#spread whimsy not hatred

[2383-lines-of-code]

I don’t understand ppl who hate watch shows. When I start a series I’m rooting for it to be good. bc even if I don’t fully understand what’s happening, I want it to be a genuinely good experience. And even if I end up disliking the thing as a whole, I always try find small details I enjoyed so I can at least get something out of the time I put into it.

[sanderssidesthehouse]

"Ever heard of an imperfect ally?"

"Ever heard of irreconcilable differences?"

Janus paused. "Why are we married in your scenario?"

Rated T.

"Why are you being so difficult? We want the same thing," Janus hissed, quite possibly a tad too close.

"Well clearly we don't want the same thing. I want to do the right thing and I don't think you could do that if you tried," Roman seethed right back, leaning in closer.

"But you also want to spread your wings! To create freely, to take opportunities. You are being limited! I can help you!"

"I don't believe you! How can I trust you with this when you're the enemy in every other situation?!"

"Ever heard of an imperfect ally?"

"Ever heard of irreconcilable differences?"

Janus paused. "Why are we married in your scenario?"

"We're getting a divorce in my scenario! We're clearly separated!" Roman threw his hand sin the air, turned, and stomped a few paces away.

"Really? Why did we get married if we hate each other so much?"

"Oh. Well…” He paused, a thoughtful look replacing his previous snarl. “Probably because despite your tendency to do everything that Patton tells us not to, you are still very kind to me and we are both very attractive and it was probably a spur of the moment thing, a little fling filled with a passion that we thought was hatred and frustration but turned out to be something else and then turned out to be frustration and hatred. It was a spring wedding and the cherry blossoms were floating peacefully down as we eloped."

"I do appreciate the dramatics. Who was our witness?"

Roman turned back, already in his pondering posture. "Hmm... Well it would have had to happen in the imagination so who do you want to be our witness?"

"Shirley Jackson."

"You would be a Shirley Jackson fan."

"You pick one then." He totally wasn’t even a little bit offended.

"... I never said I wasn't a Shirley Jackson fan."

… Previous non-offense retracted. "And who officiated?"

"Gene Kelly. He became officially ordained just for us."

"Didn't he die in '96?"

"I'm impressed! He did, but it's the imagination. I'm the boss and I can do what I want."

"Oh? Tell me more."

"Well since you're such a fan of my dramatics, there will be 99 empty chairs and one filled by our witness separated into two halves with 50 on each side, ten rows of five to create an aisle. A red carpet is rolled out, obviously-"

"Obviously."

"- and I'm wearing a regal suit of white, gold, and red, my signature colors. What are you wearing?"

"Hmm, well, my usual attire wouldn't do... I'm no Creativity, but I think I can come up with a little something."

He paused, pretending he didn’t have fancier back up outfits that he’d thought about a thousand times, then Janus snapped himself into a suit he thought would fit the occasion. He kept his usual slacks and shoes, but he was wearing a white shirt and black tie underneath a golden yellow vest embroidered in black with snakes and over that was a black suit coat with dramatic tails. The gloves and hat remained of course.

He might have chosen a dress but then he would definitely be a black widow and spiders were so Virgil’s thing.

“For you, darling.” Janus flicked his wrist and produced a daffodil.

“For me? A daffodil? If I recall correctly, they represent selfishness.”

“Of course they do.”

Roman wasn’t paying Janus any attention at this point, he already had his right thumb and forefinger to his chin, and Janus knew nothing he said at the moment would get through.

“That might just be the purple one, though. Strength and overcoming obstacles for certain. That would be cute. But there was something else, too… I wish I could remember. I bet Specs would know. He knows everything Thomas has ever learned, no matter how whimsiful. Ha. I bet that drives him crazy.”

“I bet. But don’t you have anything for me?”

“But of course, mi rey.” Roman flourished and along with changing his outfit, a flick of his own wrist produced a dozen red roses mixed with some red carnations. The bouquet was bound with a golden snake.

“Show off,” Janus totally didn’t grumble.

“I can’t help what I am.”

“Truly. And what you are is impressive, I must say,” he purred.

“Who, me? Do go on.”

“You are strong and kind and virtuous. And you have been oh, so neglected, yet despite this you push on, trying to do the right thing, even when it cuts you to your core. That’s why you need someone to look out for you, because your goodness will be your undoing. Be selfish for once, Roman, and I mean truly selfish. Not just pushing back to be heard. Take what you need.”

“I can’t just take what I want with no regard for others. I’ll admit that I haven’t always been the best about it, but I deeply regret the pain I’ve caused the others… and you.”

“That’s behind us now. You needn’t cling so to the past.”

“Logan says those who do not remember history are doomed to repeat it.”

“True, but those who linger in the past will have no future. There is a balance to be struck.”

“Why are you helping me?”

“It’s my job. My core function. Your core function is Creativity, but you are also the Ego. I may lie, but my core function is to preserve and protect you. The others as well, but you are my main charge.”

“I don’t want or need your help.”

“You may not want it, but you do need it. You may scorn me at every turn, but it doesn’t change what I must do. Without Thomas’s sense of self, there is nothing left to be concerned with. You so-called light sides have been waging wars worse than any I have hidden are capable of. The scars on all of you cut deep. You have to stop this. Balance can not come at the cost of any of you, least of all you, my prince.”

“So then why are you telling just me to take?”

“Patton already knows what he must do, Virgil will probably never listen to me again, Logan needs a far gentler and more time consuming touch, and of course, Remus has never hesitated, he needs no guidance on this issue.”

“I still don’t know…”

“I will wait, but there is only so long I can give you.”

“I just… I have to be his hero. What am I if not that?”

“You will always be his hero. You stumbled. We’re in the third act. There’s still time before the climax, don’t give up on our prince just yet.”

“... That’s it!”

“There’s still time before the climax?” It was a good thing Remus wasn’t around just then.

“No, the other meaning! It represents broken or unrequited love- Oh.”

“Don’t say oh.”

“Oh.”

“No need to italicize it.”

“You- Do you- That is, what I mean to say is-”

“Oh come on, Roman. As if I know what flowers mean. It’s yellow. That’s my thing.”

“Then why not a yellow rose?”

“Well everyone knows that one. The friendship flower probably isn’t the best one for a wedding.”

“We’re not actually getting married.”

“I know that,” Janus hissed. “You’re the one I was worried about confusing fantasy for reality, changing the tense of your verbiage and all.”

“You snapped into a suit first.”

“You snapped into a suit, second.”

“Really? That’s all you’ve got?”

“What else do you want from me?” is not what he meant to say, but it’s what came out of his mouth.

“... The truth. I was receptive to you at first because I didn’t want to make the same mistake we did with Virgil, but then everyone was upset at me for it, and you and Patton were literally on opposite sides of the courtroom and so I thought that I was wrong again, and of course you set Remus on us after that so I was certain that I was supposed to oppose you but… Then everything went horribly and you helped Patton and they say I’m supposed to like you now, so what’s the truth? I tried to decide for myself but it seems like no matter what I do, I’m wrong. Maybe if Thomas had Remus instead of me this whole time-”

“Roman. Repressing Remus was regrettable, but I can’t think of a single situation in which trading you for him would have been beneficial. Sure, Remus is as free a thinker as they come, but he’s also chaos incarnate. And as far as the truth…”

Janus looked down at his gloves. Was he doing this again? He sighed. He would do it for Roman. Taking a glove off, starting by pulling at the fingers, revealed a scaled hand which he held up as proof of his oath.

