#anyway story time in the tags again

[moeblob]

Deacon loves two things: Ymber and digging himself a grave.

Fulj hates one thing: Deacon.

[aluminumneedles]

I'm knitting in the corner at a party

and guys my age stop by to tell me I remind them of their aunt, of their grandmother. This is a compliment and I take it as such. They confess to having tried crochet once, and I smile. They get back in line for the bathroom.

I'm knitting in the corner at a party and a queer woman sits on the floor next to me, arranges her skirt, and smiles up at me. (I try not to blush.) She asks me all the questions on her mind about my craft and I answer them, hands still moving. We swap yarn sources. She doesn't stay, but she knows where to find me.

I'm knitting in the corner at a party and everyone knows where to find me when they need a minute, when socializing is too much and the music is too loud and they need to catch their breath. They pretend to be checking in on me, which is sweet, but I can see the relief in their eyes the moment they stop performing for a house full of people. They sit down and tell me things and all the while they never take their eyes off my hands.

The party has wound down and I'm still knitting and the hosts, two guys in their twenties, thank me for "helping to curate the vibe." I had no idea that's what I was doing. I leave the party having forgotten to drink anything and without that woman's number but with many rows added to my top-down raglan sweater. I call it a night, and a good one.

[chalkrub]

thank you for a great art fight! here's some of my final attacks. had a blast, already missing it - see you next year!

[a2zillustration]

Part 2 of 2

Thanks for tossing me the ball on this one Larian I am now running with it at mach speeds.

| First | | Previous | | Next |

[[ All Croissant Adventures (chronological, desktop) ]]

[[ All Croissant Adventures (app) ]]

[iwritenarrativesandstuff]

Suddenly remembered something I wanted to say re:Akechi, because I think it's really core to his character (at least the way I interpreted him?) and I feel like it explains a lot of his contradictions. Essentially, he is incapable of seeing himself as just a person - he's either the greatest hero/detective ever, or he's some violent monster, and it's like there's no in-between. It's very in keeping with his obvious superiority-inferiority complex, but it goes deeper than that too; when he's in a role, it seems like his self-perception kind of changes too depending on how he is perceived by others. He really does get a confidence boost from being the Detective Prince. He really does shut down emotionally as the Black Mask.

They're masks that he's made, and it's not that aspects of them aren't based in truth to some extent, but I think it goes to show why he's not actually that fantastic a liar (imo, I found the outright lies pretty obvious), but he is a very good actor. He's either an angel or a demon, and never a person, but there are conditions to that. He is an angel when he is perfect - to society. He is a demon when he is vengeful - again, to society. He is never a person, because he never was seen as one - to society. He was disregarded. To be anything of value or notoriety, whether that's hero or villain, he has to be wildly more or less than who he actually is, and he's been building these masks up for so long that I really think he lost sight of the actual person behind it all. And I don't think he wanted to see that person anyways, because that person "wasn't good enough" and I do think he'd rather be anything other than himself. That trickery, that deflection from the person within, in itself brings him pride and satisfaction. He wants to be loved and needed instead of being cast aside, but I also think that if he can't have that then he'd much rather be hated than never have mattered at all. He weaponizes his own loneliness - if he can't ever be accepted then he'll build his own pedestal apart from everyone else.

It's so fascinating too, because I just wonder how much of this he was consciously aware of pre, during, and post engine room. There's this recurring thing with him where he goes "I can only be myself" etc but I just want to shake him because, well, who is that, Akechi??? Or, who do you think that is? Do you actually have an answer? Is it predicated on your actual feelings or solely on your success at fooling everyone around you? Is there any part of you that you actually like that isn't based on a painstakingly constructed mask? Isn't it all mostly lies to deflect from the truth? Isn't it all founded mostly on truth, nonetheless?

It drives me insane. And I think this is a big reason why he breaks so hard in the engine room, because so much of his mask requires his "audience" to perform in a particular way. And here he is, and the Thieves have beaten him, so there goes the first mask, because he's no longer "perfect". He swings wildly into the ugliest sides of him, but this mask is broken too, amidst him vehemently and desperately denying that he has any other emotions than hatred and rage, or any other needs or desires than vengeance. And after that, it's just him. And they should reject him, right? That's what happens. He's not useful, he's not needed or perfect, his hands are stained with blood. But the Thieves, again, don't play the role he expects them to. They, despite everything, relate to him - because he is in fact very similar in a lot of ways and they acknowledge him as a person - not a hero, or idol, or villain, or tool, or unwanted child - but as a damaged teen like the rest of them. And he does not know what to do with that. His identity is intrinsically dependent on getting the right reactions from other people as a form of ingratiating himself - if he does not get that reciprocal reaction he's looking for, his act falters, and, I really do believe that so does his self-perception. That's why you see different aspects of him seep out when he's spending time with Joker, because Joker does not react the way he expects, and Akechi both does and does not like this, because it leaves him feeling both intrigued and vulnerable.

