#almost blind playthrough

[sheyri]

We're making progress!

The last couple days were spent stargazing and loosing my mind.

I decided to go for the drug guys in the swamp, because they sound fun and interesting. But I got stuck almost immediately. No idea what to do and in the rare cases I did, it didn't work out.

But today, after getting beaten up by Harlok over and over again, I decided to listen to google and head back north to level in the forest there.

Along the way I discovered how to cook meat, collected my daily ration of Fleischwanzenragout, gathered everything I could find and butchered lots of scavengers and molerats. I even met a minecrawler! (I died)

And finally I had enough money to buy some stylish armour at the gates to the swamp camp! I even found a better weapon and leveled one-handed!

Turns out, if you don't try and brute-force your way with an old piece of metal that you barely know how to hold, you can actually achieve things! Maybe I'm not hopeless after all!

[amischievouscat]

I have decided to write a Skyrim fic about my OC as I go through my first full playthrough. yes I have never played Skyrim all the way through. yes it's great so far.

[bluupxels]

during inquisition -> post-trespasser

i’ve known what i wanted belathanni to look like post-trespasser since the beginning but actually seeing it....

[ofwolvesandshatteredshields]

Was trying to convince an indecisive friend to get back into BG3. He was in Act 2 but put the game down after 113 hours to play other stuff and hasn't had the wherewithal to pick it up again. Him: "Act 2 is just so intimidating"

I decided not to tell him about Act 3 LMAO

[canarydarity]

Hard to tell how indicative the bones on the floor are of anything about the catacombs themselves being how, every few minutes, Pix kills another skeleton adding to the collection. He swipes his sword through the one before him, and it collapses so readily into a pile of bone—like it was made to, like it was just waiting on his sword—that he has to wonder, not for the first time, what was holding it together to begin with. The bones rattle and clatter against those already littered around, and Pix sighs at the further disturbance to the scene as it was when he had entered; accounting for the damage likely done by mobs was going to make this hell to study. 

He grabs another torch and sets it inside one of the empty sconces that still adorn the walls, readjusts his grip on his sword—he can hear more lingering around the next corner; the low hiss that means a spider is near, the groan or two of a zombie. 

Pix picks up a chunk of cobble from the ground and tosses it down the hall, waits. Sure enough, out scuttles a spider. He disposes of it quickly enough, but it seems he’ll have to venture down the dark hall to goad the zombies. He glances at the clock he placed in his hotbar before embarking on this mission (it’s hard to tell how much time passes underground—something he learned quickly in his line of work). There’s still a good amount of daylight left, and he wants the catacombs cleared; he has other projects he has to move on to, things he needs to finish; he’ll just get through a few more halls—it won’t be an issue, surely. 

But the new corner he rounds remains dark even as he places a torch behind him to mark the way back. The groans can still be heard, but a zombie is yet to lumber his way, and so he has to wonder what's beyond his admittedly limited sight. Pix shuffles another foot or so forward, a torch in his non-dominant hand now as well, hoping for light, for vision. The research part of him—the logical academic—knows that it shouldn't still be this dark with the torches placed behind him nor the one in his hand, and that part is so much louder and more important than the one that knows this means something is wrong, the part that says turn around. 

The torch is lit, he can feel the heat of the flame as he observes it flicker in and out but cast no shadow on the wall behind—a wall Pix can’t even see but knows is there all the same. The circle of light provided extends no further than an inch or two out from the flame itself—comparable more to that of a birthday candle than a lit hand torch. If he hadn’t been staring directly at it, he would’ve assumed the fire snuffed out. 

He feels his eye twitch and his brows furrow. Academia liked concrete answers, things that could be explained and reasoned away—unequivocal proof. But Pix had always had a soft spot for the inexplicable, the ineffable. It was nice when he studied something and found an answer, it was riveting when he didn’t. How much more exciting to study it again and again, a riddle that begged not to be solved. (How much sweeter the prize if he were the one to figure it out in the end). 

His interest was piqued. He could feel it, the way his attention focused and his surroundings blurred and left him; his body on standby, his sword hand lowered almost subconsciously.  

In other words, it was entirely his own fault when the zombie grabbed him. Panic is never a good thing to welcome into a fight, but it likes to show up uninvited anyway. Pix's entire career revolves around studying human behavior, about how human nature cannot be fought against though it oft leads us to our own downfall and ruin. He finds it uncanny when he's reminded that this is a phenomenon from which he is not exempt. 

In haste, he elbows the zombie behind him and turns, back now to the darkness—the one not even his torch could dent. It’s an ugly bugger, eyes soft and misshapen from decay and skin so leathery it’s as if it's been treated and is ready for use as a saddle or armor. Logic replaced by horror, before he can run it through it advances, arms out, and Pix drops his sword to reach back, holding it at arm's length itself; their arms interlocked, pose not unlike meeting an old friend again for the first time in a while. His hands grip the woven fabric of what's left of its shirt, too old and worn to be from any time close to recent, and, despite the very real danger, his mind takes the time to process the period-accurate fabric, the hand-stitched design. He blanches again as he looks into its horrible milky eyes—this zombie was from the capital. 

Not sentient enough to know why it’s not actually getting any closer to Pixlriffs, the zombie makes a noise that sounds frighteningly human in its frustration and steps forward, and in his distraction, Pix lets it. The push seems to make his brain function yet again, and he shoves the zombie backward a good few paces away, but the momentum sends him stepping back himself, and his foot finds not purchase but, instead, the disturbing lack of solid ground, and with nothing left to do, he falls. 

He hits the ground with a thump and a crack and a lot of other sounds he would rather not describe as he feels they were likely very undignified. Winded but, it appears, still in one piece, he grabs another torch and strikes it against the wall, holding it up above him when it lights and shines this time as torches normally do. He buries the part of himself that is disappointed at this—the part that wants to panic and complain finally louder, now, than the part that says hmm. 

He didn’t fall too far, it seems. Now that the torch is lit he can see the gap he’d fallen through, just under a dozen feet or so above where he lays. It's obvious even looking from below how the stone floor had crumbled away, taking maybe one or two hits too many over time from overcrowded mobs or shifts in terrain or pressure aboveground. He tilts his head back but sees only another dead end behind him, and ahead looks like a further, deeper hall of the tomb he hadn’t uncovered yet, though the path is obstructed by debris from above; a net of spiderweb blankets the pile of stone and dirt, but no spider seems to be left guarding the web. 

His friend above seems to have lost interest now that he’s fallen out of sight, and its moans and groans get further away by the second. 

No immediate threat, Pix lets his head fall back onto the ground and takes a breath. He knew the crypt would be full of mobs, he knew it’d be hard, but still…

No, it’s worth it. It will be worth it. He has a job to do.

At least he isn’t defenseless—it’s more than he can say for the dungeons. Not a weapon to his name, fists wrapped in tape so red you’d never believe it’d been white to begin with; knuckles so raw and scraped and beaten by the time he’d made it out that they’d scarred that way—permanent marks of the fighter he was, of the fighter he’d proved to be. 

There was a fear there, too, at that very real and physical understanding of permanence. His studies proved expert in providing examples of what was permanent and what wasn’t, and where people weren’t, things were. He’d spent enough time studying what could be learned about a person by the things they left behind to begin to wonder if anyone at all would’ve remembered him if he’d died in those dungeons—not a singular weapon or item for him to leave behind and tell his story.

Pix stops wallowing. He sits up and reaches over his shoulder for his pick; he isn’t shocked to find that the shaft had snapped in two from the fall, it having been strapped to his back. He sighs, tossing it aside as useless. He’ll make another. 

He takes the time to remind himself again that he knew it was going to be difficult, and that difficulty was no reason to not continue. But it didn’t just feel difficult it felt…inhibiting. Dissuading, deterring, impeding. It felt deliberate. It felt like, stay out; like, we don’t want you here; like, leave us to our rest. 

(it wasn’t, it was something far more sinister. An idea he’d never thought to consider; like a torch was giving off too-little light in the hallway of a dark, long-forgotten crypt, he couldn’t see any farther than what was right in front of his own face. How cliche it’d be, in the end, when it came to pass—the academic too invested in their own research, too dismissive of the present danger posed until it consumed them. He’d have a moment to laugh about it later, when the dread had settled in and all options—or lack thereof—exhausted. While on the topic of permanence…

It was not go away that the tomb was saying, not a driving force out that was being enacted upon the archeologist, but a more frightening call of stay. A threatening but desperate find…become…join…

No, if it were trying to keep him out, why would it keep pushing him deeper? Add this to the list of things he’d realize too late.)

