#i hate the slave labor that has extracted All of the material used to make said components

[minotaurfemme]

as someone who lives and breathes computers, i really fucking hate computers

[landgraabbed]

hi Cat, can you share your thoughts/criticisms of DATV? i think the game is gonna flop.

hey nonners, idk. this is a complicated question. i mean, game's not even out yet so it's unfair to pass judgment on it. i can only judge bioware's approach to pre-release marketing. and i got a lot of thoughts on that.

honestly i think it will be a perfectly serviceable game and technically it will run well (i mean, it has been steam deck verified which tells me that performance was a big concern for devs). i don't think quality has much bearing on the love people can have for a game. and vice-versa. the people who are hyped to oblivion and want to preorder will like it. the people who hate it bc it has poc and queer and disabled characters will still hate it. people who analyze the game's mechanics and writing will dissect the game and be predisposed to finding things they dislike. over time opinions will mellow out and we'll see how the veilguard will be remembered.

i can't trust bioware to make an rpg that i will want to play after their last failures. different people will differ on where the string of failures started. from a quality standpoint my line is dragon age 2. me3 to me failed to deliver on the promise of the first 2 me games save for shining exceptions like the citadel dlc and javik. from a numbers standpoint the last successful game was inquisition which won goty in 2014 due to a serious lack of competition mostly, especially since witcher 3 was pushed back to 2015 (which pains me personally as that put it directly in bloodborne's path to goty in that year). thing is bioware seems to be doing all they can to avoid a flop. veilguard is bioware's hail mary after a string of failures. they are ditching the ea app to capture as many people as possible. the combat has fully careened into action, and although they keep telling us these will be the best companions ever, really, guys, the gameplay is more and more focused on the protagonist alone. the crpg roots of the series are getting cut down to attract a broader audience. perhaps at the cost of ostracizing some like me who enjoy the party-based, party-building mechanics like me.

how well this will go i don't know. on one hand i think bioware has been historically bad at showing the full scope to new and returning players. empress celene has been haunting the edges of the world since origins. the full grasp of her character is locked behind books. afaik some companions have been introduced already in supplemental materials. this sort of move didn't go well for ff15. on the other i think this game missed its window. the gaming landscape of today isn't the same as it was in 2014, and in 2014 the skyrim at home open world design was already outdated. i've been hearing about the crpg renaissance since 2016. i accompanied it. it remained a niche part of gaming until it didn't: baldur's gate 3 released last year to audience and critical acclaim. going forward i expect mainstream rpgs to take cues from bg3. and the mission based almost extraction shooter-esque design that veilguard seems to have might not land as well in 2024 as it would have in 2020.

eta: or it could go well, idk. morrowind and final fantasy were bethesda's and squaresoft's hail maries and saved those studios.

right now the marketing has missed the mark on me. it is patronizing and seemingly needs to punch down the previous da games to prop this one up. it concerns me that the game may be releasing in 2 months (as per jeff grubb) and we quite frankly haven't seen shit. just bioware telling us that trust me, these companions are deep. trust me, the combat is good. trust me, the city built on slave labor is totally the coolest one you've seen. everyone copies fromsoftware but they don't seem to learn to drop a trailer and shut up until they got more things of substance to show. and this isn't just a bioware issue.

[spartanguard]

savage garden, 4/?

Summary: Killian Jones was, by far, the worst, weakest, most ineffectual Dark One ever. (According to the Darkness, at least.) And he was fine with that. He was just a slave, a deckhand—what use did he have of dark magic? And even less want. But the Darkness has vowed to firmly get him under its grasp, one of these days. He finds respite in a beautiful secluded garden—and the amazing woman he eventually meets there. The question remains, though: is it—is she—enough to keep him out of the dark completely? One can only hope…

3.6k | rated T | AO3 | part 1 | part 2 (art) | part 3

A/N: Here we go again! Thanks to everyone who continues to read and comment—you keep me going! And thanks again to the organizers of @csmarchmadness and to @optomisticgirl for being awesome. 