I do think this particular aspect of his character is something a lot of the Thieves don't fully grasp - certainly, I think Joker "I need the mask" Persona 5 understands to a degree, but the sheer degree of reliance and the level of pride attached to it is something that confuses him a little, I think, especially in Mementos Mission. I think the thief that comes closest is actually Morgana, who has a similar superiority-inferiority complex and a desperate need to be seen as competent and useful lest he be discarded. (This is a big part of why the rather lackluster writing with Morgana's arc frustrates me so much because I really do feel it was meant to be contrasted with Akechi's, but I digress.) Morgana is the one to make that emotional appeal to Akechi, which makes a degree of sense - Morgana struggled all along with finding a place in the world. His form leads others to underestimate him; he visually doesn't fit in. He's acting out the role of a chivalrous and cool phantom thief but is more pragmatic with how he views relationships, at least at first. He wants a place to belong where he is appreciated more than anything but his pride won't let him spit it out. Accepting that he belongs and that he is loved even if he really did have nothing of value to provide is a big part of the resolution of his arc. He tries to offer that learned lesson to Akechi in turn ("Follow your true feelings. Even if you think people hate you, or don't want you around-"), but Akechi just wasn't in the right space to listen. There's also an important distinction between the two - Morgana envies humans and looks up to them. Akechi envies humans and looks down on them. Morgana is perfectly happy once he is assured a place amongst the group, but Akechi see-saws wildly between wanting to belong and wanting to be a step above the rest and separating himself further. So while Morgana actually really did cut to the core of the issue, his appeal would never have worked at this point because a) Akechi's pride is dependent on him maintaining his solo act, and b) he just got outed as not actually hating Joker in front of seven other people including Joker himself lmao.

So, uh, sorry, Morgana. Points for trying.

[daisybell-on-a-carousel]

Still very wild to me when people try to gotcha Jason with the whole "if you can kill other people for being evil why can't they kill you" when jason is like. One of the most passively suicidal characters I've ever seen. What if man

[peachducy]

finally made an animatic ive been wanting to make for a while now...

spoilers for Professor Layton and the Azran Legacy!!

song: Black Hyena - Everything Everything

[solaestial]

"Happy birthday."

[utilitycaster]

I need to let this cook but it feels like the D20 fandom's tendency to reduce all messages within the story to fit within a fairly flat understanding of modern US-based leftism, and the CR fandom's tendency to project homophobia onto villains are very linked. Like, both feel like people are saying "I need to have very clear lines of who is a Good Person and who is a Bad Person and I don't want to have to think about why they may be categorized as that let alone that things are far more complicated than Good/Bad, so I'm using things I know are bad, like capitalism and bigotry, and if a character falls outside these buzzwords I don't know how to assess them."

[backpackingspace]

Okay but consider post Canon over protective Athena who is sick to death of her most devout being raped.

Athena sticking close to the whole family and promising penelope that she'll keep a close eye on odysseus the first time he has to go into the market and penelope can't go with him. (She was going to go anyway. She's never actually going to let any of them out of her sight ever again. And it's an easy promise to her dearest weaver who seems so distressed to have odysseus leaving her side.)

Athena fully manifesting in the market when someone grabs odysseus with godly flashes of snakes and owls and the drums of war to scream /release him/ (odysseus is feeling indulgent for both his patron and his wife it's so cute that they're this worried it's not like he couldn't defend himself just fine. Especially from whatever poor fuck just grabbed him who definitely doesn't deserve a goddess screaming in his face. Hes trying so hard not to laugh if he did athena would send him flying.)

Athena telling all the other gods that yes she knows odysseus is the favorite barbie doll she choose him well after all and to back the fuck off if any of them bother him again they will have made an enemy of her.

Athena disguising odysseus only as an old beggar from here on out instead of an irresistibly tall and handsome man. Because she saw how uncomfortable nausicaa's attention made him.