He stands and dusts himself off. The wall is thick and overgrown with glow lichen, and he grabs the nearest vines and tugs one, twice, three times before deciding it won't give and hoisting up. It takes a few minutes and a fair amount of huffing and puffing to get himself to the top and over the edge but he does it, collapsing on higher ground once again and taking a minute to slow his pulse. When he left the dungeons, he dove back into the studies he’d been missing and decided he’d had enough fighting to last a lifetime—this was not without consequence, he’s not nearly as in shape as he used to be. 

His sword is still on the ground where he’d dropped it, so he reequips and readies himself to push his way back out; he’d have to make time to come back and clear the rest another day. He would be back, and he hoped he would be welcomed. 

“I don’t mean to disturb you,” he says into the quiet blackness of the catacombs. He doesn't dare speak above a whisper, for there were still mobs around and his voice carried enough as it was, bouncing along the empty stone and quiet graves. “I'd like to tell your story.” 

There's nothing to hear but for the scuttling of various creatures far off in the dark, the shrill whistle of stray wind through small openings and holes. He raises his voice only slightly, a bit bolder. “Don’t you want me to do that? Will—would you allow me to do that?” 

Silence, and then—the rattle and clatter of a skeleton. It sounds like only one; he lit everything up pretty well on his way in, getting out should be easier. Striking another torch against the wall, Pix prepares to go. For a second, the light is brighter than it should be, its circle of light illuminating the hall completely, the hole he’d fallen into, the distance to the other side. He leans back to avoid the heat of the flame, and he sees it. 

The other side of the cave-in leads not to another tunnel but to an alcove, and empty it is not. His torch, though many feet away, sheds light on the scene; the heavily wax-encrusted stone above a pile of used candles and burnt wicks, the coin and other offerings of gold overflowing from bowls and chalices and any other orifice they could be piled upon, and her. 

He recognizes her immediately. The tapestry covers the majority of the wall, and though it's faded for certain, the lack of direct sunlight has done wonders at preserving what it could. The colors are familiar to his research, the subtle and light greens under warm oranges and yellows. He’s too far, he cannot see any detail; the background, what she's holding, her face—but he knows her. She’s their patron. 

The skeleton wanders closer, its bones clicking and clacking down the hall. Pix swallows. 

“I’ll return for you, I will.” It’s a promise. She’s holding a secret, he knows she is—he’s going to figure out what. Pix turns just in time to face the skeleton as it rounds the corner, and soon its bones join those on the floor, new and old alike. 

His words still echo off the caverns and crevices of the catacombs after he's left and gone, and though not possible to have been heard by human ears, the crypt whispers back good. 

~-~-~-~

Far below even the hole the archeologist had fallen in, leagues underneath the surface of the earth, buried perhaps the furthest underground of anything left behind from the ancient capital—so deeply you’d have to wonder if maybe it was done on purpose—the crown sits in a chest, waiting patiently to be discovered. It’s not a matter of if, but a nice decisive and quiet when. Eventually, the echo of the archeologists' words falls upon it where it sits, and slowly it begins to emit a soft glow. It says stay, it says find, it says become, it says join.

It says soon.

[badboysupr]

this is entirely unrelated to anything on this blog or anything pjo but i have to declare this somewhere, so this is as good a place as any:

please, i am begging you, if you haven't played ou/ter w.ilds (wilds, not worlds: important distinction) and have the ability to, pry yourself off this hellsite and go play it

i don't mean to be pushy or annoying, but i can pretty much guarantee that if i had to choose one (1) game out of so dang many i hold dear and would recommend, that's the one. everyone should experience it

my gf and i finally beat our playthrough of it at the end of 2023, and i have legit not gone a single day since then without the game just crossing my mind, if not being wholly consumed in EmotionsTM and just staring vacantly at a wall trying to process what the crap we went through—and the fact i'd never get to experience that game again for the first time (never in my life have i wanted to forget a game as badly as this just to get to replay it blind)

it's incredible. it's messed with my head in good and bad ways. and i am confident i will never play a game that makes me feel the exact way this game has. that is all. have a wonderful day/evening/whatever (time isn't real) and i will return this blog to regularly scheduled programming now ♡

[theemptysoupcan]

[chuthulhu-plays]

I generally watch LPs of horror games bc I'm too anxious to actually play them but a lot of them have FANTASTIC stories, so sometimes I just binge-watch KrinxTV for background noise. Been watching a lot of playthroughs of Still Wakes The Deep because it's such a delight to hear Scottish voice actors get work and I thought I'd address some questions I keep seeing Let's Players ask:

--Adair is a member of the National Front as you can find out from posters in his cabin, a Neo-Fascist British political party that’s been going since the sixties. While it often preaches British ethnic unity, in practice that often means “everybody in the UK should be exactly like East End Londerners” and features plentiful disdain for Scottish, Irish, and Welsh folk, alongside those perceived as “not British”. No wonder the wanker eats alone in the canteen.

--Neeps and Tatties=turnips and potatoes, mashed, drenched in butter or sauce. Fills your belly, keeps you warm, probably makes you sink like a stone because it’s so heavy.

--Cranachan=a dessert made of raspberries, honey, cream and oats, absolutely delicious

--Rennick calls Caz a “wee ned prick”. Ned is apocryphally said to stand for “non-educated delinquent” and is basically just a way of calling someone an uneducated, lower-class criminal

--A lot of things said by and about Roy indicate that he’s a teetotaller who went through AA and specifically became Catholic and is making an effort at converting Caz.

--I think it’s entertaining how Scottish nicknames often follow a pattern of shortening/rejiggering that I also see a lot with Australian nicknames—Cameron becomes Caz, Rafferty becomes Raffs, etc. Trots is an unusual one but is almost certainly a reference to him being a communist, presumably a Trotskyist. Gibbo is also an unusual one in that it’s just very silly. There’s a kind of indignity implied in being killed by a guy called Gibbo.

--A few times on the radio you hear the Shipping Forecast, a type of weather report aimed at specifically reporting weather conditions out on the ocean, and is also famous for the report being read in such a calm, soothing tone that some folk use it as a sleep aid.

--All the yellow paint for interactable things is very video gamey, yes, but is also in line with old British health and safety standards, and yellow paint on things like emergency ladders or on the edges of stairs that are trip hazards is a thing ou can still see in some older buildings.

--Caz keeps saying he’s “good with the leccy”; leccy=electricity. Caz is implied to be quite a wee guy who can get through a lot of tight spaces, and my uncle swears blind that electricians used to refuse to take on apprentices over a certain size because they only wanted to train wee guys who could get up into the tight spaces that a lot of older buildings are full of. On that note, “wee man” is a term of endearment, generally, and isn’t exclusively applied to short guys.

--Finlay saying of Gibbo that “he’s no right” is INCREDIBLY OMINOUS. It sounds mild but “he’s no right, that boy” is what older folk say about a child who’s been found disembowelling cats for fun or someone they strongly suspect is a pedophile. It’s not something you’d say about a friend who’s just acting a bit unusually.

– “Great minds united over a Buckie”--Buckfast, or Buckie, is a caffienated tonic wine that’s cheap, widely accessible, and is a bit like rocket fuel for bad decisions.

– “Ya roaster” tbh I don’t really know where it comes from, calling someone a roaster, but I’ve always felt like it has a vibe of telling them they’re huffing their own farts.

--Scunnert/scunnered--buggered, screwed, utterly fucked, etc

– “You’re the jammiest bastart on this rig” Someone who is jammy is someone who has incredible luck that is implied to be related to their sheer confidence or willingness to engage in risky behaviour. Walking along the street and finding a pound coin isn’t jammy; crossing the road confident that the cars won’t hit you and stopping in the middle to pick up a pound coin before making it unscathed to the other side is jammy as all hell.

--Barlinnie is the biggest prison in Scotland, and largely hosts violent offenders—it’s where Caz would definitely go for hospitalizing a man.

--Weans are children (contraction of wee yins/wee ones). I thought this one was contextually obvious but apparently not.

