#but i have been so busy the past month or so

[gloomyluvr]

NEEDY

in which rafe just wants to nap

fem!reader x rafe cameron

fluff

warnings!: bit of sarah shade. cameron siblings getting along (iktr 🙂‍↕️), reader is from the cut and kind of a pogue idk,

a/n: hiii ! first rafe fic ever and first fic since 2023 (oops...) to my spiderverse readers i will write when they give us content and when the fandom is alive. hope this fic is good and people like it. it's not the best but i'm working on other fics so give me a chance please 😣. this ones pretty short. pls let me know if you enjoyed this or if there are any spelling errors. requests are open !

masterlist

summer in the outer banks was nothing short of fun. spending most days at the beach taking in the warm sun, relaxing and cooling down in the cold water, all while hanging out with the people you love most. but fuck, did it get so hot sometimes. unbearably hot. it wasn’t enough to cool down in the water, the intense sun on skin overpowering the coolness of the ocean. it was worse at the chateau, or anywhere on the cut. only a lucky few could afford the luxury of air conditioning. fortunately, you had a super awesome hot rich boyfriend with a mansion with air conditioning that ran 24/7. 

you laid in bed with the youngest cameron sibling, helping her with online shopping for the upcoming school year. having been with rafe for just a couple months, you had become close with his sisters. you saw sarah at the chateau with john b more than you had ever really seen her at tannyhill. therefore, when you spent time at the mansion, you typically spent time with wheezie when you got bored with rafe. 

“wait, that one’s cute,” you pointed to a crop top on wheezie’s laptop which rested on her knees.

“i think i already have that one though.” she looked around her room to see if the top was among the clothes on the floor before giving up and continued scrolling through the catalogue, “i feel like these clothes are too revealing.”

“cmon wheeze! this is nothing, you just gotta get out of your shell. it’s just clothes, try something new and i don’t know, maybe you’ll like it.” you tried convincing the younger girl. over the past few months you had become like an older sister to her, as sarah spent more time with john b and the other pogues.

“my dad would never let me buy these,” she turned her head to look at you. 

“just put it on rafe’s card,” you whispered, “i won’t tell.” you stuck your pinky out and wheezie quickly wrapped her pinky around yours, giggling. 

as wheezie finalized her cart a familiar voice began to call out for you, “babeee! babeee where are you!”

wheezie rolled her eyes, “speak of the devil,” she muttered. 

“summon him and he shall come,” you smiled at her which she returned, “i’m in wheezie’s room!” you called back. on queue, you heard obnoxiously loud stomps coming up the stairs. “he is so dramatic and for what?”

rafe stood in the doorway looking at you and his younger sister, “why’d you steal my girlfriend, wheeze?” 

 it was your turn to roll your eyes, “she didn’t steal me, dipshit. you were too busy ignoring me for topper and kelce and your stupid game so i came up here where i am truly loved.” you sighed, wrapping yourself around wheezie who stuck her tongue out at her older brother. in return, rafe picked up one of the shirts laying on the floor and chucked it at wheezie. 

“douchebag!” she yelled.

“cmon y/n, i wanna go take a nap.” 

“but i’m so comfy here!” you whined cuddling wheezie tighter. 

rafe walked over to your side and quickly got on the bed, spooning you and throwing one of his long legs over your body, reaching wheezie. rafe wasn’t an affectionate brother by any means, but when he was with you he definitely softened up with everyone around you guys. 

wheezie kicked her brother’s calf, “ew get your nasty dogs away from me!” but rafe didn’t budge.

“what’re you guys doing?” he mumbled looking at the laptop screen. 

“y/n’s helping me shop for school.” 

“why? you have enough clothes. you don’t need none of those crop tops. no boyfriends till you’re 30.” rafe stated as he viewed the clothes on the screen.

you gently smacked the leg that was on top of your own, “don’t be rude! wheezie’s not little anymore.”

 “hm, whatever.” he grumbled, nuzzling his face against your neck, eyes shut as he fully enveloped you leaving no space between your bodies. his hands found yours, wasting no time to intertwine your fingers. 

“get off me, fatty!” you feigned disgust, as if you weren’t enjoying every second of rafe’s neediness to cuddle.

rafe grumbled, “only if you come take a nap with me in my room.” 

“fineeee, get up then,” you reached behind to gently smack his butt and he quickly got up, no effort to hide his big smile, “sorry wheeze, duty calls.” you sighed, getting up following rafe as he walked to wheezie’s door.

before walking out he turned back to wheezie and stuck his tongue out as she had done earlier. with no hesitation, wheezie returned the gesture as you smacked rafe’s head and shoved him out the door. 

[hopefulidiocy]

nsfw salesman?🫣

Bitch

Salesman x Fem!Y/N

Warnings: rough sex, gun play, p in v, foreplay (f receiving), SMUT, not kind, but he feels something for her.

💼💼💼💼💼💼💼💼💼💼💼💼💼💼💼💼💼💼💼

💼💼💼💼💼💼💼💼💼💼💼💼💼💼💼💼💼💼💼

Red dress. Heels.

The text came through when you were sat in your lecture, scribbling down notes you weren’t going to look at later but knew you had to do something to get him out of your mind. For the past few months you had been playing a tedious game with a nameless man, someone who had been following you for months before he turned up at your flat with four words…

“Let’s play a game.”

And you, being intrigued in this handsome man, agreed to play with him. Despite your gut telling you to run. He came every Monday an hour after your classes without fail. And without fail, you were undone every time he left.

The text came as a surprise, leaving you breathless as the class came to an end. He left no time, no place to meet, just what to wear. How the fuck could you find a red dress within the depths of your sweaters and baggy jeans? Dresses don’t suit you. It’s not a part of you. At least that’s what you thought. He might’ve seen something in those twinkling hours above your naked body, maybe he thought you’d look good in a dress. So, the port of call is to call your best friend.

It took a few tries to get through to her but she finally answered.

“What?” Her gruff voice came through your phone, she had definitely just woken up.

“Have you got a red dress?” Both of you rarely said hello to each other.

“Yes. Why?”

“Okay I’m coming over.” You hung up, tucking your phone into your back pocket and taking off down the green campus, onto the busy Main Street and basically becoming Usain Bolt towards your best friend’s apartment.

No questions asked, she thrusted the red dress in your arms and oh my god it was fucking short. It wouldn’t even cover your ass but you had the short straw here, you couldn’t simply bargain for a longer red dress because no one owns one these days. Your best friend is a hoarder so it’s usually more than likely she will have something.

Evening was drawing in, you had blown out your hair knowing it would be completely lax by the time you arrived back at your own apartment; the dress definitely didn’t cover anything, you would look better going out naked; the heels were too high and it took a few rounds of your bedroom to walk like a normal person but at least your make up was astonishingly. You were waiting by the door, anxiously tapping your toes against the wood. The knock came, once and then twice before you answered. He took one swift look at you, with that shit eating smirk of his.

“Beautiful.” And then he led you to a place with dim lighting and dark candles.

“I need you to remember something for me y/n.” He leaned forward, his elbows pressed into the table as his eyes zoned in on you, darkening with every passing second. “You’re my bitch, okay?” Goosebumps raised on the back of your neck as you squeezed your thighs together, his mouth was slightly puckered as you attempted to find the words that roamed freely in your mind. He cleared his throat, looking marginally disappointed at your silence. You simply couldn’t find any words to say. His arm reached for his briefcase, pulling it up to his lap as his hand completely disappeared inside of it. You watched him, mouth dry and throat closed as he threw a black gun on the table. He didn’t say anything at first, instead he examined you with one elbow on the table and his fingers touching his chin, his eyebrows slightly raised.

“Is-Is it loaded?” You managed to muster. He broke out into a mocking laugh, it shook the room. You leaned back in the chair, trying to breathe as his snake-like moves suddenly came closer. His broad hand wrapped around the gun as he pressed the cold brass against your temple, your breath hitched and died in your throat as he clicked the revolver. His lips brushed against the side of your neck, his breath hot compared to the cold shivers that were coursing through your body; a shock sent straight to your abdomen.

“Would you like to find out?” His voice was so low it was barely audible as his lips sent waves down your spine, he wasn’t kissing you, just simply grazing his lips against your neck, teasing you until your hands clenched in your lap.

“Answer me.” His wrist wrapped around your locks and pulling harshly, the gun still taped to your temple.

The sane side of you wanted to say no, that side wanted to push him away and point the gun at the centre of his head. But you knew you’d be seeing stars before day break, before the moon fully made itself present you’d be shaking under his touch, and you loved it. Every second you loved the way he made you feel, how his fingers played you like a toy.

“Yes.” You whispered, a small tear forming at the corner of your eye. He chuckled darkly before kicking your legs apart, suddenly revealed to him in the candlelight. He trailed the gun down from your temple to your chin as he got onto his knees for you, the only time he ever did, and hitched your dress to your hips. He tutted, shaking his head.

“Why are you wearing these?” His index finger poked at your black underwear, the only thing saving your dignity and the way he poked at you sent a harsh gasp through your body and out your mouth. He narrowed his eyes before smirking, with one hand he yanked your underwear until it was dangling over your heels. Devastatingly slowly the gun traced over your collarbone, to your breast bone, to your naval and finally onto your clitoris. The cold metal stung and the thrill of danger had you weak, it was unlike anything you felt before even from him; he clicked the gun and you shrieked despite yourself even though this gun was obviously not loaded. His gun was left on the space between your legs on the seat as his hand grazed over your inner thigh before circling your clit with the pad of his thumb, similar but better than earlier in the car. He watched you through his dark eyelashes as you slowly lolled your head to the side, your eyes fluttering shut at the gentle touch to your sensitivity; he licked his lips as he sweetly kissed you on your pussy before diving in. You clutched on the sides of your chair, moans escaping your throat as you looked towards the ceiling, letting him work his tongue all over you. Black vision spilled in front of you as your body played along with his beautiful music, your vision completely blurred as a cold wave crashed over you, causing your knuckles to go white due to the hard pressure against the chair. You knew you were shrieking, but your body completely detached as he continued using you, your noises far away as if it’s in another room. White noise rushed into your hearing as your body began to tremble, your thighs locking him shut between you as he worked faster and faster on you until you folded into yourself. The cold air hit your aching skin as he removed himself from you, standing to his full height which was imposing even in this environment and then he scooped you up bridal style. It was almost romantic as he threw you against the window for all of the world to see, it was almost beautiful when he ripped your friends dress for the neighbours to enjoy the look of your breasts pressed against the glass. His black leather shoe kicked your feet to separate them.

“Stay there.” He ordered before his shoes grew quieter and quieter. The moments in which you were alone, your body on full show, prepped for him and you knew you were a whore for him, you knew this was going to be your life now. The threat of being killed, the threat of being hurt only turned you on more until you were basically dripping down your thighs. His footsteps became louder and you knew, you just knew, he had a gun in his hand. A different one and you had no idea whether it was loaded or not. The idea made you whine, your abdomen aching for his touch.

“You look so fucking beautiful like this.” He stood back to admire the view of your ass sticking out and the rest of you pressed against the glass. He enjoyed the thought of people watching you becoming undone by his simple touch.

During these times, he rarely removed his suit and today was no different. All he had to do was unzip his pants and his dick was excitedly pointing towards your heat, he lined himself up, a gun against the back of your head unknowing whether it’s loaded or not. He grunted as the tip of him entered your walls, the stretch always shocked you, the thickness was something you had to prepare for but he very rarely allowed the bliss of feeling ready for his cock. A small loan escaped his lips, it was classical, as he entered fully inside of you, allowing himself to fully enjoy the your warmth. You pressed your cheek against the glass, jaw slack as his cock touched every nook and cranny of your cervix; he reached around with his free arm and pressed down on your abdomen as he began to push further inside of you. Whining, you arched your ass towards the ceiling to accommodate his size.

“Look at you.” He snarled, pulling himself out to just the tip to make you beg for it. To make you weak and ache for his cock. And you were. The instant he pulled out almost completely, you felt the cold air and groaned in annoyance, you were empty and all you wanted was to be full of him. You bucked your knees, to try edge his cock in further but he harshly held onto your hips, his thumb digging in so hard you felt the bruise forming. That magical feeling of his breath escaping his mouth as he emerged back inside of you, the relief that settled your heart before he began hammering his hips into you, deeper than you ever felt. The cold glass and the hot feeling of his cock inside of you was such a stunning contradiction, you hoped people could see what this man was making you feel, you squeezed your pussy around him just to hear that musical moan escape his throat again. His tie became undone as he clicked the gun, relishing in you flinching, ducking your head every so slightly but enough for him to notice and laugh.

“You love the threat of being shot, don’t you?” He snapped his hips so deep into you that for a moment you forgot your native language, you forgot the laws of physics as his cock buried itself deep within your womb, readying itself for his lust. You felt the tip of the metal begin trailing your spine as his hips snapped in and out of you, huffing as he brought his fingers towards your clit, circling it in a ferocious manner to bring you quicker to your undoing. Suddenly, he flipped you towards him, he preferred to see your face as you moaned all over his cock, bring your legs to his shoulders so he could grow deeper inside of you. You didn’t even worry about slipping down the window because he had you hard against the glass, there was hardly any space between you and him and the window. His hips came down like a hammer, he wasn’t picking up his pace and instead simply pulled half way out slowly and slammed his hips down, hitting your aching g spot as it threatened let go all over him.

“Please, faster.” You begged, crying almost to let go. His hand clasped around your neck, adding onto his quickening pace. Instead of hammering down onto your quivering body, he began to level up faster, making you cry out in absolute bliss and serenity. His hips slapped quickly onto yours, as he grunted and groaned, hiding them in your neck; he bit down as hard as he could as you let everything go all over him. He knew you had reached your high, but he didn’t stop, instead in one swift movement he picked you up and slammed you into the hard floor. You knew, come daylight, there would be a mark but you would parade it proudly knowing you had become a whore for a man you hardly knew. It was disgusting but somehow it made you hornier as his cock worked you to a pace of his own, something that physics hadn’t yet discovered. The gun was forgotten about, he didn’t want to continue threatening you, instead he wanted you to see stars once again, he wanted to hear your beautiful music as you shrieked over him.

“So good to me.” He grunted. “Your pussy belongs to me, you belong to me.” He wrapped his wrist into the knotted locks of your hair pulling violently that it made your neck completely snap towards the ceiling, making you cry out in pain that was overwhelmed with pleasure. You contracted around him, your toes curling as you unleashed everything onto him; he moaned in delight as he pushed further into you. His large hand grabbed the gun and pointed it at your forehead, you just about saw the barrel, your jaw slack and dumb.

“Look at you, in this pretty dress, getting fucked, being my own personal fuck toy.” He mocked, pounding even harder. You started seeing stars, your eyes rolling back and your throat sore; you let him have his way as you dived into a world of satisfaction, no moans or words could describe this moment between the two of you. “Can you not speak, pretty girl?” He pouted, pulling your hair and rising you roughly so your back was against his chest; your eyes still rolled at the back of your head. His fingers splayed over your exposed throat, your hair sweating as he whispered. “Do you like it when I fuck that tight cunt of yours?” You wanted to scream yes, you wanted the whole world to know that you belonged to him and you loved being used like a useless toy.

“Y-Yes. Yes I do!” You managed to squeak, but he wasn’t happy and clicked the gun in his free hand, making you flinch once again, his hips still bucking at a gods speed. “Yes. I love it when…. When… you fuck me, I love it!” You ended up screaming towards the end, eager to get it out and he chuckled darkly as his movements began falling. Close to his edge, his imprinted himself onto your neck with his mouth and shook with agonising pleasure as he painted your walls. He groaned loudly, pulling out and you simply collapsed onto your hands and knees; a stupid, shaking mess. You managed to look up at him, his eyes were black with pleasure and he smiled sweetly as he saw you curled up by his feet.

“Now tell me, sweet girl, what are you?” He mocked.

“Your bitch.”

[planckstorytime]

Dragon Age: The Veilguard: Strangled by Gentle Hands

*The following contains spoilers*

“You would risk everything you have in the hope that the future is better? What if it isn’t? What if you wake up to find the future you shaped is worse than what was?”

– Solas, Dragon Age: Inquisition (2014)

I. Whatever It Takes

My premium tickets for a local film festival crumpled and dissolved in my pants pocket, unredeemed as they swirled in the washing machine. Throughout that October weekend in 2015, I neglected my celebratory privileges, my social visits to friends, and even my brutal honors literary theory class. All because a golden opportunity stretched before me: a job opening for a writing position at the once-legendary BioWare, with an impending deadline.

The application process wasn’t like anything I’d seen before. Rather than copy+paste a cover letter and quickly swap out a couple of nouns here and there, this opening required me to demonstrate my proficiency in both words and characters – namely, BioWare’s characters. Fanfiction wasn’t normally in my wheelhouse – at the time, I had taken mainly to spinning love sonnets (with a miserable success rate). But I wouldn’t balk at this chance to work on one of my dream franchises – especially since the job prospects for fresh English BAs weren’t exactly promising. So, I got to work crafting a branching narrative based on the company’s most recent title: Dragon Age: Inquisition. Barely two months prior, I saw the conclusion of that cast’s story when the Inquisitor stabbed a knife into a map and swore to hunt her former ally, Solas, to the ends of the earth. Now it was my turn to puppeteer them, to replicate the distinct voice of each party member and account for how they’d react to the scenario I crafted. And if it went well, then maybe I’d be at the tip of the spear on that hunt for Solas. Finishing the writing sprint left me exhausted, but also proud of my work.

The folks at BioWare obviously felt differently, because I received a rejection letter less than a week later. Maybe they found my story trite and my characterization inaccurate, or maybe they just didn’t want to hire a student with no professional experience to his name. Regardless, I was devastated. It wouldn’t be until years later that I learned that, had my application been accepted, I likely would’ve been drafted into working on the studio’s ill-fated looter shooter, Anthem (2019), noteworthy for its crunch and mismanagement. My serendipitous rejection revealed that sometimes the future you strive to build was never meant to match your dreams. What seemed like an opportunity to strike oil actually turned out to be a catastrophic spill.