The title again comes from “Violet” by Savage Garden; this song just has a lot of lyrics that fit these two. I also lied about this chapter being longer but the next few will be! Now I’ll shut up and let Emma and Killian get better acquainted...

chapter 4: the same two people looking out to sea

He couldn’t go to the garden again for a several more days as a storm that rolled in that night decided to send a tree branch through his roof, making a mess of his greatroom. It wasn’t the first time that had happened—everything in the cottage had been rebuilt at some point, and the manual labor was just another thing he could focus on that wasn’t the voices in his head encouraging him to just fix it with a wave of his hand.

He was sweeping the detritus from the room when he discovered the branch had also broken through the secret compartment he’d built under the floor. Usually, it was covered by a rug, but that had been trashed, too. As soon as he saw the crevice, he dropped what he was doing to make sure its contents were unharmed.

He extracted the sleek black box from the space and exhaled in relief that it was unharmed.

Nothing can break that, or have you already forgotten?

“I haven’t. Just needed to make sure.”

It’s the one thing you’ve done right.

The box was wrought from cast iron, an inch thick on all sides, and sealed with a blood lock—the only magic he had ever wanted to use. He set the box on the damaged floor in front of him and grabbed a thorny branch laying on the floor with which to prick his finger; his hook was far too dull to do anything that meticulous.

Once a drop of blood welled up, he quickly used it to draw an M on the surface of the box before the wound healed on its own. The box seemed to absorb his blood and the lid released with a click, despite having no obvious lock.

He opened it, and there it still lay, just as gleaming and menacing as on that day all those years ago: his dagger. He hated to call it his, but it was hard to protest when it was his name engraved in steel with the same darkness that had been his companion for the all these years.

He quickly locked it back up and stuck it back in its hole, bunching up the damaged rug over it for concealment until he had the materials to repair it. He wasn’t all that worried about someone taking it—the sole perk to having no living relatives was that the blood lock ensured only he could open it. But he still didn’t want to risk it.

On the day he finally got back to the garden, Emma was seated on one of the benches, head thrown back as she soaked in the sun’s rays. “I wondered when I’d see you again,” she called out, even though he’d entered completely silently.

“I had things to tend to at home, else I would have returned sooner. How did you know I was here?” he asked, curious.

She opened her eyes and smiled at him, then scooted over on her bench, inviting him to sit next to her. He hesitated before stepping out of the shade of one of the large trees—especially because once he did, the sunlight on his shimmery skin immediately made her squint, so he stepped back to the darker area.

“Come here,” she said—well, more like commanded, so he did as she told him. But he pulled up his hood and tugged his cloak a bit tighter around him, both to save her eyes and for fear of contact with her setting off the magic again.

“I hate to tell you this,” she started, finally answering his question, “but you’re not as sneaky as you think you are,” she explained, still smiling. “At least, not to me. Even traces of dark magic I can sense, even if you weren’t actively using it.”

Bloody hell, did this mean any magic user could find him? Were all his precautions for naught?

“Don’t worry,” she assured him, sensing his panic. “It’s not everyone who can—just me, I think. At least, that’s what the fairies told me.”

“Fairies? Those are real?”

Emma tilted her head. “The Dark One doesn’t know about fairies?”

He shrugged. “This Dark One doesn’t know much about magic, period.”

Much to our disgust.

She pursed her lips in thought. “Can I ask...just how long have you been the Dark One?”

He nervously scratched behind his ear. “I’m not sure on the exact number, but by my estimates...about a hundred and thirty years, give or take.”

Emma whistled. “And you’ve been on your own that whole time?”

He nodded. “How could you tell?”

“You’ve got that look in your eyes—the one you get when you’ve been left alone.”

He scoffed. “I had that long before any magic came into my life,” he blurted, but regretted it. She didn’t want to hear his tale of woe.

“Do you want to talk about it?” she asked softly.

He was stunned. The only other person to ask about his life was Milah, and as they’d just established, that was a very long time ago. That said, he didn’t know if he wanted to; while logically, he knew she wouldn’t, anyone else who had ever taken an interest in him just exploited and hurt him.

“Not today, I’m afraid...but maybe another.”

She gave him an encouraging smile. “That’s fine. Wanna hear about the fairies?”

“Sure.”

He honestly didn’t remember all the details of what she was telling him—the politics and rules of diminutive sprites didn’t hold much relevance for him, he didn’t think—but listening to her talk was entertaining enough. She was dryly funny and slightly sarcastic, but it couldn’t hide her genuine enthusiasm at times.

“You really didn’t know they were real?” she finally asked.