SPOILERS BELOW

--”One spark and the whole thing’ll go up”—this is referring to the wee spark of flame in the lighter used to blow up the rig, but is also kind of a pun because electricians are often called sparks or sparkies, and in the end it’s Caz who blows up the rig.

[ri-writes-if]

Chapter 2 is released

LINK

It's here! Around 60K for the whole update, with an average of ~12K words for one playthrough.

I recommend replaying from the start because I edited a couple of variables in the first chapter and something could break if you use a save.

In this chapter

You call tell (or not) the demon of your choice about your curious vision from the first chapter.

Learn what the characters do for fun and have a small discussion about it.

Find new useful information about making most of your abilities and start training with some side help.

Visit the Abyss! Such a great experience.

First romantic choice. It's a light one, but it's a start 💛

Get princess carried if you want.

This chapter introduces the first “pushing away” choices. They will be counted and will affect how the characters react to some things you do or will add some flavor text now and then. These choices won’t lock you from the friendly/romantic routes. However, they do have some other side effects… At least in this chapter.

Small changes

Added ages to the characters’ profiles, including the MC.

Added the option to customize the characters’ gender.

Balanced the characters’ gender in the “both genders” option.

Updated the Codex with a bit more lore information.

I hope you enjoy this update! If you do, I would love to hear your thoughts on it 💛

A bit of commentary on the "pushing away" choices and next plans under the line.

For the “pushing away” choice in this particular chapter, you will have a choice to apologize or change your mind about it in the next couple of chapters (tentatively) and speak about it with the affected character. I’m still on the fence whether it’ll decrease the overall “pushing” counter or not; I’ll probably decide that when I write these scenes.

This is an experimental feature (that I could delete or change at some point), but I hope I make it work in the story because I think it's a nice idea that negative choices won’t just decrease “relationship points” but also will be remembered by the characters and affect how they view some things you do or say or how they act around you the more you push them away. Especially if you want to smooch them at some point when you were cold to them just recently or for a while, lol.

It’s not perfect, but I’m satisfied with the chapter for now. It feels like I’ve been working on it a bit too long, and after rereading 10+ times to edit it, I’ve grown blind to weak places in it (and also kind of tired of it). I need to let it rest for a bit before returning to hone it, but I’ll probably do it only in the future when I have more chapters written or even after I finish the story since I want to keep moving forward and not stall in one place.

I'll continue planning details for the next chapter and then start drafting it. I've already thought of interesting things to include that could be very fun to write (and to read, hopefully, considering the main topic for the chapter is full of potential 🤭). I'm very excited to work on it, especially since I'm almost done with building the foundations in the story and soon will be able to get to the juicy parts of the plot. And there are also personal side stories of the cast, which will be starting in the next ~two chapters. Can’t wait to get to those too.

[rustedleopard]

Part of the reason why I defend Ceroba so much is that I initially didn't like her character. Her personality is pretty big from what we saw of her with her quips with Starlo in the Wild East, so when she joined up with Clover in my Pacifist playthrough, I was expecting... more from her. Instead she stuck to the sidelines for the fights (understandable since it would've been dumb to take fighting away from the player) and almost all she would talk about was her husband and his accomplishments and meanwhile she was just a housewife. Then I found out that she injected her daughter with an experimental serum and was like "Oh, she just straight up sucks :/" I felt shafted, cheated out of an interesting character because it felt like there was more to her and then she was just your standard-fare housewife who loves and supports her husband and daughter.

But then on a subsequent playthrough, I started paying attention to what she was saying more and thinking about her and I realized "Holy shit, that's the point!!" Ceroba is a character who placed so much blind faith in her husband that she let it cloud her judgement. That's why she injected her daughter with chemicals. She saw her husband as this flawless, larger-than-life character and that's why she let herself recede into his shadow. She wasn't the supportive housewife by choice; that's what she had to become in their relationship so Chujin could continue being the altruistic hero of the Underground. She couldn't have hobbies and be her own person if she was taking care of Kanako and making sure the family had money and food on the table, meanwhile her husband is doing fuck all to contribute. I felt cheated because life cheated her out of the chance to be her own character. It all makes sense now! Ceroba Ketsukane, I love you forever and I'm sorry that there are people out there that don't get you.

[maxwellatoms]

What kind of video games do you like to play Mr. Atoms?

So many! Assuming there's time. These days there's generally not, so I've been bingeing Vampire Survivors in half-hour doses.

Above is a gif from Noita, my top game of the pandemic. It's an old-school "Metroidvania", but every pixel is simulated and you're a witch who can manipulate her spells (and thereby the world) in a seemingly infinite number of ways. Here, I've built magical "buzzsaws" around myself, which blinded me to the shadow amoeba. In Noita, almost every death is due to hubris, and I think I love that pendulum swing. If you're lucky and skilled, you can become a walking whirlwind of destruction, but you're always your own worst enemy. Bonus: You can turn your vomit into rats.

I'm currently on a break in the midst of my Baldur's Gate 3 run, with a party consisting of my BG2 character's daughter, Karlatch, Lazelle, and Shadowheart. Ladies' Night!

I'm also playing a bit of Shadows of Doubt. I'm not sure it'll hold up long-term, but it's got a lot of potential.

I don't really limit myself by genre or platform, but I'd say that I primarily play indie PC games. The games in my Steam library that I keep going back to again and again?

Cities: Skylines: A chill City Building Simulator. Lots of fun mods.

Darkest Dungeon: This thing is a classic strategy game IMO.

Death Road to Canada: A light, fast Project Zomboid. Dogs with guns!

Dwarf Fortress: For me, it's the ultimate fantasy sim. I love it so much. Looking forward to Adventure Mode finally appearing on Steam.

Project Zomboid: The ultimate lonely 2D zombie apocalypse survival game. Or non-survival game, I suppose.

Total War: Warhammer: For when I'm in a strategy-y mood. Like a lot of people, I'm a bit soured on the modern DLC scene, so I'm still waiting on #3 even though I'm a Chaos stan.

Not on Steam? I do play some Star Citizen from time to time. I backed it a decade ago. I used to joke that it was the game I was going to retire into, but more and more that's looking less and less like a joke. Still, it's made some good progress in the last couple of years and I'm hopeful that repair and engineering turn out to be fun.

The game I'm looking forward to most would be the next Elder Scrolls. I know it's still a ways off. Ever since my Nereverine landed in Morrowind with the intention of becoming a just and righteous cleric and instead found herself an unwitting villain and colonizer, I fell in love with the Elder Scrolls and it's deep, gray lore. It is (for me) a great way to really get into a character's head. Roleplaying... go figure.

Since Morrowind (and a backtrack into Daggerfall), I only allow myself one canon playthrough. My rule is to "let it ride", so that aside from death, if I screw up or if something unexpected happens I don't save-scum. All of my characters are related, either by quest or bloodline. I already know that my next character will be Aventus Aretino (the kid you catch summoning the Dark Brotherhood). My Skyrim character (above) had adopted him and then left him in the hands of a vampire, so I should be covered even if there's a big time jump. Now I just have to wait six more years for the game. And then maybe two for mods. God I'm so old.

I need to spend more time with Dave the Diver.

Anything current I'm missing out on?