Still, my passion for the Dragon Age series (as well as Mass Effect) persisted in the face of BioWare’s apparent decline. I maintain that Inquisition is actually one of the studio’s best games, and my favorite in the series, to the point where I even dressed up as Cole for a convention one time. The game came to me at a very sensitive time in my life, and its themes of faith vs falsehood, the co-opting of movements in history, and the instability of power all spoke to me. But I will elaborate more on that at a later date. My point is, I held on to that hope that, in spite of everything, BioWare could eventually deliver a satisfactory resolution to the cliffhanger from their last title. Or perhaps it was less hope and more of a sunk cost fallacy, as an entire decade passed with nary a peep from Dragon Age.

As years wore on, news gradually surfaced about the troubled development of the fourth game. Beginning under the codename “Joplin” in 2015 with much of the same creative staff as its predecessors, this promising version of the game would be scrapped two years later for not being in line with Electronic Arts’s business model (i.e. not being a live-service scam). Thus, it was restarted as “Morrison”. The project cantered along in this borderline unrecognizable state for a few years until they decided to reorient it back into a single-player RPG, piling even more years of development time onto its shaky Jenga tower of production. Indeed, critical pieces were constantly being pulled out from the foundations during this ten year development cycle. Series regulars like producer Mark Darrah and director Mike Laidlaw made their departures, and the project would go on to have several more directors and producers come and go: Matthew Goldman, Christian Dailey, and Mac Walters, to name a few key figures. They eventually landed on John Epler as creative director, Corinne Busche as game director, and Benoit Houle as director of product development. Then came the massive layoffs of dozens of employees, including series-long writer Mary Kirby, whose work still made it into the final version of DA4. Finally, the game received a rebranding just four months before release, going from Dreadwolf (which it had been known as since 2022) to The Veilguard (2024) – a strange title with an even stranger article.

Needless to say, these production snags did not inspire confidence, especially considering BioWare’s been low on goodwill between a string of flops like Anthem and Mass Effect: Andromeda (2017) and, before that, controversial releases like Dragon Age II (2011) and Mass Effect 3 (2012). The tumult impacted The Veilguard’s shape, which scarcely resembles an RPG anymore, let alone a Dragon Age game. The party size is reduced from four to three, companions can no longer be directly controlled, the game has shifted to a focus on action over tactics a la God of War (2018), the number of available abilities has shrunk, and there’s been a noticeable aesthetic shift towards a more cartoonish style. While I was open to the idea of changing up the combat (the series was never incredible on that front), I can’t get over the sensation that these weren’t changes conceived out of genuine inspiration, but rather vestigial traces from the live-service multiplayer iteration. The digital fossil record implies a lot. Aspects like the tier-based gear system, the instanced and segmented missions, the vapid party approval system, the deficit of World State import options, and the fact that rarely does more than the single mandatory companion have anything unique to say on a quest – it all points to an initial design with a very different structure from your typical single-player RPG. The Veilguard resembles a Sonic Drive-In with a mysterious interior dining area – you can tell it was originally conceived as something else.1

That said, the product itself is functional. It contains fewer bugs than any previous game in the franchise, and maybe BioWare’s entire catalog for that matter. I wouldn’t say the combat soars, but it does glide. There’s a momentum and responsiveness to the battle system that makes it satisfying to pull off combos and takedowns against enemies, especially if you’re juggling multiple foes at once. Monotony sets in after about thirty or forty hours, largely due to the fact that you’re restricted to a single class’s moveset on account of the uncontrollable companions. Still, this design choice can encourage replay value, as it does in Mass Effect, and free respec options and generous skill point allocations offset the tedium somewhat.

While the character and creature designs elicit controversy – both for the exaggerated art direction and, in the case of demons and darkspawn, total redesign – the environmental art is nothing short of breathtaking. I worried that this title would look dated because of how long it had been in development and the age of the technology it was built upon. Those fears were swiftly banished when I saw the cityscapes of Minrathous, the cyclopean architecture of the Nevarran Grand Necropolis, or the overgrown ruins of Arlathan. But like everything in The Veilguard, it’s a double-edged sword. The neon-illuminated streets of Docktown, the floating citadel of the Archon’s Palace, and the whirring mechanisms of the elven ruins evoke a more fantastically futuristic setting that feels at odds with all three previous titles (even though all three exhibited a stylistic shift to some extent). It aggravates the feeling of discordance between this rendition of Thedas and the one returning players know.

All of these elements make The Veilguard a fine fantasy action-adventure game – even a good one, I’d say. But as both the culmination of fifteen years of storytelling and as a narrative-based roleplaying game – the two most important facets of its identity – it consistently falls short. Dragon Age began as a series with outdated visuals and often obtuse gameplay, but was borne aloft by its worldbuilding, characterization, and dialogue. Now, that paradigm is completely inverted. The more you compare it to the older entries, the more alien it appears. After all these years of anticipation, how did it end up this way? Was this the only path forward?

Throughout The Veilguard’s final act, characters utter the phrase “Whatever it takes,” multiple times. Some might say too many. I feel like this mantra applied to the development cycle. As more struggles mounted, the team made compromise after compromise to allow the game to exist at all, to give the overarching story some conclusion in the face of pressure from corporate shareholders, AAA market expectations, and impatient fans. Whatever it takes to get this product out the door and into people’s homes.

This resulted in a game that was frankensteined together, assembled out of spare parts and broken dreams. It doesn’t live up to either the comedic heights or dramatic gravity of Inquisition’s “Trespasser” DLC from 2015, despite boasting the same lead writer in Trick Weekes. Amid the disappointment, we’re left with an unfortunate ultimatum: It’s either this or nothing.

I don’t mean that as a way to shield The Veilguard from criticism, or to dismiss legitimate complaints as ungrateful gripes. Rather, I’m weighing the value of a disappointing reality vs an idealized fantasy. The “nothing”, in this sense, was the dream I had for the past decade of what a perfect Dragon Age 4 looked like. With the game finally released, every longtime fan has lost their individualized, imaginary perfection in the face of an authentic, imperfect text. Was the destruction of those fantasies a worthy trade? It doesn’t help that the official artbook showcases a separate reality that could’ve been, with a significant portion dedicated to the original concepts for Joplin that are, personally, a lot closer to my ideal vision. I think it would’ve done wonders to ground the game as more Dragon Age-y had they stuck with bringing back legacy characters, such as Cole, Calpernia, Imshael, and the qunari-formerly-known as Sten.

I don’t necessarily hate The Veilguard (I might actually prefer it to Dragon Age II), but I can’t help but notice a pattern in its many problems – a pattern that stems from a lack of faith in the audience and a smothering commitment to safety over boldness. As I examine its narrative and roleplaying nuances, I wish to avoid comparing it to groundbreaking RPGs such as Baldur’s Gate 3 (2023) or even Dragon Age: Origins (2009), as the series has long been diverging from that type of old-school CRPG. Rather, except when absolutely necessary, I will only qualitatively compare it to Inquisition, its closest relative.

And nowhere does it come up shorter to Inquisition than in the agency (or lack thereof) bestowed to the player to influence their character and World State.

II. Damnatio Memoriae

No, that’s not the name of an Antivan Crow (though I wouldn’t blame you for thinking so, since we have a character named “Lucanis Dellamorte”). It’s a Latin phrase meaning “condemnation of memory”, applied to a reviled person by destroying records of their existence and defacing objects of their legacy. In this case, it refers to the player. When it comes to their influence over the world and their in-game avatar, The Veilguard deigns to limit or outright eliminate it.

Save transfers that allow for the transmission of World States (the carrying over of choices from the previous games) have been a staple of the Dragon Age and Mass Effect franchises. Even when their consequences are slight, the psychological effect that this personalization has on players is profound, and one of many reasons why fans grow so attached to the characters and world. At its core, it’s an illusion, but one that’s of similar importance to the illusion that an arbitrary collection of 1s and 0s can create an entire digital world. Player co-authorship guarantees a level of emotional investment that eclipses pre-built backgrounds.

However, The Veilguard limits the scope to just three choices, a dramatic decrease from the former standard. All import options come from Inquisition, with two just from the “Trespasser” expansion. One variable potentially impacts the ending, while the other two, in most cases, add one or two lines of dialogue and a single codex entry. Inquisition, by contrast, imported a bevy of choices from both previous games. Some of them had major consequences to quests such as “Here Lies the Abyss” and “The Final Piece”, both of which incorporated data from two games prior. The Veilguard is decidedly less ambitious. Conspicuously absent options include: whether Morrigan has a child or not, the fate of Hawke, the status of the Hero of Fereldan, the current monarchs of Fereldan and Orlais, the current Divine of the southern Chantry, and the individual outcomes of more than two dozen beloved party members across the series. Consequently, the fourth installment awkwardly writes around these subjects – Varric avoids mentioning his best friend, Hawke, as does Isabela ignore her potential lover. Fereldan, Orlais, and the Chantry are headed by Nobody in Particular. Morrigan, a prominent figure in the latest game, makes no mention of her potential son or even her former traveling companions. And the absence of many previous heroes, even ones with personal stakes in the story, feels palpably unnatural. I suspect this flattening of World States into a uniform mold served, in addition to cutting costs, to create parity between multiple cooperative players during the initial live-service version of Morrison. Again, the compromises of the troubled production become apparent, except this time, they’re taking a bite out of the core narrative.

Moreover, the game’s unwillingness to acknowledge quantum character states means that it’s obliged to omit several important cast members. At this point, I would’ve rather had them establish an official canon for the series rather than leaving everything as nebulous and undefined as possible. That way at least the world would’ve felt more alive, and we could’ve gotten more action out of relevant figures like Cassandra, Alistair, Fenris, Merrill, Cole, and Iron Bull. Not to mention that The Veilguard’s half-measure of respectful non-intereference in past World States ultimately fails. Certain conversations unintentionally canonize specific events, including references to Thom Rainier and Sera, both of whom could go unrecruited in Inquisition, as well as Morrigan’s transformation into a dragon in the battle with Corypheus in that game’s finale. But whatever personal history the player had with them doesn’t matter. The entire Dragon Age setting now drifts in a sea of ambiguity, its history obfuscated. It feels as gray and purgatorial as Solas’s prison for the gods.

Beyond obscuring the past, The Veilguard restrains the player’s agency over the present. When publications first announced that the game would allow audiences to roleplay transgender identities and have that acknowledged by the party, I grew very excited – both at the encouraging representation, and at the depth of roleplaying mechanics that such an inclusion suggested. Unfortunately, The Veilguard offers little in roleplaying beyond this. The player character, Rook, always manifests as an altruistic, determined, friendly hero, no matter what the player chooses (if they’re offered choices at all). The selections of gender identity and romantic partner constitute the totality of how Rook defines themselves, post-character creation – exceptions that prove the rule of vacancy. Everything else is set in stone. The options presented are good, and should remain as standard, but in the absence of other substantive roleplaying experiences, their inclusion starts to feel frustratingly disingenuous and hollow, as if they were the only aspects the developers were willing to implement, and only out of obligation to meet the bare minimum for player agency. In my opinion, it sours the feature and exudes a miasma of cynicism.

Actual decisions that impact the plot are few and far between, but at least we have plenty of dialogue trees. In this type of game, dialogue options might usually lead to diverging paths that eventually converge to progress the plot. You might be choosing between three different flavors of saying “yes”, but as with the World States, that illusion of agency is imperative for the roleplaying experience. The Veilguard doesn’t even give you the three flavors – the encouraging, humorous, and stern dialogue options are frequently interchangeable, and rarely does it ever feel like the player is allowed to influence Rook’s reactions. Relationships with companions feel predetermined, as the approval system has no bearing on your interactions anymore. There are so few moments for you to ask your companions questions and dig in deep compared to Inquisition. Combined together, these issues make me question why we even have dialogue with our party at all. Rook adopts the same parental affect with each grown adult under their command, and it feels like every conversation ends the same way irrespective of the player’s input. With the exception of the flirting opportunities, they might as well be non-interactive cutscenes.

Rook’s weak characterization drags the game down significantly. With such limited authorship afforded to the player, it’s difficult to regard them as anything more than their eponymous chess piece – a straightfoward tool, locked on a grid, and moving flatly along the surface as directed.

III. Dull in Docktown

On paper, a plot summary of The Veilguard sounds somewhere between serviceable and phenomenal: Rook and Varric track down Solas to stop him from tearing down the Veil and destroying the world. In the process, they accidentally unleash Elgar’nan and Ghilan’nain, two of the wicked Evanuris who once ruled over the elven people millenia ago. With Solas advising them from an astral prison, Rook gathers a party together to defeat the risen gods, along with their servants and sycophants. Over the course of the adventure, they uncover dark truths about the origins of the elves, the mysterious Titans, and the malevolent Blight that’s served as an overarching antagonistic force. Eventually, Rook and friends join forces with Morrigan and the Inquisitor, rally armies to face off with their foes, and slay both the gods and their Archdemon thralls before they can conjure the full terror of the Blight. As Solas once again betrays the group, Rook and company have to put a decisive stop to his plans, which could potentially involve finally showing him the error of his ways.

The bones of The Veilguard’s story are sturdier than a calcium golem. Problems arise when you look at the actual writing, dialogue, and characterization – the flesh, blood, and organs of the work.

I’ve seen others chide the writing as overly quippy, but that better describes previous titles. Rather, I think The Veilguard’s dialogue is excessively utilitarian and preliminary, like a first draft awaiting refinement. Characters describe precisely what’s happening on screen as it’s happening, dryly exposit upon present circumstances, and repeat the same information ad nauseum. This infuriating repetition does little to reveal hidden components of their personalities, or their unique responses to situations. You won’t hear anything like Cole’s cerebral magnetic poetry or Vivienne’s dismissive arrogance. Many exchanges could’ve been uttered by Nobody in Particular, as it’s just dry recitation after recitation. It almost feels like watching an English second language instructional video, or a demonstration on workplace safety precautions. Clarity and coherence come at the cost of characterization and charisma.

Words alone fail to make them interesting. Most companions lack the subtlety and depth I had come to expect from the franchise, with many conversations amounting to them just plainly stating how they’re feeling. Most rap sessions sound like they’re happening in a therapist’s office with how gentle, open, and uncomplicated they feel. Compare this to Inquisition, where every character has a distinct voice (I should know, I had to try to copy them for that stupid application), as well as their own personal demons that it betrays: Sera’s internalized racism, hints of Blackwall’s stolen valor, Iron Bull’s espionage masked by bluster, or Solas’s lingering guilt and yearning for a bygone age. These aspects of their characters aren’t front and center, but things the audience can delve into that gives every moment with them more texture. The Veilguard’s companions lay out all their baggage carefullly and respectfully upfront, whether it’s Taash’s multiculturalism and gender identity issues or Neve’s brooding cynicism towards Tevinter’s underbelly. You’ve plumbed the depths of their personas within the first few minutes of meeting most of them.

Small exceptions exist. Professor Emmerich Volkarin stands out from the rest of the cast as a particularly inspired character: a charming, Vincent Price-like necromancer. His attachment to tombs and necromancy as a way to cope with his crippling fear of death makes for curiously compelling melodrama. The way in which he ultimately has to face his fear – either by foregoing his opportunity for immortality to save his beloved skeletal ward, Manfred, or by allowing his friend to pass on so that he can transcend into a new type existence – rises above the other binary choices in the game by being both narratively interesting and legitimately difficult to judge. Still, I feel Emmerich’s whole “lawful good gentleman necromancer” conceit, while a unique and clever subversion of tropes, would’ve worked better if it actually contrasted with anyone else in the party. Instead, the whole crew is full of unproblematic do-gooders who are forbidden by the game to nurture any meaningful interpersonal conflict. While I’d appreciate this lack of toxicity in my real-life relationships, fictional chemistry demands more reactive ingredients.

The Veilguard’s developers frequently positioned the game as “cozy” and about a “found family”, but I can guarantee you that there’s more tension at my Thanksgiving dinners than there is anywhere in this title. This family would get along swimmingly even during a presidential election. The thing about the “found family” trope is that it’s more satisfying when it’s earned. Here, it represents the default state, the starting point, and the status quo that they will always return to. Any minor squabbles (Harding wanting to sleep in the dirt, Emmerich taking too many books on a camping trip, Taash not liking necromancy) are introduced and squashed within the same scene. They all feel so extraneous. There’s so little friction among the companions here that you’d think it disproves Newton’s Third Law. The previous games never struggled in this regard, which makes the choices here all the more baffling.

Beyond the intra-party dynamics, characters lack grit or darkness to them – even when the narrative absolutely calls for it. Remember how I described the necromancer as lawful good (to use traditional Dungeons and Dragons alignments)? Yeah, that’s every character. Even the demonic assassin. Lucanis is a notorious hitman possessed by a demon of Spite, and possibly the weakest character of the game. This may or may not be due to the fact that his writer, Mary Kirby, was laid off mid-development. Regardless, he has noticeably less content than the other party members and generally feels unfinished. The demonic possession storyline goes nowhere; he doesn’t exorcise Spite, nor does he learn more about it or how to live with it. Instead, Spite is just an excuse to give Lucanis cool spectral wings (which he will use to fail several assassination attempts). The demon itself mostly just comes across as rude rather than threatening. The biggest issue, however, stems from the absence of any edge to Lucanis. When confronting his traitorous cousin, Ilario – the man who sold out Lucanis’s family to an enemy faction, kidnapped his grandmother, and made multiple attempts on his life – our grizzled, hardened assassin, pushed to the brink, demands… due process. Seriously, if your choices have led Lucanis to have a hardened heart, his method for dealing with the grievous traitor is sending him to jail. That’s The Veilguard’s idea of vindictive brutality among a clan of unforgiving murderers-for-hire. By contrast, Inquisition features Sera insubordinately murdering a stuck-up nobleman for talking too much. I believe that if modern BioWare had written The Godfather (1972), it would’ve ended with Michael Corleone recommending his brother-in-law to attend confession and seek a marriage counselor.

The writers seem intent on making the cast wholly unproblematic, with no way that the audience could ever question their morality or taste the delicious nuance of seeing someone you like do something bad. Measures were taken to child-proof every aspect of the good guys so that they couldn’t possibly be construed as anything else – even if it constricts them to the point of numbness and eventual atrophy.