“I solemnly swear that I only have Thomas’s best interests at heart, and that I want to help you create a life worth living. I hope that you will work with me towards this goal.”

He wasn’t sure what he expected, but nowhere on Janus’s list was getting tackle hugged by a tearful prince.

“Shhh, it will be alright.” Janus ran his ungloved fingers through Roman’s hair. “I’ve got you. Now and forever. Till death do us part.”

Roman pulled out of the hug with his hands firmly on Janus’s shoulders. He nodded. “Till death do us part.”

[fallentheatre]

Time... to be a little insane <3

I entirely blame @hoverboards-and-dragons for all of this. They introduced me to the God and Archangels concept brainrot and then the Roo brainrot. And this should help explain any drawings we do with these funky designs too.

First, lets meet the cultivator of creation himself, Ady (Adonai)! (AKA the 'God' figure)

He's a gigantic plant entity that can re-arrange his floral body in ways of slightly less concerning body horror. One moment he has paws, the next, all the roots in his legs mangle and reform into claws. The yellow cloak of leaf-fur can expand into wings, but he doesn't use those all that often. He's large, a big beast. Just a massive mass of plant deity that is incredibly soft to touch.

Creation is his garden and he intends to remove it of all parasites through any means necessary.

He also will photosynthesize in the sun. He's not mediating. He's eating. Let him eat in peace.

Meanwhile... we have the parasite he's been trying to rid creation of from day one.

Roo! The 'root of evil' in Ady's creation garden (Their garden)

Where Ady is gentle fun leaf-based body horror, Roo is straight flesh and gore. A parasitic mole in the eyes of Ady and by extension his creations, Roo is something that needs to be exterminated, though none have the power to do so. She's got plant-like elements to her, something that insults Ady personally, due to her 'lure' human-like form sprouting out of the mouth like a flower.

Oh yeah, it's a lure. What easier way to draw prey into the jaws of death than to look like a struggling victim in a sinkhole? It also makes Ady feel uncomfortable beyond belief after the lure becomes more human-esque to specifically and personally drive Ady insane. They're awful to each other. Complete enemies who drove each other to become who they are today. If they aren't ripping one another's throats out, they're being the pettiest people alive.

Roo is a lot more chill compared to Ady. She kinda just does her thing, as she too is fundamental in creation. Roo and Ady spawned together in the abyss and expanded it to become more. No matter how vile her action or how Ady ensures all know her as evil and rot, Roo is vital to creation. They even created their first living organism together in collaboration. That is when it turned for the worst, as their morals clashed until they started to flash their teeth and unsheathe their claws in battle. Ady is generally well put-together, despite being a complete goofball on the outside. But when Roo is around? All his whimsy is gone. There is only mutual hatred and violence.

They're both big beasts, and the full body of Roo is yet to be determined. They're so fascinating because everything would be going so well if they just. Didn't resort to violence and aggression when things dont go their way. They're the only ones who can truly pose a physical threat to one another, and therefore are the only ones they lose their own composure's around.

Still working on the finer details, as these are just concepts at this stage, but I love them dearly. They're awful I hope they maul each other so thoroughly that they cannot tell each other apart in the carnage they make.

Roo kind of became just the blame for everything. Yeah she takes full credit for the things she did do-- she doesn't regret anything. But Ady sees her as the core source of evil, when all he wants to do is spread and nurture good. Roo has accepted the role of evil, not really caring for nor needing a definition for what she does, and Ady kind of forces everyone to see her as nothing but evil. Good and Evil just happen, but both have strange relationships with the ideas. I'm still figuring it out but like. Everything is a grey area can you two stop and accept that please! No? Well. Just keep arguing then I guess.

But yeah she's sick of Ady's shit as much as Ady is beyond frustrated and furious at her.

I also did her demon disguise / form! I don't know how to describe clothing or anything but I really like her. And the downward markings on her stomach is her body showing. It's like a slightly soft exoskeleton? I don't know how to explain pffff.

I then decided to also go ahead and do a human version of Ady. Comedy gold I tell you. Both of these guys make me very happy <3

And as a treat, I also did rough ideas for how Lucifer and Micheal look!

And before anyone says anything, no, those aren't top surgery scars. They are natural markings. Since Lucifer is the morningstar, rising before the sun, it's supposed to make the star on his chest look like it is rising, where Micheal, the eveningstar, is supposed to be setting! (I'd say falling, but that feels... disrespectful lmao)

They also get the leaf-fur elements and some more nature theming due to my idea really focusing on the garden aspect (because it is so fun and i love plant / bug / animal designs so much). Also tried to make Lucifer look more snake-like where Micheal really seems to be heavy on the bird elements (did I hear birds hunting snakes? No? well... what a very funny thing to hear from the wind ehe)

Uhhh yeah. First time trying to ramble out a few of the concepts I have. No idea if I explained anything well but hey! What are rough first drafts if not scribbles on a page?

[wank-posting]

why are you the white hank but the evil version of the white hank....... youre like the popsoivete of thewhite hank that drink tea and is nice !!!! you spread hatred and destroy any sense of whimsy in nevada!!!!!!!!!!

i fcuking hate every other hanks and they SUCK at wimbling!!! the opposite white hank is okay i guess... MY GOAL IS TO ERADICATE THE HANKS AND BE THE LAST ONE!!!!!!! NEVADA WILL ALWAYS BE A HELLHOLE

[cherrypicked-sys]

kay I'm putting this under a cut because it's just annoying to see as is?? it's just some loser fakeclaiming us lmao??

ADMIT YOU HAVE NO LIFE!!!! ADMIT YOU HAVE NO JOY OR WHIMSY!!!!!! ADMIT YOURE BORING AND HATEFUL!!!!

okay, on a more serious note, you don't know me or my system and I can guarantee you don't know any of the OTHER plurals you've bullied on that account ^^ you want to spread hatred over plurals being happy with their plurality because God forbid we don't fit a random stranger's idea of systemhood.

we are extremely happy with being plural and rejoice in our plurality. thanks to being plural, we will never be alone, no matter what happens. gaining new members will always be worth celebrating for us. they joined for a reason: to help us. to handle certain things that other members can't.

anyways, I know that was an alt account you were using, so... you're probably gonna see this post. if you really care that much about "fake systems," get off the internet. go touch some grass. nobody in real life cares about this stuff. and even if you want to pull the "they're pretending to have a serious disorder!!" we never once claimed our plurality was a disorder, because it isn't. we will never claim to have DID or OSDD or anything of the sort because it just isn't the case.

go fuck yourself.

[majoringinsarcasm]

I had a whole start to this and it got deleted so now I’m even more mad I’m going to go To Bed maybe I’ll shift to another world and destroy it and join the other bitches who only know how to destroy AHHHHHHHHH

It’s so unfun and it’s so sad like. Truly start ignoring more people. The m second you get caught up in “this user is popular” is where you die. I’ve been there several times I’ve felt inferior and like my stuff wasn’t good enough but that’s not what fandom is about. It’s not a popularity contest it’s not about who has the most followers. I want to find people who like the same thing I do and I wanna hear their thoughts ABOUT THAT THING and read their silly jokes. I want to TALK TO PEOPLE I want to have FUN. So many people are in these spaces who make it their mission to spread misery and hatred and won’t even add their own ideas to the pot.

