again i must ask

thanks to Omen trailer now i can draw mooore sad things >:D


sans: …yeah. i wouldn’t tackle tori in any way if i were you.

Toriel: Hmm, my ears are a little sensitive, but not as much as Sans’ ribs, right~? It makes him all flustered!

Black Consciousness presupposes self-love; self-love presupposes reflecting on being passed over in relationships

Note from BW of Brazil:

Well I must say that it is now getting interesting! What I’m speaking on is an increasing number of Afro-Brazilians, normally women, but increasingly men, who are questioning how romantic choices are made, what certain choices say about the black community as a whole and the effect on how Afro-Brazilians relate to each other. The issue goes far beyond the common question of how it seems some black men and women choose partners of another race and enters into the sphere of simply love, support and unity among black people. Is there a problem here or are people simply making a bigger deal out of this than is necessary? I ask this question as I am increasingly reading material online suggesting that there is a peaking fissure between black men and women in both Brazil and the United States. I’ve been thinking about this for many years and today I read a post by my friend Daniela whose shared a recent personal incident that touched on another angle of the lack of unity between black men and women.

Note cont.
Daniela is a black Brazilian woman but the incident took place in Austin, Texas, in the United States. Having grown up in the US, I can honestly say that just 10 years ago, most black men wouldn’t have sided with a white man over a black woman who felt offended by the actions of that white man. The incident has nothing to do with a romantic relationship but it does fit into the ongoing discussion because it approaches the issue of how black men see black women and begs some basic questions. Do we have each other’s backs? Are we in this together? Do we have any unity? Or are we slowly being conquered by a discourse that says “we’re all equal” in terms of race, color and solidarity? As I’ve argued before, Brazil has been there for years, but we are increasingly seeing this idea becoming stronger in the US. With that said written, I must again ask, in what direction are we going black people?

Black Consciousness presupposes self-love; self-love presupposes reflecting on being passed over in relationships

Among so many themes we could write together, and they’re not few, we decided to revisit a thorny subject. Every time a new text appears on the issue of the black woman’s affective loneliness, the black side of the internet goes into a rampage. Black men, in their vast majority, run to say that black women are also palmiteiras, or else to reinforce that they are not palmiteiros. Not to mention the discourse that love has no color. But if it does not, if the diagnosis that black women experience loneliness in a brutal way is a fallacy, how could Ana Clara Pacheco even write a doctoral thesis addressing this topic?

By Winnie Bueno and Caio César 

The social passing over of which black women are targets is not restricted to the labor market alone, they expand to all spheres of society, including in the affective sphere. We have already written about these issues relentlessly. But it’s little. The narratives about the deep feeling of loneliness among black women don’t diminish, on the contrary, it seems, although we are increasing our possibilities to recognize ourselves as subjects, distancing ourselves from the logic that Frantz Fanon explains in Pele Negra, Máscaras Brancas (Black Skin, White Masks) that approaches the connection of citizenship with the performances of whiteness on the part of the black population, even with the strengthening of the black racial identities, nevertheless, black women continue dealing with the feeling of insufficiency.

The idea of this text is to bring a hybrid approach, in which it is possible in a single writing to reflect on the consequences of affective loneliness for blackness in a broad way. It’s necessary to say that affective solitude is not restricted to the passing over of the black women in the affective relationships of the dating and marriage type. The socio-cultural aspect of this question goes beyond the private of the relationships. And that’s where we want to start this dialogue. 

I believe that addressing the subject of loneliness is speaking directly, also, to black men. Talking about how much these men can love and be loved. And understand that this passes, first, through loving oneself, your culture, your people. It goes through understanding imposed masculinity, the stigmas and the stereotypes. Every masculinity that the world imposes on men falls even more heavily on black men. The necessity of being strong, hard, rigid all the time. Not showing emotions, or weakness or feelings. And this reflects also in loving relationships. On how treatment is given between men and women, especially black women. Add to this the construction of the black man’s image as a threat by international society.