To make things as palatable and accessible as possible, the language itself was dumbed down. Characters make frequent use of neologisms and bark phrases like “Suit up,” or “These guys go hard.” It emulates popular blockbuster superhero stuff rather than staying true to the diction the series traditionally employed. It’s all about the team, and the entire Dragon Age world has been stripped down into simplistic conflicts and recognizable stock characters.

This is why The Veilguard’s story largely fails. Despite being ostensibly being about the characters, they come off as an afterthought. Most of the time, only the sole requisite follower has anything to say on a given mission. Even in combat, their wholeness as fully-implemented party members falls short of expectations. Their damage output pales in comparison to the Rook’s, they have no health and cannot be downed in battle, and they mainly exist to give the player three extra ability slots. That’s the game’s true ethos for the companions, whether in combat or dialogue – utility, tools to make things happen rather than elegantly crafted identities. We end up with the largest amount of content per companion among any game in the franchise, only to have the weakest roster.

I know these writers can do better, because I’ve seen them do better. Trick Weekes wrote Iron Bull, Cole, and Solas in Inquisition, as well as Mordin Solus and Tali’Zorah in Mass Effect 2 (2010) and Mass Effect 3. Mary Kirby wrote Varric throughout the series, as well as Sten and Loghain in Origins. Plenty of other experienced writers, such as Sylvia Feketekuty and John Dombrow also contributed, so I can’t put any of the blame on a lack of skill. I don’t know if the mistake was trying to appeal to a wider audience, or if the constant reorientations of the DA4 project drained the crew’s passion and left them lacking in time to polish things.

I personally suspect that the writers had to rush out a script for all of the voiced dialogue. A video from August of 2020 showed off the voice actors for Davrin and Bellara, more than four years before the final game’s release. I think the codex entries, letters, and missives that you find throughout the game, which consist of only text, are much better written than the dialogue. My theory is that the writers had more time to revise and spruce up these tidbits, where edits were minimally invasive, as far as production is concerned. But my knowledge is limited; after all, BioWare rejected my application almost a decade ago.

Still, there are aspects of The Veilguard’s plot that I enjoy. The lore reveals were particularly satisfying2, and many felt rewarding after a decade of speculation. I called that elves were originally spirits, as well as the connection between the Archdemons and the Evanuris, but I wouldn’t have guessed that the Blight formed out of the smoldering rage of the Titans’ severed dreams. I’d concisely describe The Veilguard’s story as the opposite of Mass Effect 3: Whereas ME3 did excellent character work, the characterization in The Veilguard leaves much to be desired. Whereas ME3’s tone was overwhelmingly grim, The Veilguard feels inappropriately positive. Whereas ME3’s lore reveals ruined much about the series’s mystique, The Veilguard’s helped tie the setting’s history together. And whereas ME3 fumbled the ending about as much as it possibly could, The Veilguard actually coalesces into a spectacular third act.

While I think the twist with Varric’s death is weak (outright pitiful compared to the Dread Wolf twist of Inquisition), the actual events that make up the finale carry a momentum and urgency that the rest of the game severely lacked. Everything from the sacrifice and kidnapping of Rook’s companions to the slaying of Ghilan’nain to the awe-inspiring battle between the Dread Wolf and Archdemon Lusacan – the whole affair takes the best parts of Mass Effect 2’s Suicide Mission and elevates it to the scale of an apocalyptic series finale. Ultimately, Solas takes center stage as the final antagonist, and the drama crescendos to a height the rest of the game desperately needed. He remains the most interesting character in the game and perhaps the franchise, and thankfully, the resolution to his story did not disappoint me (though I would’ve preferred the option for a boss battle against his Dread Wolf form if the player’s negotiations broke down). So in that sense, I think the worst possible scenario was avoided.

But is that really worth celebrating? Averting complete disaster? Exceeding the lowest standards? In many regards, The Veilguard still could have been – should have been – more.

IV. A World of Tranquil

In my essay on Final Fantasy VII: Rebirth (2024), I briefly discussed a trend in media to sand off the edges so as not to upset the audience in any way. The encroachment of this media sanitization seems to be an over-correction to the brimming grimness of late 2000s and early 2010s fiction (to which the first two Dragon Age titles belong), which earned comparable levels of criticism. Like Solas, I occasionally feel trapped in a cycle of regret, where it feels like our previous yearning for less aggressive, mean-spirited content led to a media landscape that prioritized patronizingly positive art. Now it’s clear to me that, in order to have a point, you need to have an edge.

Dragon Age historically drew a very progressive audience, and many of them congregated around Tumblr in that website’s heyday. Tumblr has garnered something of a reputation for overzealous discourse and sensitivity among its userbase, and I think that the developers of The Veilguard, in an attempt to cater to one of their core audiences, may have misunderstood both that passion and the fundamental appeal of their products. They became so concerned about optics, about avoiding politically charged criticism, that they kneecapped their world-building, rendering it as inoffensive and sterile as possible. It’s not so much “PC culture” as it is “PG culture.”

To that end, the various governments, factions, and societies of Thedas lost their edge. Dragon Age previously presented itself as anti-authoritarian by showcasing the rampant abuses of power across all cultures. Whether it was the incarceration of mages under the Chantry, the slavery practiced by the Tevinter Imperium, the expansionist anti-individualism of the Qun, the restrictive dwarven caste system, or the rampant racism against elves, social strife abounded in this world. I think that’s one thing that drew so many marginalized fans to the series. But the correlation of fictional atrocities with those of real life frequently prompted volatile discourse, with many concerned about how allegedly allegorized groups were being represented. You began to see countless essays pop up by folks who use the phrase “blood quantum” more than any healthy person should for a setting about wizards. BioWare responded to this by making Thedosian society wholly pleasant and the people in power responsible and cool and the disparate cultures tolerant and cooperative. If nothing’s portrayed negatively (outside of the cartoonishly evil gods), nobody can take offense, right?

For starters, the Antivan Crows have gone from an amoral group of assassins to basically Batman. These figures, which previously purchased children off slave markets to train them into killers, are now the “true rulers” of Antiva, by which the official government derives its authority. The Crows in The Veilguard stand against the insurgent qunari army as heroes of the common folk. They’re not an unscrupulous faction that Rook is reluctantly forced to ally with for the greater good; no, the Crows are simply good guys now. When the pompous governor of Treviso rails against them, with such audacious claims as “assassins and thugs should not represent the citizenry,” we’re meant to laugh at the governor’s foolishness. The unintentional implication this sends is that lethal vigilantism and unchecked power are cool because the people who use it are cool and stylish. The slave trade goes unacknoweldged; Antivan children want to grow up to be assassins now. The Crows never do anything wrong in The Veilguard – the governor is later revealed to be cooperating with the invaders for their own power. BioWare avoids the unpleasantness inherent in the Crows’ concept by pretending it never existed.

Perhaps more ridiculous is the Lords of Fortune, a new faction of pirates and treasure hunters based out of Rivain. Except they don’t really do piracy or treasure hunting. The game goes to lengths to ensure that the audience knows that the Lords don’t steal important cultural artifacts from any of the tombs and ruins they raid. What do they steal, then? There is no such thing as an ethical treasure hunter – plundering indigenous sites for souvenirs is inherently problematic – but the writers wanted to reap the appeal of adventurous swashbucklers without any of the baggage, regardless of whether it makes sense or not3. It comes across as a child’s idea of a pirate: they’re not thinking about the murder and looting, just the funny men with eye-patches who say “ARRR!” The developers want us to like the Lords of Fortune, and to that end, they can’t do anything culturally insensitive – even fictional disrespect toward a made-up culture. This is doubly amusing because the Lords are represented by Isabela from Dragon Age II. The same Isabela that kicked off a war with the qunari by stealing their holy book, the Tome of Koslun. This irony goes unacknowledged by the game.4

When these rogue buccaneers aren’t busy giving land acknowledgments to displaced Dalish elves or whatever, they’re enjoying their nonviolent coliseum. Pirates revel in bloodsport, but only so long as no actual blood is spilled. The Lords refuse to fight prisoners or animals in their arena, as they find such acts too cruel. I guess they’re all big Peter Singer readers. Instead, they summon spirits to adopt the visages of common enemies so that the player can kill them with a clean conscience. It’s another example of wanting to have your cake and eat it too – they wanted to create a glory hunter/gladiator faction, but couldn’t stand the underlying implications of such. So they twisted and bent them to fit into their unproblematic paradigm, leaving the Lords flavorless and lame. They barely even contribute to the main story, and they’re practically the only look we get into Rivaini society (which remains criminally underdeveloped).

More tragic is the handling of the qunari, once one of the most unique and nuanced civilizations in the Dragon Age setting. The Qun, as portrayed in the first three installments, is a society that demands all of its composite parts work in harmony. Thus, they have predetermined vocations for their children, rigid gender roles, strict codes of conduct, and an ambition to “enlighten” the rest of the world. While the Qun has often been presented as antagonistic toward the heroes, the series has commonly balanced its portrayal by showing how seductive its absolutism can be for people without hope. In some cases, life under the Qun is preferable, as is the case with former Tevinter slaves. Conformity becomes comfort when the world is regularly threatening to split apart.

The Veilguard opts for a different approach. See, Rook’s not fighting members of the Qun in this game – they’re fighting the Antaam, the former qunari military. The Veilguard constantly reiterates that the Antaam, which makes up one of the three branches of the Qun, has broken off and decided to invade, pillage, and stoke chaos. BioWare didn’t want the questionable morality and complexity of fighting an invading people from a humanized, multi-faceted culture, so they removed their culture. Their efforts to turn the non-Western-coded qunari into something digestible for their mistaken conception of a modern audience instead results in two caricatures: one being a fetishized, perfect society where there are no perceivable social ills; and the other a bunch of rampaging brutes.

Contending with a realized conception of Plato’s Republic mixed with the Ottoman Empire makes for more compelling drama than a horde of murderous giants. Again, BioWare wanted to have it both ways, and they still needed nameless, faceless orcs to kill. So every bit about the qunari’s militancy, imperialism, and repression coexisting alongside some of their more progressive ideas and communal unity is stripped of its context and meaning. Blame is placed solely on the Antaam, who no longer represent (and retroactively, never represented) the Qun’s ideology. It’s a cowardly compromise, attempting to pin the blame of all the Qun’s failings on a renegade military and seeking to exonerate the political and social apparatuses of their culpability.

At one point, a minor character named Seer Rowan lectures to an ignorant human (a proxy for the audience absorbing these retcons) that qunari society has always been egalitarian in practice, with mages enjoying freedom there. Previous games showed that the qunari shackle their “saarebas” mages, stitch their mouths, cut out their tongues, and teach them to commit suicide if they ever stray from their masters. However, we’re now assured that this is only practiced under the Antaam, and No True Qunari would ever do such a thing. Ignore the fact that, in Inquisition, we witness the enslaved saarebas under the supervision of the Ben-Hasserath, a subdivision of the Ariqun (i.e. not part of the Antaam). In fact, the Antaam that Rook fights in The Veilguard never command saarebas at all. They’re completely absent from the game (likely because the image of the bound, mutilated minority was too much for The Veilguard’s sensibilities). Seer Rowan’s weak, conciliatory retcon can’t even justify itself in its own game. The scolding diatribe communicates an intrinsic misunderstanding of the Qun by the writers – namely, it continues the pattern established with the Antivan Crows that the mechanics of power in society are fundamentally good as long as aberrant forces aren’t in charge. While I understand the desire to be conscientious about the portrayal of fictional cultures that draw upon non-Western traditions and iconography (which have historically been demonized in media), glamorizing the Qun and stripping it of its realistic nuance does little to alleviate any problems with representation. If anything, it creates new ones.

But hey, now we have our faceless orcs to guiltlessly slaughter. That’s what the Antaam’s been reduced to, bereft of the ideology that made them people. We kill them because they’re strange and scary and foreign and seeking to destroy our cities for fun. They remain the most prominent representation of the qunari in-game, barring our party member Taash. BioWare’s attempts to reverse what they viewed as problematic components to the qunari instead devolved into the very tropes they wished to avoid.

Which leads us to the elves. Much of the series’s discourse has surrounded the portrayal of the long-suffering elven people, who endure slavery under Tevinter, expulsion from their homeland in the Dales, confinement in ghettos, and the general disdain from other races. The games’ stories use symbolic shorthand of real-life oppressed peoples to communicate these tragedies, and this has led to a variety of intense, emotional interpretations over the years. The unending misery of the systematically marginalized elves hasn’t gone unnoticed by the fanbase – and their criticisms haven’t gone unnoticed by the developers. To quote The Veilguard’s creative director, John Epler, in an interview with Polygon:

“Dragon Age has not always been the kindest to the Dalish [elves]. Somebody once made a joke to me, and it’s not untrue, that it’s possible to wipe out a Dalish clan in all three of the games in some way.”

He and others on the development team must’ve thought elves needed a break, because the omnipresent racism against them vanishes completely in The Veilguard. Tevinter, an empire built on the back of chattel slavery, doesn’t show any of that. Consequently, it feels like players in the know still haven’t seen the true face of Tevinter, despite spending half a game there. The notion that the capital of Minrathous gives now is one of a prosperous city that’s centuries ahead of the countries down south, rather than a cruel regime cracking the whip at every opportunity. Perhaps the writers weren’t comfortable portraying this, or felt that their audience might not be amenable to it after years of incendiary argumentation. Nevertheless, it castrates their established world-building and robs us of the opportunity to witness true elven liberation in the climax. With both the fall of Minrathous and the toppling of the tyrannical elven gods, we could have delivered a much needed catharsis after four games of oppression, but The Veilguard forgoes this storytelling opportunity to play it safe.

I worry that this hesitancy originated from anxieties about the sensitivity of depicting marginalized peoples in brutal, dehumanizing conditions, and how that might look to more fragile viewers. But I think it’s important for all players, watchers, and readers to know that, though there might be aspects shared between them, fictional minorities are distinct from real ones.

Dragon Age’s elves are aesthetically Celtic. Their residency in alienages evokes images of Disapora Jews in Europe. Their Long Walk after being driven from the Dales calls back to the Trail of Tears, sharing an experience with Native Americans. Their subsequent migratory nature is reminiscent of the Romani people. And their ancient empire of Arlathan, with its large columns and temples of worship, headed by ascended humanoid (for lack of a better term) deities that cast down an enemy called the Titans, and which has since had its religion and culture co-opted and renamed by Roman-inspired Tevinter invites comparisons to classical Greece.

My point is, the elves of Dragon Age don’t represent one group of people, because fictional cultures are constructs drawing from countless inspirations. If they represent anything beyond themselves, it’s the idea of a proud people that’s fallen under the yoke of conquering powers – a supervictim to embody all. The idea that one must be limited in their storytelling options based on how the portrayal might reflect upon or disrespect an existing culture is flawed, in my opinion. In the overwhelming majority of cases, coding cannot be read as a 1:1 allegory, especially in speculative fiction like science-fiction and fantasy. I believe the most mature way to evaluate a story isn’t to try to pigeonhole what it’s trying to say say about who, as if there’s some insidious encrypted message in the text. Rather, it’s to see the forest through the trees and interpret the work as a complete whole in itself.

On that basis, I ask: would it have been so bad to see some of those enslaved elves, praying for salvation, side with their manipulative, nefarious gods? To add some nuance to the conflict with Elgar’nan and Ghilan’nain, would the story of elven liberation not have been better if the game actually engaged with it? Could we actually have a moral quandary with those whom Rook ends up fighting, even if the content might be seemingly problematic?

Epler might respond in the negative, per the Polygon interview, claiming that the gods “simply don’t care” about the elves.

“Those blighted, decrepit gods, they’re not bothering with the soft pitch. Their pitch is, We’re going to make a horrible world. We’re going to give you a lot of power, and maybe you’ll be OK.”

Like a chess board, the core conflict of The Veilguard is black and white. BioWare abandoned the chance to make Elgar’nan and Ghilan’nain more interesting villains because it was too risky.

Similarly risky was Solas’s role as an antagonist, since his motivations, as explained in “Trespasser”, are deeply sympathetic. Perhaps too much so for the developers’ comfort. Unlike the Evanuris and their disinterest in the elves, Solas wants to restore the elven people to their former glory. At least, that seemed to be his pitch in the last game. Frustratingly absent from The Veilguard are the Agents of Fen’Harel – elves who swore fealty to Solas’s cause. They infiltrated and compromised the Inquisition, effectively precipitating the final decision to end the organization in its current form. The idea that Solas had amassed an army of common folk who found the idea of a renewed elven empire appealing made him appear formidable and intimidating. “Trespasser” implies that a mass uprising of elves under Solas’s leadership was imminent, and anyone could be in on it.

None of this happens in The Veilguard. Not only does Solas lack an army, but their absence isn’t explained or even acknowledged. As a result, Solas remains a passive antagonist until near the end, since the player has no disciples of his to contend with (either physically or ideologically) along the way. It wastes a side of his character that had been foreshadowed in a decade-long cliffhanger – that of a charismatic leader, capable of coordinating a rebellion that could spell disaster for its own followers.

In a Reddit AMA after the latest game’s release, Epler answered where the Agents of Fen’Harel disappeared to:

“Solas’ experience leading the rebellion against the Evanuris turned him against the idea of being a leader. You see it in the memories – the entire experience of being in charge ate at him and, ultimately, convinced him he needed to do this on his own. And his own motivations were very different from the motivations of those who wanted to follow him – he had no real regard for their lives or their goals. So at some point between Trespasser and DATV, he severed that connection with his ‘followers’ and went back to being a lone wolf. There are Dalish clans who are sympathetic to his goals, but even there, there’s an understanding that he’s too dangerous to have a more formal connection with, and that he will, ultimately, sacrifice them to his own ends if necessary.”

I find this explanation unsatisfying, not the least bit because the narrative offers next to nothing to imply this. The disappearance of Solas’s agents represents my biggest bugbear with the game, depriving it of the full potential of its highly anticipated antagonist in favor of the more generically villainous Evanuris. Moreover, this omission fits into the aggravating blueprint for The Veilguard’s inoffensive direction. The motivations, emotions, and backgrounds of the Agents of Fen’Harel would be sympathetic, and therefore might problematize the otherwise cut-and-dry conflicts. Epler seemed concerned that audiences might think Solas was “a little too sympathetic in his goals,” according to an interview with GamesRadar+.