“This person won’t accept criticism they sent their followers to attack me this is why I hate this fandom” if you contribute NOTHING but spite and vitriol and lies and hate and harassment and awful shit in the tags and NOBODY WANTS TO FUCK WITH YOU THATS ON YOU

I’m so fucking sad man. I am Sad right now and I wake up everyday injecting whimsy and delusion into my veins so I can go to fucking work and make myself eat and I want to find community and make more friends and reconnect with old friends and YES fandom spaces are not free from real world issues but too much of the time people are creating problems where they don’t exist or they aren’t handling their “very serious issues” in a way that’s actually solving the problem

Do you want this person to change their behavior or do you just want an excuse to publicly bitch about them and feel justified

GET SOME FUCKING JOY FIND A FUCKING HEART BLOCK MORE PEOPLE WRITE YOUR OWN STORIES DRAW YOUR OWN COMICS. MAKE VENT SHIT IF YOURE SO FUCKING MISERABLE DO SOMETHING TO HELP YOURSELF AND MAKE YOURSELF FEEL BETTER YOU ARE ADDING NOTHING BUT HOT GARBAGE YOURE NOT A BAD BITCH YOURE NOT A SLAY QUEEN YOU ARE NOT COOL

[thedragonsprincecomic]

🌟 Meet Ayumu Morpheus, The Divinestin Princess Of The Sky Kingdom! 🌟

✨ Hey Tumblr fam! ✨ Allow me to introduce you to Ayumu, or as her loved ones call her, Yumu. 🦄 At 28 years old, she's the youngest child of Queen Hel and King Morpheus, and she's truly one of a kind.

👑 Ayumu was crafted in her mother's design, with a broken horn and a floating, occasionally misplaced, broken leg. But don't let that fool you, she's a radiant princess with a heart of gold. 💖

🎀 Soft-spoken and a tad ditsy, Princess Yumu is a beacon of love and kindness. She holds no hatred in her heart and embraces both the elegance of her Sky Kingdom and the charm of the people down below.

💼 By day, she works as a Scrip, a Divinestin immersed in the realm of the Spirits of the Death. She spends her time in the Afterlife Simulators, ensuring a smooth transition for departed souls. It's an important role, and she takes it seriously.

🌆 But when the sun sets and her mischievous side awakens, Yumu sneaks down to the "Dirty" to hang out with her friends and date Tray Akinox. Together, they embark on daring adventures, battling enemies and monsters, all while trying to save the world from impending doom. And you know what? She's pretty darn good at it! 🌟

🌙 Her escapades are even more thrilling when her evil mother isn't paying attention to her whereabouts. It's a delicate balance between duty and pursuing her passions, but Ayumu manages to navigate both with grace and determination.

🌈 So, let's raise our virtual glasses to Princess Ayumu Morpheus, a true embodiment of love, courage, and a touch of whimsy. 🥂 Follow her journey as she spreads joy, explores the unknown, and becomes the hero her world needs. Stay tuned for more tales from the sky!

#AyumuMorpheus #SkyKingdomChronicles #DivinestinPrincess #LoveAndWhimsy

[bloodthieved]

"You shall be what I wish you to be, and what I wish you to be is worthy. There will be moments spread through out eternity my dear boy where you lament your station, where you mourn and lose yourself to self hatred. As insecurity grips you, as you boast openly of yourself while secretly fostering deep scars and doubt know such things are unfounded. You will be beautiful, cunning, deadly, and strong for it is I who will you. If I must spend century after century bloodying you I shall. I will skin you, I will beat you, I will raise you up only to tear you down again and again. I will provide you will family, I shall make you feel loved and accepted, I shall offer you pretty little creatures to break upon your will, and I shall bestow every luxury possible upon you. Through destruction and creation I shall see to it you are sharpened into something truly beautiful. Worry not, your fate shall never rest in your hands."

Fear. Fear like bile crawled up his throat, threatened to squash whatever might’ve amounted to words from tumbling forth. This spiel—something his Master was prone towards, in one of his many whimsies—caught him off guard, and a nail of fright thrust freely into his heart.

He swore he almost felt it beat.

What spurred this? Had Astarion let one too many thoughts stray? Surely not. He was good, complicit, perfect. At least, that was what he told himself. Lies rolled off the tongue as sweet and easy as flowered water; oh, but how rarely did they provide the fruit which let him feel full and happy.  He felt himself slouch, a subconscious gesture to make himself weaker, smaller. He and his Master, they were of similar height. This was the best option.

Astarion swallowed thickly.

“… Yes, Master. I trust my fate in your hands, now and forever more.”

There was a moment’s hesitation—and he hoped it wouldn’t plummet into days-long suffering.

[ceescedasticity]

Just keep recommending it anyway, anything is better than the TERF books! We all have to disown the TERF books and read something better! If I had a Time Machine I’d tell my child self not to get into HP, I’d tell him to read Earthsea or Animorphs instead! I hate being stuck with the TERF books I hate myself for having ever liked that shit.

1. If your goal is "get people to read something else other than That", then recommending vaguely similar books by not-publicly-and-outstandingly-awful-on-social-issues authors is more likely to succeed than recommending not-at-all similar books by particularly-good-on-social-issues authors.

1a. Some people can enjoy art based on how much they like the artist alone. Others can't.

2. If you recommend something people do not like and they feel you should have foreseen that, they may stop listening to you.

3. There are things to recommend other than Earthsea and Animorphs whose authors are, at least, nowhere near as bad as Rowling.

The Percy Jackson books aren't perfect but the author isn't… like that and they're fairly comparable in tone and style.

Diana Wynne Jones is good if you're looking for magic, with varying levels of whimsy (and was around in the 90s, if we're talking time machines).

(Lemme go run and check my bookshelf.)

Diane Duane's Young Wizards series — she rewrote the older books to reflect new understanding of things. We are diverging in tone, here, but it's more similar than Earthsea or Animorphs.

Tamora Pierce has a pretty good reputation, though we're diverging still more.

Also still on my YA shelf are Robin McKinley, Patricia Wrede, Susan Cooper, and Lloyd Alexander, none of whom are spreading hate on social media. Also were all around in the 90s.

I'm not actually up to speed on more current YA stuff in general! But it's out there.

4. FFS what good is hating your past — adolescent? — self for not knowing/understanding what you do now? You probably can't get around feeling retrospective embarrassment — even shame — but hatred? Try not to do that. You were a stupid kid doing stupid kid things. It happens.

5. To reiterate: Agreeing with artists DOES NOT IMPLY enjoying the art, and it doesn't need to!

(6. I do feel like a lot of why everyone was into Harry Potter is that… everyone was into Harry Potter? It wasn't just — or even mostly —about enjoying the books, it was about community and fandom and fitting in. There were thousands — millions, even — of people contributing to the fandom, propping up the source material, and making the experience of the books much more than just the books. In that sense what you need to be looking for in a replacement is, unfortunately, popularity. And that's where I'm not sure you're going to find a replacement.)

