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#the despair
thinkershipman · 1 year
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SHAUNA SHIPMAN: AN ORESTEIA
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pursemongerstuff · 10 months
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The highs versus lows of love
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cool-kink-sis · 6 months
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Asshole Inky
Got your attention with that title. I love the idea of an asshole Inky just fucking everything up, not accidentally. On purpose.
The Inky we see in the concept art that has Leilana in tears.
I want Sera reduced to swearing and crying, I want Solas losing his temper for the first time in since the veil went up, Cassandra becoming an alcoholic, Varric watching people get dragged down and held under the water to drown (no way he'd bring Hawke back if Inky was straight up full dictator), Vivienne pushed and her mask slipping into a snarl that she cannot pull back in time, Blackwall falling into depression cos now he's apart of something even worse than what he did before, Dorian gets ambushed by his dad and basically sent packing back to Tevinter, Cole just utterly outraged by all of this and making Inky forget him so he can try to fix things invisibly and Bull? I find it a lot more awful to imagine him trying to navigate keeping his men out of the suicidal missions the boss keeps sending them on.
Religious fanatics whipped into a frenzy, Inky is charming when he wants to be and terrifying when he's not.
I want Solas to loath him entirely but still be stuck because misery loves company and he and the others are stuck together for all of this a lot. So he still learns and grows but is it enough?
Also no way in rl would the Herald be allowed to run off constantly willy-nilly to race horses and shit so it would just be the main crew, all juggling their own shit and trapped with an asshole Inquisitor.
And what then?
Does Solas leave them to, not just the fate of the veil falling, but to the whims of a dictator?
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sportsallover · 5 months
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Sepp Kuss vs. Mathieu van der Poel is up next in the @favouritecyclistpoll, and this one is going to break my heart
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cvntdracvla · 2 years
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NAURRRRR
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remornia · 4 months
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Using tww anduin as a reaction image is so fucking funny
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senatushq · 5 months
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NAME. Prospero AGE & BIRTH DATE. Unknown GENDER & PRONOUNS. Male & He/Him SPECIES. Demigod ( Tiefling ) ABILITIES. Dark Arts & Fire Manipulation OCCUPATION. Unemployed FACE CLAIM. Santiago Cabrera
biography
Prospero had not been the first tiefling to be born from the union of an elf and a demon. He had been the second born in his small family in a small village that really meant nothing in the grand scheme of things. His father was of no importance to anyone other than the fact that he was a demon walking amongst the land they had inhabited. However, it would barely make a difference considering the people they lived around on a daily basis. Everyone was supernatural to an extent, but his parents had wanted a simpler life. Or at least his mother did. His father had different plans for how their life should turn out.
What once was a small village had turned into a kingdom that Prospero would always look at with wonder in his eyes. The grandeur of the architecture, the skies that sparkled above and the dirt that covered his feet always brought a smile to his face. It was a wonder why an abomination like him would always be in such a good mood, but Prospero had tried to look on the bright side. That was all he had when his brother was the complete opposite. His brother had been born several decades before he had and had more time to be bitter towards everything in the world. Meanwhile, Prospero had ended up trying to hone his magic that came to him naturally.
His mother had been a sun elf so it only seemed fitting that his ability would deal with fire manipulation. It had merely started with burning a few things he held dear to him. Sometimes it would be some toy that his mother had crafted for him as they sat in the privacy of his room. Sometimes it would be an insect that he saw crawling across the floor. Every time that had happened, it felt like his mother had given him a look. However, that look that she gave Prospero was never the same as the one she would give to his brother. There had been a change in the man he had called brother a long time ago, but it seemed even more noticeable now. Prospero wouldn't be able to tell that change had happened until things took a turn for the worst. He hadn't expected it to happen and he wanted to say he was surprised by his brother's actions, but he simply wasn't.