[loquaciousquark]

when will eppie hawke and fenris meet tavish and astarion? (:

"And anyway, it won't be that bad. One last little Fade rift. We'll barricade it up as best we can, send a message to Skyhold, go home, and—"

One of the craggy footholds crumbles away beneath Hawke's foot, and it's only Fenris's quick hand that saves her from a plummet back down the side of the barren mountain. "Hawke, please."

"Please yourself. I said you didn't have to come."

Fenris throws her a longsuffering look, the flickering green lightning of the rift casting weird shadows over his eyes, but he doesn't let go of her arm until she's got both feet on solid ground again. "Just seal it and let this be done."

"My heart's only desire, lover," Hawke says, smiling, just as another pair of voices rises from the other side of the rift.

"Careful—careful! It shocks like the entire Hells are in there. Where's Gale?"

"Wherever Karlach dropped him, I suppose, with that little sprained ankle of his. No, I see them, they're almost here. Come away, darling. No need to get so dramatically close."

"This, from you?" says the woman, just as she and her fellow voice round the far edge of the rift. "Oh!"

"Well!" Hawke says almost at the same moment. Two of them after all: a short, slim woman with auburn hair pulled back in a low tail, and a tall, lithe man with hair as white as Fenris's and eyes that gleam like rubies. The man has a dagger drawn already, a thin smile playing over his face; the woman's fingers rest on her sheathed rapier, but her gaze is open, friendly. Hawke plants her staff on the rocky ground in as welcoming a gesture as she can manage. "Fancy running into someone like you up here of all places."

"I could say the same," the woman says. The green rift, still hanging between them and stretching a good twenty feet into the sky, gives an ominous rumble. "Our wizard's been fretting about magical disturbances along the city's borders for weeks. He finally traces the source to this location, and here you are at the heart of it. I'd like to believe it's coincidence."

"Alas," Hawke says, "one of my greatest faults is a terrible habit of being around when things begin. Fenris can attest to that better than most." She lays a hand on Fenris's shoulder, but he's stiff as iron, eyes glued to the man's dagger, and he's reached back for the hilt of his greatsword. "I'm Hawke, by the way."

"Call me Tav."

"And I'm Astarion," the man says grandly, accompanied by a wholly unnecessary flourish of his dagger. "We're here to steal the world."

"Save it," Tav says sharply.

"Of course, my dear. Save the world. What did I say?"

Fenris makes a short, disgusted noise, but Hawke's pleased to see he's let go of his own sword. She doesn't think this Astarion is going to kill them—not easily, anyway—and she likes the look of Tav despite herself. Both of them quick on their feet, she thinks, both moving gracefully with an innate, self-assured balance. As Tav steps around the rift Astarion moves with her like water, without even needing to see where she's gone. It reminds her a great deal of Fenris and herself, actually, though Hawke would give an arm to trust her own feet that much.

Fenris, it seems, has come to similar conclusions, and he rolls his shoulders as he releases their tension. Even his voice has lost its nascent fury, which for Fenris is practically friendly in situations like this. "The rift is dangerous. We will guard it until the Inquisitor can seal it permanently. Be on your way."

"Inquisitor?" drawls Astarion with that same, thin-lipped smile. "Sounds like someone from dear Shadowheart's former enclave, don't you think?"

"I don't think they're Sharran," Tav says. "Are you?"

"What a speculative look you've put on," Hawke says, delighted. "I haven't the faintest idea what you're talking about. Unless you'd like me to be Sharran, in which case, I most certainly am and in fact have always been."

Both Fenris and Astarion roll their eyes—hilarious in its own right, but heightened by the clear antipathy still remaining between them. Fenris sighs. "Hawke—"

The rift explodes.

Green lightning shatters over the rocky cliff. The rumble bursts into a deafening roar; the faint breeze that had been dancing around them sweeps up into a hurricane. The air cracks and snaps with a sudden smell of ozone.

Hawke throws her hand over her eyes. She can't see—the wind tears her hair from its bindings and she can't see past the brilliant flashes of blazing green and she can't hear— "Fenris!"

Someone's fingers wrap around hers. She wrenches up her staff, calls for fire—for ice—for anything—but the rift has become a maelstrom and every scrap of magic sucks into the raging whirl before she can shape it. Her boots skid on the stone as she tries to brace against the inexorable pull, pebbles and rocks rattling along every step. She can't—the hand wrapped around hers has seized tight as a vise, but she's slipping anyway, and Maker, she can't—

A man's echoing voice, stripped bare of all artifice, wild with fear: "Tav!"