Have the people recommending Wizard of Earthsea as a replacement for Harry Potter actually read both series? Because "wizard school" notwithstanding I wouldn't even put them in the same subgenre.

Also the first book is worse than Lord of the Rings for female characters.

[willowedwriting]

Just some writings that I felt weren’t finished but also don’t need to be?

Sinful Hymns

How your body sings our praise

How it speaks of things it could not know

Of the cathartic madness rooted heavy upon my mind and a mound of cigarette ash spread out on the deck from nights spent whispering your name into the lunar abyss

Unhallowed

Some things are sacred

Like the sound of your teetering breath hitching as I draw from your lips feverish supplication normally reserved solely for your god

Mortal Coil

I wish I didn’t have to force myself to eat everyday so I could satiate this void inside that gnaws away at my psyche. And I wish I could put myself to sleep to silence the insidious words spoken into my mind by a familiar voice. I wish my mind wasn’t addled by tiresome hatred for dead men, vainly grasping for overdue reprisal. I wish that strangers thoughts didn’t scream into me, pushing me to return to safe solitude.

Avenoir

If she is death, then I am a kamikaze

If she is the executioner, then I am an unrepentant sinner awaiting due judgement

She is the guilty pleasure that all men seek, regardless of the stakes

She is a siren and I am a lonely sailor, begging to be dragged to the depths

And succumb to her whimsy

To chase her is to grasp at stardust across the night sky

The solitary reward being only loneliness

She loves like ocean tides; fleeting

Within reach one instant, unobtainable the next

She is death

[otaku-manga-fangirl]

My Virtual Poem Gallery

“Who How I am”

What you find here, you may never

Really truly comprehend or

Believe, for it is too difficult

Since, it is against, the whole world

 You ask why, well let me explain

There are too many confusing

And misleading people, that aim

To lead blindly and blind others

 I am but an ordinary

Person, that has much to learn and

Understand, while living faithful

To He, the one who rescued me. ****

“Villainess”

After everything I’ve been forced to

Experience, remember, relive,

Hide within myself everything that

I’ve always wanted to say and do

Whatever you throw my way, will fail.

For I’m not here to be subjected

To your whims, schemes, desires, and plans for:

I shall tear your plans asunder, as

I am here to stay, live, survive to

Return your injustice with vengeance.

****

“Flailing”

I am a woman that lives in between two halves of her life

I live with the sky, that can boast varying colors

Depending on its whimsy mood

It can either be smooth soaring

Bouncing and through, the differing shapes of fluffy white

Or with turbulence, with pelting icy drops or stone-like pellets

 And then, there are days where I live with the dark blue depths

Sometimes, it only reaches up to my ankles, on a sunny day

Other times, it’s a rushing river I struggle within

But on most days, I’m trying to stay afloat

The empty bottom, fueling my anxiety, as I lose strength and sink

My days vary, what I know I’ll stop doing

Is hoping help, from those who are both seeing and blind

I’ll just allow the storms and curved looming walls crash and thrash me

I’ll let be the currents and the wind move me dizzily

I’ll just ride with the constant flow, like I horribly usually do.

****

“The Obloquy You Enforced Upon Your Blood”

My country, multicultural and abounding in riches

Home to many warmhearted and joyful humans

A hotpot of talented and brilliant minds and skills

Oh, how my love and compassion, runs deeply for you

My homeland of the hard working, for their loved ones

 However, my hatred runs deeply here too.

I loathe the ignorance being spread by the blind

Who seek to lead astray everyone around them

I despise the immoral that feel pleasure over being

Disgusting and cruel, harming all who cross their path

 I especially abhor, the corruption whose deeps roots have entrenched

Itself into our fertile land, filled atop on its surface are innocents

Who could not receive proper wages and service

Who fear natural tragedies, which could be properly planned against

Oh, how I hate the stupid, the greedy, and most of all the power-lust politicians

You, who scour our land for influence and wealth

You, who deprive others of what you have in abundance

You, who seek to defile and ruin and destroy

All life that surrounds you; the ones you abandoned

You, who spend money that does not belong to you and take chunks from it!

 Oh, how depressing it is for us to be looked down upon

Caught in the news stealing from a mall; a store

Our situation broadcasted, to the world of how much we suffer from evil

Our drenched and hurt and starving faces in every screen in existence

How dare you, plaster this on our good-natured brothers and sisters?

 Have you no shame? Have you no compassion?

Do you not have mothers, sisters, brothers, fathers?

Daughters, sons, nieces, nephews, granddaughters, grandsons?

Cousins, aunts, uncles, friends and more?

What must it take for your heart to be thawed and soften?

 Now our future, the youth and more dream

Dream to run away and never return

Hope to bring everyone they love and befriend

Towards better lands, more fulfilling lives

Lives filled with warm shelters and food

Water and opportunities

 Even if our country lacks nothing

My dear fellow victims, wake up and realize

All which was spent from us

Wake up to the deaths and the tortured and the raped

To the sold and the used, and the next to be cast aside!

 We were not born to merely endure, persevere, and survive!

We are here to live Christ-like lives, to be used as instruments

For the expansion of His Kingdom! To share love and hope

To be the light and salt of this world, sharing the Gospel!

We are servants of God in charge of protecting life and loving each other

 I only hope and wish for my motherland

Is to start over after we crush our current systems here.

****

Adieu adieu

It could not come true

We could have been happy

It was nugatory

For an interference too strong

Made everything planned go wrong

To struggle against it would require sophistry

I do not possess unfortunately

Farewell love

I could not go beyond and above

For us

“Pain”

[primalspice]

Rat 3, 9, 14, 20, 33, 38,

ah

3. what are their astrology signs? sun/moon/rising.

cap sun, aries moon (horrible), cancer rising

9. which of the nine alignments are they? (lawful good etc)

Something like a chaotic neutral because she tends to exclusively do things for her own good and fuck everyone else LOL one might argue thats a little evil by virtue of what some of those things are but um. shes meowmeow. shes just a little guy. 

14. what is their weapon of choice?

By trade she would be obliged to say ye olde atom bomb but u cant always have access to those in any practical situation...Gunwise, In a time where her knees didn’y hurt when she crouched and her glasses prescription was more correct she’d have been a sniper fan (m24?) but shes haggard so an m16 is pretty shiny new and interesting to her. ALSO not very practical but easier to tote around than a bomb is....

20. where do they currently live? describe their home. 

Shes currently cooped up at selma’s office but i dont think that counts. Prior to all the presidential drama, she lived at the capital; i think it was a like a white house situation where she got to live in the actual Building while she was prezzy but i think she kinda hated it and thought she was being spied on 90% of the time. For most of her time post-factory work she also lived in the capital, but just in a regular kinda nice govvy funded house. Looked nice on the outside but was kinda dumpy on the inside bcz she cant be trusted with nice things. She lived more in the central/west of the region during her childhood/factory days, which was far less fancy but far more in her comfort zone. Not necessarily rural but things were more spread out. It was close to work.

33. what is/was their relationship like with their parents? 

