then no ending full of intrigue and influence either. You wouldn’t wish that sort of thing on a friend.”

“Not the ones I actually like,” Varric agreed. 

“Hmm,” Hawke mused. “Let’s see, then. In your ending, I single-handedly solve all the problems of the world. After personally informing every fool of a noble and self-absorbed courtier of their very particular flaws and resolving all outstanding conflicts, I ride home to a hero’s welcome and take up a life of leisure in Kirkwall, where I am universally loved and adored. I am readily available for dinner on Tuesdays and perfectly willing to handle the day-to-day running of the city when my very dear friend gets too bored and slips the clutches of his advisor. Am I close?” 

Varric laughed, tipping his own glass until some of the beer inside sloshed into the dirt beneath the porch. Before them, Carver stood, one of the twins perched precariously on his shoulders. She couldn’t hear him from here, but she could see his smile even so. 

“Close enough,” her friend said, and they sat in silence for a time while the light grew golden on the fields behind her house. 

There came the sound of breaking glass inside, followed at once by Isabela’s laughter. Hawke smiled in response, leaning back on her hands. 

“It’s a beautiful sort of chaos, but what isn’t?” she told Varric. “If I were writing the story, that’s how it would end anyhow. Chaos, and me in the middle of it all.”

“Chaos,” he said, watching her hound race after Carver. “Yeah, I guess it is.”

“Come now, Varric,” she said, nudging him. “Don’t go easy on me. It’s always been chaos with me, you ought to say.”

Her old friend cast her a look, then stood creakingly and rolled his shoulders. 

“If you know already, I shouldn’t need to say it,” he told her. “There aren’t any real endings, anyway. Not in real life. Only breaks in the action, pauses for thought.”

“Bold words for an author,” she laughed.

“I suppose I’ll take that,” she told him. “Chaos, and no endings.”

Varric answered her, but he was turned away and opening the back door already. The words faded into the sunset and Hawke did not try to chase them. Footsteps sounded on the porch beside her and she knew exactly whose they were. Something worth waiting for, as they both knew very well. 

“The first is certain,” Fenris said from her left. Hawke turned to him, smiling, and he crouched to kiss her cheek. 

“But life would be ever so dull for you if I knew what I was doing,” she told him. 

“Mmm,” he said, noncommittal, and kissed her other cheek. “But you do know.”

“If you say so,” she said, and he caught her laughter between their lips. They kissed for only a moment, the rising noise inside the house indicating a pressing need for their attention, but it was sweet even so. It always was. 

Fenris rose first, hand brushing over her shoulder as he stood. 

“I’ll go,” he said, and followed Varric through the door without waiting for an answer. 

Maria watched him until he was gone, still smiling, but she did not rise at once to follow. Beyond the hill, the roses nodded in the early evening breeze and the bees hummed their way home for the night. In the yard, Hawke’s brother dashed across the yard with two of her children tucked laughing under his arms. Somewhere inside, her other friends and her beloved had gathered in the kitchen and likely waited for her now. She spoke to all them as much as she spoke to herself, hand wrapped around the wooden post beside her. 

“No end,” she said. The early evening did not answer, nor did anyone else. That was perfectly fine. She hadn’t expected them to.

“No end. I do like the idea of that.”

[dcdreamblog]

@thearrowheadnet

US: ...I will never forget the feeling of the first cannonball striking Fort Sumter. Pain. Instant, overwhelming pain hit me like a ton of bricks. Me: The feeling of splitting apart? US: Not just physically, whatever that would mean for me. I didn't get ripped up the middle like a sheet of paper. That would have been kinder. Me: So how did it happen? US: Like every cell, every atom was being stretched uncleanly to the snapping point. Not just pulled. Yanked. Heaved until the resistance gave way and every connection in my body cracked like cold taffy. And then I just remember...a haze. A conscious haze.

Me: So you were "awake" the whole time? Or not? US: It was like trying to think with one half of my brain at a time. Thoughts slipped through my fingers, connecting dots was like trying to haul stones barefoot. Imagine being stuck in the confusion of being awakened with not enough sleep. For four years straight. It there's a closer experience to madness then I don't want to know what it is.

Me: Four years of...that kind of exhaustion? US: Nothing made sense. Everything made sense. Like when you wake up after dreaming the solution to universal truth but the words won't go in order when you try to write them down.

Me: But you...DO remember... US: Every ounce of my own blood that got spilled by me. For me. Like a leech sucking itself dry.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

US: I practically lived in Tomahawk's back pocket for a while there. Not that he noticed.

Me: How could he not notice you? He was out in the wilderness for...years, right? With the same group of men.

US: A whole raiding group of me, yes. Two or three dozen at the most. Most adventures I'd get shot to show the British were at an ambush or get tossed off a cliff by some crazy creature.

Me: The ultimate redshirt

US: Nobody is allowed to be shocked that I know what you mean by that. Yes. I'd get squashed, my face and kit would change a little and I'd get right back in the chow line, nobody really noticed. Not like there was a payroll to sign.

Me: And the cowboys? US: They were some of the only folk that kept me sane during the West. Right after the Civil War and then right into the bloodbaths and massacres. The only thing that kept me from climbing up on a mesa and throwing myself off until I got bored...well, kept me from doing that more than once or twice, was finding the people who were actually putting my ideals into practice.

Me: Gunslingers and bounty hunters? US: Frontier justice has a bad rap for a lot of very good reasons but back in those days the gunslingers were the only people dealing with other folk honestly. They fought for the innocent and played by a code. it was more than I could say for the army, or the "regular folk" calling that army in on their neighbors so they could scoot onto the land.

[briskapollo]

Do you agree with these comparisons? 👀

[mash-lesbian-official]

Does that one Its A Wonderful Life au still exist? Not the ones I'm seeing on ao3, this was literally Hawk transplanted into George Baileys story with stuff changed around a bit. I think tumblr user gayfranzafka wrote it (I could of sworn that was their ao3 name too)

[thevaelguard]

Friend showed me some of these polls people are doing and I'm curious :]

*yea I know this one isn't too bad. They just wanted to be with their boytoy and not have to deal with the humans anymore, so they gave the Inquisition away and fucked off until Varric begged them to come help again. (my canon I do what I want Bioware)

**And Kirkwall still got almost invaded by Sebastian because he went no contact with everyone and no one knew :)

[manfred-volkarin]

never used to be the sort of person to give my ocs kids. used to even wrinkle my nose a bit at the possibility

and then somehow??? i got so attached to Rachel that now i'm envisioning post veilguard child(ren) for her and Lucanis?????????????

[vigilskeep]

Does Chevalier Hawke have anymore kids after Malcolm or maybe even from before??? God that be terrifying low-key.

Keir is in Kirkwall and BAM! Orlesian Auncle jumpscare. Andraste Wept.

i actually considered writing in something like this for mark of the assassin

merrill: aren’t you and keir supposed to be busy heist-ing?

tallis: well hawke walked off

anders: what? why?

tallis: his exact words were “my grandfather is here and i need to kill him for my family’s honour. it’ll be ten minutes”

i had some vague idea where the chevalier’s legitimate child (i.e. keir’s uncle... aunt... half-uncle or half-aunt??) would stand in for their father in some kind of duel keir demands. really a dozen ways that could turn out, i never decided on any of the personalities and i didn’t think this through at all

[trafficlightchild]

OLLIE AND CONNOR!! LIAN AND CONNOR!!