But that’s the thing: sympathy isn’t endorsement, and portrayal of sympathetic characters isn’t endorsement either. But neither does that invalidate the emotions and experiences that generate that sympathy, even if the character’s actions ultimately turn toward evil. I’ve noticed a trend (especially in symptomatic criticism, which I generally dislike5) to view art as propaganda, and to evaluate it from a moralizing, top-down perspective. Antagonists with complex or understandable motivations (in this case, revolutionary villains) are often judged by this framework as tools for stories wishing to champion the status quo. Common arguments that I’ve seen imply that the relatability that we often find in villains is not a strength of the writing, but a devilish trick of ideology by which writers can reinforce conservative doctrine, to scold us away from certain beliefs. Any decent writer knows this isn’t the case, and that people don’t write morally or emotionally complex antagonists for didactic purposes. Instead, characters such as these embody the anxieties of their creators – the fear of losing yourself to your passions, the fear of going about things the wrong way, the fear of sacrificing too much to achieve your desired ends. The concepts and feelings that compel these characters remain authentic to the writer’s heart and the connection they established with the audience.

Art isn’t propaganda. To read it as such reduces it and promotes intellectual dishonesty and foolhardy myopia. Stories are irreducible (otherwise, we would not waste our time with them), and so I believe interpretations should be formed from the bottom-up, rooted in the text as much as possible. The “message” cannot be imposed from the top-down, but symptomatic readings, in their focus on tropes and cultural context, frequently condemn without a trial. Hindering your story in order to future-proof it for the sake of optics is a safeguard against this, and one that leads to bad stories. Artists should have confidence that their text will hold its ground on its own. To quote Ursula K. Le Guin’s essay “A Message about Messages”:

“The complex meanings of a serious story or novel can be understood only by participation in the language of the story itself. To translate them into a message or reduce them to a sermon distorts, betrays, and destroys them… Any reduction of that language into intellectual messages is radically, destructively incomplete.” (67-68)

BioWare’s doctrine of passive writing violates this wisdom by surrendering to their fear of (bad) criticism. The Veilguard lacks punch, stakes, and empathy and becomes incongruous with its established lore because it’s not willing to take risks that might alienate or upset players. They’re more concerned with making sure their work is inoffensive than they are with conveying a moving story.

I believe all of this was inherited from an incestuous feedback loop between a vocal minority of critics, of which I might’ve once counted myself among the blameworthy, and the apprehensiveness of out-of-touch corporate board room decision-making. Dragon Age’s genome mutated, and it slowly lost its teeth.

Over the course of a decade, we bred the Dread Wolf into a Dread Pug.

V. What It Took

The Veilguard’s lack of confidence in itself and lack of faith in its audience contribute to its capitulatory nature. In many respects, it feels like the developers lost their passion for it over the course of the ten year hellish production and just wanted to be done with it. This resulted in a decent game that nonetheless feels divorced from what came before it. It tries to juggle being a soft reboot while also trying to close out the series’s biggest and longest running story arcs, but inevitably fumbles.

Nearly everything done by The Veilguard was handled better by Inquisition. And Inquisition was certainly the more ambitious title. Perhaps more returning characters would have established a sense of continuity between the two, or at least made it less awkward by having them present for the story’s grand finale. For as strong as the endgame is, it could’ve benefited from the presence of slave liberator Fenris, elven history aficionado Merrill, possible Evanuris soul vessel Sera, or Divine Victoria (any of them). The core pillar of Dragon Age is the characters, and The Veilguard’s under-performance (and in some cases, outright dismissal) in that regard sabotages its integrity. Without this to anchor it, the changes to gameplay, visuals, and roleplaying depth become more alienating.

Personally, what do I take away from this? The Veilguard is far from the game I dreamed about for ten years, and not the one that loyal fans deserved either. I’m no stranger to disappointment at this point in my life, and yet this still leaves me with a hollow feeling. Will I still be able to return to Inquisition, a game I truly adore, and see it the same way as before, knowing now where all this is leading? The true cost of The Veilguard, for me, has nothing to do with the price tag: it’s the loss of that perfectly tailored dream, now that the possibilities of the future have shut their gates.

Where do those dreams go? Are they doomed to fester in their lonely, incommunicable agony? Will they be twisted by their enmity, like the blighted dreams of the Titans, and spread their corruption into those important happy memories?

In 2014, I was depressed as fuck, and Dragon Age: Inquisition helped me to see the light and come out of it. In 2024, I was depressed as fuck, and Dragon Age: The Veilguard made me feel nothing. There’s no less favorable comparison in my eyes. It’s disheartening to behold something that once meant so much to me and be greeted with numbness. I have to wonder if that affection will ever return, or if I’ve just grown out of it.

But as I wandered the streets of Minrathous as Rook, I heard a familiar song. It was one of the tavern songs from Inquisition, its nostalgic chords filling me with wistful sentiment. I know, deep down, there’s still something there. Maybe I just need to dig it up. Maybe it’s time to look back…

To be continued…

– Hunter Galbraith

Further Reading

Le Guin, Ursula K. “A Message about Messages.” Wonderbook: The Illustrated Guide to Creating Imaginative Fiction, Abrams Image, 2018, pp. 67–68.

Incidentally, this was an anomaly my friends and I pondered over and eventually solved. It turned out to be a former Wienerschnitzel. ↩︎

You could argue that this credit goes more to Inquisition and the previous games for laying the groundwork for said reveals, which were obviously planned out ahead of time, as confirmed by the aforementioned official artbook. Regardless, the payoff satisfied me and gave me proper closure. ↩︎

I’ve been informed that there is a hidden conversation that explains that the Lords of Fortune do, in fact, sell cultural artifacts at times, but only to the rightful owners. This just makes me wonder what they do with the artifacts if the prospective clients can’t pay. Do they shove them back in the ruins and re-arm all the booby traps? ↩︎

I would argue that this does not represent character progression on Isabela’s part, as her (possible, depending on the player’s choices) return of the Tome of Koslun in Dragon Age II was a pragmatic sacrifice she made to save her friends and the city, rather than an acknowledgment of the qunari’s inviolable ownership. In fact, in many continuities, she never returns the Tome at all. ↩︎

I prefer more formalist criticism because it allows the text to lead the dance, not the critique. I think it’s only fair, given that the creators likely spent more effort crafting the piece than I spent consuming it. Symptomatic criticism mandates that the reader consider everything around the text, typically at the text’s expense. In the worst cases, symptomatic critics make their arguments about seemingly everything besides the text in question. ↩︎ Link to article: https://planckstorytime.wordpress.com/2025/01/01/dragon-age-the-veilguard-strangled-by-gentle-hands/

[oldsoul007]

oh, baby

joel miller x reader

summary: joel and y/n connect over being a single parent

a/n: i don’t really know what this is but i thought it was cute

It was a quiet afternoon when Joel decided to take Sarah out to a local café for lunch. They’d been cooped up at home for days, and he figured a little outing would do them both good. Sarah, as usual, was full of energy, chattering nonstop about everything she’d learned in her preschool class. Joel half-listened, half-watching her with a soft smile as he sipped his coffee.

As they sat at their booth, a young woman with a baby in tow walked past their table, heading toward the counter. The baby—Joel couldn’t have been more than six months old—was bundled up in a soft blue blanket. The woman, with her beautiful hair and easy smile, caught Joel’s eye for a moment as she passed. She seemed familiar, but he couldn’t place where he’d seen her before.

She settled into a booth across the room, a little distance away, but something in the way her baby was looking at him caught Joel’s attention. The infant, a chubby-cheeked little boy, was staring directly at Joel. And not just looking—staring, like he was trying to figure something out. His big eyes were wide with curiosity, and as Joel shifted in his seat, the baby’s face broke into a small, soft smile.

Joel blinked in surprise, unsure how to react. Babies didn’t usually single him out like that. He gave a small, instinctive wave, half-embarrassed by the attention, but the baby only smiled more, his eyes locked onto Joel with an intensity that was almost too much. Joel let out a quiet chuckle and leaned back in his chair, feeling his own cheeks warm under the scrutiny.

“Dad, look!” Sarah exclaimed, pointing toward the baby. “That baby’s staring at you!”

Joel glanced down at his daughter, who had noticed the same thing. He gave her a shrug, trying to keep his tone casual. “Yeah, I think he likes my face.”

Sarah giggled. “I think he wants to be friends!”

The baby’s gaze never wavered. Joel looked across the room again and caught the mother’s eye this time. She smiled warmly at him, and that’s when it hit him—she looked vaguely familiar, though he still couldn’t quite place where he’d seen her.

I was noticing his lingering gaze on my son, raised an eyebrow and gave him a sheepish grin. “Sorry about that,” I called out, my voice soft but friendly. “He’s just really fixated on you for some reason. I promise he’s not usually so… intense.”

Joel smiled back, feeling both awkward and charmed by the exchange. “It’s no trouble,” he said, trying to sound at ease, even though the little boy’s stare was starting to make him feel like he was being examined. “He’s got a good eye.”

I laughed lightly as I shifted my baby in my arms, the boy still keeping his focus on Joel like he was some kind of magnet. “I’m y/n, by the way. And this little guy is Luke.”

Joel nodded, feeling a little embarrassed at the odd connection he was having with this woman and her baby. “I’m Joel, and this is Sarah.” He gestured to his daughter, who was happily busy coloring on the kids’ menu.

My eyes flickered briefly to Sarah, then back to Joel. “It’s nice to meet you both. Looks like Sarah and Luke could be buddies if they ever got the chance.”

Joel chuckled and shifted his gaze back to his daughter, who was now enthusiastically showing Luke her drawings from across the room. “She’s pretty good at making new friends,” he said, his voice softening as he watched Sarah interact. There was something so natural about her kindness—it always reminded him that despite the chaos of his life, he’d done something right raising her.

I followed his gaze, a faint smile playing on my lips. “She seems like a sweet girl.” My tone was warm, almost affectionate, but there was something else in my eyes—something that made Joel pause. Was that a flicker of interest?

For a moment, the conversation lapsed into comfortable silence. The soft clinking of cups and cutlery from the other tables filled the air, and the babies’ quiet babbles and giggles blended into the background. Joel felt a tug of something—something he hadn’t felt in a while. An interest, an attraction, maybe? But as quickly as the thought crossed his mind, he pushed it aside.

“I’m sure you’ve got your hands full,” he said, trying to steer the conversation away from anything too personal. “Raising a little one, especially with… everything that’s going on.” He let the last part trail off, not wanting to assume too much, but still curious about my situation.

I met his eyes, and for a brief moment, there was a softness in my expression, a quiet strength. “Actually, it’s just me and Luke. No husband.” I smiled, but there was something almost wistful in my eyes. “Not that I mind. It’s just the two of us.”

Joel blinked, surprised. He’d assumed, based on the way she spoke, that there was a husband or some kind of support in the picture. “I didn’t know,” he said, almost apologetically.

I laughed softly, as if it wasn’t something I minded sharing. “It’s not something I usually bring up, but I don’t really mind being open about it. It’s just how things are, you know? But enough about me. What about you?”

Joel shifted, unsure how to respond, the sudden shift in the conversation leaving him both intrigued and a little nervous. “It’s just me and Sarah. I’ve been doing the solo thing for a while now.”

I nodded, my gaze warm and understanding. “It’s not always easy, is it? Doing it on your own.”

“No,” Joel said, his voice a little quieter. “It’s not. But I’ve got Sarah, and that makes everything else a lot more manageable.”

I smiled at that, my gaze softening as I looked at him—really looked at him—and for a moment, the air between us seemed to thrum with an unspoken understanding. We both knew the challenges of raising kids on our own, and we both knew the weight of that responsibility.

It was at that moment that Luke gave a small gurgle, and Joel realized the baby had finally broken his intense gaze, now more interested in the rattle his mother was shaking for him.

Joel exhaled a quiet breath, his heart still unexpectedly racing from the interaction. “I think he’s finally looking at something else,” he said with a laugh, his nervous energy easing a little.

I smiled again, but this time, it wasn’t just a polite smile. It was a real one—a smile that seemed to carry the possibility of something more. “Well, if it makes you feel better,” I said with a wink, “you’ve got Luke’s approval.”

Joel’s lips quirked into a half-smile as our eyes met, a spark of something more—something tentative but unmistakable—passing between us.

He wasn’t sure where this might go, if anywhere at all, but in that moment, it felt like the start of something new. And for the first time in a long while, that thought didn’t feel so scary.

[vaquerolvr]

so… if we have your sexuality hcs what about their types?

(and maybe how would they approach their future s/o? maybe with a letter or just straight up “i like you”)

hope you’re doing good and staying hydrated

-🍂

i tried to focus on personality rather than physical appearance so idk if it’s exactly what you wanted. sorry if it sucks, i am trapped in a car again. Free Me.

price

his type

dilf/milf enjoyer

he wants someone who’s caring but also independent

who can handle themselves when he runs off on missions for weeks at a time

how he’d ask you out

is weirdly blunt about it

sounds like he’s negotiating a business deal

(the overly formal language is to hide that he’s nervous)

gaz

his type

people who don’t take things too seriously

carefree but not childish yknow?

how he’d ask you out

smooth af

has you laughing and blushing so much that you don’t even realize you’ve agreed to anything

until you’re alone later and you’re like “wait did he mean a friend date or a Date-“

ghost

his type

not picky about appearances, focuses more on personality

someone who has their shit together because he definitely doesn’t

how he’d ask you out

doesn’t

bottles his feelings up until he dies

being serious, it would take literal years because even if you were giving him the clearest signs that you like him, he’d still gaslight himself into thinking you’re not attracted to him

it would probably take one of the guys pushing him into it and he’d be fully expecting you to reject him

soap

his type

women who look like they can kill him

most important thing for him is hygiene/self-care

not necessarily a bodybuilder,, just like someone who takes care of themselves

idk how to explain this

how he’d ask you out

just blurts it out randomly

you don’t take him seriously at first

so he gets friend-zoned like ten times before you realize he’s serious and go out with him

alejandro

his type

i hate to say it but he’s definitely one of those guys who likes to be coddled

so someone who’s caring and affectionate (and clingy, like him)

how he’d ask you out

surprisingly sweet about it

he falls hard and fast and he doesn’t want you to underestimate how much he cares about this/you

he’s a fan of big gestures

so he brings mariachi and one of those big ass bouquets to your house

rudy

his type

just,,, someone who’s not dumb

he deals with alejandro’s antics enough

he just wants someone with common sense

how he’d ask you out

i think he’s a bit old fashioned

so he spends weeks ‘courting’ you before actually making a move

similar to alejandro but he does it somewhere private so there’s no pressure (or nosy neighbors recording)

graves

his type

emotionally vulnerable people who rely on him

WHAT WHO SAID THAT

tbh i don’t think he has a ‘type’

he just likes what he likes

but if he had to pick, he prefers partners with experience

how he’d ask you out

again: doesn’t

you just wake up one day and realize you’ve been dating him for the past two years

makarov

his type

confidence

doesn’t care what you look like, having a confident demeanor is enough to catch his eye

how he’d ask you out

kidnapping someone counts as asking them out, right?

keegan

his type

alternative fashion (specifically goths)

personality wise, someone who’s not afraid to call him on his shit/speak up in general

how he’d ask you out

nothing fancy, just casually asks one day

is really nonchalant about it but nearly throws up from excitement when you say yes

nikolai

his type

he needs someone who matches his freak

and by that i mean, someone who won’t even blink if he comes home with 5 stray cats one day

so just someone who’s generally chill and laidback

how he’d ask you out

hear me out-

you spend months agonizing over whether you’re just friends or if he likes you

and when you finally ask him, he’s just “wdym do i like you? haven’t we been dating for the past four months??”

[levisrations]

Notes: All fluff. Fem reader. Modern Levi and his mom is alive in this universe.

“So when were you gonna tell me you’ve been seeing someone?” She nudges Levi as they walk around the city, looking for the restaurant Levi had made a reservation at. It’s been a few months since Levi saw his mother in person. He has been really busy with his job and now, theres you. Meeting you and falling in love with you was unexpected. Levi was certainly not looking for a relationship at all. He was far too busy, only had time for an ocasional hookup if he was in the mood, which wasn’t often but he was still human.

You weren’t a hookup, just someone he met at one of his friends bar opening party. A mutual friend. Levi wasn’t a believer in love at first sight but when he laid his eyes on you he already imagined a lifetime with you. So he introduced himself to you and spent the rest of the night talking to each other. After exchanging numbers the rest is history.

“It’s only been a few months, Ma” He says as he’s opening the door of the restaurant for her. “And we’ve been taking it slow, wanted to make sure she was wroth mentioning. You know how I can be in these things”. Levi tells the hostess his name and they are seated.

As mentioned Levi has a tendency to not get serious in relationships, far too much of a workaholic. You on the other hand, make everything so easy. Him leaving his office at 5pm on the dot to see you, taking his breaks to talk to you if he has to work past 5, not looking at his phone or laptop when you’re around. He had made it a habit to leave earlier on Fridays because he always could, his boss even encouraged it but he always refused. Now he jumps at the opportunity.

“Well tell me about her! I’ve never seen you this happy or relaxed!” She laughs as she pokes fun at her son. He smiles at her jab and goes on to tell her about you. How funny and intelligent you are. How beautiful. He has to stop himself to not give too much detail because he wants to introduce you to her finally.

“I actually wanted you to meet her. She’s flying here tomorrow to see me but I figured we could take this opportunity to finally introduce you to her.” Levi stirs the tea he was given as he speaks, not looking up at his mother knowing she has a wide grin on her face ready to tease him for being so bashful about you.

“You’re blushing! Oh my goodness she must be a good one. Well I can’t wait to meet her! I’ll cook! What does she like? I’ll make her favorite!”

Levi goes on to tell her your food preferences and jokingly tells her to not embarrass him when you meet. The rest of the meal was spent catching up on other things. After he takes her back home and make sure everything is alright at home he leaves for his hotel. His mother insisted he stays with her, she does every time he visits, but Levi likes his space. She knows that but always offers anyways.