She’s always felt very outcasted and hated by them for no particular reason besides that they were rather overworked and constantly cranky and unamused by her Childhood Whimsy. Maybe something about living in her older bro’s shadow but more likely that she was just kinda a weird kid. Rancid Depressive Vibes. After her bro’s death she felt a need to overcompensate for them by whatever means possible and that landed on Plan A being killing herself to get out of their way (cringe fail) and Plan B joining the military to get out of their way AND bring in money and status. It was never particularly appreciated because no one rlly.........asked her to do that LOL but it did help them live more comfortably so she felt good about that for a while. Regardless her parents died kinda young (while she was in her late 20s/early 30s) so they never got to see her get any kind of fancy job. At that point they weren’t playing a particularly large role in her life tho. tl;dr: never felt very connected to them apart from her feelings of Indebtment.

38. do they have a love interest? if so, who?

NO ONE is her love interest. but her situation with selma is basically fanfic plot + 3000% hatred if u squint hard enough so.

[clexa--warrior]

In the earliest days of the Trump crisis, just about a month after the inauguration, I received the horrifying news that my best friend and podcast partner, Chez Pazienza, had died of a drug overdose.

This article was originally published at Salon

It was the evening of Feb. 25, 2017, and the shock still hasn’t quite worn off. In fact, I ask myself nearly every day what Chez might’ve said about the most recent atrocity committed by the chief executive. I’ll never know for sure, but there’s something comforting in that exercise, imagining how he’d frame this dark ride with equal parts Gen-X angst, stinging Bourdain-ish erudition and artistically worded blue streaks that would’ve made George Carlin applaud.

I’m convinced, however, that it wasn’t really an overdose that killed him. Sure, it was the weapon of choice, but it wasn’t the ultimate cause of death. Chez possessed the ability to foresee this Trump crisis stretched out in front of him — maybe not the specifics, but a general concept in his big brain for the horror show that was awaiting us. I believe it was the crushing reality of not only being force-fed a Trump presidency every day but also covering it professionally that forced him to drift back to his old addictions to ease the pain. And I wish more than anything that I could have stopped him.

Nevertheless, Chez could clearly see the incoming abuses, the crimes, the ungainly nonsense, the recklessness, the racism, the petty vindictiveness — all of it.

In 2015, he accurately forecast that Trump, if elected, would spitefully withhold federal funding from regions that refused to support his cruel whimsy. Naturally, we’ve watched this play out with Puerto Rico, California and most recently Pennsylvania, where Trump, this week, threatened to withhold funding for the commonwealth because of Gov. Tom Wolf’s COVID plan. In Trump’s view, responsible leadership is worthy of punishment because it makes him look bad by contrast, while incompetence, mainly his own, is routinely lionized.

Trump’s blinding dumbness in the areas of history, the Constitution, the presidency and democratic institutions has infected him with an ugly, bastardized view of his job description, inflamed by his own biases and whatever he’s picked up from watching cable news. He’s a presidential dilettante, even now, nearly four years into the gig.

His wafer-thin understanding of presidential leadership contributes to his most self-defeating misapprehension: that he’s only the president of the red states. Everyone else is the enemy, even more so than our actual overseas adversaries — surely more than Kim Jong-un and Vladimir Putin, whom Trump praises more often than many of his fellow citizens and colleagues. The rest of us are only useful to him as punching bags and targets for his screechy, obscene, misspelled tweets and, more recently, his fascist police force. The upside of his deformed view of the presidency is that if he loses this election, it’ll partly be because he refused to expand his support beyond his loyalists.

This is one of the reasons why he felt compelled to cheat in the 2020 election by attempting to blackmail the president of Ukraine into smearing Joe Biden — a plot that ended with Trump’s impeachment and trial in the Senate. After all, how could he win re-election with only 40-44 percent popular support without making up the difference … somehow?

His relationship with his disciples is a match made in hell, given that his Red Hat fanboys have an equally stunted view of the presidency. I assure you, they’d never allow Trump-style behavior from their doctors, their kids’ teachers or, hell, their airline pilots. If they hadn’t been so badly brainwashed by the conservative entertainment complex, they never would have gifted the nuclear codes and the immense power of the presidency to such an unstable, erratic, incompetent political tourist who has utterly failed to grow into the job and rise to the occasion — who has failed to accept the intense gravity of his post. As Barack Obama said in August, “It’s because he can’t.”

At no other time has that been more evident than in Trump’s response to the pandemic. For the first two years of his presidency, many of us sat on the edge of our seats wondering when Trump would be seriously challenged either by a military threat, a terrorist attack or a global pandemic. From the moment Hillary Clinton conceded, I suspected this buffoonish greenhorn would be put to the test and fail badly. I never imagined that his reaction, untethered from experts, would be quite this calamitous.

His response to the hurricanes that collided with Puerto Rico represented a harrowing preview of how he’d handle the pandemic. I was convinced at the time that he was at least temporarily unaware that Puerto Rico was even part of the United States. I mean, how could he have been so thoughtless and unsympathetic to actual Americans? Turns out, he probably knew — he just didn’t give a shit. Never before has a modern president behaved so callously toward a devastated population of his own people, hurling paper towels at their heads as if he were firing a T-shirt cannon at a college basketball pep rally. Today, the island territory continues to rebuild despite Trump’s reprehensible indifference.

America is better than this. We’re better than him.

There have to be consequences for his indifference to the destruction in Puerto Rico as well as the 225,000 casualties of COVID-19 (and counting). Neither should have happened here. But this is what it looks like when the president and his people fail to do the paint-by-numbers things in response to a crisis — things that so many other presidents managed to achieve. Had Trump listened to the experts at the CDC and WHO, thousands of Americans would still be alive today and we might have been free and clear of this blight by now. Instead, Trump listened to the entertainers on Fox News, not to mention the shrieking voices in his head, convincing him to abandon the effort at exactly the wrong time — in April, at the initial height of the infection curve.

Before giving up, he applied travel restrictions to China, but it was too little too late. Forty thousand people arrived in the United States from China by flying through Europe and landing in New York, magnifying the catastrophic outbreak there. After that, Trump did nothing else to slow the spread, making George W. Bush’s 2005 response to Hurricane Katrina look masterful by comparison. Now, eight months into this disaster, Trump continues to ignore the rules, ignore safety protocols and ignore the experts, holding maskless, undistanced rally after rally, fueling his own ego, even after being infected himself. And there’s no end in sight.

Win or lose, his bungled, herky-jerky reaction to the pandemic will be remembered as the defining failure of his presidency, and it’s the No. 1 reason why he deserves nothing but ignominy and prison.

Rather than accepting the challenge and rising to meet it, as any other president would have, he’s spent all these months of national stress, uncertainty and illness not comforting or proactively leading the American people, but whining, whining and whining some more about how COVID ruined his presidency. Solving the pandemic could have been his greatest achievement — but Trump always makes things worse for Trump. Undermining himself and then playing the victim when things go sideways is the only thing he’s good at.

He possesses the most brittle ego of any president since Richard Nixon — one of many character flaws that undermine his self-identification as a manly alpha. Indeed, he’s nothing more than an easily-ruffled snowflake who constantly bellyaches about how “unfair” the world treats him — you know, the alleged billionaire president. So unfair.

Donald Trump has redefined what it means to be an empty suit. He talks an enormous game, but in reality his entire record is composed of failures and stolen successes. He claims to understand things he’s never able to explain openly or in any detail. Accordingly, he’s obsessed with repealing the Affordable Care Act, but only because it was Barack Obama’s signature achievement, not because it’s bad policy — and it’s not bad policy, he just says it is and his fanboys believe him.