Homens negros (black men) are the image of the enemy, that that is regarded as a voracious, uncontrollable animal, which, if not controlled by the coercive force of the state, can at any moment unleash their natural violence (see note one). The idea that these men need to be isolated from society so that it is protected is the projection of a discourse that has such an ideological force that even blackness is conditioned to perpetuate these ideas. Therefore, the deconstruction of this ideology between us is fundamental. Branquitude (whiteness), the media, the white social structure will not do this, it maintains itself from these assumptions and draws power from them. Of them there is not much to expect, but among us, it is possible to potentiate these reflections, talk about them and reduce their impacts on our social relations. 

The solidão da mulher negra (solitude/loneliness of the black woman inevitably passes through the way men see themselves within society and within relationships. All the imposed roles, the social rules, everything, everything counts on how we act next to a woman. Bringing a racial perspective, I have always observed how romanticism didn’t belong to black men. This was like showing weakness, being less of a man. I remember liking to write letters, I remember the other boys saying that this was not a coisa de homem (man thing). It was as if this was denied to me, love was denied me. I remember hearing countless times that “homens negros não são românticos” (black men are not romantic) and things like that. And that is one of the most rigid molds in the male world. Romanticism, the romantic lyric, is absolutely European. It doesn’t match the patterns of bestiality that these same Western standards relegate to black masculinity.

Caio remembers the letters he liked to write. Winnie remembers the letters she would like to have received and never received. While the meninas brancas (white girls), back in high school, were getting pretty notes, Winnie helped the boys demonstrate their interests. She wrote in the letters that were sent to her colleagues, that which she would like to read. The discovery of sexual and affective interests in school age, the narratives of mulheres negras (black women) about their being passed over in this environment, shows that from an early age we have the construction of an image about black women that fixes their social roles in sexual-affective relations. As servants, to serve in domestic activities, to serve fetishized sexual desires, but never to build solid relationships, after all, they are bodies without minds, in the words of bell hooks.

This idea, of a mindless body, is what underlies a series of patterns about relationships. And it is also what constitutes the phenomenon of palmitagem, these men who are constantly described as threats imprint on their unconscious that the affection of a white woman consensually destroys this paradigm. We know, therefore, that not only does it not eliminate it, it strengthens the contexts that represent black women as bodies-objects whose affection is not necessary. After all, if not even their equals are able to bond with these women, how will others do it? 

When you add this to an imposed standard beauty, we may have the least notion of why black women are so abused. Black men taught that demonstrations of feeling are weaknesses; taught that relating to white women brings them a higher status in society, more value and respect among friends. Men, who for not seeing value in black women, deny themselves the demonstrations of feeling. Because loneliness is not only the absence of someone at your side, but also the devaluation of those who say they love us. It is also the one without the use of derogatory jokes, about hair, hips and moodiness. Homens negros que, ao odiarem mulheres negras, odeiam a si mesmos (black men who, hating black women, hate themselves). In this constant is that the social ascension of the black man connects itself with the choice of a white partner, even though of an inferior financial status. Obvious that this phenomenon in Brazil occurs in a mitigated way, the social ascent of black men is insignificant, it occurs almost exclusively from the same means. But to make invisible (the fact) that black men who achieve some social prestige, even if it is hypocritical, since whiteness does not recognize this prestige in a total way, whether in the midst of entertainment or in the academic world, give almost exclusive preference to relating to white women would be, at the least, dishonest.

The affectionate loneliness of the black woman expands. The permanent feeling of solitude is common for black women, to the point of being a constant. We know that we are meant for emotional solitude, yet we are at a time when strategies are being built among black women themselves to overcome the anguish of loneliness. Other forms of affection that are not based on these historical repetitions, but this is a conversation for another text.

The key here is to try, once again, insistently, to talk about the need for mutual recognition, for ways of achieving self-love between us and upon us. The full appreciation of your equal, the consolidation of forms of love that establish themselves from the possibility of affection by the feeling of affection, and only for that. An affection in which the appreciation of negritude is possible. Loving not for interest, not for being with someone who gives us, before society, a value that is empowering of our wills as subjects, of all of them. Love for love of ourselves. Love for self-love. 