“No; in my time and experience, they were just thought to be legend.”

“Kind of like you, then.”

“I…” he started, but he didn’t really know what to say. Did he explain that he was merely an unwilling vessel for the Darkness? That, regardless of the name on that blade, they were still separate entities? (Unfortunately.) That the only thing he could take credit for was ensuring the Dark One became part of history, well in the past? “I...hope that means that there’s no reputation to precede me,” he finally replied.

“Not much of one,” she answered nonchalantly. “I read about the Dark One in a history book that Blue gave me for homework, but...you don’t seem capable of anything that guy did. Unless you’ve had a crazy change of heart.”

“Uh, well…” Show her what we can do! the Darkness crowed, and his heart rate picked up as the voices called out, most in indignation at their forgotten memory. “Let’s just say that my predecessors had different views on power than I do.”

“You didn’t want it?”

“I don’t, no. But I can keep it from falling into the wrong hands.”

“That sounds noble.”

He snorted again. “I’m not sure about that, but...it’s certainly the least I can do.”

She gave him a thoughtful look but then winced as her stomach grumbled. “Sorry. Guess I need to plant some fruit trees in here.”

“That’d be a lovely addition,” he agreed, his mouth watering at the thought of fresh fruit. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d allowed himself such an indulgence. “I’ll leave you to it, then.”

He rose to leave but she followed. “Do you want to join me?”

The thought of going out in public—with people around—immediately made him nervous. “I, uh, don’t eat much,” he offered as an excuse; it wasn’t a great one but he hoped she’d buy it.

She tilted her head as she walked toward him. “That’s not all of it, is it?” So much for that; he swallowed and attempted to come up with an explanation, but she continued. “It’s alright. But just so you know, I can spot a lie from a mile away.” She winked at him and he immediately blushed. “Will you at least walk me out?”

“Of course, milady.” He offered her his arm, even through the cloak.

She looked away for a moment, a sad smile on her face; he could tell that her story, whatever it was, was likely as complicated as his own. But then she shook her head a bit and took his arm with a grin, and he escorted her out.

When they parted ways, she told him that she hoped she’d seen him sooner than his last visit. Part of him wasn’t sure that was wise, given that the Darkness was yelling at him to end her right there, but the part of him that was only a man concurred, and looked forward to their next meeting.

You’ll be the death of us, boy.

“One can only hope.”

Killian didn’t visit every day; he worried that might be too intrusive. And there were some days he went and she wasn’t there, leaving him to peruse the space on his own. Something was different on each trip there, typically new flowers in bloom.

“Where do you get them all from?” he had to ask one day as they took a turn about the paths arm-in-arm.

“Uh, well, don’t judge me, but...I’ve stolen a lot of them from pirate ships,” she admitted.

“Really?”

“Yeah; it’s the only way to get the really exotic ones, like the orchids over there.”

“Doesn’t stealing from a pirate make you one yourself?” he teased.

She shrugged. “I guess. I’m kind of used to it by now; I live on the lam, in case you hadn’t noticed.”

“It’s alright, love; takes one to know one, I suppose.”

She gave him an incredulous look. “What, a thief or a pirate?”

“The latter.”

“You? No way.”

“In another life, aye.”

“But you’re so...sweet.”

He laughed; that was a very nice way of describing him, he decided. “If it’s any explanation, it wasn’t by choice.”

Her voice got quiet. “Will you tell me?”

He couldn’t blame her for being curious; not many men had his years. Well, Nimue lived a while, and Zoso...which you’d know if you cared.

He ignored that and instead focused on Emma. “I’m not sure there’s a ton to tell, and it’s not very happy, but I will.” In as few words as he could manage, he told her about his mother and her passing; his father and how he sold he and his brother into servitude; how his brother finally found freedom, only to die in the service of the King’s Navy before he was able to rescue Killian from the wretched men they were enslaved to; being traded from ship to ship until he eventually landed in Blackbeard’s crew; Milah—brilliant beautiful Milah; and finally, that fateful day that took her from him, too, and brought him here. He made sure to leave out the specifics of the weapon he used, but didn’t want to deny the fact that he’d killed Rumplestiltskin.