If challenged, I’d wager a year’s salary he couldn’t name anything in the law beyond the mandate and the coverage for pre-existing conditions. I’m sure he doesn’t know about the myriad consumer protections or the mandatory benefits, or how the low-income subsidies work or the Medicaid expansion or the marketplaces — none of it. Yet he’s seeing to it that the entire thing is obliterated mid-pandemic when Americans need coverage the most. He definitely doesn’t know that coverage for pre-existing conditions is made possible, for example, by placing caps on premiums and co-pays, while banning rescission and lifetime limits on coverage. Worst of all, he doesn’t know that many of his own voters are covered today because of the ACA.

Between the pandemic and the possible repeal of the ACA, America is physically sick. And because of Donald Trump, we’re spiritually sick, too. He doesn’t understand that the president sets the tone for the nation. He’ll never grasp that the way he communicates influences the way we communicate with each other. His constant firehose of crapola encourages others to let their hatred, racism and obnoxious, crazy-eyed antagonism fly freely — playing out in our public spaces and on our social media platforms every damn day.

Trump has debased the presidency, replacing decency and humility with unearned self-praise and horrendous sadism. Our nation’s most cherished values and institutions have been randomly crushed by this 90-foot kaiju monster for too long. His constant antagonism has turned father against son, mother against daughter, family against family. Over what? The damaging misadventures of a political fraud — a garish old brat who bankrupted his businesses, defrauded Americans with his sham foundation and university and is currently bankrupting the U.S. treasury while establishing himself as a Putin-style kleptocrat.

In 1860, our nation nearly crumbled under the weight of slavery and secession. Today, our nation is on the verge of collapse under the weight of a painted-up clown whose performative fascism has led to the extrajudicial murder of American citizens on American soil; the use of Homeland Security as a secret police force tasked with assaulting Americans in advance of awkward photo-ops; the use of the Department of Justice as a personal law firm; taxpayer revenue as a personal slush fund; and, worst of all, the construction of internment camps for Central American migrant children, where some have been raped by American guards. Rivaled only by the pandemic response, the Trump Cages are the most disgusting and unforgivable aspect of this presidential crisis.

The 2020 election is about ending all that, while beginning the process of a second Reconstruction — rebuilding our government in a way that guarantees this will never happen again, while convening a Trump Crimes Commission to hold the perpetrators accountable. Part of that process is about remembering what happened here, in this era. There will be voices who insist we should move on and forget about all this ugliness. We would do well to ignore those voices. The minute we forget the damage he’s inflicted upon us all, the next Trump will be waiting to strike.

Indeed, the only way to move on is to punish the crimes and plug the holes. We have no choice but to use this dark ride — one that took my friend Chez and many thousands of others — as an opportunity to repair the gaping Trump-shaped craters in the system exposed and exploited by this unqualified, disgracefully unpresidential and obviously unglued president. If Joe Biden and Kamala Harris successfully oust Trump, a week from today, the Trump crisis will be on its way to ending, while the hard work of cleaning up the mess will begin. In both the election and the aftermath, we cannot fail. Everything depends on what happens next.

[bodejustice]

Belief--A Short Phantomquill Fic

Contains: Simon Blackquill, the Phantom, Bobby Fulbright (spoilers, no triggers. 1839 words)

“It’s kinda freaky, sir. He’s been completely bland and, like, dead inside this entire time, but the moment he heard that you’d be coming, he got all loud and cheerful! Like how he was when he was being that detective!”

Simon did his best to not react to the guard’s words, but he could not even begin to block them out. 

He hated to give such drivel his attention, but he could not summon his usual composure and disdain as he walked, accompanied down the hall by the chatty security guard. The prison complex alone was enough to put his stomach in a hard, painful knot. The purpose of his visit turned the knot into tangible, physical pain.

“Cease your nattering,” Simon snapped as the guard began another sentence.

“I’m just saying, sir, it’s pretty disturbing.” The guard saw the look on Simon’s face and held up a hand to ward off the metaphorical daggers. “Okay, okay, forget I said anything. Here he is.”

Simon stopped outside the doorway as the guard swung the door open. The man gave Simon a puzzled look as he stayed still, but Simon paid no attention. He was checking himself; squaring his shoulders, lifting his head, straightening his spine, and militantly clasping his hands behind his back. He briefly fixed the guard with the cold stare he intended to keep on his stiff face for the remainder of his visit. Then, after three measured breaths, he walked into the room.

The man--the stranger--on the opposite side of the glass perfectly matched his surroundings. Clean. Unremarkable. Undecorated. Unfeeling. If Simon had seen him passing by on the street, he would have forgotten the face within seconds. If he had noticed him at all. But the moment Simon Blackquill walked into the room, the unremarkable stranger looked at him and smiled.

It was completely out of place on that bland face. It was a wide, rich, warm smile, showing off straight white teeth and expressing a familiar affection that sent a chill up Simon’s spine. 

“Mr. Blackquill! It really is you! Why, I almost thought a joke was being played on me when my guards informed me I had a visitor!” the phantom said as Simon stiffly sat down in the empty chair available to him. The bland man in the bland uniform and the bland room eagerly leaned forward.

“Stop it,” Simon said through his teeth. “If you’re trying to get under my skin or somehow garner sympathy, I can tell you right now that-”

“Oh! You misunderstand me, Mr. Blackquill. I apologize. I suppose I am putting on a good face--ha!--for your benefit, but it’s really mostly for myself!” The phantom sighed and frowned, briefly reaching up and touching his own cheek. “It’s so uncomfortable to be without my personalities, I... well. I suppose it’s... frightening.”

The phantom’s face moved and arranged itself in perfect expression of everything a normal person would emote during the words he spoke, but with the simplicity and blandness of the face, it lacked any true feeling. His eyes, however, were different.

There was a gaping void of terror behind those pale eyes as he said, “I can’t stand to be nothing in front of people.”

“Are you deaf? You will not garner sympathy from me, monster,” Simon growled, resting his hands flat on the counter before him. While the man before him felt the fear of emptiness, Simon’s insides boiled with fear of seeing something of substance.

“I have no more reasons to lie to you, Mr. Blackquill,” the phantom said softly. Perhaps consciously, perhaps not, he mirrored Simon’s posture and the position of the prosecutor’s arms. “I am a dead man now.”

“As you deserve.”

The phantom smiled a perfectly melancholy smile, and his eyes darkened with pain. “A hard judgement to hear from the man I so staunchly advocated to save from the very same fate! No, no, I know. An ironic thought. After all, Simon Blackquill is truly innocent and put his life down in the name of a friend, Bobby Fulbright is nowhere to be seen, and I was determined to see you to your execution or untimely death.” 

“Incredible. You’re capable of understanding the basics of your crimes.” Simon crossed his arms--then uncrossed them when the phantom did the same.

“I took no joy in trying to have you killed and my crimes kept hidden, Mr. Blackquill! I found your martyrdom to be quite pleasantly poetic, in fact. But one does what one must to ensure their survival.” The phantom tapped his index fingers together in a gesture too reminiscent of his former identity’s gesture.

“You killed my mentor. You killed untold innocents. Can you even comprehend the magnitude of what you’ve done?! Do you feel even the slightest remorse?!”

“No,” the phantom said, simply and without the slightest feeling in his voice.