Source: / @winniebueno

Note: Examples of this stereotype are numerous in Brazil as well as on a global level. For examples in terms of representations in Brazil’s media 


Laconic (Kuroo Tetsurō)

Originally posted by shouyou-sunshine

Summary: In a world where everyone’s first words to their soulmate are tattooed on their soulmate’s forearm, you are cursed with the vaguest, most simplistic tattoo in history. And you hate the word “hey.”

Genre: Fluff + Soulmate!au

A/N: This is my first fic for an anime and I’m not even an anime blog (whoops lmao) but I saw @lazyhaikyuu’s post and I just couldn’t help myself!! Enjoy the 2.8K words :)

Keep reading

potatoes-tomatoes  asked:

Could you please do prompt #14 with botw zelink? I loved their chemistry in the game and I know you can do them justice ❤👍

This nails them to a ‘T’ in my opinion. Whether it’s botw or another game, I feel this hits they’re characters well enough for me to not have to strain so much to stay in character.

Thank you, I’m going to enjoy this :3


Zelda walked pristinely with her head down in long, slow strides down her castle halls.

Link, being ever faithful, remained close behind her.

This wasn’t new to them. After her father had ordered her to fixate the rest of her time on her prayers, she was soon found moping around the castle, having come back from previous praying.

She remained silent, almost as silent as the dusk, as the sun began to set.

Link kept up her pace, but looked down.

Something inside him told him something was wrong,… and he should say something.

Often remaining silent about his feelings upon everything, he wondered how long she would remain under silence…

The silence wasn’t new to him, but he knew it was silently paining her inside.

She was usually cheerful about the things she liked.


He stopped walking a moment, and Zelda broke her stride, turning behind her.


He remained looking to the side, outside the window, spotting something that completely took over his interests.

She paused a moment, before turning around, her dress carrying the motion. “What’s wrong, Link..? What do you see?” she turned to the window, and then back to Link, walking towards him.

“Has something caught your eye?”

He continued to stare…

Suddenly, he rushed forward, startling Zelda. “Ah! Link!” she faltered back, before stumbling to rebalance herself and ran towards the window.

He placed a foot up on the ledge, and jumped, looking determined as he flew downward with his arms out wide.

“Liiink!” she rammed herself against the edge of the windowsill, and looked around, worried.

When she saw him rushing to the garden, her eyes widened in shock, not sure what he was doing, and quickly darted to the stairs, lifting her dress up and hurrying to find out-

“What on earth had possessed you to-!?” she looked pretty angry, but mostly surprised and panicked with worry, before stopping in mid-sentence and stride, lifting a hand up.


Link had picked a flower for her.

He held it with a neutral expression on his face, then nodded his head and walked towards her.

Bending to one knee, he ducked his head and held it out for her to accept.

Her eyes delicately stared down in wonder at the flower, before smiling kindly and tilting her head, understanding his true intent.

“Link…” she drew forth her hand, and lightly took the flower from his hand, barely skimming her fingers against his own.

He lightly blushed from the sensation of it, but with his head down, no one could tell.

He rose it up, as if half expecting her to acknowledge it, but knew he was probably just thinking oddly and shook his head, quickly getting up from kneeling.

He readjusted himself as she smiled even more warmly towards the flower, and held it up to her nose.

“…Link, have you been paying attention to my herbal lessons?” She tilted her head, a slightly cheeky look coming on her face.

He honestly didn’t know what she was talking about, and put a hand up behind his head, scratching it.

“Hmm… I guess not.” she turned around, facing her back to him.

“..This flower… is called Love Eternal.”

“Wa-ah!” he seemed to trip on her words, before regaining himself.

Had he just accidentally confessed!?

She giggled lightly, a breathy one, before lightly touching the petals of the flower.

“It’s said that when women are too shy to say it, since the tradition has always stood that men do those honors first… that they plant these in their gardens and flowerbeds… a silent invitation for him to propose.”