After he showers and gets ready for bed he calls you and tells you all about the day. Tells you how excited his mom is to meet you. You tease him how you hope she pulls out baby and yearbook pictures. Tells you cute stories about his younger years. You ask him what flowers she likes, if she likes wine so you can bring her a bottle. Or maybe even her favorite desert. Levi smiles as you speak seeing how much you want to make his mother happy. He knows you two will get along so well. He’s almost worried it will be too well. You talk on the phone for another hour before you say your goodnights and he tells you have a safe flight, double check you have everything and be at the airport at least three hours before.

[nayaesworld]

Mafioso

Part 2

__

Warnings: violence, past mentions of domestic situations, fluff

Terry X OC!Marina

__

Terry had been experiencing true bliss the last month he had spent with Marina. She was intelligent beyond words and found ways to teach him something new everyday. Whether it was her place or his, they carved out time from their busy schedules to spend quality time to get to know one another. Friday had rolled around and Marina was currently napping on his plush couch snuggled up with a thick throw blanket.Hands together underneath her chin as she snored lightly. This had been their ritual. She’d end her work week and spend the weekend with Terry.

And they shared similar stories about how they had grown up. Her mother Zen was also a single mother who was in a large city all by herself and they both were an only child. She spoke of the day her mother had finally finished school and became a labor and delivery nurse, she wanted to welcome babies into the world for the rest of her career. Marina spoke of the day they celebrated and how much she looked up to her mother. And Terry loved his mother dearly as well, he had provided her with the luxury of never having to work again, a gift for her sacrifice as a mother. She knew what he did, what he had to do for them to survive and yet his most current life decision she did not agree with.

She’d heard Marina talking in the back of their phone call one day and was currently icing him out for it. Grace had called Terry everything but a child of god, and was hell bent on not letting him make this “mistake” again. He caught on eventually to what or rather who she was referring to… a past toxic relationship that had fizzled out almost three years ago now. Terry was whoring and running through Houston like an angry bull when he met Carmen. They argued, fucked, and fought on a repeat constantly, tearing through his house, her house, vehicles you name it they had an altercation there.But eventually like most relationships like theirs the shit got old fast and he was tired of his face looking like he had gotten into an altercation with a mountain lion.

But Carmen didn’t leave peacefully, no that wasn't her. She disrespected his mother and attempted to slander his name in the media. It was messy and the cleanup to attempt to scrub his name clean of her lies cost him a pretty penny. Last he had heard, she had successfully trapped some poor unfortunate soul…rather them than him.But Marina hadn't exhibited any of the signs that Carmen had early on in their relationship. She was about her money, had dreams and aspirations, and above all else she was genuinely happy about life. The only words that soothe this mother were future promises of actually getting to meet Marina, that would have to do for now.

__

Terry tossed his head back and squeezed a few drops of eye drops into his eyes. Sleep had evaded him again the night before and his eyes felt tired and dry. His body felt stiff and sore from jumping out of a moving car the day before. Some shit that had to be done. Another day of asserting dominance and knocking heads off, the usual. His hands gripped the bathroom vanity as he closed his eyes to allow the solution to soothe his eyes. He was zoned out and didn’t hear Marina walking toward him, her warm hand reaching out and lightly rubbing his forearm made him flinch and pop his eyes open quickly.

“Oh-oh Terry I’m sorry… were you crying?” Her eyebrows rose in worry and stepped into the bathroom with him.

“No sweetheart, it’s just eye drops… I swear. You nap like a house cat you know..I’m starting to think you only come over to use my couch.” Terry capped the eye solution and placed it in his medicine cabinet before resting a hand on her waist.

“If you did the same you wouldn’t need those drops boo, I take my beauty sleep seriously and you should start Mr.Night Owl and maybe you’ll get as pretty as me.” He placed a hand to his chest in feigned hurt and chuckled at her.

“Oh so I’m not pretty enough for you already?” The hand on her waist slid up to gently rub against her back.

“Mhmh you belong on the cover of vogue.. now shoo I have to empty my bladder.” She rushed a juicy kiss to his cheek before he left her to give some privacy padding across the house to his bedroom.

He let his tense body sink into the recliner in the corner of his room. Body relaxing and sinking further into the plush expensive chair, his eyes slowly rolling into his head.

“Terry…oh Smiley you actually are sleepy aren’t you…so I guess that means I can’t beg you to go to Target with me huh?” He listened to her walk closer to him until she stood next to him, eyes still closed.

He loved when she called him Smiley, the nickname she created because she said anytime he smiled or grinned even just a little all 32 of his teeth would show.

“I was gonna drag my mama with me, but she flaked on me to go wine tasting…Smiley I need to go pick up some makeup stuff for our date tomorrow, will you come with me?” She rubbed her hand over his head softly and he leaned further into her touch and rested his head against her belly.

He pulled her down into his lap and she sat sideways squealing at his quick reflexes. She had taken off her bonnet and her sleek silk pressed hair flowed past her shoulders sleek and shiny.

“Mm I love your hair Mari… so soft and long.” He ran his fingers through the course strands pleased by how the new style framed her face and made her even more irresistible. “So pretty…I’ll go with you just let me change ok?”

__

“Terry no..I am not driving this, are you crazy..What if I wreck it?” Terry was in a fit of tears. He was currently trying to convince Marina to drive his BMW X6 to Target and she was not having it.

“Then I’ll just buy another one…remember what I showed you last time? Just put your foot on the gas and press the drive button right here.” He went over it again with her before she finally felt comfortable enough to back out of his driveway and head towards Target.

They stopped at Wendy’s after Marina got a craving for it a few minutes into the drive and she eagerly ordered them both large combos.

“Man just eat the burger, one burger won’t undo your six pack Smiley I promise.”

“You just got me breaking all my rules. Got me eating red meat and sweets…eating in my car. How you gonna pay me back for all this lack of discipline?”

“Will a kiss cover me for my bamboozling activity?” Terry gripped her chin and pulled her face close to his just close enough for the tips of their noses to touch.

Her dark eyes filled with mischief locked onto his…so tantalizing and expressive, even for him. She had a way with her eyes, and he always felt so bright and important when she looked at him. “A kiss will do just fine, pretty girl.”

He allowed her to lead the kiss, her plump lips pecking gently around his mouth trying to tempt his mouth open. He inevitably gave in, too eager to stroke and roll his tongue over hers. Heads cocked to the side Terry thrusted his tongue into her mouth lost in the feel of her soft cheek and tongue. It was so hot and warm and everytime they kissed he imagined the same feeling on the tip of his dick, pure ecstasy.

A knock to the passenger side window ceased their lip locking session and Terry groaned loudly. The ceramic tint on his windows had him mean mugging the man outside of his car. Motherfucking Scotty, a well known addict in the area that couldn’t be trusted. He would run his mouth to anybody that offered him a fix and for that reason alone Terry didn’t deal with him like everyone else did, and yet here he was In Terry’s face too damn close to the one new thing he was hiding from that part of his life— Marina.

Terry pulled the gold rim glasses from his face before looking over at Marina. “You know him?”

“I’ve seen him around town a few times.. he’s a good man that was dealt some bad cards in life. I help him out whenever I see him.” He reached into his wallet and pulled out a crisp 50 dollar bill and rolled his window down with his back to Marina he was prepared to give a silent warning. He didn’t like being ambushed.

“Hey man you just love popping up on me huh..here’s a little something to send you on your way, stay out of trouble.” Terry sent the man a smile that didn’t meet his eyes before Scotty got the memo and thanked him before he headed back to sit in front of the restaurant. Nosey ass nigga.

“That was sweet Terry, you know your giving nature is one of my favorite things about you.” He met her gaze with a smile before bringing her hand up to his lips to press a kiss to it.

__

Target wasn’t as bad as Terry had anticipated, he had frequented the store maybe once or twice but now he was seeing the hype in it. Marina surprisingly only came for one little makeup product, something she apparently couldn’t live without a brow gel or whatever she had called it. He was enjoying her company nonetheless though, they had a date planned Saturday and he was more than looking forward to it.

“Can I get a hint on where we’re going at least.” She was at the island inside his kitchen, engorging herself on the creamy Alfredo and salmon he had made for them nimble fingers gripping the wine glass filled with moscato.

Terry wiped the white cheesy sauce from his mouth with a napkin before giving her his attention “I want you surprised sweetheart… so no hints unfortunately. Just wear that little red number you showed me today and you got it baby.”

“Aww you’re no fun Smiley… but at least your wine is good to make up for it.” She raised her glass towards his and the glasses clinked together.

“Mm you’ll love it, it’s right up your alley, now that’s all the info I can give you…you’ll just have to wait until tomorrow…how’s the new episode of your podcast coming along?”

“Ehh it’s going..I have two different subjects I wanna talk about but I’m having trouble narrowing it down. One is speaking to me more than the other one though.” Terry chewed and swallowed a piece of salmon repositioning himself on the stool.

“I’d go with the one you favor then…it’s likely that one is sticking to you more because you have great insight on it. Which you usually do on all your topics.” He grabbed their plates and dumped the remains into his trash can before loading the dirty dishes into the dishwasher. “What’s the topic you're favoring?”

“It was more so a cocktail of things honestly, and it’ll probably be a really long episode. But it was drug abuse and the selling of drugs within our community.. and the obvious fucked up results of that on our youth and their futures.”

Terry felt his back tense up at her words before he relaxed himself. She had every right to talk about this and yet the topic couldn’t be any closer to home than it was. Here life was yet again trying to wave a red flag in his face, and it would be yet another ignored one.

“That’s a beautiful topic Mari..a really important one, I’ll be looking forward to hearing your points on it.”

Both tuckered out and tired from the day Terry headed towards one bathroom to shower and Marina headed to his other. His hands pressed firmly against the shower wall as the warm water cascaded over his sore muscles, his body called for plentiful hours of deep sleep. He was feeling deprived at this point but Marina brought him relief that sleep would come to him tonight peacefully and without the constant nightmares that haunted him. It was an attack on his mind and body that tossed him back and forth through REM sleep and deep sleep. Those souls he sought out and took came at a price, a mental one. Sometimes he wondered if he could actually ever shake the dead or if they wandered around him restlessly and unseen, waiting on their turn to torment him in the dreamworld.

He heard the tv in his bedroom switch on, an indication that somehow he was taking a longer shower than Marina had and that he was in his head longer than he had thought he was, he switched off the water before stepping out and wrapping his waist with a towel. Sleeping in bed with a woman that he had never had sexual relations with was new and he wouldn’t act as if he never thought about sex with her when she was around, because he did. Marina was fucking sexy. Her mind, her voice, her intelligence,her body..it was all a turn on for him but he was trying to do right by her, and that meant learning how to be intimate in more ways than sex.

Stepping out of his spacious walk-in closet fully clothed for bed he noticed the tv watching Marina as she laid against his pillows, remote still in hand. He accessed his smart home app from his phone and turned off his bedroom lights, weary body eager to sink into the cool mattress. She sought him out not long after he laid down, her bonnet clad head resting on his chest. He pulled her a little closer that night, her slow breathing and steady heartbeat lulling him into a deep slumber. A slumber where he met no angry souls or demons, only a warm light that encased him and drowned out the weariness.

__

“Only thing that’s saving Terry ohhh is the heart of Marinaaa.” Terry kept his left hand steady on the wheel as Marina held his right hand singing loudly into his ear as she currently butchered Summer Walker's newest single.Why he let her down those three shots of tequila he did not know. Either way it went he loved seeing her let loose, and she wasn’t particularly stuck or or anything he just rarely saw this side of her.

The red satin dress was made for her, and she was practically a magnet for his affection as they both got ready. He couldn’t keep his hands off her. Her soft plush thighs were exposed to him and when she dropped his hand he eagerly rubbed and kneaded them.

He couldn’t wait for her to see where they were going. He had called ahead days ago and made preparations at his restaurant; Stone Pier. It was best known for its plentiful surf and turf meal options, fun and fresh atmosphere, and elegant dining. He had planned a three course meal for them tonight over an intimate candlelit dinner.

It took no time to arrive and Marina’s confused expression was comical to him. The empty parking lot had to look absolutely insane from her point of view, but he needed her to trust the process. She sat still as Terry blindfolded her and waited patiently for him to help her out of his car. He opened the passenger side door grasping her head and slowly leading her into the building. He sat her down at the table and removed her blindfold. Pretty eyes adjusting to the low lighting in the establishment.

“Terry woww…this place is soo beautiful. I’ve passed by it so many times and never had the opportunity to check it out.”

“Well I own it so feel free to stop by whenever. I wanted this to be special, so I figured why not bring you someplace that was as special to me as you are.”

“Well you've definitely made a good impression, this place is amazing…is that a Malcom X quote over there on the wall?

“Mhm ‘A man who stands for nothing will fall for anything’ that’s one I keep with me everyday.” He watched her eyes drag all over the place soaking in one corner and the next.

“All the greenery in here..omg all the black history. Terry, this place is a true gem. Thank you for bringing me here Smiley.” They leaned forward and shared a kiss before Terry poured them both a glass of sweet red wine and signaled for his top chef to serve their first course and he and Marina indulged in more conversation.

__

The second course consisted of herb butter steak and lobster By their third course they were both full of food and wine. They shared a slice of decadent rum cake, savoring each bite of the moist cake. He watched Marina with lazy drunk eyes as she whined her waist slightly in her seat to Marvin Gaye’s ‘I Want You’. Pretty manicured fingers pointing in his direction with every lyric.

“You want me sweetheart.. give me a dance then. Show me.” He watched her confidently strut over to him and hold her hand out.

His long arms wrapped around her waist tightly, pulling her into his chest. His face nuzzled into her neck pecking at it lightly as they swayed under the glass roof, stars twinkling down at them in a dazzled fashion.

“I really like you Terry Richmond, I’ll admit that realistically I’m still a little nervous about this…but I’m learning to live in the moment and trust what I can see.”

“I really like you too Marina Evans. I’m trying my hardest to show up for you in ways that cater to you, my only hope is that in the end you choose me.” He twirled her around and held her back to his front holding her close.

They circled through a few more songs before they were ready to call it a night. He handed her his car keys to get inside while he locked up his restaurant. He shut down the dining lights and music before thanking his chef for being a huge help tonight. His phone vibrated on a repeat in his pocket and pulled it from the picket of his slacks, it was his cousin Semaj. Fuck. Semaj knew not to call him today yet he did, and that only meant one thing. Some bullshit had hit the fan, or it was going to.

[ -What’s the word man..I told you I couldn’t take no calls today about business.

[Scotty’s talking man, going around saying he been seeing you out with some girl..this shit could be a problem T. I told you that nigga was watching…he don’t just pop up.

[- If he been seeing me the whole time and I haven’t been seeing him.. it’s a chance he’s working with somebody… I thought that shit was weird earlier when he popped up but I couldn’t be too sure

[- Exactly, since when you know Scotty to be anywhere around this damn city besides the Southside… yeah something ain’t right T we need to get hands on him asap!

[- Never a day to fucking breathe around here shit.. I want you, Blue, and Prime with y’all motherfucking ears to the wind behind his ass. And don’t stop until yall find him.

[- Aight I’ll keep you posted every hour on the hour he can’t be far.

Terry ended the call and sighed heavily. He was pissed, fucking enraged. Somebody was snooping in his damn business and attempting to keep tabs on him like some coked out socialite. He wanted to regulate his temper before he was back in Marina’s grace but when he turned around he found a man talking closely to Marina through his passenger side window. His face scrunched up with confusion quickly as he made a quick walk over to his car.

“Hey my man… can I help you with something?” He had to look as agitated as he felt and the stupid expression on the man’s face was hard to ignore.

“Bro this car is fucking sick… I was just asking your girlfriend or you know whatever she is, what model this was, this has to be a custom paint job or something.” The man ran an open hand over the hood of Terry’s X6 irritating him even further.

“It’s not custom, it’s factory now get your hands off of my car and learn to admire some shit without touching it!”

“Are you kidding me man it’s just a fucking car, it’s probably rented anyways.” He sent a kick to his rear passenger door before attempting to walk away.

Terry couldn’t restrain himself anymore and he went flying at the disrespectful man. He snatched the man and turned him around to face him. How dare this man think he would walk up to him, disrespect his car and leave here unscathed.Balling the front of his shirt up Terry used it as leverage to send punch after punch to his face, he never even stood a chance against Terry.

“Terry..Terry.. wait please stop! Terry you’re gonna kill him..please.” Her helpless screeches reached his ears in a panic and Terry realized he had forgotten all about their date, his words to her. What did they really mean if he was going to beat somebody to a bloody pulp in front of her. With a menacing mug on his face he shoved the absolute waste of space to the ground and stepped over him like a patch of grass.

“Remember this ass whooping because next time I put my hands on you, they gone be singing and sending you off dressed in all black."

“Get in the car Marina…I’m ready to go.” He watched her eyes flash from the beaten man to him over and over, eyes clearly not believing the scene in front of her.

“Bu-but Terry he could die we have to call an ambulance..you can’t leave him like this please.” He shook his head no and watched a hand cover her mouth in an attempt to choke back tears.

“Get. In. The. Car. Marina..now.” She jumped at his tone before she hurried into the car, makeup smudged from the tears that came in a steady stream.

He whipped out of the parking lot quickly, headlights catching the woozy steps of the beaten man as he stumbled away.

“See he’s all good..Marina sweetheart what’s all these tears for hmm, I’m the one that got disrespected. Was I supposed to let him walk away after that shit?!” His raised voice boomed in the confined space of his vehicle and he watched her put space between them. Her body pressed into the passenger side door as she thumbed tears.

“Oh I see, I’m the bad guy now…he was all in your face by MY window touching on MY car, but you only feel bad for him…got it.” Terry gripped the steering wheel tightly and sped down the freeway. This night had turned for the fucking worse and even still he was trying to mince his words.

“Why are you yelling at me… you just assaulted someone in front of me Terry, and then you threatened to kill him. You keep speaking like I’m blaming you but I asked you to stop…to just please let him go..and yo-you just wouldn’t stop.”

“What I saw back there…that wasn’t the Terry or Smiley I’ve been getting to know…you didn’t even look like yourself back there, your face and eyes were just..I don’t know. I think I’m going to spend the rest of my days off at my own home.. I don’t even get you right now.” She continued on, and he was realizing each passing minute how royally he had fucked up.

“I fucked up Mari..I see that now. I realize that what I did back there scared you and if you think less of me after it that’ll be all on me, but I don't regret it.” Pulling into his drive way he shut off his car and rested his head against the headrest.