[ooftale]

This game, god I love this game

ok so Im copying and pasting the rant for the game from my Insta under the cut + the alt vers, PLEASE Im just expressing my love for the game in it but it's too late for me to rewrite the whole thing

I wish Tumblr would let me post with music like Insta,,, this is a zillion times better with the "Niko and the World Machine" song gah

God this game is a masterpiece though, OK if u wanna read more do it under here:

OKAY here's the rant!!

oh my god i fucking LOVE THIS GAME SO MUCH. I SWEAR. I CANNOT FUCKING EXPRESS. MY LOVE. FOR THIS GAME. Almost a year has passed since my first One Shot Post (doesn't apply to Tumblr, last One Shot post here is more recent) and almost a year has passed since my first playthrough

It wasn't really a blind playthrough, iirc i already knew lots of stuff about the story, ending and even the solstice run itself, too, it was already part of my interests to an extent, but I didn't know or remembered the details, and experiencing it myself still felt like a fully blind Playthrough (gotta again thank my shitty memory too), and was it freaking beautiful,,, plus, i finished it around xmas time, which is like my fave period of the year, so!! I still remember i got a photo of the TV while I was playing, there were gorgeous purple lights, both from LEDs and both from the game, since it was becoming dark outside, with little xmas lights around,, gah this game holds such a special place in my heart, I don't think any other game captured my love as much as this one, SURE, Im a big lover of many MANY games, and this one isn't even the first indie rpg i ever got into (hello Undertale and deltarune), and while those are very special to me as they're some of my first interests, OneShot is just a whole another type of special, a special special if you will

And recently I've seen my friend play it blind for the first time, and as I was (Awesomely) backseating, I got to basically relive it, in a way, and I always get a little phase for it after reseeing content of it, so here I am, drawing one of my personal favorite portions of the game! Sorry for the unusual type of rant I did this time, but I just. Argh. This game, dammit

Also fun fact, so many things about this game, from the 2014 version, to songs, to imagery, to scenes, freak me so much out or make me feel so weird I feel like I need to puke

Gotta love it

[weaveandwood]

The First Time

Pairing: Alistair x Female Mahariel (Ellaria, a dual wielding rogue) Words: 4.2K NSFW

Summary:

Alistair Theirin did not expect many things that had happened to him since he became a Grey Warden. He didn't expect to be betrayed at Ostagar. He didn't expect to lose his mentor. He didn't expect to be one of the only two Wardens left in Ferelden that he knew of. He didn't expect to be traveling with such an...eclectic group.

Above all of this, he certainly didn't expect to fall in love with his fellow Grey Warden, a Dalish elf named Ellaria. Could she feel the same?

AN: In my playthrough, the scene for Alistair asking to spend the night with my warden triggered after the Urn of Sacred Ashes quest, which requires everyone to take off their clothes. I thought the timing was hilarious, and this one shot was born.

Read on AO3! comments and reblogs are very appreciated!

Alistair didn’t know what made him start feeling this way about Ellaria. He paced around his tent - and really, pacing was being generous. It was more like turning in circles. Slowly. He was a tall man and it was a small tent, after all. 

Was it her bravery? She had been tireless, fierce, stunningly brutal every day since he met her. Whether it was leaping onto an ogre to deal the killing strike or telling off his half-sister in Denerim, she was unwavering. 

Could it have been her beauty? When she was cleansed by fire to retrieve a pinch from the urn of sacred ashes to help Arl Eamon, just hours before, he had never seen her so…exposed. He would have to be a blind and incredibly stupid man to not admit that seeing her in that state of undress sent a hot flush through him he was surprised Morrigan did not comment upon. 

Maybe it was that she listened to him. He had mentioned his mother’s broken amulet as a regret he had, in passing, never expecting her to place it into his palm with an excited smile. Of course I remembered, you are special to me.

Or was it before that? At the Circle Tower, when they passed the tortured templar she remarked to him that she was glad he was not a templar anymore. Or even the first time they spoke at Ostagar, when she called him a strange human. 

How it started didn’t matter, he supposed, just that it did. Perhaps he fell for her over time, a trickle of interest slowly turning into a waterfall of feelings that landed on him all at once. He fell in love. With a fellow Grey Warden. During a blight. And they were the only two left to end it. Perfect timing, really. 

Which is why he couldn’t wait any longer.

He left his tent knowing she was on her shift for watch duty, and found her staring into the nearby campfire while absentmindedly petting Barkspawn. The fire cast a warm glow on her, turning her white hair and fair skin almost golden. Her brow was furrowed, a sure sign she was deep in thought. Tomorrow they would journey into Orzammar and with the way their luck was headed, into the Deep Roads. He closed his eyes, pushing the thought out of his mind. Still, the Deep Roads was where Grey Wardens went to die, and he would never forgive himself if something happened with words left unspoken or actions left undone. 

He felt his heart start to race as he drew nearer to her before settling down on the ground beside her. A pit threatened to form in his stomach before she glanced over at him and gave him a soft smile that instantly reassured him. She took his hand as if it were the most natural thing in the world, like it was something easy, something instinctual she just did when they were near each other. He sighed.

“Is everything okay? Why are you not resting like all of the others? Tomorrow will be a long day of travel,” she said, her attention focused on him now instead of the images she must have been seeing play out in the flames. He thought he saw a glare from Barkspawn. 

Now or never. 

“I…I really don’t know how to ask you this,” he stammered as he looked at her from the corner of his eyes, her face turned to him. Those deep green eyes he adored were highlighted by the orange light of the fire. This was not helping. He dragged his hand down his face. “You’d think it would be easier by now, but every time I’m around you, I feel as if my head is about to explode - in a good way! I just can’t think straight!” He felt his cheeks starting to burn hot and his resolve starting to waver. 

She laughed, the sound high and clear in the crisp night air. Oh, he loved all of her laughs, but this one in particular was his favorite - the one laugh she had when she was caught off guard by something he said or did. He loved it so much that he did everything he could to coax it out of her while they were at camp after long days of fighting darkspawn, bandits, and demons, no matter how silly it made him look. 

“You know, I feel the same way when I’m around you,” she said. Barkspawn had flopped over on his side and she was scratching his belly now. Lucky dog. He would give anything to feel her fingers on his skin, to only feel each other instead of fumbling around clothes or armor when they kissed in his tent in the evenings, away from the prying eyes of their companions. Well, friends at this point, he supposed. You couldn’t walk away from the things they had seen without being friends at least. He scolded himself internally, not wanting his mind to wander to Sten or Wynne or, Maker forbid, Zevran while he was trying to drum up the confidence to ask what he was attempting to. He turned his body to face her, keeping her hand in his. His heart now felt like a war drum, one beat away from pounding through his chest. She did the same and earned a whine from Barkspawn once her hand stopped scratching. 

“Here’s the thing, Ellaria: You are impulsive, you run headfirst into danger, you’re always putting yourself right in the middle of all the darkspawn or bandits or whoever else…being near you makes me crazy.” He saw her eyes drop and felt her starting to pull her hand away, quickly realizing he had only named negative things. He held on to her hand tighter, placing his other one on top. “You’re brave, you’re fierce, you’re protective, you’re beautiful…I can’t imagine being without you. Not ever.”

“Oh,” she said. He could see a faint flush on her cheek and the softest hint of a smile at the corners of her mouth at his confession.  

“I don’t know how to say this any better so here goes. I want to spend the night with you. Here. Tonight. In camp. Is this too fast? It might be too fast, I don’t know. I know what I feel, and what I feel is that I want to be with you. We stumbled into each other, and despite this not being the perfect time, the perfect place, I found myself falling for you in between the fighting and everything else. Honestly, even during the fighting - you’re quite breathtaking.” Visions of her sweaty and panting and covered in blood flashed through his mind. He wanted to recreate it -  minus the blood. 

“I guess you really liked what you saw in the temple today?” She laughed as he stammered and flushed a bright red, rubbing his neck with his hand. “Alistair, Alistair! I am teasing you. But…are you sure? Even though I am not…I am not human? I know what people say about elves. I have heard a lot of it on our travels,” she said, sounding uncharacteristically nervous around him. Every time someone called her knife-ear or rabbit, he saw red. He had never and would never consider her any different from any other person they had come across just because of the shape of her ears, her shorter stature, or the elegant swirling tattoo on her face. 

“Honestly, at this point I think elves are better than humans,” he smiled softly at her, stroking her knuckles with the pad of his thumb. “I really don’t want to wait anymore. I’ve never done this before and I want it to be with you, while we have the chance. In case…” he trailed off, fear of the Deep Roads seeping into his veins. 

“I want it to be with you, too,” she smiled up at him. “My first time. I was hoping you would ask.” 

This time, he was the one who laughed as pure relief flooded his system. He kissed her softly. “Come to my tent after your watch ends.” 

The next few hours felt like an eternity. Alistair had tidied up his meager belongings, everything folded and placed into a neat stack in the farthest corner of his tent, which was actually not that far away at all. He lay on his bedroll, willing at least a little sleep to come but it was as elusive as it had been most nights since their journey began. So he lay there, staring up at the fabric of his tent and attempted unsuccessfully to calm his nerves while he waited for her. 

“Alistair?” he heard her whisper quietly, checking to see if he was still awake. Finally. He bolted upright, glad for the darkness to camouflage his awkward movements.