She lightly turned her head back to Link, nodding some comfort to him, but still teasing him.

“I assumed you didn’t know. It’s alright. I thought it was very cute, and awfully funny of you. Thank you… Link. It did make me feel better.”

Her kindness… her gentle reassurance not to worry…

His shoulders fell as he lowered his arm from being raised, and looked down, nodding in his embarrassment.

“Please, don’t act so modest. I honestly felt flattered.” Zelda closed her eyes and smiled, nodding another reassurance for him not to worry.

“Now then.” she lowered her hands, keeping the flower tightly in one of them.

She regained her natural dignity, and looked seriously back to the castle. “Father has forbidden me to leave the castle walls if not for the sole purpose of my prayers… we should return before he suspects us of any treason against his words…”

Link looked up.

He realized how much she held back.. the true pain at saying those words.

Even his adventurous spirit felt trapped and coped up here… but it was more than just tolerable, because he was protecting the princess.

So long as he had the princess….

On her way to her quarters, Link stopped once again.

“…” Zelda turned her head once more, “Link,…”

He looked out the window.

“..You’re not planning to jump out of the window again are you?” Zelda smiled, turning around, “I swear, Link.” she giggled, “You almost gave me a heart attack last time.”

He looked back at her, and smiled kindly, before looking apologetic.

He then lowered his head.


He closed his eyes, deeply looking troubled and saddened.

“…What ever is the matter?”

Zelda walked back towards him, and waited in front of him.

When his eyes slowly opened, but didn’t look to her, she lightly raised a hand, but never fully touched him.

He looked up, following the gesture.

“…I know you’re worried about me.” Zelda looked understanding, and with every ounce of a gentle loving friend, she spoke again, “And I must ask you to keep enduring for me.”

“A-ah…” he voiced out, stepping to balance himself more.

She knew?

She looked down, turning her head away, and placing her hand holding the flower up against her chest.

“I understand you feel at a loss… wanting to help me, but not being able to disobey orders.”

He held his stare, but closed his mouth tightly.

“I’m sorry, Link… I truly do hope you know…” she looked back up at him, her pleasant face always sending a feeling through him… but he just wasn’t sure what to call it.

His eyes quickly darted to the flower, before blinking back up at her fast as instantly as he had glanced.

“I enjoyed the confession today.” She mischievously beamed.


She laughed, seeing his over-exaggerated expression.

She held another hand over her mouth, bending down and then slowly coming back up, enjoying his hilarious expression and reaction.

“Oh, Link! Haha, forgive me, haha! I couldn’t help but repeat myself again. Haha!”

She was smiling… she was genuinely laughing… at least that was enough.

Link continued to turn, embarrassed.

Later that night, as she slept silently in her bed, Link stood by her window.

He held his sword out in front, down to the floor, as his hands rested on it’s hilt.

In the shadows, he turned from his position of guarding to stare at her a moment… and the Love Eternal flower, glistening in the moonlight.

He slowly walked over to it.

Then bent down by Zelda’s side, looking over at her calm, peacefully sleeping face.

He leaned down, a quiet voice in her dreams…

“What if… I did..?”

She lightly stirred as wind passed by her ear.

the curtains of the open balcony window lightly draped over the moonlight, revealing the beautiful landscape of Hyrule outside.


The flower lightly dropped a petal from it’s watery glass.

“…Love you.”

Zelda felt something warm and slightly moist upon her cheek, but never spoke of the dreamed voice sense.