The wind dies. Not slowly, not gradually; it falls off like someone's upturned a glass over the rocky cliff, and Hawke's ears roar in the sudden silence. The wind is gone, and the rift is gone with it as if it had never been, the thunderous clouds that had been swirling above it already dissipating to glimpses of blue morning sky.

"Andraste preserve me," Hawke says, loud in the quiet, and she looks over to see Tav still crouched against the face of the mountain. One of Tav's hands clutches a dagger she'd wedged deep into a stony crevice; the other is still wrapped tight around Hawke's wrist where she'd pulled her away from the tempest.

No sign of Fenris. No sign of the other one—Astarion. A long white scrape in the stone marks where Fenris's sword had sought and failed to find purchase, disappearing at the precise place where the rift had torn itself open.

Gone. Gone, gone. Her heart hammers in her throat, and she indulges in thirty seconds of agonizing grief before she sets it aside, turns, and pulls Tav to her feet.

"Well," Hawke says at last. "Looks like it's just you and me, then. Ready for an adventure?"

"Yes," Tav says, her grip on Hawke's hand like steel, and her eyes blaze. "You and me. Let's get them back."

—

Everything hurts. Everything godsdamned hurts, and Astarion lets out a pained groan as he rolls to his back and drops his arm over his face. His ears ring like bells, and something twinges painfully in his left hip, and the inconvenient sun has decided to blaze right in his face and gods damn it, he'd known they ought to wait for Gale. Wretched wizard and his weak ankles. Wretched Tav and her complete inability—

"Tav," Astarion says, and sits bolt upright.

No Tav. Not even the dark-haired sorcerer with the wide smile. Just that taciturn warrior in leather and half-plate seated on a rock a few feet away, watching Astarion get his bearings, his greatsword slung across his knees and a deeply sour look on his tattooed face. The skies above them are clear and blue as a song.

No Tav. No Hawke. No rift. No plan, and no company besides an irascible stranger with the same sudden look of dawning horror.

"Venhedis."

"Shit."

[aashiyancha]

RF Pride Week // June 28: Coming out / Firsts

This comic is set around a month after the siblings first arrive in Rigbarth

*Ludmila and Meg are not here yet so there's only 1 girl in town who matches that description atm

** The noble duo have been here less than a week, so Ares doesn't have much opinion of them yet

[tiniest-hands-in-all-the-land]

Posting OCs? On main?? That might be a first from me :0

Here are my boys Orfeo and Percy from a webcomic that I'll probably never actually make. They get along I think. 🤷‍♂️

[finaltimelineau]

Hey Henry, I have some questions that aren’t really relevant to the situation at hand but more just things I’m curious about.

So when you fought the RHM in the Betrayed Tineline with your Spirit, we learned that Righteous’s Spirit was name [Time in a Bottle] but we never learned the name of yours, do you know/remember its name?

Also when you punched RHM into an alternate timeline, do you have any idea where he went? I like to think he wound up in the Lightning Quick Larcenist timeline, mainly because it fits the description and I think it’d be funny.

[iamfuckingsorry]

Thinking about that mural from DE

You know which one

TRUE LOVE IS POSSIBLE ONLY IN THE NEXT WORLD, FOR THE NEW PEOPLE. IT IS TOO LATE FOR US. WREAK HAVOC ON THE MIDDLE CLASS

The next world mural. In the game, you encounter this piece very early on if you interact with everything available, you probably see this mural before you've ever even heard of Dora or before you've started to get really serious about your commie tendencies, if that's how you choose to play. And the reaction is like, "wow, this is kinda profound actually". Or maybe it's like, "oh lol, this game really is commie af isn't it" (even though later on it turns out that the game is much more critical of communism than you'd think at first). And the story in the ledger provides some insight into Harry and Jean and how they work together too, so it feels like it makes sense, it fits in very well at that moment in the game and that's it.

But looking back at this mural after you've played through the entire game, knowing what you know of Harry's relationship with Dora...

It's Harry's own fucking love story in a way, isn't it?

Him and Dora came from very different backgrounds. He's genuinely poor, grew up checking the trash cans on the streets for tare and edible food, spent his teenage years running around with a bunch of kids who all OD'd or got themselves killed one way or another over the years. He had dreams of getting an education, getting a chance to use his creativity and curiosity and learn about all that that is worth exploring in this world (which is everything), but those dreams are long dead. She's solidly middle class, with access to all the education and art and music he's always dreamt of, with her family to always fall back on. She's everything Harry's ever dreamt of growing up. She might as well be living in another world.