“You keep buckling down on what you did, but you said you would kill him. Terry, that's not something I can just ignore because he kicked your car, that’s not normal to blurt out after an altercation so small. You really hurt my feelings, and I have to think about me first.”

“Am I going to hear from you again..see you…touch you?” When he reached out to touch her she pulled away, her dark eyes turning to stare at him, analyzing what actually was in front of her. She shook her head and sighed to herself before opening the door, but Terry got up to help her out instead. She hesitated to give him her hand, but eventually she let him help her out.

He pulled her into a tight hug, fingers inching up slightly into her hair to tug lightly at it. The hairspray she used tickled his nose as he inhaled the scent of it. Her hands stayed at her sides and she made no attempt at returning the affection.

“I’m not sure Terry, I need time to think and process tonight. It was all going so well before that and I wanted to trust what you told me, but I need time.”

“A kiss goodbye then?” She looked up at him and pressed a kiss to the corner of his mouth before attempting to walk away. Terry pulled her back and held her face in his hands, full lips sucking her bottom lip into his mouth as his teeth slowly nipped at it. He wanted to savor what was left of this night because she still looked oh so good, and he still wanted her. He got as far as suckling against her jaw before she put a hand to his chest severing the connection.

“Goodnight Terry” she walked away without a backwards glance and he watched her leave from his driveway until he couldn’t see her car anymore.

He had plans on winning her back, and hopefully gaining what little trust back she had in him from the get go. Terry was a resourceful man with every resource possible at his fingertips, this situation was a bump in the road. Some shit she wouldn’t even remember eventually. So he’d let her run away for the night, get her pretty little head together for a few days. Then he was gonna win her back, one day at a time.

__

A/N: I said 10pm yesterday and it’s going on 8am😭I hope yall enjoy this nonetheless!

@blackmoonchilee @zillasvilla @simplyzeeka @megamindsecretlair @uniqueoutlierblog @blackerthings @keehendrixx @ranikyani @ms-mosley-ifunastyyy @tvchi @23jammy @henneseyhoe @theereina @ovohanna24 @pocketsizedpanther @writingsbytee @venusincleo @grlsbstshot @yassbishimvintage @avoidthings @melodichaeuxx-lacritquexx @blowmymbackout @kimuzostar @playgurlxoxo @kumkaniudaku @keyaho @brattyfics @uzumaki-rebellion @nahimjustfeelingit-writes

# Aaron pierre #rebel ridge #terry richmond #black!oc #terry richmond black oc

[flowersforthemachines]

Some facts about Taash (and also the Lords of Fortune, the Qunari, Dragons and other related things) gathered from the banters

Featuring Shathaan's stories about the Crows!

I went through all companion banters on DanaDuchy's channel after playing the game to write down all facts about companions/the world that I haven't seen brought up anywhere in the game as a writing reference (and for funsies).

Note: This list may not be exhaustive. I might have missed some something or didn't write it down because I considered it common knowledge. If you have anything to add, please DM me or send an ask! (do specify what banter the information is coming from, though)

Note 2: Posts from this series (mostly) don't include information from banters specific to quests or between companions and faction members. I plan to do another playthrough to capture more of those and will add any relevant info to the character posts.

Other characters' posts: Bellara, Davrin, Harding, Lucanis, Emmrich, Neve. I'm also planning a post about just the Lighthouse some time later

About Taash

General: 

Taash gets grumpy if they stay inside for too long

Taash may polish their treasure hoard or clean the dishes (even somebody else's) to get out of their head

When Taash is feeling sad, they ask somebody else about how they are doing, so they can focus on somebody else instead of themselves

Taash doesn’t like talking about their feelings because it makes them sad (Lucanis can relate)

Taash doesn't read books before bed because they have a tendency to stay up past their bedtime to finish the exciting parts

Taash seems to care quite a lot about fibre and digestive health (they are so real for that). For example, they enjoy the smell of coffee but don’t drink it because it’s bad for their guts

Taash drinks alcohol 

Taash once requested Bellara/Lucanis to cook them a demon (the suggestion was disregarded) 

Taash liked Lucanis’s deep-fried peppers 

Taash liked Bellara’s stir-fry 

(If Rook is in romance with Taash) A spirit of devotion appears next to Taash after they enter a relationship

Taash doesn’t want to look for more dragonfire tablets because “they are just more orders”, and they already have enough  

Taash doesn’t kill in cold blood and needs to get angry in order to kill someone

Taash has good taste in gemstones, knowing which colours match which (based on the banters where they recommend gemstones for Emmrich’s lich helmet). They say it’s a Lord of Fortune thing, they have to know how to make gems look good 

Taash isn’t afraid of the Fade, because the spirits there mind their own business and don’t try to possess anyone (or anything) 

Taash thinks that even if the Nevarrans almost brought their dragons to extinction, they will still come back eventually

Taash is extremely excited to hear that Morrigan can (potentially) turn into a dragon and wants to ask her about it next time they meet 

Taash doesn’t mind finding no loot when hunting dragons because as long as you survived an encounter with a dragon, you have a new story to tell 

Taash doesn't think of dragons as monsters since they are a natural part of the world and have been around longer than anyone else

On fire-breathing: 

Taash started breathing fire when they were a toddler

Taash needs to eat greens after breathing fire, or they get headaches 

According to healers, fire breathing hurts Taash’s lungs

Taash accidentally set their first female partner’s hair on fire during their first sex

Taash once tried to cook with their dragon breath and accidentally melted a pot and set the kitchen on fire 

On Taash’s sense of smell:  

Taash got their heightened sense of smell after they got sick and couldn't breathe through the nose for a couple of months. After they recovered they could suddenly smell everything

Tassh can smell when someone is ovulating. They can also smell who had been in the room before them, and who is hungover 

Taash could also tell Neve got together with Rook or Lucanis from the smell even before anybody told them

To Taash, Minrathous smells rainy and ‘like rich people hurting poor people’

Early life and the relationship with Shathann: 

Taash learnt to swim before they learnt to walk

Shathann sometimes wouldn't let Taash play/go swimming until they finished their studies (like being able to tell the difference between some pottery shards)

Shathann gifted Taash axes during one of the gift-giving holidays when they were younger. They were simple kindling choppers, but Shathann helped decorate them to make them look like Qunari weapons. During a conversation with Bellara, Taash realises that may be the reason they are still using axes to this day

Axes are also good at lodging between dragon scales and allows them to climb up

Taash grew up poor, though they didn’t realise it because Shathann always made sure they had enough food, even at her expense (like pretending she didn’t want to eat because “Rivaini food is too rich for her”)

Taash spent the money they made from their first job as Lord of Fortune on buying Shathaan a dress. Shathann didn’t appreciate it, instead urging Taash to buy themselves boots or some other useful things 

Shathann hated apples because their skin would get stuck in her teeth (“Evataash, that fruit is stupid!”)

If Taash chooses to pursue Rivaini culture and wear Shathann’s horn as jewellery, they have a blacksmith do runes in the old Qunari language along the edges and get a Seer to bless it

Shathann stopped telling stories about the Crows after Taash once climbed on the roof to play as a Crow

The things Shathann taught Taash about the Crows:

Antivan Crows make themselves invisible to dragons by imitating the dragon's shadow

Antivan Crows coat the beaks of actual crows with poison so that the crows can kill people by pecking

Antivan Crows can slow down their breathing until they become invisible

Antivan Crows come through houses at night and kill children who aren’t in bed

Antivan Crows can do a special move that stops their enemy's heart

Antivan Crows can strangle a Qunari with their own dar-saam (but only if it’s tied incorrectly)

Relationships with companions: 

Bellara gives Taash advice on cooking dinner for their mother

Davrin teaches Taash to use buckets filled with water and sand for lifting

Taash has never flown a kite before and asks Harding to teach them

Harding's mother sends Taash a letter with homemade candies after Shathann’s death, calling it “a hug from afar” (Taash appreciated the gesture and liked the candy) 

(If Rook is in romance with Taash) Taash asks Lucanis about what Rook likes to eat, and Lucanis offers to teach them how to make coffee/tea/chiocolata calda 

Taash isn’t scared of Spite, and even convinces (or more like intimidates) him not to talk about how other people smell without their permission

Lucanis agrees to teach Taash how to kill targets with flair (with varying degrees of success when it comes to cool one-liners) and then plans to ask Teia to make a Crow cape just for them (Taash is very excited about it, as they love crow capes)

Taash insists Neve should get some trophy from Aelia (a ring, or an amulet with her name) to show everyone she beat her, and doesn’t understand why Neve isn’t interested in something like that 

Taash offers their blood to Neve for blood magic purposes (Neve doesn’t take up the offer)

Taash thinks Neve’s ‘dresses’ are pretty

Taash thinks nobody can go toe-to-toe in magic with Neve

Taash offers to hook Neve up with their jeweller to get her a discount (in case she wants a new leg) because “Neve deserves nice things”

Lords of Fortune:

Lords of Fortune have a drunk game where they throw a goblet made from fool’s gold into the water for others to find. Whoever finds it gets free drinks for the rest of the night. The game has only one rule: no punching in the junk

There is also another drunk game where drunk Lords jump off a giant cliff. The only rule is not to hit the water face-first

Even if those are “drunk games”, you can participate in them sober, as long as you are willing to be as stupid as the drunk people

The Lords of Fortune pick new jobs by Isabela throwing daggers at a map or racing nugs (the winner picks the job - could be its owner, or the nug itself)

The lords used to blindfold Mateo (the faction merchant) and spin him around in circles until he tripped on something like a map. They stopped doing that because a Seer told them to quit (the whole thing gave Mateo headaches) 

After Shathann is gone, Taash is in charge of appraising Qunari artifacts for the Lords until they find a better expert

The Lords of Fortune work with a Dalish clan keeper Shivanas (Taash calls them ‘Shiv’) who appraises artefacts for them (tells them what’s okay to sell and not to sell etc.) 

After losing his hand, a Lord named Bernst got a lock-pick hand prosthetic decorated with gems

About Dragons:

Different breeds of dragons can mate and produce offspring. That’s how ice- and lightning-breathing dragons came about

The muscles of dragon wings’ are vulnerable behind. Another weakness is the underbelly

Fighting Dragons is all about making them come to you, either by having them see you as a threat (so they come down to assert dominance) or prey (so they come down to eat you) 

There is a dragon called Wildervale Spitter, which can breathe fire or poison gas. The “fire breath” is actually just poison that burns when the dragon breathes. Most dragons always ignite their breath. The Spitter's special for being able to choose whether to light it up.

Dragons have an extra eyelid that they shut while breathing fire in order to protect their eyes

About Qunari etc.:

Eb-ketarra means something like “growing memories.” When you graft someone’s horn onto yours, you also add their strength to yourself

Qunari food uses a lot of oil for frying

Qunari have a much better sense of smell than humans

Qunari can bury their dead with large jars inlaid with a flame pattern. It’s called ‘issalatar’ and is empty inside, representing that the deceased’s body is also empty now that their spirit is gone

The Rivaini armada can hold its own against the Antaam fleet, but only in good weather. They can’t match the Antaam in firepower, but they can outsail them

Isabela is apparently still a captain of the Siren’s Call 

[kteezy997]

and btw could u maybe start an series with an assistant x Timothée ?

Beyond Business-part one//t.c.

Warnings: cursing, mention of alcohol and drug use

“Timothée, you have the power to end this, any time you want to, so why don’t you?” you asked, waking into his home with him.

“You don’t get it, okay? It’s more complicated than you know.” he grumbled, heading to the fridge, opening it up to grab a bottle of beer.

“Timmy you reek of alcohol, do you really think you need more?”

He gulped down some of the cold liquid, stopping to glare at you, “As if it’s any of your business. You’re not my mother, y/n, just go home.”

As harsh as he was, he was right, he was your boss, and you weren’t friends. Your concern could only go so far before it was too personal.

Neither of you said anything more, Timmy left the kitchen, you assumed he was headed to crash in his bedroom after nursing on the brown bottle.

You left his apartment, reflecting on the past year of your life as Timothée Chalamet’s personal assistant. As you drove home, you remembered how goofy and lively he was when you were first hired. Now, he was becoming a hollow shell of that man.

He had been in a relationship with Kylie Jenner for nearly a year before you met him. But as time went on, after spending time with him, you wondered to what extent the relationship was real, or if it could qualify as a relationship at all. It seemed, to you, more of a situation-ship.

For the last six months, you saw Timmy become more dependent on alcohol and weed to help his moods. These days he was working crazy hours, traveling all over promoting his latest film. He was skinnier than you had ever seen him, and he was obviously tired as well. You, along with other people in his life, were worried about him.

The bad thing is, he is a grown man and he is going to do what he wants. He cannot be controlled any more than any other adult. So, for the most part, you felt as if you were watching him destroy himself and you were powerless to stop it.

.......

Timmy was bright and early with his apology text the next morning.

"hey, I'm sorry about last night. I shouldn't have been such a dick to you. especially not you, you don't deserve that. Let's have a good day together, yeah?"

You knew that he did not have the energy to hire a new assistant if you were to ever quit. He needed you, you both knew that. So you answered just a moment later.

"Okay. Want coffee after I'm finished running errands this morning?"

"Yes please! Thank you." he texted back immediately.

A couple of hours later, you made it to Timmy's place after picking up his dry cleaning, some groceries, his mail, and two coffees, one for him and one for you. You let yourself in with your copy of his key.

As you carefully carried the armfuls of items, you saw him drying his hair with a towel in the living room. "Hey, let me help." he said, dropping the towel on one of the couches and hustling over to you.

"Thanks." you said, and together you set all of the bags and the coffees onto the kitchen island. Carefully, you lay his garment bag flat on the surface.

"No, thank you for doing all of this." Timmy insisted, taking his attention from the items on the counter to look in your eyes.

You felt like his green eyes were piercing into your soul. This was the real Timmy. He had showered and sobered up from the drunken night before. "Well, it is my job."

“I know, but I’m still really grateful for you. Not everyone would put up with me for as long as you have.” he smiled.

You returned a smile to him, then said, “I should get these groceries put away.” you grabbed one of the bags, “But go ahead and tell me what’s on the agenda for today.”

As you started taking items out of the grocery bag, he cleared his throat, saying, “Oh, um, I just got some calls to make, so if you’d go through and answer emails for now that’d be great. After you’re done in the kitchen of course, I mean, no rush.” Between his sentences, he was also unloading the bags.

“Okay.” you giggled at him trying to help you, “I can get this, Timmy, you go make your calls.”

"Yeah," he set down a can of coffee, "yeah, okay." He gave you a soft smile before turning to leave the kitchen.

To you, he seemed almost...nervous? The vibes with him were different today. Not bad, just different. You didn't know what was up with him, but it was not your place to pry.

.......

A little bit later, you sat at his dining room table, replying to his vast number of emails on his laptop. In between calls, he would look through a script and read over his business contracts.

It began to feel like a normal workday again. Every once in a while, you would ask him a question and he would answer you and vice versa. He was himself.

"Alright, thank you, bye." Timmy ended another phone call. He sighed; it had been hours since he started. You knew that he was exhausted from talking to people for the day.

You peaked up from the laptop screen, still expertly typing your email message. Timmy made his way over to you.

As you typed, you heard his footsteps coming closer, until he was right next to your chair. You hit 'send,' and went on to another email, as nonchalantly as you could.

He leaned down, his hands on the table, his arms caging you on either side. You stopped, turned your head slightly to look at him, your heart was beating so fast.

January 5, 2025

Happy New Year, guys! Let me know if you’re excited for this new story!❤️

@gatoenlaciudad @thebetawolfgirl @musicandbooksaremyhappyplace @softhecreator @tchalamss @lixzey @bitchyunknownuser @ducktapebar @aoi-targaryen @yukideadinside @elloise0 @thatoneweirdgirl17 @mel-vaz @sammy-halpert @iwishchalamet @that-one-fangirl69 @jindongdongie @briefkittenearthquake @imnotoverlyobsessive

[lovrx-s]

Unheard Cries

Jenna Ortega x F!Reader

Contains: contains themes of depression, self-harm, and suicide.

a/n: [Please proceed with caution and seek help if you’re struggling :(] I have a part two of this! Idk if i should still post it or not

The light in the apartment had dimmed over the past few months, and so had you.

You and Jenna used to fill this space with laughter and late-night conversations, but lately, it felt like she wasn’t really there anymore. Physically, sure—her bags in the hallway, her perfume lingering in the bathroom—but her presence, the love and warmth you once felt, seemed to have disappeared.

You’d started feeling like a ghost in your own home.

Day One

You stared at the bedroom ceiling as the morning light filtered through the blinds. Jenna was already gone. Again.

She had left early, as she often did, muttering something about a meeting or an interview. She didn’t even kiss you goodbye.

You tried to shake it off, telling yourself that she was just busy. That this distance wasn’t personal. But as the hours dragged on and the silence of the apartment grew deafening, you couldn’t ignore the ache in your chest.

By the time Jenna returned, you were sitting on the couch, your arms wrapped around yourself for comfort.

“Hey,” you greeted her softly, but your voice came out weaker than intended.

“Hey,” she replied absentmindedly, her attention already on her phone as she kicked off her shoes.

“Can we talk?” you asked, the words sticking in your throat.

“Not now,” she said sharply, not even looking up. “I’m exhausted.”

Your heart sank as you watched her retreat to the bedroom, leaving you behind with nothing but the growing weight of your loneliness.

Day Three

You tried to reach out again. Tried to let her know that you were drowning in your own head.

“Jenna,” you began hesitantly, watching her sip her coffee across the table. “I’ve been feeling… off lately. Like, really off.”

She sighed, placing the mug down a little too hard. “Can we not do this right now? I just got back from a 12-hour shoot.”

“I know, but—”

“No, you don’t know,” she snapped, her voice cutting through the air like a whip. “You don’t understand how hard this is for me, okay? You just sit here all day while I’m out working my ass off, and then you want to unload all your problems on me? It’s too much.”

The words hit you like a slap. Your chest tightened, and for a moment, you couldn’t breathe.

“Forget it,” you mumbled, standing up from the table.

“Good,” she muttered under her breath, grabbing her coffee and walking away.