(Got a little AU at the end there. I should have just ended with, instead of ‘what if I did?’ to “Always” huh? May have kept it fully in character canon, lol)


Leia introduce Luke to Lando in the Falcon, and tell Lando why Vader was looking for Luke (or why she thought Vader was looking for him anyway) very pointedly, to remind him that it’s his fault Luke is in this state and that she’s still very angry with him

and Lando feels guilty because Luke really doesn’t look so good, so he tries to defuse the situation how he knows best by complimenting Luke (and flirting just a little because the guy’s cute ok sue him) 

 “So you’re the pilot who destroyed the Death Star ?” and then with an appreciative smile “No one said you were so beautiful” 

and Luke, ok, Luke just had his encounter with Vader and is all bloodied and injured and he’s pretty out of sort and also more important he’s not as used to being complimented that way unlike Leia and Lando’s smile is very nice so he kind of just freeze and looks at Lando incredulously and then blushes and stutter when he tries to say thank you

and Lando feels even worse now, he thought that Luke would either laugh or glare at him, he didn’t expect the guy to be so shocked and didn’t want to make thing even more awkward 

so he just kind grip Luke’s shoulder, catch his eyes and tell him with every once of sincerity he has in his body  

“I’m sorry”

both for the inappropriate flirting and for helping Vader set a trap to catch him is left unsaid

but for a moment Luke feels like Lando is commiserating with him about Vader being his father and he suddenly really wants to burst into tears and get hugged by the beautiful man with the nice smile

but that would be even more awkward and require several explanations he’s not prepared to give so instead of that he simply duck his head and tell Lando that it’s ok and that he understands

and he does

he probably should feel angry he knows

he can feels Leia anger hanging like a stormy cloud over the room

but he has pretty much exhausted all his emotions right now and he can see things logically, and Lando had to protect his city

either way it’s not his fault

it was Fa-Vader’s 

That’s pretty much when the shock hit Luke again and his eyes become unfocussed and his breath hitch and it becomes clear to the others that Luke isn’t really there with them anymore

Luke miss Lando watching him with concern, and Leia pushing him into a seat and Chewbaca’s mournful moan, and Lando putting his cape on his shoulder when he starts to shiver

but later on, he’ll realize that he still have the cape and when he’ll knock on Lando’s door to give it back he’ll remember Lando smiling at him and calling him beautiful, and feel a small flutter of nervousness and excitement in his stomach

Alison Clues by Episode - “Grave New World”

This whole episode just seems so much like Alison playing another big game with the Liars. She spends the whole night leading them around Ravenswood, only to end up back in Spencer’s yard, miles away. If she knew they were looking for her, which she must have, why not save them the trouble of chasing her around for hours and just reveal herself to them as soon as possible? What harm would that have done?

What the hell is this message? Are we supposed to think that Alison wrote this? That’s odd, considering no one is actually after her or trying to hurt her. Could she have written this note as another way of tricking the Liars into thinking she’s in danger?

And again I must ask…what the hell is this recording? That’s obviously Ali, but once again, this doesn’t make any sense because no one is actually after her, and no one ever has been. Who was she talking to or about, what friends was she referring to, and why haven’t we gotten an answer? This whole thing screams cliche and fake.

Alison peering through the window at Hanna is really suspicious, too. She’s grabbed by the gas mask person, whether Ezra or someone wearing the same costume, and that person apparently just lets her go immediately without doing anything? And they both vanish before Miranda enters moments later, without any harm coming to Ali? Unlikely. It’s so obvious to me at this point that Alison has been orchestrating all of this, setting up the narrative through the “help me” message, the frightened recording, and now this, that she’s in dire trouble.

How did Alison get back to Rosewood so quickly? Ravenswood is at least a few towns over, and yet by the time the girls get back, she’s waiting for them. That would be impossible on foot. She must have had help…like other members of the A team, perhaps?

What does she mean, about Hanna and the hospital? She must be referring to the girls knowing what happened to her “that night,” which is completely untrue and she knows it. Once again, Ali is perpetrating all sorts of lies about what happened to her, almost like she’s doing it on purpose.

Wow, Prowl, you aren’t as much of a loser as I thought.