Prospero's brother had not been gifted with fire manipulation, but he had been gifted with something much more vile than that. The two brothers had always been so different, but their abilities were still volatile in nature. And that volatile nature flowed through his brother's veins and struck their father down. Prospero could remember the look on his father's face as their eyes met, blood trickling down his chin as a hole punched its way through his chest. He hadn't known at the time that his father had been completely eviscerated from the inside out with no way of inhabiting another body. After his gaze had lifted from that of his father's, they had met his brother's own cold one. A finger had lifted in his direction and it had felt like his feet had turned into cement. He hadn't realized he was running until he felt his hand in his mother's own.
Before he could even realize what he was doing himself, he had closed his eyes and they were in an entirely different place. Prospero had still felt like his feet were cemented to the floor, but he could remember the look in his mother's eyes as she held onto his face and told him of what had become of his brother, of her son. A god had taken a hold of him and they would do the same to Prospero if they got a hold of him, too. It was at that moment that he had felt the first bit of fear in his life for what would become of him. He had always thought himself safe under the watchful eye of his mother, but this was a god. They had killed his father and now they wanted him, too. He wasn't sure what the intention would be, but he could imagine that his hand would be forced to kill his own mother if that god was let in.
Regardless of that fear, he had tried to stay strong. His mother was doing her best to save him from spies that had clearly been sent to bring him in to his brother. She was stronger than he could ever be and he always wanted to make sure he was just as strong and he hoped he would be able to become even stronger. So he worked at making himself someone that could be feared by a god. Prospero wanted that god to suffer for taking his family away from him. His mother was still there, but they had been cut in half so much so that he could only feel resentment towards the gods. Were they not supposed to be people that looked out for them? It had turned out that they could only be vengeful and only looking out for themselves. That thought alone had awoken something dark within Prospero. From a young age, he had thought the bredth of his abilities only extended towards fire manipulation. His mother would be the one to tell him that there was a darkness within him that she tried to bury within him by taking away those memories in the midst of his sleep. The one thing she always knew though was that that darkness would take a hold of him no matter how hard she tried to shield him from it.
The best revenge is to not be like your enemy.
That was what his mother had told him, but Prospero had not listened. The magic that flowed within his veins had been pushed so far down that he had not been able to control it when the day came to face down the god that wore his brother's face. His mother had begged and pleaded for him to not go, but Prospero had willingly let himself get captured by those spies in order to get closer to his brother. What he did not expect when he got there was for his mother to be there, too. She had tried her best to let them take her instead. Prospero knew that wouldn't work though. She had always been saving him and now it felt like it was his time to save her. It seemed that one split second of thought had been her downfall though. Within a mere second, her throat had been cut open, ichor flowing from the wound and to the floor between them. That moment had been all he needed to lose all rational thought completely. The god was laughing at the moment and Prospero only saw red. With every bit of his being, the dark magic that he had never even known was truly there flew out of his body along with the fire manipulation that he had been accustomed to.
There was a brief moment of silence as the laugh that had fallen from his brother's lips abruptly ended and the other demigod's body fell the to the floor. That energy that had come from the god was now gone and replaced with absolutely nothing. Instead of focusing on that though, Prospero focused on the way that magic had felt in his hands when he had used it. The way the other demigod's body contorted and the way the fire burned the body from the inside out along with the rest of the people in the room with them. The only person left standing had been Prospero at that moment surrounding by bodies that had been eviscerated. When he looked down at one of the people that had been holding him, he caught their eye. He only turned his head for a brief moment to see his mother's body on the floor again before he looked back at the person on the floor. The fire burned its way through their throat to their head that melted its way through bone and skin and left a headless corpse in its wake. Prospero looked away and then moved to pick up his mother's limp body from the floor, stepping over the many bodies in his way as he exited.