Day Five

You stayed in bed most of the day, staring at the ceiling, replaying Jenna’s words over and over. Clingy. Too much. Annoying.

She hadn’t come home the night before, and she didn’t bother to text you.

The apartment felt emptier than ever.

You got up only to look at the small collection of pills in the medicine cabinet. The thought lingered, but you shook it off, telling yourself, Not yet.

Day Nine

Jenna’s absence had become your new normal. She was always out—at work, with friends, anywhere but with you.

When she was home, she was distant, distracted, and irritable.

That night, you tried again. You sat beside her on the couch, your hands trembling as you reached for hers.

“Jenna, can we talk?” you asked quietly.

“What is it now?” she groaned, pulling her hand away.

“I’m not okay,” you admitted, tears welling up in your eyes. “I feel like I’m falling apart, and I don’t know how to stop it.”

She looked at you then, her expression hard and cold. “You’re always like this. Do you even hear yourself? It’s exhausting, Y/N. You’re so clingy and needy all the time, and honestly? I can’t deal with it.”

You stared at her, your chest tightening as the tears spilled over.

“Do you even love me anymore?” you asked, your voice barely audible.

She hesitated, and that pause was louder than any answer she could’ve given.

“I don’t know,” she finally said, standing up and leaving you alone on the couch.

Day Fourteen

You hadn’t eaten in two days. Your body felt weak, but the heaviness in your chest was worse.

Jenna had left early that morning without saying goodbye. Again.

You sat on the bathroom floor, staring at the blade in your hand. The thought had been creeping closer every day, and now, it felt impossible to ignore.

But a small voice inside you whispered, One more chance. Just one.

You stood up and cleaned yourself up.

Day Fifteen

When Jenna walked through the door that evening, you approached her cautiously.

“Hey,” you said, your voice trembling. “Can we talk? Please?”

“God, what is it now?” she snapped, throwing her bag on the couch.

“I just… I need you,” you said, tears brimming in your eyes. “I need you to listen to me, to be here for me.”

She rolled her eyes. “You’re so dramatic, Y/N. You act like the whole world revolves around you. I can’t keep doing this.”

Your heart broke into pieces, each word cutting deeper than the last.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered, stepping back. “I didn’t mean to bother you.”

She sighed and walked past you, heading to the bedroom.

You watched her go, the final thread of hope snapping inside you.

That night, Jenna woke up to an eerie silence. She rolled over, expecting to find you beside her, but the bed was cold and empty.

“Y/N?” she called out, but there was no answer.

Panic set in as she searched the apartment, finally finding the bathroom door locked.

“Y/N! Open the door!” she shouted, banging on it desperately.

When she finally forced it open, her heart stopped at the sight of you on the floor, lifeless, a crumpled note beside you.

Tears streamed down her face as she dropped to her knees, cradling your lifeless body.

“I’m sorry,” she sobbed. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean it. I didn’t mean any of it.”

But it was too late.

You were gone.

And Jenna was left with nothing but guilt and the memory of every cruel word she’d ever said.

[radioactiverats]

Thoughts: TFP Ratchet walking in on you using a dildo based on his spike

I want him emotionally and physically but right now, physically is winning. That is all

18+ 🌶️

There are two things that are simultaneously true when it comes to sex with Ratchet.

1) It is mind-blowing.

2) It is rare.

It’s not just past experience that makes him so good in bed. As an older mech, he’s not only accumulated experience but also the patience to draw out your pleasure. Even if you belong to different species, Ratchet’s keen optics sensitise him to every minuscule detail of your pleasure, making him a quick study. It sends a rush of pleasure through you to think about the fact that he’s not just a quick learner when it comes to any human body, but yours specifically.

Also, alien dick is huge. Optimus dwarfs near everybody, but him aside, Ratchet is not a small mech - broad and stocky, holding his own among the other Autobots - and naturally, when it came to you, he might as well have been a giant. The first time he revealed his spike to you, you’d stared at it for so long that he started to get nervous. He’d glanced off to the side and sullenly mumbled something about not being enough, and your confused-horny brain finally pulled itself together long enough to realise he’d made an attempt to study the intricacies of “human interfacing rituals” and drawn the entirely wrong conclusions (AKA humans chose mates based solely on their prowess like animals - and had misinterpreted your open-mouthed silence as dissatisfaction). After frantically convincing him that no, there was nothing wrong with it, and no, Ratchet, it’s adequate! I meant it’s more than enough! Way more than enough, in fact!, it finally clicked in his processor that it was quite the opposite. Ratchet’s entire demeanour changed after that - even now, he only needs to smirk lazily at you to remind you of the time he’d made you come so many times on his glossa you swear you met Primus himself (and shook his hand and thanked him for creating the absolute sex-god that was one Ratchet of Vaporex).

However, Ratchet was always busy. For good reason, too - you were reluctant to bother him when he was working on important things and unfortunately for you, that tended to be more often than not. The past few months had been especially hectic for the Autobots. Decepticon activity had been detected near an Autobot energon source, and the bots had been working round the clock to defend their supplies. With the pressure to secure fuel more acute than ever, Ratchet’s efforts to research a synthetic energon source had ramped up. You wished you could do more to help him, even ease the tension in his frame a little, but you didn’t want to distract him at such a crucial time - endlessly frustrated that you were too small to bring him energon cubes, too small to massage his shoulders, or drop a kiss on his faceplate without stealing too much of his attention away. At least that was one thing you could do - not be a distraction. Glumly, you roll over in your little nest of blankets on a corner of Ratchet’s berth. For the nth time in months, you take in his empty habsuite and despite your best efforts, fail to keep the loneliness at bay. You miss Ratchet - the way he’d huff when you press a goodnight kiss to his faceplate, yet be unable to stop a soft smile when you snuggle into his side. He way he’d carefully arrange you beside him with warm, gentle servos, and the rumble of his chassis as he bid you goodnight in return. On other nights, when you both weren’t ready to fall asleep yet, talking quietly together in the dark about everything and anything, Ratchet’s servo cupped around you as you basked in the turquoise glow his optics cast onto the ceiling.

There was no helping it, though. Ratchet had more pressing matters to attend to. However, as you tossed and turned in your little blanket pile, you became increasingly aware of a problem of your own - you were really, really horny. Burying your head in the blankets, you attempt to hide the flush of shame that bloomed on your cheeks. The bots were fighting a war, and here you were, fighting your own impulses.

It had been an impulse purchase, made on a weekend where you were back in your own apartment - a bright red and white striped silicone dildo. As soon as you saw it, you immediately thought of Ratchet. It was a little thicker than what you normally went for, but that only made it all the more perfect. The flaming blush on your face did little to stop you from adding it to your cart and purchasing it with expedited shipping.

You’d actually intended on revealing your purchase to Ratchet quite early on, thinking that he could use it on you while preparing you to take his spike - but your first encounter had you utterly convinced that magic was real, and it resided in Ratchet’s servos. You’d taken his spike with barely any discomfort the very first time you slept together (probably down to the fact that he’d spent hours eating you out and working you open on his servos until you were an incoherent mess). That said, you’d never actually gotten the chance to tell Ratchet about your purchase, much less use it. After all, why settle for the inferior option when Ratchet was right there and willing?

Ratchet might be willing, but as of present, he is not here. And based on the past few months, he probably won’t be for a while. You’d often stirred awake in the wee hours of the night to Ratchet wearily settling in berth beside you, and the only reason he was there was probably because Optimus had sternly insisted on his taking a break.

With another long night stretching ahead of you, what better time to put your purchase to the test?

You’d shoved it somewhere deep in your pile of belongings kept at base, still completely unopened in its package. Digging it out, you tear the box open to reveal the dildo in all its red-and-white striped glory. Less awe-inspiring than Ratchet’s spike, but you supposed beggars couldn’t be choosers. Anyway, it had been a while since you’d taken Ratchet and without the meticulous care of his magic servos, it was for the best that you were starting small. Well, smaller. You can’t help but blush when you remember that, when you first purchased this, you’d thought it was intimidating. Man, Ratchet had really ruined you for anyone and anything else.

You don’t even need lube at this point - you glide the cool silicone over your slick folds, hips jerking as the ridged head catches on your clit. You can’t help your breathy moan when it fills you up, inch by inch, every sensitive nerve ending singing to life until you sag back into your blanket nest with the satisfaction of feeling full. You close your eyes and imagine that it’s Ratchet’s spike filling you up. He doesn’t necessarily jackhammer into you unless you specifically request it - he doesn’t need to. Powerful, purposeful thrusts have you writhing beneath him, crying out his name as he drives deep, looking at him through teary eyes to see the affection for you in his optics. You pick up the pace, driving the dildo deeper into your weeping hole, arching your back as you try to hit that spot Ratchet always seems to find effortlessly. The biolights along his spike drag deliciously against your walls, nudging your clit on every stroke - whereas this dildo is smooth. Once upon a time, it would have been more than enough to tip you over the edge. Now, you find yourself missing Ratchet more and more, and yourself further and further from orgasm. Blowing your hair out of your face and frustratedly kicking the blankets away, you let your legs fall apart once more and exhale as the blessedly cool air of his habsuite hits your overheated body. You screw your eyes shut again, clenching around the dildo. Reaching a hand down to rub your clit, you fall into another memory - one from your first time together, of Ratchet eating you out. You press the dildo deeper inside you, breath hitching as it sets off a wave of pleasure that cascades through your body. You’d practically spasmed in his hold when he pushed his glossa into you - eagerly mapping out the sensitive spots that would make you sob with pleasure, curling his glossa against your walls in a way that had you thrashing against him. Angling the dildo just so, you bite your lip as the head brushes a particularly good spot - more heat rushes to your face as you remember when Ratchet first fingered you open, not letting up once he’d found the spot that made you scream -

“Y/n?”

All at once, your eyes shoot open as a familiar, rumbling voice calls out to you. Ratchet of Vaporex, Autobot medic and sex god extraordinaire, stands in the doorway of his habsuite, optics huge as he takes in the sight of you absolutely debauched on his berth.

“Um,” you squeak, mortified. “Welcome back?”

His vocaliser audibly resets with a click. “Optimus - he told me to, ah.”

You chance a look at him when you hear the low hum of static in his voice. Ratchet’s still in the doorway, servos clenching at his sides as he takes in your flushed face and spread legs.

Well. You didn’t expect him to be that interested. Maybe there’s a way to save this, after all. Fighting your raging embarrassment, you meet Ratchet’s optics and slowly, exaggeratedly, slide the dildo out until just the tip is inside you. Ratchet takes the bait - his optics snap to the movement of your arm, your hand, and finally, you can audibly hear his optics hyperfocus on the thick, red dildo that splits you open.

“Y-You-” he rasps, vocaliser spitting static, and it’s all he can get out before his cooling fans kick on with a high-pitched whirr.

“I missed you,” you say, and your voice is no better - wrecked, just at the thought of him.

His fans kick on impossibly higher, but to his credit, Ratchet recovers quickly.

“Well,” he rumbles, reaching over to lock the door to his habsuite. The shocked look in his optics has been resoundingly replaced with one of hunger. “I’ll just have to make it up to you.”

[theannoyingurge]

Playing with the idea that none of the bg3 villains are fully honest with Durge. Everyone is hiding some piece of the puzzle and happy to abuse the amnesia situation to their advantage. 'Cept Kressa. She's psycho, but she's an honest psycho. In another life, we might have been friends.

Ketheric is the first, most obvious example of this. He doesn't even bother to inform the other Chosen you've reappeared. (Myrkul is the god of exhaustion, so this tracks.)

Balthazar also 100% recognizes you and also doesn't even bother. To him, your amnesia means no tedious reunions with annoying Bhaalspawn who are big mad that he stole their brother's name and rib bones.

The Emperor is sometimes overlooked when piecing together Durge's history, but he admits to knowing your past if you reject him in Act 3 (stating "I know everything about you" while threatening to turn you into a puppet like Duke Stelmane). Whether or not he's posturing, he should at least be aware of your past with Gortash, considering you helped kidnap him in the first place. For evidence, see Gortash's interrogation notes, which open with "When we captured you". (Sure, this could refer to Orin, but I simply do not see these two working as a highly functional team. More on this and the timeline below the cut.) Naturally, despite traveling together for months, The Emperor wouldn't want to fill any gaps in your memory that might cast doubt on his trustworthiness or help align you with his enemy.

The Absolute might be lying about respecting you/your plan and preferring you over your replacement. I am of two minds about this. If you were attacked immediately after crowning the brain, there should be no basis for a preferential relationship. In that case, the brain is just stroking your ego and need for approval. However, I have doubts about Durge being taken down during the initial raid.** I think some time must have passed after crowning the Absolute, giving it the chance to develop a working relationship with you that it lacked with the other Chosen, which caused everything to fall apart after you were tadpoled. This also buys us time to kidnap the Emperor and bring it under the Absolute's thrall as described in Gortash's interrogation notes.

**Some of Gortash's other notes claim Durge was lost during the first raid, but his journals are full of contradictions. He leaves the House of Hope out of his memoirs entirely. He seemingly retcons history to present himself in a more favorable light, which probably includes intentionally diminishing the work of his allies (or erasing the painful memory of his nearest and dearest). In any interpretation, the brain definitely hates Gortash the most, and that's good enough for me.

Orin and Gortash paint somewhat conflicting pictures of you pre-tadpole. The difference here might be genuine (the honest perspectives of a little sister vs a business partner or lover) or it could be a manipulative game of tug of war over your budding and impressionable self image.

Now, I like Durgetash - but I like every possible interpretation of these assholes, not just the mutually reciprocated and/or sexy ones. It's conceivable to me that Gortash may have discovered Durge's crush on him via the Prayer for Forgiveness and played up their history in Act 3 as a defensive measure. Maybe Gortash always knew of Durge's feelings and used them to his advantage (Orin outright tells you this, but again, nobody listens to Orin. Sorry sis).

It's also conceivable that he knew Durge was the first to be tadpoled, considering how close their pod was to his workbench. The brain was given orders to transform the party (that were resisted several times), so Gortash's surprise that Durge still lives makes sense, assuming he even knew Durge was with them (he doesn't seem to be checking the scrying eyes at all. What kind of loser tyrant ignores his own surveillance system? I digress). His general relief and preference for them over Orin is also still valid. (I imagine he feels something along the lines of Durge being the one who got away, you don't know what you've got until it's gone, etc etc. Cue hysterical bonding as the long lost love of his life waltzes into his coronation covered in blood to save him from their psychotic sister and the poorly housetrained Netherbrain they left him full custody of. Yes he wanted full custody, but still.)

Puppy eyes aside, Gortash is a blackhearted pragmatist (he will turn on Durge if they give him the stones) and progress is progress. The first True Soul was an incredible breakthrough, and the show must go on. So just imagine the bricks he's shitting in Act 3 if Durge comes back and remembers the Wrong Things from before the nautiloid. What if they want revenge on him? Nope, not good at all. Best to position himself as Durge's only friend and most trustworthy partner. Regardless of how well he treated them before, Durge was willing to piss off Bhaal to spare his life. That's an extremely useful vulnerability right now, because he's about to ask them to do it again!

Lastly, I have no proof, but I strongly suspect that Sceleritas is fibbing about Durge's past as well. Partly because the Slayer form is severely disappointing in-game and canonically excrutiatingly painful, despite Fel claiming you've always wanted it. It honestly sounds like a way to sell an unwanted used car back to it's amnesiac owner who failed to appreciate it before. Bhaal isn't a full deity any longer, so take what you're given (and you'd better damned well like it!) I also call bullshit on tossing a coin to a beggar being the "worst" crime Durge ever committed against Bhaal (*ahem* looking at you, Gortash). Some dialogue with the Oathbreaker Paladin suggests we've tried somewhat consistently to be good in the past, and Sceleritas has a vested interest in making Durge worse, not planting noble ideas in their freshly lobotomized murder-happy brain.

[luckyartdrawer]

(Bitter) Sweet! Art & Drabble

For @divinit3a Café Lunch Rush prompt list! There's still plenty of time before the first prompt is due (Jan 12th), and there's 2 other prompts as well for the month! Definitely check it out lovelies! <3

Drabble name: Instability Of The Heart Contents: Sun x reader, Heavy Pinning, Bitter Sweetness Chosen Words: Clouds, Opals, Celebration, Star-crossed, Letting Go, Hope, Candle Word Count: 1,625

(Close Ups are also at the bottom <3)

It’s been a whole year…

Unsure how to approach the festivities now, Sun decided to find a quiet spot instead, spending all morning setting things up to participate in his own way. He couldn't not join in, but it just wouldn't be right to go back into the thick of it either.

The not-too-far-off town square, only a mile below his expanse of cloud, is alive in the lieu of celebration. The live orchestra plays the same casual songs, their passion dying the expanse of clouds they rest upon pink with their infectious energy, and the music drifts up clear as day to his ears despite the distance. The community brightens at each strum of a chord, chatter so lively that they create lyrics to their own song. They all are so alight that even once the sun sets, not even a single candle will be necessary to keep the festival bathed in a warm glow.

Sun sighed as he looked towards his namesake, feeling both relief and dread seeing it only moved a little since he last checked, located slightly past the center of the sky above him. Any moment now the square should clear its center and engage in its Hearthwarming Dance.

A spark crackles in his chest, sending longing pangs to his heart and head. It swirls through the burning magma and dips through every ligament, the tips of his fingers and toes buzzing with the itch to do something.

He turns to his partner, waiting for the first note of the new song to swell before grabbing their soft hand and whispering,

“May I have this dance?”

Without his usual banter, Sun embraces them and sways to the familiar beat without hesitation.

Upon closing his eyes, he is suddenly not dancing on a patchy field of clouds, but rather upon a lively opal plaza shimmering in the warm sunlight; the polished stone reflecting all those lovely pink clouds to create a mosaic, speckled with a rainbow of beautiful color.

Yet, the way you shined changed everything. It had completely ruined his view of beauty.

Your smile glistened through the sheer cloud of stardust that orbits around your form. Your eyes were as hypnotic as the ring of light you absorb, blindingly white before turning into a pitch black that's impossible for him to comprehend. He could barely even remember what you wore that day, too busy memorizing your face.

You were a star that had gone supernova, a rarity unseen for the last 3 centuries, let alone for a star of your kind.