Nice to see you new guys: @lifotni @toyonlycharacter @thegreyturtle @lick-anon-number-what @autobotwheelie and @hazeinmoonlight

omfg i just came home and-

?? ????? I didn’t even post anything interesting?? Let’s check the inbox-

don’t worry anon everything is fine I’m putting a fic rec post together right now shhhh take deep breaths you are okay just- *wraps blankets around you* *hands you a cookie* - it’s all good you’re okay there is no rush,,,,

((while you’re waiting you can take a look at the author rec post I made some time ago?? and my general fic rec tag of course, always the fic rec tag))

To All The Ladies

Once again I must ask for your forgiveness by the hassle the other me’s are doing around this website.

Somehow I’ve managed to control the situation. However, I can’t garantie it’ll last much given to the other me’s incapaccity to be able to shut up, so if it unlashes again, I’ll try to take control of it as soon as possible, so I beg for your patience.

All this being said, I hope you can accept my heart and body as compensation for this trouble. You are all really hot and I love you.

Sincerely, the real and only Sanji.

ofsmaragd  asked:

( sorry it took so long to send, but hmmm. My favorite Pokémon would be Vaporeon, hands down :3 )

aaa no problem at all!! like i said in my rules, it’s not mandatory at all but i appreciate it! c: and AAAA i love vaporeon??? it’s not my fav pokemon _but_ it is my second fav eeveelution, behind jolteon! c:

It’s been two years. The Inquisitor reunites with his companions (sans Solas)

Cassandra is still with the Inquisition. The Seekers of Truth have become an elite force within the army of the Inquisition. Cassandra has built them up from scratch and reformed them. No more questionable rituals, no more shady activities. The Seekers of Truth have finally become a beacon of goodness for the world. She seems calmer, happier, smiles hushing across her face far more often than before. Until the madness started all over again, she was genuinely happy. Now she sees how the Inquisitor suffers, how he wants to hide it from her, but nothing can decieve her. But she knows this is how he wants to deal with the situation, by pretending nothing is wrong. At night though, when the pain in his hand becomes stronger, she feels how he holds her tighter than usual, as if clinging to her for his life. It makes her sad.

The wooden doors creak ominously as the Inquisitor enters the rebuilt Hanged Man in Kirkwallt. The light inside is a dark orange and flickers across the room, accompanied by the smell of booze and smoke and the sound of muffled conversation. One voice though is booming throughout the tavern, catching everybody’s attention, every guest clinging to the words coming from Varric: “So there we were, finally entering the Inner temple, when - and I shit you not - the witch suddenly turns into a raven and flies after the ancient elf!” He pauses dramatically and lets his gaze glide through the room, until it lingers on the new guest. “Well, my friends, it appears this is a tale for next time. Looks like the world needs me back”, he sighs and drains his cup. “Not the world”, the Inquisitor says and holds his hand up, a faint green glow shining even through the thick leather gloves, “Just me”.

Something seems weird, when Sera enters the tiny hut in the slums outside of Val Royeaux, where she sleeps when on Red Jenny business. Something’s off and she can’t quite tell what, until she spots the glass jar on the tiny table in the middle of the room, filled to the brim with cookies and the letter placed neatly next to it, reading I‘m sorry to drag you into this mess all over again. I know how much you hate demons and magic but I must ask you to return to Skyhold once more. I need you, Sera, more than you may think, but if you don’t want to return, I can understand that as well… Sera never finishes reading the rest of the letter, she simply grabs her bow and arrows and heads out of the city, wild determination in her eyes.

Warden Thom Rainier, Blackwall no more, enters his quarters in Weisshaupt after a long day on the battlements. It’s been two years, but he still chooses to sleep in the tiny barracks he was given on his first day. He notices the shadow in the corner of the room, but pretends not to, he simply takes his helm off, leaving his long hair to fall over his shoulders. Without turning around, he grins slightly, as he says: “It’s been a while”, and the figure in the corner steps out of the shadows. “My lady”, is all he can whisper, before his voice breaks away and he pulls her into a longing embrace.