He hadn't known he would have to bury his entire family, but Prospero had made a choice to use that darkness within him for good reason. Being a bad person was not something he wanted to be and he wouldn't let himself become that. However, there were people in the world that sacrificed everything for power. His brother had let that god in and it had taken family away from him for the rest of his life. That never meant that Prospero would let that rule his life though. With that god back in Uthenera where they belonged, he looked down at the grave he'd made for his mother, a separate one next to it for where he wished he could have put his father. Tears had not fallen that day, but he swore he would have been able to do so if he had not been so torn apart by what had transpired. The trauma had wormed its way through his veins just like the darkness and only fueled the hate he felt towards those that simply wanted power. It only fueled the hate he had towards those gods that took advantage of those people and promised them something that they simply would not give. They would all perish and Prospero would make sure of that.
So that was what he did with his life. Prospero had been alive so long that it felt like that was all he had ever done. Justice was something he was fond of making come to fruition, but it was never without a cost. With every spell he used, with every bit of magic that flowed from his fingertips, he felt his mind be slowly lost to him. His mind had never truly been his own. He'd felt that from the moment his mother had told him that a god had taken his brother, her son, from them. And it seemed it would never be his own for as long as he lived. Prospero would try though. Well, that was until he ended up being inhabited by a god from his place on a beach. It was upsetting to a degree he couldn't even quite fathom. Fifteen years, that god had taken control of him and made him do things he would never have dreamed of. And then everything that had happened was gone in an instant and he was back on that beach again.
The best revenge is to not be like your enemy.
That was what his mother had told him. But what if he was the villain? What if he wasn't the hero? Who would he be if not just an empty shell for the gods to take over whenever they wanted? No, Prospero would be much more than that. He wouldn't be someone that could be taken advantage of. He would not let himself just be full of despair. Prospero would make the gods wish that they had killed him when they had the chance. And that would be justice.
personality
+ charming, independent, witty - reckless, resentful, destructive
played by kenyer. est. she/her.
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aroacehanzawa · 2 years
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no but when i read this chapter the first time last year i literally had the same reaction as dr van helsing
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thatgirl4815 · 2 years
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All my tragic VegasPete scenarios don’t seem so bad now, huh?
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primoredial-jade · 2 years
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this story quest......................... contention for being one of the best im not even kidding MAN that was literally perfection
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panthermouthh · 4 months
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“Accursed creator! Why did you form a monster so hideous that even you turned from me in disgust?”
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aphel1on · 5 months
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i have such a love for characters who descend into madness or villainy out of deep, deep empathy. characters who fundamentally cannot cope with the cruel realities they find themselves in and blow up about it in spectacular fashion. fallen angel type characters with tears of outrage in their eyes. characters who break before they bend, and break so badly they splatter blood all over their noble ideals. every variation on it gets me so good
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gisdotnet · 5 months
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HES NOT A FUCKING TWINK HES A FUCKING BEAR!!!!!!
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blueboyluca · 10 months
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“When I first heard it, from a dog trainer who knew her behavioral science, it was a stunning moment. I remember where I was standing, what block of Brooklyn’s streets. It was like holding a piece of polished obsidian in the hand, feeling its weight and irreducibility. And its fathomless blackness. Punishment is reinforcing to the punisher. Of course. It fit the science, and it also fit the hidden memories stored in a deeply buried, rusty lockbox inside me. The people who walked down the street arbitrarily compressing their dogs’ tracheas, to which the poor beasts could only submit in uncomprehending misery; the parents who slapped their crying toddlers for the crime of being tired or hungry: These were not aberrantly malevolent villains. They were not doing what they did because they thought it was right, or even because it worked very well. They were simply caught in the same feedback loop in which all behavior is made. Their spasms of delivering small torments relieved their frustration and gave the impression of momentum toward a solution. Most potently, it immediately stopped the behavior. No matter that the effect probably won’t last: the reinforcer—the silence or the cessation of the annoyance—was exquisitely timed. Now. Boy does that feel good.”
— Melissa Holbrook Pierson, The Secret History of Kindness (2015)
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whaile · 2 years
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late summer / early fall thoughts
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