Even the thought of your imagery causes him to inhale sharply. He clutches at his partner tightly, mindless of the give as he steps around in a traditional dance.

You were so scared when the change happened all those months ago...

Sun had found you holed up in your dark room, begging him to not look at you. He had initially come over to barge down your door for being an hour late to meet him, only to find your home was unlocked. It wasn't too unusual, so he welcomed himself inside, used to doing so after years of friendship.

His bitterness over how you kept him waiting for so long evaporated at finding your tearful state, almost unrecognizable if it weren't for your usual wear and voice.

He's still ashamed to say that he was enraptured by you despite the state you were in.

You were a glimmering dwarf star before, enchanting enough as is, and yet somehow you turned into something even more bewitching, compounding his years of desire into something even stronger. It felt right. Not to see you sad, but to see you in that form. Everything about it felt like you. The pull was indescribable in every step he took, the very essence of you invading his senses.

As soon as he recounts reassuring you, drying your tears, and pulling you into a hug; he snaps back to having you in his arms in the light of day, grasping his right hand and prancing with ease across the square, expertly avoiding other participants.

The magnetic pull is intense, the need to somehow get closer and closer was nearly impossible to ignore. He wanted to run away from such a force, yet he only clutched your hand tighter as he spun you, pulling your back into his chest and locking you there for a beat too long.

He was so afraid that you could read his every move, regardless of knowing your sheer obliviousness to his desires.

You always playfully indulged his yearly insistence of being your dance partner, yet nothing had come of it from either side. But this time, his gaze was constantly locked with yours, unable to break contact. His possessive grip had ensnared you, barely leaving even an inch between you. He couldn't help but pause, disregarding the mass of bodies moving around him, wanting to hold you forever.

How could it not be obvious?

Regardless, he knew it was inevitable he'd spill out his soul to you soon, barely able to restrain his lips from colliding into yours at that very moment.

He hoped, he prayed, he begged like a mantra to the celestial mother that you'd feel the same. That this magnetism isn't so one sided. That restraint would one day be unnecessary and he'd finally be able to drink in the flavor of your kiss.

Only mere seconds had passed when he released you from his hold, continuing the dance as if nothing happened. Perhaps to you, nothing did happen.

Would that explain what had happened?

He spent that whole day with you, following you to vendors with traditional carbon foods and indulging in your proximity as you'd graze hands and bump shoulders on occasion, finally left comfortably alone as the town's people were accustomed to your new appearance by then.

He was more than happy to scoop you up the moment you said you were getting tired and overwhelmed. You insisted that you didn't want the fun to end, but he could tell by the sound of your voice that you at least needed a change of pace.

The sun was setting when he leapt up stray puffs of clouds to the field above the plaza. He pranced in circles, leaping gaps to the dying beats of music, and teasing about dropping you through them when you didn't believe he could cross. Your rivers of laughter only fueled his audacity, as he never wanted to hear them end. Inevitably, his foot barely slipped off the edge of one of his more daring jumps, causing the two of you to fall forward and collide with the cloud beneath you.

Despite the grunt the two of you made at the impact, you were quick to laugh at Sun’s failure, teasing him about his cockiness biting him in the behind.

But Sun couldn't ignore the press of his body on top of yours, the echoing melody of your voice ensnaring his throat, refusing to allow him to even draw breath, let alone words. His mind fogged over, the only reprieve to his pinning troubles all pointed towards you, and he desperately needed that relief.

Your lips were more delicious than he could have ever dreamed of, your endearing expression was wide eyed and glowing.

Glowing so much that he actually had to close his eyes for a moment to recuperate, despite how much he wanted to savor your appearance.

And then with a fluttering blink, he's back in the present, kneeling down in the same position over some sad facimally of you. The cloud he molded this morning was mangled already from his delusions, but due to his fall it had melded into the cloud below it, its pink color feeling more taunting than sweet.

Sun looked down at his hand to find a tiny piece of said cloud still in it, a tear welling up in his eye.

It was too fitting.

In that original moment, it was as if you dissolved right in his arms after that kiss, but he refuses to believe anything bad happened. He searched your home, your favorite places, and even contacted your friends and family. No one knew where you were.

Some believed you to be dead after he finally admitted what happened between the two of you.

He vehemently denied that possibility, despite the plausibility. You were barely older than he was, still spry with centuries of life ahead of you. You couldn't just die from a kiss…

The only spark of hope he was given was when he questioned one of the elder Neutron stars, one of whom recalled personally knowing a singular supernova; one who had been taken suddenly to a world beyond the sky to contain their unstable make up. They had returned only once to explain their departure, before saying goodbye for their next one shortly after.

Sun brought the small puff of cloud to his lips – it should have been your hand.

He couldn't repress the tear that escaped him.

It's been a year since your disappearance. He still hasn't given up on his star-crossed lover, if he may even call you that. Your sudden departure left him wanting, stagnant, unsure of so many things.

If you reciprocated, wouldn't you have come back to him by now..?

Overtime, many have caught onto his depressed demeanor and advised him that it's best to learn to let go.

Preaching that waiting is fruitless.

Denouncing the Neutron’s tall tale of some magical plain snatching you away.

Scolding Sun for ruining his life over some runaway star.

However, he cannot help it; you own all the hope he has left. As he is unfortunately, completely, woefully in love with you.

Close Ups!

[nemisuki]

Sudden Shower

Break up AU | You didn’t realize entering a new life would affect your relationship this drastically. Maybe some things are meant to stay in the past to live in the future. 

᧔o᧓ || katsuki bakugo x f!reader, no manga spoilers, pure angst, no fluff, sad but kinda open ending, aged up to 19-20, right person wrong time trope, high school sweethearts no more, time to cry, read at ur own will, 1.1k word count 

"You can't keep pushing me away when all I've been doing is trying to help you Katsuki."

The sound of water droplets echo around the couple - pitter and pattering of the rain trickle on the concrete pathway under their feet.

Small vibrations course through his hand as the storm grows more intense, both in his heart and nature taking its course, heavy downpour hitting the surface of their shared umbrella.

Her gaze roams his facial features from the side, the moonlight illuminating his red eyes, making them look more intense if even possible.

"I didn't ask for your fucking help. I'm not a kid who needs to hold your hand every step of the way."

He refuses to meet her eyes - staring straight ahead as they walk towards the agency he interns at. His voice was intense yet not to the point of yelling.

Arguments aren't uncommon these days. Growing more frequent these past couple of weeks.

The stress of newfound adulthood seeping into the cracks of their relationship.

"Yes and I understand that but you're not acknowledging my concerns! It's not like I think you're not capable, I'm worried about you. What part of that don't you get-"

He halts in his stride as she expresses her troubles - causing her to stop as well.

They both stand in uncomfortable silence, the only thing being heard is the rain around them and sway of leaves from the trees of the park.

A shortcut to the agency they found months ago.

"Don't you think I know that? That's not the point! Breathing down my neck every time we meet and constantly babying me is fucking annoying!"

"Because I care about you!"

"You never were like this before we graduated! And don't give me that bullshit of hero work being dangerous. I know what I signed up for and you knew since we started dating!"

"Did you ever think for one second from my perspective?! I barely see you these days and when I do, you're so exhausted that I have to pick up your pieces!"

"I never asked you too, I'm fucking fine!"

"You never tell me anything! Just talk to me! Why can't you admit to yourself that you need a break?!"

"I don't exactly have the pleasure to have free time Y/N. I can't just stop going on patrols because my girlfriend fucking misses me!"

The storm only seems to grow more intense as the pitch of their voices turn sharp - courtesy of their fluctuating emotions.

A chill goes up her spine as he finally turns to face her, those red orbs boring into her own.

Whether it's from the cold weather or the frustrated expression on his face, she doesn't know.

At his words she's unaware of what to say in response, thinking about the tension between them as of lately.

Her gaze wanders away from his face and down to the puddle forming beneath them.

The reflections of them two tauntingly staring back at her. A version of themselves they have yet to explore.

This isn't high school drama anymore - the new world they entered was filled with responsibilities and unfamiliar experiences.

They have yet to open the gates of their unknown future as adults but looks like they'll be choosing which path to take from here on out.

And they both knew there was only one right option.

He seems to understand what's going through her mind and grimaces at the thought.

Even if he knew it was inevitable.

The decision was like a ticking time bomb just waiting to explode after weeks of arguments, conflicts and foul exchanges.

She couldn’t constantly be distracted from her work because of the uncontrollable anxiety towards him. And he couldn’t give it his all if he had to balance his busy schedule between his work and personal relationships.

They both had problems to work on but separately. 

"....katsuki-"

"yeah i know... i know."

Before he cowers back on this decision, he gently places the umbrella in her hand, giving her one final look.

As if all his frustrations vanished and were replaced with a neutral reaction. Maybe because he’s trying to be strong for the both of them, knowing he has to be the one to end things.

That’s something that she always admired, his strength.

She’s about to apologize for not being the one to speak up but he shakes his head. Already knowing what she’s gonna say and gently patting her head.

Her heart thumping away at the small gesture.

A distant look casts over their eyes - though they both know once they look away, it will all come crashing down.

They didn't say much after that, unaware of how long they stood in the same position communicating with their stare alone.

He was the first one to move.

Turning around and beginning to walk away from her, droplets starting to absorb into the jacket he wore today.

One she bought him long ago.

"Text me when you get home at least dummy."

The serene sound of his voice made her unable to stay silent any longer, she bit her cheek as tears began trickling down her face, attempting to hold back the sobs urging to escape her mouth.

"Katsuki!" she yells out, once he's a good distance away.

Her heart is clenching so much that it hurts, her throat closing up as if her body registers that this is really it.

He hesitates but ultimately turns around, looking at her from afar.

This distance between them is so vast - both physically and emotionally.

When you love someone, set them free right? Right.

It was as if all their shared memories came flowing back to her.

Perhaps they were meant to meet when they're still young and find each other again when they're older.

Or maybe this truly is the end - only time would tell.

She musters up the best smile she could at the moment and stares at him. Many thoughts going through her mind but only one stands out.

Slowly she opens her mouth to speak, wanting nothing more then to run back into his arms and say "I love you" but-

"Thank you."

Before he could say anything back, she turns on her heels and spins around, walking away from him before she breaks down. 

Finally allowing her emotions to surface, bursting into tears as her figure goes out of sight.

She knew if he said anything more, she'd go running back to him. But you shouldn't stay on a chapter for too long, no one should stay stuck in the past after all.

Unable to see the blonde, he stands there motionless, letting the rain devour him up completely.

Streaks of water dripping down his cheeks - unaware of the difference between possible tears and the downpour coming from the clouds.

"I love you too Y/N."

Oh how much the boy hates rain. 

✦ ⎯⎯⋆ ˚｡⋆ ୨ masterlist || taglist || intro || socials ୧⋆ ˚｡⋆⎯⎯ ✦

a/n ||| im sorry i haven't posted in 2 whole weeks! honestly i zone out during december but im back ૮꒰ྀི > . < ꒱ྀིა and with some angst oooo la la. idk if u guys would like more sad fics like this on my page but do lmk in the comments! sometimes u just gotta let people go to improve on urself and thats okay :) tags ||| @leleyro

[introspectivememories]

timbern au where tim and bear are married in secret and no one knows bc a) it's not anyone else's business and b) tim's the face of wayne ent. and he doesn't want weirdos harassing bear while he's out and about. so they get married in secret and all the public knows is that tim drake-wayne one day started showing up in public with a wedding band and no explanation. there's rumors and theories of course but nothing substantial.

and then one day, tim calls a public press confrence and he looks haggard and unkempt. there's dark circles under his eyes and he keeps fidgeting with his wedding band. his face is scruffy like he hasnt shaved in days and his suit is ever so slightly rumpled. the viewer count grows higher and higher by the minute. finally he speaks and he says that he's been receiving threats for the past few month. that he tried to solve the case privately with the cooperation with the police but something terrible has happened recently and now he needs the public's help. my husband is missing, he says. a photo of his husband is shown on the screen behind him. it's been one week since he's been taken.

his name is bernard dowd he says voice catching, he's the light of my life. every camera in the room catches the way his eyes gloss over. i have loved him since college. please i dont know what to do without him.

he's 27, with blond hair. tall about 6ft and he like funky patterns. he smiles and the world lights up. he always makes me laugh and he gives the best hugs. and-

tim's voice catches on a sob, the mics pick it up anyway.

and, he continues, i have loved him in some way since i was 16. so please if you have any information on him or if you've seen him, i beg you to call the number on the screen.

tim drops his head, desperately trying not to ugly sob on camera. his lips are chapped and swollen from how often he's biting them. his hands tremble and he can feel his family's concerned stares but he has to do this.

they have no leads, no clues, nothing. just a single, grainy, convenience store security camera footage of a man shoving bernard into an unmarked car and driving off. nobody knows anything. and tim can't do this anymore, he needs his husband back. and even if his bear is dead now, then he needs the body back. he needs to curl around his husband one last time. he needs to hold his hand on the way down. tim needs him to breathe.

one last statement, he thinks, then we can go back to wearing his hoodies and rotting on his side of the bed. then we can go back to staring at the door like he'll walk through it at any moment.

lifting his head, he looks at the first camera he can find and says, i haven't loved him enough yet. i haven't made him laugh as much i should've. i haven't apologized for coming home late the night before he got taken. i haven't loved him enough yet. please, if you see him or know anything, please call the number.

and bear, baby, if you're watching this from wherever that man took you, i love you. till the heat death of the universe, remember?

he laughs wetly, and even if you're tired, you gotta keep fighting until i find you okay? you didn't give up on me all those years ago, and i'm not giving up on you now.

i love you bernard. i'll see you soon.

[phpruitts]

'Thank you,'

Phoebe smiles again, and nods, but there was nothing that she had said that wasn't completely true. Rafael did look out for her. He gave her rides, took her out to dinners with crystalline glasses and carpaccio and expensive wines, but far beyond that, easily the kindest, most important thing to Phoebe ... Rafael did not look at her with condescension or judgement.

She was an ant, really, in a world as big as Rafael's. But that never seemed to influence the way he treated her. Or looked at her. Or spoke to her.

And to Phoebe, that alone was everything.

Rafael wraps an arm around her shoulder, tugs her in close on the couch, and then—

'There’s a lot you don’t know about me,'

'I don’t know if I want you to find it all out, to be honest,'

Phoebe straightens minutely. There was something subdued in his voice, a little quiet. What did he mean by that?

Work, maybe? Beyond his position in his father's business, handling expansions and investments and shareholder meetings, Phoebe would have to be stupid not to understand there were other aspects of Rafael's career. Serious stuff. Illegal stuff. Phoebe made a point to keep her nose out of where it didn't belong, but she would have to be blind, really, not to suspect that the Dahar's influence extended deep into the city, in avenues that went far beyond hotels or casinos.

But Phoebe had known this from the beginning. When Rafael had first started flirting with her, Phoebe was well aware who he was, and the more time they spent together, the more glimpses Phoebe would get— little things, because Rafael shielded her well, but just the deference he was shown, men coming to him at the club and speaking vaguely about shipments and meetings.

Yeah. Phoebe knew. And there were probably so many more things Rafael had shielded her from, and wouldn't want her to see, and even if Phoebe's mind could fill in the blanks, she just didn't ... care.

Phoebe didn't care if Rafael's daily workload could fill an episode of sensationalized tv.

Rafael was still the person whose first response, when he met Phoebe was, was kindness. But it was still hard to admit this much, wasn't it? It probably took a lot for Rafael to voice that kind of fear.

Her palm brushes along his cheekbone.

"Well. You don't have to share everything with me. If it's something you don't want to do." A beat. "But, uh ... I trust you. I always feel good with you, like safe, in a way I've never felt with other guys. So you should know I won't care about whatever you tell me. I'll still look at you the same."

A smile pulls at her lips, gentle, something flickering warmly behind her eyes as she stared at the man who cared for her so well.

Rafael liked how things were now; Phoebe too. There was nothing that Rafael could ever share with her that would change her opinion of him, or dampen the feelings she felt in her heart.

And Phoebe. Well. If anything, she felt like the fraud here, the one with a thin veneer glossing over an ugly past full of things dark and shameful. The syringes and the evictions and the crunch of glass and all the awful little apartments with awful silences and even more awful yelling, the nights spent with strangers, exchanges that left Phoebe feeling empty and awful. The man who she'd stayed with for weeks, months, who sometimes frightened her so bad she wanted to vomit. And the highs, and the things she did to keep those highs. Years and years of sacrificing everything for her highs.

Yeah. What if she told Rafael all about those things, and he rightfully felt different? Maybe saw her as pathetic, or gross, or someone he just didn't want to associate with.

Rafael had always been so kind to her, completely lacking in judgement, but the fear was still there.

Anxiety churns in her gut. Phoebe looks at that anxiety and does what comes natural now: she tucks her arm into one of Rafael's, and leans her abdomen into his solid frame.

"If it makes you feel better ... there's stuff, about me, that I worry would change your opinion of me."

It seemed obvious, but it hadn’t really occurred to Rafael that Phoebe saw him as something other than just … an intimidating rich asshole. This illusion that there was depth to Rafael felt… strange. It didn’t really seem possible to him. It had felt pretty impossible until Phoebe, and now… well. There were a lot of questions that Rafael wanted answers to, but they wouldn’t come from Phoebe.

Even though she’d offered to help, he had to figure some of it out on his own.

Rafael was nice to her right away. There was just something about Phoebe that drew him to her like a magnet. And over the months, those feelings had only become more intense. As the time went on, there was nothing that Rafael wouldn't have done for her.

“Thank you,” Rafael simply said.

It was endearing that Phoebe was willing to put up a fight about his kindness. She hadn’t seen him at work. Not in the office, but ... his real work. She hadn’t seen him in the hour before he showed up at her apartment. Fists aching and covered in blood. Making a call to dispose of a body on Christmas Eve.

He wrapped an arm around Phoebe, pulled her in close.

“There’s a lot you don’t know about me,” he told her. There was. Good and bad. Maybe she assumed, and there were rumors, but she didn’t really know. “I don’t know if I want you to find it all out, to be honest,” he said, voice quiet.

Would she think of him differently? If all of the rumors were true?

“I like the way things are right now,” he said, voice quiet.

It felt like a scary thing to admit.