“Over here, Ellaria,” he said softly, reaching out for her hand as her eyes adjusted to the darkness. He should have had a candle lit. Should he light one now? Or would fumbling in the dark be better than fumbling in the light? His nerves caught up to him again as the reality of what they were about to do sank in. Her smaller hand clasped in his, he felt her kneel beside him. This wouldn’t do - he wanted to see her and decided right then and there that lighting a candle was the course of action to take. He placed the candleholder down on a book he used more often than not as a table rather than reading material, the small flame throwing just enough flickering light in the tent to send the darkness fleeing to the edges and corners. 

“You are so beautiful,” he said, smoothing her hair behind her delicately pointed ear. He brushed the tip of it with his finger, eliciting a small gasp from her lips. His eyes, instantly drawn to the source of the sound, took in their gentle curve, the full pout of her bottom lip, the slightly downturned corners that made her always look like she was deep in thought. He could no longer resist, closing the distance between them and pressing his own lips gently against hers as they had done for so many nights now since the night he gave her the rose outside Honnleath. This time, however, there was an undercurrent of something different, an anticipation of what was to come as their kisses grew more intense and their tongues danced, finding a rhythm that built and built. His hands fell to her waist, grateful more than ever for the Dalish dress style - the bare expanse of her stomach was one of the first things that drew his attention to her when she walked up to him at Ostagar, before he really knew her. Now it seemed like a bonus. In addition to the privilege of knowing her, he was also able to see those muscles flex and relax as she fought, or walked, or even laughed. 

He felt her fingers, fine and light, reach for the bottom of his shirt, crumpled from tossing and turning with unsuccessful sleep. She lifted it up, smiling against his kiss as she struggled. Impatient, he broke the kiss, pulling the shirt quickly over his head, leaving him bare chested in front of her. Obviously, she had seen him without a shirt on as he washed in rivers and streams, but this was different. Everything would be different after this. She reached out, running her hands through the fine hair that dusted his chest and left goosebumps in her path before turning around and allowing him to loosen the laces on the top she wore for sleeping. She pulled it off over her head, and he traced the faint red marks on her skin from where it had slightly dug in. She let out the softest sigh as he kissed the joining of her neck and shoulder, tilting her head to allow him more access which he gladly accepted.

She laughed softly. “I do not know why I am so nervous to turn around.” 

“I promise you will get nothing but rave reviews here,” he said, placing a kiss on her shoulder, her skin smooth and cool beneath his lips. 

She turned around and his heart skipped a beat. She was gorgeous when fully clothed, but she was without a doubt earth-shatteringly beautiful half undressed. He felt himself stir as he took her in, his eyes sweeping down to her breasts, small but perfect, nipples perked once exposed to the cool night air in his tent, before meeting her eyes again. 

“Beautiful,” was all he could whisper. 

She reached one hand around the back of his neck, pulling him to her to kiss her again while the other threaded through his hair, her nails sending delightful tingles through him. He would have to remember this, he wanted her to scratch his head for hours. Now he understood why Barkspawn was so upset when he interrupted earlier. Stop thinking about the dog, Alistair. Half naked Ellaria, right in front of you . His hand moved from her waist to her breast, fully covering it and squeezing lightly. It was softer than he thought it would be, given how lean and muscular she was. His thumb traced lightly over her nipple, feeling it grow even harder under his touch. The way her body reacted to him sent a crackling warmth through him. He crashed his lips against hers, kissing her deeply and pulling her onto his lap though he knew she could feel him growing harder for her with each second that passed. She pressed her hips against his, the pressure causing him to groan softly into her mouth. The sound made her press against him again and again, her hips slowly rocking against him. He rocked his own hips back into hers, a preview of how the night would end, if all went well. He needed her. He had never been with anyone before and yet he knew he needed her more than he had ever needed anything in his life. His fingers went to the drawstring of her loose sleeping pants, untying it, ready to cross the line from innocent flirting and kissing to something else.  

She smiled and climbed off his lap to stand before him. He hooked his fingers in the waistband of her pants, pushing them off her hips slowly, exposing more of her fair skin than he had ever seen. He discovered lines of scars, both old and new. He discovered the patch of soft white curls between her legs. He discovered just how muscular her thighs were as he smoothed his hands over them, her pants and undergarments in a puddle at her feet. He thought he had a good idea of what she would look like from the temple, but seeing her up close, fully undressed? His imaginings didn’t come close to doing her justice. He stood up, his fingertips slowly tracing the outlines of her body - her hips, the underside of her breasts, her nipples, her collarbone, the sides of her neck. He wanted to commit every curve of hers to memory. He wanted to remember this for the rest of his life, no matter how long that life would be - days or weeks or months or, if they were lucky, years. 

“Ellaria, you…I don’t have words,” he said softly, reverently. He quickly undid the laces of his own pants, pushing them and his smallclothes down without the finesse he used on hers. He watched as her eyes moved over his body, taking him in.  He could feel himself flushing under the weight of her stare and felt the slightest tinge of shyness as he was fully bared in front of her for the first time. He had no worries about his size, having been told during his short time with the other Wardens that he should be proud of the sword he wielded - typical brotherly ribbing, but it did wonders for his confidence in this matter at least. She said earlier this would be her first time too, but he knew she was betrothed before all of…this, and he didn’t know what she had to compare against. He supposed it didn’t matter, at the end of things. He just hoped the rest of him was enough. That he was enough. That he deserved her. 

“Creators,” she whispered. “I am lucky,” she teased. 

She stood on her toes to kiss him, and he bent down as they did night after night to negate the vast differences in their heights. He stood a good foot taller than her, and he would be the first to admit it was easier to kiss her sitting down. He imagined it would be even easier to kiss her laying down. The thought sent a hum through him, settling into his abdomen. He felt himself pressed against her hip, impossibly hard for her. She reached between them, her fingers brushing against him with featherlight touches that caused him to gasp and press his hips harder into her. She wrapped her fingers around him and began to stroke him slowly, her hand moving from the base to the sensitive tip. He tipped his head back and saw stars. Never would he have imagined that someone else touching him would feel so…different. In a good way. In the best way. Better than his own hand felt when he pictured a night like tonight, with her. 

He wanted to make her feel this good. 

“Alistair, maybe we should…lay down?”

“Good -” his voice cracked. He cleared his throat while she giggled. “Good idea.”

They lay on the bedroll, facing each other, kissing each other. Her mouth moved from his lips to the corner of his jaw, then to his earlobe, lightly nipping at it because she knew it drove him crazy. The soft moan that escaped his lips was proof enough. His hand moved down her body - ribs, waist, hip, thigh, inner thigh.

“Can I touch you?” He whispered. 

“If you did not I would be very upset,” she replied softly before going back to work on his earlobe, then down his neck. She kissed him again as his fingers parted her, feeling this part of her, of any woman, for the first time. It was soft, warm, wet. And utterly foreign. 

“Show me where,” he said. He felt her hand on his, guiding him to where he assumed she touched herself at night. That was a thought to come back to later on a night spent alone, he mentally noted. He rubbed her in gentle circles, her hand guiding him before she pulled it away. Left to his own devices, he kept the same rhythm, her soft breaths acting as her approval of his technique. He sped up slightly, her hips starting to move against his hand. 

Her fingers wrapped around him again in a tighter grip than before, a groan escaping his lips when her thumb used the bead of moisture that had collected at the tip to help her stroke him. He couldn’t help but thrust slightly into her hand while moving his hand down to her entrance, a finger slowly slipping in and instantly wrapped in tight warmth. He moved in the same rhythm she did, easily able to glide his finger in and out, in and out, in and - 

Maker , the sounds she was making. If she felt this good around his finger, how would he be able to survive entering her? He couldn’t take it anymore. 

“Ellaria, I want to be inside you,” he whispered into her ear. 

“Please,” she moaned softly. “I am ready. I want you.” 

She rolled to her back, looking up at him as he moved between her now spread legs, using his thighs to spread them farther. His breathing picked up, his heart racing once more. No turning back now, not that he would have wanted to. This, with her, was everything he dreamed about these last few weeks. He wrapped a hand around himself and lined himself up at her entrance. It was at this moment he had a dreadful thought that he might be uncomfortable for her. He looked into her eyes, and she nodded. 

“Please,” she whispered. 