They fall in love with each other and she moves to Jamrock to live with him. Jamrock, the biggest fucking ghetto in Revachol, full of tweakers and gangsters and just thousands upon thousands of poor people permanently down on their luck trying to get by, with no proper aid or government and a police station so understaffed and underfunded they never even stood a chance. And they can barely make ends meet even living in Jamrock, moving from shithole to shithole, never knowing when they'll have their electricity cut, when something will happen that gets them thrown out, desperately scrambling for a new place to stay. And Dora could never do that, not really - she never actually lived in Jamrock, she always had the possibility of leaving, of going to work across the river and visiting her parents whenever she felt like it or just escaping, packing her shit and getting on the tram and never going back. And as long as she knew she wasn't really, truly stuck in this miserable shithole forever, she wasn't ever really living in Jamrock. And it could never be enough for her.

And she wanted more - for herself, for Harry, for their family, who even knows. Maybe she saw Harry struggling trying and failing to make a difference as a gym teacher and thought he could do more good with the RCM. Maybe she was getting desperate, living in this fucking shithole, and thought they needed more money. Maybe it was something completely else - but what is certain is that Harry ended up joining the RCM, and the 41st, and everyone there is on speed, everyone is miserable and desperate and always running behind playing catch up with the case load, with the crimes, with the drug addicts and rapists and murderers, and Harry, who's always been like this close to a genuine mental breakdown, just fucking falls apart. He needs to help people, needs to make a difference, and working at the 41st, with the budget and case load and staffing situation and the pure fucking misery in the area. He goes out and meets a miserable person after a miserable person and he can't do anything else than be nice, make their day a little bit more manageable, do his best- but he knows that no matter what he does, his best won't be enough. He won't be able to make a dent in the pure fucking misery that is Jamrock. But he needs to, so he drinks, he smokes, he does drugs, he loses any semblance of control he ever had over the voices in his head, the dude telling him to hit shit and the dude telling him to forget everything and just get fucked up and Revachol herself screaming at him about her imminent death. And in the end Dora can't stand it anymore and she leaves (and, honestly, good for her. I'm happy for her. But this is about Harry, and Harry isn't, he isn't able to be happy for her at this point in time).

And like. I personally doubt that she'd have left just because of the money if everything else was good. I honestly even doubt that the money was that big of an issue for her to start with, it was all the other issues first and then the fact that they couldn't even rent a fucking VHS and play it at times became just one more thing on top of this already massive pile of shit that broke the proverbial camel's back. But in Harry's mind, he was never rich enough for her. She was always the middle class girl who settled for the poor fuck, and he was never gonna be good enough for her because he was just a broke dude from Jamrock. She was perfect and so so beautiful and at one point her love was the only thing keeping him going, and then she left because he couldn't even

And from what we can see in the game she was the only person he's ever really, truly loved.

But in his mind, they could never be together again. They could try as they might, but it was never gonna work out, because she was a rich girl and he was just a poor miserable fuck. He grew up looking for change on the streets, she took piano lessons in a fancy part of town. The difference was just too large to ever truly be bridged.

So for post-breakup Harry, prior to Martinaise and even during the events in Martinaise, true love was never actually possible. It is possible only for the new people, in the next world. It was too late for him - he had his chance, and it was an impossible thing, it could never have worked out and now he's wasted it. Because of the inherent differences between different social classes. It is too late for him. So yeah, fuck it, wreak havoc on the fucking middle class. Fuck those rich bastards who took Dora from him, and fuck Dora too.

On another note, this was also one of the most recent cases him and Jean worked on prior to Martinaise. I don't remember the date exactly, but it was in his last ledger, it must have been pretty recent. Do you think he saw the mural and thought about it the same way I did? Maybe this was the one that truly pushed him over the edge? The impossible love. It truly was too late for him. The only way to fix it is a new fucking start. And how do you get that?

After life - death. After death - life again.

[sforzesco]

CAIUS TREBONIUS AND MARK ANTONY, MARCH 15th

The Hetairia of Cassius, Luciano Canfora

Cic. Phil. 2

(taps mic) so as we all know, conspiracy is a kind of seduction, and actions not taken can be just as loud as the ones that are. so. uh. fellas! hey fellas. heyyyyyy.

like, I was looking at the Dolabella-Caesar-Antony mess yesterday, but something really fun and vicious happened here and I will be rotating it around in my head at maximum volume for the foreseeable future

the red panels are the Assassination of Julius Caesar by Vincenzo Camuccini (the pen and ink drawing, not the painting)