Another brawl in a tavern, the Iron Bull reminds himself never to let Skinner wander off drunkenly again, now the Chargers find themselves surrounded by a dozen extremely angry thugs. “Ah for fuck’s sake, we’re just trying to have a drink! Don’t turn this into a bloodbath again!”, he calls out to them, but too late, they attack. The fight is short and bloody, at the end of it, the tavern is filled with a dozen corpses and the Chargers find themselves thrown out. Not having a place to stay the rest of the night, they stalk the streets of the city, searching for a comfy backalley, until all of a sudden Bull hears a rather familiar voice: “What’s this? A lost Bull and his kids?” He smiles widely as he turns towards the owner of the voice. “YOU!”, he shouts with a booming voice and runs towards the Inquisitor. “Bull, don’t!”, somebody shouts, but he doesn’t care, he hoists the Inquisitor up and pulls him into a passionate kiss, not noticing the eyes of the entire street on them. They part from each other panting and he says “It’s been far too long, Kadan”.

The floors of the Imperial Palace in Val Royeaux is filled with the clacking of high heeled shoes, as two women hurry down a corridor. One of them is holding a staff, walking confidently, head held high, the other hushes behind her, trying to convince her to stay ”But… Madame Vivienne! You can’t leave! The Empress specifically said…!” “Hush, darling, Celene knows rather well that she cannot refuse the Inquisition. Nor will I let her step between me and my friend.” “But she said...” “Now now, dear, don’t you worry your pretty little head about it. Just run along now and let me do what I do best.” The handmaiden frowns beneath her mask and suddenly she doesn’t hide the spite in her voice anymore: “And what would that be, Madame de Fer?” The Imperial Enchantress simply chuckles, turns away, continues her stride and answers: “Saving the world, darling”.

 “Pain, green, glowing, crawling into my skin, burning, consuming, eating away at my flesh. How long have I still got? You need me and now I am here. I want to help you. Startled the Inquisitor looks up from the batch Elfroot she was just examining in the gardens of Skyhold. There he stands before her, as if not a day had past. “Cole? Is it really you?” The boy smiles. “I am me and you are you, though part of you is fighting the other. There’s a long path ahead, winding, warping, twisting through here and there and back here again, but don’t worry, you don’t have to walk it alone. I am here now. I can help”. And just like that, he walks to his old place in the attic of the tavern at Skyhold, as if he was never gone.

His brow quivers with rage as he stares at the Inquisitor angrily. “’You’ve grown your hair longer’?! Months of silence, no letter, no note, not even the slightest whisper from you and now that?! My hair is longer?!!!” “Dorian, I…” “’Hello Dorian, the weather is fine down here and by the way my hand is slowly killing me, please come immedietly’ There. Not so difficult now, is it?” The Inquisitor looks down at his glowing hand, avoiding Dorian’s gaze “I knew you’d come if you found out. After all you’ve built up in Minrathous, I didn’t want you to throw it all away for me”. At that Dorian can’t hold up the facade any more, he rushes through the room towards the Inquisitor and pulls him into an angry kiss. “For you I’d throw all of Thedas away, Amatus”, he whispers, blushing, then he turns away and starts unpacking several stacks of books and scrolls. “Now, I do hope you’ve finally restocked your library. I think there’s something by Partarus on flesh-consuming spells, we’ll have to have it sent here from the grand library in Minrathous, but no worries, the bookeeper there still owes me several favors, it’ll be here in no time” and with that Dorian heads straight to the library of Skyhold.

i have a coworker who is training me as a line cook and he’s v socially awkward but amicable and he’s got the hair and mannerisms of the nerd boy dale cooper, it’s no exaggeration he does the thumbsups and talks about coffees the same ways and whatnot, anyways all he seems to do other than work is read and he’s talked to me about how george orwell came to his socialist politics thru his experiences in london paris and spain and what the working class is, anyways he was gleefully explaining to me how we need to scrub the walls and bleach the equipment at the restaurant twice a week, making it spotless only to dirty it again almost immediately, i asked who it was that said “we must imagine sisyphus happy”, he said Sartre tho google says Camus, and i proposed to him the hot meme: “we must imagine sisysphus hella swole” and he and one or two of the servers who overheard all shared a big ol’ laugh, it was good