“You disgust me.” Simon slammed a hand down on the table and stood, beginning to turn away. The guard by the door opened it.

“You were the only thing that made me feel anything besides the need for survival, Mr. Blackquill.”

Simon froze.

“Please try to understand, Mr. Blackquill.” The voice that came through the speaker was the voice of Bobby Fulbright, shaking slightly with fear and need. 

Slowly, Simon turned back toward the window, though he did not sit again.

“I realized... all too many years ago that there are no true limits in this world besides the laws of science. I could break this microphone and never speak to you again. I could commit suicide at this very moment, right in front of you. You could draw your blade and murder the guard behind you. There are no true reasons for you not to--only the reasons we, as human beings, impose upon ourselves.” The phantom slowly, delicately wrapped his arms around himself. His hands were neither long-fingered nor thick, neither bony nor fatty, but the pressure they applied to their arms was visible. “What is there to truly prevent us from committing acts of great beauty or monstrosity?”

“We are not without the substance of humanity. Morality and reservation are built upon humanity. Which you apparently lack,” Simon answered coldly.

“Can you show me humanity, Mr. Blackquill? Can you distill it to a visible form, put it in my hand, and demonstrate its solidity and immutability?” The phantom held his hands out as if to give Simon the opportunity to do just that. 

Simon answered the gesture with a look of hatred. “The mere fact you ask such questions proves your inhumanity and monstrosity.”

The phantom slowly returned to his self-hugging position. 

“I am in no position to say whether you’re correct or not, of course. But the essence of my point is unquestionable--there are so many possibilities that people don’t act on, bound only by what they consider... humanity. I chose to act without bounds, without reasons. I chose to just act. I chose and chose and chose, because once I let go, there were no reasons not to choose--there were no reasons not to act. I experienced a freedom that you can only understand as a concept, Mr Blackquill.” The phantom closed his eyes. Tears that had been welling up now slid down his cheeks.

Slowly, Simon sat back down. The words, the voice, and the tears drew his eyes to the phantom’s face, and he found himself unable to look away.

“Being able to feel was so inconvenient, so cumbersome, Mr. Blackquill. It was... upsetting, if I recall correctly. Isn’t that funny? So I put it away. I stopped feeling. There were no true reasons to stop me, after all! There was only my own sense of whimsy and ability! Oh, Mr. Blackquill... you can’t even begin to imagine the things I have done. You cannot imagine the joy and the pain I have given to others,” the phantom said. Bobby Fulbright’s voice sounded so small, so sad.

“You don’t know that,” Simon whispered.

The phantom gazed into Simon’s eyes, tears still running down his face. They slipped down his throat and dropped from his chin, leaving darkened circles on his plain clothing. The void behind those pale eyes threatened to draw Simon in and never let him back out.

“No,” the phantom murmured, “I suppose I don’t. Of course. For all your aloof glances, all your bitter words and insults, you cared for me. You were comforted by me. Weren’t you? The one man who refused to fail you.”

Simon could not quite swallow or speak past the lump in his throat. His vision blurred with barely restrained tears.

“Would it comfort you now to know that, on some level, I meant it? I, or Bobby Fulbright, whichever you may choose... As much as I felt anything, I felt sincere in my words to you.” The phantom lifted a hand and rested his fingertips against the glass at the level of Simon’s heart. 

“You killed my mentor. You would have killed her daughter. You meant to kill me. You lied to me. How can you say that?” Simon heard his voice shake despite his attempts to control himself.

“I told you, Mr. Blackquill. I can do anything if I so wish. And I wished to mean what I said to you. I wished to feel what I appeared to feel.” The phantom’s fingers curled against the glass and, finally, the pain in his eyes spread to the rest of his face. His mouth pulled into a trembling grimace and his brows lifted and knitted together.

“I wished so hard for you, Mr. Blackquill. I tried to remember what it was like to feel. I tried to remember what it was like to do things for real reasons.”

“Don’t,” Simon breathed, pushing himself back in his chair.

“I tried so hard to love you, Simon. I did. Please believe me.” The phantom was gasping now, practically clutching at the glass between himself and Simon. Bobby’s voice shook and cracked.

“Stop it.” Simon stumbled to his feet and stepped back, putting a hand to his mouth in some attempt to hold back his own feelings.

“Please, Mr. Blackquill. Simon. Please believe me. You did once, didn’t you?” Bobby’s voice rose in desperation and the phantom put his other hand to the glass. That plain, unremarkable face was twisted with fear, pain, and... 

No.

Simon turned away.

“No. Please. Please! It’s all I have left! It’s the only good thing I have left!”

Simon stumbled to the door, practically shoving the guard aside as he grabbed the door handle and swung it open. 

“You have to believe me, Simon! I love you!” Bobby screamed, pounding his hands on the glass. “Let me have this! Let me mean this one thing! I love you!”

The screams cut off as the guard shut the door. Simon ran down the hall, almost crashing into the door in front of him in his haste. He pulled it open with shaking hands and kept running.

[griffinsanddragons]

Unexpected Developments [Part One]

Amid an important investigation, Aveline needs Hawke to stay out of trouble and Anders reluctantly agrees to help her–for Hawke’s sake.

Her troubles, however, aren’t as simple as her friends believe.

AKA, That feel when you and the person you hate share a mutual friend who can’t stop doing shady things.

I’ve been gone because I’ve been sad, but I wrote a thing to share. 

Part 2 coming…eventually. 

Takes place sometime before ‘My Dearest Sister.’

Happy Reading.

The Guardsmen had two problems--the first filtered into the second. First was the body of the man laying dead on the ground and the second was the scrutiny of the Guard Captain.

As for the man, whoever killed him broke his nose; it sat bloody, bruised, and twisted on his face. 

Ghastly purple bruises sat right below his eyes and welts lined the rest of what might have been a handsome face before the beating.

“Let it be someone else’s problem!” His partner shot from the mouth of the alley. “He won’t be going anywhere.”

Sickly gray fog settled like smoke against the cold stone streets and buildings of their city, but the shining metal plate of a Templar could not be ignored despite the low visibility.

Someone, inevitably, would find him, run to the Guard or a Templar and The Captain would not be happy.

“Second one this week.”The Guardsmen sighed, recalling the lazy report written by the guard who found the first of the bodies.

Someone had to tell The Captain something–And it may as well be him.

Once the Templars were called to move and identify brother-in-arms, The Guardsman wrote a thorough report that pinned the murder on a random, Lowtown gang.

As suspected, however, Guard-Captain Aveline wasn’t happy.

“That’ll be all, Guardsman.” She dismissed him with a flick of the wrist.

Outside, he could hear the others whispering. He imagined them crowding behind the door and sharing looks of sympathy. No one, if they could help it, submitted their daily reports so early. 

“What will you do, Captain?” He asked, confused by the haunted look that took her stony facade away.

She recognized departed’s name.

“Search for answers.”

A search that would lead to the estate of an old, and frankly quite troubling, friend.

[Keep Reading]

Hawke’s attic, Aveline discovered some time ago, was the largest room her mansion had to spare.

The squatters, she assumed, transformed the space into a library of the magical, arcane, and smuggled Tevinter literature–the things any good Andrastian would burn or throw away. 

But Hawke preserved it all, keeping everything in place. 