“You’ll let me know if I need to slow down, or anything?” he asked, getting another nod in return. He pressed forward slowly, so slowly , the tip entering her at last. He breathed deeply. Keeping eye contact, he looked for any sign of her discomfort as he kept pressing little by little. Finding none, he sank into her inch by inch, feeling her give and stretch around him as he entered her. Her moans filled the tent, and he was positive whoever had the next watch could hear them. A thrill went through him as he found himself almost fully sheathed inside her, the sheer realization that he was inside her sending a jolt of lightning through his veins. He stayed there for a moment, letting her get used to the feeling. And if he was being honest, letting himself get used to the feeling as well. He was not prepared for how warm she would be, how tight she would be, how wet she would be as he found himself enveloped by her. For him, all for him, because of him. 

“Are you okay?” he asked, breathless. 

“Better than okay,” she smiled. He took her in. She was…everything. Her white hair was splayed out on his thin pillow, the flickering candlelight throwing dancing waves of light over her body. She was divine, she was his religion, she was his life now. He would swear any oath to her that she wished for, any desire she had was his to fulfill. And he would, gladly. 

He leaned over her, his arms on either side of her head, and pulled back his hips, then pressed them forward. Pulled back and pressed forward again. And again. And again. He kissed her neck, the soft skin muffling the sound of his own moans, her soft gasps landing on his ears like the gentlest of butterflies. He lowered himself on top of her, needing to feel her body pressed against his, wanting her skin against his. He wrapped an arm around her back, holding her tightly as he thrust slowly, deeply inside her, each slow roll of his hips feeling better than the last, somehow. 

“Alistair…” she whispered, “more, I want more.” 

A fire pooled in his abdomen, desire taking the lead. He moved back to his knees, his hands grasping her hips. He picked up his pace, moving faster, thrusting a little harder. Together, they lost themselves to the moment. There was no Blight, no darkspawn, no archdemon. There was only this tent, this candle, this feeling. She held onto his arms, arching her back against the bedroll. He watched her breasts move each time their hips met. He watched the muscles of her stomach flex when she rocked her hips to meet him each time he thrust into her. He watched where their bodies met, her slick arousal coating him - the image alone making him veer dangerously close to the edge. He could feel it, just on the margins of his awareness. 

“Ellaria…I…” he panted. “I don’t know if I can last much longer.”

“Just a little longer, please, I am almost...there,” she moaned. 

“As you wish,” he joked, hoping that just a little longer was not that long at all. He focused on keeping the same rhythm, keeping the same pace, and listening to the sounds she was making. He felt her start to tighten around him - a little at first, then tighter and tighter. Her body tensed up and she grew quiet. He took one of her hands in his, squeezing, and she threw her head back and cried out, his name on her lips as she found her release, her orgasm rocking through her, making her tremble and shake beneath him. The feeling of her pulsing and fluttering around him made him lose what little control he had remaining. He dug his fingertips into the one hip he was still holding and thrust into her with reckless abandon. The fire in his abdomen turned into tension, building and building, moving lower and lower. He kept eye contact with her as he drove into her one last time, calling her name as he felt his release fill her. He could have sworn for that moment that the world stopped turning.

He looked at her - she was sweaty and panting, his mental images from earlier come to life. He fell down onto the bedroll beside her, laughing as their shoulders touched.

“Why are you laughing?” 

“According to the Chantry sisters, I should have been struck by lightning by now, and here I am...suspiciously lightning free.” 

“Maybe I should be thankful for their error - I do not want to be struck by lightning. You should have mentioned that was a possibility before we spent the night together, I may have changed my mind,” she teased before rolling onto her side to face him. Maker, she was so beautiful - even more beautiful now than she was when the night began. Something swelled within him he had no hope of ever containing. Not now. Especially not now. He didn’t want to contain it. It was bad timing, a bad situation, and probably doomed, but he had to get it out.

“I love you,” he said. 

Her eyes widened slightly before she broke out into a smile. 

“ Ar lath ma, vhenan. I love you, too.”

[exhausted-archivist]

Early Game First Impressions

I have some thoughts and critiques about it from at least an early point.

So far, being 28 hours in (and I just got my 4th companion so the time I've been in the game isn't really indicative of my plot progress) I have some general thoughts. None of them are spoilers, but to be safe, I will keep them below the cut.

Please note, these are my first impressions. I'm doing a mostly blind playthrough and I'm mostly sharing to start a dialogue but also document my feelings. Please be respectful of that and others who may comment. Also my comments on armor/clothing is going to be a whole seperate kit and kaboodle.

My main focuses based on priority to me:

Combat

Flashing accessibility issues

The Bloom effect

Character creator

Photomode

Writing (General)

Dialogue and Banter

Maps and Quest Guidance

Food Lore

Combat, Accessibility, and Bloom Render

So far my biggest complaint is related to the combat. In terms of general enjoyment, this is one of the most enjoyable combat systems in the series for me. The flow is nice, I like the UI, overall a solid 7/10 for me. Except for one thing: I hate button mashing, I cannot handle it for too long, it is a large part of the reason I've never played through dao again. I found that da2 and dai really found a nice middle ground with it. But with datv, the issues are that if I press and hold, it will charge attacks and not continuously fire them off like in the previous two games.

I also don't like how frequently my companions bark at me in combat. Lucanis yelling "Move Rook!" while I'm stuck in a corner or something has thrown off my timing and is also just kinda annoying at times. Something I also don't like when I'm trying to explore but more on that later.

Additionally, I find the rebinding of keys is way too restrictive. It is hard to find a calibration that works, it doesn't solve the button mashing, and it isn't any better for mouse and keyboard. The fact that (at least last time I tried) I couldn't rebind the keys from ASWD to the arrow keys is a huge miss to me. So, while I find combat engaging and fun with a nice flow, button mashing and the key rebinding for combat are a big con. Particularly from an accessibility standpoint.

Speaking of accessibility, while the accessibility for the game is robust (but for some features an okay attempt for a first attempt) not being able to adjust the flashing rendering is the second biggest. That is a major accessibility thing and one of the bare minimum features I've come to expect in most games. Now while at present it hasn't been too bad for me since the prologue, I do not know if it will be an issue again later on. The flashing paired with the way the bloom renders, makes the game very migraine triggering if I'm not careful.

So on the note of the bloom, it is another big con for me because it messes with my eyes. While I can remove it in photomode and see what it looks like without it, I think it could have done with less bloom and still looked good. I do like how it has an almost Dishonored texture rendering to the people. I am curious if they pushed it a little harder if it would be more interesting visually and make the bloom more effective. Not only that, but I see the vision, I appreciate it, but not really friendly to me. Which is okay, to be clear. This is one of those things where the vision is great, the execution might not be universally loved, but it is good. Sort of like Arcane (though not to that level), I will never be able to watch it because of the flashing. But I know it is still an amazing show.

Character Creator

Now, in terms of the character creator I think they could have pushed things more. I'm over all very impressed and I love what they did, the variety and extremes you can push are amazing. From a technical standpoint it is gorgeous, and I overall rate it 8/10.

On a minor point, I do wish we could adjust eye size/shape independently of the head morph as well as change the mouth shape. I also wish there were more extreme limits to the body morph. While there is an okay range for what we have, I do wish I could make a heavier set character than I have, whether they're more muscular defined (think Bull and his almost barrel chested build) or someone who is just heavy. But I also wish I could make someone who looked like Isabela in da2 proportionately. I do get some of the criticism that cropped up, though I think the way most of it was presented/worded was exaggerated because the bust and glute sizes weren't "hollywood" style.

But my biggest issue with the cc is there is not any true dark skin tones. They do not go dark enough, they get close, but I couldn't make anyone who looks like several of my family members or oc skin tones I have. This is a major con for me, because they were heading in the right direction and then fell disappointingly short. I think it likely has to do with lighting, to which I seriously think they need to work on learning to how to light darker skins. I think they also need to learn how to make and layer darker skins. They have the basics down, now they need to push it further.

I also have to speak towards the fact that it seems with the bloom rendering and this art style, they did not push things hard enough to allow us to play older characters in appearance. And because all non-important npcs are made with the same cc as rook, we are pushed to having a very small visual age range for the game. Wrinkles do not appear well or strong, and it is disappointing to say the least. It has always been a weak point in Dragon Age.