“And that’s how I acquired this curse; like most things in my life, it was just a transaction, a passing of the responsibilities. And I...I’ve killed others, though not intentionally. Sometimes the Darkness...it has a mind of its own, and I can’t always keep it in check, which you’ve seen, unfortunately. And that’s been the situation for over a hundred years now. So...that’s it,” he concluded, probably anticlimactically.

He was scared to look at her after divulging all that; he’d known before he delved into his story that it would probably change the way she looked at him, and not for the better, but he didn’t want to keep anything from her. She was so unlike anyone he’d ever met and he couldn’t deny the growing part of him that wanted to share everything with her. But that meant no lies and no secrecy.

So he was astonished when he finally faced her and found not anger or disgust, but tears in her eyes.

“Oh, Killian,” she said, voice as watery as her gaze, and pulled him into a hug. “I can’t believe everything you’ve gone through.”

He hesitated to reciprocate the embrace, but he did eventually; it had been so long since he’d felt one, he couldn’t help it, and her warmth made him terribly aware of how devoid of it his life had been. But he couldn’t let it linger for long; he pulled back and asked, “Aren’t you frightened of me?”

“Why would I be?” she wondered, then sniffled.

“I...look at me. You just heard everything. I’m not...I’m not good, Emma.”

“You’ve made mistakes; who hasn’t?” He couldn’t believe how nonchalant she was about this. “But you also had to make do with life dealing you a shitty hand. And the fact that you’re trying so hard to keep the Darkness at bay...I can’t even imagine how difficult that is, but if someone wasn’t ‘good,’ whatever that means, they wouldn’t be able to.” She took a seat at one of the benches, and tugged him down next to her. “I may not have lived as long as you, but I’ve come across lots of people—some who were genuinely good, some who were truly bad, and some who said they were one but turned out to be the other. Usually, they act like they’re good but they’re really just selfish assholes. You, Killian Jones, are the first who thinks they’re not good when they really, truly are.”

He felt a welling of emotion he hadn’t felt in ages, and he had no idea how to describe it. But it wasn’t unlike how he felt the first time Milah protected him from the crew’s constant abuse; he felt...he didn’t want to say loved, but maybe he just felt like a person again.

“I’m not sure I deserve such praise, but I’m too weak to refute it,” he said, hoping she realized how much that meant to him. “Especially from someone as incredible as you.”

Emma gave him half a smile, but looked away. “Well, now it’s my turn for denial, then; I’m not some paragon of virtue, either.”

“I find that hard to believe, love.”

She gave him a sidelong glance. “Please don’t. Just...let me tell my story now.” She sighed, then began. “Did I mention that I was a princess?”

He was taken aback—though not altogether surprised; despite her clothing, she definitely had a regal appearance and carriage. “No, I don’t think you did, Your Highness.”

“Dammit, I knew you’d do that. I’m gonna stop you right there before you pledge your fealty or something. And emphasis on was; I’m not sure if I still am one.”

“What happened?”

“Maleficent happened.” Before Emma was born, there had been a prophecy; she didn’t go into the details, but apparently, to fulfill her destiny, she had to remain “light.” (“I’m still not sure what that means but I guess this garden is proof I’ve managed it.”) She herself didn’t know the details, but apparently, her parents did something to Maleficent’s child to ensure that Emma stayed on the right path. (“Who does that?” she complained, shivering.) Fast forward twenty-some years—she had an idyllic childhood and adolescence, learning everything about ruling a country from her parents, as well as how to hone her magic by the fairies. There was a less-than-honourable prince in there who broke her heart and turned her off of the idea of romantic love, but despite her parents being the epitome of it (“Actual, certified True Love, confirmed by the gods or something”), they supported her desire to rule alone.

“So life was all good, until a few months ago, when Maleficent finally decided to get her revenge; not sure why it took her 28 years, but I guess the timing is irrelevant.” (My kind of witch, the Darkness cheered. Maybe you could learn something from this story.) Anyways, she storms into the castle during my confirmation—not really that important a thing; just a ceremony signalling that I’d be taking a larger role in governing—and starts ranting and raving about what my parents took from her, which I had no idea about until then. Then she threatened to put a sleeping curse on me, but my stupid parents wouldn’t let her, and told her to curse my mom. But the witch only would agree if she cursed both my parents, who agreed, even though I begged them not to.” She had to pause to wipe a tear from her eyes. “So that’s what she did, and then transformed into a dragon and flew out through the stained glass window. I tried to wake them, but...it didn’t work.” Her voice broke on the last word.