She potted plants, however, and let them spread across the room without boundary: they grew wildly upon tables, hangers, hooks, and shelves, forming a bright, harmonious display–a stark contrast to her more recent moods. 

Hawke sat at the table in the center of the room with a solemn expression and deep, tired bags that dampened her umber skin’s glow. A book was laid before her, though she’d apparently given up on reading. Instead, she gazed across the room, looking out at the city through the attic’s dormer window. 

“Hawke,” Aveline greeted, “I see you’ve found that hobby we’ve discussed.” Contrary to her previous demeanor, Aveline spoke in a calm, friendly voice.

“Yes well–plants are far easier to deal with than people; I can replace them if they die and they won’t abandon you.” Hawke smiled through her words, biting back their bitter edge. She turned toward Aveline.

“Thinking about Bethany, I take it?”

“I’m always thinking about Bethany.”

The day she left for the Circle, (the same day Hawke, Varric, Fenris and Anders returned from their expedition of the Deep Roads,) Hawke confided in Aveline:

‘I’ve spent my whole life taking care of her,’ she confessed, her voice wavering, teetering back and forth like a ship at sea, ‘I fought so she wouldn’t have to, gave her everything I could, I-I’ve done everything to keep her from the Circle and now…I don’t know what to do. How do I-What do I do?’ Aveline didn’t have an answer–only leads: a job, a hobby…a cause she could believe in. Something to do to help soothe the grieving.

“Have you heard anything?”

“No. And I doubt I ever will.”

“Hawke-”

“You’re not here to help me wallow in misery, are you? I can do that fine alone, Aveline.” She looked down at the table, staring as though she found the polished wood interesting.

“No.” Aveline stood at the edge of the table as though moving any closer would cause Hawke to break. “I came to ask about this.” She waved the report before her, causing Hawke to look up again.

“It’s…a report, Aveline–written by a very bad speller,”

“The name, Hawke. You recognize it, don’t you?”

“Should I?”

“This isn’t the time for games. What do you know about this?”

“Nothing.”

“Did you, or whoever gave you the names of those Templars, do this? Did you have this man killed?”

“That does sound like something I’d do, doesn’t it?” Her voice was an awkward blend of dejection and whimsy, “But I’m hurt that you’d accuse me. Beatings aren’t really my style, you know that–they’re far too messy.”

“That isn’t an answer.”

“No Aveline,” Hawke sighed, “I did not have that person killed.”

“Continue.” The paper rustled as she folded her arms and searched Hawke’s expression for a tell that she was lying.

“And I didn’t beat him to death either.” 

“You truly expect me to believe it’s a coincidence both Templars we’ve found were involved in Bethany’s-”

“Abduction?” She cut her off, filling in the words bitterly. 

“Departure.” Aveline finished, prompting Hawke to scoff and rolled her eyes. 

How she acquired such information, Aveline didn’t know and Hawke had no interest in telling. All evidence pointed to Varric, however, who seemed to know just about everything happening in the city–but that didn’t matter, not yet.

What mattered was how adamant she’d been about extracting her vengeance then, and how she plotted their demise. It was only after Aveline reminded her of the promise she made to Bethany that Hawke backed down from her violent claims.

She wasn’t to do anything reckless.

“When you consider the brazen way they tend to rip apart families, I’m sure both those Templars made plenty of enemies–I wouldn’t be surprised if someone in one of the gangs had a mage for a father or a sister or something–it isn’t unlikely.”

Aveline narrowed her eyes, placing Hawke at the center of her dangerous gaze.

“That’s an oddly specific circumstance.”

“Shouldn’t you be asking these questions to the gangs down in Lowtown? You know, the ones who really did the killing?” Hawke smiled for the first time that day; it was a toothy, flagrant grin that didn’t make it to her eyes. Had it not been Hawke, that smile would have told Aveline all she needed to know about the case.

But she wanted to make things difficult.

“And besides, Aveline. The city really is better off without them. I’d like to think of these things as justice, for all the families they’ve torn apart and broken.”

The last thing Aveline needed was to play one of Hawke’s silly games–she wasn’t as charming as she’d like to believe–her words, however, gave Aveline another lead.  

Justice was her cue to look for answers elsewhere.

“You!”

Cracks of blue broke out across Anders’ skin in response to the harsh, angry tone of her voice. And as he turned to defend himself against the hostile intruder, his stone pestle fell and rolled across the floor.

Justice retreated back into the confines of their mind, however, when there was nothing in their line of sight to be afraid of.

It was only Aveline.

“Have you changed your mind about that salve? Or are you here to arrest me for something?”

“I might be.” She approached him at the table, glaring at she reached into her pack for the report she’d shown Hawke earlier. “What can you tell me about this?” She held the parchment before him, the top wrinkling beneath her tight, rigid grasp.

“It’s a report.” He sucked the air through his teeth, “clearly.”

“Read it, you ass.” He took the paper from her with a roll of his eyes and read the hurried, slanted script of a guard too frantic to check their spelling.

He recognized one of the names–it had been spoken in passing by one of his contacts in the gallows. They weren’t particularly cruel–but not particularly helpful either. 

“So a Templar is killed and I’m to take responsibility? Is it so surprising there are others who hate them in this city? Or are you so far gone you’ve taken to casting stones at the first apostate you see?”

“Shove it, Anders,” Aveline’s voice was sharp and firm, her underlying hatred of him clear as the sun on a summer day. “I spoke with Hawke–This is your damned influence isn’t it? Taking advantage of her to further your misplaced cause–is there anything you won’t stoop to?”

“Taking ad- you think Hawke did this? You think I asked her to?” He wasn’t sure what to address first: her adamant belief he held some sort of sway over Hawke’s actions, or the fact she referred to his cause, freedom for all mages, as ‘misplaced.’

“I believe she could have, with the right accomplice. ” She folded her arms across her chest and stood firmly on her beliefs. 

He scoffed.

“But you’ve no proof of anything.” Typical. “Then again, who needs facts when you’ve got the power to dictate the truth? Do you plan to arrest us together with your unfounded claims?” He’d fight her if he had to, though he hoped it wouldn’t come to that. Hawke trusted Aveline, though he didn’t fathom why, but he trusted Hawke. 

She’d never allow Aveline to take him.

“I plan to put an end to this before she, or anyone else, winds up dead.”

“And if she’s innocent?”

“Then I owe her an apology.” 

“I’d pay good coin to see that.”

“I’m sure.” She took the report from his hands and looked it over again. “If you’re as innocent as you claim, then help me.”

“Help you protect Templars? Should I check your head for injury?”

“Must you always be such a tit?” Was ‘basic civility,’ not a lesson taught in the Circle?

“I’m told it’s a part of my charm.”

“Ugh.” She rolled her eyes, “Just–talk to her.“  Aveline advised him, “she listens to you. What do you think happens if she’s caught? Or if anyone else turned their eyes to her? She may not be guilty, but this is where the evidence points. She needs to stay out of trouble and if she won’t listen to me, perhaps she’ll take advice from you.”

“Fine,” He agreed. “I’ll speak with her.” She was the first real friend he’s had since his time fighting alongside The Warden Commander and rest; Anders couldn’t see her rotting in some Templar dungeon or arrested for a crime she may not have even committed.

“That’s all I ask.”