Connected to these two points, but on a much more minor note, I think having complexion cover skin texture, freckles, dark circles, birthmarks, and acne was too much. They should have had 2-3 selectors for that - and this might be a rendering, technology issue. But not being able to be freckled and wrinkled or have dark circles, falls short, and it especially impacts being able to create an older Inquisitor. This also touches on the imbalance of which they aged femme presenting characters vs masc presenting characters, but that is another post.

Moving onto the last point I have thoughts on, is the hair. While they definitely improved in the hair options, they still lean heavily one way or the other. Especially with the offset of non-qunari getting 88 hairstyles and qunari getting 33. While we no longer have 50 shades of bald, and they heard our thoughts on hair and horns being connected for qunari, the large gap between the two categories is unfair. Especially given the fewer textured options for qunari and the even fewer length variations. It also looks like some were removed from what we saw during marketing. I've also seen the call for bangs, while they aren't something I usually desire I do agree the few bang choices are a notable.

Photomode

I'm going to be blunt with this one as it is the most cosmetic of them all, I feel like there could have been more options. I love we got it, but it's pretty bare bones comparatively with others we get.

I think looking at Horizon (Zero Dawn and Forbidden West) would be a good reference for a strong photomode. CP77 if they went further. Being able to add different effects/filters or even remove some depending on where you're photomoding would go miles. Being able to remove dead enemies (that you didn't kill) would also be nice. But I think the biggest thing is the limited range that the camera can be from Rook. It likely has to do with rendering range, but I think they could have pushed it more. That's all. I've been living in photomode though, using it near constantly to be honest. Just a qol thing.

The Writing: General, Dialogue, and Banter

Off the bat, I find the writing of this game to be the most Dragon Age between Inquisition and The Veilguard. The series has always been campy and quipy. It is the same semi-serious stuff I've expected from BioWare. I do think they have improved in some areas, stayed the same in others, and got weaker in some.

One of the things I think BioWare, especially the da team, has always struggled with is hitting the sweet spot that doesn't isolate new players but also doesn't aggravate lore nerds or long time players. DA2 I think is probably the best of the series at that. But with datv, I find points of aggravation with the wording, just like I did with Inquisition when I went to replay it after having started the series from The Stolen Throne and playing all the way through to Inquisition again. I cannot decide if they have gotten better or what, however I do think the glossary is an excellent addition. Even if I argue with some of them haha.

A clear point of improvement for me so far is the line summaries. I find they are better than dai, though there are some misses.

In terms of banter, I think I'm starting to see what people have been talking about in terms of its substance. However, I don't think it is unique to datv. Rarely has banter effected anything outside that moment, especially for da2-dai. I've only played dao once so I don't know if they tied banter into main story more or not. For me, banter not having substantial effect outside the moment isn't surprising, and I don't know if that is something I was hoping would change or not. This one I think might change as I play.

I also get what people are saying about the banter erring on the side of toothless, but I only see that in like comparison to da2 where companions were brutal with each other. I would say it is the same level/as close to dai. But I'm still early and don't have all the companions. So another thing that might change when I play further.

Maps and Quest Guidance

They did a really good at fixing the dai overcorrection of maps from da2. They're compact, relatively easy to navigate, and so far a distinct lack of bears!

Though while they pulled back on one overcorrection I feel in turn that they overcorrected on the guidance/party direction banter in response to the loud feedback of dai not having enough guidance. This touches back on the companions yelling at me while I'm exploring, or the persistent markers and pop ups. While turning off some of the UI/setting elements greatly helped, and I have heard that it gets less demanding further in, it is a con for me.

Delving into maps though, as someone who is fixated on maps I have thoughts and feelings over the area maps as well as the map texutures the display as setting design. So far, I'm dissappointedwith the set design ones. I haven't seen any new ones, they reuse the map released with the Tevinter Nights and then the first Thedas map they've used since dao. Now those aren't inherently negative, but I like maps and I was hoping for more, especially at the beginning.

Food Lore

Okay, I know this is last and I said I listed these in like priority, but this one was a HUGE point for me and I wanted to end on a positive note. The food lore so far is rich, it is clearly done with some thought, there are more varieties, and I am thrilled with what I've seen. It is rich, indepth, they've added a lot more than I thought they would. So far, the location I've found to have the most rich lore is Treviso. With a nutrition specialist and Julia, the fruit merchant who's husband is allergic to alubia carilla (black eyed peas). It is something so small comparitively that makes the world so rich. I've been compiling and collecting, and I have been flooded with people sending me screencaps and dialogue snippets (without spoiling anything) and I am so overjoyed and appreciative.

[firstknightvulion]

I recently came across the saying:

“When you think you’ve hit rock bottom, but now you want to fuck a blonde guy.”

As a blonde guy this made me laugh. Also, made me think of my “canon” BG3 playthrough, where my Tav was a Half-Elf Warlock. A blonde guy warlock who romanced Shadowheart.

Just imagine it. Shadowheart is on this impossible quest from her Goddess. Everyone else in her original group is dead. She can’t remember anything. She’s got an alien worm in her brain. Lae’zel is there.

The only thing keeping her together is her desperate and blind faith. And even that begins to falter. And this blonde asshole shows up and makes her all hot and bothered.

It’s almost too much.

Please ignore my misspelling of Eldritch Blast.

Another of my Bored at Work series. Pencil on Paper.

[loveinhawkins]

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 ao3

It’s late morning when three soft raps on the door interrupt them—if it could be called interrupting when Steve has just been throwing out various songs and artists ever since Eddie finished playing My Little Town.

Privately, Eddie thinks that the requests are hardly random, and more Steve trying to distance himself from whatever thoughts the original playthrough had sparked, but he’s not exactly going to draw attention to that, not when Steve’s eyes had glittered with mirth, before saying, rather smugly, “Abba?”

“Oh, fuck you.”

“Shock, horror! Eddie Munson, a music snob.”

“Uh, no. Abba’s just fucking difficult, man.”

And then Eddie had launched into a clumsy instrumental of Dancing Queen, relishing the way Steve’s jaw dropped in delighted surprise.

He’s halfway through when the knocks sound, and he turns to see Nancy poking her head through the door. She gives a sigh of pure relief, breathes, “Steve,” and then seems to falter there on the threshold, as if waiting for permission.

Steve’s answering smile is soft and warm. “Hey, Nance.” He sits up, one arm outstretched in invitation, and then she’s hurrying over, melting into a hug.

Eddie doesn’t even have time to wonder about whether he should step outside or not, because Nancy suddenly releases Steve to embrace him, too.

Her grip is tight, almost enough to bruise; it makes Eddie think that perhaps she would’ve been like this with Steve if she wasn’t worried about injuring him. She holds on for a long moment like she really, really needs it.

She whispers, “Thank you,” only loud enough for Eddie to hear. He catches a quiet shakiness to her breathing, and when she pulls back, her smile is a little too wide, her eyes bright.

And he wonders if maybe all three of them are something of the same—frayed around the edges.

“I’ve got a proposition,” Nancy says, suddenly all business.

“Pray tell, Wheeler,” Eddie replies.

She smiles, then nods to Steve. “Dustin’s waiting in the car. He’s got his walkie and he thought, if you wanted,” she says, with pointed emphasis, “you could talk with all of the kids that way, without them...”

She trails off with a vague hand gesture which Eddie immediately gets: so far the staff have sort of turned a blind eye to Steve’s constant visitors, but he figures if a whole troop of them try to barge into the room at once, they might be pushing their luck.

Steve seems to share the same thought, because he chuckles and says, “Sure, good idea. Wait, are they still at mine?”

“Yeah, they’re coming and going. Joyce and Hopper are there, too. Oh, there was—one of your windows broke, but we've got it all—”

“Oh, shit. There’s, um, there's cash up in the—”

“Steve,” Nancy says firmly, “it’s fine.”

They hold each other’s gaze until Steve relents with a muttered, “Okay,” but he doesn’t look all that happy about it.

“Your snack cupboard’s also been destroyed.”

Steve snorts. “Yeah, kinda expected that.”

Eddie stays quiet, because while they’ve been talking, Nancy’s hand has subtly reached out and clutched onto his wrist, and—

Her nails piercing his skin in a desperate grip. His throat scraped raw—the distant realisation that it’s because he’s been screaming.