“Oh, lass,” he murmured, then pulled her close to him on instinct. He surprised himself with that, and was even more shocked when she leaned into him.

“And here I am. I fled from the court because I obviously failed at being their daughter, if my love for them isn’t true enough to wake them. So I’ve been on the run ever since, stealing to get by. I have no idea what to try next and my people probably think I’ve abandoned them...this is the only place that I have any peace.”

“I know how that feels,” he said softly. For a while, they just sat, finding respite in the quiet of the garden, save for the gentle gurgle of the fountain. Emma sniffed occasionally, but otherwise didn’t move from where she sat, her head resting on his shoulder. He hadn’t been in this position since Milah, whenever she was particularly missing her son. Just as then, he didn’t know how to offer any words of comfort, but just being there seemed to help—or, at least, he hoped it did.

“Sorry,” she said eventually and sat up. “I bet you weren’t expecting to hear a sob story today.”

“Nonsense. I’m...I’m glad you felt you could share it with me.”

“Same here,” she answered. “God, here I am blubbering when you’re the one with the sadder story.”

“It’s not a contest; like I said, everyone has their burdens.”

“Wish there was a way we could lighten each other’s loads.”

“Aye,” he agreed with a sad smile. “I’m afraid your magical knowledge might be better than mine, though.”

“Maybe, but it hasn’t gotten me anywhere. There wasn’t a whole lot in my education about evil curses. Sorry,” she added when she noticed his slight wince at her choice of words. “But even the fairies don’t know much—they say it’s not their ‘brand of magic’ or whatever. And I’m not sure where else to look.”

Oh, but you do.

“I do,” he realized, agreeing with the Darkness out loud. This might be the first time in his history that being the Dark One was actually useful. He told Emma, “There’s a library at the Dark Castle; it’s protected with magic, but I have to imagine there’s something in there that could be of use.”

“Really?” Her eyes grew wide at the prospect. “Can you take me there?”

“Uh…” The prospect of taking here there seemed like a terrible idea. He’d gladly bring the books to her, but there was a reason he didn’t like spending much time at the castle. “I’d feel safer if you didn’t. It’s...not a pleasant place, and it’s not that I don’t trust you—it’s that I don’t trust anyone else, and you, my dear, will no doubt garner attention on such a journey.”

She crossed her arms and gave him an unamused look. “I’m too pretty to go—that’s it?”

“Not all of it, but...part.”

“What’s the rest?”

He took a deep breath. “I don’t know what effect it’ll have on me,” he confessed. The castle had dark magic in its very mortar; the whispers always grew louder there, the magic humming in his blood even stronger. “Should something go awry, I’d feel better knowing you were far from there...from me.”

Emma pursed her lips. “I don’t like it, but...I get it.” He sighed in relief. “Is there anything I can do in return?”

“Be here when I get back?” He hadn’t expected his voice to sound so small and childlike, but now that she knew what his life had been like, hopefully she’d understand his concern.

“Of course. When do you think that’ll be?”

“It takes a few days to get there, so..give me a week?”

“You mean you don’t just poof there?”

He bit his lip. “I try to use the magic as little as possible. It...it helps,” he explained, hoping she’d be able to fill in the blank.

She nodded in understanding. “Okay then; I’ll be here.”

There wasn’t much else to do, then, but say their goodbyes and for him to head on his way. He’d need to stop at home for a few things, but he had no other reason to delay the journey—save for his growing reluctance to leave Emma’s presence. As had become usual, he escorted her out, but she stopped before they reached the door.

“I guess this is where I wish you good luck,” she said.

“I appreciate that,” he replied, blushing. What a lovesick fool, the Darkness gagged.

She paused for a moment, but then went up on her tiptoes and placed a light kiss on his cheek. Again he felt that spark at the contact he’d felt the first time, and the buzzing it prompted in his veins energized him for the task ahead.

When she fell back on her heels, he could tell she was biting back a giggle, likely at his slack-jawed reaction. “I’ll see you in a week. Take care,” she farewelled, and headed out.

“You too,” he said as he watched her leave, his fingers coming up to the place where her lips had just been.

He let it soak in for one more moment before setting out, with the hopes of the same thing greeting him on return.

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