“Wheeler,” he's whispering. His voice comes out like jagged glass. “Wheeler, fucking tell me what to do.”

She’s silent, just sways against him, and he grips her hand in return, shakes her urgently. Tries to pretend like he isn’t struggling to breathe, like he isn’t crying when he pleads, “N-Nancy. Say you’ve got a plan, come on, you’ve always got something—”

“Eddie,” Nancy says, “Eddie, he’s dead.”

—he tilts his hand, taps hers a couple of times, and hopes she hears the unspoken, “You good?”

And then Nancy pulls away, already reaching for the door when she says, over her shoulder, “I’ll get Dustin.”

“Hey, wait,” Steve says. “Nance. Can I talk to you? Just for a minute.”

There’s a pause. Nancy turns back and nods.

Eddie has the feeling that they’re not going to talk about the price of fixing a broken window.

“Where’d you park?” he asks. “I’ll fetch Henderson.”

-

“Hmm... five. Over,” Dustin is saying into the walkie, halfway out the car when he spots Eddie heading his way.

Eddie gets closer, hears the walkie click, hears the background buzz and chatter that can only come from a full house.

There’s a rustle of paper, then Lucas and Erica cheering, and Max groaning, “The Sound of Music.”

“What’re you doing?” Eddie asks, smiling when he hears what sounds like El excitedly announcing that she hasn’t seen it.

“Making our way through Steve’s musicals,” Dustin says.

He’s brought his crutches this time, thank God, so by the time they're on Steve’s floor, Eddie catches when Nancy is walking down the corridor, slipping away to the restroom. Her hand reaches up, wipes underneath her eyes once.

Eddie steers Dustin onwards.

It’s clear that between them, both Dustin and Steve are trying to act like everything’s normal—and they mostly succeed, until Steve spots Dustin’s crutches and insists Dustin take the couch to stretch out on.

“I'm fine,” Dustin says, “you’re the one who—”

He abruptly falls silent.

And Steve doesn’t miss a beat; he just smiles and nods to the walkie like nothing’s been said. “Go on.”

Dustin instructs both Steve and Eddie to be quiet before he speaks into the walkie and says, “Mission update? Over.”

“The nuns keep singing,” Max says with biting judgement; How Do You Solve a Problem Like Maria? is playing on full blast. Steve muffles a laugh behind his palm, and gestures for Dustin to hand the walkie over.

“Wow, Mayfield, thought you had taste,” he says dryly.

The walkie practically explodes.

And Eddie watches as Steve seems to take strength from each and every voice clamouring for his attention; his eyes are shining, and it’s like he just can’t stop grinning.

“All right, all right, simmer down,” he says, “one at a time.”

Eddie feels a tap on his shoulder. He turns. Nancy.

“Do you want to go for a drive?” she says in an undertone.

Eddie pauses. Dustin is chattering away on the walkie, and Steve must feel Eddie looking, because he catches Eddie’s eye, and quirks an eyebrow with a smile, as if to say, Go ahead. He’s got me.

Eddie supposes that’s what it like, with Steve and the kids: a bit of I’ll take care of you; you’ll take care of me.

-

Nancy doesn’t talk during the drive, but for some reason it isn’t off-putting, more peaceful. Eddie cranks down the passenger window and sticks his arm out, enjoying the feeling of the wind running through his fingers.

It’s overcast, but the sun still occasionally breaks through the clouds—a gentle warmth. And though he knows Nancy must be thoughtfully selective with her route, Eddie still finds it strangely hopeful, to see the sight of damage now healing. They drive past tarmac that must have once been tremendous, gaping cracks: fault lines that have been knitted back together.

Nancy soon takes her car off the road and parks it near the woods; she gets out and starts walking, Eddie following without question. He knows where they’re going without having to be told.

Lover’s Lake.

They don’t speak until they reach the shoreline, and Nancy brings out Dustin’s compass.

“See?” she says. The compass is perfectly still, points to exactly where North should be.

Eddie exhales. “Jesus Christ.” He picks up a stone and throws it as far as he can. There’s a distant splash, then nothing.

“They're all like that,” Nancy says, and she suddenly sounds exhausted. “I checked. Your trailer, the road where Fred... It's all gone.”

She sits down right in the dirt, hugs her own knees. Eddie mirrors her. She looks out at the lake then turns, and Christ, sometimes she has old, old eyes, Eddie thinks.

“I was talking with Mike,” Nancy says. “About how...” She sighs. “We’ll never know everything. I'm not going to...” She sighs again. “And I thought I’d never be okay with that, you know?” She makes a noise that’s probably meant to be a laugh, but it just makes Eddie’s heart squeeze a little.

He puts a hand on her shoulder, and then she falls against him—or maybe it’s more that they’re both holding each other up.

“There was a moment,” Nancy says, “after Robin threw the first bottle. When the fire… I swear I saw him flinch, and then all the vines, everything, it just wasn’t there, and he was staring right at me, and he looked—he was… just a man.”

“Was it hard to…?” Eddie says, but he doesn’t finish. It feels like a stupid question, all of a sudden.

But Nancy finishes it for him. “To shoot? No.” She doesn’t so much as pause. “After everything else, it was easy.”

Eddie doesn’t actually ask why out loud, but Nancy must hear him somehow, because he feels her shrug against him, before she’s saying, “He’d taken too much already.”

There’s an edge to her voice, and Eddie suddenly knows, with the utmost certainty, that she would’ve dove into the lake for any one of them. Wouldn’t waste a second.

-

Nancy drives him back to the hospital. Her jaw works a couple of times as they sit in the parking lot, so Eddie waits, doesn’t move for the door.

“Remember that Christmas Steve had at mine?” Nancy eventually says.

“Well, not personally,” Eddie says, which makes her laugh.

“He…” She exhales in a rush, looking up at the hospital windows. “He—he just thanked me for it. What…” She swallows. “What am I supposed to do with that?”

“I—Nancy, I don’t—”

“It was a terrible Christmas, Eddie,” she laughs through tears. “I burnt the potatoes, and my parents bickered, and Holly put gravy in Steve’s hair.”

Eddie laughs, too. Nancy reaches for his hand. Clings on.

Eddie thinks of Steve in the RV, his face pale, still managing to smile.

“Know what you’re thinking about then?”

“Yeah. Got a few things in mind.”

Eddie doesn’t need to say anything; from the way Nancy is crying, he suspects she already knows.

He thinks of two young teenagers who have grown up together, seen the same terrible things; who maybe just needed one mundane Christmas to make everything feel normal again. To feel safe.

When he leaves the car, Nancy’s face is dry, and he kisses her forehead on impulse.

“Thank God for you, Nancy Wheeler.”

-

“So, how was it?” Steve says. He’s doing a pretty good job at sounding upbeat, at sustaining it right through Dustin leaving.

But Eddie sees something dark flicker in his eyes.

Tonight, he’s going to ask me to play his song again, Eddie thinks. He doesn’t quite know why he feels something like dread settle in his stomach.

“How was what?”

Steve rolls his eyes. “The drive. C’mon, man, I’ve been staring at the same four walls, paint me a pretty picture like you do with your games.”

“A pretty picture, he says,” Eddie huffs dramatically.

But he obliges, of course. He keeps it light, doesn’t mention the compass or anything like that. Describes the weather, the calmness at Lover’s Lake, how Nancy had started skipping stones and made it into a contest.

He’s just getting into their playful argument over who had won when he spots Steve smiling at him.

“What?”

“Nothing,” Steve says. He readjusts himself on the pillow, still smiling like Eddie has done something endearing. “Just thinking.”

“About?”

“You.” Steve’s smile grows. “Got you all figured out, Eddie Munson.”

“That’s quite a claim, Harrington,” Eddie says.

“Yup. I have, though. You said your eyes were cynical. Wanna know what I think?”

“Hmm. You’re gonna tell me anyway, huh?”

“I think,” Steve says, sounding very pleased with himself, “that you’re full of shit.”

Eddie scoffs as if he’s been prompted to, but his mind is on Steve’s smile, on the lingering sadness in his eyes that he’s trying to hide; and fuck, Eddie thinks, let him have this. He’d give him anything.

“If any of us was going to be a romantic,” Steve says, “it’d be you.”